Part 7 (1/2)
She did not redden as she asked the question, and I do not know why I did.
”As my cousin,” I answered. ”It is my belief, Miss May,” I added, ”that you will find this journey very charming, if you go about it right. To be registered simply as my secretary, which will come as near as anything to the fact, or not to be given any t.i.tle at all, might arouse silly gossip among the other pa.s.sengers. A relations.h.i.+p of the kind I suggest will still idle tongues and make your position more agreeable.”
She thought a little while and then said, suddenly:
”You--you are not married, I suppose?”
”Not in the least,” I replied, smiling.
”There is hardly time for much preparation,” was her next observation.
”What kind of clothing should I need?”
”After the first few days, about the same as you would want here in August. I am not well versed in ladies' attire, but I should say that a travelling dress of some very thin material would be the first requisite; then a 'best' dress or two of very light weight; a liberal supply of articles” (I stammered slightly) ”that need laundering, as there may be a fortnight at a time when was.h.i.+ng cannot be obtained; thin shoes, slippers, walking boots suitable for summer, two or three hats--and--” I paused to think if I had omitted anything--”an umbrella and parasol.”
She laughed as I finished. A sweet, engaging laugh that made me resolve that I would kidnap her and convey her on board by force in case she refused to go.
”No gloves?” she inquired, archly. ”No cape, no--”
”Oh, there are doubtless a lot of kickshaws that will occur to you,” I admitted, ”that I need not mention. I am pretty sure that I do not even know the names of all of them. On January 12th and 13th the weather will be winter, on the 14th, 15th and 16th spring, and the rest of the time till May midsummer. I don't know as I can give you any better guide.”
She said she would make an overhauling of her last year's clothing and see where she stood; which led me to ask, with, I fear too much anxiety in my tone, if she had, then, decided to go.
”Have you decided?” she replied, parrying the question. ”You cannot have seen all the women who sent replies. Perhaps you will yet find one more suitable for your purpose. It is only fair to both of us to leave the matter open for a day or two.”
”No,” I answered, shaking my head decidedly. ”As you said a few moments ago, the time is very brief for any one to get ready. Let us settle the matter now. And if you wish any part of your salary advanced--on account of the immediate expense you will have to a.s.sume--we shall have no difficulty in arranging that matter.”
She grew thoughtful, and finally begged me to give her till the following morning, at least. She promised to send a messenger to my address before noon. I did not like the idea, but I could say nothing in opposition without appearing unreasonable, and ended by consenting to it.
”I pa.s.sed some months in the part of the world to which I am now going, three years since,” I said, to strengthen her resolutions in favor of the journey, ”and I can a.s.sure you that the voyage, from beginning to end, is simply delightful. The Caribbean is truly a summer sea; the Antilles are beautiful to look at, charming in flora and delicious in atmosphere. Then think of the escape you will have from the freezing and thawing of a New York spring. I promise to treat you with all consideration, and as for the labor you are to do, it will be very light indeed. If there is anything I have omitted, consider it included. I am sure,” I added, as I rose to go, ”that you will never be sorry for the chance that brings us into each other's company.”
”Oh,” she answered, with superb frankness, ”I have no fear that I shall not like you, or that you will treat me in any manner unbecoming a gentleman. I only wish to think the matter over. In the meantime let me thank you for the partiality with which you view my application.”
She insisted on going to the street door with me, where I bade her good-by without more ado, fearful that if I talked much longer I should say something foolish.
”To-morrow morning, then, I am to get your letter,” I said, handing her a card on which I had previously written an address that would do for the present--”David Camwell, Lambs Club.” ”And to-morrow afternoon, at two again, I shall return to complete our arrangements.”
As she bowed an affirmative, I lifted my hat and left her there; wondering why I had not chosen the Klondike for my vacation, so near the boiling point was every drop of blood in my veins.
CHAPTER VI.
”DO YOU REALLY WANT ME?”
I did not sleep well, that night, and as I tossed from one side of my bed to the other, I began to fear that the insomnia from which I had escaped, and whose return I so much dreaded, would fasten itself on me once more. During the long, still hours I had many moments when I was inclined to give up my plan of travelling in the company of a charming young woman, and even to drop the entire trip itself. I imagined my condition in a far land, with no physician at hand who understood my case or had the history of my illness. Only one who has known the horrors of sleepless months can conceive the terror which a possible renewal of its symptoms inspired. The mere thought of meeting my fair correspondent had deranged my arterial circulation. The sight of her, our conversation, though carried on in the quietest manner, had thrown my heart out of equipoise, speaking physically. What would happen when she and I were alone together for weeks and weeks?
She was very pretty--there was no doubt of that. She was also marvellously self-contained, and in a conflict of desires would certainly prove the stronger. Was it not the part of common prudence to ”foresee the evil and hide?”
I had almost decided to adopt this course, when the sleep which had evaded me descended and for four hours I was blissfully unconscious.
It was nearly eight o'clock when I awoke, and with returning reason all the fears of the night vanished. I could only count the minutes now before the expected message would arrive--that message, I a.s.sured myself, which would confirm the hopes I so fondly cherished. Not a single doubt remained of the perfect wisdom of the double journey I had planned. I thought again of Dr. Chambers' advice not to travel alone; of Uncle Dugald's wish that the ”genealogy” should be pushed to completion as rapidly as possible; of the advantage of having with me a constant companion, to while away the inevitable hours of loneliness. I raised Miss May to the highest pedestal as a young lady of excellent attributes and delightful personality.