It occurred to Roger that he was being a fool. It was all very well to revenge himself upon Griselda for her slights to his masculine dignity; it was all very well to dance with Pearl Vambrace and reflect that it was possible even for an expert like himself to have a good thing under his eyes for weeks and never notice it; but these pleasures were mere self-indulgence. Griselda, in her costly gown of Greek design, gave him a cachet which was far beyond the range of Pearl, in her pink organdie; Griselda was a Webster, an heiress; Pearl was just another girl, and girls were always in plentiful supply. Therefore Roger took an early opportunity to return to Griselda, and found her repentant. That was fine, he thought. He would make capital of that repentance later on. He left Pearl with a vague suggestion that they should have another dance together later in the evening, and except when he did his duty by dancing with Nellie Forrester and with Valentine, he did not leave Griselda again.
Pearl was painfully overset by what she decided was a sudden coldness on his part. What had she done that was wrong? Was it breath, which she could amend by recourse to her toothbrush in the ladies’ room, or was it dullness, or lack of sex appeal which nothing in the world could ever put right? She moped so pitifully that Solly could bear it no more, and asked her what was wrong. And then poor Pearl, who was too wretched to be anything but honest, told him that she thought that Roger disliked her, and that she wanted Roger to like her more than she wanted anything else in the world.
This sort of confession is complimentary to a man of middle age, but to a contemporary it is a dismaying bore. Solly said all the words of comfort he could think of, which were pitifully few, and leaving Pearl in the hands of his mother he sought the refreshment room, and drank whisky and soda. As he did so he found himself unaccountably wishing that Cobbler were with him; Cobbler would know what to do with a girl who had begun to moult in the middle of a party. And if anybody was to be offered medicine against the pangs of despised love, what about himself? He applied the only medicine at hand, freely.
Mrs Bridgetower was not an ideal companion for a girl in Pearl’s position. She did her best to be entertaining, telling of Balls which she had attended in her youth, and deploring the fact that few men wore white gloves any more. Of modern dancing she held a low opinion. Of modern dance music she could not trust herself to speak. She approved of the wisdom of Pearl’s mother in keeping her daughter Sweet; so many modern girls, she said, ceased to be Sweet almost before they began to think about Balls. She was pleased that Pearl was ready to leave the dancing and sit for a while with a boring old woman like herself. No, no, Pearl must not protest; she was fully aware that she had little to say which could be of interest to a young girl.
Suitable replies to such conversation as this demand the utmost ingenuity, even in one trained by Professor Vambrace. Pearl was glad when The Torso and Lieutenant Swackhammer came along, and asked her to join them.
“Honey, you look like a poisoned pup,” said Bonnie-Susan, frankly, when Mrs Bridgetower was out of earshot. “You’d better come into the John with me and let down your hair.”
In a quiet corner of the ladies’ lounge, Pearl told her story to The Torso’s sympathetic ear, and received that experienced young woman’s advice.
“Listen, Pearl, you’re just wasting your time. Roger hasn’t got anything that you want. I get around, and I know. He’s just a heel—a smooth, good-looking heel.”
“But for a few minutes he seemed really interested in me.”
“Yes, but Roger plays for keeps. And you haven’t got anything that he wants. Griselda has.”
“I know she’s prettier than I am.”
“And richer, and classier.”
“Well, why don’t you tell her what you think of him?”
“Because she doesn’t need advice and you do. Griselda can look after herself—I think. And if she can’t her Daddy can get the smartest lawyers in the country to look after her.”
“Oh, Bonnie-Susan, don’t you believe there’s anything at all in love?”
“I certainly do, honey, but there’s no love where Roger is for anybody but Roger.”
It was after the supper interval that Roger took Griselda outside, and across the barrack square toward the lake. On the shore was an old stone redoubt, built to defend Canada against the assaults of the USA, and it was on the outworks of this redoubt that he spread his coat, and they sat down.
“I’m sorry if I annoyed you earlier this evening,” said he.
“It was nothing,” said Griselda; “I was in a bad temper anyhow.”
“Why? Or may I know?”
“Oh, Freddy kept nattering all the time I was getting dressed about some old books that were sold this afternoon.”
“Ah, yes. The purchase of the great Mackilwraith.”
“No, he didn’t get them.”
“Why did that make you angry?”
“Oh I don’t really know. But it did. I wished I had gone to the sale, and I wished I knew a lot about old books—or anything else. Just discontentment, I suppose.”
“Boredom, probably.”
“Probably.”
“You want something to wake you up.”
“Yes, and I know what you think it is.”
“What?”
“A love affair with you. You’ve said so before.”
“Well—don’t you think I’m right?”
“How do I know? One can’t love somebody in cold blood.”
“I wasn’t thinking of it in terms of cold blood.”
“I think I’d rather get a job.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Jobs are for people who need them. You don’t need one. You’d be taking it from somebody else who did.”
“Well, maybe I’d like to go on a long journey.”
“You couldn’t go alone. But you could go on a honeymoon tour.”
“That would mean that I would have to marry a very rich man, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t think I like that remark.”
“Why not?”
“Are you suggesting that I’m interested in you because of your money?”
“I’ve had money dinned into me ever since I can remember. Not at home, but by other people. When some people look at me I can see dollar signs forming in their eyes. Girls of well-to-do families become rather touchy about such things,”
“I’ve never talked to you about money.”
“No, but whenever you talk about a possible future for us, you always talk in terms that mean money. And you have your Army pay. Would you be surprised to know that I have looked it up, and know how much it is?”
“You’ve inherited your father’s business sense, haven’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
“I didn’t know you were so money-minded.”
“Under the circumstances, that’s rather funny.”
“You know, you’re a damned insulting girl.”
“You were advising me a few weeks ago to see people clearly—as they really are. What have you to complain of?”
“I don’t know whether to kiss you or slap you.”
“I have always been a lover of comfort. Perhaps you’d better kiss me.”
Roger kissed her, and staked a possible future as a rich woman’s husband on that kiss. It was a miracle of technique. The way in which he took Griselda in his arms, and kissed her warmly upon the lips; the way in which he followed this with a tighter embrace, as though passion raged in him like a fire, and pressed his mouth upon hers until the pressure was pain; the way in which, with a quick intake of breath he laid his hand upon her breast, and kissed her throat again and again, her ears, her hair, and at last her lips; the way in which his tongue met hers, and caressed it within her mouth—these things could not have been bettered for neatness of timing and execution. It would be useless to pretend that Griselda was not moved; such address in the art of love would have stirred an anchoress. But when at last he released her she drew away from him, and pulling her coat about her, sat silent for awhile, looking out at the lake.