“It must be very interesting.”
“That depends. It is once in a while, like with you, for instance. I could listen to you all day. When you came in the room I said to myself, ‘Open your eyes, Georgie.’ But I made a bet with myself you wouldn’t say a word. You notice I didn’t wait for a second invitation.”
This time Miss Tellon could not repress the smile.
“You are very flattering,” she said, vastly amused.
“Not yet,” denied Mr. Carlsen emphatically, crossing his legs and leaning back against the piano. “That’s what they all say when they know they’ve got the looks. I read somewhere that a woman is always picking on her strongest point just to call attention to it. Ten to one you’re saying something mean about your hair every five minutes just because you know it’s beautiful. I never saw such beautiful hair.”
“Really—” began Miss Tellon, feeling that this was about enough; but he ruthlessly interrupted her.
“Come off now, you know it is. Looks just like some great actress — I forget her name — saw her in the movies the other night. Most beautiful actress on the stage. That’s where you ought to be.”
“What—?”
“On the stage. Sure you ought. You know, that’s a thing I can’t understand. Here you are, taking orders from somebody not a bit better than you are, waiting on table or combing hair or whatever you do, making maybe ten or twelve dollars a week, and you might just as well be a Sarah Bernhardt or an Eva Tanguay. They both started in the chorus. Where’s the sense in it? Anybody could see that you’re the kind that’s got it in you. I saw it the first minute. As soon as you come in the door I said to myself, ‘Take a peek, Georgie.’ On the square.”
Miss Tellon, at the same moment that she understood his audacity, felt greatly relieved. It was not that she, a princess, was pleased at being mistaken for a servant; she merely felt that what had been an inexcusable disregard of her dignity was become a legitimate amusement. What tremendous fun! She tried to bring a silly smile to her lips; she conceived that under such circumstances a maidservant would always wear a silly smile — of encouragement.
“By the way,” Mr. Carlsen was saying, and his tone seemed to indicate that the time had come for serious business, “you haven’t told me your name.”
“No, I haven’t,” she replied stupidly.
“Well—” he observed meaningly.
“Jennie Bellay,” said Veronica, her invention failing her, and reflecting that it wouldn’t do Jennie any harm.
“Ah, Bellay!” said Mr. Carlsen as though he had been expecting that all along. “Pretty name. You don’t mind if I call you Jennie, do you?”
“Well — you see, I don’t know you—”
“That’s all right. What’s the use of being unfriendly? I like that name, Jennie. I suppose you go out sometimes of evenings?”
“Sometimes — yes.”
“Ever go to the shows?”
“Why — yes.”
Miss Tellon felt that she was playing her part miserably, but she managed to preserve the silly smile.
“They’ve got on a beauty down at the Stuyvesant now,” went on Mr. Carlsen with increasing enthusiasm. “I don’t suppose you’d care to see it?”
“Why — I don’t know—”
“We could go down any night this week — any night you’re off. What do you say we go?”
“But why do you want me to go?”
“Because I like you,” said Mr. Carlsen promptly. “You ought to know that — how could I help it? I don’t go around with my eyes shut. I’m not blind. I like you fine, and I want to like you better. Believe me, it won’t be a hard job. When shall we go?”
“I’m not sure I can go,” Veronica replied weakly.
“Oh, I guess you can. Why not? Shall I get tickets for Thursday night? I—”
He stopped abruptly, looking at her curiously as though he had just thought of something, then suddenly got up and stood by her chair, in front, quite close.
“Look here,” he said, leaning down and speaking in a new tone, “don’t you think I like you?”
“Why — I don’t know—” stammered Veronica.
“Well I do, and I’ll prove it,” he replied gaily.
And the next thing Miss Tellon knew an arm was passed around her neck and a pair of firm lips were planted on hers. Mr. Carlsen was no bungler. He did the thing expertly, firmly and thoroughly. There was no roughness in it, but nevertheless his encircling arm held her as in a vise. This exhibition of the oldest art in the world lasted while a watch would tick off five seconds.
“When shall we—” he began to murmur in her ear. But she, feeling herself partially released, sprang to her feet and stood trembling violently, with her face a flaming red all over.
“Oh—” she gasped, “I... you... you—”
Then a shadow caught her eyes, and she glanced at the door in time to see Albert Crevel enter. Carlsen, seeing her look, turned.
Mr. Crevel, dressed irreproachably in a dark walking-coat and gray trousers, advanced toward them with the easy familiarity of one at home.
Veronica heard his greeting but was unable to reply, and she saw him standing before her with a puzzled smile on his lips.
“What—” he began, looking at Carlsen.
Veronica made a great effort.
“It is just — just the piano-tuner.”
She added turning to the other:
“You have finished, I believe?”
Mr. Carlsen was already picking up his hat and leather case. Whether he realized his horrible mistake is an open question; he may or may not have become aware that he had kissed a princess. Certain it is that he retained all his presence of mind, for as he straightened himself and turned after picking up his hat he sent a deliberate wink, superbly executed, straight at Miss Tellon.
“Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly, and departed.
They watched him to the door. Then they turned to look at each other. Veronica’s face was still a little flushed, but she had regained control of herself.
“Well!” said Crevel with emphasis. “What’s all this? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she replied coolly, setting herself on the piano bench.
“But you were positively flustered,” he insisted. “What did he do? Was he impudent?”
She smiled faintly.
“Oh, no. We disagreed, that was all.”
“Ah! I see.”
He remained standing for a moment, looking at her, then sat down on the chair she had left shortly before. There was an uncomfortable silence. Veronica kept her eyes turned from him; a thousand mad thoughts were rushing through her brain, all the more confused because of her burning lips. She wanted to rub them with her handkerchief, but somehow could not. She was aware that Crevel was looking at her, and she felt a strain, a high tension, in the atmosphere.
Suddenly she turned and met his gaze.
“Albert,” she said, “I can’t marry you.”
It was impulse that spoke, but as she heard the words coming from her mouth she experienced a feeling of divine relief. Then unbounded wonder. Where had she found the strength to utter them? For many months she had been trying to say just those five words; what drove them forth now? The kiss of a piano-tuner? Well, why not? Let us be thankful for anything that brings freedom with it! As for Crevel, of course he was shocked, astounded; he would refuse to believe her. She didn’t know him very well, but she rather expected an explosion.
But he said absolutely nothing; he made no sound or movement, but merely sat and looked at her, though his eyes narrowed a little. It was she who was amazed. Hadn’t he heard her? Surely he had. And finally he spoke.
“I’ve been waiting for you to say that for six months,” he said calmly.
Astonishment—!
“But you took long enough to get to it,” he went on, seeing that she was speechless. “Only two weeks before the wedding. That makes it inconvenient.”