this, feeling the way you do. You go away! She can't have every- ,j thing.'
'I don't know how I feel, Dot,' Johnny said heavily. 'Are you all right?'
'I'm O.K.' She seemed surprised. ''Wondering who I am, of course.'
'Who you are?'
'Nan is Mary McCauley. Am I Dorothy O'Hara, I wonder?' 'O'Hara?' he said absently. 'Dot, did you know Bart be-heves me now?'
'I believe you, too,' she said. 'But Nan has been told and told—and if she beUeves in Dick, instead . . .' 'It's going to be a tragedy.'
'You mean, you will prove it, sooner or later? And then?''
'Then Nan will have a husband in prison for murder.'
Dorothy said, 'Johnny, maybe she will. But that's not the
tragedy.' He stared. Her blue eyes were clear and steady.
'The tragedy happened when she fell in love with a monster.'
'Yes, that's right,' he said. 'The dream. That's how he's
beaten me all along the line. Do you beheve a rough tough
fifteen-year-old boy ever looked twice at a three-year-old baby girl?'
Dorothy moved her head sadly.
'Grooves in their hearts.' Johnny clenched his teeth, in a bitter grimace. 'But she believes it! If we ever could have broken the spell, made her believe—'
'That he wants the money?' Dorothy understood at once. 'I tried to tell her that.'
'You know that? How come you are convinced?'
'I am convinced because the first time we met him, there was some reason—a reason for his choosing Nan. Oh, Johnny, I could tell. I had caught his eye. He just deliberately . . . The truth is, I ^ill attract him and I've told Nan so.'
'People keep saying . . .' Johnny looked at this plum. This Dorothy. 'Dotty, you know when a man is attracted, don't you?'
'And when he isn't,' she said, blinking her tears. 'Of course, I do.'
'Then why doesn't Nan know that he isn't?'
'Because she was always built up,' said Dorothy, ''arti-ficially. She's been told and told to assume she'll have romance, as if it's automatically her due. But that's not so, Johnny. Don't^ou know. Aunt Emily and your dear mother, too, they gave her you^. Johnny, for a gift? For free. So she never scuffled for a boy's attention. She never had any practice. She never learned that it is not absolutely inevitable for a girl to be loved or even popular. That you have to achieve tliis. You have to think how. You don't get attention for nothing—or aflFection, either. You have to deserve it. You have to pay attention to what other people hke. But Nan was protected. She was too easy for Dick to deceive. Oh, what am I saying?'
She spoke to his stricken face. 'What good is it to blame old times? I'm sorry, I don't mean to blame you as much as I sound. I blame myself, too. Everybody ought to stop and think before he makes a sacrifice. Please, Johnny, don't feel bad. If you spoiled her, it's because you're kind and responsible.'
'Don't spoil your face,' he said, to her tears that would spill any moment. 'I guess people ought to stop and think-'
(People ought to stop and think before they proudly keep a stupid promise, Johnny mused.)
'I hope there are no ghosts,' Dorothy shivered, turning away. 'I don't want Christy's ghost to watch this wedding.' She turned back. 'Oh, what can we do? I wish we could kidnap herl Do something smashing and yet—' Dorothy looked and sounded so very humanly confused that Johnny's sore heart warmed.
'And yet, Nan is choosing,' he said, '/ can't think what to do, Dot. I'm no detective, no psychologist. I teach biology. I don't know anything to do.'
'There's nothing!' Dorothy's hands fell. 'I'd better go. They were almost ready. Do you know what tlie 'something old' is, Johnny?' Dorothy was fierce again. 'It's that pin I The old lady got it out and gave it to her. Nan has it pinned on!'
'Something old?'
'Oh, they were all ready except for that superstitious rhyme. 'Something old, something new.' Blanche loaned her a brand new hanky, so they are counting it for 'something borrowed,' too. They are running around up there looking for '.' If they've found it, she is ready.'
She looked up into his face yearningly.
Johnny looked down. '?'
(I am a biology teacher, he thought, suddenly.)
'You know, the silly old rhyme,' Dorothy closed her eyes despairingly. 'It's too late. I laiow. We'll have to let her go. It will serve her right,' said Dorothy woefully, 'and I won't like it at all.'
'I want to see Nan,' said Johnny. 'Right now.''
'Johnny, they won't let you see the bride.'
'Yes, they will.' He caught her by the hand and pulled her through the door to the hall. (It's not Nan, he thought. I could let her go. It's not Emily, either. Emily is dead. But I am not going to let this happen to Clinton
