"Why, really, Miss Lee," he exclaimed, still gazing at her with admiring eyes, "you do look familiar in that dress! Perhaps we have met in a crush, like ships that pass in the night? May I ask at what function you wore this charming gown?"
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Bowles," returned Dixie May; "but, rather than run over the whole list and recall a winter's agony, let's take it for granted that we met. It's a fine, large place to come away from, isn't it—dear old New York? Wasn't the slush of those sidewalks something elegant? And that steam heat! My! It never gets as hot as that out here. Yes, indeed, Mother, I'm sure Mr. Bowles and I have met before; but," she added, and here her voice changed, "since he's traveling incognito, changing his name as a garment and not getting any letters from home, perhaps it's just as well not to dwell upon the matter."
"Why, Dixie, child!" protested Mrs. Lee. "What in the world do you mean?"
"Nothing at all, Mother, except that he is our guest. Shall we go in now to dinner?"
They went in, and throughout the rest of the evening Bowles was guiltily conscious of a startled mother's eyes which regarded him with anxious scrutiny at first and then became very resolute and stern. Mrs. Lee had solved her problem, whatever it was, and settled upon her duty. Bowles felt a social chill creep into the air as he rose to go, and he braced himself for some ultimatum; but his hostess did not speak her thoughts. There was no further allusion to New York, or his alias, or the fact that he had acted a lie. All those things were taken for granted, and he left with a balked feeling, as if he had failed of some purpose. Her very silence clutched at his heart, and her passive hand-touch as they parted. Dixie, too, seemed to share in the general aloofness. She had said good-night without any friendly grip of the fingers, looking at him very straight, as if to fathom his deceit.
Bowles lay awake that night and thought it out, and he saw where he had made his mistake. From the first his manner had been evasive almost to mendacity, and, with both Dixie and her mother, he had made a mystery of his past. Now the time for explanations was gone, and he was reaping his just reward. He should have taken Dixie into his confidence when they were alone beneath the cedars; he should have answered that question of hers when she asked it—but now it was too late.
"Mr. Bowles," she had said, "who are you, anyway?"
And when he had evaded her, she had never asked again. And now, through the same damnable ineptitude, he had estranged her mother and lost his welcome at the big house. All the explanations in the world would not square him now, for one deceit follows another and his second word was no better than his first. He could see with half an eye that Mrs. Lee distrusted him. He must seem to her candid mind no less than a polite adventurer, a ne'er-do-weel young profligate from the East with intentions as dark as his past. Nor could he bring himself to blame her, for the inference was logical—if a man conceals his identity and denies his acquaintances and friends, surely there must be something shameful that he is at such pains to hide.
But the way out? That was what kept Bowles awake. Certainly, if he were a gentleman, he would stay away from the house. Nor would it be wholly honorable to waylay Dixie May and explain. And, besides, there was nothing to explain. He had references, of course, but if he gave them, his aunt would discover his whereabouts and summon him home—and then there was Christabel!
The memory of those prearranged meetings at his aunt's swept over him, and he shuddered where he lay. Dear, pretty, patient Christabel! What if she should sense this conspiracy to make him marry her and lose that friendly smile? What if she should blush as he had blushed at each chance tête-à-tête, gazing nervously into his eyes to guess if he would yield? And to wonder if that was love! Ah no, he could never do that! Rather than inflict such torture upon her he would flee to the depths of the wilderness and hide until she was married. But his safety lay only in flight, for his aunt was a resolute woman, with tears and sighs at her command, if all else failed. Yes, he must run away—that was the way out.