XX
The days passed by with nothing to justify Eleanor's apprehensions resulting from Ralph Buckner's presence in New York, so her fears vanished, and with them the necessity of disturbing her husband's tranquillity with this confidence which already had been so long postponed. Gorham's sudden trip to Washington made this even more natural. Alice had told her of Covington's proposal, and was eager to discuss the situation from every possible standpoint. To the older woman the girl's attitude toward Allen seemed heartless, yet, knowing her husband's feeling in the matter, she decided that it was wiser to leave the young people to solve their own problem. Youth is ever heartless in its attitude toward others, and it is only by its own suffering that it learns the lesson of consideration. Eleanor sought to impress Alice with the importance of being sure of her own heart before making her final decision, and encouraged her to take plenty of time. She would have hesitated to do this, on her husband's account, except that with Allen so hopelessly out of the running the delay could do no harm. Alice must make no error, Eleanor kept repeating to herself, recalling with painful vividness the result of her own mistaken act of duty.
Covington became a constant visitor at the Gorham home, assuming more and more the prerogatives of an accepted suitor. His attentions were assiduous and his companionship was so agreeable that Alice considered the arrangement ideal. Each time he urged her to give him a definite reply she begged off in such a playful, girlish fashion that Covington mildly acquiesced, feeling that each day's association made the situation that much more favorable to him. And this courtship, curious as it was, proved not unpleasant to him. Much to his own surprise, he began to find himself really fond of this young girl, who kept him constantly on the qui vive to follow her from the absurdity of girlish conceits to the opposite extreme of mature discussion of subjects ordinarily far beyond the grasp of her years. It whetted his interest and possessed a decided fascination for him, he admitted to himself more than once as he left the house to return to his own apartment, wearing a satisfied smile of patronizing indulgence. Had it not been for the business necessities, and the importance of actually becoming her husband before anything occurred to disturb his relations with Gorham, he would have preferred to have things run on indefinitely as they were.
During this time Allen found Covington's attitude toward him completely changed. It would have hurt the older man's self-respect to admit that the boy could in any way be looked upon as a rival; but young girls are uncertain quantities, and it had been necessary for Alice to prove that she was beyond this danger-point before Covington decided that Allen was a promising youngster, after all, and, as Stephen Sanford's son, entitled at least to being noticed.
Allen, during the same period, and perhaps because of the same conditions, had grown to regard Covington with even more cordial aversion. The only positive grievance he had against him was the success he had gained with Alice; but, in an undefined way, he felt instinctively that this man possessed every Machiavellian attribute in the calendar of dishonor. With an effort to be just, Allen mentally made a generous discount to offset any possible prejudice, but even then Covington measured up shockingly bad. If Alice had insisted on a proof of the statements he made against him to her, he would have found himself lacking ammunition; when Gorham had asked him point-blank what evidence he had to substantiate his accusations, he had been unable to give any, and this, he realized, had hurt him in the eyes of his chief.
So now the boy proposed to collect evidence, with the self-acknowledged purpose of helping Gorham and of saving Alice, entirely overlooking any personal interest in the undertaking. Covington's first overtures came just at this time and were coldly received; but as Allen considered the matter, he concluded that he would learn to "purr" too, taking lessons in this gentle art from the one man whom he acknowledged to be its past master.
Gorham was surprised by the change in their relations as he saw it, and the boy at once rose in his estimation. Allen had evidently taken to heart the advice given him during their last interview, and had proved himself big enough to rise above his jealousies and his disappointment. Gorham, guided by Eleanor's judgment, had refrained even from expressing to Alice his strong desire that she should marry Covington, but with Allen already self-effaced and with Alice accepting Covington's attentions, even though as yet uncommitted, all was progressing to his satisfaction.
Allen's duties still took him frequently to the Gorham house, but he saw Alice only casually, as he made no effort to force himself upon her. She was too much engrossed with the new element which had entered her life to concern herself particularly, but she was negatively grateful to him for not making the present condition unpleasant. She wanted to keep him as a friend, and told him so frankly, but that could only be so long as he accepted things as he found them.
