Chapter XXIX Lawrence Pleads
Almost on the instant of Lawrence’s ringing the bell, the door was swung open by a footman in rich, quiet livery, who stood aside while Barry entered, and, having closed the door, led the way down the paneled hall.
“Is Miss Rives at home?” Lawrence asked briefly.
“This way, if you please,” said the footman noncommittally, indicating a tiny elevator hidden behind hangings of rich damask.
The car ascended noiselessly, and Lawrence stepped out into a wide hall, the walls of which were lined with tapestries, while underfoot were heavy Persian rugs, laid upon some sort of matting which made them thick and soft as velvet. The footman took Barry’s card, and, crossing noiselessly to a doorway, drew aside the hangings.
“Will you wait in the drawing-room, sir?” he murmured.
The room which Barry entered was long and lofty, and almost oppressive in its wealth of furnishings. The richly carved mantel of mellow Caen marble looked as if it might have been transported entire from some French chateau. The walls were hung with tapestries, while here and there a wonderful painting gave relief with its gorgeous coloring and the richness of its carved frame. The chairs, tables, cabinets, and other pieces of furniture which filled the great room were antiques of rare beauty and value; while scattered everywhere were carved ivories, miniatures, exquisite old silver, and wonderful porcelain in such bewildering array that Barry decided it would take weeks properly to examine and appreciate each separate piece.
The room was filled with flowers in great bowls and vases, and the air was heavy with their fragrance. Lawrence was wondering whether his roses were among the masses of lilies and violets, when the soft swish of trailing garments brought him hurriedly to his feet just as the velvet hangings were parted and Shirley Rives stood on the threshold.
“It was very nice of you to come, Mr. Lawrence,” she said as he sprang forward to greet her; “and your roses are charming.”
“It’s you who are nice to receive me at such an hour,” Barry returned quickly. “I know I should have restrained my impatience until this afternoon, but your letter only came last night—it was sent first to the St. Athol—and I simply couldn’t wait.” He hesitated, looking down into her eyes, and a slow flush crept into his face. “You see,” he went on bravely, “I was at Sherry’s myself on Tuesday night.”
For a second she stared at him in astonishment. “At the dance?” she exclaimed. “Why, I never——”
“Of course you didn’t,” Lawrence returned swiftly. “I came away very soon.”
“But you saw me?”
Her tone was perplexed, and a tiny, puzzled wrinkle had leaped into her smooth, low forehead. Then, as Barry nodded, a sudden gleam of comprehension flashed into her dark eyes.
“You saw me!” she exclaimed, in an odd voice. “And my letter never reached you until last night! What must you have thought? But come; let’s sit down and talk comfortably.”
She moved gracefully across the room to a great carved chair near one of the windows. Lawrence drew up another chair and sat down. For a second or two neither of them spoke; then the girl bent forward a little, her chin resting on one hand.
“Well,” she questioned, “tell me what you thought?”
The flush had deepened in his face, and his muscular, well-shaped fingers were lacing and interlacing, an unconscious key to the perturbation of his mind. Now that he had seen her again, his folly at having doubted her seemed more utterly absurd and idiotic than ever. He hated desperately to tell her the truth, yet he knew he must. The sooner it was over the better.
“I was a fool!” he said brusquely. “I thought you had been making sport of me. I thought you had made up that whole story for a lark. I realized long before your letter came that such a thing was impossible; but at the dance I was simply stunned. I had just come from the house on Forty-eighth Street, where they told me you had never been there. Your friend, Miss Barton, said she had not seen you in months, and, after what you——”
The girl started slightly. “Of course!” she murmured. “I forgot all about Sally. But surely Mrs. Weston must have——”
“She was away. I didn’t see her. The maid said you weren’t there, and certainly hadn’t been there overnight. Miss Barton knew nothing whatever about you. It looked as if the earth had opened and swallowed you up, so you can imagine my feelings when I caught sight of you at the dance. When I left you the night before, you hadn’t a friend in the city but this stenographer, or a cent——”
“You forget the ten dollars,” she murmured demurely, her long lashes sweeping her cheeks as she played with a jeweled chain hanging from her neck.
“That didn’t count,” he retorted.
“Not in the way you mean, perhaps,” she supplemented. “And so you went from Mrs. Weston’s to the dance, and saw me there?”
“N-not directly. It was too early, and I was troubled and worried to know what had become of you. I drove around a little, and walked through the square——”
Her lids suddenly lifted, and she looked oddly at him.
“Madison Square?” she questioned swiftly.
He nodded. “Yes. I—er—just wanted to walk a little where it was quiet and I could think. Then I joined my friends, and drove with them to Sherry’s. I hadn’t been there half an hour before I saw you.”
“I suppose it did seem a trifle odd,” she remarked, glancing out of the window.
“Odd doesn’t quite express it. There you were in a wonderful gown with pearls and things, and talking to three or four men at once as if you’d known them all your life. Of course, I couldn’t believe my senses at first; and when at last I was sure, I—well, it was all so bewildering and impossible that I couldn’t seem to stay there.”
“You mean you couldn’t stay because you thought I’d been deceiving you?” she said quietly.
“There didn’t seem to be any other explanation,” he pleaded. “Next day I came to my senses, and knew that there must be some other reason. Of what it could be I hadn’t the most remote conception; but I knew that you weren’t the sort to make believe to that extent; and it was a big relief, I can tell you.”
He hesitated a second, and bent forward slightly, his forehead wrinkled and his eyes fixed intently on her lovely face.
“Please forgive me,” he begged, “and admit that there were extenuating circumstances.”