"No, please, don't give me up. I'll die if you do."
Margaret came in then, and she greeted him very cordially. She chuckled
when I called her a "sly thing" for writing to him, and she said she
had to let him know, since he had paid for the big room.
"Yes, but you didn't tell him I had the little room," I said.
"What does it matter?" laughed Margaret. "You two are always making
mountains out of molehills. Life's too short to waste a single moment
of it in argument."
Roger said:
"You are perfectly right. After this, Nora and I are not going to
quarrel about anything. She's going to be a reasonable child."
I had to laugh. I knew what he meant by my being reasonable. Nothing
mattered this night, however, except that he had come. I told him that,
and put my cheek against his hand. I was always doing things like
that, for although he was undemonstrative, and the nearest he came to
caressing me was to smooth my cheek and hair, I always got as close to
him as I could. I'd slip my hand through his arm, or put my hand in
his, and my head against him; and when we were out anywhere, I always
had my hand in his pocket, and he'd put his hand in over mine. He liked
them, too, these ways of mine, for he used to look at me with a queer
sort of grim smile that was nevertheless tender.
He was a man used to having his own way, however, and he didn't intend
to give in to me in this matter of the rooms. So this is how he finally
arranged things: I was to have the little room, and he would take the
suite in front. When he was in Chicago, he would use these rooms; but
when he was not, I was to have the use of them, and he made me promise
that I would use the big room for writing.
This arrangement satisfied Mrs. Kingston and delighted me, but mama was
inclined to grumble. She wanted to know just why he should maintain
rooms in the house, anyway, and just what he was "after" me for. She
was in a perverse and cranky mood. She talked so that I put my hand
over her mouth and said she had a bad mind.
Roger explained to Margaret--he pretended to ignore mama, but he was
talking for her especially--that they need have no anxiety in regard
to his intentions toward me; that they were purely disinterested; in
fact, he felt toward me pretty much as they did themselves. I was an
exceptional girl who ought to be helped and befriended; that he had
never made love to me, and, he added grimly, that he never would. My!
how I hated mama at that moment for causing him to say that. In fact
he talked so plausibly that Margaret and I threw black looks at mama
for her gratuitous interference, and Margaret whispered to me that it
should not happen again. Mama "stuck to her guns," however, and finally
said:
"Well, let me ask you a question, Mr. Hamilton. Are you in love with
Nora?"
He looked over my head and said:
"No."
That was the first time he had directly denied that he cared for me,
and my heart sank. I wouldn't look at him, I felt so badly, nor did I
feel any better when, after a moment, he added:
"I'm old enough to be Nora's father, and at my time of life I'm not
likely to make a fool of myself even for Nora."
"Hm!" snorted mama, "that all sounds very fine, but what about Nora? Do
you pretend that she is not in love with you?"
His stiff expression softened, but he said very bitterly, I thought:
"Nora is seventeen."
Then he laughed shortly, and added: "I don't see how it can hurt her
to have me for a friend, do you? As far as that goes, even if she does
imagine herself in love with me, a closer acquaintance might lead to a
complete cure and disillusionment, a consummation, I presume, much to
be desired."
He said this with so much bitterness, and even pain, that I ran over to
him and put my face against his hand.
"Wait a bit, Nora. We'd better get this matter settled once and for
all," he said. "Either I am to come here, with the understanding and
consent of these ladies, whenever I choose and without interference of
any sort, or I will not come at all."
"Then I won't stay, either," I cried. "Margaret, _you_ know that if he
never comes to see me again, I'll jump into Lake Michigan."
They all laughed at that, and it broke up the strained conversation.
Margaret said in her big, gay way:
"Of course you can come and go as you please. The rooms are yours, and
I shouldn't presume to dictate to you." And then she said to mama:
"Amy, you've had too much wine. Let it alone."