Flint Part 35

Flint started forward, then thought of the girl behind the closed door, and hesitated. Surely they could postpone happiness for a time to bind up the bruises of that foolish wayfarer who was none the less to be pitied that her wounds were self-inflicted.

Winifred's quick perception took in at once the agitation of his face and manner.

"You are in trouble!" she said, coming close to him with swift sympathy.

"Yes, in trouble and in perplexity. I have come to you for help."

"I am glad you have come to me," the girl said simply, and stood with uplifted eyes waiting for him to go on.

"Don't look at me like that," Flint cried out; "when you do I can think of nothing but you, and to-night we must both think about some one else."

"Who is it? What is it? Tell me from the beginning."

Flint was profoundly moved by the instant putting aside of all thoughts of self in the desire to be of service.

"How dared I ask her to marry me?" he thought. Aloud he said: "Listen, Winifred, and know that I am trying to tell you the white truth without reserve or evasion. I come to you because you are the only person who will need no explanation of the past, to unravel the evil of the present. I went with Brady this evening to a meeting of the Salvation Army at a slum post down on Berry Hill, where Nora Costello was to speak--"

"Oh, why didn't you let me go too?"

"You shall go if you like sometime; but I am glad you were not there to-night, for there was a fire, and something near a panic--"

Winifred turned white and moved nearer to him.

"Don't be alarmed!" he said; "nothing happened. The fire was soon put out, and people settled back in their seats. But I grew restless, and concluded not to wait for Brady; so I started to walk up alone--"

"Alone?" echoed Winifred, "through that quarter! Why, Nora says it is as bad as Whitechapel."

"Perhaps," said Flint, with a nervous laugh; "but my walk was entirely uneventful till I reached our own highly respectable part of the city.

As I was turning into Fifth Avenue, out of one of the side streets above Washington Square, I saw a girl looking up at the houses. As I came along she stopped to speak to me, and to my amazement I found it was Tilly Marsden."

"_Tilly Marsden?_"

"Yes, she had come down to spend Thanksgiving here in the city. She had been expecting, it seems, to go to a hotel; but a woman on the train gave her the address of some friend, and she was looking up this unknown landlady when I came along."

"Little fool!" said Winifred, with finely feminine exasperation.

"She is--beyond a doubt she is; but still--"

"But still," said Winifred, with a vanishing smile, "you naturally have more sympathy with her folly than I have." (At this moment Winifred had forgotten the charge of lack of sympathy which she had brought against the man before her three months ago.) "The question is, of course, what is to be done with her?"

Flint felt an immense sense of relief at Winifred's practical words, which seemed to remove the situation from the element of tragedy to rather sordid commonplace.

"That's it exactly," he said helplessly. "I thought of taking her to Nora Costello."

"That would not do at all," said Winifred, positively. "I am disappointed in you. If you had trusted to my proffer of friendship yesterday, you would have brought her to me."

"I--I did," hesitated Flint; "she is in the rear room there. But the more I think of it, the more I feel as if I could not have her here near you. She is--"

"You need not tell me what Tilly Marsden is," Winifred interrupted. "I know her of old. She is silly and pert, and cheaply sensational; but she is not vicious, and if she were, our duty would be the same. You may leave her with Miss Standish and me. We will take care of her, and try to make something of her."

"I suppose I ought to say 'Good-by' to her?"

"By no means. Go, and leave her to me."

"Have you no word for me at parting?"

"No, not now,--all that can wait."

"Good-night, then, since you will let me say nothing more."

Winifred answered with a farewell glance, full of confidence and of love. Then the door closed after Flint, and Winifred threw open the folding-doors into the dining-room.

"How do you do, Miss Marsden?" she said, taking Tilly's hand.

The girl looked at her, stupidly bewildered.

"You do not recognize me, I see, but I remember you from seeing you with Leonard Davitt down at Nepaug."

Tilly blushed painfully, but Winifred took no notice of her embarra.s.sment.

"Mr. Flint said you were belated in your trip to the city, so he brought you to us for the night," Winifred continued, as if it were the most natural episode in the world.

"And did he tell you--"

"He told me nothing else. He was in a hurry, I suppose."

"Then he is gone?"

"Yes, he is gone, and I am glad, because it is time you went to bed after you have had such a tiresome journey. Come upstairs. I am going to give you the little room next Miss Standish's. You remember her perhaps--she was at Nepaug too. To-morrow we will talk over anything you wish to tell me. Come!"

CHAPTER XXI

G.o.d'S PUPPETS

"G.o.d's puppets best and worst are we, There is no last or first."

The breakfast-hour in the Anstice household was regularly irregular. A movable fast, Professor Anstice called it. On the morning of Thanksgiving Day the hand of the old Dutch clock pointed to nine when Winifred Anstice entered the dining-room.

A freshly lighted fire blazed on the hearth. The lamp beneath the silver urn blazed on the table. Toasted m.u.f.fins and delicate dishes of honey and marmalade stood upon the buffet.

"Will you wait for Mr. Anstice?" McGregor asked as she entered.

"No, McGregor, I am like time and tide, and wait for no man or woman either; but you need not hurry, for I will look over my mail while the eggs are boiling,--just four minutes, remember. I don't want them bullets, nor yet those odious slimy trickling things which seem only held together by the sh.e.l.l."