CHAPTER V
ALMOST HOOKED
In human affairs, great and small, there are always many reasons forevery action; then, snugly tucked away underneath all these reasons thatmight be and ought to be and pretend to be but aren't, hides the realreason, the real moving cause of action. By tacit agreement among humanbeings there is an unwritten law against the exposing of this realreason, whose naked and ugly face would put in sorry countenanceprofessions of patriotism or philanthropy or altruism or virtue ofwhatever kind. Stillwater, the Attorney-General and Craig's chief, had adozen reasons for letting him appear alone for the Administration--thatis, for the people--in that important case. Each of thesereasons--except one--shed a pure, white light upon Stillwater's publicspirit and private generosity. That one was the reason supposed by Mrs.Stillwater to be real. "Since you don't seem able to get rid of JoshCraig, Pa," said she, in the seclusion of the marital couch, "we mightas well marry him to Jessie"--Jessie being their homeliest daughter.
"Very well," said "Pa" Stillwater. "I'll give him a chance."
Still, we have not got the real reason for Josh's getting whatStillwater had publicly called "the opportunity of a lifetime." Thereally real reason was that Stillwater wished, and calculated, to kill awhole flock of birds with one stone.
Whenever the people begin to clamor for justice upon their exploiters,the politicians, who make themselves valuable to the exploiters bycozening the people into giving them office, begin by denying that thepeople want anything; when the clamor grows so loud that this pretenseis no longer tenable, they hasten to say, "The people are right, andsomething must be done. Unfortunately, there is no way of legally doinganything at present, and we must be patient until a way is discovered."Way after way is suggested, only to be dismissed as "dangerous" or"impractical" or "unconstitutional." The years pass; the clamorpersists, becomes imperious. The politicians pass a law that has beencarefully made unconstitutional. This gives the exploiters several yearsmore of license. Finally, public sentiment compels the right kind oflaw; it is passed. Then come the obstacles to enforcement. More years ofdelay; louder clamor. A Stillwater is put in charge of the enforcementof the law; a case is made, a trial is had, and the evidence is soincomplete or the people's lawyers so poorly matched against the lawyersof the exploiters that the case fails, and the administration is able tosay, "You see, WE'VE done our best, but the rascals have escaped!" Thecase against certain Western railway thieves had reached the stage atwhich the only way the exploiters could be protected from justice was byhaving a mock trial; and Stillwater had put Craig forward as theconductor of this furious sham battle, had armed him with a poor gun,loaded with blanks. "We'll lose the case," calculated Stillwater; "we'llsave our friends, and get rid of Craig, whom everybody will blame--thedamned, bumptious, sophomoric blow-hard!"
What excuse did Stillwater make to himself for himself in this course ofseeming treachery and assassination? For, being a man of the highestprinciples, he would not deliberately plan an assassination as anassassination. Why, his excuse was that the popular clamor against themen "who had built up the Western country" was wicked, that he wasserving his country in denying the mob "the blood of our best citizens,"that Josh Craig was a demagogue who richly deserved to be hoist by hisown petar. He laughed with patriotic glee as he thought how "Josh, thejoke" would make a fool of himself with silly, sophomoric arguments,would with his rude tactlessness get upon the nerves of the finicky oldJustices of the Supreme Court!
As Craig had boasted right and left of the "tear" he was going to make,and had urged everybody he talked with to come and hear him, the smallcourtroom was uncomfortably full, and not a few of the smiling,whispering spectators confidently expected that they were about to enjoythat rare, delicious treat--a conceited braggart publicly exposed andoverwhelmed by himself. Among these spectators was Josh's best friend,Arkwright, seated beside Margaret Severence, and masking hissatisfaction over the impending catastrophe with an expression offunereal somberness. He could not quite conceal from himself all thesehopes that had such an uncomfortable aspect of ungenerousness. So hereasoned with himself that they really sprang from a sincere desire forhis friend's ultimate good. "Josh needs to have his comb cut," thoughthe. "It's sure to be done, and he can bear it better now than later. Thelesson will teach him a few things he must learn. I only hope he'll beable to profit by it."
