"The cable I expected hasn't arrived," explained P. Gordon. "It's all right, of course, when I come to think of it, and I'm not really worried, for I haven't paid enough attention to the difference of time between London and New York. I must send again later in the day, when there will be letters, too, perhaps, and people's visiting-cards. Meanwhile——"
"Meanwhile, stay where you are, and make yourself at home," cut in Isidora, hospitably. Nevertheless, she was anxious when she thought of her father, and the inevitable moment of his coming downstairs, heavy-footed with illness, and "cross as a bear with a sore head." Pa would want to have the beautiful young man in evening clothes satisfactorily explained, and it was borne in upon the girl that he would be rather difficult to explain. Non-paying people and things were always difficult to explain to Alexander, especially when he was under the weather. But—there was one way out of the scrape, and Isidora snatched at it suddenly with a leap of the heart. All might be well should she prevail upon Mr. Gordon to accept another loan from her—if he liked to call it a loan!
She had been saving up her allowance to buy a new ball-dress, and had already set her heart on the thing she would have. But she would deplete the sum by a third for Mr. Gordon's sake, if he would take the money and spend it as if it were his own, "for the good of the house." If he indulged in pickled clams or pumpkin-pie, or cold fried oysters, at intervals of, say every hour, under her father's eye, he would continue to be welcome to his place for an indefinite length of time, even though costume and conduct might appear open to curious criticism.
"Thank you, but Mr. Willing has given me a piece of good advice," said Val. "If it hadn't been for him, I shouldn't have thought of it, perhaps. He suggests my pawning a few things I have on me."
Now was Isidora's time to speak, and she offered her alternative suggestion, but with some stammering and confusion under the growing discouragement in Mr. Gordon's dark blue eyes. Nor did he let her stumble on very far. As soon as he gathered the drift of her faltering words, he broke in, thanking her sincerely, saying that she was most awfully kind, but he couldn't trespass any further upon her goodness. According to Willing, there was a pawnshop just round the corner. They two would go there immediately; and then, with money to pay his debt to her, as well as tide over unforeseen delays, he would be glad to come back for a time.
Not only had Isidora never seen a man like Mr. Gordon, but she had never heard any man talk as he did, unless perhaps on the stage. She could hardly believe yet that he was not an actor, and that the 'Marquis of Loveland' was not the name of some character he had played.
It needs hardihood to show oneself at nine o'clock of a cold, sunshiny morning in evening clothes. Loveland had not by any means got rid of his vanity with his other possessions, and he would rather have "run the gauntlet" at the risk of his life from cowboy bullets or Indian arrows, than face the grins and stares of a downtown New York crowd.
This time Bill did offer his overcoat, and press the offer, but to do Loveland justice, its shabbiness and inadequacy were not his principal reasons for refusing. Bill's "blazer" was not much warmer than tissue paper, its sole virtue, save on a hot day of summer, being the fact that it would cover a "dickey" and celluloid cuffs that had no visible means of support.
Luckily for Loveland's fortitude, however, the ordeal—or the out-of-doors part of it—was brief. He was whisked round the corner, and hurried mercifully into a dingy den which Bill Willing seemed to regard as a kind of "home from home," or, at the least, a cold-storage warehouse.
Loveland denuded his shirt of studs, took the gold links out of his cuffs, and produced his watch, asking almost humbly how much would be allowed for the lot.