"Please do not consider me in the least," my mother-in-law said with her most Christian-martyr-like expression. "Whatever you and Margaret wish will do very well for me."
d.i.c.ky turned from his mother with a little impatient shrug.
"What about you, Madge?" he asked.
"Chicken a la Maryland in a chafing dish and a combination salad with that anchovy and sherry dressing you make so deliciously," I replied promptly. "The rest of the dinner I"ll leave to you."
My mother-in-law glared at me.
"It strikes me there isn"t much left to leave to him after an order of that kind," she said, tartly.
"You haven"t eaten many of d.i.c.ky"s dinners then," I said audaciously, with a little moue at him. "He orders the most perfect dinners of any one I know."
"Of course, with your wide experience, you ought to be a critical judge of his ability," my mother-in-law snapped back.
Her tone was even more insulting than her words. It tipped with cruel venom her allusion to the quiet, almost cloistered life of my girlhood.
I drew a long breath as I saw my mother-in-law adjust her lorgnette and proceed to gaze through it with critical hauteur at the other diners. I hoped that her curiosity and interest in the things going on around her would make her forget her imaginary grievances, but my hope was destined to be short lived.
It was while we were discussing our oysters, the very first offered of the season, that she spoke to me, suddenly, abruptly:
"Margaret, do you know that man at the second table back of us? He hasn"t taken his eyes from you for the last ten minutes."
My heart almost stopped beating, for my intuition told me at once the ident.i.ty of the gazer. It must be the man whose uncanny, mournful look had so distressed me when I was waiting for Lillian Underwood in the little reception room at the Sydenham the preceding Monday, the man who had followed us to the little tea room, who had even taken the same train to Marvin with me.
I felt as if I could not lift my eyes to look at the man my mother-in-law indicated, and yet I knew I must glance casually at him if I were to avert the displeased suspicion which I already saw creeping into her eyes.
When my eyes met his he gave not the slightest sign that he knew I was looking at him, simply continued his steady gaze, which had something of wistful mournfulness in it. I averted my eyes as quickly as possible, and tried to look absolutely unconcerned.
"I am sure he cannot be looking at me," I said, lightly. "I do not know him at all."
I hoped that my mother-in-law would not notice my evasion, but she was too quick for me.
"You may not know him, but have you ever seen him before?" she asked, shrewdly.
"Really, mother," d.i.c.ky interposed, his face darkening, "you"re going a little too far with that catechism. Madge says she doesn"t know the man, that settles it. By the way, Madge, is he annoying you? If he is, I can settle him in about two seconds."
"Oh, no," I said nervously, "I don"t think the man"s really looking at me at all; he"s simply gazing out into s.p.a.ce, thinking, and happens to be facing this way. It would be supremely ridiculous to call him to account for it."
My mother-in-law snorted, but made no further comment, evidently silenced by d.i.c.ky"s reproof.
I may have imagined it, but it seemed to me that d.i.c.ky looked at me a little curiously when I protested my belief that the man was simply absorbed in thought and not looking at me at all.
When we were dallying with the curiously moulded ices which d.i.c.ky had ordered for dessert, I saw his eyes light up as he caught sight of some one he evidently knew.
"Pardon me just a minute, will you?" he said, turning to his mother and me, apologetically, "I see Bob Simonds over there with a bunch of fellows. Haven"t seen him in a c.o.o.n"s age. He"s been over across the pond in the big mixup. Didn"t know he was back. I don"t want any more of this ice, anyway, and when the waiter comes, order cheese, coffee and a cordial for us all."
He was gone in another instant, making his way with the swift, debonair grace which is always a part of d.i.c.ky, to the group of men at a table not far from ours, who welcomed him joyously.
My mother-in-law"s eyes followed mine, and I knew that for once, at least, we were of one mind, and that mind was full of pride in the man so dear to, us both. He was easily the most distinguished figure at the table full of men who greeted him so joyously. I knew that his mother noted with me how cordial was the welcome each man gave d.i.c.ky, how they all seemed to defer to him and hang upon his words.
