The girl made no protest. Perhaps it was because she had come to theend of her rope, and had no strength left. Perhaps she sensedintuitively the motives which governed this frank, straightforwardstranger who had come to her aid so opportunely. At all events, she lether hand rest upon his arm, and walked with him back through the square,across Twenty-fifth Street, into the dazzling stretch of Broadway.
The touch of her hand brought again to Barry that odd desire to protectand comfort her. By this time he knew that she was almost perishingwith cold. In spite of her effort to control herself, he felt she wasshaking violently, and every now and then the unconscious weight of herhand on his arm made him wonder whether some other thing than cold hadnot contributed to her weakness.
He wanted desperately to do something, yet somehow he could not think ofany way. He had not asked her where she wished to go, and the girlherself volunteered nothing.
And so they walked on up New York's great artery, he talking carelessly,lightly, and frequently at random as his brain worked in another totallydifferent direction, she answering him briefly now and then in her soft,tired voice, but more often silent--out of sheer weariness, he guessed.
Suddenly the electric sign of a well-known restaurant blazing before hiseyes gave Lawrence the clew he had been seeking, and he stoppedabruptly.
"Are you in very much of a hurry?" he asked.
She glanced up at him swiftly, and he was struck anew by the charm ofher-wonderful eyes, the delicate beauty of her mouth and chin.
"Not very," she said, in an odd, restrained tone. "Why?"
"I was wondering whether you'd do me a favor," Barry returned glibly."I meant to get a bite of supper here, and I hate to eat alone. Ifyou'd only take pity on me, and keep me company, I'd be everlastinglyobliged. After that we can take a car to where you're going, so's tomake up time."
Again she sent a long, searching glance into his candid, level grayeyes. Then suddenly she laughed, a curious laugh, which had no mirth init, but rather held an undercurrent of intense pathos.
"Very well," she said quietly, with an odd gesture of her hands.
Her manner brought the color into Barry's cheeks, and made him wonderwhether she saw through his clumsy subterfuge. He did not hesitate,however, but stood aside for her to enter the turnstile door, followingclose behind.
The dining room was almost empty, for it was the quiet interval whichcomes between dinner and the after-theater supper crowd. They wereushered at once to a table against the wall.
While Barry was slipping out of his coat he noticed the girl glancinginto a mirror beside her, touching her hair here and there, and givingthe frilly lace thing at her neck an unconscious pat. She was stillshaking a little, and when she drew off her gloves he saw that she wasgently chafing her hands together beneath the shelter of the whitecloth.
Her hair was brown, thick, and dark, with glints of copper in it, andwaved attractively above her brow. Her eyes were almost of the sameshade, with long, curling lashes, which made them seem almost too largefor the delicate, oval face. Her mouth was sensitive, and infinitelyappealing with its pathetic downward droop at the corners. There was anunmistakable refinement in everything about her; and, in spite of thefact that she was very tiny, she held herself with an air which madeBarry quite forget her forlorn condition.
"How the mischief could I have ever taken her for a child?" he thought,with a faint flush of embarrassment, as he reached for the card. "Isuppose it was because she seemed so little and helpless."
*CHAPTER X.*
*SHIRLEY RIVES.*
Having ordered two portions of a nourishing bouillon to be served atonce, Lawrence picked out several dishes, then leaned back in his chair.
"I quite forgot to introduce myself," he said, with quick, boyishimpulsiveness. "My name is Lawrence--Barry Lawrence."
A faint, shadowy smile curved the girl's lips. The warmth of the roomwas beginning to touch her cheeks with color, and make her even morelovely than before.
"It will be easier," she conceded gravely. "I am Shirley Rives."
"From Virginia?" Barry inquired quickly, then bit his lips. "I beg yourpardon," he added contritely. "I forgot for a second that I meant toask no questions."
"That one doesn't matter," she said quietly. "I am from Virginia.Since you've asked it, though, I'll venture one myself: Do you happen,by any chance, to be a Harvard man?"
Barry stared. "Why, yes!" he exclaimed. "How in the world did youguess?"
"You seem rather like other Cambridge men I've known," she answeredslowly. "I had a cousin there, and his friends used to visit----"
She broke off abruptly, as if regretting that she had been so frank, andfor a moment there was silence as she touched one of the forksnervously.
"I don't know that it makes much difference," she went on at length."His name is Philip Calvert. Perhaps you knew him."
Barry laughed boyishly, and then bent forward with sparkling eyes. "Ofcourse I did!" he exclaimed. "He was a junior the year I was graduated.To think of my meeting Phil Calvert's cousin in New York! I knew chancewas going to bring me something pleasant when I started out thisevening."
There was a moment's pause while the waiter placed the soup before them.Somehow, Barry had a feeling that the girl was more than hungry, and,though he did not see how he could take a mouthful after his luxuriousdinner at the Waldorf, he did his best to seem ravenous himself, talkingall the while, so that she might not see how little he was reallyeating.
The girl sipped the bouillon slowly and leisurely, listening to hercompanion's whimsical account of his progress down Fifth Avenue thatnight, and occasionally making a light comment of her own. One wouldnever have guessed, to watch her, that she could have drained the cup ata single swallow.
Lawrence's surmise as to her desperate condition was more the result ofintuition, helped on a little by details he observed from time to time,rather than anything he saw in her manner.
