IX

To Ross, with his rigid self-control, it seemed impossible that a human

creature could safely endure such violent emotion as hers. She was so

fragile; she looked ill, horribly ill, ghastly, he thought she would

faint, would fall senseless at his feet. He sprang up the stairs to be

with her.

“Amy!” he cried.

Her dark brows met in a somber frown; she shook her head, waving her

forefinger in front of her face; an odd, foreign little gesture.

“No!” she said. “Keep quiet! Don’t speak to me. Let me think.”

“Think!” said Ross to himself. “I don’t believe you’re capable of it, my

girl. But certainly you’re even less capable of listening to any one.

Very well; go ahead with your thinking, then; and I’ll wait for the next

development.”

He lit a cigarette, and leaned against the wall, smoking, not sorry for

an interval of peace.

“Look at the time!” Amy commanded sharply. “You’ll be late getting to

the station, unless you hurry. Why didn’t you remind me?”

“Inexcusable of me,” said Ross. “I hope I shan’t lose my job.”

She apparently did not choose to notice this flippancy.

“Come!” she ordered, and went past him, down the stairs, and out of that

sorry little cottage. She ran all the way to the car, and two or three

times she said “Hurry!” to Ross, who kept easily at her side with his

usual stride.

“Now!” she said. “Drive as fast as you possibly can!”

“Sorry,” said Ross, “but my only license is one I had in Manila--and

even that’s expired. I can’t afford to take chances.”

She shrugged her shoulders, with an unpleasant little laugh. She was in

a very evil temper; the light was on inside of the car, and now and then

he glanced at her, saw her sitting there, her black eyes staring

straight before her, her mouth set in a mutinous and scornful line.

She was in torment; he felt sure of that, but he felt equally sure that

she would not hesitate to inflict torment upon others. She was cruel,

reckless, blind, and deaf in her folly. He wondered why it was that he

pitied her so.

Then he, too, shrugged his shoulders; mentally, that is, for he was

incapable of so theatric a gesture in the flesh. He himself was in an

odd humor, a sort of resigned indifference. He had, for the moment, lost

interest in the whole affair. It was too fantastic, too confusing; he

didn’t care very much what happened, just now.

“Let me out here!” she said. “There’s not time for you to take me up to

the house. I’ll walk. Now hurry!”

He stopped the car at the corner of Wygatt Road; she got out, and he

went on, alone. And he was surprised by the difference which her going

made. It was as if a monstrous oppression were lifted from his spirit,

and he could once more draw a free breath, and once more see the open

sky. One clear star was out. No; it was not a mad world; there was awful

and majestic order in the universe, inexorable law.

And she was truly pitiable, hurrying home beneath that one star; a poor,

helpless futile young thing, defying the whole world for her own desire.

She wanted him to help her! He would not help her in her desperate

folly, but he would not leave her now. Not now.

These admirable ideas were entirely put out of his head by a new

dilemma. He arrived at the station; he heard the train coming in, and he

could find no advantageous place for his car. All the good places were

taken. He had to stop where he was certain Mr. Solway would never find

him, until, as the train came in, a taxi was seized by an alert woman,

and Ross got his car into that vacant place.

Mr. Solway was not in the vanguard of the commuters; he came leisurely

and with dignity, talking with another man. Ross stood beside the open

door of the car; with a nod Mr. Solway got in, and the other man, too.

They paid no attention whatever to Ross; they settled themselves, and

went on talking, as if he were a ghost.

“They closed at five and an eighth,” said the other man. “I can’t help

thinking that--”

“Now, see here!” Mr. Solway interrupted. “You hold on to them, my boy. I

told you it was a good thing.”

“It would be,” said the other. “A very good thing, sir, if I could

unload at five and an eighth--or even a bit less--when I bought at three

and three-fourths.”

“Now, see here!” said Mr. Solway. “I’ll tell you something--which you

needn’t mention anywhere. I’m _buying_ at five and an eighth--up to six

and a half. Buying, mind you, my boy!”

