Mliss :: :: University of Virginia Library

“If you like,” he said, in a low tone, “we
can meet as acquaintances, and no one will
know that we have met before. If you choose
to consider our little romance at an end, it is
your right to do so.”

“I don't quite understand,” said Kitty, lacking
courage either to face the adventure or embrace
the opportunity to withdraw.

“I suspect,” replied Mr. Gray, “now I see you, that
you are a mischievous young girl who thought to
amuse yourself and perhaps your companions at my
expense. I submit with what grace I can command,
as a man should always submit to the caprices of a
woman.”

He bowed, and was about to turn away, when, by a
gesture, she detained him.

“Sit here,” she said, gathering courage; “you may
talk to me until we reach Oakland.”

To do the young man justice, we must admit that
he would have preferred at that moment to have
brought the little affair to a harmless termination. He
saw that the first impression of the character of his
unknown correspondent was correct. She was simply
a foolish child, ignorant of the construction that
might be placed upon her conduct, and thoughtless
of the serious consequences that might ensue should
this clandestine meeting become known. But as she
desired him to remain with her during the half hour
the boat would occupy in reacting Oakland, he could
not well refuse.

He took the offered seat and talked to her as he
would to a young lady he had met in the ordinary
way. No more allusion was made to her letters, or to
the plans either might have formed for the day's entertainment.

By the time the boat reached her pier Miss Kitty's
courage had revived. She retained her escort and
walked with him to the cars. Miss Shaw and Mr.
Hopp dashed passed them, and the former turned to
bow to Mr. Gray. Miss Kitty's mind was made up.
There could be no harm in a little flirtation with a
gentleman evidently regarded with favor by so irreproachable
a lady as Miss Regina Shaw. Miss Kitty's
reserve melted, and she no longer sought to conceal
her rosebud. She confessed to having met Mr. Gray,
but refused to tell him when or where. As for her
name, it didn't matter. Mr. Gray might give her a
name for the day. At night they would part, perhaps
never to meet again.

It was arranged that Miss Kitty should call on her
friend Miss James, that that young lady might answer
truthfully any inquiries that might be made in regard
to her visit; and after the call they would take a
drive.

The day was lovely. The sea-breeze that swept
through the dusty streets of San Francisco, just stirred
the foliage of the magnificent oaks which fold the
neighboring city in a fragrant embrace. The leafy
avenues wore their proverbial air of repose. Around
the modest cottages a wealth of flowers formed a purple
coronet, and on the green turf children stretched
lazily in the sun. The air was laden with that sweet
and fragrant odor which dying clover exhales as it
falls bfore the scythe. To Miss Kitty's senses the
earth had never seemed so beautiful, the air so fragrant.
This was her first ride. It almost seemed to
her that this was the first day she had lived. Like the
statue of Pygmalion, she experienced a sweet surprise
in every word that was addressed to her; in every
hought those words inspired. If this was life she
would live; if this was love she would love. The
present was too glorious to mar it with thoughts of
the morrow.

Mr. Gray was not insensible to the influence of this
fresh young nature. His heart was just sore enough
to seek relief in the balm that was offered. The word-confessions
of his companion were as nothing to the
tenderness of her glances, to the delicious disclosures
of her rosy blushes. For once he shut his eyes on the
morrow. The rosy romance does not forever tinge
the earth. The rainbow's purple tints fade to the
sight, but are ever present to the memory. So with
the crowning joys of life. A pleasure once experienced
is nourished in the heart, and its reflection casts a
certain brightness on after days.

After a drive of two hours they came upon one of
the quiet resorts of pleasure-seekers which are indispensable
to modern cities. The hotel was surrounded
with trees and almost buried in their foliage. The
grounds were handsome and secluded. The view was
enchanting. The bay rolled at their feet, the city
smoked in the distance, a range of hills rising in the
rear. The sun was still three hours above the horizon,
and the outlines of a pallid moon were defined
over the eastern hills.

A luxurious dinner was served in a cosy but luxurious
apartment. Creeping vines dangled from the
window and mellowed the light to a dreamy softness.
The pictures on the wall were evidently chosen rather
from sympathy with the artist's design than regard to
artistic finish. It was the story they told rather than
the manner of telling, that secured a purchaser. The
inevitable young man and the no less inevitable young
woman were the features of each artist's effort. If we
might judge from these productions, the chief purpose
of life is to tear one's self away from the woman
one loves, and to return after the lapse of imaginary
years. The masculine arm always surrounds the
feminine waist, and masculine lips are eager and bold
in pursuit of reluctant kisses. The form of expression
was varied, but the artist was true to the spirit of
life's drama, as he understood it.

