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Updated: June 1, 2025
Bruce Carmyle meant nothing to her, and it was rather disturbing to find that she was apparently of great importance to him. She seized on the mention of Ginger as a lever for diverting the conversation from its present too intimate course. "How is Mr. Kemp?" she asked. Mr. Carmyle's dark face seemed to become a trifle darker. "We have had no news of him," he said shortly. "No news?
The two leading citizens of Little Italy vanished and went their way, probably to start a vendetta. There followed comparative calm. But Bruce Carmyle's emotions, like sweet bells jangled, were out of tune, and he could not recapture the first fine careless rapture. He found nothing within him but small-talk. "What has become of your party?" he asked. "My party?"
To continue the scene at the proper emotional level was impossible, and Bruce Carmyle began his career as an engaged man by dropping into Smalltalk. "Deuce of a lot of noise," he said querulously. "Yes," agreed Sally. "Is it always like this?" "Oh, yes." "Infernal racket!" "Yes." The romantic side of Mr. Carmyle's nature could have cried aloud at the hideous unworthiness of these banalities.
What was all the trouble about?" Mr. Carmyle's eyebrows met. "He insulted his uncle. His uncle Donald. He insulted him grossly. The one man in the world he should have made a point of er " "Keeping in with?" "Yes. His future depended upon him." "But what did he do?" cried Sally, trying hard to keep a thoroughly reprehensible joy out of her voice. "I have heard no details.
Carmyle's mind since his first meeting with Sally became on the instant certainties. So Uncle Donald had been right after all! This was the sort of girl she was! At his elbow the stout phantom of Uncle Donald puffed with satisfaction. "I told you so!" it said. Sally had not moved. The situation was beyond her.
"Strange you meeting again like this," he said affably. The porter, who had been making up berths along the car, was now hovering expectantly in the offing. "You two had better go into the smoking room," suggested Sally. "I'm going to bed." She wanted to be alone, to think. Mr. Carmyle's tale of a roused and revolting Ginger had stirred her.
For one swift instant something about her trim little figure and the gleam of her hair where the sunlight shone on it seemed to catch at Bruce Carmyle's heart, and he wavered. But the next moment he was strong again, and the door had closed behind him with a resolute bang. Out in the street, climbing into his car, he looked up involuntarily to see if she was still there, but she had gone.
I thought I might be able to put in a good word for Mr. Kemp and save him from being massacred, but apparently it's no use. Good-bye, Mr. Carmyle, and thank you for giving me dinner." She made her way down the car, followed by Bruce Carmyle's indignant, yet fascinated, gaze. Strange emotions were stirring in Mr. Carmyle's bosom.
"You are determined to go running off to God-knows-where after this Miss I-can't-even-remember-her-dam-name?" "Yes." "Have you considered," said Uncle Donald, portentously, "that you owe a duty to the Family." Bruce Carmyle's patience snapped and he sank like a stone to absolutely Gingerian depths of plain-spokenness. "Oh, damn the Family!" he cried.
She reproved herself, as they made their way down the corridor, for being so foolish as to judge anyone by his appearance. This man was perfectly pleasant in spite of his grim exterior. She had decided by the time they had seated themselves at the table she liked him. At the table, however, Mr. Carmyle's manner changed for the worse. He lost his amiability.
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