"That's not very encouraging."

"Isn't it? Well, haven't you been a trifle discouraging yourself?"

"I'm terribly sorry," he pleaded; and she surprised him by sighing:

"I'm rather glad."

"Glad? Why?"

"Because I had come dangerously near to feeling that you were--different."

"I am," he cried, stung by the deep significance of her light regret.

"Please let me prove it. Please let me ride with you in the park?"

"I'll be with my father, you know," she answered, with a trace of relentment. "It's my only chance to visit with the poor old boy. You'd better not."

"But some day you will ride with me?"

"Maybe."

"To-morrow may I stand on the bridge and watch you go by?"

"The park is open to the public at all hours."

"Would you mind if I got a horse and rode by and said 'Good morning!'"

"Fine. Come along. I'll introduce you to my father."

"I'll be there!"

CHAPTER XXI

Persis had not misjudged Forbes. If she had told him then that she was another man's betrothed, he would have changed his whole att.i.tude toward her. He would have flirted with her no more. He would have ceased to regard her with ambition or desire. She would have become again only another piece of jewelry in a shop-window--beautiful, but not for him; beautiful, but already bespoken. He was not of the covetous and burglarious type that always wants other people's property.

Equally, the romance would have ended before it began if Forbes had told Persis that he was not rich, as Ten Eyck had carelessly a.s.sumed.

Persis might have liked him and admired him and been great friends with him; but she would not have admitted him to the anteroom that all hearts have where those eligible to the inner soul are first admitted to wait their time.

Persis did not make a test of money any more than the rest of her set did. Many enormously wealthy strugglers were wasting coin and labor in a vain effort to bribe a smile from these really unimportant persons. Many poor artists, actors, authors, town wits, were welcomed to their boon companionship. These latter paid their way by bringing along their charm or notoriety as their contribution to the picnic. But they rarely married into the set.

In spite of all the talk of sn.o.bbery and wealth-worship, it is really very simple. People are people, and cla.s.ses are merely clubs where more or less congenial neighbors coagulate, more or less haphazard. Those that cannot pay the dues drop into other clubs. Even labor-unions are run in that way.

And in cla.s.ses as well as in clubs two kinds of persons are most offensive: those who try to force their way in unsolicited, and those who do not keep up their end of the expenses. The social struggler and the man who never stands treat when it comes his turn are welcome nowhere, from the slums up.

Some such thought as this came by coincidence into Forbes' mind. He realized suddenly that he was accepting a deal of hospitality and repaying none. He knew that he could do nothing to dazzle these people, but he could not endure to take their favors as charities or tips. He was wondering vaguely just what he could do when the problem was solved for him.

He was resolved not to relinquish what he had gained in Persis' esteem.

He would cling to her, keep at her heels, till the chance came to prove how dear he held her.

He had dropped the question of her betrothal to Enslee, sure that it was a paradox. Now he realized that he had no further promise of meeting Persis except on horseback and with her father alongside. He put forth an antenna.

"Am I ever going to see you again?"

"I shouldn't be at all surprised," she answered, blowing neither cold nor hot.

"To-morrow?"

"Maybe."

"Where?"

"Oh, I'll probably be dancing at some tea-place or other, as usual."

"Don't you ever stop dancing?"

"Sometimes."

"Could I see you one of those times?"

"Why, yes, of course."

"When?"

"Oh, almost any time."

"Any time is no time."

"I haven't my engagement-book here. I can't remember."

He was hoping that she would ask him to call, but she failed to take the hook. He surprised himself by saying with an abrupt rashness:

"Will you take lunch with me to-morrow?"

He had a vision of a charming little hour alone with her in the solitude made by a crowd. She missed the point, and asked:

"Do you mean all of us?"

"I suppose I do. I reckon I wouldn't dare ask you alone."

"I reckon you betta hadn't," she said, mocking his accent as best she could.

"When will you-all come?"

"Oh, it would be right smart of a job to get us-all together at the same time."