Time passed quickly, discussing the luxuries of sea
and forest, with love-glances thrown in by way of
dessert. As the shadows lengthened and the cosy

104

apartment darkened, Kitty grew silent and pensive.
Her tongue bad kept pace with the pulsings of her
heart, until the hour approached when the day was to
end. Now her stolen glances were more melting, and
her smiles were tremulous and sad. The moments
slipped by in a kind of delicious languor, and a period
was put to the day by the entrance of a waiter with
lights. Twilight might be ignored until the stubborn
fact of darkness was thus announced.

Kitty arose at last.

“We must go,” she said, “how short the days are!”

“Yes,” answered Mr. Gray, “June days are always
short, I believe.”

The young girl smiled and blushed, and ended with
pout.

“I believe you are glad it is night,” she said.

“No, my little rosebud, such days are too rare to
be wished away.”

“But a man makes such days as often as he pleases.
To me, one may never happen again.”

“I don't think fortune is likely to overlook you in
the distribution of her favors.”

“At least,” rejoined the young girl with a light
laugh, “I am not disposed to be overlooked.”

Mr. Gray approached to assist her with her shawl.
The mirror before which she was standing reflected
their faces, and in the mirror they looked into each
other's eyes.

“I see a sermon in your smile,” she said. “Do
you want very much to scold me?”

“I cannot scoid you for an act of imprudence
which has afforded me so much pleasure.”

“Have I been imprudent, do you think?”

“I little.”

“I don't think so. I knew you though you do not
know me.”

“Well, what did you know of me?”

“I knew at least you were a gentleman.”

“Thank you. But how many gentlemen would be
tempted to transgress by so much youth and beauty?”

Miss Kitty was very busy fixing her hat before the
mirror, but she murmured, softly:

“I don't understand.”

“It is now past eight. You are twelve miles from
your friends, who would be very anxious if you should
not return by ten.”

She paused a moment in the act of adjusting her
hat, looked curiously at his face as reflected in the
mirror, and smiled as she replied:

“I won't be frightened, Mr. Gray. You will only be
too glad to take me back to my friends.”

We have represented Mr. Gray as a young man of
more than average principle, but an impulse came over
him which the best of men do not at all times resist.
He extended his arms and drew his companion to his
side. For a moment the look of a startled fawn came
into her eyes. It passed as quickly as it came.
She stood still, her head sank upon his shoulder,
and a smile, sad and tender, parted her lips.
For a time there was danger that the hour of ten
might come and go unheeded. The minutes flew.
Their eyes spoke in the language forbidden to the
tongue. The evening breezes played softly in the
shrubbery without, and mingled with the sound there
came the dull roll of carriage-wheels.

It needed but an echo from the world without to
restore them to their senses. The carriage had
stopped at the hotel, and two men were alighting.
They hurriedly entered the public room. There was
a brief silence, broken at last by footsteps in the hall.
A knock, sharp and imperative, sounded on the door.

Mr. Gray silently wound his companion's vail round
her head, then opened the door. Two men stood
there, the one a stout, middle-aged man; the other tall,
spare, and young. The former Mr. Gray recognized
as Dr. Fox. The clergyman made a movement to pass,
but the way was barred.

“Villain!” he exclaimed; “I want my daughter.”

“Your daughter is not here,” calmly replied Mr.
Gray.

The clergyman started at the sound of Mr. Gray's
voice, and drew back.

“Is it you, Mr. Gray?” he said, in surprise.

“It is I. What or whom do you seek?”

“I am in search of my daughter.”

“Why do you seek her here? You know, doubtless,
that I have not the honor of your daughter's acquaintance.”

“My daughter was seen on the road that leads to
this house, and I believe she is here. Let me see for
myself.

“Sir, there is a lady in this room who certainly is
not your daughter. I assure you of that, but I cannot
permit her to be seen by the first man who comes
along.”

“But I must see her. Please to stand aside.”

“Pardon me, sir; if your daughter was here, you
would have the right to enter. As I know she is not,
I shall not permit you to pass the threshold.”

The steady voice and calm demeanor of the young
man served to allay the clergyman's apprehension.
He stepped back again and looked doubtingly at his
son. The latter only glanced at Mr. Gray, keeping
well in the background.

The landlord came up at this moment. The landlord
did not know Dr. Fox, nor care for Dr. Fox's
daughter. He cared for the reputation of his house,
and was opposed to any invasion of the privacy of respectable
people who paid for their accommodations.
The landlord heard the two statements, and took sides
with Mr. Gray. Dr. Fox was informed that he could
only enter the room by permission of the gentleman
who occupied it.

