common lady-killer of the type that infests these hotels, and ought to
be horsewhipped at sight. You're getting fanciful, and I don't wonder
at it. You've had a terrible summer, with all that trouble the Draper
caused you, and I imagine you haven't been having any too easy a time
with dear mamma-in-law, I'm mighty glad you're going to get away
with Dicky by yourself. A week in the mountains ought to set you
up wonderfully, and you certainly need it when you start weaving
mysterious tragedies about the commoner garden variety of 'masher.'"
Lillian's rough common sense steadied me, as it always does. I felt
ashamed of my momentary emotion.
"I fancy you're right, Lillian," I said nonchalantly. "Let's forget
about it and have some lunch. Where shall we go?"
"There's a bully little tea room down the street here." she said.
"It's very English, with the tea cozies and all that sort of frills,
and some of their luncheon dishes are delicious. Shall we try it?"
"By all means," I returned, and we went out of the hotel together.
Although I looked around furtively and fearfully as we left the hotel
entrance, I could see no trace of the man who had so startled me.
Scoring myself for being so foolish as to imagine that the man might
still be keeping track of me, I put all thought of his actions away
from me and kept up with Lillian's brisk pace, chatting with her gayly
over our past experience in buying hats and the execrable creations
turned out by milliners generally.
The tea room proved all that Lillian had promised. Fortunately, we
were early enough to escape the noon hour rush and secure a good table
near a window looking out upon the street.
"I like to look out upon the people passing, don't you?" Lillian said,
as she seated herself.
"Yes, I do," I assented, and then we turned our attention to the menu
cards.
"I'm fearfully hungry," Lillian announced. "I've been digging all
morning. Oh! it's chicken pie here today." Her voice held all the glee
of a gormandizing child. "I don't think these individual chicken pies
they serve here can be beaten in New York," she went on. "You know the
usual mess--potatoes and onions, and a little bit of chicken mixed
up with a sauce they insult with the name gravy. These are the real
article--just the chicken meat with a delicious gravy covering it,
baked in the most flaky crust you can imagine. What do you say to
those, with some baked potatoes, new lima beans, sliced tomatoes and
an ice for dessert?"
"I don't think it can be improved upon," I said, gayly, and then I
clutched Lillian's arm. "Look quickly," I whispered, "the other side
of the street!"
Lillian's eyes followed mine to the opposite side of the street,
where, walking slowly along, was the man I had seen in the hotel. He
did not once look toward the tea room, but as he came opposite to it
he turned from the pavement and crossed the street leisurely toward
us.
"Oh! I believe he is coming in," I gasped, and my knees began to
tremble beneath me.
"Suppose he is," Lillian snapped back. Her tone held a contemptuous
impatience that braced me as nothing else could. "The man has a right
to come in here if he wishes. It may be a mere coincidence, or he may
have followed you. You're rather fetching in that little sport rig,
my dear, as your mirror probably told you this morning. Unless he
obtrudes himself there is nothing you can do or say, and if he should
attempt to get fresh--well, I pity him, that's all."
Lillian's threatening air was so comical that I lost my nervousness
and laughed outright at her belligerency. The laugh was not a loud
one, but it evidently was audible to the man entering the door, for
he turned and cast a quick, sharp look upon me before moving on to a
table farther down the room. The waitress indicated a chair, which,
if he had taken it, would have kept his back toward us. He refused it
with a slight shake of the head, and passing around to the other side
of the table, sat down in a chair which commanded a full view of us.
Lillian's foot beat a quick tattoo beneath the table. "The insolent
old goat," she murmured, vindictively. "He'd better look out. I'd hate
to forget I'm a perfect lady, but I'm afraid I may have to break loose
if that chap stays around here."
"Oh, don't say anything to him, Lillian," I pleaded, terribly
distressed and upset at the very thought of a possible scene. "Let's
hurry through our luncheon and get out."
"We'll do nothing of the kind," Lillian said. "Don't think about the
man at all, just go ahead and enjoy your luncheon as if he were
not here at all. I'll attend to his case good and plenty if he gets
funny."
In spite of Lillian Underwood's kindly admonition I could not enjoy
the delicious lunch we had ordered. The presence of a mysterious man
at the table opposite ours robbed the meal of its flavor and me of my
self-possession.
