The Strange Proposal (6 page)

The morning light had not taken away his submission, but it had brought sober second thoughts. It had made him grave and almost sad. It had made him see his own act of proposing to a stranger, and such a stranger, as almost unforgivable. It had made him judge himself most severely. It would seem that he had entered this race with several handicaps that he was not even aware of until it was too late. His judgment had been on a spree and had landed him in a situation out of which there seemed no possible escape.

Now and then there would return to him a swift vision of the girl, and his heart would thrill to it instantly. Whatever she was, she was not false, not mocking. He was sure of that. That clinging form, those yielding lips, were not merely playing a part. The fact that they were not painted lips reflected in part an inner cleanness of mind that would not yield to falseness of this sort. He found that most of all he wanted to find her true. Even if it meant a parting from her forever, he kept praying that she might be clean, might be true, as she had seemed to him.

Ordinarily the errand upon which he was bound that morning, the meeting of a world-renowned scientist who chose his associates from among the greatest scholars and refused students at the slightest whim, would have kept him on the alert. He had so longed, so prayed for this opportunity, yet now that it had arrived, it seemed small in comparison with what was occupying his mind.

He ate a meager breakfast, sitting on a stool in a cheap restaurant, and thought in humiliation, as he lifted the thick coffee cup and put it to his lips, that the girl whom he had dared to kiss last night might even now be driving in a great limousine up Fifth Avenue or Riverside Drive or wherever the Wainwrights of the world took their morning airings.

Fool that he was, he might have known when he saw the make of her luxurious little car and heard its costly purring that she was not of his class at all. The very size of the stone she had worn under her glove, which he had touched there on his arm, might have taught him that a girl who could command gifts like that was not the girl for him to dare aspire to. Fool, fool, fool!

And presently, after she had gently and kindly told him where he belonged, she would tell her cousin Jeff, and he would have to go through all his life knowing that Jeff, whom he loved like a brother, despised his good sense and regarded him less because of his impulsive act.

Lower in spirit John Saxon could not possibly have been as he started out that morning to meet his appointment with the great man. He had borne poverty, toil, sickness, even sorrow like a man, sometimes almost like an angel, but this new form of trial, that was thrillingly sweet and bitterly tender and gallingly humiliating, really got him down and out. For a few hours a little demon sat on his shoulder and laughed to his fellows about how John Saxon, Christian, had surrendered to the common passion of love and had compromised his good sense as well as his trust in God.

“I told you so!” the little demon cried to the others gathered round to gloat. “I told you his trust wasn’t so great! I told you he’d forget his Guide and go the way his feelings led him when it came to something he really wanted!”

But John Saxon had not his trust in God for naught. The habit of prayer was too firmly fixed upon him to be long suspended, and in his despair he turned to God. He prayed on the street as he went, threading his way among traffic and pedestrians. His heart was in touch with heaven, and his soul was crying out for help, for confidence—not in himself, but in the God whose he was.

By the time he reached the place of his appointment, he was steady and calm. His natural gravity sat well upon him, and there was none of the trepidation he might have felt at another time.

It was good to get in touch with everyday affairs again, to be planning his life’s work, to look into the face of the great man and read the genius that made him eminent among his peers. John felt again the enthusiasm for his profession, the zest to do his best, and although he did not realize it, he made a fine impression upon the man who was accounted to be hard to interest.

The interview was not long. Dr. Hughes asked him a few crisp questions about his work so far, about his interests and where he had pursued his studies, about his financial state and how he had earned his way. He seemed pleased with the answers, and then, just as if it had been a foregone conclusion that he would be accepted, John found himself accepted and approved, was told briefly when and where and how to present himself in the fall, and with a brief handshake was dismissed.

He carried with him the glow from the last smile the great man had given him. Now, at least, he had something to say for his own prospects that needn’t make him feel ashamed. It was not everybody who could claim to be this great man’s special student. If all went well, his professional future was assured.

And then his heart sprang back to last night. Sharp as a sword thrust through his heart went the thought that he ought not to think about Mary Elizabeth anymore. And yet his human heart went throbbing on and loving her in spite of all.

