Vistas of New York Part 9

But the attempt failed. The sailor had gulped his tea, and now he set the cup down.

"Mrs. Randolph--" he began, with a break in his voice.

"Mr. Stone!" she answered, laughingly; "that's a solemn way of addressing me, isn't it? At least it's serious, if it isn't solemn."

"Mrs. Randolph," he repeated, "what I have to say is serious--very serious to me, at least."

Then she knew that it was idle to try to delay matters. She drew a long breath and responded as lightly as she could:

"Yes?"

"I hope I am not going to take you by surprise, Mrs. Randolph," he went on. "You are so bright and so quick that you must have seen that I admired you."

He waited for her response, and she was forced to say something. Even though the man was trying to marry her for the money he thought she had, he was at least exhibiting a most becoming ardor.

"Well," she declared, "I didn't suppose you were very much bored in my society."

"I have never before seen a woman in whose society I have taken so much pleasure," he answered. "You cannot imagine how great a joy it has been for me to know you, and how much I have enjoyed the privilege of coming to see you here in your charming home."

She glanced at the commonplace parlor of the hotel she hated, but she said nothing.

"You spoke just now of loneliness," he continued. "I hope you don't know what that really is--at least that you don't know it as I know it. But if you have felt it at all, I shall have the less hesitation in asking if you--if you are willing to consider what it would mean to me if you could put an end to my loneliness."

"Mr. Stone!" she said, as she dropped her eyes.

"It is not your beauty alone that has drawn me to you," he urged, "not your charm, although I have felt that from the first day I met you. No; it is more than that, I think--it is your goodness, your gentleness, your kindness, your womanliness. I don't know how to find words for what I want to say, but you must know what I mean. I mean that I love you, and I beg you to be my wife."

"This is very sudden, Mr. Stone," she replied.

"Is it?" he asked, honestly. "I thought everybody must have seen how I felt toward you."

"Oh, I supposed you liked me a little," she went on.

"I love you with all my heart," he said, and she wondered at the sincerity with which he said it. She wished she had never heard that little Mat Hitchc.o.c.k talk against him.

"Of course, I can't expect that you should love me all at once," he continued; "no; that's too much to hope. But if you only like me a little now, and if you will only let me love you, I shall be satisfied."

And he leaned forward and took her hand.

"I do like you, Mr. Stone," she forced herself to answer. She thrilled a little at his fervor, doubtful as she was as to the reason for his wooing. And as his eyes were fixed on her she thought that she had never before done justice to his looks. He was a strong figure of a man. His mouth was masterful; but the woman who yielded herself to him was likely to have a satisfactory defender.

"Well," he asked, when she said nothing, "is it to be yes or no?" And his voice trembled.

"Will you be satisfied if I do not say 'no'--even if I do not say 'yes,'

all at once?" she returned.

"I shall have to be, I suppose," he answered, and there was a ring of triumph in his voice. "But I shall never let go of you till I get you to say 'yes.'" And he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

She made no resistance; she would have made none had he clasped her in his arms; she was even a little surprised that he did not. She was irritatingly conscious that his warmth was not displeasing to her--that she seemed not to resent his making love to her although she suspected him of a base motive.

For a moment or more nothing was said. He still held her hand firmly clasped in his.

At last he spoke: "You have granted me so much that I have no right to ask for more. But I have not a great deal of time now to persuade you to marry me. Some day this summer I expect to be ordered to sea again--some day in July or August; and I want to have you for my wife before I go."

"Oh, Mr. Stone," she cried, "that is very soon!"

"Can't you call me John?" he asked, following up his advantage. "Can't I call you Evelyn?"

She smiled, and did not deny him, and he kissed her hand again. He kept hold of it now as though he felt sure of it. She acknowledged to herself that he was making progress.

They talked for a while about his term of sea service. He thought that he might be a.s.signed to the Mediterranean squadron, and, if he were, she could come to Europe to him and spend the next winter at Villefranche.

Then they discussed travel in France and in Italy, and the places they had visited.

With her delicate feminine perceptions she soon discovered that there was something he wished to say but did not know how to lead up to.

Curious to learn what this might be, she let the conversation drop, so that he could make a fresh start in his blunt fashion.

Finally he came to the point. "Evelyn," he began, abruptly, "do you know the Pixleys in San Francisco--Tom Pixley, I mean?"

"I think I have met him," she answered, wondering what this might lead to.

"He is an old friend of mine," Stone continued. "He was here a fortnight ago, and I had a long talk with him. He knows all about those Gra.s.s Valley mines."

She smiled a little bitterly and withdrew her hand. She thought that perhaps the stock was worth more than she had supposed, and that Stone had been told so by Pixley. All her contempt for a man who could marry a woman for money rose hot within her.

"Does he?" she asked, carelessly, not trusting herself to say more.

"You have--it's not my business, I know," urged the sailor, "but I don't mind, if I can spare you any worry in the future--you have a lot of stock in the Belinda and Lone Star, haven't you?"

"Yes," she replied.

"It does not pay at all, does it?" he asked.

She looked at him coldly as she responded, "I have not received any dividends this year."

"But you spoke to me once as if you counted on this stock," he returned--"as if you thought that the dividends were only deferred."

"Did I?" she said, distantly, as though the matter interested her very little.

"That was why I took the liberty of getting the facts out of Tom Pixley," Stone continued. "It wasn't my business, I know, but, loving you as I did, I was afraid you might be bitterly disappointed."

"No," she interrupted, "I am not likely to be bitterly disappointed."

"Then you were aware already that the Belinda and Lone Star is a failure?" he asked. "I am very glad you were, for I was afraid I might be the bearer of bad news."

She gazed at him in intense astonishment. "Do you mean to say that my stock is worthless?" she inquired.

"I fear it is worth very little," he answered. "Tom Pixley told me he believed that they were going to abandon the workings, and that the interest on the mortgage had not been paid for two years."

"So you knew all along that I was poor?" she asked. "Then why did you ask me to marry you?"