Suddenly Sam became all attention, for he heard the voice of Mrs.
Harris, who then reappeared with an open book in her hand.
"The work is entitled 'Chesterfieldian Deportment,' by Garrilus Gibbs,
Ph.D. D. D., Now, Sam, I desire your strict attention to this
paragraph," and she read from the book.
"'Nothing so militates against the first impression of a gentleman as
ingratitude for a special service rendered; for example'"--and she
looked at Sam very significantly, as she lowered the book, "His Grace
was so solicitous about your hurt that, regardless of convenience and
also of prior appointments, he hastened to make a personal call,
rather than use the 'phone."
"Particularly so," Sam added, provoked to grin, "when a right pretty
and wealthy maid is in the corral. Eh, aunty?"
"That is my lord's prerogative, but I shall permit of no digression,"
she severely remarked. "To continue--'nothing to mind so convincingly
proclaims the ignorance of an ill-bred commoner than vulgar liberty in
the presence of a peer of England's realm!' You follow me?"
"I guess I do, aunty," Sam replied, with his characteristic side
movement of the head, and then, as he stood in an expectant attitude,
carelessly fingered, with both hands, his watch chain.
"Sam, stop fidgeting with your watch chain. It is characteristic of a
nervous gawk. The very reverse of good form and quite unbecoming a
well-bred, polite gentleman."
"All right, aunty, fire away." And Sam's eyes twinkled mischievously,
as his hands fell by his side.
"In order that the house of Harris shall not be defamed through an act
of discourtesy to one of its guests, I insist, first of all, that you
give me an example of your expression of gratitude to his Lordship for
his great humanitarian act and kindness to you in your hour of
insensibility."
"Ea--ah! Eh!" ejaculated Sam in laughing surprise, but much as he
disliked to comply, he felt there was no use trying to dodge the
issue.
His aunt was determined and experience had taught him that in order to
retain the indulgence of the "best and fondest aunt on earth," a
discreet concurrence in her whims was imperative. So with an agreeable
smile, he added, "All right, aunty, here goes."
"For the purpose of approach, you may address me as 'my lord,'"
interjected Mrs. Harris.
"Ha! That's easier, aunty," and a smile of satisfaction spread over
his face.
"Proceed!" exclaimed his aunt, sententiously.
"I beg to express to your lordship"--
"Sam!" said Mrs. Harris, interrupting him, "you have omitted the very
pith and essence of initiatory greeting."
"Ea--ha! How?" exclaimed Sam, surprised.
"By neglecting to make obeisance."
"To you, aunty?"
"To me. Now, Sam, beware of shyness. Bow naturally and with unaffected
ease."
"All ready?" inquired Sam.
"Proceed!"
With that he bowed--bowed with a charm of grace that brought a look of
pleased surprise from Mrs. Harris. It was evident she was already
mollified.
"I beg your lordship will permit me the honor personally to express my
appreciation, and to tender to you my heartfelt thanks for your kind
services to me last night."
The smile of unaffected pleasure that brightened his face, at the
knowledge that his aunt was pleased, assisted him wonderfully through
the ordeal, for such he considered it.
"My compliments, Sam!" exclaimed Mrs. Harris, who appeared immensely
pleased.
"Aw--deuced well delivered, don't che know!"
They turned and beheld Rutley and Hazel standing in the doorway.
Sam's chagrin was very great, and conscious of his inability to
conceal his disgusted facial expression, turned aside and muttered,
"Wouldn't that fizz you?"
Mrs. Harris was evidently much gratified, for she pointedly remarked,
"Your lordship must now concede that our boy was not intentionally
rude."
As for Sam, his vexation was great, and though he discreetly kept
silence, the hot blood reddened his face perceptibly. He had
unwittingly humbled himself to a man, who, he felt instinctively, was
his enemy.
Just what brought Rutley and Hazel to the doorway in time to hear
Sam's expression of thanks was never explained. But it may be presumed
he had some announcement to make which the unexpected apology from Sam
had made unnecessary.
Its effect on Rutley was instantaneous, for his frigidity melted as
snow beneath a summer sun. The monocle came down from his eye and a
gracious, condescending smile overspread his face.
