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<h2 id="id00730" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XIX</h2> With eyes apparently on Mrs. Swink, I missed no movement of her daughter, and when presently I saw her put her elbow on the window-sill and wipe her lips with her handkerchief, and then make movement as if to brush something away, I got up, made effort to say good-by unhurriedly to her mother, and went over to the girl. As I held out my hand I glanced out of the window. Exactly opposite, and looking up at it, was Tom Cressy, his handkerchief to his lips. I took the hand she held toward me in both of mine and something in her eyes, something both mutinous and pleading, filled me with sympathy I should not have felt, perhaps. She was only nineteen, and her mother was obviously trying to make her marry Harrie when she probably loved Tom. It was all so weak and so wicked, so sordid and stupid, that I felt like Kitty when with Alice Herbert. I needed disinfecting. I would have to get away before I said things I shouldn't. "Your mother says the masseuse comes this afternoon. Can't you take a drive with me while she is here?" I turned to Mrs. Swink. "You will not mind if she leaves you for a little while? It is too lovely to stay indoors." "No, indeed, I won't mind. I'll be glad to have her go if she'll do it. Lately she won't do anything but sit at that window." Mrs. Swink, who had gotten out of her chair with difficulty, turned to her daughter, blinking her little, near-sighted eyes at her as if she were beyond all human understanding; and the fretfulness of her tone she made no effort to control. "She's that restless and hard to please and hard to interest in anything that she nearly wears me out. Girls didn't do like that when I was young. If I'd had a hundredth part of what she's got—" "What's the use of having things you don't want?" Miss Swink's shoulders made resentful movement; then she turned to me, for a moment hesitated. "Thank you very much for asking me, but I can't go this afternoon. I need exercise. If I don't walk a great deal I—" "I'd much rather walk. I love to walk." I must know why she was meeting Tom without her mother's knowledge. "I'll send the car home and we'll walk together. It isn't often I have an afternoon without something that must be done in it. I'll wait here while you get your hat and coat." Into the girl's face came flush that spread slowly to the temples, and uncertainly she looked at me. Steadily my eyes held hers and after half a moment she turned and went out of the room. Coming back, she followed me into the hall and to the elevator, but, eyes on the gloves she was fastening, she said nothing until we reached the street. On the corner opposite us Tom Cressy was standing in the doorway of a cigar-shop, and as he saw the car dismissed, saw us cross the street and come toward him, into his honest, if not handsome, face came puzzled incredulity. Not until in front of him did I give evidence of seeing him; then I stopped. "Why, Tom Cressy!" I held out my hand and, as he took it, I noticed the one holding his hat was not entirely steady. "It's ages since I've seen you, Tom. You know Miss Swink, I believe." I pretended not to see their formal and somewhat frightened bow. "We're going to walk. Can't you go with us? Come on. We're going to the park." Slipping my arm through Madeleine's, I caught step, and on the other side of her Tom did likewise, hands in his pockets, and into both faces came glow that illuminated them and enlightened me. At the end of our walk I would know pretty well what I wanted to know. For an hour and a half we walked briskly and talked along lines usually self-revealing; and by the time the hotel was again reached I was quite satisfied concerning a complicated situation that needed skilful steering to avoid a dangerous and disastrous smash-up. "Can't I go home with you, Miss Dandridge?" Tom twisted his hat nervously. "It's too late for you to go so far by yourself. Please let me go with you." "Of course you're going with me. After dark I'm only a baby person and I like a nice, big man with me! Good-by, dear." I turned to Madeleine. "Some afternoon, if your mother does not mind, come down and have tea with me in Scarborough Square. Tom can come, too, and bring you home. I'll telephone you one day next week." With a nod I walked away, but not before I saw a flash of joy pass between two faces which were raised to each other, and, guiltily, I wondered if I had again done something I shouldn't. I was always doing it. Hurrying on with Tom, I talked of many things, but at my door I turned to him and held out my hand. "I haven't any right to ask you, but I'm going to ask you. You care for each other and something is the matter. What is it, Tom?" "Matter!" Indignation, wrathful and righteous, flared in face and voice, and Tom's clutch of my hand was more fervid than considerate. "Her mother's the matter. She's batty on the subject of society and position, and first families, and fashion, and rot of that sort—all right in its way, but not her way. I'm not aristocratic enough for her. She doesn't want her daughter to marry me because we haven't any family brush and coats of arms, and don't belong to the inside set, and marrying me wouldn't give Madeleine what she wants her to have. Madeleine don't want it. She wants—" "You. I understand. Does Mrs. Swink want her to marry some one else?" I hated my pretended ignorance, but I must know just what he knew. Know if Madeleine had told him of her engagement. "Who is it she wants her to marry?" "Harrie Thorne. If she knew what others knew of Harrie—" Tom bit his lip. "I don't want to go into that, however. Not my business. But if she was told she wouldn't believe. She don't want to believe. She wants her daughter to marry what Harrie can give her. An honored name which he has dishonored." Tom took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, in his eyes boyish incomprehension of incomprehensible things. "Men are wicked, Miss Dandridge, but they wouldn't do what some women do. They've got it in their hands to do a lot they don't do—women have—and if it wasn't for some of them, for those we believe in, the world would go smash in certain ways as far as men are concerned. What's the use of keeping straight and living clean when plenty of women don't seem to care, or certainly don't ask too much about a man if he's got money, or anything else they want for their daughters? Mrs. Swink is determined that Madeleine shall marry Harrie." "But has Madeleine no will of her own? If she permits her mother to dispose of her—" "She's been disposed of since she was a baby, and resistance wears thin after a while, I suppose." The tips of Tom's right shoe made a small circle on the brick pavement, but presently he looked up at me. "It's pretty queer for me to be telling things like this, but you always did understand a fellow. I've often wished I could come and see you. Madeleine and I were engaged once." "Why aren't you engaged now? Tell me anything you want. What happened?" "Mother Swink happened!" Tom's words came jerkily. "She wouldn't even let me talk to her; made a devil of a row, dragged Madeleine all around Europe, wouldn't let her have a letter from me—sent them back herself—and told Madeleine if she married me she would never speak to me." "That ought to have given you courage. Why didn't you marry Madeleine?" "I couldn't get hold of her. And, besides, she got so worked up that she went all to pieces, and I—I wasn't patient enough, I guess. When they came back I managed to see her once, but we both got mad and said things we shouldn't, and she gave me up. I heard Harrie had been giving her a rush in El Paso, and if Mrs. Swink can manage it she'll have Madeleine engaged to him before he knows how it happened." "Are you able to marry, Tom? Is there any reason why you shouldn't?" "No, there isn't." His head went up. "I can't give her what her mother can, but I can take care of her all right. On the first of next May father makes me general manager of the business. He hasn't spared me because I was his son, and he wouldn't give me the place until I'd earned it, but I'll get it pretty soon now. I wish you knew my father, Miss Dandridge. There isn't any sort of search-light he can't stand, and it isn't his and mother's fault if I can't stand them, also." "I don't think they'd be uneasy if any were to be turned on. I wouldn't. Good night, Tom. Be careful how you meet Madeleine. How many times have you seen her since she got here?" "Just once before this afternoon." His face flushed. "Something is the matter. She's not like herself. Her mother's up to something." "When you want to see her, come down here and see me. Don't meet on corners or in the park, and—and the next time you're engaged don't let a girl think you're going to wait indefinitely. If she isn't willing to marry you and go to Pungo if necessary, she isn't the girl for you to marry. Good night." At the door I turned. Tom was still standing at the foot of the steps, staring at me, in his face slow-dawning understanding. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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