An Unwilling Guest (18 page)

Al
though the busy doctor found littl
e time for social duties he nev
ertheless made two more attempts to call on the
Rutherfords
, but on both occasions found none of the family at home. It was doubtless due to his being obliged to choose his t
ime whenever there came opportu
nity, and to his lack of knowledge concerning the social engagements that would be likely to take the members of the family from home. As a college student when he had been in town occasionall
y he had in
formed himself about these matters, but now all was different. He must go when he could. Duty was ever
present to watch over his move
ments.

The second time he turned away from the door quite disappointed, He had seen Miss Rutherford passing a house where he was visiting a patient only the day before. She had been
in
a carriage and leaned out to smile and bow to a lady on the sidewalk. Of course she did not see him. He had just stepped to the window to examine the thermometer for the patient's temperature, as the room was so darkened he could not be sure he was right, and looking up had seen her. The sight of her face awakened his strong desire to meet and talk with her again.

When, at a late hour that evening, he was able to return to his own inner sanctum and commune with himself, he sat for a t
ime
thinking with his weary eyes closed, and then abruptly arose, and going to a closet, searched out a large, wooden box, among several that had not been unpacked sinc
e he came to New York. He sent h
is office boy for the hatchet and opened it, and there
were revealed myriads of photo
graphs. They were relics of his co
llege days, and had not been un
packed since he took them down from his walls when he left. He
searched among them for some time in vain. Now and again he would stop and look thoughtfully at a face as old memories were brought up, but for the most part he went rapidly over them as if hunting for some certain one. At last near the very bottom he found the object of his search. It was handsome photograph, somewhat faded and soiled by dust, showing a beautiful girl, with fine, dark eyes, and masses of black hair about her shoulders, standing by a boy with eyes like her own. They were apparently about fourteen and sixteen years of age.

He unceremoniously bundled the rest of the pictures into the box and tumbled it back into the closet, to be set to rights at another time. Then he seated himself and proceeded to study that picture.

He could remember so well the day
when it came into his pos
session. It was the day they were all packing to leave college. He had gone over to Dick Rutherford's room a moment, for Dick was leaving that day, and had all his boxes naile
d up, and his room entirely dis
mantled. He
had wandered about t
he room and sat down on the win
dow ledge while he talked, and noticing this picture slipped down face to the wall behind the bedstead, he had reached down, pulled it out, and showed it to Dick. He could see Dick's face now as he waved it aside.

"Never mind that old thing. Throw it in the waste basket, leave it on the floor. I haven't another crack of room where I could get in even a microbe, and everything is locked. I'm mortally afraid they will burst before I get home now. There's plenty more p
ictures at home, and be
sides that's only my sister and myself when we were kids."

"But you don't want to leave your
sister's picture about for any
one to get hold of, Rutherford," he had reminded him.

"Oh, well, I'll trust it to your safe keeping, then," he had said with a laugh as he went out

Maurice Grey had not been sure to
night that he had kept that pic
ture, but a dim memory of putting it in his box which stood in his room ready to be nailed up, caused him to go in search of it. Now, after looking at it a long time he carefully cut out the girl's picture, and placed it in a little oval velvet frame that had been given him with some baby-patient's picture, and stood it on his bureau. There he surveyed it with a curious satisfaction. No one could possibly know who it was, he thought, and no one would ever notice it. The original of the picture would scarcely be likely to find it out. After that he went to call again with the same disappointing result.

As he came down the steps of the house on Sixty-fourth Street he recollected a missionary conference which was going on at that time, and decided to spend his leisure hour there. It was long since he had been able to indulge in one of these
meetings, and he was deeply in
terested in them. He had never quite giv
en up his desire to go to a for
eign field, although his opportunities in his own land had seemed to open up in such a way as to indicate his duty at home. Missionaries were by no means so hard to find as they were at the time he had eagerly pledged himself to go if opportunity offered.

He smothered his disappointment about the call as best he could, told himself it was just as well, that he was getting to long for the things of this world too much, especially when they were things he never could have, and went to the meeting.

The meeting was more than usuall
y moving. The Spirit of the Mas
ter who said, "Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature," seemed to be there in very truth. There were present several returned missionaries who knew how to speak to the friends at home and stir their hearts to the love of Jesus, as well as to those who had never heard of him. The climax was reached when a missionary from China told in simple language of his work and of
the needs of the re
gion where he was stationed. He spoke of cases that had come to them for treatment, begging to be taken in and cured, but they had no room in the mission for this; that they needed a hospital in that region fully equipped with a good man at the head, and that there was no money for that. The man made the story live, until his audience saw before them the poor, suffering
creatures. The
listeners were roused to a tre
mendous pitch of excitement. There
were men gathered there who rep
resented a large amount of money. Some of them had been brought by consecrated friends to hear this ver
y man speak. A few of them gath
ered in a group at the close of the address and talked, and their talk was not without a firm foundation. They were willing, these men, to
put their hands in their pockets and hel
p along the work, if that hospi
tal could be established and put in running order before another year. "How are you, doctor?" said one, as Maurice Grey pressed forward to get a word with the speaker. "We've
about decided to have that hos
pital. I wish we could put you at the head of it You would be just the
man."

