“Why not?” he said, half aloud. “I want to know; why not ask? Why,
hang it all, I will ask! And right now, too.”
He arose from the chair in the shade of the Baltimore Belle and walked
to the door.
“Miss Holly,” he called.
“Yes?” The voice came from up-stairs.
“Are you very, very busy?”
“N-no, not very, Mr. Winthrop.”
“Then will you grant a dying man the grace of a few moments of your
valuable time?”
There was a brief moment of hesitation, broken by the anxious voice of
Miss India.
“Holly!” called her aunt, indignantly, “go down at once and see what
Mr. Winthrop wants. I reckon Phœbe has forgotten to take him his negus.”
Winthrop smiled, and groaned. Holly’s steps pattered across the hall
and he went back to the end of the porch, dragging a second chair with
him and placing it opposite his own. When Holly came he pointed to it
gravely. Holly’s heart fell. Winthrop had a right to know the truth,
but it didn’t seem fair that the duty of confessing Julian’s act
should fall to her. The cowardice of it loomed large and terrible to
her.
[Illustration]
“Miss Holly,” said Winthrop, “I am naturally curious to learn what
happened the other night. Now, as you were an eye-witness of the
episode, I come to you for information.”
“You mean that I’ve come to you,” answered Holly, smiling nervously.
“True; I accept the correction.”
“What――what do you want to know?” asked Holly.
“All, please.”
Holly’s eyes dropped, and her hands clutched each other desperately in
her lap.
“I――he――oh, Mr. Winthrop, he didn’t know what he was doing; truly he
didn’t! He didn’t think what might happen!”
[Illustration]
“He? Who? Oh, you mean Julian? Of course he didn’t think; I understand
that perfectly. And it’s of no consequence, really, Miss Holly. He was
angry; in fact, I’d helped make him so; he acted on the impulse.”
“Then you knew?” wondered Holly.
“Knew something was up, that’s all. I suppose he flicked the mare with
the whip; I dare say he only wanted to start her for me.”
Holly shook her head.
“No, it wasn’t that. He――he cut her with the whip as hard as he could.”
Winthrop smiled at her tragic face and voice.
“Well, as it happens there was little harm done. I dare say he’s quite
as regretful about it now as you like. What I want to know is what
happened afterwards, after I――dismounted.”
“Oh,” said Holly. Her eyes wandered from Winthrop’s and the color crept
slowly into her face.
“Well,” he prompted, presently. “You are not a very good chronicler,
Miss Holly.”
“Why, afterwards――――oh, Julian examined you and found that you weren’t
killed――――”
“There was doubt about that, then?”
“I――we were frightened. You were all huddled up against the fence and
your face was so white――――”
Holly’s own face paled at the recollection. Winthrop’s smile faded, and
his heart thrilled.
“I’m sorry I occasioned you uneasiness, Miss Holly,” he said, earnestly.
“Then they carried me into the house and up to my room, I suppose. And
that was all there was to it,” he added, regretfully and questioningly.
It had been rather tame and uninteresting, after all.
“Yes――――no,” answered Holly. “I――stayed with you while Julian went for
Uncle Ran. I thought once you were really dead, after all. Oh, I was
so――so frightened!”
“He should have stayed himself,” said Winthrop, with a frown. “It was a
shame to put you through such an ordeal.”
There was a little silence. Then Holly’s eyes went back to Winthrop’s
quite fearlessly.
“I wouldn’t let him,” she said. “I was angry. I told him he had
killed you, and I wouldn’t let him touch you――at first. I――I was so
frightened! Oh, you don’t know how frightened I was!”
She knew quite well what she was doing. She knew that she was laying
her heart quite bare at that moment, that her voice and eyes were
telling him everything, and that he was listening and comprehending!
But somehow it seemed perfectly right and natural to her. Why should
she treat her love――their love――as though it was something to be
ashamed of, to hide and avoid? Surely the very fact that they could
never be to each other as other lovers, ennobled their love rather than
degraded it!
