Dawn Eleanor Porter (free novels to read txt) 📖

"All right. Settle back, then, an' do nothin'; an' he'll settle backan' do nothin', an' there'll be a pretty pair of you, eatin' yourhearts out with love for each other, an' passin' each other by withconverted faces an' highbrow chins; an' all because you're afraid ofoffendin' Mis' Grundy, who don't care no more about you than twosticks. But I s'pose you'd both rather be miserable than brace up an'defy the properties an' live long an' be happy ever after."

"But if I could be sure he—cared," spoke the girl, in a faint littlevoice.

"You would have been, if you'd seen him Saturday, as I did."

"And if—-"

"If—if—if!" interrupted Susan impatiently. "An' there that poorblind boy sets an' thinks an' thinks an' thinks, an' longs for someone that loves him to smooth his pillow an' rumple his hair, an'—-"

"Susan, I'm going to do it. I'M GOING TO DO IT!" vowed the girl,springing to her feet, her eyes like stars, her cheeks like twinroses.

"Do what?" demanded Susan.

"I don't know. But, I'm going to do SOMETHING. Anyhow, whatever I do Iknow I'm going to—to defy the 'properties,'" she babbled deliriously,as she hurried from the room, looking very much as if she were tryingto hide from herself.

Four days later, Keith, in his favorite chair, sat on the southpiazza. It was an April day, but it was like June, and the windowbehind him was wide open into the living-room. He did not hear DorothyParkman's light step up the walk. He did not know that she had pausedat sight of him sitting there, and had put her hand to her throat, andthen that she had almost run, light-footed, into the house, again verymuch as if she were trying to run away from herself. But he did hearher voice two minutes later, speaking just inside the window.

At the first sentence he tried to rise, then with a despairing gestureas if realizing that flight would be worse than to remain where hewas, he sat back in his chair. And this is what he heard DorothyParkman say:

"No, no, Mr. Burton, please—I—I can't marry you. You'll have tounderstand. No—don't speak, don't say anything, please. There'snothing you could say that—that would make a bit of difference. It'sjust that I—I don't love you and I do—love somebody else—Keith,your son—yes, you have guessed it. Oh, yes, I know we don't seem tobe much to each other, now. But—but whether we ever are, or not,there can't ever be—any one else. And I think—he cares. It's justthat—that his pride won't let him speak. As if his dear eyes didn'tmake me love him—

"But I mustn't say all this—to you. It's just that—that I wanted youto surely—understand. And—and I must go, now. I—must—go!"

And she went. She went hurriedly, a little noisily. She shut one door,and another; then, out on the piazza, she came face to face with KeithBurton.

"Dorothy, oh, Dorothy—I heard!"

And then it was well, indeed, that the Japanese screen on the frontpiazza was down, for Keith stood with his arms outstretched, andDorothy, with an ineffably contented little indrawn breath, walkedstraight into them. And with that light on his face, she would havewalked into them had he been standing in the middle of the sidewalkoutside.

[Illustration: IT WAS WELL THAT THE JAPANESE SCREEN ON THE FRONT

PIAZZA WAS DOWN]

To Dorothy at that moment nobody in all the world counted for afeather's weight except the man who was holding her close, with hislips to hers.

Later, a little later, when they sat side by side on the piazzasettee, and when coherence and logic had become attributes to theirconversation, Keith sighed, with a little catch in his voice:

"The only thing I regret about this—all this—the only thing thatmakes me feel cheap and mean, is that I've won where dad lost out.Poor old dad!"

There was the briefest of pauses, then a small, subdued voice said:

"I—I suspect, Keith, confession is good for the soul."

"Well?" he demanded in evident mystification.

"Anyhow, I—I'll have to do it. Your father wasn't there at all."

"But I heard you speaking to him, my dear."

She shook her head, and stole a look into his face, then caught herbreath with a little choking sob of heartache because he could not seethe love she knew was in her eyes. But the heartache only nerved herto say the words that almost refused to come. "He—he wasn't there,"she repeated, fencing for time.

"But who was there? I heard you call him by name, 'Mr. Burton,'clearly, distinctly. I know I did."

"But—but he wasn't there. Nobody was there. I—I was just talking tomyself."

"You mean—practicing what you were going to say?" questioned Keithdoubtfully. "And that—that he doesn't know yet that you are going torefuse him?"

"N-no—er—well, yes. That is, I mean, it's true. He—he doesn't knowI am going to refuse him." There was a hint of smothered laughter inthe girl's voice.

"Dorothy!" The arm about her waist perceptibly loosened and almostfell away. "Why, I don't feel now that—that you half belong to me,yet. And—and think of poor dad!"

The girl caught her breath and stole another look into his face.

"But, Keith, you—you don't understand. He—he hasn't proposed to meyet. That is, I mean," she amended hastily, "he—he isn't going topropose to me—ever."

"But he was. He—cares. And now he'll have to know about—us."

"But he wasn't—he doesn't. You don't understand, Keith. He—he neverthought of—of proposing to me. I know he didn't."

"Then why—what—Dorothy, what do you mean by all this?"

"Why, it's just that—that is—I—oh, Keith, Keith, why will you makeme tell you?" she cried between hysterical little laughs and sobs."And yet—I'd have to tell you, of course. I—I knew you were there onthe porch, and—and I knew you'd hear—what I said. And so, to makeyou understand—oh, Keith, it was awful, but I—I pretended that—-"

"You—darling!" breathed an impassioned voice in her ear. "Oh, how Ilove you, love you—for that!"

"Oh, but, Keith, it really was awful of me," she cried, blushing andlaughing, as she emerged from his embrace. "Susan told me to defy the'properties' and—and I did it."

"Susan!"

She nodded.

"That's how I knew—for sure—that you cared."

"And so I owe it all—even my—er—proposal of marriage, to Susan,"