The outcome of that afternoon was so wonderful for both that for days
thereafter neither could cease thinking about it or marveling that
anything so romantic and charming should have brought them together so
intimately when both were considering that it was not wise for either
to know the other any better than employee and superior.
After a few moments of badinage in the boat in which he had talked
about the beauty of the lilies and how glad he was to get them for
her, they picked up her friend, Grace, and eventually returned to the
boathouse.
Once on the land again there developed not a little hesitation on
her part as well as his as to how farther to proceed, for they were
confronted by the problem of returning into Lycurgus together. As
Roberta saw it, it would not look right and might create talk. And on
his part, he was thinking of Gilbert and other people he knew. The
trouble that might come of it. What Gilbert would say if he did hear.
And so both he and she, as well as Grace, were dubious on the instant
about the wisdom of riding back together. Grace's own reputation, as
well as the fact that she knew Clyde was not interested in her, piqued
her. And Roberta, realizing this from her manner, said: "What do you
think we had better do, excuse ourselves?"
At once Roberta tried to think just how they could extricate themselves
gracefully without offending Clyde. Personally she was so enchanted
that had she been alone she would have preferred to have ridden back
with him. But with Grace here and in this cautious mood, never. She
must think up some excuse.
And at the same time, Clyde was wondering just how he was to do
now--ride in with them and brazenly face the possibility of being seen
by some one who might carry the news to Gilbert Griffiths or evade
doing so on some pretext or other. He could think of none, however,
and was about to turn and accompany them to the car when the young
electrician, Shurlock, who lived in the Newton household and who had
been on the balcony of the pavilion, hailed them. He was with a friend
who had a small car, and they were ready to return to the city.
"Well, here's luck," he exclaimed. "How are you, Miss Alden? How do you
do, Miss Marr? You two don't happen to be going our way, do you? If
you are, we can take you in with us."
Not only Roberta but Clyde heard. And at once she was about to say
that, since it was a little late and she and Grace were scheduled to
attend church services with the Newtons, it would be more convenient
for them to return this way. She was, however, half hoping that
Shurlock would invite Clyde and that he would accept. But on his doing
so, Clyde instantly refused. He explained that he had decided to stay
out a little while longer. And so Roberta left him with a look that
conveyed clearly enough the gratitude and delight she felt. They had
had such a good time. And he in turn, in spite of many qualms as to the
wisdom of all this, fell to brooding on how sad it was that just he and
Roberta might not have remained here for hours longer. And immediately
after they had gone, he returned to the city alone.
The next morning he was keener than ever to see Roberta again. And
although the peculiarly exposed nature of the work at the factory made
it impossible for him to demonstrate his feelings, still by the swift
and admiring and seeking smiles that played over his face and blazed
in his eyes, she knew that he was as enthusiastic, if not more so, as
on the night before. And on her part, although she felt that a crisis
of some sort was impending, and in spite of the necessity of a form
of secrecy which she resented, she could not refrain from giving him
a warm and quite yielding glance in return. The wonder of his being
interested in her! The wonder and the thrill!
Clyde decided at once that his attentions were still welcome. Also
that he might risk saying something to her, supposing that a suitable
opportunity offered. And so, after waiting an hour and seeing two
fellow workers leave from either side of her, he seized the occasion
to drift near and to pick up one of the collars she had just stamped,
saying, as though talking about that: "I was awfully sorry to have to
leave you last night. I wish we were out there again to-day instead of
here, just you and me, don't you?"
Roberta turned, conscious that now was the time to decide whether
she would encourage or discourage any attention on his part. At the
same time she was almost faintingly eager to accept his attentions
regardless of the problem in connection with them. His eyes! His hair!
His hands! And then instead of rebuking or chilling him in any way,
she only looked, but with eyes too weak and melting to mean anything
less than yielding and uncertainty. Clyde saw that she was hopelessly
and helplessly drawn to him, as indeed he was to her. On the instant
he was resolved to say something more, when he could, as to where they
could meet when no one was along, for it was plain that she was no more
anxious to be observed than he was. He well knew more sharply to-day
than ever before that he was treading on dangerous ground.