When Josh appeared, Grant and the others with firmly-fixed opinions ofthe character of the impending entertainment were not a littledisquieted. Joshua Craig, who stepped into the arena, looked absolutelydifferent from the Josh they knew. How had he divested himself of thatfamiliar swaggering, bustling braggadocio? Where had he got this look ofthe strong man about to run a race, this handsome face on which sat realdignity and real power? Never was there a better court manner; theJustices, who had been anticipating an opportunity to demonstrate, athis expense, the exceeding dignity of the Supreme Court, could onlyadmire and approve. As for his speech, it was a straightway argument;not a superfluous or a sophomoric word, not an attempt at rhetoric. Hisargument--There is the logic that is potent but answerable; there is thelogic that is unanswerable, that gives no opportunity to any sane mind,however prejudiced by association with dispensers of luxurioushospitality, of vintage wines and dollar cigars, however enamored offog-fighting and hair-splitting, to refuse the unqualified assent ofconviction absolute. That was the kind of argument Josh Craig made. Andthe faces of the opposing lawyers, the questions the Justices asked himplainly showed that he had won.
After the first ten minutes, when the idea that Craig could be or everhad been laughable became itself absurd, Arkwright glanced uneasily,jealously at Margaret. The face beneath the brim of her beautiful whiteand pale pink hat was cold, conventional, was the face of a merelistener. Grant, reassured, resumed his absorbed attention, was sooncompletely swept away by his friend's exhibition of power, could hardlywait until he and Margaret were out of the courtroom before exploding inenthusiasm. "Isn't he a wonder?" he cried. "Why, I shouldn't havebelieved it possible for a man of his age to make such a speech. He's agreat lawyer as well as a great orator. It was a dull subject, yet I wasfascinated. Weren't you?"
"It was interesting--at times," said Margaret.
"At times! Oh, you women!"
At this scorn Margaret eyed his elegant attire, his face with itsexpression of an intelligence concentrated upon the petty and thepaltry. Her eyes suggested a secret amusement so genuine that she couldnot venture to reveal it in a gibe. She merely said: "I confess I wasmore interested in him than in what he said."
"Of course! Of course!" said Grant, all unconscious of her derision."Women have no interest in serious things and no mind for logic."
She decided that it not only was prudent but also was more enjoyable tokeep to herself her amusement at his airs of masculine superiority. Saidshe, her manner ingenuous: "It doesn't strike me as astonishing that aman should make a sensible speech."
Grant laughed as if she had said something much cleverer than she couldpossibly realize. "That's a fact," admitted he. "It was simply supremecommon-sense. What a world for twaddle it is when common-sense makes ussit up and stare.... But it's none the less true that you're prejudicedagainst him."
"Why do you say that?"
"If you appreciated him you'd be as enthusiastic as I." There was in histone a faint hint of his unconscious satisfaction in her failure toappreciate Craig.
"You can go very far astray," said she, "you, with your masculinelogic."
