The course of irresponsible amusement which C. Bailey, Jr., continued

to pursue at intervals with the fair scion of the house--road-house--of

Greensleeve, did not run as smoothly as it might have, and was not

unmixed with carping reflections and sordid care on his part, and with

an increasing number of interruptions, admonitions, and warnings on

the part of his mother.

That pretty lady, flint-hardened in the igneous social lava-pot,

continued to hear disquieting tales of her son's doings. They came to

her right and left, from dance and card-table, opera-box and supper

party, tea and bazaar and fashionable reception.

One grim-visaged old harridan of whom Manhattan stood in fawning fear,

bluntly informed her that she'd better look out for her boy if she

didn't want to become a grandmother.

Which infuriated and terrified Mrs. Bailey and set her thinking with

all the implacable concentration of which she was capable.

So far in life she had accomplished whatever she set out to do.... And

of all things on earth she dreaded most to become a grandmother of any

description whatever.

But between Athalie and Clive, if there had been any doubts concerning

the propriety or expediency of their companionship neither he nor she

had, so far, expressed them.

Their comradeship, in fact, had now become an intimacy--the sort that

permits long silences without excuse or embarrassment on either side.

She continued to charm and surprise him; and to discover, daily, in

him new traits to admire in a character which perhaps he did not

really possess.

In this girl he seemed to find an infinite variety. Moods, impulsive

or deliberate, and capricious or logical, continued to stimulate his

interest in her every time they met. On no two days was she exactly

the same--or so he seemed to think. And yet her basic qualities were,

it appeared to him, characteristic and unvarying,--directness,

loyalty, generosity, freedom from ulterior motive and a gay confidence

in a world which, for the first time in her life, she had begun to

find unexpectedly exciting.

They had been one evening to a musical comedy which by some fortunate

chance was well written, well sung, and well done. And they were in

excellent spirits as they left the theatre and stood waiting for his

small limousine car, she in her pretty furs held close to her throat,

humming under her breath a refrain from the delightful finale, he

smoking a cigarette and watching the numbers being flashed for the

long line of carriages and motors which moved up continually through

the lamp-lit darkness.

"Athalie," he said, "suppose we side-step the Regina and try

Broadway. Are you in the humour for it?"




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