The Opened Shutters Part 7

"You can't wire him. He's one-nighting. I don't know where to catch him, and he couldn't come anyway."

John continued to regard her as she left her hold on the curtain and pressed a wet handkerchief to her eyes. "Come over here and sit down one minute, please. I won't stay long."

She followed reluctantly to the chair he placed. "You shouldn't stay at all," she returned. "I don't wish to trouble a perfect stranger with my woes, and except for Uncle Calvin you have no reason to be here, and--and I haven't any uncle any more."

It was pitiful to see her effort to control the pretty, grieving lips.

Her soul was smarting with the shock of her discovery, and the mortification of this stranger's knowledge of it. She wished to send him out of her sight at once; but her voice failed.

"Now, I'm neither Aunt Martha nor Uncle Calvin," said John, "and I refuse to be treated as if I were. If you haven't any friends in Boston I'm sure you can make one of me for five minutes. The situation is awkward enough, and you might feel for me a bit, eh?"

"No, not if you have come to try to persuade me to do anything.

Nat--Mr. Forsyth, says he is sure I could get a chance on the stage, and--and he says it would make everything easier if I married him; but my friends at home urged me so much, and said the stage was a dog's life, and persuaded me that my own people were the ones to help me now.

My own people!" the speaker pressed the handkerchief to her unsteady lips again, and her eyes swam afresh.

Dunham regarded her. Of course she could get a position on the stage.

Any creature so pretty always could. He pictured her in some chorus, these quivering lips reddened and the swimming eyes laughing in the shade of an outrageous hat.

"I should say the stage last myself," he returned. "Your own people _are_ the ones. Your Uncle Calvin"--

"I haven't any."

"Well, Judge Trent, then, is what is popularly described as a dried-up old bachelor. It never occurred to him that happiness might be--that he might find a daughter in you; but he wants to do his duty by you--indeed he does," for the girl's face was discouraging, "and, by George, you ought to let him do it."

"Never! And I always bade his picture good-night. Mother loved him so, and she taught me." The last word was inaudible.

Dunham leaned forward with his hands on his knees. "Now would you mind telling me, since you haven't any one else to tell, how much money you have?"

A little determined shake of the curls. "I shouldn't think of telling you."

"Then you're a very foolish girl. You ought to have more head and not so much heart in this affair. Judge Trent is a man whom any one might be proud to claim, and if you won't behave childishly we can bring him around all right."

"Do you think I'd stoop to bring him around?" she asked, with a moist flash of the eyes.

"You wouldn't be the first who stooped to conquer. If you were clever you would."

"Father thought I was clever, and so does Nat," she said, with feeble resentment.

"They wouldn't if they knew what you are doing now. Just because a busy old bachelor of a lawyer, immersed in hard-headed affairs, doesn't throw all aside and come here to welcome you and behave like a family man, you repudiate him altogether."

"She said they didn't either of them want me." The voice was a wail.

"But you weren't anything to them but a name."

"I'm their own flesh and blood."

"Yes, and see that you don't forget it. You have a claim upon them. Now at best it must be some days before you can communicate with your--friend, perhaps I ought to say your lover."

"Oh, no, don't," with faint dissent. "He's father's friend, really, and he's--poor thing, he's so fat I don't think he'd call himself anybody's lover; but he's so kind. He was so good to father."

This time the speaker did not vanish into the handkerchief, but caught her lip between her little teeth, and looking away, struggled for composure in a way that drew on John's heartstrings.

This slender creature, not yet strong from the illness that had crowned her head with those silky tendrils, and with no supporting arm save that of a barn-storming actor, mediocre in his middle age, what was Judge Trent's representative to do or say to prevent her from taking some foolish and desperate course!

"Now you simply must have money to tide you over," he announced. "Let's not have any nonsense. You can't knock about this hotel. Judge Trent knew what he was doing when he said the Young Women's Christian a.s.sociation. He wanted you guarded, and he wasn't--he didn't--he couldn't very well guard you himself." Dunham stammered, but collected himself with praiseworthy dignity. He had recalled his six feet of height, and rising, began to make the most of the last inch, and to try the effect of a frown down on the flower face whose eyes, looking a little startled, encouraged him. He frowned more heavily as he took a bill book from his pocket and counted out five five-dollar bills.

"Now take that money and put it away in some safe place," he said briefly. "I'll take you over to the a.s.sociation myself. No, indeed, I'm not Aunt Martha, and you're going with me."

The girl let the bills drop into her lap while she drew her hands away from them.

"I'd rather go and jump into the water!" she began pa.s.sionately.

"Don't--be--_silly_!" returned Dunham, in a biting, big-brother tone which seemed to have an effect.

"Is this Uncle Calvin's money?"

"Of course it is. What would your mother say if she were here? Of course I understand you're not going to be dependent upon Judge Trent.

You've made up your mind to that, and I'm not going to try to shake you; but I suppose you're not so childish as to refuse a small gift from your mother's brother, just because you're disappointed in him, or angry with him--or whatever you choose to call it. I'm rather pressed for time," continued John, after a short pause, a.s.suming the tone he reserved for a book agent on his busy day, and taking out his watch he gave it a sweeping glance. "It would oblige me very much if you could hurry a little. You can't stay here, you know, and I'll have a carriage ready."

Sylvia rose undecidedly. "You take a great deal for granted," she said.

"I--there's only one condition on which I'll go, and that is that you don't tell either my uncle or my aunt where I am. I will not see them.

I'll have no more of their sense of duty! I won't have Aunt Martha come back there."

"Oh, very well," Dunham gave a hasty and rather bored nod.

"But do you promise?" The blue eyes began to dry and to sparkle again.

"Well, yes, of course. I promise."

She left the room; and the various shades of dignity, sarcasm, and boredom gradually vanished from the young man's countenance. He smiled and shrugged his big shoulders with the gesture of a ten-year-old schoolboy, and moving over to a h.o.a.ry mirror with a freckled gilt frame, he executed a brief and silent clog before it.

"I'm not so bad," he commented to his reflection. "Nat isn't the only star in the profession."

CHAPTER V

JUDGE TRENT'S STUDY

Dunham took care not to see Miss Lacey again until their train was nearing its destination. Then as he approached the seat where she gazed out the car window he observed that her eyes bore traces of tears.

She gave a nervous start as she recognized him.

"Oh, there you are. I've been afraid you missed the train. I'm very glad you've come, for I'm going straight to Judge Trent's office with you, Mr. Dunham."

"Oh, are you?" responded the young man dubiously. He seemed to see his employer's warning glance. "I rather think Judge Trent will have gone home. It's pretty late."