That Old Sweetheart of Mine
Stella Crane had a maid, but preferred answering the telephone herself when she was at home, which was most of the time. Calls came infrequently and were welcome—an invitation to go to the theater with the Smalls, or to play bridge at Bess Cooper’s, or to dine with the Fields. Aside from two or three of her husband’s business acquaintances, whom he had had at the house for evening conferences, the Fields, Smalls and Coopers were about the only people in New York Stella had met.
There was nothing wrong with her or Ralph; they both dressed well and behaved respectably, and Stella played a fair game of contract. But they were not asked out much because Ralph, a patent lawyer, did a great deal of work after hours and was anything but hospitable. If you refrain from inviting people to your house, they are going to invite you less and less often to theirs.
It was hard on Stella, whose life in the city was not what she had expected. Her husband realized this and deluded himself and her with the promise that in the near future he would be able to afford more leisure, and then they’d repay their social indebtedness and make lots of new friends, and Stella would have no cause to complain of loneliness and boredom.
She answered the telephone because the maid had a tendency to confuse names as similar as Gillespie and Hammond; and on this particular morning, the vaguely familiar male voice at the other end of the wire began the conversation with the intriguing challenge, “I’ll bet you don’t know who this is.”
“You sound like somebody,” said Stella. “Just give me a second to think. I do know. Isn’t it Will?”
“You win! I had no idea you’d remember me after all these years.”
“I’d have recognized you sooner if I had thought there was any possibility of your being here.”
“Well, it took me a long time to get here, but I made it.”
“And how long do you expect to stay?”
“Not more than a day or two. It’s just a business trip.”
“Well, tell me something about yourself. Are you married?”
“Not yet.”
“I thought I’d have heard if you were,” said Stella.
“I guess you knew I wouldn’t be.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have to tell you that.”
“Oh, Will! You’re the same old Will!”
“I wish I was.”
“I’d like to see you.”
“It’s perfectly mutual.”
“I’d ask you to dinner, but Ralph’s in Washington and won’t be home till day after tomorrow.”
“I’m not crazy about seeing Ralph.”
“I know, but—”
“Can’t two old friends like us get together and talk? I’m not inviting myself to your place, but I wish you’d have lunch with me, and we could go to a matinée.”
“It sounds wonderful!” said Stella. “Let me think.”
Fifteen years ago, Ralph and Will had been rivals for her love; not exactly her love either, for Will had won that before Ralph appeared on the scene, and though she had married Ralph, because he was “new” and persistent, and chiefly because he was capable of supporting a wife, she had never been quite sure that she was as fond of him as of Will.
Since she had become Mrs. Crane, she had not been alone with any man except her husband, her dentist and the elevator operators in various buildings in which she had lived. Ralph was not of a jealous disposition; she thought he wasn’t, anyway. She had never given him cause to feel jealousy, so she couldn’t be sure.
She had heard him comment on wives who “went around” with other men and had gathered that he disapproved of them, but surely he wouldn’t find fault with her even if the man happened to be an old flame and his former rival. Besides, how would he know? And she was lonely.
“Why, yes, Will. I guess it will be all right.”
“That a girl! I’ll call for you at a quarter of one.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Stella, thinking of the maid. “I’ll meet you at one, wherever you say.”
“You name the place. Remember, I’m a yokel.”
“Well, the Biltmore, in the lobby, if that suits you.”
“Any place suits me. The Biltmore lobby, then.”
“But have you changed much?
