Part 24 (2/2)
”Don't let us make any mistake about this,” he said, soberly. ”I'm asking you in good faith to be my wife, you know.”
”And I am refusing you in equally good faith. I don't love you at all--not in that way.”
”You are quite sure of that?”
”Yes, surer now than ever before, though I've known it all along.”
”Then you refuse me point blank?”
”I do.”
He fetched another long breath and took her hand.
”That's the kindest thing you ever did for me, Gerty,” he said, out of a full heart. ”I--I'm ashamed to confess it, but I've been disloyal all along. It's----”
”It's Hannah Beaswicke; I knew it,” she said, smiling wisely. ”But don't humiliate yourself; I, too, have been 'disloyal,' as you call it.”
”You?”
”Yes; I'll tell you about it some time--no, not now”--shaking her head--”dinner is ready.”
It was thus that Fleetwell kept his promise to his cousin, and there had been never so much as a word about what Mr. Francis Vennor considered the main question at issue, namely, the fate of Gertrude's legacy. And when they came to the table together they were so evidently at peace that the President drew another false conclusion and wore his best King George smile throughout the entire dinner-hour.
At the conclusion of the meal, Fleetwell dodged the customary cigar with his cousin. Under the circ.u.mstances he deemed it prudent to give the chapter of accidents a clear field. Moreover, he conjectured that Gertrude had somewhat to say to her father, and would be grateful for an undisturbed half-hour; wherefore he proposed a stroll up-town to Mrs.
Dunham and the Misses Beaswicke, and presently left the car with the three of them in tow.
The President was in his stateroom, refilling his cigar-case; and when he came out, Gertrude and Quatremain were alone in the large compartment.
”Where are the others?” he asked, pausing at her chair to light his cigar.
”They have gone up-town for a walk.”
”H-m; and left you behind?”
”I didn't care to go.” She saw that her opportunity was come, and gave the secretary a look which should have made him vanish at once. It did not, but her father cut the knot of that difficulty.
”It's a fine night; will you take a turn outside with me, while I smoke?” he said.
She acquiesced, and they went out to pace up and down the long platform.
Two turns they made in silence while Gertrude sought vainly for words confessional, and at the third her father helped her without intending to.
”When is it to be?” he asked, abruptly.
She supposed he meant her marriage to Brockway, but she determined to make him speak plainly. So she said, ”When is what to be?”
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