Part 48 (2/2)
Harding cast a quick glance round. Beatrice and Mrs. Mowbray sat near, and it would be difficult to defend himself to either. The girl had made an unfortunate mistake, or perhaps expected to find him an easy victim; now he began to understand the note. The blood filled his face and he looked guilty in his embarra.s.sment and anger, for he saw that he was helpless. The hotel people would not interfere; and to repulse the woman rudely or run away from her was likely to attract the attention he wished to avoid.
”You have mistaken me for somebody else,” he replied uneasily.
She gave him a coquettish smile.
”Well, I guess you're Craig Harding unless you've changed your name as well as your character. I reckoned you'd come back to me when I heard you were in town. You ought to feel proud I came to look for you, when you didn't answer my note.”
There was something seductive and graceful in her mocking courtesy, but Harding lost his temper.
”I've had enough! You don't know me, and if you try to play this fool game I'll have you fired out!”
”That to an old friend--and a lady!” she exclaimed. ”You've surely lost the pretty manners that made me love you.”
Harding turned in desperation, and started to the door; but she followed, putting her hand on his shoulder, and some of the bystanders laughed. Beatrice, quivering with the shock, hated them for their amus.e.m.e.nt. Even if he were innocent, Harding had placed himself in a horribly humiliating position. But she could not think him innocent. All she had seen and heard condemned him.
Harding shook off the girl's hand and, perhaps alarmed by the look he gave her, she left him and soon afterward disappeared, but when he returned to the table Beatrice and her mother had gone. He was getting cool again, but he felt crushed, for no defense seemed possible. He could only offer a blunt denial which, in the face of appearances, could hardly be believed.
He left the hotel and spent an hour walking about the city, trying to think what he must do. When he returned a bell-boy brought him word that Mrs. Mowbray wished to see him in the drawing-room. Harding went up and found the room unoccupied except by Beatrice and her mother. The girl's face was white, but it was stern and she had her father's immovable look. Rising as he came in, she stood very straight, holding out a little box.
”This is yours,” she said. ”I must give it back to you. You will understand what that means.”
Harding took the box, containing the ring he had given her, and steadily met her accusing eyes, though he could see no hope for him in them.
”I suppose there's no use in my saying that it's all a mistake or a wicked plot?”
”No; I'm afraid the evidence against you is too strong.” She hesitated a moment, and he thought he saw some sign of relenting. ”Craig,” she begged, in a broken voice, ”do go. I--I believed in you.”
”You have no reason to doubt me now.”
He turned to Mrs. Mowbray.
”Can't you be persuaded? I give you my solemn word----”
”Don't!” Beatrice interrupted. ”Don't make it worse!”
”I'm sorry I must agree with my daughter's decision until I see more reason to change it than I can hope for at present,” Mrs. Mowbray replied. ”It would be better if you left us. We return to-morrow.”
Her tone was final; and, with a last glance at Beatrice, Harding went out dejectedly.
CHAPTER XXVIII
FIRE AND HAIL
On the morning after her return from Winnipeg, Beatrice sat in her father's study, with Mowbray facing her across the table. He looked thoughtful, but not so shocked and indignant as she had expected.
”So you are determined to throw Harding over!”
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