The Deaves Affair

"Why – what's the matter?" said Evan blankly.

"You imply that if I happen to sing you will regard it as an invitation to come down here."

"Why, I never thought of such a thing," he said in dismay.

His honesty was so unquestionable that she got angry all over again, because she had made the mistake of imputing such a thought to him. Indeed a disinterested observer could not but have seen that some perverse little imp was playing the devil with this charming girl. Angry at him or angry at herself – or both, she had ceased to be mistress of the situation and her forces were thrown into confusion. Whatever she said, it instantly occurred to her that it was the wrong thing to say.

"You're spoiled like all the rest," she said. "A woman cannot be decently civil to you, but you immediately begin to presume upon it." This was said with a smile that was supposed to be tolerant, but she was angry clear through, and of course it showed.

It was all a mystery to Evan. With a hand on the table he had just moved, he was staring down at it as if he had discovered something of absorbing interest in the grain of the wood. He knew she was unreasonable, but he did not blame her; he was merely trying to think how to accommodate himself to her unreasonableness; he was pretty sure that whatever he might say would only make matters worse, so he kept silent.

But no red-haired woman can endure silences either. "If you've nothing further to say you'd better go," she said at last.

"I was wondering what I had done to offend you," said Evan.

She laughed, but it had not a mirthful sound. "How funny you are! Strangers don't quarrel. They've nothing to quarrel about!"

"But you are angry."

"Nonsense!" she said languidly. "I'm very much obliged to you for your help. But there's nothing else you can do."

"Meaning I'd better beat it."

She was magnificently silent.

"I'm going. But it's hard to go, not knowing what's the matter."

She had the air of one dealing with a trying child. "How often must I tell you that there's nothing in the world the matter?"

"You are not the same as you were when I came."

For some reason this flicked her on the raw. She flushed. She stamped her foot. "You're – you're impossible!" she cried. "Will you go!"

As Evan backed out she all but shut the door in his face. How astonished would he have been could he have seen through the door how she flung herself face down on the sofa and wept. That was the softer girlish part of her. But not for long. She sat up and digging her chin into her palm thought long and hard. That was the warrior.

"I will not give in to him – and spoil everything," she whispered. "I will not!"

Meanwhile, out in the dark hall Evan was leaning against the banisters trying to puzzle out what had happened. At first only a blank dismay faced him. Women were inexplicable. But presently a slow smile began to spread across his face. He said to himself:

"Well, whatever it is, she's not exactly indifferent to me. I've made an impression. That's something for the first meeting. And she's in the house. And to-morrow's another night!"

He went up-stairs with a better heart.

He went straight to his window-sill and cooled his hot cheeks in the night air. The old trees still stood sentry duty in the moonlight, the people sat still as dolls left out all night, the noises of the town were reduced to a pleasant murmur.

"God! what a good old world it is!" thought Evan, unconscious of his perfect inconsistency. "How good it is to be young and alive; to see; to feel; to laugh; to love; to know things! I guess I'm a little drunk on it now, but I want more, more! I shall never have my fill!"

As he lay in bed it suddenly occurred to him that he was head over heels in love with a woman whose name he did not know.

CHAPTER V

THE HAPPY LITTLE FAMILY

At the Deaves mansion next morning it was Alfred who opened the massive steel grill to admit Evan. The second man favoured him with a sly wink.

"Cheese it, kid," he murmured out of the corner of his mouth. "They're layin' for you."

This meant nothing to Evan.

In the centre of the house where the hall opened up he found George Deaves walking up and down with his head bowed and his hands clasped behind his back, the very picture of a harassed man of affairs. There was a histrionic quality in all young Deaves' attitudes. The old man in slippers was hunched in a pseudo-mediaeval chair, while a fat servant, Hilton, the butler Evan guessed, was standing at the foot of the stairs. Another man in chauffeur's livery was beside him.

It all had the look of a set scene, and from the way their faces changed at the sight of him, the inference was inescapable that it had been set for Evan. He wondered greatly what it was all about, but felt no particular uneasiness.

George Deaves bent a venomous glance on him. "Follow me," he said hollowly.

The whole procession wended its way up the winding, shallow stairs; first George Deaves, grasping the hand rail and planting his feet virtuously, then old Deaves, his heels coming out of his slippers at every step, then Evan, then the three servants. Evan heard them sniggering behind him.

At the door of the library George Deaves said: "You come in, Papa. Hilton, Wilson and Alfred, you wait outside in case I call you."

"Does he expect me to assault him?" thought Evan.

In the library young Deaves flung himself back in his chair, and placing the tips of his fingers together said pompously: "Now, my man, I advise you to tell the truth."

Evan began to get hot. "That is my custom," he said quietly.

Notwithstanding his pompous air the younger Deaves was visibly nervous; he had not his father's force of character. "It is useless for you to feign innocence," he said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Evan.

Deaves said: "I may as well let you know I have a policeman waiting down-stairs."

There is no man however sure of himself that would not be to some degree disconcerted by this announcement. Evan changed colour. Deaves, quick to notice it, smiled disagreeably, and Evan's cheeks grew hot indeed.

"Have him up-stairs," said Evan. "I don't know what this flummery is all about. Hand me over to the police and maybe I'll find out."

"Give me a specimen of your handwriting," said Deaves, shoving writing materials towards him.

"Certainly," said Evan. "I have no reason to be ashamed of it."

"Write five thousand dollars, first in figures, then spelled out."

Evan did so, and shoved the paper back. Deaves compared it with a letter which lay in front of him, the old man peering over his shoulder.

"Nothing like," the latter said disappointed.

"That doesn't prove anything!" snapped the son. "I didn't suppose that he worked this single-handed. He has confederates."

Evan's momentary discomfiture had subsided. The situation was becoming too absurd. Was he accused of forgery or blackmail? He began to grin.