CHAPTER XII. ~ IN WHICH THERE IS AN EXPLOSION.
“It is my impression,” said Dolly, “that something is going to happen.”
She was not in the best of spirits. She could not have explained why.Griffith was safe, at least, though he had been detained a week longerthan he had anticipated, and consequently their meeting would have to bedeferred; but though this had been a disappointment, Dolly was usedto such disappointments, and besides the most formidable part of thewaiting was over, for it was settled now that he would be home in twodays. It was Tuesday now, and on Thursday he was to return, and shewas going to Bloomsbury Place in the afternoon, and he was to join thefamily tea as he had used to do in the old times. But still she did notfeel quite easy. She was restless and uncomfortable in spite of herself,and was conscious of being troubled by a vague presentiment of evil.
“It is not like me to be blue,” she said to herself; “but I am blueto-day. I wonder what is going on at home.”
Then, as was quite natural, her thoughts wandered to Mollie, andshe began to ponder upon what Aimée had told her. How were mattersprogressing, and what was going to be the end of it all? The child’sdanger was plainer to her than it was to Aimée; and, fond as she was ofMollie, she had determined to improve the occasion of her visit home,by taking the fair delinquent aside and administering a sound lectureto her. She would tell her the truth, at least, and try to open herinnocent eyes to the fact that Mr. Gerald Chandos was not a man of theKing Cophetua stamp, and that there was neither romance nor poetry inallowing such a man to amuse himself at her expense.
Poor Mollie! It would be a humiliating view to take of a first conquest,but it would be the best thing for her in the end. Dolly sighed overthe mere prospect of the task before her. She remembered what her firstconquest had been, and how implicitly she had believed in her new power,and how trustingly she had swallowed every sugared nothing, and how shehad revelled in the field of possible romance which had seemed spreadbefore her, until she had awakened one fine day to find the firstflush of her triumph fading, and her adorer losing his attractions andbecoming rather tame. That had been long ago, even before Griffith’stime, but she had not forgotten the experience, and she knew itwould have been a severe shock to _her_ innocent self-love andself-gratulation, if any one had hinted to her that there was a doubt ofher captive’s honesty. She was roused from her reverie by a message fromMiss MacDowlas. It was only a commonplace sort of message. There weresome orders to be left at the poulterer’s and fruiterer’s, and somebills to be paid in town, and, these affairs being her business, MissMacDowlas had good-naturedly ordered the carriage for her, as she had along round to make.
Dolly got up and laid her work aside. She was not sorry for theopportunity of going out, so she ran up-stairs with some alacrity toput on her hat, and, having dressed, went to Miss MacDowlas for moreparticular instructions.
“You are looking rather pale and the drive will do you good,” said thatlady. “Call at Pullet’s and pay his bill, and order the things on hislist first. By the way, it was when I drove round to give orders toPullet the other day, that I saw your pretty sister with Gerald Chandos.She is too pretty, far too pretty, and far too young and inexperienced,to be giving private interviews to such people as Gerald Chandos,” sharply.
“Private!” repeated Dolly, with some indignation. “I think that is amistake. Mr. Gerald Chandos has no need to make his interview private.The doors are open to him at Bloomsbury Place so long as he behaveshimself.”
“The more is the pity,” answered Miss MacDowlas; “but that this was aprivate interview I am certain. My pretty Miss Innocence came up thestreet slowly with her handsome baby-face on fire, and two minutes laterGerald Chandos followed her in a wondrous hurry, and joined herand carried her off, looking very guilty and charming, and a triflereluctant, I must admit.”
Dolly’s cheeks flushed, and her heart began to beat hotly. If this wasthe case it was simply disgraceful, and Miss Mollie was allowing herselfto be led too far.
“I am sorry to hear this,” she said to Miss Mac-Dowlas, “but I amindebted to you for telling me. I will attend to it when I go home onThursday, and,” with a flash of fire, “if it is needful I will attend toMr. Gerald Chandos himself.”
She entered the carriage, feeling hot with anger and distress. She hadnot expected such a blow, even though she had told herself that she wasprepared to hear of any romantic imprudence. And then in the midst ofher anger she began to pity Mollie, as it seemed natural to pity heralways when she was indiscreet. Who had ever taught her to be discreet,poor child? Had she herself? No, she had not. She had been fond of herand proud of her beauty, but she had laughed at her unsophisticated,thoughtless way with the rest, and somehow they had all looked uponher as they looked upon Tod,--as rather a good joke. Dolly quite hatedherself as she remembered how she had related her own little escapadesfor the edification of the family circle, and how Mollie had enjoyedthem more than any one else. She had never overstepped the actualbounds of propriety herself, but she had been coquettish and fond ofadmiration, and had delighted to hold her own against the world.
“I was n’t a good example to her!” she cried, remorsefully. “She oughtto have had a good, wise mother. I wish she had. I wish I had onemyself.”
And she burst into tears, and leaned her head against the cushionedcarriage, feeling quite overcome by her self-reproach and consciousness.Their mother had died when Mollie was born, and they had been left tofight their own battles ever since.
