CHAPTER XXVII
"HAVEN'T YOU ANY SOUL?"
Whenever Molly Merriweather was mentioned to Theodore King, that youngman felt a twinge in his conscience. His mother had taken him gentlyto task. Out of respect for Molly's wishes she refrained from speakingof the girl's affection for him, but cautioned him to be careful notto offend her companion.
"She's very sensitive, you know, Theodore dear, and very good to me. Ireally don't know what I'd do without her."
"I was thoughtless!... I'll do better, mother mine," he smiled. "I'llgo to her now and tell her so."
Theodore found Molly writing a letter in the library. He sank into aneasy chair and yawned good-naturedly. The woman was still furious withhim, so merely lifted her eyes at his entrance, and went on writing.Theodore was quiet for a few moments, then with a laugh went to thedesk and took the pen forcibly from Molly's hand.
"Come and make up," he said.
"Have we anything to make up?" she asked languidly, keeping her eyeson the paper.
"Of course we have. You know very well, Molly, you're angry withme.... Now mother says----"
She caught his bantering tone, and resenting it, drew her fingers awayhaughtily.
"You learn good manners from your mother, it seems."
Her tone was insolent and angered him. Theodore returned quickly tohis chair.
"No, I don't," he denied. "You know I don't! But before you asked meto go with you Saturday, I told you I had an appointment----"
"Yes, and you told me who it was with, too," Molly thrust back in histeeth.
"Exactly, because there's no reason why I shouldn't. I've taken anextreme interest in the little girl.... You offended me by talkingagainst her."
Molly's temper was rising by the minute. She had armored herself witha statement, the truth of which she would force upon him.
"I'm not sure I said anything that wasn't true," she returneddiscourteously.
Theodore leaned back in his chair.
"Then you didn't mean it when you said you were sorry?" he demandedshortly.
"I wanted you to go with me, that's all."
"And you took that way to make me. Was that it?"
Molly picked up her pen and made a few marks with it.
"I'm not interested in Miss Grandoken," she replied.
"So I notice," retorted Theodore, provokingly.
She turned around upon him with angry, sparkling eyes.
"I think you've a lot of nerve to bring her into your home."
She hazarded this without thought of consequences.
"What do you mean?" he asked presently, searching her face with ananalytical gaze.
Molly was wrought up to the point of invention, perhaps because shewas madly jealous.
"Men generally keep that sort of a woman to themselves," sheexplained. "A home is usually sacred to the ordinary man."
Theodore was stung to silence. It was a bitter fling, and his thoughtsworked rapidly. It took a long moment for his tall figure to get upfrom the chair.
"Just what _do_ you mean?" he demanded, thrusting his hands into hispockets.
"I don't believe I need tell you any more," she answered.
Theodore stood in the middle of the room as if turned to stone.
"I'm dense, I guess," he admitted huskily.
Angered beyond reason or self-control, Molly pushed the letter awayimpatiently and stood up.
"Well, if you're so terribly dense, then listen. No man is everinterested in a girl like that unless she is something more to himthan a mere----" She broke off, because a dark red flush was spreadingin hot waves over the man's face. But bravely she proceeded, "Ofcourse you wouldn't insult your family and your friends by marryingher. Then what conclusion do you want them to draw?"
Theodore looked at her as if she'd suddenly lost her senses. She hadcast an aspersion upon the best little soul in God's created world.
"Well, of all the villainous insinuations I ever heard!" he thunderedharshly. "My God, woman! Haven't you any soul ... any decency aboutyou?"
The question leaped out of a throat tense with uncontrollable rage. Itwas couched in language never used to her before, and caused the womanto stagger back. She was about to demand an apology, when Theodoreflung out of the room and banged the door behind him.
Molly sat down quickly. Humiliating, angry tears flowed down hercheeks and she made no effort to restrain them. What cared she thatTheodore had repudiated her accusation? She felt she had discoveredthe truth, and nothing more need be said about it.
After growing a little calmer, she saw that she'd made another mistakeby enraging Theodore. He had not taken her insults against the girl asshe had expected.
Half an hour later she called his office and was informed he was out.
Theodore left Molly more angry than he'd ever been in his life.Instead of making him think less of Jinnie, Molly's aspersions drewhim more tenderly toward the girl. As he strode through the road underthe trees, his heart burned to see her. He looked at his watch--it wasfour o'clock. Jinnie had had her lesson in the morning, so he couldnot call for her at the master's. Just then he saw her walking quicklyalong the street, and she lifted shy, glad eyes as he spoke her name.By this time his temper had cooled, yet there lingered in his heartthe stabbing hurt brought there by Molly's slurs. He felt as if insome way he owed an apology to Jinnie; as if he must make up for harmdone her by a vile, gossiping tongue.
He fell into step beside her and gently took the violin box from herhand.
"And how is my little friend to-day?" he asked.
His voice, unusually musical, made Jinnie spontaneously draw a littlenearer him.
"I'm very well," she returned, demurely, "and I've learned some verylovely things. I went up twice to-day--sometimes the master makes mecome back in the afternoon."
It eased his offended dignity to see her so happy, so vividly lovely.He had gone to Molly with the intention of asking her to go with himsome day soon to Mottville. He thought of this now with a grim settingof his teeth; but looking at Jinnie, an idea more to his liking camein its place. He would take _her_ somewhere for a day. She needed justsuch a day to make her color a little brighter, although as heglanced at her again, he had to admit she was rosy enough.Nevertheless a great desire came over him to ask her; so when they hadalmost reached the cobbler's shop, he said:
"How would a nice holiday suit you?"
Jinnie looked up into his face, startled.
"What do you mean by a holiday? Not to take lessons?"
Theodore caught her thought, and laughed.
"Oh, no, not that! But I was thinking if you would go with me into thecountry----"
"For a whole day?" gasped Jinnie, stopping point blank.
"Yes, for a whole day," replied Theodore, smiling.
"Oh, I couldn't go. I couldn't."
"Why?... Don't you want to?"
Of course she wanted to go. Jinnie felt that if she knew she was goingwith him, she'd fly to the sky and back again.
"Yes," she murmured. "I'd like to go, but I couldn't--for lots ofreasons!... Lafe wouldn't let me for one, and then Bobbie needs meawfully."
They started on, and Jinnie could see Lafe's window, but not thecobbler himself.
"But I'd bring you back at dusk," Theodore assured her, "and you'd behappy----"
"Happy! Happy!" she breathed, with melting eyes. "I'd be more'n happy,but I can't go."
Theodore raised his hat quickly and left her without another word.
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