"Oh, I didn't, I didn't!"
He wondered why she said it with such stooping shame, but he went on
mildly, "Well, I got a pretty good price, but of course I don't want to
take any chances on running short of coin, so I'm not splurging much.
And----" He looked at his nails, and whistled a bar or two, and turned
his head away, and looked back with a shy, "And I'm learning to play
bridge and tennis and stuff!"
"Oh, my dear!" It was a cry of pain. She beat her hands for a moment
before she murmured, "When are we going to have our lessons in
dancing--and in making an impression on sun-specks like Dolly Ransome?"
"I don't know," he parried. Then, looking at her honestly, he confessed,
"I don't believe we're ever going to. Claire, I can't do it. I'm no good
for this tea game. You know how clumsy I was. I spilled some tea, and I
darn near tripped over some woman's dress and---- Oh, I'm not afraid of
them. Now that I get a good close look at this bunch, they seem pretty
much like other folks, except maybe that one old dame says 'cawn't.' But
I can't do the manners stunt. I can't get myself to give enough thought
to how you ought to hold a tea-cup."
"Oh, those things don't matter--they don't matter! Besides, everybody
likes you--only you're so terribly cautious that you never let them see
the force and courage and all that wonderful sweet dear goodness that's
in you. And as for your manners--heaven knows I'm no P. G. Wodehouse
valet. But I'll teach you all I know."
"Claire, I appreciate it a lot but---- I'm not so darn sure I want to
learn. I'm getting scared. I watched that bird named Riggs here today.
He's a regular fellow, or he was, but now he's simply lost in the
shuffle. I don't want to be one of the million ghosts in a city. Seattle
is bad enough--it's so big that I feel like a no-see-um in a Norway pine
reserve. But New York would be a lot worse. I don't want to be a Mr.
Riggs."
"Yes, but--I'm not a Mrs. Riggs!"
"What do you----"
He did not finish asking her what she meant. She was in his arms; she
was whispering, "My heart is so lonely;" and the room was still. The low
sun flooded the windows, swam in the mirror in the hall, but they did
not heed, did not see its gliding glory.
Not till there was a sound of footsteps did she burst from his arms,
spring to her reflection in the glass of a picture, and shamefacedly
murmur to him over her shoulder, "My hair--it's a terrible giveaway!"