"Evelyn and Dawson," she explained, "were crowding the living-room, so
I thought of this. Is John in the Club?"
"He was, but he said good-night to Harry Colemain and me, and I think
he went home. . . . How is everything? I saw you and John from afar,
walking together. I knew you could run because I've seen you play
tennis, but I didn't suppose you'd ever learned to walk. You're always
either on a horse or behind one."
"Was it very bold of me to come to the Club for you? I suppose I ought
to have telephoned." Then she laughed. "I ought to have had more
consideration of your reputation," she said.
"My reputation will survive," I said. "But look here, Lucy----"
"I'm looking!"
"I meant look with your mind. I don't know if I ought to bring it up;
it's just gossip. Harry saw John coming out of the President's room in
the bank. He said it looked to him as if John had been trying to make
a touch and hadn't gotten away with it. You know I hate to see him
distressed for money, especially now when other things are distressing
him, and I wonder if there isn't some tactful arrangement by which I
could let him have some money without his knowing that it came from me."
"_Aren't_ you good!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I suppose he makes things out
as bad as he can so as to influence me as much as possible; but he says
we are in a terrible hole, that we oughtn't to have come here at all,
that if he'd had any idea how much money I'd been spending in New York
before we came he wouldn't have considered coming, that everybody is
hounding him for money, and that he doesn't see how he can possibly pay
his bills at the end of the season. Of course it's mostly my fault;
but I can't help it if the Democrats are in power and business is bad,
can I?"
"Well," I said, "I'm flush just now and I'll think up a scheme.
Meanwhile let's forget about everything that isn't pleasant. Where are
you going to drive me?"
"I don't care. Let's get away from the lights. What time is it? John
doesn't like me to be late; and besides I haven't kissed the kiddies
good-night. Let's just take a little dip in the woods. On a hot night
it's almost like going for a swim. Oughtn't you to have a hat or
something? If you get cold you can put the cooler on like a shawl."
Her manner affected me as it had never affected me before.
The dip from the hot dusk of the dusty road into the cool midnight of
the pine woods had all the exhilaration of an adventure. The fact that
she had sent into the Club for me flattered my vanity. She wanted me
and not another to be with her. I felt a tenderness for her that I had
never felt before. I wanted a chance to show that I understood her and
was her friend without qualification. Shoulder touched shoulder now
and then and it seemed to me as if I was being appealed to by that
contact for support, countenance, and protection.
We chattered about the night and the pale stars, and the smells of
flowers. We wished that there was no such thing as dinner, that the
woods lasted forever, and that we might drive on through the soft
perfumed air until we came to the end of them.
Then there was quite a long silence, and for the first time in my life
I experienced the wish, well, not to kiss her, but to lay my cheek
against hers. It was a wish singularly hard to resist.
"I suppose we ought to turn back."
"You know best," I said.
"Do you want to?"
"No, do you?"
"No."
But we turned back and came up out of the woods into the lights of the
town.
"Where shall I drop you--at the Club?"
"Let me drop you," I said, "and borrow your buggy afterward to take me
home. You ought not to drive alone at night."
"Maybe it would be better if I did," she said.
We said good-night at the door of her house, but not easily. For once
it seemed hard to say anything final.
"Was I very brazen," she said, "to ask you to go with me, when I didn't
want to be alone?"
"You were not," I said, "it was sweet of you. I loved it."
Cornelius Twombly lunged from the black shadow of a cedar tree and went
to the horse's head.
"Good-night, Lucy. Good luck!"
Just then we heard John calling.
"That you, Lucy? You're late. I was getting anxious."
We could see him coming down the path, a vague shadow among the
shadows, his cigarette burning brightly.
"Hallo, who is it? I can't see."
"It's Archie Mannering," said Lucy.
"Oh, is it? Won't you come in?"
"Can't, thanks. Got to dress. Lovely night, isn't it? Good-night.
Good-night, Lucy."
When I had driven a little way I turned and looked over my shoulder,
but though I could only see the fire of John's cigarette, I imagined
that I could see his face--a little puzzled, a little anxious, and very
sad.
It was on that same night that he said to Lucy: "Aren't you seeing a
good deal of Archie Mannering?"
And she answered:
"Am I? I suppose I am. I like him awfully."