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Page 80
"George!"
"I'm sorry; but you shouldn't spring these jokes on me so
suddenly. You said enjoying! Yes--reveling in it, aren't we!"
"It's a lovely old place," said Aline defensively.
"And when you've said that you've said everything. You can't live
on scenery and architecture for the rest of your life. There's
the human element to be thought of. And you're beginning--"
"There goes father," interrupted Aline. "How fast he is walking!
George, have you noticed a sort of difference in father these
last few days?"
"I haven't. My specialty is keeping an eye on the rest of the
Peters family."
"He seems better somehow. He seems to have almost stopped
smoking--and I'm very glad, for those cigars were awfully bad for
him. The doctor expressly told him he must stop them, but he
wouldn't pay any attention to him. And he seems to take so much
more exercise. My bedroom is next to his, you know, and every
morning I can hear things going on through the wall--father
dancing about and puffing a good deal. And one morning I met his
valet going in with a pair of Indian clubs. I believe father is
really taking himself in hand at last."
George Emerson exploded.
"And about time, too! How much longer are you to go on starving
yourself to death just to give him the resolution to stick to his
dieting? It maddens me to see you at dinner. And it's killing
you. You're getting pale and thin. You can't go on like this."
A wistful look came over Aline's face.
"I do get a little hungry sometimes--late at night generally."
"You want somebody to take care of you and look after you. I'm
the man. You may think you can fool me; but I can tell. You're
weakening on this Freddie proposition. You're beginning to see
that it won't do. One of these days you're going to come to me
and say: 'George, you were right. I take the count. Me for the
quiet sneak to the station, without anybody knowing, and the
break for London, and the wedding at the registrar's.' Oh, I
know! I couldn't have loved you all this time and not know.
You're weakening."
The trouble with these supermen is that they lack reticence. They
do not know how to omit. They expand their chests and whoop. And
a girl, even the mildest and sweetest of girls--even a girl like
Aline Peters--cannot help resenting the note of triumph. But
supermen despise tact. As far as one can gather, that is the
chief difference between them and the ordinary man.
A little frown appeared on Aline's forehead and she set her mouth
mutinously.
"I'm not weakening at all," she said, and her voice was--for
her--quite acid. "You--you take too much for granted."
George was contemplating the landscape with a conqueror's eye.
"You are beginning to see that it is impossible--this Freddie
foolishness."
"It is not foolishness," said Aline pettishly, tears of annoyance
in her eyes. "And I wish you wouldn't call him Freddie."
"He asked me to. He asked me to!"
Aline stamped her foot.
"Well, never mind. Please don't do it."
"Very well, little girl," said George softly. "I wouldn't do
anything to hurt you."
The fact that it never even occurred to George Emerson he was
being offensively patronizing shows the stern stuff of which
these supermen are made.
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