The Last Woman Part 14

"There, there, my dear. Don't let it affect you so," he said. "It is nothing but a storm-cloud, that will quickly pa.s.s away. It is just like a thunder-shower, very dark while it lasts, but making all the brighter the sunshine that follows it. I know how you have been tried, and how your pride has been hurt; but, child, there are two kinds of pride in everybody, and it is never quite easy to determine which is which. I strongly suspect, my dear, that you have been actuated by a feeling of false pride, in the position you have taken as to this matter. I won't attempt to advise you, now. Don't sob so, my dear. It will all come out right."

She raised her head from the table, and looked at him, pathetically.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Melvin," she said, slowly, with a catch in her breath as she spoke. "I seem to have done everything wrong, in this matter. I've made everybody unhappy." Again, she buried her face in her arms, and sobbed on, with even more abandon than before.

"My child," said the lawyer, "I've lived long enough in the world to discover that it is never wise to permit ourselves to be actuated by false motives. You will discover the truth of that statement, later on; you are only just beginning to realize it, now."

She made no reply to this, but a moment later she started to her feet, and again became the haughty, self-contained, relentless, Juno.

"Give me the pen," she said. "I will sign."

"If you will take my advice," replied the lawyer, without moving, "you will tear up those three doc.u.ments, or direct me to do so, and leave things as they are."

"No," she replied. "I will sign."

"Very well, Patricia." He pushed the doc.u.ments toward her, and watched her with a half-smile on his professional face, while she appended her signature to each of them. A moment later, he escorted her from the office, and a.s.sisted her into the waiting car. Then, he stood quite still and watched it as it carried her away from the business-section of the city. He shook his head and sighed, as he reentered the building where his office was located.

"Poor child," he was thinking to himself; "she didn't tee-off well, in the beginning of this game, and she encountered the worst hazard of her life when she came up against her own unyielding pride. Poor child! So beautiful, so good, so tender of heart, she hides every real emotion she possesses behind an impenetrable barrier, barring the expressions of her natural affections with an icy shield which she permits no one to penetrate. For just a moment, she let me see her as she is; I wonder if she has ever permitted others." He got out of the elevator, and walked slowly toward his office-door, pausing midway along the corridor, and still thinking on, in the same fashion. "I must find a way to help her, somehow. Old Malcolm Melvin, whose heart is supposed to be like the parchments he works upon, must make himself the champion of this misguided girl. Ah, well, we shall see what can be done. We shall see; we shall see." He pa.s.sed inside his office then, and in a moment more had forgotten, in the mult.i.tudinous affairs of his professional life, that such a person as Patricia Langdon existed.

That Monday, in the evening, at his rooms, Roderick Duncan received two letters. One was delivered by messenger; the other came by post.

He recognized the handwriting on the envelope of each, and for a moment hesitated as to which of the two he should read first. One, he knew, was sent by Sally Gardner; the other was from Patricia.

He laid them on the table in front of him, and stood beside it looking down upon the two envelopes with a half-smile upon his face, which was weary and troubled; then, with a broader smile, he took a coin from his pocket and flipped it in the air.

A glance at the coin decided him, and he took up Sally's letter and broke the seal. He read:

"My Dear Roderick:

"I promised you, when you left me Sat.u.r.day night, to communicate with you at once. Beatrice is quite ill, although you are not to infer from this statement that her indisposition it at all serious. I have merely insisted that she should remain in bed at my house yesterday and to-day.

"On no account should you seek her at present nor should you attempt to communicate with her. I will keep you informed as to her condition because I realize that you will be anxious, inasmuch as you doubtless hold yourself responsible for the present state of affairs. Be satisfied with that, and believe me,"

"Loyally your friend,

"SALLY GARDNER.

"P. S. Doubtless you will see Jack at the club this evening. Let me advise you not to discuss with him anything that happened Sat.u.r.day night after his departure with Patricia. I have thought it best to keep that little foolish affair a secret between ourselves.

S. G."

Duncan stood for a considerable time with the letter held before his eyes, while he went over in his mind the chain of incidents that followed upon his meeting with Beatrice Brunswick in the box at the opera-house. Presently, he returned the letter to the envelope, and laid it aside, while he took up the other one, addressed in the handwriting of Patricia.

He read it slowly, with widening eyes; and then he read it again, more slowly, as if he were not certain that he had read it aright before.

Finally, with something very nearly approaching an oath, he crushed the short doc.u.ment in his hand, and strode to the window, where he stood for a long time, staring out into the darkness, without moving.

