But it was Mrs. Barker who answered, "Oh yes! and always such good friends. I was awfully jealous of him." Nevertheless, she did not respond to the affectionate protest in Barker's eyes nor to the laugh of Captain Heath, but glanced indifferently around the room as if to leave further conversation to the two men. It was possible that she was beginning to feel that Captain Heath was as de trop now as her husband had been a moment before. Standing there, however, between them both, idly tracing a pattern on the carpet with the toe of her slipper, she looked prettier than she had ever looked as Kitty Carter. Her slight figure was more fully developed. That artificial severity covering a natural virgin coyness with which she used to wait at table in her father's hotel at Boomville had gone, and was replaced by a satisfied consciousness of her power to please. Her glance was freer, but not as frank as in those days. Her dress was undoubtedly richer and more stylish; yet Barker's loyal heart often reverted fondly to the chintz gown, coquettishly frilled apron, and spotless cuffs and collar in which she had handed him his coffee with a faint color that left his own face crimson.
Captain Heath's tact being equal to her indifference, he had excused himself, although he was becoming interested in this youthful husband. But Mrs. Barker, after having asserted her husband's distinction as the equal friend of the millionaire, was by no means willing that the captain should be further interested in Barker for himself alone, and did not urge him to stay. As he departed she turned to her husband, and, indicating the group he had passed the moment before, said:--
"That horrid woman has been staring at us all the time. I don't see what you see in her to admire."
Poor Barker's admiration had been limited to a few words of civility in the enforced contact of that huge caravansary and in his quiet, youthful recognition of her striking personality. But he was just then too preoccupied with his interview with Stacy to reply, and perhaps he did not quite understand his wife. It was odd how many things he did not quite understand now about Kitty, but that he knew must be HIS fault. But Mrs. Barker apparently did not require, after the fashion of her ***, a reply. For the next moment, as they moved towards their rooms, she said impatiently, "Well, you don't tell what Stacy said. Did you get the money?"
I grieve to say that this soul of truth and frankness lied--only to his wife. Perhaps he considered it only lying to HIMSELF, a thing of which he was at times miserably conscious. "It wasn't necessary, dear," he said; "he advised me to sell my securities in the bank; and if you only knew how dreadfully busy he is."
Mrs. Barker curled her pretty lip. "It doesn't take very long to lend ten thousand dollars!" she said. "But that's what I always tell you. You have about made me sick by singing the praises of those wonderful partners of yours, and here you ask a favor of one of them and he tells you to sell your securities! And you know, and he knows, they're worth next to nothing."
"You don't understand, dear"--began Barker.
"I understand that you've given your word to poor Harry," said Mrs.
Barker in pretty indignation, "who's responsible for the Ditch purchase."
"And I shall keep it. I always do," said Barker very quietly, but with that same singular expression of face that had puzzled Stacy.
But Mrs. Barker, who, perhaps, knew her husband better, said in an altered voice:--
"But HOW can you, dear?"
"If I'm short a thousand or two I'll ask your father."
Mrs. Barker was silent. "Father's so very much harried now, George.
Why don't you simply throw the whole thing up?"
"But I've given my word to your cousin Henry."
"Yes, but only your WORD. There was no written agreement. And you couldn't even hold him to it."
Barker opened his frank eyes in astonishment. Her own cousin, too!
And they were Stacy's very words!
"Besides," added Mrs. Barker audaciously, "he could get rid of it elsewhere. He had another offer, but he thought yours the best.
So don't be silly."
By this time they had reached their rooms. Barker, apparently dismissing the subject from his mind with characteristic buoyancy, turned into the bedroom and walked smilingly towards a small crib which stood in the corner. "Why, he's gone!" he said in some dismay.
"Well," said Mrs. Barker a little impatiently, "you didn't expect me to take him into the public parlor, where I was seeing visitors, did you? I sent him out with the nurse into the lower hall to play with the other children."
A shade momentarily passed over Barker's face. He always looked forward to meeting the child when he came back. He had a belief, based on no grounds whatever, that the little creature understood him. And he had a father's doubt of the wholesomeness of other people's children who were born into the world indiscriminately and not under the exceptional conditions of his own. "I'll go and fetch him," he said.
"You haven't told me anything about your interview; what you did and what your good friend Stacy said," said Mrs. Barker, dropping languidly into a chair. "And really if you are simply running away again after that child, I might just as well have asked Captain Heath to stay longer."
"Oh, as to Stacy," said Barker, dropping beside her and taking her hand; "well, dear, he was awfully busy, you know, and shut up in the innermost office like the agate in one of the Japanese nests of boxes. But," he continued, brightening up, "just the same dear old Jim Stacy of Heavy Tree Hill, when I first knew you. Lord! dear, how it all came back to me! That day I proposed to you in the belief that I was unexpectedly rich and even bought a claim for the boys on the strength of it, and how I came back to them to find that they had made a big strike on the very claim. Lord! I remember how I was so afraid to tell them about you--and how they guessed it--that dear old Stacy one of the first."
