“I certainly do,” and he laughed at the recollection. “Fairbain met us coming out of the dining-room,—you know what a delightful, blunt, blundering old fellow he is! Well, Miss Christie must have made an impression even on his bachelor heart, for he actually requested the privilege of escorting her to the Trocadero, and back to the hotel after the performance to-night—hinted at a lunch, the gay old dog, and pranced about like a stage-door Johnnie. It was a treat to watch her face when he blurted it all out, snapping his sentences as if he swung a whip-lash. She excused herself on the score of a previous engagement.”
“But that was not necessarily with Hawley.”
“I asked her directly, after the doctor had disappeared.”
“You must have become very familiar,” questioning once again in her voice.
“So Miss Maclaire evidently thought, judging from her manner. However she answered frankly enough, and, even defiantly, added the information that the gentleman had something to impart to her of the utmost importance, sarcastically asking me if I didn't wish I could be there and overhear. But sit down, Hope, until I tell you all that has occurred.”
He went over the various events in detail, watching eagerly the expression upon her face as she listened intently, only occasionally interrupting with some pertinent inquiry. The light fell so that she sat partially in the shadow, where her eyes could not be read, yet he experienced no difficulty in comprehending the various moods with which she met his narrative, the color changing in her cheeks, her supple form bending toward him, or leaning backward in the chair, her fingers clasping or unclasping in nervous attention. He began with Neb's report, repeating, word by word, as nearly as he could recollect, what had passed between Hawley and her father. He paused to inquire if she had ever heard the name Bartlett, but her reply was merely a negative shake of the head. When he described their missing the train, she was, apparently, not convinced as to the General's departure upon it, although finally agreeing that, if he really believed the report that the man sought was elsewhere, it would be characteristic of him to accept the first means of getting there. “If he only knew I was here,” she exclaimed wearily, “it might be so different, but, oh, we are all of us just groping in the dark.” Then Keith turned to his chance meeting with Miss Maclaire, and repeated carefully their conversation, dwelling particularly upon the few admissions which had slipped through her lips. These did not seem important to either, although they treasured them up and talked them over. Then, having exhausted the topic, silence fell between them, Keith asking the privilege of lighting a cigar. Hope, after watching him apply the match, thinking what a fine face he had as the ruddy flame brought it forth with the clearness of a cameo, leaned back, drawing aside the semblance to a lace curtain, and staring forth, without seeing, into the street.
Somehow it was hard for her to fully realize the situation, and how closely it affected her. The swiftly passing events, the complication arising so suddenly, apparently out of nothing, left her feeling as though she must surely awake from a dream. She could not comprehend what it was all about; the names Bartlett and Phyllis had no clear meaning, they represented nothing but shadows; and this other woman—this music hall singer—what could there be in common between them? Yet there must be something—something of vital importance to her father—something which had already cost her brother's life. That was the one thing which made it seem an actuality—which brought it home to her as a rugged fact. But for that—and Keith—Keith sitting there before her—she would have doubted it all. And yet even Keith had come into her life so suddenly, so unexpectedly, as to leave her dazed and uncertain. So strongly did this feeling grip her in the silence, that she extended her hand and touched him, as though to make sure of his actual presence.
“What is it, Hope?”
“Oh, nothing—nothing,” her voice breaking in a little sob. “It is so silly, but I was just wondering if you were real—everything seems so impossible. I cannot bring my mind to grasp the situation.”
He did not smile, but only took the groping hand into both of his own.