“If you will be so good as to stand here,” he suggested, when they had fought their way to the other end of the room, “I’ll look for Fields. It may take me some time, there’s such a crowd.” He almost softened toward her for an instant, he was so elated at the thought of leaving her there forever in the exotic bushes,—like Ruth “in tears amid the alien corn.” Then he returned her red fan, and once more became part of the crowd. He loved the crowd now as he had hated it before; it was a friendly, favouring, protecting crowd,—a crowd that rendered his movements invisible, a crowd through which large, opacous bodies in black satin could attain no velocity. Beverly made a conscientious search for Billy. He struggled around the theatre, inspected the piazza and the tent and the front rooms, and finally went upstairs to the library. But Billy was chatting in none of the little alcove nooks, made cosey for the occasion with a prodigal display of Turkish rugs, and Beverly descended the stairs to the exit with a light heart.
The Millstone, dishevelled, apoplectic, and breathing hard, was waiting for him at the door.
“I grew faint and sought air,” she explained. “Do you know what to do when a lady faints?” she went on, fanning nervously.
“Oh, yes,” said Beverly, grimly; “I think I know what I should do if you fainted.”
“You’re giving me a very happy day,” she murmured.
“It is a memorable one for me,” he answered savagely.
They went out and on toward Claverly. If every man Beverly knew in college had arranged to meet him on Holyoke Street at that hour, Beverly would not have had to take off his hat many more times than he did. He bowed gravely, and had to hang on to himself to keep from calling out as every new group of wondering faces approached:—
“This woman doesn’t belong to me; I never saw her before, and I hate her.”
There were little knots of men talking on the piazzas of the clubs on Mount Auburn Street when he turned the corner. Out of the tail of his eye, he could see the agitation that seized them as he and the Millstone came into view. Then he heard windows opening upstairs and down, and knew, without turning around, that from every window craned a neck or two. He held his breath, and prayed to Heaven that his companion wouldn’t take it into her head to stop and rest, or gaze dreamily up and down the street, or slap him with her fan. Once safely inside Claverly, he didn’t wait to listen to her exclamations of surprise and admiration, but left her purring to herself at the foot of the stairs and dashed up to Billy’s room. Billy wasn’t there, but his door was unlatched and his room strewn with garments. His cap and gown were hanging over the back of a chair. Billy was somewhere in the building, probably in the tank, as unsuspicious of impending catastrophe as a playful dolphin. So Beverly hurried down the back stairs to the tank. As he opened the door, Billy, lying on his back on the marble ledge, shot suddenly into view like a long white projectile.
“I’ve invented a new game,” he gasped; “you make the marble all wet, and lie on your back with your feet against the wall, and then give yourself a push and—zip! You could go miles if there wasn’t a partition. But you have to lift up when you get to this crack, or you’ll tear your shoulder-blades out by the roots. Now watch me—”