"No; thank you very much. Mr. Pryor couldn't possibly come. He is only
here over Sunday, and--" She looked towards the dining-room for
protection, but the door had been gently closed.
"Hey?" Benjamin Wright said blankly. "Well, I won't insist; I won't
insist. We'll wait till he goes. Come Monday night."
"Oh," she said, her voice fluttering, "I am sorry but I really can't."
"Why can't you?" he insisted. "Come, tell the truth! The advantage of
telling the truth, young lady, is that neither God nor the devil can
contradict you!" He laughed, eying her with high good humor.
"Oh, it's merely--" she hesitated, and he looked affronted.
"What! Some female airs about coming to an unmarried man's house?" Her
involuntary mirth disarmed him. "No? Well, I'm glad you've got some
sense. Then you'll come?"
"If I went to your house, it would seem unfriendly not to go to other
houses."
"Why shouldn't you go to other houses? Done anything you're ashamed
of?" He laughed uproariously at his own wit. "Come now; don't be
finikin and ladylike!"
"I don't make visits," she explained, the color rising angrily in her
cheeks.
"Gad-a-mercy! Why not?" he interrupted. "Do you think you're too good
for us here in Old Chester?"
"Oh, Mr. Wright!"
"Or perhaps Old Chester is too good for you?"
His face had softened wonderfully; he was looking at her with the same
quizzical delight with which he would look at one of his canaries when
he caught it, and held it struggling in his hand. "Are we too good for
you?" he jeered, "too--"
He stopped abruptly, his laugh breaking off in the middle. Then his
mouth fell slowly open in blank amazement; he leaned forward in his
chair and stared at her without a word.
"I don't care for society," she said, in a frightened way, and rose as
if to bring the visit to an end.
But Benjamin Wright sat still, slowly nodding his head. "You don't
care for society? I wonder why."
"Oh, because I am--a very quiet person," she stammered.
The dining-room door opened and Sarah came in, looked about, found the
decanter, and withdrew.
"Where is--that gentleman?" the old man demanded.
"Mr. Pryor went in to dinner," she said faintly. "Please excuse him;
he was tired."
The silence that fell between them was like a blow. ... Mr. Wright
pulled himself to his feet, and with one shaking hand on the table
felt his way around until he stood directly in front of her; he put
his face close to hers and stared into her eyes, his lower lip opening
and closing in silence. Then, without speaking, he began to grope
about on the table for his hat and stick.