CHAPTER IIIALORA'S FATHER
A man slouched into the lofty foyer of the Hotel Voltaire and pauseduncertainly, as if awed by the splendor of the place. A boy in uniformhastened to relieve him of his hand baggage, which consisted of a"roll-me-up" or "carryall" of brown canvas, strapped around the middle,such as one often sees in traveling on the Continent. It seemed a muchused and abused affair and painted upon the ends were the dimmedinitials: "J. J."
This man was plainly dressed. His clothing was of the cheap, ready-madevariety, worn nearly to shabbiness and matched by a gray flannel shirtwith a flowing black tie, knotted at the throat, and a soft gray hatthat was a bit weatherstained. His shoes were shabby and unshined. Hiswhole appearance was out of keeping with the palatial hotel he hadentered.
Without relinquishing his baggage to the boy he asked sharply:
"Is Dr. Anstruther here?"
But now Dr. Anstruther, who had been impatiently waiting, espied thearrival and after a glance at the initials on the traveling-roll saidin hesitating tones:
"Mr. Jason Jones?"
"Yes. You must be the doctor who telegraphed me."
"I am Doctor Anstruther."
"All right. Where's my wife?"
There was no especial anxiety in his tones, which were slow anddistinct and a trifle sharp. He seemed ill at ease and looked aroundthe foyer again, as if fearing he had entered the wrong place.
"I will lead you to her presently," replied the physician gravely; "butfirst, sir, I must acquaint you with her condition, which is serious. Ihave engaged a room for you here and if you will please register wewill go there together and talk undisturbed."
"All right," said Jason Jones. He registered at the desk and thenturned and announced: "I'm ready. Go ahead."
Those present in the foyer cast curious glances at the stranger as hepassed them and followed Dr. Anstruther to the elevator. The boyaccompanied them, now carrying the roll of baggage. The grandeur of theroom they entered, which was convenient to the suite of Mrs. Jones,seemed to astonish the artist, although it was as simply furnished asany the great hotel contained. However, he made no remark but removedhis hat, seated himself, and looked inquiringly at the physician.
"Mrs. Jones," began Dr. Anstruther, "is really dying. I cannot say howlong she may survive, but it is a matter of days--perhaps hours. Hergreatest anxiety at present is to be reconciled with you, whom she hasnot seen or even communicated with for years."
"Did she say that?"
"Yes."
"And she wants to be reconciled?"
"She does."
"Rather a queer notion, that," remarked Mr. Jones, musingly.
"Very natural, I think, under the circumstances," stiffly replied thedoctor. "She has every confidence in you and admires your characterexceedingly, although it was her desire that you live apart."
The man's stolid countenance relaxed in a grin--a somewhat scornful andunbelieving expression--but he did not speak. He was not a very tallman; he was thin of figure and hardened of muscle; his head was bald infront, giving him the appearance of a high forehead, and the hair atthe back and around the ears was beginning to gray. His eyes were lightblue; his nose was shapely and his jaws prominent and tightly set inrepose. His age was about forty.
"Mrs. Jones," continued the doctor, "knows that you are due to arriveat this time and is eagerly counting the minutes; not that you are sodear to her," he asserted in retaliation for the sneer upon hishearer's lips, "but because she has important business matters toarrange with you before she passes away."
"Business matters?"
"So she has told me. I believe," he said, after a brief period ofhesitation, during which he considered how best to handle this peculiarartist, "that I will allow you to see your wife at once, that you maylearn her plans from her own lips."
Indeed, he had already decided that Jason Jones must have changedmaterially, and for the worse, since Antoinette Seaver had known him.Perhaps, when she had talked with the man, she would revise her opinionof him and make other disposition of her finances and the guardianshipof her child. In that case it would not be well for him to give herhusband any inkling of her present plans. Having reached thisconclusion, Dr. Anstruther rose abruptly and said: "Come with me,please."
Jason Jones made no demur. Without remark he followed his conductorinto the hallway and to the entrance to the suite occupied by his wife.The governess had been instructed to take Alora out for a ride; therewas no one in the little reception room. Here, however, the doctorhalted, and pointing to the door at the further end of the passage hesaid:
"That is your wife's sick chamber. Please enter quietly and rememberthe danger of exciting Mrs. Jones unduly. Be gentle, and--considerate."
Jason Jones nodded. A moment he regarded the door with curiousintentness, savoring of reluctance. Then he slowly advanced, opened itand went in, closing the door softly behind him.
Dr. Anstruther seated himself in the reception room. The artist puzzledhim greatly, although he prided himself--through long professionalexperience--on being able to read human nature with some accuracy. Thissummons to his dying-wife ought to seem the most natural thing in theworld to Jason Jones, yet the man appeared dazed and even bewildered bythe event, and while he had once lived in luxurious surroundings hislater experiences must have been so wholly different that the splendorof his wife's mode of living quite embarrassed him. Yes, the contrastwas sharp, it must be admitted; the man had formerly shared TonySeaver's immense wealth; he had enjoyed the handsomest studio in NewYork; and then--back to poverty, to drudgery, to a struggle for merefood and clothing! Years of hardship were likely to have had a decidedeffect upon the character of a man who was doubtless weak in thebeginning; it would make him hard, and bitter, and----
A shrill scream startled him. It came from the sick chamber and wasechoed by another cry--hoarse and terrified--in a man's voice.
Dr. Anstruther sprang to his feet and hurried into the patient'sbedchamber.
"The woman's dead, Doctor," cried Jason Jones, standing in the middleof the room. "She's dead!"
The physician hastened to the bedside, where Janet Orme, the nurse, wasbending over the still form. Pushing her away, Dr. Anstruther made ahurried examination.
It was true; the woman was dead. At the very moment of reunion with thehusband from whom she had so long been parted, she had passed on toanother life, leaving reconciliation in abeyance.
Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones lay beneath her lace covered with featurescontorted, mouth half open and eyes staring wildly. A paroxysm of painhad carried her off, the good doctor well knew; the pain, and theexcitement of the moment. Very tenderly he bent down and closed theeyes and pressed the lips together. He smoothed the lines from thecheeks, so that the face became more natural in appearance. Then, witha sigh--for he had become fond of this brave, beautiful patient--heturned away to find Jason Jones and the nurse Janet confronting oneanother in tense attitudes. The man stared wonderingly into the nurse'sface; Janet, her eyes now unveiled, returned the stare with anexpression that Dr. Anstruther could not fathom.
They seemed to feel the doctor's observation, for Janet turned her backabruptly, while the man swung around and tiptoed hastily from the room.
Dr. Anstruther looked at the nurse reflectively.
"Who was it that screamed? Was it you, or Mrs. Jones?" he asked.
She hesitated a moment.
"It was I," she replied. "I saw her face and knew that--that the endhad come."
It was a lie, and the nurse knew that the shrewd doctor recognized itas a lie. But he made no comment and with a last regretful look towardthe bed he followed Jason Jones out.