She had the same feeling after an interview the next day with one of her nearest and dearest girl friends, who came to see her at home. “I don’t want to be intrusive, dear,” the caller informed her, with sympathetic but rather eager gravity. “You know me too well to believe I’d ask such a thing out of pure curiosity; but I’ve simply got to know how poor Henry Burnett is taking it.”
“Taking what, Emma?”
“Lily! You know what I mean. I mean all this about you and Mr. McArdle.”
“‘All this’?” Lily repeated in a tone of cold inquiry. “I don’t see that such a simple matter needs quite that sort of definition. Naturally, I’m doing what I can to help him through his convalescence. Oughtn’t I to? But perhaps you don’t know that I’m responsible for his being in the hospital, Emma.”
“Oh, yes,” Emma said, quietly, and she gave her friend a queer look. “Yes, everybody knows that, Lily,” she went on in a thoughtful voice. “Everybody! Yes, indeed!” She paused, then reverted to her former topic. “I just wondered how poor Henry Burnett is taking it all.”
“I haven’t any idea what you mean,” Lily said, impatiently. “I fail to see that there’s anything for him to ‘take’; and if there were, it would certainly be no affair of his. I have no responsibilities to Mr. Burnett.”
“But you did! Weren’t you almost—”
“That may be,” Lily interrupted. “But I don’t see him any more.”
“You broke with him, Lily?”
“I did not, because there was nothing absolutely announced and definite to break. I simply decided not to waste any more of his time and mine.”
“Why?” Emma asked.
“Because I found that I had no feeling for him; none for him nor for anything else — no interest in him or in any other man alive.”
“Oh, Lily!” Emma cried; and then she sat open-mouthed and round-eyed, staring in perfect incredulity. “Oh, Lily!”
“What’s the matter?”
Emma still stared; but finally, being a true friend, she half gasped, “Nothing!” as she rose to go.
She was still round of eye, though her mouth had become decorous for a street appearance, when she left the house a few moments later; and Lily was not much better pleased with her friend Emma than she had been with the two taunting girls in the park.
Nor were these three the sum of all who displeased her. She went to a “tea,” and easily perceived that she became instantly the centre of all interest; — but she did not like the interest. Whispering and half-suppressed laughter buzzed about her; eyes were furtively upon her wherever she glanced; elderly women looked at her and talked behind their hands; and she was uncomfortably aware of a wondering derision focussing constantly upon her. She came away shivering, marvelling at the pettiness of human nature that could make such a disagreeable pother over a girl’s doing her simple best to atone for a moment’s carelessness with a golf club. Moreover, before she got out of the gate she found herself surrounded by a group of newcomers, girls of her own age, who repeated almost precisely the performance of the two in the park. “How long do you think you can keep his head from fitting together where you broke it, Lily?” This was the last thing she heard from the group near the gate, except for a loud burst of unfriendly laughter. She began to be seriously indignant.
XXVIII. A PUBLIC MOCKERY
NOT MUCH TIME was granted her indignation to cool; — it became outright fury not twenty-four hours later; and the occasion of this change for the worse was a spectacular little performance on the part of the gentleman for whom her emotions had forever ceased to stir — that unhappy Henry so recently dismissed. And since Henry’s performance took place “in public,” according to Lily’s definition of its background, her fury was multiplied in intensity by a number corresponding to the number of witnesses present at the spectacle.
One of these was Mr. James Herbert McArdle, who was seated beside her at the time. She was accompanying him for a drive, as she had promised him; and his choice for the excursion had been an open red car, noticeable also in contour and dimensions. The top was folded back, so that Lily and her escort, both richly shrouded in furs, presented to the world a fast-flying sketch of affluent luxury. A fleeting glimpse of beauty might be caught there, too; for Lily’s colour was high, and sunshine glinted in her hair; amber lights danced from it and blue sparklings from her eyes as she sped by.
At one point, however, the fast-flying sketch ceased to fly, and halted, affording spectators more leisure for observation; but this, as presently appeared, was just the wrong point for such a thing to happen. The red car, returning from the open country, passed into the suburban outskirts, and Mr. McArdle directed the chauffeur to turn into the country club driveway. “I’ve got a fancy to see where our friendship began,” he said to Lily. “I noticed the last green was near the driveway. Let’s go look at it.”
She assented, and they drove to the spot that interested him; but they found it inhabited. A score or so of people were there, watching the conclusion of a match evidently of some special interest as an exhibition of proficiency. When the red car stopped, the last shot into the cup was in the final crisis of action, and a popular triumph was thereby attained, as the spectators made plain. They instantly raised a loud shout, acclaiming the successful player, cheering him and rushing forward to shake his hand; though he, himself, seemed far from elated.