She was obliged to control herself, however. It would never do topresent herself to Pullet in tears. So she sat up and dried her eyeswith her handkerchief, and turned to the carriage window to let thefresh air blow upon her face. But she had not been looking outtwo minutes when her attention was attracted by something down thestreet,--a bit of color,--a little tuft of scarlet feathers in a hat,and then her eyes, wandering lower, recognized a well-remembered jacketand a well-remembered dress, and then the next instant she uttered anexclamation in spite of herself.
“It is Mollie!” she cried. “It is Mollie, and here is Gerald Chandos!”
For at the door of a bookseller’s she was just nearing stood thegentleman in question, holding a periodical in his hand, and evidentlyawaiting an arrival.
He caught sight of Mollie almost as soon as she did herself, andthe instant he saw her he hurried toward her, and by the time MissMacDowlas’s carriage rolled slowly up to them, in its usual statelyfashion, he was holding the small disreputable glove Mollie had justtaken out of the convenient jacket pocket, and the fair culprit herselfwas listening to his eager greeting with the old, bright, uncontrollableblushes, and the old dangerous trick of drooping brown-fringed eyelids,and half-shy, half-wilful air. Dolly instinctively called to her almostaloud. She could not resist the impulse.
“Mollie!” she said. “Mollie!”
But, of course, Mollie did not hear her, and the carriage passed her,and Dolly sank back into her corner catching her breath.
“It was not a mistake,” she said; “it was true. It is worse than Ithought. Miss MacDowlas was right. It was no accident which brought themboth here. He is a cowardly scoundrel and is playing upon her ignorance.If I had believed in him before, I should know that he is not to betrusted now. She is walking on the edge of a precipice, and she thinksshe is safe and never dreams of its existence. Oh, Mollie! Mollie! theworld means nothing to you yet, and it is we who have to show you allthe thorns!”
She finished her errands and drove homeward as quickly as possible. Shecould think of nothing but Mollie, and by the time she reached BarbrazonLodge her head ached with the unpleasant excitement. The servant whoopened the door met her with a piece of information. Mr. Gowan hadcalled to see her on some special business, and was awaiting her arrivalin the drawing-room. He had been there almost an hour.
She did not go to her room at all, but ran up-stairs to the drawing-roomquickly, feeling still more anxious. It was just possible that somebodywas ill, and Ralph Gowa
n had come to break the news to her because noone else had been at liberty. With this idea uppermost, she opened thedoor and advanced toward him, looking pale and troubled.
He met her half-way, and took her outstretched hand, looking troubledhimself.
“You are not very well,” he said at once. “I am sorry to see that.” Andhis voice told her immediately that he had not come with good news.
She smiled faintly, but when she sat down she put her hand to herforehead.
“Am I pale, then?” she answered. “I suppose I must be. It is nothing buta trifle of headache, and,” with a hesitant laugh, “that I half fanciedyou had come to tell me something unpleasant.”
He was silent for a moment,--so silent that she looked up at him with astartled face.
“It _is_ something unpleasant!” she exclaimed. “You have come with illnews, and you are afraid to begin.”
“Not so bad as that,--not afraid, but rather reluctant,” he answered.“It is _not_ pleasant news; and but that I felt it would be wisest towarn you at once, I would rather any one else had brought it. I havestumbled upon a disagreeable report.”
“Report!” Dolly echoed, and her thoughts flew to Mollie again.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “It is only a disagreeable one becausethe subject of it has managed to connect himself with some one whosehappiness we value.”
Dolly rose from her chair and stood up, turning even paler than before.
“This some one whose happiness we value is Mollie,” she said. “And thereport you have heard is about Mr. Gerald Chandos. Am I not right?”
“Yes,” he returned, “you are right. The hero of the report is GeraldChandos.”
“What has he been doing?” she asked, sharply. “Don’t hesitate, please. Iwant to know.”
He was evidently both distressed and perplexed. He took two or threehurried steps across the room, as if to give himself a little extra timeto settle his words into the best form. But Dolly could not wait.
“Mr. Gowan,” she said, “what has that man been doing?”
He turned round and answered her.
“He has been passing himself off to your brother as an unmarried man,” he said.
She slipped back into her chair again, and wrung her hands passionately.
“And he is married?” she demanded. “Oh! how was it you did not knowthis?”
“Not one in ten of Mr. Gerald Chandos’s friends know it,” he returned.“And I am only a chance acquaintance. It is not an agreeable story totell, if what report says is true. Remember, it is only report as yet,and I will not vouch for it. It is said that the marriage was the endof a boyish folly, and that the happy couple separated by mutual consentsix months after its consummation. The woman went to California, andChandos has not seen her since, though he hears of her whereaboutsoccasionally.”
“And you are not quite sure yet that the report is true?” said Dolly.
“Not quite sure,” he replied; “but I wish I had greater reason to doubtit.”
Recurring mentally to the little scene she had witnessed on the streetonly an hour or so previously, and remembering Mollie’s blushes anddrooping eyes, and the look they had won from Mr. Gerald Chandos as hetook her half-reluctant hand in his, Dolly bit her lips hard, feelingher blood grow hot within her. She waited just a minute to cool herself,and then spoke.
