Then he went away.

CHAPTER ELEVEN - THE DOVE OF PEACE

The first result of Mrs. Rosscott's invitation was that Jack refused. He said that he had a sister of his own-two, if it came to that-and so he could easily manage for himself. He was very decided about it, and somewhat lofty and bitter-a stand which no one understood his taking.

His flat refusal was communicated to his would be hostess and it goes without saying that she was as unable to understand as all the rest. It keyed well enough with his lately shown indifference, but the indifference keyed not at all with all that had gone before and still less with her very correct comprehension of Jack himself. She was quite positive as to the sincerity of those protestations which he had made so haltingly-so boyishly-and in such absolutely truthful accents. Why he had turned over a new-and bad-leaf so suddenly she did not at all know, but her woman's wit-backed up by the many good instincts which good women always get from Heaven knows just where-made her feel firmer than ever as to her hospitable intentions. Jack had told her many times that she was his good angel, and it did not seem to her that now, when he was so deeply involved in so much trouble, was the hour for a man's good angel to quietly turn away. Suppose he was haughty!-she knew men well enough to know that in his case haughtiness and shame would be two Dromios that even he himself would be unable to tell apart. Suppose he did rebel against her kindness!-she knew women well enough to know that under some circ.u.mstances they can put down rebellion single-handed-if they can only be left in the room alone with it for a few minutes. As regarded Jack, she knew that there was something to explain; and as to herself she was delightfully positive as to her own irresistibleness. Given two such statements and the conclusion is easy. Mrs. Rosscott wrote to Mitch.e.l.l and here is what she wrote:

MY DEAR MR. MITCh.e.l.l:

I should have answered your letter before only that in the excitement of corresponding with my brother I forgot all else. But my manners have returned by slow degrees and in hunting through my desk for a bill I found you and so take up my pen.

I am quite sure that-in spite of that beautiful opening play of mine-you are wondering why I am really writing and so I will tell you at once. When Bob comes here to stay with me I want Mr. Denham to come too. I have various reasons for wanting him to come. One is that he has nowhere else to go where he will have half as good a time as he will here and another is that if he goes anywhere else I won't have half as good a time as if he comes here. Pray excuse my brutal candor, but I am only a woman; brutal candor and womanly weakness always have gone about encouraging one another, you know. I cannot see any good reason for Mr. Denham's not coming except that he declines my invitation. It is very silly in him, and I regard it as no reason at all. I am quite unused to being declined and do not intend to acquire the habit until I am a good deal older than I was my last birthday. Still, I can understand that he is too big to force against his will, so I think the kindest way to break the back of the opposition will be for me to do it personally. As an over-ruler I nearly always succeed. All I require is an opportunity.

Please lay the two halves of your brain evenly together and devise a train and an interview for me. Of course you will meet me at the train and leave me at the interview. These are the fundamental rules of my game. I know that you are clever and before we have left the station you will know that I am. As arch-conspirators we shall surely win out together, won't we?

Yours very truly,

Bertha Rosscott.

This missive posted, Jack's good angel made herself patient until the afternoon of the next day when she might and did expect an answer.

She was not disappointed. The letter came and it was pleasantly bulky and appeared ample enough to have contained an indexed gun powder plot. She was so sure that Mitch.e.l.l had been fully equal to the occasion that she tore the envelope open with a smile-and read:

MY DEAR MRS. ROSSCOTT:

To think of my having some of your handwriting for my own!-I was nearly petrified with joy.

You see I know your writing from having read Burnett all those "Burn this at once" epistles. And I know it still better from having to catalogue them for his ready reference. You know how impatient he is. (But I have run into an open switch and must digress backwards.)

I shall preserve your letter till I die. In war I shall wear it carefully spread all over wherever I may be killed, and in peace I intend to keep my place in my Bible with it. Could words say more!

(Being backed up again, I will now begin.)

I was not at all surprised at your writing me. If you had known me it would have been different. But where ignorance is bliss any woman but yourself is always liable to pitch in with a pen, and you see you are not yourself but only "any woman" to me as yet.

Besides, women have written to me before you. My mother does so regularly. She encloses a postal card and all I have to do is to mail it and there she is answered. It's a great scheme which I proudly invented when I first went away to school and I recommend it to you if you-if you ever have a mother.

