THE PURSE MARK K. H.
[Illustration: Chapter VIII drop-cap K]
Kitty did sleep, but Mollie remained awake. All her healthy nature was
disturbed; the daily routine of her useful life was passionately
interrupted. She had now come face to face with tragedy, and this
tragedy surrounded her own young and dearly-loved sister. Katherine,
reckless, undignified, destitute of self-control, had given her heart
to Gavon Keith. His heart had not responded to hers. Kitty was driven
to despair, and was not strong-minded enough to conceal her feelings.
"He does not care for her," thought Mollie; and as the thought came to
her she shivered, and put her hand before her eyes and tried to shut
out a picture. It was a picture which fascinated her, and which she
had often, often seen since it had first revealed itself to her as a
reality. She saw a man lying by the roadside, and a girl bent over
him. The girl saw his dark eyes open, and a look of bewilderment, then
of gratitude, fill them, and she knew that from that moment she was
never to forget those special eyes or that special man. She had never
forgotten, and when she saw him in Mrs. Keith's house, and knew that he
was, after a fashion, her cousin, and knew also that he was the
supposed lover of her sister, the weight on her heart had never lifted.
For she knew also that he might have been the one man in all the world
to her. She might have given him a woman's first great, tender love.
For Mollie, whose deepest affections were hard to touch, when once won,
would have been won for ever; and Gavon Keith might have won her. Yes,
she knew it; she was too honest to disguise her own feelings. He was
in trouble too, and this very night he had taken her into his
confidence. Such a confidence was dangerous. She knew that she was on
the edge of a precipice; and although there was that within her which
was strong enough to resist temptation, yet the temptation was keen,
bitter, dreadful. She was in danger of loving the man whom Kitty
loved. The predicament was a terrible one. Keith's half-confidence,
too, had puzzled her. She felt uneasy about him. In what possible way
had he put himself into Major Strause's power?
Towards morning she fell asleep; and in her sleep her dreams were of
Keith. She fancied herself alone with him in a country far from
England--alone, and in circumstances of exceptional difficulty. He and
she were both tried in quite an unexpected manner, but in the trial
their hearts drew nearer together; and as Mollie opened her eyes that
morning she found herself murmuring his name.
"This will never do," she thought. "I must go away immediately. I
will not see him again until he is engaged to Kitty. Oh, he must marry
her--he must return her love!"
Mollie rose and dressed quickly. Kitty was still sound asleep. Mollie
wrote a little note, and left it on the dressing table. It ran:--
"DEAREST KITTY,--I have one or two old friends to visit in the north of
London. One of these friends will in all probability offer me a bed.
If so, I shall stay away for two or three days--until after Monday.
Please tell Aunt Louisa not to expect me for a few days. MOLLIE."
It was not yet eight o'clock when Mollie ran downstairs. She asked for
breakfast, and waited for it in the breakfast-room. She ate hurriedly,
being afraid that Keith might come downstairs.
It was close on nine o'clock before Kitty awoke. She could not at
first make out why there was such a weight at her heart; then it
returned to her--Gavon did not love her. Gavon beyond doubt loved her
sister.
"I cannot bear it," thought the petulant and angry girl--"I cannot bear
it. Why should Mollie come and take him away from me? Have I not
loved him for years?"
She rose, and the first thing she saw was Mollie's little note on her
dressing table. She opened and read it, and a look of relief crossed
her face. She dressed slowly, putting on her most becoming and stylish
garments. Her tears of the previous evening had but added pathos to
her beauty. Her face was pale, and her wide-open eyes looked large.
She ran downstairs in time to meet Mrs. Keith and her son.
"Where is Mollie?" asked the good lady as Kitty entered the room.
"She left a note. She has gone to visit some friends in North London,"
said Kitty. "Mollie won't be back for a day or two," she added. As
she spoke she flashed a glance at Gavon, who was seated at the table.
He rose, and went to the sideboard.
"Shall I cut some ham for you, Katherine?" he asked.
"Thank you. Yes, please, a little," she replied. Her lips quivered;
she wondered if she could swallow anything.
The meal was about half through when a servant entered, bringing a
note. The note was addressed to "Miss Katherine Hepworth." Kitty tore
it open. Its contents caused her face at first to turn rosy red, and
then very white.
"Say there is no answer," she said to the servant, who left the room.
"What is it, dear--anything that troubles you?" asked Mrs. Keith.
"Only a letter from Madame Dupuys," said Kitty, speaking as carelessly
as she could. "She wants to see me. I hope nothing is wrong with my
dress."