I could not be sure, of course, that the man had purposely followed me
from the little reception room of the Sydenham, where I had waited for
Lillian. There I had first seen him staring frankly at me with such
a sad, mysterious, tragic look in his eyes that I had been most
bewildered and upset by it. But his appearance at the tea room within
a few minutes of our entering it, and his choice of a chair which
faced our table indicated rather strongly that he had purposely
followed me.
Whether or not Lillian's flashing eyes and the withering look she gave
him deterred him from gazing at me as steadily as he had at the hotel
I had no means of knowing. At any rate, he did not once stare openly
at me. I should have known it if he had, for his position was such
that unless I kept my eyes steadily fixed upon my plate, I could not
help but see him. He was unobtrusive, but I received the impression
that he was keeping track of every movement in the furtive glances he
cast at us from time to time.
Although he had ordered after us, his meal kept pace with our own. In
fact, he called for his check, paid it and left the restaurant before
we did. As he passed out of the door I drew a breath of relief and
fell to my neglected lunch.
"I hope I've seen the last of him," I said vindictively.
Lillian did not answer. I looked up surprised to see her chin cupped
in her hands, in the attitude which was characteristic of her when she
was studying some problem, her eyes following the man as he made his
way slowly down the street, swinging his stick with a pre-occupied
air. She continued to stare after him until he was out of sight, then
with a start, she came back to herself.
"You were right, Madge, and I was wrong," she said reflectively, still
as if she were studying her problem; "that man is no 'masher.'"
I looked up startled. "What makes you think so?" I asked breathlessly.
"I don't know," she returned, "but he either thinks he knows you,
or you remind him of some dead daughter, or sister--or sweetheart,
or--oh, there might be any one of a dozen reasons why he would want
to stare at you. I think he's harmless, though. He probably won't
ever try to speak to you--just take it out in following you around and
looking at you."
"Oh," I gasped, "do you think he's going to keep this up?"
"Looks like it," Lillian returned, "but simply ignore him. He has all
the ear-marks of a gentleman. I don't think he will annoy you. Now
forget him and enjoy your ice, and then we'll go and get that hat."
Under Lillian's guidance the selection of the hat proved an easy task.
Lillian bade me good-by at the door of the hat shop.
"You don't need me any longer, do you?" she asked, "now that this hat
question is settled?"
"No, no, Lillian," I returned, "and I am awfully grateful to you for
giving me so much of your time."
"'Til Wednesday, then," Lillian said, "good-by."
I had quite a long list in my purse of small purchases to be made. At
last even the smallest item on my list was attended to, and, wearied
as only shopping can tire a woman, I went over to the railroad
station. In my hurry of departure in the morning I had forgotten my
mileage ticket, so that I had to go to the ticket office to purchase a
ticket to Marvin.
I had forgotten all about the man who had annoyed me in the reception
room of the Sydenham, and the little English tea room, so, when I
turned from buying my ticket to find him standing near enough to me to
have heard the name of Marvin, I was startled and terrified.
He did not once glance toward me, however, but strolled away quickly,
as if in finding out the name of my home town he had learned all he
wished.
I was thoroughly upset as I hurried to my train, and all through my
hour's journey home to Marvin the thought of the man troubled me. What
was the secret of his persistent espionage? The coincidences of the
day had been too numerous for me to doubt that the man was following
me around with the intention of learning my identity.
When the train stopped at Marvin I was aghast to see the mysterious
stranger alight from it hurriedly and go into the waiting room of the
station. I thought I saw his scheme. From the window of the station he
could see me as I alighted, and either ascertain my identity from the
station agent or from the driver of whatever taxi I took.
I had only felt terror of the man before, but now I was thoroughly
indignant. "The thing had gone far enough," I told myself grimly.
Instead of getting off the train I passed to the next car, resolving
to stop at the next village, Crest Haven, and take a taxi home from
there.
The ruse succeeded. As the train sped on toward Crest Haven I had
a quiet little smile at the way I had foiled the curiosity of the
mysterious stranger.
I debated for some time whether or not I ought to tell Dicky of
the incident. I had so much experience of his intensely jealous
temperament that I feared he might magnify and distort the incident.
Finally I temporized by resolving to say nothing to Dicky unless the
man's tracking of me reached the point of attempting to speak to
me. But the consciousness of keeping a secret from Dicky made me
pre-occupied during our dinner.
