Part 12 (1/2)

Stella wished for the first time that Julian were dead. She did not believe in a capricious or an impatient G.o.d, moved by well-timed pet.i.tions; but all her being absorbed itself into an unconscious prayer for Julian's peace.

She could not have told how long she had been there when she heard the sound of footsteps, strangely familiar footsteps, direct, regular, and swift. She looked up, to meet the grave, intent gaze of Mr. Leslie Travers.

Stella rubbed her eyes as if she had been asleep. Surely in a place of whispering silences, town clerks did not burst upon you except in dreams?

Of course Mr. Travers might live in one of these old, quiet houses, though it did not seem very likely to Stella. She thought he must live in some place where the houses looked as if they knew more what they were about, and did not brood over a deserted waterway

Seeing all their own mischance With a gla.s.sy countenance,

like that immortal gazer, the _Lady of Shalott_.

Mr. Travers did not pa.s.s Stella with his usual air of cutting through s.p.a.ce like a knife. He crossed the float gingerly, and asked firmly, but with kindness, if he might sit down.

Stella gave a helpless gesture of a.s.sent. She could not stop him, but he was inappropriate. The row of factory chimneys ceased to disguise themselves as towers; the float looked as if it knew suddenly how unsuitable it was for a winter afternoon's repose. The swans, approaching fatally near for the ideal, were very nearly black.

”Do you not find it damp here?” asked Mr. Travers.

Stella said:

”Yes, very”; and then, meeting his surprised eyes, she hastily corrected herself. ”No, not at all.” Then gave a little, helpless laugh. ”Forgive me!” she said. ”You surprised me so. Has anything gone wrong at the town hall?”

Mr. Travers did not immediately answer her question. He had never sat on a float before. Still, it was not this fact which silenced him. He had not been sure when he approached if Stella was crying or not. There was still something that looked suspiciously like the pathway of a tear upon the cheek next him, and though she was laughing now, it had not the sound of her usual laughter; it stirred in him a sense of tears.

”I think I shall confess at once,” he said finally, ”that I followed you. I wanted to talk to you without interruption. I might have called upon you at your home, of course, but I have not had the pleasure of meeting your family, and in this instance my business was with you.”

Stella gave a faint sigh of relief. She was glad it was business. She was used to business with Mr. Travers. She was not used to pleasure with him, and she was not in the mood for new experiences.

”I shall be glad to talk over anything with you about which I can be of use,” she said gently, ”and I think this is a beautiful place to do it in.”

”The rents,” said Mr. Travers, glancing critically at the silent houses, ”must be very low, necessarily low. I hope you do not often come here,”

he added after a pause. ”It is the kind of place in which I should strongly suspect drains. We might mention it to the sanitary inspector and ask him for a report upon it.”

”Oh, must we?” murmured Stella.

”Not if you would rather not,” said Mr. Travers, unexpectedly. ”In that case I would waive the question.”

Stella glanced at him in alarm. Was Mr. Travers going mad from overstrain at the town hall? He must be very nearly mad to come and sit upon a float with his secretary on Sat.u.r.day afternoon, and waive a question of drains.

”But that wouldn't be business,” she said gravely.

”Yes, it would,” said Mr. Travers, relentlessly. ”It is my immediate business to please you.”

Stella's alarm deepened; but it became solely for Mr. Travers. She did not mind if he was sane or not if only he refrained from saying anything that he would ultimately regret.

”I don't know whether you realize, Miss Waring,” Mr. Travers continued, ”that I am a very lonely man. I have no contemporary relatives. My father died when I was a young child. I lost my mother two years ago. My work has not entailed many friends.h.i.+ps. I began office work very young, and it has to a great extent absorbed me. I think I should be afraid to say it to any one but you,--it would sound laughable,--but my chief attachment of late years has been to a cat.”

It was curious that, though Mr. Travers had often been nervous of his secretary's humor, he understood that she would not laugh at him about his cat.

”Oh,” she cried, ”I hope it loves you as well. They won't sometimes, I know; you can pour devotion out on them, and they won't turn a hair. But when they do, it's so wonderfully rea.s.suring. Dogs will love almost any one, but cats discriminate. I do hope your cat discriminates toward you, Mr. Travers?”