All the time I sat like one paralyzed. I hated intensely the thought of going out there, but the very speed of the car seemed to furnish excuse enough for me not to get off! I didn't have will power enough to push the bell, so when the greasy terminal of the line was reached I rose quietly and left the car along with a number of men in overalls and a bevy of tired dejected-looking women.
"They ought to call it 'Gloom-is,'" I muttered, as I alighted at the little wooden station, where one small, yellow incandescent light showed you just how dark and desolate the place was. "And these people live here!—I'll never say a word against West Clydemont Place again as long as I live!"
Without seeming to notice the gloom, the people who had come out on the car with me dispersed in different directions, two or three of the men making first for the shadow of a big brick building which stood towering blackly a little distance up from the car tracks. I followed after them, then stopped before a lighted door at this building while they disappeared into a giant round-house farther back. The whir of machinery was steady and monotonous, and it served to drown out the noise my heart was making, for I was legitimately frightened, even in my reportorial capacity, as well as being embarrassed and ashamed, independent of theHerald. It was a most unpleasant moment.
"This must be the office!"
The big door was slightly ajar, so I entered, rapping with unsteady knuckles a moment later against the forbidding panels of another door marked "Private."
"Well?"
"Well" is only a tolerant word at best—neverencouraging—and now it sounded very much like "Go to the devil!"
"I don't give a rap if heisthe Vice-President and General Manager of the Consolidated Traction Company," I muttered, the capital letters of his position and big corporation, however, pelting like giant hailstones against my courage. "I'm Special Feature Writer forThe Oldburgh Herald!"
"If you've got any business with me open that door and come in!" was the further invitation I received. "If you haven't, go on off!"
The invitation wasn't exactly pressing in its tone, but I managed to nerve myself up to accepting it.
"But I have got some—business with you!" I gasped, as I opened the door.
Mr. Tait turned around from his desk—a worse-looking desk by far than the one I had left at theHeraldoffice.
"Good lord—that is, I mean to say,dearme!"he muttered, as he wheeled and saw me. "Miss Christie!"
"This must be the office"
"This must be the office"
"Are you so surprised—then?"
"Surprised? Of course, a little, but—no-o, not so much either, when you come to think of it!"
The room was bare and barn-like, with a couple of shining desks, and half a dozen chairs. A calendar, showing a red-gowned lady, who in turn was showing her knees, hung against the opposite wall. Mr. Tait drew up one of the chairs.
"Thank you—though I haven't a minute to stay!"
I stammered a little, then sat down and scrambled about in my bag for a small fan I always carried.
"A minute?"
"Not long, really—for it's getting late, you see!"
My fingers were twitching nervously with the fan, trying to stuff it back into the bag and hide that miserable copy paper which had sprung outof its lair like a "jack-in-the-box" at the opening of the clasp.
He smiled—so silently and persistently that I was constrained to look up and catch it. He had seemed not to observe the copy paper.
"If you're in such a hurry your 'business' must be urgent," he said, and his tone was full of satire.
"It is, but—"
I looked at him again, then hesitated, my voice breaking suddenly. Somehow, I felt that I was a thousand miles away from that magic spot on the Nile where the evening before had placed me. He looked so different!
"You needn't rub it in on me!" I flashed back at him.
His chair was tilted slightly against the desk, and he sat there observing me impersonally as if I were a wasp pinned on a cardboard. He was looking aloof and keenly aristocratic—as he was at the entrance of the conservatory the evening before.
"Rub it in on you?"
"I mean that I didn't want to come out here to-night!"
My face was growing hot, and try as I would to keep my eyes dry and professional-looking something sprang up and glittered so bewilderingly that as I turned away toward the lady on the calendar, she looked like a dozen ladies—all of them doing the hesitation waltz.
He straightened up in his chair, relieving that impertinent tilt.
"Oh,—you didn't want to come?"
"Of course not!"
I blinked decisively—and the red-gowned one faded back to her normal number, but my eyelids were heavy and wet still.
"But—but—"
"Please don't think that I came out here to-night because I wanted to see you, Mr. Tait!" I was starting to explain, when he interrupted me, the satire quite gone.
"But, after all, what else was there to do?" he asked, with surprising gentleness.
"What else?"
