The days passed by with nothing to justify Eleanor's apprehensions
resulting from Ralph Buckner's presence in New York, so her fears
vanished, and with them the necessity of disturbing her husband's
tranquillity with this confidence which already had been so long
postponed. Gorham's sudden trip to Washington made this even more
natural. Alice had told her of Covington's proposal, and was eager to
discuss the situation from every possible standpoint. To the older woman
the girl's attitude toward Allen seemed heartless, yet, knowing her
husband's feeling in the matter, she decided that it was wiser to leave
the young people to solve their own problem. Youth is ever heartless in
its attitude toward others, and it is only by its own suffering that it
learns the lesson of consideration. Eleanor sought to impress Alice with
the importance of being sure of her own heart before making her final
decision, and encouraged her to take plenty of time. She would have
hesitated to do this, on her husband's account, except that with Allen
so hopelessly out of the running the delay could do no harm. Alice must
make no error, Eleanor kept repeating to herself, recalling with painful
vividness the result of her own mistaken act of duty.
Covington became a constant visitor at the Gorham home, assuming more
and more the prerogatives of an accepted suitor. His attentions were
assiduous and his companionship was so agreeable that Alice considered
the arrangement ideal. Each time he urged her to give him a definite
reply she begged off in such a playful, girlish fashion that Covington
mildly acquiesced, feeling that each day's association made the
situation that much more favorable to him. And this courtship, curious
as it was, proved not unpleasant to him. Much to his own surprise, he
began to find himself really fond of this young girl, who kept him
constantly on the _qui vive_ to follow her from the absurdity of girlish
conceits to the opposite extreme of mature discussion of subjects
ordinarily far beyond the grasp of her years. It whetted his interest
and possessed a decided fascination for him, he admitted to himself more
than once as he left the house to return to his own apartment, wearing a
satisfied smile of patronizing indulgence. Had it not been for the
business necessities, and the importance of actually becoming her
husband before anything occurred to disturb his relations with Gorham,
he would have preferred to have things run on indefinitely as they were.
During this time Allen found Covington's attitude toward him completely
changed. It would have hurt the older man's self-respect to admit that
the boy could in any way be looked upon as a rival; but young girls are
uncertain quantities, and it had been necessary for Alice to prove that
she was beyond this danger-point before Covington decided that Allen was
a promising youngster, after all, and, as Stephen Sanford's son,
entitled at least to being noticed.
Allen, during the same period, and perhaps because of the same
conditions, had grown to regard Covington with even more cordial
aversion. The only positive grievance he had against him was the
success he had gained with Alice; but, in an undefined way, he felt
instinctively that this man possessed every Machiavellian attribute in
the calendar of dishonor. With an effort to be just, Allen mentally made
a generous discount to offset any possible prejudice, but even then
Covington measured up shockingly bad. If Alice had insisted on a proof
of the statements he made against him to her, he would have found
himself lacking ammunition; when Gorham had asked him point-blank what
evidence he had to substantiate his accusations, he had been unable to
give any, and this, he realized, had hurt him in the eyes of his chief.
So now the boy proposed to collect evidence, with the self-acknowledged
purpose of helping Gorham and of saving Alice, entirely overlooking any
personal interest in the undertaking. Covington's first overtures came
just at this time and were coldly received; but as Allen considered the
matter, he concluded that he would learn to "purr" too, taking lessons
in this gentle art from the one man whom he acknowledged to be its past
master.
Gorham was surprised by the change in their relations as he saw it, and
the boy at once rose in his estimation. Allen had evidently taken to
heart the advice given him during their last interview, and had proved
himself big enough to rise above his jealousies and his disappointment.
Gorham, guided by Eleanor's judgment, had refrained even from expressing
to Alice his strong desire that she should marry Covington, but with
Allen already self-effaced and with Alice accepting Covington's
attentions, even though as yet uncommitted, all was progressing to his
satisfaction.
Allen's duties still took him frequently to the Gorham house, but he
saw Alice only casually, as he made no effort to force himself upon her.
She was too much engrossed with the new element which had entered her
life to concern herself particularly, but she was negatively grateful to
him for not making the present condition unpleasant. She wanted to keep
him as a friend, and told him so frankly, but that could only be so long
as he accepted things as he found them.
But any lack of enthusiasm on the part of Alice was more than made up
for by Patricia. She was living on the seventh floor of her seventh
heaven. As she saw it, Alice had acted in the friendliest way possible
in giving her a clear field with her Sir Launcelot. Allen humored her,
finding a real relief in this childish game which his little friend took
so seriously. The one drawback was the amount of intimate information
which she conveyed through the medium of her innocent prattle. Allen
could not know what was coming next, and so was powerless to head off
conversation upon subjects into which he knew he had no right to enter,
for Patricia possessed the faculty of keeping herself well informed as
to family matters. It was through this that he secured the first clew
upon which to start a real investigation, so he considered the
information Heaven-sent, and blessed the child accordingly.
The staircase, as usual, formed the trysting-place. Here Patricia
waylaid her Knight on his way down from the library, taking her position
on an upper step, which made their difference in height less apparent.
The same ceremony was enacted each time in accord with the ritual she
had taught him. After he passed her, she suddenly sprang up to her full
stature, holding her arm high above her with the palm of her hand
extended.
"Wit ye well, Sir Knight!" she cried, impressively.
Then Allen turned--he was forbidden, under pain of death, to recognize
her until he heard these mystic words--knelt on the step below her and
kissed her other hand, while the one upraised descended upon his head in
benediction.
"The Lord be with thee, Fair Lady," he replied, following his lesson.
"And with thee--I accept thy troth. Now we can have a visit."
The Arthurian lady had vanished, and Patricia was herself again, curled
up close beside him.
"Look here, Lady Pat," he said, shaking his finger at her warningly, "I
think we ought to put a stop to this--you're taking it all too
seriously."
"Of course," she admitted, smiling up at him. "Why don't we get married
right away--then it needn't be serious any longer."
"Well"--Allen would not have wounded the devoted little heart for
worlds--"one reason is that I haven't money enough."
"Did Knights have to have money?" Patricia inquired. "I never saw a suit
of armor with a money-pocket in it."
"Neither did I," he admitted. "There wasn't any money then, like ours,
and when they wanted anything they didn't have, they fought for it."
"Well, then, why don't you fight for it?"
"I'm going to--I am fighting now. I mean, Lady Pat, they don't let you
fight the way they used to."
"Is it only because you haven't money enough that we don't marry, Sir
Launcelot?"
"That is--one of the principal reasons."
"Swear that you don't love any other fair lady."
"Except Alice," Allen insisted.
"Shall you always love her?" Patricia asked, wistfully.