Читать книгу The Curse of Pocahontas - Wenona Gilman - Страница 7

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Redfield Ash came as they were about to sit down to the table, making six for the game with Henry Fielding, who had arrived just before, and with an eagerness which he rarely showed, Olney Winthrop turned to his hostess.

"Will you excuse me, dear Mrs. Chalmers, if I beg off?" he exclaimed. "Five is a much better number than six. Miss de Barryos and I will utilize the time in rubbing up our Spanish together. It is such a pleasure to meet some one who speaks it."

Jessica glanced swiftly toward Pierrepont, and noted all too clearly the shadow of annoyance that crossed his brow. She even heard it in the tone of his voice as he exclaimed rather suddenly for him:

"I thought this game was made especially for your benefit?"

At another time Jessica would not have allowed his withdrawal, but now she cried with a sweetness of accent that attracted the attention of her mother:

"By all means talk to Carlita, Mr. Winthrop. It is really very kind of you. The next time you come I shall take special pains that she joins our game."

She did not look at Pierrepont, but he glanced toward her coolly, insouciantly, muttering mentally:

"The little fiend heard what I said. She is determined to ruin that girl, but I swear she shall not! Let us see who is stronger, my dear Jessica, you or I!"

But there was no man at the table apparently less interested than he. He shuffled with a dexterity that baffled most men, talking lightly of his stay in India and of Winthrop's narrow escape from the panther, to all appearances oblivious of the fact that Winthrop and Carlita had wandered from the room, she with her great dark eyes turned interestedly upon Winthrop, in earnest conversation with the language unintelligible to him.

"You are a stranger in New York, are you not?" Winthrop asked, as he threw himself into a chair beside her in the library, leaning toward her, a faint flush lifting the pallor of illness.

"Yes. We arrived this morning, and I have never been here before."

"Ah, there will be so much to see. The opera begins next week, and—"

"I am in mourning."

The voice was very soft, almost tremulous, and Winthrop started.

"I beg ten thousand pardons!" he exclaimed, gently. "And it is your mother, too. It always seems to me the saddest thing under heaven when a girl like you loses her mother. Mrs. Chalmers is your guardian, is she not?"

"Yes."

"Of course I ought not to ask it, I who am a perfect stranger to you, but somehow it does not seem to me that I am a stranger. There is some sort of immediately established friendship that makes me feel an interest that perhaps is not reciprocated, and you might resent it as an impertinence."

There was something so frank and honest in the clear blue eyes that Carlita felt herself insensibly warmed by the man's manner, and answered cordially:

"I assure you I would not. I have not so many friends that I can afford to decline an honestly offered friendship, such as I am sure yours is. I am very grateful."

The words were simple enough, but there was something in her manner that touched the young man deeply, and leaning forward, he lifted her hand and pressed it ever so lightly to his lips.

"Thank you," he said, softly. "I shall appreciate the trust above everything else in this world. Then I may ask if—if you—are quite—quite happy here?"

She looked a little surprised for a moment, then the expression of the blue eyes reassured her. She knew she could trust him, knew that he meant her no harm. There was a curious feeling of perfect safety, of implicit confidence in him that she had never felt toward any human being in her life before. It affected her strangely, and there was just a shadow of unshed tears in her eyes as she replied:

"I ought not to say that I am not happy, because I know Jessica and her mother so little. I have been brought up in such a narrow circle. My knowledge of the world is so limited. Papa died when I was a small girl, and mamma was an invalid, as I told you. There were only the neighbors, good people, but not much up in matters of the world, so that it is all new and strange to me. I don't want to show that I am ignorant; I want to do that which Jessica and Mrs. Chalmers tell me; I don't want to appear a little Puritan idiot; but there are some things that do not seem exactly right to me, and I have not learned yet to reconcile myself to them. You see how I have trusted you."

She smiled a trifle wistfully, and he leaned a little further toward her, as if protectingly, as he replied:

"And I shall try all my life long to show you how I appreciate the trust. I understand so well how you feel. I would not alarm you for all the world about your position here, but—but there are some things that I—I would not have you learn. One of them is to play poker."

"And yet you came here to play with me?"

"I have never seen you. I did not know you. I would not sit down at a poker-table with you now for—for my right arm."

He said it so earnestly, so sincerely that she started.

"Is it so wrong, then?" she asked, quickly. "Is it so great a sin?"

He appeared embarrassed.

"I hardly know how to answer you," he returned gently. "It is a sin in a sense. It is gambling, and all gambling is sinful. I would not have you understand me that Jessica or Mrs. Chalmers is doing anything criminal, but—I should so much prefer that you would not join them."

"And yet you do it?"

He flushed crimson.

"My dear child, my little friend, you will learn that men are permitted acts which the world does not allow to women. I am not going to argue with you about the right or wrong of it. There is a law which is as binding as the Christian oath, and that is the law of custom. The world has a code of its own, and right or wrong, we must follow it. I will promise you one thing, however, that is, that if you will never play a game of poker, a game of anything that involves money, I never will either. Will you do it?"

It never occurred to either of them that it was an extraordinary thing for them to do upon the occasion of their first meeting. It is doubtful if they remembered that it was their first meeting.

He extended his palm, and she placed hers in it with the confidence of a little child.

"I promise!" she answered, earnestly. "It is not the slightest sacrifice to me, but it will be a great one to you if you have learned to like the game."

"Not if my giving it up will benefit you in the future," he answered, softly. "I wish that you would remember our compact of friendship tonight, and that if you ever need any one you will send for me."

"I am not liable to forget."

"And there will be so many evenings next week, next month even, when Mrs. Chalmers and her daughter will be at the opera and you here of necessity, perhaps alone. Will you let me come sometimes and keep you company?"

"But you will be missing the opera yourself."

"That will be so little by comparison with gaining an evening with you. May I come?"

"The promise means more to me than to you," she answered shyly. "I am not overfond of my own society, but I am afraid you will not be recompensed."

He smiled enigmatically.

"We will read together, if you will. I used to be called a good reader, and I'm sure you are, from your voice. Do you sing?"

"A little. I have had no cultivation except what my mother gave me, and that was not much."

"I'm sure your voice must be exquisite. It is contralto, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"That is charming. I am passionately fond of a good contralto. What delightful evenings we shall have! I wish it were next week now. What with our Spanish, our reading, and our music it will be simply charming, quite as if we belonged together and were at home."

He looked at her curiously as he made the speech, and while she colored slightly, she offered no objection.

"Are you fond of horses?" he continued.

"Very."

"Then perhaps you will let me come to take you to drive."

"If Mrs. Chalmers does not object."

"May I ask her?"

"If you like."

"It is so good of you. I don't think I ever felt so happy in all my life as I do tonight. I have heard fellows speak of being drawn irresistibly to one at a first meeting, but I could never quite understand it before. I have been drawn to you by an impulse that I have no more power to control than I have over the action of the heart. I am egotistical enough to think you are not quite indifferent to me, as you have accepted my friendship so generously. Isn't it true?"

"Quite true."

"I'm so grateful! I wonder if you know what it means to a lonely fellow like me?"

"I ought. Am I not a lonely girl?"

"Yes; and it is so much harder for you than for me. I have knocked about the country more or less for the last ten years, not knowing one day what I should do the next. I've got an object in life now, and it seems very sweet."

"What is it?"

He colored swiftly and laughed shyly.

"I wouldn't dare tell you now, for fear you might banish me; but some day, when I have persuaded myself that I am more sure of attaining it, I will tell you."