 Part 2 of Chapter 4 of Little Eve Edgerton. After five minutes by the little travelling clock, she heard him pacing monotonously up and down, up and down, then very softly at last she summoned him back to her. She whispered, I think there's someone knocking at the outside door. What? called Edgerton. Incredulously he came back through his daughter's room and crossing over to the hall door, yanked it open abruptly on the intruder. Why, good afternoon, greened Barton, above the extravagantly large and languorous bunch of pale lavender orchids that he clutched in his hand. Good afternoon, said Edgerton, without enthusiasm. Er, orchids persisted Barton still grinningly. Across the unfriendly hunch of the older man's shoulder he caught a disquieting glimpse of a girl's unduly speculative eyes. In sudden impulsive league with her against this, their apparent common enemy, age, he thrust the orchids into the older man's astonished hands. For me, questioned Edgerton, I say, why yes, certainly, beamed Barton, orchids, you know, hothouse orchids, he explained painstakingly. So I judged, admitted Edgerton. With extreme distaste he began to untie the soft flimsy lavender ribbon that encompassed them. In their native state, you know, he confided, one very seldom finds them growing with sashes on them. From her nest of cushions across the room little Eve Edgerton loomed up suddenly into definite prominence. What did you bring me, Mr. Barton? She asked. Why, Eve, cried her father, why, Eve, you astonish me, why, I am surprised at you, why, what do you mean? The girl sagged back into her cushions. Oh, father, she felt her, don't you know anything? That was just a small talk. With perfunctory courtesy Edgerton returned to young Barton. Pray, be seated, he said, take a chair. It was the chair closest to little Eve Edgerton that Barton took. How do you do, Miss Edgerton? He ventured. How do you do, Mr. Barton? Said little Eve Edgerton. From the splashy washstands somewhere beyond them they heard Edgerton fussing with the orchids and mumbling vague Latin implications or endearments over them. A trifle surreptitiously Barton smiled at Eve. A trifle surreptitiously Eve smiled back at Barton. In this perfectly amiable exchange of smiles the girl reached up suddenly to the sides of her head. Is my, is my bandage on straight, she asked, wordly. Why, no, admitted Barton, it ought not to be, ought it? Again for no special reason whatsoever they both smiled. Oh, I say, stammered Barton, how you can dance? Across the girl's olive cheeks her heavy eyelashes shadowed down like a fringe of black ferns. Yes, how I can dance, she murmured almost inaudibly. Why didn't you let anybody know? demanded Barton. Yes, why didn't I let anybody know? repeated the girl in an utter panic of bashfulness. Oh, I say, whispered Barton, won't you even look at me? Mechanically the girl opened her eyes and stared at him fixedly until his own eyes fell. Eve called her father sharply from the next room. Where in creation is my data concerning North American orchids? In my steamer trunk began the girl on the left-hand side, tucked in between your riding boots and my best hat. Oh, called her father. Barton edged forward in his chair and touched the girl's brown boyish little hand. Really, Miss Eve, he stammered, I'm awfully sorry you got hurt. Truly I am. Truly it made me feel awfully squeamish. Really I've been thinking a lot about you these last few days. Honestly, I have. Never in all my life did I ever carry anyone as little and hurt as you were. It sort of haunts me, I tell you. Isn't there something I could do for you? Something you could do for me, said the leave at Gritton's staring. Then again the heavy lashes came shadowing down across her cheeks. I haven't had any very great luck, she said, in finding you ready to do things for me. What? gasped Barton. The big eyes lifted and fell again. There was the attic. She whispered a bit huskily, you wouldn't rent me your attic. Oh, but I say, Gritton Barton, some real thing, I mean, couldn't I read aloud to you? He articulated quite distinctly as Edgerton came rustling back into the room with his arms full of papers. Read aloud? chipped Edgerton across the top of his spectacles. The daring man in this unexpurgated day and generation who offers to read aloud to a lady. He might read me my geology notes, suggested the leave Edgerton blandly. Your geology notes hooded her father, what's this? Some more of your newfangled small talk? Your geology notes? Still chuckling