'Sit here?'
Henry was gripping the seat-corner just back of Mrs Ames's shoulder;
a rigid shoulder. Mary had turned stiffly round. He couldn't stop
his whirling mind long enough to decide anything. Why hadn't he gone
straight by? What could they talk about? Unless they were to talk low,
confidentially, Mary and her mother would hear most of it. And they
couldn't talk confidentially. Not very well.
He took the seat.
What _could_ they say?
But the surprising fact stood out that Martha was a nice girl, a
likeable girl. Even if she had believed the stories about him. Even
if... No, it hadn't seemed like Martha.
Henry was staring at Mrs Ames's tortoise-shell comb. Martha was looking
out the window, tapping on the sill with a white-gloved hand.
A moment of the old sense of proprietorship over Martha came upon him.
'Silly,' he remarked, muttering it rather crossly, 'wearing white gloves
into Chicago! Be black in ten minutes. Women-folks haven't got much
sense.'
Martha gave this remark the silence it deserved. She dropped her eyes,
studied the shopping bag. Then, very quietly, she said this:--
'Henry--it hasn't been very easy--but I _have_ wanted to tell you about
your stories....
'What about'em?' he asked, ungraciously enough. And he dug with his cane
at the grimy green plush of the seat-back before him.
'Oh, they're so good, Henry! I didn't know--I didn't realise--just
everybody's talking about them! _Everybody!_ You've no idea! It's been
splendid of you to--you know, to answer people that way.'
I don't think Martha meant to touch on the one most difficult topic.
They both reddened again.
After a longer pause, she tried it again.
'I just _love_ reading them myself. And I wish you could hear the things
Jim--Mr Merchant--says....'
She was actually dragging him in!
... He's really a judge. You've no idea, Henry!' He met Kipling at a
tea in New York. He knows lots of people like--you know, editors and
publishers, people like that. And he crossed the ocean once with Richard
Harding Davis. He says you're doing a very remarkable thing...
original note.... Sunbury is going to be proud of you. He wouldn't
let anything--you know, personal--influence his judgment. He's very
fair-minded.'
Henry dug and dug at the plush.
She was pulling at her left glove.
What on earth!...
She had it off.
'I want you to know, Henry. Such a wonderful thing has happened to me.
See!'
On her third finger glittered a diamond in a circlet of gold.
'He wanted to give me a cluster, Henry. I wouldn't let him. I just
didn't want him to be too extravagant. I love this stone.. I picked it
out myself. At Welding's. And then he wished it on. And, Henry, I'm so
happy! I can't bear to think that you and I--anybody--you know....'
Henry was critically, moodily, appraising the diamond.
'Can't we be friends, Henry?'
'Sure we can! Of course!'
'I just can't tell you how wonderful it is. I want everybody else to be
happy.'
'I'm happy!' he announced, explosively, between set teeth.
She thought this over.
'I've heard a little talk, of course. I've been interested, too. Yes, I
have! Cicely's a perfectly dandy girl. And she's--you know, _that_
way. Knows so much about books and things. I didn't realise--that you
were--you know, really--well, engaged?'
There was a long pause. Henry dug and dug with his stick.