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Updated: June 8, 2025
"I should think you might," agreed Richard, looking about him once more at the faces which surrounded him. He caught Roberta's eye, as he did so much to his satisfaction and she gave him a straightforward, steady look, as if she were taking his measure for the first time. Then, quite suddenly, she smiled at him and turned away to speak to Ted, who sat by her side.
The Roberta's cabin was a dark and noisome hole, filled with demijohns and merchandise, with two or three untidy bunks in corners, the air soaked with the smells of thirty years of bilge-water, sealskins, copra, and the cargoes of island traffic. Capriata, Harry Lee, and I sat on boxes at a rough table, which we clutched as the Roberta pitched and rolled.
Pleasant things generally submerged the unpleasant ones at Harding, so Betty's delight in Roberta's unexpected success quite wiped out her remembrance of Bob's theories about Jean, until, several days after the Shylock trials, Jean herself confirmed them.
Betty found out about her somehow she was always finding out what people could do, and she got her in at the last minute because Mr. Masters didn't like Jean's acting, or somebody didn't. Roberta's was magnificent. They wanted her for Portia too. Mr. Masters had said it was a great pity there weren't two of her. How did she take it? Why, she acted shy and bored and distant, just as usual.
Up the broad stile she went, two steps at a time, and down the other side in a couple of jumps; a dozen skips took her across the lawn; and she bounded up to the porch as if each wooden step had been a springing board. She rushed up-stairs, and stood at the open door of Miss Roberta's room where that lady reclined upon a lounge.
She sat quite still doing nothing, looking very much as she had looked for the last forty years. Her harp stood on one side of the fireplace, and Miss Roberta's guitar hung by a faded blue ribbon from a nail at the other. Presently old William announced: "Mr. Carlyon." And Cheiron, in his Sunday best, walked into the room. Halcyone was not present. If children were wanted they were sent for.
Roberta, already out of the blue-silk gown, released her young sister from the imprisonment of her hooks and eyes. "His manners are naturally too good to make it clear whether he had a dull time or not," was Roberta's non-committal reply. "I don't believe his manners are too good to cover up his being bored, if he was bored," Ruth went on.
Barkdale, the mistress of the house, could scarcely rally from her nervous shock or maintain her courage, in view of the havoc made by the iron heel of war. Miss Roberta's heart was full of bitterness and impotent revolt. She had the courage and spirit of her race, but she could not endure defeat, and she chafed in seclusion and anger while her mother moaned and wept.
Speed" Roberta's cheeks were pallid and her voice trembled "you didn't send that telegram at all." "Oh, but I did." "You wanted him to get here in time to run in your place. I see it all now. You arranged it very cleverly, but you will pay the penalty." "You surely won't tell Helen?" "This minute! You wretched, deceitful man!"
He followed an impulse. Rising, the sheet of yellowed paper in his hand, he walked over to the typewriter. Without apology he laid the sheet upon the pile of typed ones at her side. "See what I've found in an old volume of state speeches." Roberta's busy hand stopped. Her eyes scanned the yellow page upon which the stiff, fine handwriting, clearly that of a man, stood out legibly as print.
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