"You extravagant girl," said Keith, "are you getting a new dress for
Monday evening?"
"Yes--a new dress for you, Gavon," replied the girl, and she looked
sadly in his face.
There was something in her expression which gave him a pang of remorse.
"I like you in anything you wear, Kitty," he said, with a sort of
assumed carelessness. And then, as he went out of the room he laid his
hand for an instant on her shoulder. Light as the touch was, it
thrilled her. The clouds vanished from her speaking face like magic,
and she turned brightly to Mrs. Keith.
"When must you go to Madame Dupuys'?" asked that lady.
"Early--almost immediately. I will take a hansom and drive over."
"You need not do that; I am going out, and can drop you at madame's,
and call for you afterwards."
"Oh, thank you, auntie; that will be lovely."
"I am going out immediately," said Mrs. Keith.
"Then I will run upstairs and put on my hat and jacket," said the girl.
She danced up to her room. She still felt that light, very light,
caressing touch of Keith's on her shoulder. It tingled through her
being. She dressed herself quickly, and ran downstairs. Soon the
elderly lady and the young were driving away together in the direction
of Madame Dupuys'. Mrs. Keith's face looked troubled. Kitty glanced
at it, and then looked away.
"She is thinking about Gavon, and no wonder," thought the girl.
An impulse of affection, a fellow-feeling in a mutual sorrow, caused
her to place her little hand inside Mrs. Keith's. Suddenly the young
pair of eyes and the old met.
"_How_ are we to bear it?" said Kitty to his mother.
Mrs. Keith squeezed the slight hand.
"We must prove ourselves Englishwomen, Kitty," she said then. "A brave
woman will always willingly give up the man she loves to the cause of
his queen and his country."
"Some women are not brave," said Kitty, in a smothered voice.
They arrived at the dressmaker's, and Kitty went upstairs. She was
shown into a large showroom. She wandered about restlessly. The next
instant a girl appeared, and asked her if she would step into madame's
private sitting-room. Fear--an unreasoning fear--now caused Kitty's
heart to sink very low. She followed the girl. She was shown into a
small, prettily-furnished room. Madame Dupuys was waiting for her.
"I am very much obliged to you, Miss Hepworth," she said, "for calling
to see me so early."
"But what is the matter?" said Kitty. "Why did you send me such an
alarming note? What can be wrong?"
"I am more sorry than I can say, Miss Hepworth; but even at the risk of
losing your custom, it is absolutely necessary that you should pay me
at least half of my bill by to-night."
"I cannot possibly do it," said the girl. "What is the matter? You
told me you would give me a little time."
"I am sorry, but I am obliged to change my mind. I am pressed myself
to pay a large sum--pressed unexpectedly. I cannot let you have the
dress for the fancy ball unless you pay me half my account."
"Oh, how terribly cruel of you! You will ruin me if you act so."
"Miss Hepworth," said the dressmaker, "I have to speak plain words; it
is best to be straightforward. You have owed me a large sum of money
for over two years. Mrs. Keith imagines that you do not owe me
anything. If I go to her, the account will be paid at once. You owe
me three hundred pounds. I shall be satisfied for the present with a
cheque for half. Can you let me have a cheque for one hundred and
fifty pounds to-day?"
"I cannot do it," said Kitty, in a low, terrified whisper--"I cannot do
it; and I must have the dress. Give me until Tuesday morning, and you
shall have a cheque for three hundred. Yes, I vow it. I must have the
dress; nothing else will effect my purpose. Can you not understand
that there are occasions when a girl's whole future--all her
future--may depend on one dress, worn on one special evening? Can you
not understand?"
"I can partly guess to what you are alluding. Are you likely to have a
proposal, Miss Hepworth? Are you likely to make a brilliant match? Do
you want to fascinate some one on Monday evening? For if that is the
case, and if the man is--"
"Oh, think anything you like--I cannot explain. You know that in a
year I shall be comparatively rich; and I will pay you in full--I
promise it--on Tuesday. Can you not wait until then? and won't you let
me have my dress?"
Madame Dupuys looked at the young girl, She was sorry for her. She
possessed a sufficient amount of the vanities of nature to understand
that the pretty face and charming figure would look all the more taking
and bewitching set out as she could set them out. Kitty's was not that
simple order of beauty which needs no adornment. She looked best when
she was richly apparelled, and Madame Dupuys had an artist's soul, and
longed to see her own work displayed to the best advantage.
