Mrs. Balfame: A NovelAtherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
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Mrs. Balfame: A Novel
Atherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
Murder -- Fiction; Mystery fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction
"I never thought of that. But Anna was called off in a hurry. I am so
glad you happened along. Although," primly, "it wouldn't do, you know,
for a woman of my age and position to be seen walking alone with a young
man at night."
"What nonsense! You are like Caesar's wife, I guess. Anything you did in
this town would seem about right. You've got them all hypnotised,
including myself. It's the ambition of my life to know you better," he
added in a more serious tone. "Why won't you let me call?"
"It wouldn't do. If I have a nice position it's because I've always been
so particular. If I let young men call on me, people would say that I
was no better than that fast bunch that tangoes every night and goes to
road houses and things." Her voice trailed off vaguely; she really knew
very little of the doings of "gay sets," although much in the abstract
of a too temperamental world.
She made up her mind to dispose of this misguided young man once for
all. She knew that she looked quite ten years younger than her age, and
she was well aware that although man's passion might be business his
pastime was the hunt.
"I am thankful that I have no grown daughter to keep from running with
that bunch," she said playfully. "Of course I might have. I am quite old
enough."
He laughed outright. Then he said the old thing which is ever new to
the woman, and with a perceptible softening in his hard energetic voice:
"I wonder if you really are as conventional--conventionised--as you
perhaps think you are? You always give me the impression of being two
women, one fast asleep deep down somewhere, the other not even
suspecting her existence."
"How pretty!" She smiled with pleasure, and she felt a faint stirring of
coquetry, as if the ghost of her youth were rising--that far-off period
when she put on her best ribbons and made her best pies to allure the
marriageable swains of Elsinore. But she recalled herself quickly and
frowned. "You must not say such things to me," she said coldly.
"But I shall, and I will add that I wish you were a widow, or had never
been married. I should propose to you this minute."
"That is equivalent to saying that you wish my husband were dead. And he
is your friend, too!"
"Your husband is not my friend; he is my employer--upon occasion. At the
moment I did not remember who was your husband. Let it go at that."
"Very well."
It was evident that he belonged to the type that found its amusement in
making love to married women; but--they were within the rays of a lamp,
and sauntering--she looked up at this pleasant exponent indulgently. She
was quite safe, and it was by no means detestable at the age of
forty-two to be coveted by the cleverest young man in Brabant County.
The smile left her lips and she experienced a faint vibration of the
nerves as she met the unsmiling eyes bent close above her own.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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