CHAPTER II

FOR a moment Mrs. Dunlap regretted her words. The terror in the girl's eyes transformed her face; and the low cry she gave was almost like that of a wounded animal! But she rallied rapidly and said with eagerness: "Oh, you are mistaken! It is some other person whose name you have mistaken for his. He would not—why, Rufus could not do such a thing!"

"My dear child, I am not mistaken." The very quietness of the woman's voice and manner carried conviction. "The name is R. H. Keller and the man who is with you here to-night is the one who sat before me with you yesterday afternoon, and wrote his name as I have told you, just before I did on the register."

Suddenly the poor girl broke into bitter weeping. "What shall I do!" she wailed. "Oh, what shall I do! Oh, mother! If I had never gone away from you! I have killed her! I have killed my mother!"

"No, you haven't!" Mrs. Dunlap's voice had never been quieter, nor firmer. "You are going home to her this morning, as soon as the train goes. In a few hours she will have her arms about you. And when you are really being married, she will stand very near you, and be the first to kiss you, and call you her darling. You wouldn't disappoint her for anything! Come with me to my room and wait until train time. There ought to be one very early in the morning, and I will see you safely to it."

The girl seized the little hand bag she had dropped, and spoke hurriedly.

"Where is the room? Oh, quick! Take me to it, will you? That was what I wanted; a place to be alone and think. I don't know what I can do, but I must decide; and I must do it before Mr. Keller comes back, because—oh, will you let me go into your room and lock the door?"

They both turned hurriedly at the sound of footsteps.

It was a porter to say that No. 37 was ready; and never were fleeter steps than those that followed his lead.

"Oh, hurry!" the girl said breathlessly as they reached the room, and it was she who turned the key in the lock after the retreating porter. Then she dropped a limp heap into the nearest chair and cried.

Mrs. Dunlap left her quite to herself and thanked God for the tears.

"What shall I do if he comes and demands to be let in?" the girl asked suddenly, looking up at her deliverer. "He is so—so masterful; and he does not look at things as I do. He thinks that a few hours cannot make any difference. I know how he argued it out with himself that he could not leave me alone, and that he would shield my name by giving me his in advance, but I cannot do it, I cannot! And if he comes and insists upon talking to me, I don't know what will become of me. I don't seem to be able to make him understand."

"I know, dear; you will be a good girl and go back to your mother. Of course you cannot do what he wants. This is my room; he will hardly come to it without my permission. If you think it is necessary to explain your absence, I will go down to him, if you will let me, and explain what is necessary."

"Oh, if you will! I mean if you can! He is very determined; and he is used to having his own way; I cannot think that he will let me—"

She was trembling so violently that she could scarcely speak.

Mrs. Dunlap passed an arm about her and spoke as she might have done to a frightened child.

"Don't think about that part of it any more; I am not in the least afraid of him; and I will take care of you! Have you a kimono in this bag? Let me help you take off your dress, just as your mother would, and slip the kimono on for a little while. I have been looking at the time table. You can have almost three hours of quiet; then I will take you to the train. We can plan all the details afterwards."

"Oh, you are so kind!" murmured the girl.

"I am going downstairs now," the woman said when the girl had submitted to her ministrations, resisting the suggestion about the bed, but allowing herself to be propped among pillows in an easy chair. "I will come back in a little while; or would you rather have this room quite to yourself? I can be comfortable down on one of the couches, and I will come for you in ample time for the train."

"No! Oh, no!" the girl said, the look of fear coming into her eyes again. "Please don't leave me! And yet you must! Would you mind locking the door and taking the key with you? I cannot help a feeling that—"

"She is afraid of him!" was Mrs. Dunlap's mental comment as she sped down the hall with the key in her pocket.

On the whole she decided she was rather glad of an opportunity to tell that man what she thought of him.

She had little time to collect her thoughts, for the subject of them hurried in soon after she entered the parlor.

There was an ugly frown on his face. Evidently the interview from which he had just come had irritated him.

He strode to the corner where he had left his companion and stared about him perplexedly; then turned an angry questioning look upon Mrs. Dunlap.

"Are you looking for the lady who was here when you left the room?" She asked pleasantly, determined to be courteous if possible. "She has gone to my room to get some rest, and asked me to say to you that she is all right and quite comfortable for the night."

He strode toward her with a glare in his eyes that would have frightened a less courageous spirit, and spoke in an angry voice: "Who are you that you presume to interfere in the lady's affairs?" he said haughtily. "I have a room for her to rest in, and you will oblige me by telling her that I am waiting for her, and then by minding your own business."

