CHAPTER XIX
A LADY WEARS A RING
Clarendon Bromfield got the shock of his life that evening. Beatriceproposed to him. It was at the Roberson dinner-dance, in the PalmRoom, within sight but not within hearing of a dozen other guests.
She camouflaged what she was doing with occasional smiles and ripplesof laughter intended to deceive the others present, but her heart waspounding sixty miles an hour.
Bromfield was not easily disconcerted. He prided himself on hisaplomb. It was hard to get behind his cynical, decorous smile, themask of a suave and worldly-wise Pharisee of the twentieth century.But for once he was amazed. The orchestra was playing a lively foxtrot and he thought that perhaps he had not caught her meaning.
"I beg your pardon."
Miss Whitford laced her fingers round her knee and repeated. It was asthough rose leaves had brushed the ivory of her cheeks and left alovely stain there. Her eyes were hard and brilliant as diamonds.
"I was wondering when you are going to ask me again to marry you."
Since she had given a good deal of feminine diplomacy to the task ofkeeping him at a reasonable distance, Bromfield was naturally surprised.
"That's certainly a leading question," he parried, "What are you up to,Bee? Are you spoofing me?"
"I'm proposing to you," she explained, with a flirt of her hand and anengaging smile toward a man and a girl who had just come into the PalmRoom. "I don't suppose I do it very well because I haven't had yourexperience. But I'm doing the best I can."
The New Yorker was a supple diplomatist. If Beatrice had chosen thisplace and hour to become engaged to him, he had no objection in theworld. The endearments that usually marked such an event could wait.But he was not quite sure of his ground.
His lids narrowed a trifle. "Do you mean that you've changed yourmind?"
"Have you?" she asked quickly with a sidelong slant of eyes at him.
"Do I act as though I had?"
"You don't help a fellow out much, Clary," she complained with a laughnot born of mirth. "I'll never propose to you again."
"I'm still very much at your service, Bee."
"Does that mean you still think you want me?"
"I don't think. I know it."
"Quite sure?"
"Quite sure."
"Then you're on," she told him with a little nod. "Thank you, kindsir."
Bromfield drew a deep breath. "By Jove, you're a good little sport,Bee. I think I'll get up and give three ringing cheers."
"I'd like to see you do that," she mocked.
"Of course you know I'm the happiest man in the world," he said withwell-ordered composure.
"You're not exactly what I'd call a rapturous lover, Clary. But I'mnot either for that matter, so I dare say we'll hit it off very well."
"I'm a good deal harder hit than I've ever let on, dear girl. And I'mgoing to make you very happy. That's a promise."
Nevertheless he watched her warily behind a manner of gracefuleagerness. There had been a suggestion almost of bitterness in hervoice. A suspicious little thought was filtering through the back ofhis mind. "What the deuce has got into the girl? Has she beenquarreling with that bounder from Arizona?"
"I'm glad of that. I'll try to make you a good wife, even if--" Shelet the sentence die out unfinished.
Beneath her fan their hands met for a moment.
"May I tell everybody how happy I am?"
"If you like," she agreed.
"A short engagement," he ventured.
"Yes," she nodded. "And take me away for a while. I'm tired of NewYork, I think."
"I'll take you to a place where the paths are primrose-strewn and wherenightingales sing," he promised rashly.
She smiled incredulously, a wise old little smile that had no right onher young face.
The report of the engagement spread at once. Bromfield took care ofthat. It ran like wildfire upstairs and down in the Whitfordestablishment. Naturally Johnnie, who was neither one of the servantsnor a member of the family, was the last to hear of it. One day theword was carried to him, and a few hours later he read the confirmationof it on the hand of his young mistress.
The Runt had the clairvoyance of love. He knew that Clay was not nowhappy, though the cattleman gave no visible sign of it except a certainquiet withdrawal into himself. He ate as well as usual. His talk wascheerful. He joked the puncher and made Kitty feel at home by teasingher. In the evenings he shooed out the pair of them to amoving-picture show and once or twice went along. But he had a habitof falling into reflection, his deep-set eyes fixed on some object hecould not see. Johnnie worried about him.
The evening of the day the Runt heard of the engagement he told hisfriend about it while Kitty was in the kitchen.
"Miss Beatrice she's wearing a new ring," he said by way of breakingthe news gently.
Clay turned his head slowly and looked at Johnnie. He waited withoutspeaking.
"I heerd it to-day from one of the help. Then I seen it on herfinger," the little man went on reluctantly.
"Bromfield?" asked Clay.
"Yep. That's the story."
"The ring was on the left hand?"
"Yep."
Clay made no comment. His friend knew enough to say no more to him.Presently the cattleman went out. It was in the small hours of themorning when he returned. He had been tramping the streets to get thefever out of his blood.
But Johnnie discussed with Kitty at length this new development, justas he had discussed with her the fact that Clay no longer went to seethe Whitfords. Kitty made a shrewd guess at the cause of division.She had already long since drawn from the cowpuncher the story of howMiss Beatrice had rejected his proposal that she take an interest inher.
"They must 'a' quarreled--likely about me being here. I'm sorry youtold her."
"I don't reckon that's it." Johnnie scratched his head to facilitatethe process of thinking. He wanted to remain loyal to all of his threefriends. "Miss Beatrice she's got too good judgment for that."
"I ought to go away. I'm only bringing Mr. Lindsay trouble. If hejust could hear from his friends in Arizona about that place he'strying to get me, I'd go right off."
He looked at her wistfully. The bow-legged range-rider was in no hurryto have her go. She was the first girl who had ever looked twice athim, the first one he had ever taken out or talked nonsense with orbeen ordered about by in the possessive fashion used by the modernyoung woman. Hence he was head over heels in love.
Kitty had begun to bloom again. Her cheeks were taking on their oldrounded contour and occasionally dimples of delight flashed into them.She was a young person who lived in the present. Already the marks ofher six-weeks misery among the submerged derelicts of the city wasbeginning to be wiped from her mind like the memory of a bad dream fromwhich she had awakened. Love was a craving of her happy, sensuousnature.
She wanted to live in the sun, among smiles and laughter. She was likea kitten in her desire to be petted, made much of, and admired. Almostanybody who liked her could win a place in her affection.
Johnnie's case was not so hopeless as he imagined it.