CHAPTER VIII

Miss Wharton rather crossly dismissed her weary maid, and threw herself into an armchair. Odious situation! Her peccadillo had found her out! What made the matter still worse was the ingenuous impeccability of her villain. On every hand she heard his praises sung. And it vexed her that she had been unable to contribute anything to his detriment. Of course, after seeing her leave the parasol it would have been stupid of him to--to let her forget it. In her thoughts that adventure had long since been condoned. It was this new _rencontre_ which had so upset her. It angered her to think how little delicacy he gave her credit for when he had asked Jack Barclay to present him. If they had met by chance, it would have been different. She would have been sharply civil, but not retrospective; and would have trusted to his sense of the situation to be the same. That he had assailed her helpless barriers, wrote him down a brute, divested him of all the garments of sensibility in which she had clothed him. It angered her to think that her fancy had seen fit to make him any other than he was. But mingled with her anger, she was surprised to discover disappointment, too. It was this--this person who shared with her the secret of her one iniquity.

She pulled impatiently at her long gloves and arose with an air of finality. And so Miss Wharton put the importunate Mr. Crabb entirely from her mind; until the following Thursday night at the dinner at the Hollingsworths'.

"Patty, dear, have you met Mr. Crabb?" Mrs. Hollingsworth was saying.

Miss Wharton had, at the Assembly.

Mr. Crabb politely echoed; and Patricia hated him for the nebulous smile which seemed to contain hidden meanings. But she rose to the occasion in a way which seemed to disconcert her companion--who only answered her rapid fire of commonplaces in monosyllables. At the table she found her refuge upon the other side to be an Italian from the embassy at Washington, whose French limped but whose English was a cripple. And so they minced and stuttered, Ollendorf fashion, through the oysters and soup, while Crabb occupied himself with the daughter of the house upon his other side. But at last Patty was aware that Mr. Crabb was speaking.

"Miss Wharton," he began, "I fear I've been put somewhat under a cloud."

"Really," she answered sweetly, "how so?"

A little disconcerted but undismayed, he continued:

"Because of the manner of our meeting."

"Our meeting!" she said uncertainly.

"At the Assembly, you know. I thought perhaps that--you thought--I'd asked to be presented."

"Didn't you? Then, how did we happen to meet?"

He could not but admire her _sang-froid_. She was smiling a non-committal smile at the centerpiece.

"Er--I should explain. I was adrift and Barclay came to my rescue. I give you my word, I had no notion it was to you he was taking me. It was all over in a second."

"Then you really didn't wish to meet me? I'm so sorry."

She had turned her face slowly to his and was looking him levelly in the eyes. It was a challenge, not a petition. He met her thrust fairly.

"My dear Miss Wharton," he smiled, "how could I know what you were like--er--if I'd never seen you?"

This time he fairly set her weapon flying.

"What I wish you to understand," he continued, steadily, "is that I didn't know that Barclay was taking me to you. I wish credit for a certain delicacy. I should not have cared to force myself upon you."

"I'm sure I shouldn't have minded in the least," she said, lightly. "I'm not so difficult as all that."

As soon as she had spoken she knew she had overshot her mark.

"That's awfully good of you, you know. I'm sure you'll admit I had no means of knowing," he added, "how difficult you were."

She flushed a little before returning to the attack.

"Of course a girl wishes to know a little something about a man before----"

"Before she permits herself to misjudge him." He smiled. "Candidly, do you feel in any better position to judge me now than you did before----"

"Before the Assembly?" she interrupted. "I think so. You don't eat with your knife," laughing. "You've a respect for the napkin. People say you're clever. Why shouldn't I believe them?"

"If this is your creed of morality, I'm respectability itself. Can you doubt me? Why won't you be frank? If I'm respectable why shouldn't you have cared to meet me?"

"I'm not sure I thought very much about it. How did you know I didn't wish to meet you?"

"How could I know you did?"

She looked up at him, a new expression on her face.

"I didn't," she said quietly, "I--I--abhorred the very thought of you."

Crabb looked contemplatively at his truffle. "I thank you for your candor," he replied at last.

Then after a pause, "If you'll forgive me, I'll promise not to mention the subject again."

"And if I don't forgive you?"

"You're at my mercy for this hour at least," he laughed.

"I can still fly to Italy," she replied. "I could forgive you, I think, but for one thing."

He looked the question.

"This dinner. Is it to chance that I'm indebted for the--the--honor of your society?"

Crabb's gaze had dropped to the table, but she had seen just such a sparkle in them once before. Nor when he looked at her had it disappeared.

"You mean----"

She continued gazing at him steadily.

"You mean--did I arrange it?" he asked.

Patricia bowed her head.

"How could I have done so?" he urged.

"Isn't Nick Hollingsworth an intimate friend of yours?"

"Yes, but I fail to see----"

"Will you deny it?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to take me a little on faith," he pleaded. "At any rate you will not suffer long. I'm leaving town in a few days."

"For long?" she asked politely.

"For good, I think. Won't you let me come in to see you before then?"

"Perhaps----"

But Mrs. Hollingsworth had cast her glance down the line and drawn back her chair.

When the men came down into the drawing room, Mr. Crabb discovered that Miss Wharton had carefully ensconced herself in the center of a perimeter of skirts, which defied disintegration and apportionment. There was music and afterwards a call for carriages. So Mr. Crabb saw no more of Miss Wharton upon that night. Nor, indeed, did Patricia see him again. The following day he called. She was out. Then came a note and some roses. Business had called him sooner than he had expected. He begged to assure her of his distinguished consideration; would she forgive him now that he was gone, accept this new impertinence and forget all those that had gone before?

Patricia accepted the impertinence; and for many days it filled her little white room with seductive odors that made his last admonition more difficult.