Sunny Slopes Part 27

"'Being engaged alters the situation. You must see that.'

"'Who is it?'

"'Oh, don't be so silly. I haven't found the right one yet. But the principle is just the same. With marriage just ahead of me, all the rest of the world must stand back to give place to my fiance.'

"Dan sneered. 'Yeh, look at the world standing back and gazing with envy on this moonbeam fiance. Look!'

"'Oh, Dan it is the most fascinating thing in the world. In four months I may be standing at the altar, dressed in filmy white,--I bought the veil yesterday,--promising to love, honor and obey,--with reservations,--for the rest of my life. A little home of my own, a husband to pet, and chum with,--I am awfully happy, Dan, honestly I am.'

"And Carol I did enjoy it. It was fun. I was simply hypnotized with the idea of having a house and a husband and a lot of little Julias.

Dan glared at me in disgust. Then he went home, snarling about my mus.h.i.+ness. But he thought it was becoming to me. He said I got prettier every day. I would not even let him touch my hand any more.

You know Dan and I were pretty good pals for a long time, and he was allowed little privileges like that. Now it was all off. Dan might rave and Dan might storm, but I stood firm. He could not touch my hands! I was consecrated to my future husband.

"'It may not be wicked, Dan, I do not say it is. But it makes me s.h.i.+ver to think what would happen if my husband caught you doing it.

He might kill you on the spot.'

"'You haven't got a husband,' Dan would snap.

"'The principle is just the same.' Then I would dimple up at him. I am not the dimply type of girl, I know, but there are times when one has simply got to dimple at a man, and by wrinkling my face properly I can give the dimple effect. I have practised it weary hours before the mirror. I have often prayed for a dimpled skin like yours, Carol, but I guess the Lord could not figure out how to manage it since my skin was practically finished before I began to pray. 'I keep wondering what he will like for breakfast,' I said to Dan. 'Isn't that silly? I hope he does not want fried potatoes. It seems so horrible to have potatoes for breakfast.' Then I added loyally, 'But he will probably be a very strong character, original, and unique, and men like that always have a few idiosyncrasies, so if he wants fried potatoes for breakfast he shall have them.'

"Dan sniffed again. He was becoming a chronic sniffer in these days of my engagement.

"'Yeh, he'll want fried potatoes all right, and postum, and left-over pumpkin pie. I have a picture of the big mutt in my mind now.

"Constance," he'll say, "for pity's sake put more lard in the potatoes when you fry them. They are too dry. Take them back and cook them over." He will want his potatoes swimming in grease, he is bound to, that's just the kind of man he is. He will want everything greasy.

Oh, you're going to have a sweet time with that big stiff.'

"I shook my fist at him. 'He will not!' I cried. 'Don't you dare make fun of my husband. He--he--' Then I stopped and laughed. 'Isn't it funny how women always rush to defend their husbands when outsiders speak against them? We may get cross at them ourselves, but no one else shall ridicule them.'

"'Yes, you are one loving little wife all right. You sure are. You won't let any one say a mean word against your sweet little snookie-ook.u.ms. Oh, no. Wait till you get to darning his socks, you won't be so crazy about him then.'

"'I do get a little cross when I darn his socks,' I confessed. 'I don't mind embroidering monograms on his silk s.h.i.+rts, but I can't say that so far I really enjoy darning his socks. Still, since they are his, it is not quite so bad. I wouldn't darn anybody else's, not even my own.'

"'Are you doing it already?' Dan gasped. He found it very hard to keep me and my husband straight in his mind.

"'I am just pretending. I practise on father's. I want to be a very efficient darner, so my patches won't make his poor dear feet sore.'

"'Lord help us,' cried Dan, springing to his feet and flinging himself through the hedge and slamming the door until it shook the house. He went away angry every time. He simply couldn't be rational. One day he said he guessed he would have to be the goat and marry me himself just to keep me out of trouble. Then he blushed, and went home and forgot his hat.

