Part 14 (1/2)

As to dining with you, I must deny myself that pleasure. I do not believe you would ”bite” me, nor am I afraid your levity would turn my head. I can merely say that dining with a stranger is not in accord with my habits and that I see no sufficient reason to make your case an exception. I would be glad to see your ”Marjorie,”

though, were that feasible, but this also I must forego.

Now, as a last word--for my correspondence may weary you--remember that true happiness in this life does not consist in the mere gratification of every pa.s.sing whim, and that the path you have before you may contain thorns as well as roses. If you return to America with your conscience void of offence toward G.o.d and your companion you will have accomplished something of which you may well be proud.

Won't you write me just a line when you are again at home, to say that my pet.i.tion has been answered.

Your True Friend,

A.B.

Jan. 2, 1898.

Sobered more than I could account for by reading this letter, I sat for a long time in silence. Then, after writing a brief note to Tom, excusing my neglect, I sought my pillow, or in plain English, went to bed.

My first act in the morning after coffee was to go to Cook's and alter the name of May to that of Carney, as well as change my own to ”David Camwell,” for which I gave a satisfactory reason to the clerk. He told me that he could omit both names from the list sent to the newspapers, if I desired, and I decided that this was, on the whole, the better way.

On leaving I had an idea that pleased me, no less than to visit Tiffany's and purchase a little jewelry for Marjorie. It would be pleasant to see her eyes light up as I put it into her hand.

Taking a Broadway car, I soon reached the shop I sought, and emerged a few minutes later with a pair of diamond eardrops, a ring of turquoise and small diamonds, and another of chased gold without a stone. Each was enclosed in a tasty case. I was much pleased that the selection had been made so easily.

Miss May arrived at my room nearly on time, with a fine color in her cheeks, due to the fact that she had walked some distance. She was undeniably good-looking and my heart warmed as I thought of the long companions.h.i.+p we were to have together. She was a little tired, she said, from standing for the dressmaker's measurer, and dropped into my largest chair with a very fetching air of fatigue. As soon as I could without seeming in haste I produced the case containing the turquoise ring and presented it for her inspection.

”I took the liberty,” I remarked, ”of buying this, to fill the vacant place on one of your fingers. If it does not fit, you can take it back for alteration; or if it does not please you Tiffany will exchange it.”

She took it out languidly and found that it fitted very well. She was not as delighted as I had supposed she would be, but her tired feeling probably accounted for that.

”It is very pretty,” she said, ”and you are very kind.”

Then I opened the case containing the plain ring and she found a suitable position for that also. When I showed her the eardrops she grew more interested and on trying them on declared them ”perfectly sweet.”

”I used to have some very like them,” she said, with a sigh, ”but that was long ago. How very good you are. Are you not tired of the expense I cause you?”

I a.s.sured her that I was not, in the least.

”I do not own a piece of jewelry in the world,” she added, ”except a wedding ring, that belonged to my mother.”

”And these,” I corrected her by saying.

”No. These are not mine. They are merely part of the make-up for the role I am to play. You shall have them all back again when the curtain is rung down.”

She took out her purse, and drew forth the ring of which she had spoken.

Placing it on her wedding finger she held it out to me.

”Don't I look quite like a married woman?” she asked, smilingly.