Archibald Cronin - The Stars Look Down

“How do you mean, Hetty?”

“Well, she only gives me five pounds a month for my dress allowance, and pocket money and everything.”

He gazed at her in astonishment.

“Does Laura really allow you that, Hetty? Why, that’s pretty generous of her.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Hetty looked piqued, almost sorry she had spoken. “She can jolly well afford it, anyhow. She made a good match, didn’t she?”

There was a pause.

“I can never quite fathom Laura,” Arthur said, puzzled.

“I’m not surprised.” Hetty gave her ingenuous laugh again. “I could tell you a few things about her, not that I would though, not for anything in the world.” She dismissed the subject with a virtuous little shiver.

“I’m glad I’m not like her, anyway. So don’t let’s talk of it.”

Here they entered Dilley’s and Hetty, responding to the warm note of gaiety which met them, switched her mood to one of composed vivacity. It was half-past four and the place was crowded: Dilley’s was considered smart for tea in Tynecastle. The Resort of the Elite! — this was the proud boast used in the advertisement columns of the Courier . An orchestra was playing behind some palms, a pleasant chatter of voices met them as they went into the Mikado room, done after Sullivan in the Japanese taste. They sat down at a bamboo table and Arthur ordered tea.

“Rather nice, here.” He leaned across towards Hetty, who was nodding brightly to her friends in the crowded room. There was, in fact, a regular clientèle for afternoon tea at Dilley’s, mainly the younger generation of Tynecastle, sons and daughters of the well-to-do doctors, lawyers and merchants of the city, a perfect aristocracy of provincial snobbism and style. Hetty was quite a figure in this smartish little clique. Hetty was really popular. Though old man Todd was only a mining engineer in a not very flourishing way of business Hetty went out a great deal. She was young, sure of herself and in the swim. She was known to have a head on her shoulders. The wise ones who had prophesied a good match for pretty little Hetty, always smiled knowingly when she was seen about with Arthur Barras.

She sipped her tea nonchalantly.

“Alan’s over there.” Gaily, with a wave of recognition, she indicated her brother. “With Dick Purves and some of the Nomad Rugger crowd. We ought to go across.”

Arthur looked over dutifully to where her brother Alan, who ought to have been at the office, lounged with half a dozen young fellows at a table in the centre of the room, the smoke from their cigarettes rising with heroic languor.

“Don’t let’s bother about them, Hetty,” he murmured. “It’s nicer by ourselves.”

Hetty, sitting up with a sparkle in her eye, aware of admiring glances directed towards her, toyed absently with her cake fork.

“That Purves boy,” she remarked. “He’s too absurdly good-looking.”

“He’s just an ass.” Arthur glared across at a vapidly handsome youth with crinkly hair parted in the middle.

“Oh no, Arthur, he’s quite a nice boy, really. He dances beautifully.”

“He’s a conceited fop.” Jealously taking Hetty’s hand under the table he whispered: “You like me better than him, don’t you, Hetty?”

“Of course, you silly boy.” Hetty laughed lightly and let her eyes come back to Arthur. “He’s only a stupid little bank clerk. He’ll never be anything worth while.”

“ I will, Hetty,” Arthur declared fervently.

“Well, naturally , Arthur.”

“Wait till I go in with father… just wait… you’ll see.” He paused, excited suddenly by the prospect of the future, eager to impress her with his own ardour. “We landed a new contract to-day, Hetty. With P. W. & Co. A whacking good one. You just wait and see.”

She widened her eyes at him ingenuously.

“Going to make lots and lots more money?”

He nodded seriously.

“But it isn’t just that, Hetty. It’s… oh, everything. Being in with father, pulling my weight at the Neptune, the way all we Barrases have done, thinking of settling down too, having someone to work for. Honestly, Hetty, it thrills me when I think about it.”

Quite carried away, he gazed at her, his face alight with eagerness.

“It is rather nice, isn’t it, Arthur?” she agreed, studying him with a sympathetic smile. She really was quite drawn to him at this moment. He looked his best with a faint colour in his cheeks and this ardour in his eyes. Of course, he was not really good-looking, she had regretfully to admit it, his fair eyelashes, pale complexion and thin jaw gave him too sensitive an air. He couldn’t for an instant be compared to Dick Purves, who was the most handsome boy. But he was, on the whole, rather a dear, with the Neptune pit and pots of money simply waiting on him. She let him hold her hand under the table again.

“I’m enjoying myself tremendously, this afternoon,” he said impulsively. “I don’t know why.”

“Don’t you?”

“Well, yes, I do.”

They both laughed. Her laugh, whereby she showed her small even teeth, enthralled him.

“Are you enjoying it too, Hetty?”

“Yes, of course.”

The feel of her fragile hand beneath the table set his heart thumping with its silent promise. A kind of intoxication mounted to his head, a glorious sense of hope — in himself, in Hetty, in the future. He reached the crisis of his boldness. Nerving himself, he said with a rush:

“Listen, Hetty, I’ve been meaning to ask you for a long time, why can’t we be engaged?”

She laughed again, not in the least disconcerted, pressing his hand lightly.

“You’re such a dear, Arthur.”

His colour came and went. He blurted out:

“You know how I feel about you, Hetty. I think I’ve always felt that way. Remember how we played at the Law when we were kids. You’re the nicest girl I know. Father’ll be giving me a partnership soon…” His own incoherence brought him up short.

Hetty considered swiftly. She had been proposed to before, callow offers made usually in the semi-darkness when “sitting-out” at dances. But this was different, this was the real thing. And yet her shrewdness warned her not to hurry. She saw quite sharply how ridiculous her premature engagement to Arthur might be, the subject of gossip, malicious innuendo. Besides, she wanted to have her fling before she settled down.

“You’re a dear, Arthur,” she breathed, with downcast lashes. “A perfect dear. And you know how fond I am of you. But I do think we’re both a little young for anything, well, official. We’ve got our understanding, of course. Everything’s all right between us.”

“You do like me then, Hetty?” he whispered.

“Oh, Arthur, you know I do.”

An immense elation possessed him. At the facile intensity of his emotion tears came into his eyes. He felt unbelievably happy. He felt mature and manly, capable of anything, he could have thanked her on his knees for loving him.

A few minutes passed.

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “I suppose I must get back and see how old man Todd is getting on.”

He looked at his watch.

“Twenty to five. I promised to meet father at the five-ten train.”

“I’ll walk with you to the station.”

He smiled at her tenderly. Already her devotion to himself, as to her invalid father, entranced him. He beckoned to the waitress with a lordly confidence and paid the bill. They rose to go.

On the way out they stopped for a moment at Alan’s table. Alan was a good sort, a big heavy smiling fellow, inclined perhaps to be lazy and a little wild. But there was no real harm in him. He played football for the Northern Nomads, was in the Territorials and knew a few barmaids by their Christian names. Now amidst a certain amount of chaff and laughter he began to jolly Arthur for taking Hetty out to tea. Usually Arthur was painfully shy under banter, but this afternoon he scored off Alan right and left. His spirits bounded higher. He felt strong, happy, confident. He knew that little things would never worry him again, his flushing, his fits of lassitude and depression, his complex of inferiority, his jealousy. Purves, for instance, “glad-eyeing” Hetty, trying “to get off with her,” was no more than a silly little bank clerk, completely negligible. With a final repartee that set the table in a roar he lit a cigarette and gallantly escorted Hetty to the street.