The Man in Lonely Land Part 2

In the library some minutes later Dorothea was pouring her uncle's coffee, and as he took the cup she brought him he bowed ceremoniously, then put it down to light a cigar. There were times when he wished Dorothea were his. If she were his-- He took a long whiff of his cigar and threw the match in the fire.

IV

DOROTHEA AND MR. LAINE

"Pardonnez-moi!" Mademoiselle Antoinette stood at the door. Around and about her hung blushing apology, and her hands clasped and unclasped in nervous appeal. The hour had struck and her little charges must come. Would Monsieur pardon? She was so sorry, it was sad, but Madame would not like it. "Oh, of course!" Laine waved his hand. "Good night, Buster!" Channing was tossed in the air. "If the gobblers get you to-night, don't mind. They're just turkey.

Good night, Miss Wisdom!" Stooping, he kissed Dorothea and unwound the arms with which she clung to him. "I'm sorry, child, but a bargain is a bargain, and your mother won't trust us if we don't play fair-- It's after eight and--" "But I haven't told you what was the specialest thing I had to--" Dorothea turned to the woman standing in the door holding her brother's hand; spoke to her rapidly.

"Je vous en prie, Mademoiselle Antoinette, Prenez Channing et ne m'attendez pas. Je vous rejoindrai dans un instant. J'ai quelque chose de tres important a dier a mon oncle--deux minutes et j'arrive!"

Antoinette hesitated, then, with a gesture of despair, left the room; and instantly Dorothea was on a stool at her uncle's feet.

"Did you know?" Elbows on his knees and chin in the palms of her hands she looked up eagerly in his face. "Did you know my cousin Claudia was coming to-night?"

"I did."

"Isn't it grand!" Dorothea's hands came together, and in another minute she was dancing round and round the room, the tip ends of her skirt held by her fingers. "I'm crazy about my cousin Claudia.

She's my only correspondent, the only one I love to write to, I mean.

She writes things I like to hear about, and Christmas she sends me something I want. That's the way we began to write. She sent me a present, and father made me thank her in writing myself, and then she wrote me and we've been friends ever since."

Laine knocked the ashes from his cigar toward the grate. "I didn't know you knew Miss Keith."

"I don't. But I'm going to like her all right. Some things you know right here"--she put her hand on her breast. "Father's been wanting mother to ask her for a long time, but mother said she knew she didn't have clothes like New York people wore, and it might make her feel badly. I heard them talking one night, and father said the Keiths didn't have to depend on their clothes to show where they belonged, so mother invited her; but I don't think she wanted to very much. Do you suppose?"--she came toward him, and, with her hands on the arms of his chair, searched his face--"Do you suppose she will be very country-looking?"

"I really couldn't guess. People who live in the backwoods and miles from a railroad are not apt to be leaders of fashion. Doubtless her hands will be red and her face will be red and her hair will be red, but--"

"I don't care how red she is, I'm going to love her. I can tell by her letters!" Dorothea's shoulders were back and her eyes were shining. "And I don't see why you say things like that! I don't think you are very polite!"

"I don't, either. I think I'm very impolite. It may be, you know, that her eyes will be blue and her lips will be blue and her skin will be blue--"

"And that will be worse than red. I thought you were going to be glad she was coming. Aren't you glad?"

"Shall I tell the truth, or be polite?"

"Both."

"Impossible! If I told you I was glad I would be untruthful; if sorry, I would be impolite."

"But why aren't you glad? Are you too old to be glad over young ladies?"

Laine laughed. "I think I am. Yes, I'm sure that's what's the matter. Not for some years have I been glad over them, I don't care for girls older than you are, Dorothea. When they reach the grown-up age--"

"Claudia has reached the age of twenty-six. She told me so in one of her letters. What age have you reached, Uncle Winthrop?"

"Middle age."

