Part 70

"I wish I could do something," said he, quite miserably; and I could smell the wet serge of his sopping coat, though I couldn't see him, for my hands were over my eyes. I was ashamed of myself, but not as much ashamed as I would have been with any one else, because of the feeling I have that Mr. Starr would be so wonderfully nice and sympathetic to confide in. Not that I have anything to confide.

"Thank you, but you couldn't. Nobody could," I moaned.

"Not even Miss Van Buren?"

"Not now. It's too sad. Something seems to have come between us; I don't know what."

"Maybe that's making you cry?"

"No, I don't think so. Oh, I'm so unhappy!"

"You poor little dove! You don't mind my calling you that, do you?"

I shook my head. "No, it comforts me. It's so soothing after--after----"

"After what? Has anybody been beast enough----"

"Nobody's been a beast," I hurried to break in, "except, perhaps, me."

"Do tell me what's troubling you," he begged, and pulled my hands down from my face, not in the way Mr. van Buren had caught them, but very gently. I let him lead me to a sofa and dry my eyes with his handkerchief, because it seemed exactly like having a brother. It was just as nice to be sympathized with by him as I had often imagined it would be, and I liked it so much that I selfishly forgot he was soaked with rain, and ought to get out of his wet clothes.

"If I knew I would tell you," I said.

"You're worried about Alb--I mean Brederode?"

"Oh, now I know I'm a beast! I'd forgotten to ask about him, or the boats."

"You'd forgotten--by Jove! No, nothing heard or seen yet. I made Miss Van Buren come back at last. Had to say I was afraid of catching cold or she'd be there now. But see here, as it isn't Alb's fate that's bothering you, may I make a guess?"

"Yes, because you never could guess," said I.

"Is it--anything about van Buren?"

My face felt as if it was on fire. "Why, what should it be?" I asked.

"It might be, for instance, that you're sorry for him because he's engaged to a brute of a girl who's sure to make him miserable. You've got such a tender heart."

"You're partly right," I confessed. "Not that he's been complaining. He wouldn't do such a thing."

"No, of course not," said Mr. Starr.

"It's wonderful how that should have come into your mind," I said. "Please don't think me stupid to cry, but suddenly it came over me--such agonizing pity for him. I can't think he loves her."

"I'm sure he doesn't. I always wondered how he could, but to-night I saw that his engagement was making him wretched."

"You saw that?"

"Yes."

"You're so sympathetic," I couldn't help saying.

"Am I?"

"Yes. Do you know, I feel almost as if you were my brother?"