mirthlessly he strode over to the big table by the window and spreading out his orchid data over every conceivable inch of space, settled himself down serenely to compare one flower of mystery with another. Fertively for a moment Barton sat studying the gaunt graceful figure. Then quite impulsively he turned back to little Eve Edgerton's scowling face. Nevertheless, Miss Eve, he grinned, I should be perfectly delighted to read your geology notes to you. Where are they? There droned the leave Edgerton slapping listlessly at the loose pile of pages beside her. Conscientiously Barton reached out and gathered the flimsy papers into one trim handful. Where shall I begin? He asked. It doesn't matter, murmured the leave Edgerton. What? He said Barton. Nervously he began to fumble through the pages. Is there any beginning? He demanded. No. Moped the leave Edgerton. For any end? He insisted. Nor any middle? No. Side little Eve Edgerton. Helplessly Barton plunged into the unhappy task before him. On page nine there were perhaps the fewest blots. He decided to begin there. Paleontologically the first sentence smote him. Paleontologically the periods are characterized by absence of the large marine Saurians dinosaurs and pterosaurs. Eh? He gasped Barton. Why of course, called Edgerton a bit impatiently from the window. Laboriously Barton went back and re-read the phrase to himself. Oh, oh yes, he conceded lamely. Paleontologically he began all over again. Oh dear no, he interrupted himself. I was farther along than that. Absence of marine Saurians, oh yes, absence of marine Saurians, he resumed glibly. Dinosaurs and pterosaurs so abundant in the, in the cretaceous of Ammonites and Bellamnites. He persisted heroically, hesitatingly, stumblingly, without a glimmer of understanding. His bewildered mind worried on and on. Its entire mental energy concentrated on the single purpose of trying to pronounce the awful words. Of rudists, you know, Cerami, Tri, Trigonias, the horrible paragraph tortured on. By the marked reduction in the Brachyopods, compared with the now richly developed Gastropods and, and Sinupaliate, a lamely branch, it writhed and twisted before his dizzy eyes. Every sentence was a struggle, more than one of the words he was forced to spell aloud to start a sheer self-defense, and always against Eve Edgerton's little intermittent knot of encouragement, was balanced that hateful sniffing sound of surprise and contempt from the orchid table in the window. Despairily he skipped a few lines to the next unfamiliar words that met his eye. The neozoic flora, he read, consists mainly of, of Angio, Angiosperr, still smiling, but distinctly worn around the edges of the smile, he slammed the handful of papers down on his knees. If it really doesn't make any difference where we begin, we see, if he said, for heaven's sake, let's begin somewhere else. Oh, all right, crew and little Eve Edgerton. Expeditiously Barton turned to another page and another. Wryly he tasted strange sentence after strange sentence, then suddenly his whole wonderful face wreathed itself in smiles again. Three superfamilies of turtles, he began joyously. Turtles, ha, I know turtles, he proceeded with real triumph. Why, that's the first word I've recognized in all this, this, er, this what I've been reading. Sure I know turtles, he reiterated with increasing conviction. Why, sure, those, those slow-crawling box-like affairs that live in the mud and are used for soup and, er, combs, he continued blithely. The very same knotted little Eve Edgerton soberly. Oh, Lordy, groaned her father from the window. Oh, this is going to be lots better, beamed Barton, now that I know what it's all about. For goodness' sake, growled Edgerton from his table, how do people think I'm going to do any work with all this jabbering going on? Hesitatingly for a moment Barton glanced back over his shoulder at Edgerton and then turned around again to probe Eve's preferences in the matter. The sluggishly determined it as two black turtles trailing along a white sand beach, her great dark eyes and her little pale face seemed headed suddenly towards some faraway idea. Oh, go right on reading, Mr. Barton, knotted little Eve Edgerton. Three superfamilies of turtles began Barton all over again. Three superfamilies of turtles, the Amphicillidia, the Cryptodera, and the Tri, the Tri, the T-R-I-O-N-Y-C-H-O-I-D-E-A. He spelled that laboriously. With a vicious jerk of his chair, Edgerton snatched up his papers and his orchids and started for