Mrs. Brevoort and Ned Strong had found, upon inquiry at the club-house,
that Kate had not been seen since she had wheeled away with them. They
stood at a corner of the piazza and held council with each other.
“How careless you have been, Mr. Strong!” Mrs. Brevoort was saying,
chidingly. “It is well that you have decided never to marry. How can a
man who loses track of a sister hope to keep his eye on a wife?”
“You are exacting,” he returned. “Why should I expect to perform
miracles? I am not possessed of second-sight, nor of eyes in the back
of my head. But, Mrs. Brevoort, it is a condition, not a theory, that
confronts us, as a famous man once said. Now, if you are tired of
wheeling, won’t you walk over to our old house with me? Kate did not come
down the hill, you remember. I am inclined to think that something may
have happened to her wheel, and that she stopped to have Rudolph, our
lodge-keeper, repair it. It is not much of a walk, by a short cut I know
how to make.”
“I think, Mr. Strong,” answered Mrs. Brevoort, “that you had better go
alone. It is getting late, and I must dress at once.”
“A woman’s eternal excuse for unsociability!” cried the youth petulantly.
Then he grew beseeching. “I ask so few favors of you, Mrs. Brevoort,” he
pleaded. “And, remember, Kate may have met with an accident. She would
feel very lonely in that old lodge if I had to go for a doctor. I appeal
unselfishly to you, Mrs. Brevoort. Walk over to the lodge with me. Please
do!”
Mrs. Brevoort gazed at the blue waters of the Sound musingly. She was not
anxious to bring a problem that must soon be solved to an issue at once.
But she was really worried about Kate Strong and impatient to learn what
had befallen her best friend. Furthermore, she knew that the short cut
to the manor-house was not a lover’s lane, in that the path for the most
part demanded the single-file formation. Her hesitation, therefore, was
short-lived, and she was soon hurrying away from the club-house, with Ned
Strong, in a gay mood, striding along at her side.
“I cannot understand, Mr. Strong,” she remarked severely, after they had
left the main road and were following the narrow path that led toward
the rear of the manor-house, “I cannot understand how you can be so
light-hearted under these depressing circumstances.”
“The fact is, Mrs. Brevoort,” explained Ned, “that I am not greatly
worried about Kate; and as for myself, I was never more contented in my
life.”
He glanced back at Mrs. Brevoort merrily.
“And you will be late for dinner, too,” exclaimed his companion. “Surely
you are one man among many thousands, Mr. Strong, to grow jolly with such
a dismal fate staring you in the face.”
The youth laughed aloud. Then he half-turned around, and said,
impressively:
“I eat nothing in these joyous days, Mrs. Brevoort. Food has not
passed my lips for a week. I live on air, I walk on air, I am an airy
nothing with a local habitation and a name. Speaking of that name, Mrs.
Brevoort——”
“But we weren’t speaking of that name,” cried the little _mondaine_,
emphatically. “You were talking about the ethereal nature of your
favorite food. I am sorry to say that I require something more
substantial than country air to satisfy my appetite. You will observe,
Mr. Strong, that this is a veiled hint intended to make you increase your
pace. At the rate at which you are now walking, it will be scandalously
late before we get anything to eat.”
“Alas,” cried Ned, in assumed despair, “how little encouragement a man
gets to cultivate the poetic side of his nature in these days! Just look
at this scene before us,” he continued, turning as they reached the top
of a knoll that gave them a view of the Sound and of the rear balcony
of the manor-house. They stood in silence for a time, watching the
changing tints that the early evening scattered with prodigality across
the surface of the land-locked sea. Over toward the Long Island shore a
brilliantly lighted steamboat, a great hotel escaping by water toward the
east, threw its merry gleam across the waves.
Suddenly Ned Strong laid his hand excitedly on his companion’s arm.
“Look,” he whispered, pointing to the balcony of the manor-house. “What
is that?”
A small dark figure could be seen creeping toward one of the windows that
opened on the balcony.
“There is a light inside the room,” exclaimed Ned, almost trembling
with excitement. At that instant the dark form arose from its recumbent
attitude and stood in bold relief against the window. On the instant
there came the crash of breaking glass, then silence.
“He’s a burglar!” exclaimed Mrs. Brevoort, her voice shaking perceptibly.
Somehow, she did not notice that Ned Strong’s arm had been thrown around
her protectingly.
At that moment the sharp, evil crack of a pistol startled the night air.
“A burglar or a murderer,” muttered Ned Strong, awe-struck. “Come,” he
cried, almost carrying his companion forward in his excitement. “Come, we
must get to the lodge at once and find Rudolph! Come! Quick!”