On the contrary, there gleamed a bitter spark in his eye, and his appearance, though manly, was one of so dark a melancholy that he might have been thought an athletic and Americanized Hamlet. Not speaking, he waved the enthusiasts away, tossed his club to his caddy and turned to leave the green; but, as he did so, his glance fell upon the red car in the driveway near by. He halted, stock-still, while a thrilled murmur was heard rustling among the bystanders. Everybody stared at Lily, at her companion, and at the morbid winner of the golf match. There was a moment of potent silence.
Then the sombre player advanced a step toward Lily and, looking her full in the eye, took off his cap and swept the ground with it before her in mocking salutation — derisive humility before satirized greatness.
A startled but delighted “Oh!” came from among the people about the green. They began to buzz, and silvery giggles were heard.
Lily’s eyes shot icy fire at the bowing harlequin. “Tell the driver to go on,” she said to McArdle.
“Who was that fellow?” he asked her, as they drove away. “I had a notion to get out and see if I couldn’t make him bow even a little lower.”
“No, no,” she said, hastily. “You shouldn’t have. You aren’t well enough, and, besides, he’s only a ruffian.”
“But who is he?”
“I’ve just told you,” she said, fiercely. “He’s a ruffian. His name is Henry Burnett, if you want something to go with the definition of him I’ve just given you.”
“But what did he do it for? What made him bow like that?”
“Because he is a ruffian!” Lily said. Her eyes were not less fiery than they had been, and neither were her checks. “I believe I never knew what it was to hate anybody before,” she went on in a low voice. “When I’ve thought I hated people it must have been just dislike. I’m sure I’ve never known what it was to hate anybody as he’s just made me hate him.”
“But see here!” Young Mr. McArdle was disquieted. “What’s it all about? Telling me he’s a ruffian doesn’t explain it. What made him do it?”
“This,” Lily said between her teeth. “For a while I thought I cared a little about him — not much but some — enough to let him know I thought so. Well, I found I didn’t.”
“How’d you find it out?” he asked.
“I discovered that I was absolutely indifferent to him, and that nothing he could ever do would have the slightest power to make me feel anything whatever. I told him so in the gentlest way I could, and since then he’s behaved like the brute that he is.”
“But is it true?”
“Is what t
rue?” she asked, sharply.
“I mean,” he said, “is it true you’re indifferent to him?”
“Good heavens!” she cried, with the utmost bitterness. “Don’t you see that I hate him so that I’d like to wring his neck? I would!” she cried, fiercely. “I could almost do it, too, if I were alone with him for a few minutes!” And she held up to his view her slender white-gloved hands, with her fingers curved as for the fatal performance.
Mr. McArdle seemed to be relieved. “Well, I guess it’s all right,” he said. “That is, if you’re sure you don’t like him.” Then as she turned angrily upon him, he added hurriedly, “And I see you don’t. I’m sure you don’t.” He laughed with a slight hint of complacency not unnatural in an important and well-petted invalid. “I think you kind of owe it to me not to go around liking other men from now on. I mean — well, you know how I’m getting to feel about you, I guess.”
Lily sat staring straight forward at the chauffeur’s back, though that was not what she saw. What she saw was the tall young man of the tragic face, mocking her before delighted onlookers. “I know what I feel about him!” she said, too preoccupied with her fury to listen well to her companion.
“I’m glad you do,” he said, earnestly. “I wouldn’t like to feel you were thinking much about anybody but me. Of course I know you’ve been giving me a good deal of your time; but the fact is, I’ll want you to give me even more of it, especially the next week or so — before my mother comes out to visit me. Will you?”
As she did not answer, but still gazed fiercely at the chauffeur’s back, he repeated, “Will you?”
“I could!” she said; but this was evidently not a reply to his question, for she again held up her curved fingers to view. “I could, and I would! If I were left alone with him for five minutes I know I would!”
“Let’s forget him just now,” young Mr. McArdle suggested. “I was telling you about my mother’s coming out here to visit me in a week or so. My family’s really pretty terrible about keeping tabs on me, you know — I mean, for fear I’ll get engaged to anybody except my second cousin Lulu. She’s one of the female branch of the family, you know, that married into the banks, and of course they all feel it ought to be kept together, and Lulu would be a great advantage. But she’s homely as sin, and, so far, they’ve had a pretty hard time persuading me. You understand, don’t you?”
“What?” Lily asked, vaguely. Then she drew a deep breath, clenched her curved fingers tightly upon the fur rug and said virulently to herself: “I could do it and sing for joy that I had done it!” However, in the ears of her companion this was only an indistinct murmur.
“I mean I suppose you understand about the family and all that,” he said. “My mother’s bound to interfere, of course. If you and I expect to see much of each other after she comes, we’ll have a fight on our hands, because, of course, the family won’t stand for my getting too interested in anybody out here. Naturally, they don’t expect me not to have a good time; but you know what I mean; — they wouldn’t stand for my getting serious, I mean.”
