She rose quickly, feeling that nothing was to be gained by continuing the discussion of matters that were irrevocably settled. And, moreover, his distress was so manifest in his face that she feared the scrutiny of passers-by.
“Good-bye, Bob,” she said. “I’m awfully glad I met you. Please don’t trouble at all about what can’t be helped. I haven’t any hard feeling—not the slightest.”
“I don’t like it at all,” he said impatiently.
He kept beside her to the entrance, where she gave him a nod and smile and hurried away. She was troubled at once for fear she hadn’t expressed cordially enough her appreciation of his sympathy. Very likely they would never meet again; there was no reason why they should. He had merely done what was perfectly natural in view of their old friendship, made it clear that he was sorry her father had been thrust out of the company of which he had been one of the founders. She was unable to see anything in the interview beyond a wish on his part to be kind, to set himself right. And it was like Bob to do that.
IV
The strong romantic strain in her was quickened by the meeting. All afternoon her thoughts played about Bob Cummings. She reviewed their associations in childhood on through those last attentions after the Cummingses left the Military Park neighborhood. Her mother had probably been right in saying that if fortune hadn’t borne the Cummingses steadily upward, leaving the Durlands behind, Bob might have married her. It had been a mistake for him to marry a society girl who was, she surmised, incapable of appreciating his temperament. A matter of propinquity very likely; she had heard that the girl was not rich but belonged to one of the old families; and very likely on her side it had been an advantageous arrangement.
Why did men marry the wrong women? she asked herself with proneness of youth to propound and answer unanswerable questions. There was Trenton, who had so frankly admitted the failure of his own marriage and with equal frankness took the burden of his failure upon himself. No two men could be more utterly unlike than Ward Trenton and Bob Cummings, and she busied herself contrasting them. Trenton was practical-minded; Bob a dreamer, and save for his college experiences the range of his life had been narrow. If both were free which would she choose? So great was her preoccupation with these speculations that her work suffered; through sheer inattention she let a promising customer escape without making a purchase.
In the afternoon distribution of mail she received a letter from Trenton. It began, “Dear Grace” and read:
“I expected to see you again this week—that is, of course, if you’d be willing; but I’m called to Kansas City unexpectedly and may not touch your port for ten days or so. I’m not conceited enough to assume that you will be grief-stricken over my delay, and strictly speaking there’s no excuse for writing except that you’ve rather haunted me,—a welcome ghost, I assure you! I talked far too much about myself the other night. One matter I shouldn’t have spoken of at all. No question of confidence in you or anything of that sort. But it’s something I never discuss even with old and intimate friends. You have guessed what I mean. Bad taste, you probably thought it. It was quite that! I want you to think as well of me as you can. I’m counting very much on seeing you again. I hope you are well and happy and that nothing has happened to your eyes since I saw them last!”
This was all except that he named a Kansas City club where he could be reached for the next week if she felt moved to write. She hadn’t expected to hear from him and the note was a distinct surprise. At every opportunity she reread it, and, catching her in the act, Irene teased her about it.