Facing the Music
Early the next morning Ralph Marshall walked over to the Sunrise Camp.
Without any comment or explanation Howard Brent had delivered, at the
breakfast table an hour before, the message entrusted to him.
Except for a slight headache Ralph had entirely recovered from his
injury, but he was fearful that Peggy had suffered more than she had
confessed and, added to the fact that she had sent for him, was his own
desire to know how she was.
For the time being the unfortunate conversation he had held with Terry
Benton had entirely passed out of Ralph’s mind. He did think of it
occasionally and he was ashamed of it. If Terry had ever reopened the
subject, Ralph intended cutting him short by saying that the discussion
had been a mistake, and that he had made a fool of himself. But, as Terry
did not speak, Ralph had preferred to let the affair drop, not having
sufficient courage to plunge boldly into the revival of what he wished to
forget.
This morning he was really only interested in finding out that Peggy was
all right, and he was deeply and profoundly grateful to her. It seemed
almost impossible that any girl could have shown so much nerve and
strength. If, in times past, he had liked girls better who were less
athletic, whose muscles were less hard, who were altogether more
“feminine” according to his preconceived ideas, Ralph had humor enough to
realize that his ideal should have changed since the day before.
Peggy Webster had rested and was busy with her share of the morning Camp
Fire work when Ralph came into camp. Her greeting of him was entirely
cordial and friendly. There was nothing in her manner which might
indicate any difference in her attitude from the evening before. She was
interested to know that he had slept soundly and that his head was not
troubling him. He had seen the hotel doctor who had advised him to pay no
further attention to a slight wound which would quickly heal of itself.
It was also Peggy who proposed that they take a walk together after she
had finished her tasks. Half an hour later they started off in apparently
perfect accord.
Peggy had insisted, both to her mother and aunt, as well as to Ralph
Marshall, that she had almost forgotten any discomfort she may have
suffered the previous evening and was certainly not too tired for a walk.
Indeed, she believed that, getting away from camp and so much talk of a
disaster that had almost happened, would be good for her.
Therefore, Ralph Marshall was naturally unprepared for what inevitably
followed.
It was not that Peggy was acting to deceive him or any one else. She had
almost tragically little ability for playing any part that was not
essentially straightforward and truthful. But, after she had gone to bed,
in thinking over what Howard Brent had told her, Peggy had become more
convinced than ever that he had in some way made a mistake. She simply
did not believe that Ralph Marshall could have made a wager in regard to
winning her friendship. Whatever weaknesses of character he might
possess, he had always been well bred.
Perhaps Peggy had old-fashioned ideas. There was a kind of simplicity
about her which made her seem younger than she actually was. But she had
gotten some of these ideas from her father, who had the old-time courtesy
and respect for women, in spite of the fact that he belonged to the new
generation. Peggy knew that he felt a man should never talk of a woman
with other men in any way that would reflect upon her, however little he
might respect or like the woman.
Just for a moment it flashed through Peggy’s mind to reflect how angry
her father would be, if he ever learned that two young men had actually
made a bet concerning her—and one through which her dignity and
self-respect must suffer. Then she put the thought away from her as
unworthy of consideration.
During the first part of their walk, Peggy made no reference to the
reason she had had for having asked Ralph to come over to see her so soon
after their farewell the evening before. Indeed, she had almost forgotten
the reason herself, although always the consciousness of it was lurking
at the back of her brain.
But she and Ralph enjoyed walking together. There never was a lovelier
place than among these tall pine forests with the trails cut between the
trees, and leading into unexpected and open vistas.
Ralph had a charming voice and, when he and Peggy were walking in single
file and not talking, he sang for her amusement. He seemed to have been
to every light opera that had been produced in the last five years, and
knew at least one or two songs from each of them. As Peggy lived in the
country and had heard but few, she was greatly entertained.
It was Ralph who finally suggested that they rest.
But it was Peggy who chose the somewhat extraordinary place.
There was a particularly large pine tree at the edge of an open space. It
had long branches which swung out, like comfortable hammocks, not far
above the ground.
Peggy climbed into one of them and sat with her feet curled up under her
in an odd fashion, with her back resting against the trunk of the tree.
Ralph sat nearer the end so that his weight bore the branch down almost
to the ground.
“Peggy, you look like a tree nymph, or an elf, or whatever wood spirit is
supposed to inhabit a tree. I am not well up on tree-ology, or anything
else,” Ralph said good humoredly. “But you are so dark and your eyes and
hair and skin are so brown. Besides somehow you have an altogether,
outdoor look about you.”
Peggy laughed. “Do you mean that for a compliment, Ralph? Because, of
course, I understand that translated your speech simply means I am tanned
until I look like an Indian, or something else not completely civilised.”
Then Peggy’s expression changed and she actually flushed scarlet.
“There is something I want to ask you, Ralph, though now that I have the
chance I had much rather not. You see, I realize that it isn’t true, but
I owe it to you to be able to tell Howard Brent so. You didn’t make a bet
with Terry Benton about me, did you? You didn’t say you would win my
friendship by being attentive to me, just for the sake of a wager? My
friendship really isn’t valuable enough, and in any case you could have
had it without taking that much trouble.”
Because Ralph did not answer at once, Peggy bent over toward him from her
higher place.
“I’m sorry, Ralph; naturally you are angry with me; but I didn’t believe
the story for a minute.”
Ralph returned the girl’s look steadily. The expression of his face had
never been stronger. His old expression of laughing good nature and
plastic content with himself and circumstances at least temporarily
disappeared.
“It is true though, Peggy,” he answered, “although I would give a good
deal to be able to tell you it was not.”
In spite of his reply, Peggy continued to look puzzled.
“But I can’t understand any reason,” she protested.
Ralph shook his head. “Of course you can’t, and there isn’t any. In an
idiotic moment I simply said a very stupid thing to Terry Benton without
realizing just how ugly and ill-mannered it was. Ever since I have been
trying my best to forget I ever said it. You are the one person in the
world whom I would rather not have brought into such a discussion, and to
find that out is a part of my punishment. I wonder if you can believe,
Peggy, how sorry and ashamed I am, and have been ever since I made a
foolish wager which I regretted the moment after I had gotten into it.
You are such a clean, straightforward person, Peggy, I don’t suppose you
can even imagine how a human being can do an ugly thing and yet not be
altogether horrid.”
Ralph was talking like a boy, forgetting that he was a number of years
older than his companion.
But Peggy’s eyes had changed their expression and were no longer puzzled.
“I might, be willing to accept your point of view, Ralph, if, after you
had made the wager in which I was to be a victim to your vanity, you had
paid no attention to me. But I can’t forget that it was afterwards you
began being agreeable to me, asking me to take walks and to dance with
you. If you did not care about winning your wager, why did you not
continue to politely ignore me, as you had always done? Well you were
successful enough, because I did like you very much until now.”
Peggy’s cheeks were scarlet and yet she could be nothing but truthful.
“I have a dreadful temper and I am so angry with you now, I feel as if I
never wish to see or speak to you again. Please let me go back to camp
alone.”
Ralph shook his head.
“No, I won’t do that,” he answered quietly, “but I will not trouble you
along the way—not even by asking your forgiveness. Some day, perhaps, I
may be able to prove to you how truly sorry I am. Now I can’t even
pretend that I have any more right to your friendship.”