"Well, I'm the man," he said triumphantly. "Don't fool yourself--that
little hand of yours slips into my coat pocket as if it belonged there.
And it does."
He pulled it out and kissed it. Luckily the theatre was dark.
Two days later I consented to elope with him. Mother was quite
delirious when I told her. She came over and kissed my cheek.
"You've never disappointed me, Kit, never," she said. "If only Madge
would do as well."
She sighed.
"Madge will probably marry for love, and be happy," I snapped. It was a
silly speech. I haven't an idea why I made it.
"And shabby," said mother.
I turned on her sharply. The strain of the last month was over, and I
dare say I went to pieces.
"It's all very well for you to be satisfied," I cried. "You're not going
to marry Russell Hill, and have him call you 'girlie,' and see his hat
move every time he raises his eyebrows. I am."
She went out very stiffly, and sent her maid in with hot tea.
I was out at a theatre party that night, and mother was in my room when
I got back.
"I want to talk to you, Katherine," she said, "I've been uneasy all
evening."
"If you mean about what I said this afternoon, please forget it, mother.
I was tired and nervous. I didn't mean it."
"Not that. I don't want any mistake about this elopement. Now and then
those things have a way of going wrong. Quite often there is trouble
about a license or a minister."
"Send father ahead," I said flippantly.
"Not father. But some one really ought to look after things. Russell is
not the sort to arrange anything in advance. I thought perhaps Henry--"
"Henry!"
"He is reliable," said mother. "And he has your well-being at heart. He
is more like a brother than a good many brothers I know."
I could scream my head off when I think of it now. For we fixed on
Henry, and I telephoned him to come round to dinner. He seemed rather
surprised when he heard my voice.
"Honestly, Kit," he said, "do you want me?"
"I want you to do something for me."
"Then I'll come. That's all that's necessary."
But it wasn't as easy as it had promised after all. There's something so
downright about Henry. He was standing in front of the library fire
after dinner when I told him.
"Henry," I said, "I am going to be married."
He did not say anything at first. Then:
"Well?" he asked.
"Do you know to whom?"
"Yes."
"Aren't you going to say anything?"
"I don't know what I can say," he said very slowly and carefully. "If
each of you cares a lot, that's all there is to it, isn't it? The point
is, of course, why you are doing it. If it's to cut out somebody else,
or to get money or anything like that, I'm not going to wish you
happiness, because you won't deserve it. If you're in love with him,
that's different."
Did you ever try to tell a lie to a red-headed young man with blue eyes?
It's extremely difficult.
"I'm not in love with him, Henry," I said. I was astounded to hear
myself saying it.
"Then you're giving him a crooked deal."
"He's not in love with me either. So that's even."
"Then why----"
"Because he thinks he can't have me," I said. "I'm marrying him because
he's the most marriageable man I know, and I have to marry money. I've
been raised for that. And he's marrying me because I'm the only girl
whose people didn't fling her at him."
"Then I wish you joy of each other!" he said hoarsely, and slammed out
of the room and out of the house.
I haven't the faintest idea what came over me that night. I went
upstairs and cried my eyes out.
A few days later, after a round of luncheons, dinners and dances until I
was half dead, I had a free evening. The elopement had been set for
Friday, and it was Wednesday. Mother and father were out, and I went
downstairs for a book. I had got it and was just going out when I saw
Henry's red head over the back of the leather chair by the fire.
I went over. He was not reading. He was just sitting, his long legs
stretched out in front of him.
"Hello, Kit," he said calmly. "I knew this was an off night. Sit down."