CHAPTER XI

IT WAS Mrs. Dunlap who took command of the situation, stepping into the picture at exactly the most awful moment of revelation when several lives seemed about to fall into chaos.

"Oh, Mr. Oliver," she said in her pleasant, commanding tone coming forward with a fountain pen and a bit of blue paper in her hand, until she stood exactly before the shrinking girl, and the ghastly man, "Good morning! I won't detain you but an instant. I just stepped in to ask if you would kindly endorse this check for me so that I can cash it. I found myself suddenly out of money, and near your office, and I knew you would help me out."

She held out the check and pen, and the desperate man reached for them as a drowning man would reach for a rope flung out to him. He even tried to summon a smile of graciousness to his stiff lips, and naturalness to his voice as he assented:

"Why, certainly, Mrs. Dunlap—I'm—delighted to be able to do anything for you."

There was a high-strained quality to his voice and his attempt at a laugh was a decided failure. His hand was shaking, as he wrote his name, Ralph H. Oliver across the back of the check. It was an old blank one which Mrs. Dunlap had carried with her in her purse for several months in case of emergency. That morning she had made it out to herself, signed with her maiden name and endorsed it. But the man who endorsed it again was not even noticing whether it was a check or not. He was only bestirring his clever brain to get him out of this situation, and by the time the name was written, he had made his decision. He would ignore this girl, and get himself out of the room at once, and out of the building, even if he was obliged to emerge through the tenth-story window to the street. Anything no matter how ghastly, was better than what would probably happen if he remained.

He swung himself around to face Mrs. Dunlap, and put Marguerite out of range, as he handed over the check with a hand that was shaking visibly.

Again the stiffening lips wrinkled themselves into a ghastly semblance of a smile as he spoke, his manner an attempt at the debonair:

"Mrs. Dunlap, I think my wife is in my private office, and she will never forgive me if I do not call her. She will want to see you if only for a moment. Let me go and call her."

"Oh, I'll call her, Mr. Oliver!" said the secretary eagerly, half rising from her desk.

"No, no, Miss Flinch. I'll call her myself. I want you to get those letters out before the next mail please. It is very imperative. I'll just call her."

"Indeed, Mr. Oliver, I cannot possibly wait a moment," interrupted Mrs. Dunlap. "Tell Mrs. Oliver for me that I am returning this way in a week or two and I will call her up and make an appointment to see her. But now I really must hasten away. I have friends here with me who are in haste. By the way, of course you know them." She stepped back and turned toward Mrs. Sheldon who had risen and come forward, her eyes stern, her face full of indignation and dislike. "My friend Mrs. Sheldon. I think you have already met in her home town and Miss Sheldon, her daughter? And now we mustn't keep you an instant."

Nelson Whitney had long ago discarded the enveloping newspaper and was on his feet, standing in the shadow of the alcove, with eyes only for the white-faced girl. When the others stepped before her and hid his vision, he came forward into the light, forgetting that he did not intend to reveal his identity just now, forgetting everything but that the beloved eyes were filled with sudden awful comprehension, and agony, the beloved lips were trembling visibly, and his darling looked like a white lily stricken and about to fall.

Sudden revelation had made him, too, wise as to the situation; for when Mr. Ralph Oliver turned to hand Mrs. Dunlap the endorsed check, the light from the windows fell full upon his ashen face, and Whitney recognized him at once as Rufus Keller, and the whole dastardly truth burst upon him. For an instant his desire to take the scoundrel by the collar and thrash him, or fling him from the room almost overcame him, as he took another step forward; and then suddenly a new element entered the scene in the appearance of the two girls and their mother from the inner office!

A wave of utter fear that passed over the face of Oliver, gave Whitney quick comprehension once more, and he saw suddenly what sorrow it would mean to these other innocent ones, as well as to his dear girl, if further revelations were made at that moment. Not for a second would he have hesitated for the sake of the villain, for he deserved every inch of punishment that was coming to him; but even in this crisis, it came to Nelson Whitney like a flash that there was one who had said, "Vengeance is Mine!"

Who was he to judge this cringing soul, and bring sorrow to these trusting other ones? Therefore he stopped where he stood, just behind the man who had done his best to shatter the joy of at least four lives, and waited. He was not even aware that he had come out of his hiding, or that his presence would presently need explanation. He just stood there as if he had been called to place by some higher power than himself, ready for the moment when he would be needed.

Oliver was a clever man, a cunning actor, else he could not so long have deceived those who loved him. He was quick to clutch again at the slender rope thrown out to him. With a suave distant manner, not too gracious, he acknowledged the introduction, standing where he was, and giving them but a polite lifting of the eyelids that swept them both in a cold distant glance:

"I believe we have met before—Winfield, was it? Or one of those little towns out that way? I am traveling so much and meeting so many—"

Nelson Whitney marveled at the colossal assurance that could speak such words so coolly, and then his attention was suddenly drawn to Mrs. Sheldon. She had drawn her sweet patrician dignity up about her as a garment, and seemed to stand fully two inches taller than her usual height, as she looked straight into the eyes of the man who had tried to deceive her only daughter. There was an instant's pause, as if her eyes could say to him all that her lips had been forbidden for the sake of others to do, and then her voice broke into clear contempt as she said:

"And our friend Mr. Whitney, Nelson Whitney of Wellsburgh! I think you have met him also, Mr.—Oliver?"

