Part 23

Once they stopped for a moment, and he looked down at her, as with flushed face she stood smiling and waving her gossamer fan, each motion stirring the frail leaves of the roses he had sent her.

“It's cur'ous,” he said softly, “but I keep thinkin' about that black gulch.”

“Forget it,” she said. “Why do you think of a gulch when--” She stopped with a sudden recollection that he was not used to persiflage. But he anticipated what she was about to say.

“Why think of the gulch when you are here?” he said. “Why, because it is only th' gulch that seems real. All this,--these pleasant, polite people, this beautiful room, th' flowers everywhere, and you, and me as I am, seem as if I was dreamin'. Thar ain't anything in it all that is like what I thought it would be.”

“Not as you thought it would be?”

“No. Different. I thought it would be--well, I thought th' people would not be quite so high-toned. I hope you don't mind that word.”

“Not in the least,” she said. “It's a musical term. It applies very well to people.”

They took up the dance again and waltzed breathlessly till the close. Kate was tired; the exertion had been a little more than she had bargained for. She sat very still on the veranda under the white glare of an electric ball, and let Roeder do the talking. Her thoughts, in spite of the entertainment she was deriving from her present experiences, would go back to the babies. She saw them tucked well in bed, each in a little iron crib, with the muslin curtains shielding their rosy faces from the light. She wondered if Jack were reading alone in the library or was at the club, or perhaps at the summer concert, with the swell of the violins in his ears. Jack did so love music. As she thought how delicate his perceptions were, how he responded to everything most subtle in nature and in art, of how life itself was a fine art with him, and joy a thing to be cultivated, she turned with a sense of deep compassion to the simple man by her side. His rough face looked a little more unattractive than usual. His evening clothes were almost grotesque. His face wore a look of solitude, of hunger.

“What were you saying?” she said, dreamily. “I beg your pardon.”

“I was sayin' how I used t' dream of sittin' on the steps of a hotel like this, and not havin' a thing t' do. When I used t' come down here out of the gulch, and see men who had had good dinners, an' good baths, sittin' around smokin', with money t' go over there t' th' bookstan' an' get anythin' they'd want, it used t' seem t' me about all a single man could wish fur.”

“Well, you've got it all now.”

“But I didn't any of th' time suppose that would satisfy a man long. Only I was so darned tired I couldn't help wantin' t' rest. But I'm not so selfish ur s' narrow as to be satisfied with THAT. No, I'm not goin' t' spend m' pile that way--quite!”

He laughed out loud, and then sat in silence watching Kate as she lay back wearily in her chair.

“I've got t' have that there garden,” he said, laughingly. “Got t' get them roses. An' I'll have a big bath-house,--plenty of springs in this country. You ken have a bath here that won't freeze summer NOR winter. An' a baby! I've got t' have a baby. He'll go with th' roses an' th' bath.” He laughed again heartily.

“It's a queer joke, isn't it?” Roeder asked. “Talkin' about my baby, an' I haven't even a wife.” His face flushed and he turned his eyes away.

“Have I shown you the pictures of my babies?” Kate inquired. “You'd like my boy, I know. And my girl is just like me,--in miniature.”

There was a silence. She looked up after a moment. Roeder appeared to be examining the monogram on his ring as if he had never seen it before.

“I didn't understand that you were married,” he said gently.

“Didn't you? I don't think you ever called me by any name at all, or I should have noticed your mistake and set you right. Yes, I'm married. I came out here to get strong for the babies.”

“Got a boy an' a girl, eh?”

“Yes.”

“How old's th' boy?”

“Five.”

“An' th' girl?”

“She'll soon be four.”

“An' yer husband--he's livin'?”

“I should say so! I'm a very happy woman, Mr. Roeder. If only I were stronger!”

“Yer lookin' much better,” he said, gravely, “than when you come. You'll be all right.”