She slipped an uncertain little hand on his arm.
“It may be my last, for a long time,” he said gaily. “While we live, let us live.”
But when they entered they saw it was the man with the monocle who sat at the big, wonderfully carved piano. His fingers were fairly flying; his face was a bit more twisted up to keep the monocle from falling off, while he was flinging his hands about over the keys. At sight of him, the temperamental little thing breathed quickly and would have drawn back, but Bob drew her forward. The monocle-man’s face did not change as he glanced over his shoulder to regard them; he had a faculty for hitting the right keys without looking. Bob put a big reassuring arm about a slim waist. He tangoed only to show the temperamental little thing that he forgave her. But her feet were not so light as ordinarily and the dance rather dragged. Once Bob looked down; why, she wasn’t much bigger than a child.
“Friends?” he asked.
Her little hand clutched tighter for answer, and the monocle-man played more madly. It was as if he were making the puppets fly around while he pulled the strings. He seemed having the best kind of a time. There was now a whimsical look in his eyes as they followed Bob.
That was one of the longest days Bob ever knew. The temperamental thing had told him they were coming to arrest him. Well, why didn’t they? His appearing unexpectedly on the spot like that may have caused them to change their minds. He included in the “them” Mrs. Ralston and her niece and he could only conclude they all meant to “dally” with him, in Miss Dolly’s phraseology, a little longer. But surely they had enough evidence to go right ahead and let justice (?) take its course. What the temperamental little thing had confessed would be quite sufficient in itself, for their purpose.
Bob began to get impatient; he didn’t like being “dallied” with. In his desperate mood, he desired to meet the issue at once and since “it” was bound to happen, he wanted it to happen right off. Then he would robustly proclaim his innocence—aye, and fight for it with all his might. He was in a fighting mood.
Mrs. Ralston’s demeanor toward him—when in the natural order of events he was obliged to meet that lady—added to his feeling of utter helplessness. She, like the monocle-man, acted as if nothing had happened, seeming to see nothing extraordinary or surprising in his being there. She treated him just as if he hadn’t been away and talked in the most natural manner about the weather or other commonplace topics. She was graciousness itself, even demanding playfully if he hadn’t thought of any more French compliments?
Bob stammered he had not. The fact that Miss Gerald was near and overheard all they said didn’t add to his mental composure. Gwendoline’s violet eyes had such a peculiar look. Bob hoped and prayed she would preserve that manner of cold and haughty aloofness. He wouldn’t have exchanged a word with her now for all the world, if he had had any choice in the matter. Did she divine his inward shrinking from any further talk with her? Did she realize she was the one especial person Bob didn’t want to converse with, under the circumstances? It may be she did so realize; also, that she deliberately sought to add to his discomfiture. Possibly, she felt no punishment could be too great for one who had sunk so low as he had.
At any rate, the day was yet young when, like a proud princess, she stood suddenly before him. Bob had taken refuge in that summer-house where she had proposed (ha! ha!) to him. He had been noting that Mrs. Ralston seemed to have several new gardeners working for her and it had flashed across his mind that these gardeners were of the monocle-man type. They were imitation gardeners. One kept a furtive eye on Bob. He was under surveillance. Now he could understand why the monocle-man let him flutter this way and that, with seeming unconcern. Oh, he was being dallied with, sure enough! That monocle-man was argus-eyed. Bob had had a sample of his cleverness at the breakfast-table.