Edith and John Part 17

"It more equals our encounter that night," she replied.

"But under pleasanter circ.u.mstances," he returned.

"If we had that old umbrella of mine, how realistic we might make it,"

she said, giving a little laugh, and sinking back into the depths of the cushioned chair, folding her gloved hands as though perfectly at ease, although showing some timidity of expression in her conversation.

"I have it yet," he said, as he took up a pen loaded with ink, as if it were his intention to commence signing the letters but looking at Edith shyly.

"Yet?" she raised her eyebrows.

"I put it away among my other keepsakes," he answered, turning now as if he really did intend to execute his "John Hanc.o.c.k" on the letters.

"What for?" asked Edith, tapping a finger on the arm of her chair.

"Oh, as a hobby; I always try to keep something to remember any unusual happening in my life," said he, forgetting to sign the name of "Hiram Jarney."

"Do you know what I did with yours?" she asked, folding her arms.

"Consigned it to the garbage heap, I suppose," he replied, letting the ink fall off his pen to the spoilment of a letter.

"You are not a good guesser," she replied, her blue eyes sparkling. "It came near going there--but I have 'J. W.' as an ornament in my boudoir."

"I imagine it would be out of harmony with the rest of the decorations,"

he said, dropping more ink, and still neglecting to sign the name.

"It harmonizes with my sentiments on certain matters," she said.

"For instance?" He looked at her.

"Cla.s.s distinction."

"What does mine signify?" attempting to sign, but only getting down the capital H.

"You," she looked to the floor.

"And yours?" Now interested.

"Me." Still looking down.

"Then, we should exchange them," he said wonderingly.

"That would not be to my liking," as she looked up.

"Not?" he asked, turning from his paper and pen.

"No," she said, demurly.

"Ah, Miss Jarney," he said, with despair indicated in his voice, "I have presumed, at times, to wish to be better acquainted with you, since that night; but I have thought it useless."

"Mr. Winthrope, nothing would give me more happiness than to be on good terms with you."

"But I see no possibility of that, except--I believe we ought to be on good terms--that is, friends."

"So do I."

"May I hope--no, I must not--may I hope to see you here again, sometime?" he asked seriously.

"I used to come here often."

"I never saw you here before."

"No--I did not like the last secretary."

"Then you will come again?"

"I antic.i.p.ate that I shall."

"Then we may become better acquainted?" dropping his pen.

"If you wish it, Mr. Winthrope," she answered, looking at her hands lying on the arms of the chair, then up to John, who was taking up his pen again to reach for a new dip of ink.

At that moment the door opened and Mr. Jarney and Miss Barton entered.

He carried his hat and cane in one hand, and arrived at his desk in time to see John completing the signing of his name to the first letter of the pile before him.

"Mr. Winthrope," he said, "you have been remiss in your duties. Edith, I am afraid you would make a poor overseer in this office."

John, thereupon, fell to work with a will to expedite the signing of the letters that had been so woefully neglected during his entertaining tete-a-tete with Edith.

Edith and Miss Barton prepared to take their departure. Both were standing before Mr. Jarney in low conversation, when John turned around, as a new thought came to him, and said, to Miss Barton:

"Miss Barton, do you have a brother?"

"I have several brothers, Mr. Winthrope," she replied; "but one of them disappeared months ago."

"What was his given name?"

"Michael."

"Meeting you today. Miss Barton, reminds me that I met a young man about two weeks ago who gave the name of Mike Barton."

Then John related to her the incident of meeting her brother, and of the words that had pa.s.sed between them, without making it clear to the young ladies, however, that the nature of the business that he followed was of the most questionable.

"Poor brother! that must be Michael," said Star, when John had concluded his story. "Wish I could see him; I know I could prevail on him going home."

"Would you help us find him?" asked Edith, directing her question to John.

"It would give me pleasure to aid you," replied John.