Part 16 (1/2)

Be these things as they may, two weeks, almost, had pa.s.sed by since he went into his bandbox office, when Edith Jarney, accompanied by Star Barton, came to see her father.

The time was in the middle of the afternoon. Mr. Jarney was sitting at his desk dictating a third and last batch of letters, and John was sitting by diligently taking notes. Edith opened the office door of her own accord, and she and Star walked within unannounced. Edith was dressed in dark colors in harmony with the weather. She carried a sealskin m.u.f.f, and had a boa of the same fur around her neck, and the cutest round hat possible sat upon her head. Verily, she looked like a princess out on winter parade as she advanced toward a broad, flat-top table in the center of the room. Star, dressed much in the same fas.h.i.+on, and looking as stately as any lady at court, followed Edith.

Both young ladies sat down at the table to await Mr. Jarney's convenience to greet them. John was sitting with his back to them, and so silent was their tread that he did not hear them enter. His pen flew from left to right on the pages of his note book as Mr. Jarney talked in his low monotonous voice, without inflection to his words, or change in his countenance. Mr. Jarney saw the young ladies enter, but, through a habit of his of never being disturbed when in the throes of grinding out letters, the young ladies' coming did not bother him in the least.

Edith and Star sat quietly, abiding their time to speak. Edith tapped the polished top of the table with her gloved hand. Star sat meditating, with her eyes bent upon the young man. Thus they sat for ten minutes or more, watching master and servant at the fountain head of industrial achievement.

Then, without a word to John, Mr. Jarney arose; and, coming forward, grasped his daughter by the hand and kissed her on the lips. Turning to Star, he accorded her the same fatherly greeting.

John arose as Mr. Jarney arose, and was folding his note book as he was taking a step to make his exit. In that moment, when Mr. Jarney was saluting Edith, he looked toward her. Recognizing the young lady, he hesitated for a second, flushed, faltered, hesitated again, for he had not known they were present. As Mr. Jarney turned to Star to greet her, Miss Edith turned to John. Her face flushed also. She stood a moment, with that light of recognition in her eyes, that gives a peculiarly sensational effect upon the beholder, sometimes. He was uncertain. She was uncertain. He made a step forward to continue toward his office, when Edith smiled, came up to him, and extended her hand.

”Mr. Winthrope, I believe?” she said.

John was in the act of bowing when he saw her extended hand, and foregoing a completion of that act of politeness, he extended his hand to meet Edith's. John looked very grave. He had needs to look grave, if the beating of his heart indicated a particle of his feelings at that moment. Edith continued smiling as only she could smile. Then John pulled himself together sufficiently in his embarra.s.sment and said:

”Miss Jarney, if I am not mistaken?”

”You are not mistaken, Mr. Winthrope,” she said. ”I am very glad to meet you again; but under more pleasant circ.u.mstances than when we last met.”

”The pleasure is not all yours, Miss Jarney,” he replied, releasing her hand.

”How are you?” she asked, still smiling.

”Fine, thank you,” he answered.

”I want you to meet my dear friend, Miss Barton,” she said to him, and then turning to Star: ”Miss Barton, my friend, Mr. Winthrope.”

Star advanced, and made a low bow in return to that of John's. Mr.

Jarney stood off a few steps taking in the formal introductions and salaams of his daughter and her friend with his new secretary, at the same time looking as unbending in his demeanor as a cast iron pillar, from all outward appearances; but really relis.h.i.+ng, with a glad heart, the simplicity of his beautiful daughter in her cordiality toward Mr.

Winthrope.

”Star--Miss Barton, this is the young man of whom I was speaking.” Then, looking at him, with a quizzical air, as if she wanted to be patronizingly humble, said, directing her words at Star: ”He is the young man, Star, who rescued my hat and gave me his own umbrella.”

”That was a gallant act,” said Star, smiling genially upon him. ”I have heard nothing but praise of you for the past two weeks.”

Edith thereat blushed more crimson than ever before in all her innocent career; and sought to turn the subject by saying: ”Oh, Star--it is spitting snow,” looking out the window as she said it.

John's face turned a pinky color also, and he began to have qualms of consternation in being detained from a prompt execution of his work at hand.

Star immediately saw she had made a blunder, and tried to make amends by continuing: ”I told Miss Edith that I should be happy to meet such a gallant young man, as she says you are.”

Edith was now more flushed. She burned with confusion and despair over Star's untimely statement of facts.

”If you ladies will excuse me, I will resume my work,” said John, to avoid further complications between Edith's expressive face and Star's expressive words.

”We will excuse you, Mr. Winthrope--business before pleasure, always,”

said Edith.

”I am glad to meet you--to have met you--and hope to see you again, Miss Barton,” said John, bowing to Star; and then, bowing to Edith, he departed.