The Price She Paid [91]
``Mildred-- darling--you WILL marry me, won't you? You can go right on with the career, if you like. In fact, I'd rather you would, for I'm frightfully proud of your voice. And I've changed a lot since I became sincerely interested in you. The other sort of life and people don't amuse me any more. Mildred, say you'll marry me. I'll make you as happy as the days are long.''
She moved slightly. Her hand dropped to the table.
``I guess I came down on you too suddenly,'' said he. ``You look a bit dazed.''
``No, I'm not dazed,'' replied she.
``I'll call Mrs. Brindley in, and we'll all three talk it over.''
``Please don't,'' said she. ``I've got to think it out for myself.''
``I know there isn't anyone else,'' he went on. ``So, I'm sure--dead sure, Mildred, that I can teach you to love me.''
She looked at him pleadingly. ``I don't have to answer right away?''
``Certainly not,'' laughed he. ``But why shouldn't you? What is there against our getting married? Nothing. And everything for it. Our marriage will straighten out all the--the little difficulties, and you can go ahead with the singing and not bother about money, or what people might say, or any of those things.''
``I--I've got to think about it, Stanley,'' she said gently. ``I want to do the decent thing by you and by myself.''
``You're afraid I'll interfere in the career--won't want you to go on? Mildred, I swear I'm--''
``It isn't that,'' she interrupted, her color high. ``The truth is--'' she faltered, came to a full stop-- cried, ``Oh, I can't talk about it to-night.''
``To-morrow?'' he suggested.
``I--don't know,'' she stammered. ``Perhaps to- morrow. But it may be two or three days.''
Stanley looked crestfallen. ``That hurts, Mildred,''
he said. ``I was SO full of it, so anxious to be entirely happy, and I thought you'd fall right in with it. Something to do with money? You're horribly sensitive about money, dear. I like that in you, of course. Not many women would have been as square, would have taken as little--and worked hard--and thought and cared about nothing but making good-- By Jove, it's no wonder I'm stark crazy about YOU!''
She was flushed and trembling. ``Don't,'' she pleaded. ``You're beating me down into the dust. I --I'm--'' She started up. ``I can't talk to-night. I might say things I'd be-- I can't talk about it. I must--''
She pressed her lips together and fled through the hall to her own room, to shut and lock herself in. He stared in amazement. When he heard the distant sound of the turning key he dropped to a chair again and laughed. Certainly women were queer creatures-- always doing what one didn't expect. Still, in the end-- well, a sensible woman knew a good chance to marry and took it. There was no doubt a good deal of pretense in Mildred's delicacy as to money matters--but a devilish creditable sort of pretense. He liked the ladylike, ``nice'' pretenses, of women of the right sort --liked them when they fooled him, liked them when they only half fooled him.
Presently he knocked on the door of the little library, opened it when permission came in Cyrilla's voice. She was reading the evening paper--he did not see the glasses she hastily thrust into a drawer. In that soft light she looked a scant thirty, handsome, but for his taste too intellectual of type to be attractive--except as a friend.
``Well,'' said he, as he lit a cigarette and dropped the match into the big copper ash-bowl, ``I'll bet you can't guess what I've been up to.''
``Making love to Miss Stevens,'' replied she. ``And very foolish it is of you. She's got a steady head in that way.''
``You're mighty right,'' said he heartily. ``And I admire her for that more than for anything else. I'd trust her anywhere.''
``You're paying yourself a high compliment,'' laughed Cyrilla.
``How's that?'' inquired he. ``You're too subtle for me. I'm a bit slow.''
Mrs. Brindley decided against explaining. It was not wise to risk raising an unjust doubt in the mind of a man who fancied
She moved slightly. Her hand dropped to the table.
``I guess I came down on you too suddenly,'' said he. ``You look a bit dazed.''
``No, I'm not dazed,'' replied she.
``I'll call Mrs. Brindley in, and we'll all three talk it over.''
``Please don't,'' said she. ``I've got to think it out for myself.''
``I know there isn't anyone else,'' he went on. ``So, I'm sure--dead sure, Mildred, that I can teach you to love me.''
She looked at him pleadingly. ``I don't have to answer right away?''
``Certainly not,'' laughed he. ``But why shouldn't you? What is there against our getting married? Nothing. And everything for it. Our marriage will straighten out all the--the little difficulties, and you can go ahead with the singing and not bother about money, or what people might say, or any of those things.''
``I--I've got to think about it, Stanley,'' she said gently. ``I want to do the decent thing by you and by myself.''
``You're afraid I'll interfere in the career--won't want you to go on? Mildred, I swear I'm--''
``It isn't that,'' she interrupted, her color high. ``The truth is--'' she faltered, came to a full stop-- cried, ``Oh, I can't talk about it to-night.''
``To-morrow?'' he suggested.
``I--don't know,'' she stammered. ``Perhaps to- morrow. But it may be two or three days.''
Stanley looked crestfallen. ``That hurts, Mildred,''
he said. ``I was SO full of it, so anxious to be entirely happy, and I thought you'd fall right in with it. Something to do with money? You're horribly sensitive about money, dear. I like that in you, of course. Not many women would have been as square, would have taken as little--and worked hard--and thought and cared about nothing but making good-- By Jove, it's no wonder I'm stark crazy about YOU!''
She was flushed and trembling. ``Don't,'' she pleaded. ``You're beating me down into the dust. I --I'm--'' She started up. ``I can't talk to-night. I might say things I'd be-- I can't talk about it. I must--''
She pressed her lips together and fled through the hall to her own room, to shut and lock herself in. He stared in amazement. When he heard the distant sound of the turning key he dropped to a chair again and laughed. Certainly women were queer creatures-- always doing what one didn't expect. Still, in the end-- well, a sensible woman knew a good chance to marry and took it. There was no doubt a good deal of pretense in Mildred's delicacy as to money matters--but a devilish creditable sort of pretense. He liked the ladylike, ``nice'' pretenses, of women of the right sort --liked them when they fooled him, liked them when they only half fooled him.
Presently he knocked on the door of the little library, opened it when permission came in Cyrilla's voice. She was reading the evening paper--he did not see the glasses she hastily thrust into a drawer. In that soft light she looked a scant thirty, handsome, but for his taste too intellectual of type to be attractive--except as a friend.
``Well,'' said he, as he lit a cigarette and dropped the match into the big copper ash-bowl, ``I'll bet you can't guess what I've been up to.''
``Making love to Miss Stevens,'' replied she. ``And very foolish it is of you. She's got a steady head in that way.''
``You're mighty right,'' said he heartily. ``And I admire her for that more than for anything else. I'd trust her anywhere.''
``You're paying yourself a high compliment,'' laughed Cyrilla.
``How's that?'' inquired he. ``You're too subtle for me. I'm a bit slow.''
Mrs. Brindley decided against explaining. It was not wise to risk raising an unjust doubt in the mind of a man who fancied