Middletown transcript., 1917-07-07
His Eyes Didn't Once Seek Her Face.

His Eyes Didn't Once Seek Her Face
voice lacking a little of the ridiculous
stiffness Of his words, not much. 'Is
there some place where we can talk O
little more-privately than here2
shan't keep you long,"
There's a room here somewhere
she said.
The room she led him to was an ap-
propriately preposterous setting fol
the altogether prepOsterous talk that
ensued between them. It had mosaic
floor with a red plush carpet on 1t, two
stained-glass windows In yellow and
green, thanking an oak mantel which
framed an enormous expanse Of mot.
| tied purple tile, with diminutive gas
| log in the middle. A glassy-looking
oak table occupied most Of the room
around it were upholstered in highly
polished coffee-colored horse-hide, with
very ornate nails.
cts dreadfully hot in here" Rose
said. you'd better take off your coat u
She squeezed in between the table and
one of the chairs and seated herself.
Rodney threw down his wet hat, his
newspaper, and then his raincoat, on
the table, and slid into a chair oppO-
site her.
Il want to tell you first" Rodney
| said, and his manner was that Of q
schoOlboy reciting to his teacher an
apology which has been rehearsed at
home under the sanction Of paternal
authority-'T want to tell you how
deeply sorry am for :"
He had his newspaper in his hands
again and was twisting 1t up. His eyes
didn't once seek her face. But they
might have done so in perfect safety,
because her own were fixed on his
hands and the newspaper they crum-
pied.
He didn't presume to ask her for
giveness, he told her. He couldn't ex-
pect that; at least not at present. He
went on lamely, in broken sentences,
repeating what he'd said already in
still more inadequate words. He was
unable to stop talking until she should
say something, 1t hardly mattered
what. And she was unable to say any,
thing.
The formality of his phrases got
sitter and finally CONCEALED into a
blank silence.
Finally she said, with a gasp: 81
have something to ask you to-forgive
me for. That's for leaving you to find
out-where I was, the way you did.
You see, thought at first that no one
would know me, made up and all. And
when l found out I would be recog-
nizable, it was too late to stop-or at
least it seemed so. Besides, thought
you knew. I saw Jimmy Wallace out
there the opening night, and saw he
recognized me, and-I thought he'd
tell you. And then kept seeing other
people out in front after that, people
we knew, who'd come to see for them
selves, and thought, Of course, you
knew. And-I suppose was a cow
ard waited for you to come. 1
wasn't, as you thought, trying to hurt
you. But can see how 1t must have
looked like that"
He said quickly: you're not to
blame at all. I remember how you Of
fered to tell me what you intended to
do before you went away, and that 1
wouldn't let you"
Silence froze down upon them
again.
II can't forgive myself" he said at
last. Il want to take back the things
I said that night-about being dis
graced and all. was angry over not
having known when the other people
did. It wasn't your being on the stage.
We're not as bigoted as that.
tive come to ask favor of you,
though, and that is that you'll let me
let us all-help you. I can't-bear
having you live like this, knocking
about like this, where all sorts of
things can happen to you. And going
under an assumed name. I've ne
right to ask favor, know, but do.
I ask you to take your own name again