IV

On the very, next morning Mr. Jerningham, instead of going to Wall

Street as was his custom, went instead to Mrs. Charlton Morris's Agency

for Trained Nurses.

An empress--no less--sat at a desk. She was not, however, one of those

empresses who change the destiny of nations by their beauty. She had

merely an arrogance more than royal.

“I should like to see Mrs. Charlton Morris,” said Jerningham, briskly.

“I am Mrs. Morris,” she said.

You at once perceived that she was even more than imperial. She was a

woman of forty, dark, slender, with shell-rimmed, round lenses that gave

her that look between a Chinese philosopher and an ancient owl, which

those tortoise-shell goggles always do. You also obtained the impression

that a completely successful operation had removed Mrs. Morris's sense

of humor.

“I should like, if you please--” began Jerningham; but Mrs. Morris

interrupted with an effect as of thrusting an icicle into the interior

mechanism of a clock.

“I beg your pardon, but we must know with whom we are dealing. What is

the name, please?”

“I prefer not to give you mine yet.”

“Oh no, sir; I must know.”

“Suppose I had given you a false one, how would you have been the

wiser?”

“Oh, but also you must give me the name of your doctor.”

“He sent me here.”

“And who is he, sir?”

From her voice and her look you gathered that she was in charge of a

hospital and was obtaining indispensable clinical data.

“Madam,” said Jemingham, very coldly indeed, “you talk like the census

man. Would you also like to know my age, sex, and color?”

“We never,” retorted Mrs. Morris, imperturbably, “do business with

strangers.”

“Do you want me to get a letter from the President of the United States?

I know him pretty well. Or from my bankers? They are known even in

Brooklyn.”

“We are here to supply trained nurses to people whose physicians we

know.”

A trained nurse must have unfailing good humor--it is part of her

professional requirements. But a purveyor of trained nurses may permit

herself much dignity, as though her mission in life consisted, of

fitting nurses to cases--the best nurse for the worst case.

“My doctor,” said Jerningham, “is Dr. Jewett.” It was the name of a very

great surgeon.

“Ah, yes. Surgical case! Yes! I have Miss Sennett and Miss Audrey. Dr.

Jewett knows them very well.”

“Kindly wait a second! I must see them myself. And it is not a surgical

case. It is no case at all--yet. Show me the girls!”

“Sir, this is not an intelligence-office; but--”

“I know there is no intelligence in this office. This is merely the

anteroom of a hospital and you are the superintendent. By rights you

ought to be on the faculty. I am perfectly willing to pay for any loss

of time or trouble to which you and the young ladies may be put.”

“Must she be young?” asked Mrs. Morris.

Her voice was at least thirty degrees below zero, for all that there was

no devilishness about Mr. Jerningham. He said:

“Yes; and good-looking--not a girl in her teens, but a young woman.

I should say, without meaning to be personal, about your age, Mrs.

Morris.”

It was plain that Mrs. Morris had almost superhuman control over her

facial muscles--she did not beam on him!

“I understand,” she said, in a quite human voice. This man was, after

all, neither rude nor blind. “A woman--”

“About thirty--or a little less,” said Jerningham. He looked at Mrs.

Morris's face and nodded confirmatively.

“Exactly,” said Mrs. Morris, genially. First impressions are so apt to

be unfair!

“I'll be more than satisfied with one of your age and good

loo--and--er--appearance “--here the Morris smile irrepressibly made

its début--“and also tactful. It is an unusual case. It will necessitate

going to Europe.”

“With the patient?”

“For the patient,” said Jerningham, and waited.

“If you will tell me a little bit more about the case--” said Mrs.

Morris, encouragingly. She had just taken a good look at the pearl in

the scarf of this delightful judge of ages--at the lowest estimation,

five thousand dollars!

“My--I--We have reason to believe that a--friend is ill in London.