"I wish you would," was the unexpected response, fully confirmed by the eager face and eyes full of deep feeling. "Oh, I should like it above all things."

"Do you really mean it?" said the man, wheeling about and looking him in the face. "You, with your prospects and your position, would you leave it a
ll
to go to China and nurse those poor old women? Why, man alive, you'll be able in a few years, if you keep on as you've started here, to support two or three hospitals yourself."

"I would count it the highest possible honor to go," said Maurice Grey solemnly.

"Well, then, if that's so we certainly ought to furnish the funds for your work," said the old gentleman, wheeling back to the others who stood silently listening.

And it did not all end in talk.

Evelyn Rutherford, upon returni
ng from a play which she consid
ered extremely lacking in interest, and during which she had
been an
noyed more than once by the obtrusive attentions of Mr. Worthington, who took it upon himself to monopolize the seat next to her in the box, was conscious of deep disappointment to find by the cards left on her dressing table that she had again missed Doctor Grey.

She frowned at herself in the glass and wondered if it was ever to be so with them, always missing each other. Why did she care, anyway? He only called from politeness, of course. But still she would have liked to be at home, just to see if he still continued to seem to her so much of a man. She was growing cynical about men. She had decided that there were very few good ones, always excepting her father and brother, for they were growing nearer to her in these days.

It occurred to her just as she was about to retire that she might make
a way to meet Doctor Grey again if she chose. She wondered it had not come to her before. What more natural than that he should be invited to dine with them when she had spent severa
l weeks in h
is father's home? It must have even seemed strange to him that no attention had been paid him at all. A quick crimson dyed her cheek, for now that the thought had occurred to her it seemed inexcusable that it had not been carried into effect before. It is true she had sent Mrs. Grey and Allison both exquisite presents at Christmas time, but kindness such as she recognized theirs to
have been could not be repaid by a few paltry gifts. What did they think of her that she had extended no invitation to the son who lived so near to her! Perhaps, however, she was more troubled about what the son himself would think than about his family.

She hastily scanned the leaves of her engagement book to see what day was unoccupied, and then sat down at her desk and wrote a note of invitation. She would wait till she could consult her father and brother in the morning before sending it, for she wished to be sure they would be at home that night; but her conscience felt easier with the note already written.

As it happened, both her father and brother had engagements on the evening selected, and it became necessary to wait until the next week and write another note, so that it was nearly two weeks after his useless call that Maurice Grey stood once more upon the brownstone steps and waited for the butler to open the door.

Evelyn, mindful of Miss Rebecca
Bascomb's
warning, had selected a dinner dress
that was cut rather high, and filled in the neck with some
thing soft, transparent, and white. The dress was black and v
ery be
coming. She studied herself in her mirror more critically than she had done in many a day. On the whole she was dissatisfied. Neither face nor dress looked as she thought his ideal woman would look. But why should she care? she asked herself as she turned away with a sigh.

She had hoped to have a moment or two with him before the others came in, but he was late himself, instead of her father and brother, as she had planned. He apologized; he came from a very sick patient whom he dared not leave sooner. He had almost feared it was too late
to come at all, but he had presumed to come in spite of the hour, as his social pleasures were so few.

They went out to dinner at once. Evelyn presided like a queen, so thought the guest. He watched her as if
it were a pleasure. Long after
ward he could close his eyes and see her white hands moving among the cups and mixing the salad dressing, and recall the stately bend of her head as she answered the servant in a low tone.

The young doctor w
as almost immediately engaged in
conversation by Mr. Rutherford and his old friend
Dick, but his eyes feasted them
selves on the beautiful woman who presided at the table. She said little herself. She could but be conscious of his eyes, and her own drooped in consequence. She wondered for what he was searching her so. Did he expect to see her life written on her face? Was he studying her to see if she had kept her promise? Looking up at that instant she met his gaze and smiled. It was a simple little thing to do, but her color heightened after it
.
There had been no outward reason for that smile, but in her heart as she knew it had come to ans
wer his question about the prom
ise. Did he know it? For he smiled back, a glad, happy smile, like a boy just out of school and enjoying his freedom to the full. She cherished that smile for many a day thereafter. She had never seen him
in
this bright, gay mood before; he joked with Dick and they told many stories of their college days, in which all were interested. In fact, the guest proved himself so fascinating that Mr. Rutherford strolled into the drawing room
with the young people, later in the evening, to enjoy the conversation. It is needless to say he never did that for the sake of joining the group which contained Mr. Worthington.

Evelyn sat a little apart from the three men, but deeply interested in what they were saying, and watching them intently, thinking how well they seemed to get on together, and wondering at it, seeing that they represented homes so different. She hardly knew why this pleased her so much.

She did not thrust herself into the conversation; but they included her often and Doctor Grey would turn his eyes to hers as if seeking a sympathy he felt sure of finding there. It was an evening such as E
ve
lyn had never passed, a vision into the might-have-been which it had
never even entered into her heart to conceive before. She felt happier than she had felt since she was a child, and she did not try to question why she felt so; she simply accepted it as one accepts things in blessed dreams.