How he longed to jump on a train and go back to the place where he had left her. Of course, she wouldn’t still be there. She didn’t live there, and she would have started home by this time. Finally he could stand it no longer and he called the hotel, asking for Miss Wainwright. He had decided that he would tell her he had been anxious lest she had not reached the hotel safely alone last night. That was a poor excuse of course, and she would laugh at it, but it would be so good just to hear her voice, even in a bit of laughter.

But he was promptly told that Miss Wainwright had checked out early that morning, and he hung up with a dreary, desolate feeling that his dream had turned into practical everyday living and wouldn’t ever come back. He had mailed his letter early that morning, against his better judgment. His judgment said it ought to be revised and contain less revelation of his own foolish heart and its deep feelings. But judgment had been set aside, and he had sternly mailed the letter. He told himself he had promised to write that letter, and now it was done and it was up to her.

He wandered up to the shopping district, which he knew well from his college days, and bought his mother a lovely little soft-gray dress. It wasn’t the kind of dress she usually wore, and she wouldn’t likely have much place to wear it, but something in him yearned to bring into the life of his sweet little patient mother a bit of the beauty he had seen in other women last night. He got his father some shirts and ties, things he knew he needed, and his heart went out to them in a deeper love than he often took time to realize. They might be plain and unsophisticated, and many people might despise them, yet so all the more he would love and be loyal to them.

When he had finished his purchases, spending more than he really could afford, he idled past Tiffany’s, lingered, went back, and finally went in. He wanted to find out just what really nice diamonds cost. Not as large and wonderful perhaps as that diamond must have been that she wore last night. He knew that there were rings of comparatively small dimensions that cost fabulous sums, but he wanted to see for himself just what one ought to spend for a reasonable ring, if ever he should see his way clear to get one—and if he should have anyone to get it for.

He came away from Tiffany’s a sadder and wiser man and went thoughtfully to the museum to use the remaining hours before his train left in something more profitable than dreams.

D
espite the fact that Mary Elizabeth had slept very little the night before, she was up and around quite early the morning after the wedding. She had several fish to catch and fry before she left town, and she didn’t intend to miss one of them.

She had her door a tiny crack ajar and kept watch as the different members of the wedding party came from their rooms. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, because she wasn’t sure how early they were going to start.

The bride’s mother was the first to come out, with Miss York in a trim traveling suit of sheer brown and a becoming brown hat.

Mary Elizabeth was on hand, fresh as a rose, as the elevator clanged its doors open to take them down. She had a letter in her hand to mail, and she greeted Mrs. Chrystie enthusiastically. Mary Elizabeth liked the bride’s shy, sweet little mother and looked her over approvingly. Her dress of soft black and white silk was most becoming, and there was a faint, haunting memory of Camilla in her eyes. Mary Elizabeth had fallen very much in love with her cousin’s new bride, although she had had such a brief fleeting acquaintance on the wedding day.

“My dear!” said Mrs. Chrystie. “I’m glad you are here yet. I was so troubled last night when I couldn’t find you. I wanted to thank you personally for coming in at the last minute and taking that important place in the wedding party. So many girls wouldn’t have been willing. It was most gracious and lovely of you. And you did your part so perfectly, without having to be told a thing. Of course, you’ve been in so many such functions before, it wouldn’t seem the bug-bear to you that it would be to a lot of girls.”

“Oh, I just enjoyed it, Mrs. Chrystie. Jeff has always been like a brother to me, and it was lovely to have an intimate part like that in his wedding,” said Mary Elizabeth.

“Well, Camilla appreciated it more than she had time to tell you. The last word she said to me was to ask me to please hunt you up and tell you that you were just wonderful. She’ll write you, of course, but she wanted me to tell you especially.”

