TWO ENCOUNTERS
Garrison roomed in Forty-fourth Street, where he occupied a small,
second-story apartment. His meals he procured at various restaurants
where fancy chanced to lead.
To-night a certain eagerness for adventure possessed his being.
More than anything else in the world he wished to see Dorothy again; he
hardly dared confess why, but told himself that she was charming--and
his nature demanded excitement.
He dined well and leisurely, bought a box of chocolates to present to
his new-found "wife," dressed himself with exceptional care, and at
length took an uptown train for his destination.
All the way on the cars he was thinking of the task he had undertaken
to perform. Not without certain phases of amusement, he rehearsed his
part, and made up his mind to leave nothing of the rôle neglected.
Arrived in the West Side street, close to the house which should have
been Dorothy's, he discovered that the numbering on the doors had been
wretchedly mismanaged. One or the other of two brownstone fronts must
be her residence; he could not determine which. The nearest was
lighted from top to bottom. In the other a single pair of windows
only, on the second floor, showed the slightest sign of life.
Resolved to be equal to anything the adventure might require, he
mounted the steps of the lighted dwelling and rang the bell. He was
almost immediately admitted by a serving-man, who appeared a trifle
surprised to behold him, but who bowed him in as if he were expected,
with much formality and deference.
"What shall I call you?" he said.
Garrison was surprised, but he announced:
"Just Mr. Jerold."
A second door was opened; a gush of perfumed air, a chorus of gay young
voices, and a peal of laughter greeted Garrison's ears as the servant
called out his name.
Instantly a troop of brilliantly dressed young women came running from
the nearest room, all in fancy costume and all of them masked.
Evidently a fancy-dress party was about to begin in the house.
Garrison realized his blunder.
Before he could move, a stunning, superbly gowned girl, with bare neck
and shoulders that were the absolute perfection of beauty, came boldly
up to where the visitor stood. The others had ceased their laughter.
"Jerold!--how good of you to come!" said the girl, and, boldly patting
his face with her hand, she quickly darted from him, while the others
laughed with glee.
Garrison was sure he had never seen her before. Indeed, he had
scarcely had time to note anything about her, save that on her neck she
wore two necklaces--one of diamonds, the other of pearls, and both of
wonderful gems.
Then out from the room from which she had come stepped a man appareled
as Satan--in red from top to toe. He, too, was in mask. He joined in
the laughter with the others.
Garrison "found himself" with admirable presence of mind.
"My one regret is that I may not remain," he said, with a bow to the
ladies. "I might also regret having entered the wrong house, but your
reception renders such an emotion impossible."
He bowed himself out with commendable grace, and the bold masquerader
threw kisses as he went. Amused, quite as much as annoyed, at his
blunder, he made himself ready as best he might for another adventure,
climbed the steps of the dwelling next at hand, and once more rang the
bell.
Almost immediately the dark hall was lighted by the switching on of
lights. Then the door was opened, and Garrison beheld a squint-eyed,
thin-lipped old man, who scowled upon him and remained there, barring
his way.
"Good evening--is my wife at home--Mrs. Fairfax?" said Garrison,
stepping in. "I wired her----"
"Jerold!" cried a voice, as the girl in the party-house had done. But
this was Dorothy, half-way down the stairs, running toward him eagerly,
and dressed in most exquisite taste.
Briskly stepping forward, ready with the rôle he had rehearsed, he
caught her in his arms as she came to the bottom of the stairs, and she
kissed him like a sweet young wife, obeying the impulse of her nature.
"Oh, Jerold, I'm so glad!" she said. "I don't see why you have to go
away at nine!"
She was radiant with blushes.
He recognized a cue.
"And how's the dearest little girl in all the world?" he said, handing
her the box of confections. "I didn't think I'd be able to make it,
till I wired. While this bit of important business lasts we must do
the best we can."
He had thrown his arm about her carelessly. She moved away with a
natural gesture towards the man who had opened the door.
