agreed.
“But you know,” she said cautiously, “you mustn’t pay so
very much attention to me over there or here or anywhere
or think anything of it, if I don’t to you. I may not be able to
see so very much of you if you do. I’ll tell you about that
sometime. You see my father and mother are funny people.
And so are some of my friends here. But if you’ll just be
nice and sort of indifferent—you know—I may be able to
see quite a little of you this winter yet. Do you see?”
Thrilled beyond words by this confession, which came
because of his too ardent approaches as he well knew, he
looked at her eagerly and searchingly.
“But you care for me a little, then, don’t you?” he half-
demanded, half-pleaded, his eyes lit with that alluring light
which so fascinated her. And cautious and yet attracted,
swayed sensually and emotionally and yet dubious as to
the wisdom of her course, Sondra replied: “Well, I’ll tell you.
I do and I don’t. That is, I can’t tell yet. I like you a lot.
Sometimes I think I like you more than others. You see we
don’t know each other very well yet. But you’ll come with
me to Schenectady, though, won’t you?”
“Oh, will I?”
“I’ll write you more about that, or call you up. You have a
telephone, haven’t you?”
He gave her the number.
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“And if by any chance there’s any change or I have to break
the engagement, don’t think anything of it. I’ll see you later—
somewhere, sure.” She smiled and Clyde felt as though he
were choking. The mere thought of her being so frank with
him, and saying that she cared for him a lot, at times, was
sufficient to cause him to almost reel with joy. To think that
this beautiful girl was so anxious to include him in her life if
she could—this wonderful girl who was surrounded by so
many friends and admirers from which she could take her
pick.
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Chapter 28
SIX-THIRTY the following morning. And Clyde, after but a
single hour’s rest after his return from Gloversville, rising,
his mind full of mixed and troubled thoughts as to how to
readjust his affairs in connection with Roberta. She was
going to Biltz to-day. He had promised to go as far as
Fonda. But now he did not want to go. Of course he would
have to concoct some excuse. But what?
Fortunately the day before he had heard Whiggam tell
Liggett there was to be a meeting of department heads
after closing hours in Smillie’s office to-day, and that he was
to be there. Nothing was said to Clyde, since his
department was included in Liggett’s, but now he decided
that he could offer this as a reason and accordingly, about
an hour before noon, he dropped a note on her desk which
read:
“HONEY: Awfully sorry, but just told that I have to be at
a meeting of department heads downstairs at three.
That means I can’t go to Fonda with you, but will drop
around to the room for a few minutes right after closing.
Have something I want to give you, so be sure and
wait. But don’t feel too bad. It can’t be helped. See you
sure when you come back Wednesday.
“CLYDE.”
At first, since she could not read it at once, Roberta was
pleased because she imagined it contained some further
favorable word about the afternoon. But on opening it in the
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ladies’ rest room a few minutes afterwards, her face fell.
Coupled as this was with the disappointment of the
preceding evening, when Clyde had failed to appear,
together with his manner of the morning which to her had
seemed self-absorbed, if not exactly distant, she began to
wonder what it was that was bringing about this sudden
change. Perhaps he could not avoid attending a meeting
any more than he could avoid going to his uncle’s when he
was asked. But the day before, following his word to her
that he could not be with her that evening, his manner was
gayer, less sober, than his supposed affection in the face of
her departure would warrant. After all he had known before
that she was to be gone for three days. He also knew that
nothing weighed on her more than being absent from him
any length of time.
At once her mood from one of hopefulness changed to one
of deep depression—the blues. Life was always doing
things like this to her. Here it was—two days before
Christmas, and now she would have to go to Biltz, where
there was nothing much but such cheer as she could bring,
and all by herself, and after scarcely a moment with him.
She returned to her bench, her face showing all the
unhappiness that had suddenly overtaken her. Her manner
was listless and her movements indifferent—a change
which Clyde noticed; but still, because of his sudden and
desperate feeling for Sondra, he could not now bring
himself to repent.
At one, the giant whistles of some of the neighboring
factories sounding the Saturday closing hours, both he and
Roberta betook themselves separately to her room. And he
was thinking to himself as he went what to say now. What
to do? How in the face of this suddenly frosted and
blanched affection to pretend an interest he did not feel—
how, indeed, continue with a relationship which now, as
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alive and vigorous as it might have been as little as fifteen
days before, appeared exceedingly anemic and colorless. It
would not do to say or indicate in any way that he did not
care for her any more—for that would be so decidedly cruel
and might cause Roberta to say what? Do what? And on
the other hand, neither would it do, in the face of his
longings and prospects in the direction of Sondra to
continue in a type of approach and declaration that was not
true or sound and that could only tend to maintain things as
they were. Impossible! Besides, at the first hint of reciprocal
love on the part of Sondra, would he not be anxious and
determined to desert Roberta if he could? And why not? As
contrasted with one of Sondra’s position and beauty, what
had Roberta really to offer him? And would it be fair in one
of her station and considering the connections and the
possibilities that Sondra offered, for her to demand or
assume that he should continue a deep and undivided
interest in her as opposed to this other? That would not
really be fair, would it?
It was thus that he continued to speculate while Roberta,
preceding him to her room, was asking herself what was
this now that had so suddenly come upon her—over Clyde
—this sudden indifference, this willingness to break a pre-
Christmas date, and when she was about to leave for home
and not to see him for three days and over Christmas, too,
to make him not wish to ride with her even so far as Fonda.
He might say that it was that meeting, but was it? She could
have waited until four if necessary, but something in his
manner had precluded that—something distant and
evasive. Oh, what did this all mean? And, so soon after the
establishing of this intimacy, which at first and up to now at
least had seemed to be drawing them indivisibly together.
Did it spell a change—danger to or the end even of their
wonderful love dream? Oh, dear! And she had given him so
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much and now his loyalty meant everything—her future—
her life.
She stood in her room pondering this new problem as
Clyde arrived, his Christmas package under his arm, but
still fixed in his determination to modify his present
relationship with Roberta, if he could—yet, at the same time
anxious to put as inconsequential a face on the proceeding
as possible.
“Gee, I’m awfully sorry about this, Bert,” he began briskly,
his manner a mixture of attempted gayety, sympathy and
uncertainty. “I hadn’t an idea until about a couple of hours
ago that they were going to have this meeting. But you
know how it is. You just can’t get out of a thing like this.
You’re not going to feel too bad, are you?” For already,
from her expression at the factory as well as here, he had
gathered that her mood was of the darkest. “I’m glad I got
the chance to bring this around to you, though,” he added,
handing the gift to her. “I meant to bring it around last night
only that other business came up. Gee, I’m sorry about the
whole thing. Really, I am.”
Delighted as she might have been the night before if this