The Girl Next Door (Crimson Romance) (12 page)

“Why not say what everybody else in town will be saying — that it’s no more than should have been expected; that I was a fool to think a girl like Marcia Eldon would tie herself down to a blind man.”

“You know that’s not what people will say. It’s a bitter blow to you, and I’m terribly sorry, but you can face up to it, Peter. It’s another challenge.”

“Sure, I know,” said Peter. “It’s funny, but somehow it’s not as devastating as I’d thought it would be. It’s a blow, of course, but I think I must have been expecting it. I don’t think I ever really believed she’d go through with it. It seemed too much luck for a man in my position.”

The professor was silent, realizing that it was a relief to Peter to talk; to empty from his mind all the thoughts that had gathered there during the last few weeks, sure that Professor Hartley, sharing with him the blight of blindness, would understand.

“I think, too, I dreaded the thought of leaving Centerville, and living in a New York apartment,” Peter went on. “Even if you can’t see, there are many compensations for a blind man in a little town like Centerville that would be missing in New York. And I knew Marcia wouldn’t have much time for me there, because she would be busy with her studies. Somehow, I’m a little annoyed at myself to find that I don’t feel as badly as I might have.”

“I’m sincerely glad for that, Peter.”

“Thanks, sir. I was sure you’d understand,” said Peter, and they sat for a long time in a companionable silence… .

In the Drummond living room, Edith was saying to Betsy, “I hear Marcia’s leaving town — alone.”

“Who said she was leaving?” Betsy asked.

“She
told me. She came to say goodbye,” Edith said.

Edith felt her mistake even as she spoke.

Betsy flung open the screen door of the Cunningham place and looked about her. “Marcia?” she said.

“I’m upstairs, Betsy,” Marcia’s voice called. “Come on up.”

Betsy ran up the stairs. Marcia stood at the door of her bedroom, slim and tall in a dark red housecoat, her hair a little dishevelled.

“Come on in, Betsy,” she said. “I’m packing.”

Betsy stood in the open doorway of the big, square room, and looked about her at the obvious signs of departure. Marcia went on tucking things into her suitcase. Betsy’s heart raced with a consuming anger.

“So you’re walking out on him,” she said.

“I can’t see that it’s any concern of yours,” returned Marcia.

“Anything that concerns Peter concerns me, and you know it! I should have known this was what you’d do. Anything as low and crawling as you are should
look
like a worm!”

Marcia’s eyes flashed. “See here, Betsy, I’m prepared to put up with a lot from you, under the circumstances, knowing your childish fondness for Peter. But this is a matter strictly between Peter and me. We’ve talked things over and he agrees with me.”

“Of course. He would agree with anything you suggest, because he’s mad about you, and you’re completely unscrupulous. I feel responsible for this, because I persuaded Pete to propose to you!”

“You persuaded him?” Marcia laughed. “That’s quite interesting, Betsy. Peter wanted to propose to me. Nobody had to persuade him.”

“He didn’t have any more sense than to fall in love with you! I told him you’d marry him like a shot because you were tired of being broke and he had money.” Betsy was being deliberately insulting.

Marcia stopped packing and stood up. “Look here, Betsy, I’ve managed my affairs for a long time without any interference from you, and I’d prefer to go on doing it.”

“I know you would. But you’re not going to get away with doing this to Pete — making a fool of him. You’re not only cruel. You’re common — and cheap!” Betsy’s voice wavered on the last word, because the tears were so close. It was not in her code to cry in the face of an enemy.

“I think you’ve said enough,” Marcia said hotly. “Peter and I have talked things over, and we’ve agreed that this is the best way to adjust things. It doesn’t concern you in the least.”

“Anything that concerns Pete, concerns me.”

“Oh, stop making a fool of yourself,” snapped Marcia. “Haven’t you any pride? You’ve made yourself a laughingstock in town, by running after Peter. You’ve thrown yourself at him until the poor man is half crazy trying to dodge you. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he became engaged to me just in the forlorn hope that it might get you out of his hair! Peter isn’t in love with you. He’s certainly made it plain enough. Why don’t you let him alone? I think he was relieved at being released from his engagement, now that you’re going to marry Bo — ”

Betsy stared at her in helpless fury, and suddenly Marcia began to laugh. It was then that Betsy’s hand found the heavy cut-glass vase on the table beside her. Before she realized what she was doing, she had thrown it, with all her strength, straight at Marcia’s face.

