Part 64 (1/2)

But seeing that he was already mounting the stairs, paying no attention whatever to her virtuous horror, the French-woman followed him on tiptoe, murmuring to herself, ”_Mais comme c'est chic, ca_!” She had her racial taste for the spectacular.

At first she was somewhat disappointed. Applying alternately eye and ear to the keyhole, she detected none of the imprecations, the excited chatter, the nose-tweaking, the calling down of the just wrath of Heaven, which the occasion seemed to demand.

”Ah bah, these Englis.h.!.+” she muttered scornfully, ”If but my Henri were to discover me in such a situation--la, la!”

Philip, entering without knocking, had begun quietly and methodically to remove his coat before Channing was aware of his presence. The author looked up from his desk, surprised, and jumped to his feet, with an expression of pleasure in his face. Philip's brain registered that fact without attempting to explain it. Channing was undoubtedly glad to see him.

”Why, Benoix! Where have you dropped from? I did not hear you knock!

What in the name of all that's pleasant brings you to Paris?”

He advanced with outstretched hand. Just at that moment, a woman entered from the room beyond.

Philip, bracing himself, turned to face his wife....

But it was not Jacqueline. It was a t.i.tian-haired, lissome young woman upon whom he had never laid eyes before, and who returned his stare with self-possessed interest.

Philip gave a great gasp. ”Channing! Who--who is this woman?”

”My wife,” announced the author, with a laughing bow. ”You seem surprised. Hadn't you heard? But of course not--it was all so sudden.

And I'm glad to say the papers don't seem to have got hold of it yet, thanks to my forethought in booking pa.s.sage under only half my name.

Some time before I sailed, Fay and I decided to--to let matters rest as they were, and--she came with me.” He was a trifle embarra.s.sed, but carried off the introduction with an air. ”Mrs. Channing--Mr. Benoix!”

Philip was utterly bewildered. ”Do you mean to say you have not seen Jacqueline?”

”Jacqueline Kildare?” Channing's smiling ease left him. ”Yes, I did see her in New York, the day I left. You didn't think--” An inkling of the other's errand dawned on him. He was suddenly alarmed, and, as usual in moments of emergency, burst into his unfortunate glibness of speech.

”Why, she came to see me about studying for opera, something of that sort--that was all. I had promised her introductions. Unfortunately she came just as I was preparing to leave, and I had no time to do much for her. I gave her letters to several teachers, and got her the address of a good boarding-place....”

Philip muttered an exclamation.

”Oh, and I did more than that,” said Channing quickly. ”I talked to her like a Dutch uncle; advised her to go straight back to Kentucky, and not to do anything without her mother's permission--a great woman, Mrs.

Kildare! I told her New York was no place for a young girl alone, and that she had been most indiscreet to come to me. I told her about my--er--my marriage, of course. I offered her money--”

”You did _what_?” asked Philip, suddenly.

”Why--er--yes!” Channing was taken aback by his tone. ”Why not? You know what an impulsive, reckless child she is--she might very well have run off without any money in her pocket, and I should have been uncomfortable, quite miserable, to think--”

Philip's fist stopped the flow of words upon his lips.

”Wh-what did you do that for?” stammered the author, backing away.

”Put up your fists, if you've got any,” was the answer.

Channing defended himself wildly, but without hope. He felt that his time had come. A certain conviction paralyzed his already sluggish muscles, ”He knows!” he thought. ”She's told him!”

Various things swam into his dizzy memory--the business-like punching-bag in the rectory at Storm, the pistol in Philip's riding-breeches, the fact that his father had been a convicted ”killer”

in the penitentiary. ”He means to do for me!” thought Channing, and looked desperately around for help.