Isham Frederic Stewart - Nothing But the Truth стр 10.

Besides, a fortune-hunter would not bruskly and unceremoniously have refused her invitation to ride in the trap. And at the recollection of that affront, Miss Gwendolines violet eyes again gleamed, until for sparkles they out-matched those of the little dark thing. However, she held herself too high to be really resentful. It was impossible she should resent anything so incomprehensible, she told herself. That would lend dignity to the offense. Therefore she could only be mildly amused by it. This was, no doubt, a properly lofty attitude, but was it a genuine one? Was she not actually at heart, deeply resentful and dreadfully offended? Pride being one of her marked characteristics, she demanded a great deal and would not accept a little.

The sparkles died from the hard violet eyes. A more tentative expression replaced that other look as her glance now passed meditatively over the dark little thing. The latter had certainly a piquant bizarre attraction. She looked as if she could be very intense, though she was of that clinging-vine variety of young woman. She wore one of those tango gowns which was odd, outre and a bit daring. It went with her personality. At the same time her innocent expression seemed a mute, almost pathetic little appeal to you not to think it too daring.

As Miss Gerald studied the young lady, albeit without seeming to do so and holding her own in a sprightly tango kind of talk, another thought flashed into her mind. Bob might be genuinely and sentimentally smitten. Why not? Men frequently fell in love with the little dark thing, and afterward some of them said she had a good deal of temperament. Bob might be on a temperament-investigating quest. At any rate, it was all one to Miss Gerald. Life was a comedy. Nest-ce-pas? What was it Balzac called it? La Comedie Humaine.

Meanwhile, other eyes than Miss Geralds were bent upon luckless Bob. Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence looked as if they would like to have a word with him. Mrs. Dan even maneuvered in his direction at the conclusion of the dance while Bob watched her with ill-concealed apprehension. He detected, also, an uncanny interest in Mrs. Clarences eyes as that masterful lady eyed him and Mrs. Dan from a distance. Mrs. Dan almost got him when the saints be praised!  Mrs. Ralston, herself, tripped blithely up and annexed him. For the moment he was safe, but only for the moment.

A reckless desire to end it all surged through Bobs inmost being. If only his hostess would say something demanding an answer that would incur such disapprobation on her part, he would feel impelled, in the natural order of events, to hasten his departure. Maybe then (and he thrilled at the thought), she might even intimate in her chilliest manner that his immediate departure would be the logical sequence of some truthful spasm she, herself, had forced from him? He couldnt talk French to Mrs. Ralston now; he was in honor bound not to. He would have to speak right up in the Kings English or Uncle Sams American.

Of course, such a consummation Bobs being practically forced to take his departure was extremely unpleasant and awful to contemplate, yet worse things could happen than that a whole string of them, one right after another!

However, he had no such luck as to be ordered forthwith off the premises. He didnt offend Mrs. Ralston at all. That lady was very nice to him (or otherwise, from Bobs present view-point) and did most of the talking herself. Perhaps she considered that compliment (?) Bob had bestowed upon her at the Waldorf sufficient to excuse him for a while from further undue efforts at flattery. At any rate, she didnt seem to take it amiss that Bob didnt say a lot more of equally nice things in that Chesterfieldian manner and with such a perfect French accent.

But he got in bad that afternoon with divers and sundry other guests of Mrs. Ralston. Mrs. Augustus O. Vanderpool and Miss Gerald werent the only ones who threw cold glances his way, for the faux pas he made that he had to make were something dreadful. For example, when some one asked him what he thought of Miss Schermerhorns voice, he had to say huskily what was in his mind:

It is rather too strident, isnt it? No sugar-coating the truth! If he had said anything else he would have been compromising with veracity; he would not have spoken the thought born in his brain at the question. Of course, some one repeated what he said to Miss Schermerhorn, who came from one of the oldest families, was tall and angular, and cherished fond illusions, or delusions, that she was an amateur nightingale. The some one who repeated, had to repeat, because Miss Schermerhorn was her dearest friend and confidante. Then Miss Schermerhorn came right up to Bob and asked him if he had said it and he was obliged to answer that he had. What she said, or thought, need not be repeated. She left poor Bob feeling about as big as a caterpillar.

How very tactful of Mr. Bennett! was all Miss Gerald said, when Miss Dolly related to her the little incident.

Thats just what I adore in him! gushed the temperamental little thing. He doesnt seem to be afraid of saying anything to anybody. Hes so delightfully frank!

Frank, certainly! answered Miss Gerald icily.

Anyhow, hes a regular tango-king! murmured Miss Dolly dreamily.

Im so glad you approve of him, dear! said Miss Gerald with an enigmatic smile. Perhaps she implied the temperamental little thing found herself in a class, all by herself, in this regard.

The latter flew over to Bob. If he was so frank and ingenuous about Miss Schermerhorn, perhaps he would be equally so with other persons. Miss Dolly asked him if he didnt think the bishops sermons just too dear? Bob did not. Why not? she persisted. Bob had just been reading The Outside of the Pot. Why not? repeated Miss Dolly.

Antediluvian! groaned Bob, then turned a fiery red. The bishop, standing on the other side of the doorway, had overheard. Maybe Miss Dolly had known he stood there for she now giggled and fled. Bob wanted to sink through the floor, but he couldnt.

So, sir, you think my sermons antediluvian? said the bishop, with a twinkle of the eye. He never got mad, he was the best old man that way that ever happened.

Yes, sir, replied Bob, by rote.

Thank you, said the bishop, and rubbed his nose. Then he eyed Bob curiously. Maybe youre right, he said. That made Bob feel awful, but he couldnt retract. The truth as he saw it!  He felt as if he were chained to the wheel of fate the truth as he saw it, though the heavens fell!

Of course, thats only my poor insignificant opinion, he murmured miserably.

Every mans opinion is entitled to respect, said the bishop.

Yes, sir, replied Bob, more miserably still.

The bishop continued to study him. You interest me, Mr. Bennett.

Do I? said Bob. Im rather interesting to myself just now.

You evidently agree with the author of The Outside of the Pot?

Thats it. Weakly.

Well, cheer up, said the bishop, and walked away.

Later in the day the judge might have been heard to say to the bishop that that young Bennett cub is a good-for-nothing jackanapes from which it might be inferred Bob had somehow managed to rub the judges ermine the wrong way.

Ha! ha! laughed the bishop. Did some one ask him what he thought of judges?