The Fifth Wheel | Page 5

have withdrawn if he had desired. I made it
easy for him to pass unheeded behind me while I was contemplating
the view. However, he remained standing, looking at me.
"Don't let me disturb you," I repeated after a moment. "I've simply
come to see the view of the meadows."
"Oh, no disturbance," he exclaimed, "and say, if it's the view you're
keen on, take the seat."
"No, thank you," I replied.
"Go on, I've had enough. Take it. I don't want it."
"Oh, no," I repeated. "It's very kind, but no, thank you."
"Why not? I've had my fill of view. Upon my word, I was just going to
clear out anyway."
"Oh, were you?" That altered matters.
"Sure thing."
Then, "Thank you," I said, and went over and sat down.
Often under the cloak of just such innocent and ordinary phrases is
carried on a private code of rapid signs and signals as easily understood

by those who have been taught as dots and dashes by a telegraphic
operator. I couldn't honestly say whether it was Mr. Sewall or I who
gave the first signal, but at any rate the eyes of both of us had said what
convention would never allow to pass our lips. So I wasn't surprised, as
perhaps an outsider will be, when Mr. Sewall didn't raise his hat,
excuse himself, and leave me alone on the rustic seat, as he should have
done according to all rules of good form and etiquette. Instead he
remarked, "I beg your pardon, but haven't I met you before
somewhere?"
"Not that I know of," I replied icily, the manner of my glance, however,
belying the tone of my voice. "I don't recall you, that is. I'm not in
Hilton long at a time, so I doubt it."
"Oh, not in Hilton!" He scoffed at the idea. "Good Lord, no. Perhaps
I'm mistaken though. I suppose," he broke off, "you've been having tea
up there in the garden."
"I suppose so," I confessed, as if even the thought of it bored me.
He came over toward the bench. I knew it was his cool and audacious
intention to sit down. So I laid my parasol lengthwise beside me,
leaving the extreme corner vacant, by which I meant to say, "I'm
perfectly game, as you see, but I'm perfectly nice too, remember."
He smiled understandingly, and sat down four feet away from me. He
leaned back nonchalantly and proceeded to test my gameness by a
prolonged and undisguised gaze, which he directed toward me through
half-closed lids. I showed no uneasiness. I kept right on looking
steadily meadow-ward, as if green fields and winding streams were
much more engrossing to me than the presence of a mere stranger. I
enjoyed the game I was playing as innocently, upon my word, as I
would any contest of endurance. And it was in the same spirit that I
took the next dare that was offered me.
I do not know how long it was that Breckenridge Sewall continued to
gaze at me, how long I sat undisturbed beneath the fire of his eyes. At
any rate it was he who broke the tension first. He leaned forward and

drew from his waistcoat pocket a gold cigarette case.
"Do you object?" he asked.
"Certainly not," I replied, with a tiny shrug. And then abruptly, just as
he was to return the case to his pocket, he leaned forward again.
"I beg your pardon--won't you?" And he offered me the cigarettes, his
eyes narrowed upon me.
It was not the custom for young girls of my age to smoke cigarettes. It
was not considered good form for a débutante to do anything of that
sort. I had so far refused all cocktails and wines at dinners. However, I
knew how to manage a cigarette. As a lark at boarding-school I had
consumed a quarter of an inch of as many as a half-dozen cigarettes. In
some amateur theatricals the winter before, in which I took the part of a
young man, I had bravely smoked through half of one, and made my
speeches too. What this man had said of Hilton and its provincialism
was in my mind now. I meant no wickedness, no harm. I took one of
the proffered cigarettes with the grand indifference of having done it
many times before. Mr. Sewall watched me closely, and when he
produced a match, lit it, and stretched it out toward me in the hollow of
his hand. I leaned forward and simply played over again my
well-learned act of the winter before. Instead of the clapping of many
hands and a curtain-call, which had pleased me very much last winter,
my applause today came in a less noisy way, but was quite as