Part 62 (1/2)
Stirred by the glimpse of the refined face, and even more by the carriage of the little head under the dainty hat, Keith quickened his pace to obtain another glance at her. He had almost overtaken her when she stopped in front of a well-lighted window of a music-store. The light that fell on her face revealed to him a face of unusual beauty.
Something about her graceful pose as, with her dark brows slightly knitted, she bent forward and scanned intently the pieces of music within, awakened old a.s.sociations in Keith's mind, and sent him back to his boyhood at Elphinstone. And under an impulse, which he could better justify to himself than to her, he did a very audacious and improper thing. Taking off his hat, he spoke to her. She had been so absorbed that for a moment she did not comprehend that it was she he was addressing. Then, as it came to her that it was she to whom this stranger was speaking, she drew herself up and gave him a look of such withering scorn that Keith felt himself shrink. Next second, with her head high in the air, she had turned without a word and sped up the street, leaving Keith feeling very cheap and subdued.
But that glance from dark eyes flas.h.i.+ng with indignation had filled Keith with a sensation to which he had long been a stranger. Something about the simple dress, the high-bred face with its fine scorn; something about the patrician air of mingled horror and contempt, had suddenly cleaved through the worldly crust that had been encasing him for some time, and reaching his better self, awakened an emotion that he had thought gone forever. It was like a lightning-flash in the darkness.
He knew that she had entered his life. His resolution was taken on the instant. He would meet her, and if she were what she looked to be--again Elphinstone and his youth swept into his mind. He already was conscious of a sense of protection; he felt curiously that he had the right to protect her. If he had addressed her, might not others do so? The thought made his blood boil. He almost wished that some one would attempt it, that he might a.s.sert his right to show her what he was, and thus retrieve himself in her eyes. Besides, he must know where she lived. So he followed her at a respectful distance till she ran up the steps of one of the better cla.s.s of houses and disappeared within. He was too far off to be able to tell which house it was that she entered, but it was in the same block with Norman Wentworth's house.
Keith walked the avenue that night for a long time, pondering how he should find and explain his conduct to the young music-teacher, for a music-teacher he had decided she must be. The next evening, too, he strolled for an hour on the avenue, scanning from a distance every fair pa.s.ser-by, but he saw nothing of her.
Mrs. Creamer's b.a.l.l.s were, as Norman had once said, _the_ b.a.l.l.s of the season. ”Only the rich and the n.o.ble were expected.”
Mrs. Creamer's house was one of the great, new, brown-stone mansions which had been built within the past ten years upon ”the avenue.” It had cost a fortune. Within, it was so sumptuous that a special work has been ”gotten up,” printed, and published by subscription, of its ”art treasures,” furniture, and upholstery.
Into this palatial residence--for flattery could not have called it a home--Keith was admitted, along with some hundreds of other guests.
To-night it was filled with, not flowers exactly, but with floral decorations; for the roses and orchids were lost in the designs--garlands, circles, and banks formed of an infinite number of flowers.
Mrs. Creamer, a large, handsome woman with good shoulders, stood just inside the great drawing-room. She was gorgeously attired and shone with diamonds until the eyes ached with her splendor. Behind her stood Mr.
Creamer, looking generally mightily bored. Now and then he smiled and shook hands with the guests, at times drawing a friend out of the line back into the rear for a chat, then relapsing again into indifference or gloom.
Keith was presented to Mrs. Creamer. She only nodded to him. Keith moved on. He soon discovered that a cordial greeting to a strange guest was no part of the convention in that society. One or two acquaintances spoke to him, but he was introduced to no one; so he sauntered about and entertained himself observing the people. The women were in their best, and it was good.
Keith was pa.s.sing from one room to another when he became aware that a man, who was standing quite still in the doorway, was, like himself, watching the crowd. His face was turned away; but something about the compact figure and firm chin was familiar to him. Keith moved to take a look at his face. It was Dave Dennison.
He had a twinkle in his eye as he said: ”Didn't expect to see me here?”
”Didn't expect to see myself here,” said Keith.
”I'm one of the swells now”; and Dave glanced down at his expensive s.h.i.+rt-front and his evening suit with complacency. ”Wouldn't Jake give a lot to have such a bosom as that? I think I look just as well as some of 'em?” he queried, with a glance about him.
Keith thought so too. ”You are dressed for the part,” he said. Keith's look of interest inspired him to go on.
”You see, 'tain't like 'tis down with us, where you know everybody, and everything about him, to the number of drinks he can carry.”
”Well, what do you do here?” asked Keith, who was trying to follow Mr.
Dennison's calm eye as, from time to time, it swept the rooms, resting here and there on a face or following a hand. He was evidently not merely a guest.
”Detective.”
”A detective!” exclaimed Keith.
Dave nodded. ”Yes; watchin' the guests, to see they don't carry off each other. It is the new ones that puzzle us for a while,” he added. ”Now, there is a lady acting very mysteriously over there.” His eye swept over the room and then visited, in that casual way it had, some one in the corner across the room. ”I don't just seem to make her out. She looks all right--but--?”
Keith followed the glance, and the blood rushed to his face and then surged back again to his heart, for there, standing against the wall, was the young girl whom he had spoken to on the street a few evenings before, who had given him so merited a rebuff. She was a patrician-looking creature and was standing quite alone, observing the scene with keen interest. Her girlish figure was slim; her eyes, under straight dark brows, were beautiful; and her mouth was almost perfect.
Her fresh face expressed unfeigned interest, and though generally grave as she glanced about her, she smiled at times, evidently at her own thoughts.
”I don't just make her out,” repeated Mr. Dennison, softly. ”I never saw her before, as I remember, and yet--!” He looked at her again.
”Why, I do not see that she is acting at all mysteriously,” said Keith.
”I think she is a music-teacher. She is about the prettiest girl in the room. She may be a stranger, like myself, as no one is talking to her.”