But Grant had guessed aright. Margaret had not listened attentively tothe speech because it interested her less than the man himself. She hadconcentrated wholly upon him. Thus, alone of all the audience, she hadseen that Craig was playing a carefully-rehearsed part, and, himselfquite unmoved, was watching and profiting by every hint in thecountenance of his audience, the old Justices. It was an admirable pieceof acting; it was the performance of a genius at the mummer's art. Butthe power of the mummer lies in the illusion he creates; if he
does notcreate illusion, as Craig did not for Margaret, he becomes merepantomimist and mouther. She had never given a moment's thought topublic life as a career; she made no allowances for the fact that aman's public appearances, no matter how sincere he is, must always becarefully rehearsed if he is to use his powers with unerring effect; shewas simply like a child for the first time at the theater, and, chancingto get a glimpse behind the scenes, disgusted and angry with the playersbecause their performance is not spontaneous. If she had stopped toreason about the matter she would have been less uncompromising. But inthe shock of disillusionment she felt only that the man was working uponhis audience like a sleight-of-hand performer; and the longer sheobserved, and the stronger his spell over the others, the deeper becameher contempt for the "charlatan." He seemed to her like one telling alie--as that one seems, while telling it, to the hearer who is notdeceived. "I've been thinking him rough but genuine," said she toherself. "He's merely rough." She had forgiven, had disregarded his rudealmost coarse manners, setting them down to indifference, the impatienceof the large with the little, a revolt from the (on the wholepreferable) extreme opposite of the mincing, patterned manners of whichMargaret herself was a-weary. "But he isn't indifferent at all," she nowfelt. "He's simply posing. His rudenesses are deliberate where they arenot sheer ignorance. His manner in court showed that he knows how, inthe main."
A rather superior specimen of the professional politician, butdistinctly of that hypocritical, slippery class. And Margaret'sconviction was strengthened later in the day when she came upon him attea at Mrs. Houghton's. He was holding forth noisily against "society,"was denouncing it as a debaucher of manhood and womanhood, a waster ofprecious time, and on and on in that trite and tedious strain.Margaret's lip curled as she listened. What did this fakir know aboutmanhood and womanhood? And could there be any more pitiful, more paltrywasting of time than in studying out and performing such insinceritiesas his life was made up of? True, Mrs. Houghton, of those funny,fashionable New Yorkers who act as if they had only just arrived at theestate of servants and carriages, and are always trying to impress evenpassing strangers with their money and their grandeur--true, Mrs.Houghton was most provocative to anger or amused disdain at thefashionable life. But not even Mrs. Houghton seemed to Margaret so cheapand pitiful as this badly-dressed, mussy politician, as much an actor asMrs. Houghton and as poor at the trade, but choosing low comedy for hisunworthy attempts where Mrs. Houghton was at least trying to besomething refined.
With that instinct for hostility which is part of the equipment of everysensitively-nerved man of action, Craig soon turned toward her,addressed himself to her; and the others, glad to be free, fell away.Margaret was looking her best. White was extremely becoming to her;pink--pale pink--being next in order. Her dress was of white, withfacings of delicate pale pink, and the white plumes in her hat werebased in pale pink, which also lined the inside of the brim. She watchedhim, and, now that it was once more his personality pitted directly andwholly against hers, she, in spite of herself, began to yield to himagain her respect--the respect every intelligent person must feel for anindividuality that is erect and strong. But as she was watching, herexpression was that of simply listening, without comment or intention toreply--an expression of which she was perfect mistress. Her hazel eyes,set in dark lashes, her sensuous mouth, her pallid skin, smooth andhealthy, seemed the climax of allurement to which all the lines of herdelightful figure pointed. To another woman it would have been obviousthat she was amusing herself by trying to draw him under the spell ofphysical attraction; a man would have thought her a mere passivelistener, perhaps one concealing boredom, would have thought hermovements to bring now this charm and now that to his attention weresimply movements of restlessness, indications of an impatience difficultto control. He broke off abruptly. "What are you thinking?" he demanded.
She gave no sign of triumph at having accomplished her purpose--athaving forced his thoughts to leave his pet subject, himself, and centerupon her. "I was thinking," said she reflectively, "what a bravewhistler you are."
"Whistler?"
"Whistling to keep up your courage. No, rather, whistling FOR courage.You are on your knees before wealth and social position, and you wish toconvince yourself--and the world--that you despise them."
"_I_? Wealth? Social position?" Craig exclaimed, or rather, blustered.And, red and confused, he was at a loss for words.
"Yes--you," asserted she, in her quiet, tranquil way. "Don't bluster atme. You didn't bluster at the Court this morning." She laughed softly,eyeing him with friendly sarcasm. "You see, I'm 'on to' you, Mr. Craig."