How my ink does run away with me! Let me refer to your esteemed favor again! Ah! we have worked down to the bed-rock, or-in Hugh Miller's colloquial phrasing-to the "old red sandstone," of the fact that you want Jack. You state the fact with what you designate as brutal candor-and I reply with candied brutality, that I have thought that all along. If you are averse to my view of the matter, you must look out of the window the whole time that I continue, for once entered I always fight to a finish and I cannot retire to my corner on this auspicious occasion without announcing through a trumpet that even if Jack is a most idiotic fellow I never have caught the microbe from him, and, as a sequence, have always seen clear through and out of the other side of the whole situation. Of course I should not say this to any woman but you because it would not have any meaning to her, but, between you and me all things are printed in plain black and white and, therefore, I respectfully submit a program consisting of the two o'clock train Tuesday and myself, to be recognized by a beaming look of burning joy, upon the platform. Beyond that you may confide yourself to waxing waxy in my hands. They are not bad hands to be in as your brother and whatever-you-call-Jack can testify. I will lay my lines in the dark to the end that you may bloom in the sun.

Trust me. You need do no more-except buy your ticket.

The two o'clock on Tuesday. You can easily remember it by the T's-if you don't get mixed with three o'clock on Thursday. Try remembering it by the 2's. A safe way would be to put it down.

Yours to obey,

Herbert Kendrick Mitch.e.l.l.

P.S. Please recollect that I am only handsome according to the good old proverb, and do not mistake me for an enterprising hackman.

Mrs. Rosscott clapped her hands with delight when she finished the letter.

She was overjoyed at the success of her "opening play," and she wrote her new correspondent two lines accepting his invitation, and went down on the appointed train on the appointed day. He met her at the depot and they divined one another at the first glance. It was impossible not to know so pretty a woman-or so homely a man. For the ancestors of Mitch.e.l.l had worn kilts and red hair in centuries gone by, and although he proved the truth of the red-hair proposition, no one would ever believe that anything of his build could ever have been induced to have put itself into kilts-knowingly. Furthermore, his voice had a crick in it, and went by jerks, and his eyebrows sympathized with his voice, and the eyes below them were little and gray and twinkling, and altogether he was the sort of man who is termed-according to a certain style of phrasing-"above suspicion." But she liked him, oh! immensely, and he liked her. And when they were riding up in the carriage together she felt how thoroughly trustworthy his gray eyes and good smile declared him to be, and had no hesitation in telling him what she wanted to do, and in asking him what she wanted to know.

Mitch.e.l.l certainly had a talent for plotting, for when they reached the house where the culprits were temporarily domiciled, Burnett had gone out to give his mended ribs some exercise, and Jack was reading alone in the room where they shared one another's liniments with friendly generosity.

The arch-conspirator went upstairs, came down, and then, seeking the lady whom he had left in the parlor, said to her:

"Denham's up there and you can go up and say whatever you have to say. You know 'In union there is strength.' Well you've got him alone now, and he'll prove weakly as a consequence or I miss my guess."

Then he walked straight over by the window and picked up a magazine as if it was all settled, and she only hesitated for half a second before she turned and went upstairs.

There was a door half open in the hall above, and she knew that that must be the door. She tapped at it lightly, and a man's voice (a voice that she knew well), called out gruffly:

"Come in!"

She pushed the door open at that and entered, and saw Jack, and he saw her. He turned very pale at the sight, and then the color flooded his face, and he rose from his chair abruptly, and put his hand up to the strips that held the bandage on his head.

"Burnett isn't here," he said quickly. "He went out just a few minutes ago."

His tone was hard, and yet at the same time it shook slightly.

She approached him, holding out her hand.

"I'm glad of that," she said, "because it was to see you that I came."

To her great surprise something mutinous and scornful flashed in his eyes as he rolled a chair forward for her.

"You honor me," he said, and his tone and manner both hardened yet more.

His general appearance was that of a man ten years older; he had changed terribly in the weeks since she had last seen him. She took the chair and sat down, still looking at him. He sat down too, and his eyes went restlessly around the room as if they sought a hold that should withhold them from her searching gaze. There was a short pause.

"Don't speak like that," she said at last. "It isn't your way, and I know you too well-we know one another too well-to be anything but sincere. You owe me something, too, and if I forbear you should understand why."

"I owe you something, do I?" he asked. "What do I owe you?"

Mrs. Rosscott caught her under lip in her teeth.

"You gave me a promise, Mr. Denham," she said, quite low, but most distinctly-"a promise which you broke."

Jack flushed; his eyelids drooped for a minute.

"I didn't break it," he said. "I gave it up."

"Is there any difference?"