the door. When new people get all through this nonsense he announced, maybe you'll be kind enough to let me know, I shall be in the writing room. With satirical courtesy he bowed first to Eve, then to Barton, dallied an instant on the threshold to repeat both bows, and went out, slamming the door behind him. A nervous man, isn't he, suggested Barton. Bravely, the Eve Edgerton considered thought. Trianochiodia. She prompted quite irrelevantly. Oh yes, of course, conceded Barton, but do you mind if I smoke? No, I don't mind if you smoke, sing a song to the girl. With a palpable sigh of relief Barton lied to the cigarette. You're nice, he said, I like you. Conscientiously then he resumed his reading. No, Plurodera have yet been found, he began. Yes, isn't that too bad, sighed little Eve Edgerton. It doesn't matter personally to me, admitted Barton. Hastily he moved on to the next sentence. The Amphicillidae are known there by only the genus Bena, he read, to describe species B, Undada, and B, Arinosa, to which was added B, Herbrica, and B, Ponderosa. Petulantly he slammed the whole handful of papers to the floor. Eve, he stammered, I can't stand it. I tell you, I just can't stand it. Take my attic if you want to, or my cellar, or my garage, or anything else of mine in the world that you have any fancy for, but for heaven's sake, with extraordinarily dilated eyes, Eve Edgerton stared out at him from her white pillows. Why? Why, if it makes you feel like that, just to read it, she reproached him mournfully. How do you suppose it makes me feel to have to write it? All you have to do is to read it, she said, but I, I have to write it. But why do you have to write it? gasped Barton. Languidly her heavy lashes shadow down across her cheeks again. As for the British consulate, Non Canono, she said, it's some notes he asked me to make for him in London this last spring. But for Mercy's sake, do you like to write things like that? insisted Barton. Oh no, draw little Eve Edgerton. But of course, if I marry him, she confided without the slightest flicker of emotion. It's what I'll have to write all the rest of my life. But stammered Barton. For Mercy's sake, do you want to marry him? He asked, quite bluntly. Oh no, draw little Eve Edgerton. Impatiently Barton threw away his half-smoked cigarette and lighted a fresh one. Then why? He demanded. Oh, it's something Father invented, said little Eve Edgerton. Altogether emphatically Barton pushed back his chair. Well, I call it a shame, he said, for a nice life little girl like you to be packed off like so much baggage to marry some great gray-bearded cloud who hasn't got an idea in his head except—except—squintingly he stared down at the scattered sheets on the floor. Except, emphically Dia, he asserted with some feeling. Yes, isn't it? sighed little Eve Edgerton. For Heaven's sake, said Barton, where is Non Canono? Non Canono whispered little Eve Edgerton. Where is it? Why? In an ocean, you know, rather a hot green island, in rather a hot blue-green ocean. Lots of green palms, you know, and rank rough green grass, and green bugs, and green butterflies, and green snakes, and a great crawling, crunching color of white sand and hermit crabs all around it. And then just a long, unbroken line of turquoise colored waves, and then more turquoise colored waves, and then more turquoise colored waves, and then—and then—and then what? worried Barton. With a vaguely astonished lift of the eyebrows, little Eve Edgerton met both question and question her perfectly squarely. Why, then, more turquoise colored waves, of course, chanted little Eve Edgerton. It sounds rotten to me, confided Barton. It is, said little Eve Edgerton, and oh, I forgot to tell you, John Elbertson is sort of green, too. Geologists are up to be, don't you think so? I never saw one admitted Barton without shame. If you'd like me to, said Eve, I'll show you how the turquoise colored waves sound when they strike the hermit crabs. Do, urged Barton. Listlessly the girl pushed back into her pillow, slid down a little farther into her blankets and closed her eyes. Uhm. She began. Hmm. After a while, of course, I think he might stop, suggested Barton a bit creepishly. Again, the big eyes opened at him with distinct surprise. Why? Why? said Eve Edgerton. It never stops. Oh, I say, frowned Barton, I do feel awfully badly about your going off to a place like that to leave. Really, he stammered. We're going Thursday, said Little Eve Edgerton. Thursday, cried Barton. For some inexplainable