An American Tragedy

parted in careless inquiry. She was very pretty, he thought, as he paused in
his paddling to look at her. The sleeves of a pale blue waist came only to her
elbows. And a darker blue skirt of flannel reconveyed to him the trimness of
her figure. It wasn't Roberta! It couldn't be! Yes, it was!
Almost before he had decided, he was quite beside her, some twenty feet
from the shore, and was looking up at her, his face lit by the radiance of one
who had suddenly, and beyond his belief, realized a dream. And as though he
were a pleasant apparition suddenly evoked out of nothing and nowhere, a
poetic effort taking form out of smoke or vibrant energy, she in turn stood
staring down at him, her lips unable to resist the wavy line of beauty that a
happy mood always brought to them.
"My, Miss Alden! It is you, isn't it?" he called. "I was wondering whether
it was. I couldn't be sure from out there."
"Why, yes it is," she laughed, puzzled, and again just the least bit abashed
by the reality of him. For in spite of her obvious pleasure at seeing him again,
only thinly repressed for the first moment or two, she was on the instant
beginning to be troubled by her thoughts in regard to him—the difficulties
that contact with him seemed to prognosticate. For this meant contact and
friendship, maybe, and she was no longer in any mood to resist him,
whatever people might think. And yet here was her friend, Grace Marr.
Would she want her to know of Clyde and her interest in him? She was
troubled. And yet she could not resist smiling and looking at him in a frank
and welcoming way. She had been thinking of him so much and wishing for
him in some happy, secure, commendable way. And now here he was. And
there could be nothing more innocent than his presence here—nor hers.
"Just out for a walk?" he forced himself to say, although, because of his
delight and his fear of her really, he felt not a little embarrassed now that she
was directly before him. At the same time he added, recalling that she had
been looking so intently at the water: "You want some of these water lilies?
Is that what you're looking for?"

---

"Uh, huh," she replied, still smiling and looking directly at him, for the
sight of his dark hair blown by the wind, the pale blue outing shirt he wore
open at the neck, his sleeves rolled up and the yellow paddle held by him
above the handsome blue boat, quite thrilled her. If only she could win such a
youth for her very own self—just hers and no one else's in the whole world.
It seemed as though this would be paradise—that if she could have him she
would never want anything else in all the world. And here at her very feet he
sat now in this bright canoe on this clear July afternoon in this summery
world—so new and pleasing to her. And now he was laughing up at her so
directly and admiringly. Her girl friend was far in the rear somewhere
looking for daisies. Could she? Should she?
"I was seeing if there was any way to get out to any of them," she
continued a little nervously, a tremor almost revealing itself in her voice. "I
haven't seen any before just here on this side."
"I'll get you all you want," he exclaimed briskly and gayly. "You just stay
where you are. I'll bring them." But then, bethinking him of how much more
lovely it would be if she were to get in with him, he added: "But see here—
why don't you get in here with me? There's plenty of room and I can take you
anywhere you want to go. There's lots nicer lilies up the lake here a little
way and on the other side too. I saw hundreds of them over there just beyond
that island."
Roberta looked. And as she did, another canoe paddled by, holding a youth
of about Clyde's years and a girl no older than herself. She wore a white
dress and a pink hat and the canoe was green. And far across the water at the
point of the very island about which Clyde was talking was another canoe—
bright yellow with a boy and a girl in that. She was thinking she would like
to get in without her companion, if possible—with her, if need be. She
wanted so much to have him all to herself. If she had only come out here
alone. For if Grace Marr were included, she would know and later talk,
maybe, or think, if she heard anything else in regard to them ever. And yet if
she did not, there was the fear that he might not like her any more—might
even come to dislike her or give up being interested in her, and that would be
dreadful.
She stood staring and thinking, and Clyde, troubled and pained by her
doubt on this occasion and his own loneliness and desire for her, suddenly
called: "Oh, please don't say no. Just get in, won't you? You'll like it. I want

