A Bachelor Husband

  CHRIS woke up on the morning of his birthday with the very realhope in his heart that the post might bring him some message fromMarie Celeste. She had never before forgotten his birthday. Evenwhen he saw that there was no letter from her he could hardlybelieve that there would be none later.

  He hung about his rooms all the morning, till young Atkins draggedhim out by main force.

  "What's file matter with you that you're so fond of the houseall at once?" he demanded disgustedly. He had previously had aheart-to-heart talk with their landlady and given her manyinstructions with regard to flowers and a lavish dinner that night.

  "For only you two gentlemen, sir?" she had asked amazed, and Tommyhad said: "No--I shan't be there--there's a lady coming." Thenseeing the faint disapproval of her eyes, he added, chuckling:"Cheer up! It's all right! She's his wife!" He had told her enoughof the truth to enlist her sympathy, packed his bag, and promptlyproceded to lose Chris as soon as he had got him out of the house.

  "I'll call for you at the club at six," were his last words. "Andmind you're there."

  Chris was there an hour before, chiefly because he had nothing elseto do. He was irritated and annoyed, therefore, when the doorporter informed him that Mr. Atkins had left a message to theeffect that he could not get to the club, but would be at the roomsat seven.

  "And would you be sure to be there, sir," he added.

  Chris frowned as he turned away. He had a great mind not to go homeat all, but to leave Atkins in the lurch. He thought it very shabbyof him, all things considered, but it came on to rain and thestreets looked dull and uninviting, so he took a taxi and wenthome.

  Home! He echoed the word in his heart wretchedly. What a home for aman to go to when he might have everything in the world he wanted,and a wife to smile at him from the other side of his own table! Hemissed Marie a hundred times a day--her step about the house--hervoice--even the sight of her slippers and small personalbelongings.

  He took off his coat and hat in the hall, and went upstairs. Therewas a light in his room, and he could catch a glimpse of the tablelaid for dinner, and flowers . . . so many flowers there seemed.

  "I don't know why you chucked money away on all this tomfoolery,"he said shortly, as he pushed open the door. "If you think becauseit's my bally birthday . . . Marie Celeste!" The last words were agreat cry as his wife rose from his big chair by the fire.

  For a moment he stood staring at her with disbelieving eyes. He hadlonged for her so much all day; had been so hurt because she hadforgotten his birthday, and now--here she was!

  She was very pale, but she was smiling. She had taken off her hatand coat and looked very young and sweet in her little black frock,the dark hair curling softly about her face.

  Chris could not find his voice, could hardly breathe. He was sosure that if he spoke the spell would be broken and that she wouldvanish from his longing eyes.

  Then quite suddenly, she said:

  "I've come back, Chris--if you want me."

  "If I want you!" He fell on his knees beside her, and his shakingarms closed fast about her.

  He had meant to try and explain so many had planned so often in hismind what he would say to her, how he would humble himself and askher forgiveness, but now that the time had come, there seem no needfor any of it.

  Kisses and broken words, and the clasp of arms that had ached withloneliness and emptiness were more eloquent than the finest speechcould have been. It was only when the landlady had knocked threetimes to ask if she should bring dinner that Chris thought aboutappearances, and then he kept his wife's hand in his all the timethe choice dishes which young Atkins had chosen so carefully wereput upon the table.

  They pretended to eat a great deal, but it was only a pretense, andwhen the landlady had removed the last dish in offended silenceChris drew Marie Celeste down into his arms in the big chair.

  He passed his hand over her face and hair and soft neck.

  "I can't believe you're real," he said huskily. "How long are yougoing to keep me in my fool's paradise before you disappear again,Marie Celeste?" She raised herself and looked at him with mournfuleyes.

  "I couldn't come before," she answered "I had to be sure first."

  "Sure--of me?" he asked.

  She shook her head.

  "No; of myself."

  The dark flush of pain swept across his face.

  "You mean--that you had to be sure whether you . . . you stillcared for me at all."

  She looked away from him.

  "I loved you when you were a little boy--years ago," she said in atremulous whisper. "I loved you when you went to Cambridge, andsnubbed me so dreadfully when you came home . . . Chris--I lovedyou when I married you."

  He raised her hand to his lips silently. The words were sweet, butit was not all that he wished to hear, and she went ondisconnectedly.

  "Chris--you know . . . I thought you had only married me for--forthe money . . . I never knew till--till that last night---"

  He interrupted.

  "I don't want to hear--it was all my fault,"

  "But I must tell you," she urged. "There is something I must tellyou. It was my fault--everything that happened . . . about . . .about Feathers. You made me half mad, I think, and--and it was Iwho asked him to take me away. It was I who asked him--he was muchtoo honorable . . . I--I can't bear that--that you should blamehim."

  "I blame myself--for everything," but his eyes searched her facewith passionate jealousy.

  "You said you hated me once," he reminded her morosely. "MarieCeleste, when did--when did you begin to care again?"

  She looked away from him. Somehow she could not meet his eyes.There was a knowledge in her heart which she knew must always be asecret from him--the knowledge of her queer, inexplicable love forFeathers.

  It was still there in her heart, and always would be, she knew, butalready time had begun to soften and change it, as time subtlychanges the outline and coloring of a picture without altering itsbeauty in the smallest degree--perhaps even adding to it.

  "I saw a photograph of you--in . . . in his rooms," she whispered."And I knew then . . . that whatever happened . . . I could notgo."

  It was the truth, neither more nor less; the old loyalty andallegiance had called her back--perhaps the old love, who knows?

  Chris' arms tightened about her. Three times he had been so near tolosing her, twice by death, and once--by something that would havebeen so infinitely worse!

  He drew Marie down to him, and kissed her with passionatethankfulness.

  "He saved your life for me--twice!" he said.

  It was an all-sufficient answer to any doubt or suspicion thatmight still linger in his heart.

  L'ENVOI