Kidneys. We wish her to take care of herself. She is a woman of

fifty-odd. We want a nurse, refined, well-bred, good-looking, and

competent--like yourself; so that she could be a companion and at home

among wealthy people. You know what I mean.” He paused.

“Perfectly, sir!” said Mrs. Morris, veraciously. Did she not know Mrs.

Morris?

“It would be nice to find such a nurse--and, if possible, also one to

whom the fact that she is going to visit England, and possibly other

countries, may be a sort of compensation for her sudden departure

from New York. Of course she will be paid all her traveling and living

expenses--first-class all through--and her regular honorarium. I believe

it is thirty-five dollars a week. As I am leaving New York myself soon,

I'll pay in advance, and will leave instructions with my bankers to

honor any of your drafts, Mrs. Morris. It will be a good opportunity for

the young lady to know London--and you know how attractive it is--and

Paris!”

“Yes, indeed,” acquiesced Mrs. Morris, suddenly looking like Baedeker.

“The young lady--I am sorry you could not go in her place! Yes, I

am!--will live at the same hotel with the patient and become acquainted

with her--and advise her to see a physician regularly--a specialist in

kidney diseases. We think her only daughter ought to be with her. But

you can't say anything to either of them, because if the mother doesn't

think she is ill the daughter cannot know it, either. We only suspect it

is Bright's. You can't afford to wait until you have to go to bed with

Bright's--can you?”

“No, indeed!” gravely agreed Mrs. Morris, specialist.

“So now you know what sort of a girl I wish--one who will be there if

the trouble should take a sudden turn for the worse; one who will induce

the old lady to consult a physician. Do I have to give a preliminary

fee?”

“Not at all. Call this afternoon at four and I'll try to have one of my

best nurses here. She is--well, quite young; in fact”--with what might

be called a desiccated archness--“she is a little younger than I and

quite pretty. I call her handsome!”

Some women are so sure of their own position that they do not fear

competition.

“Thank you! I'll be here at four, sharp.” And Mr. Jemingham went away

without having given his name to Mrs. Morris.

At four o'clock Mr. Jemingham called at Mrs. Charlton Morris's agency

and had an interview with Miss Kathryn Keogh. Mrs. Morris gave them the

use of her own little private office; Jemingham very impressively waited

for Miss Keogh to sit down and then did so himself.

He threw at Miss Keogh one of those inventorying looks that women find

so difficult to appear unconscious of, probably because they know their

own weak points.

Miss Keogh was beautiful--and when an Irish girl is beautiful she is

beautiful in so many ways! She had the wonderful complexion of her race

and a mouth carved out of heaven's prize strawberry. Her eyes were an

incredibly deep blue when they were not an incredibly deep pansy-purple,

and they were abysses of velvet. In the darkness, without seeing

them--just by remembering them--you loved those eyes. In the light, when

you could see them, you simply worshiped! Her throat was one of those

paradoxical affairs, soft and hard, which made you think at one and the

same time of marble and rose-leaves--Solomon's tower of ivory, crowned

by the glory of golden-brown hair, so fine that you thought of clouds of

it!

If you looked at her eyes you suspected, and if you looked at her throat

you were certain that you, a respectable married man, had in you the

makings of a criminal--the crime being bigamy. Also you would have

sworn to her only too cheerfully that she was the only girl you had ever

loved. With one look, remember!

Jemingham looked at her with a cold, impersonally appreciative eye, as

he might have scrutinized a clock that was both beautiful and costly.

Miss Keogh understood it perfectly. It piqued her, accustomed as she was

to instant adoration. Yet it was not entirely displeasing. This man knew

as a connoisseur knows--with his head. That he had not permitted the

silly heart to disturb the critical faculties was less flattering,

of course. It deferred the inevitable triumph and thus would make it

sweeter.

“Has Mrs. Morris told you what I should like you to do?” Jemingham's

voice was coldly emotionless, and his gray eyes showed frosty lights.

“She has told me what you doubtless told her. But I must confess I am

not very clear in my own mind,” answered Miss Keogh.