“Oh, I’m so glad she was pleased. She’s lovely, Mrs. Chrystie. I was afraid I was going to be horribly jealous of anybody who married Jeff; we’ve always been so close. He couldn’t be dearer to me if I were his own sister, though of course we haven’t seen so much of each other the last five years while I’ve been abroad. But he’s a dear! And I’m just crazy about Camilla. She suits him. She’s perfect. I couldn’t have dreamed a girl for him any better. I’m so pleased. I do hope we’re going to be so situated that we can see a good deal of each other. I never had a sister, and I’ve always wanted one. She looks like the sister I’ve always imagined.”

“Why, how sweet of you, dear. I know Camilla will enjoy you. And by the way, she wanted me to tell you that Jeff was so pleased that you made his friend Mr. Saxon have such a pleasant evening. He said Mr. Saxon was usually rather quiet and reticent, especially with ladies, and he had been afraid he wouldn’t have a good time. He had asked Camilla to be sure to introduce her old friends to him, but really, Camilla’s old friends all seemed to have so many of their own friends around them that there wasn’t any chance. And you took the whole responsibility and made Mr. Saxon feel at home. Camilla said she watched him and she was sure he had a good time.”

Mary Elizabeth was not pale, even after her night’s vigil, but the quick eyes of Miss York saw the color rise a little warmer in her smooth cheeks and a softened light come into her eyes.

“Yes?” said Mary Elizabeth quickly, her voice in perfect control. “Why, anybody would be honored to have the privilege of entertaining Mr. Saxon. He is—a most interesting—person, don’t you think, Mrs. Chrystie? I certainly enjoyed every minute of the evening. I thought Jeff ought to be proud that he came so far to be best man. And I understand he is a very busy person indeed. Science of some sort, isn’t that his line? He was very—versatile. I didn’t find him reticent at all!”

Mary Elizabeth’s eyes were dancing now with subdued lights, and Miss York didn’t miss a glint, and there was a little upward curve to her lips that had not been there last night when she had discussed Miss Wainwright with Mrs. Chrystie. She was beginning to feel that there was more to Mary Elizabeth than she had at first thought.

“Well, then, you must have interested him,” laughed Mrs. Chrystie. “And now, I do hope we shall see more of you. Are you leaving this morning?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Mary Elizabeth. “It all depends on Aunt Clarice. They’re driving home and I promised to drive in their wake, and there’s no telling what time they will appear on the scene. Aunt Clarice likes her morning rest. You know I drove Dad down yesterday afternoon, but he took the midnight train back home. He had some business this morning that he couldn’t be away from, so I’ll just take in some other member of the family, I suppose. Are you leaving?”

“Yes, Miss York and I are driving up in Camilla’s old car. She’s willed it to me, though Miss York is the driver. You met Miss York last night, didn’t you? She’s our good angel, you know.”

“I didn’t meet her,” said Mary Elizabeth with a warm little smile, “but I wondered who she was last night, and I’m glad to know her. I often need angels myself, guardian ones, and I might want to borrow her.”

She put out her soft, shapely hand and gave Miss York a warm grip, and that woman was heartily won over. She noticed, too, as Mary Elizabeth turned away, that the big glowing diamond she had glimpsed on her hand last night wasn’t there this morning. Perhaps she had been mistaken in her judgment.

Mary Elizabeth went over to the desk and mailed a letter she had written about some trivial matter, and after buying a morning paper, sat herself down to watch the elevators for the next one of her victims. While she pretended to read the news in which she wasn’t in the least interested, she reflected that she hadn’t gotten much information so far concerning John Saxon. And yet, as she held the paper before her eyes, her lips were smiling. John Saxon was reticent, was he? He hadn’t sounded especially so as they came down the aisle together last night!

It was Uncle Warren and Aunt Fran who came down next to breakfast and paused in the lobby to greet her.

“What, up so early, Mary Liz?” greeted Uncle Warren playfully. “I thought you’d have to take your beauty sleep this morning after being up so late last night.”

“I wasn’t up so very late last night, Uncle War,” protested Mary Elizabeth quickly. “I wasn’t up much later than you, I’ll dare say. I’m sure I saw your evening coat disappearing into the elevator just as I was about to go up myself.”