"I am very sorry the accident happened, and I beg you to believe I
have been deeply concerned about your hurt."
"We are sure your lordship has suffered great mental anguish over the
unfortunate affair," responded Mrs. Harris, relieved by Rutley's
condescension.
"Late yesterday evening," he went on, "I received information that a
child resembling Dorothy, and accompanied by a lady whose face was
veiled, were seen entering a certain residence out near the park,"
explained Rutley, continuing. "I beg you to understand that I
entertain a deep interest in the fate of the child, and since the
river has not yielded up its secret, and the voice of scandal is rife
in innuendoes, I immediately set out to investigate.
"Unsuccessful, I had passed along the road and was returning, no doubt
at higher speed than justified by the darkness of the night. Absorbed
in meditation, I must have temporarily been negligent of proper
vigilance, when to my horror, the form of a man suddenly loomed up a
few paces directly ahead."
"Dear me, how unfortunate!" exclaimed Mrs. Harris, shivering.
"Impossible to stop the swift moving machine, in the short space that
separated us, I swerved to the right.
"At that moment the man must have discovered me, for he, too, sprang
to the right. The impact was inevitable. I hastened to the unfortunate
one's assistance, and you may appreciate my amazement when I
recognized my friend, your own relative. Of course, I conveyed him
home at once."
"How very good of you," said Hazel, with admiring eyes.
"We shall never be able sufficiently to thank your lordship," added
Mrs. Harris, "and we hope that our dear boy will not expose himself to
so great a danger again."
As to what Sam thought of the explanation, he kept silent;
nevertheless he turned half around and would have whistled
significantly had he not at that moment checked himself, for fear of
again embarrassing his aunt.
It was at this moment Virginia entered the room, insistently ushered
in by Mr. Harris, who, profuse in politeness, said:
"Please do me the honor to be seated, for I know you must be
fatigued."
But Virginia, on discovering Rutley, seemed to be suddenly overcome
with a timidity quite foreign to her usual self-possession, and shrank
away as if to leave the room. Observing her evident embarrassment and,
of course, ignorant of the true cause, Mr. Harris concluded she had
conceived him as declining her request, and he at once, in a
confidential whisper, attempted to reassure her.
"I can accommodate you with a check for five thousand today, and more
in a week."
"Oh, I--I thank you very much," she replied, and though her nervousness
was apparent, she managed to control herself. Mr. Harris gently led
her to a seat, remarking in a whisper, "I'll write the check for you
at once."
She turned upon him very grateful eyes, but almost instantly a shadow
crept across her face as she said, "The security I have to offer----"
Mr. Harris looked pained, and lifting his hand, he interrupted her
with, "Don't, please don't let the security trouble you."
Again Virginia's eyes unconsciously fastened upon Rutley, who at the
same time was regarding her with a keen inquiring gaze. It was the
first time they had met since the night of Thorpe's quarrel with
Corway, and although Virginia had resolved to cast off all fear of his
threat of incriminating disclosures, she nevertheless, while in his
presence, felt a subtle influence change her rebellious disposition
into a timorous apprehension. The sensation was so strange, so creepy,
and at the same time so convincing, that she arose from the seat and
muttered in broken accents, "I--I'll await you outside, Mr. Harris. The
air in this room is--is so close."
She had turned half around toward the door, when Mrs. Harris addressed
her.
"Virginia, dear! Don't go! Most interesting. My lord has just related
how last night he accidentally knocked Sam down near the City Park."
Virginia unconsciously repeated, "Last night, he accidentally knocked
Sam down, near the City Park."
The information was so startling and her curiosity so keen that she
stared at Rutley and Sam alternately, while they in turn stared at
each other and at her most significantly.
Mrs. Harris observed the wonderment her information had created, but
without troubling her easy brains to penetrate the meaning, added,
after due pause, "Yes, dear--a bandaged head, as you see, was the
result."
"It was very dark, near midnight, and his lordship was driving an
automobile fast."
Heedless of Mrs. Harris' further remarks and so absorbed in an effort
to solve the puzzle that Virginia thought:
"What business had he out there at that time of night? Did he know I
was there? And Sam there, too! It must have been he who followed
me,"--and she shot such a swift meaning glance at him that had he
caught it the effect must have been disconcerting.