This statement, backed by a preponderance of
physical force, induced Dr. Fox to retire. Mr. Gray
returned to his companion. She was curled up on the
sofa, her head enveloped in a shawl, half dead with
fright.

“Is papa gone?” she asked, when Mr. Gray brought
her face to view.

It was now Mr. Gray's turn to be astonished.

“Papa?” he repeated. “Who are you?”

“Don't, please. I am Kitty Fox.”

“Kitty Fox! The daughter of the Rev. Dr. Fox?”

Kitty answered with her sobs. Mr. Gray turned
and walked twice across the room. He had just assured
Dr. Fox that the lady in the room was not Dr.
Fox's daughter, and now he was assured by the lady
herself that she was Dr. Fox's daughter. It would all
come out. No one would believe that he did not know

105

the lady with whom he had dined. The girl's reputation
would be ruined, and his own—what would the
proud and pure Regina think of a man who led a foolish
young girl to ruin.

Kitty sat on the sofa, her face buried in her hands.
She was not more frightened at the appearance of her
father than at the cloud that had come over the face of
her companion.

The sight of her bent and trembling form awakened
Mr. Gray's compassion. It was no time to chide her,
nor his part to add to her troubles. He went to her
and gently took her hand.

“Forgive me. I ought not to speak harshly to you.
Poor, foolish child! I will save you if I can.”

Kitty's arm stole round his neck. One-half the grief
was lifted from her mind.

“Take me home,” she murmured, “and I will
never, never be so foolish again.”

The clinging clasp of her arms furnished somewhat
equivocal evidence of the stability of her good resolutions,
but Mr. Gray thought less of testing her sincerly
than of complying with her request. He addressed
himself, therefore, to the not unpleasing task
of soothing her agitation, having in view solely
her speedy restoration to the degree of composure
essential to her removal. He raised her to a sitting
posture, and supported her in his arms. Her head
dropped upon his shoulder, and her humid eyes
timidly sought his own. Still, with a view to restore
her composure and endow her with courage to face
the storm that was impending over her he caressed
her as he would a child, and even softly kissed the lips
that through the day he had not dared to touch.

This method of restoration proved eminently successful. The girl's sobs ceased, and the color came
back to her fair, round cheeks. We trust she had not
forgotten that an angry father was beneath the same
roof as herself, in the dawning hope that the love and
honor of her companion might compensate for the
loss of a father's affection. If she had such thoughts
Mr. Gray did not share them. He was thinking of
a plan to restore the foolish girl to her friends with
such semblance of propriety as might justly warrant
a suspension of judgment on her father's part. If he
could reach the house of Miss Julia James before Dr.
Fox, that gentleman would have no evidence that
Mr. Gray had been her companion, as the information
which had directed Dr. Fox in his pursuit did not
identify Mr. Gray as acting in that dangerous capacity

As soon as Kitty was sufficiently composed he
ordered the carriage. Once more the jaunty hat was
adjusted on her pretty head and once more the shawl
folded about the graceful form. Kitty was a heroine
only in the security of her chamber. Her courage resembled
that of a noted personage for whose existence
we are indebted to the fertile imagination of a playwright—in
the presence of danger it oozed out at her
finger's ends. It required all of Mr. Gray's remarkable
powers of persuasion to induce her to venture
out when the carriage came round.

At last, however, the transit from the room to the
carriage was accomplished. A glance assured Mr.
Gray that Dr. Fox and the young gentleman who had
accompanied him were seated in their carriage awaiting
his departure. A race of twelve miles was before
him and he had to gain at least two miles to carry out
the first movement in his plan.

The first two miles were uneven and he kept
his horses well under control. Dr. Fox started at almost
the same moment, and regulated his pace by
that of Mr. Gray. They came at last upon the brow
of a low, sloping hill that descended upon the level
below. A sweep of ten level miles lay between them
and Oakland. Mr. Gray took his horses in hand. A
word sent them off at the top of their speed. He
estimated that the ten miles might be accomplished in
forty minutes. The noble animals seemed to enjoy
the performance. The first mile only served to relax
their sinews, to give them fair play. The firm, cool
hand of their driver gave them that confidence in a
directing intelligence which all dumb animals like to
feel. A trot of three miles left his pursuers so far in
the rear that Mr. Gray no longer had doubts of his
ability to restore his companion to the protection of
her friends before her father could arrive upon the
scene.

