Arthur had not meant to ask. He began a long blush, seeing which Gay
turned swift heels and escaped upon a suddenly ejaculated pretext.
"Why," said Arthur lamely, "I knew some people who were in Peking that
winter--that's all."
"Then," said Pritchard, "we have mutual friends. I knew every foreigner
in Peking. There weren't many."
Although Arthur had gotten the better of his blush, he felt that
Pritchard was eying him rather narrowly.
"They," said Arthur, "were a Mr. and Mrs. Waring."
"I hope," said Pritchard, "that _he_ wasn't a friend of yours."
"He was not," said Arthur, "but she was. I was very fond of her."
"Nobody," said Pritchard, "could help being fond of her. But Waring was
an old brute. One hated him. He wouldn't let her call her soul her own.
He was always snubbing her. We used to call her the 'girl with the dry
eyes.'"
"Why?" asked Arthur.
"It's a Chinese idea," said Pritchard. "Every woman is supposed to have
just so many tears to shed. When these are all gone, why, then, no
matter what sorrows come to her, she has no way of relieving them."
Arthur could not conceal his agitation. And Pritchard looked away. He
wished to escape. He thought that he could be happier with Gay than with
her brother. But Arthur, agitation or no agitation, was determined to
find out all that the young Englishman could tell him about the Warings.
He began to ask innumerable questions: "What sort of a house did they
live in?" "How do Christians amuse themselves in the Chinese capital?"
"Did Mrs. Waring ride?" "What were some of her friends like?" etc., etc.
There was no escaping him. He fastened himself to Pritchard as a
drowning man to a straw. And his appetite for Peking news became
insatiable. Pritchard surrendered gracefully. He went with Arthur on
canoe trips and mountain climbs; at night he smoked with him in the open
camp. And, in the end, Arthur gave him his whole confidence; so that,
much as Pritchard wished to climb mountains and go on canoe trips with
Gay, he was touched, interested, and gratified, and then all at once he
found himself liking Arthur as much as any man he had ever known.
"There is something wonderfully fine about your brother," he said to
Gay. "At first I thought he was a queer stick, with his pets and his
secret haunts in the woods, and his unutterable contempt for anything
mean or worldly. We ought to dress him up in proof armor and send him
forth upon the quest of some grail or other."
"Grails," said Gay, "and auks are extinct."
"Grails extinct!" exclaimed Pritchard. He was horrified.
"Why, my dear Miss Gay, if ever the world offered opportunities to
belted knights without fear and without reproach, it's now."
"I suppose," said she, "that Arthur has told you all about his--his
mix-up."
Pritchard nodded gravely.
"Is that the quest he ought to ride on?"
"No--it won't do for Arthur. He might be accused of self-interest. That
should be a matter to be redressed by a brother knight."
"Or a divorce court."
"Miss Gay!"
"I don't think it's nice for one's brother to be in love with a married
woman."
"It isn't," said Pritchard gravely, "for him. It's hell."
"_We_," said Gay, "never knew her."
"She's not much older than you," said Pritchard. "If I'd never seen you,
I'd say that she was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. But she's gentler
and meeker than even you'd be in her boots. She isn't self-reliant and
able."
"You talk as if you'd been in love with her yourself."
"I? I thought I was talking as if I was in love with you."
"Looks like it, don't it?" said she. "Spending all your time with a
girl's brother."
"Not doing what you most want to do," said Pritchard, "is sometimes
thought knightly."
"Do you know," she said critically, "sometimes I think you really like
me a lot. And sometimes I think that I really like you. The funny thing
is that it never seems to happen to both of us at the same time. There's
Arthur looking for you. Do me a favor--shake him and come for a tramp
with me."
"I can't," said Pritchard simply. "I've promised. But to-morrow----"
"_Certainly not_," said she.