This was almost more than Ross could bear. This was just the sort of

talk he had thirsted for; this was what he had come to New York for; to

buy stocks at three and three-fourths and sell at six and one-half, or

more. There he sat, with his peaked cap pulled down over his lean,

impassive face, listening with a sort of rage. If he could only ask Mr.

Solway questions, only tell him that he had a few thousands of his own

all ready and waiting for a little venture like this.

“And you’ll need all you can get, my boy,” Mr. Solway went on, “if

you’re going to marry Amy.”

Then this was Gayle? Ross turned his head for one hasty glance--and

then, encountering the astonished frown of Mr. Solway, realized what an

improper thing he had done. Chauffeurs must not look.

He had had this look, though, and had gained a pretty accurate

impression of the stranger. A tall young fellow, fair haired and gray

eyed; he was stalwart and broad shouldered, and altogether manly, but

there was in his face something singularly gentle and engaging.

“And that’s the fellow!” thought Ross. “That’s the fellow who’s going to

be fooled and lied to.”

He liked him. And he liked the vigorous and blustering Mr. Solway, and

he liked this rational, masculine conversation. It reassured him. He

reflected that, after all, he was not alone in this miserable affair,

not hopelessly cornered with the preposterous girl. No; Solway was her

stepfather, and the other man was her “Gayle.” They were in it, too.

They were his natural allies.

“She’s got to tell them, that’s all,” he said to himself. “They’ll both

stand by her. I’ll make her tell them. I can’t handle this infernal

mystery alone. I’m too much in the dark.”

He drove in at the gates, up the driveway, and stopped the car before

the house with a smartness that pleased him. Mr. Solway bounced out.

“Here, now!” he said. “You--Moss--Moss, that’s it. Moss, just lend a

hand with this bag. That’s right; up the stairs--first door on the left.

That’s it! That’s it! There you are, Gayle, my boy!”

He turned to Ross.

“Moss,” he said. “Everything going along all right? That’s it! That’s

it! You let me know if there’s anything wrong.”

Ross was hard put to it to suppress a smile. He imagined how it would be

if he should say:

“Well, sir, there _was_ one little thing--a dead man under the

housekeeper’s sofa. But, perhaps I shouldn’t mention it.”

He looked for a moment into the bluff, scowling, kindly face of the man

Eddy had called “a prince.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, and turned away, down the hall toward the

back stairs. And, as he came round the corner into the corridor, where

the housekeeper’s room was, his quick ear caught some words of such

remarkable personal interest to him that he stood still.

“Another James Ross!” Mrs. Jones was saying. “That’s a likely story, I

must say! Amy, that man’s a fraud and a spy!”

“No, Nanna darling, he’s not!” answered Amy, with sweet obstinacy.

“I tell you he is, child. He’s got to go.”

“No, dear,” said Amy. “He’s going to help me.”

“Amy!” cried Mrs. Jones. “Can’t you trust me? I tell you it’s all right.

He won’t come to-night. I promise you he won’t!”

“Oh, you mean well!” Amy remarked. “But you’ve made plenty of mistakes

before this.”

“Amy, I promise you--”

“No,” said Amy. “You told me before that I needn’t worry, that you’d

‘settled everything.’ And what happened? No; I’m afraid you’re getting

old, Nanna--old and stupid. I’m going to manage for myself now. And

Jimmy’s going to help me.”

“Child!” Mrs. Jones protested. “That man will ferret out--”

“I don’t care if he does,” said Amy. “He won’t tell, anyhow. Now don’t

bother me any more, Nanna. I’ve simply got to go.”

Ross stepped quickly backward along the hall for a few yards; then he

went forward again, with a somewhat heavier tread. And just round the

corner of the corridor, he came face to face with Amy.

Her beauty almost took his breath away. She wore a dress of white and

silver, and round her slender throat a short string of pearls. And

against all this gleaming white the pallor of her skin was rich and

warm, with a tint almost golden; and her misty hair was like a cloud

about her face, and her black eyes so soft, so limpid.

“Jimmy!” she whispered. “Do I look nice?”

“Er--yes; very nice,” Ross answered stiffly.

She came close to him, put her hand on his shoulder.

“Please, Jimmy!” she said, earnestly. “I do so awfully want to be

happy--just for a little while!”

