LOOKING AHEAD
It was now the first week in August. If she could sustain his interest
in the project for three weeks and get him married in the fourth, then
she could settle back into the routine of her life. It was the only
possible way of straightening out the tangle. Once he was safely
married, that was the end. Their relations would cease automatically.
The conventions would attend to that. As a married man he, of course,
could not lunch with her or spend Saturday afternoons in the park with
her, or Sunday in the country with her, or mid-week evenings anywhere
with her. He would be exiled from her life as effectively as if he
himself should go to Europe. In fact, the separation would be even
more effective, because there would not be any possible hope of his
coming back. For her it would be almost as if he died.
Back in her room that night, Miss Winthrop saw all these things quite
clearly. And she saw that this was the only way. In no other way
could she remain in the office of Carter, Rand & Seagraves. If he did
not marry in September,--she had applied that afternoon for her own
vacation to parallel his,--then she must resign. Unmarried, he would
be as irresponsible this coming winter as he was last, and if she
remained would be thrown back upon her. She could not allow that--she
could not endure it.
She had lost so many things all at once. She did not realize until now
how much dreaming she had done in these last few months. Dreams of
which at the time she had scarcely been conscious returned to-night to
mock her with startling vividness. It was not so much that she wished
to be loved as that she wished to love. That was where she had
deceived herself. Had Don made love to her, she would have recognized
the situation and guarded herself. But this matter of loving him was
an attack from a quarter she had not anticipated.
In the next three weeks she left him little chance to think of
anything but of his work and of Frances. She talked of nothing else at
lunch; she talked of nothing else on Saturday afternoons and on
Sundays and whenever they met on other days. This had its effect. It
accustomed him to associate together the two chief objectives in his
life until in his thoughts they became synonymous. For the first time
since their engagement, he began to think of Frances as an essential
feature of his everyday affairs.
He began to think about what changes in the house would be necessary
before she came. He talked this over with Miss Winthrop.
"I wish you could come up and look the place over before Frances gets
here," he said to her one day.
If the color left her face for a second, it came back the next with
plenty to spare. The idea was preposterous, and yet it appealed to her
strangely.
"I wish I could," she answered sincerely.
"Well, why can't you?" he asked.
"It's impossible--of course," she said.
"I could arrange a little dinner and ask some one to chaperon," he
suggested.
"It's out of the question," she answered firmly. "You can tell me all
about it."
"But telling you about it isn't like letting you see it," he said.
"It is almost as good, and--almost as good is something, isn't it?"
There was a suppressed note in her voice that made him look up. He had
caught many such notes of late. Sometimes, as now, he half expected to
find her eyes moist when he looked up. He never did; he always found
her smiling.
"I'd have Nora give everything a thorough cleaning before September,"
she advised.
"I'll do that," he nodded.
He wrote it down in his notebook, and that night spoke to Nora about
it. She appeared decidedly interested.
"It's possible that in the fall you may have some one else besides me
to look after," he confided to her in explanation.
"It's to be soon, sir?" she asked eagerly.
"In September, perhaps," he admitted.
"It would please your father, sir," she answered excitedly. "It's
lonesome it's been for you, sir."
He did not answer, but he thought about that a little. No, it had not
been exactly lonesome for him--not lately. That was because he was
looking ahead. That was it.
"It hasn't seemed quite natural for you to be living on here alone,
sir," she ventured.
"Dad lived here alone," he reminded her.
"Not at your age, sir," answered Nora.
From that moment there was much ado in the house. Don came home at
night to find certain rooms draped in dusting clothes, later to appear
as fresh and immaculate as if newly furnished. This gave him a great
sense of responsibility. He felt married already. He came downtown in
the morning a little more serious, and took hold of his work with
greater vigor.
The next few weeks passed rapidly. Frances had finished her trip to
Scotland and was on her way back to London. She was to sail in a few
days now. He cabled her to let him know when she started, and three
days later she answered. He showed her reply to Miss Winthrop.
Sail Monday on the Mauretania, but Dolly wants me to spend next two
weeks after arrival in the Adirondacks with her.
Miss Winthrop returned the cable with a none too steady hand.
"She mustn't do that," she said firmly.
"Of course she mustn't," he agreed. "You see, she doesn't know she is
to be married right away. Do you think I ought to cable her that?"
"I don't think I would," Miss Winthrop replied. "But I would let her
know I didn't approve of her arrangement."
"Supposing I just say, 'Have other plans for you'?"
"That would do," she nodded.
So he sent her this message, and that evening at dinner Miss Winthrop
spoke to him of another matter.
"I don't think you have shown much attention to her parents this
summer. Oughtn't you to see them and let them know what you intend?"
"Tell Stuyvesant?" he exclaimed.
"Why should he object?" she asked.
"I don't know as he will. Then again he might. You see, I've never
told him just how Dad tied things up."
"What difference does that make?" she demanded. "With the house and
what you're earning, you have enough."
"It isn't as much as he expects a man to give his daughter,
though,--not by a long shot."
"It's enough," she insisted. "Why, even without the house it would be
enough."
"Yes," he answered, with a smile. "When you say it--it's enough. I
wish Stuyvesant knew you."
The blood came into her cheeks. She wished he wouldn't say things like
that.
"It seems to me you ought to see him and tell him," she said
thoughtfully.
He shook his head.
"What's the use of seeing him until I've seen Frances?"
"It's all settled about her."
"That she'll marry me in September?"
"Of course," she answered excitedly. "Why, she's been waiting a whole
year. Do you think she'll want to wait any longer? As soon as she
knows how well you've done, why--why, that's the end of it. Of course
that's the end of it."
"I wish I were as confident as you!"
"You must be," she answered firmly. "You mustn't feel any other way.
The house is all ready, and you are all ready, and--that's all there
is to it."
"And Frances is all ready?"
"When she promised to marry you she was ready," she declared. "You
don't understand. I guess women are different from men. They--they
don't make promises like that until they are quite sure, and when they
are quite sure they are quite ready. This last year should have been
hers. You made a mistake, but there's no sense in keeping on with the
mistake. Oh, I'm quite sure of that."
She was wearing a light scarf,--this was at Jacques',--and she drew it
over her shoulders. Somehow, the unconscious act reminded him of a
similar act on the beach at Coney....