"Yes. Certainly it wasyournext move,—Grace!"
My heart out-did the machinery in the round-house in the way of making a hubbub at that instant, but he seemed not to hear.
"I mean to say—I—I expected to hear from you in some manner to-day. That is, Ihopedto hear."
I gave a hysterical laugh.
"But you didn't expect me to board a trolley-car and run you down after night in your own den—surely?" I demanded.
He half rose from his chair, hushing my mocking word with a gesture. His manner was chivalrously protecting.
"You shan't talk that way about yourself!" he said insistently. "Whatever you have chosen to do is—is—all right!"
I felt bewildered.
"I just wanted to let you know—" I began,when he stopped me again, this time with an air of finality.
"Please don't waste thisdearlittle hour in explaining!" he begged. "I want you to know—to feel absolutely that nothing you might ever do could be misunderstood by me! I feel now that Iknowyou—your impulsive, headstrong ways—"
"'Heart-strong,' Aunt Patricia used to say," I modified softly.
He nodded.
"Of course—'heart-strong!' I understand you! I understand why you refrained from telling me of your engagement, even."
My eyes dropped.
"I didn't—know then."
"You didn't know how I felt—what an unhappy complication you were stirring up."
There was a tense little silence, then he spoke again.
"If you are not in love with your fiancé—never have been in love with him—why do you maintainthe relationship?" he asked, in as careful and businesslike a manner as if he were inquiring the price of pig-iron.
"Because—because that's the way we do things down here in this state," I answered. "What weneverhave done before, we have a hard time starting—and mother idolizes him!"
He smiled—his own particular brand of smile—for the first time.
"Little—goose!" he said.
"Then—last night, when you pretended that you were going straight away—"
"Iamgoing away," he broke in with considerable dignity. "That is, I have my plans laid that way now."
"Plans?"
"Yes. It's true that my resolution to get away from this town was born rather precipitately last night; however, I have been able to make my plans coincide."
"Oh!" I began with a foolish little quiver in my voice, then collected myself. "I'm glad thatyou could arrange your affairs so satisfactorily."
He looked across at me, his mouth grim.
"Why should I stay?" he demanded. "To-night will see the finishing up of the business which brought me to Oldburgh!"
Then, and not until then, I'm afraid, did I really recall the face of my city editor—and the fact that he had sent me out to obtain an interview, not a proposal.
"Your business with the Macdermott Realty Company?" I inquired.
Maitland Tait looked at me with an amused smile.
"What do you know about that?" he asked.
"Nothing except what all the world knows!"
I managed to inject some hurt feeling into my voice, as if I had a right to know more, which in truth I felt.
"And how much does the world know?"
"Merely that you've either planned to shut down this plant here and move the whole business to Birmingham, or you've bought up acres andacres more of Oldburgh's suburbs and will make this spot so important and permanent that the company's grandchildren will have to call it home."
"But you—youdon't know which I've done, eh?"
I shook my head.
"Then shall I tell you? Are you interested?"
"I'm certainly interested in knowing whether or not you'll—ever come back to Oldburgh—but I don't want you to tellmeanything you'd rather I shouldn't know."
"I believe I want to tell you," he replied, his face softening humorously. "We have bought acres and acres more of Oldburgh's suburbs, and we're going to have quite a little city out here!"
"There's room for improvement," I observed, looking out through the window into the greasy darkness.
"There is and I'm going to see to it that the improvement's made! There will be model cottages here in place of those miserable hovels thatI'm glad you can't see from here to-night—and each cottage will have its garden spot—"
"That's good!" I approved. "I love gardens."
"Wait until you see some English ones I have seen," he said patriotically.
"I shall—then pattern my own by them! But—these Loomis plans?"
"Model cottages, with gardens—then a schoolhouse, with well-kept grounds—a club-room for men—"
"And asewingcircle for their wives," I added contemptuously.
He looked taken aback.
"Don't you like that?" he asked anxiously. "Why shouldn't they sew?"
"But why should they—just because they're women?" I asked in answer, and after a moment he began to see light.
"Of course if you prefer having them write novels, model in clay and illumine parchments we'll add those departments," he declared, with a generous air. "We're determined to have everythingthat an altruistic age has thrust upon the manufacturer to reduce his net income."
