Sally was considerably startled. Everybody travels nowadays, of course,and there is nothing really remarkable in finding a man in America whomyou had supposed to be in Europe: but nevertheless she was conscious ofa dream-like sensation, as though the clock had been turned back and achapter of her life reopened which she had thought closed for ever.
"Mr. Carmyle!" she cried.
If Sally had been constantly in Bruce Carmyle's thoughts since theyhad parted on the Paris express, Mr. Carmyle had been very little inSally's--so little, indeed, that she had had to search her memory for amoment before she identified him.
"We're always meeting on trains, aren't we?" she went on, her composurereturning. "I never expected to see you in America."
"I came over."
Sally was tempted to reply that she gathered that, but a suddenembarrassment curbed her tongue. She had just remembered that at theirlast meeting she had been abominably rude to this man. She was neverrude to anyone, without subsequent remorse. She contented herself with atame "Yes."
"Yes," said Mr. Carmyle, "it is a good many years since I have takena real holiday. My doctor seemed to think I was a trifle run down. Itseemed a good opportunity to visit America. Everybody," said Mr. Carmyleoracularly, endeavouring, as he had often done since his ship had leftEngland, to persuade himself that his object in making the trip had notbeen merely to renew his acquaintance with Sally, "everybody ought tovisit America at least once. It is part of one's education."
"And what are your impressions of our glorious country?" said Sallyrallying.
Mr. Carmyle seemed glad of the opportunity of lecturing on an impersonalsubject. He, too, though his face had shown no trace of it, had beenembarrassed in the opening stages of the conversation. The sound of hisvoice restored him.
"I have been visiting Chicago," he said after a brief travelogue.
"Oh!"
"A wonderful city."
"I've never seen it. I've come from Detroit."
"Yes, I heard you were in Detroit."
Sally's eyes opened.
"You heard I was in Detroit? Good gracious! How?"
"I--ah--called at your New York address and made inquiries," said Mr.Carmyle a little awkwardly.
"But how did you know where I lived?"
"My cousin--er--Lancelot told me."
Sally was silent for a moment. She had much the same feeling thatcomes to the man in the detective story who realizes that he is beingshadowed. Even if this almost complete stranger had not actually come toAmerica in direct pursuit of her, there was no disguising the fact thathe evidently found her an object of considerable interest. It was acompliment, but Sally was not at all sure that she liked it. BruceCarmyle meant nothing to her, and it was rather disturbing to find thatshe was apparently of great importance to him. She seized on the mentionof Ginger as a lever for diverting the conversation from its present toointimate course.
"How is Mr. Kemp?" she asked.
Mr. Carmyle's dark face seemed to become a trifle darker.
"We have had no news of him," he said shortly.
"No news? How do you mean? You speak as though he had disappeared."
"He has disappeared!"
"Good heavens! When?"
"Shortly after I saw you last."
"Disappeared!"
Mr. Carmyle frowned. Sally, watching him, found her antipathy stirringagain. There was something about this man which she had dislikedinstinctively from the first, a sort of hardness.
"But where has he gone to?"
"I don't know." Mr. Carmyle frowned again. The subject of Ginger wasplainly a sore one. "And I don't want to know," he went on heatedly,a dull flush rising in the cheeks which Sally was sure he had to shavetwice a day. "I don't care to know. The Family have washed their handsof him. For the future he may look after himself as best he can. Ibelieve he is off his head."
Sally's rebellious temper was well ablaze now, but she fought it down.She would dearly have loved to give battle to Mr. Carmyle--it was odd,she felt, how she seemed to have constituted herself Ginger's championand protector--but she perceived that, if she wished, as she did, tohear more of her red-headed friend, he must be humoured and conciliated.
"But what happened? What was all the trouble about?"
Mr. Carmyle's eyebrows met.
"He--insulted his uncle. His uncle Donald. He insulted him--grossly. Theone man in the world he should have made a point of--er--"
"Keeping in with?"
"Yes. His future depended upon him."
"But what did he do?" cried Sally, trying hard to keep a thoroughlyreprehensible joy out of her voice.
"I have heard no details. My uncle is reticent as to what actuallytook place. He invited Lancelot to dinner to discuss his plans, andit appears that Lancelot--defied him. Defied him! He was rude andinsulting. My uncle refuses to have anything more to do with him.Apparently the young fool managed to win some money at the tables atRoville, and this seems to have turned his head completely. My uncleinsists that he is mad. I agree with him. Since the night of that dinnernothing has been heard of Lancelot."
Mr. Carmyle broke off to brood once more, and before Sally could speakthe impressive bulk of Fillmore loomed up in the aisle beside them.Explanations seemed to Fillmore to be in order. He cast a questioningglance at the mysterious stranger, who, in addition to being inconversation with his sister, had collared his seat.
"Oh, hullo, Fill," said Sally. "Fillmore, this is Mr. Carmyle. We metabroad. My brother Fillmore, Mr. Carmyle."
Proper introduction having been thus effected, Fillmore approved of Mr.Carmyle. His air of being someone in particular appealed to him.
"Strange you meeting again like this," he said affably.
The porter, who had been making up berths along the car, was nowhovering expectantly in the offing.
"You two had better go into the smoking room," suggested Sally. "I'mgoing to bed."
She wanted to be alone, to think. Mr. Carmyle's tale of a roused andrevolting Ginger had stirred her.
The two men went off to the smoking-room, and Sally found an empty seatand sat down to wait for her berth to be made up. She was aglow with acurious exhilaration. So Ginger had taken her advice! Excellent Ginger!She felt proud of him. She also had that feeling of complacency,amounting almost to sinful pride, which comes to those who give adviceand find it acted upon. She had the emotions of a creator. After all,had she not created this new Ginger? It was she who had stirred himup. It was she who had unleashed him. She had changed him from a meekdependent of the Family to a ravening creature, who went about the placeinsulting uncles.
It was a feat, there was no denying it. It was something attempted,something done: and by all the rules laid down by the poet it should,therefore, have earned a night's repose. Yet, Sally, jolted by thetrain, which towards the small hours seemed to be trying out some newbuck-and-wing steps of its own invention, slept ill, and presently, asshe lay awake, there came to her bedside the Spectre of Doubt, gaunt andquestioning. Had she, after all, wrought so well? Had she been wise intampering with this young man's life?
"What about it?" said the Spectre of Doubt.
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