The Conflict [45]
their time and their nerves by being punctual,'' said he.
He laid the books on the wicker sofa. But instead of sitting Jane said: ``We might be interrupted here. Come to the west veranda.''
There she had him in a leafy solitude--he facing her as she posed in fascinating grace in a big chair. He looked at her--not the look of a man at a woman, but the look of a busy person at one who is about to show cause for having asked for a portion of his valuable time. She laughed--and laughter was her best gesture. ``I can never talk to you if you pose like that,'' said she. ``Honestly now, is your time so pricelessly precious?''
He echoed her laugh and settled himself more at his ease. ``What did you want of me?'' he asked.
``I intend to try to get better hours and better wages for the street car men,'' said she. ``To do it, I must know just what is right--what I can hope to get. General talk is foolish. If I go at father I must have definite proposals to make, with reasons for them. I don't want him to evade. I would have gotten my information elsewhere, but I could think of no one but you who might not mislead me.''
She had confidently expected that this carefully thought out scheme would do the trick. He would admire her, would be interested, would be drawn into a position where she could enlist him as a constant adviser. He moved toward the edge of his chair as if about to rise. He said, pleasantly enough but without a spark of enthusiasm:
``That's very nice of you, Miss Hastings. But I can't advise you--beyond saying that if I were you, I shouldn't meddle.''
She--that is, her vanity--was cut to the quick. ``Oh!'' said she with irony, ``I fancied you wished the laboring men to have a better sort of life.''
``Yes,'' said he. ``But I'm not in favor of running hysterically about with a foolish little atomizer in the great stable. You are talking charity. I am working for justice. It will not really benefit the working man for the company, at the urging of a sweet and lovely young Lady Bountiful, to deign graciously to grant a little less slavery to them. In fact, a well fed, well cared for slave is worse off than one who's badly treated --worse off because farther from his freedom. The only things that do our class any good, Miss Hastings, are the things they COMPEL--compel by their increased intelligence and increased unity and power. They get what they deserve. They won't deserve more until they compel more. Gifts won't help--not even gifts from--'' His intensely blue eyes danced--``from such charming white hands so beautifully manicured.''
She rose with an angry toss of the head. ``I didn't ask you here to annoy me with impertinences about my finger nails.''
He rose, at his ease, good-humored, ready to go. ``Then you should have worn gloves,'' said he carelessly, ``for I've been able to think only of your finger nails--and to wonder WHAT can be done with hands like that. Thank you for a pleasant talk.'' He bowed and smiled. ``Good-by. Oh--Miss Gordon sent you her love.''
``What IS the matter, Mr. Dorn?'' cried the girl desperately. ``I want your friendship--your respect. CAN'T I get it? Am I utterly hopeless in your eyes?''
A curious kind of color rose in his cheeks. His eyes regarded her with a mysterious steadiness. ``You want neither my respect nor my friendship,'' said he. ``You want to amuse yourself.'' He pointed at her hands. ``Those nails betray you.'' He shrugged his shoulders, laughed, said as if to a child: ``You are a nice girl, Jane Hastings. It's a pity you weren't brought up to be of some use. But you weren't--and it's too late.''
Her eyes flashed, her bosom heaved. ``WHY do I take these things from you? WHY do I invite them?''
``Because you inherit your father's magnificent persistence--and you've set your heart on the whim of making a fool of me--and you hate to give up.''
``You wrong me--indeed you do,'' cried she. ``I want to learn--I want to be of use in the world. I want to have some kind of a real life.''
``Really?''
He laid the books on the wicker sofa. But instead of sitting Jane said: ``We might be interrupted here. Come to the west veranda.''
There she had him in a leafy solitude--he facing her as she posed in fascinating grace in a big chair. He looked at her--not the look of a man at a woman, but the look of a busy person at one who is about to show cause for having asked for a portion of his valuable time. She laughed--and laughter was her best gesture. ``I can never talk to you if you pose like that,'' said she. ``Honestly now, is your time so pricelessly precious?''
He echoed her laugh and settled himself more at his ease. ``What did you want of me?'' he asked.
``I intend to try to get better hours and better wages for the street car men,'' said she. ``To do it, I must know just what is right--what I can hope to get. General talk is foolish. If I go at father I must have definite proposals to make, with reasons for them. I don't want him to evade. I would have gotten my information elsewhere, but I could think of no one but you who might not mislead me.''
She had confidently expected that this carefully thought out scheme would do the trick. He would admire her, would be interested, would be drawn into a position where she could enlist him as a constant adviser. He moved toward the edge of his chair as if about to rise. He said, pleasantly enough but without a spark of enthusiasm:
``That's very nice of you, Miss Hastings. But I can't advise you--beyond saying that if I were you, I shouldn't meddle.''
She--that is, her vanity--was cut to the quick. ``Oh!'' said she with irony, ``I fancied you wished the laboring men to have a better sort of life.''
``Yes,'' said he. ``But I'm not in favor of running hysterically about with a foolish little atomizer in the great stable. You are talking charity. I am working for justice. It will not really benefit the working man for the company, at the urging of a sweet and lovely young Lady Bountiful, to deign graciously to grant a little less slavery to them. In fact, a well fed, well cared for slave is worse off than one who's badly treated --worse off because farther from his freedom. The only things that do our class any good, Miss Hastings, are the things they COMPEL--compel by their increased intelligence and increased unity and power. They get what they deserve. They won't deserve more until they compel more. Gifts won't help--not even gifts from--'' His intensely blue eyes danced--``from such charming white hands so beautifully manicured.''
She rose with an angry toss of the head. ``I didn't ask you here to annoy me with impertinences about my finger nails.''
He rose, at his ease, good-humored, ready to go. ``Then you should have worn gloves,'' said he carelessly, ``for I've been able to think only of your finger nails--and to wonder WHAT can be done with hands like that. Thank you for a pleasant talk.'' He bowed and smiled. ``Good-by. Oh--Miss Gordon sent you her love.''
``What IS the matter, Mr. Dorn?'' cried the girl desperately. ``I want your friendship--your respect. CAN'T I get it? Am I utterly hopeless in your eyes?''
A curious kind of color rose in his cheeks. His eyes regarded her with a mysterious steadiness. ``You want neither my respect nor my friendship,'' said he. ``You want to amuse yourself.'' He pointed at her hands. ``Those nails betray you.'' He shrugged his shoulders, laughed, said as if to a child: ``You are a nice girl, Jane Hastings. It's a pity you weren't brought up to be of some use. But you weren't--and it's too late.''
Her eyes flashed, her bosom heaved. ``WHY do I take these things from you? WHY do I invite them?''
``Because you inherit your father's magnificent persistence--and you've set your heart on the whim of making a fool of me--and you hate to give up.''
``You wrong me--indeed you do,'' cried she. ``I want to learn--I want to be of use in the world. I want to have some kind of a real life.''
``Really?''