Miss Maitland, Private Secretary

  CHAPTER IV--THE CIGAR BAND

  Esther and Ferguson walked across the open spaces of lawn and thenentered the woods. Ferguson had set the pace as slow, but he noticedthat she quickened it, faring along beside him with a light, swift step.He also noticed that she was quiet, as she had been at dinner; as if shewas abstracted, not like herself.

  He had seen a good deal of her lately and thought of her a gooddeal--thought many things. One was that she was interesting, provocativein her quiet reserve, not as easy to see through as most women. She wasclever, used her brains; he had formed a habit of talking to her onmatters that he never spoke of with other girls. And he admired herlooks, nothing cheap about them; "thoroughbred" was the word that alwaysrose to his mind as he greeted her. It seemed to him all wrong that sheshould be working for a wage as the Janneys' hireling, for, though hewas "advanced" in his opinions, when it came to women there was a strainof sentimentality in his make-up.

  On the wood path he let her go ahead, seeing her figure spattered withwhite lights that ran across her shoulders and up and down her back.They had walked in silence for some minutes when he suddenly said:

  "What's amiss?"

  She slackened her gait so that he came up beside her.

  "Amiss? With what, with whom?"

  "You. What's wrong? What's on your mind?"

  A shaft of moonlight fell through a break in the branches and struckacross her shoulder. It caught the little rosebuds that lay against herneck and he saw them move as if lifted by a quick breath.

  "There's nothing on my mind. Why do you think there is?"

  "Because at dinner you didn't eat anything and were as quiet as if therewas an embargo on the English language."

  "Couldn't I be just stupid?"

  He turned to her, seeing her face a pale oval against the silver-motedbackground:

  "No. Not if you tried your darndest."

  Dick Ferguson's tongue did not lend itself readily to compliments. Hegave forth this one with a seriousness that was almost solemn.

  She laughed, the sound suggesting embarrassment, and looked away fromhim her eyes on the ground. Just in front of them the woodland roofshowed a gap, and through it the light fell across the path in aglittering pool. As they advanced upon it she gave an exclamation,stayed him with an outflung arm, and bent to the moss at her feet:

  "Oh, wait a minute--How exciting! I've found something."

  She raised herself, illumined by the radiance, a small object thatshowed a golden glint in her hand. Then her voice came deprecating,disappointed:

  "Oh, what a fraud! I thought it was a ring."

  On her palm lay what looked like a heavy enameled ring. Ferguson took itup; it was of paper, a cigar band embossed in red and gold.

  "Umph," he said, dropping it back, "I don't wonder you were fooled."

  "It was right there on the moss shining in the moonlight. I thought I'dfound something wonderful." She touched it with a careful finger. "It'snew and perfectly dry. It's only been here since the storm."

  "Some man taking a short cut through the woods. Better not tell Mrs.Janney, she doesn't like trespassers."

  She held it up, moving it about so that the thick gold tracery shone:

  "It's really very pretty. A ring like that wouldn't be at all bad.Look!" she slipped it on her finger and held the hand out studying itcritically. It was a beautiful hand, like marble against the blacknessof the trees, the band encircling the third finger.

  Ferguson looked and then said slowly:

  "You've got it on your engagement finger."

  "Oh, so I have." Her laugh came quick as if to cover confusion and shedrew the band off, saying, as she cast it daintily from her finger-tips,"There--away with it. I hate to be fooled," and started on at a briskpace.

  Ferguson bent and picked it up, then followed her. He said nothing forquite suddenly, at the sight of the ring on her finger, he had beeninvaded by a curious agitation, a gripping, upsetting, disturbingagitation. It was so sharp, so unexpected, so compelling in its rapidattack, that his outside consciousness seemed submerged by it and hetrod the path unaware of his surroundings.

  He had never thought of Esther Maitland being engaged, of ever marrying.He had accepted her as some one who would always be close at hand,always accessible, always in town or country to be found at theJanneys'. And the ring had brought to his mind with a startlingclearness that some day she _might_ marry. Some day a man would put aring on that finger, put it on with vows and kisses, put it on as a signand symbol of his ownership. Ferguson felt as if he had been shaken froman agreeable lethargy. He was filled with a surge of indignation, atwhat he could not exactly tell. He felt so many things that he did notknow which he felt the most acutely, but a sense of grievance was mixedwith jealousy and both were dominated by an angry certainty that any manwho aspired to her would be unworthy.