He began to make mistakes in his calculations, to feel that, with her
so near him, he was by no means concentrating on the various tasks
before him. She was too enticing, too compelling in so many ways to
him. There was something so warm and gay and welcome about her that he
felt that if he could persuade her to love him he would be among the
most fortunate of men. Yet there was that rule, and although on the
lake the day before he had been deciding that his position here was by
no means as satisfactory as it should be, still with Roberta in it, as
now it seemed she well might be, would it not be much more delightful
for him to stay? Could he not, for the time being at least, endure the
further indifference of the Griffiths? And who knows, might they not
yet become interested in him as a suitable social figure if only he did
nothing to offend them? And yet here he was attempting to do exactly
the thing he had been forbidden to do. What kind of an injunction was
this, anyhow, wherewith Gilbert had enjoined him? If he could come
to some understanding with her, perhaps she would meet him in some
clandestine way and thus obviate all possibility of criticism.
It was thus that Clyde, seated at his desk or walking about, was
thinking. For now his mind, even in the face of his duties, was almost
entirely engaged by her, and he could think of nothing else. He had
decided to suggest that they meet for the first time, if she would, in
a small park which was just west of the first outlying resort on the
Mohawk. But throughout the day, so close to each other did the girls
work, he had no opportunity to communicate with her. Indeed noontime
came and he went below to his lunch, returning a little early in the
hope of finding her sufficiently detached to permit him to whisper that
he wished to see her somewhere. But she was surrounded by others at the
time and so the entire afternoon went by without a single opportunity.
However, as he was going out, he bethought him that if he should chance
to meet her alone somewhere in the street, he would venture to speak
to her. For she wanted him to--that he knew, regardless of what she
might say at any time. And he must find some way that would appear
as accidental and hence as innocent to her as to others. But as the
whistle blew and she left the building she was joined by another girl,
and he was left to think of some other way.
That same evening, however, instead of lingering about the Peyton
house or going to a moving picture theater, as he so often did now, or
walking alone somewhere in order to allay his unrest and loneliness, he
chose now instead to seek out the home of Roberta on Taylor Street. It
was not a pleasing house, as he now decided, not nearly so attractive
as Mrs. Cuppy's or the house in which he now dwelt. It was too old
and brown, the neighborhood too nondescript, if conservative. But the
lights in different rooms glowing at this early hour gave it a friendly
and genial look. And the few trees in front were pleasant. What was
Roberta doing now? Why couldn't she have waited for him in the factory?
Why couldn't she sense now that he was outside and come out? He wished
intensely that in some way he could make her feel that he was out here,
and so cause her to come out. But she didn't. On the contrary, he
observed Mr. Shurlock issue forth and disappear toward Central Avenue.
And, after that, pedestrian after pedestrian making their way out of
different houses along the street and toward Central, which caused him
to walk briskly about the block in order to avoid being seen. At the
same time he sighed often, because it was such a fine night--a full
moon rising about nine-thirty and hanging heavy and yellow over the
chimney tops. He was so lonely.
But at ten, the moon becoming too bright, and no Roberta appearing,
he decided to leave. It was not wise to be hanging about here. But
the night being so fine he resented the thought of his room and
instead walked up and down Wykeagy Avenue, looking at the fine houses
there--his uncle Samuel's among them. Now, all their occupants were
away at their summer places. The houses were dark. And Sondra Finchley
and Bertine Cranston and all that company--what were they doing on a
night like this? Where dancing? Where speeding? Where loving? It was so
hard to be poor, not to have money and position and to be able to do in
life exactly as you wished.
And the next morning, more eager than usual, he was out of Mrs.
Peyton's by six-forty-five, anxious to find some way of renewing his
attentions to Roberta. For there was that crowd of factory workers that
proceeded north along Central Avenue. And she would be a unit in it,
of course, at about 7.10. But his trip to the factory was fruitless.