Ross had a moment of weakness. She was so young, so lovely; it seemed

important, even necessary, that she should be happy. But he valiantly

resisted the spell.

“Who doesn’t?” he inquired.

“Jimmy, dear!” she said. “I’m coming to the garage after dinner--to ask

you something--to beg you to do something. Will you do it, my _dear_

little Jimmy?”

“I’ll have to hear what it is first,” said Ross.

But she seemed satisfied.

X

Ross went up to the room over the garage, and sat down there. He was

hungry and tired, and in no pleasant humor.

“It’s entirely too damned much!” he said to himself. “I’m--comparatively

speaking--a rich man. There’s money waiting for me. There’s a nice,

comfortable room in a hotel waiting for me; and decent clothes. I could

have gone to a play to-night. There was one I wanted to see. And here I

am--in a garage--dressed up like a monkey. No, it’s too much! I’m going

back to the city to-morrow. I’m going to see Teagle, and settle my

affairs. If Amy wants me to help her, I suppose I shall. But I won’t

stay here, and I won’t be a chauffeur.”

The more he thought of all this, the more exasperated he became. And it

was nearly nine o’clock before he was summoned to dinner, which did not

tend to placate him. In spite of his hunger, he took his time in going

over to the house. He had no objection to being late, and he would have

no objection to hearing some one complain about it. Indeed, he wished

that some one would complain. Just one word.

Looking for trouble, Ross was, when he entered the house. He pushed open

the swing door of the kitchen.

What marvelous aromas were there! What a festive air! That grave woman,

the cook, was wreathed in smiles, for had she not this night

accomplished a dinner which even Mrs. Jones had praised?

And the disagreeable housemaid was in softened mood, too, for she had

waited upon romance. She had already described, more than once, the

splendor of Miss Amy’s costume, and the way “him and her” had looked at

each other.

The laundress was elated, because she was fond of romance, and still

more because she was a greedy young creature, and scented an especially

good dinner. And they all welcomed Ross with cordiality.

“It’s too bad you had to be waiting the long time it was!” said the

cook. “You’ve a right to be famished entirely, Mr. Moss!”

Much mollified, the young man admitted that he _was_ hungry.

“You’d oughter of come over for a cuper tea this afternoon,” said the

housemaid. “And a piecer cake.”

“You’d oughter of tole him, Gracie,” the laundress added. “Poor feller!

He don’t know the ways here, yet!”

“Sit down, the lot of ye!” said the cook.

They did, and that unparalleled dinner began. It must be borne in mind

that Ross was wholly unaccustomed to this sort of thing, to home cooking

at its best, to the maternal kindness of women toward a hungry man. He

liked it.

He was in no hurry to go back to the solitude of the garage, and his own

thoughts. Being invited to smoke, he lit a cigarette and made himself

very comfortable, while the cook washed the dishes, and Gracie and the

laundress dried them. He was still taciturn, because he couldn’t be

anything else; but he answered questions.

He admitted that he had traveled a bit, and when the laundress, who was

disposed to be arch, asked to be told about them queer places, he gave a

few facts about the exports and imports of Manila. Anyhow, they all

listened to him, and said, “Didjer ever!” and it was altogether the

pleasantest hour he had yet spent in his native land.

And then--the swing door banged open, and there stood Amy, with a fur

coat over her shimmering dress, and an ominous look in her black eyes.

“Moss!” she said. “What are you doing here? Get up and come with me at

once! I want to speak to you!”

Without a word, he arose and followed her into the passage.

“I told you I was coming to the garage!” she pointed out, in a low,

furious voice. “Why didn’t you wait there?”

“Look here!” said Ross. “I don’t like this sort of thing.”

Before his tone her wrath vanished at once.

“I’m sorry, Jimmy!” she said. “I didn’t mean to be horrid. Only, it was

so hard for me to slip away--and I went all the way out to the garage in

the cold and the dark, and you weren’t there--and I’m so terribly

worried. Oh, you will hurry, won’t you?”

“Hurry? Well, what do you want me to do?”

