Alice Adams--Booth Tarkington [54]
"Well, you see, there's such a lot of circumstances," he explained; "I'm not sure I'll like getting back into a business again. I suppose most of the men of my age in the country have been going through the same experience: the War left us with a considerable restlessness of spirit."
"You were in the War?" she asked, quickly, and as quickly answered herself, "Of course you were!'
"I was a left-over; they only let me out about four months ago," he said. "It's quite a shake-up trying to settle down again."
"You were in France, then?"
"Oh, yes; but I didn't get up to the front much-- only two or three times, and then just for a day or so. I was in the transportation service."
"You were an officer, of course."
"Yes," he said. "They let me play I was a major."
"I guessed a major," she said. "You'd always be pretty grand, of course."
Russell was amused. "Well, you see," he informed her, "as it happened, we had at least several other majors in our army. Why would I always be something 'pretty grand?'"
"You're related to the Palmers. Don't you notice they always affect the pretty grand?"
"Then you think I'm only one of their affectations, I take it."
"Yes, you seem to be the most successful one they've got!" Alice said, lightly. "You certainly do belong to them." And she laughed as if at something hidden from him. "Don't you?"
"But you've just excused me for that," he protested. "You said nobody could be blamed for my being their third cousin. What a contradictory girl you are!"
Alice shook her head. "Let's keep away from the kind of girl I am."
"No," he said. "That's just what I came here to talk about."
She shook her head again. "Let's keep first to the kind of man you are. I'm glad you were in the War."
"Why?"
"Oh, I don't know." She was quiet a moment, for she was thinking that here she spoke the truth: his service put about him a little glamour that helped to please her with him. She had been pleased with him during their walk; pleased with him on his own account; and now that pleasure was growing keener. She looked at him, and though the light in which she saw him was little more than starlight, she saw that he was looking steadily at her with a kindly and smiling seriousness. All at once it seemed to her that the night air was sweeter to breathe, as if a distant fragrance of new blossoms had been blown to her. She smiled back to him, and said, "Well, what kind of man are you?"
"I don't know; I've often wondered," he replied. "What kind of girl are you?"
"Don't you remember? I told you the other day. I'm just me!"
"But who is that?"
"You forget everything;" said Alice. "You told me what kind of a girl I am. You seemed to think you'd taken quite a fancy to me from the very first."
"So I did," he agreed, heartily.
"But how quickly you forgot it!"
"Oh, no. I only want YOU to say what kind of a girl you are."
She mocked him. "'I don't know; I've often wondered!' What kind of a girl does Mildred tell you I am? What has she said about me since she told you I was 'a Miss Adams?'"
"I don't know; I haven't asked her."
"Then DON'T ask her," Alice said, quickly.
"Why?"
"Because she's such a perfect creature and I'm such an imperfect one. Perfect creatures have the most perfect way of ruining the imperfect ones."
"But then they wouldn't be perfect. Not if they----"
"Oh, yes, they remain perfectly perfect," she assured him. "That's because they never go into details. They're not so vulgar as to come right out and TELL that you've been in jail for stealing chickens. They just look absent-minded and say in a low voice, 'Oh, very; but I scarcely think you'd like her particularly'; and then begin to talk of something else right away."
His smile had disappeared. "Yes," he said, somewhat ruefully. "That does sound like Mildred. You certainly do seem to know her! Do you know everybody as well as that?"
"Not myself," Alice said. "I don't know myself at all. I got to wondering about that--about who I was--the other day after