For, after swallowing a cup of coffee at one of the small restaurants
near the post-office and walking the length of Central Avenue toward
the mill, and pausing at a cigar store to see if Roberta should by
any chance come along alone, he was rewarded by the sight of her with
Grace Marr again. What a wretched, crazy world this was, he at once
decided, and how difficult it was in this miserable town for anyone to
meet anyone else alone. Everyone, nearly, knew everyone else. Besides,
Roberta knew that he was trying to get a chance to talk to her. Why
shouldn't she walk alone then? He had looked at her enough yesterday.
And yet here she was walking with Grace Marr and appeared seemingly
contented. What was the matter with her anyhow?
By the time he reached the factory he was very sour. But the sight of
Roberta taking her place at her bench and tossing him a genial "good
morning" with a cheerful smile, caused him to feel better and that all
was not lost.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon and a lull due to the afternoon
heat, the fag of steadily continued work, and the flare of reflected
light from the river outside was over all. The tap, tap, tap of
metal stamps upon scores of collars at once--nearly always slightly
audible above the hum and whirr of the sewing machines beyond was,
if anything, weaker than usual. And there was Ruza Nikoforitch, Hoda
Petkanas, Martha Bordaloue, Angelina Pitti and Lena Schlict, all
joining in a song called "Sweethearts" which some one had started. And
Roberta, perpetually conscious of Clyde's eyes, as well as his mood,
was thinking how long it would be before he would come around with
some word in regard to something. For she wished him to--and because
of his whispered words of the day before, she was sure that it would
not be long, because he would not be able to resist it. His eyes the
night before had told her that. Yet because of the impediments of this
situation she knew that he must be having a difficult time thinking of
any way by which he could say anything to her. And still at certain
moments she was glad, for there were such moments when she felt she
needed the security which the presence of so many girls gave her.
And as she thought of all this, stamping at her desk along with the
others, she suddenly discovered that a bundle of collars which she had
already stamped as sixteens were not of that size but smaller. She
looked at it quickly and nervously, then decided that there was but one
thing to do--lay the bundle aside and await comment from one of the
foremen, including Clyde, or take it directly to him now--really the
better way, because it prevented any of the foremen seeing it before
he did. That was what all the girls did when they made mistakes of any
kind. And all trained girls were supposed to catch all possible errors
of that kind.
And yet now and in the face of all her very urgent desires she
hesitated, for this would take her direct to Clyde and give him the
opportunity he was seeking. But, more terrifying, it was giving her
the opportunity she was seeking. She wavered between loyalty to Clyde
as a superintendent, loyalty to her old conventions as opposed to her
new and dominating desire and her repressed wish to have Clyde speak to
her--then went over with the bundle and laid it on his desk. But her
hands, as she did so, trembled. Her face was white--her throat taut. At
the moment, as it chanced, he was almost vainly trying to calculate the
scores of the different girls from the stubs laid before him, and was
having a hard time of it because his mind was not on what he was doing.
And then he looked up. And there was Roberta bending toward him. His
nerves became very taut, his throat and lips dry, for here and now was
his opportunity. And, as he could see, Roberta was almost suffocating
from the strain which her daring and self-deception was putting upon
her nerves and heart.
"There's been a distake" (she meant to say mistake) "in regard to this
bundle upstairs," she began. "I didn't notice it either until I'd
stamped nearly all of them. They're fifteen-and-a-half and I've stamped
nearly all of them sixteen. I'm sorry."
Clyde noticed, as she said this, that she was trying to smile a little
and appear calm, but her cheeks were quite blanched and her hand,
particularly the one that held the bundle, trembled. On the instant
he realized that although loyalty and order were bringing her with
this mistake to him, still there was more than that to it. In a weak,
frightened, and yet love-driven way, she was courting him, giving
him the opportunity he was seeking, wishing him to take advantage
of it. And he, embarrassed and shaken for the moment by this sudden
visitation, was still heartened and hardened into a kind of effrontery
and gallantry such as he had not felt as yet in regard to her. She was
seeking him--that was plain. She was interested, and clever enough
to make the occasion which permitted him to speak. Wonderful! The
sweetness of her daring.
"Oh, that's all right," he said, pretending a courage and a daring in
regard to her which he did not feel even now. "I'll just send them down
to the wash room and then we'll see if we can't restamp them. It's not
our mistake, really."
