Orson was called in by the station agent before he could question any of
the greeters. When he was released the throng had dispersed. The
Terriberrys had clambered into the family surrey and driven home with
their disgrace.
But that night there was a party at the Littons', planned in Emma's
honor. Tudie had invited Orson to be present.
He found that the one theme of conversation was Emma. Everybody said to
him, "Have you seen Emma?" and when he said "Yes," everybody demanded,
"Have you heard her?" and when he said "No" everybody said, "Just you
wait!"
Orson was growing desperate over the mystery. He seized Newt Elkey by
the arm and said, "What does she do?"
"What does who do?"
"This Miss Em Terriberry. Everybody says, 'Have you heard her?'"
"Well, haven't you?"
"No! What under the sun does she say?"
"Just you wait. 'Shh!"
Then Emma came down the stairs like a slowly swooping angel.
She had seemed a princess in her traveling-togs; in her evening gown--!
Orson had not seen such a gown since he had been in Paris. He imagined
this girl poised on the noble stairway of the Opera there. Em came
floating down upon these small-town girls with this fabric from heavenly
looms, and reduced them once for all to a chorus.
But there was no scorn in her manner and no humility in her welcome. The
Carthage girls frankly gave her her triumph, yet when she reached the
foot of the stairs and the waiting Arthur she murmured something that
broke the spell. The crowd rippled with suppressed amusement. Arthur
flushed.
Orson was again too remote to hear. But he could feel the wave of
derision, and he could see the hot shame on Arthur's cheeks. Emma bent
low for her train, took Arthur's arm, and disappeared into the parlor
where the dancing had begun.
Orson felt his arm pinched, and turned to find Tudie looking at him.
"This is our dance," she said, "unless you'd rather dance with her."
"With her? With Miss Terriberry, you mean?"
"Naturally. You were staring at her so hard I thought your eyes would
roll out on the floor."
There was only one way to quell this mutiny, and that was to soothe it
away. He caught Tudie in his arms. It was strenuous work bumping about
in that little parlor, and collisions were incessant, but he wooed Tudie
as if they were afloat in interstellar spaces.
They collided oftenest with Arthur and his Emma, for the lucky youth who
held that drifting nymph seemed most unhappy in his pride. The girl was
talking amiably, but the man was grim and furtive and as careless of his
steering as a tipsy chauffeur.
Orson forgot himself enough to comment to Tudie, "Your brother doesn't
seem to be enjoying himself."
"Poor boy, he's heartbroken."
"Why?"
"He's so disappointed with Em."
"I can't see anything wrong with her."
"Evidently not; but have you heard her?"
In a sudden access of rage Orson stopped short in the middle of the
swirl, and, ignoring the battery of other dancers, demanded, "In
Heaven's name, what's the matter with the girl?"
"Nothing, I should judge from the look on your face after your close
inspection."
"Oh, for pity's sake, don't begin on me; but tell me--"
"Talk to her and find out," said Tudie, with a twang that resounded as
the music came to a stop. "Oh, Em--Miss Terriberry, this is Mr. Carver;
he's dying to meet you."
She whirled around so quickly that he almost fell into the girl's arms.
She received him with a smile of self-possession: "Chahmed, Mr. Cahveh."
Orson's Eastern ears, expecting some horror of speech, felt delight
instead. She did not say "charrmed" like an alarm-clock breaking out.
She did not trundle his name up like a wheelbarrow. She softened the "a"
and ignored the "r."
Tudie rolled the "r" on his ear-drums as with drum-sticks, and by
contrast the sound came to him as: "Misterr Carrverr comes from
Harrvarrd. He calls it Havvad."
"Oh," said Em, with further illumination, "I woah the Hahvahd colohs the
lahst time I went to a game."
Orson wanted to say something about her lips being the perfect Havvad
crimson, but he did not quite dare--yet. And being of New England, he
would always be parsimonious with flatteries.
Tudie hooked her brother's arm and said with an angelic spitefulness,
"We'll leave you two together," and swished away.
Orson immediately asked for the next dance and Em granted it. While they
were waiting for the rheumatic piano to resume they promenaded. Orson
noted that everybody they passed regarded them with a sly and cynical
amusement. It froze all the language on his lips, and the girl was still
breathing so fast from the dance that she apologized. Orson wanted to
tell her how glorious she looked with her cheeks kindled, her lips
parted, and her young bosom panting. But he suppressed the feverish
impulse. And he wondered more and more what ridiculous quality the
Carthaginians could have found in her who had returned in such splendor.
The piano exploded now with a brazen impudence of clamor. Orson opened
his arms to her, but she shook her head: "Oh, I cahn't dahnce again just
yet. You'd bettah find anothah pahtnah."
She said it meekly, and seemed to be shyly pleased when he said he much
preferred to sit it out. And they sat it out--on the porch. Moonlight
could not have been more luscious on Cleopatra's barge than it was
there. The piazza, which needed paint in the daylight, was blue enameled
by the moon. The girl's voice was in key with the harmony of the hour
and she brought him tidings from the East and from Europe. They were as
grateful as home news in exile.
He expected to have her torn from him at any moment. But, to his
amazement, no one came to demand her. They were permitted to sit
undisturbed for dance after dance. She was suffering ostracism. The more
he talked to her the more he was puzzled. Even Arthur did not appear.
Even the normal jealousy of a fiance was not evident. Orson's brain grew
frantic for explanation. The girl was not wicked, nor insolent. She
plainly had no contagious disease, no leprosy, no plague, not even a
cold. Then why was she persecuted?
He was still fretting when the word was passed that supper was ready,
and they were called in. Plates and napkins were handed about by
obliging young gallants; chicken salad and sandwiches were dealt out
with a lavish hand, and ice-cream and cake completed the banquet.
Arthur had the decency to sit with Em and to bring her things to eat,
but he munched grimly at his own fodder. Orson tagged along and sat on
the same sofa. It was surprising how much noise the guests made while
they consumed their food. The laughter and clatter contrasted with the
soft speech of Em, all to her advantage.
When the provender was gone, and the plates were removed, Tudie whisked
Orson away to dance with her. As he danced he noted that Em was a
wall-flower, trying to look unconcerned, but finally seeking shelter by
the side of Tudie's mother, who gave her scant hospitality.