Читать книгу The Opal Pin - Rufus Gillmore - Страница 4

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The young man was tall and slender; he had heavy black hair and peculiarly dark and lustrous brown eyes. The young man was well groomed, his clothes seemed to lend, and, at the same time, to take, a certain air of distinction. The young man had the aquiline nose of the man that ventures, but neither one nor all these details quite explained the strange interest he excited in two other passengers on that Boston-bound Knickerbocker Limited.

He was brooding, brooding over something so deeply that to him there was no other person in that parlor-car. But some queer cast of chance had deposited him in the next chair to Benjamin Bunce. And Bunce was—varying the old phrase to suit events—Bunce certainly was the dub in the machine.

Bunce, one gathered from a self-importance that fairly bugled, was a prominent Boston business man; Bunce was one of those short, corpulent, self-made men who overlap, who are so pleased with themselves that they are pleased to talk to the man in the next seat. The pleasure is mostly theirs.

Now, in that slow, tedious ride with which the railroad separates Boston from New York, it is common enough for men of Bunce’s order to endeavor to make friends; but, when all their early advances are checked by a certain positive, if polite, distance, they seldom try to force an acquaintance. Not a bit of it! That is not Boston-bound behavior. Also, it is common enough for a traveler, doomed to Boston, to be distant, to indicate plainly that he would like to be left to himself. But usually one thus frigid turns his chair toward the window, plants his feet upon the heating conduit and uses the high back of said chair as a bulwark against intrusion.

The young man in the smug Wagner had neglected to do this. He sat sprawled low in a chair still pointed up the aisle; and he seemed too engrossed in his thoughts even to be scratched by Bunce’s ludicrous determination to make his acquaintance.

Bunce retired from his vain attempt to drag the young man into conversation with a knowing nod of his fat, round head, and a smile where one would have expected a frown. He turned, and behind the high back of his own chair consulted again the picture, the headlines and the few paragraphs he had torn from an inner page of one of New York’s yellow newspapers. This time he folded over the picture, which was as like the stranger as newspaper cuts are like anybody, skipped the headlines which told the meat of the story and read eagerly the fervent language in which they were rehashed by a thoroughly impassioned rewrite man. They declared:

“Late last fall the wreck off the Balearic Islands of their yacht caused the loss to the Earl of Ashburton of his two eldest sons, and obliged him to summon from America a younger scion of his noble name upon whom devolved the title of Lord Bellmere. The present Lord Bellmere returned, endured the endless round of gaieties of English social life for one brief winter, and acted as became the son and heir of one of the wealthiest peers of the realm. One brief winter! And now he has fled the parental roof-tree and vanished into thin air.

“Rumor saith that the rebellious lord has had words with his hot-tempered father over the same old opinions that separated them of yore, and has hied him back to America to prove that his birthright is but a mess of pottage, and that he is capable of making a name and place in life for himself.

“Whether this be true or no, this much is known: The young and handsome Lord Bellmere thinks for himself, and is no longer to be found in his old haunts, while the Earl, his father, gruffly denies having any knowledge whatever of his present whereabouts, though he will say no more.

“More than likely, Lord Bellmere has returned to America, where he was educated and insisted upon living until summarily called home. During the brief London season, which he has just graced, he was known as ‘The American Lord’ because of his unconventional ideas and speech. He disdains society, and has even been known to use slang.

“Perhaps he is already among us, incognito, and making good as man was intended to make good. It is said that he conld easily be taken for one of us.

“Welcome, Lord Bellmere!”

Bunce hid the newspaper clipping away in an inner pocket and pondered, until a look of sly cunning appeared in his small eyes. He turned quickly toward the stranger.

“My lord,” he whispered.

The young man started, but reverted to his abstractions without turning his head.

Bunce grinned, resumed his louder tone and baited with a fresh subject.

“Awful rumpus those suffragettes are kicking up on the other side.”

The stranger nodded without looking up.

“Getting so it isn’t safe for a man to go out walking alone. Seen the afternoon papers?” Bunce thrust a bunch of them toward him.

The young man thanked him and took the papers, but, after a perfunctory glance at the topmost, allowed them to drop into his lap.

Bunce shook his head and turned toward his neglected companion on the other side. Here he could command attention, for this young man was in his employ.

“Ice, David; ice!” he muttered, taking for granted that his actions had been watched and his defeat noticed. “I tell you what, our Cabots and Endicotts and Coolidges may have walked with God, but they haven’t got a thing on this young man. You just know he’s somebody by the way he treats you—”

David Shaw, business manager of Benjamin Bunce & Company, recalled his eyes reluctantly from the young woman sitting a few seats ahead on the other side of the car.

He had happened to be looking in her direction when she turned to observe Bunce’s amusing pursuit of the stranger. He had seen a pair of dark eyes full of lurking mischief light casually on the victim, widen, and then remain fastened incredulously upon him. He had seen her look change from doubt to startled certainty, her face grow suddenly white, her lips fall apart as from dismay. Then Bunce—confound him!—had chosen this moment to speak to him.

As soon as Bunce grew less attentive David’s curiosity sent his eyes back to her. She had wheeled her chair around and was staring at the stranger with an intentness that enabled David to scrutinize her unobserved. And there was that in her appearance which intensified his interest. It was a face, dimpled and beguiling, without being weak; a face all curves, without the monotony of a single straight line, extraordinarily soft, intelligent and expressive. And the hair—heavy, abundant, raven-black— parted at one side, pressing over the brow in two great waves before allowing itself to be turned back over the ears, gave her a picturesque appearance of strength that her soft young face belied.

The panic had all but left her attitude by now; her dark eager eyes dwelt upon the stranger with the steady stare of recognition. David waited for the young man to lift his eyes from the floor and bow. He wanted to hear her voice and to see that interesting face light up again.

The young man glanced up. For an instant his eyes rested incuriously upon the girl who so obviously studied him. Then, without a sign of recognition, they returned to the floor. But not before the girl, blushing to her ears, had picked up her book, hastily, and in a very flutter of confusion.

Didn’t she know him? Then why, David wondered, had the mere sight of him given her such a shock? He watched her, his astonishment making him unashamed, but, though her chair remained pointed in their direction, she did not allow herself another glance toward the young man in the seat between them. And, although she kept her eyes scrupulously fixed upon her book, five—ten—minutes passed and she had not yet turned a page.