---

you to. Then we can find all the lilies you want. I can let you out anywhere
you want to get out—in ten minutes if you want to."
She marked the "I want you to." It soothed and strengthened her. He had no
desire to take any advantage of her as she could see.
"But I have my friend with me here," she exclaimed almost sadly and
dubiously, for she still wanted to go alone—never in her life had she wanted
any one less than Grace Marr at this moment. Why had she brought her? She
wasn't so very pretty and Clyde might not like her, and that might spoil the
occasion. "Besides," she added almost in the same breath and with many
thoughts fighting her, "maybe I'd better not. Is it safe?"
"Oh, yes, maybe you better had," laughed Clyde seeing that she was
yielding. "It's perfectly safe," he added eagerly. Then maneuvering the canoe
next to the bank, which was a foot above the water, and laying hold of a root
to hold it still, he said: "Of course you won't be in any danger. Call your
friend then, if you want to, and I'll row the two of you. There's room for two
and there are lots of water lilies everywhere over there." He nodded toward
the east side of the lake.
Roberta could no longer resist and seized an overhanging branch by which
to steady herself. At the same time she began to call: "Oh, Gray-ace! Gray-
ace! Where are you?" for she had at last decided that it was best to include
her.
A far-off voice as quickly answered: "Hello-o! What do you want?"
"Come up here. Come on. I got something I want to tell you."
"Oh, no, you come on down here. The daisies are just wonderful."
"No, you come on up here. There's some one here that wants to take us
boating." She intended to call this loudly, but somehow her voice failed and
her friend went on gathering flowers. Roberta frowned. She did not know
just what to do. "Oh, very well, then," she suddenly decided, and
straightening up added: "We can row down to where she is, I guess."
And Clyde, delighted, exclaimed: "Oh, that's just fine. Sure. Do get in.
We'll pick these here first and then if she hasn't come, I'll paddle down nearer
to where she is. Just step square in the center and that will balance it."
He was leaning back and looking up at her and Roberta was looking
nervously and yet warmly into his eyes. Actually it was as though she were
suddenly diffused with joy, enveloped in a rosy mist.
She balanced one foot. "Will it be perfectly safe?"

---

"Sure, sure," emphasized Clyde. "I'll hold it safe. Just take hold of that
branch there and steady yourself by that." He held the boat very still as she
stepped. Then, as the canoe careened slightly to one side, she dropped to the
cushioned seat with a little cry. It was like that of a baby to Clyde.
"It's all right," he reassured her. "Just sit in the center there. It won't tip
over. Gee, but this is funny. I can't make it out quite. You know just as I was
coming around that point I was thinking of you—how maybe you might like to
come out to a place like this sometime. And now here you are and here I am,
and it all happened just like that." He waved his hand and snapped his
fingers.
And Roberta, fascinated by this confession and yet a little frightened by it,
added: "Is that so?" She was thinking of her own thoughts in regard to him.
"Yes, and what's more," added Clyde, "I've been thinking of you all day,
really. That's the truth. I was wishing I might see you somewhere this morning
and bring you out here."
"Oh, now, Mr. Griffiths. You know you don't mean that," pleaded Roberta,
fearful lest this sudden contact should take too intimate and sentimental a turn
too quickly. She scarcely liked that because she was afraid of him and
herself, and now she looked at him, trying to appear a little cold or at least
disinterested, but it was a very weak effort.
"That's the truth, though, just the same," insisted Clyde.
"Well, I think it is beautiful myself," admitted Roberta. "I've been out here,
too, several times now. My friend and I." Clyde was once more delighted.
She was smiling now and full of wonder.
"Oh, have you?" he exclaimed, and there was more talk as to why he liked
to come out and how he had learned to swim here. "And to think I turned in
here and there you were on the bank, looking at those water lilies. Wasn't that
queer? I almost fell out of the boat. I don't think I ever saw you look as pretty
as you did just now standing there."
"Oh, now, Mr. Griffiths," again pleaded Roberta cautiously. "You mustn't
begin that way. I'll be afraid you're a dreadful flatterer. I'll have to think you
are if you say anything like that so quickly."
Clyde once more gazed at her weakly, and she smiled because she thought
he was more handsome than ever. But what would he think, she added to
herself, if she were to tell him that just before he came around that point she
was thinking of him too, and wishing that he were there with her, and not
Grace. And how they might sit and talk, and hold hands perhaps. He might