Her voice was what you would have expected an artistic Providence to

give her. It complemented the lips. If you closed your eyes and heard

the voice you saw her eyes and felt the heavenly strawberries on your

own lips!

Jemingham had not taken his cold eyes off her. He asked as if she

were anybody--a woman of forty, for example, “Will you listen to me

carefully?”

“Oh yes!”

“I provide transportation, first-class, to London. I pay you thirty-five

dollars a week for your services and allow ten dollars a day for hotel

expenses, and so on. At the end of the case your contingent fee will

depend upon your success. We don't want to skimp--but we are not

throwing away money. It may be one hundred or five hundred dollars. But

forget all about it.”

“I have--in advance,” said the marvel, calmly.

Jemingham looked at her steadily. She looked back unflinchingly and yet

not at all defiantly as a lesser person would.

“If you accept my offer you will go when in London to Thornton's

Hotel--an old-fashioned but very select hotel--where you will find a

nice room reserved for you; I will cable for it. It will cost you a

guinea a day--for the room and table board. You will thus have five

dollars a day for cabs and incidentals. In that hotel lives Mrs.

Margaret Deering, an elderly American widow, who looks healthy enough.

We fear she is not so strong as she looks, and don't want her to be

alone. But she will not take hints. I wish you to make friends with her,

so that if she should become ill enough to need attention you may see

that she gets proper care and induce her to cable to her only daughter.”

He stopped and looked at Miss Keogh inquiringly, as if to convince

himself that Miss Keogh had understood.

“What,” said Miss Keogh, calmly, “is the rest of it?” Her eyes were very

dark. They always seemed to deepen in color when she frowned. She always

frowned when she concentrated--all women do, notwithstanding their dread

of wrinkles.

Jerningham stared at her. Then he said, “The lady is not insane.”

“Nervous?”

“Not yet!”

“Ah!” Miss Keogh nodded her head. Her color had risen somewhat.

“Is there anything in what I have said so far that makes you unwilling

to take this case?” asked Jerningham.

“Nothing--so far,” she said, looking steadily into his cold, gray eyes.

She was, of course, Irish.

“Very well. You can save her family much worriment by suggesting to Mrs.

Deering that she ought to have a trained nurse in constant attendance.”

“By the name of Keogh?” interjected the most wonderful.

“No. You are supposed to be a young lady with an income of your own.

You might explain that you took up trained nursing to help your only

brother, a physician.”

“Very well. And--”

“After you meet Mrs. Deering you might make judicious remarks about her

health.”

“For example--”

“Well, at breakfast you say: 'You didn't sleep well last night, did

you?' If she says no, you can immediately suggest a physician. If she

says she did, you say: 'Well, there is something wrong with you! Did you

ever have your kidneys examined?' A simple remark in the proper tone of

voice sometimes does it--like, 'Whatever in the world is the matter with

you, dear Mrs. Deering?' You understand?”

“If you mean that I must suggest to her that she is ailing--”

“Precisely. The idea is not to frighten her to death, my dear young

woman with the beautiful but suspicious eyes, but simply to induce her

to send for her only daughter, so that afterward the two will not be

separated. And the old lady, I may say for the benefit of your still

suspicious eyes, is not very rich, though the daughter is. So your

imagination need not invent any devilish plot. I think you can

accomplish your work in six weeks. For every day under the six weeks

you will receive five pounds. That's twenty-five dollars a day. That is

intended, Miss Keogh, to make you hurry. But you must be tactful.”

“Make it a fixed sum. You look like a clever man.”

She looked at him challengingly. He stared back, and gradually a look of

admiration came into his eyes. He said, with a smile of appreciation:

“You win! You are certainly the most wonderful girl in the world! I'll

make it one thousand dollars, win, lose, or draw. But the quicker the

cablegram--”

“--grams,” she corrected--“plural. For greater effect at this end!”

“--grams!” he echoed. “And now you must come with me to the bank to get

your letter of credit and some English money. I'll pay in advance.”

