“Do you hear her?” his wife sobbed.
“Now do you——”
He waved at them fiercely. “Get out of
here!” he said. “Both of you!
Get out of here!”
As they went, he dropped in his chair and bent far
forward, so that his haggard face was concealed from
them. Then, as Alice closed the door, he began
to rub his knees again, muttering, “Oh, my,
my! Oh, my, my!”
There shone a jovial sun overhead on the appointed
“day after to-morrow”; a day not cool
yet of a temperature friendly to walkers; and the
air, powdered with sunshine, had so much life in it
that it seemed to sparkle. To Arthur Russell
this was a day like a gay companion who pleased him
well; but the gay companion at his side pleased him
even better. She looked her prettiest, chattered
her wittiest, smiled her wistfulest, and delighted
him with all together.
“You look so happy it’s easy to see your
father’s taken a good turn,” he told her.
“Yes; he has this afternoon, at least,”
she said. “I might have other reasons
for looking cheerful, though.”
“For instance?”
“Exactly!” she said, giving him a sweet
look just enough mocked by her laughter. “For
instance!”
“Well, go on,” he begged.
“Isn’t it expected?” she asked.
“Of you, you mean?”
“No,” she returned. “For you,
I mean!”
In this style, which uses a word for any meaning that
quick look and colourful gesture care to endow it
with, she was an expert; and she carried it merrily
on, leaving him at liberty (one of the great values
of the style) to choose as he would how much or how
little she meant. He was content to supply mere
cues, for although he had little coquetry of his own,
he had lately begun to find that the only interesting
moments in his life were those during which Alice
Adams coquetted with him. Happily, these obliging
moments extended themselves to cover all the time he
spent with her. However serious she might seem,
whatever appeared to be her topic, all was thou-and-I.
He planned for more of it, seeing otherwise a dull
evening ahead; and reverted, afterwhile, to a forbidden
subject. “About that dance at Miss Lamb’s—since
your father’s so much better——”
She flushed a little. “Now, now!”
she chided him. “We agreed not to say
any more about that.”
“Yes, but since he is better——”
Alice shook her head. “He won’t
be better to-morrow. He always has a bad day
after a good one especially after such a good one
as this is.”
“But if this time it should be different,”
Russell persisted; “wouldn’t you be willing
to come if he’s better by to-morrow evening?
Why not wait and decide at the last minute?”
She waved her hands airily. “What a pother!”
she cried. “What does it matter whether
poor little Alice Adams goes to a dance or not?”
