After that curious evening, there seemed to be a tremendous emotional upheaval. Artie hardly came near Flora, and when he did call, appeared to derive much satisfaction from gazing at her with a quizzical look in his eyes which seemed to annoy her excessively. The Also Ran was omnipresent, and was instant in season, out of season. But instead of arousing Artie's jealousy, this seemed only to amuse him.
Finally the cause of Artie's visits developed. He blurted it out to me one day with the red face of a shamed schoolboy.
"Faith, I wish you'd do me the favour to ask Cary Farquhar here some evening, and let me know! I've been going there till I'm ashamed to face the butler, but I never can see her alone, and the last two times she has sent down her excuses, and wouldn't see me at all."
I could have squealed for joy, but, mindful of Cary's dignity, I said:
"I don't believe she'd come, Artie. I'm afraid—"
"Afraid that she'd suspect that I would be here too? I don't believe
I've made it as plain as that!" he interrupted.
"Do you mean to say that you are really and truly—?"
"I mean just that," he said, with a new earnestness in his manner, that
I never had noted before.
"Oh, Artie!" I cried. "I'm so glad! But what if she's—"
"Don't say it! It makes me cold all over to think of it. That's why I want you to ask her here. I've got to see her. Why, Faith, she's—really, Faith, she's the only girl in the world, now isn't she?"