Keith of the Border Part 23

courtesying slightly to the latter, "for he has not honored me; we merely met by chance at the table. I am sure I should enjoy your company exceedingly, but to-night I must plead a previous engagement."

"Ah--ah, some other night?"

"With pleasure, yes."

The doctor faded away into the office, not wholly satisfied because Keith still lingered. Miss Christie extended her hand.

"Isn't he a funny man? But I do like him--someway I like so many people whom perhaps I ought not, including you, Mr. Jack Keith. Please think over what I told you about Mr. Hawley, won't you?"

"Certainly; you have given me food for thought. I presume he is to be your escort?"

She bowed, evidently resenting the question.

"Yes, and it may interest you to know that he has something of the utmost importance to tell me to-night--he has actually seen my guardian.

Don't you wish you could be there?"

She gave him a tantalizing smile, withdrawing her hand, and running up the stairs before he could answer. Over the railing of the landing she glanced down, and then disappeared.

Chapter XXVII. Miss Hope Suggests

No sooner had Miss Maclaire vanished than Keith's thoughts turned toward Hope Waite. She would need someone in her loneliness to take her mind from off her brother's death, and, besides, much had occurred of interest since the funeral, which he desired to talk over with her.

Beyond even these considerations he was becoming aware of a pleasure in the girl's company altogether foreign to this mystery which they were endeavoring together to solve. He yearned to be with her, to look into her face, to mark how clearly the differing soul changed her from Christie Maclaire. He could not help but like the latter, yet somehow was conscious of totally different atmospheres surrounding the two.

With one he could be flippant, careless, even deceitful, but the other aroused only the best that was in him, her own sincerity making him sincere.

Yet there was reluctance in his steps as he approached the door of "15,"

a laggardness he could not explain, but which vanished swiftly enough at Hope's greeting, and the sudden smile with which she recognized him.

"I was sure you would come," she declared frankly, "and I took an early lunch so as to be certain and be here. It has seemed a long time since."

"And you might have even thought I had forgotten," he answered, releasing her hand reluctantly, "if you could have looked into the dining-room since, instead of staring out of these windows."

"Why? How forgotten?" her eyes opening wide in surprise.

"I had the pleasure of taking supper with Miss Maclaire."

"Oh!" the exclamation decidedly expressive.

"Yes, I come at once to you with the confession. However, our meeting was purely accidental, and so I hope for pardon."

"Pardon from me? Why, what difference can it possibly make to me?"

"Would you have me consort with the enemy?" he asked, scarcely daring to press his deeper meaning.

"Oh, no, of course not. What did you talk about? Do you mind telling?"

"Not in the least; our conversation was entirely impersonal. She was telling me about Hawley; what a wonderfully good man he is. I have begun to suspect the fellow has fascinated the poor girl--he is a good looking devil, possessed of a tongue dripping with honey."

"Surely you do not mean she has fallen in love with him," and Hope shuddered at the thought. "Why--why that would be impossible for--for a good woman."

"Standards of morality are not always the same," he defended gravely.

"Miss Maclaire's environment has been vastly different from yours, Hope.

She is a variety hall singer; probably, from her own account, a waif since childhood; and Hawley has come to her in the character of a friend, appealing both to her interest and sympathy. I do not know she is in love with him, I merely suspect she may be; certainly she is ready to do battle on his behalf at the slightest opportunity. She believes in him, defends him, and resents the slightest insinuation directed against him. He even escorts her back and forth from her work."

"You know this?"

"I certainly do," and he laughed at the recollection. "Fairbain met us coming out of the dining-room,--you know what a delightful, blunt, blundering old fellow he is! Well, Miss Christie must have made an impression even on his bachelor heart, for he actually requested the privilege of escorting her to the Trocadero, and back to the hotel after the performance to-night--hinted at a lunch, the gay old dog, and pranced about like a stage-door Johnnie. It was a treat to watch her face when he blurted it all out, snapping his sentences as if he swung a whip-lash. She excused herself on the score of a previous engagement."

