VII
That night Elena and I played bridge against Nannie Allsotts and Warwick Risby. I was very much in love with Elena, but I hold it against her, even now, that she insisted on discarding from strength. However, there was to be a little supper afterward, and you may depend upon it that Mrs. Vokins was seeing to its preparation.
She came into the room about eleven o’clock, beaming with kindliness and flushed—I am sure—by some slight previous commerce with the kitchen-fire.
“Well, well!” said Mrs. Vokins, comfortably; “and who’s a-beating?”
I looked up. I must protest, until my final day, I could not help it. “Why, we is,” I said.
And Nannie Allsotts giggled, ever so slightly, and Warwick Risby had half risen, with a quite infuriate face, and I knew that by tomorrow the affair would be public property, and promptly lost the game and rubber. Afterward we had our supper.
When the others had gone—for my footing in the house was such that I, by ordinary, stayed a moment or two after the others had gone—Elena Barry-Smith came to me and soundly boxed my jaws.
“That,” she said, “is one way to deal with you.”
A minute ago I had been ashamed of myself. I had not room to be that now; I was too full of anger. “I did make rather a mess of it,” I equably remarked, “but, you see, Nannie had shown strength in diamonds, and I simply couldn’t resist the finesse. So they made every one of their clubs. And I hadn’t any business to take the chance of course at that stage, with the ace right in my hand—”
“Arthur would have said, before he’d thought of it, ‘You damn fool—!’ And then he would have apologised for forgetting himself in the presence of a lady,” she said, in a sorry little voice. “Yes, you—you have hurt me,” she presently continued—“just as you meant to do, if that’s a comfort to you. I feel as though I’d smacked a marble statue. You are the sort that used to take snuff just before they had their heads cut off, and when they were in the wrong. And I’m not. That’s always been the trouble.”
“Elena!” I began—“wait, just a moment! I’m in anger now—!” It was not much to stammer out, but for me, who have the Townsend temper, it was very hard to say.
“You talk about loving me! and I believe you do love me, in at any rate a sort of way. But you’ll never forget, you never have forgotten, those ancestors of yours who were in the House of Burgesses when I hadn’t any ancestors at all. It isn’t fair, because we haven’t got the chance to pick our parents, and it’s absurd, and—it’s true. The woman is my mother, and I’ll be like her some day, very probably. Yes, she is ignorant and tacky, and at times she is ridiculous. She hadn’t even the smartness to notice it when you made a fool of her; and if anybody were to explain it to her she would just laugh and say, ‘Law, I don’t mind, because young people always have to have their fun, I reckon.’ And she would forgive you! Why, she adores you! she’s been telling me for months that you’re ‘a heap the nicest young man that visits with me.’ ”
Afterward Elena paused for an instant. “I think that is all,” she said. “It’s a difference that isn’t curable. Yes, I simply wanted to tell you that much, and then ask you to go, I believe—”
“So you don’t wish me, Elena, in the venerable phrase, to make an honest woman of you?”
She had half turned, standing, in pink and silver fripperies, with one bared arm resting on the chair back, in one of her loveliest attitudes. “What do you mean?”
“I was referring to what happened the other night, after the Allardyce dance.”
And Elena smiled rather strangely. “You baby! how much would it shock you if I told you no woman really minds about that either? Anyway, you have broken your solemn promise,” she said, with indignation.
“Ah, but perfidy seemed, somehow, in tone with an establishment wherein one concludes the evening’s entertainment by physical assault upon the guests. Frankly, my dear”—I observed, with my most patronizing languor—“your breeding is not quite that to which I have been accustomed, and I have had a rather startling glimpse of Lena Vokins, with all the laboriously acquired veneering peeling off. Still, in view of everything, I suppose I do owe it to you to marry you, if you insist—”
“Insist! I wouldn’t wipe my feet on you!”
“That especial demonstration of affection was not, as I recall, requested of you. So it is all off? along with the veneering, eh? Well, perhaps I did attach too much importance to that diverting epilogue to the Allardyce dance. And as you say, Elena—and I take your word for it, gladly—once one has become used to granting these little favors indiscriminately—”
“Get out of my house!” Elena said, quite splendid in her fury, “or I will have you horsewhipped. I was fond of you. You would not let me be in peace. And I didn’t know you until tonight for the sneering, stuck-up dirty beast you are at heart—” She came nearer, and her glittering eyes narrowed. “And you have no hold on me, no letters to blackmail me with, and nobody anywhere would take your word for anything against mine. You would only be whipped by some real man, and probably shot. So do you remember to keep a watch upon that lying, sneering mouth of yours! And do you get out of my house!”
“It is only rented,” I submitted: “yet, after all, to boast vaingloriously of their possessions is pardonable in those who have risen in the world, and aren’t quite accustomed to it. …” There were a pair of us when it came to tempers.