Chapter V

Two days later, Embury walked up Elm Street with Mamie again. He had looked for her the day before, and had been disappointed when he did not see her. Hadn’t she said she walked there every day?

“I didn’t see you yesterday,” he said with a smile, as he joined her.

Mamie explained—not the real fact, that she had taken her old route home so as not to appear too eager for his acquaintance—but that she had gone a shorter way so that she could hurry home to cook dinner—her mother wasn’t well.

“Poor little girl,” thought Embury, “working all day and then cooking dinner at night, too.”

“I missed you,” he said.

Mamie blushed again. She was rather good at it. Many people are.

“Are you going to stay here in Millersville?” Mamie asked.

No use getting excited, working hard over him, if he wasn’t. Embury was the first real opportunity she had had—if she could only get him before the others poisoned his mind against her or before the Reddings made his escape impossible—if he were going to leave Millersville, there wouldn’t be any use bothering about him.

Embury told her that he was to stay in town, and she showed pleasure and blushed again. She asked him about his work and his plans.

To his surprise, Embury found himself telling her about himself. Here was a girl, intelligent, interesting. The other girls didn’t know anything about business. But, of course, thrown on her own resources as she had been, she’d learned to take a real interest in the business world.

They walked together until a block before the street down which Embury usually turned.

“I go this way,” said Mamie.

She could have continued on Elm Street, but she thought it best to be the first to break their walk together.

“Wait a minute; don’t go away so quickly,” said Embury.

He felt as if he were on a delightful adventure.

Quietly, Mamie waited.

“When am I going to see you again?” he asked.

She started to say something, blushed then; “Why, I don’t know—I mean, any evening, walking home this way. I’m at the Busy Bee all day, you know.”

“At night. Can’t I call? Can’t you go for a drive?”

Mamie knew how her home would look to Embury, the porch with its sagging floor, the living-room with its clutter of ugly chairs, her parents quarrelling, more than likely. She couldn’t receive him at home. It didn’t seem fair—she had to fight against so many odds—and Sophie Redding had the whole Redding home, with its great porches, its big living rooms for entertaining. How she hated Sophie Redding with her giggles, her light stringy hair. Still, if she were smart enough—there might be ways....

“I’m afraid I can’t let you call at all,” she said, modestly. “You see, I’m not one of the society girls. It—it wouldn’t look right, I’m afraid. You know how—how careful a girl has got to be.”

What a dear little thing she was! Modest and shy and good. Each second Embury felt himself more and more a man of the world. This little thing, so fragile and dainty—and awfully pretty. Of course she was right. People would talk—and yet....

He didn’t know that Millersville would not talk about Mamie, no matter how many men called on her, that they had talked when she was a little girl and dismissed her, carelessly, as “Joe Carpenter’s daughter, a bad egg.” Mamie knew. It didn’t make her feel any happier. Still, this was no time to worry about it.

“Couldn’t we go for a ride some evening?” he asked. “No one would see us, honestly they wouldn’t.”

“I really couldn’t. Really. You know how it is. I’d love to—but—it wouldn’t be right. I can’t go.”

She appeared to want to yield to him. She knew how society in Millersville regarded girls who went automobiling with young men, alone. Embury would find out, if he didn’t know already, and his opinions would be moulded by the others.

“You’re the funniest girl I ever saw,” he smiled at her.

She was just small enough so that he looked down into her face when he stood close to her. Embury liked little girls. He was glad Mamie was small.

“Other girls would go with me, honestly they would.”

“You’d better take them, then,” she pouted, prettily.

“I don’t mean that. I don’t want to sound conceited. Only I would like to take you, honestly I would. I know a little road house, ‘Under Two Flags,’ where they make awfully good things to eat, French cooking. We could ride out there some night, if you’ll go.”

Mamie knew the road house. She used to think it great fun. She had slapped the faces of six commercial travellers driving home from it and finally had given it up as a dangerous place. It was, nevertheless, a fairly decent resort, with only a slightly sporty reputation, but, after all, the ride there and the supper weren’t worth the trouble of keeping her escort in his place all the way back. Why did men expect such big rewards for a ride and a bite to eat?

Mamie smiled wistfully.

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “I wish you wouldn’t—tempt me so. You see, I never go driving—I—I don’t have many good times.”

Embury’s conscience hurt him. She was such a dear. Of course she shouldn’t go. He felt more wicked than ever.

“But look here,” he said, “can’t I see you at all?”

Mamie was thoughtful.

“I don’t know,” she said; then, “next Friday I have a holiday—I work every second Sunday, the Busy Bee is open on Sundays too.”

Embury was supposed to be at the office every day but he knew he was not indispensable.

“Fine,” he told her, “that’s awfully good. Can we go in my car and make a picnic of it?”

Mamie thought that would be a lot of fun. They made plans for the meeting. That was Wednesday. On Thursday, Mamie avoided Elm Street.