Dicky reached home an hour after I did, and all through the dinner
hour I noticed him casting curious glances at me from time to time.
"What's the matter?" he asked, as after dinner he and I went out to
the screened porch to drink our coffee.
"Why, nothing," I responded guiltily. "Why do you ask?"
"You act as if you thought you had the responsibility of the great war
on your shoulders," Dicky returned.
"I haven't a care in the world," I assured him gayly, and
arousing myself from my depression I spent the next hour in gay,
inconsequential chatter in an attempt to prove to Dicky that I meant
what I said.
In the kitchen I heard the voices of Jim and Katie. They were raised
earnestly as if discussing something about which they disagreed.
Presently Katie appeared on the veranda.
"Plees, Missis Graham, can you joost coom to kitchen, joost one little
meenit."
"Certainly, Katie," I replied, rising, while Dicky mumbled a
half-laughing, half-serious protest.
"I'll be back in a minute, Dicky," I promised, lightly.
It was full five before I returned, for Jim had something to tell me,
which confirmed my impression that the mysterious stranger's spying
upon me was something to be reckoned with.
"I didn't think I ought to worry you with this, Mrs. Graham, but Katie
thinks you ought to know it, and what she says goes, you know." He
cast a fatuous smile at the girl, who giggled joyously. "To-night,
down at Crest Haven, I overheard one of the taxi drivers telling
another about a guy that had come down there and described a woman
whom he said must have gotten off at Crest Haven and taken a taxi back
to Marvin. The description fitted you all right, and the driver gave
him your name and address. He said he got a five spot for doing it."
My face was white, my hands cold, as I listened to Jim, but I
controlled myself, and said, quietly:
"Thank you, Jim, very much for telling me, but I do not think it
amounts to anything."
XXXII
"THE DEAREST FRIEND I EVER HAD"
Dinner with Dicky in a public dining room is almost always a delight
to me. He has the rare art of knowing how to order a perfect dinner,
and when he is in a good humor he is most entertaining. He knows by
sight or by personal acquaintance almost every celebrity of the
city, and his comments on them have an uncommon fascination for me
because of the monotony of my life before I met Dicky.
But the very expression of my mother-in-law's back as I followed her
through the glittering grill room of the Sydenham told me that our
chances for having a pleasant evening were slender indeed.
"Well, mother, what do you want to eat?" Dicky began genially, when an
obsequious waiter had seated us and put the menu cards before us.
"Please do not consider me in the least," my mother-in-law said with
her most Christian-martyr-like expression. "Whatever you and Margaret
wish will do very well for me."
Dicky turned from his mother with a little impatient shrug.
"What about you, Madge?" he asked.
"Chicken a la Maryland in a chafing dish and a combination salad with
that anchovy and sherry dressing you make so deliciously," I replied
promptly. "The rest of the dinner I'll leave to you."
My mother-in-law glared at me.
"It strikes me there isn't much left to leave to him after an order of
that kind," she said, tartly.
"You haven't eaten many of Dicky's dinners then," I said audaciously,
with a little moue at him. "He orders the most perfect dinners of any
one I know."
"Of course, with your wide experience, you ought to be a critical
judge of his ability," my mother-in-law snapped back.
Her tone was even more insulting than her words. It tipped with
cruel venom her allusion to the quiet, almost cloistered life of my
girlhood.
I drew a long breath as I saw my mother-in-law adjust her lorgnette
and proceed to gaze through it with critical hauteur at the other
diners. I hoped that her curiosity and interest in the things going on
around her would make her forget her imaginary grievances, but my hope
was destined to be short lived.
It was while we were discussing our oysters, the very first offered of
the season, that she spoke to me, suddenly, abruptly:
"Margaret, do you know that man at the second table back of us? He
hasn't taken his eyes from you for the last ten minutes."
My heart almost stopped beating, for my intuition told me at once the
identity of the gazer. It must be the man whose uncanny, mournful look
had so distressed me when I was waiting for Lillian Underwood in the
little reception room at the Sydenham the preceding Monday, the man
who had followed us to the little tea room, who had even taken the
same train to Marvin with me.
I felt as if I could not lift my eyes to look at the man my
mother-in-law indicated, and yet I knew I must glance casually at
him if I were to avert the displeased suspicion which I already saw
creeping into her eyes.
