THE TIME AND THE PLACE
She halted at the portal of an old-fashioned house which had been turned
into an apartment hotel--a great brownstone mansion set back from the
street. A severely respectable porter in livery appeared and bowed to
her, but when his apoplectic eyes encountered Seabury's his shaven jaw
dropped and a curious spasm appeared to affect his knees.
She did not notice it; she turned to Seabury and, looking him straight
in the face, held out her hand.
"Good-night," she said. "Be chivalrous enough to find out who I
am--without sacrificing me.... You--you have not displeased me."
He took her hand, held it a moment, then released it.
"I live here," he said calmly.
A trifle disconcerted, she searched his face. "That is curious," she
said uneasily.
"Oh, not very. I have bachelor apartments here; I've been away from town
for three months. Here is my pass-key," he added, laughing, and to the
strangely paralyzed porter he tossed his luggage with a nod and a
pleasant: "You didn't expect me for another month, William, did you?"
"That explains it," she said smiling, a tint of excitement in her pretty
cheeks. "I've been here only for a day or two."
They were entering now, side by side; he followed her into the elevator.
The little red-haired boy, all over freckles and gilt buttons, who
presided within the cage, gaped in a sort of stupor when he saw Seabury.
"Well, Tommy," inquired that young gentleman, "what's the matter?"
"What floor?" stammered Tommy, gazing wildly from one to the other.
"The usual one, in my case," said Seabury, surprised.
"The usual one, in my case," said the girl, looking curiously at the
agitated lad. The cage shot up to the third floor; they both rose, and
he handed her out. Before either could turn the elevator hurriedly
dropped, leaving them standing there together. Then, to the
consternation of Seabury, the girl quietly rang at one of the only two
apartments on the floor, and the next instant a rather smart-looking
English maid opened the door.
Seabury stared; he turned and examined the corridor; he saw the number
on the door of the elevator shaft; he saw the number over the door.
"There seems to be," he began slowly, "something alarming the matter
with me to-night. I suppose--I suppose it's approaching dementia, but do
you know that I have a delusion that this apartment is mine?"
"Yours!" faltered the girl, turning pale.
"Well--it was once--before I left town. Either that or incipient lunacy
explains my hallucination."
The maid stood at the door gazing at him in undisguised astonishment.
Her pretty mistress looked at her, looked at Seabury, turned and cast an
agitated glance along the corridor--just in time to catch a glimpse of
the curly black whiskers and the white and ghastly face of the
proprietor peering at them around the corner. Whiskers and pallor
instantly vanished. She looked at Seabury.
"Please come in a moment, Mr. Seabury," she said calmly. He followed her
into the familiar room decorated with his own furniture, and lined with
his own books, hung with his own pictures. At a gesture from her he
seated himself in his own armchair; she sat limply in a chair facing
him.
"Are these your rooms?" she asked unsteadily.
"I thought so, once. Probably there's something the matter with me."
"You did not desire to rent them furnished during your absence?"
"Not that I know of."
"And you have returned a month before they expected you, and I--oh, this
is infamous!" she cried, clenching her white hands. "How dared that
wretched man rent this place to me? How dared he!"
A long and stunning silence fell upon them--participated in by the
British maid.
Then Seabury began to laugh. He looked at the maid, he looked at her
angry and very lovely young mistress, looked at the tables littered with
typewriters and stationery, he caught sight of his own dining-room with
the little table laid for two. His gayety disconcerted her--he rose,
paced the room and returned.
"It seems my landlord has tried to turn a thrifty penny by leasing you
my rooms!" he said, soberly. "Is that it?"
She was close to tears, controlling her voice and keeping her
self-possession with a visible effort. "I--I am treasurer and secretary
for the new wing to--to St. Berold's Hospital," she managed to say.
"We--the women interested, needed an office--we employ several
typewriters, and--oh, goodness! What on earth will your sister think!"
"My sister? Why, she's at Seal Harbor----"
"Your sister was there visiting my mother. I came on to town to see our
architects; I wired her to come. She--she was to dine with me here
to-night! Sherry was notified!"
"My sister?"
"Certainly. What on earth did she think when she found me installed in
your rooms? And that's bad enough, but I invited her to dine and go over
the hospital matters--she's one of the vice presidents--and then--then
you tied our feet together and it's--what time is it?" she demanded of
her maid.
"It is midnight, mem," replied the maid in sepulchral tones.
"Is that man from Sherry's still there?"
"He is, mem."
Her mistress laid her charming head in her hands and covered her
agreeable features with a handkerchief of delicate and rather valuable
lace.
The silence at last was broken by Seabury addressing the maid: "Is that
dinner spoiled?"
"Quite, sir."
Her mistress looked up hastily: "Mr. Seabury, you are not going to----"
"Yes, I am; this is the time and the place!" And he rose with decision
and walked straight to the kitchen, where a stony-faced individual sat
amid the culinary ruins, a statue of despair.
"What I want you to do," said Seabury, "is to fix up a salad and some of
the cold duck, and attend to the champagne. Meanwhile I think I'll go
downstairs; I have an engagement to kill a man."
However, a moment later he thought better of it; _she_ was standing by
the mirror--his own mirror--touching her eyes with her lace handkerchief
and patting her hair with the prettiest, whitest hands.
"Kill him? Never: I'll canonize him!" muttered Seabury, enchanted.
Behind him he heard the clink of glass and china, the pleasant sound of
ice. She heard it, too, and turned.
"Of all the audacity!" she said in a low voice, looking at him under her
level brows. But there was something in her eyes that gave him
courage--and in his that gave her courage.... Besides, they were
dreadfully hungry.
* * * * *
"You refuse to tell me?"
"I do," she said. "If you have not wit enough to find out my name
without betraying me to your sister you do not deserve to know my
name--or me."
It was nearly two o'clock, they had risen, and the gay little flowery
table remained between them; the salad and duck were all gone. But the
froth purred in their frail glasses, breaking musically in the
candle-lit silence.
"Will you tell me your name before I go?"
"I will not." Her bright eyes and fair young face defied him.
"Very well; as soon as I learn it I shall be more generous--for I have
something to tell you; and I'll do it, too!"
"Are you sure you will?" she asked, flushing up.
"Yes, I am sure."
"I may not care to hear what you have to say, Mr. Seabury."
They regarded one another intently, curiously. Presently her slender
hand fell as by accident on the stem of her wine-glass; he lifted his
glass: very, very slowly. She raised hers, looking at him over it.
"To--what I shall tell you--when I learn your name!" he said,
deliberately.
Faint fire burned in her cheeks; her eyes fell, then were slowly raised
to his; in silence, still looking at one another, they drank the toast.
* * * * *
"Dammit!" I said, impatiently, "is that all?"
"Yes," he said, "that will be about all. I'm going home to bed."
[Illustration]
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