Miss Goering looked very solemn. She was thinking of this very seriously, because she suspected that were she to accept Andy’s offer it would be far more difficult for her to put a stop to her excursions, should she feel so disposed. Until recently she had never followed too dangerously far in action any course which she had decided upon as being the morally correct one. She scarcely approved of this weakness in herself, but she was to a certain extent sensible and happy enough to protect herself automatically. She was feeling a little tipsy, however, and Andy’s suggestion rather appealed to her. “One must allow that a certain amount of carelessness in one’s nature often accomplishes what the will is incapable of doing,” she said to herself.
Andy looked towards the bedroom door. His mood seemed to have changed very suddenly and he seemed confused. “This does not mean that he is not lecherous,” thought Miss Goering. He got up and wandered around the room. Finally he pulled an old gramophone out from behind the couch. He took up a good deal of time dusting it off and collecting some needles that were scattered around and underneath the turntable. As he knelt over the instrument he became quite absorbed in what he was doing and his face took on an almost sympathetic aspect.
“It’s a very old machine,” he mumbled. “I got it a long, long time ago.”
The machine was very small and terribly out of date, and had Miss Goering been sentimental, she would have felt a little sad watching him; however, she was growing impatient.
“I can’t hear a word that you are saying,” she shouted at him in an unnecessarily loud voice.
He got up without answering her and went into his room. When he returned he was again wearing his bathrobe and holding a record in his hand.
“You’ll think I’m silly,” he said, “bothering with that machine so long, when all I’ve got to play for you is this one record. It’s a march; here.” He handed it to her in order that she might read the title of the piece and the name of the band that was executing it.
“Maybe,” he said, “you’d rather not hear it. A lot of people don’t like march music.”
“No, do play it,” said Miss Goering. “I’ll be delighted, really.”
He put the record on and sat on the edge of a very uncomfortable chair at quite a distance from Miss Goering. The needle was too loud and the march was the Washington Post. Miss Goering felt as uneasy as one can feel listening to parade music in a quiet room. Andy seemed to be enjoying it and he kept time with his feet during the entire length of the record. But when it was over he seemed to be in an even worse state of confusion than before.
“Would you like to see the apartment?” he asked her.
Miss Goering leaped up from the couch quickly lest he should change his mind.
“A woman who made dresses had this apartment before me, so my bedroom is kind of sissyish for a man.”
She followed him into the bedroom. He had turned the bed down rather badly and the slips of the two pillows were gray and wrinkled. On his dresser were pictures of several girls, all of them terribly unattractive and plain. They looked more to Miss Goering like the church-going type of young woman than like the mistresses of a bachelor.
“They’re nice-looking girls, aren’t they?” said Andy to Miss Goering.
“Lovely-looking,” she said, “lovely.”
“None of these girls live in this town,” he said. “They live in different towns in the vicinity. The girls here are guarded and they don’t like bachelors my age. I don’t blame them. I go take one of these girls in the pictures out now and then when I feel like it. I even sit in their living-rooms of an evening with them, with their parents right in the house. But they don’t see much of me, I can tell you that.”
Miss Goering was growing more and more puzzled, but she didn’t ask him any more questions because she was suddenly feeling weary.
“I think I’ll be on my way now,” she said, swaying a little on her feet. She realized immediately how rude and unkind she was being and she saw Andy tightening up. He put his fists into his pockets.
“Well, you can’t go now,” he said to her. “Stay a little longer and I’ll make you some coffee.”
“No, no, I don’t want any coffee. Anyway, they’ll be worrying about me at home.”
“Who’s they?” Andy asked her.
“Arnold and Arnold’s father and Miss Gamelon.”
“It sounds like a terrible mob to me,” he said. “I couldn’t stand living with a crowd like that.”
“I love it,” said Miss Goering.
He put his arms around her and tried to kiss her, but she pulled away, “No, honestly, I’m much too tired.”
“All right,” he said, “all right!” His brow was deeply furrowed and he looked completely miserable. He took his bathrobe off and got into his bed. He lay there with the sheet up to his neck, threshing his feet about and looking up at the ceiling like someone with a fever. There was a small light burning on the table beside the bed which shone directly into his face, so that Miss Goering was able to distinguish many lines which she had not noticed before. She went over to his bed and leaned over him.
“What is the matter?” she asked him. “Now it’s been a very pleasant evening and we all need some sleep.”
He laughed in her face. “You’re some lunatic,” he said to her, “and you sure don’t know anything about people. I’m all right here, though.” He pulled the sheet up farther and lay there breathing heavily. “There’s a five o’clock ferry that leaves in about a half hour. Will you come back tomorrow evening? I’ll be where I was tonight at that bar.”
She promised him that she would return on the following evening, and after he had explained to her how to get to the dock, she opened his window for him and left.
Stupidly enough, Miss Goering had forgotten to take her key with her and she was obliged to knock on the door in order to get into her house. She pounded twice, and almost immediately she heard someone running down the steps. She could tell that it was Arnold even before he had opened the door. He was wearing a rose-colored pajama jacket and a pair of trousers. His suspenders were hanging down over his hips. His beard had grown quite a bit for such a short time and he looked sloppier than ever.
“What’s the matter with you, Arnold?” said Miss Goering. “You look dreadful.”
“Well, I’ve had a bad night, Christina. I just put Bubbles to sleep a little while ago; she’s terribly worried about you. As a matter of fact, I don’t think you’ve shown us much consideration.”
“Who is Bubbles?” Miss Goering asked him.
“Bubbles,” he said, “is the name I have for Miss Gamelon.”
“Well,” said Miss Goering, going into the house and seating herself in front of the fireplace, “I took the ferry back across to the mainland and I became very much involved. I might return tomorrow night,” she added, “although I don’t really want to very much.”
“I don’t know why you find it so interesting and intellectual to seek out a new city,” said Arnold, cupping his chin in his hand and looking at her fixedly.
“Because I believe the hardest thing for me to do is really move from one thing to another, partly,” said Miss Goering.
“Spiritually,” said Arnold, trying to speak in a more sociable tone, “spiritually I’m constantly making little journeys and changing my entire nature every six months.”
“I don’t believe it for a minute,” said Miss Goering.