“Mr. Gowan,” she said, “in the first place I ought to thank you.”
“Nay,” he said, “I promised to help you to care for Mollie.”
“I ought to thank you,” she repeated. “And I do. But in the second placeI am going to ask you to do something for me which may be disagreeable.”
“You may be sure,” he replied, “that I shall not hesitate.”
“Yes,” she said, “I think I am sure of that, or I should not ask you. Iam so eager about the matter, that I could not bear to waste the time.I want you to help me. On Thursday afternoon I am going home. Can youtrace this report to its source before then, and let me know whether itis a true or a false one?”
“I can try.”
She clasped both her gloved hands together on the small table beforeher, and lifted to his such a determined young face and such steadfasteyes, that he was quite impressed. She would rise in arms against theworld for poor, unwise Mollie, it was plain. It was not so safe a matterto trifle in Vagabondia, it would seem,--that Gerald Chandos would findto his cost.
“If you bring word to me that what you have heard is a truth,” she said,“I can go to Mollie with my weapon in my hand, and I can end all at oneblow. However wilful and incredulous she may have been heretofore, shewill not attempt to resist me when I tell her that. It is a humiliatingthing to think he has insulted her by keeping his secret so far; but wemeet with such covert stings now and then in Vagabondia, and perhaps itwill prove a blessing in disguise. If we had used our authority to makeher dismiss him without having a decided reason to give her, she mightonly have resented our intervention as being nothing but prejudice. Asit is, she will be frightened and angry.”
So it was agreed upon that he should take in hand the task of siftingthe affair to the bottom. His time was his own, and chance had thrownhim among men who would be likely to know the truth. As soon as he hadgained the necessary information, Dolly would hear from him, or he wouldcall upon her and give her all particulars.
“You have a whole day before you,--nearly two whole days, I may say,for I shall not be likely to leave here until five or six o’clockon Thursday,” Dolly said, when their rather lengthened interviewterminated.
“I will make the most of my time,” he replied.
Dolly stood at the window and watched him go down the walk to the gates.
“This is the something which was going to happen,” she commented.“Having set matters straight with Grif, I suppose it is necessary, forthe maintenance of my self-control, that I should have a difficultyabout Mollie; but I think I could have retained my equilibrium withoutit.”
The two days passed quietly enough up to Thursday afternoon. WhateverRalph Gowan had discovered, he was keeping to himself for the present.He had not written, and he had not called. Naturally, Dolly wasimpatient. She began to be very impatient indeed, as the afternoonwaned, and it became dusk. Worse still, her old restlessness came uponher. She could not make up her mind to leave Brabazon Lodge until shehad either seen or heard from Gowan, and she was afraid that if shelingered late Griffith would arrive before her, and would be troubled byher non-appearance. Since the night they had met in the street she hadnot seen him, and she had much to say to him. She had looked forwardanxiously to this evening, and the few quiet hours they were to spendtogether in the dear old disreputable parlor at Bloomsbury Place.They had spent so many blissful evenings in that parlor, that the verythought of it made her heart beat happily. Nobody would be there tointerfere with them. The rest of the family would, good-naturedly,vacate and leave them alone, and she would take her old chair by thefire, and Grif would sit near her, and in ten minutes after they had satso together, they would have left all their troubles behind them, andwandered off into a realm of tender dreams and sweet unrealities.But, impatient as she was to be gone, Dolly could not forget Mollie’sinterest. It was too near her heart to be forgotten. She must attend toMollie’s affairs first, and then she could fly to Grif and the parlorwith an easy conscience. So she waited until five o’clock beforedressing to go out, and then, after watching at the window for a while,she decided to go to her room and put on her hat and make all her smallpreparations, so that when her visitor arrived she might be ready toleave the house as soon as he did.
“It won’t do to keep Grif waiting too long, even for Mollie’s sake,” shesaid. “I must consider him, too. If Mr. Gowan does not come by six orhalf-past, I shall be obliged to go.”
She purposely prolonged her toilet, even though it had occupied agreater length of time than usual in the first instance. There hadbeen a new acquisition in the shape of a dress to don, and one or twocoquettish aids to
appearance, which were also novelties. But before sixo’clock she was quite ready, and, having nothing else to do, was reducedto the necessity of standing before the glass and taking stock ofherself and her attire.
“It fits,” she soliloquized, curving her neck in her anxiety to obtain aback view of herself. “It fits like a glove, and so Grif will be sure tolike it. His admiration for clothes that fit amounts to a monomania. Hewill make his usual ecstatic remarks on the subject of figure, too. AndI must confess,” with modest self-satisfaction,--“I must confess thatthose frills are not unbecoming. If we were only rich--and married--howI would dress, to please him! Being possessed of a figure, one’s resultsare never uncertain. Figure is a weakness of mine, also. With theavoirdupois of Miss Jolliboy, life would appear a desert. Ten thousandper annum would not console me. And yet she wears sables and seal-skin,and is happy. It is a singular fact, worthy of the notice of thephilosopher, that it is such women who invariably possess the sable andseal-skin. Ah, well!” charitably, “I suppose it is a dispensation ofProvidence. When they attain that size they need some compensation.”
