"Miss Flower, I want very much to introduce Donald Manford to you,
before I go. May I do it now? Won't you promise to hold fast to this
bookcase, and not budge till I come back?"
The girl promised. She seemed pleased by his thought of her, but sorry
over his own impending departure. "Oh, do _you_ have to go now?" she
said, and her woman's eyes seemed to add quite plainly: "I'd lots rather
talk to you than meet Mr. Manford."
The young authority smiled at her, and disappeared into the company.
Directly, he was back again, the engineer in tow.
Donald, found conversing in a nook with another handsome guest, a Miss
Helen Carson, had rather resisted removal and been hauled off, truth to
tell, in some ill-humor. But Charles, for his part, felt warmly pleased
with himself, bringing together these two nice, normal cousins of Mary
Wing's. The girl too, looked pleased; her eyes were shining, a pretty
color tinged her young cheek.
"I'm so glad to meet you, Mr. Manford, at last. We're really sort of
connections, aren't we--once removed!"
"Yes, I believe so!--that's fine. Delighted to know you," said Mr.
Manford. "I hope you enjoyed the speeches this evening?"
"Well--that's hardly a fair question!" laughed Miss Angela, looking from
one man to the other. "Are you a--regular member?"
The query brought applauding laughter from Mr. Garrott and a weak groan
from Mr. Manford. "You mean I look like one? Oh, that's a blow! No,
honor bright," he added, "I leave all the advanced stuff to Mary."
Then Charles took his leave, in the friendliest manner. He felt, in an
odd sort of way, that there had sprung a kind of bond between this girl
and him, all the realer in that she, of course, was so unconscious of
it. So kindly did he feel toward Mary Wing's cousin, indeed, that when
she hoped, in her charming natural way, that he would come to see them
some time soon, he, though anything but a caller, actually came very
near promising to do so.
Miss Flower's eyes regretted his going; they were feminine eyes. Charles
smiled into them again, pressed her hand, and turned away toward the
Studio, to think.
By the door, he ran again into Mary Wing. The educator had changed her
position, but was still eating sandwiches. She beckoned Charles nearer,
in her confident way, and said:--
"Do you remember my telling you how much I wanted to see Donald settled
before he went off, and sketching a few of the qualifications the girl
must have? And your saying that what I wanted was a syndicate?"
He remembered, he said.
"See how I treasure up your _bon mots_. Well, there she is."
And she nodded down the room, not even in the direction of her cousin
from the country, but to none other than Miss Carson, now found
conversing with the heated Pollock.
"Oh," said Garrott.
"Why," exclaimed Mary, the moment her eyes had followed her nod, "I
wonder where Donald is!"
He decided to pretend not to hear. Gazing at Miss Carson in the light of
this information, he was ready to concede that she seemed a sound enough
modern choice. Well-connected, well-to-do, and completely educated, the
young lady in question, while now taking "two years out" to please her
mother, was next year going to work, to please herself--of course, in
Social Service. Young and alluring Miss Carson looked, indeed. But
something in the mould of her smooth chin, confronting the young man who
had none, seemed to serve notice that, though she was beautiful, she
knew that Women's Egos must be free.
"Don't you think she may be a little firm? I mean, for Donald?"
"Firm? Not a bit!--she's human and competent. Heavens!--you don't want
Donald to marry a helpless little silly, do you? But what on earth
became of him, did you notice? I made him come here after me specially
to meet her, and I had them talking so nicely--"
Then Charles said firmly: "I just introduced him to Miss Flower. It
seemed you'd neglected to do so. By the way, your cousin's charming."
"Oh," said Mary, rather drawn-out.
And, after a rebuking pause, she added in pedagogic tones: "Well, I'm
sorry you took him away from Helen. I'm serious about this match, you
see. It would almost reconcile me to giving Donald up."
The young man's look at his old friend was certainly critical now. And
he refused to feel in the least sorry for his interference with her cool
eu-marital scheme. For, taking even the most liberal view, Modernity was
for Moderns; probably always would be. What under the sun did a fellow
like Donald want with a wife who would prove him wrong about a cosine,
and keep him up jawing about Mrs. Gilman till two o'clock in the
morning?
* * * * *
From the Turkish air of the Redmantle, Charles Garrott passed out into
the bracing November night. Two blocks farther along, he passed the door
of another club, a completely male one. And down the wide steps, between
the columnar lights, there came shambling a large, loose-jointed,
round-faced man in a brown felt hat, and joined him.
"Well, Charlie."
"Good evening, Mr. Wing."
Having caught stride, the two men walked on in silence. This Mr. Wing
was Mary's Uncle Oliver, an interesting individual in his way, member of
the City School Board, and in the business world known sometimes as a
"capitalist," sometimes again as a loan-shark. When in the vein, Mr.
Wing could be conversational enough, and his morose air at present
indicated that he had lost not less than three dollars at the Bellevue
Club card-tables this evening.
When they had proceeded some three blocks in total silence, Charles,
emerging from his brown study, said idly:--
"Mr. Wing, do you believe in the Woman's Movement?"
Hearing no reply to his query, he glanced around, and found Mr. Wing
slowly shaking his head. It seemed to be a time-gaining sort of shake;
it undertook to hold the floor temporarily, promising good sound
argument to follow. Charles waited. But Uncle Oliver did not speak; he
only continued to shake his head, slowly and profoundly. And when the
two had traversed half a block in this provisional sort of way, the
money-lender suddenly turned up the steps of the house where he lived,
still shaking his head.