"I can't see how in the world you got them," said Edna, "unless that
woman is a confederate. Did she give them to you?"
"I don't even know what woman you mean, Edna," he answered. "If you
mean a magnificent Hebe who was coming into the house in a hurry as I
was going out the other day, I may say I should always be glad to be
her confederate in anything--one of the few times in my life, Edna, I
was actually sorry to leave your house. No, I did not go to your safe,
although I am interested to know that you have one."
"That's where they were," said Edna indignantly, looking round. "The
pearls were locked up in the safe. I know that."
"Like so much of your more positive information, my dear, that, too, is
wrong," said Conway. "You had them on when I called. And as we talked
they came unfastened, and you took them off and laid them on the table
beside you. Something told me that you had not been aware of what you
did, and so when you refused so very roughly to lend me the sum of
money I needed I simply took back my pearls--when you were not looking."
"Gordon," said Edna, "you stole my pearls." And her tone had a note
of triumph as if the old delight of putting him in the wrong had not
entirely died.
"I took my pearls from the table," said Conway, "and turned them for a
few days into cash, with which I know you will be glad to know I made
a lot of money--a pot of money, Albertson--there is money still to be
made on the races for a smart fellow who knows how; and then, my dear,
with a quixotic impulse I gave you the pearls, as I have always thought
of doing. Some men might have given them to a younger and more amiable
woman, but my nature has always been distinguished by a peculiar form
of loyalty. I give them to you--for the sake of old times."
"You brought them back for the sake of not going to jail," said Edna,
her eyes flashing at him. He smiled gently.
"Edna," he said, "as time goes on you learn nothing--absolutely
nothing. Durland, when are you going to begin to grow? Good night,
Albertson. Remember that you are a witness to this gift. Good night."
And he had taken his departure before anyone spoke again. It was
Durland who spoke first. His voice shook a little.
"You see, mother," he said, "what a terrible injustice you have done
Miss Exeter. She might sue you, only she's too generous. Oh, if you had
only told me that my father had been about that day--only you never
tell me anything, as if I were a baby. You will apologize to her, won't
you?"
"I do not seem to be likely to get the chance of speaking to her at
all," said Edna, glancing at the closed door.
Cora Wellington rose to her feet.
"I'm sorry to be inhospitable, Edna," she said, "but I have had a
long, hard day attending to your business, and I want to go to bed.
In fact, I think I'll go." And she walked firmly out of the room and
upstairs, where, since the house--like the Conways'--was lightly built,
she could be heard rapidly walking about on her heels in the room
immediately overhead.
"Well," said Mr. Albertson, "It looks like I may as well be getting
back to the Great White Way myself. I congratulate you on the happy
termination of this affair, Mrs. Conway. I do not think that emerald is
genuine, but I presume it is the sentiment that will appeal to you. I
feel as happy as you do that that sweet young lady is as innocent as a
baby."
It cannot be said that Edna looked particularly happy over this point.
She raised her shoulders.
"But we don't know yet who she is. She certainly is not Miss Exeter."
Albertson smiled.
"You will find it was just a girlish prank," he said. "And I think we
may presume that Mr. Wood now knows the whole story. I think if you'll
permit me I'll call my assistant and we will get the car and be off."
Mrs. Conway, once again wearing her pearls, and Durland, still talking
of apologies, accompanied Mr. Albertson back to the other house.
So the room was empty. Gradually it seemed to lose even the
remembrance of its late occupants. The down cushion of the chair in
which Edna had been sitting rose softly to its accustomed level with
something like a sigh of relief. A wicker sofa, of stiffer nature,
creaked in every fibre. A drooping flower in a glass vase gave a little
shiver and shed every last petal on the table, as if it had been
waiting all the evening to do this. Even the window curtains ceased
swaying in the sea-breeze. It was as if the room and everything in it
settled down to a breathless expectancy.
And at last the door of the little room opened and Pearl and Anthony
came out. They did not appear at all surprised to find the room empty.
They would not have been surprised to find the universe empty--to hear
phantom newsboys calling an extra announcing that no one existed but
themselves--"Rumor confirmed that only Pearl and Anthony Exist."
Pearl looked about her with that beautiful starry blankness that
certain emotions bring to any human countenance--a thousand times
starrier than ever before.
"I wonder," she said, without the slightest trace of real interest,
"what has happened."
"Haven't you been listening to me," said Anthony. "A miracle has
happened--we have fallen in love."
Nevertheless he understood her meaning; and just to please her he
walked to the door and glanced into the corridor. It was as essentially
empty as the room. Then as he returned to her, although she was staring
in the opposite direction and he made not the slightest sound on the
thick rug, she turned her face slowly up and over her shoulder, and met
his lips with hers. Nor did either of them mention this as a miracle or
even an example of uncharted psychic powers.
It was a long kiss; an inexperienced onlooker might have thought it a
quiet ritual rather than a manifestation of human passion. When it was
over, they stood once more in complete silence. Then Pearl said:
"I think we ought to go back to our sister's house."
"I suppose so," said Anthony. And again by an apparently mystical
understanding they moved not across the lawn toward Mrs. Conway's
house, but out across the dunes toward the beach.
There was no moon, but the milky way like a narrow cloud rose straight
out of the sea, and the Scorpion was brightly festooned above the
southern horizon.
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|Transcriber's note: |
| |
|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. |
| |
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