At home, after their ride, Janice sat down alone in her room for the
purpose of thinking things out straight. Was she doing wrong? she asked
herself. Was she letting herself be superficially attracted by a surface
glitter?
Because she happened to love to read, had she let herself be fascinated
merely because she had at last met a man who looked and talked like a
character in a book, as opposed to the dull, plodding, slow-witted men
she had known at home?
And, on the other hand, had she any right to turn from Bob’s devotion to
her, and his demonstrated sincere regard for her, even though her heart
turned from him to another—as she was afraid that it was about to do?
Hadn’t Bob a very definite right to _his_ happiness? Wasn’t it more
important to consider Bob’s happiness than her own?
She decided that she had no right to break Bob’s heart.
But the decision, though she knew that she would stick to it, brought
her no peace of mind. Quite the contrary, in fact.
Why was it, she wondered, that love was always so complicated—even in
real life, just as in books? Was it a test of some sort that every one
had to go through some time, in order to prove themselves really
deserving of the priceless gift of true love?
At any rate one thing was clear to her: She would tell Bob the truth,
but if he would not release her from their engagement—until she was more
certain of her own mind—she would marry him as she had promised. On this
final decision she lay down to sleep.
When, the following afternoon, she got Mrs. Halsey to come to the lunch
room to watch things for an hour or so, while she went to the station to
meet Bob, she was still rather undecided as to what, exactly, her course
of action would be.
She was near to panic with the realization that the crucial hour had
come. All of the rest of her life might be altered within the hour.
Rickey, thoughtful as ever, had sent around a taxi to take her to the
station. He had instructed the driver to tell her that the trip down was
paid for in advance. He had even sent a note by the driver, telling her
that he had engaged a room for Bob. The key to the room was inclosed
with the note.
At the station, while she waited for the train, Janice made up her mind
to one thing: she must tell Bob all. But, later, when she saw him, her
determination to do this almost fled.
She hardly recognized him. When he swooped down upon her, neat traveling
bag in hand, he looked just like any well-dressed city man, so far as
his clothing and outward appearance were concerned; but his shoulders
were broader, his face healthily tanned.
Before every one he swept her diminutive form into his arms and kissed
her. All in a moment, understanding came to her, as she stood strained
against his big, protecting body.
It _was_ Bob that she loved. What subtle influence could ever for a
moment have caused her to think otherwise?
“Oh, Bob!” she breathed. “You mustn’t! You mustn’t, before all of these
people!”
But he was too happy to notice her strange, tense manner. He swept her
along with him toward the exit, chatting volubly. She had never heard
him talk so much.
It was as though his release from the farm had opened some prison door
within him, behind which he had previously confined a different sort of
Bob, waiting and longing for emancipation. She remembered that something
of the sort had taken place with her, too, when she had first come to
the city.
“Everything’s lovely,” he told her. “Dad found a first-rate hired man to
take my place. I sold out all of my own personal things—stock I’d raised
myself—everything. Got the fifteen hundred, and more, right with me, in
cash.
“Didn’t know anybody up here except you. Wasn’t taking any chances on
having trouble getting a check cashed.
“We’ll be regular folks, Janice, dear; isn’t it wonderful, after all
those dull days down on the farm? I never minded them so much when you
were there—but after you’d gone! Lordy! It was as though heaven and
earth had passed away and left a great hole with no edge around it.”
She remained silent as they climbed into a taxi and started north. She
hoped that presently he would talk himself out. Then, maybe, she could
summon up courage to tell him what she _must_ tell him, in all fairness
to both men.
“Let’s get married right away, to-morrow,” he ended up, beaming down at
her and drawing her slim form into the strong circle of his arm. She
looked back up at him tragically, finding time, however, to note with
approval that his hair was neatly clipped and that he was really
handsome, even as judged by city standards.
“Bob,” she began, hesitantly, “I’ve got something to tell you.” And then
she told him everything, clear down to the fact of Rickey having engaged
a room for him.
He said nothing at all, during her recital, never once interrupting her.
When she had finished he remarked only:
“You say that this Rickey chap is very clever?”
“W-e-e-l, he’s—”
“And you don’t consider me, er—precisely _clever_, do you, Janie?”
“Oh, Bob! Why put it _that_ way? And, anyway, I _know_, now, that it is
you I love.”
“Let’s not say any more about it,” he suggested, “for the present.
However, this thing will have to be worked out in the right way before
we can talk marriage. I wouldn’t for the world have you marry me while
there is the slightest notion in your pretty head that it might be some
sort of _duty_.
“Is that the post office over there?” he broke off to ask, as they
traveled slowly through the traffic on Clark Street.
“Yes,” Janice told him mechanically.
“Driver, stop at the post office a minute, please,” he ordered, opening
the glass panel in the front division of the cab. “Got to get a letter
off,” he explained cryptically to Janice, as the cab stopped and he
swung out and up the post office steps.
Janice watched him mount the steps, her heart heavy. All of the spring
had gone out of his step. She had, she told herself, ruined everything.
That it was Bob she truly loved, she knew now beyond any question of a
doubt. But he would never believe that there was not some reservation in
her mind.
How happy they could have been, she told herself, and _why was it_ that
Rickey had come into her life? Providence was most unkind. She furtively
dabbed at her hot eyes as she sat alone in the taxi, thinking of poor
Bob’s dragging steps up the post office ramp.
It was a long time before he came out. When at last he did, he spoke
cheerfully of matters “down home,” bravely pretending to be happy.
But Janice knew only too well that she had made him miserable, upon what
should have been the happiest of his life’s days. She hung her head and
gazed dejectedly out of the taxi window.