"Came down to the last day. 'It has simmered down to Harvey Grath and Buddy Johnson,' I told him. 'Harvey Grath,--Buddy Johnson,--Harvey Grath,--Buddy Johnson. Do run away, Danny, and don't be a nuisance.

Harvey Grath,--Buddy Johnson.'

"Dan neglected his patients until it is a wonder they did not all die,--or get well, or something. He sat up-stairs in his study watching an endless procession of Harvey Graths and Buddy Johnsons, coming, lingering, going.

"That night, regardless of the illuminating moon, I took Buddy Johnson to the lilac corner. Dan was up-stairs smoking in front of his window.

Buddy didn't know about that window, but I did. He took my hand, and I let him. I leaned my head against his shoulder,--not truly against, just near enough so Dan could not tell the difference. Buddy tried to kiss me, and nearly did it. I wasn't expecting it just at that minute.

Dan sprang from his chair before the conclusion, so he did not know if the kiss was a fact, or not. Then I moved two feet away. Dan came out and marched across to the lilacs.

"'Connie,' he said, 'I am sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to you a few minutes. It is a matter of business.' To Buddy he said, 'You know Connie always helps me out when I get stuck. Can you give me a minute, Connie?'

"I said, 'Of course I can. You'll excuse me won't you, Buddy? It is getting late anyhow.'

"So Buddy went away and Dan marched we up on the porch where it was dark and shady.

"'Are you engaged to Buddy Johnson?'

"'No.'

"'Thank Heaven.'

"Dan kissed me, regardless of the accusing eyes of my husband in the background."

Carol breathed loudly in her relief. He kissed her. Connie did not care. They were engaged.

"Dan breathlessly took back everything he ever said about getting married, and being a bachelor, and so forth. He said he was crazy to be married, always had been, but didn't find it out before. He said he had always adored me. And I drew out my note-book, and showed him the first page,--Doctor Daniel Brooks, O. K. And every other name in the book was checked off.

"Dan was jubilant." Connie's voice trailed away slowly, and her earnest fine eyes were cloudy.

"An engagement," cried Carol, springing up.

"No," said Connie slowly, "a blunder."

"A blunder," faltered Carol, falling back. "You did it on purpose to make him propose, didn't you?"

"Yes, and he proposed, and we were engaged. But it was just a blunder.

It was not Dan I wanted. Carol, every woman feels like that at times.

She is full of that great magnificent ideal of home, and husband, and little children. It seems the finest thing in the world, the only flawless life. She can't resist it, for the time being. She feels that work is silly, that success is tawdry, that ambition is wicked.

It is dangerous, Carol, for if she gets the opportunity, or if she can make the opportunity, she is pretty sure to seize it. I believe that is why so many marriages are unhappy,--girls mistake that natural woman-wish for love, and they get married, and then--s.h.i.+pwreck."

Carol sat silent.

"Yes," said David sympathetically, "I think you are right. You were lucky to escape."

"I knew that evening, that one little evening of our engagement, that having a home and a husband, and even a little child like Julia, would never be enough. Something else had to come first. And it had not come. I went to bed and cried all night, so sorry for Dan for I knew he loved me,--but not sorry enough to make me do him such a cruel injustice. The next morning I told him, and that afternoon I returned to Chicago.

"I have thought a whole lot more of my job since then."

"But why couldn't you love him?" asked Carol impatiently. "It seems unreasonable, Connie. He is nice enough for anybody, and you were just ripe and ready for it."

Connie shrugged her shoulders. "Why didn't you love somebody else besides David?" she asked, and laughed at the quick resentment that flashed to Carol's eyes.

"Well," concluded Connie, "G.o.d certainly wanted a few old maids to leaven the earth, and I think I have the making for a good leavener.

So I write stories, and let other women wash the little Julias' faces,"

she added, laughing, as Julia, unrecognizably dirty, entered with a soup can full of medicine she had painstakingly concocted to make her daddy well.

CHAPTER XX