Marcia saw the heavy missile coming and moved swiftly to dodge it, but her foot slipped on the highly polished floor. The little bedside rug skidded, and she fell forward, striking her temple on the bed post

The crash of the vase, and the sound of Marcia’s body falling came almost simultaneously. Marcia lay quite still, face down, and Betsy stood, for a stunned moment, staring down at her.

Betsy drew a shaking hand over her eyes, and quickly phoned a doctor. Then she turned and crept down the stairs and out of the house.

Some instinct sent her to Professor Hartley. There was no thought in her mind of going home. She must get to the professor and pour out her troubles to him.

She reached the professor’s place with the feeling of having come to a sanctuary. She ran along the drive and to the garden where she knew her old friend would be at this time of the day.

Peter and Professor Hartley, sitting in companionable silence, turned at the sound of her footsteps. The professor was on his feet before she reached him.

“Betsy” he cried. “Betsy, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, Pete!” She swayed a little and clung to the back of the chair from which Pete had risen. “Oh, Pete — Professor — I’ve killed her. And I’m not sorry! I’m glad — ”

“Betsy!”
exclaimed Peter. “What are you trying to say to us?” He put an arm around her and began patting her shoulder. “Betsy, get hold of yourself. Pull yourself together. What do you mean — you’ve killed her?”

“Betsy, sit down,” said the professor after a moment, and poured a glass of water from the thermos bottle on the table. “Drink this, child.”

Betsy’s shaking hands grasped the glass, but it rattled against her teeth as she tried to drink. She looked up at the anxious, sightless faces above her and made a terrific effort to get herself under control.

“I know I shouldn’t. I suppose I should be terribly sorry,” she stammered at last. “But I’m not. It was high time somebody did it. She wasn’t fit to live — because of what she did to you, Pete!”

Peter knelt beside her chair and took her trembling hands in his. “Listen, kid,” he said, “you’re talking crazy. Now draw a deep breath, count ten, and start all over again. You never killed anybody — or anything — in your life.”

“Yes, I did, Pete. Maybe I didn’t really mean to. But she was saying such awful things, and there was a heavy glass bowl of flowers on the table. It weighed a ton, just about — and before I knew what I was doing, I threw it at her!”

“Good Lord!” said Peter, under his breath.

“The bowl didn’t hit her,” Betsy went on miserably. “She sort of ducked. She was standing on one of those little rugs beside the bed, packing her suitcase. The floors are always waxed like glass. She ducked, and her foot slipped. She fell against the foot of the bed.”

She hid her face against Peter’s shoulder. Professor Hartley stood up, with a little murmur, and moved toward the house.

“Here, here, Betsy,” Peter said gently, “stop drowning me! You’re crying all over my nice clean shirt — and you know how easily white shirts get dirty. Snap out of it, youngster. This whole thing is a mistake. You’re imagining things.”

“No, Pete.” She sat up and mopped her eyes with a sodden scrap of a handkerchief. “Marcia told Mom she was leaving for New York. I went over to see. Marcia was getting packed, and — well, I guess I said some pretty hateful things. But they were the truth, Pete. She’s lower than anything that crawls, for walking out on you.”

“Betsy,” said Peter a trifle wryly, “if only I could convince you that I am old enough to manage my own affairs — ”

“You never seem to realize that I’m old enough to manage mine.”

Peter grinned. “Well, this fantastic tale you are telling me, my pet, certainly doesn’t make you seem very grown up, if I may say so.”

“You may say anything to me you like, any time, anywhere, and I’ll love it,” said Betsy. “Because I love you.”

“Betsy, you’re forgetting something.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You were just giving Marcia a nice going-over for breaking her engagement to me because it suited her convenience. Aren’t you forgetting that you are engaged to Bo?” Peter pointed out.

“Oh, but that’s
different.”

“Why is it? Just because I’m blind?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Peter said, “Don’t you see, Betsy! I don’t want any special favors just because I’m blind. If Marcia wanted to break her engagement to me, I am grateful that she did it exactly as she would have done it if I’d had two good eyes. Nothing could be more gruelling to any man than to know that a woman married him out of pity. If a woman really loves a man, the fact that he is handicapped isn’t too important. But to marry him just because she is sorry for him — Betsy that’s the unforgivable thing. Marcia was completely honest with me, and I’m grateful to her.”

