heavily chased silver service which was in another room.
She poured the chocolate into a highly ornamented urn and
then carried it to the table and put it down before him. Then
swinging herself up beside him, she said: “Now, isn’t this
chummy? I just love to get out in the kitchen like this, but I
can only do it when the cook’s out. He won’t let any one
near the place when he’s here.”
“Oh, is that so?” asked Clyde, who was quite unaware of
the ways of cooks in connection with private homes—an
inquiry which quite convinced Sondra that there must have
been little if any real means in the world from which he
sprang. Nevertheless, because he had come to mean so
much to her, she was by no means inclined to turn back.
And so when he finally exclaimed: “Isn’t it wonderful to be
together like this, Sondra? Just think, I hardly got a chance
to say a word to you all evening, alone,” she replied, without
in any way being irritated by the familiarity, “You think so?
I’m glad you do,” and smiled in a slightly supercilious
though affectionate way.
And at the sight of her now in her white satin and crystal
evening gown, her slippered feet swinging so intimately
near, a faint perfume radiating to his nostrils, he was stirred.
In fact, his imagination in regard to her was really inflamed.
Youth, beauty, wealth such as this—what would it not
mean? And she, feeling the intensity of his admiration and
infected in part at least by the enchantment and fervor that
was so definitely dominating him, was swayed to the point
where she was seeing him as one for whom she could care
—very much. Weren’t his eyes bright and dark—very liquid
An American Tragedy
540
and eager? And his hair! It looked so enticing, lying low
upon his white forehead. She wished that she could touch it
now—smooth it with her hands and touch his cheeks. And
his bands—they were thin and sensitive and graceful. Like
Roberta, and Hortense and Rita before her, she noticed
them.
But he was silent now with a tightly restrained silence which
he was afraid to liberate in words. For he was thinking: “Oh,
if only I could say to her how beautiful I really think she is. If
I could just put my arms around her and kiss her, and kiss
her, and kiss her, and have her kiss me in the same way.”
And strangely, considering his first approaches toward
Roberta, the thought was without lust, just the desire to
constrain and fondle a perfect object. Indeed, his eyes fairly
radiated this desire and intensity. And while she noted this
and was in part made dubious by it, since it was the thing in
Clyde she most feared—still she was intrigued by it to the
extent of wishing to know its further meaning.
And so she now said, teasingly: “Was there anything very
important you wanted to say?”
“I’d like to say a lot of things to you, Sondra, if you would
only let me,” he returned eagerly. “But you told me not to.”
“Oh, so I did. Well, I meant that, too. I’m glad you mind so
well.” There was a provoking smile upon her lips and she
looked at him as much as to say: “But you don’t really
believe I meant all of that, do you?”
Overcome by the suggestion of her eyes, Clyde got up and,
taking both her hands in his and looking directly into her
eyes, said: “You didn’t mean all of it, then, did you, Sondra?
Not all of it, anyhow. Oh, I wish I could tell you all that I am
thinking.” His eyes spoke, and now sharply conscious again
of how easy it was to inflame him, and yet anxious to permit
An American Tragedy
541
him to proceed as he wished, she leaned back from him
and said, “Oh, yes, I’m sure I did. You take almost
everything too seriously, don’t you?” But at the same time,
and in spite of herself, her expression relaxed and she once
more smiled.
“I can’t help it, Sondra. I can’t! I can’t!” he began, eagerly
and almost vehemently. “You don’t know what effect you
have on me. You’re so beautiful. Oh, you are. You know
you are. I think about you all the time. Really I do, Sondra.
You’ve made me just crazy about you, so much so that I
can hardly sleep for thinking about you. Gee, I’m wild! I
never go anywhere or see you any place but what I think of
you all the time afterward. Even to-night when I saw you
dancing with all those fellows I could hardly stand it. I just
wanted you to be dancing with me—no one else. You’ve
got such beautiful eyes, Sondra, and such a lovely mouth
and chin, and such a wonderful smile.”
He lifted his hands as though to caress her gently, yet
holding them back, and at the same time dreamed into her
eyes as might a devotee into those of a saint, then
suddenly put his arms about her and drew her close to him.
She, thrilled and in part seduced by his words, instead of
resisting as definitely as she would have in any other case,
now gazed at him, fascinated by his enthusiasms. She was
so trapped and entranced by his passion for her that it
seemed to her now as though she might care for him as
much as he wished. Very, very much, if she only dared. He,
too, was beautiful and alluring to her. He, too, was really
wonderful, even if he were poor—so much more intense
and dynamic than any of these other youths that she knew
here. Would it not be wonderful if, her parents and her state
permitting, she could share with him completely such a
mood as this? Simultaneously the thought came to her that
should her parents know of this it might not be possible for
An American Tragedy
542
her to continue this relationship in any form, let alone to
develop it or enjoy it in the future. Yet regardless of this
thought now, which arrested and stilled her for a moment,
she continued to yearn toward him. Her eyes were warm
and tender—her lips wreathed with a gracious smile.
“I’m sure I oughtn’t to let you say all these things to me. I
know I shouldn’t,” she protested weakly, yet looking at him
affectionately. “It isn’t the right thing to do, I know, but still—”
“Why not? Why isn’t it right, Sondra? Why mayn’t I when I
care for you so much?” His eyes became clouded with
sadness, and she, noting it, exclaimed: “Oh, well,” then
paused, “I—I—” She was about to add, “Don’t think they
would ever let us go on with it,” but instead she only replied,
“I guess I don’t know you well enough.”
“Oh, Sondra, when I love you so much and I’m so crazy
about you! Don’t you care at all like I care for you?”
Because of the uncertainty expressed by her, his eyes were
now seeking, frightened, sad. The combination had an
intense appeal for her. She merely looked at him dubiously,
wondering what could be the result of such an infatuation
as this. And he, noting the wavering something in her own
eyes, pulled her closer and kissed her. Instead of resenting
it she lay for a moment willingly, joyously, in his arms, then
suddenly sat up, the thought of what she was permitting
him to do—kiss her in this way—and what it must mean to
him, causing her on the instant to recover all her poise. “I
think you’d better go now,” she said definitely, yet not
unkindly. “Don’t you?”
And Clyde, who himself had been surprised and afterwards
a little startled, and hence reduced by his own boldness,
now pleaded rather weakly, and yet submissively. “Angry?”
An American Tragedy
543
And she, in turn sensing his submissiveness, that of the
slave for the master, and in part liking and in part resenting
it, since like Roberta and Hortense, even she preferred to
be mastered rather than to master, shook her head
negatively and a little sadly.
“It’s very late,” was all she said, and smiled tenderly.
And Clyde, realizing that for some reason he must not say
more, had not the courage or persistence or the
background to go further with her now, went for his coat
and, looking sadly but obediently back at her, departed.
An American Tragedy
544
Chapter 33
ONE of the things that Roberta soon found was that her
intuitive notions in regard to all this were not without speedy
substantiation. For exactly as before, though with the usual
insistence afterward that there was no real help for it, there
continued to be these same last moment changes of plan
and unannounced absences. And although she complained
at times, or pleaded, or merely contented herself with quite