JOHN STUART WEBSTER'S agile brain was the repository of many conflicting emotions as he bathed, shaved, and changed from his soiled khaki field clothes to a suit of ducks before presenting himself before Dolores.
Had Billy's courage forsaken him at the last minute, with the result that he had gone back to the United States without having settled the question of Dolores's future? Had he proposed and been rejected, or had he proposed, been accepted, and had his plans for an immediate marriage vetoed by Dolores?
In either event, why had Billy failed to leave a note for him at the Hotel Mateo, or mailed him a letter to the Globo de Oro at San Miguel de Padua, advising him of the change in the plan of action outlined for him by Webster?
If Dolores had accepted him, then Billy Geary was just the sort of impulsive youth who could not rest until he had advised Webster of his luck; on the other hand, Billy was susceptible, in matters of love, to the deep melancholia which is as distinct a characteristic of the Hibernian nature as wit and light-heartedness, and in the event of disappointment he would not be apt to rush to his partner with the news; a feeling of chagrin would prompt him to keep his own counsel, to go away and stay away until he had Smothered the ache and could return and meet Dolores without restraint and embarrassment.
In the simplicity of his single-hearted devotion Webster was puzzled to understand how any woman in her right mind could fail to fall in love with Billy Geary. To begin, he was a fine-looking lad and would look finer when the chills and fever had been eradicated; he was far from being a runt, mentally or physically; he was gentle, well-mannered, kind, with the gift of turning a pretty speech to a woman and meaning it with all his heart and soul. A man he was, from heels to hair, and a man with prospects far above the average. To Webster's way of thinking, the girl who married Billy might well count herself fortunate.
Dolores greeted him with unaffected pleasure. “Well, Caliph!” she said. Just that. It made Webster sensible of a feeling of having returned to her after an absence of several years. “I'm so glad to see you, Miss Ruey,” he replied, and added boldly, “particularly since I didn't expect to.”
She knew what her reply would lead to; nevertheless, with that dissimulation which can only be practised in perfection by a clever and beautiful woman, she answered with equal boldness: “Indeed! Pray why?”
“Well, for a pretty good reason, I think. A few weeks ago, after examining Bill's concession very thoroughly, I told him he was a potential millionaire. Now, while I disclaim any appearance of braggadocio, when John Stuart Webster, E.M., makes any mine owner a report like that, he is apt to be taken very seriously. And having made Bill a potential millionaire and arranged to give him three or four months' vacation back home, I had a notion he'd present to you a very valid reason why you should accompany him.”
“You are very frank, Caliph.”
“That's because I'm curious. You do not mind being equally frank with an old cuss like me, do you, and telling me just why Bill's plans miscarried? Because he had a certain dream, and told me about it, and I did my little best to make it come true. You see, Miss Ruey, I'm a lot older than Bill, and I've known him since he was eighteen years old; I feel a responsibility toward him that is almost paternal.”