Circumstances unquestionably have a great deal to
do with love-making. Men have been known to associate
intimately for years with attractive women and
never utter a word that could be construed as expressive
of a sentiment tenderer than friendship.
On some fatal day circumstances throw them into
a peculiar relation to each other. Something
happens to present one to the other in a new
light. A picnic party so disjoints itself that the victims
of circumstances are left together. A half compulsory
ride side by side inspires one or the other
with a pleasurable sensation which suggests repetition.
In some such way the torch is lighted. A breath
fans the flickering flame. The magnetism of a touch,
the quick glance of a tender eye, a rebellious blush,
feed the flame into a vigorous growth. The parties
become conscious that the world without the other
would be a very disagreeable abiding place.

Mr. Gray and Kitty sat side by side in silence. The
night was superb. The fresh sea breeze imparted an
aromatic pungency to the sun-heated air. Fields of
new-mown hay extended in beauty and fragrance on
either side. The moon seemed suspended from the
centre of a cloudless sky, while the courtier-like stars
hovered near, setting off but not rivaling the glory of
their queen. The road was solitary, and the stillness
was only broken by the regular tread of the horses'
feet. Yet when they stopped at the gate of Miss
James's house Kitty could not console herself with the
memory of a fond word. She was set down like a
piece of troublesome baggage with a single “good
night,” and her god disappeared.

Disencumbered, Mr. Gray sought Dr. Fox. The
two gentlemen met in the road, and at a signal from
the other the younger drew rein.

“Dr. Fox,” said Mr. Gray, “can I have a word
with you—alone?”

“This gentleman is my son,” replied the clergyman,
“if you have anything to say you can say it before
him.”

Mr. Gray bowed to Joseph and Joseph glared through
the moonlight at Mr. Gray. The latter then spoke.

“An hour ago I made a statement to you which I then

106

believed to be correct. I have since discovered that it
was not correct.”

The two gentlemen sat in severe silence. Their attitude
seemed to say, “what precious lie do you mean
to amuse us with now?”

“The lady,” continued Mr. Gray, his tone firmer
and harder, “who did me the honor to accompany me
this afternoon was Miss Kitty Fox.”

The elder of the listeners made a gesture which
might be of surprise or impatience. Mr. Gray continued:

“Miss Fox and I had met under circumstances
which impressed my name upon her mind, while hers
escaped me. I met her to-day on the boat and only
recognized a lady I had seen before. She punished
me for not remembering her name by giving me the
first she happened to think of. The beauty of the day
suggested an invitation to a drive, which invitation,
after much hesitation, was accepted.”

“This explanation is very improbable,” replied Dr.
Fox, in a tone that implied more forcible than words
his disbelief. “My daughter would not drive out with
a gentleman with whom she had no acquaintance.”

“So far as I am concerned,” returned Mr. Gray, repressing
his rising anger, “it is a matter of indifference
what you may believe or disbelieve. My only object
in speaking to you was to correct an erroneous
assertion which I believed true at the time of making
it. Miss Fox accepted my invitation, knowing me well
through a mutual friend and confident that she would
receive from me all the respect due a lady from a gentleman.
If you should wish any further explanation
you know where to find me.”

Mr. Gray bowed and drove off. Dr. Fox found his
daughter with her friend Miss James. Kitty had been
informed of Mr. Gray's line of defense and she adhered
to it as the one most likely to carry her through.
She stood convicted therefore of the comparative mild
indiscretion of accepting an invitation to drive from
a gentleman with whom she had but a slight acquaintance,
and who was not approved by her father.

And Madame Rumor got hold of the affair and
rounded it off in her usual salacious style. The sensation
duties got hold of it and represented a trusting
maiden as being rescued rather late from the arms of
the despoiler. No names were used, but “a distinguished
young lawyer,” and “the beautiful daughter
of a prominent clergyman” sufficiently designated the
culprits.

When too late Dr. Fox regretted his inconsiderate
action. A young admirer of Miss Kitty had seen that
young lady in Oakland with a gentleman he did not
know, and his jealousy prompted him to watch their
movements. He saw Miss Kitty go to the house of her
friend, saw her return alone, saw her litted into a carriage
by the man who had been her companion on the
boat. Young Admirer took the next boat for San
Francisco, hunted up Dr. Fox, and told him what he
had seen. The latter with his son started in pursuit.
Dr. Fox had given his daughter a good lecture, and
intended to let the matter rest, when by some means
unknown to him it became town-talk. The worthy
clergyman did not know that a certain Mrs. Smith
was in the confidence of his son or he would have been
less at loss to account for the unfortunate publicity
which a matter of such slight importance to the
public soon gained.