He rose. Miss Keogh motioned to him to sit down again. He did so, and

looked at her alertly. It might have disconcerted some girls--but not

the only absolutely perfect one. Not at all!

“There remains something,” she said.

“What?” he queried, sharply.

“You forgot it!” she told him, with one of those utterly maddening

smiles of forgiveness with which beautiful women rivet the fetters and

make one grateful.

“What? What?” he asked, impatiently.

“Why?” she answered. “That is what! Why?”

Her beautiful head nodded twice with a birdlike gracefulness. Her eyes

were very blight--and very dark! Her cheeks were flushed. Her ripe lips,

slightly parted, were overpoweringly tempting.

Jerningham stood up again and stared fixedly at her as though he would

read miles and miles beyond her wonderful eyes--into the very depths

of her soul! He approached her and held out both his hands. After a

scarcely perceptible hesitation she placed hers in his. He shook them

with profound gravity; then bowed and raised her right to his lips--and

kissed it twice. Still holding her hands in his, he said to her,

earnestly:

“My dear child, you are the most wonderful woman in all the world. You

are simply the last word in utter perfection. I am a millionaire, but

not a crook. I am forty, but still strong. I have never been in love

with a woman; but I now know I could be. If you ever wish to marry for

the ease and comfort that great wealth gives, or if you ever feel like

using your wonderful gifts to make a man who has both money and brains

become an important personage in the world--just say the word. There is

nothing--nothing, do you hear?--that we could not do together, you and

I. My name is--” He paused and looked at her as if to make sure again.

“Yes?” she said, in her most heavenly voice. She released her hands, but

her eyes never left his. “Jerningham.”

“The Klondike millionaire who--”

“The same!”

“Ah!” said Miss Keogh, calmly, but her flowerlike cheeks were

azalea-pink, and her eyes were full of light. She had read the

_Planet's_ articles. She did not remember how many million dollars

Jerningham was supposed to have; but she did remember how the fairest of

the fair had tried--and failed!

“Remember--any time, with or without notice. My offer is open until you

accept it or definitely refuse it. Perhaps I never could make you love

me; but I know I could love you if I let myself go.”

“You have not answered me,” said Miss Keogh. “Ask again,” he smiled.

“Why?” There was no smile in her eyes.

It made him serious. He answered:

“For friendship.”

“To a woman?”

“To a man.”

“Again I ask, Why?”

There was a pause. Then he said:

“Mrs. Ashton Welles is the only daughter of Mrs. Deering.”

“And--”

“She is twenty-two.”

“And--”

“Her husband is fifty-two. That's all!”

“Is it?”

“So far as I am concerned, it is--really!”

“Is Mr. Ashton Welles your friend?”

“No. But he is no enemy, either.”

“No? But you have a friend, a Mr. Wolfe--a Mr. Francis Wolfe?” She knew

it from a newspaper item.

But Mr. Jerningham jumped up from his seat. “Marry me, dear girl! Marry

me, I beg of you! You are the only woman in the world! You are the most

beautiful ever created and, beyond all question, the cleverest. You are

a genius! Why isn't all mankind on its knees worshiping? Will you marry

me? Wait! Don't speak. I know what your answer will be.”

“You do?” She smiled inscrutably.

Imagine the Sphinx--if the Sphinx were Irish and very beautiful--with

those eyes and those lips! Guess? You couldn't guess where your soul

was--or whose!

“Yes, I do,” answered Jerningham, confidently. “I will write it on a

piece of paper and prove it. But first tell me this: Will you take Mrs.

Deering's case?”

She looked at him, and said, “Yes.”

“Very well.” He wrote something on one of his cards, doubled it so she

could not see what he had written, and gave it to her, saying, “Now

answer me: Will you marry me?”

She looked at him a long time. He met her gaze squarely. Presently she

said, very seriously:

“Not yet!”

“Look in the card,” he said, also very seriously.