No sooner had she got inside the door than the tears began to fall; and
all the way up the four flights of dark stairway they were raining down
her cheeks. She had to wipe them away before she could see to put the
latchkey into the lock.
Everything neat, orderly, familiar; just as she had left it a few hours
ago, and all seeming in its blank sobriety to rebuke her for her
desperate hopes. She went into her own bare and chilly little room and
lay down on the cot there, sobbing forlornly, clutching in her hand the
card he had given her--a sort of talisman by means of which she could
reconstruct the enchanted hour of that afternoon. She remembered every
word he had said, every detail of his appearance. And, recollecting
them, wept all the more to think what she must forego.
“_Of course_, I’ll never see him again!” she cried. “I’ll have to forget
all about him....”
But she knew that she could not forget him. It seemed to her that she
had never seen so remarkable, so attractive a person. His face, when he
had turned round, that thin, dark face with its haughty nose, the
underlip scornfully protruding, the serious regard of his black eyes....
She had not particularly noticed him at first, except as a gaunt and
rather shabby young man sitting on the bench behind her on top of the
bus. She had been absorbed in watching Fifth Avenue, which had, on that
bright October afternoon, the absurd and exciting festival air it so
unaccountably assumes. She was solemnly happy, singing under her breath,
looking down at the people, the shops, the motor cars that were going
by; when there came a sudden violent jolt and the coin she was holding
had leaped out of her hand and fallen to the street below. And it was
the only one she had!
She had sprung up in a panic; ready to jump off the bus and walk all the
long way home, but at the top of the little stairway she had met the
conductor coming up.
“FARE!” he had said, with suspicion.
“I just dropped it--a minute ago!” she explained. “I was ... I had a
quarter in my hand--and it fell out....”
“Oh, it did, did it?” said he.
“I’ll get off at once,” she said.
“Oh, yes!” said the conductor. “Of course you dropped it! But you just
happened to be where you wanted to get off when you dropped it, though,
didn’t you?”
She gave a miserable, deprecating smile, anxious only to escape from
this humiliation, to get away. When suddenly that young man had got up,
put a dime into the conductor’s register, and raised his hat
ceremoniously to Rosaleen.
“Allow me!” he had said.
“OH! Thank you!” she had cried. “Thank you!...”
“Not at all!” said he.
She had resumed her seat on the bench ahead of him, and tried to look
with exaggerated interest at the street. But she was terribly
distressed. She felt that she hadn’t said enough--not nearly enough.
Surely she ought at least to suggest repaying him, or something of that
sort;--not to sit there and ride along, with her back turned to him.
And though of course she couldn’t know it, he was just as troubled. He
had heard her say that she had dropped a quarter, and it occurred to him
that she might very well need the rest of it badly, for more carfare,
perhaps, or something else very necessary.... In the course of time the
idea became intolerable. He leaned forward and touched her gently on
the shoulder; and she had turned to regard him with alarmed grey eyes.
“I beg your pardon...” he began. “But ... I’d be very glad ... if you
would permit me....”
He saw that she didn’t comprehend.
“I overheard you say that it was a quarter you had dropped,” he said.
“If you--perhaps you particularly wanted the change...?”
“Oh!... No!... No, thank you very much, indeed, but I don’t. I’m going
right home. I--No, thank you just the same!”
She was so immeasurably grateful that she could not bear to turn her
back on him; she faced him, confused, but smiling, passionately anxious
to be nice to one who had been so nice to her.
“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” she had said.
“Yes, it is!” said he. “Very!”
She kept on smiling, but it was a strained and wretched smile, and the
colour in her cheeks deepened. A ridiculous, an intolerable situation!
She couldn’t keep on in that way, twisted half round in her seat, and
smiling and smiling.... She _had_ to turn away.
But a little later she turned back again.
“Isn’t that florist’s window lovely?” she had said.
“Yes, it is!” he answered. “Very!”
He, too, wished to be nice, but couldn’t; and once she had resumed her
normal position, although then he thought of a number of things he
wished to say, he couldn’t suddenly make remarks to her back. Neither
could he touch her on the shoulder again, for he considered that would
be vulgar. So after much thought, he finally got up and standing beside
her and holding fast to the back of the seat to keep his footing on the
lurching deck, he asked her if she could tell him what building that
was?
She did so, gladly.
“I haven’t been in the city long,” he said, with a chivalrous desire to
give her information about himself. “I’m from Charleston.”
“Oh, are you? Do you like it here?”
“No,” he answered, promptly. “Not much.”
She was a little taken aback at that, and while she was thinking of a
polite rejoinder, the young man had taken from his pocket a leather
case, and was proffering a card.