---

even put his arms around her waist, and she might let him. That would be
terrible, as some people here would see it, she knew. And it would never do
for him to know that—never. That would be too intimate—too bold. But just
the same it was so. Yet what would these people here in Lycurgus think of her
and him now if they should see her, letting him paddle her about in this
canoe! He a factory manager and she an employee in his department. The
conclusion! The scandal, maybe, even. And yet Grace Marr was along—or
soon would be. And she could explain to her—surely. He was out rowing
and knew her, and why shouldn't he help her get some lilies if he wanted to?
It was almost unavoidable—this present situation, wasn't it?
Already Clyde had maneuvered the canoe around so that they were now
among the water lilies. And as he talked, having laid his paddle aside, he had
been reaching over and pulling them up, tossing them with their long, wet
stems at her feet as she lay reclining in the seat, one hand over the side of the
canoe in the water, as she had seen other girls holding theirs. And for the
moment her thoughts were allayed and modified by the beauty of his head and
arms and the tousled hair that now fell over his eyes. How handsome he was!

---

16
Chapter
The outcome of that afternoon was so wonderful for both that for days
thereafter neither could cease thinking about it or marveling that anything so
romantic and charming should have brought them together so intimately when
both were considering that it was not wise for either to know the other any
better than employee and superior.
After a few moments of badinage in the boat in which he had talked about
the beauty of the lilies and how glad he was to get them for her, they picked
up her friend, Grace, and eventually returned to the boathouse.
Once on the land again there developed not a little hesitation on her part as
well as his as to how farther to proceed, for they were confronted by the
problem of returning into Lycurgus together. As Roberta saw it, it would not
look right and might create talk. And on his part, he was thinking of Gilbert
and other people he knew. The trouble that might come of it. What Gilbert
would say if he did hear. And so both he and she, as well as Grace, were
dubious on the instant about the wisdom of riding back together. Grace's own
reputation, as well as the fact that she knew Clyde was not interested in her,
piqued her. And Roberta, realizing this from her manner, said: "What do you
think we had better do, excuse ourselves?"
At once Roberta tried to think just how they could extricate themselves
gracefully without offending Clyde. Personally she was so enchanted that had
she been alone she would have preferred to have ridden back with him. But
with Grace here and in this cautious mood, never. She must think up some
excuse.
And at the same time, Clyde was wondering just how he was to do now—
ride in with them and brazenly face the possibility of being seen by some one
who might carry the news to Gilbert Griffiths or evade doing so on some
pretext or other. He could think of none, however, and was about to turn and
accompany them to the car when the young electrician, Shurlock, who lived
in the Newton household and who had been on the balcony of the pavilion,

---

hailed them. He was with a friend who had a small car, and they were ready
to return to the city.
"Well, here's luck," he exclaimed. "How are you, Miss Alden? How do
you do, Miss Marr? You two don't happen to be going our way, do you? If
you are, we can take you in with us."
Not only Roberta but Clyde heard. And at once she was about to say that,
since it was a little late and she and Grace were scheduled to attend church
services with the Newtons, it would be more convenient for them to return
this way. She was, however, half hoping that Shurlock would invite Clyde
and that he would accept. But on his doing so, Clyde instantly refused. He
explained that he had decided to stay out a little while longer. And so
Roberta left him with a look that conveyed clearly enough the gratitude and
delight she felt. They had had such a good time. And he in turn, in spite of
many qualms as to the wisdom of all this, fell to brooding on how sad it was
that just he and Roberta might not have remained here for hours longer. And
immediately after they had gone, he returned to the city alone.
The next morning he was keener than ever to see Roberta again. And
although the peculiarly exposed nature of the work at the factory made it
impossible for him to demonstrate his feelings, still by the swift and admiring
and seeking smiles that played over his face and blazed in his eyes, she knew
that he was as enthusiastic, if not more so, as on the night before. And on her