Why Joan? Part 28

Success had rather gone to his head.

"Say! _Who's going to see her home?_"

Ellen tossed her head. "Me, of course. You don't suppose I was going to let the child go off through them dark streets all by herself?"

"They _are_ dark streets," he said earnestly. "Very dark streets!

Murders happen in them, frequently. Pickpockets; rats!--Really, Mrs.

Neal, two women alone would hardly be safe in them."

"Perhaps I'd better get me a policeman, then!" She shook her head grimly, torn between affection for her new charge and devotion to her old. "Look here, Mr. Archie, there's no use hangin' around like you been doing lately. Oh, I know! You can't fool me. I was born with eyes all over me, I was, like that critter in the antiquarium at the Fair--You're a real nice young fellow, but a girl like Joan Darcy wouldn't so much as look at you. She's proud, proud as the queen's cat. And her pa's prouder still. They'd just as lief walk over you to their kerridge (which it's an automobile) as if you was Sir Thingumbob's coat in the history book."

"Fortunate coat," murmured Archie, grasping the allusion. "But who's asking her to look at me, Mrs. Neal? I'd rather she wouldn't, really!

I'd much rather look at her. When you come right down to it, I'm sort of proud myself!--But if I just happened to be at the front door when you start out," he wheedled, "you wouldn't really object to my simply--well, to my merely--"

"Making a fool of yourself? Go as far's you like!" interrupted Ellen tartly, closing her door in his face.

So it chanced that as Joan stood at the threshold sometime later waiting for Ellen to follow downstairs, making an unconscious picture in her sweeping hat and her soft furs between the graceful pillars of the lintel, Mr. Blair appeared nonchalantly before her. And the effect of the encounter was so great that, intending to lift his hat and toss away his cigarette with a Chesterfieldian carelessness, he instead tossed his hat and lifted his cigarette,--a catastrophe that robbed him for the moment of the powers of speech and motion. He had not expected to follow out Ellen's program quite so literally.

Joan's training stood her in good stead. Her lips twitched but remained in control. The elaborateness of his surprise, together with Ellen's rather guilty countenance, had already informed her that she was the victim of a plot, into which she walked obligingly.

"Well met, Mr. Blair! I wonder whether you have anything very important to do? If not, _would_ you be good enough to take me home? Ellen really ought not to go out in the night air with her rheumatism."

"Dee--lighted," murmured Mr. Blair dazedly, in the language of his favorite hero. He recovered his hat, and with it some of his former aplomb. Indeed, as he walked away with his prize, solicitously steering her by one elbow, he was able to wink back over his shoulder at his fellow-conspirator.

It was the first time that he had been really alone with the One and Only. Hitherto their conversation had taken place against a background of other conversations, which were somehow helpful. Even when he had paid his two party calls in rapid succession, there had been others present; and though the inexplicable step-mother had quite obviously made opportunities for him to cut her out of the herd, so to speak, his nerve at the critical moment had always failed him.

It failed him now. He strolled beside her gloriously, as if on air, but in utter silence. He racked his brain for suitable conversation to offer, and for suitable language to offer it in. Somehow her crisp, cleancut speech (Joan had quite abandoned Southernism) made his own seem hideous, drawling, uncouth.

Again Joan came, more or less, to the rescue.

"Mr. Blair," she suggested gently, "if you don't mind I'd rather not be helped along quite so much. My elbow, you know!--I sha'n't stumble, I think. The sidewalks seem quite smooth."

He withdrew his hand as if it had been stung.

"Pardon _me_!" he gasped. "I didn't mean--

"I know--some girls like to be a.s.sisted," she said rather remorsefully (but after all a protege must be taught!) "You'll find most of us, however, rather prefer our independence."

"Votes for Women?" he suggested in all respect.

Joan dimpled, thinking suddenly of Mrs. Rossiter. "Well, something like that. Elbows for women, anyway!" she murmured nonsensically.

Again the conversation languished, being confined on Archie's part entirely to Yea, yea and Nay, nay.

