The Rose in the Ring Part 45

"Your daughter is coming?" asked David. The note of eagerness and relief in his voice caused the other's eyes to narrow suddenly.

"You've met her, I believe," he said, studying David's face.

"Once,--at the Springs."

"She's coming rather unexpectedly to make me an extended visit. I should deem it quite an honor, David, if you would give us the pleasure of your company some evening for dinner--"

"My stay here is to be very brief, Colonel Grand, and my time is entirely taken up," said David coldly.

"I'm sorry," said the Colonel, shrugging his shoulders in self-commiseration.

It was on the tip of David's tongue to ask him if he knew of Thomas Braddock's presence in town, but timely reflection convinced him that it would be unwise. The Colonel, in his alarm, might set about to have Braddock hunted down and confined without delay; and there was no telling what crime he would lay at Braddock's door in order to secure long imprisonment.

"I met your wife, also, at the Springs," said David, coolly subst.i.tuting the thrust.

The Colonel frowned slightly. "You are doubtless aware that my wife and I are no longer living together," he said, his lips straightening.

"I have heard something to that effect," said David easily,--so easily that the other could not mistake the insolence of the remark.

Grand flushed. "I am happy to say, young man, that my train is pulling in. I must therefore deny myself the pleasure of conversing with you any longer. Good-day, sir."

He did not bow as he turned away. A moment later he was threading his way through the crowd. David sauntered over to his first place of waiting, a smile on his lips. He was immensely relieved now, and not a little ashamed of a certain unworthy suspicion.

He fixed his eager gaze on the throng of people that came up from the train, pouring into the big waiting-room. First, he saw Roberta Grand as she came rus.h.i.+ng up to her father. He was struck by the swift change that came over the Colonel's face, who stared in amazement over the girl's shoulder, even as he embraced her. David allowed his gaze to return to the oncoming crowd.

Mary Braddock approached, apparently unconscious of the presence of either of her old a.s.sociates. She walked beside a decrepit old gentleman whom David at once surmised to be Albert Portman. A maid and a male attendant followed close behind. Christine was not in sight.

Mrs. Braddock saw Grand when not more than half a dozen paces separated them. She almost stopped in her tracks. David detected the look of surprise and dismay in her face. She and Grand were staring hard at each other, but neither made the slightest pretense of anything more than visual recognition. She averted her gaze after a moment of uncertainty, and, with her head erect, pa.s.sed close by the Colonel and his daughter, both of whom were scrutinizing her with brazen interest.

She did not see David Jenison, although he might have touched her by moving two steps forward. Disconcerted by the rude, insolent stare that was leveled jointly by her old enemy and his daughter, a vivid flush mantled her cheek and brow.

Time had made few changes in her appearance. Her face was softer, gentler if possible; her carriage was as erect and as proud as ever.

She was modestly, un.o.btrusively attired, as David expected she would be.

After she had pa.s.sed, the young man turned his attention again to the crowd, his nerves jumping with eagerness. Christine was sure to be not far behind her mother.

He saw her at last, a laggard at the end of the hurrying procession.

She pa.s.sed close by him. He stood motionless, seeing no one else, thinking of no one but this slim, adorable girl who had no eyes for him. At her side strode a tall, good-looking fellow whose manner toward her could be mistaken for nothing short of simple adoration.

She was smiling brightly, even rapturously up into the eyes of this eager swain. In another instant they were lost in the crowd that rushed to the ferry, but David was never to forget that pa.s.sing glimpse of her--not to the day of his death.

She was all that his fondest dreams, all that his fairest prophecies, had promised--nay, she surpa.s.sed them!

The pure, girlish face--the one of the deep, earnest eyes and tender lips--had been toned and perfected and rechiseled by the magic hand of Time. She was taller by several inches; a lissome creature who moved with the sureness and grace of an almost exalted symmetry.

His dazzled, gleaming eyes followed her into the vortex below. A vast wave of exultation suddenly rushed over him. He had held her in his arms--he had kissed this beautiful, joyous creature--this product of enchantment! Now, more than ever, was he resolved to claim her for his own. It was as good as settled, in his enraptured mind! Nothing could keep her from him now. He had loved her, he had waited for her, and he would have her in spite of everything.

