Part 27 (1/2)
”What you did this evening,” she said to her son, ”was not exactly the thing to do under the circ.u.mstances, Clive.”
”Why not?” he asked wearily as her maid relieved her of her sables and lace hood.
”Because it was not necessary.... That girl you spoke to was the Greensleeve girl I suppose?”
”Yes, Athalie Greensleeve.”
”Who was the man?”
”I don't know--a Captain Dane I believe.”
”Wasn't a civil bow enough?”
”Enough? Perhaps; I don't know, mother. I don't seem to know how much is due her from me. She's never had anything from me so far--anything worth having--”
”Don't be a fool, Clive.”
He said, absently: ”It's too late for such advice! I _am_ a fool. And I don't quite understand how not to be one.”
His mother, rather fearful of arousing in him any genuine emotion, discreetly kissed him good night.
”You're a slightly romantic boy,” she said. ”There is nothing else the matter with you.”
They mounted the velvet-covered stairway together, her arm around his neck, his encircling a slender, pliant waist that a girl of sixteen might have envied. Her maid followed with furs and hood.
”Come into my bedroom and smoke, Clive,” she smiled. ”We can talk through the dressing-room door.”
”No; I think I'll turn in.”
The maid continued on through the rose and ivory bedroom and into the dressing-room. Mrs. Bailey lingered, intuition and experience preparing her for what a boy of that age was very sure to say.
And after some fidgeting about he said it:
”Mother, honestly what did you think of her?”
His mother's smile remained unaltered: ”Do you mean the Greensleeve girl?”
”I mean Athalie Greensleeve.”
”She is pretty in a rather common way.”
”Common!”
”Did you think she is not?”
”Common,” he repeated in boyish astonishment. ”What is there common about her?”
”If _you_ can't see it any woman of your own cla.s.s can.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'Wasn't a civil bow enough?'”]