"You don't understand," muttered Jack miserably.
"Don't I?" she said, wistful and smiling. "I've thought quite a lot
about your case, but I wasn't sure that I had the right to speak."
"Oh, Kate!" he said turning to her quickly; "you know I'd take anything
from you!"
She smiled at the way he put it. "I'm not going to abuse you. My
advice to you is simply--to go!"
Jack stared at her.
"Go!" she repeated. "Ride away! Ride back to your own work in your
own country, the place you suit, and that suits you. You'd never be
any good here. Look at Linda in her finery! This is the breath of her
nostrils. She has her eye on Montreal--London eventually. How could
you two ever hope to pull together? Mind you, I'm her friend too, and
I believe that I'm doing her a service in advising you to ride. Girls
get carried away temporarily like men, though they're not supposed to.
Girls often get hysterical, and write much more than they mean.
Letter-writing between the sexes ought to be made a felony."
"She has my word," muttered Jack.
Kate shrugged. "There's the man of it! It is a fetich! Would you
spoil Linda's life for the sake of keeping your word, not to speak of
your own life and--perhaps a third!"
Jack's face was obstinate. "I'll see Linda and put it straight to
her," he conceded.
Kate's eyebrows went up. "These men!" she said helplessly. "You ought
to know her a little by this time. That will do no good. Much better
go without. It's a thing that ought to be broken off. What matter who
does it, or how it's done? The result will be good."
"I couldn't go unless she releases me," Jack said.
Kate got up smiling. "We must go back," she said. "A man must do as
he will. You are an awfully nice boy, Jack. I believe I love you for
your very mulishness. Write to me sometimes out of the North."
"I haven't gone yet," he said grimly. "You must promise to forget
every word that has been said if I ask you to."
"I promise, dear old man."
For Jack to think of a thing was to put it into instant execution. He
set off in search of Linda. One of the likeliest places to find her
was on the balconies. There was a suite of rooms across the front of
the armory, the officers' club, with a long narrow balcony overhanging
the street. For the occasion of the ball, potted palms had been placed
at intervals down the balcony, making a series of little nooks, each
with two chairs, and each reached through its own window. The largest
of the rooms with the balconies outside had been set apart for Sir
Bryson and his party.
Dancing was in full swing below, and Jack found the room empty. None
of the little nooks outside were occupied. In one of them Jack sat
down to wait for the end of the dance. Almost immediately two people
entered the next bower to his. Their voices were pitched low, and at
first he did not recognize them.
"Now for a cigarette," said the man.
"Lucky man," said the girl. "I'm dying for a puff!"
"Have one," he said. "I'll take it from you, if any one comes."
There was a silence, and the striking of a match. Then a long-drawn
feminine "Ah-h!" which was undoubtedly Linda's. Jack stood up to speak
to her over the dividing palms. It was not a thing to do, but Jack was
a man of one idea at a time; he had to speak to her, and his other
dance was at the tail of the evening. He wished merely to make an
appointment to speak with her later.
As his head rose over the palms he was just in time to see the blond
head of the English boy and Linda's darker, bejewelled head draw close
together, and their lips meet and linger. They did not see him.
Jack dropped back as if he had been shot, blushing and furious with
himself. To be a peeping Tom! a thing he loathed. He silently cut
across the room within the balconies, praying that they might not hear
him. Wild horses would never have dragged any admission from him of
what he had seen.
But when he got his breath again, as one might say, oh! but he found
his heart was beating blithely! He felt as if he had burst out of a
hateful chrysalis. Life was full of joy after all! A little song rang
in his ear: "It's all right! It's all right!" Laughter trembled in
his throat.
He waited about on the stairs for Linda to come down. She finally
appeared, cool and scornful, her heels tapping on the stairs, the thing
in her hair nodding and sparkling. Who would ever guess that her
little Mightiness had just been kissed! The spring of laughter bubbled
up inside Jack. He presented a bland face to her, but he could not
hide the shine in his eyes, nor the smirk about the corners of his lip.
"What is it?" asked Linda, staring at the change in him.
"Whom have you the next dance with?"
She named a name.
"I know him," said Jack. "Wait for me upstairs, and I'll see if I
can't make an exchange. I want to talk to you."
Linda's curiosity was aroused, and she went back upstairs with Lord
Spurling. In five minutes Jack had rejoined her, and the two of them
went out on the balcony again, in the same nook Linda had shared with
the Englishman.
