Edith and John Part 16

Be these things as they may, two weeks, almost, had pa.s.sed by since he went into his bandbox office, when Edith Jarney, accompanied by Star Barton, came to see her father.

The time was in the middle of the afternoon. Mr. Jarney was sitting at his desk dictating a third and last batch of letters, and John was sitting by diligently taking notes. Edith opened the office door of her own accord, and she and Star walked within unannounced. Edith was dressed in dark colors in harmony with the weather. She carried a sealskin m.u.f.f, and had a boa of the same fur around her neck, and the cutest round hat possible sat upon her head. Verily, she looked like a princess out on winter parade as she advanced toward a broad, flat-top table in the center of the room. Star, dressed much in the same fashion, and looking as stately as any lady at court, followed Edith.

Both young ladies sat down at the table to await Mr. Jarney's convenience to greet them. John was sitting with his back to them, and so silent was their tread that he did not hear them enter. His pen flew from left to right on the pages of his note book as Mr. Jarney talked in his low monotonous voice, without inflection to his words, or change in his countenance. Mr. Jarney saw the young ladies enter, but, through a habit of his of never being disturbed when in the throes of grinding out letters, the young ladies' coming did not bother him in the least.

Edith and Star sat quietly, abiding their time to speak. Edith tapped the polished top of the table with her gloved hand. Star sat meditating, with her eyes bent upon the young man. Thus they sat for ten minutes or more, watching master and servant at the fountain head of industrial achievement.

Then, without a word to John, Mr. Jarney arose; and, coming forward, grasped his daughter by the hand and kissed her on the lips. Turning to Star, he accorded her the same fatherly greeting.

John arose as Mr. Jarney arose, and was folding his note book as he was taking a step to make his exit. In that moment, when Mr. Jarney was saluting Edith, he looked toward her. Recognizing the young lady, he hesitated for a second, flushed, faltered, hesitated again, for he had not known they were present. As Mr. Jarney turned to Star to greet her, Miss Edith turned to John. Her face flushed also. She stood a moment, with that light of recognition in her eyes, that gives a peculiarly sensational effect upon the beholder, sometimes. He was uncertain. She was uncertain. He made a step forward to continue toward his office, when Edith smiled, came up to him, and extended her hand.

"Mr. Winthrope, I believe?" she said.

John was in the act of bowing when he saw her extended hand, and foregoing a completion of that act of politeness, he extended his hand to meet Edith's. John looked very grave. He had needs to look grave, if the beating of his heart indicated a particle of his feelings at that moment. Edith continued smiling as only she could smile. Then John pulled himself together sufficiently in his embarra.s.sment and said:

"Miss Jarney, if I am not mistaken?"

"You are not mistaken, Mr. Winthrope," she said. "I am very glad to meet you again; but under more pleasant circ.u.mstances than when we last met."

"The pleasure is not all yours, Miss Jarney," he replied, releasing her hand.

"How are you?" she asked, still smiling.

"Fine, thank you," he answered.

"I want you to meet my dear friend, Miss Barton," she said to him, and then turning to Star: "Miss Barton, my friend, Mr. Winthrope."

Star advanced, and made a low bow in return to that of John's. Mr.

Jarney stood off a few steps taking in the formal introductions and salaams of his daughter and her friend with his new secretary, at the same time looking as unbending in his demeanor as a cast iron pillar, from all outward appearances; but really relishing, with a glad heart, the simplicity of his beautiful daughter in her cordiality toward Mr.

Winthrope.

"Star--Miss Barton, this is the young man of whom I was speaking." Then, looking at him, with a quizzical air, as if she wanted to be patronizingly humble, said, directing her words at Star: "He is the young man, Star, who rescued my hat and gave me his own umbrella."

"That was a gallant act," said Star, smiling genially upon him. "I have heard nothing but praise of you for the past two weeks."

Edith thereat blushed more crimson than ever before in all her innocent career; and sought to turn the subject by saying: "Oh, Star--it is spitting snow," looking out the window as she said it.

John's face turned a pinky color also, and he began to have qualms of consternation in being detained from a prompt execution of his work at hand.

Star immediately saw she had made a blunder, and tried to make amends by continuing: "I told Miss Edith that I should be happy to meet such a gallant young man, as she says you are."