When my eyes met his he gave not the slightest sign that he knew I was
looking at him, simply continued his steady gaze, which had something
of wistful mournfulness in it. I averted my eyes as quickly as
possible, and tried to look absolutely unconcerned.
"I am sure he cannot be looking at me," I said, lightly. "I do not
know him at all."
I hoped that my mother-in-law would not notice my evasion, but she was
too quick for me.
"You may not know him, but have you ever seen him before?" she asked,
shrewdly.
"Really, mother," Dicky interposed, his face darkening, "you're going
a little too far with that catechism. Madge says she doesn't know the
man, that settles it. By the way, Madge, is he annoying you? If he is,
I can settle him in about two seconds."
"Oh, no," I said nervously, "I don't think the man's really looking at
me at all; he's simply gazing out into space, thinking, and happens
to be facing this way. It would be supremely ridiculous to call him to
account for it."
My mother-in-law snorted, but made no further comment, evidently
silenced by Dicky's reproof.
I may have imagined it, but it seemed to me that Dicky looked at me
a little curiously when I protested my belief that the man was simply
absorbed in thought and not looking at me at all.
When we were dallying with the curiously moulded ices which Dicky had
ordered for dessert, I saw his eyes light up as he caught sight of
some one he evidently knew.
"Pardon me just a minute, will you?" he said, turning to his mother
and me, apologetically, "I see Bob Simonds over there with a bunch of
fellows. Haven't seen him in a coon's age. He's been over across the
pond in the big mixup. Didn't know he was back. I don't want any more
of this ice, anyway, and when the waiter comes, order cheese, coffee
and a cordial for us all."
He was gone in another instant, making his way with the swift,
debonair grace which is always a part of Dicky, to the group of men at
a table not far from ours, who welcomed him joyously.
My mother-in-law's eyes followed mine, and I knew that for once, at
least, we were of one mind, and that mind was full of pride in the man
so dear to, us both. He was easily the most distinguished figure at
the table full of men who greeted him so joyously. I knew that his
mother noted with me how cordial was the welcome each man gave Dicky,
how they all seemed to defer to him and hang upon his words.
Then across my vision came a picture most terrifying to me. It was
as if my mother-in-law and I were spectators of a series of motion
picture films. Toward the table, where Dicky stood surrounded by his
friends, there sauntered the mysterious stranger, who had attracted my
mother-in-law's attention by his scrutiny of me.
But he was no stranger to the men surrounding Dicky. Most of them
greeted him warmly. Of course, I was too far away to hear what was
said, but I saw the pantomime in which he requested an introduction to
Dicky of one of his friends!
Then I saw the stranger meet Dicky and engage him in earnest
conversation. I did not dare to look at my mother-in-law. I knew she
was gazing in open-mouthed wonder at her son, but I hoped she did not
know the queer mixture of terror and interest with which I watched the
picture at the other table.
For it was no surprise to me when, a few minutes later, Dicky came
back toward our table. With him, talking earnestly, as if he had been
a childhood friend, walked the mysterious stranger. I told myself that
I had known it would be so from the first.
From the moment I had first seen this man's haunting eyes gazing at me
in the reception room of the Sydenham I had felt that a meeting with
him was inevitable. How or where he would touch my life I did not
know, but that he was destined to wield some influence, sinister or
favorable, over me, I was sure, and I trembled with vague terror as I
saw him drawing near.
"Mother, may I present Mr. Gordon? My wife, Mr. Gordon."
Dicky's manner was nervous, preoccupied, as he spoke. His mother's
face showed very plainly her resentment at being obliged to meet the
man upon whose steady staring at me she had so acidly commented a few
minutes before.
For my own part, I was so upset that I felt actually ill, as the eyes
of the persistent stranger met mine. How had this man, who had so
terrified me by his persistent pursuit and scrutiny, managed to obtain
an introduction to Dicky?
Dicky made a place for the man near me, and signalled the waiter.
"I know you have dined," he said, courteously, "but you'll at least
have coffee and a cordial with us, will you not?"
"Thank you," Mr. Gordon said, in a deep, rich voice, "I have not yet
had coffee. If you will be so kind, I should like a little apricot
brandy instead of a cordial."
