Volume VIII Part 19 (2/2)
”Yes. It seems that the hat I gave you belongs to another man. In your haste you did not notice the mistake. _This_ is your hat,”--producing the s.h.i.+ning tile.
”_Mon Dieu!_” he gasped, seizing the hat; ”eet _ees_ mine! See! I bring heem from France; zee _nom_ ees mine. _V'la!_ And I nevaire look in zee uzzer hat! I am _pair_fickly dumfound'!” And his astonishment was genuine.
”Where is the other hat: the one I gave you?” I was in a great hurry.
”I have heem here,” reaching to the vacant chair at his side, while the French consul eyed us both with some suspicion. We _might_ be lunatics.
Beausire handed me the benevolent old gentleman's hat, and the burden dropped from my shoulders. ”Eet ees _such_ a meestake! I laugh; eh?” He shook with merriment. ”I wear _two_ hats and not know zee meestake!”
I thanked him and made off as gracefully as I could. The girl rose as she saw me returning. When I reached her side she was standing with her slender body inclined toward me. She stretched forth a hand and solemnly I gave her Mr. Chittenden's hat. I wondered vaguely if anybody was looking at us, and, if so, what he thought of us.
The girl pulled the hat literally inside out in her eagerness; but her gloved fingers trembled so that the precious letter fluttered to the floor. We both stooped, but I was quicker. It was no attempt on my part to see the address; my act was one of common politeness. But I could not help seeing the name. It was my own!
”Give it to me!” she cried breathlessly.
I did so. I was not, at that particular moment, capable of doing anything else. I was too bewildered. My own name! She turned, hugging the hat, the legal doc.u.ments and the letter, and hurried down the main stairs, I at her heels.
”Tell the driver my address; I can return alone.”
”I can not permit that,” I objected decidedly. ”The driver is a stranger to us both. I insist on seeing you to the door; after that you may rest a.s.sured that I shall no longer inflict upon you my presence, odious as it doubtless is to you.”
As she was already in the cab and could not get out without aid, I climbed in beside her and called the street and number to the driver.
”Legally the letter is mine; it is addressed to me, and had pa.s.sed out of your keeping.”
”You shall never, never have it!”--vehemently.
”It is not necessary that I should,” I replied; ”for I vaguely understand.”
I saw that it was all over. There was now no reason why I should not speak my mind fully.
”I can understand without reading. You realized that your note was cruel and unlike anything you had done, and your good heart compelled you to write an apology; but your pride got the better of you, and upon second thought you concluded to let the unmerited hurt go on.”
”Will you kindly stop, the driver, or shall I?”
”Does truth annoy you?”
”I decline to discuss truth with you. Will you stop the driver?”
”Not until we reach Seventy-first Street West.”
”By what right--”
”The right of a man who loves you. There, it is out, and my pride has gone down the wind. After to-night I shall trouble you no further. But every man has the right to tell one woman that he loves her; and I love you. I loved you the moment I first laid eyes on you. I couldn't help it. I say this to you now because I perceive how futile it is. What dreams I have conjured up about you! Poor fool! When I was at work your face was always crossing the page or peering up from the margins. I never saw a fine painting that I did not think of you, or heard a fine piece of music that I did not think of your voice.”
There was a long interval of silence; block after block went by. I never once looked at her.
”If I had been rich I should have put it to the touch some time ago; but my poverty seems to have been fortunate; it has saved me a refusal. In some way I have mortally offended you; how, I can not imagine. It can not be simply because I innocently broke an engagement.”
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