Castle Craneycrow | Page 8

V
A SUNDAY ENCOUNTER

It was a sunny Sunday morning and the church parade was popular.
Lady Frances and Quentin were walking together when Prince Ugo
joined them. He looked hardly over twenty-five, his wavy black hair
giving him a picturesque look. He wore no beard, and his dark skin was
as clear as a girl's.
"By the way," said Quentin, "Lady Saxondale tells me you are to marry
a former acquaintance of mine."

"Miss Garrison is an acquaintance?" cried the prince, lifting his dark
eyes. An instant later his gaze roamed away into the horde of passing
women, as if searching for the woman whose name brought light to his
soul.
"Was an acquaintance, I think I said. I doubt if she remembers me now.
She was a child when I knew her. Is she here this morning?" asked Phil,
secretly amused by the anxious look in the Italian's eyes.
"She will be with Lady Marnham, Ah, I see them now." The young
prince was looking eagerly ahead.
Quentin saw Miss Garrison and gasped with astonishment. Could that
stunning young woman be the little Dorothy of New York days? He
could scarcely believe his eyes and ears, notwithstanding the
introductions which followed.
"And here is an old New York friend. Miss Garrison, Mr. Philip
Quentin. You surely remember him, Miss Garrison," said Lady Frances,
with a peculiar gleam in her eye. For a second the young lady at
Quentin's side exhibited surprise; a faint flush swept into her cheek, and
then, with a rare smile, she extended her hand to the American.
"Of course, I remember him. Phil and I were playmates in the old days.
Dear me, it seems a century ago," she said.
"I cannot tell you how well the century has treated you," he said,
gallantly. "It has not been so kind to me."
"Years are never unkind to men," she responded. She smiled upon the
adoring prince and turned again to Quentin. "Tell me about New York,
Phil. Tell me about yourself."
"I can only say that New York has grown larger and better, and that I
have grown older and worse. Mrs. Garrison may doubt that I could
possibly grow worse, but I have proof positive. I am dabbling in Wall
street."

"I can imagine nothing more reprehensible," said Mrs. Garrison,
amiably. Quentin swiftly renewed his opinion of the mother. That
estimate coincided with the impression his youth had formed, and it
was not far in the wrong. Here was the mother with a hope loftier than
a soul. Purse-proud, ambitious, condescending to a degree--a woman
who would achieve what she set out to do at all hazards. Less than fifty,
still handsome, haughty and arrogant, descended through a long line of
American aristocracy, calm, resourceful, heartless. For fifteen years a
widow, with no other object than to live at the top and to marry her
only child into a realm far beyond the dreams of other American
mothers. Millions had she to flaunt in the faces of an astonished,
marveling people. Clever, tactful, aggressive, capable of winning where
others had failed, this American mother was respected, even admired,
in the class to which she had climbed. Here was the woman who had
won her way into continental society as have few of her countrywomen.
To none save a cold, discerning man from her own land was she
transparent. Lord Bob, however, had a faint conception of her aims, her
capacity.
As they walked on, Quentin scarcely took his eyes from Miss
Garrison's face. He was wearing down the surprise that the sweetheart
of his boyhood had inspired, by deliberately seeking flaws in her
beauty, her figure, her manner. After a time he felt her more wonderful
than ever. Lord Bob joined the party, and Quentin stopped a second to
speak to him. As he did so Prince Ugo was at Miss Garrison's side in an
instant.
"So she is the girl that damned Italian is to elevate?" said Mr. Quentin
to himself. "By George, it's a shame!" He did not see Lord Bob and his
wife exchange a quick smile of significance.
As they all reached the corner, Quentin asked: "Are you in London for
long, Dorothy?" Lady Frances thought his tone a trifle eager.
"For ten days or so. Will you come to see me?" Their eyes met and he
felt certain that the invitation was sincerely given. "Lady Marnham is
having some people in to-morrow afternoon. Perhaps you'll come
then," she added, and Phil looked crestfallen.

"I'll come," he said. "I want to tell you the story of my past life. You
didn't know I'd been prime minister of a South American republic, did
you?"
She nodded and they separated. Prince Ugo heard the last words of the
American, and a small, clear