"Oh, Jerold, this is my Uncle Sykey--Mr. Robinson," she said. "He and
Aunt Jill have come to pay me a visit. We must all go upstairs to the
parlor."
She was pale with excitement, but her acting was perfect.
Garrison turned to the narrow-eyed old man, who was scowling darkly
upon him.
"I'm delighted to meet you," he said, extending his hand.
"Um! Thank you," said Robinson, refusing his hand. "Extraordinary
honeymoon you're giving my niece, Mr. Fairfax."
His manner nettled Garrison, who could not possibly have gauged the
depth of the old man's dislike, even hatred, conceived against him
simply as Dorothy's husband.
A greeting so utterly uncordial made unlooked-for demands upon his wits.
"The present arrangement will not endure very long," he said
significantly. "In the meantime, if Dorothy is satisfied there seems
to be no occasion for anyone else to feel distressed."
"If that's intended as a fling at me----" started Robinson, but Dorothy
interrupted.
"Please come upstairs," she said, laying her hand for a moment on
Garrison's shoulder; and then she ran up lightly, looking back with all
the smiles of perfect art.
Garrison read it as an invitation to a private confidence, much needed
to put him properly on guard. He bounded up as if in hot pursuit,
leaving her uncle down there by the door.
She fled to the end of the upper hall, near a door that was closed.
Garrison had lost no space behind her. She turned a white, tense face
as she came to a halt.
"Be careful, please," she whispered. "Some of my relatives appeared
here unexpectedly this afternoon. I had to wire on that account. Get
away just as soon as you can. You are merely passing through the city.
You must write me daily letters while they are here--and--don't forget
who you are supposed to be!"
She was radiant again with blushes. Garrison was almost dazzled by her
beauty. What reply he might have made was interrupted. Dorothy caught
him by the hand, like a fond young bride, as her uncle came rapidly up
the stairs. The door was opened at his elbow by a white-haired, almost
"bearded" woman, large, sharp-sighted, and ugly, with many signs of
both inquisitiveness and acquisitiveness upon her.
"So, that's your Mr. Fairfax," she said to Dorothy. "Come in here till
I see what you're like."
Dorothy had again taken Garrison's arm. She led him forward.
"This is Aunt Jill," she said, by way of introduction and explanation.
"Aunty, this is my husband, Jerold."
Aunt Jill had backed away from the door to let them enter. Garrison
realized at once that Dorothy's marriage had excited much antagonism in
the breasts of both these relatives. A sudden accession of boldness
came upon him, in his plan to protect the girl. He entered the room
and faced the woman calmly.
"I'm glad to meet you," he said, this time without extending his hand.
"I beg to impress upon both you and Mr. Robinson that, such as I am,
Dorothy chose me of her own free will to occupy my present position."
Mrs. Robinson was momentarily speechless. Her husband now stood in the
door.
Dorothy shot Garrison a look of gratitude, but her immediate desire was
for peace.
"Let us all sit down, and try to get better acquainted," she said.
"I'm sure we shall all be friends."
"No doubt," said her uncle somewhat offensively.
Garrison felt himself decidedly uncertain of his ground. There was
nothing to do, however, but await developments. He looked about the
room in a quick, comprehensive manner.
It was a large apartment, furnished handsomely, perhaps even richly,
but in a style no longer modern, save for the installation of electric
lights. It contained a piano, a fireplace, a cabinet, writing-desk,
two settees, and the customary complement of chairs.
The pictures on the walls were rather above the average, even in the
homes of the wealthy. The objects of art, disposed in suitable places,
were all in good taste and expensive.
Quite at a loss to meet these people to advantage, uninformed as he was
of anything vital concerning Dorothy and the game she might be playing,
Garrison was rendered particularly alert by the feeling of constraint
in the air. He had instantly conceived a high appreciation for
Dorothy's art in her difficult position, and he rose to a comprehension
of the rôle assigned to himself.
