The Ne'er-Do-Well Part 67

"He is looking for you."

"One would think him a jealous husband already," she exclaimed, lightly. Then, extending her hand coolly to Kirk, "I thank you, senor, for the--dance."

Her husband bowed. "I shall not soon forget it." To the father he added, in a low voice: "I thank you, also, for your courtesy. We have been discussing your daughter's marriage during the dance, and it is my one greatest hope that she will never regret it."

The banker acknowledged the words ceremoniously. "Love is a thing that comes and goes; marriage alone can bind it. Some day you will thank me, and then perhaps you will honor our house again, eh?"

"I shall be happy to come whenever you wish." As he walked away, the banker said, with relief:

"He takes it well; he is proud--almost like a Spaniard."

Kirk moved through the crowd as if in a trance, but he was beginning to realize the truth now; it surged over him in great waves of gladness. He longed to shout his news aloud. What luck was his! The world was made for him; there was no such thing as adversity or failure--Chiquita was his wife! All Christendom might go to pot for all he cared; that marvellous fact was unalterable.

Yes, and he could speak his mind to Mrs. Cortlandt. His tentative acceptance of the terms she made sickened him. He wanted to rid himself of this false position as soon as possible. What mattered her threats? What did he care for the things she could give or withhold when all the glad open world was beckoning to him and to his bride? Success! Riches! He could win them for himself.

Chiquita was all and more than they, and he was a G.o.d!

In the midst of his rhapsody he heard a bell-boy speaking his name, and smiled at him vacantly as he turned away. But the negro followed him persistently, saying something about a letter.

"Letter? I have no time to write letters. Oh, I beg pardon, letter for ME?" He took the missive from the silver tray and stuffed it absent-mindedly into a pocket, fumbling meanwhile for a tip. "I don't seem to have any money, my boy, but money, after all, means nothing."

"It is h'impartant, sar."

"Oh yes, the letter. Very well." He opened the envelope and pretended to read, but in reality the sheet held nothing for him but a ravis.h.i.+ng, mischievous face, with pansy eyes. He must have stood staring unseeingly at it for several seconds. Then the dancing visions faded and the scrawl stood out plainly:

Williams, detective, St. Louis, arrived at Colon this evening on the Prince Joachim. You'd better take it on the run.

It was written upon Tivoli paper, but the hand was strange and it was not signed.

"Well!" Kirk came suddenly to himself, and a spasm of disgust seized him. "What a rotten inconvenience!" he said aloud. But before he had time to measure the effect of this new complication the swelling music reminded him that this dance belonged to Mrs.

Cortlandt and that her answer was due.

She was waiting for him in the gallery, and motioned him to the chair adjoining hers.

"I can't two-step and talk at the same time," she said, "and here we'll be quite private."

Kirk remained standing. "What I have to say won't take long. I've made up my mind, and I--"

Edith interrupted him with a lightness that her look belied:

"Oh, let's not discuss it. I don't want you to answer. I don't want to think of it. I just want to forget--and to plan. You understand how I feel?" She faced him with eyes bright and l.u.s.trous, her red lips parted in a smile. She was a very beautiful woman, Kirk realized--a very compelling, unusual woman, and one whose capabilities seemed unbounded. He began dimly to perceive that all women have great capabilities for good or evil, depending largely upon the accident of their environment, and with this thought came the feeling that he must speak frankly now or prove himself worse than base. If only she were of the weakly feminine type his task would be far easier. But it was hard to strike her, for the very reason that he knew she would take the blow bravely and meet its full force.

"I must answer," he said. "I don't want to pretend; I'm not good at lying. I can't go through with any such arrangement as you suggested. Why, the very idea is positively--fierce. You've been awfully nice to me, but I had no idea of--this. Besides, Cortlandt's an awfully decent chap, and--and, well," he concluded, lamely, "there are lots of reasons."

"Oh no! There is only one reason; all the others count for nothing." She spoke in a voice that he could scarcely hear.

"Perhaps! But it's--just impossible."

"You know what it means?" She stared at him with hard, level eyes.

"I'm not a moderate person--I can't do things by halves. No! I see you don't think of that, you are mad over this Garavel girl. But you can't get her." Something in his dazzled, love-foolish smile enraged her. "So! You are planning even now. Well, then, understand there are practical reasons, political reasons, why you can't have her. If Garavel were insane enough to consent, others would not. She is part of--the machine, and there are those who will not consent to see all their work spoiled. That is altogether apart from me, you understand. I can build, and I can destroy--"

"There's nothing more to say," he interrupted her, quietly, "so I'd better excuse myself."

"Yes! I would prefer to be alone."

When he had bowed himself away she crushed the fan in her hand, staring out across the lights of the city below, and it was thus that Cortlandt found her a few moments later, as he idled along the veranda, his hands in his pockets, a cigarette between his lips. He dropped into the empty chair beside her, saying:

"h.e.l.lo! Thought you had this with Anthony?"

"I had."

"What's the trouble?"

"There is no trouble." She began to rock, while he studied her profile; then, conscious of his look, she inquired, "Aren't you dancing?"

"No, just looking on, as usual. I prefer to watch. You have broken your fan, it seems." He flung his cigarette into the darkness and, reaching out, took the fan from her hand. She saw that his lips were drawn back in a peculiar smile.

"Well! Is that so strange?" she answered, sharply. "You seem--"

She broke off and looked deliberately away from him.

"Row, eh?" he inquired, softly.

She could barely hold back her hatred of the man. He had worked powerfully upon her nerves of late, and she was half hysterical.

"Why do you take pleasure in annoying me?" she cried. "What ails you these last few weeks? I can't stand it--I won't--"

"Oh! Pardon! One quarrel an evening is enough. I should have known better."

She turned upon him at this, but once more checked the words that clamored for utterance. Her look, however, was a warning. She bit her lip and said nothing.

"Too bad you and he don't hit it off better; he likes me."

There was no answer.

"He's giving me a party after the dance, sort of a grat.i.tude affair. A delicate way to acknowledge a debt, eh?"

She saw that his hand shook as he lit a fresh cigarettes, and the strangeness of his tone made her wonder. "You know very well it is Runnels' doing," she said.

"Oh, there are six of them in it altogether, but Anthony originated the little surprise. It's intended for you, of course."

"I don't see it. Are you going?"

"I accepted."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Bah! They won't give it," he said, harshly.

"And why not? I think it is rather nice of those chaps. Of course, Runnels would like to ingratiate himself with you--"