"And—occasionally—you'llbe coming back to Oldburgh to see that the gardens grow silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row?" I suggested, but after a momentary smile his face sobered.
"I don't know! There are things—in England—that complicate any arrangements, I meanbusinessarrangements, I might wish to make just now."
"And Loomis will have to get along without you?"
I had put the question idly, with no ulterior motive in the world, but he leaned forward until the arm of his revolving chair scraped against my chair.
"Loomiscanget along without me," he said, in a low tone, "and therefore must—but if I should find that I am needed—wantedhere in Oldburgh—"
The shriek of the city-bound trolley-car brokein at that instant upon the quiet of the room, interrupting his slow tense words; and I sprang up and crossed to the window, for I felt suddenly a wild distaste to having Maitland Tait say important things to me then and there! Something in me demanded the most beautiful setting the world could afford for what he was going to say!
"I ought—I ought to catch that car!"
He followed me, his face gravely wondering.
"My motor is here. I'll take you back to town," he said, looking over my shoulder into the noisy, dimly-lit scene.
"But—weren't you going to be busy out here this evening?"
"Yes—later. I'll go with you, then return to a meeting I have here."
He rang the bell beside his desk and a moment later the face of Collins appeared in the doorway. Outside the limousine was breathing softly.
I don't remember what we talked about going in to town, or whether we talked at all or not; but when the machine slowed up at theHeraldbuildingand Maitland Tait helped me out, there was the same light shining from his eyes that shone there the night before—the light that made the glint of the silver oars on Cleopatra's Nile barge turn pale—and the radiance half blinded me.
"Grace, you don't want me to say anything to-night—I can see that," he said. "And you are right—if you are still bound to that other man! I can say nothing until I know you are free—"
He whispered the words, our hands meeting warmly.
"But, if you are going away!—You'll come and say good-by?"
"If it's to say good-by there'll be no use coming," he answered. "Youknowhow I feel!"
"But we must say good-by!" I plead.
He leaned forward then, as he made a motion to step back into the car. His eyes were passionate.
"What matters where good-by is said—if we can do nothing but say it?" he demanded. "It'syournext move, Grace."
When a tempest in a teapot goes out at the spout it is always disappointing to spectators!
One naturally expects the vessel to burst—or the lid to fly off, at least—and when neither takes place one experiences a little collapsed feeling of disappointment.
The barest thought of the pain I was going to inflict upon Guilford Blake when I broke my lifelong engagement to him had been sending shivers up and down my backbone ever since four o'clock on the afternoon of Mrs. Hiram Walker's reception—then, when I turned away from Maitland Tait's motor-car the night I went to Loomis onurgent business, and came face to face with my betrothed standing in the shadow of the office door waiting for me—the unexpected happened!
Mr. Blake broke his engagement with me!
"Grace, you amaze me!" he said.
He said it so quietly, with so icy an air of disapproval that I looked up quickly to see what the trouble was. Then I observed that he had told the truth. I hadn't crushed, wounded, nor annihilated him. I had simply amazed him.
"Oh, Guilford! I didn't know you were here!"
"I suppose not."
"But, how does it happen—?"
He motioned me to silence.
"Have the goodness to let me ask the questions," he suggested.
"Oh, certainly!"
"Will you, first of all, tell me what this means?" was the opening query, but before I could reply he went on: "Not thatIhave any right to pry into your affairs, understand!"
"Guilford!"
"It's true! My right to question you has ceased to exist!"
"You mean that you have washed your hands of me?" I gasped. After all, it was most unusual for Guilford and me to be talking to each other like this. I was bewildered by the novelty of it.
He caught the sound of the gasp and interpreted it as a plea for quarter. It settled him in his determination.
"I must," he declared.
"By all means—if that's the way you feel about it," I said courteously, as if granting a request.
He looked down at me, in a manner that said: "It hurts me more than it does you, my child."
"I've endured—things from you before this, Grace," he reminded me, "But to-night—why, this out-Herods-Herod!"
Now, if he had looked hurt—cruelly wounded or deeply shocked—I'd have been penitent enough to behave decently to him. But he didn't. He was simply angry. He looked like the giant whenhe was searching around for Jack and saying: "Fee! Faw! Fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman!"
