Against Odds Part 31

'Yes.'

'And--ah--I must ask thee if it is to his hurt?'

'It is not.'

'Then tell it to her at once, if it will make their meeting less embarra.s.sing to either; tell it--hush!'

Almost as she spoke the door opened and June Jenrys entered the room, and never had she looked so charming. It was evident in every detail of her simple toilet that she had dressed with the purpose and the power to please and charm.

The gown was simply made, of some soft, creamy-tinted wool, that fell in long straight folds from her silken belt, and was drawn, soft and full, like the surplice of our grandmothers' day, about the shapely shoulders and across the breast; and the hat was black and broad, with curving brim and drooping plume, the same, in fact, worn by her on the now memorable day when we--the guard and I--saw her, all unconscious of the menacing Turks on Midway Plaisance. A soft, black glove with long, wrinkled wrists, and a long, slim umbrella, tightly furled, completed a charming picture of a New York girl par excellence.

As we left the house and I turned at the foot of the steps to lift my hat to Miss Ross, looking after us from the doorway, she waved her hand and sent me a significant glance, which I well understood. It meant, 'Speak, and speak boldly.'

When we had entered at the Fifty-seventh Street gate, and were crossing the bridge, I did speak, and boldly too, it seemed to me.

'Before we enter the hospital, Miss Jenrys,' I began, 'there is something which I think you ought to know. I have not spoken of it in your aunt's presence, because it is first and most your affair, to make known or to withhold for a time. Will you sit in that arbour where I first talked to yourself and Miss Ross? I see that it is unoccupied, fortunately.'

She a.s.sented promptly, and when we had entered the Nebraska House arbour, and were seated side by side upon the shadiest seat, she turned toward me an expectant look, and silently waited my pleasure.

Her face was grave and somewhat paler than usual, but there rested in her lovely eyes a look of fixed purpose, a clear, fine light as of some decision, made after doubt and hesitation, in which she now rested and felt strong.

She did not seem eager, as she sat beside me, only waiting, and her mind evidently was 'far away ahead.'

I came promptly to the point.

'What I have to say, Miss Jenrys, concerns our friend whom we are about to visit, as well as yourself.' She let her lashes droop, and slightly bent her head. 'And it has been in my mind,' I went on, 'for some time--in fact ever since I came to the conclusion that our friend was, in truth, the Mr. Lossing whom you named in the letter I was so bold as to read;' here she flushed hotly. 'And here permit me to say, Miss Jenrys, that no man ever read his own mother's letter more respectfully than I perused that letter of yours, searching through it for the address of its writer. I hope you will believe me when I say that I hesitated long, and put down the letter more than once, before I ventured to give it a second glance, and that no eye save mine read or saw one word of its contents while it remained in my possession.

When I met you first, and talked with you in this same spot, I wanted to say this to you, but I saw that you preferred to ignore this part of the affair----'

'I did,' she interrupted, with gentle dignity, reminding me of her aunt. 'I confess that at first I felt sore and sensitive about my poor letter, but that is over, Mr. Masters; you have made me again and again your debtor, even by that act, as I now see clearly. Let us not refer to that letter again.'

'But I must once more at least, and I beg you to bear with me if I seem unduly meddling with your affairs; they are our friend's affairs too, and I believe he has been grievously wronged.'

'Wronged?' She started, and her face flushed and paled in the same moment. 'How--how?'

'I will tell you. You may not be aware how much a few written lines can sometimes convey to one in my profession, especially when written by one who speaks frankly, as friend to friend; and when I had read that portion of your letter which describes the scene in the conservatory, I seemed to see it all.' I was speaking with my eyes upon the ripples of the little stream at our feet, into which, from time to time, I tossed a leaf or twig from the branches just overhead.

'When I had read that portion of the letter, Miss Jenrys,' I went on, 'before I had seen you or Lossing, I said to myself, "She has been deceived--tricked!"'

'Tricked?' she whispered through pale lips, and then she drew herself erect, and awaited my next words.

'Miss Jenrys, I believe you know now whom I am about to accuse.

Yesterday I had a talk with Lossing, as long as the doctor would permit, and I, on my part, took him quite into my confidence. He knows me for what I am; he knows what I am doing. I told him, after consulting you, the story of the letter--of the brunette--everything.

Was I wrong?'

'No,' very slowly.

'And last I told him that I believed someone had played him a dastardly trick. Shall I tell you what he said to me?'

'Yes.'

'He swore that the words you heard behind the palms were never uttered by him; that he saw only you and one other in the conservatory.'

She clasped her two hands in her lap, and I saw that they trembled slightly; but her voice was low and calm when she turned to me and said:

'If he tells me this, I shall believe him.' And then, after a moment of silence, 'How was it done?' she asked.

'Can you not imagine a rival overhearing, perhaps, the appointment in the conservatory? If he is a good mimic or a ventriloquist, say, it would be easy to utter a few words behind the palms, impersonating two people; then, as his victim approaches, he glides behind some other leafy screen, to appear before you, perhaps, a little later, smiling and secretly triumphant.'

'I see!' she said, with sudden energy. 'Tell me what must--what ought I to do?'

'Will you take my advice, with a strong reason behind it?'

'Yes,' promptly.

'Then, say nothing, do nothing, for the present. Believe me, it will be best in the end, and an especial favour to me. I will explain more fully at another time.' I got up and stood before her, watch in hand.

'We are due at the hospital. Do you agree?'

'To wait?' She arose quickly. 'Will it really be a favour to you?'

'It will be a great favour. It will disarrange my most cherished plans for unmasking a villain if you make a sign too soon.'

'Then I will hold my peace; I will help you, even--can I?'

'Will you?'

'I will.' She put out her hand.

'Thank you. I will not cause you to regret your promise. Shall we go?'

Lossing lay eager-eyed and impatient, watching alternately his watch and the door, when June entered, stately and charming, and came alone straight to his cot.

There were no heroics. These were not the lovers of the popular novel, who meet invariably, after long absence or a deadly quarrel, in an empty parlour at early twilight; they were young and ardent, but they were also familiar with _les convenances_, and possessed of the nineteenth-century horror of a scene.

When she paused beside him his hand was outstretched to meet hers; and if the clasp was close and long, what of that? And if, when she sank gracefully into the seat placed for her by an attendant, there was a suspicious moisture in her eyes, which she seemed to wipe away, since her back was turned to the others; and if his lip quivered slightly, for he was very weak you know, what then?

At first no word was spoken, but their eyes had met and exchanged greetings, without the aid of words.

By-and-by, with his eyes devouring her face, he said feebly:

'You--have seen--Masters?'

'Yes, he brought me here.'

'And--he told--you----?'

'Everything.'