"What in the world...."
"Call him up! I'm an invalid and must be humored."
For a moment her fingers seemed all thumbs. She succeeded in calling the number. There came a long wait. She stole a glance at Mathison. He might have been asleep, for all the interest he evinced in this extraordinary proceeding. What could he want of Rubin?
"Hello! It is you, Sam? This is Hilda.... No, no! nobody's dead.... There's a gentleman here.... Oh, it's perfectly proper.... He wants to speak to you.... I don't know.... He is not a dub.... Yes; the flowers and the note ... you knew it! What do you mean?... All right."
She turned to Mathison. "I have him."
Mathison managed to lift himself to a more comfortable angle. "This Mr. Rubin? Ah!... I'll break it gently. Hilda and I are going to be married in the morning.... Keep your hair on!... Then we are going to Washington. On our return we are going to spend the honeymoon at my home in the North Woods.... Contract? What the deuce is that to me?... No; you can't talk to her until I'm through.... Contract!... Listen to me. You will announce that she is ill. She will be if she goes on to-morrow night, after all she's been through.... Hang it! She and I have a right to two weeks of happiness. To you it's business; to me it's love. I will give you fifty thousand dollars in cold, hard cash for these two weeks, which is about twenty thousand more than you would ordinarily make. I'll give my permission to make a feature story out of it. And if I know anything about human nature, on her return you'll pack the house all summer. If you refuse my offer, not a bally copper cent! I'll break her contract for her and you may sue from Maine to Oregon.... What's that?... Well, by George, that's handsome! I thought you were a good sport. Buy out the house for exactly what it would be worth. Come around in the morning and be best man! Oh, about nine-thirty. Good night!"
Mathison turned to the stupefied Hilda. There was a short tableau; then she laid her head on the arm of the lounge and cried softly.
"Girl, I can do only one thing well at a time. I couldn't tell you verbally I loved you until I'd cleared the deck.... Sounds! Remember? When you came in through that window it was your voice, but I couldn't place it then. I opened that red book and one of Malachi's feathers dropped out. That recalled the old lady who called me Boy. I wanted to write something, and couldn't find my pen. It was in my cits. And then I found that photograph of you. That's how I learned there were two of you. When you talked on the stage to-night I shut my eyes. Then I knew. That's how I came to laugh out loud. Sheer joy! Fourteen years! You've got to love me. You've got to marry me. God is just. He won't deny me now. Didn't you tell me I'd find Her?... Sounds! That's what I meant—your voice. I didn't know why I came to you every morning on board the Nippon Maru, but my heart did. My eyes saw only a queer, whimsical old lady; but my heart saw youth and beauty and love. Will you marry me?"
A nod.
"You are going to try to love me?"