II
She was sitting at her typewriter when he came into the office. She heard his curt “good morning” to some one else, heard his footsteps behind her. A wave of emotion rushed over her, so that for an instant she could not breathe; but she sat very quiet, the slender, neat, dark-haired Miss Graham that the office always beheld.
Almost at once he sent for her. She rose, took her notebook and pencil, and went into his private office.
“Shut the door,” he said.
The color rose in her cheeks, but she paid no heed to the command. He rose and shut the door himself.
“Look here!” he said. “I—I shouldn’t have made such a fool of myself, only I thought you—liked me.[Pg 555]”
Her cheeks were flaming now. She looked straight into his face.
“If that’s the way you look at it—” she said.
“I came to you,” he said. “I offered you all I had, and you told me to get out.”
“Do you mean to say,” she cried, “that you don’t see how outrageous you were?”
They stood facing each other, like enemies.
“No,” he said, “I don’t see. I thought that if you asked me there, you had been nice to me. I thought you liked me. Now that I see you don’t, I’m sorry.”
“You just call it making a fool of yourself, to be so arrogant and disrespectful?”
“I wasn’t arrogant!” he replied hotly. “Call it arrogance to come and ask a girl to marry you—to offer her all you have?”
“I suppose I should have felt honored,” she said, with a faint smile.
His own face flushed.
“Damned if I see what more you can expect!”
“I expect respect from a man,” she told him.
“Do you think I’d ask you to marry me if I didn’t respect you?”
“The way you did it!” she cried. “It was—”
“If you cared for me,” he said, “you wouldn’t have minded my—my kissing you.”
“Yes, I should!”
Their eyes met.
“Oh, Mildred!” he cried. “Do you mean you do care?”
A panic fear seized her.
“I don’t!” she said. “No—I—it’s not fair to make me stand here and listen to you!”
He turned on his heel and walked over to the window.
“All right,” he said unsteadily. “You needn’t stay.”
She opened the door and went back into the outer office. She knew that the other girls would notice her hot color, would see that she had no dictation to transcribe, and would talk about it. She was humiliated, and it was his fault.
“I hate him!” she thought, and was shocked.
It was wrong and horrible to hate. It was shameful to be so angry and shaken.
“He’s not worth bothering about,” she thought. “He is arrogant. He’s domineering and conceited. He calls it making a fool of himself to insult and hurt me.”
She did not see him again that morning. He used the dictaphone for his letters, and presently she had them to type. It was strange to hear his voice in her ears, his impatient young voice:
“No, cross that out. No, begin it all over.”
All that long day, and all the next day, went by without a word or glance between them. The following morning was Saturday, a half holiday, and Mildred was going, as usual, to spend the week-end at home. She came to the office dressed for traveling, and bringing her bag with her.
She went directly into Randall’s little office.
“Mr. Randall,” she said, “I’m leaving to-day.”
He looked up at her.
“You’re supposed to give a week’s notice,” he said.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not coming back.”
“I haven’t—bothered you,” he said.
After she had returned to her own desk, his voice echoed in her ears, miserable, angry, and forlorn:
“I haven’t bothered you.”
“I can’t help it,” she thought. “I can’t stay here.”
Promptly at twelve o’clock Randall left the office, without a word to any one. The door closed behind him.
“He’s gone,” she thought. “I won’t see him again![Pg 556]”
And it seemed to her that his going left all the world empty and desolate.
“His lordship isn’t quite so gay this morning,” said the girl next to her. “He got an awful calling down. Mr. Williams sent for him. I was in Mr. Pratt’s office, and we both heard every word. I was tickled to death! I can’t stand Randall.”
“What was the matter?” asked Mildred, her eyes on her work.
“Oh, it seems that Randall had been out with the boys last night, playing poker and drinking, and Mr. Williams heard about it. When Randall made a mistake in his work this morning, the old man jumped on him—told him he wasn’t up to his work, and that if he kept on like that he’d get the gate—told him he was expected to get here in the morning fresh and fit. Oh, he just jumped on him! I was tickled to death, Randall’s so high-hat.”
“What did he say?” asked Mildred.
“What could he say? ‘All right, sir. Yes, sir! No, sir!’ He had to come down off his high horse that time!”
Mildred had a vision of young Randall, not domineering and energetic, but standing downcast and unhappy before his chief.
“I think it’s a shame!” she cried suddenly. “Mr. Williams might have closed the door, anyhow, so that no one would hear!”
“It’ll do Randall good,” said the other, with satisfaction.
“No, it won’t!” Mildred retorted.
She felt certain that humiliation would not do Randall good, but harm. A great anger filled her, and a curious fear.
“He can’t stand that,” she thought. “He won’t stand it. He’ll do something silly. If Mr. Williams had just talked to him quietly and nicely—if some one would—”