Part 23

“Sell what?”

“Our stocks. You are so occupied that I thought they might fall when you are up in the clouds somewhere.”

“No, I shall not forget.”

“Well, such things happen. I might forget you if it were not for the stocks.”

“Then I shall keep the stocks, even if they fall.”

“And we should both fall together. That would be some compensation. Not much. Going to smash with you would be something like going to church with Mr. Lyon. It might have a steadying effect.”

“What has come over you tonight, Carmen?” Henderson asked, leaning forward with an expression of half amusement, half curiosity.

“I've been thinking--doesn't that astonish you?--about life. It is very serious. I got some new views talking with that Miss Debree from Brandon. Chiefly from what she didn't say. She is such a lovely girl, and just as unsophisticated--well, as we are. I fear I shocked her by telling her your opinion of French novels.”

“You didn't tell her that I approved of all the French novels you read?”

“Oh no! I didn't say you approved of any. It sort of came out that you knew about them. She is so downright and conscientious. I declare I felt virtuous shivers running all over me all the time I was with her. I'm conscientious myself. I want everybody to know the worst of me. I wish I could practice some concealment. But she rather discourages me. She would take the color out of a career. She somehow doesn't allow for color, I could see. Duty, duty--that is the way she looks at life. She'd try to keep me up to it; no playing by the way. I liked her very much. I like people not to have too much toleration. She would be just the wife for some nice country rector.”

“Perhaps I ought to tell her your plan for her? I dined with her last night at the Stotts'.”

“Yes?” Carmen had been wondering if he would tell her of that. “Was it very dull?”

“Not very. There was music, distant enough not to interfere with conversation, and the gallery afterwards.”

“It must have been very exhilarating. You talked about the Duchess of Bolinbroke, and the opera, and Prince Talleyrand, and the corner in wheat--dear me, I know, so decorous! And you said Miss Debree was there?”

“I had the honor of taking her out.”

“Mr. Henderson”--the girl had risen to adjust the lamp-shade, and now stood behind his chair with her arm resting on it, so that he was obliged to turn his head backward to see her--“Mr. Henderson, do you know you are getting to be a desperate flirt?” The laughing eyes looking into his said that was not such a desperate thing to do if he chose the right object.

“Who taught me?” He raised his left hand. She did not respond to the overture, except to snap the hand with her index-finger, and was back in her chair again, regarding him demurely.

“I think we shall go abroad soon.” The little foot was on the fender again, and the face had the look of melancholy resolution.

“And leave Mr. Lyon without any protection here?” The remark was made in a tone of good-humored raillery, but for some reason it seemed to sting the girl.

“Pshaw!” she said. “How can you talk such nonsense? You,” and she rose to her feet in indignation--“you to advise an American girl to sell herself for a title--the chance of a title. I'm ashamed of you!”

“Why, Carmen,” he replied, flushing, “I advised nothing of the sort. I hadn't the least idea. I don't care a straw for Mr. Lyon.”

“That's just it; you don't care,” sinking into her seat, still unappeased. “I think I'll tell Mr. Lyon that he will have occupation enough to keep him in this country if he puts his money into that scheme you were talking over the other night.”

Henderson was in turn annoyed. “You can tell him anything you like. I'm no more responsible for his speculations than for his domestic concerns.”

“Now you are offended. It's not nice of you to put me in the wrong when you know how impulsive I am. I wish I didn't let my feelings run away with me.” This said reflectively, and looking away from him. And then, turning towards him with wistful, pleading eyes: “Do you know, I sometimes wish I had never seen you. You have so much power to make a person very bad or very good.”

“Come, come,” said Henderson, rising, “we mustn't quarrel about an Englishman--such old friends.”

“Yes, we are very old friends.” The girl rose also, and gave him her hand. “Perhaps that's the worst of it. If I should lose your esteem I should go into a convent.” She dropped his hand, and snatching a bunch of violets from the table, fixed them in his button-hole, looking up in his face with vestal sweetness. “You are not offended?”

“Not a bit; not the least in the world,” said Henderson, heartily, patting the hand that still lingered upon his lapel.

When he had gone, Carmen sank into her chair with a gesture of vexation, and there were hard lines in her sweet face. “What an insensible stick!” Then she ran up-stairs to her mother, who sat in her room reading one of the town-weeklies, into which some elderly ladies look for something to condemn.