Mrs. Dunlap had the advantage of this angry man; she was perfectly cool and calm.

"You are mistaken," she said. "I have the right to interfere, because the lady has claimed my protection and I am abundantly able and willing to give it."

"Protection from what!" he thundered.

"From Mr. Keller, I fancy. I supposed, of course, that the lady in question was your wife, as I had seen you together during the day, and noticed how you registered. Since she has informed me that she is not; and, furthermore, that she does not wish to see you again to-night, I have aided her in carrying out her wishes and must insist on her not being disturbed."

"Must you indeed! How do you expect to accomplish the task of keeping me away from the lady who is under my protection, and for whom I alone am responsible?"

There was menace in his tone and in the glare of his eyes. Mrs. Dunlap lifted her eyebrows with a gesture of contempt, but she spoke quietly.

"This is absurd, Mr. Keller. I have no wish to make matters more uncomfortable than is necessary; but of course you are aware that this is a respectable house. You are here in company with a young woman whom you registered as your wife; and you ordered a room for yourself and her; but she says that she is not your wife, and that she does not wish to see you again to-night. I do not need to remind you how promptly the proprietor of this house, as well as its guests, would come to her aid if necessary; nor that policemen and lockups are conveniences within call. If you compel me to resort to such measures, you will have yourself to thank."

There was something about Mary Dunlap when she chose to assert herself that commanded respect. Keller looked into the clear stern eyes of this woman and realized that he must not go too far. He glared at her, baffled for an instant, and when she still continued to look steadily at him, he wheeled and took a few steps away from her. Then, after a moment, with a sound that was evidently an attempt at a laugh but was more like a sneer, he turned and came toward her again, trying to speak lightly:

"You women are too much for me! I may as well take you into my confidence, as the lady has evidently seen fit to do. It is true that the formal ceremony which was to have made us man and wife in the eyes of a curious world has not yet taken place, but the mere formality is all that is lacking. If it were not for a wrecked engine and this infernal delay, Mrs. Grundy, whom you are personifying, would have been able to sleep peacefully. I registered as I had expected to do after I had reached the station where the clergyman was waiting for us, because I did not wish to leave the lady alone, in her wearied, and nervous state, but desired to minister to her comfort, as I would assuredly have been able to do, had we not been interfered with in this extraordinary manner. I did not consider it necessary to explain to the lady that I had anticipated the ceremony by a few hours, in writing her name as mine, and thus securing a quiet room for her to rest in.

"I may further say that business complications in which a good deal of money was involved, have made it necessary for me to move with caution in this entire matter, and for this reason I brought her away with me quietly, before the outward forms had been complied with; but she came without coercion of any sort as she will be ready to inform you, if you explain that you suspect me of being at least an accomplice in a case of kidnapping! She will tell you also that she is of age, and that nobody living has a right to object to her taking a journey at any hour of the day or night with her chosen husband.

"Now, having, I am sure, satisfied the utmost demands of your curiosity, if you will tell me where to find the lady, I will escort her to her private sitting-room; and you need not delay your own sleep any longer. If it will comfort you to know it, I assure you that three minutes' conversation with my lady, will be sufficient to allay any fears that you may have succeeded in working up."

This biting sarcasm, partially veiled at times by mock courtesy, was concluded with what was intended to be a bow of dismissal.

But Mrs. Dunlap was never more quietly determined in her course of action. Every word that the man had spoken increased her distrust of him.

"We need not argue," she said. "You have told me nothing that I did not know before. Let me remind you that the mere formality which is still lacking to give you the legal right to take care of this woman is one that decent people still carefully adhere to, and without it your action to-night has been contrary to law and respectability. For this reason, no matter what your motive is, or how many private sitting-rooms you have been able to secure in this overcrowded house, I can and will protect the young woman from occupying one of them. I suppose it is hardly necessary to add that if you make the slightest attempt to see her to-night, or to interfere with her wishes in any way, I shall not hesitate to take the hotel officials and the police into my confidence. If you force me to action, you will find that I am a woman who is very well-known."

During these words the man's face was a study. Fierce indignation, doubt, perplexity, intense disgust, each struggled for the ascendancy. But Mrs. Dunlap was about to leave the room. The necessity for propitiating her in some way forced itself upon him.

"Wait!" he said imperatively. "You do not understand. Is it possible to make you understand the conditions? Sit down and let me explain just what has happened, and what I am trying to do."

His manner became suddenly courteous, and he began to talk volubly, explaining, in more minute detail than the occasion seemed to call for, the devious ways by which he had reached this point; enlarging upon his deep affection for the lady of his choice, and his desire to free her from the narrow and cramped life in which he found her. Her mother was a commonplace, narrow-minded, exceedingly prejudiced person who entirely dominated her daughter's life; so that she was in danger of having no individuality, he said.