"But what have I done?" I demanded indignantly. "Mayn't a man come to see me, and—"
"Certainly he may!"
"And mayn't I—"
"And you may go to see him, too—if you like!"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean—I mean," he answered, stammering a little with wrath, "of courseyoumay do such things—Grace Christie may—but my future wife may not."
For a moment I had a blinded angry paralysis descend upon me. I had a great desire to do something to relieve the situation, but I didn't know what to do—rather as you feel sometimes at the breakfast table when your morning grapefruit hits you squarely in the eye.
"Suppose you try to calm yourself a little and tell me just what the trouble is," I said, struggling after calmness for my own individual use.
He took off his hat and mopped his brow.
"Your mother suspected last night that something had gone wrong with you at that dance," he began explaining, the flash of the street light at the corner showing that he had gone quite pale.
"Well?"
"She said that you came in looking wild-eyed and desperate."
"I am not willing to admit that," I said with dignity.
"And, then she knew you didn't sleep!" he kept on. "All day she has been feeling that something was amiss with you."
"I see! And when I didn't show up to-night at dinner—"
"She called the office—naturally."
"Naturally!" I encouraged.
"And the fool who answered the telephone consoled her by telling her that you had—gone—out—to—Loomis!"
He paused dramatically, but I failed to applaud.
"Well, what next?" I inquired casually.
He drew back.
"Then you don't deny it?"
I gave a little laugh.
"Why should I attempt to deny it?" I asked. "Haven't you just caught me in the act of coming back in Mr. Tait's car?"
"I have!" he answered in gloating triumph, "that is, I have caught you leaving his car—while he made love to you at the curb! This, however, doesn't necessarily confirm the Loomis rumor!"
He waited for me to explain further, but I simply bowed my head in acquiescence.
"Yes," I said serenely. "He was making love to me."
"And you acknowledge this, too?"
I made a gesture of impatience.
"I acknowledge everything, Guilford!—That you and I have been the victims of heredity, first of all, and—"
He drew back stiffly.
"Victims? I beg pardon?"
"I mean in this engagement of ours—that we had nothing to do with!"
"But I assure you that I have never looked upon myself in the light of a victim!" he said proudly. "And—although I know that it will not interest you especially—I wish to add that I have never given a serious thought to any other woman in my life."
"Yet you have never been in love with me!" I challenged.
He hesitated.
"I have always felt very close to you," he endeavored to explain. "We have so many things in common—there is, of course, a peculiar congeniality—"
"Congeniality?"
It struck me that the only point of congeniality between us was that we were both Caucasians, but I didn't say it.
"Our parents were friends long before we were born! This, of itself, certainly must bring in itswake a degree of mutual affection," he explained, and as the words "mutual affection" came unfeelingly from his lips I suddenly felt a thousand years further advanced in wisdom than he.
"But real love may be—is, I'm sure—a vastly different thing from the regard we've had for each other," I ventured, trying not to make a display of my superiority in learning, but he interrupted me contemptuously.
"'Real love!' What could you possibly know about that?" he asked chillingly. "You, who are ready to flirt with any stray foreigner who chances to stop over in this city for a week! But for me—why, I have never glanced at another woman! I have always understood my good fortune in being affianced to the one woman in the whole country round who was best fitted to bear the honored name which has descended to me."
When he said this I began to feel sorry for him. I was not sorry for his disappointment, you understand, but for his view-point. "I was neverfitted for it, Guilford!" I said humbly. "It's true I come of the same sort of stock that produced you—but I am awkwardly grafted on my family tree! At heart I am a barbarian."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean—the things you love most I simply forget about."
"I think you do!" he coincided heartily. "You have certainly forgotten all about ordinary propriety to-night."
At this I waxed furious again.
"How I hate that word propriety!" I said. "And there's another one—a companion word which I never mean to use until I'm past sixty! It'sPlatonic!—Those two words remind me of tarpaulins in a smuggler's boat because you can hide so much underneath them!"
"I'm not speaking of hiding things," he fired back, as angry as I was. "And, if you want to know the truth, I rather admire your honesty in not trying to pretend that your flirtation with thisEnglishmanisPlatonic!—Yet that certainly doesn't throw any more agreeable light upon this happening to-night.—Youdidgo to Loomis!"