He had earlier determined to appear affectionate; he now saw the need
of enacting the part of protector.
In the full illumination of the room, the glory of Dorothy's beauty was
startling. His eyes sought her face with no need of acting, and the
admiration blazing in his gaze was more than genuine; it was thoroughly
spontaneous and involuntary.
The moment was awkward and fraught with suspense for Garrison, as he
found himself subjected to the flagrantly unfriendly appraisement of
his newly acquired relations.
Aunt Jill had been wilted for a moment only. She looked their visitor
over with undisguised contempt.
"Well, I dare say you _look_ respectable and healthy," she said, as if
conceding a point with no little reluctance, "but appearances are very
deceiving."
"Thank you," said Garrison. He sat down near Dorothy, occupying a
small settee.
If Mrs. Robinson was personally pugnacious, her husband harbored far
more vicious emotions. Garrison felt this in his manner. The man was
looking at him narrowly.
"How much of your time have you spent with your wife since your
marriage?" he demanded, without the slightest preliminary introduction
to the subject.
Garrison realized at once that Dorothy might have prepared a harmless
fiction with which his answers might not correspond. He assumed a calm
and deliberation he was far from feeling, as he said:
"I was not aware that I should be obliged to account to anyone save
Dorothy for my goings and comings. Up to the present I believe she has
been quite well satisfied with my deportment; haven't you, Dorothy?"
"Perfectly," said Dorothy, whose utterance was perhaps a trifle faint.
"Can't we all be friends--and talk about----"
"I prefer to talk about this for a moment," interrupted her uncle,
still regarding Garrison with the closest scrutiny. "What's your
business, anyway, Mr. Fairfax?"
Garrison, adhering to a policy of telling the truth with the greatest
possible frequency, and aware that evasion would avail them nothing,
waited the fraction of a minute for Dorothy to speak. She was silent.
He felt she had not committed herself or him upon the subject.
"I am engaged at present in some insurance business," he said. "It
will take me out of town to-night, and keep me away for a somewhat
indefinite period."
"H'm!" said Mr. Robinson. "I suppose you'll quit your present
employment pretty soon?"
With no possible chance of comprehending the drift of inquiry, Garrison
responded:
"Possibly."
"I thought so!" exclaimed the old man, with unconcealed asperity.
"Marrying for money is much more remunerative, hey?"
"Oh, uncle!" said Dorothy. Her pain and surprise were quite genuine.
Garrison colored instantly.
He might have been hopelessly floundering in a moment had not a natural
indignation risen in his blood.
"Please remember that up to this evening you and I have been absolute
strangers," he said, with some heat. "I am not the kind to marry for
money. Had I done so I should not continue in my present calling for a
very modest compensation."
He felt that Dorothy might misunderstand or even doubt his resolution
to go on with her requirements. He added pointedly:
"I have undertaken certain assignments for my present employers which I
mean to put through to the end, and no one aware of my motives could
charge me with anything sordid."
Dorothy rose, crossed the space between her chair and the small settee
where Garrison was seated, took the place at his side, and shyly laid
her hand upon his own. It was a natural, wifely thing to do. Garrison
recognized her perfect acting. A tingle of strange, lawless joy ran
through his veins; nevertheless, he still faced Robinson, for his anger
had been no pretense.
There was something in his bearing, when aroused, that invited caution.
He was not a man with whom to trifle. Mrs. Robinson, having felt it
before, underwent the experience anew.
"Let's not start off with a row," she said. "No one means to offend
you, Mr. Fairfax."
"What do you think he'll do?" demanded her husband. "Order us out of
the house? It ain't his yet, and he knows it."
Garrison knew nothing concerning the ownership of the house. Mr.
Robinson's observation gave him a hint, however, that Dorothy's
husband, or Dorothy herself, would presumably own this dwelling soon,
but that something had occurred to delay the actual possession.
"I came to see Dorothy, and for no other purpose," he said. "I haven't
the slightest desire or intention to offend her relatives."
