Unleavened Bread | Page 3

spread of his trembling arm, though this was the first man who
had ever ventured to lay a finger on her.
"I'd have to give up my school," she said.
"They could get another teacher."
"Could they?"
"Not one like you. You see I'm clumsy, but I'm crazy for you, Selma."
Emboldened by the obvious feebleness of her opposition, he broadened
his clutch and drew her toward him. "Say you will, sweetheart."
This time she pulled herself free and sat up in the chaise. "Would you
let me do things?" she asked after a moment.
"Do things," faltered Babcock. What could she mean? She had told him
on the way over that her mother had chosen her name from a theatrical
playbill, and it passed through his unsophisticated brain that she might
be thinking of the stage.
"Yes, do something worth while. Be somebody. I've had the idea I
could, if I ever got the chance." Her hands were folded in her lap; there
was a wrapt expression on her thin, nervous face, and a glitter in her

keen eyes, which were looking straight at the moon, as though they
would outstare it in brilliancy.
"You shall be anything you like, if you'll only marry me. What is it
you're wishing to be?"
"I don't know exactly. It isn't anything especial yet. It's the whole thing.
I thought I might find it in my school, but the experience so far hasn't
been -- satisfying."
"Troublesome little brats!"
"No, I dare say the fault's in me. If I went to Benham to live it would be
different. Benham must be interesting -- inspiring."
"There's plenty of go there. You'd like it, and people would think lots of
you."
"I'd try to make them." She turned and looked at him judicially, but
with a softened expression. Her profile in her exalted mood had
suggested a beautiful, but worried archangel; her full face seemed less
this and wore much of the seductive embarrassment of sex. To Babcock
she seemed the most entrancing being he had ever seen. "Would you
really like to have me come?"
He gave a hoarse ejaculation, and encircling her eagerly with his strong
grasp pressed his lips upon her cheek. "Selma! darling! angel! I'm the
happiest man alive."
"You mustn't do that -- yet," she said protestingly.
"Yes, I must; I'm yours, and you're mine, -- mine. Aren't you,
sweetheart? There's no harm in a kiss."
She had to admit to herself that it was not very unpleasant after all to be
held in the embrace of a sturdy lover, though she had never intended
that their relations should reach this stage of familiarity so promptly.
She had known, of course, that girls were to look for endearments from

those whom they promised to marry, but her person had hitherto been
so sacred to man and to herself that it was difficult not to shrink a little
from what was taking place. This then was love, and love was, of
course, the sweetest thing in the world. That was one of the truths
which she had accepted as she had accepted the beauty of Shakespeare,
as something not to be disputed, yet remote. He was a big, affectionate
fellow, and she must make up her mind to kiss him. So she turned her
face toward him and their lips met eagerly, forestalling the little peck
which she had intended. She let her head fall back at his pressure on to
his shoulder, and gazed up at the moon.
"Are you happy, Selma?" he asked, giving her a fond, firm squeeze.
"Yes, Lewis."
She could feel his frame throb with joy at the situation as she uttered
his name.
"We'll be married right away. That's if you're willing. My business is
going first-rate and, if it keeps growing for the next year as it has for
the past two, you'll be rich presently. When shall it be, Selma?"
"You're in dreadful haste. Well, I'll promise to give the selectmen
notice to-morrow that they must find another teacher."
"Because the one they have now is going to become Mrs. Lewis J.
Babcock. I'm the luckiest fellow, hooray! in creation. See here," he
added, taking her hand, "I guess a ring wouldn't look badly there -- a
real diamond, too. Pretty little fingers."
She sighed gently, by way of response. It was comfortable nestling in
the hollow of his shoulder, and a new delightful experience to be
hectored with sweetness in this way. How round and bountiful the
moon looked. She was tired of her present life. What was coming
would be better. Her opportunity was at hand to show the world what
she was made of.
"A real diamond, and large at that," he repeated, gazing down at her,

and then, as though the