Frances was a little late the next night, and from her locker in the
corridor, she looked anxiously into the classroom for the young
Englishman’s nice brown head bent over his machine. But he wasn’t there.
She went to her place and began to work half-heartedly, with one eye on
the door, watching for him. The clock ticked on and on, half an hour
gone, still she couldn’t believe he wasn’t coming. The whole long hour
passed, the typing lesson was finished, and he hadn’t come.
Disappointment out of all proportion assailed her. Her heart was like
lead, the whole world blank.
“What a fool I am!” she told herself. “Why on earth should I care? I
don’t really; it’s only that he’s the only other possible person in the
place---- Why should he come? Of course he’s given up the whole thing in
disgust. _Of course_ he’s not coming back, at all. Ever. Of course I
shan’t see him again. What difference does it make?”
And yet, in spite of all this excellent common-sense, that feeling of
desolation persisted. She hated and loathed the silly school, made up
her mind to stop coming. She sat in the shorthand class, scratching down
her unintelligible little symbols----
Suddenly an awful thought swept over her. It grew rapidly to a
conviction. He had certainly stayed away solely because of her, because
she had been so preposterously over-friendly that he was disgusted and
alarmed. She did wish that she might see him once more, just to tell him
that she didn’t like him, not him, personally; simply, like all nice
Americans, she had wanted to be kind to a stranger....
She rushed out the minute the class was over. She was very anxious to
get home. And there he was, waiting for her, standing under a street
lamp where the light streamed on his arrogant face, a slim, foppish
figure, with a walking stick. She felt suddenly angry at him; replied
with coldness to his greeting.
“It was such a nice evening,” he said, “I couldn’t stand that filthy
place.”
It was; sweet, calm, fresh, with a bright little moon overhead.
“I thought perhaps you’d like to walk a bit,” he said, “if you’re not
tired.”
She hesitated imperceptibly, then accepted.
“A few blocks,” she said. “I shouldn’t like to be late.”
“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked presently.
Frances said she didn’t, and they began strolling, quite aimlessly,
uptown.
“I say!” he exclaimed, “It’s very decent of you to come. You Americans
_are_ unconventional, aren’t you?”
“Not all of us,” said Frances drily.
“We’re different. We won’t have anything to do with a stranger till
we’ve got his credentials. I dare say we’re over-particular. No English
girl I’ve ever met would take up a man this way----”
“I’m not in the habit of it,” said Frances. She was affronted and angry.
“But I’m not a child. I’m accustomed to--to forming my own judgments.
I--as far as I could judge, you were a gentleman. I thought you’d quite
understand----”
“I _do_!” he protested, “I do, absolutely. I only wanted to tell you
that I like it--all this freedom, you know. An English girl of your
class would be so--so much more prudent----”
“I’m not imprudent!” cried Frances, passionately.
“Ah, but you are, though. My dear young lady, you don’t even know my
name.”
“Well, what is it, then?” she asked, half-laughing, half-furious. “You’d
better tell me, if that will make this shocking walk more ‘prudent.’”
“Lionel Naylor,” he said.
“Haven’t you any letters, any papers, to identify yourself? How can I
tell if that’s really your name?”
He replied with perfect seriousness:
“I’ve one or two things--a letter----”
“Oh, nonsense! Couldn’t you see that I was joking? Why on earth should I
care _who_ you are? I’m old enough and sufficiently intelligent to find
out very soon _what_ you are. I’m not afraid of strange men. I can take
care of myself.”
“It does no harm for a girl to be careful,” he answered, stubbornly.
And that was, apparently, his final word. They went on in silence.
Frances counted fifteen blocks without a word. At the first crossing he
had rather ceremoniously taken her arm, and he didn’t release it. He
seemed quite contented to go on forever in this way. But it provoked
Frances beyond measure. She longed to say to him:
“Why did you ask me to take a walk, if you didn’t want to speak to me?”
She made up her mind that she wouldn’t speak first, no matter how long
it was. She had to, though. She looked at her watch.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to turn back now,” she said. “It’s time I was
home.”
“I say!” he cried. “That’s too bad! I wanted to have a talk with you.”
“Why didn’t you talk then?” she asked, sharply, and he answered with
equal irritability:
“My dear young lady, I can’t plunge into things the way you people do. I
have to collect my thoughts a bit----”
“Strange as it may seem to you,” said Frances, “all the people in this
country are not exactly alike.”
It began to dawn upon him that she was really annoyed, that these people
were possibly as sensitive to offence as himself. Instantly he was very
sorry.
“I dare say I’m not very tactful,” he said, “I didn’t mean to be
offensive, though, I assure you. I admire you people very much.”
“_All_ of us?”
He laughed.
“There are some, of course.... My sister-in-law--She!...”
“She’s an American?”
“Yes. My brother lives over here, you know. Been here some time. We
thought he was a confirmed bachelor. Practically certain not to marry.
Then, the very day after I got here, he did it. And such a girl! Of
course it made trouble at once.”
Frances was interested, and moreover, she could see that he wanted to
talk about it.
“How?” she asked.
“Set my brother against me. Put all sorts of beastly--Am--beastly ideas
into his head. She has no use for a man unless he’s eternally stewing
over a row of figures, grubbing after money. So now he’s got this
idiotic idea of my learning this typing and shorthand rot. And why? So I
can get a job in his office. I never heard such silly rot. What earthly
use is that stuff going to be? I shan’t be one of his clerks. It’s _her_
idea. She wants to humiliate me.”
Frances murmured something sympathetic.
“What business were you in before?” she asked.
“Not in any business,” he replied, surprised. “Didn’t you understand? I
suppose, according to _your_ ideas, I’m no good. I’ve never done
anything much. Just stopped at home while my mother was alive.... Until
two years ago ... when she died. She--liked to have me at home. We got
on together very well.”
He was rather pathetically anxious to be friendly and communicative now,
to show her that he wasn’t aloof and condescending. He tried to tell her
about himself, indirectly to present his credentials. And did so, far
more fully than he imagined. With every word, spoken and unspoken, she
was more certain that she had not been mistaken--that he was “nice,”
that he was to be trusted, that he was mysteriously likable.
“We travelled, and so on,” he continued. “She liked that.... Do you
know, when I look at this girl Horace has married, I’m glad--really
glad, the poor old mater--isn’t here.”
Then, unfortunately, he got started on a very favourite topic; he told
her what he had endured from “that girl”; how she sneered at him,
persecuted him, was continually poisoning his brother’s mind against
him. Frances listened with a heavy heart. She couldn’t approve of this!
It wasn’t manly; it wasn’t fine. She pitied him, yearned over him, and
at the same time felt a passionate Defoe desire to lecture him, to tell
him he was wrong, didn’t see things in a proper light. She wanted to
tell him what to do and offer to help him to do it.
Conversation about his sister-in-law lasted until they had reached
Frankie’s door. Then he was once more surprised and regretful that he
hadn’t made better use of his time. He took Frankie’s proffered hand
warmly.
“You see,” he said, “I didn’t ask _your_ name. It wasn’t necessary.”
“Do you know it?” she asked, a little puzzled.
“No, not that. Simply, I don’t need any credentials to know that
you’re--absolutely--all right. Absolutely.”
She smiled at him maternally. She liked that clumsy compliment; she
liked his naïveness, his simplicity, even his rudeness. She saw him no
longer as a young man, but as a boy, who had been badly trained, a
rather spoilt boy. She felt very peaceful, very kindly, toward him and
toward everyone else. She had never known life to be so satisfying as it
was that evening, for no reason at all.