And as they looked at each other across a little space her eyes
read the answer to their message and her heart sang happily for a
moment there in the sunlight. Then her eyes dropped slowly before
the intensity of his look, a soft glow spread upward into her smooth
cheeks, and she smiled very gravely and sweetly.
“I’ve told you, haven’t I!” she said, tremulously.
“Holly!” he whispered. “Holly!”
He stretched his hand toward her, only to let it fall again as the
first fierce joy gave place to doubt and discretion. He strove to
think, but his heart was leaping and his thoughts were in wild
disorder. He wanted to fall on his knees beside her, to take her in his
arms, to make her look at him again with those soft, deep, confessing
eyes. He wanted to whisper a thousand endearments to her, to sigh
“Holly, Holly,” and “Holly” again, a thousand times. But the moments
ticked past, and he only sat and held himself to his chair and was
triumphantly happy and utterly miserable in all his being. Presently
Holly looked up at him again, a little anxiously and very tenderly.
“Are you sorry for me!” she asked, softly.
“For you and for myself, dear,” he answered, “unless――――”
“Will it be very hard?” she asked. “Would it have been easier if I
hadn’t――hadn’t――――”
“No, a thousand times no, Holly! But, dear, I never guessed――――”
Holly shook her head, and laughed very softly.
“I didn’t mean you to know, I reckon; but somehow it just――just came
out. I couldn’t help it. I reckon I ought to have helped it, but you
see I’ve never――cared for anyone before, and I don’t know how to act
properly. Do you think I am awfully――awfully――you know; do you?”
“I think you’re the best, the dearest――――” He stopped, with something
that was almost a sob. “I can’t tell you what I think you are, Holly; I
haven’t the words, dear.”
“I don’t suppose you ought to, anyhow,” said Holly, thoughtfully.
“Holly, have I――have I been to blame?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “It was just――just me, I reckon. I prayed
God that He wouldn’t let me love you, but I reckon He has to look after
so many girls that――that care for the wrong people that He didn’t
have time to bother with Holly Wayne. Anyhow, it didn’t seem to do
much good. Maybe, though, He wanted me to love you――in spite of――of
everything. Do you reckon He did?”
“Yes,” said Winthrop, fiercely, “I reckon He did. And He’s got to take
the consequences! Holly, I’m not fit for you; I’m twenty years older
than you are; I’ve been married and I’ve had the bloom brushed off of
life, dear; but if you’ll take me, Holly, if you’ll take me, dear――――”
“Oh!” Holly arose to her feet and held a hand toward him appealingly.
“Please don’t! Please!” she cried. “Don’t spoil it all!”
“Spoil it?” he asked, wonderingly.
He got slowly to his feet and moved toward her.
“You know what I mean,” said Holly, troubledly. “I do love you, and you
love me――――you do love me, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he answered, simply.
“And we can’t be happy――that way. But we can care for each
other――always――a great deal, and not make it hard to――to――――”
She faltered, the tears creeping one by one over her lids. A light
broke upon Winthrop.
“But you don’t understand!” he cried.
“What?” she faltered, looking up at him anxiously, half fearfully, from
swimming eyes as he took her hand.
“Dear, there’s no wrong if I――――”
Sounds near at hand caused him to stop and glance around. At the gate
Julian Wayne was just dismounting from White Queen. Holly drew her
hand from Winthrop’s and with a look, eager and wondering, hurried
in-doors just as Julian opened the gate. Winthrop sank into his chair
and felt with trembling fingers for his cigarette-case. Julian espied
him as he mounted the steps and walked along the porch very stiffly and
determinedly.
[Illustration]
“Good-morning,” said Winthrop.
“Good-morning, sir,” answered Julian. “I have come to apologize for
what occurred――for what I did the other night. I intended coming
before, but it was impossible.”
“Don’t say anything more about it,” replied Winthrop. “I understand.
