At half past five, when the place was jamed, I happened to look up.
Carter Brooks was in the hall, and behind him was H. He had seen me
before I saw him, and he had a sort of sickley grin, meant to denote
joy. I was talking to our Bishop at the time, and he was asking me what
sort of services we had in the school chapel.
I meant to say "non-sectarian," but in my surprize and horror I regret
to say that I said, "vegetarian." Carter Brooks came over to me like a
cat to a saucer of milk, and pulled me off into a corner.
"It's all right," he said. "I 'phoned mama, and she said to bring him.
He's known as Grosvenor here, of course. They'll never suspect a thing.
Now, do I get a small `thank you'?"
"I won't see him."
"Now look here, Bab," he protested, "you two have got to make this thing
up You are a pair of Idiots, quarreling over nothing. Poor old Hal is
all broken up. He's sensative. You've got to remember how sensative he
is."
"Go, away" I cried, in broken tones. "Go away, and take him with you."
"Not until he had spoken to your Father," he observed, setting his jaw.
"He's here for that, and you know it. You can't play fast and loose with
a man, you know."
"Don't you dare to let him speak to father!"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"That's between you to, of course," he said. "It's not up to me. Tell
him yourself, if you've changed your mind. I don't intend," he went on,
impressively, "to have any share in ruining his life."
"Oh piffle," I said. I am aware that this is slang, and does not belong
in a Theme. But I was driven to saying it.
I got through the crowd by using my elbows. I am afraid I gave
the Bishop quite a prod, and I caught Mr. Andrews on his rotateing
waistcoat. But I was desparate.
Alas, I was too late.
The caterer's man, who had taken Patrick's place in a hurry, was at the
punch bowl, and father was gone. I was just in time to see him take H.
into his library and close the door.
Here words fail me. I knew perfectly well that beyond that door H, whom
I had invented and who therefore simply did not exist, was asking for my
Hand. I made up my mind at once to run away and go on the stage, and
I had even got part way up the stairs, when I remembered that, with
a dollar for the picture and five dollars for the violets and three
dollars for the hat pin I had given Sis, and two dollars and a quarter
for mother's handkercheif case, I had exactly a dollar and seventy-five
cents in the world.