Part 42 (1/2)

”Oh, but you must! We can't spare you, Mr. Arlt. If you don't care for the charity, you'll do it for me; won't you?”

Deliberately Arlt packed the sugar and the spoon into his cup, and set the cup down on the table. Then he turned to face Mrs. Lloyd Avalons squarely.

”On the contrary, that is the very reason I cannot do it, Mrs. Lloyd Avalons. When Miss Gannion introduced me to you as Mr. Thayer's accompanist and a pianist who needed engagements, you wished to refuse me a place on your programme. Now that others have been good enough to listen to me, you can make room for two numbers by me. I am very sorry; but I shall be unable to accept your invitation.”

There was no underlying rancor in the slow, deliberate syllables; they were merely the statement of an indisputable fact. Most women would have accepted them in silence. Not so with Mrs. Lloyd Avalons.

”But you played for Miss Van Osdel, last week,” she persisted.

Arlt rose to his feet.

”Yes, I played for Miss Van Osdel, last week, just as I hope to have the pleasure of playing for her many times more in the future. However, that is quite a different matter. Miss Van Osdel and I are very old friends, and it will always be one of my very greatest pleasures to be entirely at her service.” He made a quaint little bow in Sally's direction, and his face lighted with the friendly, humorous smile she knew so well.

Then he added, ”And now I must bid you all a very good afternoon.”

He bowed again and walked away, with his simple dignity unruffled to the last. Society might bless him, or society might ban. Nevertheless, it was by no means Arlt's intention to turn his art into a species of lap-dog, to come trotting in at society's call, and then be dismissed to the outer darkness again, so soon as the round of its tricks was accomplished. Egotism Arlt had not; but his independence shrank at no one of the corollaries of his creed of art.

Bobby lingered after the others had gone away.

”I say, Sally,” he remarked at length, apparently apropos of nothing in particular; ”how does it happen that you have never married me?”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'I believe I might as well ask you now'”]

”Probably for the very excellent reason that you have never asked me,”

Sally responded frankly.

With his hands in his pockets, Bobby sauntered across to the sofa where she was sitting. There he stood contemplating her for a moment. Then he settled himself at her side.

”Well,” he said slowly; ”I believe I might as well ask you now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

”I almost made a whole poem about you,” Bobby said to Thayer, one night.

Thayer laughed.

”How far did you get?”

”The last line.”

”Then you actually did make one.”

Bobby shook his head.

”Oh, no. I only made the next to the last line and the last. Then the inspiration gave out.”

”What was it?” Thayer asked idly.

The mirth left Bobby's face, and he looked up at his companion almost defiantly.