The Business of Life

She bent her head and sat playing with the petals of the white carnation drooping on her breast.

"No," she said calmly. "You don't annoy me."

"Would it seriously annoy you if I did make love to you some day?" he asked, lightly.

Instinct was whispering hurriedly to her: "Here it is at last. Do something about it, and do it quick!" She waited until her heart beat more regularly, then:

"You couldn't annoy – make love – to a girl you really don't care for. That is very simple, isn't it?"

"Suppose I did care for you."

She looked up at him with troubled eyes, then lowered them to the blossom from which her fingers were detaching petal after petal.

"If you did really care, you wouldn't tell me, Mr. Desboro."

"Why not?"

"Because it would not be fair to me." A flush of anger – or she thought it was, brightened her cheeks. "This is nonsense," she said abruptly. "And I'll tell you another thing; I can't come here again. You know I can't. We talk foolishness – don't you know it? And there's another reason, anyway."

"What reason?"

"The real reason," she said, clenching both hands. "You know what it is and so do I – and – and I'm tired of pretending that the truth isn't true."

"What is the truth?"

She had turned her back on him and was staring out of the windows into the mist.

"The truth is," she answered deliberately, "that you and I can not be friends."

"Why?"

"Because we can't be! Because – men are always men. There isn't any way for men and women to be friends. Forgive me for saying it. But it is quite true. A business woman in your employment – can't forget that a real friendship with you is impossible. That is why, from the very beginning, I wanted it to be purely a matter of business between us. I didn't really wish to skate with you, or do anything of that kind with you. I'd rather not lunch with you; I – I had rather you drew the line – and let me draw it clearly, cleanly, and without mistake – as I draw it between myself and my employees. If you wish, I can continue to come here on that basis until my work is finished. Otherwise, I shall not come again."

Her back was still toward him.

"Very well," he said, bluntly.

She heard him rise and walk toward the door; sat listening without turning her head, already regretting what she had said. And now she became conscious that her honesty with herself and with him had been a mistake, entailing humiliation for her – the humiliation of letting him understand that she couldn't afford to care for him, and that she did already. She had thought of him first, and of herself last – had conceded a hopeless situation in order that her decision might not hurt his vanity.

It had been a bad mistake. And now he might be thinking that she had tried to force him into an attitude toward herself which she could not expect, or – God knew what he might be thinking.

Dismayed and uncertain, she stood up nervously as he reëntered the room and came toward her, holding out his hand.

"I'm going to town," he said pleasantly. "I won't bother you any more. Remain; come and go as you like without further fear of my annoying you. The servants are properly instructed. They will be at your orders. I'm sorry – I meant to be more agreeable. Good-bye, Miss Nevers."

She laid her hand in his, lifelessly, then withdrew it. Dumb, dreadfully confused, she looked up at him; then, as he turned coolly away, an inarticulate sound of protest escaped her lips. He halted and turned around.

"It isn't fair – what you are doing – Mr. Desboro."

"What else is there to do?"

"Why do you ask me? Why must the burden of decision always rest with me?"

"But my decision is that I had better go. I can't remain here without – annoying you."

"Why can't you remain here as my employer? Why can't we enjoy matter-of-fact business relations? I ask no more than that – I want no more. I am afraid you think I do expect more – that I expect friendship. It is impossible, unsuitable – and I don't even wish for it – "

"I do," he said.

"How can we be friends, from a social standpoint? There is nothing to build on, no foundation – nothing for friendship to subsist on – "

"Could you and I meet anywhere in the world and become less than friends?" he asked. "Tell me honestly. It is impossible, and you and I both know it."

And, as she made no reply: "Friends – more than friends, possibly; never less. And you know it, and so do I," he said under his breath.

She turned sharply toward the window and looked out across the foggy hills.

"If that is what you believe, Mr. Desboro, perhaps you had better go."

"Do you send me?"

"Always the decision seems to lie with me. Why do you not decide for yourself?"

"I will; and for you, too, if you will let me relieve you of the burden."

"I can carry my own burdens."

Her back was still toward him. After a moment she rested her head against the curtained embrasure, as though tired.

He hesitated; there were good impulses in him, but he went over to her, and scarcely meaning to, put one arm lightly around her waist.

She laid her hands over her face, standing so, golden head lowered and her heart so violent that she could scarcely breathe.

"Jacqueline."

A scarcely perceptible movement of her head, in sign that she listened.

"Are we going to let anything frighten us?" He had not meant to say that, either. He was adrift, knew it, and meant to drop anchor in a moment. "Tell me honestly," he added, "don't you want us to be friends?"

She said, her hands still over her face:

"I didn't know how much I wanted it. I don't see, even now, how it can be. Your own friends are different. But I'll try – if you wish it."

"I do wish it. Why do you think my friends are so different from you? Because some happen to be fashionable and wealthy and idle? Besides, a man has many different kinds of friends – "

She thought to herself: "But he never forgets to distinguish between them. And here it is at last – almost. And I – I do care for him! And here I am – like Cynthia – asking myself to pardon him."

She looked up at him out of her hands, a little pale, then down at his arm, resting loosely around her waist.