I could scarcely keep from laughing at this, for his anger seemed to be centered in one spot—like an alderman's avoirdupois! He was thinking far less of losing me than of the indelicacy of my going to Loomis.
"Yes," I answered, trying to make my words inconsequential. "Old man Hudson sent me!"
His hat, which he had held deferentially in his hand all this time, suddenly fluttered to the ground.
"What!"
"Didn't you and motherknowthat?" I asked.
"That—that it was a business proposition?" he panted.
"Certainly—or I should never have gone! How little you and mother know about me, after all, Guilford."
He looked crestfallen for a moment, then his face brightened once more into angry triumph.
"But I saw him making love to you!" he summed up hastily, as an afterthought.
"Yes—you did," I assured him exultantly.
"And you met him for the first time—let me see? What day was it?"
I ignored the sarcasm.
"Tuesday," I answered. "At four o'clock in the afternoon."
"And not a soul in this town knows a thing about him!"
"Except myself," I protested. "I know a great deal about him."
"Then, do you happen to know—I heard it from a fellow in Pittsburgh who has followed his meteoric career as captain of industry—doyouhappen to know that he makes no secret of having left England because he was so handicapped by disadvantages of birth?"
I hesitated just a moment—not in doubt as to what I should say, but as to how I should say it.
"That's all right, Guilford," I answered complacently. "If his ancestors all looked like 'gentlemenof the jury' it doesn't lessen his own dignity and grandeur."
Now, if you've never been in a circuit court room you can't appreciate the above simile, but Guilford was a lawyer.
He looked at me in a dazed fashion for an instant.
"Grace, you don't feel ill—nor anything—do you?" he asked anxiously.
"Oh, no!"
"But I can't believe that you're exactly right in your mind!"
"Well—maybe—"
"I can't believe that to-morrow morning will actually dawn and find us asunder," he kept on quickly. "It must be some sort of fantastic dream."
"It will seem very—queer, at first, Guilford," I confessed, with a preliminary shrinking at the thought of facing mother.
"Queer's no word to use in connection with it," he answered crossly, then I heard heavy footstepsin the corridor above, and I took a quick step toward him.
"I must go up-stairs," I whispered. "Old man Hudson is making night hideous, I know!—But all this is really true, Guilford! And—and you must wearthisin your vest pocket now!"
I slipped the scarab ring into his hand.
"You are determined?" he asked dully.
"I am—awakened," I replied.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you are not really in love with me—never have been in love with me, and never could be except upon certain occasions when I was dreadfully dressed-up—where there were red roses and the sound of violin music."
"Grace, you are—unkind," he said, with a groping look on his face. "I confess that I don't in the least understand you!"
"Then how lucky we are!" I exclaimed. "So many people don't find this out until after they've got their house all furnished! We're going to be friends always, Guilford."
Then, without waiting for him to say more I turned away and ran breathlessly up the steps into the office.
The brilliant light in the city news room met me squarely as I opened the door. I blinked a little—then raised my left hand and examined it closely. It looked—awful! I had worn that same ring ever since I was seventeen years old—and I felt as I might feel if I'd just had my hair cut off or suffered some other unprecedented loss.
The city editor looked up from his desk.
"Well?" he inquired. "Have you got it?"
I was still gazing at that left hand.
"No," I answered stupidly. "It'sgone!"
He jumped to his feet.
"Here!" he commanded sharply. "Sit down here!"
I sat down, letting my bag slide to the floor.
"You don't feel sick—do you?"
"No."
"You didn't fall off the street-car—did you?"
"No."
"You haven't happened to any sort of trouble—have you?"
"No."
The "No—No—No—" was in the monotonous tone a person says "Ninety-nine" when his lungs are being examined.
Mr. Hudson looked at me closely.
"Then—the story!" he said.
I blankly reached for my bag, opened it and took out the blank copy paper.
"Oh—damn—" he began, then swallowed.
This awakened me from my trance.
"But hedoes!" I exclaimed in triumph. Heis—and he'sgoing to be!"
"Here?" the editorial voice called out sharply and joyously. "Here in Oldburgh?"
My head bobbed a concise yes.
"Bigger and better than ever?" my questioner tormented.
