IV
After the sixth “first-night,” Lee Clavering followed her home. He found her alone in the great city, on her own doorstep.
“May I?—Am I?—Are you?—Were they?—Was it?—Whoosis?—” he stammered, his temperature rising dangerously.
“Oh,” she said with a faint smile, “I’m locked out——”
“Watch me!” he said.
He tore out the area railing and threw it at a passing taxicab, smashed the area windows, and burst in the door. Entering, he ran rapidly through the house, switched on all the lights, turned on the hot and cold water in every bathroom, upset the furniture and slid down the banisters from the fourth story to the first. Landing in a heap at the bottom, he leaped to his feet and opened the front door.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “Have a drink, Mr. Clavering?”
“You know whom I am, then?” he cyrilled in amazement.
“Certainly. Don’t you?” she answered.
“I—yes—no—” he murmured, his eyes fixed on her, as he poured a drink.
“That’s the catsup bottle—and do you always drink from a finger bowl?” she asked sweetly.
“Oh, invariably never,” he gasped. “I mean—inevitably always——”
“Won’t you sit down?”
“You make me sit up—and take notice,” he columned feebly, seating himself on the overturned victrola.
“You will pardon my confusion,” he babbled on. “To who—I mean, to wit have I the honor of speaking? How old are you? Have you ever been married? If so, mark a cross within the circle, but not within the triangle—if not, was your husband present when the body was found? If you have any children not in jail, how do you account for it? Who are you, and if not, what is your beautiful name? Answer yes or no.”
“Marie Zattiany,” she answered, with a smile.
“Legitimate or ill—” he paused in midflight, dipped his forefinger into the catsup and dreamily drew a red cross on his shirt-front.
“Pardon me,” he continued, “I was about to ask a personal question. To speak quite impersonally—will you marry me?—if you’re of marriageable age.”
“How old do you think I am? Don’t answer. You’d certainly either flatter me nauseatingly or insult me grossly. Come back in three weeks and I will tell you my story.”
She raised her hand for him to kiss, but he ducked and she missed him by an inch.
Outside the house, he remembered the shattered basement-windows. His southern chivalry would not let him leave her unprotected. He lay down on the doorstep and slept soundly until dawn.