Part 62

"'Why don't you speak for yourself, John,'" she quoted, merrily.

"Because, to be frank, I haven't enough for two," he answered, gayly.

But beneath the gayety, she thought she detected the faintest note of regret. So! there was some one!

And, woman-like, when he had gone, she wondered about her--whether she was dark or fair, tall or small, vivacious or reserved, flirtatious or sedate, rich or poor--and whether they loved each other--or whether it was he, alone, who loved--or whether he had not permitted himself to be carried so far--or whether--then, she dropped asleep.

Croyden went back to Clarendon, keeping a sharp look-out for anyone under the trees around the house. He found Moses in the library, evidently just aroused from slumber by the master's door key.

"No one's bin heah, seh, 'cep de boy wid dis 'spatch," he hastened to say.

Croyden tore open the envelope:--It was a wire from Macloud, that he would be down to-morrow.

"You may go to bed, Moses."

"Yass, seh! yass, seh!--I'se pow'ful glad yo's back, seh. Nothin' I kin git yo befo I goes?"

"Nothing!" said Croyden. "You're a good soldier, Moses, you didn't sleep on guard."

"No, seh! I keps wide awake, Marster Croyden, wide awake all de time, seh. Survent, seh!" and, with a bow, he disappeared.

Croyden finished his cigar, put out the light, and went slowly upstairs--giving not a thought to the Parmenter treasure nor the man he had met outside. His mind was busy with Elaine Cavendish--their last night on the moonlit piazza--the brief farewell--the lingering pressure of her fingers--the light in her eyes--the subdued pleasure, when they met unexpectedly in Annapolis--her little ways to detain him, keep him close to her--her instant defense of him at Mattison's scurrilous insinuation--the officers' hop--the rhythmic throb of the melody--the scented, fluttering body held close in his arms--the lowered head--the veiled eyes--the trembling lashes--his senses steeped in the fragrance of her beauty--the temptation well-nigh irresistible--his resolution almost gone--trembling--trembling----

* * * * *

The vision passed--music ceased--the dance was ended. Sentiment vanished--reason reigned once more.

He was a fool! a fool! to think of her, to dream of the past, even. But it is pleasant, sometimes, to be a fool--where a beautiful woman is concerned, and only one's self to pay the piper.

XIV

THE SYMPHONY IN BLUE

Macloud arrived the next day, bringing for his host a great batch of mail, which had accumulated at the Club.

"I thought of it at the last moment--when I was starting for the station, in fact," he remarked. "The clerk said he had no instructions for forwarding, so I just poked it in my bag and brought it along. Stupid of me not to think of it sooner. Why didn't you mention it? I can understand why you didn't leave an address, but not why I shouldn't forward it."

"I didn't care, when I left--and I don't care much, now--but I'm obliged, just the same!" said Croyden. "It's something to do; the most exciting incident of the day, down here, is the arrival of the mail. The people wait for it, with bated breath. I am getting in the way, too, though I don't get much.... I never did have any extensive correspondence, even in Northumberland--so this is just circulars and such trash."

He took the package, which Macloud handed him, and tossed it on the desk.

"What's new?" he asked.

"In Northumberland? Nothing--beyond the usual thing. Everybody is back--everybody is hard up or says he is--everybody is full of lies, as usual, and is turning them loose on anyone who will listen, credulous or sophisticated, it makes no difference. It's the telling, not the believing that's the thing. Oh! the little cad Mattison is engaged--Charlotte Brundage has landed him, and the wedding is set for early next month."

"I don't envy her the job," Croyden remarked.

"It won't bother her!" Macloud laughed. "She'll be privileged to draw on his bank account, and that's the all important thing with her. He will fracture the seventh commandment, and she won't turn a hair. She is a chilly proposition, all right."

"Well, I wish her joy of her bargain," said Croyden. "May she have everything she wants, and see Mattison not at all, after the wedding journey--and but very occasionally, then."

He took up the letters and ran carelessly through them.

"Trash! Trash! Trash!" he commented, as he consigned them, one by one, to the waste-basket.