The Green Mouse | Page 8

told
her that; but she had supposed it to be only comparative poverty--just
as her cousins, for instance, had scarcely enough to keep more than two
horses in town and only one motor. But want--actual need--she had
never dreamed of in his case--she could scarcely understand it even
now--he was so well groomed, so attractive, fairly radiating good
breeding and the easy financial atmosphere she was accustomed to.
"So you see," he continued gayly, "if you complain to the owners about

green mice, why, I shall have to leave, and, as a matter of fact, I haven't
enough money to go anywhere except--" he laughed.
"Where?" she managed to say.
"The Park. I was joking, of course," he hastened to add, for she had
turned rather white.
"No," she said, "you were not joking." And as he made no reply: "Of
course, I shall not write--now. I had rather my studio were overrun with
multicolored mice--" She stopped with something almost like a sob. He
smiled, thinking she was laughing.
But oh, the blow for her! In her youthful enthusiasm she had always,
from the first time they had encountered one another, been sensitively
aware of this tall, clean-cut, attractive young fellow. And by and by she
learned his name and asked her sisters about him, and when she heard
of his recent ruin and withdrawal from the gatherings of his kind her
youth flushed to its romantic roots, warming all within her toward this
splendid and radiant young man who lived so nobly, so proudly aloof.
And then--miracle of Manhattan!--he had proved his courage before her
dazed eyes--rising suddenly out of the very earth to save her from a fate
which her eager desire painted blacker every time she embellished the
incident. And she decorated the memory of it every day.
And now! Here, beside her, was this prince among men, her champion,
beaten to his ornamental knees by Fate, and contemplating a miserable,
uncertain career to keep his godlike body from actual starvation. And
she--she with more money than even she knew what to do with,
powerless to aid him, prevented from flinging open her check book and
bidding him to write and write till he could write no more.
A memory--a thought crept in. Where had she heard his name
connected with her father's name? In Ophir Steel? Certainly; and was it
not this young man's father who had laid the foundation for her father's
fortune? She had heard some such thing, somewhere.
He said: "I had no idea of boring anybody--you least of all--with my

woes. Indeed, I haven't any sorrows now, because to-day I received my
first encouragement; and no doubt I'll be a huge success. Only--I
thought it best to make it clear why it would do me considerable
damage just now if you should write."
"Tell me," she said tremulously, "is there anything--anything I can do
to--to balance the deep debt of gratitude I owe you----"
"What debt?" he asked, astonished. "Oh! that? Why, that is no debt--
except that I was happy--perfectly and serenely happy to have had that
chance to--to hear your voice----"
"You were brave," she said hastily. "You may make as light of it as you
please, but I know."
"So do I," he laughed, enchanted with the rising color in her cheeks.
"No, you don't; you don't know how I felt--how afraid I was to show
how deeply--deeply I felt. I felt it so deeply that I did not even tell my
sisters," she added naively.
"Your sisters?"
"Yes; you know them." And as he remained silent she said: "Do you
not know who I am? Do you not even know my name?"
He shook his head, laughing.
"I'd have given all I had to know; but, of course, I could not ask the
servants!"
Surprise, disappointment, hurt pride that he had had no desire to know
gave quick place to a comprehension that set a little thrill tingling her
from head to foot. His restraint was the nicest homage ever rendered
her; she saw that instantly; and the straight look she gave him out of her
clear eyes took his breath away for a second.
"Do you remember Sacharissa?" she asked.

"I do--certainly! I always thought----"
"What?" she said, smiling.
He muttered something about eyes and white skin and a trick of the
heavy lids.
She was perfectly at ease now; she leaned back in her chair, studying
him calmly.
"Suppose," she said, "people could see me here now."
"It would end your artistic career," he replied, laughing; "and fancy! I
took you for the sort that painted for a bare existence!"
"And I--I took you for----"
"Something very different than what I am."
"In one way--not in others."
"Oh! I look the mountebank?"
"I shall not explain what I