Part 19 (2/2)
”So d.i.c.k declared himself?” Miss Langley smiled. ”I wonder how he led up to it--he is a blooming mystery to me.”
Irene t.i.ttered. ”The truth is, I helped him out. Do you know, he is more sensitive than most persons think, and that side of him was uppermost to-night. I really felt sorry for him. He spoke frankly of having serious faults and being heartily ashamed of his past life. I think I know what he was hinting at. You know we have both heard certain reports.”
”Not any more of him than any other man we know,” Kitty said, with a shrug. ”Andy Buckton, with his Presbyterian bringing-up, may be an exception, but he is about the only one in our crowd. They are all bad, I tell you, and a woman may as well make up her mind to it and hope marriage will cure the brute.”
”I liked the way d.i.c.k talked to-night very, very much,” Irene resumed, reflectively. ”He declared he was unworthy of me. Do you know he is sensitive over a certain thing, and I admire it in him.”
”What is that?” the other asked.
”Why, out on the steps to-night, after father had gone in, d.i.c.k seemed very much depressed. He was worried about something, and I determined to discover what it was. What do you think? The silly fellow was really upset by the money father has recently made; he never has liked the idea of marrying an heiress, and, you see, I am more of one now than I was a month ago.”
”Somehow, I don't read him that way,” Miss Langley mused, ”but I may be wrong. So it is really settled?”
”Yes, it is settled. It was the common-sense thing to do. I am going to put Andy out of my mind. Poor boy! he is lovely, isn't he? What do you think he will do about it, Kitty?”
”Mope around like a sick cat for a month,” the girl answered; ”then he will marry some one else, and wonder what on earth he ever saw in you to be daft about.”
”I don't believe it,” Irene said, firmly. ”Kitty, that boy will never marry; he will never love any other woman. If I thought he would--”
Irene hesitated, a deepening stare in her eyes.
”You'd not marry d.i.c.k--Poof! Wouldn't you be a pretty idiot? If you read as many novels as I do you'd know that sentimental, puppy love is a delusion and a snare. Let it alone. You and d.i.c.k Mostyn are doing the only rational thing. You will be an ideal couple. Gosh, I wish I had some of the money you will have!”
CHAPTER XVII
One morning a few days later Mostyn entered the bank and went directly to his office. He had been seated at his desk only a moment when Wright, the cas.h.i.+er, came in smiling suavely. There was a conscious flush on his face which extended into his bald pate, and his eyes were gleaming.
”I want to congratulate you,” he said. ”We've all been reading the account in the paper this morning. Of course, we've suspected it for some time, but didn't want to talk about it till it was announced.”
”I haven't seen the article,” Mostyn answered, in a tone of curbed irritation. ”It was written by some woman society reporter. Miss Langley told me to look out for it. I think she furnished the information.”
”Very likely,” Wright answered. ”Women like nothing better than a wedding in high life.”
”Has Saunders come down yet?” the banker inquired.
”Yes, he is at his desk. He just got back from his farm this morning.”
”Please tell him”--Mostyn deliberated--”tell him when he is fully at liberty that I'd like to see him.”
A moment later Saunders opened the door and came in. A grave look was on his face, and he failed to respond to Mostyn's ”Good morning.” He paused, and stood leaning on the top of the desk, his glance averted.
”Wright says you wish to see me,” he began.
”Yes, sit down; pull that chair up.”
Saunders complied, his eyes on the floor.
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