heart of the fire and were silent awhile, and, though she was so near, he didn’t touch her.
“So it wasn’t Arthur, after all!” he said at last.
“No,” she answered softly, “it wasn’t Arthur—thank God!”
“Amen!” said he, so fervently that she glanced up at him swiftly, then looked into the fire again. Seeing how the colour deepened in her cheek, he came a little nearer; but still he didn’t touch her; instead, he took out tobacco pouch and pipe and began to fill it with strangely clumsy fingers, and Hermione saw that his hands were trembling.
“Let me!” she said gently. So he surrendered pipe and pouch and, watching, saw that her hands trembled also; when at last she had filled the pipe, he took it and laid it on the table.
“Aren’t you going to smoke, dear?”
“No, not now. You’ll remember that Arthur also suggested you should—”
“Give you something to drink!” she added a little breathlessly and crossed to the cellaret in the corner. “Will you have brandy and soda?”
“Thanks—yes—that will do,” he answered absently, and when she dutifully brought the filled glass he took it and set it down untasted beside the pipe.
“Why, Geoffrey!” she said in murmurous surprise, “aren’t you thirsty?”
“No, not now. You will probably remember that Arthur also suggested you should—”
“I know!” she breathed, “but, oh, Geoffrey, dear—wait—just a little longer.”
“Why?” he demanded hoarsely.
“Because!” she answered, staring down at her clasped hands.
“Why?”
“Because, my Geoffrey, if—if I let myself—kiss you now, I—shall never be able to—tear myself away, and I must say good night to Arthur and—”
She paused as a knock sounded on the door, and Mrs. Trapes appeared.
“Why, dear land o’ my fathers!” she exclaimed. “Ain’t you had time t’ take off your bonnet yet, Hermy?”
“Goodness me!” exclaimed Hermione, “I forgot it!” So saying, off it came, and there was the curl above her eyebrow more wantonly alluring than ever.
“An’ there’s that blessed b’y,” continued Mrs. Trapes, “a-layin’ up-stairs yearnin’ for you, Hermy, an’ him s’ pale an’ gentle—God bless him! An’ it now bein’ exackly twenty-two an’ a half minutes past ‘leven by my beautiful new watch as ticks most musical! Time as you was in bed—both of you! an’ that reminds me, Hermy, I sent your maid t’ bed like you told me, an’ with my own two hands I laid out one o’ them lovely noo nightdresses—the one with the short sleeves an’ lace as you showed me last night an’—Land sakes, she’s gone! Think o’ that now—my, my! Mrs. Ravenslee’s wonderful quick an’ light on her feet, Mr. Geoffrey!”
Here Mrs. Trapes raised the watch to her ear and hearkened to its tick again, smiling at Ravenslee’s broad back as he turned to reach his glass.
“Them nightdresses,” she sighed, “as is all fluffs an’ frills an’ openwork, may be all right when you’re young, but for true comfort give me—flannel, every time.”
Here Ravenslee, in the act of sipping his brandy and soda, choked; when at last he glanced around, Mrs. Trapes was gone.
Then he drew a chair to the fire and, sitting down, took up his pipe and tried to light it, but Hermione’s nervous white fingers had packed it too tightly for mortal suction, whereat he sighed and, yielding to the impossible, sat with it in his hand, lost in happy thought and waiting for the swift light footsteps he yearned to hear.
The clock in the hall without struck midnight, but long after the mellow chime had died away he sat there waiting; but the great house lay very still about him, and no sound broke the pervading quiet. Wherefore at last he grew restless, frowned at the dying fire, and his strong fingers clenched themselves fiercely about the pipe they still held.
All at once he started, rose to his feet, and turned toward the door eager-eyed, as a hand knocked softly; before he could speak it opened, and Mrs. Trapes reappeared; she was clad in a long flannel dressing gown, and as she paused in the shadows by the door he could vaguely define that she still held the precious watch to her ear.
“It do tick that musical,” she said, “an’ I can’t sleep this night till I’ve tried t’ thank ye both for—for all your goodness to a lonely woman. Ah, Mr. Geoffrey, I guess th’ day as you came seekin’ lodgin’s at my little flat was a good day for Ann Angelina Trapes—why, my land, Mr. Geoffrey—ain’t Hermy here?”
“No,” answered Ravenslee a little bitterly. “Oh, no, I’m quite alone—as usual, Mrs. Trapes.”
“Why, now, that’s queer!”
“How queer?”
“Because I’ve jest been into her bedroom, an’ there’s her things—except that nightdress—but she—ain’t!”
“Not there? She must be! Did you look in—her bed?”
“Lord, Mr. Geoffrey—her bed ain’t been tetched!”
“Then where in the world is she?”
“Well,” said Mrs. Trapes, consulting her watch again, “it is now exactly fifteen and three-quarter minutes after midnight, so I guess she’s in bed somewhere. But this is a big house, an’ there’s lots of bedrooms, so if I was you, I’d go an’ look—till I found her—”
Ravenslee was at the door so swiftly that Mrs. Trapes started, and she saw his eyes were very bright, and the
