Horatia opened the door to his office and ushered in Mrs. Hill, who went into some detail as to her worthy project and Horatia’s inadequate appreciation. Horatia chuckled at her desk outside, wondering how Langley would deal with her, and was fully satisfied when Mrs. Hill swept out with a last overheard comment—“Of course, there are many reasons why you are taking this attitude, sir, and none of them does you credit.”
She was ruined, however. Horatia ran a column on the new auditorium studio building and memorial, touching gently on the fact that the question of its erection was in dispute, and then she telephoned some of her friends and some of the real women thinkers of the city for opinions. Also she telephoned some architects. The article was not condemnatory. It was gently questioning, but many a business man read it and agreed heartily with the questions in it, having them ready as an excuse for not contributing. The project failed and Mrs. Hill knew why it had failed. She took to saying “there was opposition from the sort of places from which you might expect it,” which was cryptic, hinted at scandal and saved her face. But even with her face saved she detested Horatia.
It was only an incident, but there were other incidents which, added together, made the “woman on The Journal” a subject of much speculation. There was the woman who wanted to be made city commissioner in order to enhance her husband’s chances of getting city contracts and who failed to get Journal support. There was the case of the teacher who resigned from the schools in order to run for the School Board and work for raises in teachers’ salaries. She and Horatia had many a consultation in The Journal office and many a plan hatched there finally put across the woman’s successful election. It was undoubtedly true that Horatia had a straight eye, Bob Brotherton said—and not only did she have a straight eye but she used it. She came to be in demand for many things—as a member of committees projecting new schemes, as a member of boards of directors. The men liked to have her because she had a sense of humor and of brevity in discussion and the women liked to have her because the meetings were usually a success when she came and because she never wanted to be chairman. Horatia enjoyed all these things too, but most of all she liked to get back to the office, to her own papers and her own companions and to the welcome of its familiarity and to Langley’s smile, which had all the love of the world in it. The love of the work and the love of Langley ran so intermingled in her that they sometimes blended. They seemed already married in the things they were doing. The other marriage could only complete this one. So she told herself, but the “other marriage” sounded in her soul sometimes with a solemn note which frightened her a little. Her inexperience frightened her. Women on the street, with shapeless figures and worn faces, commanded respect from her for these women had been married. They knew what living with a man meant. Perhaps they had not played the game very well, but they had played it and they knew the rules.
CHAPTER IX
“IF you look at me like that,” said Anthony, “I will kiss you and ask you to marry me. I don’t know which I’ll do first, but I’ve put both things off long enough.”
This on the springiest of spring days with Horatia clambering back into the car which Anthony had stopped by the roadside until she found some cowslips; she was smiling her perfect happiness at Anthony. Her smile disappeared.
“Don’t do that——”
“Which?”
“Either. I should have told you long ago, Anthony. But it assumed that you cared if I told you this—and I couldn’t assume such awful conceit. You don’t. It’s just the day and the fun we’ve been having.”
“But you were going to tell me——”