  When they emerged into the open he looked at her with a newexpression--questioning, almost fierce and yet humble. Sauntering at herside across the lawn he was so obsessed with these conflicting emotionsthat he said not a word, and hardly heard hers. The Janneys wereawaiting them on the balcony steps and after an exchange of good-nightshe turned back to the wood trail and went home. In his room he threwhimself on the sofa and lay there, his hands clasped behind his head,staring at the ceiling. It was long after midnight when he went to bed,and before he did so he put the cigar band in the jewel box with thecrystal lid that stood on the bureau.

  The Janney party trailed into the house, Sam stopping to lock the dooras the ladies moved to the stair foot. Suzanne went up with a curt"good-night" to her mother, and no word or look for the Secretary.Esther did not appear to notice it and, pausing with her hand on thebalustrade, proffered a request--could she have to-morrow, Saturday, togo to town? She was very apologetic; her day off was Thursday and shehad no right to ask for another, but a friend had unexpectedly arrivedin the city, would be there for a very short time and she was extremelyanxious to see her. Mrs. Janney granted the favor with sleepygood-nature and Miss Maitland, very grateful, passed up the stairs, theold people dragging slowly in her wake, dropping remarks to one anotherbetween yawns.

  A long hall crossed the upper floor, one side of which was given over tothe Price household. Here were Suzanne's rooms, Chapman's emptyhabitation, and opposite them Bebita's nurseries. The other side wasoccupied on the front by Mrs. Janney and the Secretary with a line ofguest chambers across the passage. In a small room between his wife'sand his stepdaughter's Mr. Janney had ensconced himself. He liked thecompact space, also his own little balcony where he had his steamerchair and could read and sun himself. As the place was much narrowerthan the apartments on either side a short branch of hall connected itwith the main corridor. His door, at the end of this hall, commanded thehead of the stairway.

  Mr. Janney had a restless night; he knew he would have for he had takenchampagne and coffee and the combination was always disturbing. When heheard the clocks strike twelve he resigned himself to a _nuit blanche_and lay wide awake listening to the queer sounds that a house gives outin the silent hours. They were of all kinds, gurglings and creaks comingout of the walls, a series of small imperative taps which seemed toemerge from his chest of drawers, thrummings and thrillings as if wingedthings were shut in the closets.

  Half-past twelve and one struck and he thought he was going off when heheard a new sound that made him listen--the creaking of a door. Hecraned up his old tousled head and gave ear, his eyes absently fixed onthe strips and spots of moonlight that lay white on the carpet. It wasvery still, not a whisper, and then suddenly the dogs began to bark, atrail of yaps and yelps that advanced across the lawn. Close to thehouse they subsided, settling down into growls and conversationalsnufflings, and he sank back on his pillow. But he was full of nerves,and the idea suddenly occurred to him that Bebita might be sick, itmight have been the nursery door that had opened--Annie going to fetchMrs. Janney. He'd take a look to be sure--if anything was wrong therewould be a light.

&nb
sp; He climbed out of bed and stole into the hall. No light but the moon,throwing silvery slants across the passage and the stair-head, andrelieved, he tiptoed back. It was while he was noiselessly closing hisdoor that he heard something which made him stop, still as a statue, hisfaculties on the qui vive, his eye glued to the crack--a footstep wasascending the stairs. It was as soft as the fall of snow, so light, sostealthy that no one, unless attentive as he was, would have caught it.Yet it was there, now and then a muffled creak of the boards emphasizingits advance. The corridor at the head of the stairs was as bright as dayand with his eye to the crack he waited, his heart beating high andhard.

  Rising into the white wash of moonlight came Suzanne, moving withcareful softness, her eyes sending piercing glances up and down thehall. Her expression was singular, slightly smiling, with something slyin its sharpened cautiousness. As she rose into full view he saw thatshe held her wrapper bunched against her waist with one hand and in theother carried Bebita's torch. He was so relieved that he made no move orsound, but, as she disappeared in the direction of her room, softlyclosed his door and went back to bed.

  She had evidently left something downstairs, a book probably--he couldnot see what she had in the folds of the wrapper--and had gone to getit. If she was wakeful it was a good sign, indicated the condition ofdistressful unease her mother had hoped to create. Such alarm might leadto a salutory reform, a change, if not of heart, of behavior. Comfortedby the thought, he turned on his pillow and at last slept.