But suppose she shouldn’t come?

CHAPTER XI

The telegram reached Courtland Friday evening, just as he was going to the Dare dinner, and filled him with an almost childish delight.  Not for a long time had he had anything as nice as that happen; not even when he made Phi Beta Kappa in his junior year had he been so filled with exultation.  It was like having a fairy-tale come true.  To think there had really been a woman in the world who would respond in that cordial way to a call from the great unknown!

He presented himself in his most sparkling mood at the house where he was to dine.  There was nothing at all blue about him.  His eyes fairly danced with pleasure and his smile was rare.  Gila looked and drooped her eyes demurely.  She thought the sparkle was all for her, and her little wicked heart gave a throb of exultant joy.

Mrs. Dare was no longer a large, purple person.  She was in full evening dress, explaining that she and her husband had an engagement at the opera after dinner.  She resembled the fat dough people that the cook used to fashion for him in his youth.  Her pudgy arms so reminded him of those shapeless cooky arms that he found himself fascinated by the thought as he watched her moving her bejeweled hands among the trinkets at her end of the glittering table.  Her gown, what there was of it, was of black gauze emblazoned with dartling sequins of deep blue.  An aigret in her hair twinkled knowingly above her coarse, painted face.  Courtland, as he studied her more closely, rejoiced that the telegram had arrived before he left the dormitory, for he never could have had the courage to come to this plump-shouldered lady seeking refuge for his refined little Bonnie girl.

The father of the family was a little wisp of a man with a nervous laugh and a high, thin voice.  There were kind lines around his mouth and eyes, indulgent lines—­not self-indulgent, either, and insomuch they were noble—­but there was a weakness about the face that showed he was ruled by others to a large extent.  He said, “Yes, my dear!” quite obediently when his wife ordered him affably around.  There was a cunning look in his eye that might explain the general impression current that he knew how to turn a dollar to his own account.

It occurred to Courtland to wonder what would happen if he should suddenly ask Mr. Dare what he thought of Christ, or if he believed in the resurrection.  He could quite imagine they would look aghast as if he had spoken of something impolite.  One couldn’t think of Mrs. Dare in a resurrection, she would seem so out of place, so sort of unclothed for the occasion, in those fat, doughy arms with her glittering jet shoulder-straps.  He realized that all these thoughts that raced through his head were but fantasies occasioned no doubt by his own highly wrought nervous condition, but they kept crowding in and bringing the mirth to his eyes.  How, for instance, would Mother Marshall and Mother Dare hit it off if they should happen together in the same heaven?