Frivolous Cupid | Page 6

not allow his eyes to meet hers. She gathered her children round
her, and sat down among the chaperons. Mrs. Sterling came and talked
to her; divining a sympathy, the good mother had much to say of her
son, of her hopes and her fears for him; so many dangers beset young
men, especially if they were attractive, like Harry; there were debts,
idleness, fast men, and--worst of all--there were designing women,
ready to impose on and ruin the innocence of youth.
"He's been such a good boy till now," said Mrs. Sterling, "but, of
course, his father and I feel anxious. If we could only keep him here,
out of harm's way, under our own eyes!"
Mrs. Mortimer murmured consolation.
"How kind of you! And your influence is so good for him. He thinks
such a lot of you, Hilda."
Mrs. Mortimer, tried too hard, rose and strolled away. Harry's set
seemed to end almost directly, and a moment later he was shaking
hands with her, still keeping his eyes away from hers. She made her
grasp cold and inanimate, and he divined the displeasure she meant to
indicate.
"You must go and play again," she said, "or talk to the girls. You
mustn't come and talk to me."
"Why not! How can I help it--now?"
The laughing at her and himself had evidently not come, but, bad as
that would have been to bear, his tone threatened something worse.

"Don't," she answered sharply. "I'm very angry. You were very unkind
and--and ungentlemanly last night."
He flushed crimson.
"Didn't you like it?" he asked, with the terrible simplicity of his youth.
For all her trouble, she had to bite her lip to hide a smile. What a
question to ask--just in so many words!
"It was very, very wicked, and, of course, I didn't like it," she answered.
"Oh, Harry! don't you know how wicked it was?"
"Oh, yes! I know that, of course," said he, picking at the straw of his
hat, which he was carrying in his hand.
"Well, then!" she said.
"I couldn't help it."
"You must help it. Oh, don't you know--oh, it's absurd! I'm years older
than you."
"You looked so--so awfully pretty."
"I can't stand talking to you. They'll all see."
"Oh, it's all right. You're a friend of mother's, you know. I say, when
shall I be able to see you again--alone, you know?"
Mrs. Mortimer was within an ace of a burst of tears. He seemed not to
know that he made her faint with shame, and mad with exultation, and
bewildered with terror all in a moment. His new manhood took no heed,
save of itself. Was this being out of harm's way, under the eyes of those
poor blind parents?
"If--if you care the least for me--for what I wish, go away, Harry," she
whispered.
He looked at her in wonder, but, with a frown on his face, did as he was
told. Five minutes later he was playing again; she heard him shout
"Thirty--love," as he served, a note of triumphant battle in his voice.
She believed that she was altogether out of his thoughts.
Her husband was to dine in town that night, and, for sheer protection,
she made Maudie Sinclair come and share her evening meal. The
children were put to bed, and they sat down alone together, talking over
the party. Maudie was pleased to relax a little of her severity toward
Harry Sterling; she admitted that he had been very useful in arranging
the sets, and very pleasant to everyone.
"Of course, he's conceited," she said, "but all boys are. He'll get over
it."

"You talk as if you were a hundred, Maudie," laughed Mrs. Mortimer.
"He's older than you are."
"Oh, but boys are much younger than girls, Mrs. Mortimer. Harry
Sterling's quite a boy still."
A knock sounded at the door. A minute later the boy walked in. The
sight of Maudie Sinclair produced a momentary start, but he recovered
himself and delivered a note from his mother, the excuse for his visit. It
was an invitation for a few days ahead; there could certainly have been
no hurry for it to arrive that night. While Mrs. Mortimer read it, Harry
sat down and looked at her. She was obliged to treat his arrival as
unimportant, and invited him to have a glass of wine.
"Why are you in evening dress?" asked Maudie wonderingly.
"For dinner," answered Harry.
"Do you dress when you're alone at home?"
"Generally. Most men do."
Maudie allowed herself to laugh. Mrs. Mortimer saw the joke, too, but
its amusement was bitter to her.
"I like it," she said gently. "Most of the men I know do it."
"Your husband doesn't," observed Miss Sinclair.
"Poor George gets down from town