Part 59 (2/2)

”I thought you said he'd gone to Covington to see her off,” I said, turning to the young man's father with a grin.

”Not the same girl,” said he succinctly, squinting his eyes. ”That's the little Parsons girl from Richmond. He was to _meet_ her at Covington. Jasper is a scientific b.u.t.terfly. He makes both ends meet,--nearly always. Now no one but a genius could have fixed it up to see one girl off and meet another on the same train.”

Later on, Jasper, Jr., and I strolled over to the casino verandah, the chatty Miss Parsons between us, but leaning a shade nearer to young t.i.tus than to me, although she appeared to be somewhat overwhelmed at meeting a real live author. Mr. t.i.tus, as was his habit, hurried on ahead of us. I afterwards discovered he had a dread of pneumonia.

”Aline never said a word about your coming, John,” said Jasper, Jr.

He called me John with considerable gusto. ”She's learning how to hold her tongue.”

”It happens that she didn't know I was coming,” said I drily. He whistled.

”She's off somewhere with Amberdale. Ever meet him? He's one of the finest chaps I know. You'll like him, Miss Parsons. He's not at all like a Britisher.”

”But I like the British,” said she.

”Then I'll tell him to spread it on a bit,” said j.a.ppy obligingly.

”Great horseman, he is. Got some ripping nags in the New York show next week, and he rides like a dream. Watch him pull down a few ribbons and rosettes. Sure thing.”

”Your father told me that the Countess was off riding with him and another chap,--off to Fa.s.sifern, I believe.”

”For luncheon. They do it three or four times a week. Not for me. I like waiters with s.h.i.+rt fronts and nickle tags.”

Alone with me in the casino half an hour later, he announced that it really looked serious, this affair between Aline and his lords.h.i.+p.

I tried to appear indifferent,--a rather pale effort, I fear.

”I think I am in on the secret, j.a.ppy,” said I soberly.

He stared. ”Has she ever said anything to you, old chap, that would lead you to believe she's keen about him?”

I temporised. ”She's keen about somebody, my son; that's as far as I will go.”

”Then it must be Amberdale. I'm on to her all right, all right. I know women. She's in love, hang it all. If you know a thing about 'em, you can spot the symptoms without the x-rays. I've been hoping against hope, old man. I don't want her to marry again. She's had all the h.e.l.l she's ent.i.tled to. What's the matter with women, anyhow? They no sooner get out of one muddle than they begin looking around for another. Can't be satisfied with good luck.”

”But every one speaks very highly of Lord Amberdale. I'm sure she can't be making a mistake in marrying him.”

”I wish she'd pick out a good, steady, simplified American, just as an experiment. We're not so darned bad, you know. Women can do worse than to marry Americans.”

”It is a matter of opinion, I fancy. At any rate we can't go about picking out husbands for people who have minds of their own.”

”Well, some one in our family picked out a lemon for Aline the first time, let me tell you that,” said he, scowling.

”And she's doing the picking for herself this time, I gather.”

”I suppose so,” said he gloomily.

I have visited the popular and almost historic Fa.s.sifern farm a great many times in my short career, but for the life of me I cannot understand what attraction it possesses that could induce people to go there for luncheon and then spend a whole afternoon lolling about the place. But that seems to have been precisely what the Countess and his lords.h.i.+p did on the day of my arrival at the Homestead. The ”other chap,” Skerry, came riding home alone at three o'clock. She did not return until nearly six. By that time I was in a state of suppressed fury that almost drove me to the railway station with a single and you might say childish object in view.

I had a pleasant visit with Mrs. t.i.tus, who seemed overjoyed to see me. In fact, I had luncheon with her. Mr. t.i.tus, it appeared, never ate luncheon. He had a dread of typhoid, I believe, and as he already possessed gout and insomnia and an intermittent tendency to pain in his abdomen, and couldn't drink anything alcoholic or eat anything starchy, I found myself wondering what he really did for a living.

Mrs. t.i.tus talked a great deal about Lord Amberdale. She was most tiresome after the first half hour, but I must say that the luncheon was admirable. I happened to be hungry. Having quite made up my mind that Aline was going to marry Amberdale, I proceeded to upset the theory that a man in love is a creature without gastronomical aspirations by vulgarly stuffing myself with half a lamb chop, a slice of b.u.t.tered bread and nine pickles.

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