You acted on a moment’s impulse and my poor horsemanship did the rest.
It’s really not worth speaking of.”
“On the contrary I did it quite deliberately,” answered Julian. “I
meant to do it, sir. But I had no thought of injuring you. I――I
only wanted Queen to cut up. If you would like satisfaction, Mr.
Winthrop――――”
Winthrop stared.
“My dear fellow,” he ejaculated, “you aren’t proposing a duel, are you?”
“I am quite at your service, sir,” replied Julian, haughtily. “If the
idea of reparation seems ridiculous to you――――”
“I beg your pardon, really,” said Winthrop, gravely and hurriedly. “It
was only that I had supposed duelling to be obsolete.”
“Not among gentlemen, sir!”
“I see. Nevertheless, Mr. Wayne, I’m afraid I shall have to refuse you.
I am hardly in condition to use either sword or pistol.”
“If that is all,” answered Julian, eagerly, “I can put my left arm in a
sling, too. That would put us on even terms, I reckon, sir.”
Winthrop threw out his hand with a gesture of surrender, and laughed
amusedly.
“I give in,” he said. “You force me to the unromantic acknowledgment
that I’ve never used a sword, and can’t shoot a revolver without
jerking the barrel all around.”
“You find me mighty amusing, it seems,” said Julian, hotly.
“My dear fellow――――”
“I don’t know anything more about swords or pistols than you do, I
reckon, sir, but I’ll be mighty glad to――to――――”
“Cut my head off or shoot holes through me? Thanks, but I never felt
less like departing this life than I do now, Mr. Wayne.”
“Then you refuse?”
“Unconditionally. The fact is, you know, I, as the aggrieved party, am
the one to issue the challenge. As long as I am satisfied with your
apology I don’t believe you have any right to insist on shooting me.”
Julian chewed a corner of his lip and scowled.
“I thought maybe you weren’t satisfied,” he suggested hopefully.
Winthrop smiled.
“Quite satisfied,” he answered. “Won’t you sit down?”
Julian hesitated and then took the chair indicated, seating himself
very erect on the edge, his riding-whip across his knees.
“Will you smoke?” asked Winthrop, holding forth his cigarette-case.
“No, thanks,” replied Julian, stiffly.
There was a moment’s silence while Winthrop lighted his cigarette and
Julian observed him darkly. Then――
“Mr. Winthrop,” said Julian, “how long do you intend to remain here,
sir?”
“My plans are a bit unsettled,” answered Winthrop, tossing the burnt
match onto the walk. “I had intended leaving Sunday, but my accident
prevented. Now I am undecided. May I enquire your reason for asking,
Mr. Wayne?”
“Because I wanted to know,” answered Julian, bluntly. “Your presence
here is――is distasteful to me and embarrassing to Miss India and Miss
Holly.”
“Really!” gasped Winthrop.
“Yes, sir, and you know it. Anyone but a Northerner would have more
feeling than to force himself on the hospitality of two unfortunate
ladies as you have done, Mr. Winthrop.”
“But――but――――!” Winthrop sighed, and shook his head helplessly. “Oh,
there’s no use in my trying to get your view, I guess. May I ask,
merely as a matter of curiosity, whether the fact that Waynewood is my
property has anything to do with it in your judgment.”
“No, sir, it hasn’t! I don’t ask how you came into possession of the
place――――”
“Thank you,” murmured Winthrop.
“But in retaining it you are acting abominably, sir!”
“The deuce I am! May I ask what you would advise me to do with it?
Shall I hand it over to Miss India or Miss Holly as――as a valentine?”
“Our people, sir, don’t accept charity,” answered Julian, wrathfully.
“So I fancied. Then what would you suggest? Perhaps you are in a
position to buy it yourself, Mr. Wayne?”
Julian frowned and hesitated.
“You had no business taking it,” he muttered.
“Granted for the sake of argument, sir. But, having taken it, now what?”