As he sat, thus musing, his clerk appeared at his elbow. “A young lady to see you, sir,” he announced, “Miss Graham, from Eversley. I showed her into the private office.”
Carleton nodded. “All right,” he answered briefly. “Tell her I’ll see her at once,” and a moment or so later he was bowing deferentially over the girl’s outstretched hand. “I’m delighted to see you back, Miss Graham,” he said cordially, “if I thought a trip abroad would do me the good it’s done you, I’d start to-morrow. You’re looking splendidly. And what may I do for you? Is this a business call?”
The girl shook her head. “No, Mr. Carleton,” she returned, “it’s not; and I should apologize, I know, for coming to see you at your office. Yet I didn’t want to go to The Birches either. I wanted to ask—I want to see you, Mr. Carleton—about Jack.”
She paused, and as he waited, she did not at once continue, but sat with her eyes fixed on the ground, as if embarrassed, and uncertain how to proceed. So that presently he broke the silence. “And what about Jack?” he asked lightly, though his watchful gaze was upon her face, “I rather thought that you and Jack could settle your own affairs. But if you can’t—”
She glanced up quickly. “Oh, don’t joke, Mr. Carleton, please,” she said, “you wouldn’t, if you knew how anxious I am. I can’t seem to understand it at all. You know what good friends Jack and I always were; we were more than that; you know what I mean. And then—something happened. That was when Jack went West. And I was so glad when I heard how well he’d done—how well, I mean, in every way—and when he came back, everything would have been all right again. I had written him—and he’d written me. We had everything arranged. He was to meet the steamer in New York. And then—when we got in, he wasn’t there. Only a message at the hotel that he’d been called away on business, and would see me soon. And that was a week ago; and I haven’t seen him, or even heard from him, since then. I’ve asked all his friends. Franz Helmar doesn’t know anything about him. Neither does Rose. And when I asked Arthur Vaughan, he acted as if he knew something, but didn’t want to tell me what it was. So I’ve come to you, Mr. Carleton. If there’s something about Jack that I don’t know, and that I ought to know, I want you to tell me.”
Henry Carleton sat listening to her, as she talked, his face expressionless, yet keenly attentive, all the while. And as she ended, he hesitated, before replying, as if struggling with some inward temptation which finally, in spite of himself, overcame him. At length he spoke. “My dear Miss Graham,” he said, “I am so many years older than you, that I’m going to ask you to let me give you a piece of advice. I have felt uneasy—very uneasy—for a long time, concerning Jack’s attentions to you. Not, of course, that one could blame him—” the girl ignored the somewhat mechanical smile which accompanied the words words—“but the man who aspires to win your hand, Miss Graham, should be of a type very different from my nephew. I’m not talking at random; I know whereof I speak; and as a friend, I want to tell you that it would be better for you to forget all about Jack—not to try to find out anything concerning him—but to dismiss him entirely from your mind. And I don’t think—” he added significantly, “that you will find yourself troubled by him any more.”
The girl’s expression was one of bewilderment. “Troubled by him,” she repeated. “Jack trouble me. You don’t understand, Mr. Carleton. I haven’t made myself clear. I’m as fond of Jack as he is of me. I’ve promised to be his wife. And all I’m asking now is what has happened to keep him away from me. There’s some mystery about it, and I want to know what it is.”
Henry Carleton gave a little apologetic cough. “Really, my dear Miss Graham,” he said, “you make this very hard for me. I was trying to intimate, without putting things too plainly—I thought you would understand—you know that Jack’s character is none of the strongest; you know his weaknesses as well as I do. You don’t want me to go on, Miss Graham, I know. Why should I pain you? Let us leave things as they are.”
At last the girl seemed to comprehend, yet she did not take his words without protest. “Jack isn’t weak,” she cried indignantly, “you’ve no right to say that, Mr. Carleton. If you knew all that he’s conquered—all that he’s overcome—you’d know that he’s strong, not weak. And please don’t hint or insinuate about him; this is too serious for that. If you’ve something to say against him, say it. Don’t half say it, and then stop. It’s neither fair to him, nor to me.”
Henry Carleton raised his eyebrows. “As you will,” he responded evenly, “I only sought to spare you, Miss Graham. But if you want me to tell you, I suppose you know as well as any one that before Jack went away, he’d made himself conspicuous by going around in public with the girl who later married my chauffeur, Satterlee. There was nothing improper, I believe, about it all; simply a bit of boyish folly and bravado; nothing worse. But on Jack’s return—I don’t know, of course, what his life in the West has been; I suppose that perhaps one might hazard a guess—he fell in with this woman again, and this time—I’m speaking plainly, Miss Graham, because you’ve asked me to—this time their relations have passed the bounds of decency. He visits her openly. And that, I suppose, is the reason that he keeps away from you.”