CHAPTER XXVI.

BREAKS ONE AND MAKES ANOTHER ENGAGEMENT

Miss Balfour’s glass made her irritably aware of cheeks unduly flushed

and eyes unusually bright. Since she prided herself on being sufficient

for the emergencies of life, she cast about in her mind to determine

which of the interviews that lay before her was responsible for her

excitement. It was, to be sure, an unusual experience for a young woman

to be told that her fiance would be unable to marry her, owing to a

subsequent engagement, but she looked forward to it with keen

anticipation, and would not have missed it for the world. Since she

pushed the thought of the other interview into the background of her

mind and refused to contemplate it at all, she did not see how that

could lend any impetus to her pulse.

But though she was pleasantly excited as she swept into the

reception-room, Ridgway was unable to detect the fact in her cool

little nod and frank, careless handshake. Indeed, she looked so

entirely mistress of herself, so much the perfectly gowned exquisite,

that he began to dread anew the task he had set himself. It is not a

pleasant thing under the most favorable circumstances to beg off from

marrying a young woman one has engaged oneself to, and Ridgway did not

find it easier because the young woman looked every inch a queen, and

was so manifestly far from suspecting the object of his call.

“I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you personally yet,” she said,

after they had drifted to chairs. “I’ve been immensely proud of you.”

“I got your note. It was good of you to write as soon as you heard.”

She swept him with one of her smile-lit side glances. “Though, of

course, in a way, I was felicitating myself when I congratulated you.”

“You mean?”

She laughed with velvet maliciousness. “Oh, well, I’m dragged into the

orbit of your greatness, am I not? As the wife of the president of the

Greater Consolidated Copper Company—the immense combine that takes in

practically all the larger copper properties in the country—I should

come in for a share of reflected glory, you know.”

Ridgway bit his lip and took a deep breath, but before he had found

words she was off again. She had no intention of letting him descent

from the rack yet.

“How did you do it? By what magic did you bring it about? Of course,

I’ve read the newspapers’ accounts, seen your features and your history

butchered in a dozen Sunday horrors, and thanked Heaven no enterprising

reporter guessed enough to use me as copy. Every paper I have picked up

for weeks has been full of you and the story of how you took Wall

Street by the throat. But I suspect they were all guesses, merely

superficial rumors except as to the main facts. What I want to know is

the inside story—the lever by means of which you pried open the door

leading to the inner circle of financial magnates. You have often told

me how tightly barred that door is. What was the open-sesame you used

as a countersign to make the keeper of the gate unbolt?”

He thought he saw his chance. “The countersign was ‘Aline Harley,’” he

said, and looked her straight in the face. He wished he could find some

way of telling her without making him feel so like a cad.

She clapped her hands. “I thought so. She backed you with that

uncounted fortune her husband left her. Is that it?”

“That is it exactly. She gave me a free hand, and the immense fortune

she inherited from Harley put me in a position to force recognition

from the leaders. After that it was only a question of time till I had

convinced them my plan was good.” He threw back his shoulders and tried

to take the fence again. “Would you like to know why Mrs. Harley put

her fortune at my command?”

“I suppose because she is interested in us and our little affair.

Doesn’t all the world love a lover?” she asked, with a disarming

candor.

“She had a better reason,” he said, meeting her eyes gravely.

“You must tell me it—but not just yet. I have something to tell you

first.” She held out her little clenched hand. “Here is something that

belongs to you. Can you open it?”

He straightened her fingers one by one, and took from her palm the

engagement-ring he had given her. Instantly he looked up, doubt and

relief sweeping his face.

“Am I to understand that you terminate our engagement?”

She nodded.

“May I ask why?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to it, Waring. I honestly tried, but I

couldn’t do it.”

“When did you find this out?”

“I began to find it out the first day of our engagement. I couldn’t

make it seem right. I’ve been in a process of learning it ever since.

It wouldn’t be fair to you for me to marry you.”

“You’re a brick, Virginia!” he cried jubilantly.

“No, I’m not. That is a minor reason. The really important one is that

it wouldn’t be fair to me.”

“No, it would not,” he admitted, with an air of candor.

“Because, you see, I happen to care for another man,” she purred.

His vanity leaped up fully armed. “Another man! Who?”

“That’s my secret,” she answered, smiling at his chagrin.

“And his?”

“I said mine. At any rate, if three knew, it wouldn’t be a secret,” was

her quick retort.

“Do you think you have been quite fair to me, Virginia?” he asked, with

gloomy dignity.

“I think so,” she answered, and touched him with the riposte: “I’m

ready now to have you tell me when you expect to marry Aline Harley.”

His dignity collapsed like a pricked bladder. “How did you know?” he

demanded, in astonishment.

“Oh well, I have eyes.”

“But I didn’t know—I thought—”

“Oh, you thought! You are a pair of children at the game,” this

thousand-year-old young woman scoffed. “I have known for months that

you worshiped each other.”

“If you mean to imply” he began severely.

“Hit somebody of your size, Warry,” she interrupted cheerfully, as to

an infant. “If you suppose I am so guileless as not to know that you

were coming here this afternoon to tell me you were regretfully

compelled to give me up on account of a more important engagement, then

you conspicuously fail to guess right. I read it in your note.”

He gave up attempting to reprove her. It did not seem feasible under

the circumstances. Instead, he held out the hand of peace, and she took

it with a laugh of gay camaraderie.

“Well,” he smiled, “it seems possible that we may both soon be subjects

for congratulation. That just shows how things work around right. We

never would have suited each other, you know.”

“I’m quite sure we shouldn’t,” agreed Virginia promptly. “But I don’t

think I’ll trouble you to congratulate me till you see me wearing

another solitaire.”