His valet entered the room and made some remark about dressing him for the evening, but Duncan sharply ordered the man away, telling him to return in half an hour. Afterward he went back to the table where there was more light, and smoothed out the crumpled page of Patricia's letter, so that he could read it a third time.

It was very short and very much to the point; and it had brought with it a greater shock than he could possibly have antic.i.p.ated. The strange part of it was that he did not comprehend the precise character of that shock. He did not know whether he was pleased, or displeased; whether he was amused, or angry--or only startled.

Certainly, he had never thought of expecting such a communication as this from Patricia Langdon. The letter was as follows:

Four, P. M., Monday.

"Dear Roderick:

"According to the doc.u.ment signed jointly by you, my father and myself, and witnessed by Mr. Malcolm Melvin at his office at ten o'clock this morning, I was given the undisputed right to name the day for the ceremony, which is to complete the transaction as agreed upon among us three, but more particularly between you and me. I have thought the matter over calmly and dispa.s.sionately, since I parted with you at the lawyer's office, and have decided that, all things considered, it will be best not to defer too long the conditions of that transaction.

"I have decided that the ceremony--a quiet one--shall be performed by the Rev. Dr. Moreley, at the Church of the Annunciation, at ten o'clock in the morning, one week from to-day, which will be Monday, the thirteenth.

"If there should be any important reason why you prefer to change this date, you may communicate the same to me at once, and I shall consider it; but if not, I greatly prefer that matters should stand as I have arranged them.

"PATRICIA LANGDON."

CHAPTER XI

MORTON'S ULTIMATUM

Oddly enough, Roderick Duncan and Richard Morton had never met.

Although Morton, during the two weeks of his acquaintance with Patricia Langdon, had been as constantly in her company as it was possible for him to be, there had been no introduction between the two young men. They frequented the same clubs, and Morton had made the acquaintance of many of Duncan's friends; they knew each other by sight, and Duncan had heard, vaguely and without particular interest, that Morton had fallen under the spell of Patricia's stately loveliness. That was a circ.u.mstance which had suggested no misgivings whatever to him. He had long been accustomed to such conditions, for it was a rare thing that a man should be presented to Patricia without being at once attracted and charmed by her physical beauty, as well as by her brilliancy of wit.

It was, therefore, with unmasked astonishment that, upon responding to a summons at his door, still holding Patricia's letter in his hand, he found himself face to face with the young Montana cattle-king.

"Mr. Roderick Duncan, I believe?" said Morton, without advancing to cross the threshold when Duncan threw open the door.

"Yes," he replied. "Won't you come inside, Mr. Morton? I know you very well, by sight and name, and, although it has not been my privilege to meet you socially, you are quite welcome. Come inside, won't you?"

The handsome young ranchman bowed, and pa.s.sed into the room. He strode across it until he was near one of the windows; then, he turned to face Duncan, who had re-closed the door, and had followed as far as the center-table where he now stood, gazing questioningly at his visitor.

"Won't you be seated, Mr. Morton?" Duncan asked.

"Thank you, no. I intend to remain only a moment, and it is possible that the question I have come to ask you may not be agreeable for you to hear, or to answer. If you will repeat your request after I have asked the question, I shall be glad to comply with it."

"I haven't the least idea what you are talking about, Mr. Morton,"

said Duncan, smiling, "and I can't conceive how any question you care to put to me would be offensive. However, have it your own way. Will you tell me, now, what that remarkable question is?"

Morton was standing with his feet wide-apart, and with his back to the window. His hands were thrust deep into his trousers-pockets. He looked the athlete in every line of his muscular limbs and body, and the frankness and openness of his expression at once interested Duncan.

"Mr. Duncan," he said, "in the country I come from, we do things differently from the way you do them here. I was born on a ranch in Eastern Montana, and I have lived all my life in a wild country. I began my career as a cow-puncher, when I was sixteen, and not until the last two or three years of my life have I known anything at all of that phase of existence which is expressed by the word 'society.' I indulge in this preamble in order to apologize in advance, for any breaks I may make in that mystical line of talk which you call, 'good form.'"

Duncan nodded his head smilingly, and Morton continued:

"Several years ago, I made my 'pile,' as we express it out there, and since that time it has steadily increased in size, so that, lately, I have indulged myself in an attempt to 'b.u.t.t in' upon the people in 'polite society.' The question I have to ask you will amaze and astonish you, but I shall explain it, in detail, if you desire me to do so."

"Very well, Mr. Morton, what is the question?"