THE PHILANDERER
“SO it’s off with the old love?”
“My dear Kathryn, it was never on,” Barnard looked squarely at the
pretty nurse facing him, a faint trace of distress visible in his
polished manner. “When I called to see my aunt, Mrs. Lawrence, I always
showed you the civility and attention which I accord to any woman; that
you chose to attach a deeper meaning----” he shrugged his shoulders. “I
very deeply regret the--misunderstanding.”
Kathryn Allen’s gaze shifted from his face to the desk, and she saw the
ornaments dimly through blinding tears.
“You repudiate----?” she asked huskily.
“Everything you claim--yes.”
“Then your presents, your photograph....”
“Meant nothing,” with smiling effrontery, “except _pour passer le
temps_.”
In the stillness the click, click of a typewriter in the adjoining
office was distinctly audible. Barnard, with an impatient frown at the
wall dock, turned back to the silent woman. He abhorred a scene, and
Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper had an engagement with him shortly;
it would never do for him to find Kathryn Allen in that office. The
pause lengthened, then the woman rose shakily to her feet, and meeting
Barnard’s look of solicitude, a bitter laugh broke from her.
“You have shown me a new side,” she said, controlling herself with
difficulty. “You are not usually neglectful of your own interests,
Chichester; hadn’t you better cultivate your memory?” and before he
could answer, she slipped from the room and was gone.
Reaching the sidewalk Kathryn walked aimlessly up F Street until her
wandering attention was caught by a tall clock in front of a jeweler’s
shop, whose hands registered three o’clock, and she paused instantly.
“Mercy,” she muttered. “I’ve forgotten Joe!” and turning about she made
her way to Harvey’s restaurant. Joe Calhoun-Cooper, lurking in the
doorway, watched her approach with eagerness.
“At last!” he exclaimed. “I thought you had forgotten to come.”
“Not a bit of it,” following him to the ladies’ dining-room. “Mrs.
Wallace was not so well, and I was detained. Nurses can’t be choosers,
you know.”
“Why don’t you give up this drudgery?” asked Joe heatedly. “Marry me,
my darling----” sinking his voice.
“Marry you?” repeated Kathryn drearily, then her face brightened into a
quick warm smile. “Well, why not?”
“Do you mean it?” Joe was on his feet, his eyes alight.
“Sit down, you foolish boy,” and Joe, a trifle abashed by the waiter’s
stare, sank down into his seat.
“What will you have, Kathryn?” he inquired, taking up the menu card.
“Some hot roasted oysters and plenty of pepperine sauce; no, no wine,”
as he turned to the wine list. “You know I don’t approve of that, Joe.”
“Just a cocktail,” he pleaded. “It’s bitter cold outside.” But Kathryn
shook her head.
“Don’t tempt me, Joe;” she settled back in her seat and looked about
the restaurant. At that hour the room was empty and she heaved a sigh
of relief; she was not anxious to encounter any friend who might chance
to come in. She shivered slightly, half overcome by a tormenting
memory. “I will take some coffee,” she added hastily.
Joe finished giving his order, and then turned his attention fully
on his companion. She looked extremely pretty and young in her
conventional tailored-suit and stylish hat under which her red hair
curled tantalizingly. Her good looks and engaging manner had captivated
Joe when she attended him at Garfield Hospital the year before, he
having preceded his family to Washington, and developed typhoid fever
soon after his arrival.
“Why did you telephone that you had to see me, Joe?” asked Kathryn,
breaking the silence.
“It’s nearly a week since our last walk together,” he answered
moodily. “I began to think you were avoiding me.”
“Nonsense; I told you I’ve been extra busy....”
“But a nurse always has her regular hours off,” he broke in.
“During which I’ve been making up lost sleep,” she retorted. “Joe,
dear, don’t quarrel with me----” her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t
bear it.”
“My dearest,” he patted the slender hand resting on the table with
tender fingers. “I’ll eat dirt, sooner than make you unhappy.”