What could it matter to him that she was coveted by all the men who knew her? He rejoiced in the fact that they were at her feet. It was left for him to look down upon them in the end, and smile with all the arrogance of triumphant possession!

Even as he exulted, a dissolving element was flung upon the crystal in which he saw his own glorification. A harsh, discordant voice was speaking at his elbow. He turned. Ernie Cronk was standing beside him.

It required a moment of concentration on the part of the infatuated David to grasp the significance of a certain livid hue in Ernie's face.

The hunchback was looking up at him. His eyes were bleak with unhappiness. There was no anger in them: only despair.

"That's the fellow," he was saying, his voice cracking hoa.r.s.ely. "He's the one she's in love with."

David started. "You mean--she's in love with him?" he demanded blankly.

"That's Bertie Stanfield. He's a great swell. He was here to meet her.

I saw him. It's--it's no use, David. No one else has got a show." His inclusion of David in his own misfortune, though by inference, would have been amusing at another time. Somehow, at this moment, it struck David as tragic. Was it possible that he was to find himself in the same boat with this unhappy, uncouth wors.h.i.+per?

He pulled hard at the end of his short mustache, and swallowed hard with involuntary abruptness.

"I--I have heard of him," he said, a sudden chill creeping into his veins.

"Did she--did she speak to you?" asked Ernie. The hard look was creeping back into his eyes.

"She didn't see me," muttered David.

"She spoke to me. She always does," said Ernie, twisting his fingers.

"But," he went on, almost in a wail, "it's because she--she pities me!"

David's heart was touched. He laid his hand on Cronk's shoulder and was about to speak kindly to him. The other drew back, shaking off the compa.s.sionate hand.

"None o' that, now. I don't need any pity from you. Keep your trap closed about me." He jammed his hands into his coat pockets and allowed his gaze to travel toward the ferry entrance. The despondent note returned to his voice. "Shall we take this boat or wait for the next?"

he asked. It was as if he had said: "We are companions in misery, you and I. Let's make the best of it."

David looked at him for a moment oddly. The humor of the situation struck him all at once; but the smile of derision died on his lips.

After all, perhaps he was in the discard with Ernie Cronk.

"I'm going to catch this boat," he said decisively. He started off, followed by his unchosen comrade, and caught the boat almost as it cast off in the slip.

Mrs. Braddock and Christine were far forward. They were chatting gayly with the blonde Mr. Stanfield, who appeared to be giving them the latest news of the town. Old Mr. Portman sat against the deck house.

David watched the little group at the rail from a safe distance. He allowed his fancy full play; his hopes rebounded; his confidence revived. By the time the ferry-boat was locked in the Manhattan slip he was buoyant with the hope and resolution of unconquered youth. He would win her away from them all.

All the way across the river he had been aware of Colonel Grand's close proximity to the little party of three. He stood, with Roberta, across the forward deck, leaning against the rail, his arms folded. At no time did he withdraw his gaze from the figure of Mary Braddock. Her back was toward him,--resolutely, it seemed to David,--and she must have been conscious of the carnal eyes bent upon her. Somehow David had the feeling that she was battling against the impulse to turn in response to the hypnotic command.

He hung back, biding his time, until the party had disappeared inside the ferry building. Then he hastened toward one of the exits, intent on securing a cab. He had made up his mind not to accost them; he would not present himself unexpectedly at a time and place when embarra.s.sment to them might be the result.

From somewhere at the edge of the crowd a thin, sardonic voice called out to him:

"So long, David. You know how it feels yourself now, don't you?" He knew who the speaker was without looking.

Mrs. Braddock was standing at the counter of the telegraph office near one of the street doors. He did not see her until he was almost upon her. She was alone and engaged in writing out a telegram. His plans were altered in an instant. A moment later, he was at her side, his face flushed and eager.

For many seconds she stared wonderingly into his smiling eyes. Before uttering a word she glanced at the message she had finished and was about to hand it to the clerk; then her gaze returned to his face.

"David Jenison," she said, and there was something like awe in her voice, "is it really you? How strange--how very strange!"