Forbes was different from Willie in so many ways. He could be loved. She did not love him now. But he was of the type that women love. She wondered, rather helplessly, if she were going to love him. She certainly could never love Willie, and no woman wants to die without loving somebody.
She would not be indiscreet, of course, or disloyal in any important way. But—After all, she might not marry Willie. She might marry Mr. Forbes. All things were possible. Why not this? He would be a husband worth having—a soldier, a gentleman, a lover, distinguished—nobody would laugh if she went up the aisle with him.
Luckily Forbes had money. He was surely not so rich as Willie. But then Persis was not mercenary. She wanted only a reasonable amount—just enough to keep up with the procession, have a fresh hat now and then, and some gowns and a contemporary car, and a place in town and a place out of town, and enough to go abroad on every summer, and South every winter, and a few things like that. Surely Mr. Forbes must have enough money for such a simple household.
Of course, she would not marry him, and it might be dangerous to play with fire; but it would be pitiful never to go near the fire. Worse, it would be pusillanimous. Now that she had accepted Willie, it was certain that she was not to have love in her life unless she took it outside.
Not all of this Cubist chaos of meditation went on during the brief remainder of the dance. But it began there, and it was small wonder if the logic had a little rag-time in it; as for instance:
Since Persis and Willie had agreed not to announce their engagement just yet, this justified lying to a lot of people; for one surely had a right to evade a question that nobody had a right to ask. Of course, if Forbes were really in love with Persis he had a right to ask. But if she told him, then he would stop loving her; at least he would stop seeing her. She knew the man. And she didn't want him to stop seeing her. He was really very nice!
He was a box of matches. She would not strike a light. Or perhaps she might strike one; but she would let it burn only a moment, and then blow it out and not light another. Besides, she was not an official fiancee till it was announced. And Mr. Forbes danced so wonderfully—oh, Lord, it was a sad world. Yet it was very comfortable, dancing in this man's arms.
Meanwhile he was pounding at the door of her heart again:
"Are you going to ride in Central Park to-morrow—this morning?" he said.
"Yes."