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Page 53

"You'll make bad very much worse," said Harmony dejectedly. "When
a thing has to be explained it does no good to explain it."

The salon was growing dark. Peter was very close to her again. As
in the dusky kitchen only a few days before, he felt the
compelling influence of her nearness. He wanted, as he had never
wanted anything in his life before, to take her in his arms, to
hold her close and bid defiance to evil tongues. He was afraid of
himself. To gain a moment he put a chair between them and stood,
strong hands gripping its back, looking down at her.

"There is one thing we could do."

"What, Peter?"

"We could marry. If you cared for me even a little it--it might
not be so bad for you."

"But I am not in love with you. I care for you, of course,
but--not that way, Peter. And I do not wish to marry."

"Not even if I wish it very much?"

"No."

"If you are thinking of my future--"

"I'm thinking for both of us. And although just now you think you
care a little for me, you do not care enough, Peter. You are
lonely and I am the only person you see much, so you think you
want to marry me. You don't really. You want to help me."

Few motives are unmixed. Poor Peter, thus accused, could not deny
his altruism.

And in the face of his poverty and the little he could offer,
compared with what she must lose, he did not urge what was the
compelling motive after all, his need of her.

"It would be a rotten match for you," he agreed. "I only thought,
perhaps--You are right, of course; you ought not to marry."

"And what about you?"

"I ought not, of course."

Harmony rose, smiling a little.

"Then that's settled. And for goodness' sake, Peter, stop
proposing to me every time things go wrong." Her voice changed,
grew grave and older, much older than Peter's. "We must not
marry, either of us, Peter. Anna is right. There might be an
excuse if we were very much in love: but we are not. And
loneliness is not a reason."

"I am very lonely," said Peter wistfully.

CHAPTER XIII

Peter took the polished horns to the hospital the next morning
and approached Jimmy with his hands behind him and an atmosphere
of mystery that enshrouded him like a cloak. Jimmy, having had a
good night and having taken the morning's medicine without
argument, had been allowed up in a roller chair. It struck Peter
with a pang that the boy looked more frail day by day, more
transparent.

"I have brought you," said Peter gravely, "the cod-liver oil."

"I've had it!"

"Then guess."

"Dad's letter?"

"You've just had one. Don't be a piggy."

"Animal, vegetable, or mineral?"

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Tue 23rd Dec 2025, 21:13

The Street of Seven Stars by Mary Roberts Rinehart