He was serious enough just then, however; that was plain. His voice was almost quaveringly plaintive, in fact, as he leaned toward her. “Lily,” he said, “I expect my mother would like you all right if you were my cousin Lulu, or somebody in Lulu’s position; but the way things are — well, of course she isn’t going to. She’s going to make an awful fuss if I try to go about with you at all. But I’m willing to buck up to her and see if we can’t pull it off anyhow. Honestly, I am. How about it?”
“What?” she said, absently, still looking forward and not at him. “What did you say?”
“My goodness!” he exclaimed, blankly. “I don’t believe you were even listening!”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t.”
At that, a natural resentment deepened the colour in this important young man’s cheeks. “Well, I should think it might be considered worth your while,” he said. “I don’t put too much on being James Herbert McArdle, Third, I believe; but at least I might claim it isn’t a thing that happens every day in the world, exactly — my asking a girl to marry me, I mean.”
She turned to him, frowning. “Was that what you were doing?”
“I was telling you I hoped to make a try for it,” he explained a little querulously. “When my mother comes and hears about this she’ll send for my father probably and there’ll be a big fuss — more than you could have any idea of until you really hear it. But I never took to any girl as much as I’ve taken to you, never in my life.” Here his querulousness gave way to another feeling and his voice softened. “I’m ready to buck up to the whole crew of ’em for your sake, Lily. What about it?”
She looked at him blankly. “I don’t know,” she said.
“What?” he cried. “Don’t you understand? I’m asking you to marry me!”
“Yes,” she said. “I hear you say it; but so far as I’m concerned you might almost as well be telling me it’s a pleasant day! I’m not in the right state to think about it or even to understand it.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” she said, “I’m so angry I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Look here—” he began; but said no more. and, in spite of her preoccupation with her anger, she was able to perceive that he now had some of his own. She put her hand lightly upon his sleeve and, simultaneously, the car stopped at the hospital door.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m terribly rude. But don’t you know there are times when you get so furious you just can’t think about anything else?”
“Can’t you?” he returned, coldly, as the chauffeur helped him down from the car. “I’m afraid I doubt if you’d ever consider what I was saying as of enough importance to listen to.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lily said; and in spite of herself she said it absently; so that nothing could have been plainer than that her mind was not even upon this apology, but altogether upon the offence she had received from Mr. Henry Burnett.
A special attendant of the convalescent’s came from within the building and offered his arm. Young Mr. McArdle took it and gave a final glance at the flushed cheeks and fiery eyes of the lady who had already twice smitten him and thus smote him again. Something hot in his upper chest seemed to rise against this provincial and suburban young woman who was too busy being furious with a local nonentity to know what she was doing indeed! The affronted young man’s last word was to the chauffeur.
“When you have taken Miss Dodge home I sha’n’t want you until day-after-to-morrow. I don’t care to drive every day.”
Lily was borne away murmuring, “I’m sorry,” again, but what she thought was: “I could! I could wring Henry Burnett’s neck and sing for joy!”
— . — . When the long red car drew up before her father’s house, there was another machine standing at the curb, a small black thing of the hardiest variety and odiously familiar to Lily. She jumped out, and, shaking with rage and her desire to express it, fairly ran up the brick walk to her front door.
But here a housemaid sought to detain her, whispering urgently: “Mr. Burnett’s in the living-room, waiting. Your mother isn’t home and I didn’t know how to keep him out. If you don’t want to see him you’d better go round to the—”
Lily interrupted her. “I do want to see him,” she declared in a loud voice. “I want to see him instantly!” And she swept into the room to confront the mocker.
But mockery was no part of Mr. Henry Burnett’s present mood — far from it. He had come to apologize, and apology was profoundly in his manner as he rose from the chair in which he had been most dejectedly sitting. Dark semicircles beneath his eyes were proof of inner sufferings; he was haggard with his trouble and more Hamlet-like than ever; but now he was a Hamlet truly humble.
“Lily,” he said, huskily, “I’d sworn to myself I’d never make another attempt to see you as long as I lived, but after what I did awhile ago I had to. I had to explain it. It was in vile
taste, and you can’t think any worse of it than I do. But you came on me suddenly. I hadn’t dreamed I’d see you; then all at once I looked up and there you were — and with the man you threw me over for! I just couldn’t—”
“Henry Burnett,” she said, and her hot little voice shook with the rage that vibrated in her whole body; “you used to be a gentleman. Twice within less than an hour you’ve shown me you’ve forgotten what that word means.”
“Twice, Lily?” he said, pathetically; “I admit the other time — out at the club — but how have I offended you besides that?”
“In your very apology,” she told him scornfully.
“You’ve just had the petty insolence to stand there and say I threw you over for Mr. McArdle!”
“But you did,” he said; and he seemed surprised that she should not admit it. “Why, it’s — why, Lily, everybody knows that!”
“What? You dare to repeat it?”
He looked at her in the most reasonable astonishment, his eyes widening. “But, Lily, I’m not the only one. Everybody repeats it.”
Collected Works of Booth Tarkington Page 381