“We’ll hope for the best,” he said cheerfully. “If it is the man I

think, he is a better man than I am.”

“Yes, he is,” she nodded, without the least hesitation.

“I hope you will be happy with him.”

“I’m likely to be happy without him.”

“Not unless he is a fool.”

“Or prefers another lady, as you do.”

She settled herself back in the low easy chair, with her hands clasped

behind her head.

“And now I’d like to know why you prefer her to me,” she demanded

saucily. “Do you think her handsomer?”

He looked her over from the rippling brown hair to the trim suede

shoes. “No,” he smiled; “they don’t make them handsomer.”

“More intellectual?”

“No.”

“Of a better disposition?”

“I like yours, too.”

“More charming?”

“I find her so, saving your presence.”

“Please justify yourself in detail.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “My justification is not to be

itemized. It lies deeper—in destiny, or fate, or whatever one calls

it.”

“I see.” She offered Markham’s verses as an explanation:

“Perhaps we are led and our loves are fated,

And our steps are counted one by one;

Perhaps we shall meet and our souls be mated,

After the burnt-out sun.”

“I like that. Who did you say wrote it?”

The immobile butler, as once before, presented a card for her

inspection. Ridgway, with recollections of the previous occasion,

ventured to murmur again: “The fairy prince.”

Virginia blushed to her hair, and this time did not offer the card for

his disapproval.

“Shall I congratulate him?” he wanted to know.

The imperious blood came to her cheeks on the instant. The sudden storm

in her eyes warned him better than words.

“I’ll be good,” he murmured, as Lyndon Hobart came into the room.

His goodness took the form of a speedy departure. She followed him to

the door for a parting fling at him.

“In your automobile you may reach a telegraph-office in about five

minutes. With luck you may be engaged inside of an hour.”

“You have the advantage of me by fifty-five minutes,” he flung back.

“You ought to thank me on your knees for having saved you a wretched

scene this afternoon,” was the best she could say to cover her

discomfiture.

“I do. I do. My thanks are taking the form of leaving you with the

prince.”

“That’s very crude, sir—and I’m not sure it isn’t impertinent.”

Miss Balfour was blushing when she returned to Hobart. He mistook the

reason, and she could not very well explain that her blushes were due

to the last wordless retort of the retiring “old love,” whose hand had

gone up in a ridiculous bless-you-my-children attitude just before he

left her.

Their conversation started stiffly. He had come, he explained, to say

good-by. He was leaving the State to go to Washington prior to the

opening of the session.

This gave her a chance to congratulate him upon his election. “I

haven’t had an opportunity before. You’ve been so busy, of course,

preparing to save the country, that your time must have been very fully

occupied.”

He did not show his surprise at this interpretation of the fact that he

had quietly desisted from his attentions to her, but accepted it as the

correct explanation, since she had chosen to offer it.

Miss Balfour expressed regret that he was going, though she did not

suppose she would see any less of him than she had during the past two

months. He did not take advantage of her little flings to make the talk

less formal, and Virginia, provoked at his aloofness, offered no more

chances. Things went very badly, indeed, for ten minutes, at the end of

which time Hobart rose to go. Virginia was miserably aware of being

wretched despite the cool hauteur of her seeming indifference. But he

was too good a sportsman to go without letting her know he held no

grudge.

“I hope you will be very happy with Mr. Ridgway. Believe me, there is

nobody whose happiness I would so rejoice at as yours.”

“Thank you,” she smiled coolly, and her heart raced. “May I hope that

your good wishes still obtain even though I must seek my happiness

apart from Mr. Ridgway?”

He held her for an instant’s grave, astonished questioning, before

which her eyes fell. Her thoughts side-tracked swiftly to long for and

to dread what was coming.

“Am I being told—you must pardon me if I have misunderstood your

meaning—that you are no longer engaged to Mr. Ridgway?”

She made obvious the absence of the solitaire she had worn.

Before the long scrutiny of his steady gaze: her eyes at last fell.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll postpone going just yet,” he said quietly.

Her racing heart assured her fearfully, delightfully, that she did not

mind at all.

“I have no time and no compass to take my bearings. You will pardon me

if what I say seems presumptuous?”

Silence, which is not always golden, oppressed her. Why could she not

make light talk as she had been wont to do with Waring Ridgway?

“But if I ask too much, I shall not be hurt if you deny me,” he

continued. “For how long has your engagement with Mr. Ridgway been

broken, may I ask?”

“Between fifteen and twenty minutes.”

“A lovers’ quarrel, perhaps!” he hazarded gently.

“On the contrary, quite final and irrevocable Mr. Ridgway and I have

never been lovers. She was not sure whether this last was meant as a

confession or a justification.

“Not lovers?” He waited for her to explain Her proud eyes faced him.

“We became engaged for other reasons. I thought that did not matter.

But I find my other reasons were not sufficient. To-day I terminated

the engagement. But it is only fair to say that Mr. Ridgway had come

here for that purpose. I merely anticipated him.” Her self-contempt

would not let her abate one jot of the humiliating truth. She flayed

herself with a whip of scorn quite lost on Hobart.

A wave of surging hope was flushing his heart, but he held himself well

in hand.

“I must be presumptuous still,” he said. “I must find out if you broke

the engagement because you care for another man?”

She tried to meet his shining eyes and could not. “You have no right to

ask that.”

“Perhaps not till I have asked something else. I wonder if I should

have any chance if I were to tell you that I love you?”

Her glance swept him shyly with a delicious little laugh. “You never

can tell till you try.”

Ridgway of Montana: A story of to-day, in which the hero is also the villain · 第 26 / 26 章