“Would you send for the police?” said George Lockwood.
“Of course I’d send for the police.”
“Then I don’t see what the difference is, really. The difference is shooting the man yourself or getting the police to do it for you. But philosophically there’s no difference at all, is there, Mr. Wynne?”
“Philosophically? No, I suppose not. But we mustn’t argue philosophically with the fair sex.”
“Oh, come now, Theron,” said Bessie Wynne.
“Yes, Father, you don’t have to treat us like bird-brains,” said Agnes Wynne.
“There’s nothing wrong with your brains, ladies. In some respects you’re the equal or even the superior of men when it comes to brain-work,” said Theron Wynne. “However, you do allow your emotions and sentiment to confuse the issue sometimes, don’t you agree, Mr. Lockwood?”
“I’m afraid to answer that truthfully, I’ve had such an enjoyable visit. And I have to go now, and I don’t want to leave an unfavorable impression. Thank you very much, Mrs. Wynne. Miss Wynne. Mr. Wynne tells me you’re going to be away through the holidays. By any good fortune are you planning to attend the Gibbsville Assembly?”
“How did you know? Yes, I am.”
“Delightful. This is my first year as a full-fledged member, and that makes me, in a manner of speaking, your host, or one of them.”
George Lockwood went away pleased with the outcome of the visit to the Wynnes’. If the conversation had been spirited, to the point of controversy, they had always managed to get back on safe ground before animosity took over. He was sure that Agnes Wynne was more taken with him than she had ever been before; she had actually smiled in an intelligent and friendly fashion when he left.
As a full-fledged member of the Gibbsville Assembly he was expected to pay his share of the deficit, if any, and to serve on the floor committee for the first two years. The deficit never had amounted to more than twelve dollars per member, and the ball usually made a small profit which was applied to the next year’s fund. As a floor committeeman he was expected to wear a purple band across his bosom and to see to it that none of the older ladies was left sitting alone. Floor committeemen did not take their duties seriously after the supper intermission, when the party took on a younger character, partly because the very old went home, and partly because the gentlemen by custom would go to the cloakroom for a nip of whiskey or brandy, neat. Inevitably a few gentlemen went back for more, and by one o’clock the ball was lively, with an hour of music and dancing remaining.
George Lockwood had some acquaintance with nearly all the Gibbsville Assembly list, and out-of-town guests immediately stood out. He saw Agnes Wynne immediately on her arrival, and he knew from an earlier inspection of the list that she would be on the arm of Robert Leeds. Leeds was a career man in the mining industry; he belonged to the Wilkes-Barre-Scranton area, at the other end of the anthracite coal fields, but for the time being he was learning the business in Gibbsville, where his family’s prestige would not interfere with his training. He was a personable fellow, quite bald at twenty-eight or so, a product of Andover and Yale, and so conscious of the Gibbsville mothers’ (and fathers’) approval that he had carefully imported an out-of-town girl as a protective measure. To invite a young woman to the Assembly was a very serious matter in Gibbsville, but it was somehow less serious for a Scranton Leeds to invite a Hilltop Wynne. The hopeful Gibbsville parents at least could go on hoping so long as Robert Leeds remained uncommitted locally.
George Lockwood made no attempt to dance with Agnes Wynne until after the intermission, when all the dances became “extras,” not booked well in advance. “Bob, are you going to let me have the second extra?” said George Lockwood.
Leeds looked at his card. “No, but you can have the third.”
“The third it is,” said George Lockwood.
“Slave market,” said Agnes Wynne. “Some day the day will come when the gentleman has to ask the lady.”
“Never,” said Leeds. “Do you know why? Because the unpopular girls would be left out in the cold. They’re the ones that wouldn’t stand for it. The men would only dance with the prettier girls. Right, George?”
“Except the floor committee. I don’t know if you noticed some of the ladies I plodded around with tonight, but now I think I’ll take off this ribbon and end my servitude. Miss Wynne, would you care for a purple ribbon, with my compliments? It would go well with your blue-green eyes. No? Bob, would you like a purple ribbon? Entitles you to a dance with old Mrs. Stokes.”
“Thank you, I have had that pleasure. Not tonight, but on other occasions.”
“Mrs. Stokes happens to be my hostess and my chaperone, and she’s not as ancient as all that.”
“I only wanted to differentiate between her and young Mrs. Stokes, who happens to be a cousin of mine,” said George Lockwood.
Later, when he was dancing with Agnes, he said, “It always seems as though we had to not exactly quarrel, but disagree.”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever wondered why?”
“I don’t think I have.”
“Truly you haven’t?”
“Here we go, we’re on the verge this very second. You doubt my word. You think I have wondered why.”
“Yes, I do, Agnes.” He felt her stiffen to his touch. “You have such very positive reactions to me that anyone as intelligent as you are must wonder about them. I know the reason. You don’t like me, you don’t think you ought to like me, and you don’t want to like me. But something happens when we’re together that goes much deeper than liking or not liking.”
“You were engaged to be married, weren’t you?”
“Not quite. An understanding.”
“And the understanding led to a misunderstanding?”
“If you want me to tell you all about it, I will. All about it.”
“I was told that the girl’s family were cross because you wouldn’t help her brother get into a club. If that’s what it was, I’m on your side—for a change.”
“I’m glad to have you on my side, but in all fairness there were other reasons. But the principal reason, it took me some time to realize, was that we weren’t suited to each other. If we had been, the other reasons wouldn’t have mattered.”
“I believe that. I believe that whole-heartedly.”
“So do I. And it was very fortunate that we broke off, whatever the reason. Because I’d have been married less than a year when I first met you.”
“Would you?”
“Less than a year, a newlywed. And she would have known that I’d fallen head over heels in love with someone else. I’m told women do know that.”
“You will never fall head over heels in love with anyone, George Lockwood.”
“How do you know?”
“You don’t deny that. You only ask me how I know. You’d never let yourself, that’s why.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” he said. “And yet as soon as I said that I suddenly feel that I’m in love for the first time in my life. Can you understand that?”
“Yes, I can. Because this one true confession sweeps away half truths and insincerity. Yes, I can understand that.”
“Let’s both be truthful with each other, Agnes.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“That we’re in love.”
“All right. I’ll say it. We’re in love.”
“And that’s the truth?”
“Don’t start out by doubting me. And let’s not talk any more. Let’s dance. I love to dance!”