The Coming of Bill | Page 8

you
about that before. What's the matter? What has sent you flying up
here?"
"I have had a shock," said Bailey. "I have been very greatly disturbed. I
have just been speaking to Clarence Grayling."
He eyed her accusingly through his gold-rimmed glasses. She remained
tranquil.

"And what had Clarence to say?"
"A great many things."
"I gather he told you I had refused him."
"If it were only that!"
Ruth rapped the piano sharply.
"Bailey," she said, "wake up. Either get to the point or go or read a
book or do some tatting or talk about something else. You know
perfectly well that I absolutely refuse to endure your impressive
manner. I believe when people ask you the time you look pained and
important and make a mystery of it. What's troubling you? I should
have thought Clarence would have kept quiet about insulting me. But
apparently he has no sense of shame."
Bailey gaped. Bailey was shocked and alarmed.
"Insulting you! What do you mean? Clarence is a gentleman. He is
incapable of insulting a woman."
"Is he? He told me I was a suitable wife for a wretched dwarf with the
miserably inadequate intelligence which nature gave him reduced to
practically a minus quantity by alcohol! At least, he implied it. He
asked me to marry him."
"I have just left him at the club. He is very upset."
"I should imagine so." A soft smile played over Ruth's face. "I spoke to
Clarence. I explained things to him. I lit up Clarence's little mind like a
searchlight."
Bailey rose, tremulous with just wrath.
"You spoke to him in a way that I can only call outrageous and
improper, and--er--outrageous."

He paced the room with agitated strides. Ruth watched him calmly.
"If the overflowing emotion of a giant soul in torment makes you knock
over a table or smash a chair," she said, "I shall send the bill for repairs
to you. You had far better sit down and talk quietly. What is worrying
you, Bailey?"
"Is it nothing," demanded her brother, "that my sister should have
spoken to a man as you spoke to Clarence Grayling?"
With an impassioned gesture he sent a flower-vase crashing to the
floor.
"I told you so," said Ruth. "Pick up the bits, and don't let the water spoil
the carpet. Use your handkerchief. I should say that that would cost you
about six dollars, dear. Why will you let yourself be so temperamental?
Now let me try and think what it was I said to Clarence. As far as I can
remember it was the mere A B C of eugenics."
Bailey, on his knees, picking up broken glass, raised a flushed and
accusing face.
"Ah! Eugenics! You admit it!"
"I think," went on Ruth placidly, "I asked him what sort of children he
thought we were likely to have if we married."
"A nice girl ought not to think about such things."
"I don't think about anything else much. A woman can't do a great deal,
even nowadays, but she can have a conscience and feel that she owes
something to the future of the race. She can feel that it is her duty to
bring fine children into the world. As Aunt Lora says, she can carry the
torch and not falter."
Bailey shied like a startled horse at the hated phrase. He pointed
furiously at the photograph of the great thinker.
"You're talking like that--that damned woman!"

"Bailey _precious_! You mustn't use such wicked, wicked words."
Bailey rose, pink and wrathful.
"If you're going to break another vase," said Ruth, "you will really have
to go."
"Ever since that--that----" cried Bailey. "Ever since Aunt Lora----"
Ruth smiled indulgently.
"That's more like my little man," she said. "He knows as well as I do
how wrong it is to swear."
"Be quiet! Ever since Aunt Lora got hold of you, I say, you have
become a sort of gramophone, spouting her opinions."
"But what sensible opinions!"
"It's got to stop. Aunt Lora! My God! Who is she? Just look at her
record. She disgraces the family by marrying a grubby newspaper
fellow called Porter. He has the sense to die. I will say that for him. She
thrusts herself into public notice by a series of books and speeches on
subjects of which a decent woman ought to know nothing. And now
she gets hold of you, fills you up with her disgusting nonsense, makes a
sort of disciple of you, gives you absurd ideas, poisons your mind,
and--er--er-----"
"Bailey! This is positive eloquence!"
"It's got to stop. It's bad enough in her; but every one knows she is
crazy, and makes allowances. But in a young girl like you."
He choked.
"In a young girl like me," prompted Ruth