III

Jasper took dinner with us that night.  He came across the lawn, freshly shaved and in clean white flannels, just as dinner was announced, and said he had seen a chocolate cake cooling on the kitchen porch and that it was a sort of unwritten social law that when the Baileys happened to have a chocolate cake at dinner they had him also.

There seemed to be nothing to object to in this.  Evidently he was right, for we found his place laid at the table.  The meal was quite cheerful, although Jasper ate the way some people play the piano, by touch, with his eyes on Bettina.  And he gave no evidence at dessert of a fondness for chocolate cake sufficient to justify a standing invitation.

After dinner we went out on the veranda, and under cover of showing me a sunset Jasper took me round the corner of the house.  Once there, he entirely forgot the sunset.

“Miss Lizzie,” he began at once, “what have I done to you to have you treat me like this?”

“I?” I asked, amazed.

“All three of you.  Did—­did Bettina’s mother warn you against me?”

“The girl has to be chaperoned.”

“But not jailed, Miss Lizzie, not jailed!  Do you know that I haven’t had a word with Bettina alone since you came?”

“Why should you want to say anything we cannot hear?”

“Miss Lizzie,” he said desperately, “do you want to hear me propose to her?  For I’ve reached the point where if I don’t propose to Bettina soon, I’ll—­I’ll propose to somebody.  You’d better be warned in time.  It might be you or Miss Aggie.”

I weakened at that.  The Lord never saw fit to send me a man I could care enough about to marry, or one who cared enough about me, but I couldn’t look at the boy’s face and not be sorry for him.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“Come for a walk with us,” he begged.  “Then sprain your ankle or get tired, I don’t care which.  Tell us to go on and come back for you later.  Do you see?  You can sit down by the road somewhere.”

“I won’t lie,” I said firmly.  “If I really get tired I’ll say so.  If I don’t—­”

“You will.”  He was gleeful.  “We’ll walk until you do!  You see it’s like this, Miss Lizzie.  Bettina was all for me, in spite of our differing on religion and politics and—­”

“I know all about your differences,” I put in hastily.

“Until a new chap came to town—­a fellow named Ellis.  Runs a sporty car and has every girl in the town lashed to the mast.  He’s a novelty and I’m not.  So far I have kept him away from Bettina, but at any time they may meet, and it will be one-two-three with me.”

I am not defending my conduct; I am only explaining.  Eliza Bailey herself would have done what I did under the circumstances.  I went for a walk with Bettina and Jasper shortly after my talk with Jasper, leaving Tish with the evening paper and Aggie inhaling a cubeb cigarette, her hay fever having threatened a return.  And what is more, I tired within three blocks of the house, where I saw a grassy bank beside the road.