Part 17 (1/2)
”I am sorry, sir, but I have insulted Miss Killigrew.”
”Insulted Kitty?” Killigrew sprang up.
”Just a moment, sir,” warned Thomas. The tense, short but powerful figure of Kitty's father was not at that moment an agreeable thing to look at; and Thomas knew that those knotted hands were rising toward his throat. ”Do not misinterpret me, sir. I took Miss Kitty in my arms and kissed her.”
”You--kissed--Kitty?” Killigrew fell back into his chair, limp. For a moment there had been black murder in his heart; now he wondered whether to weep or laugh. The reaction was too sudden to admit of coherent thought. ”You kissed Kitty?” he repeated mechanically.
”Yes, sir.”
”What did she do?”
”I did not wait to learn, sir.”
Killigrew got up and walked the length of the room several times, his chin in his collar, his hands clasped behind his back, under his coat-tails. The fifth pa.s.sage carried him out on to the veranda. He kept on going and disappeared among the lilac hedges.
Thomas thought he understood this action, that his inference was perfectly logical; Killigrew, rather than strike the man who had so gratuitously insulted his daughter, had preferred to run away. (I know; for a long time I, too, believed Thomas the most colossal a.s.s since Dobson.) Thomas gazed mournfully about the room. It was all over. He had burned his bridges. It had been so pleasant, so homelike; and he had begun to love these unpretentious people as if they had been his very own.
Except that which had been expended on clothes, Thomas had most of his salary. It would carry him along till he found something else to do.
To get away, immediately, was the main idea; he had found a door to the trap. (The chamois-bag lay in his trunk, forgotten.)
”Your breakfast is ready, sir,” announced the grave butler.
So Thomas ate his chops and potatoes and toast and drank his tea, alone.
And Killigrew, blinking tears, leaned against the stout branches of the lilacs and buried his teeth in his coat-sleeve. He was as near apoplexy as he was ever to come.
CHAPTER XVII
Meantime Kitty sat on the bench, stunned. Never before in all her life had such a thing happened. True, young men had at times attempted to kiss her, but not in this fas.h.i.+on. A rough embrace, a kiss on her cheek, and he had gone. Not a word, not a sign of apology. She could not have been more astounded had a thunder-bolt struck at her feet, nor more bereft of action. She must have sat there fully ten minutes without movement. From Thomas, the guileless, this! What did it mean? She could not understand. Had he instantly begged forgiveness, had he made protestations of sentiment, a glimmering would have been hers. Nothing; he had kissed her and walked away: as he might have kissed Celeste, and had, for all she knew!
When the numbing sense of astonishment pa.s.sed away, it left her cold with anger. Kitty was a dignified young lady, and she would not tolerate such an affront from any man alive. It was more than an affront; it was a dire catastrophe. What should she do now? What would become of all her wonderfully maneuvered plans?
She went directly to her room and flung herself upon the bed, bewildered and unhappy. And there Killigrew found her. He was a wise old man, deeply versed in humanity, having pa.s.sed his way up through all sorts and conditions of it to his present peaceful state.
”Kittibudget, what the deuce is all this about? . . . You've been crying!”
”Supposing I have?”--came m.u.f.fled from the pillows.
”What have you been doing to Thomas?”
”I?” she shot back, sitting up, her eyes blazing. ”He kissed me, dad, as he probably kisses his English barmaids.”
”Kitty, girl, you're as pretty as a primrose. I don't think Thomas was really accountable.”
”Are you defending him?”--blankly.
”No. The strange part of it is, I don't think Thomas wants to be defended. A few minutes ago he came to me and told me what he had done.
He is leaving.”