Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise., 1938-04-29


itations to yourself some day, when
you've decided to hate me. I'll list
them for you, in advance, so you'll
remember, at least that 1 knew them."
But she interrupted: II shall never
hate you; I've cared about you too
much. And we're both being insanely
serious. Nothing has happened at all
really. We went for walk in the
park; 1 told you fathers gone bank
rupt finally, and that it will be in the
papers tomorrow You said you were
sorry. Nothing else happened. Now
Pm going home, alone, because you
have an engagement uptown, and I'm
walking cross-town. Telephone me
( tomorrow"
She started to stand up then, but
his hand on her arm held her.
81 think you probably hate me a
little already, Denise. All right. 1
do have an engagement with my faith
er-whom I do not keep waiting, be-
cause when he dies, I'll have a great
deal of money if do not offend him."
"Stop it, Keith"
"No, let's have it out. The only
thing about my father, the practically
retired tycoon, that's odd is that he
doesn't seem to want grandchildren.
At least, he raises a great storm at
any thought of my marriage, which
is his only means to grandchildren.
It's not actually odd. He gave me a
bit of my own way, in letting me go
on painting, instead Of being the active
heir to the steel-rail business; and
generally speaking, he hates to give
anyone his way, when it's been in
opposition to his. To concede, makes
him feel old. So as payment of my
check for winning once, 1 have to
dance attendance on him like a gov
erness companion the rest of my
time-of his time, rather"
meanwhile. I have an excellent
allowance, charge accounts that get
sent to his office"
She interrupted again: "It isn't the
least concern Of mine, Keith"
''It might have BEEN"
That, she didn't answer.
He said then: Strange that you
alone of the fairly long succession
of debutantes to whom I've sent flow
ers and paid compliments should have
stood for something so wonderful"
''It is strange you've liked me. I'm
not a snowy beauty at all.' At those
words in voice not like hers, voice
hard, light, cool, he let her arm go.
She stood up. He stood and faced
her.
Denise was tall, very slender. Their
eyes were almost on a level. He
thought the most irrelevant: !'Not an
obvious beauty, but she will be when
matured." And could think of moth
ing to say to her, except: "I'll call you
tomorrow, Denise. Shall we have
There was the most curious tumult
of emotion in her young face. Her
soft it was, when he'd kiss
ed it, as he had kissed it recently,
ouivered and steadied then. Her face
smoothed out She looked for an IN
stant more adult than he had ever
seen her. In that instant she was like
some one he did not know. She was
lust a girl with deep blue eyes and
hair with bronze lights in it where the
last sunlight touched it, girl IN
gray fur jacket and a tweed suit, and
a hat the colors of pale violets. A
girl who said: "No; let's not go to
luncheon. or dinner, or to dance, to-
morrow or any other day. Let's never
see each other again." A girl who
said, "Good-by," quickly, and turned
and left him.
Keith started to follow her Then
he stood still. Her light swaying fig
ure went round a curve in the path,
and out of sight He sat down again,
and thought: "But what else could
have done?"
But it seemed to Denise Rendale,
walking through the first dusk, with
her heart aching dreadfully, that he
could have done so many things. Have
faced his father-or have ignored his
father, and chanced poverty with her.
All the year they had known each
other began sliding through her head
with a kind of troubling inconsecutive-
ness-evenings he and she had dane
ed. Dance tunes and the remembered
coIors of her evening dresses spun
around ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS, rhum'
bas, a red frock, silver metal frock
he had much admired, white frock'