"Queer, how late at night young men carry on their larks nowadays,"
broke in Mr. Harris with fine humor.
Mrs. Harris was quick to correct him. "Dear me! James, it was on
urgent business, no less than a search for Dorothy, but unfortunately
unsuccessful."
"I myself am also inclined to the belief Dorothy was stolen. No doubt
a demand will soon be made for her ransom," said Mr. Harris.
"Such a notion seems to me as far-fetched, as it is unlikely, for I do
not believe the family has an enemy in the world," promptly rejoined
Mrs. Harris.
"Vague insinuations of kidnapping find credence through the
estrangement of the parents being given publicity," suggested Rutley,
in a soft, serious, yet bland manner, which brought from Hazel an
explosive reply, "I am sure Constance had no knowledge of it."
"Impossible for Constance to plot at an abduction of her own child,
and as for John Thorpe, his grief is too great to permit the faintest
suspicion to rest on him," suavely admonished Mrs. Harris warmly.
"John!" gasped Virginia. She was the first to see Thorpe standing in
the vestibule, the doors of which had been left open. John Thorpe had
entered so quietly that none in the room saw him approach, and their
conversation at the moment was so concentrated upon the mystery of
Dorothy's disappearance that none of them heard his weary footfalls
draw near. He was careworn and haggard.
If John Thorpe felt any emotion on seeing Virginia and hearing her
startled voice, he gave no sign. Unmoved, he coldly let his aching
eyes rest on her, and then he lifted them to Mr. Harris. In that brief
space of time, Rutley saw in Virginia's abashed eagerness to address
her brother, a shadow of peril threaten him. The situation called for
immediate action. He had previously noted his magnetic power over her
and at once brought into requisition the wonderful "nerve" distinctly
his heritage, and which had so often befriended him in moments of
danger. Under cover of the fresh interest manifested in Mr. Thorpe's
appearance, he coolly, quietly, and without the least hesitation,
quickly placed himself beside her, and whispered in her ear: "Beware!"
His tone was so menacing, though concealed by an unctious personality,
that Virginia shrank from him, yet with the low, rebellious
exclamation: "Scoundrel!"
Nevertheless, she timidly deemed it discreet to arrange a meeting with
John alone.
Mr. Harris silently grasped Mr. Thorpe by the hand. They had been
close friends, socially and in business affairs for many years, and
the hopeless, haggard, careless appearance of his long time friend
touched Mr. Harris deeply.
"Poor fellow," he said, sympathetically. "You look all in."
"Sleepless nights and wearisome days have doubtless produced results,"
languidly replied Mr. Thorpe. "Mr. Harris, I have come to beg your
hospitality for an hour's rest."
"Welcome to 'Rosemont,' thrice welcome, my dear friend. I shall have a
quiet room prepared at once. Make yourself comfortable for a few
moments until I return," and the energetic Mr. Harris immediately set
out on his mission.
"Dear me!" commented Mrs. Harris, "If we could but unravel the mystery
of Dorothy's disappearance, what a relief it would be. Do you think it
possible the child was abducted, Mr. Thorpe?"
"Would to God I could believe it true," he gravely replied.
"I am loath to believe that the mother was aware of it," interposed
Rutley, in his soft, lazy, drawling voice, "but"----
Surprised, Mrs. Harris promptly interrupted him with: "Dear me, have
you heard that Constance had intrigued for her child's disappearance?"
Rutley fixed his gaze on Virginia, then transferred it to John Thorpe
as he falteringly replied to Mrs. Harris' question: "Circumstances of
a--a suspicious character tend to--a--implicate her."
A dead silence followed. So silent, that Sam suddenly cast an alarmed
look at Virginia, as though he feared she had heard him hiss--"The
contemptible sissy!"--and was surprised that no response met his silent
thought, either by look or word.
Virginia was speechless. Yet she was bursting to tell them Dorothy was
alive, but in captivity. She remembered the terrible threat made by
the Italian in the park. It burned into her brain and made her tremble
with anxiety lest the secret should get out and the child's life
jeopardized thereby.
But, how to deny the vile lie that Constance was a party to the
kidnapping? It was a question that baffled completely all the
ingenuity that had aided her in other situations.