Their eyes met--a resolute encounter. He frowned fiercely, and as hiseyes were keen and blue-green, and, backed by a tremendous will, theodds seemed in his favor. But soon his frown relaxed; a smile replacedit--a handsome acknowledgment of defeat, a humorous confession that shewas indeed "on to" him. "I like you," he said graciously.
"I don't know that I can say the same of you," replied she, no answeringsmile in her eyes or upon her lips, but a seriousness far moreflattering.
"That's right!" exclaimed he. "Frankness--absolute frankness. You arethe only intelligent woman I have met here who seems to have anysweetness left in her."
"Sweetness? This is a strange place to look for sweetness. One might aswell expect to find it in a crowd of boys scrapping for pennies, or in apack of hounds chasing a fox."
"But that isn't all of life," protested Craig.
"It's all of life among our sort of people--the ambitious socially andotherwise."
Josh beamed upon her admiringly. "You'll do," approved he. "We shall befriends. We ARE friends."
The gently satiric smile her face had borne as she was talking becamepersonal to him. "You are confident," said she.
He nodded emphatically. "I am. I always get what I want."
"I'm sorry to say I don't. But I can say that at least I never take whatI don't want."
"That means," said he, "you may not want my friendship."
"Obviously," replied she. And she rose and put out her hand.
"Don't go yet," cried he. "We are just beginning to get acquainted. Theother day I misjudged you. I thought you insignificant, not worthwhile."
She slid her hand into her ermine muff. She gave him an icy look, notcontemptuous but oblivious, and turned away. He stared after her. "ByJove!" thought he, "THERE'S the real thing. There's a true aristocrat."And he frankly paid aristocracy in thought the tribute he would with anyamount of fuming and spluttering have denied it in word. "Aristocracydoes mean something," reflected he. "There must be substance to what canmake ME feel quite put down."
When he saw Arkwright he said patronizingly: "I like that little friendof yours--that Miss What's-her-name."
Grant suspected from his tone that this forgetfulness was anaffectation. "You know very well what her name is," said he irritably."What a cheap affectation."
Josh countered and returned magnificently: "I remember her faceperfectly," said he. "One shares one's name with a great many people, soit's unimportant. But one's face is one's own. I remember her face verywell indeed--and that gorgeous figure of hers."
Grant was furious, thought Craig's words the limit of impertinentfree-spokenness. "Well, what of it?" said he savagely.
"I like her," replied Josh condescendingly. "But she's been badlybrought up, and is full of foolish ideas, like all your women here. Butshe's a thoroughbred."
"Then you like her?" observed Arkwright without enthusiasm.
"So-so. Of course, she isn't fit to be a wife, but for her type and as atype she's splendid."
Arkwright felt like kicking him and showed it. "What a bounder you areat times, Josh," he snapped.
Craig laughed and slapped him on the back. "There you go again, withyour absurd notions of delicacy. Believe me, Grant, you don't understandwomen. They don't like you delicate fellows. They like a man--like me--apawer of the ground--a snorter--a warhorse that cries ha-ha among thetrumpets."
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bsp; "The worst thing about what you say," replied Arkwright sourly, "is thatit's the truth. I don't say the women aren't worthy of us, but I do saythey're not worthy of our opinion of them.... Well, I suppose you'regoing to try to marry her"--this with a vicious gleam which he felt safein indulging openly before one so self-absorbed and so insensible tosubtleties of feeling and manner.
"I think not," said Craig judicially. "She'd play hell with my politics.It's bad enough to have fights on every hand and all the time abroad.It'd be intolerable to have one at home--and I've got no time to trainher to my uses and purposes."
