I stood on the post-office steps looking after Beverly Rodgers as he crossed Court Street. His admirably good clothes, the easy finish of his whole appearance, even his walk, and his back, and the slope of his shoulders, were unmistakable. The Southern men, going to their business in Court Street, looked at him. Alas, in his outward man he was as a rose among weeds! And certainly, no well-born American could unite with an art more hedonistic than Beverly’s the old school and the nouveau jeu!
Over at the other corner he turned and stood admiring the church and gazing at the other buildings, and so perceived me still on the steps. With a gesture of remembering something he crossed back again.
“Why, of course I haven’t!” I exclaimed. Was everybody going to ask me that?
“Well, something’s up, old boy. Charley has got the launch away with him--and I’ll bet he’s got her away with him, too. Charley lied this morning.”
“Why, it rather is, you know. But I’ve come to be able to spot him when he does it. Those little bulgy eyes of his look at you particularly straight and childlike. He said he had to hunt up a man on business--V-C Chemical Company, he called it--”
“Oh, Charley’d never make up a thing, and get found out in that way! But he was lying all the same, old man.”
“Do you mean they’ve run off and got married?”
“What do you take them for? Much more like them to run off and not get married. But they haven’t done that either. And, speaking of that, I believe I’ve gone a bit adrift. Your fire-eater, you know--she is an extraordinary woman!” And Beverly gave his mellow, little humorous chuckle. “Hanged if I don’t begin to think she does fancy him.”
“Well!” I cried, “that would explain--no, it wouldn’t. Whence comes your theory?”
“Saw her look at him at dinner once last night. We dined with some people--Cornerly. She looked at him just once. Well, if she intends--by gad, it upsets one’s whole notion of her!”
“Isn’t just one look rather slight basis for--”
“Now, old man, you know better than that!” Beverly paused to chuckle. “My grandmother Livingston,” he resumed, “knew Aaron Burr, and she used to say that he had an eye which no honest woman could meet without a blush. I don’t know whether your fire-eater is a Launcelot, or a Galahad, but that girl’s eye at dinner--”