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"If I were not so rich, I should probably love Trevvy madly. But, you see, then Trevvy wouldn't love me. He couldn't afford to. He's ruining himself with roses as it is. And, curiously enough, I have a notion when I marry, to love and be loved for myself alone. I'm not in love with Trevvy or any one else or likely to be.
"Olga says that Hermia disappeared from Paris for over a week and no one knew where she was. Trevvy was crazy with anxiety. But she came back one night in an old gray coat and hat with a bundle the shabbiest thing imaginable, looking like a tramp. Trevvy was in the hotel and saw her. But they patched things up somehow." "Did Madame Tcherny learn where she had been?" "Oh, no," she laughed.
At this moment there was a sound of footsteps on the walk and Reggie Armistead, who, like an ubiquitous terrier, had at last found the scent, came down the arbor on the run with Trevvy Morehouse after him, a poor second, and emerged upon the scene. "You're mine " cried Reggie triumphantly. "I win!" He moved forward and would have caught Hermia around the waist, but she dodged him.
What right had she this little flutter-budget to know these things when he was denied them? Hermia the report of her engagement had been disturbing, but some reason it seemed less important now than the fact that she was here here in New York within twenty minutes of him perhaps, upon the very street where he might meet her when he went out. Hermia and Trevvy Morehouse!
"Oh, yes, or was and Trevvy followed her there. She's home now came yesterday of course, with Trevvy at her heels. Oh! he'll keep her in order, no fear about that. It's about time that Hermia settled down. She's quite the wildest thing perfectly properly, you know, Olga Tcherny says " "Olga is home, too?" he interrupted, steadying himself. She nodded quickly and went on.
"Reggie," she cried, "how dare you!" "Oh, don't mind us," laughed Olga. "I don't " he said stoutly. "But I got here first, Olga, didn't I?" "You surely did " "I'm glad to have witnesses. Hermia's dreadfully slippery, you know." Olga, who had dropped into a corner of the stone bench, looked up languidly. "Would you mind telling us what it all means?" she asked. Hermia laughed. "May I, Trevvy?"
The lights of the ball-room, fortunately lowered, had hidden the pallor of Hermia's face but she realized, when they suddenly blazed, that Trevvy Morehouse was looking at her curiously, that her fingers were ice-cold and that, when she spoke a word or two in reply to his anxious query, her voice was strangely unfamiliar. As the applause ceased, there was a general movement toward the supper-room.
The man I marry, Auntie, isn't doing what Trevvy and Crosby and Reggie Armistead are doing. He's different somehow different from any man I've ever met." "How, child?" "I don't know," she mused, with a smile. "Only he isn't like Trevvy Morehouse." "But Mr. Morehouse is a very promising young man " "The person I marry won't be a promising young man.
Archie Westcott had unbent to the point of offering him a cigarette, and Trevvy Morehouse, who had joined them over the cocktails, and injected polite bromidics into the conversation which Reggie Armistead, who knew nothing of Markham's art and cared less, only saved by some wholesome enthusiasm, in which all joined, over the "sand" and all-around good fellowship of their hostess.
She strolled to the window, sniffed at Trevvy Morehouse's roses, helped herself to a cigarette and sat down. Hermia was not inartistic and she resented the imputation. It was only that her art and Olga's differed by the breadth of an ocean. "For me, when a man becomes mystified he ceases to be useful," laughed Hermia. "Pouf! my dear," said the Countess with a wave of her cigarette.
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