Usually Craig's placid conviction that the universe existed for hisspecial benefit and that anything therein was his for the mere formalityof claiming it moved Arkwright to tolerant amusement at his lack of thesense of proportion and humor. Occasionally it moved him to reluctantadmiration--this when some apparently absurd claim of his proved more orless valid. Just now, in the matter of Margaret Severence, thisuniversal overlordship filled him with rage, the more furious that herealized he could no more shake Josh's conviction than he could make theWashington monument topple over into the Potomac by saying, "Be thouremoved." He might explain all the obvious reasons why Margaret wouldnever deign to condescend to him; Josh would dismiss them with a laughat Arkwright's folly.
He hid his rage as best he could, and said with some semblance of genialsarcasm: "So all you've got to do is to ask her and she's yours?"
Craig gave him a long, sharp, searching look. "Old man," he saidearnestly, "do you want her?"
"_I_!" exclaimed Arkwright angrily, but with shifting eyes and withupper lip twitching guiltily. Then, satirically: "Oh, no; I'd not dareaspire to any woman YOU had condescended to smile upon."
"If you do I'll get her for you," pursued Craig, his hand seekingArkwright's arm to grip it.
Arkwright drew away, laughed outright. "You ARE a joke!" he cried,wholly cured of his temper by the preposterous offer. It would be absurdenough for any one to imagine he would need help in courting any womanhe might fancy--he, one of the most eligible of American bachelors. Itpassed the uttermost bounds of the absurd, this notion that he wouldneed help with a comparatively poor girl, many seasons out and eager tomarry. And then, climax of climaxes, that Josh Craig could help him!"Yes, a joke," he repeated.
"Oh, no doubt I do seem so to you," replied Josh unruffled. "People areeither awed or amused by what they're incapable of understanding. Atthis stage of my career I'm not surprised to find they're amused. Butwait, my boy. Meanwhile, if you want that lady, all you've got to do isto say the word. I'll get her for you."
"Thanks; no," said Arkwright. "I'm rather shy of matrimony. I don'thanker after the stupid joys of family life, as you do."
"That's because of your ruinous, rotten training," Craig assured him."It has destroyed your power to appreciate the great fundamentals oflife. You think you're superior. If you only knew how shallow you are!"
"I've a competent valet," said Arkwright. "And your idea of a wife seemsto be a sort of sublimated valet--and nurse."
"I can conceive of no greater dignity than to take care of a real manand his children," replied Craig. "However, the dignity of the servicedepends upon the dignity of the person to whom it is rendered--and uponthe dignity of the person who renders it."
Arkwright examined Craig's face for signs that this was the bitingsarcasm it would have seemed, coming from another. But Craig wasapparently merely making one of his familiar bumptious speeches. Theidea of a man of his humble origin proclaiming himself superior to anArkwright of the Massachusetts Arkwrights!
"No, I'd not marry your Miss Severence," Craig continued. "I want awife, not a social ornament. I want a woman, not a toilette. I want ahome, not a fashionable hotel. I want love and sympathy and children. Iwant substance, not shadow; sanity, not silliness."
"And your socks darned and your shirts mended."
"That, of course." Josh accepted these amendments with sereneseriousness. "And Miss Severence isn't fit for the job. She has somebrains--the woman kind of brains. She has a great deal of rudimentarycharacter. If I had the time, and it were worth while, I could developher into a real woman. But I haven't, and it wouldn't be worth whilewhen there are so many real women, ready made, out where I come from.This girl would be exactly the wife for you, though. Just as she is,she'd help you mince about from parlor to parlor, and smirk and jabberand waste time. She's been educating for the job ever since she wasborn." He laid his hand in gracious, kindly fashion on his friend'sshoulder. "Think it over. And if you want my help it's yours. I can showher what a fine fellow you are, what a good husband you'd make. For youare a fine person, old man; when you were born fashionable and rich itspoiled a--"
"A superb pram-trundler," suggested Arkwright.
