Page:The Star in the Window.pdf/253

Rh why do you bring us salt? And don't you see we're out of ice? Send the head-waiter over here. This service is abominable!"

Later—some time after the arrival of the siphon, upon the nickel top of which, to steady herself, Reba riveted her gaze—Chadwick Booth's mood changed again. Suddenly he reached across the white cloth, and laid his hand, palm upward, before Reba, and when he spoke his voice was full of gentleness and remorse.

"Oh, Becky, please forgive my nasty temper. Please. Don't punish me any more. Don't let's throw away the whole evening. I ought not to be annoyed with you at all. It was only, dear Becky, that I begrudged wasting a single one of our precious minutes together, on things and people outside our friendship. They seemed so very far outside to-night, Becky. Our friendship has grown to mean a lot to me, and it isn't going to grow to mean less, just because summer is over. We're going to have some rare hours together, this fall and winter, somehow. And, Becky, please listen—I'm fonder of you than I could ever possibly be if our hours together were interrupted with domestic trivialities. And there's nothing wrong nor forbidden in our innocent playing together either. Don't get that notion into your little head. Everything is all right. Everything is going to be all right, too. O come, please be generous. Please come and dance."

He shoved his outstretched hand a bit nearer to her, as if to urge her to put hers into it, and give him permission to lead her to the floor.

Reba gazed at it, as if it belonged to a stranger.

"No, thanks. No. I don't believe I'll dance just now."