Part 18 (1/2)
ROBERT KERR.
It was as if Kerr himself had entered the room, masked and m.u.f.fled beyond recognition, and then, face to face with her, let fall his disguise. She gazed at the words, at the signature, thrilled and frightened. She looked at Harry's note, hesitated; caught a glimpse between the half-open doors of the two messengers waiting stolidly in the hall. Waiting for answers! Answers to such communications! She made a dash for the table where were pens and ink and on one sheet scrawled:
”Certainly. Bring him,” appending her initials; on the other the word ”Impossible,” and her full name. Then she hurried the letters into s.h.i.+ma's hands, lest her courage should fail her--lest she should regret her choice.
”Anywhere, at any time, to-night,” she repeated softly. Why, the man must be mad! Yet she permitted herself a moment of imagining what might have been if her answers had been reversed.
But no, she dared not meet Kerr's impetuous attacks yet. First she must get at Harry. And how was that to be managed if he insisted on surrounding himself with ”a jolly little party?”
She found a moment that evening in which to ask him to walk out to the Presidio with her the next morning. But he was going to Burlingame on the early train. He was woefully sorry. It was ages since he had had a moment with her alone, but at least he would see her that evening. She had not forgotten? They were going to that dinner--and then the reception afterward? Her suspicion that he was deliberately dodging wavered before his boyish, cheerful, unconscious face. And yet, following on the heels of his tendency to question and coerce her, this reticence was amazing. The next day would be lost with Harry beyond reach--twelve hours while Kerr was at the mercy of chance, and she was at the mercy of Kerr.
His tactics did not leave her breathing s.p.a.ce. She felt as the lilies wavering just beyond his reach. She remembered his ingenuity. She thought of the blows of his cane. Lucky for her she was not rooted like the lilies! The only safety was in keeping beyond his reach.
Yet when his card was brought up to her the next morning she looked at the printed name as wistfully as if it had been his face. It cost an effort to send down the cold fiction that she was not at home, and she could not deny herself the consolation of leaning on the bal.u.s.ter of the second landing, and listening for his step in the hall below. But there was no movement. Could it be possible he was waiting for her to come in?
Hus.h.!.+ That was the drawing-room door. But instead of Kerr, s.h.i.+ma emerged. He was heading for the stair with his little silver tray and upon it--a note. Oh, impudence! How dared he give her the lie, by the hand of her own butler! She stood her ground, and s.h.i.+ma delivered the missive as if it were most usual to find one's mistress beflounced in peignoir and petticoats, hanging breathless over the bal.u.s.ter.
”Take that back,” she said coldly, ”and tell him that I am out; and, s.h.i.+ma,”--she addressed the man's intelligence--”make him understand it.”
She watched the note departing. How she longed to call s.h.i.+ma back and open it! There was a pause--then Kerr emerged from the drawing-room. As he crossed the hall he glanced up at the stair and as much as was visible of the landing. He hadn't taken s.h.i.+ma's word for it, after all!
The vestibule door closed noiselessly after him, the outer door shut with a heavy sound. Yet before that sound had ceased to vibrate, she heard it shut again. Was he coming back? There was a presence in the vestibule very vaguely seen through the gla.s.s and lace of the inner door. Her heart beat with apprehension. The door opened upon Clara.
Flora precipitately retreated. She was more disturbed than relieved by the unexpected appearance. For Clara must have seen Kerr leave the house. Three times now within three days he had been found with her or waiting for her. She wondered if Clara would ask her awkward questions.
But Clara, when she entered Flora's dressing-room a few moments later with the shopping-list, instead of a question, offered a statement.
”I don't like that man,” she announced.
”Who?”
”That Kerr. I met him just now on the steps. Don't you feel there is something wrong about him?”
”Oh, I don't know,” said Flora vaguely.
Clara gave her a bright glance.
”But you weren't at home to him.”
”I'm not at home to any one this morning,” Flora answered evasively, feeling the probe of Clara's eyes. ”I'm feeling ill. I'm not going out this evening either. I think I'll ring up Burlingame and tell Harry.” It was in her mind that she might manage to make him stay with her while Clara went on to the reception.
”Burlingame! Harry!” Clara echoed in surprise. ”Why, he's in town. I saw him just now as I was coming up.”
”Are you sure?”
”Yes. He was walking up Clay from Kearney. I was in the car.”
”Why that--that is--” Flora stammered in her surprise. ”Then something must have kept him,” she altered her sentence quickly. But though this seemed the probable explanation she did not believe it. Harry walking toward Chinatown, when he had told her distinctly he would be in Burlingame! She thought of the goldsmith shop and there returned to her the memory of how Harry and the blue-eyed Chinaman had looked when she had turned from the window and seen them standing together in the back of the shop.
”You do look ill,” Clara remarked. ”Why don't you stay in bed, and not try to see any one?”
Flora murmured that that was her intention, but she was far from speaking the truth. She only waited to make sure of Clara's being in her own rooms to get out of the house and telephone to Harry.