Part 14 (1/2)

Mrs. Pennington, pacing uneasily back and forth, glanced at the music on the piano rack.

”Oh, stay at home, my heart, and rest, Home-keeping hearts are happiest,”

it admonished her. In this disarming atmosphere she began to feel herself the victim of some wretched dream. Yet here in her bag was Margaret Elizabeth's note, found awaiting her on her return from Chicago an hour ago.

In it her niece apologised contritely for the inexcusable manner in which she had spoken, and continued: ”It makes me unhappy, dearest Aunt Eleanor, to think of disappointing you, for you have been the kindest aunt in the world, but I have discovered in the last few days what I ought to have known all along, that I cannot marry Mr.

McAllister. The reason is there is some one else. He is neither rich nor of distinguished family, but there are things that count for more, at least to me. I shall see you very soon, and explain more fully.

In the meantime think kindly, if you can, of your niece,

MARGARET ELIZABETH.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: MRS. GERRARD PENNINGTON]

This as it stood was bad enough, wrecking her dearest hopes at the moment when they had seemed most secure; but taken in connection with a story related in artless innocence by her travelling companion of yesterday, Teddy Brown, to use one of that gentleman's cherished phrases, it spelled tragedy.

The Reporter had not been bent on mischief. Far from it. He was merely grappling bravely with the task of being agreeable to the great lady.

Surely it was but natural that in the course of a long conversation the Candy Man's curious resemblance to Augustus should suggest itself as a topic; and given a gleam of something like interest in his companion's eyes, it was easy to continue from bad to worse.

He lived in the same apartment house as Virginia, and from her he had heard of the Christmas tree, and the Candy Man's presence on the occasion; also of that old accident on the corner in which the Candy Man had figured as Miss Bentley's rescuer. No wonder those intuitions regarding a person who was not Augustus should have risen to torture Mrs. Pennington. All this circ.u.mstantial evidence was very black against Margaret Elizabeth, seemingly so honest and frank. No wonder Mrs.

Pennington was distraught.

Meanwhile, wherever her heart might be, Margaret Elizabeth herself was out. Uncle Bob, coming in, paper in hand, to greet the visitor cordially, could not imagine where she had gone, and peered around the room as if after all she might have escaped their notice. If she wasn't in, he was confident she would be, in the course of a few minutes, which confidence was not a logical deduction from known facts, but merely an untrustworthy inference, born of his surprise at finding her out at all.

Placing a chair for Mrs. Pennington, he took one himself and regarded her genially. Some minutes of polite conversation followed, in the course of which Mrs. Pennington, concealing her agitation, spoke of her journey to Chicago in quest of colonial furnis.h.i.+ngs. Mr. Vandegrift in his turn brought forward Florida and orange groves.

But Margaret Elizabeth delayed her coming, and Mrs. Pennington could stand it no longer. ”Mr. Vandegrift,” she began, after the silence that followed the last word on oranges, ”I regret that my niece is not here, yet it may be as well to speak to you first. I may say, to make an appeal to you. You are, I am sure, fond of Margaret Elizabeth.” She played nervously with the fastening of her shopping bag.

Uncle Bob looked at her in surprise, then at the toe of his shoe. ”I think I may safely admit it,” he owned, crossing his knees and nodding his head.

”Then, Mr. Vandegrift, I beseech you, with all the feeling of which I am capable, to unite with me in saving this misguided girl.” At this point all her intuitions and fears rallied around Mrs. Pennington, and gave a quiver to her voice.

Uncle Bob was astonished at her tone, and said so.

”I a.s.sure you, Mr. Vandegrift, I have her own word for it.” She produced a note from her bag.

”Her word for what?” he asked.

”Why, for--oh, Mr. Vandegrift, let us not waste time in futile fencing.

You must know that Margaret Elizabeth has deceived me; has been guilty of base ingrat.i.tude; has been meeting clandestinely a person--a mere adventurer. I can scarcely bring myself to say it. My brother Richard's daughter!” Mrs. Pennington had recourse to her handkerchief.

Uncle Bob uncrossed his knees and sat bolt upright. ”Madame,” he exclaimed, ”I am sorry for your distress, whatever its cause, but let me a.s.sure you, you are under some grave mistake. My niece has met no one clandestinely, and is incapable of deceit and treachery.”

”Do I understand then that it was with your connivance?”

”I have connived at nothing, Madame, and I know of no adventurer.” Uncle Bob took his penknife from his pocket and tapped on the table with it.

His manner was legal in the extreme. He was enjoying himself.

Mrs. Pennington looked over her handkerchief. ”But she says, herself----”