The Second Latchkey | Page 7

replied that she was glad. As the man turned
away, "Mr. Smith" raised his eyebrows with rather a wistful smile.
"I'm afraid you're sorry, really," he said. "If I'd come a minute later than
I did, you'd have been safe and happy at home by this time."
"Not happy," amended the girl. "Because it isn't home. If it were, I
shouldn't have told fibs to Mrs. Ellsworth to-night."
"That sounds interesting," remarked her companion.
"It's not interesting!" she assured him. "Nothing in my life is. I don't
want to bore you by talking about my affairs, but if you think we may
be--interrupted, perhaps, I'd better explain one or two things while
there's time. I wanted to come here this evening to keep an engagement

I'd made, but it's difficult for me to get out alone. Mrs. Ellsworth
doesn't like to be left, and she never lets me go anywhere without her
except to the house of some friends of mine, the only real friends I have.
It's odd, but their name is Smith, and that saved my telling a direct lie.
Not that a half-lie isn't worse, it's so cowardly!
"Mrs. Ellsworth likes me to go to Archdeacon and Mrs. Smith's
because--I'm afraid because she thinks they're 'swells.' Mrs. Smith has a
duke for an uncle! Mrs. Ellsworth said 'yes' at once, when I asked, and
gave me her key and permission to stop out till half-past ten, though
everyone in the house is supposed to be in bed by ten. She's almost sure
to be in bed herself, but if she gets interested in one of the books I
brought from the library to-day, it's possible she may be sitting up to
read, and to ask about my evening.
"Our bedrooms are on the ground floor at the back of an addition to the
house. What if she should hear the latchkey (it's old fashioned and hard
to work), and what if she should come to the swing door at the end of
the corridor where she'd see you with me? What would you say or do?"
"H'm! It would be awkward. But--isn't there a young Smith in your
Archdeacon's family?"
"There is one, but I haven't seen him since I was a little girl. He's a
sailor. He's away now on an Arctic expedition."
"Then it wasn't that Mr. Smith you came to meet at the Savoy?"
"No. They're not related." As Annesley returned in thought to the Mr.
Smith who had thrown her over, she took from her bodice the white
rose which was to have identified her for him, and found it a place in
the vase with the other white roses. She had a special reason for doing
this. The real Mr. Smith, if by any chance he appeared now, would be a
complication. Without the rose he could not claim her acquaintance.
"Why do you do that?" her companion broke the thread of his
questioning to ask.

The girl was tempted to tell some easy fib that the rose was faded, or
too fragrant; but somehow she could not. They both seemed so close to
the deep-down things of life at this moment that to speak the truth was
the one possible thing.
"I arranged to wear a white rose for Mr. Smith to recognize me.
We--have never seen each other," she confessed.
"Yet you say there's nothing interesting in your life!"
"It's true! This thing was--was dreadful. It could happen only to a girl
whose life was not interesting."
"Now I understand why you put away the rose--for my sake, in case Mr.
Smith should turn up, after all. Will you give it to me? I won't flaunt it
in my buttonhole. I'll hide it sacredly, in memory of this evening--and
of you. Not that I shall need to be reminded of anything which concerns
this night--you especially, and your generosity, your courage. But it
may be that the men I spoke of won't find me here. If they don't, the
worst of your ordeal is over. It will only be to finish dinner, and let me
put you into a taxi. To-morrow you can think that you dreamed the
wretch who appealed to you, and be glad that you will never see him
again."
Annesley selected her white rose from its fellows, dried its stem
daintily with her napkin, and gave the flower to "Mr. Smith." Already it
looked refreshed, as she herself felt refreshed, after five years of
"stuffiness," by these few throbbing moments.
Their hands touched, and through Annesley's darted a little tingle of
electricity that flashed up her arm to her heart, where it caught like a
hooked wire. She was surprised, almost frightened by the sensation,
and ashamed because she didn't find it disagreeable.
"It must be that people