A Mountain Woman Part 13

"Not a bit better than girls," said Kate, stoutly.

"I like boys," responded Roeder, with conviction. "My mother liked boys.

She had three girls, but she liked me a d.a.m.ned sight the best."

Kate laughed outright.

"Why do you swear?" she said. "I never heard a man swear before,--at least, not one with whom I was talking. That's one of your gulch habits.

You must get over it."

Roeder's blond face turned scarlet.

"You must excuse me," he pleaded. "I'll cure myself of it! Jest give me a chance."

This was a little more personal than Kate approved of, and she raised her parasol to conceal her annoyance. It was a brilliant little fluff of a thing which looked as if it were made of b.u.t.terflies' wings. Roeder touched it with awe.

"You have sech beautiful things," he said. "I didn't know women wore sech nice things. Now that dress--it's like--I don't know what it's like." It was a simple little taffeta, with warp and woof of azure and of cream, and gay knots of ribbon about it.

"We have the advantage of men," she said. "I often think one of the greatest drawbacks to being a man would be the sombre clothes. I like to wear the prettiest things that can be found."

"Lace?" queried Roeder. "Do you like lace?"

"I should say so! Did you ever see a woman who didn't?"

"Hu--um! These women I've known don't know lace,--these wives of th' men out here. They're th' only kind I've seen this long time."

"Oh, of course, but I mean--"

"I know what you mean. My mother has a chest full of linen an' lace. She showed it t' me th' day I left. 'Peter,' she said, 'some day you bring a wife home with you, an' I'll give you that lace an' that linen.' An' I'm goin' t' do it, too," he said quietly.

"I hope so," said Kate, with her eyes moist. "I hope you will, and that your mother will be very happy."

There was a hop at the hotel that night, and it was almost a matter of courtesy for Kate to go. Ladies were in demand, for there were not very many of them at the hotel. Every one was expected to do his best to make it a success; and Kate, not at all averse to a waltz or two, dressed herself for the occasion with her habitual striving after artistic effect. She was one of those women who make a picture of themselves as naturally as a bird sings. She had an opal necklace which Jack had given her because, he said, she had as many moods as an opal had colors; and she wore this with a crepe gown, the tint of the green lights in her necklace. A box of flowers came for her as she was dressing; they were Puritan roses, and Peter Roeder's card was in the midst of them. She was used to having flowers given her. It would have seemed remarkable if some one had not sent her a bouquet when she was going to a ball.

"I shall dance but twice," she said to those who sought her for a partner. "Neither more nor less."

"Ain't you goin' t' dance with me at all?" Roeder managed to say to her in the midst of her laughing altercation with the gentlemen.

"Dance with you!" cried Kate. "How do men learn to dance when they are up a gulch?"

"I ken dance," he said stubbornly. He was mortified at her chaffing.

"Then you may have the second waltz," she said, in quick contrition.

"Now you other gentlemen have been dancing any number of times these last fifteen years. But Mr. Roeder is just back from a hard campaign,--a campaign against fate. My second waltz is his. And I shall dance my best."

It happened to be just the right sort of speech. The women tried good-naturedly to make Roeder's evening a pleasant one. They were filled with compa.s.sion for a man who had not enjoyed the society of their s.e.x for fifteen years. They found much amus.e.m.e.nt in leading him through the square dances, the forms of which were utterly unknown to him. But he waltzed with a sort of serious alertness that was not so bad as it might have been.

Kate danced well. Her slight body seemed as full of the spirit of the waltz as a thrush's body is of song. Peter Roeder moved along with her in a maze, only half-answering her questions, his gray eyes full of mystery.

Once they stopped for a moment, and he looked down at her, as with flushed face she stood smiling and waving her gossamer fan, each motion stirring the frail leaves of the roses he had sent her.

"It's cur'ous," he said softly, "but I keep thinkin' about that black gulch."

"Forget it," she said. "Why do you think of a gulch when--" She stopped with a sudden recollection that he was not used to persiflage. But he antic.i.p.ated what she was about to say.

"Why think of the gulch when you are here?" he said. "Why, because it is only th' gulch that seems real. All this,--these pleasant, polite people, this beautiful room, th' flowers everywhere, and you, and me as I am, seem as if I was dreamin'. Thar ain't anything in it all that is like what I thought it would be."

"Not as you thought it would be?"

"No. Different. I thought it would be--well, I thought th' people would not be quite so high-toned. I hope you don't mind that word."

"Not in the least," she said. "It's a musical term. It applies very well to people."

They took up the dance again and waltzed breathlessly till the close.

Kate was tired; the exertion had been a little more than she had bargained for. She sat very still on the veranda under the white glare of an electric ball, and let Roeder do the talking. Her thoughts, in spite of the entertainment she was deriving from her present experiences, would go back to the babies. She saw them tucked well in bed, each in a little iron crib, with the muslin curtains s.h.i.+elding their rosy faces from the light. She wondered if Jack were reading alone in the library or was at the club, or perhaps at the summer concert, with the swell of the violins in his ears. Jack did so love music.

As she thought how delicate his perceptions were, how he responded to everything most subtle in nature and in art, of how life itself was a fine art with him, and joy a thing to be cultivated, she turned with a sense of deep compa.s.sion to the simple man by her side. His rough face looked a little more unattractive than usual. His evening clothes were almost grotesque. His face wore a look of solitude, of hunger.

"What were you saying?" she said, dreamily. "I beg your pardon."

"I was sayin' how I used t' dream of sittin' on the steps of a hotel like this, and not havin' a thing t' do. When I used t' come down here out of the gulch, and see men who had had good dinners, an' good baths, sittin' around smokin', with money t' go over there t' th' bookstan' an'

get anythin' they'd want, it used t' seem t' me about all a single man could wish fur."

"Well, you've got it all now."

"But I didn't any of th' time suppose that would satisfy a man long.

Only I was so darned tired I couldn't help wantin' t' rest. But I'm not so selfish ur s' narrow as to be satisfied with THAT. No, I'm not goin'

t' spend m' pile that way--quite!"

He laughed out loud, and then sat in silence watching Kate as she lay back wearily in her chair.

"I've got t' have that there garden," he said, laughingly. "Got t' get them roses. An' I'll have a big bath-house,--plenty of springs in this country. You ken have a bath here that won't freeze summer NOR winter.

An' a baby! I've got t' have a baby. He'll go with th' roses an' th'

bath." He laughed again heartily.

"It's a queer joke, isn't it?" Roeder asked. "Talkin' about my baby, an'

I haven't even a wife." His face flushed and he turned his eyes away.

"Have I shown you the pictures of my babies?" Kate inquired. "You'd like my boy, I know. And my girl is just like me,--in miniature."

There was a silence. She looked up after a moment. Roeder appeared to be examining the monogram on his ring as if he had never seen it before.

"I didn't understand that you were married," he said gently.

"Didn't you? I don't think you ever called me by any name at all, or I should have noticed your mistake and set you right. Yes, I'm married. I came out here to get strong for the babies."

"Got a boy an' a girl, eh?"