“Try the oysters, instead,” she advised, with a half hysterical laugh,
as the waiter placed the tempting dishes before them. The presence of
the waiter, who stood behind Joe’s chair shucking the roasted oysters
in rapid succession, prevented further private conversation, to Joe’s
great annoyance. He wanted Kathryn to himself, and her half-bantering,
half-tender manner but added fuel to the flame of his passion.
“Let’s get out of here,” he suggested, rising and pushing back his
chair. While playing with her hot coffee and oysters, of which she was
usually inordinately fond, Kathryn had done some rapid thinking, and
having decided on her course of action, she was quite willing to leave,
and in a few minutes more they were strolling up Pennsylvania Avenue.
“What time do you have to return?” inquired Joe, stopping before the
Raleigh.
“Not until six o’clock.”
“Good!” Joe beckoned to one of the hackmen standing in front of the
hotel, and as the brougham drew up before them, he wrenched open the
door and before Kathryn had quite decided, she was half pushed into the
vehicle. “Go to the Mall,” shouted Joe, springing in after her.
“Well, upon my word!” she ejaculated, considerably startled.
“Joe--Joe--what’s come over you?”
Joe did not answer the question directly, but the passion in his eyes
brought a hot wave of color to her cheeks; the carriage was rapidly
traversing an unfrequented street, and he was not to be denied. His
arms crept around her, and despite her vehement protests, he rained
kisses upon her lips until the fire consuming him communicated itself
to her, and she gave back kiss for kiss with an ardor which matched his
own.
“Joe, you must behave!” she stammered, withdrawing as far from him as
the narrow confines of the carriage permitted. “Suppose we are seen?
What would your family say?”
“They will have to know some time,” he protested. “Beside, we are not
likely to meet any of our friends in this part of the town.”
“I am not so sure of that,” she glanced uneasily out of the window. “We
must be getting back, Joe; tell the driver to go up side streets until
he reaches Seventeenth and S Streets.”
“Will you marry me?” demanded Joe, ignoring her request. “Will you, my
darling?”
“I’ll give you my answer----”
“Yes?” eagerly, as she paused.
“When we reach Seventeenth and S Streets,” and her alluring smile set
his pulses racing. Opening the door he gave his directions to the
driver, then settled back beside her.
“Why do you want to tantalize me?” he asked reproachfully.
“It’s good for you,” shrugging her shoulders. “You are spoiled
at home. By the way, do you propose telling your family of our
engagement--providing I accept you?” archly.
“In my own good time,” sulkily. “If they know too soon....”
“They’ll send you away from my baleful influence.” A mocking smile
lighted her eyes and lips. Joe winced, the remark was too near the
truth to be pleasant.
“It’s no thanks to your friend, Mrs. Hemmingway, that father doesn’t
know now,” he grumbled.
“What do you mean?” in startled surprise.
“I found a letter from her in father’s mail last Monday,” he pulled out
a much soiled envelope. “Your letters used to come under cover of her
address, so I recognized her writing, and guessing something devilish
was up, hooked it before father came home.”
“I see,” said Kathryn slowly. “And what did my amiable landlady say in
her letter to your father?”
“I don’t know,” handing her the unopened envelope. “I waited to give it
to you to read; I would have told you of it sooner, but you would not
see me.”
“Could not see you,” she corrected gently; then without further words
opened and read the letter. A sharp intake of her breath attracted
Joe’s attention, and he turned from the window in time to see her
tearing the letter into infinitesimal pieces, her face white with fury.
“The cat!” she exclaimed. “The vile, treacherous cat! And after I’ve
been so good to her. Thank heaven you caught the letter, Joe; it was
clever of you, my dearest.”
“Luck was with me,” admitted Joe frankly, pleased, however, at the
implied compliment. “I never trusted Mrs. Hemmingway; you remember I
warned you against her.”
“Yes, yes, so you did. Oh, Joe, the things she said about you in this
letter!” opening the carriage door and tossing out the scraps of paper.
“They make my blood boil.”
“My blessed darling,” as she snuggled up against his shoulder, “if I
only had enough money, I’d carry you off tonight.”
