Part 11 (1/2)

Slipping naturally into the most conventional groove either of word or deed, Cornelia eyed the suitcase inquisitively.

”What are you doing?” she asked thoughtlessly. ”Returning my presents?”

”You never gave me any presents!” said Stanton cheerfully.

”Why, didn't I?” murmured Cornelia slowly. Around her strained mouth a smile began to flicker faintly. ”Is that why you broke it off?” she asked flippantly.

”Yes, partly,” laughed Stanton.

Then Cornelia laughed a little bit, too.

After this Stanton lost no possible time in getting down to facts.

Stooping over from his chair exactly after the manner of peddlers whom he had seen in other people's houses, he unbuckled the straps of his suitcase, and turned the cover backward on the floor.

Cornelia followed every movement of his hand with vaguely perplexed blue eyes.

”Surely,” said Stanton, ”this is the weirdest combination of circ.u.mstances that ever happened to a man and a girl--or rather, I should say, to a man and two girls.” Quite accustomed as he now was to the general effect on himself of the whole unique adventure with the Serial-Letter Co. his heart could not help giving a little extra jump on this, the verge of the astonis.h.i.+ng revelation that he was about to make to Cornelia. ”Here,” he stammered, a tiny bit out of breath, ”here is the small, thin, tissue-paper circular that you sent me from the Serial-Letter Co. with your advice to subscribe, and there--”

pointing earnestly to the teeming suitcase,--”there are the minor results of--having taken your advice.”

In Cornelia's face the well-groomed expression showed sudden signs of immediate disorganization.

s.n.a.t.c.hing the circular out of his hand she read it hurriedly, once, twice, three times. Then kneeling cautiously down on the floor with all the dignity that characterized every movement of her body, she began to poke here and there into the contents of the suitcase.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He unbuckled the straps of his suitcase and turned the cover backward on the floor]

”The 'minor results'?” she asked soberly.

”Why yes,” said Stanton. ”There were several things I didn't have room to bring. There was a blanket-wrapper. And there was a--girl, and there was a--”

Cornelia's blonde eyebrows lifted perceptibly. ”A girl--whom you didn't know at all--sent you a blanket-wrapper?” she whispered.

”Yes!” smiled Stanton. ”You see no girl whom I knew--very well--seemed to care a hang whether I froze to death or not.”

”O--h,” said Cornelia very, very slowly, ”O--h.” Her eyes had a strange, new puzzled expression in them like the expression of a person who was trying to look outward and think inward at the same time.

”But you mustn't be so critical and haughty about it all,” protested Stanton, ”when I'm really trying so hard to explain everything perfectly honestly to you--so that you'll understand exactly how it happened.”

”I should like very much to be able to understand exactly how it happened,” mused Cornelia.

Gingerly she approached in succession the roll of sample wall-paper, the maps, the time-tables, the books, the little silver porringer, the intimate-looking sc.r.a.p of unfinished fancy-work. One by one Stanton explained them to her, visualizing by eager phrase or whimsical gesture the particularly lonesome and susceptible conditions under which each gift had happened to arrive.

At the great pile of letters Cornelia's hand faltered a trifle.

”How many did I write you?” she asked with real curiosity.

”Five thin ones, and a postal-card,” said Stanton almost apologetically.

Choosing the fattest looking letter that she could find, Cornelia toyed with the envelope for a second. ”Would it be all right for me to read one?” she asked doubtfully.

”Why, yes,” said Stanton. ”I think you might read one.”