Indeed! Why?"
"Well--well, for various reasons. Of course, had I known my coming would interfere with your--your precious Chapter affairs and--"
"John, I had to go to that meeting. If you had written you were coming I shouldn't have gone. I should have made other arrangements. But you didn't write."
"I wrote every day."
"Yes, but you did not write you were coming here."
"I didn't think it was necessary. You wrote every day, too, but you didn't write--you didn't write--"
"What?"
"A good many things that--that I have learned since I came here."
"Indeed! What things? How did you learn them?"
"I--" John hesitated. To bring Captain Dan's name into the conversation would be, he felt, disloyal. And it would surely mean trouble for the captain. "I--I learned them with my own eyes," he declared. "I could see. Gertie, I can't understand you."
"And I don't understand you. I told you, at the only moment we have had together, I told you then that I would explain about the Chapter. I said that I must go or everything would be spoiled. You very nearly spoiled it by coming as you did."
Mr. Doane's expression changed. It had softened when she reminded him of the whispered word in the drawing-room. The last sentence, however, brought his frown back again.
"Well!" he exclaimed. "Well--humph! that's easily remedied. I came in a hurry and I can go the same way."
"John! John, what do you mean? How can you speak so to me! Would you go away now that--that--"
"You wouldn't miss me so much, I should imagine. Cousin Percy will be here, and you and he seem to be very confidential and friendly, to say the least."
Gertrude gasped. She was beginning to understand, or imagined that she was. She laughed merrily.
"John! Why, John!" she cried. "You're not jealous! YOU!"
John looked rather foolish. "No-o," he admitted doubtfully, "I'm not jealous. Of course I'm not, but--"
"But what? Don't you trust me, John? Don't you?"
"Of course I do. You know I do, but--See here, Gertie, you said you were going to explain--to explain something or other. Do it, then. I think I am entitled to an explanation."
But Gertrude's merriment had vanished. Her eyes flashed.
"I shall not explain," she said. "You don't trust me. I can see you don't."
"I do. I do, Gertie, really; but--but--"
"But you don't. You think--you think--oh, I don't know WHAT you think! No, I shall not explain, not now, at all events. Good-night!"
She hastened from the room. John ran after her.
"Gertie," he cried, "you're not going? You're not going to leave me in this way, without a word? I do trust you. I only said--"
"It wasn't what you said; it was the way you said it. I am going. I am shocked--yes, and hurt, John. I shall not speak to you again to-night. To-morrow perhaps, if you beg my pardon and I am really sure you do trust me, I may tell you--what I was going to tell. But not now. I--I didn't think you would treat me so."
She put her handkerchief to her eyes and hurried up the stairs. John, standing irresolute on the lower step, hesitated, fighting down his own pride and sense of injury. That moment of hesitation was freighted with consequence. Then:
"Gertie," he cried, hastening after her, "Gertie, wait! I do beg your pardon. I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"
But it was too late. Gertie's chamber door closed. John went slowly up to his own room, the room to which the butler had carried his bag. A few minutes after he had gone the curtains between the library and drawing-room parted and Mr. Hungerford appeared. He was very cautious as he, too, ascended the stairs. But his expression was a pleasant one; there was no doubt that Cousin Percy was pleased about something.
CHAPTER XI
Captain Dan stirred uneasily. In his dream he had navigated the Bluebird, his old schooner, to a point somewhere between Hatteras and Race Point light. It was night all at once, although it had been day only a few minutes before, and Azuba, who, it seemed, was cook aboard the Bluebird, was washing breakfast dishes in the skipper's stateroom. She was making a good deal of noise about it, jingling pans and thumping the foot of the berth with a stick of stove wood. The captain was about to remonstrate with her when Serena suddenly appeared--her presence on the schooner was a complete surprise--to ask him if he had not heard the bell, and why didn't he come into the house, because dinner was ready. Then Azuba stopped pounding the foot of the berth and began to thump him instead.
"Don't you hear the bell?" repeated Serena. "Wake up! Daniel! Daniel!"
Daniel stirred and opened his eyes. The Bluebird had vanished, so had Azuba, but the thumps and jingles were real enough.
"Hey?" he mumbled, drowsily. "Stop poundin' me, won't you?"
"Pounding you! I've been pounding and shaking you for goodness knows how long. I began to think you were dead. Wake up! Don't you hear the bell?"
Daniel, still but two-thirds awake, rolled over, raised himself on his elbow and grunted, "Bell! What bell?"
"The door bell. Someone's at the door. Don't you hear them?"
Captain Dan slid out of bed. His bare feet struck the cold floor beneath the open window and he was wide awake at last. The room was pitch dark, so morning had not come, and yet someone WAS at the door, the front door. The bell was ringing steadily and the ringer was varying the performance by banging the door with his feet. The captain fumbled for the button, found and pressed it, and the electric light blazed.
"For mercy sakes!" he grumbled, glancing at his watch hanging beside the head of the bed, "it's quarter past one. Who in time is turnin' us out this time of night?"
Serena, nervous and frightened--she, too, had been aroused from a sound sleep--answered sharply.
"I don't know," she snapped. "It's something important though, or they wouldn't do it. Hurry up and find out, can't you? I never saw such a man!"
Her husband hastened to the closet, found his slippers and bathrobe--the latter was a recent addition to his wardrobe, bought because his wife had learned that B. Phelps Black possessed no less than three bathrobes--and shuffled out into the hall. The bell had awakened other members of the household. A light shone under the door of John Doane's room, and from Gertrude's apartment his daughter's voice demanded to know what was the matter.
Daniel announced that he didn't know, but cal'lated to find out, and shuffled down the stairs. The lights in the hall and drawing-room were still burning, Gertrude and John having forgotten to extinguish them. Captain Dan unlocked the front door and flung it open. A uniformed messenger boy was standing on the steps.
"Telegram for John Doane," announced the boy. "Any answer?"
Daniel seized the proffered envelope. "How in time do I know whether there's any answer or not?" he demanded pettishly. "I ain't read it yet, have I? Think I've got second sight? Why in the nation didn't you ring up on the telephone, instead of comin' here and routin' out the neighborhood?"
The boy grinned. "Against the rules," he said. "Can't send telegrams by 'phone unless we have special orders."
"Well, I give you orders then. Next time you telephone. Hold on a minute now. John! oh, John!"
Mr. Doane, partially dressed, his coat collar turned up to hide the absence of linen, was already at the head of the stairs, and descending.