The day after Honey was buried Tom went to Mrs. Danker's to pay what
was owing on the room rent, and take away his effects. The effects went
into one small trunk which Mrs. Danker packed, while Tom sat on the
edge of the bed and listened to her comments. A little wiry woman, prim
in the old New England way, she was tireless in work and conversation.
"He was a fine man, Mr. Honeybun was, and my land! he was fond of you.
He'd try to hide it; but half an eye could see that he was that proud
of you! He'd be awful up-and-coming while you was here, and make out
that it didn't matter to him whether you was here or not; but once
you was away--my land! He'd be that down you'd think he'd never come
up again. And one thing I could see as plain as plain; he was real
determined that when you'd got up in the world he wasn't going to be
a drag on you. He'd keep saying that you wasn't beholding to him for
anything; and that he'd be glad when you could do without him so that
he could get back again to his friends; but my land! half an eye could
see."
During these first days Tom found the memory of a love as big as
Honey's too poignant to dwell upon. He would dwell upon it later, when
the self-reproach which so largely composed his grief had softened
down. All he could do as yet was to curse himself for the obtuseness
which had taken Honey at the bluff of his words, when the tenderness
behind his deeds should have been evident to anyone not a fool.
He couldn't bear to think of it. Not to think of it, he asked Mrs.
Danker for news of Maisie. He had often wondered whether Maisie might
not have told her aunt in confidence of her engagement to himself; and
now he learned that she had not.
"I hardly ever hear from her; but another aunt of Maisie's writes to
me now and then. Says that that drummer fellow is back again. I hope
he'll keep away from her. He don't mean no good by her, and she goes
daft over him every time he turns up. My land! how do we know he hasn't
a wife somewheres else, when he goes off a year and more at a time, on
his long business trips? This time he's been to Australia. It was to
get her away from him that I asked her to spend that winter in Boston;
but now that he's back--well, I'm sure I don't know."
Tom had not supposed that at the suggestion of a rival he would have
felt a pang; and yet he felt one.
"Of course, there's some one; we know that. It must be some one too
who's got plenty of money, because he's given her a di'mond ring that
must be worth five hundred dollars, her other aunt tells me, if it's
worth a cent. We know he makes big money, because he's got a fine
position, and his family is one of the most high thought of in Nashua.
That's part of the trouble. They're very religious and toney, so they
wouldn't think Maisie a good enough match for him. Still, if he'd only
do one thing or the other, keep away from her, or ask her right out
and out to marry him...."
Tom was no longer listening. The mention of Maisie's diamond had made
him one hot lump of shame. He knew more of the cost of jewels now than
when he had purchased the engagement ring, and even if he didn't know
much he knew enough.
A few days later he was in Nashua. He went, partly because he had the
day to spare before he took up college work again, partly because of a
desire to learn what was truly in Maisie's heart, partly to make her
some amends for his long neglect of her, and mostly because he needed
to pour out his confession as to the diamond ring. Having been warned
of his coming, Maisie, who had got rid of the children for an hour or
two, awaited him in the parlor.
A little powder, a little unnecessary rouge, a sweater of imitation
cherry-colored silk, gave her the vividness of a well-made artificial
flower. Even Tom could see that, with her neat short skirt and
high-heeled shoes, she was dressed beyond the note of the shabby little
room; but if she would only twine her arms around his neck, and give
him one of the kisses that used to be so sweet, he could overlook
everything else.
Her eyes on the big square cardboard box he carried in his hand, she
received him somberly. Having allowed him to kiss her, she sat down at
the end of a table drawn up beside the window, while he put the box in
front of her.
"What's this?"
He placed himself at the other end of the table, having its length
between them. Because of his waning love, because of the ring above
all, he had done one of those reckless things which sometimes render
men exultant. From his slender means he had filched a hundred dollars
for a set of furs. He watched Maisie's face as she untied knots and
lifted the cover of the band-box.
On discovering the contents her expression became critical. She
fingered the fur without taking either of the articles from the box.
Turning over an edge of the boa, she looked at the lining. It was a
minute or two before she took out the muff and held it in her hands.
She examined it as if she were buying it in a shop.
"That's a last year's style," was her first observation. "It'll be
regular old-fashioned by next winter, and, of course, I shouldn't want
a muff before then. The girls'll think I got them second-hand when
they're as out of date as all that. They're awful particular in Nashua,
more like New York than Boston." She shook out the boa. "Those little
tails are sweet, but they don't wear them now. How much did you give?"
He told her.
"They're not worth it. It's the marked-down season too. Some one's put
it over on you. I could have got them for half the price--and younger.
These are an old woman's furs. The girls'll say my aunt in Boston's
died, and left them to me in her will."
Brushing them aside, she faced him with her resentful eyes. Her hands
were clasped in front of her, the diamond flashing on the finger
resting on a table-scarf of thin brown silk embroidered in magenta
ferns.
"Well, Tom, what's your answer to my letter?"
At any other minute he would have replied gently, placatingly; but just
now his heart was hot. A hundred dollars had meant much to him. It
would have to be paid back in paring down on all his necessities, in
food, in carfares, even in the washing of his clothes. He too clasped
his hands on the table, facing her as she faced him. He remembered
afterward how blue her eyes had been, blue as lapis lazuli. All he
could see in them now was demand, and further demand, and demand again
after that.
"Have I got to give you an answer, Maisie? If so, it's only the one
I've given you before. We'll be married when I get through college, and
have found work."
"And when'll that be?"
"I'm sorry to say it won't be for another two years, at the earliest."
"Another two years, and I've waited three already!"
"I know you have. But listen, Maisie! When we got engaged I was only
sixteen. You were only eighteen. Even now I'm only nineteen, and you're
only twenty-one. We've got lots of time. It would be foolish for us to
be married...."