reason, the whole idea struck him suddenly as offensive, distinctly offensive as if fate, the impatient waiter had snatched away a yet untasted plate. Why, why, Eve, he protested, why, we're only just beginning to get acquainted. Yes, I know it, musely Little Eve Edgerton. Why, if we'd have had half a chance, began Barton, and then didn't know I'd all had to finish it. Why, you're so plucky, and so odd, and so interesting, he began all over again. Oh, of course I'm an awful duffer and all that, but if we'd had half a chance, I say, you and I would have been great pals in another fortnight. Even so, murmured Little Eve Edgerton, there are yet fifty-two hours before I go. What are fifty-two hours, laughed Barton? Listlessly, like a wilting flower, Little Eve Edgerton, slid down a trifle farther into her pillows. If you'd have an early supper, she whispered, and then, come right up here afterward, why, there would be two or three hours, and then tomorrow, if you'd get up quite early, there would be a long, long morning, and we could get acquainted, some, she insisted. Why, Eve, said Barton, do you really mean that you would like to be friends with me? Yes, I do, nodded the crown of the white bandaged head. But I'm so stupid, confided Barton with astonishing humility, all these botany things, and geology, and—yes, I know it—Mumble Little Eve Edgerton. That's what makes you so restful. What? queried Barton a bit sharply, then very absentmindedly for a moment, he sat staring off into space through a great pungent haze of cigarette smoke. Eve, he ventured at last. What? Mumble Little Eve Edgerton. Nothing! said Barton. Mr. Jim Barton? Ventured Eve. What? asked Barton. Nothing! Mumble Little Eve Edgerton. Out of some emotional or purely social densities of life, it seems rather that time strikes the clock than that anything so small as a clock should dare strike the time. One, two, three, four, five wins the poor little frightened traveling clock on the mantelpiece. Then, quite abruptly, Little Eve Edgerton emerged from her cozy cushions, sitting bolt upright like a daughty little warrior. Mr. Jim Barton, said Little Eve Edgerton, if I stayed here two weeks longer, I know you'd like me. I know it. I just know it. Quisically, for an instant, as if to accumulate further courage, she cocked her little head on one side and stared blankly into Barton's astonished eyes. But you see, I'm not going to be here two weeks. She resumed hurriedly. Again, the little head cocked appealingly to one side. You wouldn't be willing to take my word for it, would you? And like me now? Why, what do you mean, Stammered Barton? What do I mean, Quis Little Eve Edgerton? Why, I mean, that just once before I go off to Non-Conono, I'd like to be attractive. Attractive, Stammered Barton, helplessly. With all the desperate, indomitable frankness of a child, the girl's chin thrust itself forward. I could be attractive, she said. I know. I could. I know I could. If I'd ever let go of just the tiniest, tiniest bit, I could have both. She asserted triumphantly. A thousand both. She added more explicitly, only. Only what? laughed Barton. Only one doesn't let go, said Little Eve Edgerton. Why not? persisted Barton. Why, you just couldn't with strangers, said Little Eve Edgerton. That's the bewitchment of it. The bewitchment puzzled Barton. Nervously, the girl crossed her hands in her lap. She suddenly didn't look like a dotilyl soldier any more, but just like a worried little girl. Did you ever read any fairy stories, she asked, with apparent irrelevance? Why, of course, said Barton millions of them when I was a kid. I read one once, said Little Eve Edgerton. It was about a person, a sleeping person, a lady, I mean, who couldn't wake up until a prince kissed her. Well, that was all right, of course, considered Little Eve Edgerton, because of course any prince would have been willing to kiss the lady just as a mere matter of accommodation. But suppose, fretted Little Eve Edgerton, supposed the bewitchment also ran that no prince would kiss the lady until she had waked up. Now there, said Little Eve Edgerton, is a situation that I should call completely stalled. But what's all this got to do with you, green Barton? Nothing at all to do with me, said Little Eve Edgerton. It is me. That's just exactly the way I'm fixed. I can't be attractive out loud until someone likes me. But no one, of course, will ever like me until I'm already attractive out loud. So that's why I wondered, she said, if just as a mere