Part 52 (1/2)

Charming laughed back over his shoulder. ”You joy-rider! We're doing the best we can now--but we'll make it.”

They drew up at the platform just as the train paused, a grinning porter waiting on the step with his box.

”Got your bag? Run for it,” cried Channing, and followed through the pelting rain with his own luggage.

The train started even as the chuckling porter helped her on.

”Stateroom fo' N'Yawk,--yessir, yessir! Right in dis way, miss. I done seed you-all comin'. You suttinly did tek yo' foot in yo' han' an'

trabbel--yessir! yes, _suh_!”

”Lord, what a run!” Channing was saying behind her. ”I left the engine going, too--old Morty will be furious when he finds her! You must be wet as an otter in spite of that great cape.--Well, little sweetheart, here we are! Let 's--”

He stopped short. Kate had turned, slipping the cape from her shoulders.--There they were, indeed. The train sped on, gathering speed with each mile.

She began to laugh, softly at first, then more and more heartily, till her whole body shook and the tears streamed down her face. The romance-loving porter, listening outside, chuckled in sympathy. Channing essayed a sickly smile.

She stopped as suddenly as she had begun, and a silence fell.

Channing broke it, of course. It was his misfortune in moments of emergency always to become chatty.

”You have taken me by surprise, really!--I--I didn't recognize you at first. That cape--Look here, this isn't entirely my fault. You must know that! I meant to keep my word, I tried to. But Jacqueline would insist upon seeing me to--to prove that she trusted me. I _told_ her it wouldn't do. She said she had made no promise.--Oh, hang it all, how could I help myself, with the girl throwing herself at my head like that? I'm no anchorite.”

”No?” murmured Kate.

”No, certainly not! That is.--Look here, it's not what you think at all!

I've been meeting her at night--it was the only way we could manage. But I _am_ a gentleman, you know.”

”Yes?” murmured Kate.

He tried again, perspiring freely. ”This looks bad, I know, but I a.s.sure you--Jacqueline understands that I mean to marry her as soon as things are definitely settled. She understands me absolutely, the only woman, perhaps, who ever has. She has temperament herself. Why, that's the reason I consented to take her away,” he continued eagerly, gaining confidence from the other's silence. ”She really ought to have her training for opera. You don't realize what a voice it is, Mrs. Kildare!

I could offer her certain opportunities, lessons abroad, introductions, a career, in fact--”

”And meanwhile you were going to act as her protector?” broke in Kate.

”Why--why, yes. Exactly!”

The faintest smile just lifted her lip. ”From yourself?” she murmured.

Channing's eyes dropped. He would have given years of his life to meet without flinching that little smile. ”I repeat, I would have married Jacqueline as soon as it was possible.” He spoke with an effort for quiet dignity that was not convincing, even to himself; perhaps because he noticed just then, for the first time, the dog-whip which Mrs.

Kildare was twisting and untwisting in her strong fingers.

”I suppose that dream is over now,” he added sadly--a little hastily.

”I think we may safely say,” she admitted, ”that that dream is over.”

He could not lift his eyes from those slender, muscular fingers. Across his too-vivid imagination had flashed Farwell's picture of the Madam going to the rescue of her fighting negroes. A little shudder went down his back. He wondered what he should do if she suddenly attacked him.

Could he lay his hands upon a woman? Should he call for help? Must he simply stand there and let her--whip him?...