He smiled most warmly and she met his look with a repressed smile
of her own, already turning and fearing that she had manifested too
clearly what had brought her.
"But don't go," he added quickly. "I want to ask you something. I've
been trying to get a word with you ever since Sunday. I want you to
meet me somewhere, will you? There's a rule here that says a head
of a department can't have anything to do with a girl who works for
him--outside I mean. But I want you to see me just the same, won't you?
You know," and he smiled winsomely and coaxingly into her eyes, "I've
been just nearly crazy over you ever since you came in here and Sunday
made it worse. And now I'm not going to let any old rule come between
me and you, if I can help it. Will you?"
"Oh, I don't know whether I can do that or not," replied Roberta,
who, now that she had succeeded in accomplishing what she had wished,
was becoming terrorized by her own daring. She began looking around
nervously and feeling that every eye in the room must be upon her. "I
live with Mr. and Mrs. Newton, my friend's sister and brother-in-law,
you know, and they're very strict. It isn't the same as if--" She was
going to add "I was home" but Clyde interrupted her.
"Oh, now please don't say no, will you? Please don't. I want to see
you. I don't want to cause you any trouble, that's all. Otherwise I'd
be glad to come round to your house. You know how it is."
"Oh, no, you mustn't do that," cautioned Roberta. "Not yet anyhow."
She was so confused that quite unconsciously she was giving Clyde to
understand that she was expecting him to come around some time later.
"Well," smiled Clyde, who could see that she was yielding in part.
"We could just walk out near the end of some street here--that street
you live in, if you wish. There are no houses out there. Or there's a
little park--Mohawk--just west of Dreamland on the Mohawk Street line.
It's right on the river. You might come out there. I could meet you
where the car stops. Will you do that?"
"Oh, I'd be afraid to do that I think--go so far, I mean. I never did
anything like that before." She looked so innocent and frank as she
said this that Clyde was quite carried away by the sweetness of her.
And to think he was making a clandestine appointment with her. "I'm
almost afraid to go anywhere here alone, you know. People talk so here,
they say, and some one would be sure to see me. But----"
"Yes, but what?"
"I'm afraid I'm staying too long at your desk here, don't you think?"
She actually gasped as she said it. And Clyde realizing the openness of
it, although there was really nothing very unusual about it, now spoke
quickly and forcefully.
"Well, then, how about the end of that street you live in? Couldn't you
come down there for just a little while to-night--a half hour or so,
maybe?"
"Oh, I couldn't make it to-night, I think--not so soon. I'll have to
see first, you know. Arrange, that is. But another day." She was so
excited and troubled by this great adventure of hers that her face,
like Clyde's at times, changed from a half smile to a half frown
without her realizing that it was registering these changes.
"Well, then, how about Wednesday night at eight-thirty or nine?
Couldn't you do that? Please, now."
Roberta considered most sweetly, nervously. Clyde was enormously
fascinated by her manner at the moment, for she looked around,
conscious, or so she seemed, that she was being observed and that her
stay here for a first visit was very long.
"I suppose I'd better be going back to my work now," she replied
without really answering him.
"Wait a minute," pled Clyde. "We haven't fixed on the time for
Wednesday. Aren't you going to meet me? Make it nine or eight-thirty,
or any time you want to. I'll be there waiting for you after eight if
you wish. Will you?"
"All right, then, say eight-thirty or between eight-thirty and nine, if
I can. Is that all right? I'll come if I can, you know, and if anything
does happen I'll tell you the next morning, you see." She flushed and
then looked around once more, a foolish, flustered look, then hurried
back to her bench, fairly tingling from head to toe, and looking as
guilty as though she had been caught red-handed in some dreadful crime.
And Clyde at his desk was almost choking with excitement. The wonder of
her agreeing, of his talking to her like that, of her venturing to make
a date with him at all here in Lycurgus, where he was so well-known!
Thrilling!
For her part, she was thinking how wonderful it would be just to walk
and talk with him in the moonlight, to feel the pressure of his arm and
hear his soft appealing voice.