"A thousand times! Happiness for everybody!—Where there's a family there'll also be a House that's a Home—"
The old fellow began scribbling.
"I reckon he means model cottages," he observed sourly. "They all make a great pretense of loving their neighbor as themselves in this day and time."
"Yes—even if it's a cottage it will certainly be a model one—and what more could one desire?" I asked, rambling again.
"Then—what else?"
"And—oh! Gardens! Gardens—gardens!"
He held up his hand.
"Wait—you go too darn fast!"
"I'm sorry! Maybe I have gone too fast!" I answered, as I settled back in my chair and my face reddened uncomfortably. "Maybe I have gone too fast!"
"You have! You confuse me—talking the way you do and looking the way you do! By rights I ought to make you write the story out yourself—but you don't look as if you could spell 'Unprecedented good fortune in the annals of Oldburgh's industrial career,' to-night!"
"I'm sure I couldn't," I admitted readily. "Please don't ask me to."
"Well—go on with your narrative. What else?"
"Acres and acres! Acres andacres!" I impressed upon him. "That's what I've always wanted! I love acres so much better than neighbors—don't you?"
He paused in his writing.
"Of course the Macdermott Realty Company did the stunt?" he asked, scratching his head with his pencil tip and leaving a little black mark along the field of redness. "We mustn't forget to mention each individual member of the firm.—And then—?"
"A schoolhouse," I remembered.
He glared.
"A schoolhouse?" he questioned. "What for?"
"For the children!" I answered, lowering my eyes. "Did you think there wouldn't be any children? How could there be a House that was a Home without them?"
"Oh, and this fellow, Tait, is going to see to it that they're educated, eh? They're going to have advantages that he didn't have—and all that sort of thing? Very praiseworthy, I'm sure!"
I sprang up from my chair.
"I'm going home, Mr. Hudson, please!" I begged. "Thereissomething wrong with my head."
He smiled.
"It's different from any other woman's head I ever saw," he admitted half grudgingly. "It'slevel!"
"But indeed you're mistaken!" I plead. "Right this minute I'm—I'm seeing things!"
Then, when I said this a gentle light stole over his face—such a light I'm sure that few people ever saw there—perhaps nobody ever had except Mrs. Hudson the day he proposed to her.
"Visions?" he asked kindly. "A House that's a Home—andEnglishgardens."
"That's not fair!" I warned. "I really ought not to have gone out there to-night—and I don't know whether he'll want all this written up ornot—for I didn't mention theHerald'sname in our conversation, and—"
"Bosh!" he snapped. "Rot! And piffle! You had a right to go out there if I sent you—and of course he can't object to the public knowingnow! Why, I expect any one of the reporters could have got as much out of him to-night as you did!"
"Do you really think so?" I asked, from the doorway. "Good night, Mr. Hudson. You can easily make two columns out of that, by drawing on your—past experience."
He waved me crossly away, without once looking up or saying "Thank you" and I caught a car home. Half an hour later, when the curve was turned into the full face of West Clydemont Place I still thought I was "seeing things." A big motor-car stood before our door, but my heart changed its tune when I got closer. It was not a limousine. It was a doctor's coupé. Mother had suffered a violent chill.
"Grace, I—have no words!" she moaned, as I came into the room.
Before morning words began coming to her—gradually. First she moaned, then muttered, then raged. The chill disappeared and fever came on. By daybreak, however, they had both been left with the things that were, and mother slipped into her kimono.
"Go bring me the morning paper," she condescended, after the passing of the creamery wagon announced that busy life was still going on.
I rushed out into the front yard. The tree-tops were misty with that white fog which looks as if darkness were trailing her nightrobe behind her; and already on the neighboring lawns the automatic sprinklers were caroming across the green as if they had St. Vitus' dance.
"On a day like thisnothingis too good to be true!" I decided, as I picked up the paper and scurried back into the house.
"And gotyourname to it—Grace Chalmers Christie!" mother wailed in despair, as she opened the sheet and saw two columns, broken by a face that could do much more sensible things than "launch a thousand ships and burn the topless towers of Ilium."
"Let's—see," I suggested, peering over her shoulder and watching the words dancing up and down on either side of this face. I couldn't read anything, but I managed to catch an occasional "Macdermott" as it pranced along in front of an occasional "model cottage."
