Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
"You don't understand."
"I understand perfectly, and I understand," she added, looking him in
the whites of the eyes, "just what thoughts have been in the back of
your head for the last two weeks!"
Her plain speaking left him without answer. He reddened to his ears,
took the bank-note and thrust it in his pocket.
"Now I am going to say to you what I have to say many times," she
said, without softening her accusing glance. "I expect to be
misunderstood--often. I live independently, and as men are mostly stupid
or brutal, I expect to have to set them right. I forgive always one
mistake--one only. If you make a second, I cut your acquaintance! Now
we'll consider the matter closed!"
Gilday gulped, suddenly enlightened, overcome with mortification, and in
a sudden burst of sentimentality exclaimed:
"Dodo, if you'll take me I'll marry you to-night!"
This unexpected turn, the value of which she did not overestimate,
brought her a mad desire to burst out laughing. It was not the first
time that she had been surprised by such sudden outbursts, and not being
given to the study of psychology, had always been puzzled--with a little
disdain for the superior masculine sex.
"Neither now nor ever!" she said, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Don't
be a silly! Hand me my muff--there on the table. It's time to be going!"
She replaced the orchids, deciding it was best to appear alone and
unbefriended before Peavey. Joe, going to the table, stole a glance at
the cards of Sassoon, Harrigan Blood and Judge Massingale, apparently
carelessly thrown there, and returned with enlarged eyes.
"Damn it, Do," he said, with a new respect, "I wish you'd let me buy you
a diamond necklace or an automobile. This money burns my pocket!"
"Presents, all you wish. Send me a _little_ bouquet of orchids, if it
will make you feel better," she said, descending the stairs. "Orchids I
never get tired of. If I were rich I'd wear a new bunch every day.
Pouffé has such exquisite ones...."
The stairs were so dark that she had to feel her way: she could smile
without fear of detection.
"He will leave an order for a bouquet every day," she thought
confidently, and she began busily to calculate the advantages of her
understanding with that justly fashionable florist.
CHAPTER VI
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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