Miss Caprice Part 17

"Philander Sharpe!"

This time the inflection is more positive and acrid. It is no longer a tone of plaint and entreaty, but touches the Caudle lecture style. Of course, he can no longer ignore the presence of his better half.

"It's I, Gwendolin," he says, meekly.

"Oh, it is! You've condescended to take some notice of me at last. Well, I'm glad to see you. Come up stairs at once, and confess that you've treated me abominably, you bad man."

"For Heaven's sake let's get in before a crowd gathers," groans the professor, with a glance of horror up in the direction of the white-capped head protruding from, the second-story window.

Craig is amused, but takes pity on his companion, so they enter the hotel together.

"Will you tell her all?" he asks.

"She'll never rest content now until she discovers it," says Philander, sadly.

"Then make a clean breast. I give you permission to speak of my affairs, only--"

"What?"

"Somehow I'd rather not have Lady Ruth know about Pauline Potter, and the foolish whim that causes her to pursue me."

At this Philander chuckles, being able to see through a millstone with a hole in it.

"I'll warn Gwendolin, then. She entertains a warm feeling for you, John--always has since making your acquaintance; and after the event of to-day, or rather yesterday, since it is past the witching hour of midnight, she is ready to do anything for you."

"Well, good-night, professor," with a warm shake of the hand, for what they have pa.s.sed through in common to-night will make these two the best of friends.

When John Craig finds himself alone, he does not at once retire to his small room. Sleep is one of the last things he thinks of just at present, his mind has been so wrought up by the events of the night.

The hotel remains open. It is not customary, for there are no late trains to come in at Valetta, and the people keep early hours, as a usual thing, but this is an exceptional time of the year, preceding Lent, and there may be some other reason besides that causes an all-night open house.

Doctor Chicago finds a chair, and seats himself, first of all to reflect upon the singular train of events that has marked a red cross in his career since the last sunrise.

His stricken arm pains him, but he has not the slightest fear as to the ultimate outcome of that episode; the self-inflicted scorching with the hot iron effectually ended that.

At last he draws out the piece of paper which Philander secured in the room that marked their downfall, the paper that bears the signature of Sister Magdalen.

Lady Ruth's reminiscence has thus proved of great value to him.

He takes out one of the notes which came periodically to him--it is the one that bore the postmark of Valetta, Malta. Holding the two side by side, he eagerly compares them.

"Yes, the same hand penned both--I would swear to that."

Long he muses, sitting there. The papers have been put away, his cigar falls unheeded to the floor, and his thoughts fly far away.

Finally he arises, with a sigh, and seeks his room, to rest very poorly, between the pain of his arm and the worry of his mind.

Another day dawns upon Valetta.

As yet the tourists, who sojourn at the city of Malta by the sea, have received no intimation that the disabled steamer is in a condition to proceed.

This means another day on the island, for which few are really sorry, as Valetta is not an unpleasant place in winter.

Our friends gather around the breakfast-table, and conversation is brisk. More than once Lady Ruth watches the face of John Craig. She is anxious to hear what success he met with on the preceding night, and will doubtless find an opportunity for a quiet little chat after the meal.

On his part, Craig is uneasy, feeling that he owes her a recital of facts, and yet loth to tell her anything about Pauline Potter, for he is ashamed of his boyish infatuation with regard to the Chicago actress.

So he dallies over his breakfast, hoping that something will turn up to lead their thoughts in another channel, and at least give them a longer respite. Perhaps a message will come from the steamer announcing an immediate sailing.

He is eager to be off. Whatever was in the note Philander picked up in the house of the Strada Mezzodi, it has given John a feverish anxiety to reach some other port.

Ah! here is the good captain of the Hyperion himself, a jolly sea-dog whom every pa.s.senger clings to in time of storm and trouble, and who buoys up trembling souls, fearful of the worst, with his hearty, good-natured manner.

He announces aloud for the benefit of his pa.s.sengers that a notice just posted in the office of the hotel gives the time of the vessel's sailing at seven in the evening, and all pa.s.sengers are requested to be on board before that hour, if possible.

This means another day on sh.o.r.e. It means that John Craig cannot longer elude the recital of his night's adventures to Lady Ruth.

CHAPTER X.

SPRUNG ALEAK!

Lady Ruth captures him very soon after breakfast by means of a clever little piece of diplomacy. John is really amused at the manner in which she manages this affair, and allows himself to be carried off to enjoy a bird's-eye view of the harbor which she has discovered at the end of the piazza, and which he must pa.s.s an opinion upon.

The others do not follow, Philander and Aunt Gwen, because they know what is going on, and Sir Lionel, on account of a bore of a British n.o.bleman who has fastened upon him, and talks an incessant streak.

Miss Caprice, as Aunt Gwen has christened Lady Ruth, suddenly develops a new phase in the conversation.

"Do you know what time it was when you came in last night?" she says, shaking a finger at him, whereat John laughingly declares his ignorance, having failed to take note of it.

"Just a quarter of two."

"Is it possible? Really, I--"

"Now, it would be only justice to myself to tell how I happened to know. Awaking from sleep with a slight headache, I arose to get my smelling-salts, and noted the time.

"Just then I heard Aunt Gwen's angelic voice calling down. My first fear was that Uncle Philander had gone off on some sort of racket, and was returning in no condition for a gentleman, for which suspicion I humbly beg his pardon, for he's just as lovely as a man ever could be."

"A fine little fellow, I'll declare, and he stood by me like a hero,"

declares John, with great earnestness.

"Well, I'm a woman, you know, and curious. I poked my head out of the window, and saw that you were with the professor. Of course, I knew he was all right, then."

The charming _naivette_ with which she makes this engaging remark almost takes John's breath away. He feels a mad desire to take her in his arms, and to call her "you blessed darling," or some other similarly foolish pet name.