Part 7

He looked up angrily. "What do you think of that?" he demanded.

"Think?" she stammered--"think?" She dropped her hands helplessly, staring at him. "Marie Hetherford is my sister!" she said.

"Your--sister," he repeated, after a long pause--"your sister!"

She pressed a white hand to her forehead, clearing her eyes with a gesture.

"Isn't it too absurd!" she said, dreamily. "My sister sent us a telegram like yours. Our parents are abroad. So my brother and I threw some things into a trunk and--and started! Oh, did you ever hear of anything like this?"

"Your sister!" he repeated, dazed. "My brother and your sister. And I am on my way to stop it; and you are on your way to stop it--"

She began to laugh--not hysterically, but it was not a natural laugh.

"And," he went on, "I've lost another sister in the shuffle, and you've lost another brother in the shuffle, and now there's a double-shuffle danced by you and me--"

"Don't. Don't!" she said, faint from laughter.

"Yes, I will," he said. "And I'll say more! I'll say that Destiny is taking exclusive charge of our two families, and it would not surprise me if your brother and my sister were driving around New York together at this moment looking for us!"

Their laughter infected the entire dining-car; every waiter snickered; the enfant terrible grinned; the aged minister of the Church of England beamed a rapid fire of benedictions on them.

But they had forgotten everybody except each other.

"From what I hear and from what I know personally of your family," she said, "it seems to me that they never waste much time about anything."

"We are rather in that way," he admitted. "I have been in a hurry from the time you first met me--and you see what my brother is going to do."

"Going to do? Are you going to let him?"

"Let him?" He looked steadily at her, and she returned the gaze as steadily. "Yes," he said, "I'm going to let him. And if I tried to stop him I'd get my deserts. I think I know my brother Jim. And I fancy it would take more than his brother to drag him away from your sister." He hesitated a moment. "Is she like--like you?"

"A year younger--yes, we are alike.... And you say that you are going to let him--marry her?"

"Yes--if you don't mind."

The challenge was in his eyes, and she accepted it.

"Is your brother Jim like you?"

"A year younger--yes.... May he marry her?"

She strove to speak easily, but to her consternation she choked, and the bright color dyed her face from neck to hair.

This must not be: she must answer him. To flinch now would be impossible--giving a double meaning and double understanding to a badinage light as air. Alas! Il ne faut pas badiner avec l'amour! Then she answered, saying too much in an effort to say a little with careless and becoming courage.

"If he is like you, he may marry her.... I am glad he is your brother."

The answering fire burned in his face; she met his eyes, and twice her own fell before their message.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, hot face between his hands; a careless attitude for others to observe, but a swift glance warned her what was coming--coming in a low, casual voice, checked at intervals as though he were swallowing.

"You are the most splendid girl I ever knew." He dropped one hand and picked up a flower that had slipped from her finger-bowl. "You are the only person in the world who will not think me crazy for saying this. We're a headlong race. Will you marry me?"

She bent her head thoughtfully, pressing her mouth to her clasped fingers. Her attitude was repose itself.