"Precisely. Be off now; I must work. Be off, and exhibit that wonderfulsuit and those spotless white spats where they'll be appreciated." Andhe dismissed the elegantly-dressed idler as a king might rid himself ofa favorite who threatened to presume upon his master's good humor andoutstay his welcome. But Arkwright didn't greatly mind. He was used toJosh's airs. Also, though he would not have confessed it to his inmostself, Josh's preposterous assumptions, by sheer force of frequent andenergetic reiteration, had made upon him an impression of possiblevalidity--not probable, but possible; and the possible was quite enoughto stir deep down in Arkwright's soul the all but universal deferencebefore power. It never occurred to him to suspect there might be designin Craig's sweeping assertions and assumptions of superiority, that hemight be shrewdly calculating that, underneath the ridicule thoseobstreperous vanities would create, there would gradually form andsteadily grow a conviction of solid truth, a conviction that JoshuaCraig was indeed the personage he professed to be--mighty, inevitablyprevailing, Napoleonic.
This latent feeling of Arkwright's was, however, not strong enough tosuppress his irritation when, a few days later, he went to theSeverences for tea, and found Margaret and Josh alone in the garden,walking up and down, engaged in a conversation that was obviouslyintimate and absorbing. When he appeared on the veranda Joshua greetedhim with an eloquent smile of loving friendship.
"Ah, there you are now!" he cried. "Well, little ones, I'll leave youtogether. I've wasted as much time as I can spare to-day to frivolity."
"Yes, hurry back to work," said Arkwright. "The ship of state's wobblingbadly through your neglect."
Craig laughed, looking at Margaret. "Grant thinks that's a jest," saidhe. "Instead, it's the sober truth. I am engaged in keeping my Chief inorder, and in preventing the President from skulking from the policieshe has the shrewdness to advocate but lacks the nerve to put intoaction."
Margaret stood looking after him as he strode away.
"You mustn't mind his insane vanity," said Arkwright, vaguely uneasy atthe expression of her hazel eyes, at once so dark, mysterious,melancholy, so light and frank and amused.
"I don't," said she in a tone that seemed to mean a great deal.
He, still more uneasy, went on: "A little more experience of the worldand Josh'll come round all right--get a sense of proportion."
"But isn't it true?" asked Margaret somewhat absently.
"What?"
"Why, what he said as he was leaving. Before you came he'd been herequite a while, and most of the time he talked of himself--"
Arkwright laughed, but Margaret only smiled, and that ratherreluctantly.
"And he was telling how hard a time he was having; what withStillwater's corruption and the President's timidity about really actingagainst rich, people--something about criminal suits against what hecalls the big thieves--I didn't understand it, or care much about it,but it gave me an impression of Mr. Craig's power."
"There IS some truth in what he says," Arkwright admitted, with areluctance of which his pride, and his heart as well, were ashamed."He's become a burr, a thorn, in the Administration, and they're reallyafraid of him in a way--though, of course, they have to laugh at him asevery one else does."
"Of course," said Margaret absently.
Arkwright watched her nervously. "You seem to be getting round to thestate of mind," said he, "where you'll be in danger of marrying ourfriend Craig."
Margaret, her eyes carefully away from him, laughed softly--adisturbingly noncommittal laugh.
"Of course, I'm only joking," continued Arkwright. "I know YOU couldn'tmarry HIM."
"Why not?"
"Because you don't think he's sincere."
Her silence made him feel that she thought this as weak as he did.
"Because you don't love him."
"No, I certainly don't love him," said Margaret.
"Because you don't even like him."
"What a strange way of advocating your friend you have."
Arkwright flushed scarlet. "I thought you'd quite dismissed him as apossibility," he stammered.
"With a woman every man's a possibility so long as no man's acertainty."
"Margaret, you couldn't marry a man you didn't like?"
She seemed to reflect. "Not if I were in love with another at the time,"she said finally. "That's as far as my womanly delicacy--what's left ofit after my years in society--can influence me. And it's stronger, Ibelieve, than the delicacy of most women of our sort."
