The Business of Life

"You've smashed the sages and their philosophy," he nodded, studying the exquisite, upturned features unsmilingly. "To be with you is the greater – content. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

She nodded thoughtfully: "Five days and a half."

"You – counted them, too?"

"Yes."

This wouldn't do. He rose and walked over to the fire, which needed a log or two; she turned and looked after him with little expression in her face except that the blue of her eyes had deepened to a lilac tint, and the flush on her cheeks still remained.

"You know," she said, "I didn't mean to take you from any business in New York – or pleasures – "

He shuddered slightly.

"Did I?" she asked.

"No."

"I only wished you to come – when you had time – "

"I know, Jacqueline. Don't show me your soul in every word you utter."

"What?"

He turned on his heel and came back to her, and she shrank a little, not knowing why; but he came no nearer than her desk.

"The thing to do," he said, speaking with forced animation and at random, "is for us both to keep very busy. I think I'll go into farming – raise some dinky thing or other – that's what I'll do. I'll go in for the country squire business – that's what I'll do. And I'll have my neighbours in. I'm never here long enough to ask 'em. They're a funny lot; they're all right, though – deadly respectable. I'll give a few parties – ask some people from town, too. Betty Barkley could run the conventional end of it. And you'd come floating in with other unattached girls – "

"You want me!"

He said, astonished: "Well, why on earth do you suppose I'm taking the trouble to ask the others?"

"You want me– to come – where your friends – "

"Don't you care to?"

"I – don't know." The surprise of it still widened her eyes and parted her lips a little. She looked up at him, perplexed, encountered something in his eyes which made her cheeks redden again.

"What would they think?" she asked.

"Is there anything to think?"

"N-no. But they don't know who I am. And I have nobody to vouch for me."

"You ought to have a companion."

"I don't want any – "

"Of course; but you ought to have one. Can you afford one?"

"I don't know. I don't know what they – they cost – "

"Let me fix that up," he said, with animation. "Let me think it out. I know a lot of people – I know some indigent and respectable old terrors who ought to fill the bill and hold their tongues as long as their salary is paid – "

"Oh, please don't, Mr. Desboro!"

He seated himself on the arm of her chair:

"Jacqueline, dear, it's only for your sake – "

"But I did understand your letter!"

"I know – I know. I just want to see you with other people. I just want to have them see you – "

"But I don't need a chaperon. Business women are understood, aren't they? Even women whom you know go in for house decoration, and cigarette manufacturing, and tea rooms, and hats and gowns."

"But they were socially known before they went in for these things. It's the way of the world, Jacqueline – nothing but suspicion when intelligence and beauty step forward from the ranks. And what do you suppose would happen if a man of my sort attempts to vouch for any woman?"

"Then don't – please don't try! I don't care for it – truly I don't. It was nice of you to wish it, Mr. Desboro, but – I'd rather be just what I am and – your friend."

"It can't be," he said, under his breath. But she heard him, looked up dismayed, and remained mute, crimsoning to the temples.

"This oughtn't to go on," he said, doggedly.

She said: "You have not understood me. I am different from you. You are not to blame for thinking that we are alike at heart; but, nevertheless, it is a mistake. I can be what I will – not what I once seemed to be – for a moment – with you – " Her head sank lower and remained bowed; and he saw her slender hands tightening on the arm of the chair.

"I – I've got to be honest," she said under her breath. "I've got to be – in every way. I know it perfectly well, Mr. Desboro. Men seem to be different – I don't know why. But they seem to be, usually. And all I want is to remain friends with you – and to remember that we are friends when I am at work somewhere. I just want to be what I am, a business woman with sufficient character and intelligence to be your friend quietly – not even for one evening in competition with women belonging to a different life – women with wit and beauty and charm and savoir faire – "

"Jacqueline!" he broke out impulsively. "I want you to be my guest here. Won't you let me arrange with some old gorgon to chaperon you? I can do it! And with the gorgon's head on your moral shield you can silence anybody!"

He began to laugh; she sat twisting her fingers on her lap and looking up at him in a lovely, distressed sort of way, so adorably perplexed and yet so pliable, so soft and so apprehensive, that his laughter died on his lips, and he sat looking down at her in silence.

After a while he spoke again, almost mechanically:

"I'm trying to think how we can best be on equal terms, Jacqueline. That is all. After your work is done here, I want to see you here and elsewhere – I want you to come back at intervals, as my guest. Other people will ask you. Other people must be here, too, when you are. I know some who will accept you on your merits – if you are properly chaperoned. That is all I am thinking about. It's fairer to you."

But even to himself his motive was not clear – only the rather confused idea persisted that women in his own world knew how to take care of themselves, whatever they chose to do about it – that Jacqueline would stand a fairer chance with herself, and with him, whatever his intentions might really be. It would be a squarer deal, that was all.

She sat thinking, one slim forefinger crook'd under her chin; and he saw her blue eyes deep in thought, and the errant lock curling against her cheek. Then she raised her head and looked at him:

"Do you think it best?"

"Yes – you adorable little thing!"

She managed to sustain his gaze:

"Could you find a lady gorgon?"

"I'm sure I can. Shall I?"