Part 25 (1/2)

”Yes, Mother!” replied a dutiful voice from within.

”Come out on the gallery--Mr. Bowles is here. But she met some very nice people there--some of the real old families, you know--and I thought----”

The door opened at this point, and Bowles leapt to his feet in astonishment. It was a different Dixie that appeared before him--the same bewitching creature who had dazzled his eyes at the Wordsworth Club, and she wore the very same gown. And what a wonderful transformation it seemed to make in her--she was so quiet and demure now, and she greeted him in quite the proper manner.

”I was just telling Mr. Bowles, Dixie,” continued Mrs. Lee, still holding to her fixed idea, ”that you went out quite a little in New York--and perhaps you might have met back there.”

For a moment the two eyed each other shrewdly, each guessing how much the other had said, and then Bowles opened up the way.

”Why, really, Miss Lee,” he exclaimed, still gazing at her with admiring eyes, ”you do look familiar in that dress! Perhaps we have met in a crush, like s.h.i.+ps that pa.s.s in the night? May I ask at what function you wore this charming gown?”

”Yes, indeed, Mr. Bowles,” returned Dixie May; ”but, rather than run over the whole list and recall a winter's agony, let's take it for granted that we met. It's a fine, large place to come away from, isn't it--dear old New York? Wasn't the slush of those sidewalks something elegant? And that steam heat! My! It never gets as hot as that out here.

Yes, indeed, Mother, I'm sure Mr. Bowles and I have met before; but,”

she added, and here her voice changed, ”since he's traveling incognito, changing his name as a garment and not getting any letters from home, perhaps it's just as well not to dwell upon the matter.”

”Why, Dixie, child!” protested Mrs. Lee. ”What in the world do you mean?”

”Nothing at all, Mother, except that he is our guest. Shall we go in now to dinner?”

They went in, and throughout the rest of the evening Bowles was guiltily conscious of a startled mother's eyes which regarded him with anxious scrutiny at first and then became very resolute and stern. Mrs. Lee had solved her problem, whatever it was, and settled upon her duty. Bowles felt a social chill creep into the air as he rose to go, and he braced himself for some ultimatum; but his hostess did not speak her thoughts.

There was no further allusion to New York, or his alias, or the fact that he had acted a lie. All those things were taken for granted, and he left with a balked feeling, as if he had failed of some purpose. Her very silence clutched at his heart, and her pa.s.sive hand-touch as they parted. Dixie, too, seemed to share in the general aloofness. She had said good-night without any friendly grip of the fingers, looking at him very straight, as if to fathom his deceit.

Bowles lay awake that night and thought it out, and he saw where he had made his mistake. From the first his manner had been evasive almost to mendacity, and, with both Dixie and her mother, he had made a mystery of his past. Now the time for explanations was gone, and he was reaping his just reward. He should have taken Dixie into his confidence when they were alone beneath the cedars; he should have answered that question of hers when she asked it--but now it was too late.

”Mr. Bowles,” she had said, ”who are you, anyway?”

And when he had evaded her, she had never asked again. And now, through the same d.a.m.nable inept.i.tude, he had estranged her mother and lost his welcome at the big house. All the explanations in the world would not square him now, for one deceit follows another and his second word was no better than his first. He could see with half an eye that Mrs. Lee distrusted him. He must seem to her candid mind no less than a polite adventurer, a ne'er-do-weel young profligate from the East with intentions as dark as his past. Nor could he bring himself to blame her, for the inference was logical--if a man conceals his ident.i.ty and denies his acquaintances and friends, surely there must be something shameful that he is at such pains to hide.

But the way out? That was what kept Bowles awake. Certainly, if he were a gentleman, he would stay away from the house. Nor would it be wholly honorable to waylay Dixie May and explain. And, besides, there was nothing to explain. He had references, of course, but if he gave them, his aunt would discover his whereabouts and summon him home--and then there was Christabel!

The memory of those prearranged meetings at his aunt's swept over him, and he shuddered where he lay. Dear, pretty, patient Christabel! What if she should sense this conspiracy to make him marry her and lose that friendly smile? What if she should blush as he had blushed at each chance tete-a-tete, gazing nervously into his eyes to guess if he would yield? And to wonder if that was love! Ah no, he could never do that!

Rather than inflict such torture upon her he would flee to the depths of the wilderness and hide until she was married. But his safety lay only in flight, for his aunt was a resolute woman, with tears and sighs at her command, if all else failed. Yes, he must run away--that was the way out.

And it would solve all his problems at once. There would be no lame explanations to make at the house, no cheap jealousies with Hardy Atkins, no breaking of his cherished dream of seeing the West. He would move on into the White Mountains and explore their fastnesses with Brigham. Or, lacking Brigham, he would plunge into that wilderness alone.

The harsh clangor of Gloomy Gus's dishpan cut short his fitful sleep, and he rolled out of bed with his mind made up to quit. At breakfast he said nothing, bolting his food with the rest of them, and followed on to the horse corral for a private word with Brig. But right there fate played him a scurvy trick, and disrupted all his schemes, for as he stepped around behind the corral Hardy Atkins strode in upon him and made signs to certain of his friends.

”Now, lookee here, Mr. Man,” he said, and he said it quietly for once, ”you been four-flus.h.i.+n' around hyer long enough, and we give you warnin'

to git. We got yore record and we know what you're after, so don't hand us out any bull. Yore name ain't Bowles and you're aimin' at Dix, but she's got too many good friends. Now we've let you off easy, so far, but Gawd he'p you if we come ag'in. Ain't that so, boys?”

”You bet it is!” answered three or four, and the rest of them looked their disdain.

But an unreasoning anger swept over Bowles at the very first word, and he returned the sneer with interest.

”Mr. Atkins,” he said, ”you have threatened me before, but I am not afraid of you. You cannot frighten me away.”

”Oh, I cain't, cain't I?” jeered Hardy Atkins, while his friends rumbled threats from behind. ”Well, _poco p.r.o.nto_ you're liable to change yore mind. You come into this country on a Hinglish trot and we thought you was a sport, but now that we know better, you got to make good or git.