More than a fortnight had passed and Jane was still engaged in "doing
second work" in the modest detached villa, otherwise known as the
residence of Mr. and Mrs. James Livingstone Belknap. Toward the end of
her first week of service she had received a letter from her good
friend, Bertha Forbes, urging her to return to England at once in the
company of an acquaintance who was to be sent across on customhouse
business. "I will arrange for the transportation," added Miss Forbes
generously; "I want to feel that you are safe at home with your family
once more."
Jane read this letter at the close of a peculiarly trying day, in which
she had encountered divers rapids and cross currents in both kitchen and
parlor. Mary MacGrotty was downright cross, Master Belknap peculiarly
and aggravatingly mischievous, and Mrs. Belknap, grievously
disappointed in her enlarged _ménage_, inclined to concentrate her
irritation upon Jane's defenseless head.
"Sure, an' that gurl's more trouble than she's worth to ye," Mary
MacGrotty had declared; "an' I towld yez when I come as how I c'u'dn't
stan' fer no second gurl under me feet."
"If you weren't away so often, Mary," began Mrs. Belknap weakly, "I
should----"
"Sure, an' I can't help _that_," interjected Miss MacGrotty strongly.
"Blood is thicker 'an water, I'm thinkin', an' me fambly is that delicut
an' ailin'. Me cousin's wife's mother was tuk bad of a Sunday," she
added darkly. "I'm expectin' to hear of her death most any minute, an'
the fun'ral 'll be to Brooklyn."
Mrs. Belknap sighed apprehensively. "By the way, Mary," she observed in
a carefully modulated voice, which asked for information only, "have you
chanced to see my carved shell comb anywhere about the house? I must
have dropped it from my hair, I think, and I haven't been able to find
it."
Mary MacGrotty faced about. "I have _not_!" she said emphatically. Then
she pursed up her lips. "Hev you asked _her_, mum?" she demanded in a
sepulchral whisper.
"You mean Jane? Oh, yes, I told her of my loss yesterday. Never mind; I
dare say I shall find it soon. I hope so, anyway. It was rather a
valuable comb, given me by Mr. Belknap soon after we were married, so I
think a good deal of it."
Miss MacGrotty's red elbows vibrated slightly as her mistress left the
kitchen; and Jane, who entered a moment later in quest of a glass of
water for her young charge, found her smiling evilly into the depths of
an iron pot.
"If you've got her comb hid away anywheres," muttered Mary, "you'd
better watch out; she's onto yez!"
"But I haven't hidden her comb," retorted Jane, shaken out of her usual
attitude of calm disdain toward the presiding genius of the kitchen.
"You know I wouldn't do such a thing."
"Aw; do I, thin'!" jeered Miss MacGrotty. "Well, you moind what I say;
that's all! _I_ ain't a-goin' to be blamed fer your doin's, miss."
"I shall have to go back to England," Jane told herself, as she left the
kitchen hot with rage and shame.
Master Belknap was for the moment playing peacefully in his sand pile,
and Jane, who had been bidden to keep close watch upon his movements,
stood looking down at him, winking fast to keep the angry tears from
clouding her eyes. One, two, three great sparkling drops got the better
of her and fell flashing into the sand; then Jane glanced up to find
John Everett looking at her with an expression of poignant anxiety on
his honest face.
"You are crying," he said in a low voice. "Why? Doesn't my sister----"
"Oh, it is nothing! I----" To her immense dismay Jane choked over an
unmistakable sob which wrenched her slender throat. "I wish you
would--not----"
"But I can't help it, when I see you so unhappy. Haven't you any friends
in America?"
"No-o--that is--I have one," said Jane, remembering Bertha Forbes's
unanswered letter.
"A man?" he asked, with sudden sharp anxiety.
Jane looked at him indignantly. "I don't know any man," she said.
"You know me," he murmured. "I should like to be your friend, Jane; may
I?"
The girl made no reply. Instead she turned and walked steadily toward
the house. "I will go back to England," she assured herself a second
time. But when at last she had leisure to answer Miss Forbes's letter
she found herself refusing her kind offer point blank. "I could not put
myself under so great an obligation to you," she wrote. "Besides, I am
quite safe and not too unhappy here; and I shall soon have earned the
money for my passage."
Miss Forbes read this ingenuous epistle with a suspicious lifting of
her sagacious brows. "I think I'll try and run over to Staten Island and
see what sort of a place she's in," she said aloud.
But she forgot this friendly resolution in the rush of the next day's
business, and was only recalled to the memory of it by an interview with
one of the passengers on the incoming liner. The interview was not of an
official nature, and its finish found Miss Forbes nervously chewing her
pencil in a state of singular agitation.
