Part 31 (1/2)

”That was really clever of you. Chief Roberts has informed me that he is a professional, wanted on several other charges. When he sends word I want you to press the charge for me. Of course this will not appear in the newspapers, so please say nothing to any one about it.”

As Armitage nodded, she looked at him closely.

”How long do you intend to stay with us, McCall?”

Armitage started.

”Why--I--I--” he paused.

”Oh, no matter. I thought, perhaps, you might be ambitious to join the police force. I think I could help you.”

Jack, inwardly raging, flushed and glanced at her uncertainly.

”Thank you,” he said, ”I 'll consider--I--I 'll let you know.”

”Hang her,” he said to himself as he walked toward the garage.

”Deliver me from an old woman who thinks she has a sense of humor.”

Ronald Wellington was a man past fifty, a man whose stature was as large as his mind. He had a shock of gray hair; brilliant hazel eyes like Anne's, but overshadowed by s.h.a.ggy brows; high cheek bones, and straight lips hidden by a heavy gray mustache. It was said of him that his clothing was only pressed when new and that he purchased a new hat only under the combined pressure of his wife and daughter. He had an immense voice which could be gruff or pleasing, as he willed; in all, a big, strong, wholesome personality, unconventional, but in no sense unrefined. He was in striking contrast to his dapper crony, Robert Marie, who accompanied him from the yacht, a man whose distinction lay in his family, his courtly manners of the old school, and his connoisseurs.h.i.+p of wines.

Mrs. Wellington waited on the veranda, but Anne, her brothers, and Sara were at the landing as the gangway of the yacht was lowered. Ronald Wellington seized Anne by the elbows, an old trick of his, and as she stiffened them he lifted her to his face and kissed her. Ronald he slapped on the back, and as for the more st.u.r.dy little Royal, he lifted him high in the air and placed him on his shoulder, smiling and nodding pleasantly to Sara. Sara waited for Robert Marie, and thus the party walked to the house. Mrs. Wellington advanced to the rail, smiling, and her husband, setting Royal on the ground, reached up, seized her hands, and drew her face down to his.

”Well, girl,” he said, ”glad to see me?”

She withdrew her lips and as Sara looked at her, with perhaps a little pathos in her eyes, she saw, spreading over her face that expression, the beauty and charm and inspiration of which are ever the same, in youth and in age, in the countenances of those in whom love still abides unchanging.

They sat on the porch for a few minutes and then, having breakfasted on the _Mayfair_, Mr. Wellington went to his study off the library, where Mrs. Wellington joined him.

”Well, Ronald,” she said, ”Prince Koltsoff is here.”

”Yes,” he said, ”so you--and the newspapers have told me. What is he--another Ivan?”

”Not in any way. He and Anne seem to be getting on finely.”

Mr. Wellington looked at her.

”My mind was so filled with that Northern Atlantic matter last month when you talked of your prince,” he said, ”that I don't think I did the question justice. It was too far off--and the railroad mess was so confoundedly near. Now then, let's have it.”

”How--what do you mean?” asked Mrs. Wellington, a bit uneasily.

”What have you been trying to do, Belle?”

”Why, I have n't been trying to do anything. The situation has shaped itself without any effort on my part.”

”You mean Anne loves the Russian! Bos.h.!.+ How long has he been here--this is the third day!” The room rang with his laughter.

”I did not say that she loved him. I said they seemed to be getting on.”

Mr. Wellington clasped his big hands over his knees and gazed at the floor. ”Belle,” he said, after a few minutes, ”the idea of Anne living away off in a foreign country does n't swallow easily. Life is too short--and, Belle, I don't think you have ever loved Anne quite as I have.”

Mrs. Wellington thought for a moment of the adoration which this big man had always held for their daughter--an emotion in no way conflicting with his conjugal devotion and yet equally tremendous, and smiled without a trace of jealousy.