“It may be too late, even now. Any instant he may come. He’ll ring the

bell, and Gracie will open the door. I _can’t_ tell her not to. He’ll

come in. Oh, Jimmy, you won’t let that happen, will you? Oh, do, do

please hurry!”

“But just what--”

“Go out and hide some place where you can watch the front door. And if

you see him coming--stop him! A thin, dark man, with a mustache. Oh,

hurry, Jimmy! All evening long I’ve been waiting and waiting--in

torment--for the sound of the bell. Go, Jimmy dear!”

“How long do you expect me to wait for him?”

“Oh, not so awfully long, dear. Just--” She paused. “Just till Eddy

comes home. I’m sure he won’t be late. Now hurry!”

“I don’t want to do this,” said Ross. “I can’t stop--”

“Oh, shut up!” she cried; and then tried to atone by patting his cheek.

“Jimmy, I’m desperate! Just help me this once! To-morrow I’ll explain it

all, and you’ll see. Only go now!”

“I’ll have to get my overcoat from the garage,” he explained.

“All right, dear!” she said, gently, and turned away. And as he went

toward the back door, he heard her sob.

All the way to the garage that sob echoed in his ears. Her tears had not

affected him; they were too facile, too convenient. But that half

stifled sob in the dark--He went quickly, taking the key from his pocket

as he went; he, too, was in a hurry, now, to spare her this thing she

dreaded.

He unlocked the door, turned on the switch, ran up the stairs, through

the sitting room, and into the bedroom, where his coat hung.

He stopped short in the doorway. For, sitting on the bed was a tiny

girl, seriously engaged in tying a ribbon about the waist of a white

flannel rabbit. She looked up at the young man, but apparently was not

interested, and went on with her job.

“Who are _you_?” demanded Ross.

“Lil-lee,” said she.

“Yes, but I mean--how did you get here?”

“I comed in a balloon,” she assured him.

Ross was completely ignorant about young children, but he realized that

they were not to be held strictly accountable for their statements. And

this child was such a very small one; such a funny little doll. She had

a great mane of fair hair hanging about her shoulders, and, on one

temple, a wilted bit of pink ribbon; she had serene blue eyes, a plump

and serious face, by no means clean.

She wore a white dress, still less clean, a coral necklace, white--or

grayish white--socks all down about her ankles, and the most dreadful

little white shoes. He observed all this, because it was his way to

observe, and because he was so amazed that he could do nothing but stare

at her.

“But who brought you?” he asked.

“Minoo,” she replied.

“Who’s Minoo?”

The child held up the rabbit.

“Oh, Lord!” cried Ross. “Won’t you please try to be--sensible? I don’t

know--Are you all alone here?”

“I fink I are.”

“The door was locked,” he said, aloud. “I can’t see--But what shall I do

with you?”

“Gimme my dindin,” said she.

Ross wished to treat so small and manifestly incompetent a creature with

all possible courtesy, but he was handicapped by his inexperience.

“Look here, Lily!” he said, earnestly. “I’m in the deuce of a hurry just

now. If you’ll wait here, I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“I will be a good baby!” said she. “But I want my dindin!”

He could have torn his hair. He could not fail Amy now. And he could not

leave a good baby alone and hungry, for he did not know how long.

“Shall I take it to the house?” he thought. “The cook would feed it.

But--perhaps it’s another of these damned mysteries. I haven’t time to

think it out now. I’d better keep it here until I’ve thought a bit. See

here, Lily, what do you eat?”

“Dindin,” Lily answered.

“Yes, I know. But--I’ve got bread. Will that do?”

“I _like_ bread and thugar!” she agreed.

He hurried into the kitchen, cut four good, sturdy slices of bread,

covered them well with butter and sugar, and brought them back on a

plate. Then, with a vague memory of a puppy he had once had, he thought

of water, and brought a glassful.

“Now I’ve got to go, Lily,” he explained. “But I’ll come back as soon as

I can. You just wait, see?”

“I will!” she said, pleasantly, and held out her arms.

He hesitated for a moment, half frightened; then he caught up the funny

little doll and kissed its cheek.

It was not a doll. It was warm and alive, and solider than it looked. It

clung to him, and kissed him back again.