“I’m not afraid of that. I’m
only afraid of what you might say!” He stalked
to her; took her unresponsive hand. “Carol!
You have been happy here tonight? (Yes. I’m
begging!)”
She squeezed his hand quickly, then snatched hers
away. She had but little of the curiosity of
the flirt, and none of the intrigante’s joy
in furtiveness. If she was the naive girl, Guy
Pollock was the clumsy boy. He raced about the
office; he rammed his fists into his pockets.
He stammered, “I—I—I——Oh,
the devil! Why do I awaken from smooth dustiness
to this jagged rawness? I’ll make I’m
going to trot down the hall and bring in the Dillons,
and we’ll all have coffee or something.”
“The Dillons?”
“Yes. Really quite a decent young pair—Harvey
Dillon and his wife. He’s a dentist, just
come to town. They live in a room behind his office,
same as I do here. They don’t know much
of anybody——”
“I’ve heard of them. And I’ve
never thought to call. I’m horribly ashamed.
Do bring them——”
She stopped, for no very clear reason, but his expression
said, her faltering admitted, that they wished they
had never mentioned the Dillons. With spurious
enthusiasm he said, “Splendid! I will.”
From the door he glanced at her, curled in the peeled
leather chair. He slipped out, came back with
Dr. and Mrs. Dillon.
The four of them drank rather bad coffee which Pollock
made on a kerosene burner. They laughed, and
spoke of Minneapolis, and were tremendously tactful;
and Carol started for home, through the November wind.
She was marching home.
“No. I couldn’t fall in love with
him. I like him, very much. But he’s
too much of a recluse. Could I kiss him?
No! No! Guy Pollock at twenty-six I could
have kissed him then, maybe, even if I were married
to some one else, and probably I’d have been
glib in persuading myself that ‘it wasn’t
really wrong.’
“The amazing thing is that I’m not more
amazed at myself. I, the virtuous young matron.
Am I to be trusted? If the Prince Charming came——
“A Gopher Prairie housewife, married a year,
and yearning for a ’Prince Charming’ like
a bachfisch of sixteen! They say that marriage
is a magic change. But I’m not changed.
But——
“No! I wouldn’t want to fall in love,
even if the Prince did come. I wouldn’t
want to hurt Will. I am fond of Will. I am!
He doesn’t stir me, not any longer. But
I depend on him. He is home and children.
“I wonder when we will begin to have children?
I do want them.
“I wonder whether I remembered to tell Bea to
have hominy tomorrow, instead of oatmeal? She
will have gone to bed by now. Perhaps I’ll
be up early enough——
“Ever so fond of Will. I wouldn’t
hurt him, even if I had to lose the mad love.
If the Prince came I’d look once at him, and
run. Darn fast! Oh, Carol, you are not heroic
nor fine. You are the immutable vulgar young
female.
