"Off Sadie Whirtle, ma'am--a friend of mine." The girl hesitated, and
then said: "That's her now."
And she pointed a small finger at the enormous snapping Saleslady, who
stood glowering and patting her transformation at another customer ten
feet away.
But Carlisle did not follow the finger, and so missed the sight of Miss
Whirtle. Her rising relief had been penetrated by a doubt, not a new
one ... Would her friend Vivian have committed himself to the articles
for only a foolish sentimentalism which the poor themselves
repudiated?...
"But tell me frankly, Corinne, for I want to know," said she--"I know
working must be hard in any case--but do the girls at the Works consider
it a--a reasonably nice place?"
Kern knew nothing of the articles, of any situation: and at that
_Co-rinne_, her heart ran to water within her. She would have said
anything for that.
"Oh, ma'am, all say it's the nicest place to work in town. Yes,
ma'am ... And some of 'em has rich fathers and needn't work at all
anywhere, but they just go on and work at the Works, yes, ma'am,
because they druther ..."
That, by a little, drew the long-bow too hard. Cally saw that the small
three-years' buncher, through politeness or otherwise, was speaking
without reference to the truth. And hard upon that she had another
thought, striking down the impulse to cross-examine further. What an
undignified, what a cowardly way, to try to find things out! What a baby
she was, to be sure!... V. Vivian knew about the Works, though it was
certainly no affair of his. This frail girl, who did look rather sick
now that you stopped and looked at her, knew all about it. Only she, her
father's daughter, knew nothing, wrapped in her layers of pretty
pink wool ...
The lady came abruptly to her feet.
"I'm glad to hear it," said she ... "But I 'm afraid I must go on now.
Some one is waiting for me outside."
"Oh!--yes, ma'am!"
Kern had risen with her, though she had not learned that from the
Netiquette. Much it would have amazed her to know that the heavenly
visitor was regarding her with a flickering conviction of
inferiority....
"Good-bye, then. I hope you'll soon get your strength back again.... And
I'm very glad I saw you."
And then there was her hand held out; not lady to lady, of course, but
still her lady's hand. Poor Kern, with her exaltation and her pangs,
felt ready to go down on one knee to take it.
"Oh, ma'am!" she stammered. "I'm the glad one ..."
Miss Heth smiled--oh, so sweet, almost like in the Dream--and then it
was all over, and she was walking away, with the loveliest rustle ever
was. And Kern stood lost in the thronging aisle, staring at the point
where she had disappeared and giving little pinches to her thin
arm--just to make certain-sure, y' know ...
This till the voice of Miss Whirtle spoke in her ear:
"Say, Kurrin, I like that! Whyn't you ask me to shake hands with your
swell dame friend?"
And Miss Heth, out in the crowded street, was heading toward Morland's
with an adventurous resolution in her mind.
It had needed but a touch to make up her mind here, whether she realized
it or not; and this touch the girl Corinne had given her. Now, too,
impulse met convenient opportunity. For two weeks she had been thinking
that if she _did_ ever happen to go to the Works, she would make a point
of going in some offhand, incidental sort of way, thus proving to
herself and the public that she had not the slightest responsibility for
whatever might be going on there. (How could she possibly have, no
matter what Mr. V.V. thought, with his exaggerated sympathies for the
poor?) Now here was Hugo waiting, perfectly fitted, to her need. What
could be more natural and incidental than this? She would simply be
showing her father's factory to her friend, Mr. Canning....
And perhaps Cally had an even deeper feeling of Mr. Canning's admirable
suitability in this connection. Somewhere just above the line of
consciousness, did there not lie the subtle thought that, if what she
saw at the Works _should_ have power to work dangerously on her own
sympathies, Hugo, with his strong worldly sense, his material
perfection, his whole splendid embodiment of the victorious-class ideal,
would be just the corrective she needed to keep her safe and sane?...
* * * * *
When she was seated in the car beside him, and he was tucking the robe
around her, Cally inquired with a deceptive air of indifference:
"You don't care particularly where we go, do you, Hugo?"
"The point seems of no importance whatever, now that I've got you."
"Then," said she, smiling, "I shall take you first to the Heth Cheroot
Works."
Canning's face, which had been buoyant from the moment his eyes
discovered her in the crowd, betrayed surprise and strong disapproval.
That, surely, would give his afternoon a slant different from his
plannings....
"I bar the Works. I feel all ways but sociological to-day. Let's go to
the country."
"Afterwards," said she, with the same lightness, clear proof of the
casual nature of the proposed excursion. "We'll simply pop in for a
minute or two, to see what it looks like--"
"But you can't tell what it looks like, even--"
"Well, at least I'll have seen it. Do give me my way about this.
_You'll_ enjoy it ..."
And leaning forward on that, she said to his hired driver: "Take us to
Seventeenth and Canal Streets."
The shadow of disapprobation did not lift from Hugo's face.
"I had no idea," he said, boredly and somewhat stiffly, "that you took
your new-thought so seriously."
Cally laughed brightly. "But then you never think women are serious,
Hugo."
It was on the tip of her tongue to add: "Until it's too late." But she
held that back, as being too pointedly reminiscent.