While she was racking her brains for some guiding thought, to silence
slanderous tongues, she heard John Thorpe very gravely say: "My lord
must be mistaken."
It was such sweet relief to know that he did not believe Constance was
guilty of the crime that Virginia unconsciously exclaimed: "Thank
Heaven!"
After John Thorpe had expressed his disbelief in his wife's guilt, he
slowly turned on his heel, intending to leave the room, for the
conversation was painful to him and the company too closely associated
with his unhappiness, for the quiet rest he so much needed. He had
scarcely turned toward the door when he was halted by Mr. Harris, who
had just entered from the hall, and announced a restful room in
readiness for his immediate use.
To his surprise, John Thorpe turned and wearisomely said: "I thank
you, Mr. Harris, but an important matter that I have neglected has
just come to my mind. I beg to apologize for the needless trouble I
have caused you." And he turned slowly and went toward the door.
Virginia perceived that unless immediate steps were taken, her
opportunity to arrange a meeting with John would be lost. It was,
therefore, with a startled cry of disappointment that she addressed
him: "John! I have something"--she hesitated.
Thorpe halted on the threshold and half turned around. Aghast,
Virginia arose from her seat, when Rutley drawled out in his most
suave accents:
"Miss Thorpe is manifestly fatigued from over-exertion," and instantly
taking her by the arm, led her reluctantly, and in timidity, to a seat
on a divan, the end of which he wheeled forward, ostensibly to give
her a better view of the lawn, then inundated with sunshine, but in
reality to avert her eyes from the face of her brother.
John Thorpe gazed inquiringly for a second and then, with head bent,
slowly and gravely left the house.
Mr. Harris started to accompany Thorpe, to press him to rest awhile,
but on recalling his obligation to Virginia, checked himself and
turned into the library.
Sam's indignation at the vile, unkind thrust made on the character of
a bereaved woman, spoke eloquently in his blazing eyes, nevertheless
out of regard for his aunt's wishes he closed his teeth tightly in
silence, but on seeing the pseudo lord's insistent familiarity with
Virginia, and noting her strange hesitant submission as he rather more
than familiarly escorted her to the divan, Sam's rage burst through
his discretion and his manly, straight-forwardness asserted itself, in
utter disregard of his aunt's warnings.
Rutley had evidently thrown out the base insinuation as a feeler, but
the manner in which Sam met it--met it squarely in the "Wild West way,"
quickly disabused his mind of any idea he may have had that Constance
was friendless.
"Sir!" Sam said; "I know but one little word that fitly characterizes
your insinuation concerning Mrs. Thorpe," and unwilling to resist the
natural gravity of his feet toward Rutley, sidled up close to him,
and, with a quiver of contempt in his voice, finished: "And down in
Texas they taught me to brand it 'a damned lie'!"
Sam was rewarded in a manner he little anticipated, and by the woman
who had heretofore despised him, for with eyes that sparkled with
admiration and lips that parted in a smile of glad surprise, she
involuntarily murmured: "Splendid, Sam!" His silly, boyish side had
vanished, and in its place his true, strong, sterling character stood
revealed. In that one moment he knew that he had won from her a
tribute of esteem, but he did not at that time realize that it was a
long step toward the consummation of his devout desire--to win her
heart.
If an electric bolt had at that moment descended from the clear,
ethereal blue, and wrecked the house, Mrs. Harris' consternation could
not have been greater.
"Oh!" she faintly gasped. "Dear me! Oh, Sam, how could you!" and then
she staggered almost to collapse in his arms.
For a moment Rutley was astounded, then drawing himself up in a pose
of statuesque haughtiness, again most studiously adjusted his monocle
to his eye and directed at alert Sam a stony stare of ineffable
disdain. Then he languidly drawled, without a muscle of his white,
bloodless face moving:
"Aw, it's deuced draughty, don't-che know!"
A few minutes later Mr. Harris beckoned Virginia into the library.
After delivering her the check he had promised, they together went out
in search for John Thorpe, but he had disappeared.
Had they looked more closely and further up the hillside, they might
have seen a haggard man sitting in the shadow of a fir, apparently
weary of the world, and pondering on the vicissitudes of life.