Part 27 (2/2)
” Mr. Coleman, I understand-or at least I am led to believe-that you-at one time, proposed marriage to my daughter? ”
The faltering words did not sound as if either man had aught to do with them. They were an expression by the tragic muse herself. Coleman's jaw fell and he looked gla.s.sily at the professor. He said: ”Yes!”
But already his blood was leaping as his mind flashed everywhere in speculation.
” I refused my consent to that marriage,” said the old man more easily. ” I do not know if the matter has remained important to you, but at any rate, I-I retract my refusal.”
Suddenly the blank expression left Coleman's face and he smiled with sudden intelligence, as if informa- tion of what the professor had been saying had just reached him. In this smile there was a sudden be.
trayal, too, of something keen and bitter which had lain hidden in the man's mind. He arose and made a step towards the professor and held out his hand.
”Sir, I thank yod from the bottom of my heart!”
And they both seemed to note with surprise that Coleman's voice had broken.
The professor had arisen to receive Coleman's hand.
His nerve was now of iron and he was very formal.
” I judge from your tone that I have not made a mis- take-somcthing which I feared.”
Coleman did not seem to mind the professor's formality.
” Don't fear anything. Won't you sit down again? Will you have a cigar. * * No, I couldn't tell you how glad I am. How glad I am. I feel like a fool. It--”
But the professor fixed him with an Arctic eye and bluntly said: ” You love her ? ”
The question steadied Coleman at once. He looked undauntedly straight into the professor's face.
He simply said: ” I love her! ”
” You love her ? ” repeated the professor.
” I love her,” repeated Coleman.
After some seconds of pregnant silence, the professor arose. ” Well, if she cares to give her life to you I will allow it, but I must say that I do not consider you nearly good enough. Good-night.” He smiled faintly as he held out his hand.
” Good-night, sir,” said Coleman. ” And I can't tell, you, now-”
Mrs. Wainwright, in her room was languis.h.i.+ng in a chair and applying to her brow a handkerch-ief wet with cologne water. She, kept her feverish glarice upon the door. Remembering well the manner of her husband when he went out she could hardly identify him when he came in. Serenity, composure, even self-satisfaction, was written upon him. He, paid no attention to her, but going to a chair sat down with a groan of contentment.
” Well ? ” cried Mrs. Wainwright, starting up.
” Well ? ”
” Well-what ? ” he asked.
She waved her hand impatiently. ” Harrison, don't be absurd. You know perfectly well what I mean. It is a pity you couldn't think of the anxiety I have been in.” She was going to weep.
”Oh, I'll tell you after awhile,” he said stretching out his legs with the complacency of a rich merchant after a successful day.
”No! Tell me now,” she implored him. ”Can't you see I've worried myself nearly to death?” She was not going to weep, she was going to wax angry.
”Well, to tell the truth,” said the professor with considerable pomposity, ” I've arranged it. Didn't think I could do it at first, but it turned out ”
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