Then across my vision came a picture most terrifying to me. It was as if my mother-in-law and I were spectators of a series of motion picture films. Toward the table, where d.i.c.ky stood surrounded by his friends, there sauntered the mysterious stranger, who had attracted my mother-in-law"s attention by his scrutiny of me.
But he was no stranger to the men surrounding d.i.c.ky. Most of them greeted him warmly. Of course, I was too far away to hear what was said, but I saw the pantomime in which he requested an introduction to d.i.c.ky of one of his friends!
Then I saw the stranger meet d.i.c.ky and engage him in earnest conversation. I did not dare to look at my mother-in-law. I knew she was gazing in open-mouthed wonder at her son, but I hoped she did not know the queer mixture of terror and interest with which I watched the picture at the other table.
For it was no surprise to me when, a few minutes later, d.i.c.ky came back toward our table. With him, talking earnestly, as if he had been a childhood friend, walked the mysterious stranger. I told myself that I had known it would be so from the first.
From the moment I had first seen this man"s haunting eyes gazing at me in the reception room of the Sydenham I had felt that a meeting with him was inevitable. How or where he would touch my life I did not know, but that he was destined to wield some influence, sinister or favorable, over me, I was sure, and I trembled with vague terror as I saw him drawing near.
"Mother, may I present Mr. Gordon? My wife, Mr. Gordon."
d.i.c.ky"s manner was nervous, preoccupied, as he spoke. His mother"s face showed very plainly her resentment at being obliged to meet the man upon whose steady staring at me she had so acidly commented a few minutes before.
For my own part, I was so upset that I felt actually ill, as the eyes of the persistent stranger met mine. How had this man, who had so terrified me by his persistent pursuit and scrutiny, managed to obtain an introduction to d.i.c.ky?
d.i.c.ky made a place for the man near me, and signalled the waiter.
"I know you have dined," he said, courteously, "but you"ll at least have coffee and a cordial with us, will you not?"
"Thank you," Mr. Gordon said, in a deep, rich voice, "I have not yet had coffee. If you will be so kind, I should like a little apricot brandy instead of a cordial."
d.i.c.ky gave the necessary order to the waiter, and we all sat back in our chairs.
I, for one, felt as though I were a spectator at a play, waiting for the curtain to run up upon some thrilling episode. For the few minutes while we waited for our coffee, d.i.c.ky had to carry the burden of the conversation. His mother, with her lips pressed together in a tight, thin line, evidently had resolved to take no part in any conversation with the stranger. I was really too terrified to say anything, and, besides the briefest of a.s.sents to d.i.c.ky"s observations, the stranger said nothing.
There was something about the man"s whole personality that both attracted and repelled me. With one breath I felt that I had a curious sense of liking and admiration for him, and was proud of the interest in me, which he had taken no pains to conceal. The next moment a real terror and dislike of him swept over me.
I waited with beating heart for him to finish his coffee. It seemed to me that I could hardly wait for him to speak. For I had a psychic presentiment that before he left the table he would make known to us the reason for his rude pursuit of me.
His first words confirmed my impression:
"I am afraid, Mrs. Graham," he said, courteously, turning to me, as he finished his coffee, "that I have startled and alarmed you by my endeavor to ascertain your ident.i.ty."
I did not answer him. I did not wish to tell him that I had been frightened; neither could I truthfully deny his a.s.sertion. And I wished that I had not evaded my mother-in-law"s query concerning him.
He did not appear to heed my silence however, but went on rapidly:
"It is a very simple matter, after all," he said. "You see, you resemble so closely a very dear friend of my youth, in fact, the dearest I ever had, that when I caught sight of you the other day in the reception room of the Sydenham, it seemed as if her very self stood before me."
There was a vibrant, haunting note in his voice that told me, better than words, that, whoever this woman of his youth might have been, her memory was something far more to him than of a mere friend.
"I could not rest until I found out your ident.i.ty, and secured an introduction to you," he went on. "You will not be offended if I ask you one or two rather personal questions, will you?"
"Indeed, no," I returned mechanically.
Mr. Gordon hesitated. His suave self-possession seemed to have deserted him. He swallowed hard twice, and then asked, nervously: