II
Catherine, sitting on the edge of her bed, drew on one silk stocking and gartered it. She lifted her head; when she bent over like that, faint nausea, like a green smear, rose through her body behind her eyelids. She shouldn't have eaten any dinner. Or was it just Charles, and his restrained disapproval—or Spencer. She sighed, thinking through her talk with Spencer. With insistent cunning he had offered as excuse, his dislike of Miss Kelly, his distaste for the house without Catherine. "I didn't think it was bad," he said. "I didn't do anything bad."
"Inconsiderate," suggested Catherine, looking at the stubborn head on the pillow. Safe! She couldn't scold him, and yet—"You didn't think how we would feel."
"Oh, I thought," said Spencer. "I thought you wouldn't know. And my father wasn't very con-sid-'rate." He thrust his head up indignantly. "He yanked me right away, and the fellows all saw him."
Then Charles had called sharply, "Catherine! Are you dressing?" and she had, under pressure, resorted to a threat. She was ashamed of it. She drew on the other stocking, smoothing it regretfully. She had said, "If you won't promise to come home directly, I shall ask Miss Kelly to call for you at school."
Charles came in, bay rum and powder wafted with him, his face pink and solemn.
"Oh, I haven't put in your studs—" She made a little rush for his dresser, but he brushed her away.
"Please don't bother. You're not ready yourself."
Catherine stifled an hysterical giggle. Emotion in these costumes—Charles in barred muslin underwear, his calves bulging above his garters, and she in silk chemise—was funny! She lifted her black dress from its hanger and slipped it over her head. Well, it had dignity, of a dowdy sort, if it wasn't fresh. She stood in front of the long mirror, trying to crisp the crumpled net of the long draped sleeves. Her fingers caught; she had pumiced too hard at the ink on their tips—hollows at the base of her throat—try to drink more milk. Her skin had pale luster, against the black, but her face lacked color. "If this weren't a faculty party," she said, lightly, "I'd try rouge."