She balanced herself lightly upon the step. He moved nearer and assured
himself of a firm foothold on the pebbly river-bed. She sank gracefully
into his arms, proving a considerable burden--weightier, in fact, than
he had anticipated. He was somewhat staggered; it seemed that he
embraced countless yards of ruffles and things ballasted with (at a
shrewd guess) lead. He swayed.
Then, recovering his equilibrium, incautiously glanced into her eyes.
And lost it again, completely.
"I was mistaken," he told himself; "daylight will but enhance...."
She held herself considerately still, perhaps wondering why he made no
move. Perhaps otherwise; there is reason to believe that she may have
suspected--being a woman.
At length, "Is there anything I can do," she inquired meekly, "to make
it easier for you?"
"I'm afraid," he replied, attitude apologetic, "that I must ask you to
put your arm around my ne--my shoulders. It would be more natural."
"Oh."
The monosyllable was heavy with meaning--with any one of a dozen
meanings, in truth. Maitland debated the most obvious. Did she conceive
he had insinuated that it was his habit to ferry armfuls of attractive
femininity over rocky fords by the light of a midnight moon?
No matter. While he thought it out, she was consenting. Presently a
slender arm was passed round his neck. Having awaited only that, he
began to wade cautiously shorewards. The distance lessened perceptibly,
but he contemplated the decreasing interval without joy, for all that
she was of an appreciable weight. For all burdens there are
compensations.
Unconsciously, inevitably, her head sank toward his shoulder; he was
aware of her breath, fragrant and warm, upon his cheek.... He stopped
abruptly, cold chills running up and down his back; he gritted his
teeth; he shuddered perceptibly.
"What _is_ the matter?" she demanded, deeply concerned, but at pains
not to stir.
Maitland made a strange noise with his tongue behind clenched teeth.
"_Urrrrgh,_" he said distinctly.
She lifted her head, startled; relief followed, intense and
instantaneous.
"I'm sorry," he muttered humbly, face aflame, "but you ... tickled."
"I'm--so--_sorry!_" she gasped, violently agitated. And laughed a low,
almost a silent, little laugh, as with deft fingers she tucked away the
errant lock of hair.
"Ass!" Maitland told himself fiercely, striding forward.
In another moment they were on dry land. The girl slipped from his arms
and faced him, eyes dancing, cheeks crimson, lips a tense, quivering,
scarlet line. He met this with a rueful smile.
"But--thank you--but," she gasped explosively, "it was _so_ funny!"
Wounded dignity melted before her laughter. For a time, there in the
moonlight, under the scornful regard of the disabled motor-car's twin
headlights, these two rocked and shrieked, while the silent night flung
back disdainful echoes of their mad laughter.
Perhaps the insane incongruity of their performance first became
apparent to the girl; she, at all events, was the first to control
herself. Maitland subsided, rumbling, while she dabbed at her eyes with
a wisp of lace and linen.
"Forgive me," she said faintly, at length; "I didn't mean to--"
"How could you help it? Who'd expect a hulking brute like myself to be
ticklish?"
"You are awfully good," she countered more calmly.
"Don't say that. I'm a clumsy lout. But--" He held her gaze
inquiringly. "But may I ask--"
"Oh, of course--certainly: I am--was--bound for
Greenpoint-on-the-Sound--"
"Ten miles!" he interrupted.
The corners of her red lips drooped: her brows puckered with dismay.
Instinctively she glanced toward the waterbound car.
"What am I to do?" she cried. "Ten miles!... I could never walk it,
never in the world! You see, I went to town to-day to do a little
shopping. As we were coming home the chauffeur was arrested for
careless driving. He had bumped a delivery wagon over--it wasn't really
his fault. I telephoned home for somebody to bail him out, and my
father said he would come in. Then I dined, returned to the
police-station, and waited. Nobody came. I couldn't stay there all
night. I 'phoned to everybody I knew, until my money gave out; no one
was in town. At last, in desperation, I started home alone."
Maitland nodded his comprehension. "Your father--?" he hinted
delicately.
"Judge Wentworth," she explained hastily. "We've taken the Grover place
at Greenpoint for the season."
"I see,"--thoughtfully. And this was the girl who he had believed had
been in his rooms that evening, in his absence! Oh, clearly, that was
impossible. Her tone rang with truth. She interrupted his train of
thought with a cry of despair. "What will they think!"
"I dare say," he ventured hopefully, "I could hire a team at some
farm-house--"
"But the delay! It's so late already!"
Undeniably late: one o'clock at the earliest. A thought longer Maitland
hung in lack of purpose, then without a word of explanation turned and
again, began to wade out.