Often in after time she remembered the complacent little touch ofvanity, and wondered how it had been possible that she could standthere, making so thoughtless and foolish a speech when danger was sonear, and so much of sharp, passionate suffering was approaching her.
She had waited until the last minute, and finding, on consulting herwatch, that it was past six, she decided to wait no longer. She tookup her gloves from the dressing-table and drew them on; she settledthe little drooping plume in her hat and picked up her muff, and then,giving a last glance and a saucy nod to the piquant reflection in theglass, she opened her bedroom door to go out.
And then it was, just at this last moment, that there came a ring at thehall-door bell,--evidently a hurried ring, and withal a ring which madeher heart beat, she knew not why.
She stood at the head of the staircase and listened. A moment later, andthe visitor was speaking to the servant who had admitted him.
“Mr. Gowan,” she heard. “Miss Crewe--wish to see her at once--at once.”
She knew by his voice that something was wrong, and she did not wait forthe up-coming of the servant. She almost flew down the staircase, andentered the parlor an instant after him; and when he saw her he met herwith an exclamation of thankfulness.
“Thank God!” he said, “that you are ready!” He was pale with excitement,and fairly out of breath. He did not give her time to answer him. “Youmust come with me,” he said. “There is not a moment to lose. I have acab at the door. I have driven here at full speed. The report is true,and I have found out that to-night Chandos leaves London. But that isnot the worst,--for God’s sake, be calm, and remember how much dependsupon your courage,--he intends taking your sister with him.”
Terrible as the shock was to her, she was calm, and did remember howmuch might depend upon her. She forgot Grif and the happy evening shehad promised herself; she forgot all the world but Mollie,--handsome,lovable, innocent Mollie, who was rushing headlong and unconsciously tomisery and ruin. A great, sharp change seemed to come upon her as sheturned to Ralph Gowan. She was not the same girl who, a minute or sobefore, had nodded at her pretty self in the glass; the excited bloodtingled in her veins; she was full of desperate, eager bravery,--shecould not wait a breath’s space.
“Come!” she exclaimed, “I am ready. You can tell me the rest when we arein the cab.”
She did not even know where they were going until she heard Gowan givethe driver the directions. But, as they drove through the streets, shelearned all.
In spite of his efforts, it was not until the eleventh hour that he hadsucceeded in obtaining positive proof of the truth of the report, thoughhe had found less cause to doubt it each time he made fresh inquiries.In the end he had been driven to the necessity of appealing to a man whohad been Chandos’s confidential valet, and who, rascal though he was,still was able to produce proofs to be relied on. Then he had beenroused to such indignation that he had driven to the fellow’s lodgingswith the intention of confronting him with his impudent guilt, and therehe had made the fearful discovery that he had just left the place with“a pretty, childish-looking girl,--tall, and with a lovely color,” asthe landlady described her; and he had known it was Mollie at once.
The good woman had given him all particulars. They had come to the housetogether in a cab, and the young lady had not got out, but had remainedseated in it while her companion had given his orders to his servantindoors. She--his housekeeper--had heard him say something aboutBrussels, and, having caught a glimpse of the charming face in thevehicle outside, she had watched it from behind the blinds, suspectingsomething out of the common order of things.
“Not that he did not treat her polite and respectful enough,” she added;“for he did and she--pretty young thing--seemed quite to expect it, andnot to be at all ashamed of herself, though she were a trifle shy andtimid. I even heard him ask her if she would rather he rode outside, andshe said she ‘thought so, if he pleased,’ And he bowed to her and went,quite obedient. That was what puzzled me so; if he ‘d ha’ been freer, Icould have understood it.”
“It does not puzzle me!” cried Dolly, clenching her hands and fairlypanting for breath when she heard it. “He knows how innocent she is, andhe is too crafty to alarm her by his manner. Oh, cannot we make this mandrive faster?--cannot we make him drive faster?”
Gowan drew out his watch and referred to it.
“There is no danger of our losing their train,” he said. “It does notleave the station until nearly seven, and it is not yet half-past six.If they leave London to-night, we shall meet them; if they do not, Ithink I can guess where we shall find them. Remember, you must not allowyourself to become excited. We have only our coolness and readiness ofaction to rely upon. If we lose our presence of mind, we lose all.”
He did not lose his presence of mind, at least.
Even in the midst of her distress, Dolly found time to feel grateful tohim beyond measure, and to admire his forethought. He never seemedto hesitate for a moment. He had evidently decided upon his coursebeforehand, and there was no delay. Reaching the station, he assistedDolly to descend from the cab and led her at once to a seat where shecould command a view of all who made their appearance upon the platform.Then he left her and went to make inquiries from the officials. Hewas not absent long. In a few minutes he returned with the necessaryinformation. The train was not due for twenty minutes, and as yet nolady and gentleman answering to his description had been seen by any onein the place.
He came to Dolly and took a seat by her, looking down at her upturned,appealing face pityingly, but reassuringly.