"Take it!—Burn it!" mother commanded, after she had read enough to realize that the thing was entirely too dull to prove interesting to any feminine creature.
She thrust it into my hand, and I took it into my bedroom, where I began a frenzied search for the scissors.
"I'd rather have you by yourself—away from all suggestions of Macdermotts and enlarged traction companies," I whispered, snipping the picture from the page and laying it caressingly in the drawer of the old-fashioned desk.
There it lay all morning—and I whispered to it and caressed it.
"A picture in a drawer is worth two on the wall," I said once, as I pushed it away quickly to keep mother from seeing it. But the fun of the secret was not at all times uppermost.
"You are so beautiful—so beautiful," I wailed, as I looked at it another time. "I almost wish you were not—so beautiful."
For you must know that no woman in love everenjoysher man's good looks! She loves him for so many other things besides beauty that she feels this demand is a needless cruelty—adding to her torture and making her love him the more. The only male beauty she can ungrudgingly adore is that which she cradles in her arms—the miniatureof the Big Good Looks which have lured her and tormented her!
Then—just for the sake of keeping away from this drawer—I did different things to pass away the morning. I said good-by to the picture, then went into the library and looked up a word in the dictionary. I looked at the picture again after that—to make sure that it was still there—then I decided to wash my hair. But I changed my mind, for I was afraid the water might drip on the picture and ruin it. I looked up a bodkin and some blue baby ribbon—and forgot to gear up the corset-cover whose eyelets were gaping hungrily before my eyes. While I was trying to remember what one usually does with a bodkin and blue ribbon I looked at the picture again—and, well, if you have ever been there you can understand; and if you haven't no words could ever explain.
Then the telephone in the hall! I tried to keep away from it as hard as they say a murderer tries to keep away from the scene of his crime.
"I won't call him until afternoon," I kept telling myself. "It would be perfectly outrageous. I'll call him from the office—just about dusk, and——"
Then I began seeing things again—houses and English gardens, with children and schoolhouses in the background, and a smile on the face of Pope Gregory, the Somethingth, when he saw the Union Jack and Old Glory flying in peace above this vision—until I came to the office in time for the one o'clock staff meeting.
The first thing I saw there was a note lying on my desk. It bore no post-mark, so I knew that it must have come by messenger.
"What can he have said?" I thought, catching it up and weighing it in my hands. "And I wonder why he sent it here to theHeraldoffice, instead of out home—and why he addressed it to Miss G. C. Christie, as if it were a business communication instead of to Miss Grace Chalmers Christie, and why——"
I looked at it again. It was surely from him,for it was written on traction company paper. I was glad of this, for I can forgive a man for anything—if he doesn't use fancy note-paper with his monogram in the corner.
I weighed it, and turned it over several times, and found a vague "Habana" fragrance about it—before I ran a hairpin under the flap and opened it. It ran as follows:
"My dear Miss Christie—"I have no doubt that you already know every man to be an Achilles—who welds a heel protector out of his egotism. Now, it happens that my most vulnerable spot is a distaste to being made a fool of; and to-day I can realize what a heavy coating of self-importance lay over this spot yesterday to blind me to your real motive."My apology for being such an easy-mark is that it was a case of mistaken identity. I want you to know that, as an actress, you are amazing! I firmly believed that an unusually fair and charming woman was doing me a great honor—but I awoke this morning from my trance to find that a clever newspaper reporter had outwitted me."I understand now why American Woman must be kept as a tormenting side-issue in a man'sbusy life. He can't afford to let her come to the front or she throws dust in his eyes."Of course the words I said to the vision of my own fancy and the promises I exacted, do not hold good with the reporter. I am leaving Oldburgh at noon to-day, and even if I were not, you would not care to see me again, since I know nothing more that would serve as a front-page article for theHerald.""Very sincerely yours,"Maitland Tait."
"My dear Miss Christie—
"I have no doubt that you already know every man to be an Achilles—who welds a heel protector out of his egotism. Now, it happens that my most vulnerable spot is a distaste to being made a fool of; and to-day I can realize what a heavy coating of self-importance lay over this spot yesterday to blind me to your real motive.
