Jasper took dinner with us that night. He came
across the lawn, freshly shaved and in clean white
flannels, just as dinner was announced, and said he
had seen a chocolate cake cooling on the kitchen porch
and that it was a sort of unwritten social law that
when the Baileys happened to have a chocolate cake
at dinner they had him also.
There seemed to be nothing to object to in this.
Evidently he was right, for we found his place laid
at the table. The meal was quite cheerful, although
Jasper ate the way some people play the piano, by touch,
with his eyes on Bettina. And he gave no evidence
at dessert of a fondness for chocolate cake sufficient
to justify a standing invitation.
After dinner we went out on the veranda, and under
cover of showing me a sunset Jasper took me round
the corner of the house. Once there, he entirely
forgot the sunset.
“Miss Lizzie,” he began at once, “what
have I done to you to have you treat me like this?”
“I?” I asked, amazed.
“All three of you. Did—did Bettina’s
mother warn you against me?”
“The girl has to be chaperoned.”
“But not jailed, Miss Lizzie, not jailed!
Do you know that I haven’t had a word with Bettina
alone since you came?”
“Why should you want to say anything we cannot
hear?”
“Miss Lizzie,” he said desperately, “do
you want to hear me propose to her? For I’ve
reached the point where if I don’t propose to
Bettina soon, I’ll—I’ll propose
to somebody. You’d better be warned in time.
It might be you or Miss Aggie.”
I weakened at that. The Lord never saw fit to
send me a man I could care enough about to marry,
or one who cared enough about me, but I couldn’t
look at the boy’s face and not be sorry for him.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“Come for a walk with us,” he begged.
“Then sprain your ankle or get tired, I don’t
care which. Tell us to go on and come back for
you later. Do you see? You can sit down
by the road somewhere.”
“I won’t lie,” I said firmly.
“If I really get tired I’ll say so.
If I don’t—”
“You will.” He was gleeful.
“We’ll walk until you do! You see
it’s like this, Miss Lizzie. Bettina was
all for me, in spite of our differing on religion
and politics and—”
“I know all about your differences,” I
put in hastily.
“Until a new chap came to town—a
fellow named Ellis. Runs a sporty car and has
every girl in the town lashed to the mast. He’s
a novelty and I’m not. So far I have kept
him away from Bettina, but at any time they may meet,
and it will be one-two-three with me.”
I am not defending my conduct; I am only explaining.
Eliza Bailey herself would have done what I did under
the circumstances. I went for a walk with Bettina
and Jasper shortly after my talk with Jasper, leaving
Tish with the evening paper and Aggie inhaling a cubeb
cigarette, her hay fever having threatened a return.
And what is more, I tired within three blocks of the
house, where I saw a grassy bank beside the road.