“But if you were in love with her — ”

“That’s just the point,” said Peter quietly. “If I had been in love with Marcia, my heart would be — well, maybe not broken, but at least permanently damaged. I acknowledged a little while ago that my first feeling was one of relief. I think I was just grateful to her because she treated me exactly as she treated the other fellows. I guess I let myself be fooled into thinking it was love. The first time I kissed her and held her in my arms, there was a queer, let-down feeling. And I dreaded the thought of leaving Centerville, of living in a New York apartment, among strangers, who would inevitably be Marcia’s friends, not mine. Finally I had the uneasy suspicion that I had deluded myself, but I couldn’t see any way out. Now do you begin to see why I wasn’t upset when Marcia broke the engagement?”

“And I
killed
her, because I thought she’d hurt you terribly! And I was glad.”

“Betsy, you lawless little idiot!” said Peter helplessly.

Professor Hartley was coming back from the house, moving surely, swiftly, his face alight.

“It’s all right, Betsy. She’s not seriously injured,” he said. “She has a bad bruise on her temple, and she was knocked out for a few minutes. But the doctor has just left, and he said she would be able to travel by tomorrow, at the latest.”

“Thank heaven!” said Peter.

Betsy stared at Professor Hartley, afraid to believe. “But — ” she stammered.

“I talked to your mother,” said the professor. “I called Marcia’s and your mother came to the telephone. I told her you were here and that you were worried about Mrs. Eldon. She sounded quite upset, but she told me that the doctor is sure Mrs. Eldon is going to be all right.”

Betsy drew a deep, hard breath. “I guess I was mistaken. I didn’t think I minded injuring her — even killing her. But now — oh, I’m so ashamed of myself!”

“I should think you would be,” announced Peter. “Betsy, I had no idea you were so explosive.”

“Neither did I,” admitted Betsy humbly. “I didn’t intend to throw things. I just, well, she was grinning and making fun of me, saying I was making a fool of myself — and of you. Then, suddenly, the vase was sailing through the air.”

Peter made no comment, and presently Professor Hartley said, “I think we’d all relish something cold to drink. Sit still, Betsy. I can get it.”

After he had gone back to the house, Betsy and Peter sat for a moment in a silence that neither seemed to know how to break. At last Betsy spoke, saying in her usual forthright fashion, “Peter,
have
I embarrassed you by letting people know I love you?”

“Don’t be a little chump, Betsy. How could any man be embarrassed by such a thing? Any man would be proud to know you thought you cared for him,” said Peter.

“Will you please stop saying ‘thought’! I don’t
think
anything about it I
know!”

“And what about Bo?” Peter asked.

Color burned in her face but she still looked straight at him. “I’m sorry about Bo. Only I wasn’t ever in love with him.”

“Yet you wanted to hurt Marcia for being engaged to me without being in love with me.”

She hesitated. Then: “I know. I called Marcia a worm. I’m even lower,” she admitted. “I lost my head, I guess, when you told me you were in love with Marcia. I rushed off in all directions — and there was Bo. He thought I was pretty wonderful. I guess that soothed my hurt pride. But maybe I really haven’t got much pride, or I’d stop hounding you, wouldn’t I?”

“You’re not hounding me, Betsy. It’s only that — well, during the years when you and I would normally have been falling in love with each other, I was halfway around the world, and you were here. Your love for me grew out of your memories of me. Since I’ve been home, you’ve been all steamed up over my being blind, and your burning desire to make it up to me. You see, Betsy, how well I understand you.”

And Betsy, listening to him, knew that she could do nothing, knew that she could not make him change his mind. He would never understand that her love did not spring from pity, or mere hero worship. There was nothing she could do about it.

“I’d better go. Tell Professor Hartley I’ll see him again soon.”

Brushing Peter’s restraining hand aside, she went running across the lawn and down the drive. She was walking slowly along the street toward home when a car slid to the curb, and she looked up to see Edith behind the wheel. Edith was obviously angry, but her voice was quite steady as she said, “Get in, Betsy.”