Joan was both amused and bored. It had been for some time quite evident to her that this simple soul was not indifferent to her charms; but there was something so boyish about his devotion, so grateful and un.o.btrusive, that it did not trouble her in the least. Rather the contrary. It reminded her of "cases" the younger girls at the Convent got up on older girls, who were in turn expected to act toward their satellites as guide, philosopher, and friend. Joan had always been very nice to her satellites. This one should come to no harm through her.

Indeed, she intended that he should come ultimately to much good, for she really liked him. But this first tongue-tied stage of his admiration was a little trying to both, and she was relieved when the Darcy house came into view.

Not until then, with their parting imminent, did he summon up sufficient ease to tell her of his recent stroke of fortune. She received it pleasantly, as a teacher listens to tales of prowess on the part of a pupil.

"Sales-manager!--isn't that nice, Mr. Blair? I must get my step-mother to try some of that polish of yours. She loves things to glisten. And you'll have a lot more money, won't you? Splendid! So now," she suggested, as Ellen had suggested, "you'll probably be moving somewhere else."

She had her eye on him, though, for it may be remembered that Joan had a theory of her own as to why this up-and-coming young man continued to live in an attic in the slums.

He shook his head. "I'll stay in the old place. Even if I hadn't lived there ever since I can remember, I think I'd stay anyway."

"Why?" asked Joan, walking more slowly.

"Well, there's something sort of homey about it. I've got a fireplace in my room, you see, and I like the little panes in the windows, and the big sills--they're just as good as tables--And that funny old twisty staircase. Sometimes at night when everybody in the house is asleep you can hear the steps creaking, as if people were coming up and down. I like that. And the old tree outside taps on the roof as if it were saying, 'Here I am, kid. Go on to sleep!'"--He broke off apologetically.

"You'll think me a nut, Miss Darcy, talking like this! But you see everything that's ever happened to me happened in that room, and I feel as if--well, as if I weren't exactly alone in it."

Joan nodded, her eyes bright with understanding. She had not expected him to share her feeling for the old house, or to be so sensitive to the influence of environment. She walked still slower. It was too bad their talk should come to an end just as it was showing signs of life.

"Were you born there?" she asked craftily.

"Oh, no. No, I don't know just where I was born. On the road, I reckon.

You see my mother was an actress--"

But despite her lagging feet they were by this time at the Darcy door, which was promptly opened by an attentive parlor maid.

"I'm so sorry I can't ask you in," said Joan.

"No, indeed!--I didn't expect that," answered humble Archie.

Joan frowned. It may be recalled that humility was one of her dislikes.

"It's just that I happen to have an engagement for the evening," she explained; for in Louisville fas.h.i.+on she portioned out her free nights among certain admirers who are known in the vernacular as "fireside companions"--gentlemen who for reasons of poverty, or thrift, or especial devotion, do not offer the ladies of their choice any other form of entertainment than their company. Only on Sunday afternoons are the youth of a Southern city free to call unheralded and _en ma.s.se_ on girls with any pretensions to popularity.

Joan explained this custom to Archibald, remarking with an encouraging smile, "So you see if you really want to talk to a girl alone, your only chance is to engage an evening in advance."

"I see," said Archie.

And not until the door had closed behind her did he suddenly smite himself upon the brow, ejaculating, "Dumbhead! b.o.o.b! Ivory above the neck, pure, solid ivory!"

For it penetrated to him that out of the kindness of her heart his lady had made for him an opening, an opportunity, which would certainly never occur again.

"The fact is," he muttered, turning away from that closed door, "I'm about as well fitted for society as Balaam's a.s.s!"

An opinion in which at the moment Miss Darcy would have thoroughly concurred.

CHAPTER XXVI

Relations between them might have ended then and there, for Joan was not in the habit of casting her pearls before swine, and the confidence was rather crushed out of Archibald by a realization of his gross stupidity.

But Effie May was as persistent in her fancies as in other matters.