Part 19 (1/2)

”Why, certainly! Am I the man to fail?”

”I don't know,” commented Father Speares--”I don't know. I never thought of you in that light, somehow. But if I can help you, remember that you were once my boy.”

Anthony held out his hand quickly, his voice trembling.

”You are generous--generous as you have always been, but--I am all right.”

They parted, Algarcife turning into a cross street. He walked slowly, and the hara.s.sed lines did not fade from his mouth. He seemed to have grown older within the last few months, and the fight he was making had bowed his shoulders and sown the seeds of future furrows upon his face.

At the corner he bought a box of sardines and a pound of crackers for Mariana, who liked a late supper. Then he crossed to The Gotham and ascended the stairs.

He found Mariana in a dressing-sack of pink flannel, sitting upon the bed, and engaged in manufacturing an opera-bonnet out of a bit of black gauze and a few pink rose-buds. She was trying it on as he entered, and, catching sight of him, did not remove it as she raised her hand warningly. ”Tell me if it is becoming before you kiss me,” she commanded, pressing her thimble against her lips.

Anthony drew back and surveyed her.

”Of course it is,” he replied; ”but what is it, anyway?”

Mariana laughed and leaned towards him.

”A bonnet, of course; not a coal-scuttle or a lamp-shade.”

Then she took it from her head and held it before her, turning it critically from side to side.

”Don't you think it might have a few violets against the hair, just above the left temple? I am sure I could take some out of my last summer's hat.”

She left the bed and stood upon a chair, to place the bonnet in a box upon the top of the wardrobe. ”As a scientific problem it should interest you,” she observed. ”I created it out of nothing.”

Anthony caught her as she descended from the chair.

”As a possible adornment for your head it interests me still more,” he replied.

”Because you haven't been married long enough to discover what an empty little head it is?”

”Because it is the dearest head in the world, and the wisest. But what a thriftless house-keeper, not to have set the table!” A door had been cut into his study, and he glanced through. ”Do you think you are still below Mason and Dixon's line, where time is not recognized?”

”I forgot it,” said Mariana; ”but there isn't any bread, so you must go after it. Oh, you didn't get sardines again, did you? I said potted ham--and it is really a very small chicken they sent us.”

”Well, no matter. It might have been a chop. By the way, I met Mr.

Speares--”

”Father Speares,” corrected Mariana.

”Mr. or Father, he's a nice old chap, isn't he?”

”He's a saint,” said Mariana. Then she grew serious. ”If you could have gone into the Church--honestly, I mean--how pleased he would have been, dearest.”

”Yes; but I couldn't, you know, and if I had I could not have married you. He is High Church, you see. Celibacy is his pet inst.i.tution.”