To search for a person who has ostensibly started upon an indefinite
tour of the United States is not unlike the traditional hunt for a
needle in a haymow; nevertheless the Hon. Wipplinger Towle had gallantly
embarked upon the quest, panoplied with infinite leisure, unlimited
money, and the well-disciplined patience of middle age.
He had not seen fit to acquaint the house of Aubrey-Blythe with his
intentions; being disposed, quite irrationally, to lay the fact of
Jane's flight at its door. Mr. Towle was an exceedingly calm not to say
mild-tempered man, a fact which very few persons intimidated by his
stern eyes and boldly modeled chin ever found out; but upon occasions he
could be severely implacable in his slowly acquired opinions. With a
sagacity more than masculine he suspected that the failure of his
matrimonial plans and the subsequent disappearance of Jane might be
traced to Lady Agatha Aubrey-Blythe, and he actually had the temerity to
tax that noble lady with both in her own drawing-room.
Lady Agatha's righteous indignation was kept in leash for some moments
by her knowledge of Mr. Towle's wealth and the hope that his elderly
fancy on matrimony bent might yet be guided toward the unattractive
Gwendolen; but it burst its bonds when the full import of his deliberate
utterances finally penetrated her intrenched understanding. She turned
white with fury as she focused her light-blue stare upon the audacious
Mr. Towle.
"Do you mean to _intimate_ that you think it _my_ fault that my
husband's niece has _disgraced_ herself and the family by running away
like a governess in a cheap romance?" she demanded, in unequivocal
English.
"Hum--ah," said Mr. Towle, quite unabashed. "I--er--beg your pardon,
Lady Agatha, if I appear rude, but did you not say some rather nasty
things to Jane the day before she left? I--er--fancy, don't you know,
that it might make me run away to be told that I was absolutely
unattractive, not at all clever, and--ah--dependent upon others for the
bread that I ate."
"Did the shameless girl tell you that?" cried Lady Agatha, more enraged
by the Honorable Wipplinger's uncompromising manner than by his words.
"And after _all_ that we have done for her, too!"
"Just--er--_what_ have you done for her, if I may inquire?"
"What have we done for Jane Blythe? How can you ask such a question! The
girl was left on our hands with scarcely a penny to her name when she
was a mere infant. We have done everything--_everything_, and this is
the way she rewards our kindness--our Christian charity! I trust I may
never see the ungrateful creature again."
"If there is anything," said the Hon. Wipplinger Towle, with exceeding
deliberation, "which I despise on earth, it is the--er--damnable
sentiment miscalled Christian charity. It has ruined more persons than
gin, in my humble opinion."
After which he took his leave with scant ceremony, Lady Agatha remaining
stock still in her chair in a state of semipetrifaction.
An hour later, having recovered the power of speech, she requested her
husband to formally forbid Mr. Towle the house; which Mr. Robert
Aubrey-Blythe, on his part, flatly refused to do. Whereupon ensued one
of an inconsiderable number of battles between the pair, during the
course of which Lady Agatha, having taunted her husband with his
inferior lineage, was reduced to tears by being reminded of her own
dowerless condition when she condescended from her high estate to wed
the rich commoner.
Perceiving his decisive victory, Mr. Robert Aubrey-Blythe waxed
magnanimous to the point of begging the lady's pardon. "It's deucedly
bad form to quarrel, Agatha; and what's more it's ruinous to the nerves
and digestion," he had concluded sagely. "You've gone off ten years at
least in your looks, my dear, from falling into such a rage over nothing
at all."
"Nothing at all!" echoed Lady Agatha. "Why, Robert, the man used the
most _frightful_ language in my presence. Fancy being told that
Christian charity has ruined more persons than gin! And as for the
profane adjective he used in connection with that speech, I refuse to
soil my tongue with it!"
Mr. Aubrey-Blythe cleared his throat with some violence. "Oh--er--as to
that, I've always said that Towle was a clever fellow--a deucedly clever
fellow," he observed meditatively. "He's nobody's fool, is Towle; and
mind you forget all about this the next time I ask him to dine; for ask
him I shall, Lady Agatha, whenever I please; and you'll be careful to be
civil to him, madam."
But the Hon. Wipplinger Towle was not available as a dinner guest for
several weeks thereafter; the fact being that having duly reflected upon
the information conveyed to him by the grateful Susan, he had found that
the shoe fitted, had instantly put it on, and had started for America on
the trail of Jane.
Fate, as is her occasional custom, was scornfully kind to this elderly
Sir Galahad, and he struck a warm scent before ever he had landed from
the steamer in the shape of a romantic newspaper story in which figured
an elderly French female smuggler, said to be an old hand at the game,
and a beautiful and innocent young English girl (name not given).