Nevertheless, she was really pressed just now for just that hundred and
fifty pounds which Kitty ought to have given her; and there was an
American heiress who would look quite lovely in the dress she was
making for Kitty, and would pay her down bank notes on the spot. Why
should she wait interminably? for she did not at all believe in Kitty's
promise for Tuesday night, and she absolutely wanted her money.
"I am sorry," she said at last. "I should like to oblige you, Miss
Hepworth; but there is only one alternative. If you cannot let me have
a cheque immediately, or at least by to-night, for one hundred and
fifty pounds, I cannot let you have the new dress."
"Then you are unkind, and I hate you!" said the girl.
Madame Dupuys was not at all affected by these angry words of Kitty's.
"I think you will find the money," she said, with a smile.
And Katherine Hepworth, with despair written on her face, ran
downstairs.
"I have no chance if I do not get the dress," she said to herself. "I
wonder if Mollie would help me. What is to be done?"
She was too impatient and perturbed to wait for Mrs. Keith. She went
out into the street. A hansom was slowly passing. She raised her
_en-tout-cas_ to stop the driver. The man drew up to the pavement.
The girl got into the hansom. As she did so her foot kicked against
something hard. She gave the man the direction of a gay shop in Sloane
Street. She intended to buy gloves and a fresh ribbon for her fan
there. The man whipped up his horse, and she stooped to see what the
hard object was. It was a purse made of Russian leather. She opened
it, and saw, to her wonder and delight, that it contained bank notes
and gold. Tremblingly she laid it on the seat by her side. But it
seemed to sting her as it lay so close and yet so far. She could not
get away from the fascination of it. There were a great terror and a
great sense of relief all over her.
"What does this mean?" she said to herself. "Oh, of course I ought to
give it to the driver, and tell him that somebody has left it here.
But why should I? I wonder how much is in it?"
She took it up, and saw further, to her astonishment, that there were
letters printed in silver on the outside. The letters might have stood
for her own name--"K.H."
"More and more marvellous!" thought the girl.
She opened the purse now, and tumbled the contents into her lap.
Altogether there was over a hundred pounds within--about twenty-nine
pounds in gold, the rest in notes. Notes are dangerous things to deal
with when one wants to be a thief. But Kitty did not think of anything
so dreadful as the word "thief" just now. With a hundred pounds she
could appease Madame Dupuys; she could get her dress in time for the
ball--she could see a way out of her difficulties. Not yet did her
conscience prick her; not for an instant did she feel remorse. She
would do it. Was it Providence that had put this purse in her way, or
was it-- She did not wait even to think out the remainder of the
sentence. She poked her parasol through the roof of the hansom.
"I want you to go back to 340 Bond Street," she said to the man.
He turned his hansom at once. When they reached the house, Kitty got
out, rang the bell, and asked to see Madame Dupuys. The girl who
opened the door to her brought her upstairs at once, and in two
minutes' time she was in madame's presence.
"Here," said the girl, panting as she spoke, "if I give you a hundred
pounds now, will you give me a week or ten days longer to pay the
remainder?"
"I will give you six weeks exactly, Miss Hepworth," replied the
dressmaker.
"Six weeks!" gasped Kitty. It seemed like a lifetime. She might be
married by then. Who knew what might take place long before six weeks
were out? "Yes, yes, that is all right," she said.
She took the little purse out of her pocket; it bore her own initials.
Madame was not for a single moment surprised at seeing it. Kitty
tumbled the contents on the table.
"There," she said again. "There are one hundred pounds. Count them."
The dressmaker bent over the notes and gold. She counted hastily.
"One hundred pounds and five shillings," she said.
She pushed the five shillings back to Kitty.
"No; keep it as a present," said the girl restlessly.
"Certainly not, miss," replied madame, with dignity.
She made out a receipt for Kitty and handed it to her. Kitty picked up
the empty purse and left the room.
When she was gone, madame was about to put the notes and gold into a
safe place in her writing table, when she was attracted by a little
piece of paper which had fallen on the floor. She took it up, and
opened it without having any special reason for doing so. The piece of
paper contained nothing but an address: "Katherine Hunt, 24 Child's
Gardens, Bayswater."
"Miss Hunt!" thought madame. "How queer! Why, she is one of my
customers." For a moment she thought she would tear up the little
piece of paper, but on second thoughts she put it into her drawer with
the notes and gold. "The next time Miss Hunt comes I must ask her if
she knows Miss Hepworth," thought the good woman. "Well, I am glad
Miss Hepworth has paid me even that much. And of course, poor little
lady, she shall have her dress, and made as nicely as I can make it."