A Touch of Sun and Other Stories Part 25

She owned that it was. "Don't you see, Mrs. Daly, mamma doesn't leave room for the possibility of my refusing him. And if I do refuse him, he'll simply take me back to England, and then, between him and mamma, and all of them, I don't know what may happen."

"Kitty," I said, "no girl who has just escaped from one unhappy engagement is going to walk straight into another with her eyes wide open. I won't believe you could be so foolish as that."

"You don't understand," she said, "what the pressure will be at home--in all love and kindness, of course. And you don't know Uncle George. He is so sure that I need him, he'll force me to take him. He'll take me back to England in any case."

"And would you not like to go, Kitty?"

"Ah, wouldn't I! But not in that way."

She sat up in her flannel camp-gown, and began to braid up her loosened hair.

"Kitty," I commanded, "lie down. You are not to get up till luncheon."

"I have a plan," she said, "and I must see Cecil Harshaw; he must help me carry it out. There is no one else who can."

"You have all day to see him in."

"Not all day, Mrs. Daly. He must be ready to start to-morrow. Uncle George will reach Bisuka on the fifteenth, not later. Cecil must meet him there; first, to prepare him for Micky's new arrangement, and second, to persuade him that he does not owe me an offer of marriage in consequence. Cecil will know how to manage it; he must know! I will not have any more of the Harshaws offering themselves as subst.i.tutes. It will be very strange if I cannot exist without them somehow."

It struck me that the poor child's boast was a little premature, as she seemed to be making rather free use of one of the subst.i.tutes still, as a s.h.i.+eld against the others; but it was of a piece with the rest of the comedy. I kept her in bed till she had had a cup of tea; afterward she slept a little, and about noon she dressed herself and gave Cecil his audience. But first, at her request, I had possessed him with the main facts and given him an inkling of what was expected of him. His face changed; he looked as he did after his steeplechase the day I saw him first,--except that he was cleaner,--grave, excited, and resolved. He had taken the bit in his teeth. When subst.i.tute meets subst.i.tute in a cause like this! I would have left them to have their little talk by themselves, but Kitty signified peremptorily that she wished me to stay, with a flushed, appealing look that softened the nervous tension of her manner.

"I would do anything on earth for you, Kitty," Cecil said most gently and fervently; "but don't ask me to give advice--to Uncle George of all men--on a question of this kind--unless you will allow me to be perfectly frank."

"It's a family question," said Kitty, ignoring his proviso.

"I think it would get to be a personal question very soon between Uncle George and me. No; I meddled in one family question not very long ago."

"It's very strange," said Kitty restlessly, "if you can't help me out of this in some way. I cannot be so disrespectful to him, the dear old gentleman! He ought not to be put in such a position, or I either. How would you like it if it were your father?"

Cecil reddened handsomely at this home thrust. "I'd have a deuce of a time to stop him if he took the notion, you know; it's not exactly a son's or a nephew's business. There is only one way in which I can help you, Kitty.

You must know that."

He had struck a different key, and his face was all one blush to correspond with the new note in his voice. I think I never saw a manlier, more generous warmth of ardor and humility, or listened to words so simply uttered in such telling tones.

"What way is that?" asked Kitty coldly.

"Forgive me! I could tell him that you are engaged to me."

"That would be a nice way--to tell him a falsehood! I should hope I had been humiliated enough"--

She s.n.a.t.c.hed her handkerchief from her belt and pressed it to her burning face. I rose again to go. "Sit still, pray!" she murmured.

"It need not be a falsehood, Kitty. Let it be anything you like. You may trust me not to take advantage. A nominal engagement, if you choose, just to meet this exigency; or"--

"That would be cheating," cried Kitty.

"The cheat would bear a little harder on me than on any one else, I think."

"You are too good!" Kitty smiled disdainfully. "First you offer yourself to me as a cure, and now as a preventive."

"Kitty, I think you ought at least to take him seriously," I remonstrated.

"By all that's sacred, you'll find it's serious with me!" Cecil e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"Since when?" retorted Kitty. "How many weeks ago is it that I came out here by your contrivance to marry your cousin? Is that the way a man shows his seriousness? You sacrificed more to marry me to Micky than some men would to win a girl themselves."

"I did, and for that very reason," said Cecil.

"I should like to see you prove it!"

"Kitty, excuse me," I interrupted. "_I_ should like to ask Mr. Harshaw one question, if he does not mind. Do you happen to have that picture about you, Mr. Harshaw?"

I thought I was looking at him very kindly, not at all like an inquisitor, but his face was set and stern. I doubt if he perceived or looked for my intention.

"'That picture,' Mrs. Daly?" he repeated.

"The photograph of a young lady that you jumped into the river to save--don't you remember?"

Cecil smiled slightly, and glanced at Kitty. "Did I say it was a photograph of a lady?"

"No; you did not. But do you deny that it was?"

"Certainly not, Mrs. Daly. I have the picture with me; I always have it."

"And do you think _that_ looks like seriousness? To be making such protestations to one girl with the portrait of another in your coat pocket?

We have none of us forgotten, I think, that little conversation by the river."

He saw my meaning now, and thanked me with a radiant look. "Here is the picture, Mrs. Daly. Whose portrait did you think it was? Surely _you_ might have known, Kitty! This is the girl I wanted years ago and have wanted ever since; but she belonged to another man, and the man was my friend. I tried to save that man from insulting her and dishonoring himself, because I thought she loved him. Or, if he couldn't be saved, I wanted to expose him and save her. And I risked my own honor to do it, and a great fool I was for my pains. But this is the last time I shall make a fool of myself for your sake, Kitty."

I rose now in earnest, and I would not be stayed. In point of fact, n.o.body tried to stay me. Kitty was looking at her own face with eyes as dim as the little water-stained photograph she held. And Cecil was on his knees beside her, whispering, "I stole it from Micky's room at the ranch. That was no place for it, anyhow. May I not have one of my own, Kitty?"

I think he will get one--of his own Kitty.

Our rival schemer, Mr. Norman Fleet, has arrived, and electrical transmission has shaken hands with compressed air. The millennium must be on the way, for never did two men want so nearly the same thing, and yet agree to take each what the other does not need.

Mr. Fleet does not "want the earth," either, nor all the waters thereof; but the most astonis.h.i.+ng thing is, he doesn't want the Snow Bank! He not only doesn't want it himself, but is perfectly willing that Tom should have it. In fact, do what we will, it seems to be impossible for us to tread on the tail of that young man's coat. But having heard a little bird whisper that he is in love, and successfully so, I am not so surprised at his amiability. Neither am I altogether unprepared, if the little bird's whisper be true, for the fact that Miss Malcolm is becoming reconciled to Tom's designs upon her beloved scenery. For the sake of consistency, and that pure devotion to the Beautiful, so rare in this sordid age, I could have wished that she had not weakened so suddenly; but for Tom's sake I am very glad. She is clay in the hands of the potter, now that she knows my husband does not want "all the water," and that his success does not mean the failure of Mr. Norman Fleet.

Harshaw will take the Snow Bank scheme when he takes Kitty back to London.

If he promotes it, I tell Tom, after the fas.h.i.+on in which he "boomed"

Kitty's marriage to his cousin, we're not likely to see either him or the Snow Bank again. But "Harshaw is all right," Tom says; and I believe that the luck is with him.