The Fighting Chance

"What?"

"Kitty-cats come back, dear."

"Oh, I suppose so. … Do you believe I could induce him to wear his hair any way except pompadour? … and, dear, his beard is so dreadfully silky. Isn't there anything he could take for it?"

"Only a razor I'm afraid. Those long, thick, soft, eyelashes of his are ominous. Eyes of that sort ruin a man for my taste. He might just as reasonably wear my hat."

"But he can't follow the fashions in eyes," laughed Sylvia. "Oh, this is atrocious of us--it is simply horrible to sit here and say such things. I am cold-blooded enough as it is--material enough, mean, covetous, contemptible--"

"Dear!" said Grace Ferrall mildly, "you are not choosing a husband; you are choosing a career. To criticise his investments might be bad taste; to be able to extract what amusement you can out of Howard is a direct mercy from Heaven. Otherwise you'd go mad, you know."

"Grace! Do you wish me to marry him?"

"What is the alternative, dear?"

"Why, nothing--self-respect, dowdiness, and peace."

"Is that all?"

"All I can see."

"Not Stephen Siward?"

"To marry? No. To enjoy, yes. … Grace, I have had such a good time with him; you don't know! He is such a boy--sometimes; and I--I believe that I am rather good for him. … Not that I'd ever again let him do that sort of thing. … Besides, his curiosity is quenched; I am the sort he supposed. Now he's found out he will be nice. … It's been days since I've had a talk with him. He tried to, but I wouldn't. Besides, the major has said nasty things about him when Howard was present; nothing definite, only hints, smiling silences, innuendoes on the verge of matters rather unfit; and I had nothing definite to refute. I could not even appear to understand or notice--it was all done in such a horridly vague way. But it only made me like him; and no doubt that actress he took to the Patroons is better company than he finds in nine places out of ten among his own sort."

"Oh," said Grace Ferrall slowly, "if that is the way you feel, I don't see why you shouldn't play with Mr. Siward whenever you like."

"Nor I. I've been a perfect fool not to. … Howard hates him."

"How do you know?"

"What a question! A woman knows such things. Then, you remember that caricature--so dreadfully like Howard? Howard has no sense of humour; he detests such things. It was the most dreadful thing that Mr. Siward could have done to him."

"Meddled again!" groaned Grace. "Doesn't Howard know that I did that?"