Scornful Fate glued the Honorable Wipplinger's eyes to this spirited
account penned by an enthusiastic young reporter, who chanced to be
nosing about the customhouse after material, and Mr. Towle, although as
devoid of imagination as the average male Briton usually is,
nevertheless pictured Jane as the unlucky heroine of the moving tale.
The reporter's richly adjectived phrase--"The slender little maiden,
with her true English complexion of cream and roses, lit up by sparkling
hazel eyes"--appeared to fit Jane with disconcerting completeness.
When he landed, immediately after perusing it, Mr. Towle took the pains
at once to look into the matter; and this explains the unofficial
interview before alluded to, in the course of which Miss Bertha Forbes
reduced the top of her lead pencil to a splintery pulp, more after the
fashion of an embarrassed schoolgirl than a stern-faced customs
official.
"No, sir, we do not as a rule make it a practice to give out information
regarding what takes place in our department," Miss Forbes informed the
tall Englishman.
"Hum--ah; can you inform me whether there is any truth in this account?"
Mr. Towle persisted. "The description of the--er--smugglers tallies
with that of the two persons I am in search of."
Miss Forbes cast her eyes coldly over the newspaper item. "There have
been several similar cases of late," she admitted. "But this states, you
notice, that both parties were immediately dismissed upon confiscation
of the goods. It is not a part of my work to keep track of detected
smugglers, and so of course----"
"You--er--saw the young girl described in the story; did you not?"
"I--I couldn't be sure of it," prevaricated Miss Forbes, actually
blushing.
The Hon. Wipplinger Towle fixed his glass more firmly in his eye and
proceeded to stare the intrepid Bertha out of countenance "I beg your
pardon," he observed masterfully, "but I--er--fancy you're mistaken."
"In what?" snapped the female inspector.
"In saying you're not sure you saw Miss Blythe. You--er--recall the
whole incident perfectly, I am confident."
"Of all the--impudence!" murmured Miss Forbes, somewhat excitedly.
"Well, suppose I do; what then?"
"If you know where she is, it will be greatly to her advantage if you
will tell me," said Mr. Towle mildly.
"I don't know about that," mused Bertha Forbes. "Who, for example, are
you? You're not her uncle."
"Thank you," said Mr. Towle astutely. "No; I am not a relative of Miss
Blythe's. I am--er--merely a friend. But I beg to assure you that I have
her best interests warmly at heart."
"Humph!--Well, I guess you have," admitted Miss Forbes, after a
prolonged semi-official scrutiny of Mr. Towle's countenance, an ordeal
which that honorable gentleman bore with the calm of conscious
integrity. "But for all that I don't think I shall tell you where she
is."
"Why not?" urged Mr. Towle, with an agitation which caused him to appear
almost youthful.
"Because I'm sure she wouldn't thank me for it," said Bertha Forbes
coolly. "Good day, sir."
"By heavens, madam, I'll not be put off like this!" declared Mr. Towle,
very much in earnest. "I came to America on purpose to find her."
"Find her then," advised Miss Forbes, with tantalizing brevity. "I can't
talk to you any longer to-day."
"To-morrow then?" Mr. Towle caught eagerly at the straw of suggestion in
her last word.
But Miss Forbes was denied to unofficial visitors on the following day,
and for three days thereafter, a period which Mr. Towle endured with
such resignation as he could muster.
On the fourth day he intercepted that stony-hearted official on her way
home to her lodgings. "Look here, Miss Forbes," he said doggedly, "I
didn't offer you money the other day to tell me of Miss Blythe's
whereabouts. But----"
"Don't do it to-day either," snapped the lady, with an ominous flash of
her really fine eyes. "You're not in England, remember."
"Yet I find the cabbies and hotel people more rapacious than in London,"
Mr. Towle observed thoughtfully. "Nevertheless I beg your pardon,
Miss--er--Forbes, and I entreat you to tell me where Jane is. I--I
believe I shall be ill if I can't find her."
"You _are_ looking pretty well done up," acquiesced Miss Forbes;
"but,"--seriously,--"how am I to be sure you are not the last person on
earth she wants to see?"
"I wish to heavens I could be sure I'm not!" exclaimed Mr. Towle
fervently. "But somebody ought to take her home."
"Granted," agreed Miss Forbes. "I've offered to send her back to
England; but she won't go--for me. She might for you; but I doubt it."
"I have at least earned the right to try," he said, with something so
convincing in his tone and manner that Bertha Forbes, who was at heart
neither more nor less than a woman, surrendered at discretion.
"Very well; I'll give you her address, and you can go and see her, if
you like," she said gruffly. "But I warn you she's an obstinate young
person, quite bent upon having her own silly way."