Edith was now more flushed. She burned with confusion and despair over Star's untimely statement of facts.

"If you ladies will excuse me, I will resume my work," said John, to avoid further complications between Edith's expressive face and Star's expressive words.

"We will excuse you, Mr. Winthrope--business before pleasure, always,"

said Edith.

"I am glad to meet you--to have met you--and hope to see you again, Miss Barton," said John, bowing to Star; and then, bowing to Edith, he departed.

In the meantime, Mr. Jarney had taken his seat at his desk in a highly fl.u.s.tered state of mind by reason of his daughter's sudden change of countenance over the unintentional reflect a.s.sertion of Star's. When John had closed the door of his office behind him, and the two ladies were alone with Mr. Jarney, the latter turned about in his chair, as if in a pa.s.sion of rage, and said:

"My dear Edith, what is the meaning of your actions?"

"Why, papa, dear," she answered, "it is only my way of showing my appreciation of his former kindness."

"My little chit," he returned, as she put one arm around his neck, "you exhibited more than simple appreciation in your looks, when you greeted Mr. Winthrope."

"Now, do not scold me, dear papa; if you do, I will cry," said Edith, fumbling for a handkerchief somewhere about her garments, with which to stay the flow of tears already glistening in her eyes.

"Ha, ha, Edith," replied her father; "I am not chiding you; I know my little girl would do nothing unbecoming."

"Papa, is it unbecoming to be civil to a young man like him?" she asked.

"Not in the least, my child; he is a fine young man--" and Edith hugged her father more closely--"and--ah, Edith, you make me wonder, sometimes, at your way of looking at other young men of our cla.s.s."

"None of them is as good as he, I know," she said, with such sincerity, and so pensively, that her father was really disturbed.

"I know he is a good young man; but, Edith, it would be very naughty for you to encourage him," he said advisedly.

"Then, you do not like him, papa? I know you do not. Wish I had never requested you to advance him to this place, then--then--I would not have seen him again."

"Why, Edith, my child! what are you saying? If you persist in your talking that way, it will be necessary for me to dismiss him at once, and have no more of this benefactor business on my hands," replied her father, sternly; at the same time winking at Star, belying the asperity of his voice.

"Now, papa, you do not mean that," she responded, patting him on the head. "I know you too well, you bad dear papa. If I thought you did, it would make me feel very cross toward you. There--now--papa--do not--say--any more." She concluded the last phrase with kisses between the words.

"My dear, we will drop the matter," he said. "I mean to keep him, Edith; for I like him; really I do. Miss Barton what is your opinion?"

"The same as Edith's," she answered.

Edith turned quickly and looked at Star, a mobile stiffness clouding her face, not knowing how to take Star's words.

"Ha, ha, ha," laughed her father; "you are an extraordinary girl, Miss Barton--as extraordinary as Edith."

"Thank you," returned Star, bowing to him. "I have reasons to feel extraordinary since two weeks ago."

Father, daughter and ward whiled away the time for an hour in such kind of interchange of colloquy. Then John returned, with his tray full of letters, and set it down on Mr. Jarney's desk.

"Mr. Winthrope," said Mr. Jarney, looking up, with a deceiving frown, which caused John to have queer sensations go through him at first; "Mr.

Winthrope, I am going to--I am tired of signing letters, and shall delegate that power to you. So sit down here at my desk, and put your 'John Hanc.o.c.k' on these, using my name, of course, instead of your own.

You may do this while Miss Barton and I take a little turn down the street. Edith, I will leave you here to see that Mr. Winthrope does not shirk his work."

John was amazed; Edith was astounded; Star was astonished. Mr. Jarney repaired to the cloak room, from whence he returned in a few minutes wearing a high silk hat and heavy overcoat, and carrying a gold-headed cane.

"Miss Barton, will you accompany me?" he said to Star, after his preparation, taking it for granted that she would not refuse.

When they went out, Edith seated herself in the chair where John sat when he took down her father's dictations. John sat in her father's chair at the desk, looking so near overwhelmed at the turn of things, since morning, that he felt like sinking through the floor, or going straight up to the ceiling and out through the roof to some other country. As Mr. Jarney and Miss Barton went out the door, John turned and looked at Edith. He blushed; she blushed.

"This is certainly an unusual situation," said John.