Gordon Craig | Page 9

ain't dressed fer no dance. But,
dom me, if she 's the koind o' female ter run in aither. Lord, but she 's
got a foine pair o' eyes in the face ov' her."
Close together, without venturing to speak or glance around, we walked
forward into the enveloping mist. Her fingers, for appearances' sake,
barely touched the rough cloth of my sleeve. All this had occurred so
swiftly, so suddenly, that I was yet bewildered, unable to decide on a
course of action. The girl, I noticed, was breathing heavily from
excitement, her eyes cast down upon the wet pavement. Once, beneath
the glow of the lamp at the first corner, I ventured to glance slyly aside

at her, in curiosity, mentally photographing the clear outline of her
features, the strands of light brown hair straggling rebelliously from
beneath the wide brim of the hat. I was of rather reckless nature,
careless, and indifferent in my relationship with women. A bit of
audacious speech trembled on my lips, but remained unuttered. My
earlier conception that she was a woman of the street died within me.
There was more than a mere hint of character about that resolute mouth,
the white contour of cheek. She glanced furtively back across her
shoulder--evidently the policeman had disappeared, for she released her
slight grasp of my arm, although continuing to walk quietly enough by
my side, her face partially averted. The night was deathly still, the
sodden walk underfoot scarcely echoing our footfalls, the weird mist
closing denser about us, as we advanced.
At the second street intersection she turned east, advancing toward
where passing trolley-cars promised some life and activity even at that
late hour. Helpless to do otherwise I moved along with her in the same
direction, our grotesque shadows dimly discernible beneath the yellow
mist of light. Impulsively she stopped, and faced me, her hands
clasped.
"I--I--please--I will say good night, now," she said, endeavoring to
speak firmly, yet with no uplifting of the eyes.
Hesitatingly I stood still, feeling strangely embarrassed by this sudden
curt dismissal.
"Do--do you mean you wish me to leave you alone on the street at this
hour?" I questioned uneasily. "At least permit me to see you home
safely. I will not hurt you, or speak a word."
There was a tone of earnestness in my plea but she only shook her head
decisively, lips pressed close together. The faint glow of the overhead
light rested on the slightly uplifted face, and the sight of her features
yielded me fresh confidence.
"You have no cause to feel afraid of me," I went on soberly, in the
silence. "Can't you tell that by my face?" and I removed my cap,

standing before her uncovered. She lifted her lashes, startled and
curious, gazing at me for the first time. I met her glance fairly, and the
slight resentment in her eyes faded, her clasped hands moving uneasily.
"I--I am not afraid of--of you," she returned at last doubtfully. "It is not
that, but--but really I cannot permit you to accompany me farther."
"Only to the place where you said you lived," I urged eagerly. "I
promise not even to take note of the number, and will never bother you
any more."
Her fine eyes hardened; then sank slowly before mine.
"That--that was a lie also," she acknowledged, half defiantly. "I--I do
not live about here."
I stared at her in sudden doubt, yet remained loyal to my first
impression.
"All the greater reason then for not leaving you here alone."
She laughed, a faint tinge of bitterness in the sound.
"Surely you cannot imagine I would feel any safer in company with a
burglar?" she asked sharply. My face flushed.
"Why accuse me of that?" I asked quickly. "Merely because I was in
that yard?"
She drew back a step, one hand grasping her skirt.
"Not altogether. You were hiding there, and--and you were afraid of the
policeman."
I could not explain; it would require too long, and she would in all
probability refuse to believe the story. Besides, what difference could it
make? She had as much to explain as I; no more reason to suspect me
than I had her. Let us meet then on common ground.

"If I grant your hasty guess to be partially correct," I returned finally,
my voice deepening with earnestness, "and confess I was avoiding
observation--what then? Can you not also believe me a man capable of
treating you honorably? Is it totally impossible for you to conceive of
circumstances so compelling, as to cause one to avoid the police, and
yet involve no real loss of manhood?"
She bowed her head slightly, lowering her eyes before mine. My
earnestness, my apparent education, were clearly a surprise.
"Yes," she confessed reluctantly enough.