University of Virginia Library

3. III

In the tasteful library in which her father's presence still seemed to linger Elizabeth Crosby wandered about, stopping now and again to touch tenderly some object that had been especially closely associated with him. In the week that had elapsed since his death she had emerged from girlhood into the fuller estate of woman, but there still lingered about her that exquisite trustfulness of childhood, produced by the protecting arm of a love that had enveloped her like a garment.

She picked up a photograph of her father,

the look of sad tenderness deepening on her pale face.

"My precious dad!" she whispered, passing her hand caressingly over the face. "I wonder if you know how I miss you! It's very lonely without you, dear."

She replaced the photograph on the table, her eyes blinded by tears, and groped her way to the armchair in which the last night of her father's life had been spent. Sinking down on the arm, she laid her cheek against the spot where his head had rested.

"If only I could — have been with you — through it — all!" she murmured brokenly. "I can't bear to think that you had to face it all alone, with no one that you loved to help you and say good-by. Oh, that's the bitterest part of it all! To think that you had to go without my being able to give you even a kiss, or one word to tell you how I love you! If only I could let you know how grateful I am for all the happiness you gave me, and all the sacrifices you made for me! And now you'll never know! Oh, darling, couldn't you come back for just one little minute, just long enough to let me hold you in my arms and kiss you good-by?"

A great sob shook her slender form. She sat up resolutely and pushed back the heavy golden coils of hair that had fallen over her forehead. A watery little smile played over the pale face.

"Father wouldn't like me to give way like this," she thought self-reproachfully.

She got up and walked toward the door, glancing at the clock on the mantel as she passed it.

"Nearly five!" she exclaimed under her breath. "I must hurry. Fairfax is due now!"

It still lacked a few minutes of the hour when the portieres which separated the drawing-room from the library parted, and Fairfax Cary stepped into the room. In an instant Elizabeth's light footsteps sounded on the stairs, and she came into the library holding out both hands in warm welcome.

"How glad I am to see you!" she exclaimed as their hands met.

"It's so good of you to let me come!" he answered, his eyes devouring her face. Major Barry gave me your message."

"Dear Uncle Tod!" Elizabeth led the way to a roomy sofa and sank down into the corner. "He has been very good to me."

Cary dropped down beside her.

"He naturally would be. He idolized your father, and I know there isn't anything on earth he wouldn't do for him or for you. But tell me how you are."

"Oh, very well," she answered indifferently. The thrushlike lilt had gone out of her voice and great shadows lay under her eyes. "I'm a little tired, naturally; there's so much to be done." She glanced wearily around the room. "I'm giving up the apartment, you know."

Cary nodded sympathetically.

"That's a wrench, I'm sure."

"Yes," assented Elizabeth. "We've been here so long — ever since I was a little girl; and although it's only rented, everything is so associated with — father that I feel as if I were living in a perpetual parting with him." She resolutely forced back the great tears which had sprung to her eyes. "But Aunt Maude thinks I'm too young to live alone, so I'm to go to them. Uncle George is my guardian until I'm twenty-eight. I suppose they're right, but — " She sighed. Then she added in a sudden burst of confidence: "I wish the three years were over! You see, our ideas of what is worth while in life don't agree. It's going to be hard for me to see my friends, too; and I detest Newport!"

"It isn't just the thing for you this summer," agreed Cary. "Can't you persuade Mrs. Crosby to go to a quieter place?"

"Dear me, no! I shouldn't think of asking her. Imagine Aunt Maude cut off from her Newport season! She'd be like a caged lion!" A wistful look had crept into the girl's blue eyes. "Will you be coming down, do you think?"

Certainly not to stay with the Crosbys," he replied, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

Elizabeth laughed a little uncertainly.

"I don't understand it," she said thoughtfully. "I don't see why aunt dislikes you; you are always so nice to her."

"She naturally thinks none but the most gorgeous butterflies should flutter around such a brilliant little candle."

A delicate flush crept into the girl's thin checks.

"How silly!" she exclaimed. "I don't think even Aunt Maude could be so absurd! No one could possibly think of you as a butterfly, and some day we shall all be trying to bask in the rays of your glory!"

Fairfax Cary laughed. Her praise and faith were very sweet to him, coming as they did after years of combat with obstacles the difficulties of which none but he had half realized.

"When that day comes — if it ever does," he said in a voice vibrant with feeling, "the glory will all be yours to do with as you like; for any success I may achieve will be entirely due to your faith in me and to your father's help."

Elizabeth raised her hand in protest.

"Oh, no," she denied vehemently. "It was your ability that first attracted father's notice; and as for my faith in you, if you had not had the qualities, the faith would never have been inspired."

She looked at him triumphantly, as if defying him to refute her argument.

An overpowering desire to catch her in his arms and tell her of the place she held in his life took hold of Fairfax; but she looked so young, so unprotected, as she half reclined among the cushions of the deep corner, surrounded by the evidences of wealth, that he crushed it back.

"What right have I to ask her to marry me?" he thought savagely. "She's lonely now, poor little girl, and she sees in me a man in whom her father believed, and who consequently has a sort of temporary glamour for her. Wait until you have something real to offer her, man! Even if she cares, it isn't right to take so much and give so little."

When do you go to Newport?" he asked aloud.

"Next week. There are some legal matters to attend to and clothes to get." She looked significantly at her black frock, "There are always so many things to do after — "

"Yes, I know," Cary assented sympathetically. "If there is anything I can do, I'm sure you'll remember that I would consider it a privilege to be allowed to help you."

Elizabeth thanked him with a wan little smile.

"And I want to tell you," he went on gently, "that I shall always think of your father as `one who dared do all that may become a man' — a man too fine to stoop to a meanness, too great of heart to profit through another's hurt."

Elizabeth looked at him gratefully, her eyes brimming with tears. Impulsively she laid her hand on his arm.

"Ah," she murmured, "you were one of the few who really knew him for what he was!" Her chin quivered. "The rest" — she shrugged her shoulders sadly — "they mean to be consoling, but you — you're the first who has really comforted me."

Cary's hand closed warmly over her fingers, and his eyes looked fixedly into hers, as if trying to convey a message which the firm lips resolutely withheld.

"I shall miss you," she said sadly, withdrawing her hand.

Afraid to trust himself further, Fairfax rose.

"If at any time you need me," he said gently in his deep, even voice, "promise me that you will send for me!"

"I promise," answered Elizabeth readily.

"I want you to feel that you can call on me for anything at any time. Will you remember?"

"Yes," replied the girl, putting her hand in his. "Good-by!"

Her eyes followed the straight, thin figure, with its dark, proudly held head, as it disappeared into the hall, and a wave of desolate loneliness swept over her. Unconsciously she took a quick step after him and held out her hands, but the outside door closed softly. She stopped, and her hands fell to her sides.