The Bartlett Mystery Part 25

CHAPTER XVI

WINIFRED DRIFTS

Winifred, pale as death, rose to receive her lover, with that letter in her hand which made an appointment with her at a house in East Orange; a letter which she believed to have been written by a dramatic agent, but which was actually inspired by Senator Meiklejohn. It was the bait of the trap which should put her once more in the power of Meiklejohn and his accomplices.

During a few tense seconds the girl prayed for power to play the bitter part which had been thrust upon her--to play it well for the sake of the man who loved her, and whom she loved. The words of his mother were still in her ears. She had to make him think that she did not care for him. In the last resort she had to fly from him. She had tacitly promised to do this woeful thing.

Far enough from her innocent mind was it to dream that the visit of Rex's mother had been brought about by her enemies in order to deprive her of a protector and separate her from her lover at the very time when he was most necessary to save her.

Carshaw entered in high spirits. "Well, I have news--" he began. "But, h.e.l.lo! What's the matter?"

"With whom?" asked Winifred.

"You look pale."

"Do I? It is nothing."

"You have been crying, surely."

"Have I?"

"Tell me. What is wrong?"

"Why should I tell _you_, if anything is wrong?"

He stood amazed at this speech. "Odd words," said he, looking at her in a stupor of surprise, almost of anger. "Whom should you tell but me?"

This touched Winifred, and, struggling with the lump in her throat, she said, unsteadily: "I am not very well to-day; if you will leave me now, and come perhaps some other time, you will oblige me."

Carshaw strode nearer and caught her shoulder.

"But what a tone to me! Have I done something wrong, I wonder? Winnie, what is it?"

"I have told you I am not very well. I do not desire your company--to-day."

"Whew! What majesty! It must be something outrageous. But what? Won't you be dear and kind, and tell me?"

"You have done nothing."

"Yes, I have. I think I can guess. I spoke of Helen Tower yesterday as of an old sweetheart--was that it? And it is all jealousy. Surely I didn't say much. What on earth did I say? That she was like a Gainsborough; that she was rather a beauty; that she was _elancee_ at twenty-two. But I didn't mean any harm. Why, it's jealousy!"

At this Winifred drew herself up to discharge a thunderbolt, and though she winced at the Olympian effort, managed to say distinctly:

"There can be no jealousy where there is no love."

Carshaw stood silent, momentarily stunned, like one before whom a thunderbolt has really exploded. At last, looking at the pattern of a frayed carpet, he said humbly enough:

"Well, then, I must be a very unfortunate sort of man, Winifred."

"Don't believe me!" Winifred wished to cry out. But the words were checked on her white lips. The thought arose in her, "He that putteth his hand to the plow and looketh back--"

"It is sudden, this truth that you tell me," went on Carshaw. "Is it a truth?"

"Yes."

"You are not fond of me, Winnie?"

"I have a liking for you."

"That's all?"

"That is all."

"Don't say it, dear. I suffer."

"Do you? No, don't suffer. I--can't help myself."

"You are sorry for me, then?"

"Oh, yes."

"But how came I, then, to have the opposite impression so strongly? I think--I can't help thinking--that it was your fault, dear. You made me hope, perhaps without meaning me to, that--that life was to be happy for me. When I entered that door just now no man in New York had a lighter step than I, or a more careless heart. I shall go out of it--different, dear. You should not have allowed me to think--what I did; and you should not have told me the truth so--quite so--suddenly."

"Sit down. You are not fair to me. I did not know you cared--"

"You--you did not know that I cared? Come, that's not true, girl!"

"Not so much, I mean--not quite so much. I thought that you were flirting with me, as I--perhaps--was flirting with you."

"Who is that I hear speaking? Is it Winifred? The very sound of her voice seems different. Am I dreaming? She flirting with me? I don't realize her--it is a different girl! Oh! this thing comes to me like a falling steeple. It had no right to happen!"

"You should sit down, or you should go; better go--better, better go,"

and Winifred clutched wildly at her throat. "Let us part now, and let us never meet!"

"If you like, if you wish it," said Carshaw, still humbly, for he was quite dazed. "It seems sudden. I am not sure if it is a dream or not. It isn't a happy one, if it is. But have we no business to discuss before you send me away in this fas.h.i.+on? Do you mean to throw off my help as well as myself?"

"I shall manage. I have an offer of work here in my hands. I shall soon be at work, and will then send the amount of the debt which I owe you, though you care nothing about that, and I know that I can never repay you for all."

"Yes, that is true, too, in a way. Am I, then, actually to go?"

"Yes."

"But you are not serious? Think of my living on, days and years, and not seeing you any more. It seems a pitiable thing, too. Even you must be sorry for me."

"Yes, it seems a pitiable thing!"

"So--what do you say?"