Contrary Mary | Page 3

crowds in the other hall."
Her voice was lost as she made an abrupt turn, but, feeling his way, he followed her.
Up and up until they came to a third-floor landing, where she stopped him to say, "I must be sure no one is here. Will you wait until I see?"
She came back, presently, to announce that the coast was clear, and thus they entered the room which had been enlarged and rounded out by the fourth tower.
It was a big room, ceiled and finished in dark oak, The furniture was roomy and comfortable and of worn red leather. A strong square table held a copper lamp with a low spreading shade. There was a fireplace, and on the mantel above it a bust or two.
But it was not these things which at once caught the attention of Roger Poole.
Lining the walls were old books in stout binding, new books in cloth and fine leather--the poets, the philosophers, the seers of all ages. As his eyes swept the shelves, he knew that here was the living, breathing collection of a true book-lover--not a musty, fusty aggregation brought together through mere pride of intellect. The owner of this library had counted the heart-beats of the world.
"This is the sitting-room," his guide was telling him, "and the bedroom and bath open out from it." She had opened a connecting door. "This room is awfully torn up. But we have just finished dressing Constance. She is down-stairs now in the Sanctum. We'll pack her trunks to-morrow and send them, and then if you should care to take the rooms, we can put back the bedroom furniture that father had. He used this suite, and brought his books up after mother died."
He halted on the threshold of that inner room. If the old house below had seemed filled with rosy effulgence, this was the heart of the rose. Two small white beds were side by side in an alcove. Their covers were of pink overlaid with lace, and the chintz of the big couch and chairs reflected the same enchanting hue. With all the color, however, there was the freshness of simplicity. Two tall glass candlesticks on the dressing table, a few photographs in silver and ivory frames--these were the only ornaments.
Yet everywhere was lovely confusion--delicate things were thrown half-way into open trunks, filmy fabrics floated from unexpected places, small slippers were held by receptacles never designed for shoes, radiant hats bloomed in boxes.
On a chair lay a bridesmaid's bunch of roses. This bunch Mary Ballard picked up as she passed, and it was over the top of it that she asked, with some diffidence, "Do you think you'd care to take the rooms?"
Did he? Did the Peri outside the gates yearn to enter? Here within his reach was that from which he had been cut off for five years. Five years in boarding-houses and cheap hotels, and now the chance to live again--as he had once lived!
"I do want them--awfully--but the price named in your letter seems ridiculously small----"
"But you see it is all I shall need," she was as blissfully unbusinesslike as he. "I want to add a certain amount to my income, so I ask you to pay that," she smiled, and with increasing diffidence demanded, "Could you make up your mind--now? It is important that I should know--to-night."
She saw the question in his eyes and answered it, "You see--my family have no idea that I am doing this. If they knew, they wouldn't want me to rent the rooms--but the house is mine---I shall do as I please."
She seemed to fling it at him, defiantly.
"And you want me to be accessory to your--crime."
She gave him a startled glance. "Oh, do you look at it--that way? Please don't. Not if you like them."
For a moment, only, he wavered. There was something distinctly unusual in acquiring a vine and fig tree in this fashion. But then her advertisement had been unusual--it was that which had attracted him, and had piqued his interest so that he had answered it.
And the books! As he looked back into the big room, the rows of volumes seemed to smile at him with the faces of old friends.
Lonely, longing for a haven after the storms which had beaten him, what better could he find than this?
As for the family of Mary Ballard, what had he to do with it? His business was with Mary Ballard herself, with her frank laugh and her friendliness--and her arms full of roses!
"I like them so much that I shall consider myself most fortunate to get them."
"Oh, really?" She hesitated and held out her hand to him. "You don't know how you have helped me out--you don't know how you have helped me----"
Again she saw a question in his eyes, but this time