“But I didn’t say that I didn’t care—” She was going on to explain that a highly emotional nature was capable of varying shades of caring, but there was nothing in Billy’s simple code of ethics to anticipate such a fine analysis of the case. Perhaps he waited for one breathless second to be sure he had heard aright; the next, she was pushing him away.
“How could you!” she stormed. “How could you!” She was angry and injured and tearful—or she seemed to be, and for the minute the thought of his mistake staggered him. Then very quietly he said:
“I didn’t understand, and I’m sorry; but I’m not ashamed. I know I’ve offended you, but you wouldn’t be offended if you knew what I meant. You think it’s savage and primitive. It is that, I guess; but I want you to know that at least it’s genuine, and—it’s not brutal. If things had
been different, if you could have cared and married me, you would know.”
Marjorie was considering. It was not her first experience of this kind. You can’t make a practice of playing with animals and not get mussed up sometimes, but with a girl in her social position most men of the “socially experienced” set would not have blustered into things so whole heartedly. If they did, beneath their cajoling apologies afterwards, there would lurk a quizzical half-smile, as much as to say, “What did you start the thing for? Just what is the game?” It generally meant the end of a flirtation and the loss of the girl’s prestige in that particular quarter; but, somehow, Billy had left her with all her self-respect. It was hard to know what to do, for even with the weak passion of which her selfish make-up was capable, she had unwittingly stumbled into a little love herself.
“I—I don’t want to be silly about this,” she advanced magnanimously after a while. “I’m not offended, but don’t let’s spoil everything by being serious on our last night together.”
“Our last night?”
“The last for a while, anyway. I guess I didn’t tell you that I’m going to town for the winter—my really official debut in society. Auntie wants me, and Dad and Mother have consented to let me go for the season. You see,” she explained rather plaintively, “I’ve never really had an opportunity
of trying my wings at all, and I just crave life and excitement and company. Maybe some day I’ll settle down and be the domestic little wren you’d like to see me; but don’t you see, I’m so young—I don’t want to get married. I just want to live for awhile. I think a winter in town will do me lots of good. Auntie knows the very best people, and she entertains beautifully. Would you—I wonder if you’d care to see some of my little dresses?”
Later, in her luxurious little sitting-room, she brought out the “little dresses” and caressingly displayed them one by one for his stupid admiration. They were very artful creations and considerably expensive, but Mrs. Evison, who appreciated the value of clothes as a social asset, considered them a good investment for her daughter. To Billy they emphasized how meagre she would find the kind of life he could give her, so far as purchasable things were concerned.