Part 12 (1/2)

”Fresh pork or steak? Fried potatoes,” she said.

Courthorne, who could not see her as he was sitting, started involuntarily. The voice was, at least, very like one he had often listened to, and the resemblance brought him a little shock of disgust as well as uneasiness. Gambler and outcast as he was, there was a certain fastidiousness in him, and it did not seem fitting that a girl with a voice like the one he remembered should have to ask whether one would take pork or steak in a little fourth-rate hotel.

”Take them right along, Ailly,” said the man next to him. ”Why don't you begin at the top where Potter's waiting?”

Then Courthorne looked around and for a moment; set his lips tight, while the girl would have dropped the tray had he not stretched out a hand and seized it. A dark flush swept into her face and then as suddenly faded out of it, leaving her very pale. She stood gazing at him, and the fingers of one hand quivered on the tray, which he still held. He was, as it happened, the first to recover himself, and there was a little sardonic gleam in his eyes as he lifted down one of the plates.

”Well,” he said, ”I guess Potter will have to wait. I'll take steak.”

The others had their backs to the girl, and by the time one or two of them turned round she was quietly helping Courthorne's companion; but it was a moment or two before Courthorne commenced to eat, for the waitress was certainly Ailly Blake. It was as certain that she had recognized him, which was, however, by no means astonis.h.i.+ng, and this promised another complication, for he was commencing to realize that since Winston had gone to Silverdale it would be convenient that Courthorne as such should cease to exist. He fancied that should any of the men he was acquainted with happen to come across Winston at Silverdale--which was, however, most unlikely--they might be deceived by the resemblance between himself and the farmer; but it was hardly to be expected that Ailly Blake would fail to be sure of him in any circ.u.mstances and anywhere. He accordingly decided that he must have an interview with her as soon as possible, and, since he had been in many tight places before, in the meanwhile went on tranquilly with his supper.

The meal was over, and the men cl.u.s.tered around the stove when he gathered up one or two of the plates and laid them ready as the girl moved along the table. She glanced at him for a moment, with startled eyes. A spot of crimson showed in her cheek.

”I want a word with you,” he said.

Ailly Blake flashed a swift glance round the room, and Courthorne noticed with a little smile that it was one man in particular her gaze rested on; but neither Potter nor any of the others seemed to be observing them at that moment.

”Then open the second door down the corridor in about twenty minutes,”

she said.

She moved away and left him to join the others about the stove, until the time she mentioned had elapsed, when he sauntered out of the room and opened the door she had indicated. It led into a little room apparently used as a household store. Here Ailly Blake was standing, while a litter of forks, spoons, and nickeled knives showed what her occupation had been. Courthorne sat down on a table and looked at her with a little smile, though she stood intent, and quivering a little.

”Well,” she said, almost harshly, ”what is it you want?”

Courthorne laughed. ”Need you ask? Is it astonis.h.i.+ng that I was anxious to see you? I don't think it's necessary to point out that you are quite as good to look at as ever.”

The girl's lips trembled a little, and it was evident that she put a constraint upon herself.

”You haven't changed either,” she said bitterly. ”You have still the smooth tongue and the laugh in your eyes that should warn folks against it. I listened to it once, and it brought me black shame and sorrow.”

”I almost fancy, Ailly, that if I wanted you to very much you would listen again.”

The girl shrank from him a little and then straightened herself suddenly and faced him with a flash in her eyes.

”No,” she said. ”Once I would have put my hand in the fire for you; but when you left me in that dance house I knew all there was to know of you,--and I hoped you might never come in my way again. Shamed as I am, I could not fall so low as you did then.”

”I don't know that I'm very proud of the part I played,” and though Courthorne smiled there was a faint flush in his face. ”Still, you see, I hadn't a dollar then, and what could I do? Any way, that's done with, and I was wondering if you would let me congratulate you. Potter seems to be a general favorite.”

He saw the apprehension once more creep into the girl's eyes and noticed the little tremor in her voice as she said, ”You have heard of it? Of course, you would. What do you mean to do?”

”Nothing,” and Courthorne smiled rea.s.suringly. ”Why should I do anything? After all, I owe you a little reparation. Silence is easy and in our case, I think, advisable. Presumably you are as fond of the worthy Potter as you were of me, and there is no doubt that he is considerably more deserving of affection.”

His good-humored acquiescence was in one respect almost brutal, and the girl winced under it, in spite of her evident relief.

”Lance,” she said, with a curious forceful gravity, ”Frank Potter is such a man as you could never be. There can't be many like him. As I said, there was a time when I would have slaved for you and starved with you cheerfully; but you threw me off,--and, now this man who is big and strong enough to forget what you brought me to has given me a chance to wipe out the past, I do not think I need be afraid of you.

At first I was a little so, but it wasn't altogether for myself. I want to warn you. If you try to make mischief he will kill you.”

”Ah,” said Courthorne quietly. ”Well, it wouldn't be very astonis.h.i.+ng if he attempted it, and n.o.body would blame him; but I have, as it happens, no intention of provoking him. After all, it was my fault, and you were too good for me, Ailly.”

He stopped a moment and smiled, for there was in him a certain half-whimsical cruelty. ”Still, perhaps, it's a little rough on the excellent Potter, though from what you said one would think that you had told him--something.”