matter of accommodation you wouldn't be willing to be friends with me now, so that for at least the 52 hours that remain I could be released from my most unhappy enchantment. Astonishingly, across that frank, perfectly outspoken little face, the frightened eyelashes came flickering suddenly down. Because, whispered Little Eve Edgerton, because, you see, I haven't liked you already. Oh, fine, smiled Barton, fine, fine. Approximately the word broke in his throat. What? he cried. His hand, the steadiest hand among all his chums, began to shake like an aspen. What? he cried. His heart, the steadiest heart among all his chums, began to pitch and lurch in his breast. Why, Eve, Eve, he stammered. You don't mean you like me like that. Yes, I do, nodded the little white-capped head. There was much shyness of flesh in the statement, but not a flicker of spiritual self-consciousness or fear. But Eve, protested Barton, already he felt the goose flesh rising on his arms. Once before, a girl had told him that she liked him. In the middle of a silly summer flirtation it had been. And the scene had been mockish, awful, a mess of tears and kisses and endless recriminations. But this girl, before the utter simplicity of this girl's statement, the unruffled dignity, the mere acknowledgement, as it were, of an interesting historical fact, all his trifling preconceived ideas went tumbling down before his eyes like a flimsy house of cards. Pang after pang of regret for the girl, of regret for himself, went surging hotly through him. Oh, but Eve, he began all over again, his voice raw with misery. Why, there's nothing to make a fuss about to draw the leave, Edgerton. You've probably liked a thousand people, but I, you see, I've never had the fun of liking anyone before. Fun, tortured Barton. Yes, that's just it. If you'd ever had the fun of liking anything, it wouldn't seem half so brutal. Now, brutal, mused little Eve, Edgerton. Oh, really, Mr. Jim Barton, I assure you, there's nothing brutal at all in my liking for you. With a gasp of despair, Barton stumbled across the rug to the bed, and with a shaking hand thrust under Eve Edgerton's chin, turned her little face bluntly up to him to tell her how proud he felt. But to tell her how sorry he was, but, and as he turned that little face up to his, inconceivably, incomprehensibly to his utter consternation and rout, he saw that it was a stranger's little face that he held. Gone was the sullen frown, the indifferent glance, the bitter smile, and in that sudden amazing, wild sweet transfiguration of brow eyes' mouth that meet his astonished eyes, he felt his whole mean, supercilious world slip out from under his feet. And just as precipitously, just as inexplainably, as ten days before he had seen a great light that had knocked all consciousness out of him, he experienced now a second great light that knocked him back into the first full consciousness that he had ever known. Why, Eve, he stammered, why, you mischief, why, you little cheeky darling, why my own darling little storybook girl, and gathered her into his arms. From the farther side of the room the sound of a creaking board smote almost instantly upon their ears. Any time that you people want me, suggested Edgerton's icy voice, I am standing here, in about the middle of the floor. With a jerk of dismay Barton wheeled around to face him, but it was Lily of Edgerton herself who found her tongue first. Oh, Father, dear, I have been perfectly wise. She hastened to assure him. Almost at once, Father, I told him that I liked him, so that if he really were the dreadful kind of young man you were warning me about, he would eliminate himself from my horizon immediately in his wicked pursuit of some other lady. Oh, he did run, Father, she confessed in the first red blush of her life. Oh, he did run, Father, but it was almost directly toward me. Eh, snapped Edgerton. Then in a defiant effrontery, half impudence and half humility, Barton stepped out into the middle of the room and proper his strong firm young hand to the older man. You told me, he grinned, to rummage around until I discovered a real treasure. Well, I didn't have to do it. It was the treasure, it seems, who discovered me. Then suddenly into his fine young eyes flared up the first glint of his newborn soul. Your daughter, Sir, said Barton, is the most beautiful woman in the world. As you suggested to me, I have found out what she is interested in. She is interested in me. End of Part 2, Chapter 4. End of Little Eve, Edgerton.