Among other proofs of the mother's folly, she had conceived a violent dislike to himself; and carried her tyranny to such an extent that the girl was not even allowed to receive a call from him, unless the mother was present! Matters were in this state, and he was at an utter loss how to further the daughter's interests, when his good angel, came to his rescue. The girl went to spend a month with a very intimate friend, who had married and removed to a town a hundred miles from her home. Then, quite unexpectedly to himself, business connected with his firm sent him to that very town. All the rest had followed, almost, he might say, because of the necessities of the case. He had discovered that the young lady's affections were as deeply involved as his own, and that she despaired, as deeply as he did himself, of ever winning her narrow-minded mother to take their view of things.

Mrs. Dunlap was called upon to assent to the statement that common people were apt to have violent prejudices for which they could not account, and were the hardest persons on earth to move. Still, he would admit that in carrying out the program that followed he had acted upon sudden impulse rather than premeditated plans.

When the time came for the lady to return home, Providence seemed to make a way for them to be happy. He need not explain that he had used no coercion in the matter; the lady realized only too certainly that her mother stood in the way of her happiness, and that if she had her way, the daughter would be entirely and forever separated from him. This, she felt that she could not endure, and they both believed that, when the irrevocable step was taken, the mother would have a return to common sense. So, in a moment, one might say, it was all arranged; indeed it almost arranged itself. He had a friend in the ministry at a town which was an important junction of the railroad, and to him, he sent a message planning all the necessary details; but for the horrible delay because of that disabled engine, everything would have been complete.

But the delay and confusion and the necessity for their stopping overnight at a strange hotel had bewildered and frightened the girl, unused as she was to being alone, or to thinking and planning for herself. It was the knowledge of that, which had led him to make the mistake of registering as he did; he could now see that it was a mistake. He knew there was but one room to be had, and his only thought had been to secure privacy for her and the right to minister to her comfort. At the moment there seemed no other way; but he would admit that it had a bad look to others, who did not understand the situation. For himself these outward conventions never seemed of paramount importance so long as one understood one's self. He had not meant to tell the girl about it, because she, as a matter of course having such a mother, was terribly trammeled by conventions of all sorts and could not be made to understand that what was true IN SPIRIT was the same as truth.

But, he had been foolish; he was ready to admit it. He was even grateful for her interference, when he came to think carefully, although he would confess that at first it seemed unpardonable. He had been a law to himself for so many years, that he knew he did not attach the same importance to convention that others did, but he must learn to do so now, for the girl's sake. Of course everything should be as she wished. He would not for the world go contrary to the lady's real desires, but it would be necessary for him to see her and rearrange their program. After he had learned just what she wanted him to do, he would spend the remainder of the night in long distance communications, because of course there were explanations that must be made. Having interested herself in his charge, would she be so kind as to tell her that he was waiting for her, and must confer with her at once in order to send his dispatches? He would detain her but a very short time, and then she could return to the room that had been so kindly placed at her disposal.

Throughout this elaborate explanation Mrs. Dunlap had sat silent; her eyes fixed upon the speaker, and her thoughts busy with this new specimen of human nature.

Not for a single moment did he deceive her into thinking that he was, in the main, a true man who, because of his love for a pretty girl and the sudden temptation of opportunity, had been led headlong into a foolish and dangerous experiment. Not for an instant did she waver in her determination to keep those two apart, if possible, until the girl's mother could make a third in their deliberations.

Yet she made no attempt to interrupt the flow of words, and grew interested in the skill with which he was explaining the unexplainable.

When he paused, with an evident air of having mastered a difficult situation, she said:

"You are very kind to give me details, although they do not of course alter the present situation. It is a relief to know that you consider your course wrong, but I cannot agree with your way of trying to right it. I have given my word to the lady that she shall not be disturbed to-night and that she shall take the home-bound train in the morning. After she is safe at home with her mother and has had time to rally from the shock that this has evidently been to her, you may be able to make such plans as neither of you will be ashamed to look back upon; but she is in no condition to be consulted to-night; and it may help you to realize, what I feel quite sure of, that she has had her lesson, and that any future plans you may care to make must take her mother into full consideration. You will pardon the suggestion that you must have had many more years than she, in which to learn wisdom; she is but eighteen I believe, while you—"

She paused significantly, but the man whom she judged to be not less than thirty-five at least, was speechless with amazement and dismay. He had staked much and expected to win.

She turned and left him before he could think of any excuse to detain her longer.