The Man and the Moment | Page 5

him for the rest of his days, sapping his vitality."
But Michael protested.
"By heaven, no!"
"Well, I'll leave you to think about it. I am going for another stroll on
this lovely day." He had got to the window by this time, which looked
into the courtyard on the opposite side to the balcony. "Goodness! what
a party of tourists! It is a bore for you to have them all over the place
like this! To own a castle with state rooms to be shown to the public
has its disadvantages."
Michael looked at them, too, a large party of Americans, mostly of that
class which compose the tourists of all countries, and which no nation
feels proud to own. He had seen hundreds of such, and turned away
indifferently.

"They only come here twice a week, and it has been allowed for such
ages--they are generally quiet, and fortunately their perambulations
close at the end of the gallery. They don't intrude upon my own suite.
They get to the chapel by the outside door."
Henry crossed the room and went on to the balcony.
"Mrs. Hatfield will alter all that," he laughed, as he disappeared from
view.
Michael flashed a rageful glance at his back, and then flung himself
into his great armchair again, and pulled the wrinkled mass, which
called itself a prize bulldog, on to his lap.
"I believe he's right and we are caught, Binko. If we fled to the Rocky
Mountains, she would track us. If we stay and face it, she'll make an
almighty scandal and force us to marry her. What in the devil's name
are we to do----!"
Binko licked his master's hands, and made noises, so full of gurgling,
slobbering sympathy, no heart could have remained uncomforted. Who
knows! His canine common sense may have telepathically transmitted
a thought, for Michael suddenly plopped him on the floor, and stalked
toward the fireplace to ring the bell, while he exclaimed, as though
answering a suggestion. "Yes, we'll send for old Bessie--that's the only
way."
But before he could reach his goal, the picture of Mary, Queen of Scots,
landing fell forward with a crash, and through the aperture of a secret
door which it concealed, there tumbled a very young and pretty girl
right into the room.
CHAPTER II
Mr. Arranstoun was extremely startled and annoyed, too, and before he
took in the situation, he had exclaimed, while Binko gave an ominous
growl of displeasure:

"Confound it--who is that! These are private rooms!" Then, seeing it
was a girl on the floor, he said in another voice: "Quiet, Binko--" and
the dog retired to his own basket under a distant table. "Oh, I beg your
pardon--but----"
The creature on the floor blinked at Michael with large, round, violet
eyes, but did not move, while she answered aggrievedly--with a very
faint accent, whether a little French or a little American, or a little of
both, he was not sure, only that it had something attractive about it.
"You may well say 'but'! I did not mean to intrude upon your private
room--but I had to run away from Mr. Greenbank--he was so horrid--"
here she gasped a little for breath--"and I happened to see something
like a door ajar in the Gainsborough room, so I fled through it, and it
fastened after me with a snap--I could not open it again--and it was
pitch dark in that dreadful passage and not a scrap of air--I felt
suffocated, and I pushed on anywhere--and something gave way and I
fell in here--that's all----"
She rattled this out without a stop, and then stared at Michael with her
big, childish eyes, but did not attempt to rise from the floor.
He walked toward her and held out his hand, and with ceremonious and
ironical politeness, he began:
"May I not help you--I could offer you a chair----"
She interrupted him while she struggled up, refusing his proffered
hand.
"I've knocked myself against your nasty table--why do you have it in
that place!"
Michael sat down upon the edge of it, and went on in his ironical tone:
"Had I known I was to have the honor of this visit, I should certainly
have had it moved."

"There is no use being sarcastic," the girl said, almost crying now. "It
hurts very much, and--and--I want to go home."
Mr. Arranstoun pushed a comfortable monster seat toward her, and said
more sympathetically:
"I am very sorry--but where is home?"
The girl sank into the chair, and smoothed out her pink cotton frock;
the skimpy skirt (not as narrow as in these days, but still short and
spare!) showed a perfect pair of feet and ankles.
"She's American, of course, then," Michael said to himself, observing
these, "and quite pretty if