The Adventures of a Modest Man

He could not believe it, either, but he fled after her, suit-case and golf-bag swinging; the gates slammed, they descended the stairs and emerged on Twenty-eighth Street. "I live on Twenty-ninth Street," she said; "shall we say good-bye here?"

"I should think not!" he replied with a scornful decision that amazed her, but, curiously enough, did not offend her. They walked up Twenty-eighth Street to Fifth Avenue, crossed, turned north under the white flare of electricity, then entered Twenty-ninth Street slowly, side by side, saying nothing.

CHAPTER XIX

THE TIME AND THE PLACE

She halted at the portal of an old-fashioned house which had been turned into an apartment hotel – a great brownstone mansion set back from the street. A severely respectable porter in livery appeared and bowed to her, but when his apoplectic eyes encountered Seabury's his shaven jaw dropped and a curious spasm appeared to affect his knees.

She did not notice it; she turned to Seabury and, looking him straight in the face, held out her hand.

"Good-night," she said. "Be chivalrous enough to find out who I am – without sacrificing me… You – you have not displeased me."

He took her hand, held it a moment, then released it.

"I live here," he said calmly.

A trifle disconcerted, she searched his face. "That is curious," she said uneasily.

"Oh, not very. I have bachelor apartments here; I've been away from town for three months. Here is my pass-key," he added, laughing, and to the strangely paralyzed porter he tossed his luggage with a nod and a pleasant: "You didn't expect me for another month, William, did you?"

"That explains it," she said smiling, a tint of excitement in her pretty cheeks. "I've been here only for a day or two."

They were entering now, side by side; he followed her into the elevator. The little red-haired boy, all over freckles and gilt buttons, who presided within the cage, gaped in a sort of stupor when he saw Seabury.

"Well, Tommy," inquired that young gentleman, "what's the matter?"

"What floor?" stammered Tommy, gazing wildly from one to the other.

"The usual one, in my case," said Seabury, surprised.

"The usual one, in my case," said the girl, looking curiously at the agitated lad. The cage shot up to the third floor; they both rose, and he handed her out. Before either could turn the elevator hurriedly dropped, leaving them standing there together. Then, to the consternation of Seabury, the girl quietly rang at one of the only two apartments on the floor, and the next instant a rather smart-looking English maid opened the door.

Seabury stared; he turned and examined the corridor; he saw the number on the door of the elevator shaft; he saw the number over the door.

"There seems to be," he began slowly, "something alarming the matter with me to-night. I suppose – I suppose it's approaching dementia, but do you know that I have a delusion that this apartment is mine?"

"Yours!" faltered the girl, turning pale.

"Well – it was once – before I left town. Either that or incipient lunacy explains my hallucination."

The maid stood at the door gazing at him in undisguised astonishment. Her pretty mistress looked at her, looked at Seabury, turned and cast an agitated glance along the corridor – just in time to catch a glimpse of the curly black whiskers and the white and ghastly face of the proprietor peering at them around the corner. Whiskers and pallor instantly vanished. She looked at Seabury.

"Please come in a moment, Mr. Seabury," she said calmly. He followed her into the familiar room decorated with his own furniture, and lined with his own books, hung with his own pictures. At a gesture from her he seated himself in his own armchair; she sat limply in a chair facing him.

"Are these your rooms?" she asked unsteadily.

"I thought so, once. Probably there's something the matter with me."

"You did not desire to rent them furnished during your absence?"

"Not that I know of."

"And you have returned a month before they expected you, and I – oh, this is infamous!" she cried, clenching her white hands. "How dared that wretched man rent this place to me? How dared he!"

A long and stunning silence fell upon them – participated in by the British maid.

Then Seabury began to laugh. He looked at the maid, he looked at her angry and very lovely young mistress, looked at the tables littered with typewriters and stationery, he caught sight of his own dining-room with the little table laid for two. His gayety disconcerted her – he rose, paced the room and returned.

"It seems my landlord has tried to turn a thrifty penny by leasing you my rooms!" he said, soberly. "Is that it?"

She was close to tears, controlling her voice and keeping her self-possession with a visible effort. "I – I am treasurer and secretary for the new wing to – to St. Berold's Hospital," she managed to say. "We – the women interested, needed an office – we employ several typewriters, and – oh, goodness! What on earth will your sister think!"

"My sister? Why, she's at Seal Harbor – "

"Your sister was there visiting my mother. I came on to town to see our architects; I wired her to come. She – she was to dine with me here to-night! Sherry was notified!"

"My sister?"

"Certainly. What on earth did she think when she found me installed in your rooms? And that's bad enough, but I invited her to dine and go over the hospital matters – she's one of the vice presidents – and then – then you tied our feet together and it's – what time is it?" she demanded of her maid.

"It is midnight, mem," replied the maid in sepulchral tones.

"Is that man from Sherry's still there?"

"He is, mem."

Her mistress laid her charming head in her hands and covered her agreeable features with a handkerchief of delicate and rather valuable lace.

The silence at last was broken by Seabury addressing the maid: "Is that dinner spoiled?"

"Quite, sir."

Her mistress looked up hastily: "Mr. Seabury, you are not going to – "

"Yes, I am; this is the time and the place!" And he rose with decision and walked straight to the kitchen, where a stony-faced individual sat amid the culinary ruins, a statue of despair.

"What I want you to do," said Seabury, "is to fix up a salad and some of the cold duck, and attend to the champagne. Meanwhile I think I'll go downstairs; I have an engagement to kill a man."

However, a moment later he thought better of it; she was standing by the mirror – his own mirror – touching her eyes with her lace handkerchief and patting her hair with the prettiest, whitest hands.

"Kill him? Never: I'll canonize him!" muttered Seabury, enchanted. Behind him he heard the clink of glass and china, the pleasant sound of ice. She heard it, too, and turned.

"Of all the audacity!" she said in a low voice, looking at him under her level brows. But there was something in her eyes that gave him courage – and in his that gave her courage… Besides, they were dreadfully hungry.

"You refuse to tell me?"

"I do," she said. "If you have not wit enough to find out my name without betraying me to your sister you do not deserve to know my name – or me."