“We are safe yet,” he said. “They have not arrived, and they can havetaken passage in no other train. We will watch this train leave thestation, and then we will drive at full speed to the hotel Chandos is inthe habit of visiting when he makes a flying journey. I know the placewell enough.”
The next half-hour was an anxious one to both. The train was behindtime, and consequently they were compelled to wait longer than they hadexpected. A great many people crowded into the station and took ticketsfor various points,--workingmen and their wives, old women with bundles,and young ones without, comfortable people who travelled first-class andseemed satisfied with themselves, shabbily attired little dressmakersand milliners with bandboxes, a party of tourists, and a few nice girls;in fact, the usual samples of people hurrying or taking it easy, losingtheir temper or preserving it; but there was no Mollie. The last momentarrived, the guards closed the carriage doors with the customary bang,and the customary cry of “All right;” there were a few puffs and awhistle, and then the train moved slowly out of the station. Mollie wasnot on her way to Brussels yet; that was a fact to be depended upon.
Dolly rose from her seat with a sigh which was half relief.
“Now for trying the hotel,” said Gowan. “Take my arm and summon up yourspirits. In less than a quarter of an hour, I th
ink I may say, we shallhave found our runaway, and we shall have to do our best to reduce herromantic escapade to a commonplace level. We may even carry her back toBloomsbury Place before they have had time to become anxious about her.Thank Heaven, we were so fortunate as to discover all before it was toolate!”
Bloomsbury Place! A sudden pang shot through Dolly’s heart. Sherecollected then for the first time that at Bloomsbury Place Griffithwas waiting for her, and that it might be a couple of hours before shecould see him and explain. She got into the cab and leaned back in onecorner, with the anxious tears forcing themselves into her eyes. Itseemed as if fate itself was against her.
“What will he think?” she exclaimed, unconsciously. “Oh, what willhe think?” Then, seeing that Gowan had heard her, she looked at himpiteously.
“I did not mean to speak aloud,” she said. “I had forgotten in mytrouble that Grif will be waiting for me all this time. He has gone tothe house to meet me, and--I am not there.”
Perhaps he felt a slight pang, too. For some time he had been slowlyawakening, to the fact that this otherwise unfortunate Grif was all inall to her, and shut out the rest of the world completely. He had nochance against him, and no other man would have any. Still, even in theface of this knowledge, the evident keenness of her disappointment cuthim a little.
“You must not let that trouble you,” he said, generously. “Donne willeasily understand your absence when you tell him where you have been.In the meantime, I have a few suggestions to make before we reach thehotel.”
It was Mollie he was thinking of. He was wondrously tender of her in hisman’s pity for her childish folly and simplicity. If possible, they mustkeep her secret to themselves. If she had left no explanation behindher, she must have given some reason for leaving the house, and if theyfound her at the hotel it would not be a difficult matter to carry herback home without exciting suspicion, and thus she would be saved theembarrassment and comment her position would otherwise call down uponher. Griffith might be told in confidence, but the rest of them mightbe left to imagine that nothing remarkable had occurred. These were hissuggestions.
Dolly agreed to adopt them at once, it is hardly necessary to say. Theidea that it would be possible to adopt them made the case look lessformidable. She had been terribly troubled at first by the thought ofthe excitement the explanation of the escapade would cause at BloomsburyPlace. Phil would have been simply furious,--not so much against Mollieas against Chandos. His good-natured indifference to circumstances wouldnot have been proof against the base betrayal of confidence involved inthe affair. And then even in the after-time, when the worst was over andforgotten, the innumerable jokes and thoughtless sarcasms she would havehad to encounter would have been Mollie’s severest punishment. When theremembrance of her past danger had faded out of the family mind, and thewhimsical side of the matter presented itself, they would have teasedher, and Dolly felt that such a course would be far from safe. So shecaught at Ralph Gowan’s plan eagerly.
Still she felt an excited thrill when the cab drew up before the door ofthe hotel. Suppose they should not find her? Suppose Chandos had takenprecautions against their being followed?
But Gowan did not seem to share her misgivings, though the expressionupon his face was a decidedly disturbed one as he descended from thevehicle.
“You must remain seated until I come back,” he said. “I shall not bemany minutes, I am sure. I am convinced they are here.” And then heclosed the cab door and left her.
She drew out her watch and sat looking at it to steady herself. Her mindwas not very clear as to how she intended to confront Mr. Gerald Chandosand convince Mollie. The convincing of Mollie would not be difficult,she was almost sure, but the confronting of Gerald Chandos was not apleasant thing to think of.
She was just turning over in her mind a stirring, scathing speech, whenthe cab door opened again, and Gowan stood before her. He had not beenabsent five minutes.
“It is as I said it would be,” he said. “They are here,--at least Mollieis here. Chandos has gone out, and she is alone in the private parlorhe has engaged for her. They have evidently missed their train. Theyintended to leave by the first in the morning. I have managed to givethe impression that we are expected, and so we shall be shown on to thescene at once without any trouble.”
And so they were. A waiter met them at the entrance and led themup-stairs without the slightest hesitation.
