Alice Adams Booth Tarkington (ebook reader txt) đ
- Author: Booth Tarkington
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But she cut him off sharply: âPlease donât say âNot at allâ again!â
âIâm sorry.â
âYou do seem sorry about something,â she said. âWhat is it? Isnât it time you were telling me whatâs the matter?â
âNothing. Indeed nothingâs the matter. Of course one is rather affected by such weather as this. It may make one a little quieter than usual, of course.â
She sighed, and let the tired muscles of her face rest. Under the hard lights, indoors, they had served her until they ached, and it was a luxury to feel that in the darkness no grimacings need call upon them.
âOf course, if you wonât tell meâ ââ she said.
âI can only assure you thereâs nothing to tell.â
âI know what an ugly little house it is,â she said. âMaybe it was the furnitureâ âor mamaâs vases that upset you. Or was it mama herselfâ âor papa?â
âNothing âupsetâ me.â
At that she uttered a monosyllable of doubting laughter. âI wonder why you say that.â
âBecause itâs so.â
âNo. Itâs because youâre too kind, or too conscientious, or too embarrassedâ âanyhow too somethingâ âto tell me.â She leaned forward, elbows on knees and chin in hands, in the reflective attitude she knew how to make graceful. âI have a feeling that youâre not going to tell me,â she said, slowly. âYesâ âeven that youâre never going to tell me. I wonderâ âI wonderâ ââ
âYes? What do you wonder?â
âI was just thinkingâ âI wonder if they havenât done it, after all.â
âI donât understand.â
âI wonder,â she went on, still slowly, and in a voice of reflection, âI wonder who has been talking about me to you, after all? Isnât that it?â
âNot atâ ââ he began, but checked himself and substituted another form of denial. âNothing is âit.âââ
âAre you sure?â
âWhy, yes.â
âHow curious!â she said.
âWhy?â
âBecause all evening youâve been so utterly different.â
âBut in this weatherâ ââ
âNo. That wouldnât make you afraid to look at me all evening!â
âBut I did look at you. Often.â
âNo. Not really a look.â
âBut Iâm looking at you now.â
âYesâ âin the dark!â she said. âNoâ âthe weather might make you even quieter than usual, but it wouldnât strike you so nearly dumb. Noâ âand it wouldnât make you seem to be under such a strainâ âas if you thought only of escape!â
âBut I havenâtâ ââ
âYou shouldnât,â she interrupted, gently. âThereâs nothing you have to escape from, you know. You arenât committed toâ âto this friendship.â
âIâm sorry you thinkâ ââ he began, but did not complete the fragment.
She took it up. âYouâre sorry I think youâre so different, you mean to say, donât you? Never mind: thatâs what you did mean to say, but you couldnât finish it because youâre not good at deceiving.â
âOh, no,â he protested, feebly. âIâm not deceiving. Iâmâ ââ
âNever mind,â she said again. âYouâre sorry I think youâre so differentâ âand all in one dayâ âsince last night. Yes, your voice sounds sorry, too. It sounds sorrier than it would just because of my thinking something you could change my mind about in a minute so it means youâre sorry you are different.â
âNoâ âIâ ââ
But disregarding the faint denial, âNever mind,â she said. âDo you remember one night when you told me that nothing anybody else could do would ever keep you from coming here? That if youâ âif you left me it would be because I drove you away myself?â
âYes,â he said, huskily. âIt was true.â
âAre you sure?â
âIndeed I am,â he answered in a low voice, but with conviction.
âThenâ ââ She paused. âWellâ âbut I havenât driven you away.â
âNo.â
âAnd yet youâve gone,â she said, quietly.
âDo I seem so stupid as all that?â
âYou know what I mean.â She leaned back in her chair again, and her hands, inactive for once, lay motionless in her lap. When she spoke it was in a rueful whisper:
âI wonder if I have driven you away?â
âYouâve done nothingâ ânothing at all,â he said.
âI wonderâ ââ she said once more, but she stopped. In her mind she was going back over their time together since the first meetingâ âfragments of talk, moments of silence, little things of no importance, little things that might be important; moonshine, sunshine, starlight; and her thoughts zigzagged among the jumbling memories; but, as if she made for herself a picture of all these fragments, throwing them upon the canvas haphazard, she saw them all just touched with the one tainting quality that gave them coherence, the faint, false haze she had put over this friendship by her own pretendings. And, if this terrible dinner, or anything, or everything, had shown that saffron tint in its true colour to the man at her side, last night almost a lover, then she had indeed of herself driven him away, and might well feel that she was lost.
âDo you know?â she said, suddenly, in a clear, loud voice. âI have the strangest feeling. I feel as if I were going to be with you only about five minutes more in all the rest of my life!â
âWhy, no,â he said. âOf course Iâm coming to see youâ âoften. Iâ ââ
âNo,â she interrupted. âIâve never had a feeling like this before. Itâsâ âitâs just so; thatâs all! Youâre goingâ âwhy, youâre never coming here again!â She stood up, abruptly, beginning to tremble all over. âWhy, itâs finished, isnât it?â she said, and her trembling was manifest now in her voice. âWhy, itâs all over, isnât it? Why, yes!â
He had risen as she did. âIâm afraid youâre awfully tired and nervous,â he said. âI really ought to be going.â
âYes, of course you ought,â she cried, despairingly. âThereâs nothing else for you to do. When anythingâs spoiled, people canât do anything but run away from it. So goodbye!â
âAt least,â he returned, huskily, âweâll onlyâ âonly say good night.â
Then, as moving to go, he stumbled upon the veranda steps, âYour hat!â she cried. âIâd like to keep it for a souvenir, but Iâm afraid you need it!â
She ran into the hall and brought his straw hat from the chair where he had left it. âYou poor thing!â she said, with quavering laughter. âDonât you know you canât go without your hat?â
Then, as they faced each other for the short moment which both of them knew would be the
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