"What do you mean to do?" she cried, surprised.
"See what's the trouble," he called back. "I know a bit about motors.
Perhaps--"
"Then--but why--"
She stopped; and Maitland forbore to encourage her to round out her
question. It was no difficult matter to supply the missing words. Why
had he not thought of investigating the motor before insisting that he
must carry her ashore?
The humiliating conviction forced itself upon him that he was not
figuring to great advantage in this adventure. Distinctly a humiliating
sensation to one who ordinarily was by way of having a fine conceit of
himself. It requires a certain amount of egotism to enable one to play
the exquisite to one's personal satisfaction; Maitland had enjoyed the
possession of that certain amount; theretofore his approval of self had
been passably entire. Now--he could not deny--the boor had shown up
through the polish of the beau.
Intolerable thought! "Cad!" exclaimed Maitland bitterly. This all was
due to hasty jumping at conclusions: if he had not chosen to believe a
young and charming girl identical with an--an adventuress, this thing
had not happened and he had still retained his own good-will. For one
little moment he despised himself heartily--one little moment of clear
insight into self was his. And forthwith he began to meditate
apologies, formulating phrases designed to prove adequate without
sounding exaggerated and insincere.
By this time he had reached the car, and--through sheer blundering
luck--at once stumbled upon the seat of trouble: a clogged valve in the
carbureter. No serious matter: with the assistance of a repair kit more
than commonly complete, he had the valve clear in a jiffy.
News of this triumph he shouted to the girl, receiving in reply an "Oh,
thank you!" so fervently grateful that he felt more guilty than ever.
Ruminating unhappily on the cud of contemplated abasement, he waded
round the car, satisfying himself that there was nothing else out of
gear; and apprehensively cranked up. Whereupon the motor began to hum
contentedly: all was well. Flushed with this success, Maitland climbed
aboard and opened the throttle a trifle. The car moved. And then, with
a swish, a gurgle, and a watery _whoosh!_ it surged forward, up, out of
the river, gallantly up the slope.
At the top the amateur chauffeur shut down the throttle and jumped out,
turning to face the girl. She was by the step almost before he could
offer a hand to help her in, and as she paused to render him his due
meed of thanks, it became evident that she harbored little if any
resentment; eyes shining, face aglow with gratitude, she dropped him a
droll but graceful little courtesy.
"You are too good!" she declared with spirit. "How can I thank you?"
"You might," he suggested, looking down into her face from his superior
height, "give me a bit of a lift--just a couple of miles up the road.
Though," he supplemented eagerly, "if you'd really prefer, I should be
only too happy to drive the car home for you?"
"Two miles, did you say?"
He fancied something odd in her tone; besides, the question was
superfluous. His eyes informed with puzzlement, he replied: "Why,
yes--that much, more or less. I live--"
"Of course," she put in quickly, "I'll give you the lift--only too
glad. But as for your taking me home at this hour, I can't hear of
that."
"But--"
"Besides, what would people say?" she countered obstinately. "Oh, no,"
she decided; and he felt that from this decision there would be no
appeal; "I couldn't think of interfering with your ... arrangements."
Her eyes held his for a single instant, instinct with mischief,
gleaming with bewildering light from out a face schooled to gravity.
Maitland experienced a sensation of having grasped after and missed a
subtlety of allusion; his wits, keen as they were, recoiled, baffled by
her finesse. And the more he divined that she was playing with him, as
an experienced swordsman might play with an impertinent novice, the
denser his confusion grew.
"But I have no arrangements--" he stammered.
"Don't!" she insisted--as much as to say that he was fabricating and
she knew it! "We must hurry, you know, because.... There, I've dropped
my handkerchief! By the tree, there. Do you mind--?"
"Of course not." He set off swiftly toward the point indicated, but on
reaching it cast about vainly for anything in the nature of a
handkerchief. In the midst of which futile quest a change of tempo in
the motor's impatient drumming surprised him.
Startled, he looked up. Too late: the girl was in the seat, the car in
motion--already some yards from the point at which he had left it.
Dismayed, he strode forward, raising his voice in perturbed
expostulation.
"But--I say--!"
Over the rear of the seat a grey gauntlet was waved at him, as
tantalizing as the mocking laugh that came to his ears.
He paused, thunderstruck, appalled by this monstrosity of ingratitude.
The machine gathered impetus, drawing swiftly away. Yet in the
stillness the farewell of the grey girl came to him very clearly.
"Good-by!" with a laugh. "Thank you and good-by--_Handsome Dan!_"