“It is not necessary to announce us,” said Gowan. And the man threw openthe door of No. 2 with a bow.
They crossed the threshold together without speaking, and when thedoor closed behind them they turned and looked at each other with asimultaneous but half-smothered exclamation.
It was a pretty room, bright with a delicate gay-hued carpet and thickwhite rugs, numerous mirrors and upholstering of silver-gray and blue.There was a clear-burning fire in the highly polished steel-grate,and one of the blue and silver-gray sofas had been drawn up to it,and there, upon this sofa, lay Mollie with her hand under her cheek,sleeping like a baby.
They were both touched to the heart by the mere sight of her. There wassomething in the perfect repose of her posture and expression that waschildish and restful. It was a difficult matter to realize that she wassleeping on the brink of ruin and desolation. Something bright gatheredon Dolly’s lashes and slipped down her cheek as she looked at her.
“Thank God, we have found her!” she said. “Just to think that she shouldbe sleeping like that,--as if she was at home. If she was two years oldshe might wear just such a look.”
Gowan hardly liked to stand by as she went toward the sofa. The girl’sface, under the coquettish hat, seemed to grow womanly, her whole figureseemed to soften as she knelt down upon the carpet by the couch and laidher hand upon Mollie’s shoulder, speaking to her gently.
“Mollie,” she said, “dear, waken.”
Just that, and Mollie started up with a faint cry, dazzled by the light,and rubbing her eyes and her soft, flushed cheeks, just as she had donethe night Gowan surprised her asleep in the parlor.
“Dolly,” she cried out, when she saw who was with her,--“Dolly,” in ahalf-frightened voice, “why did you come here?”
“I came to take you home,” answered Dolly, tremulously, but firmly.“Thank God! I am not too late! Oh, Mollie, Mollie, how could you?”
Mollie sat up among her blue and gray cushions and stared at her for amoment, as if she was not wide enough awake to realize what she meant.But the next instant she caught sight of Ralph Gowan, and that rousedher fully, and she flushed scarlet.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “I don’t know what you meanby coming here in this way. And I don’t know what Mr. Gowan means bybringing you,--for I feel sure he has brought you. I am not a baby,to be followed as if I could not take care of myself. I am going tobe married to Mr. Gerald Chandos to-morrow, and we are going on theContinent for our wedding tour.”
She was in a high state of rebellion. It was Gowan’s presence she wasresenting, not Dolly’s. To tell the truth, she was rather glad to seeDolly. She had begun to feel the loneliness of her position, and it hadhalf intimidated her. But the sight of Gowan roused her spirit. Whatright had he to come and interfere with her, since he did not care forher and thought she was nothing but a child? It made her feel like achild. She turned her back to him openly as she spoke to Dolly.
“I am going to be married in the morning,” she repeated; “and we aregoing to Brussels.”
Then, in her indignation against Mr. Gerald Chandos, Dolly fired alittle herself.
“And has it never occurred to you,” she said, “that it is rather ahumiliating thing this running away, as if you knew you were doingsomething disgraceful? May I ask what reason Mr. Gerald Chandos givesfor asking you to submit to such an insult, for it is an insult?”
“He has very good reasons,” answered Mollie, beginning to falter all atonce, as the matter was presented to her in this new and trying light.“He has very good reasons,-
-something about business and--and hisfamily, and he does not intend to insult me. He is very fond of me andvery proud of me, and he is going to try to make me very happy. He--hehas bought me a beautiful trousseau--” And then, seeing the two exchangeindignant yet pitying glances, she broke off suddenly and burst forth asif she was trying to hide in anger the subtle, mysterious fear which wasbeginning to creep upon her. “How dare you look at each other so!” shecried. “How dare you look at me so! I have done nothing wrong. He saysmany other people do the same thing and--and I won’t be looked at so. Ishall not tell you another word. You--you look as if I was going to dosomething wicked and dreadful.” And she flung herself face downward uponthe sofa cushions and broke into a passionate, excited sob.
Then Dolly could control herself no longer. She flashed out into a stormof wrath and scorn against this cool, systematic scoundrel, who wouldhave wrought such harm against such simple ignorance of the world.What had they not saved her from, poor, foolish child? She clenched herlittle, gloved hand and struck it against the sofa arm, the hot colorflaming up on her cheeks and the fire lighting in her eyes.
“Mollie!” she exclaimed, “that is what is true! You are going to dosomething that is dreadful to think of, though you do not think sobecause you do not know the truth. And we have come to tell you thetruth and save you. That man is a villain,--he is the worst of villains.He does not intend to marry you,--he cannot marry you, and, knowinghe cannot, he has been laying traps for months to drag you down intoa horrible pit of shame. Yes, of the bitterest grief and shame,--poor,simple child as you are,--for I must tell you the whole dreadful truth,though I would far rather hide it from you, if I could. There are somewicked, wicked men in the world, Mollie, and Gerald Chandos is one ofthe worst, for he has got a wife already.”
