At half-past eight on Thursday morning Katharine left the house in Clinton Place, and turned eastward to meet John Ralston. Her only source of anxiety was the fear lest her father should by some accident go out earlier than usual. There was no particular reason to expect that he should be irregular on that particular day of all others, and she had left him over his beefsteak, discussing the relative amounts of the nutriment—as compared with the price per pound—contained in beef and mutton. He had never been able to understand why any one who could get meat should eat anything else, and the statistics of food consumption interested his small but accurate mind. His wife listened quietly but without response, so that the discussion was very one-sided. The philanthropist generally shuffled down to breakfast when everything was cold, a point about which he was utterly indifferent. He had long ago discovered that by coming down late he could always be the last to finish his meal, and could therefore begin to smoke as soon as he had swallowed his last mouthful which was a habit very important to his enjoyment and very destructive to that of any one else, especially since his son had reduced him to ‘Old Virginia Cheroots’ at ten cents for five.
But Alexander Junior was no more inclined than usual to reach his office a moment before his accustomed time. Katharine generally left the dining-room as soon as she had finished breakfast, and often went out immediately afterwards for a turn in Washington Square, so that her departure excited no remark. The rain had ceased, and though the air was still murky and the pavements wet, it was a decently fine morning. Ralston was waiting for her, walking up and down on a short beat, and the two went away together.
At first they were silent, and the silence had a certain constraint about it which both of them felt, but did not know how to escape from. Ralston was the first to speak.
“You ought not to have come,” he said rather awkwardly, with a little laugh.
“But I told you I was coming,” she answered demurely. “Didn’t I?”
“I know. That’s just it. You told me so suddenly that I couldn’t protest. I ran after you, but you were gone to get your things, and when you came downstairs there were a lot of people, and I couldn’t speak to you.”
“I saw you,” said Katharine. “It was just as well. You had nothing to say to me that I didn’t know, and we couldn’t have begun the discussion of the matter all over again at the last instant. And now, please, Jack dear, don’t begin and argue. I’ve told you a hundred times that I know exactly what I’m doing—and that it’s I who am making you do it. And remember that unless we are married first uncle Robert will never make up his mind to do anything for us. It’s never of any use to try and overcome people’s objections. The only way is to ignore them, which is just what we’re doing.”
“There’s no doubt about that,” answered Ralston. “There’s one thing I look forward to with pleasure, in the way of a row, though—I mean when your father finds it out. I hope you’ll let me tell him and not spoil my fun. Won’t you?”
“Oh, yes, if you like. Why not? Not that I’m at all afraid. You don’t know papa. When he finds that the thing is done, that it’s the inevitable course of events, in fact, he’ll be quite different. He’ll very likely talk of submission to the Divine will and offer to speak to Beman Brothers about letting you try the clerkship again. I know papa! Providence has an awfully good time with him—but nobody else does.”
At which piece of irreverence Ralston laughed, for it exactly expressed his idea of Alexander Junior’s character.