"I am delight'!" he cried joyfully, as if he had known me all my life.
"Zee chair; be seat'...."
"Thank you, but it's about the hats."
"Hats?"
"Yes. It seems that the hat I gave you belongs to another man. In your
haste you did not notice the mistake. _This_ is your hat,"--producing
the shining tile.
"_Mon Dieu!_" he gasped, seizing the hat; "eet _ees_ mine! See! I bring
heem from France; zee _nom_ ees mine. _V'là!_ And I nevaire look in zee
uzzer hat! I am _pair_fickly dumfound'!" And his astonishment was
genuine.
"Where is the other hat: the one I gave you?" I was in a great hurry.
"I have heem here," reaching to the vacant chair at his side, while the
French consul eyed us both with some suspicion. We _might_ be lunatics.
Beausire handed me the benevolent old gentleman's hat, and the burden
dropped from my shoulders. "Eet ees _such_ a meestake! I laugh; eh?" He
shook with merriment. "I wear _two_ hats and not know zee meestake!"
I thanked him and made off as gracefully as I could. The girl rose as
she saw me returning. When I reached her side she was standing with her
slender body inclined toward me. She stretched forth a hand and solemnly
I gave her Mr. Chittenden's hat. I wondered vaguely if anybody was
looking at us, and, if so, what he thought of us.
The girl pulled the hat literally inside out in her eagerness; but her
gloved fingers trembled so that the precious letter fluttered to the
floor. We both stooped, but I was quicker. It was no attempt on my part
to see the address; my act was one of common politeness. But I could
not help seeing the name. It was my own!
"Give it to me!" she cried breathlessly.
I did so. I was not, at that particular moment, capable of doing
anything else. I was too bewildered. My own name! She turned, hugging
the hat, the legal documents and the letter, and hurried down the main
stairs, I at her heels.
"Tell the driver my address; I can return alone."
"I can not permit that," I objected decidedly. "The driver is a stranger
to us both. I insist on seeing you to the door; after that you may rest
assured that I shall no longer inflict upon you my presence, odious as
it doubtless is to you."
As she was already in the cab and could not get out without aid, I
climbed in beside her and called the street and number to the driver.
"Legally the letter is mine; it is addressed to me, and had passed out
of your keeping."
"You shall never, never have it!"--vehemently.
"It is not necessary that I should," I replied; "for I vaguely
understand."
I saw that it was all over. There was now no reason why I should not
speak my mind fully.
"I can understand without reading. You realize that your note was cruel
and unlike anything you had done, and your good heart compelled you to
write an apology; but your pride got the better of you, and upon second
thought you concluded to let the unmerited hurt go on."
"Will you kindly stop the driver, or shall I?"
"Does truth annoy you?"
"I decline to discuss truth with you. Will you stop the driver?"
"Not until we reach Seventy-first Street West."
"By what right----"
"The right of a man who loves you. There, it is out, and my pride has
gone down the wind. After to-night I shall trouble you no further. But
every man has the right to tell one woman that he loves her; and I love
you. I loved you the moment I first laid eyes on you. I couldn't help
it. I say this to you now because I perceive how futile it is. What
dreams I have conjured up about you! Poor fool! When I was at work your
face was always crossing the page or peering up from the margins. I
never saw a fine painting that I did not think of you, or heard a fine
piece of music that I did not think of your voice."
There was a long interval of silence; block after block went by. I never
once looked at her.
"If I had been rich I should have put it to the touch some time ago; but
my poverty seems to have been fortunate; it has saved me a refusal. In
some way I have mortally offended you; how, I can not imagine. It can
not be simply because I innocently broke an engagement."
Then she spoke.
"You dined after the theater that night with a comic-opera singer. You
were quite at liberty to do so, only you might have done me the honor
to notify me that you had made your choice of entertainment."
So it was out! Decidedly it was all over now. I never could explain away
the mistake.
"I have already explained to you my unfortunate mistake. There was and
is no harm that I can see in dining with a woman of her attainments. But
I shall put up no defense. You have convicted me. I retract nothing I
have said. I _do_ love you."