The Maker of Opportunities

“Really,” she answered sweetly, “how so?”

A little disconcerted but undismayed, he continued:

“Because of the manner of our meeting.”

“Our meeting!” she said uncertainly.

“At the Assembly, you know. I thought perhaps that – you thought – I’d asked to be presented.”

“Didn’t you? Then, how did we happen to meet?”

He could not but admire her sang-froid. She was smiling a non-committal smile at the centerpiece.

“Er – I should explain. I was adrift and Barclay came to my rescue. I give you my word, I had no notion it was to you he was taking me. It was all over in a second.”

“Then you really didn’t wish to meet me? I’m so sorry.”

She had turned her face slowly to his and was looking him levelly in the eyes. It was a challenge, not a petition. He met her thrust fairly.

“My dear Miss Wharton,” he smiled, “how could I know what you were like – er – if I’d never seen you?”

This time he fairly set her weapon flying.

“What I wish you to understand,” he continued, steadily, “is that I didn’t know that Barclay was taking me to you. I wish credit for a certain delicacy. I should not have cared to force myself upon you.”

“I’m sure I shouldn’t have minded in the least,” she said, lightly. “I’m not so difficult as all that.”

As soon as she had spoken she knew she had overshot her mark.

“That’s awfully good of you, you know. I’m sure you’ll admit I had no means of knowing,” he added, “how difficult you were.”

She flushed a little before returning to the attack.

“Of course a girl wishes to know a little something about a man before – ”

“Before she permits herself to misjudge him.” He smiled. “Candidly, do you feel in any better position to judge me now than you did before – ”

“Before the Assembly?” she interrupted. “I think so. You don’t eat with your knife,” laughing. “You’ve a respect for the napkin. People say you’re clever. Why shouldn’t I believe them?”

“If this is your creed of morality, I’m respectability itself. Can you doubt me? Why won’t you be frank? If I’m respectable why shouldn’t you have cared to meet me?”

“I’m not sure I thought very much about it. How did you know I didn’t wish to meet you?”

“How could I know you did?”

She looked up at him, a new expression on her face.

“I didn’t,” she said quietly, “I – I – abhorred the very thought of you.”

Crabb looked contemplatively at his truffle. “I thank you for your candor,” he replied at last.

Then after a pause, “If you’ll forgive me, I’ll promise not to mention the subject again.”

“And if I don’t forgive you?”

“You’re at my mercy for this hour at least,” he laughed.

“I can still fly to Italy,” she replied. “I could forgive you, I think, but for one thing.”

He looked the question.

“This dinner. Is it to chance that I’m indebted for the – the – honor of your society?”

Crabb’s gaze had dropped to the table, but she had seen just such a sparkle in them once before. Nor when he looked at her had it disappeared.

“You mean – ”

She continued gazing at him steadily.

“You mean – did I arrange it?” he asked.

Patricia bowed her head.

“How could I have done so?” he urged.

“Isn’t Nick Hollingsworth an intimate friend of yours?”

“Yes, but I fail to see – ”

“Will you deny it?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to take me a little on faith,” he pleaded. “At any rate you will not suffer long. I’m leaving town in a few days.”

“For long?” she asked politely.

“For good, I think. Won’t you let me come in to see you before then?”

“Perhaps – ”

But Mrs. Hollingsworth had cast her glance down the line and drawn back her chair.

When the men came down into the drawing room, Mr. Crabb discovered that Miss Wharton had carefully ensconced herself in the center of a perimeter of skirts, which defied disintegration and apportionment. There was music and afterwards a call for carriages. So Mr. Crabb saw no more of Miss Wharton upon that night. Nor, indeed, did Patricia see him again. The following day he called. She was out. Then came a note and some roses. Business had called him sooner than he had expected. He begged to assure her of his distinguished consideration; would she forgive him now that he was gone, accept this new impertinence and forget all those that had gone before?

Patricia accepted the impertinence; and for many days it filled her little white room with seductive odors that made his last admonition more difficult.

CHAPTER IX

The months of winter passed and Crabb returned not. July found the Whartons again at Bar Harbor. Patricia would go out for hours in her canoe or her sailboat, rejoicing with bronzed cheek and hardening muscles in the buffets and caresses of Frenchman’s Bay. It was a very tiny catboat that she had learned to manage herself and in which she would tolerate no male hand at the helm except in the stiffest blows.