Gina was shocked and hurt beyond measure. She had thought it very
strange of Murchison to write to her from Philadelphia, to say, without
explanation, that he would be there for a week or two on private
business. How unfriendly of him to have private business after all these
years!
After that he didn’t come near her for three months. He telephoned now
and then, and said he was very busy; apparently he did not notice how
grieved was her manner.
And then, after all this, what happened? A thing incredible--he
telephoned to her one afternoon and told her that he had been married
that morning. She could never, never forgive such brutality. He might at
least have given her a chance to marry Dr. Walters first!
“Where are you now, Robert?” she inquired sternly.
“We’re in New York for--”
“Then you must come to dinner to-night with your--bride,” she said.
“But--” he began.
“It seems to me that is the least you can do,” said Gina, and he was
defeated.
Naturally she had Dr. Walters there for dinner, and naturally she was
charmingly gracious and kind. No denying that she was impressed by the
youth and prettiness of Robert’s wife. The fact that a well bred, lovely
creature certainly not more than twenty-one or twenty-two had been
willing to marry him forced her to admit that she had not appreciated
him.
“You have a wonderful man in Robert,” she gravely assured his wife.
“Isn’t he?” said Anne. “There’s no one like him!”
Then, of course, she had to look at him, to see if he was still there
and still as wonderful. He was. He met her glance, and they smiled at
each other with sublime confidence and understanding. Gina found it a
little hard to go on talking.
“Do you know,” she said brightly, “such a curious thing happened! A
friend of mine wrote me about a girl in Philadelphia, and I sent for her
to come as governess for the children. She told me that she’d arrive on
a certain day, but she didn’t come, and I never heard another word from
her. I wonder if you know the name--Kittridge?”
“Philadelphia’s quite a large place,” said Anne hastily.
“Of course,” Gina assented. “Now do tell me about yourself and Robert.
Was it romantic?”
“Oh, very romantic!” said Anne, in no little confusion. “It was--I think
it was--unique!”
There was a pause, and Robert came directly toward them.
“Will you not sing, Gina?” he asked blandly.
“No, thank you, Robert,” said she.
But Dr. Walters came to entreat also.
“Please do, Gina!” he said, with all his honest admiration reflected in
his beaming face.
“Sing ‘Old--’”
“No!” said she, so vigorously that he was startled.
He turned to Anne.
“You should hear her sing ‘Old--’”
“Please don’t ask me!” she cried.
“Of course not, if you don’t wish to,” he said gently; “but upon my
word, Mrs. Wigmore’s rending of ‘Old Black Joe’ is--”
“It was ‘Old Dog Tray’ I had in mind,” observed Robert.
“That’s a hateful, silly song!” said Gina. “I can’t endure it. It’s--the
whole sentiment is false. There are no Old Dog Trays!”
Robert’s hand fell lightly on her shoulder, and she turned to look at
him. Something that she saw in his face brought the tears to her eyes.
“There are old friends, though, Gina,” he said, “and nothing drives them
away!”
MUNSEY’S
MAGAZINE
JUNE, 1923
Vol. LXXIX NUMBER 1