Part 17 (1/2)

”I beg your pardon,” he said. ”Why should you suppose any such thing?”

”I expect because it is true,” said Stella, quietly. ”Of course you don't growl or show your teeth, and your eyes aren't red; but n.o.body could suppose when you said 'Come in' just now that you wanted anybody to come in.”

”The chances were all in favor of its being somebody that I didn't want,” explained Julian, politely. ”For once they misled me. I apologize.”

Stella smiled; her eyes held his for a moment. She did not contradict him, but she let him see that she didn't believe him. ”If he was ever really sorry,” she thought, ”he wouldn't apologize. When he's polite, it's because he isn't anything else.”

”I came,” she explained, ”to ask you to lend me Professor Paulson's book on reindeer-moss. Will you tell me where it is and let me get it for myself, if Ostrog doesn't mind?”

To her surprise, Julian allowed her to find it for herself. Ostrog continued to growl, but without immediate menace. When she had found it, she took it across to Julian.

”Please don't run away,” he said quickly, ”unless you want to. Tell me what you intend to look up about the moss. I had a little tussle with Paulson over it once. He was an awfully able fellow, but he hadn't the health to get at his facts at first hand. That was unfortunate; second-hand accuracy leaks.”

Stella sat down near him, and in a minute they were launched into an eager discussion. She had typed the book herself, and had its facts at her fingers'-end. She presented a dozen facets to her questions, with a light on them from her dancing mind.

Julian differed, defended himself, and explained, till he found himself at length in the middle of an account of his last expedition. He pulled himself up abruptly.

”By Jove!” he exclaimed, ”what a dark horse you are! Do tell me how you come to know anything about such a subject. Did you smuggle yourself into an Arctic expedition as a stowaway, or have you been prospecting gold at Klondike with a six-shooter and a sleeping-sack? It's amazing what you know about the North.”

”It is not so uncanny as you think,” said Stella, quietly. ”I was Professor Paulson's secretary. For five years I studied the fauna and flora of arctic regions. I used to help him examine the tests brought back by explorers. He taught me how to understand and check climate and weather charts. All the collected specimens went through my hands. I did the drawings for this book, for instance. You know, a secretary is a kind of second fiddle. Give him a lead, and he catches up the music and carries it through as thoroughly, though not so loudly, as the first violin. I like being a second fiddle and I like the North.”

”That's odd,” said Julian, drawing his heavy eyebrows together. ”I had an idea I had met Professor Paulson's secretary before.”

”You are quite right,” said Stella; ”you did meet her before.”

Julian stared at her; his eyes hardened.

”Do you mean that it was you I met at Sir Francis Young's?” he asked her. ”You are Miss Young's great friend, then, are you not?”

Stella turned her eyes away from him. She hated to see him guarding himself against her.

”I was her friend,” she said in a low voice; ”but I have not seen her or heard from her for six months, nor have I written.”

Sir Julian still looked at her, but the sternness of his eyes decreased.

She sat meekly beside him, with her drooping head, like the snowdrops she had brought in with her from the March morning. She did not look like a woman who could be set, or would set herself, to spy upon him. He acquitted her of his worst suspicions, but his pride was up in arms against her knowledge.

”It's too stupid for me,” he said, ”not to have recognized you immediately; for I haven't in the least forgotten you or our talk. You said some charming things, Miss Waring; but fate, a little unkindly, has proved them not to be true.”

Stella turned her eyes back to his. She no longer felt any fear of him.

She was too sorry for him to be afraid.

”No,” she said eagerly, ”I was perfectly right. I said you were strong.

Things have happened to you,--horrible things,--but you're there; you're there as well as the things--in control of them. Why, look at what you've been telling me--the story of your last expedition! It's so fearfully exciting, and it's all, as you say, first-hand knowledge. You brought back with you the fruits of experience. Why don't you select and sort them and give them to the world?”

He looked at her questioningly.