Part 31 (1/2)

'Yes.'

'And--ah--I must ask thee if it is to his hurt?'

'It is not.'

'Then tell it to her at once, if it will make their meeting less embarra.s.sing to either; tell it--hus.h.!.+'

Almost as she spoke the door opened and June Jenrys entered the room, and never had she looked so charming. It was evident in every detail of her simple toilet that she had dressed with the purpose and the power to please and charm.

The gown was simply made, of some soft, creamy-tinted wool, that fell in long straight folds from her silken belt, and was drawn, soft and full, like the surplice of our grandmothers' day, about the shapely shoulders and across the breast; and the hat was black and broad, with curving brim and drooping plume, the same, in fact, worn by her on the now memorable day when we--the guard and I--saw her, all unconscious of the menacing Turks on Midway Plaisance. A soft, black glove with long, wrinkled wrists, and a long, slim umbrella, tightly furled, completed a charming picture of a New York girl par excellence.

As we left the house and I turned at the foot of the steps to lift my hat to Miss Ross, looking after us from the doorway, she waved her hand and sent me a significant glance, which I well understood. It meant, 'Speak, and speak boldly.'

When we had entered at the Fifty-seventh Street gate, and were crossing the bridge, I did speak, and boldly too, it seemed to me.

'Before we enter the hospital, Miss Jenrys,' I began, 'there is something which I think you ought to know. I have not spoken of it in your aunt's presence, because it is first and most your affair, to make known or to withhold for a time. Will you sit in that arbour where I first talked to yourself and Miss Ross? I see that it is unoccupied, fortunately.'

She a.s.sented promptly, and when we had entered the Nebraska House arbour, and were seated side by side upon the shadiest seat, she turned toward me an expectant look, and silently waited my pleasure.

Her face was grave and somewhat paler than usual, but there rested in her lovely eyes a look of fixed purpose, a clear, fine light as of some decision, made after doubt and hesitation, in which she now rested and felt strong.

She did not seem eager, as she sat beside me, only waiting, and her mind evidently was 'far away ahead.'

I came promptly to the point.

'What I have to say, Miss Jenrys, concerns our friend whom we are about to visit, as well as yourself.' She let her lashes droop, and slightly bent her head. 'And it has been in my mind,' I went on, 'for some time--in fact ever since I came to the conclusion that our friend was, in truth, the Mr. Lossing whom you named in the letter I was so bold as to read;' here she flushed hotly. 'And here permit me to say, Miss Jenrys, that no man ever read his own mother's letter more respectfully than I perused that letter of yours, searching through it for the address of its writer. I hope you will believe me when I say that I hesitated long, and put down the letter more than once, before I ventured to give it a second glance, and that no eye save mine read or saw one word of its contents while it remained in my possession.

When I met you first, and talked with you in this same spot, I wanted to say this to you, but I saw that you preferred to ignore this part of the affair----'

'I did,' she interrupted, with gentle dignity, reminding me of her aunt. 'I confess that at first I felt sore and sensitive about my poor letter, but that is over, Mr. Masters; you have made me again and again your debtor, even by that act, as I now see clearly. Let us not refer to that letter again.'

'But I must once more at least, and I beg you to bear with me if I seem unduly meddling with your affairs; they are our friend's affairs too, and I believe he has been grievously wronged.'

'Wronged?' She started, and her face flushed and paled in the same moment. 'How--how?'

'I will tell you. You may not be aware how much a few written lines can sometimes convey to one in my profession, especially when written by one who speaks frankly, as friend to friend; and when I had read that portion of your letter which describes the scene in the conservatory, I seemed to see it all.' I was speaking with my eyes upon the ripples of the little stream at our feet, into which, from time to time, I tossed a leaf or twig from the branches just overhead.

'When I had read that portion of the letter, Miss Jenrys,' I went on, 'before I had seen you or Lossing, I said to myself, ”She has been deceived--tricked!”'

'Tricked?' she whispered through pale lips, and then she drew herself erect, and awaited my next words.

'Miss Jenrys, I believe you know now whom I am about to accuse.

Yesterday I had a talk with Lossing, as long as the doctor would permit, and I, on my part, took him quite into my confidence. He knows me for what I am; he knows what I am doing. I told him, after consulting you, the story of the letter--of the brunette--everything.

Was I wrong?'

'No,' very slowly.

'And last I told him that I believed someone had played him a dastardly trick. Shall I tell you what he said to me?'