Won’t that do this time?”
Then noting Clyde, and as though for the first time, although he had risen as they entered and was still standing, she paused in semi-mock modesty as did the others.
And Clyde, oversensitive to just such airs and material distinctions, was fairly tremulous with a sense of his own inadequacy, as he waited to be introduced.
For to him, youth and beauty in such a station as this represented the ultimate triumph of the female.
His weakness for Hortense Briggs, to say nothing of Rita, who was not so attractive as either of these, illustrated the effect of trim femininity on him, regardless of merit.
“Bella,” observed Samuel Griffiths, heavily, noting Clyde still standing, “your cousin, Clyde.”
“Oh, yes,” replied Bella, observing that Clyde looked exceedingly like Gilbert.
“How are you?
Mother has been saying that you were coming to call one of these days.”
She extended a finger or two, then turned toward her friends. “My friends, Miss Finchley and Miss Cranston, Mr. Griffiths.”
The two girls bowed, each in the most stiff and formal manner, at the same time studying Clyde most carefully and rather directly,
“Well, he does look like Gil a lot, doesn’t he?” whispered Sondra to Bertine, who had drawn near to her.
And Bertine replied:
“I never saw anything like it.
He’s really better-looking, isn’t he — a lot?”
Sondra nodded, pleased to note in the first instance that he was somewhat better-looking than Bella’s brother, whom she did not like — next that he was obviously stricken with her, which was her due, as she invariably decided in connection with youths thus smitten with her.
But having thus decided, and seeing that his glance was persistently and helplessly drawn to her, she concluded that she need pay no more attention to him, for the present anyway.
He was too easy.
But now Mrs. Griffiths, who had not anticipated this visitation and was a little irritated with Bella for introducing her friends at this time since it at once raised the question of Clyde’s social position here, observed:
“Hadn’t you two better lay off your coats and sit down?
I’ll just have Nadine lay extra plates at this end.
Bella, you can sit next to your father.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” and
“No, indeed, we’re just on our way home ourselves. I can’t stay a minute,” came from Sondra and Bertine.
But now that they were here and Clyde had proved to be as attractive as he was, they were perversely interested to see what, if any, social flair there was to him.
Gilbert Griffiths, as both knew, was far from being popular in some quarters — their own in particular, however much they might like Bella. He was, for two such self-centered beauties as these, too aggressive, self-willed and contemptuous at times.
Whereas Clyde, if one were to judge by his looks, at least was much more malleable.
And if it were to prove now that he was of equal station, or that the Griffiths thought so, decidedly he would be available locally, would he not?
At any rate, it would be interesting to know whether he was rich.
But this thought was almost instantly satisfied by Mrs. Griffiths, who observed rather definitely and intentionally to Bertine:
“Mr. Griffiths is a nephew of ours from the West who has come on to see if he can make a place for himself in my husband’s factory.
He’s a young man who has to make his own way in the world and my husband has been kind enough to give him an opportunity.”
Clyde flushed, since obviously this was a notice to him that his social position here was decidedly below that of the Griffiths or these girls.
At the same time, as he also noticed, the look of Bertine Cranston, who was only interested in youths of means and position, changed from one of curiosity to marked indifference.
On the other hand, Sondra Finchley, by no means so practical as her friend, though of a superior station in her set, since she was so very attractive and her parents possessed of even more means — re- surveyed Clyde with one thought written rather plainly on her face, that it was too bad.
He really was so attractive.
At the same time Samuel Griffiths, having a peculiar fondness for Sondra, if not Bertine, whom Mrs. Griffiths also disliked as being too tricky and sly, was calling to her:
“Here, Sondra, tie up your dog to one of the dining-room chairs and come and sit by me. Throw your coat over that chair. Here’s room for you.”
He motioned to her to come.
“But I can’t, Uncle Samuel!” called Sondra, familiarly and showily and yet somehow sweetly, seeking to ingratiate herself by this affected relationship.
“We’re late now. Besides Bissell won’t behave.
Bertine and I are just on our way home, truly.”
“Oh, yes, Papa,” put in Bella, quickly, “Bertine’s horse ran a nail in his foot yesterday and is going lame to-day.
And neither Grant nor his father is home.
She wants to know if you know anything that’s good for it.”
“Which foot is it?” inquired Griffiths, interested, while Clyde continued to survey Sondra as best he might.
She was so delicious, he thought — her nose so tiny and tilted — her upper lip arched so roguishly upward toward her nose.
“It’s the left fore.
I was riding out on the East Kingston road yesterday afternoon.
Jerry threw a shoe and must have picked up a splinter, but John doesn’t seem to be able to find it.”