It did not seem to be Mollie who sprang up from her cushions andconfronted them with wide-opened eyes. Every bit of color had died outof her cheeks and lips, and she turned from one to the other with awild, appealing look.
“It is n’t true,” she insisted, desperately; but her voice was broken,and she sobbed out her words in her fright. “It is n’t true! It is n’ttrue! You want to frighten me.” And all at once she ran to Ralph Gowanlike a child, and caught hold of his arm with her pretty, shakinghands. “Mr. Gowan,” she said, “you know, don’t you? and you won’t--youwon’t--Oh, where is Aimée? I want Aimée! Aimée is n’t like the rest ofyou! _She_ would have made me go home without being so cruel as this.” And the next minute she turned so white and staggered so, that Dolly ranto her, and Gowan was obliged to take her in his arms.
“Tell her that what I have said is true,” said Dolly, crying. “She willbegin to understand then.”
And so, while he held her, panting and sobbing and clinging to him,Gowan told her all that he had learned. He was as brief as possible andas tender as a woman. His heart so warmed toward the pretty, lovable,passionately frightened creature, that his voice was far from steady ashe told his story.
She did not rebel an instant longer, then. Her terror, under the shock,rendered her only helpless and hysterical. She had so far lost controlover herself that she would have believed anything they had chosen totell her.
“Take me away,” she cried, whitening and shivering, all her bright,pretty color gone, all her wilful petulance struck down at a blow. “Takeme home,--take me home to Aimée. I want to go away from here before hecomes. I want to go home and die.”
How they got her down-stairs and into the carriage, Dolly scarcelyknows. It was enough that they got her there and knew she was safe. Uponthe table in the room above they had left a note directed to Mr. GeraldChandos,--Dolly had directed it and Dolly had written it.
“Is there pen and ink here?” she had asked Gowan; and when he hadproduced the articles, she had bent over the table and dashed a fewlines off with an unsteady yet determined hand.
“There!” she had said, when she closed the envelope. “Mr. Chandos willgo to Brussels, I think, and he will understand why he goes alone, and,for my part, I incline to the belief that he will not trouble us again.”
And in five minutes more they were driving toward Bloomsbury Place.
But now the first excitement was over, Dolly’s nerve began to fail her.Now that Mollie was safe, she began to think of Griffith. It seemed acruel trick of fortune’s to try his patience so sharply just at thisvery point. She knew so well what effect his hours of waiting would haveupon him. But it was useless to rebel now; so she must bear it as wellas she could, and trust to the result of her explanation. Yet despiteher hope, every minute of the long drive seemed an age, and she grewfeverish and restless and wretched. What if he had not waited, and wasnot there to listen to what she had to say? Then there would be all theold trouble to face again,--perhaps something worse.
“It is nine o’clock,” she said, desperately, as they passed a lightedchurch tower. “It is nine o’clock.” And she leaned back in her corneragain, with her heart beating strongly. Her disappointment was so keenthat she could have burst into a passion of tears. Her happy eveningwas gone, and her dream of simple pleasure had fled with its sacrificedhours. She could not help remembering this, and being quite conquered bythe thought, even though Mollie was safe.
They had settled what to do beforehand. At the corner of the streetGowan was to leave them, and the two girls were to go in together,Mollie making her way at once to her room upon pretext of headache. Anight’s rest would restore her self-control, and by the next morning shewould be calm enough to face the rest, and so her wild escapade wouldend without risk of comment if she was sufficiently discreet to keep herown counsel. At present she was too thoroughly upset and frightened evento feel humiliation.
“Nearly half-past nine,” said Gowan, as he assisted them to descend tothe pavement at their journey’s end.
The light from an adjacent lamp showed him that the face under Dolly’shat was very pale and excited, and her eyes were shining and large withrepressed tears as she gave him her hand.
“I cannot find words to thank you just yet,” she said, low andhurriedly. “I wish I could; but--you know what you have helped me tosave Mollie from to-night, and so you know what my gratitude must be.The next time I see you, perhaps, I shall be able to say what I wish,but now I can only say goodnight, and--oh, God bless you!” And thelittle hand fairly wrung his.
Mollie shook hands with him, trembling and almost reluctantly. She waspale, too, and her head drooped as if it would nevermore regain the oldtrick of wilful, regal carriage.
“You have been very kind to take so much trouble,” she said. “You werekinder than I deserved,--both of you.”
“Now,” said Dolly, when he sprang into the cab, and they turned awaytogether,--“now for getting into the house as quietly as possible. No,” trying to speak cheerily, and as if their position was no great matter,“you must n’t tremble, Mollie, and you mustn’t cry. It is all over now,and everything is as commonplace and easy to manage as can be. You havebeen out, and have got the headache, and are going to bed. That isall. All the rest we must forget. Nothing but a headache, Mollie, anda headache is not much, so we won’t fret about it. If it had been aheartache, and sin and shame and sorrow--but it isn’t. But, Mollie,” they had already reached the house then, and stood upon the steps, andshe turned to the girl and put a hand on each of her shoulders, speakingtremulously, “when you go up-stairs, kneel down by your bedside and sayyour prayers, and thank God that it is n’t,--thank God that it is n’t,with all your heart and soul.” And she kissed her cheek softly just asthey heard Aimée coming down the hall to open the door.
