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Updated: June 4, 2025
After she had ordered supper, with every whit of the appetite and extravagance which he remembered as her chief characteristic, next to her beauty, and after each had been stimulated by a cocktail, he was conscious that he wanted to confide in her, not so much because she was Roselle, but because she was a woman, would look soft and listen prettily.
Mentally she reviewed the two families. In Mary's home there were Mary herself; Joe, eighteen; Jennie, sixteen; Carrie, fourteen; Tom, eleven; and Nellie, six; besides Grandma. In John's there were John, his wife, Julia; their son Paul, ten; and daughter Roselle, four; besides John's younger sister Barbara, eighteen, and his mother.
He read the remainder of the paper rigid and unapproving. It gave, he considered, such an excellent picture of Southern iniquities that he marked it B plus, the highest rating his responsibility had allowed Rosemary Roselle. Now he was certain that her very name held a dangerous potentiality it came too easily to the tongue; it had a wanton sound like a silk skirt.
"Roselle," he said, deliberately, "this isn't enough. How long are you going to play about with me like a beautiful pussy cat? I've been very good, haven't I? When I think of what a good boy I've been I could laugh." He laughed deeply. "You know, I could love you a lot. Why don't you give me a trial? There isn't anyone else, is there?"
Monthly meetings were held in a room in a large new office building given them for headquarters by the owners and forty-five members were enrolled. Mrs. Eagan, the president, soon went to Paris and her duties fell upon the vice-president, Mrs. Roselle C. Cooley; the secretary, Miss Frances Anderson, and the other officers.
Coming as it did after a humdrum period of domesticity, where a man could not afford either folly or fun, the danger signals had been flying all the time. He could recall fifty occasions on which he could, or would, gladly have lost his head; but now, retrospecting, he was inclined to give himself the credit rather than Roselle, that their relations had been so innocuous.
During the first interval he scribbled a note to her, and sent it round with an imperative request for an answer. The note asked: "My dear Roselle, come out to supper? And shall I wait for you at the stage door? And her reply, in her big, silly back-hand writing, said laconically: "Right. I'll be out at eleven. Eleven found him waiting by the stage-door entrance, and she did not keep him long.
Until the present he had totally overlooked the depleted state of his fortune. Elim had some arrears of pay, but now he seriously doubted whether they were collectible. Nothing else. He had emerged from the war brevetted major but as penniless as the morning of his enlistment. He doubted whether, in the hurry of departure, Rosemary Roselle had remembered to bring any money.
As Osborn Kerr paused before the rows of portraits, he wondered, a little yet, what Roselle meant when, so inscrutably, she smiled. She was beautiful, there was no doubt of it.
He gazed at each in embarrassed bewilderment, and Roselle, her chin still on her palms, and her eyes bright and stony, commented on his explanation. She drawled: "Osborn, you're a liar. Your wife knows as well as I do that she could divorce you to-morrow." "But Miss Dates would be a fool, which I am sure she is not," said the wife's pretty voice, "if she imagines I would do it."
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