He laughed at this and attempted to explain.She seemed to resent the attempt or the tone.
"I do wish," she said almost pettishly, "that you wouldn't be so superior."He was surprised."Superior!" he repeated."Superior! I?
Superiority is the very least of my feelings.I--superior! That's a joke."And, oddly enough, she resented that even more."Why is it a joke?" she demanded."I should think you had the right to feel superior to almost any one.A hero--and a genius! You AREsuperior."
However, the little flurry was but momentary, and she was all sweetness and smiles when she kissed him good night.He was shown to his room by a servant and amid its array of comforts--to him, fresh from France and the camp and his old room at South Harniss, it was luxuriously magnificent--he sat for some time thinking.His thoughts should have been happy ones, yet they were not entirely so.This is a curiously unsatisfactory world, sometimes.
The next day he went shopping.Fosdick had given him a card to his own tailor and Madeline had given him the names of several shops where, so she declared, he could buy the right sort of ties and things.From the tailor's Albert emerged looking a trifle dazed;after a visit to two of the shops the dazed expression was even more pronounced.His next visits were at establishments farther downtown and not as exclusive.He returned to the Fosdick home feeling fairly well satisfied with the results achieved.Madeline, however, did not share his satisfaction.
"But Dad sent you to his tailor," she said."Why in the world didn't you order your evening clothes there? And Brett has the most stunning ties.Every one says so.Instead you buy yours at a department store.Now why?"He smiled."My dear girl," he said, "your father's tailor estimated that he might make me a very passable dress suit for one hundred and seventy-five dollars.Brett's ties were stunning, just as you say, but the prices ranged from five to eight dollars, which was more stunning still.For a young person from the country out of a job, which is my condition at present, such things may be looked at but not handled.I can't afford them."She tossed her head."What nonsense!" she exclaimed."You're not out of a job, as you call it.You are a writer and a famous writer.You have written one book and you are going to write more.
Besides, you must have made heaps of money from The Lances.Every one has been reading it."When he told her the amount of his royalty check she expressed the opinion that the publisher must have cheated.It ought to have been ever and ever so much more than that.Such wonderful poems!
The next day she went to Brett's and purchased a half dozen of the most expensive ties, which she presented to him forthwith.
"There!" she demanded."Aren't those nicer than the ones you bought at that old department store? Well, then!""But, Madeline, I must not let you buy my ties.""Why not? It isn't such an unheard-of thing for an engaged girl to give her fiance a necktie.""That isn't the idea.I should have bought ties like those myself, but I couldn't afford them.Now for you to--""Nonsense! You talk as if you were a beggar.Don't be so silly.""But, Madeline--"
"Stop! I don't want to hear it."
She rose and went out of the room.She looked as if she were on the verge of tears.He felt obliged to accept the gift, but he disliked the principle of the things as much as ever.When she returned she was very talkative and gay and chatted all through luncheon.The subject of the ties was not mentioned again by either of them.He was glad he had not told her that his new dress suit was ready-made.
While in France, awaiting his return home, he had purchased a ring and sent it to her.She was wearing it, of course.Compared with other articles of jewelry which she wore from time to time, his ring made an extremely modest showing.She seemed quite unaware of the discrepancy, but he was aware of it.
On an evening later in the week Mrs.Fosdick gave a reception.
"Quite an informal affair," she said, in announcing her intention.
"Just a few intimate friends to meet Mr.Speranza, that is all.
Mostly lovers of literature--discerning people, if I may say so."The quite informal affair looked quite formidably formal to Albert.
The few intimate friends were many, so it seemed to him.There was still enough of the former Albert Speranza left in his make-up to prevent his appearing in the least distressed or ill at ease.He was, as he had always been when in the public eye, even as far back as the school dancing-classes with the Misses Bradshaw's young ladies, perfectly self-possessed, charmingly polite, absolutely self-assured.And his good looks had not suffered during his years of imprisonment and suffering.He was no longer a handsome boy, but he was an extraordinarily attractive and distinguished man.
Mrs.Fosdick marked his manner and appearance and breathed a sigh of satisfaction.Madeline noted them.Her young friends of the sex noted them and whispered and looked approval.What the young men thought does not matter so much, perhaps.One of these was the Captain Blanchard, of whom Madeline had written and spoken.He was a tall, athletic chap, who looked well in his uniform, and whose face was that of a healthy, clean-living and clean-thinking young American.He and Albert shook hands and looked each other over.
