The Glory of the Conquered | Page 8

pursued.
"Oh, not disagreeably so," she retorted.
"You see," turning to Beason, who was plainly impatient at this shifting
to anything so irrelevant as a wife, "I play quite a leading part in Dr.
Hubers' life. I'm his cousin--that's the accident of birth; but I handed
over to him his wife, for which he owes me undying gratitude. I'm
looking for something really splendid from Europe."
"I wish I hadn't gone home so early that spring," sighed Wyman. "I'd
like to have seen that little affair. It must have been the real thing in
romance."
"But it was nothing of the sort! It was the most disgraceful thing I ever
had anything to do with."
"Now Georgia," protested her mother, "you know you are so apt to be
misunderstood."
"Well I couldn't be misunderstood about this! Oh, it was awful!--the
suddenness of it, you know. You see Miss Stanley was an old college
friend of mine. In fact, I roomed at their house,"--she paused and

seemed to be thinking of other things--serious things. "A year ago last
spring," she went on, "Ernestine stopped here on her way home from
New York. Her parents had died, but an old aunt lived in their house,
and she was going to see her. I had always told her about Karl, but she
had never met him, because when Ernestine and I were together so
much, he was in Europe. So I wanted her to meet him--well, principally
because he was a good deal of a celebrity, and I thought it would be
nice. I'll be real honest and confess it never occurred to me there would
be anything exciting doing. Well, Karl didn't want to come. First he
said he would, and then he telephoned he was busy. So I just went over
to the laboratory and got him. I told him he was expected, and if he
didn't come, mother and I never would forgive him. He washed his
hands and came along, grumbling all the way about how one's relatives
interfered with one's life--oh, Karl and I are tremendously frank, and
then when he got here--well, I'll just leave it to mother."
"He did seem to be greatly impressed with Georgia's friend." said Mrs.
McCormick, consciously conservative.
"I never saw him act so stupid! Oh, but I was mad at him! I wanted him
to talk about Europe and be brilliant, but he didn't do anything but sit
and look at Ernestine. Fact of the matter is, Ernestine doesn't look quite
like the rest of us. At least Karl thought she didn't, and evidently he
made up his mind then and there he was going to have her. Ernestine
left Chicago sooner than he thought she was going to, and what does he
do but go after her--and get her! You see, all of Karl's ancestors weren't
meek and gentle scholars and wise professors. Lots of them were
soldiers and bloodthirsty brigands, and those are the ones he brags
about most and in spite of his mind, and all that, those are the ones he is
most like. I suppose it was in the blood to get what he wanted. I'm sure
I don't know how he did it. Lots of men had wanted Ernestine, and she
had the caring-for-her-art notion--she's made good tremendously, you
know--but art took a back seat when Dr. Hubers arrived on the scene.
That's all there is to it. I wouldn't call it a romance. It was more in the
line of a hop, skip and jump."
She had pushed back her chair a little, but laughed now, reminiscently.

"Oh it was just too funny! Some of it was too rich to keep. Karl came
here the day after he returned--wanted to hear me talk of Ernestine, you
know. People in love aren't exactly versatile in their conversation. I did
talk about her for two hours, and then I ventured to change the subject.
'Karl,' I said, 'what do you think of the colour they're painting the new
Fifty-seventh Street station?'
"He had been sitting there in rapt silence and he looked up at me with a
seraphic, far-away smile. 'Colour,' he said, dreamily, 'was there ever
such a colour before?'
"'There certainly never was,' I replied, meaning of course the brick red
of the aforesaid station.
"'That divine brown,' he pursued,' that soft, dark, liquid brown of
unfathomable depth!' Now there," nodding laughingly at Beason, "you
have a sample of the great Dr. Hubers' mighty intellect."
Beason hovered around, hoping for a few more stray words, but as
Harry Wyman and Georgia were talking about some foolish newspaper
affairs, he went to his room and tried to settle down to work.
A half hour later Wyman, who had also gone in to do a little studying,
came