The Conflict [23]
He was indeed a man of small stature--about the medium height for a woman--about the height of Jane Hastings. But his figure was so well put together and his walk so easy and free from self-consciousness that the question of stature no sooner arose than it was dismissed. His head commanded all the attention--its poise and the remarkable face that fronted it. The features were bold, the skin was clear and healthy and rather fair. His eyes--gray or green blue and set neither prominently nor retreatedly--seemed to be seeing and understanding all that was going on about him. He had a strong, rather relentless mouth-- the mouth of men who make and compel sacrifices for their ambitions.
``Victor,'' cried Selma as soon as he was within easy range of her voice, ``please lend Miss Hastings a quarter.'' And she immediately sat down and went to work again, with the incident dismissed from mind.
The young man--for he was plainly not far beyond thirty--halted and regarded the young woman on the horse.
``I wish to give this young gentleman here a quarter,'' said Jane. ``He was very good about holding my horse.''
The words were not spoken before the young gentleman darted across the narrow street and into a yard hidden by masses of clematis, morning glory and sweet peas. And Jane realized that she had wholly mistaken the meaning of that hypnotic stare.
Victor laughed--the small figure, the vast clothes, the bare feet with voluminous trousers about them made a ludicrous sight. ``He doesn't want it,'' said Victor. ``Thank you just the same.''
``But I want him to have it,'' said Jane.
With a significant unconscious glance at her costume Dorn said: ``Those costumes haven't reached our town yet.''
``He did some work for me. I owe it to him.''
``He's my sister's little boy,'' said Dorn, with his amiable, friendly smile. ``We mustn't start him in the bad way of expecting pay for politeness.''
Jane colored as if she had been rebuked, when in fact his tone forbade the suggestion of rebuke. There was an unpleasant sparkle in her eyes as she regarded the young man in the baggy suit, with the basket on his arm. ``I beg your pardon,'' said she coldly. ``I naturally didn't know your peculiar point of view.''
``That's all right,'' said Dorn carelessly. ``Thank you, and good day.'' And with a polite raising of the hat and a manner of good humored friendliness that showed how utterly unconscious he was of her being offended at him, he hastened across the street and went in at the gate where the boy had vanished. And Jane had the sense that he had forgotten her. She glanced nervously up at the window to see whether Selma Gordon was witnessing her humiliation--for so she regarded it. But Selma was evidently lost in a world of her own. ``She doesn't love him,'' Jane decided. ``For, even though she is a strange kind of person, she's a woman--and if she had loved him she couldn't have helped watching while he talked with another woman-- especially with one of my appearance and class.''
Jane rode slowly away. At the corner--it was a long block--she glanced toward the scene she had just quitted. Involuntarily she drew rein. Victor and the boy had come out into the street and were playing catches. The game did not last long. Dorn let the boy corner him and seize him, then gave him a great toss into the air, catching him as he came down and giving him a hug and a kiss. The boy ran shouting merrily into the yard; Victor disappeared in the entrance to the offices of the New Day.
That evening, as she pretended to listen to Hull on national politics, and while dressing the following morning Jane reflected upon her adventure. She decided that Dorn and the ``wild girl'' were a low, ill-mannered pair with whom she had nothing in common, that her fantastic, impulsive interest in them had been killed, that for the future she would avoid ``all that sort of cattle.'' She would receive Selma Gordon politely, of course--would plead headache as an excuse for not walking, would get rid of her as soon as
``Victor,'' cried Selma as soon as he was within easy range of her voice, ``please lend Miss Hastings a quarter.'' And she immediately sat down and went to work again, with the incident dismissed from mind.
The young man--for he was plainly not far beyond thirty--halted and regarded the young woman on the horse.
``I wish to give this young gentleman here a quarter,'' said Jane. ``He was very good about holding my horse.''
The words were not spoken before the young gentleman darted across the narrow street and into a yard hidden by masses of clematis, morning glory and sweet peas. And Jane realized that she had wholly mistaken the meaning of that hypnotic stare.
Victor laughed--the small figure, the vast clothes, the bare feet with voluminous trousers about them made a ludicrous sight. ``He doesn't want it,'' said Victor. ``Thank you just the same.''
``But I want him to have it,'' said Jane.
With a significant unconscious glance at her costume Dorn said: ``Those costumes haven't reached our town yet.''
``He did some work for me. I owe it to him.''
``He's my sister's little boy,'' said Dorn, with his amiable, friendly smile. ``We mustn't start him in the bad way of expecting pay for politeness.''
Jane colored as if she had been rebuked, when in fact his tone forbade the suggestion of rebuke. There was an unpleasant sparkle in her eyes as she regarded the young man in the baggy suit, with the basket on his arm. ``I beg your pardon,'' said she coldly. ``I naturally didn't know your peculiar point of view.''
``That's all right,'' said Dorn carelessly. ``Thank you, and good day.'' And with a polite raising of the hat and a manner of good humored friendliness that showed how utterly unconscious he was of her being offended at him, he hastened across the street and went in at the gate where the boy had vanished. And Jane had the sense that he had forgotten her. She glanced nervously up at the window to see whether Selma Gordon was witnessing her humiliation--for so she regarded it. But Selma was evidently lost in a world of her own. ``She doesn't love him,'' Jane decided. ``For, even though she is a strange kind of person, she's a woman--and if she had loved him she couldn't have helped watching while he talked with another woman-- especially with one of my appearance and class.''
Jane rode slowly away. At the corner--it was a long block--she glanced toward the scene she had just quitted. Involuntarily she drew rein. Victor and the boy had come out into the street and were playing catches. The game did not last long. Dorn let the boy corner him and seize him, then gave him a great toss into the air, catching him as he came down and giving him a hug and a kiss. The boy ran shouting merrily into the yard; Victor disappeared in the entrance to the offices of the New Day.
That evening, as she pretended to listen to Hull on national politics, and while dressing the following morning Jane reflected upon her adventure. She decided that Dorn and the ``wild girl'' were a low, ill-mannered pair with whom she had nothing in common, that her fantastic, impulsive interest in them had been killed, that for the future she would avoid ``all that sort of cattle.'' She would receive Selma Gordon politely, of course--would plead headache as an excuse for not walking, would get rid of her as soon as