"But that was not necessarily with Hawley."

"I asked her directly, after the doctor had disappeared."

"You must have become very familiar," questioning once again in her voice.

"So Miss Maclaire evidently thought, judging from her manner. However she answered frankly enough, and, even defiantly, added the information that the gentleman had something to impart to her of the utmost importance, sarcastically asking me if I didn't wish I could be there and overhear. But sit down, Hope, until I tell you all that has occurred."

He went over the various events in detail, watching eagerly the expression upon her face as she listened intently, only occasionally interrupting with some pertinent inquiry. The light fell so that she sat partially in the shadow, where her eyes could not be read, yet he experienced no difficulty in comprehending the various moods with which she met his narrative, the color changing in her cheeks, her supple form bending toward him, or leaning backward in the chair, her fingers clasping or unclasping in nervous attention. He began with Neb's report, repeating, word by word, as nearly as he could recollect, what had pa.s.sed between Hawley and her father. He paused to inquire if she had ever heard the name Bartlett, but her reply was merely a negative shake of the head. When he described their missing the train, she was, apparently, not convinced as to the General's departure upon it, although finally agreeing that, if he really believed the report that the man sought was elsewhere, it would be characteristic of him to accept the first means of getting there. "If he only knew I was here,"

she exclaimed wearily, "it might be so different, but, oh, we are all of us just groping in the dark." Then Keith turned to his chance meeting with Miss Maclaire, and repeated carefully their conversation, dwelling particularly upon the few admissions which had slipped through her lips.

These did not seem important to either, although they treasured them up and talked them over. Then, having exhausted the topic, silence fell between them, Keith asking the privilege of lighting a cigar. Hope, after watching him apply the match, thinking what a fine face he had as the ruddy flame brought it forth with the clearness of a cameo, leaned back, drawing aside the semblance to a lace curtain, and staring forth, without seeing, into the street.

Somehow it was hard for her to fully realize the situation, and how closely it affected her. The swiftly pa.s.sing events, the complication arising so suddenly, apparently out of nothing, left her feeling as though she must surely awake from a dream. She could not comprehend what it was all about; the names Bartlett and Phyllis had no clear meaning, they represented nothing but shadows; and this other woman--this music hall singer--what could there be in common between them? Yet there must be something--something of vital importance to her father--something which had already cost her brother's life. That was the one thing which made it seem an actuality--which brought it home to her as a rugged fact. But for that--and Keith--Keith sitting there before her--she would have doubted it all. And yet even Keith had come into her life so suddenly, so unexpectedly, as to leave her dazed and uncertain. So strongly did this feeling grip her in the silence, that she extended her hand and touched him, as though to make sure of his actual presence.

"What is it, Hope?"

"Oh, nothing--nothing," her voice breaking in a little sob. "It is so silly, but I was just wondering if you were real--everything seems so impossible. I cannot bring my mind to grasp the situation."

He did not smile, but only took the groping hand into both of his own.

"I think I understand, little girl," he said gravely. "You are totally unused to such life. Almost without a moment's warning you have been plunged into a maelstrom of adventure, and are all confused. It is different with me--since the first shot at Sumter my life has been one of action, and adventure has grown to be the stimulus I need, and upon which I thrive. But I a.s.sure you," pressing the soft hand warmly, "I am real."

"Of course I know that; it makes me glad to know it. If I could only do something myself, and not just sit here, it would all become real enough to me."

She rose suddenly to her feet, clasping her hands together, her face changing with new animation.

"Why couldn't I? I am sure I could. Oh, Mr. Keith, it has just come to me how I can help."

He looked at her questioningly, thinking of her beauty rather than of what she said.

"Do--do I really appear so much like--like that woman?" she asked anxiously.

"Very much, indeed, excepting for the slight difference in age."

"That would never be noticed in the dark, or a poor light. Am I the same height?"

"Practically, yes."