V
“You’re late again, Miss Patterson,” said Mr. Dunne.
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Edith. “I’ll really try not to again.”
But she didn’t look sorry. She sat down at her desk, flushed and a little out of breath, and, to Mr. Dunne’s great displeasure, there was a smile hovering about her lips.
“Miss Patterson,” said he, “I’m afraid this is once too often.”
Edith looked up in alarm.
“But, you see—” she began, and stopped.
She couldn’t explain to Mr. Dunne that this was a most pardonable lateness, and not at all likely to happen again. Going to the City Hall for a marriage license wouldn’t occupy much of her time in the future. Thinking of this, she smiled again—and lost her job. Mr. Dunne didn’t like people who smiled when they were late.
So it happened that just when she badly needed a smile she hadn’t one. The wretched little imitation she gave to Hardy, an hour later, didn’t deceive him for an instant. He stopped beside her desk—a thing he had never done before.
“What’s the matter?” he demanded, and would not be put off.
No use to tell him that he shouldn’t stand there and talk to her! He knew that very well, and he didn’t care. A mighty rage filled him. Edith, his Edith, his own girl, to be discharged and humiliated like this!
“Get on your hat and jacket,” he commanded, “and come on!”
“Joe! You mustn’t—”
“Look here!” said he. “I won’t have you here like this. If Dunne told you to go, then go now. Good Lord! Haven’t you any pride?”
She was too wretched to be angry at him. She did get on her hat and jacket, and, in full view of every one. Hardy walked out of the office with her at three o’clock on a busy afternoon.
“We’ll go to the flat,” he said, “and talk it over.”
They had a flat of their own. Hardy had insisted upon this.
“We’ll take it now,” he had said: “and[Pg 156] whenever we see anything especially good in the way of furniture, we’ll buy it. Then, when I come back, we’ll have a place of our own all ready for us.”
It wasn’t quite what they wanted, but Hardy had very little money just then, and their only time for house hunting was what they had been able to pilfer from their lunch hour; so they had taken the first one that seemed at all suitable. It consisted of three tiny rooms in a remodeled house west of Central Park.
They had already become inordinately fond of this future home. To be sure, there was nothing in it except a barrel containing a Limoges dinner set, which Hardy had bought from a shipment received at the office; but Edith had made a flying visit and measured the windows for curtains, and after that she could look upon the place as her own.
This afternoon, when Hardy opened the door with his latchkey, the place was obviously a future home. It was bare, bleak, and dusty, with slanting sun rays falling across the ill laid board floor of what was going to be the sitting room.
The door closed behind them, and there they were, alone, with plenty of time for talking now, and neither of them said one word. Hardy began walking about. His footsteps made a loud and somehow a melancholy sound. His voice in the empty little rooms was not at all his confident office voice, but boyish, and, to Edith, terribly touching.
She sat down on the barrel, struggling against her despair and misery, while he moved about in the kitchen, mocked by a gas stove with no gas in it, and water taps that gave forth no water. She knew how he felt; she knew what he would say.
“But I won’t!” she thought. “I’ll get another job. I won’t let him take care of Aunt Bessie now. I won’t! I won’t! Not now, when he’s just beginning.”
If she were making resolves in the sitting room, so was Hardy in the kitchen. He hadn’t been singled out by Mr. Plummer because of his gentleness and consideration. He had a remarkable future because he was remarkably persistent and clear-sighted about getting his own way, and Edith was no match for him.
“No!” said he. “No more jobs! We’ll tell your aunt now, and we’ll get married to-morrow, as we planned, and we’ll move in here.”
“We can’t, Joe. We haven’t any furniture, you know—”
“Then we’ll get it.”
“And Aunt Bessie—”
“We’ll see Aunt Bessie now. Look here, little Edith! It’s got to be this way. I couldn’t have my wife running about looking for a job. I couldn’t go away and leave you working in a strange office. It was bad enough in the old place. Look here, Edith, don’t you think you can be happy with me? Don’t you love me enough?”
“I love you too much, Joe! It’s not fair to you. You’ll—oh, Joe, you’ll have to sell your stock, and Mr. Plummer—”
“Edith,” he said, “I’ve been thinking lately—I don’t know how to put it very well—but it seems to me that maybe it’s a mistake to live so much in the future. Suppose there wasn’t any future—for us? Suppose something happened to one of us? Edith, I can’t stand thinking of that! Look here! Let’s just live now, and not be afraid of what’s going to happen. Let’s start this thing”—he stopped for a moment—“with courage and confidence,” he finished.
She put her hand on his cheek and turned his head so that she could look into his honest, steady eyes.
“Let’s!” she said, with a very unsteady little smile. “I feel that way, too, Joe. We’ll begin this minute, and unpack the china, just so that we’ll—we’ll feel at home!”