STELLA determined to make one more direct appeal to John Graham before
resorting to indirect subterfuges for the purpose of meeting him.
She wrote half a dozen letters and tore them up. They lacked simplicity.
The only effective appeal to this man must disarm all suspicion of
subtlety. It must be natural, sincere and ring true. She found it a
very difficult thing to express in cold written words one thing and mean
another, and yet preserve the ring of truth and sincerity. At last she
wrote a letter which seemed to be effective. She read it over and over,
and added to the paper the faintest touch of delicate perfume, an old
extract of sweet pinks, which she had used the night of their meeting.
She laid it aside and waited an hour to carefully read it again. It
was too important to risk a failure. Should he once suspect an ulterior
purpose of any kind her plan must end in utter defeat. She spent an hour
walking through the lawn, returned and read again the letter.
It seemed cold, stiff and artificial, and the touch of perfume obvious
and vulgar. It lacked the magnetism of personality. She had no power
to convey this as yet in words. She must see him face to face, hold him
with the deep charm of her great eyes, and enfold him with the spell of
her beauty.
“I must see him,” she cried--“or I’ll fail! If I can only touch his
hand, stand by his side and look into his face, I’ll win.”
She walked to the window and stood thoughtful a moment. Suddenly her
eyes lighted.
“I’ll do it! I’ll go to his dingy office and ask for his services as any
other client. Why not? His sign is a standing invitation to the world.
How stupid of me to be wasting paper!”
In five minutes she was on the way. Her dress was a simple girlish
pattern of green dimity. A quaint bonnet of the period, flaring wide and
high in front, its tiny circular crown tilted, with ribbon tied under
her dainty chin, made a picture no artist could pass without a sigh.
She stopped before the wrought-iron weatherbeaten sign which hung from
the doorway leading up a flight of stairs to the young lawyer’s office.
Her heart fluttered with a moment of uncertainty as she felt herself
standing on the threshold of the most daring step of her life. The plain
gold letters of the sign held her with a strange fascination:
JOHN GRAHAM
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR
AT LAW
She had never noticed this piece of plain black iron before, and yet
somehow it seemed a part of the record of her deep inner life, and, as
it moved, gently stirred by the soft breezes of a Southern day, creaking
on the rod from which it hung, the sound thrilled her with a feeling
of strange terror. She turned quickly away, her heart pounding with
excitement, and began to retrace her steps.
She walked a block, stopped, flushed red, frowned and turned on her
heels.
“I’ll not be a silly coward. I’ll not look back again until it’s done.”
This time she walked firmly up the stairs and gently knocked on his
door.
John had just finished his business with Nickaroshinski.
The old Jew had accepted his personal note unsecured by any endorsement
for the money needed to send Billy north to college. He sat in brooding
silence, idly holding between his fingers the paper on which he had
recorded the memorandum of his new indebtedness. He was not worrying
over his ability to pay--of that he felt sure. Butler had answered his
suit by removing the order of his disbarment on Larkin’s advice the day
of the County Convention. His practice gave promise of a comfortable
living.
It was Billy’s flight, which was arranged for the following day, that
had focussed his thoughts on the miserable tragedy which had raised
still another barrier between him and his possible approach to Stella.
The knock on his door had not interrupted the train of his thought. He
was looking through his window into the deep blue of the infinite skies,
and linking in fancy the mysteries of their changing lights to those
which flashed from the fathomless depths of the eyes of the woman he
loved.
He had mechanically answered the knock without moving and still sat
wide-eyed and dreaming when the rustle of Stella’s dress and the echo of
her soft footfall startled him.
He turned in amazement, stared, suddenly sprang to his feet, his face
flushed with excitement. Surely he was asleep--dreaming! Or had the
picture in his soul suddenly stepped from the infinite into the flesh
and blood of the finite in answer to the yearning call of his heart! A
hundred wild thoughts swept his imagination in the brief moment before
he could speak.
“I fear I’ve startled you!” she said, drawing back with a timid gesture.
“Why, why--it’s you--Miss Butler! I hadn’t dreamed of seeing you in this
dingy office!”
He stammered and hesitated, and continued to gaze at her in confusion.
“May I sit down?” she asked softly.
“I beg a thousand pardons,” he answered, springing across the room for a
chair. He dumped a pile of law books from it--brushed the dust from the
bottom and placed it before her.
“Believe me,” he went on, “I was so astonished at seeing you, I thought
I must have fallen asleep--you see it was too beautiful to be true--I
thought it must be a dream.”
“Well, there was nothing left but to humble myself and call on you--you
refused to call on me.”
“I can never tell you how sorry I was to have to write that note,” he
said gravely.
“I’m glad, for I refuse to take your letter as final. You said there
were many and serious reasons why you could not act as my counsel. I’ve
come to hear them.”
“I assure you they are serious enough, Miss Butler. I fear it will not
be possible for me to state them.”
“Then I refuse to accept them,” she answered with a smile.
John gazed at her, wondering if she could know what havoc her sweet
appealing smile was playing with his resolutions.
He tried to speak and couldn’t.
Stella continued, her voice low and musical with childlike tenderness:
“I know that my father was your political foe, but he had the
profoundest respect for your ability and your high sense of honour.
His death will doubtless remain one of the unexplained tragedies of the
troubles through which the country is now passing.”
She rose and slowly approached John’s chair, her great brown eyes
blinding him with their light as she gently laid a white hand on his
shoulder.
He started at her touch.
“Mr. Graham,” she said, with exquisite tenderness, “life is too short to
cherish its bitter feuds.”
“Yes,” he answered in a whisper barely audible.
“I am utterly alone and distressed over business affairs I do not
understand. I have implicit faith in you. I need your help and advice.
Will you refuse me what you would grant without question to a stranger
who would call at this office and ask?”
John flushed and fumbled his hands nervously.
“Come, you will accept, will you not?” She extended her hand. “Shall we
be friends?”
He trembled for a moment and his own hand resistlessly sought hers.
“Yes!” he cried with deep emotion, unconsciously crushing her hand in
his.
“You will come to-morrow morning to the house and go over the papers
with me?”
“To-morrow afternoon,” he replied, as a momentary cloud shadowed his
brow. “I have an important engagement for the morning.” And he thought
of Billy with a pang.
“Then to-morrow afternoon,” she cried, with a tender smile that lingered
as a caress long after she had passed from the door.