Jewel Weed

July and August and September passed and, in spite of her reserve, Dick

felt that he was coming to know little Lena well. He had told her all

about himself, his mother, his three-cornered intimacy with Norris and

Madeline, his plans for his own future, and to all she listened,

sometimes with a dreamy far-off look in the big eyes, sometimes with a

swift smile of sympathy, in spite of the fact that he and his point of

view were often puzzling to her. And he brought dainties and flowers to

the dingy room.

Lena, on her side, thoroughly enjoyed some phases of her acquaintance

with Mr. Percival. Apart from all other considerations, it was a real

pleasure to prove herself the actress she knew she was. She pretended,

when she was with him, that she was a wholly different kind of person.

It was fun to do it well and convincingly and deliberately. It was

exhilarating.

But deeper, far deeper than her histrionic satisfaction lay the hope

that Dick Percival might be the key to some other kind of life than that

she led; and as the months went by, this hidden intimacy, delicious to

him because of its very remoteness, began to irritate her. Was he

ashamed of her? Was he playing with her? Privately she found Prince

Charming, unless he meant something more than a half-hour now and again,

something of a bore. Of what pleasure could it be to her that he was

rich and happy and full of plans and in touch with all that was

delightful, if he gave none of this to her?

One evening she seemed listless as she sat enduring an account of a

garden party he had been to the day before. He had thought it might

amuse her, but it evidently didn't.

"I'm always telling you of my affairs," he said half querulously. "Why

don't you give me your experiences?"

"There's nothing to tell," she said dully. "You've had so many

interesting things happen, and you expect ever so many more lovely

things to come, but I've always been pinched, and I shall have to keep

on pinching for ever, I guess."

"Nonsense!" Dick answered impulsively. "The future is sure to bring you

better things."

She looked down a moment, and Dick had an impression that she was

holding back tears. At any rate, when she lifted her head again, her

face wore a cold little stare that he had never seen before, and that

seemed to hold him at arm's length.

"I'm quite alone with the people I have to live among," she said. "I'm

not like them, and I don't care for them."

"Am I one of your kind?" Dick asked. He reviled himself the next moment

for having said so much, but Lena seemed to draw no inferences, though

her color heightened a little as she answered: "Oh, you! There's only one of you, unfortunately. You are a little oasis

in my desert. I'm very grateful for you, but--"