The Price She Paid [92]
that a woman who resisted him would be adamant to every other man. ``Then I've got to guess again?'' said she.
``I've been asking her to marry me,'' said Stanley, who could contain it no longer. ``Mrs. B. was released from me to-day by the court in Providence.''
``But SHE'S not free,'' said Cyrilla, a little severely.
Stanley looked confused, finally said: ``Yes, she is. It's a queer story. Don't say anything. I can't explain. I know I can trust you to keep a close mouth.''
``Minding my own business is my one supreme talent,'' said Cyrilla.
``She hasn't accepted me--in so many words,'' pursued Baird, ``but I've hopes that it'll come out all right.''
``Naturally,'' commented Cyrilla dryly.
``I know I'm not--not objectionable to her. And how I do love her!'' He settled himself at his ease. ``I can't believe it's really me. I never thought I'd marry--just for love. Did you?''
``You're very self-indulgent,'' said Cyrilla.
``You mean I'm marrying her because I can't get her any other way. There's where you're wrong, Mrs. Brindley. I'm marrying her because I don't want her any other way. That's why I know it's love. I didn't think I was capable of it. Of course, I've been rather strong after the ladies all my life. You know how it is with men.''
``I do,'' said Mrs. Brindley.
``No, you don't either,'' retorted he. ``You're one of those cold, stand-me-off women who can't comprehend the nature of man.''
``As you please,'' said she. In her eyes there was a gleam that more than suggested a possibility of some man--some man she might fancy--seeing an amazingly different Cyrilla Brindley.
``I may say I was daft about pretty women,'' continued Baird. ``I never read an item about a pretty woman in the papers, or saw a picture of a pretty woman that I didn't wish I knew her--well. Can you imagine that?'' laughed he.
``Commonplace,'' said Cyrilla. ``All men are so. That's why the papers always describe the woman as pretty and why the pictures are published.''
``Really? Yes, I suppose so.'' Baird looked chagrined. ``Anyhow, here I am, all for one woman. And why? I can't explain it to myself. She's pretty, lovely, entrancing sometimes. She has charm, grace, sweetness. She dresses well and carries herself with a kind of sweet haughtiness. She looks as if she knew a lot--and nothing bad. Do you know, I can't imagine her having been married to that beast! I've tried to imagine it. I simply can't.''
``I shouldn't try if I were you,'' said Mrs. Brindley.
``But I was talking about why I love her. Does this bore you?''
``A little,'' laughed Cyrilla. ``I'd rather hear some man talking about MY charms. But go on. You are amusing, in a way.''
``I'll wager I am. You never thought I'd be caught? I believed I was immune--vaccinated against it. I thought I knew all the tricks and turns of the sex. Yet here I am!''
``What do you think caught you?''
``That's the mystery. It's simply that I can't do without her. Everything she looks and says and does interests me more than anything else in the world. And when I'm not with her I'm wishing I were and wondering how she's looking or what she's saying or doing. You don't think she'll refuse me?'' This last with real anxiety.
``I haven't an idea,'' replied Mrs. Brindley. ``She's --peculiar. In some moods she would. In others, she couldn't. And I've never been able to settle to my satisfaction which kind of mood was the real Mary Stevens.''
``She IS queer, isn't she?'' said Stanley thoughtfully. ``But I've told her she'd be free to go on with the career. Fact is, I want her to do it.''
Mrs. Brindley's eyes twinkled. ``You think it would justify you to your set in marrying her, if she made a great hit?''
Stanley blushed ingenuously. ``I'll not deny that has something to do with it,'' he admitted. ``And why not?''
``Why not, indeed?'' said she. ``But, after she had made the hit, you'd want her to quit the stage and take her place in society. Isn't that so?''
``You ARE a keen one,'' exclaimed
``I've been asking her to marry me,'' said Stanley, who could contain it no longer. ``Mrs. B. was released from me to-day by the court in Providence.''
``But SHE'S not free,'' said Cyrilla, a little severely.
Stanley looked confused, finally said: ``Yes, she is. It's a queer story. Don't say anything. I can't explain. I know I can trust you to keep a close mouth.''
``Minding my own business is my one supreme talent,'' said Cyrilla.
``She hasn't accepted me--in so many words,'' pursued Baird, ``but I've hopes that it'll come out all right.''
``Naturally,'' commented Cyrilla dryly.
``I know I'm not--not objectionable to her. And how I do love her!'' He settled himself at his ease. ``I can't believe it's really me. I never thought I'd marry--just for love. Did you?''
``You're very self-indulgent,'' said Cyrilla.
``You mean I'm marrying her because I can't get her any other way. There's where you're wrong, Mrs. Brindley. I'm marrying her because I don't want her any other way. That's why I know it's love. I didn't think I was capable of it. Of course, I've been rather strong after the ladies all my life. You know how it is with men.''
``I do,'' said Mrs. Brindley.
``No, you don't either,'' retorted he. ``You're one of those cold, stand-me-off women who can't comprehend the nature of man.''
``As you please,'' said she. In her eyes there was a gleam that more than suggested a possibility of some man--some man she might fancy--seeing an amazingly different Cyrilla Brindley.
``I may say I was daft about pretty women,'' continued Baird. ``I never read an item about a pretty woman in the papers, or saw a picture of a pretty woman that I didn't wish I knew her--well. Can you imagine that?'' laughed he.
``Commonplace,'' said Cyrilla. ``All men are so. That's why the papers always describe the woman as pretty and why the pictures are published.''
``Really? Yes, I suppose so.'' Baird looked chagrined. ``Anyhow, here I am, all for one woman. And why? I can't explain it to myself. She's pretty, lovely, entrancing sometimes. She has charm, grace, sweetness. She dresses well and carries herself with a kind of sweet haughtiness. She looks as if she knew a lot--and nothing bad. Do you know, I can't imagine her having been married to that beast! I've tried to imagine it. I simply can't.''
``I shouldn't try if I were you,'' said Mrs. Brindley.
``But I was talking about why I love her. Does this bore you?''
``A little,'' laughed Cyrilla. ``I'd rather hear some man talking about MY charms. But go on. You are amusing, in a way.''
``I'll wager I am. You never thought I'd be caught? I believed I was immune--vaccinated against it. I thought I knew all the tricks and turns of the sex. Yet here I am!''
``What do you think caught you?''
``That's the mystery. It's simply that I can't do without her. Everything she looks and says and does interests me more than anything else in the world. And when I'm not with her I'm wishing I were and wondering how she's looking or what she's saying or doing. You don't think she'll refuse me?'' This last with real anxiety.
``I haven't an idea,'' replied Mrs. Brindley. ``She's --peculiar. In some moods she would. In others, she couldn't. And I've never been able to settle to my satisfaction which kind of mood was the real Mary Stevens.''
``She IS queer, isn't she?'' said Stanley thoughtfully. ``But I've told her she'd be free to go on with the career. Fact is, I want her to do it.''
Mrs. Brindley's eyes twinkled. ``You think it would justify you to your set in marrying her, if she made a great hit?''
Stanley blushed ingenuously. ``I'll not deny that has something to do with it,'' he admitted. ``And why not?''
``Why not, indeed?'' said she. ``But, after she had made the hit, you'd want her to quit the stage and take her place in society. Isn't that so?''
``You ARE a keen one,'' exclaimed