“Dolly!” she exclaimed when she saw them, “where have you been? Griffithhas been here since five, and now he is out looking for you. I had givenyou up entirely, but he would not. He fancied you had been delayed bysomething.”
“I have been delayed by something,” said Dolly, her heart failing heragain. “And here is Mollie, with the headache. You had better go to bed,Mollie. How long is it since Grif left the
house?”
“Scarcely ten minutes,” was the answer. “It is a wonder you did not meethim. Oh, Dolly!” ominously, “how unlucky you are!”
Dolly quite choked in her effort to be decently composed in manner.
“I _am_ unlucky,” she said; and without saying more, she made her wayinto the parlor.
She took her hat off there and tossed it on the sofa, utterly regardlessof consequences, and then dropped into her chair and looked round theroom. It did not look as she had pictured it earlier in the day. Itscheerfulness was gone, and it looked simply desolate. The fire had sunklow in the grate, and the hearth was strewn with dead ashes;--somehow orother, everything seemed chilled and comfortless. She was too late forthe brightness and warmth,--a few hours before it had been bright andwarm, and Grif had been there waiting for her. Where was he now? Shedropped her face on the arm of her chair with a sob of disappointedfeeling and foreboding. What if he had seen them leave Ralph Gowan, andhad gone home!
“It’s too bad!” she cried. “It is cruel! I can’t bear it! Oh, Grif, _do_come!” And her tears fell thick and fast.
Ten minutes later she started up with a little cry of joy and relief.That was his footstep upon the pavement, and before he had time to ringshe was at the door. She could scarcely speak to him in her excitement.
“Oh, Grif!” she said; “Grif--darling!”
But he did not offer to touch her, and strode past her outstretchedhands.
“Come into this room with me,” he said, hoarsely; and the simple soundof his voice struck her to the heart like a blow.
She followed him, trembling, and when they stood in the light, and shesaw his deathly, passion-wrung face, her hand crept up to her side andpressed against it.
He had a package in his hand,--a package of letters,--and he laid themdown on the table.
“I have been home for these,” he said. “Your letters,--I have broughtthem back to you.”
“Grif!” she cried out.
He waved her back.
“No,” he said, “never mind that. It is too late for that now, that isall over. Good God! all over!” and he panted for breath. “I have been inthis room waiting for you,” he struggled on, “since five o’clock. I camewith my heart full to the brim. I have dreamt about what this eveningwas to be to us every night for a week. I was ready to kneel and kissyour feet. I waited hour after hour. I was ready to pray--yes, to_pray_, like a fool--that I might hold you in my arms before the nightended. Not half an hour ago I went out to see if you were coming. Andyou were coming. At the corner of the street you were bidding good-nightto--to Ralph Gowan--”
“Listen!” she burst forth. “Mollie was with me--
“Ralph Gowan was with you,” he answered her; “it does not matter whoelse was there. You had spent those hours in which I wanted you withhim. That was enough,--nothing can alter that.” And then all at once hecame and stood near her, and looked down at her with such anguish in hiseyes that she could have shrieked aloud. “It was a poor trick to play,Dolly,” he said; “so poor a one, that it was scarcely like you. Yourcoquetries had always a fairer look. The commonest jilt might havedone such a thing as that, and almost have done it better. It is an oldtrick, too, this playing the poor fool against the rich one. The onlymerit of your play has been that you have kept it up so long.”
He was almost mad, but he might have seen that he was trying her toofar, and that she would break down all at once. The long strain ofthe whole evening; his strange, unnatural mood; her struggle againstwretchedness--all were too much for her to bear. She tried to speak,and, failing, fought for strength, sobbed thrice, a terrible, hystericalsob, like a child’s, and then turned white and shivered, withoututtering a word.
“Yes,” he said, “a long time, Dolly”--but his sentence was never ended,for that instant she went down as if she had been shot, and lay near hisfeet quivering for a second, and then lying still.
He was not stayed even then. He bent down and lifted her in his arms andcarried her to the sofa, pale himself, but not relenting. He seemed tohave lived past the time when the pretty, helpless figure, in all itssimple finery, would have stirred him to such ecstasy of pain. He wasmad enough to have believed even her helplessness a lie, only that thecruel, ivory pallor was so real. He did not even stoop to kiss her whenhe turned away. But all the treasure of faith and truth and love haddied out of his face, the veriest dullard could have seen; his veryyouth had dropped away from him, and he left the old, innocent dreamsbehind, with something like self-scorn.
“Good-by,” he said; “we have lost a great deal, Dolly--or I have lostit, I might say. And even you--I believe it pleased even you untilbetter fortune came; so, perhaps, you have lost something, too.”
Then he went to the bell and touched it, and, having done so, strode outinto the narrow hall, opened the front door and was gone; and when,a few minutes later, Aimée came running down to answer the strangesummons, she found only the silent room, Dolly’s white, piteous faceupon the sofa-cushion, and the great package of those old, sweet,foolish letters upon the table.