If Robinson and his wife understood the hint that he would be pleased
to see Dorothy alone, they failed to act upon it.
"We'll take your future operations as our guide," said Mr. Robinson
significantly. "Protestations cost nothing."
Mrs. Robinson, far more shrewd than her husband, in her way, had begun
to realize that Garrison was not a man either to be frightened or
bullied.
"I'm sure we shall all be friends," she said. "What's the use of
fighting? If, as Mr. Fairfax says, he did not marry Dorothy for
money----"
Her husband interrupted. "I don't believe it! Will you tell me, Mr.
Fairfax, that when you married my niece you were not aware of her
prospects?"
"I knew absolutely nothing of her prospects," said Garrison, who
thought he foresaw some money struggle impending. "She can tell you
that up to the present moment I have never asked her a word concerning
her financial status or future expectations."
"Why don't you tell us you never knew she had an uncle?" demanded
Robinson, with no abatement of acidity.
"As a matter of fact," replied Garrison, "I have never known the name
of any of Dorothy's relations till to-night."
"This is absurd!" cried the aggravated Mr. Robinson. "Do you mean to
tell me----"
Garrison cut in upon him with genuine warmth. He was fencing blindly
in Dorothy's behalf, and instinct was guiding him with remarkable
precision.
"I should think you might understand," he said, "that once in a while a
young woman, with a natural desire to be esteemed for herself alone,
might purposely avoid all mention both of her relatives and prospects."
"We've all heard about these marriages for love," sneered Dorothy's
uncle. "Where did you suppose she got this house?"
Garrison grew bolder as he felt a certain confidence that so far he had
made no particular blunders. His knowledge of the value of half a
truth, or even the truth entire, was intuitive.
"I have never been in this house before tonight," he said. "Our
'honeymoon,' as you called it earlier, has, as you know, been brief,
and none of it was spent beneath this roof."
"Then how did you know where to come?" demanded Mr. Robinson.
"Dorothy supplied me the address," answered Garrison. "It is not
uncommon, I believe, for husband and wife to correspond."
"Well, here we are, and here we'll stay," said Mr. Robinson, "till the
will and all the business is settled. Perhaps you'll say you didn't
even know there was a will."
Garrison was beginning to see light, dimly. What it was that lay
behind Dorothy's intentions and her scheme he could not know; he was
only aware that to-night, stealing a glance at her sweet but worried
face, and realizing faintly that she was greatly beset with troubles,
his whole heart entered the conflict, willingly, to help her through to
the end.
"You are right for once," he answered his inquisitor. "I have known
absolutely nothing of any will affecting Dorothy, and I know nothing
now. I only know you can rely upon me to fight her battles to the full
extent of my ability and strength."
"What nonsense! You don't know!" exclaimed Mr. Robinson. "Why----"
"It's the truth," interrupted Dorothy. "I have told him nothing about
it."
"I don't believe it!" said her uncle. "But whatever he knows, I'll
tell him this, that I propose to fight that will, day and night, before
my brother's property shall go to any scheming stranger!"
Garrison felt the need for enlightenment. It was hardly fair to expect
him to struggle in the dark. He looked at his watch ostentatiously.
"I did not come here expecting this sort of reception," he said
truthfully. "I hoped at least for a few minutes' time with Dorothy,
alone."
"To cook up further stories, I presume," said Mr. Robinson, who made no
move to depart.
Garrison rose and approached Mr. Robinson precisely as he might have
done had his right been more than a fiction.
"Do you require Dorothy to go down in the hall, in her own house, to
obtain a moment of privacy?" he demanded. "We might as well understand
the situation first as last."
It was a half-frightened look, full of craft and hatred, that Robinson
cast upward to his face. He fidgeted, then rose from his seat.
"Come, my dear," he said to his wife, "the persecutions have commenced."
He led the way from the room to another apartment, his wife obediently
following at his heels. The door they left ajar.