The Girl Next Door (Crimson Romance) by Peggy Gaddis

shaking a little. “You tell me!”
    Peter’s taut young face, the thin-lipped mouth bracketed by two white lines, was turned straight ahead and Betsy saw his hands gripped stoutly about his cane.
    “Wouldn’t I be a pretty fool to allow myself to fall in love with
any
woman — let alone one as beautiful and desirable as Marcia Eldon?” Peter’s voice was thick with bitterness.
    Betsy was silent for a moment. When she spoke, she tried hard to sound flippant, but didn’t succeed. She only sounded frightened and hurt.
    “Allow?
Who ever heard of anybody allowing himself to fall in love, Peter?” she demanded. “I don’t believe anybody really
wants
to fall in love. It’s just one of those things. You go along all peaceful and happy and minding your own business — and then
wham!
There you are — head over heels in misery! And there isn’t one single thing you can do about it!”
    Peter was facing her now, as though staring at her behind the dark glasses.
    “The Voice of Experience,” he chided her, and tried to match her attempt at flippancy. “You certainly make being in love sound like a wonderful experience.”
    “Being in love is ghastly, and I hate it. I wish I could stop. That’s the plain, unadulterated, concentrated devilishness of it — you can’t stop!”
    Peter looked startled and sorry. “Betsy, child, you’re all wrong,” he protested. “Being in love is — well, it’s a glorious experience!”
    “It’s nothing of the kind!” exclaimed Betsy. “Oh, I know people write gushy songs about the glories of being in love, and they write books and make movies about it. But take it from me, pal, it’s the bunk! That is, of course, unless you have the colossal luck to fall in love with somebody who loves you. Even then I don’t think it would be all gravy.”
    She paused a moment, then went on, breathlessly:
    “You never know an easy moment. You’re worried, if you’re with him, for fear you’ll do something he won’t like. And if you’re not with him, you’re wondering where he is and afraid maybe he’s finding somebody he likes better than you. You spend hours hovering around your telephone, praying for it to ring. And when it does, nine times out of ten, it’s the wrong number. And then, when you
do
get to be with him, you’re all tongue-tied. You can’t make bright conversation, and you decide that he’s convinced you’re a dope.”
    “Hey, Bets — hold it up! Where did you ever garner so much profound wisdom? Or is it just crazy talk? You’re too young to know so much!” protested Peter, frowning.
    Betsy looked at him. She could look at him all she liked and she didn’t have to be careful of her expression, of the revelation of her eyes, because Pete, poor darling, couldn’t see her. She blinked back the tears and brought the car to a halt in the driveway of the Marshall home.
    “I’ve had years of experience,” she told Peter after a moment, “I’ve been in love since I was twelve!”
    Peter looked slightly annoyed. “Betsy, Betsy — you’re still playing with dolls!” he scolded. “You’re still just a kid. You don’t know the first thing about love.”
    “Bo Norris thinks I’m grown up enough to marry him, and maybe I will!” she announced with a calmness that surprised her.
    But the look that flashed across Peter’s face was the most cruel blow she had ever received. It was one of acute relief! Peter was
glad
she was going to marry Bo! She had thought the news would shake him into a realization that he himself was in love with her — and, instead, he had looked relieved!
    “Bo Norris, eh?” he was saying now. “Well, that’s great, Betsy. Bo’s a grand guy! Congratulations. I’ll send you a set of solid silver pickleforks for your wedding present.”
    “And I’ll take good care of them, and send them back to you when you and Marcia get married,” Betsy said through her teeth.
    Instantly the laughter faded from Peter’s face, and it was