Page:That Royle Girl (Balmer).pdf/170

 followed the pattern of his fathers and never come to Illinois. He did not think of himself as having sought for a wife among the flip and cynical or over-sophisticated girls of the Chicago social sets into which he had been introduced; he realized, merely, that none of his partners of the dance clubs had interested him. For none had he stirred with longing, with impatience for the time of meeting again, as he had been roused to-night by that Royle girl.

Not by her, herself, Calvin argued; for she was of the very people he despised, of no blood and no tradition, a vagabond daughter of a dope drinker and a drunkard who lived by fraud. Herself, she had been—Calvin was sure—a consort of Ketlar; and if she had not actually planned the murder of Ketlar's wife, certainly she schemed with Ketlar to save him from punishment. So Calvin denied he wanted her, herself; he would have her qualities in another, her blue, even eyes and her white brow with the lovely shaping behind it; her small, strong hands he would have and her slim, white heels; he would have her quickness and alertness, her spirit, her head up to fight; and he would have her dream which made her imagine that, with a three dollar and fifty cent book, she could transform a jazz band leader in jail and make him a Mozart.

For Calvin had ceased to credit that dream to Elmen. No; it was her own; she could not have feigned what Calvin had seen. It was part of her, though in another part she had been Ketlar's lover and planned the murder with him.

Calvin drew down the blind, shutting away the city; but when he switched on his light, he picked up the paper upon which the Royle girl had written.