IV
The sun came out of the mists as they set off for town with the snow flung up by the rear wheels of the car whirling behind in a miniature storm.
“You’re not afraid of a little speed?”
“Not with you!” she answered happily. “Was that the right answer?”
“One hundred per cent correct! Look at the smoke from that farmer’s chimney—it goes up as straight as a column. Not a breath of air!”
“It’s a dear good old world,” she said, her eyes reflecting her enjoyment of the swift rush between the long stretches of white level fields broken by patches of woodland.
“What’s the dearest thing in all the world?” he demanded.
“You!” she replied.
“Wrong that time! It’s you!”
“I wonder how many lovers have said just that to each other?”
“Thousands—billions, no doubt. But that doesn’t matter. It never was as true of the others as it is of us.”
“We’re not conceited or anything!”
“No; just happy! Honestly and truly, are you happy?”
“Enormously! Are you?”
“Right up to the perishing point!”
“Then why are you happy?”
“Because the dearest girl in the world loves me!”
They laughed their delight in this interchange, stopped to extricate from its difficulties a car which, unprovided with skid-chains, had landed in a ditch, and hurried on to make up for lost time. It was with a sense of disillusionment that Grace saw the city, as it seemed, coming out to meet her. Trenton was talking of his day’s appointments, of the men he expected to see. Grace’s thoughts flew ahead to the store, where she would meet Irene—meet her friend with a new self-consciousness—and of the deceptions and evasions that would be necessary to explain her night’s absence at home. But these thoughts were fleeting. She was happy in the confidence that the man beside her truly loved her and her love for him, which she had so often challenged and questioned even after she first encouraged him to think she cared, was no longer a matter for debate. She assured herself that there was nothing base in the relationship into which she had entered with him; that the attraction had been of the mind and spirit first of all. She swiftly reviewed all the points upon which her justification rested, and was satisfied that they stood the test of the morning sunlight and the clean wholesome air. She had no regrets; no misgivings. She had already convinced herself that their love was sufficient in itself. He turned from time to time to smile at her and took her hand that it might rest beneath his on the wheel.
“We haven’t settled yet when I’m to see you again. I want every minute you can give. Can’t we have dinner together tonight?”
“I wish we could, but I’ve got to go home for supper.”
“But I can see you afterwards,—please!”
“I could go to Miss Lawton’s where we met the first time. I think I can fix it with Minnie.”
“Then that’s settled! I understand perfectly that you have your family to consider and we’ve got to remember there are people in the world who haven’t much to do but pry into other people’s business. They’re a large and mischievous phalanx. For the present we’ve got to be careful.”
She was rather relieved that he did not amplify the suggestive “for the present.” He was thinking, she assumed, of his wife and the freedom which he had intimated would be his for the asking. But marriage was no assurance of the perpetuation of love; it was a convention, no doubt desirable and necessary for society’s protection; but Grace was in a mood to enjoy her sense of being in rebellion against society, that intangible “they” which, she had brought herself to believe, quite ignorantly established laws and in the light of them appraised and condemned human frailty.
She derived the greatest comfort from this idea; it encouraged and strengthened her belief that she was an independent unit of the social order. If her relationship with Trenton became known she would forfeit the love and confidence of her family and many prized friendships. But his love would be compensation for anything she might lose in the eyes of people she felt to be hopelessly shackled to old notions of rectitude and chastity with which she no longer felt any concern. It would be necessary, of course, to maintain secrecy; but it was no one’s business what she did with her life.
“Last chance for a kiss,” Trenton exclaimed, slipping his arm about her as they reached the Meridian street bridge.
She asked him to let her out at the soldiers’ monument to avoid the possibility of being inspected by questioning eyes at Shipley’s. Trenton was going at once to Kemp’s house to make sure Tommy was all right; he meant to have it out with Tommy about his drinking.
“Tell your father I’d like to see him tomorrow at two o’clock. Yes; I have the address.”
With his good-bye ringing in her ears she walked the few remaining blocks to the store.