"You are just what I think you," began Keith. "You are the most charming woman in the world--you are my--" He hesitated as she looked straight into his eyes and shook her head.
"What? No, I am not. I am a worldly, world-worn woman. Oh, yes, I am,"
as dissent spoke in his face. "I know the world and am a part of it and depend upon it. Yes, I am. I am not so far gone that I cannot recognize and admire what is better, higher, and n.o.bler than the world of which I speak; but I am bound to the wheel--Is not that the ill.u.s.tration you wrote me once? I thought then it was absurd. I know now how true it is."
"I do not think you are," declared Keith. "If you were, I would claim the right to release you--to save you for--yourself and--"
She shook her head.
"No, no. I have become accustomed to my Sybarite"s couch of which you used to tell me. Would you be willing to give up all you have striven for and won--your life--the honors you have won and hope to win?"
"They are nothing--those I have won! Those I hope to win, I would win for us both. You should help me. They would be for you, Alice." His eyes were deep in hers.
She fetched a long sigh.
"No, no; once, perhaps, I might have--but now it is too late. I chose my path and must follow it. You would not like to give up all you--hope for--and become like--some we know?"
"G.o.d forbid!"
"And I say, "Amen." And if you would, I would not be willing to have you do it. You are too much to me--I honor you too much," she corrected quickly, as she caught the expression in his face. "I could not let you sink into a--society man--like--some of those I sit next to and dance with and drive with and--enjoy and despise. Do I not know that if you loved me you would have convinced me of it in a moment? You have not convinced me. You are in love,--as you said just now,--but not with me.
You are in love with Lois Huntington."
Keith almost staggered. It was so direct and so exactly what his thought had been just now. But he said:
"Oh, nonsense! Lois Huntington considers me old enough to be her grandfather. Why, she--she is engaged to or in love with Dr. Locaman."
"She is not," said Mrs. Lancaster, firmly, "and she never will be. If you go about it right she will marry you." She added calmly: "I hope she will, with all my heart."
"Marry me! Lois Huntington! Why--"
"She considers me her grandmother, perhaps; but not you her grandfather.
She thinks you are much too young for me. She thinks you are the most wonderful and the best and most charming man in the world."
"Oh, nonsense!"
"I do not know where she got such an idea--unless you told her so yourself," she said, with a smile.
"I would like her to think it," said Keith, smiling; "but I have studiously avoided divulging myself in my real and fatal character."
"Then she must have got it from the only other person who knows you in your true character."
"And that is--?"
She looked into his eyes with so amused and so friendly a light in her own that Keith lifted her hand to his lips.
"I do not deserve such friendship."
"Yes, you do; you taught it to me."
He sat back in his chair, trying to think. But all he could think of was how immeasurably he was below both these women.
"Will you forgive me?" he said suddenly, almost miserably. He meant to say more, but she rose, and at the moment he heard a step behind him. He thought her hand touched his head for a second, and that he heard her answer, "Yes"; but he was not sure, for just then Mrs. Rhodes spoke to them, and they all three had to pretend that they thought nothing unusual had been going on.
They received their mail next day, and were all busy reading letters, when Mrs. Rhodes gave an exclamation of surprise.
"Oh, just hear this! Little Miss Huntington"s old aunt is dead."
There was an exclamation from every one.
"Yes," she went on reading, with a faint little conventional tone of sympathy in her voice; "she died ten days ago--very suddenly, of heart-disease."
"Oh, poor little Lois! I am so sorry for her!" It was Alice Lancaster"s voice.
But Keith did not hear any more. His heart was aching, and he was back among the shrubbery of The Lawns. All that he knew was that Rhodes and Mrs. Rhodes were expressing sympathy, and that Mrs. Lancaster, who had not said a word after the first exclamation, excused herself and left the saloon. Keith made up his mind promptly. He went up on deck. Mrs.
Lancaster was sitting alone far aft in the shadow. Her back was toward him, and her hand was to her eyes. He went up to her. She did not look up; but Keith felt that she knew it was he.
"You must go to her," she said.
"Yes," said Keith. "I shall. I wish you would come."
"Oh, I wish I could! Poor little thing!" she sighed.
Two days after that Keith walked into the hotel at Brookford. The clerk recognized him as he appeared, and greeted him cordially. Something in Keith"s look or manner, perhaps, recalled his former a.s.sociation with the family at The Lawns, for, as Keith signed his name, he said:
"Sad thing, that, up on the hill."
"What?" said Keith, absently.
"The old lady"s death and the breaking up of the old place," he said.
"Oh!--yes, it is," said Keith; and then, thinking that he could learn if Miss Huntington were there without appearing to do so, except casually, he said:
"Who is there now?"
"There is not any one there at all, I believe."
Keith ordered a room, and a half-hour later went out.
Instead of taking a carriage, he walked There had been a change in the weather. The snow covered everything, and the grounds looked wintry and deserted. The gate was unlocked, but had not been opened lately, and Keith had hard work to open it wide enough to let himself through. He tramped along through the snow, and turning the curve in the road, was in front of the house. It was shut up. Every shutter was closed, as well as the door, and a sudden chill struck him. Still he went on; climbed the wide, unswept steps, crossed the portico, and rang the bell, and finally knocked. The sound made him start. How lonesome it seemed! He knocked again, but no one came. Only the s...o...b..rds on the portico stopped and looked at him curiously. Finally, he thought he heard some one in the snow. He turned as a man came around the house. It was the old coachman and factotum. He seemed glad enough to see Keith, and Keith was, at least, glad to see him.
"It"s a bad business, it is, Mr. Kathe," he said sadly.
"Yes, it is, John. Where is Miss Huntington?"
"Gone, sir," said John, with surprise in his voice that Keith should not know.
"Gone where?"
"An" that no one knows," said John.