Miss Maggie, dropping her hands and starting up at his entrance, caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror in front of her. With a , angry of her fingers at her wet eyes, she fell to rearranging the vases and photographs on the mantel.
"Oh, back again, Mr. Smith?" she greeted him, with studied unconcern.
Mr. Smith shut the door and advanced .
"Miss Maggie, I've got to face this thing out, of course. Even if I had—made a botch of things at the very start, it didn't help any to—to run away, as I did. And I was a coward to do it. It was only because I—I—But never mind that. I'm coming now straight to the point. Miss Maggie, will you—marry me?"
The photograph in Miss Maggie's hand fell face down on the shelf. Miss Maggie's fingers caught the edge of the mantel in a convulsive grip. A swift glance in the mirror before her disclosed Mr. Smith's face just over her shoulder, earnest, pleading, and still very white. She dropped her gaze, and turned half away. She did not want to meet Mr. Smith's eyes just then. She tried to speak, but only a half-choking little breath came.
Then Mr. Smith again.
"Miss Maggie, please don't say no—yet. Let me—explain—about how I came here, and all that. But first, before I do that, let me tell you how—how I love you—how I have loved you all these long months. I THINK I loved you from the first time I saw you. Whatever comes, I want you to know that. And if you could care for me a little—just a little, I'm sure I could make it more—in time, so you would marry me. And we would be so happy! Don't you believe I'd try to make you happy—dear?"
"Yes, oh, yes," murmured Miss Maggie, still with her head turned away.
"Good! Then all you've got to say is that you'll let me try. And we will be happy, dear! Why, until I came here to this little house, I didn't know what living, real living, was. And I HAVE been, just as you said, a selfish old thing."
Miss Maggie, with a start of surprise, faced the image in the mirror; but Mr. Smith was looking at her, not at her reflection, so she did not meet his ayes.
"Why, I never—" she .
"Yes, you did, a minute ago. Don't you remember? Oh, of course you didn't realize—everything, and perhaps you wouldn't have said it if you'd known. But you said it—and you meant it, and I'm glad you said it. And, dear little woman, don't you see? That's only another reason why you should say yes. You can show me how not to be selfish."
"But, Mr. Smith, I—I-" stammered Miss Maggie, still with puzzled eyes.
"Yes, you can. You can show me how to make life really worth while, for me, and for—for lots of others And NOW I have some one to care for. And, oh, little woman, I—I care so much, it can't be that you—you don't care—any!"
Miss Maggie caught her breath and turned away again.
"Don't you care—a little?"
The red crept up Miss Maggie's neck to her forehead but still she was silent.
"If I could only see your eyes," pleaded the man. Then, suddenly, he saw Miss Maggie's face in the mirror. The next moment Miss Maggie herself turned a little, and in the mirror their eyes met—and in the mirror Mr. Smith found his answer. "You DO care—a LITTLE!" he breathed, as he took her in his arms.
"But I don't!" Miss Maggie shook her head vigorously against his coat-collar.
"What?" Mr. Smith's clasp loosened a little.
"I care—a GREAT DEAL," whispered Miss Maggie to the coat-collar, with shameless emphasis.
"You—darling!" triumphed the man, a rapturous kiss on the tip of a small pink ear—the nearest point to Miss Maggie's lips that was available, until, with tender determination, he turned her face to his.
A moment later, blushing , Miss Maggie drew herself away.
"There, we've been quite silly enough—old folks like us."
"We're not silly. Love is never silly—not real love like ours. Besides, we're only as old as we feel. Do you feel old? I don't. I've lost—YEARS since this morning. And you know I'm just beginning to live—really live, anyway! I feel—twenty-one."
"I'm afraid you act it," said Miss Maggie, with mock severity.
"YOU would—if you'd been through what I have," retorted Mr. Smith, drawing a long breath. "And when I think what a botch I made of it, to begin with—You see, I didn't mean to start off with that, first thing; and I was so afraid that—that even if you did care for John Smith, you wouldn't for me—just at first. But you do, dear!" At arms' length he held her off, his hands on her shoulders. His happy eyes searching her face saw the dawn of the dazed, question.
"Wouldn't care for YOU if I did for John Smith! Why, you ARE John Smith. What do you mean?" she demanded, her eyes slowly him from head to foot and back again. "What DO you mean?"
"MISS MAGGIE!" his tongue went back to the old manner of address, but his hands still held her shoulders. "You don't mean—you can't mean that—that you didn't understand—that you DON'T understand that I am—Oh, good Heavens! Well, I have made a mess of it this time," he . Releasing his hold on her shoulders, he turned and began to tramp up and down the room. "Nice little John-Alden-Miles-Standish affair this is now, upon my word! Miss Maggie, have I got to—to propose to you all over again for—for another man, now?"
"For—ANOTHER MAN! I—I don't think I understand you." Miss Maggie had grown a little white.
"Then you don't know—you didn't understand a few minutes ago, when
I—I spoke first, when I asked you about—about those twenty millions—"
She lifted her hand quickly, pleadingly.
"Mr. Smith, please, don't let's bring money into it at all. I don't care—I don't care a bit if you haven't got any money."
Mr. Smith's dropped.
"If I HAVEN'T got any money!" he ejaculated stupidly.
"No! Oh, yes, I know, I said I loved money." The rich red came back to her face in a flood. "But I didn't mean—And it's just as much of a test and an opportunity when you DON'T have money—more so, if anything. I didn't mean it—that way. I never thought of—of how you might take it—as if I WANTED it. I don't. Indeed, I don't! Oh, can't you—understand?"
"Understand! Good Heavens!" Mr. Smith threw up both his hands. "And I thought I'd given myself away! Miss Maggie." He came to her and stood close, but he did not offer to touch her. "I thought, after I'd said what I did about—about those twenty millions that you understood—that you knew I was—Stanley Fulton himself."
"That you were—who?" Miss Maggie stood motionless, her eyes looking straight into his, amazed incredulous.
"Stanley Fulton. I am Stanley Fulton. My God! Maggie, don't look at me like that. I thought—I told you. Indeed, I did!"
She was backing away now, slowly, step by step. Anger, almost , had taken the place of the and incredulity in her eyes.
"And YOU are Mr. Fulton?"
"Yes, yes! But—" "And you've been here all these months—yes, years—under a false name, pretending to be what you weren't—talking to us, eating at our tables, winning our confidence, letting us talk to you about yourself, even pretending that—Oh, how could you?" Her voice broke.
"Maggie, dearest," he begged, springing toward her, "if you'll only let me—"
But she stopped him , drawing herself to her full height.
"I am NOT your dearest," she flamed angrily. "I did not give my love—to YOU."
"Maggie!" he .
But she drew back still farther.
"No! I gave it to John Smith—gentleman, I supposed. A man—poor, yes, I believed him poor; but a man who at least had a right to his NAME! I didn't give it to Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, spy, trickster, who makes life itself a masquerade for SPORT! I do not know Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, and—I do not wish to." The words ended in a sound very like a ; but Miss Maggie, with her head still high, turned her back and walked to the window.
Join or Log In!
You need to log in to continue reading
(Left Keyword <-) Previous:
CHAPTER XXII WITH EVERY JIM A JAMES
Back
Next:
CHAPTER XXIV THAT MISERABLE MONEY
(Right Keyword:->)