Dicky gave the necessary order to the waiter, and we all sat back in
our chairs.
I, for one, felt as though I were a spectator at a play, waiting for
the curtain to run up upon some thrilling episode. For the few minutes
while we waited for our coffee, Dicky had to carry the burden of the
conversation. His mother, with her lips pressed together in a tight,
thin line, evidently had resolved to take no part in any conversation
with the stranger. I was really too terrified to say anything, and,
besides the briefest of assents to Dicky's observations, the stranger
said nothing.
There was something about the man's whole personality that both
attracted and repelled me. With one breath I felt that I had a curious
sense of liking and admiration for him, and was proud of the interest
in me, which he had taken no pains to conceal. The next moment a real
terror and dislike of him swept over me.
I waited with beating heart for him to finish his coffee. It seemed
to me that I could hardly wait for him to speak. For I had a psychic
presentiment that before he left the table he would make known to us
the reason for his rude pursuit of me.
His first words confirmed my impression:
"I am afraid, Mrs. Graham," he said, courteously, turning to me, as
he finished his coffee, "that I have startled and alarmed you by my
endeavor to ascertain your identity."
I did not answer him. I did not wish to tell him that I had been
frightened; neither could I truthfully deny his assertion. And I
wished that I had not evaded my mother-in-law's query concerning him.
He did not appear to heed my silence however, but went on rapidly:
"It is a very simple matter, after all," he said. "You see, you
resemble so closely a very dear friend of my youth, in fact, the
dearest I ever had, that when I caught sight of you the other day
in the reception room of the Sydenham, it seemed as if her very self
stood before me."
There was a vibrant, haunting note in his voice that told me, better
than words, that, whoever this woman of his youth might have been, her
memory was something far more to him than of a mere friend.
"I could not rest until I found out your identity, and secured an
introduction to you," he went on. "You will not be offended if I ask
you one or two rather personal questions, will you?"
"Indeed, no," I returned mechanically.
Mr. Gordon hesitated. His suave self-possession seemed to have
deserted him. He swallowed hard twice, and then asked, nervously:
"May I ask your name before you were married, Mrs. Graham?"
"Margaret Spencer," I returned steadily.
There was a cry of astonishment from Dicky. Mr. Gordon had reeled in
his chair as if he were about to faint, then, with closed eyes and
white lips, he sat motionless, gripping the table as if for support.
"Do not be alarmed--I am all right--only a momentary faintness, I
assure you."
Mr. Gordon opened his eyes and smiled at us wanly.
I knew that Dicky was as much relieved as I at our guest's return
to self-command. That he was resentful as well as mystified at the
singular behavior of Mr. Gordon I also gleaned from his darkened face,
and a little steely glint in his eyes.
"I hope that you will forgive me," Mr. Gordon went on, and his rich
voice was so filled with regret and humility that I felt my heart
soften toward him.
"I trust you have not gained the impression that my momentary
faintness had anything to do with your name," he said. "My attack at
that time was merely a coincidence. I am subject to these spells of
faintness. I hope this one did not alarm you."
He looked at me directly, as if expecting an answer.
"I am not easily alarmed," I returned, trying hard to keep out of my
voice anything save the indifferent courtesy which one would bestow
upon a stranger, for the atmosphere of mystery seemed deepening about
this stranger and me. I did not believe he had spoken the truth,
when he said that my utterance of my maiden name, in response to his
question, had nothing to do with his faintness. I was as certain as I
was of anything that it was the utterance of that name, the revelation
of my identity thus made to him, that caused his emotion. I sat
thrilled, tense, in anticipation of revelations to follow.
Mr. Gordon's voice was quiet, but a poignant little thrill ran through
it, which I caught as he spoke again.
"Was not your mother's name Margaret Bickett and your father's,
Charles Spencer?" he asked.
"You are quite correct." I forced the words through lips stiffened by
excitement.
I saw Dicky look at me curiously, almost impatiently, but I had no
eyes, no ears, save for the mysterious stranger who was quizzing me
about my parents.
One of Mr. Gordon's hands was beneath the table; as he was sitting
next to his I saw what no one else did--that the long, slender,
sensitive fingers pressed themselves deeply, quiveringly, into the
palm at my affirmation of his question. But except for that momentary
grip there was no evidence of excitement in his demeanor as he turned
to me.