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Page 6
When he rose reluctantly twenty minutes later his two compatriots
were still at table, discussing their plans for the day. As is
usual in such cases, the girl arranged, the man agreed.
With one last glance in her direction, West went out on the parched
pavement of Haymarket.
Slowly he walked back to his rooms. Work was waiting there for
him; but instead of getting down to it, he sat on the balcony of
his study, gazing out on the courtyard that had been his chief
reason for selecting those apartments. Here, in the heart of the
city, was a bit of the countryside transported--the green, trim,
neatly tailored countryside that is the most satisfying thing in
England. There were walls on which the ivy climbed high, narrow
paths that ran between blooming beds of flowers, and opposite
his windows a seldom-opened, most romantic gate. As he sat
looking down he seemed to see there below him the girl of the
Carlton. Now she sat on the rustic bench; now she bent above the
envious flowers; now she stood at the gate that opened out to a
hot sudden bit of the city.
And as he watched her there in the garden she would never enter, as
he reflected unhappily that probably he would see her no more--the
idea came to him.
At first he put it from him as absurd, impossible. She was, to
apply a fine word much abused, a lady; he supposedly a gentleman.
Their sort did not do such things. If he yielded to this temptation
she would be shocked, angry, and from him would slip that one chance
in a thousand he had--the chance of meeting her somewhere, some day.
And yet--and yet--She, too, had found the Agony Column entertaining
and--quite nice. There was a twinkle in her eyes that bespoke a
fondness for romance. She was human, fun-loving--and, above all,
the joy of youth was in her heart.
Nonsense! West went inside and walked the floor. The idea was
preposterous. Still--he smiled--it was filled with amusing
possibilities. Too bad he must put it forever away and settle down
to this stupid work!
Forever away? Well--
On the next morning, which was Saturday, West did not breakfast at
the Carlton. The girl, however, did. As she and her father sat
down the old man said: "I see you've got your Daily Mail."
"Of course!" she answered. "I couldn't do without it. Grapefruit
--yes."
She began to read. Presently her cheeks flushed and she put the
paper down.
"What is it?" asked the Texas statesman.
"To-day," she answered sternly, "you do the British Museum. You've
put it off long enough."
The old man sighed. Fortunately he did not ask to see the Mail.
If he had, a quarter way down the column of personal notices he
would have been enraged--or perhaps only puzzled--to read:
CARLTON RESTAURANT: Nine A.M. Friday morning. Will the young woman
who preferred grapefruit to strawberries permit the young man who
had two plates of the latter to say he will not rest until he
discovers some mutual friend, that they may meet and laugh over
this column together?
Lucky for the young man who liked strawberries that his nerve had
failed him and he was not present at the Carlton that morning! He
would have been quite overcome to see the stern uncompromising look
on the beautiful face of a lady at her grapefruit. So overcome, in
fact, that he would probably have left the room at once, and thus
not seen the mischievous smile that came in time to the lady's face
--not seen that she soon picked up the paper again and read, with
that smile, to the end of the column.
CHAPTER II
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