"Is that very old?" Dorothea came closer, and her fingers slipped in and out of Laine's hair. "You're gray just a teensy bit, but I don't think she's a person who will mind if a man isn't truly young.

You've got such nice strong arms, and I'm not afraid of lions or tigers or bears or--or mice or anything when you are with me. Please like her, Uncle Winthrop!" Dorothea's face was pressed against Laine's. "Next to father and mother and Channing I love you best, and I think I'm going to love her next after you."

"Mademoiselle Dorothea!"

From the steps outside Antoinette was calling, and Dorothea nodded her head at her uncle. "That's another thing my children are not going to have. They are never going to have a French governess to put them to bed and make them say their prayers in French. I don't believe the Lord likes it. Good night, Uncle Winthrop. I hope my cousin Claudia will be politer about you than you've been about her, and I know she hasn't red hands." She waved her own and threw a kiss, but as she reached the door Laine called her back.

"Come here, Dorothea."

She turned and came toward him. "Did you call me, Uncle Winthrop?"

"I did." He drew her on his knees. "Did you say you said your prayers in French?"

"Every night, unless for punishment I have to say a German one.

Channing just shuffles his out and runs all the words together so I don't believe even G.o.d can understand them. I don't like French prayers."

"Then why do you say them?"

"Oh, we have to! All the children I know say their prayers in French. One day six of us had a race to see which could say them fastest and say the most. I beat. Want to hear me?"

"Indeed I don't!" Laine's voice was emphatic. "But I don't like French prayers for little American girls. I never cared for parrots or--"

"What kind do you say, French or American?" Dorothea was stroking her uncle's fingers one by one. "I always say my real prayers inside after I get in bed--that is, if I'm not too sleepy; and they're just plain talking to the Lord. You see, we are not allowed to speak one word except in French to Antoinette, and mother likes us to speak it to her, only she is always in such a hurry she forgets half the time.

We speak English to father, all right, though; father says French for breakfast is all foolishness, and I think so, too. We take breakfast with father every morning, and we just have a grand time. Mother is never very well in the mornings, so she don't get up; but we take lunch with her when there isn't company and she isn't going out. Did you know the Dufferns had a new baby at their house?"

Laine shook his head.

"They have. It's a girl. They had four girls already, and Julia says they're going to change their doctor. He always brings girls."

"Madam-oiselle Dor-othea!"

Dorothea slipped from her uncle's lap. "I know what that means.

Whenever she says 'Madam-ois-elle Doro-thea!' through her nose it's a German prayer. Good night." And this time she was gone.

Laine followed her to the steps to take upon himself the responsibility of her delay, and as he came back in the room he glanced at the clock and took out his watch. It wouldn't do for a girl from the country to get into New York alone at this time of night, and, of course, he would have to meet her; but why did she come at this hour of night? Ringing for his coat and hat, he put them on, then stopped to light a cigar, and as the match was held to it the front door-bell rang sharply. A moment later some one was talking to Timkins.

"Is this Mr. Warrick's residence?"

The voice that asked the question was fresh and clear, and carried easily to where he stood. He looked around quickly as if for escape.

"Yes'm." He could picture the bow Timkins was making. Timkins was the politest person he knew. "Yes'm, and this is Miss Keith, isn't it? Just come in, ma'm, we're expecting of you, though your train must have been a little earlier than usual, ma'm. Mr. Warrick is out of town, and Mrs. Warrick had a pressing engagement which couldn't be denied, but she left messages for you, and I think a note. Yes'm, just this way." And Timkins, knowing Laine was in the library, led the stranger past the door and up the steps, over the banisters of which was heard from Dorothea a cry of delight.

"Oh, my Cousin Claudia! My Cousin Claudia! I'm so glad you've come!

I'm so glad!"

A laugh as fresh as the dawn of perfect morning followed the kisses next heard, and then the new voice spoke again.

"You precious child! I'm so glad you're glad. It's so nice to have somebody glad to see you!"