The Dust [48]
to look up at that instant. With a radiant smile she bowed to him in friendliest fashion. He colored deeply, frowned with annoyance, bowed coldly and strode into his room. He fussed and fretted about with his papers for a few minutes, then rang the bell.
"Send in Miss Pritchard--no, Mr. Gowdy--no, Miss Hallowell," he said to the office boy. And then he looked sharply at the pert young face for possible signs of secret cynical amusement. He saw none such, but was not convinced. He knew too well how by a sort of occult process the servants, all the subordinates, round a person like himself discover the most intimate secrets, almost get the news before anything has really occurred.
Miss Hallowell appeared, and very cold and reserved she looked as she stood waiting.
"I sent for you because--" he began. He glanced at the door to make sure that it was closed--" because I wanted to hear your voice." And he laughed boyishly. He was in high good humor now.
"Why did you speak to me as you did when you came in?" said she.
There was certainly novelty in this direct attack, this equal to equal criticism of his manners. He was not pleased with the novelty; but at the same time he felt a lack of the courage to answer her as she deserved, even if she was playing a clever game. "It isn't necessary that the whole office should know our private business," said he.
She seemed astonished. "What private business?"
"Last night," said he, uncertain whether she was trifling with him or was really the innocent she pretended to be. "If I were you, I'd not speak as friendlily as you did this morning--not before people."
"Why?" inquired she, her sweet young face still more perplexed.
"This isn't a small town out West," explained he. "It's New York. People misunderstand--or rather--" He gave her a laughing, mischievous glance--"or rather--they don't."
"I can't see anything to make a mystery about," declared the girl. "Why, you act as if there were something to be ashamed of in coming to see me."
He was observing her sharply. How could a girl live in the New York atmosphere several years without getting a sensible point of view? Yet, so far as he could judge, this girl was perfectly honest in her ignorance. "Don't be foolish," said he. "Please accept the fact as I give it to you. You mustn't let people see everything."
She made no attempt to conceal her dislike for this. "I won't be mixed up in anything like that," said she, quite gently and without a suggestion of pique or anger. "It makes me feel low--and it's horribly common. Either we are going to be friends or we aren't. And if we are, why, we're friends whenever we meet. I'm not ashamed of you. And if you are ashamed of me, you can cut me out altogether."
His color deepened until his face was crimson. His eyes avoided hers. "I was thinking chiefly of you," he said--and he honestly thought he was speaking the whole truth.
"Then please don't do so any more," said she, turning to go. "I understand about New York snobbishness. I want nothing to do with it."
He disregarded the danger of the door being opened at any moment. He rushed to her and took her reluctant hand. "You mustn't blame me for the ways of the world. I can't change them. Do be sensible, dearest. You're only going to be here a few days longer. I've got that plan for you and your father all thought out. I'll put it through at once. I don't want the office talking scandal about us--do you?"
She looked at him pityingly. His eyes fell before hers. "I know it's a weakness," he said, giving up trying to deceive her and himself. "But I can't help it. I was brought up that way."
"Well--I wasn't. I see we can never be friends."
What a mess he had made of this affair! This girl must be playing upon him. In his folly he had let her see how completely he was in her power, and she was using that power to establish relations between them that were the very opposite of what he desired--and must have. He must control himself. "As you please," he said coldly,
"Send in Miss Pritchard--no, Mr. Gowdy--no, Miss Hallowell," he said to the office boy. And then he looked sharply at the pert young face for possible signs of secret cynical amusement. He saw none such, but was not convinced. He knew too well how by a sort of occult process the servants, all the subordinates, round a person like himself discover the most intimate secrets, almost get the news before anything has really occurred.
Miss Hallowell appeared, and very cold and reserved she looked as she stood waiting.
"I sent for you because--" he began. He glanced at the door to make sure that it was closed--" because I wanted to hear your voice." And he laughed boyishly. He was in high good humor now.
"Why did you speak to me as you did when you came in?" said she.
There was certainly novelty in this direct attack, this equal to equal criticism of his manners. He was not pleased with the novelty; but at the same time he felt a lack of the courage to answer her as she deserved, even if she was playing a clever game. "It isn't necessary that the whole office should know our private business," said he.
She seemed astonished. "What private business?"
"Last night," said he, uncertain whether she was trifling with him or was really the innocent she pretended to be. "If I were you, I'd not speak as friendlily as you did this morning--not before people."
"Why?" inquired she, her sweet young face still more perplexed.
"This isn't a small town out West," explained he. "It's New York. People misunderstand--or rather--" He gave her a laughing, mischievous glance--"or rather--they don't."
"I can't see anything to make a mystery about," declared the girl. "Why, you act as if there were something to be ashamed of in coming to see me."
He was observing her sharply. How could a girl live in the New York atmosphere several years without getting a sensible point of view? Yet, so far as he could judge, this girl was perfectly honest in her ignorance. "Don't be foolish," said he. "Please accept the fact as I give it to you. You mustn't let people see everything."
She made no attempt to conceal her dislike for this. "I won't be mixed up in anything like that," said she, quite gently and without a suggestion of pique or anger. "It makes me feel low--and it's horribly common. Either we are going to be friends or we aren't. And if we are, why, we're friends whenever we meet. I'm not ashamed of you. And if you are ashamed of me, you can cut me out altogether."
His color deepened until his face was crimson. His eyes avoided hers. "I was thinking chiefly of you," he said--and he honestly thought he was speaking the whole truth.
"Then please don't do so any more," said she, turning to go. "I understand about New York snobbishness. I want nothing to do with it."
He disregarded the danger of the door being opened at any moment. He rushed to her and took her reluctant hand. "You mustn't blame me for the ways of the world. I can't change them. Do be sensible, dearest. You're only going to be here a few days longer. I've got that plan for you and your father all thought out. I'll put it through at once. I don't want the office talking scandal about us--do you?"
She looked at him pityingly. His eyes fell before hers. "I know it's a weakness," he said, giving up trying to deceive her and himself. "But I can't help it. I was brought up that way."
"Well--I wasn't. I see we can never be friends."
What a mess he had made of this affair! This girl must be playing upon him. In his folly he had let her see how completely he was in her power, and she was using that power to establish relations between them that were the very opposite of what he desired--and must have. He must control himself. "As you please," he said coldly,