"Well, what is it?" she asked.
"Linda," he said, "we've done nothing but quarrel since I came. Let's
cry quits!"
"It hasn't been my fault," she said, all ready for another.
"Never mind whose fault," he said. "Let's cut it out!"
"What's come over you?" she asked curiously.
"Look here," he said, "up North I promised that I'd come and claim you
as soon as I cleared myself. Well, I came, and I've been here long
enough to show us both that it's no go. We're not suited to each
other. We only get on each other's nerves. Give me my word back
again, Linda. Let's shake hands on it, and say good-bye!"
Linda started, and looked at him with big eyes. "Jack!" she murmured.
"You'd desert me? You can't mean it? What would I do?"
She got no further. The great eyes, the plaintive tremulo, the
threatened tears, all the old tricks after what he had just seen,
struck Jack as too funny! His laughter broke its bonds. He threw back
his head, and gave it way. There was nothing mocking or bitter in it;
it was pure laughter from the relief of his heart. He laughed and
laughed. He had had no laughter in weeks. He was obliged to lean
against the window-frame and hold his ribs as at a vulgar farce.
Linda's expression graduated from amazement to pale fury. She sprang
up. The jewelled aigrette fairly bristled with rage. "How dare you!"
she cried. "Shut up! I hate you! You make me feel like a perfect
fiend! I'd like to scratch your eyes out! Go back to your squaw!
It's all you're fit for. I was going to speak to you myself.
Understand, I'm throwing you over! I despise you!" She stamped her
foot. "Go back to her, and be damned to you both!"
She vanished. Such was the end of that affair.
Jack went in search of Kate, and found her on a man's arm bound
supperward. "Could I have a word with you urgent and private?" he
whispered.
Kate looked at his happy eyes and nodded. "Front balcony, five
minutes," she murmured back.
The balcony again.
"Kate, I'm off!" he cried. "This very night. In an hour I'll be
pounding the North trail on Starlight. I'm so happy I can't keep the
ground. If the boats have stopped running, I'll ride the whole way
through. Kate, dear, you've been a powerful good friend to me. I'd
like to kiss you good-bye."
"You may," she said, smiling and lifting her face.
"There!" he said. "There! and there! and there!"
"Mercy!" said Kate. "I'll have to retire to the dressing room for
repairs! Good-bye, and God bless you!"
After the family had gone to bed, Mary and Davy Cranston stole back
into the living-room, and quietly blowing up the fire, put on fresh
sticks. They sat down before it, nursing their knees. Nowadays there
was a stronger bond than ever between Mary and Davy. In that
disorganized household in the winter this was the only chance they had
to talk together.
"What do you suppose he's doing to-night?" said Davy.
"Who knows?" said Mary. "A party of some kind, or the theatre."
"If father had let me go out with him," said Davy, "I could have
written and told you everything he did."
"Father was right," said Mary. "He'll let you go when the time comes.
But that sort of thing would only unsettle you. We're not society
people."
"I don't see why you're not," said Davy stoutly.
"It's too complicated to explain," she said in a level voice. "Anyway,
I wouldn't like it."
"Whatever Jack does is all right, isn't it?" demanded Davy.
"He was born to it," said Mary. "That makes the difference.
Besides----"
"Well?"
"I don't think he likes it either. But it's necessary for him just at
present."
"I wish I could see him!" cried Davy.
Mary was silent.
"I mean to be just like him," Davy went on. "Do you think I'll ever be
as strong as that?" he asked anxiously.
"It doesn't matter," said Mary, staring into the fire. "You can be as
brave and honourable."
There was a knock at the front door. Brother and sister looked at each
other in surprise.
"A sick Indian," said Mary.
Davy went to see. He closed the door of the room after him. Presently
Mary heard a little cry, quickly smothered. Davy came in again
breathless, and with shining eyes.
"There's--there's some one wants to see you!" he said shakily. "Oh,
Mary!"
She ran out into the hall. The front door was open, and he stood
there, broad-shouldered and bulky with much clothing, dark against the
field of snow. He was bareheaded, and the moonshine was making a
little halo around the edges of his curly pate. He held out his arms,
and in a twinkling she was in them.
"Mary! My love!" he murmured. "I nearly went out of my mind wanting
you. I've come back for you! Never to leave you again!"
Their lips met, and their tears ran together. Mary was the only woman
who ever saw those hard blue eyes fill and overflow.