``To-morrow,'' he cried pleasantly, giving her an encouraging pat on the shoulder.He knew the folly of talking too much, the danger of confirming her fears by pretending to make light of them.``A good sleep, and to-morrow things will look brighter.''
He did not like her expression.It was not the one he was used to seeing in those vain, ``temperamental''
pupils of his--the downcast vanity that will be up again in a few hours.It was rather the expression of one who has been finally and forever disillusioned.
On her way home she stopped to send Keith a telegram: ``I must see you at once.''
There were several at the apartment for tea, among them Cullan, an ******* violinist and critic on music whom she especially liked.For, instead of the dreamy, romantic character his large brown eyes and sensitive features suggested, he revealed in talk and actions a boyish gayety--free, be it said, from boyish silliness--that was most infectious.His was one of those souls that put us in the mood to laugh at all seriousness, to forget all else in the supreme fact of the reality of existence.He made her forget that day--forget until Keith's answering telegram interrupted: ``Next Monday afternoon.''
A week less a day away! She shrank and trembled at the prospect of relying upon herself alone for six long days.Every prop had been taken away from her.
Even the dubious prop of the strange, unsatisfactory Keith.For had he not failed her? She had said, ``must'' and ``at once''; and he had responded with three words of curt refusal.
After dinner Stanley unexpectedly appeared.He hardly waited for the necessary formalities of the greeting before he said to Mrs.Brindley: ``I want to see Mildred alone.I know you won't mind, Mrs.Brindley.
It's very important.'' He laughed nervously but cheerfully.
``And in a few minutes I'll call you in.I think I'll have something interesting to tell you.''
Mrs.Brindley laughed.With her cigarette in one hand and her cup of after-dinner coffee in the other, she moved toward the door, saying gayly to Mildred:
``I'll be in the next room.If you scream I shall hear.So don't be alarmed.''
Stanley closed the door, turned beaming upon Mildred.Said he: ``Here's my news.My missus has got her divorce.''
Mildred started up.
``Yes, the real thing,'' he assured her.``Of course I knew what was doing.But I kept mum--didn't want to say anything to you till I could say everything.
Mildred, I'm free.We can be married to-morrow, if you will.''
``Then you know about me?'' said she, confused.
``On the way I stopped in to see Keith.He told me about that skunk--told me you were free, too.''
Mildred slowly sat down.Her elbows rested upon the table.There was her bare forearm, slender and round, and her long, graceful fingers lay against her cheek.The light from above reflected charmingly from the soft waves and curves of her hair.``You're lovely--simply lovely!'' cried Stanley.``Mildred--darling--you WILL marry me, won't you? You can go right on with the career, if you like.In fact, I'd rather you would, for I'm frightfully proud of your voice.And I've changed a lot since I became sincerely interested in you.The other sort of life and people don't amuse me any more.Mildred, say you'll marry me.I'll make you as happy as the days are long.''
She moved slightly.Her hand dropped to the table.
``I guess I came down on you too suddenly,'' said he.``You look a bit dazed.''
``No, I'm not dazed,'' replied she.
``I'll call Mrs.Brindley in, and we'll all three talk it over.''
``Please don't,'' said she.``I've got to think it out for myself.''
``I know there isn't anyone else,'' he went on.``So, I'm sure--dead sure, Mildred, that I can teach you to love me.''
She looked at him pleadingly.``I don't have to answer right away?''
``Certainly not,'' laughed he.``But why shouldn't you? What is there against our getting married?
Nothing.And everything for it.Our marriage will straighten out all the--the little difficulties, and you can go ahead with the singing and not bother about money, or what people might say, or any of those things.''
``I--I've got to think about it, Stanley,'' she said gently.``I want to do the decent thing by you and by myself.''
``You're afraid I'll interfere in the career--won't want you to go on? Mildred, I swear I'm--''
``It isn't that,'' she interrupted, her color high.
``The truth is--'' she faltered, came to a full stop--cried, ``Oh, I can't talk about it to-night.''
``To-morrow?'' he suggested.
``I--don't know,'' she stammered.``Perhaps to-morrow.But it may be two or three days.''
Stanley looked crestfallen.``That hurts, Mildred,''
he said.``I was SO full of it, so anxious to be entirely happy, and I thought you'd fall right in with it.
Something to do with money? You're horribly sensitive about money, dear.I like that in you, of course.
Not many women would have been as square, would have taken as little--and worked hard--and thought and cared about nothing but ****** good-- By Jove, it's no wonder I'm stark crazy about YOU!''
She was flushed and trembling.``Don't,'' she pleaded.``You're beating me down into the dust.I--I'm--'' She started up.``I can't talk to-night.
I might say things I'd be-- I can't talk about it.Imust--''
She pressed her lips together and fled through the hall to her own room, to shut and lock herself in.He stared in amazement.When he heard the distant sound of the turning key he dropped to a chair again and laughed.Certainly women were queer creatures--always doing what one didn't expect.Still, in the end--well, a sensible woman knew a good chance to marry and took it.There was no doubt a good deal of pretense in Mildred's delicacy as to money matters--but a devilish creditable sort of pretense.He liked the ladylike, ``nice'' pretenses, of women of the right sort --liked them when they fooled him, liked them when they only half fooled him.
