The Girl Next Door (Crimson Romance) by Peggy Gaddis Read Free Book Online Page B

my best to describe it. Shall we go around?”
    Deftly, she led him on a circuit of the room, describing each article they passed. Betsy, with a little catch at her heart, realized that Marcia was really mapping the room for Peter, so that he could steer his way about it, unaided, after this one circuit
    Mrs. Marshall, also watching them, whispered to Betsy, “She’s a lovely person, isn’t she?”
    “She’s grand,” returned Betsy.
    Throughout the simple but excellent dinner, Betsy was conscious of Marcia’s unobstrusive manner of protecting Peter from any feeling of discomfort or embarrassment. Again she heard Peter laugh. She heard him talking with animation and humor to Bobbie and Steve and realized that they were trading experiences. The girls chimed in, with light laughter, because the stories related were amusing and care-free.
    The whole evening was illuminating to Betsy. When Peter and Mrs. Marshall took their departure, the others following close behind, Betsy lingered to say, “Thanks, Marcia. You’re swell!”
    Marcia, emptying ash-trays and tidying the big ugly room looked at her, puzzled.
    “That’s sweet of you, dear,” she said. “But is there any reason for the orchid?”
    “Of course. You know there is. You were wonderful to Peter. He had fun. He — he
laughed!”
Betsy blinked back the tears.
    “Why shouldn’t he? After all, he’s by no means the only man blinded in Vietnam, and he is very fortunate in having enough money not to have to earn a living. I suppose the Marshalls are very rich, aren’t they?”
    Betsy paused to think that over. Funny, but she had never stopped to consider whether or not the Marshalls were rich. Of course, they had the finest home in town; but after all, Centerville was a small town. Mrs. Marshall dressed smartly but conservatively; there seemed to be plenty of money.
    “Well, yes, I suppose they are,” she said at last “It’s funny, but I’d never thought much about it”
    Marcia was lightly derisive. “Oh, well, you probably wouldn’t notice it, since your family has plenty,” she answered carelessly. “I just thought Peter was very fortunate.”
    “I guess he is,” Betsy admitted, though she didn’t think so in her heart. Fortunate — when he was blind? When he would never again see the beauty he loved?
    “You are very much in love with him, aren’t you?”
    Betsy frowned. “You’ve heard of the girl who wore her heart on her sleeve, so that everybody in the world knew who it belonged to? Well, her name is Betsy Drummond.”
    Marcia hesitated, and after a moment she said, “Betsy, don’t you think you’d be much happier if you got over Peter, and found yourself another beau?”
    “Got over Pete? Well, good grief, don’t you suppose I would if I could? Do you think I
like
being in love with a man who can never know I’m anything but a long-legged, freckle-faced brat? Don’t you suppose I’d rather find myself someone who could look at me and know I’m grown-up?” Betsy blurted out, struggling to hold back the tears. “But you can’t turn love on and off like you would a water-faucet. I wish you could. Good night, Marcia, and thanks for the nice evening.”
    And she fled before the ignominious tears that threatened her.
    For a while Marcia stood quite still, staring at the door through which Betsy had gone, her eyes inscrutable. Finally, she shrugged, and went about turning off the lights and making the house ready for the night… .
    After that Thursday night Peter began to appear among his friends. It was as though, having braced himself and plunged into contact with other people, he found it easier to face them. It seemed, too, that the young people of Centerville had discovered Marcia and the strange charm that enveloped the old Cunningham house. Almost every evening there was a group on the old-fashioned veranda, behind the fragrant curtain of honeysuckle and clemantis. Usually Betsy was one of that group, and very often Peter