It was a masterly stroke, and conveyed to the wretched man all that a woman of Mrs. Sheldon's birth and breeding could never have said in words.

Oliver wheeled and faced Whitney, a look of genuine fright in his eyes. Just a flash, and then he turned quickly back and waved toward the three who were advancing eagerly from the office door:

"Here comes my wife now, and my daughters. I knew they would be delighted to see you. Mrs. Dunlap, will you do the honors and excuse me just a moment? There is a telegram I must send at once!" he glanced at his watch. "I had forgotten it."

He turned furtively, and Nelson Whitney was reminded of his dog at home who when he was reproved was in the habit of stealing from the room, half crouched, his tail between his legs, and stealthily looking back as he slithered out of the room.

So Ralph Oliver slunk from the room into his inner office, and locked the door. The keen ears of Mrs. Dunlap heard the grate of the key.

Yet before he had fairly turned away from them, the room was thrilled with a clear voice:

"We really ought all to go at once. Nelson and I have been planning to see Grant's Tomb and the Museum. Will you take me there now, Nelson?"

It was Marguerite, the old sweet challenge of her friendly voice startling him into life once more. It was more than an appeal. It was as if she went back ten years to their childhood days when they had planned to see all the wonders of the world together. It had been a long time since she had appealed to him for anything, and his heart leaped high with joy. Take her to the Museum? Yes, take her to the world's end if she chose!

He took two good steps and was beside her, drawing her arm within his, and so together they acknowledged the introduction to a scoundrel's lovely wife and daughters, with which Mrs. Dunlap noisily and skillfully covered the retreat of the enemy, the victory completely in her own hands. There was even a lilt in her voice as she told Mrs. Oliver what a dear woman Mrs. Sheldon was; although her heart was aching with mother love as she saw the brave white anguish which the victim was showing as she held up her head and stood her ground, her knees were shaking under her.

Mrs. Sheldon took the hand of the other mother, and said with a warmth of feeling strangely keen for a mere acquaintance.

"I have wanted to meet you. I have heard such beautiful things about you, and now I see that they are all justified."

Nelson Whitney saw that the little gloved hand on his arm was fluttering as if in ague, and tenderly he laid a strong hand possessively over it, and took the burden of the conversation as the introduction came their way, leaving nothing for his dear girl to do but try to smile.

That she did it bravely and well, and that the strangers did not suspect her state of mind was shown by the comments of Gloria later, when, the telegrams all sent, the letters dictated, and the checks signed, they started in the new car on their delayed holiday, several hours late by the new watch flashing on Mrs. Oliver's beautiful wrist.

"Wasn't that girl perfectly darling!" she said to her sister. "She has a face like Muth's cameo pin, and the way she looked at her sweetheart was just too dear!"

"How do you know he was her sweetheart? She may have a dozen others," said the wiser Katharine.

"No, I'm positive. Didn't you see how he put his hand over hers right there in the office before us? And she let him. She isn't the kind of girl that lets a man do things like that unless she's engaged to him. My! But his eyes were handsome. He looked down at her as if he just could eat her. Well, I don't blame him. She is sweet. She's precious! I wish she lived where we could know her. I've got a crush on her myself, and I think he's a humdinger. I'd like to be bridesmaid at the wedding!"

Said R. H. Oliver suddenly as he yanked his car out of swift collision with a truck:

"Gloria, I wish you wouldn't talk any more if you've got to converse like a fool! For heaven's sake stop it!"

Just what heaven had to do with her guileless chatter Gloria didn't understand, but she knew when her father spoke in that tone it was time to cease, so Gloria sat back and dreamed of a day when a knight similar to Nelson Whitney would come riding her way, and hold her own fluttering hand, and look into her thrilled eyes, and carry her off into a world of loveliness.

Nelson Whitney led his beloved out of that office just as soon as the law of politeness allowed.

Just an instant, he had paused beside Mrs. Sheldon as he passed her.

"Is there any special time when you would like to have us meet you at the hotel?" he asked in an undertone.

But it was Mrs. Dunlap who heard and who handed him a card upon which she had been scribbling.

"Any time you like," she said in a tone for his ears alone. "Mrs. Sheldon needs to rest, and I'll see that she does. Just ring up the room when you get back and let us know the program. I'll stay till you get back at least."

He glanced at the card. On it was written the name of the hotel and the number of their room. A fleeting smile went over his face. Here those two good ladies had come straight to the same hotel where he was. He had had no need to worry at all with such a Guide. Why hadn't he remembered that God was able to work out things without his interference, able to make the crooked places straight, and the dark things plain in His own good time!