But any lack of enthusiasm on the part of Alice was more than made up for by Patricia. She was living on the seventh floor of her seventh heaven. As she saw it, Alice had acted in the friendliest way possible in giving her a clear field with her Sir Launcelot. Allen humored her, finding a real relief in this childish game which his little friend took so seriously. The one drawback was the amount of intimate information which she conveyed through the medium of her innocent prattle. Allen could not know what was coming next, and so was powerless to head off conversation upon subjects into which he knew he had no right to enter, for Patricia possessed the faculty of keeping herself well informed as to family matters. It was through this that he secured the first clew upon which to start a real investigation, so he considered the information Heaven-sent, and blessed the child accordingly.
The staircase, as usual, formed the trysting-place. Here Patricia waylaid her Knight on his way down from the library, taking her position on an upper step, which made their difference in height less apparent. The same ceremony was enacted each time in accord with the ritual she had taught him. After he passed her, she suddenly sprang up to her full stature, holding her arm high above her with the palm of her hand extended.
"Wit ye well, Sir Knight!" she cried, impressively.
Then Allen turned—he was forbidden, under pain of death, to recognize her until he heard these mystic words—knelt on the step below her and kissed her other hand, while the one upraised descended upon his head in benediction.
"The Lord be with thee, Fair Lady," he replied, following his lesson.
"And with thee—I accept thy troth. Now we can have a visit."
The Arthurian lady had vanished, and Patricia was herself again, curled up close beside him.
"Look here, Lady Pat," he said, shaking his finger at her warningly, "I think we ought to put a stop to this—you're taking it all too seriously."
"Of course," she admitted, smiling up at him. "Why don't we get married right away—then it needn't be serious any longer."
"Well"—Allen would not have wounded the devoted little heart for worlds—"one reason is that I haven't money enough."
"Did Knights have to have money?" Patricia inquired. "I never saw a suit of armor with a money-pocket in it."
"Neither did I," he admitted. "There wasn't any money then, like ours, and when they wanted anything they didn't have, they fought for it."
"Well, then, why don't you fight for it?"
"I'm going to—I am fighting now. I mean, Lady Pat, they don't let you fight the way they used to."
"Is it only because you haven't money enough that we don't marry, Sir
Launcelot?"
"That is—one of the principal reasons."
"Swear that you don't love any other fair lady."
"Except Alice," Allen insisted.
"Shall you always love her?" Patricia asked, wistfully.
Allen sighed. "I'm afraid so, Lady Pat."
"Well, I don't care—I'll love you enough for both of us, so that's all settled. Now promise that you'll sit on this very step and not move 'til I come back."
"What for? I must run along."
"You promised," she cried, and disappeared up-stairs as fast as her little white legs could carry her. There was nothing to do but wait, yet Allen was not long kept in suspense. Patricia returned with equal speed, carrying her bank in both hands.
"There!" she exclaimed, jingling the contents. "You take that and make a lot more with it, and we shall have all the money we want."
"But I can't do that," he protested.
"Aren't you as smart as Mr. Covington?"
"What has he to do with it, Lady Pat?"
"He took Alice's money and made a whole lot more with it, and I'm going to tell you how to do it, too."
Patricia danced before him on the hall rug, clapping her hands together with joy and excitement. Suddenly she paused in her gyrations, and, placing her mouth close to his ear, she whispered:
"Buy some storks from the New York Railroad."
Allen jumped to his feet as if he had been struck. "What did you say?" he demanded, seizing the child almost roughly by the wrist; but Patricia attributed his action to excitement and joy equal to her own, so accepted it cheerfully.
"That is it," she repeated, firmly. "I'm sure, for I wrote it down just as soon as I heard it. I knew I should need it some time. Storks must be very valuable birds, because Mr. Covington told Alice not to tell; and he made thirty—thousand—dollars for her. Now, you're smarter than Mr. Covington, and you can make a hundred thousand. Will you?"
"I'll start right out and see what I can do." Allen tried to keep the child from seeing his excitement. "I haven't time to stop to tell you how naughty it is to listen. If I don't go right now the storks may all be gone, and then of course we couldn't make any money. Good-bye, Lady Pat—I'll try hard, but don't be disappointed if there aren't any left—good-bye."
Allen rushed from the house and, hailing a passing taxi, ordered the chauffeur to drive to the office, although it was now nearly six o'clock.