Part 52 (1/2)
”No, it can't be undone. Why talk about it?”
”Because I keep thinking about it. I've kept away, as you wanted me to--and because I was ashamed of myself. Honestly, I've tried to do the best I could for your people--for your father. I tried my best to be a friend. And the end of it was that I started gossip, and you told me to keep away. That was pretty hard lines. It made me angry. And then I was jealous of Dunne.”
”He is going to marry Miss Burnaby.”
”Lucky devil!” growled Farwell dejectedly. ”Things run smooth for _him_. I'll bet he doesn't think half as much of her as I do of you.”
Sheila smiled for the first time. ”You wouldn't tell her that.”
”I'd tell it to anybody. It's a fact. Why, look here: I'm a practical man; I've no more imagination than a stump. And yet I've lain awake nights pretending to myself that you had let me kiss you willingly.
How's that?”
Sheila laughed softly. ”That's certainly going some, Mr. Farwell!”
”Well, it's what I do, anyway. It's about all the consolation I've got.”
”Is it? Couldn't you get something better than that?”
”I could if you'd give me half a chance,” he declared. ”You turned me down hard and cold. There's a fine show for consolation, isn't there?”
”Perhaps some other girl----?” she suggested demurely.
”No!” Farwell rapped out bluntly. ”I don't want any other girl. I don't like other girls. They make me tired. I'd rather work than fuss with them. It's easier. If I can't have you I don't want anybody.”
Sheila laughed again. The colour was high in her cheeks, and a strange light was s.h.i.+ning in her clear eyes. She shot a glance at him, half amused, half serious.
”And if you had me you'd be tired of me in no time. I'm just plain girl.”
”Plain girl nothing! You're the prettiest----”
”I'm not; I'm not even average.”
”And the best and the most sensible and the pluckiest one I ever saw,”
he pursued, unheeding. ”Don't tell me; I know. I've seen whole rafts of women. Dolls! Flirts! Gigglers! Fainters! Talking slush and thinking slop! Soft, too, like dough. Eating filthy coloured and flavoured glucose by the pound. Yah! Not a sane idea, or a sound digestion, or a healthy body in the bunch. And as for dress, the average woman piles a lot of truck on her like a _klootch_ at a potlatch, and cinches herself up in a----”
”Hus.h.!.+” said Sheila.
”Huh!” said Farwell. ”Why shouldn't I call things by their names? I never could see----”
”You aren't supposed to see. That's plenty. I won't be lectured on the follies of my s.e.x.”
”You're different from the others,” said Farwell. ”That's just it.
You've got ideas apart from dress and gossip, the same as a man has.
You're in good hard condition physically. You don't giggle, and t.i.tter, and make eyes, and expect a man to talk like a da--er--ah--that is, you don't expect a lot of silly compliments. I've never seen anybody like you. Talk of another girl! Bah! I couldn't stand one in the same house.
It's you or no one.”
”I don't think I'd wear well, Mr. Farwell. You'd get tired of me.”