Part 5 (1/2)

At that moment there came a loud knock at the outer door, then a ring, followed by a cheerful voice calling through the window--”I say, Hagar, are you there? Shall I come in or wait on the mat till the slavey arrives.

* * * Oh, here she is--Salaam! Talofa! Aloha!--which is heathen for How do you do, G.o.d bless you, and All hail!”

These remarks were made in the pa.s.sage from the door through the hallway into the room. As Baron entered, Hagar and Mrs. Detlor were just coming from the studio. Both had ruled their features into stillness.

Baron stopped short, open mouthed, confused, when he saw Mrs. Detlor.

Hagar, for an instant, attributed this to a reason not in Baron's mind, and was immediately angry. For the man to show embarra.s.sment was an ill compliment to Mrs. Detlor. However, he carried off the situation, and welcomed the Afrikander genially, determining to have the matter out with him in some sarcastic moment later. Baron's hesitation, however, continued. He stammered, and was evidently trying to account for his call by giving some other reason than the real one, which was undoubtedly held back because of Mrs. Detlor's presence. Presently he brightened up and said, with an attempt to be convincing, ”You know that excursion this afternoon, Hagar? Well, don't you think we might ask the chap we met this morning--first rate fellow--no pleb--picturesque for the box seat--go down with the ladies--all like him--eh?”

”I don't see how we can,” replied Hagar coolly. Mrs. Detlor turned to the mantelpiece. ”We are full up; every seat is occupied--unless I give up my seat to him.”

Mrs. Detlor half turned toward them again, listening acutely. She caught Hagar's eyes in the mirror and saw, to her relief, that he had no intention of giving up his seat to Mark Telford. She knew that she must meet this man whom she had not seen for twelve years. She felt that he would seek her, though why she could not tell; but this day she wanted to forget her past, all things but one, though she might have to put it away from her ever after. Women have been known to live a lifetime on the joy of one day. Her eyes fell again on the mantelpiece, on Hagar's unopened letters. At first her eyes wandered over the writing on the uppermost envelope mechanically, then a painful recognition came into them. She had seen that writing before, that slow sliding scrawl unlike any other, never to be mistaken. It turned her sick. Her fingers ran up to the envelope, then drew back. She felt for an instant that she must take it and open it as she stood there. What had the writer of that letter to do with George Hagar? She glanced at the postmark. It was South Hampstead.

She knew that he lived in South Hampstead. The voices behind her grew indistinct; she forgot where she was. She did not know how long she stood there so, nor that Baron, feeling, without reason, the necessity for making conversation, had suddenly turned the talk upon a collision, just reported, between two vessels in the Channel. He had forgotten their names and where they hailed from--he had only heard of it, hadn't read it; but there was great loss of life. She raised her eyes from the letter to the mirror and caught sight of her own face. It was deadly pale. It suddenly began to waver before her and to grow black. She felt herself swaying, and reached out to save herself. One hand caught the side of the mirror. It was lightly hung. It loosened from the wall, and came away upon her as she wavered. Hagar had seen the action. He sprang forward, caught her, and pushed the mirror back. Her head dropped on his arm.

The young girl ran forward with some water as Hagar placed Mrs. Detlor on the sofa. It was only a sudden faintness. The water revived her. Baron stood dumbfounded, a picture of helpless anxiety.

”I oughtn't to have driveled about that accident,” he said. ”I always was a fool.”

Mrs. Detlor sat up, pale, but smiling in a wan fas.h.i.+on. ”I am all right now,” she said. ”It was silly of me--let us go, dear,” she added to the young girl; ”I shall be better for the open air--I have had a headache all morning. * * * No, please, don't accuse yourself, Mr. Baron, you are not at all to blame.”

”I wish that was all the bad news I have,” said Baron to himself as Hagar showed Mrs. Detlor to a landau. Mrs. Detlor asked to be driven to her hotel.

”I shall see you this afternoon at the excursion if you are well enough to go,” Hagar said to her.

”Perhaps,” she said with a strange smile. Then, as she drove away, ”You have not read your letters this morning.” He looked after her for a moment, puzzled by what she said and by the expression on her face.

He went back to the house abstractedly. Baron was sitting in a chair, smoking hard. Neither men spoke at first. Hagar went over to the mantel and adjusted the mirror, thinking the while of Mrs. Detlor's last words.

”You haven't read your letters this morning,” he repeated to himself. He glanced down and saw the letter which had so startled Mrs. Detlor.

”From Mrs. Gladney!” he said to himself. He glanced at the other letters.

They were obviously business letters. He was certain Mrs. Detlor had not touched them and had, therefore, only seen this one which lay on top.

”Could she have meant anything to do with this?” He tapped it upward with his thumb. ”But why, in the name of heaven, should this affect her? What had she to do with Mrs. Gladney, or Mrs. Gladney with her?”

With this inquiry showing in his eyes he turned round and looked at Baron meditatively but unconsciously. Baron, understanding the look, said, ”Oh, don't mind me. Read your letters. My business'll keep.”

Hagar nodded, was about to open the letter, but paused, went over to the archway and drew the curtains. Then he opened the letter. The body of it ran:

DEAR MR. HAGAR--I have just learned on my return from the Continent with the Brans...o...b..s that you are at Herridon. My daughter Mildred, whom you have never seen--and that is strange, we having known each other so long--is staying at the View House there with the Margraves, whom, also, I think, you do not know. I am going down to-morrow, and will introduce you all to each other. May I ask you to call on me there? Once or twice you have done me a great service, and I may prove my grat.i.tude by asking you to do another. Will this frighten you out of Herridon before I come? I hope not, indeed. Always gratefully yours,

IDA GLADNEY.

He thoughtfully folded the letter up, and put it in his pocket. Then he said to Baron, ”What did you say was the name of the pretty girl at the View House?”

”Mildred, Mildred Margrave--lovely, 'cometh up as a flower,' and all that.

You'll see her to-night.”

Hagar looked at him debatingly, then said, ”You are in love with her, Baron. Isn't it--forgive me--isn't it a pretty mad handicap?”

Baron ran his hand over his face in an embarra.s.sed fas.h.i.+on, then got up, laughed nervously, but with a brave effort, and replied: ”Handicap, my son, handicap? Of course, it's all handicap. But what difference does that make when it strikes you? You can't help it, can you? It's like loading yourself with gold, crossing an ugly river, but you do it. Yes, you do it just the same.”

He spoke with an affected cheerfulness, and dropped a hand on Hagar's shoulder. It was now Hagar's turn. He drew down the hand and wrung it as Baron had wrung his in the morning. ”You're a brick, Baron,” he said.