But the prophecy failed, though Adams went to his own room without waiting to test it. No one came.
Alice stayed in the “living-room” until half-past nine, when she went slowly upstairs. Her mother, almost tearful, met her at the top, and whispered, “You mustn’t mind, dearie.”
“Mustn’t mind what?” Alice asked, and then, as she went on her way, laughed scornfully. “What utter nonsense!” she said.
Next day she cut the stems of the rather scant show of carnations and refreshed them with new water. At dinner, her father, still in high spirits, observed that she had again “dressed up” in honour of his second descent of the stairs; and Walter repeated his fragment of objectionable song; but these jocularities were rendered pointless by the eventless evening that followed; and in the morning the carnations began to appear tarnished and flaccid.
Alice gave them a long look, then threw them away; and neither Walter nor her father was inspired to any rallying by her plain costume for that evening. Mrs. Adams was visibly depressed.
When Alice finished helping her mother with the dishes, she went outdoors and sat upon the steps of the little front veranda. The night, gentle with warm air from the south, surrounded her pleasantly, and the perpetual smoke was thinner. Now that the furnaces of dwelling-houses were no longer fired, life in that city had begun to be less like life in a railway tunnel; people were aware of summer in the air, and in the thickened foliage of the shade-trees, and in the sky. Stars were unveiled by the passing of the denser smoke fogs, and to-night they could be seen clearly; they looked warm and near. Other girls sat upon verandas and stoops in Alice’s street, cheerful as young fishermen along the banks of a stream.
Alice could hear them from time to time; thin sopranos persistent in laughter that fell dismally upon her ears. She had set no lines or nets herself, and what she had of “expectations,” as Walter called them, were vanished. For Alice was experienced; and one of the conclusions she drew from her experience was that when a man says, “I’d take you for anything you wanted me to,” he may mean it or, he may not; but, if he does, he will not postpone the first opportunity to say something more. Little affairs, once begun, must be warmed quickly; for if they cool they are dead.
But Alice was not thinking of Arthur Russell. When she tossed away the carnations she likewise tossed away her thoughts of that young man. She had been like a boy who sees upon the street, some distance before him, a bit of something round and glittering, a possible dime. He hopes it is a dime, and, until he comes near enough to make sure, he plays that it is a dime. In his mind he has an adventure with it: he buys something delightful. If he picks it up, discovering only some tin-foil which has happened upon a round shape, he feels a sinking. A dulness falls upon him.
So Alice was dull with the loss of an adventure; and when the laughter of other girls reached her, intermittently, she had not sprightliness enough left in her to be envious of their gaiety. Besides, these neighbours were ineligible even for her envy, being of another caste; they could never know a dance at the Palmers’, except remotely, through a newspaper. Their laughter was for the encouragement of snappy young men of the stores and offices downtown, clerks, bookkeepers, what not—some of them probably graduates of Frincke’s Business College.
Then, as she recalled that dark portal, with its dusty stairway mounting between close walls to disappear in the upper shadows, her mind drew back as from a doorway to Purgatory. Nevertheless, it was a picture often in her reverie; and sometimes it came suddenly, without sequence, into the midst of her other thoughts, as if it leaped up among them from a lower darkness; and when it arrived it wanted to stay. So a traveller, still roaming the world afar, sometimes broods without apparent reason upon his family burial lot: “I wonder if I shall end there.”
The foreboding passed abruptly, with a jerk of her breath, as the street-lamp revealed a tall and easy figure approaching from the north, swinging a stick in time to its stride. She had given Russell up —and he came.
“What luck for me!” he exclaimed. “To find you alone!”
Alice gave him her hand for an instant, not otherwise moving. “I’m glad it happened so,” she said. “Let’s stay out here, shall we? Do you think it’s too provincial to sit on a girl’s front steps with her?”
“‘Provincial?’ Why, it’s the very best of our institutions,” he returned, taking his place beside her. “At least, I think so to-night.”
“Thanks! Is that practice for other nights somewhere else?”
“No,” he laughed. “The practicing all led up to this. Did I come too soon?”
“No,” she replied, gravely. “Just in time!”
“I’m glad to be so accurate; I’ve spent two evenings wanting to come, Miss Adams, instead of doing what I was doing.”
“What was that?”
“Dinners. Large and long dinners. Your fellow-citizens are immensely hospitable to a newcomer.”
“Oh, no,” Alice said. “We don’t do it for everybody. Didn’t you find yourself charmed?”
“One was a men’s dinner,” he explained. “Mr. Palmer seemed to think I ought to be shown to the principal business men.”
“What was the other dinner?”
“My cousin Mildred gave it.”
“Oh, DID she!” Alice said, sharply, but she recovered herself in the same instant, and laughed. “She wanted to show you to the principal business women, I suppose.”
“I don’t know. At all events, I shouldn’t give myself out to be so much feted by your ‘fellow-citizens,’ after all, seeing these were both done by my relatives, the Palmers. However, there are others to follow, I’m afraid. I was wondering—I hoped maybe you’d be coming to some of them. Aren’t you?”
“I rather doubt it,” Alice said, slowly. “Mildred’s dance was almost the only evening I’ve gone out since my father’s illness began. He seemed better that day; so I went. He was better the other day when he wanted those cigars. He’s very much up and down.” She paused. “I’d almost forgotten that Mildred is your cousin.”
“Not a very near one,” he explained. “Mr. Palmer’s father was my great-uncle.”
“Still, of course you are related.”
“Yes; that distantly.”
Alice said placidly, “It’s quite an advantage.”
He agreed. “Yes. It is.”
“No,” she said, in the same placid tone. “I mean for Mildred.”
“I don’t see–-“
She laughed. “No. You wouldn’t. I mean it’s an advantage over the rest of us who might like to compete for some of your time; and the worst of it is we can’t accuse her of being unfair about it. We can’t prove she showed any trickiness in having you for a cousin. Whatever else she might plan to do with you, she didn’t plan that. So the rest of us must just bear it!”
“The ‘rest of you!’ ” he laughed. “It’s going to mean a great deal of suffering!”
Alice resumed her placid tone. “You’re staying at the Palmers’, aren’t you?”
“No, not now. I’ve taken an apartment. I’m going to live here; I’m permanent. Didn’t I tell you?”
“I think I’d heard somewhere that you were,” she said. “Do you think you’ll like living here?”
“How can one tell?”
“If I were in your place I think I should be able to tell, Mr. Russell.”
“How?”
“Why, good gracious!” she cried. “Haven’t you got the most perfect creature in town for your—your cousin? SHE expects to make you like living here, doesn’t she? How could you keep from liking it, even if you tried not to, under the circumstances?”
“Well, you see, there’s such a lot of circumstances,” he explained; “I’m not sure I’ll like getting back into a business again. I suppose most of the men of my age in the country have been going through the same experience: the War left us with a considerable restlessness of spirit.”