They were sitting now on the bench round the circle where the fountainwas tossing high its jets in play with the sunshine. She was lookingvery much the woman of the fashionable world, and the soft grays,shading into blues, that dominated her costume gave her an exceeding andentrancing seeming of fragility. Arkwright thought her eyes wonderful;the sweet, powerful yet delicate odor of the lilac sachet powder withwhich her every garment was saturated set upon his senses like alove-philter.
"Yes, you are finer and nobler than most women," he said giddily. "Andthat's why it distresses me to hear you talk even in jest, as if youcould marry Josh."
"And a few weeks ago you were suggesting him as just the husband forme."
Arkwright was silent. How could he go on? How tell her why he hadchanged without committing himself to her by a proposal? She wasfascinating--would be an ideal wife. With what style and taste she'dentertain--how she'd shine at the head of his table! What a satisfactionit would be to feel that his money was being so competently spent.But--well, he did not wish to marry, not just yet; perhaps, somewhere inthe world, he would find, in the next few years, a woman even bettersuited to him than Margaret. Marrying was a serious business. True, nowthat divorce had pushed its way up and had become recognized byfashionable society, had become an established social favorite, marriagehad been robbed of one of its terrors. But the other remained--divorcestill meant alimony. The woman who trapped an eligible never endangeredher hard-earned position; a man must be extremely careful or he wouldfind himself forced to hard choice between keeping on with a woman hewished to be rid of and paying out a large part of his income inalimony. It seemed far-fetched to think of these things in connectionwith such a woman as Margaret. He certainly never could grow tired ofher, and her looks were of the sort that had staying power. Nor was shein the least likely to be so ungrateful as to wish to be rid of him andhold him up for alimony. Still--wouldn't it have been seemingly just asabsurd to consider in advance such sordid matters in connection with anyone of a dozen couples among his friends whose matrimonial enterpriseshad gone smash? It was said that nowadays girls went to the altarthinking that if the husbands they were taking proved unsatisfactorythey would soon be free again, the better off by the title of Mrs. and agood stiff alimony and some invaluable experience. "I must keep myhead," thought he. "I must consider how I'd feel after the fatal cardswere out."
"Yes, you were quite eager for me to marry him," persisted she. She waswatching his face out of the corner of her eye.
"I admit it," said he huskily. "But we've both changed since then."
"Changed?" said she, perhaps a shade too encouragingly.
He felt the hook tickling his gills and darted off warily. "Changedtoward him, I mean. Changed in our estimate of his availability as ahusband for you." He rose; the situation was becoming highly perilous."I must speak to your mother and fly. I'm late for an appointment now."
As he drove away ten minutes later he drew a long breath. "Gad!" said hehalf aloud, "Rita'll never realize how close I was to proposing to-day.She ALMOST had me.... Though why I should think of it that way I don'tknow. It's damned low and indelicate of me. She ought to be my wife. Ilove her as much as a man of experience can love a woman in advance oftrying her out thoroughly. If she had money I'd not be hesitating, I'mafraid. Then, too, I don't think the moral tone of that set she and Itravel with is what it ought to be. It's all very well for me,but--Well, a man ought to be ready for almost anything that might happenif his wife went with that crowd--or had gone with it before he marriedher. Not that I suspect Margaret, though I must say--What a pup thissort of life does make of a man in some ways!... Yes, I almost leaped.She'll never know how near I came to it.... Perhaps Josh's more thanhalf-right and I'm oversophisticated. My doubts and delays may cost me akind of happiness I'd rather have than anything on earth--IF it reallyexists." There he laughed comfortably. "Poor Rita! If she only knew, howcut up she'd be!"
He might not have been so absolutely certain of her ignorance could hehave looked into the Severances' drawing-room just then. For Margaret,after a burst of hysterical gayety, had gone to the far end of the roomon the pretext of arranging some flowers. And there, with her facesecurely hid from the half-dozen round the distant tea-table, she waschoking back the sobs, was muttering: "I'll have to do it! I'm adesperate woman--desperate!"