``I have to be honest with you,'' said Davy.``Somehow you bring out all the good there is in me.So, I can't conceal anything from you.In a way I don't want to marry you.You're not at all the woman I have always pictured as the sort I ought to marry and would marry.But--Selma, I love you.I'd give up anything--even my career--to get you.When I'm away from you I seem to regain control of myself.But just as soon as I see you, I'm as bad as ever again.''
``Then we mustn't see each other,'' said she.
Suddenly she nodded, laughed up at him and darted away --and Hugo Galland, long since abandoned by the crowd, had seized him by the arm.
Selma debated whether to take Victor the news or to continue her walk.She decided for the walk.She had been feeling peculiarly toward Victor since the previous afternoon.She had not gone back in the evening, but had sent an excuse by one of the Leaguers.It was plain to her that Jane Hastings was up to mischief, and she had begun to fear--sacrilegious though she felt it to be to harbor such a suspicion-- that there was man enough, weak, vain, susceptible man enough, in Victor Dorn to make Jane a danger.The more she had thought about Jane and her environment, the clearer it had become that there could be no permanent and deep sincerity in Jane's aspirations after emancipation from her class.It was simply the old, old story of a woman of the upper class becoming infatuated with a man of a genuine kind of manhood rarely found in the languor-producing surroundings of her own class.Would Victor yield? No! her loyalty indignantly answered.But he might allow this useless idler to hamper him, to weaken his energies for the time--and during a critical period.
She did not wish to see Victor again until she should have decided what course to take.To think at her ease she walked out Monroe Avenue on her way to the country.It was a hot day, but walking along in the beautiful shade Selma felt no discomfort, except a slight burning of the eyes from the fierce glare of the white highway.In the distance she heard the sound of an engine.
A few seconds, and past her at high speed swept an automobile.
Its heavy flying wheels tore up the roadway, raised an enormous cloud of dust.The charm of the walk was gone; the usefulness of roadway and footpaths was destroyed for everybody for the fifteen or twenty minutes that it would take for the mass of dust to settle--on the foliage, in the grass, on the bodies and clothing of passers-by and in their lungs.Selma halted and gazed after the auto.Who was tearing along at this mad speed? Who was destroying the comfort of all using that road, and annoying them and making the air unfit to breathe! Why, an idle, luxuriously dressed woman, not on an errand of life or death, but going down town to amuse herself shopping or calling.
The dust had not settled before a second auto, having a young man and young woman apparently on the way to play tennis, rushed by, swirling up even vaster clouds of dust and all but colliding with a baby carriage a woman was trying to push across the street.
Selma's blood was boiling! The infamy of it! These worthless idlers! What utter lack of manners, of consideration for their fellow beings.A GENTLEMAN and a LADY insulting and bullying everyone who happened not to have an automobile.Then--she laughed.The ignorant, stupid masses! They deserved to be treated thus contemptuously, for they could stop it if they would.``Some day we shall learn,'' philosophized she.``Then these brutalities of men toward each other, these brutalities big and little, will cease.'' This matter of the insulting automobiles, with insolent horns and criminal folly of speed and hurling dust at passers-by, worse than if the occupants had spat upon them in passing--this matter was a trifle beside the hideous brutalities of men compelling masses of their fellow beings, children no less than grown people, to toil at things killing soul, mind and body simply in order that fortunes might be made!
THERE was lack of consideration worth thinking about.
Three more autos passed--three more clouds of dust, reducing Selma to extreme physical discomfort.Her philosophy was severely strained.She was in the country now; but even there she was pursued by these insolent and insulting hunters of pleasure utterly indifferent to the comfort of their fellows.
And when a fourth auto passed, bearing Jane Hastings in a charming new dress and big, becoming hat--Selma, eyes and throat full of dust and face and neck and hands streaked and dirty, quite lost her temper.Jane spoke; she turned her head away, pretending not to see!
Presently she heard an auto coming at a less menacing pace from the opposite direction.It drew up to the edge of the road abreast of her.``Selma,'' called Jane.
Selma paused, bent a frowning and angry countenance upon Jane.
Jane opened the door of the limousine, descended, said to her chauffeur: ``Follow us, please.'' She advanced to Selma with a timid and deprecating smile.``You'll let me walk with you?''
she said.
``I am thinking out a very important matter,'' replied Selma, with frank hostility.``I prefer not to be interrupted.''
``Selma!'' pleaded Jane.``What have I done to turn you against me?''
Selma stood, silent, incarnation of freedom and will.She looked steadily at Jane.``You haven't done anything,'' she replied.
``On impulse I liked you.On sober second thought I don't.
That's all.''
``You gave me your friendship,'' said Jane.``You've no right to withdraw it without telling me why.''
``You are not of my class.You are of the class that is at war with mine--at war upon it.When you talk of friendship to me, you are either false to your own people or false in your professions to me.''
Selma's manner was rudely offensive--as rude as Jane's dust, to which it was perhaps a retort.Jane showed marvelous restraint.