"My apology for being such an easy-mark is that it was a case of mistaken identity. I want you to know that, as an actress, you are amazing! I firmly believed that an unusually fair and charming woman was doing me a great honor—but I awoke this morning from my trance to find that a clever newspaper reporter had outwitted me.
"I understand now why American Woman must be kept as a tormenting side-issue in a man'sbusy life. He can't afford to let her come to the front or she throws dust in his eyes.
"Of course the words I said to the vision of my own fancy and the promises I exacted, do not hold good with the reporter. I am leaving Oldburgh at noon to-day, and even if I were not, you would not care to see me again, since I know nothing more that would serve as a front-page article for theHerald."
"Very sincerely yours,"Maitland Tait."
Now, do you know what happens when a woman receives such a letter as this—a letter that starts seismic disturbances? Well, first she blames her eyesight. She thinks she hasn't read the thing aright! Then she carries it off into some dark corner where she hopes she can see better, for the strong glare of day seems to make matters worse. If there's an attic near, so much the better!
But there was no available attic to theHeraldoffice, so I walked into the society editor's private room and slammed the door. I had thrust the note into my blouse, so that I'd have a little breathing-spell while I was getting it out, and as I tuggedwith a contrary belt pin I breathed very hard and fast.
But the second reading disclosed few details that had not been sent over the wires at the first report. Likewise the third, fourth and fifth. After that I lost count, and when I regained consciousness there was a heavy knock at the door—a knock in the possessive case. I rose wearily and admitted the rightful owner.
"Say, Grace," she commenced excitedly, "the old man's asking for you—Captain Macauley! He wants you to come down to his den at once for an interview. How does it feel to be the biggest thing on theHerald—for a day?"
I put my hand up to my forehead.
"It feels like——"
She laughed.
"Then try to look like it," she suggested. "Why, you look positively seasick to-day."
I didn't stop to explain my bearing false witness, but dashed past her to the head of the stairs. Captain Macauley's office was on a lower floor,and by the time I had gone leisurely down the steps I had quieted my eyelids somewhat.
"Well, Grace—how about the illegitimate use of weapons?" the old man laughed, lifting his shaggy head from the front page of the day'sHerald, as I entered. "Sit down! Sit down—I want to talk with you."
But for a moment he failed to talk. He looked me over quizzically, then turned to his desk and drew a yellow envelope from a pigeonhole. It was a telegram. I opened it wonderingly.
"Pauline Calhoun met with a serious motor-car accident yesterday and will be compelled to cancel her contract with you." I read. I looked at the old man.
"To go abroad this summer for theHerald?" I asked.
He nodded.
"We'veadvertisedher going," he said mournfully. "And the transportation is here."
"She was to have sailed Saturday week?" I asked, wondering at the cunning machinery of myown brain, which could keep on working after it was cold and dead! Every inch of my body was paralyzed.
"On theLuxuria," he said cheeringly, as he saw my expression. "TheLuxuria, mind you, young lady!"
"And to miss it? How tragic!" I kept on absently, wishing that the whole Cunard Line was at the bottom of the sea if he meant to keep me there chattering about it all day.
"But it's tragic for theHerald," he snapped. "Don't you see we're up against it? Here, every paper in the South is doing stunts like this—getting out special stuff with its individual brand—and Pauline Calhoun can deliver the goods."
"Not with her arm broken," I mused aloud.
He looked at me impatiently.
"The thing is, we've got to sendsomebodyabroad next week—somebody whose leg is not broken!"
"Oh!"
"And Hudson and I have been discussing you.This job you roped in last night was more than we'd given you credit for, and—so—well, can't you speak?"
I couldn't speak, but I could laugh. I felt as if my fairy godmother had taken me to a moving-picture show—where one scene was from Dante'sInfernoand the next one was from a novel by the Duchess.
"There'd be Italy——" Captain Macauley began, but I shrank back.
"Not Italy!" I begged. "I couldn't go to Italy now."
"Why?"
"Because you'd want me to write a lot of sentimental stuff from there—and I'm not sentimental—now."
He smiled.
"Italy is the land of lovers," he whispered, his eyes twinkling over some 1870 recollection. "You must be in love withsomebodywhen you're in Italy—and you can no more hide it than you can hide nettle-rash."
"I don't want to go there," I said stiffly.