“Remember I haven’t yet given you my answer,” teasingly.
“I’d marry you without it,” sturdily. “Lord! if I only had the luck of
some people--Chichester Barnard, for instance.”
Kathryn’s body stiffened and every drop of blood deserted her face.
“What about Chichester Barnard?” she asked in barely more than a
whisper.
“Didn’t you read in this morning’s paper that Mrs. Lawrence’s will
had been offered for probate, and that she bequeathed him a hundred
thousand dollars?”
“I had no chance to look at the papers,” she answered dully. Immersed
in his own prospective happiness he failed to observe the anguish which
dimmed her eyes. Suddenly she roused herself. “So Mr. Barnard is a
wealthy man; well, merit usually wins in the end.” The covert sneer was
lost on her companion.
“Barnard’s a good chap,” he said tolerantly. “He deserves his luck.”
“I presume now he will marry Marjorie Langdon.”
“Marry Marjorie Langdon?” Joe’s hearty burst of laughter covered the
quiver in Kathryn’s voice. “Lord bless you, he’s trying for higher
game.”
“Who do you mean?” the question shot from her.
“Janet Fordyce; and do you know,” lowering his voice confidentially,
“Christmas Eve I got rather fuddled and was such a fool as to warn
Barnard not to marry into that family.”
“Were you thanked for your pains?” and the sneer in her downcast eyes
was not pleasant.
“Hardly; in fact, Barnard threatened to wring my neck if I ever alluded
to the Fordyce peculiarities in public.”
“Tell me some other time,” she coaxed. “I think, however, that Mr.
Barnard is to be congratulated if he marries any woman but Marjorie
Langdon.”
“I rather like Marjorie.”
“Do you?” she laughed mirthlessly. “Well, I hate her.” There was no
mistaking her envenomed tone, and Joe’s sleepy eyes opened to twice
their usual size.
“Why?” in profound astonishment.
“Because of the humiliation I have suffered at her hands; she never
lost an opportunity ‘to put me in my place’ when we were both at the
Lawrences’, she as secretary and I as nurse.”
“You surprise me; but come to think of it, Pauline holds about the same
view of Miss Langdon that you do; thinks she’s too supercilious for a
paid companion.”
“Is that so? Then your sister and I agree already.”
“A happy omen for the future,” exclaimed Joe, then his face darkened.
“If Marjorie Langdon has been nasty to you, my darling, I’ll cut her
acquaintance.”
The look she gave him was ample reward. “Ah, Joe,” she said, a trifle
sadly, “I fear your loyalty will be taxed to the breaking point if you
marry a poor, nameless nobody like me.”
“Never!” he vowed with lover-like ardor. “And, dearest, within a few
years, by the terms of my grandfather’s will, I shall inherit eight
thousand a year.”
“What!” Her surprise was genuine; Joe had never before spoken of his
prospective inheritance.
“I didn’t know about it myself until Christmas,” went on Joe. “We can
be married tomorrow if you say so; I’ll get mother to advance me some
money, and father will come across when he once meets you.”
“And your sister?”
“Oh, Pauline can go hang. Who cares for her opinion?” contemptuously.
“I do, for one,” calmly meeting his perplexed stare. “I most earnestly
desire her friendship.”
“You don’t know Pauline,” dryly, remembering his treatment at his
sister’s hands. “I don’t think she will add to our joy of living.”
“Perhaps not, but she may be useful to me,” quietly. “Oh, Joe, you
don’t know what it means to a bride to sever her husband from his
family. Please God, you’ll never have that to reproach me with.”
“I was only thinking of you, dearest,” put in Joe, much touched.
“Between you and me, Pauline is an awful tartar.” At that moment their
carriage turned the corner into S Street and drew up at the curb.
“Your answer, dearest?” Joe’s assurance had departed, and the hand he
laid on Kathryn shook. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” he had to bend down to catch the whispered word.
“Soon?” he urged, his voice triumphant with joy.
“Yes,” and the kindly darkness hid the kiss with which they sealed
their betrothal.