embrace.
Clyde sensed how deep was this sudden revolt. All the
more was he flagellated by the desire for possession of that
which now he half feared to be unobtainable. A dozen
seductive excuses sprang to his lips. “Oh, who would be
likely to see us anyhow, at this time of night? There isn’t
any one around. Why shouldn’t we go there for a few
moments if we want to? No one would be likely to hear us.
We needn’t talk so loud. There isn’t any one on the street,
even. Let’s walk by the house and see if anybody is up.”
Since hitherto she had not permitted him to come within
half a block of the house, her protest was not only nervous
but vigorous. Nevertheless on this occasion Clyde was
proving a little rebellious and Roberta, standing somewhat
in awe of him as her superior, as well as her lover, was
unable to prevent their walking within a few feet of the
house where they stopped. Except for a barking dog there
was not a sound to be heard anywhere. And in the house
no light was visible.
“See, there’s no one up,” protested Clyde reassuringly.
“Why shouldn’t we go in for a little while if we want to? Who
will know? We needn’t make any noise. Besides, what is
wrong with it? Other people do it. It isn’t such a terrible thing
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429
for a girl to take a fellow to her room if she wants to for a
little while.”
“Oh, isn’t it? Well, maybe not in your set. But I know what’s
right and I don’t think that’s right and I won’t do it.”
At once, as she said this, Roberta’s heart gave a pained
and weakening throb, for in saying so much she had
exhibited more individuality and defiance than ever he had
seen or that she fancied herself capable of in connection
with him. It terrified her not a little. Perhaps he would not
like her so much now if she were going to talk like that.
His mood darkened immediately. Why did she want to act
so? She was too cautious, too afraid of anything that
spelled a little life or pleasure. Other girls were not like that,
—Rita, those girls at the factory. She pretended to love him.
She did not object to his holding her in his arms and kissing
her under a tree at the end of the street. But when it came
to anything slightly more private or intimate, she could not
bring herself to agree. What kind of a girl was she,
anyhow? What was the use of pursuing her? Was this to be
another case of Hortense Briggs with all her wiles and
evasions? Of course Roberta was in no wise like her, but
still she was so stubborn.
Although she could not see his face she knew he was
angry and quite for the first time in this way.
“All right, then, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to,”
came his words and with decidedly a cold ring to them.
“There are others places I can go. I notice you never want
to do anything I want to do, though. I’d like to know how you
think we’re to do. We can’t walk the streets every night.” His
tone was gloomy and foreboding—more contentious and
bitter than at any time ever between them. And his
references to other places shocked and frightened Roberta
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430
—so much so that instantly almost her own mood changed.
Those other girls in his own world that no doubt he saw
from time to time! Those other girls at the factory who were
always trying to make eyes at him! She had seen them
trying, and often. That Ruza Nikoforitch—as coarse as she
was, but pretty, too. And that Flora Brandt! And Martha
Bordaloue—ugh! To think that any one as nice as he
should be pursued by such wretches as those. However,
because of that, she was fearful lest he would think her too
difficult—some one without the experience or daring to
which he, in his superior world, was accustomed, and so
turn to one of those. Then she would lose him. The thought
terrified her. Immediately from one of defiance her attitude
changed to one of pleading persuasion.
“Oh, please, Clyde, don’t be mad with me now, will you?
You know that I would if I could. I can’t do anything like that
here. Can’t you see? You know that. Why, they’d be sure to
find out. And how would you feel if some one were to see
us or recognize you?” In a pleading way she put one hand
on his arm, then about his waist and he could feel that in
spite of her sharp opposition the moment before, she was
very much concerned—painfully so. “Please don’t ask me
to,” she added in a begging tone.
“Well, what did you want to leave the Newtons for then?” he
asked sullenly. “I can’t see where else we can go now if you
won’t let me come to se e you once in a while. We can’t go
any place else.”
The thought gave Roberta pause. Plainly this relationship
was not to be held within conventional lines. At the same
time she did not see how she could possibly comply. It was
too unconventional—too unmoral—bad.
“I thought we took it,” she said weakly and placatively, “just
so that we could go places on Saturday and Sunday.”
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431
“But where can we go Saturday and Sunday now?
Everything’s closed.”
Again Roberta was checked by these unanswerable
complexities which beleaguered them both and she
exclaimed futilely, “Oh, I wish I knew what to do.”
“Oh, it would be easy enough if you wanted to do it, but
that’s always the way with you, you don’t want to.”
She stood there, the night wind shaking the drying
whispering leaves. Distinctly the problem in connection with
him that she had been fearing this long while was upon her.
Could she possibly, with all the right instruction that she had
had, now do as he suggested. She was pulled and swayed
by contending forces within herself, strong and urgent in
either case. In the one instance, however painful it was to
her moral and social mood, she was moved to comply—in
another to reject once and for all, any such, as she saw it,
bold and unnatural suggestion. Nevertheless, in spite of the
latter and because of her compelling affection she could not
do other than deal tenderly and pleadingly with him.
“I can’t, Clyde, I can’t. I would if I could but I can’t. It
wouldn’t be right. I would if I could make myself, but I can’t.”
She looked up into his face, a pale oval in the dark, trying to
see if he would not see, sympathize, be moved in her favor.
However, irritated by this plainly definite refusal, he was not
now to be moved. All this, as he saw it, smacked of that
long series of, defeats which had accompanied his
attentions to Hortense Briggs. He was not going to stand for
anything now like that, you bet. If this was the way she was
going to act, well let her act so—but not with him. He could
get plenty of girls now—lots of them—who would treat him
better than this.
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432
At once, and with an irritated shrug of the shoulders, as she
now saw, he turned and started to leave her, saying as he
did so, “Oh, that’s all right, if that’s the way you feel about
it.” And Roberta dumfounded and terrified, stood there.
“Please don’t go, Clyde. Please don’t leave me,” she
exclaimed suddenly and pathetically, her defiance and
courage undergoing a deep and sad change. “I don’t want
you to. I love you so, Clyde. I would if I could. You know
that.”
“Oh, yes, I know, but you needn’t tell me that” (it was his
experience with Hortense and Rita that was prompting him
to this attitude). With a twist he released his body from her
arm and started walking briskly down the street in the dark.
And Roberta, stricken by this sudden development which
was so painful to both, called, “Clyde!” And then ran after
him a little way, eager that he should pause and let her
plead with him more. But he did not return. Instead he went
briskly on. And for the moment it was all she could do to
keep from following him and by sheer force, if need be,
restrain him. Her Clyde! And she started running in his
direction a little, but as suddenly stopped, checked for the
moment by the begging, pleading, compromising attitude in
which she, for the first time, found herself. For on the one
hand all her conventional training was now urging her to
stand firm—not to belittle herself in this way—whereas on