Free The Incredible Charlie Carewe by Mary. Astor Page A

slapped.” She was younger than most of the faculty stiff-necked how-ja-do wives. She didn’t look at one with a condescending “You dear boy—tell me all about your family” attitude. This one was very flesh and blood. She didn’t simper or shake your hand with fish fingers. Jerry said, “She’s got the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen, and boy, I’m telling you, that ain’t all!”
    It had been no trouble at all. Charlie simply delayed his departure from the classroom that afternoon, as though he wanted to ask Dexter a question. And when he was passing out the invitations: “See you at the house, eh, Joe? Oh, and, Andy, we’re looking forward to seeing you too,” he had just been standing there with a pleasant, questioning look on his face, and Dexter acted delighted that he had waited and asked him to join the others. All this to-do about “wangling an invitation”! And surely it wasn’t going to be such a difficult job to get to go to bed with her. He must tell that to Jerry—no, better not, he might say something like, “But, Charlie, she’s Dexter’s wife! ” or “She’s Dexter’s wife!” something, anyway, that would make him look in the wrong. The hell with it!
    And he knew that Jane knew that he wasn’t going to wait till next Friday to see her, either. He had no classes after eleven on Monday, and Dexter had study hall till five, so the decks would be clear. Meanwhile, what was in this Browning thing? He’d give her a real good time—quote a few hot passages maybe.
    He opened the book and peered at the pages in the fading light, walking slower, and just then, in another part of the city, a switch was automatically thrown, the street lamps faded up quickly, and Charlie bowed to the nearest one. “Thanks,” he said, looking back at the illuminated page.
When we met first and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble.
    He laughed, “And that’s no lie!” Here, here was something:
I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree.
    He mused, thinking how he could improve on it. Turning a page, he found one he thought had a familiar ring:
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. . . .
    A rising wind fluttered the pages and a few drops of rain pattered the dry leaves. Charlie stood quite still, absorbing the words, “I love thee to the level of everyday’s Most quiet need——” My Jane—my beautiful Jane. He raised his head and let the rain touch his face, breathing the crisp air. Then he gave a shake to his shoulders and strode on. “That ought to do it,” he said, and resumed his whistling. “Am ah blue  . . .”
    Jane glanced at the little Sheffield as it gave its little whir, promising that it would announce the hour in the proper time. She ought to rouse Charlie, but it was so good to hold him like this. He seemed to belong to her as he never did when he was awake. She’d wait a little while—at least he was dressed, and at the last minute she could shoo him out, fast. They’d come down for a cup of coffee and a few minutes of talk. But he was always so sleepy and relaxed afterward—he never really wanted to talk, just to stumble into his clothes and leave.
    Jane was fully aware of her predicament. Always the clever woman. Proud of her cleverness. Proud of being able to get any young male, when she wanted to, and then pull the dignity bit, without injuring the young man’s ego: “What have we done! We must never see each other again, etc.,” sending the frightened creature back to the halls of ivy.
    But Charles, Charles the strong, cool maddening one. Without realizing it she had become involved to depths of which she had never realized she was capable. It wasn’t that his skill as a lover was anything