Part 9 (1/2)

”Yes, everything,” nodded the small grieved face. Yet the tragic, snuffling little sob that accompanied the words only served to add a most entrancing, tip-nosed vivacity to the statement.

”Oh, of course I know,” she added hastily. ”Oh, of course I know perfectly well that I oughtn't to have come alone to your rooms like this!” Madly she began to wind the pink veil round and round and round her cheeks like a bandage. ”Oh, of course I know perfectly well that it wasn't even remotely proper! But don't you think--don't you think that if you've always been awfully, awfully strict and particular with yourself about things all your life, that you might have risked--safely--just one little innocent, mischievous sort of a half hour? Especially if it was the only possible way you could think of to square up everything and add just a little wee present besides? 'Cause nothing, you know, that you can _afford_ to give ever seems exactly like giving a really, truly present. It's got to hurt you somewhere to be a 'present'. So my coming here this evening--this way--was altogether the bravest, scariest, unwisest, most-like-a-present-feeling-thing that I could possibly think of to do--for you. And even if you hadn't spoiled everything, I was going away to-morrow just the same forever and ever and ever!”

Cautiously she perched herself on the edge of a chair, and thrust her narrow, gold-embroidered toes into the wide, blunt depths of her overshoes. ”Forever and ever!” she insisted almost gloatingly.

”Not forever and _ever_!” protested Stanton vigorously. ”You don't think for a moment, do you, that after all this wonderful, jolly friends.h.i.+p of ours, you're going to drop right out of sight as though the earth had opened?”

Even the little quick, forward lurch of his shoulders in the chair sent the girl scuttling to her feet again, one overshoe still in her hand.

Just at the edge of the door-mat she turned and smiled at him mockingly. Really it had been a long time since she had smiled.

”Surely you don't think that you'd be able to recognize me in my street clothes, do you?” she asked bluntly.

Stanton's answering smile was quite as mocking as hers.

”Why not?” he queried. ”Didn't I have the pleasure of choosing your winter hat for you? Let me see,--it was brown, with a pink rose--wasn't it? I should know it among a million.”

With a little shrug of her shoulders she leaned back against the door and stared at him suddenly out of her big red-brown eyes with singular intentness.

”Well, _will_ you call it an equivalent to one week's subscription?”

she asked very gravely.

Some long-sleeping devil of mischief awoke in Stanton's senses.

”Equivalent to one whole week's subscription?” he repeated with mock incredulity. ”A whole week--seven days and nights? Oh, no! No! No! I don't think you've given me, yet, more than about--four days' worth to think about. Just about four days' worth, I should think.”

Pus.h.i.+ng the pink veil further and further back from her features, with plainly quivering hands, the girl's whole soul seemed to blaze out at him suddenly, and then wince back again. Then just as quickly a droll little gleam of malice glinted in her eyes.

”Oh, all right then,” she smiled. ”If you really think I've given you only four days' and nights' worth of thoughts--here's something for the fifth day and night.”

Very casually, yet still very accurately, her right hand reached out to the k.n.o.b of the door.

”To cancel my debt for the fifth day,” she said, ”do you really 'honest-injun' want to know who I am? I'll tell you! First, you've seen me before.”

”What?” cried Stanton, plunging forward in his chair.

Something in the girl's quick clutch of the door-k.n.o.b warned him quite distinctly to relax again into his cus.h.i.+ons.

”Yes,” she repeated triumphantly. ”And you've talked with me too, as often as twice! And moreover you've danced with me!”

Tossing her head with sudden-born daring she reached up and s.n.a.t.c.hed off her curly black wig, and shook down all around her such a great, s.h.i.+ning, utterly glorious ma.s.s of mahogany colored hair that Stanton's astonishment turned almost into faintness.

”What?” he cried out. ”What? You say I've seen you before? Talked with you? Waltzed with you, perhaps? Never! I haven't! I tell you I haven't! I never saw that hair before! If I had, I shouldn't have forgotten it to my dying day. Why--”

With a little wail of despair she leaned back against the door. ”You don't even remember me _now_?” she mourned. ”Oh dear, dear, dear! And I thought _you_ were so beautiful!” Then, woman-like, her whole sympathy rushed to defend him from her own accusations. ”Oh, well, it was at a masquerade party,” she acknowledged generously, ”and I suppose you go to a great many masquerades.”

Heaping up her hair like so much molten copper into the hood of her cloak, and trying desperately to snare all the wild, escaping tendrils with the softer mesh of her veil, she reached out a free hand at last and opened the door just a crack.

”And to give you something to think about for the sixth day and night,” she resumed suddenly, with the same strange little glint in her eyes, ”to give you something to think about the sixth day, I'll tell you that I really was hungry--when I asked you for your toast. I haven't had anything to eat to-day; and--”