"Bend over," I said quickly, "and put your cheek against it. It's more
significant and rather hopeless. I'll explain later."
He did extremely well. He bent over passionately until his head was
almost in my lap, and I could see how carefully his hair was brushed
over a thin place at the crown. Thank goodness, Bill keeps his hair
anyhow!
"How's this?" he said in a muffled voice.
"That's plenty." I'd made up my mind, and I meant to go through with it.
But I felt like a fool. There's something about broad daylight that
makes even real sentiment look idiotic.
He sat up and looked into my eyes.
"There are times," he said, raising his voice, "when I feel I can't
stand it. I'm desperately--desperately unhappy, Clara."
"We must make the best of things," I said, and let my eyes wander toward
Alice and Peter. They had turned and were retreating swiftly through the
garden.
"Now," said Roger, sitting back and smoothing his hair, "what's it all
about?"
So I told him and explained my plan. Even now, when I never want to see
him again, I must admit that Roger is a sport. He never turned a hair.
"Of course I'll do it. It isn't as hard as you imagine. Our meeting like
this revives the old fire. I'm mad about you, recklessly mad, and you're
crazy about me. All right so far. But a thing like that won't throw much
of a crimp into Carrie. Probably she expects it."
"To-night," I explained, "we'll be together, but silent and moody. When
we smile at their nonsense it is to be a forced smile. We're intent on
ourselves. Do you see? And you might go to Carrie after dinner and tell
her you think you'll go. You can't stand being near me. It's too
painful. I'll talk to one of the men too."
He looked rather uncomfortable.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that, Clara. They wouldn't understand."
"Not about you," I retorted coldly. "I'll merely indicate that Bill and
I aren't hitting it off, and that a woman has a right to be happy. Then,
when things happen, they'll remember what I said."
He turned round his wicker chair so that he faced me.
"When things happen?" he said. "What things?"
"When we elope to-morrow night," I replied.
I'm not defending myself. Goodness knows I've gone through all that. I
am merely explaining. And I think Roger deserves part of the blame, but
of course the woman always suffers. If he had only been frank with me at
the time it need never have happened. Besides, I've been back to that
bridge again and again, and with ordinary intelligence and a hammer he
could have repaired it. It is well enough for him to say he didn't have
a hammer. He should have had a hammer.
At the mention of an elopement Roger changed colour, but I did not
remember that until afterward. He came up to scratch rather handsomely,
when he was able to speak, but he insisted that I write the whole thing
to Bill.
"I can tell him afterward," I protested.
"That won't help me if he has beaten me up first. You write him to the
office, so he'll get it Monday morning when he gets back from the game.
If anything should slip up you're protected, don't you see? Tell him
it's a joke and why we're doing it. I--I hope Bill has kept his sense of
humor."
Well, it looked simple enough. We were to act perfectly silly and
moonstruck all the rest of that day and Sunday until we had them all
thoroughly worried. Then on Sunday night we were to steal Wallie's car
and run away in it. The through train stops at a station about four
miles away, at eleven-fourteen at night, and we were to start that way
and then turn around and go to mother's.
We planned it thoroughly, I must say. Roger said he'd get one of the
fellows to cash a check for all the money he had about him. They'd be
sure to think of that when Carrie got my note. And I made a draft of the
note then and there on the back of an old envelope from Roger's pocket.
We made it as vague as possible.
"Dear Carrie," it ran, "by the time you receive this I shall be on my
way to happiness. Try to forgive me. I couldn't stand things another
moment. We only live one life and we all make mistakes. Read Ellen Key
and don't try to follow me. I'm old enough to know my own mind, and all
you have been saying this last few days has convinced me that when a
chance for happiness comes one is a fool not to take it. Had it not been
for you I should never have had my eyes opened to what I've been
missing all this time. I have wasted my best years, but at last I am
being true to myself. CLARA."
"Now," I said, rather viciously I dare say, "let her read that and throw
a fit. She'll never again be able to accuse me of making things dull for
her."
Roger read it over.
"We'd better write Bill's letter," he said, "and get it off. We--it
wouldn't do to have Bill worried, you know."
So we went into the house and wrote Bill's letter. We explained
everything--how stupid they'd all found our party and that this was only
a form of revenge.
"Suppose," Roger said as I sealed it, "suppose they get excited and send
for the police?"
That stumped us. It was one thing to give them a bad night, and
telephone them in the morning that it was a joke and that I'd gone
direct from Carrie's to mother's, which was the arrangement. But Carrie
was a great one for getting in detectives. You remember, the time her
sister was married, that Carrie had a detective in the house for a week
before the wedding watching the presents, and how at the last minute the
sister wanted to marry the detective, who was a good-looking boy, and
they had a dreadful time getting her to the church.
We both thought intently for quite a time.
"We must cut the telephone wire, Roger," I said at length.
Roger was not eager about cutting the telephone. He said he would
probably be shocked to death, although if he could find a pair of rubber
overshoes he'd take the risk.
"It ought to be done the very last thing," he said. "No use rousing
their suspicions early."
We played up hard all afternoon. Roger kissed the lump of sugar he put
in my tea, and went and sulked on the parapet when Peter Arundel came
and sat beside me. Carrie joined him there, and I could see her talking
earnestly to him while Roger looked out over the landscape with eyes
that were positively sombre.
"Having a good time?" said Peter Arundel to me.
"Heavenly, Peter," I replied, looking at Roger. "I didn't believe I
could be so happy."
"Go to it," said Peter. "What's a day or two out of a lifetime."