Mary Enderby turned her face, the mirror of conscience, upon her, and asked: "Is he your jay?""Well, no; not just in that sense, Molly. But suppose he was?""Then I should have nothing to say."
"And suppose he wasn't?"
Still Mary Enderby found herself with nothing of all she had a thousand times thought she should say to Bessie if she had ever the slightest chance. It always seemed so easy, till now, to take Bessie in her arms, and appeal to her good sense, her self-respect, her regard for her family and friends; and now it seemed so impossible.
She heard herself answering, very stiffly: "Perhaps I'd better apologize for what I've said already. You must think I was very unjust the last time we mentioned him.""Not at all!" cried Bessie, with a laugh that sounded very mocking and very unworthy to her friend. "He's all that you said, and worse. But he's more than you said, and better.""I don't understand," said Mary, coldly.
"He's very interesting; he's original; he's different!""Oh, every one says that."
And he doesn't flatter me, or pretend to think much of me. If he did, Icouldn't bear him. You know how I am, Molly. He keeps me interested, don't you understand, and prowling about in the great unknown where be has his weird being."Bessie put her hand to her mouth, and laughed at Mary Enderby with her slanted eyes; a sort of Parisian version of a Chinese motive in eyes.
"I suppose," her friend said, sadly, "you won't tell me more than you wish.""I won't tell you more than I know--though I'd like to," said Bessie.
She gave Mary a sudden hug. "You dear! There isn't anything of it, if that's what you mean.""But isn't there danger that there will be, Bessie?" her friend entreated.
"Danger? I shouldn't call it danger, exactly!""But if you don't respect him, Bessie--"
"Why, how can I? He doesn't respect me!"
"I know you're teasing, now," said Mary Enderby, getting up, "and you're quite right. I have no business to--"Bessie pulled her down upon the seat again. "Yes, you have! Don't Itell you, over and over? He doesn't respect me, because I don't know how to make him, and he wouldn't like it if I did. But now I'll try to make you understand. I don't believe I care for him the least; but mind, I'm not certain, for I've never cared for any one, and I don't know what it's like. You know I'm not sentimental; I think sentiment's funny; and I'm not dignified--""You're divine," murmured Mary Enderby, with reproachful adoration.
"Yes, but you see how my divinity could be improved," said Bessie, with a wild laugh. "I'm not sentimental, but I'm emotional, and he gives me emotions. He's a riddle, and I'm all the time guessing at him. You get the answer to the kind of men we know easily; and it's very nice, but it doesn't amuse you so much as trying. Now, Mr. Durgin--what a name!
I can see it makes you creep--is no more like one of us than a--bear is --and his attitude toward us is that of a bear who's gone so much with human beings that he thinks he's a human being. He's delightful, that way. And, do you know, he's intellectual! He actually brings me books, and wants to read passages to me out of them! He has brought me the plans of the new hotel he's going to build. It's to be very aesthetic, and it's going to be called The Lion's Head Inn. There's to be a little theatre, for amateur dramatics, which I could conduct, and for all sorts of professional amusements. If you should ever come, Molly, I'm sure we shall do our best to make you comfortable."Mary Enderby would not let Bessie laugh upon her shoulder after she said this. "Bessie Lynde," she said, severely, "if you have no regard for yourself, you ought to have some regard for him. You may say you are not encouraging him, and you may believe it--""Oh, I shouldn't say it if I didn't believe it," Bessie broke in, with a mock air of seriousness.
"I must be going," said Mary, stiffly, and this time she succeeded in getting to her feet.
Bessie laid hold of her again. "You think you've been trifled with, don't you, dear?""No--"
"Yes, you do! Don't you try to be slippery, Molly. The plain pikestaff is your style, morally speaking--if any one knows what a pikestaff is.
Well, now, listen! You're anxious about me.""You know how I feel, Bessie," said Mary Enderby, looking her in the eyes.
"Yes, I do," said Bessie. "The trouble is, I don't know how I feel.
But if I ever do, Molly, I'll tell you! Is that fair?""Yes" "I'll give you ample warning. At the least little consciousness in the region of the pericardium, off will go a note by a district messenger, and when you come I'll do whatever you say. There!""Oh, Bessie!" cried her friend, and she threw her arms round her, "you always were the most fascinating creature in the world!""Yes," said Bessie, "that's what I try to have him think."