Little by little it was borne upon his consciousness that theextraordinary trimness which had puzzled him at first was nothing morethan the painful neatness of extreme poverty, combined with innate goodtaste. The wide black hat was simply trimmed, and showed signs of wear.The perfectly fitting suit was of good material, but had been brushedand sponged until it was almost threadbare. The shirt waist of finecambric looked as if it had been washed time and again with jealous careby the girl's own hands. On one sleeve a tear had been repaired withpainful neatness.
All this Barry noticed as he talked on, wondering to himself how underthe sun a cousin of his fastidious, seemingly wealthy, college matecould possibly have been reduced to such straits. But he asked noquestions, nor did he in his manner betray the slightest touch ofcuriosity. He was only too thankful to see, under the influence ofwarmth and comfort and nourishing food, the color coming back into thegirl's face, the sparkle to her eyes, and that tired droop of her mouthgrowing less and less noticeable.
As the meal progressed, however, his curiosity was gratified. It wasinevitable that the discovery of a mutual friend should make somedifference in the girl's attitude toward Lawrence. From discussingCalvert--who, it appeared, had been in Manila for over a year--thegirl's story came out bit by bit.
More than likely Shirley Rives would never have thought of starting outto tell it to any one from beginning to end. But, while he did notexpress it by a single word, she seemed to feel Barry's sympathy, and becomforted by it. She had been bearing her troubles alone for so longthat the temptation to talk a little about them to some one else wasirresistible. And, last of all, she, too, seemed to feel that nightsomething of Barry's attitude toward fate. She had come to the end ofher rope, and was desperate. When one is in that pass conventions seemvery petty, and life is stripped to the bones.
The story Lawrence gathered from a chance word here, a sentence there,was very old and hackneyed. It was really threadbare, yet thepersonality of the girl ac
ross the table lent it a vivid, enthrallinginterest.
Orphaned a year before, and left in straitened circumstances, ShirleyRives had taken the few hundred dollars remaining after the settlementof the encumbered estate, and come to New York to earn her living.Having no particular talent, and no influence, stenography seemed theonly thing left her. She took a course in a correspondence school, andthen obtained a position. Three months later the firm changed itsorganization, and she was cast adrift. She got another place, aftereating into her diminishing capital, but the wholesale company waspresently absorbed by a trust. Another period of enforced idlenessensued before she was taken on in a broker's office, only to be forcedto leave by the unwelcome attentions of a junior partner.
That was three weeks ago. Since then she had failed to find anything.Her money became exhausted, and the board bill remained unpaid. Thelandlady gave her notice to pay or leave. The room had been rented latein the afternoon to another woman. Since then she had walked thestreets, dazed, bewildered, not knowing what to do or where to go.
It was all told in snatches, but the thought of this girl, delicate andrefined and well-bred, thrust out into the streets at such a time,without a penny, and with no place to go, made Barry's blood boil.Again came that intense desire to do something for her, accompanied bythat same maddening sense of helplessness he had felt before.
"You were hurrying when I saw you first," he said at length.
She moved her shoulders a little. "It was partly to keep warm," sheexplained quietly, "and partly because I had just thought of a sort offorlorn hope."
"And that was----"
"A girl who used to work with me in the wholesale house; she was verynice, and we got to be good friends. She used to live on Forty-eighthStreet, and I thought she would take me in to-night."
"How long is it since you've seen her?" Barry asked.
"Some months. I was tired, and it's a long way to Forty-eighth Street."
She tried to speak lightly, but Lawrence could see that old look ofdesperation, banished for a time, again lurking in her eyes.
"But what if she's moved?" he asked. "What if you shouldn't find her atthe old address?"
She tried to smile, but her lips only quivered. And though she held herhead high, like the thoroughbred she was, the expression in her eyes cutBarry to the quick.
"I--hadn't thought," she answered, in a low tone.
*CHAPTER XI.*
*HIDE AND SEEK.*
For a second Lawrence was silent, as a thought flashed through his brainas to the pathetic plight of the girl. The next instant he bent forwardacross the table, his clear gray eyes fixed upon hers, and holding herwavering gaze.
"I want to tell you a little story, Miss Rives," he said, in a hurried,almost jerky, tone, "and then I want you to do me a favor. Wait,please! Don't say you won't until you've heard me. This morning I lefta miserable hall bedroom over on the West Side to walk the streets,because I could not face the woman I owed three weeks' rent."
She caught her breath quickly, and, as her eyes flashed to the wonderfulemerald ring on his finger and back again to the pearls gleaming in hisimmaculate shirt, an expression of bewildered incredulity came into herface.
"I know," Barry went on hastily; "it seems impossible, but it's true.I'd had little to eat for days. My last nickel went for a cup ofcoffee. I had only a single penny left. I was cold and hungry anddesperate. I had been out of a job for months, and there wasn't theslightest prospect of getting one. You see, there's scarcely a personin New York who could understand as I do what you have been through--andwhat may be before you now."
He paused an instant, but she made no comment. Her eyes were fixedintently on him as if his story held her entranced.
"For hours I walked the streets, then took refuge in a railway stationto keep from freezing," Lawrence continued presently. "And there, wheneverything was blackest, when it seemed as if not a single hoperemained, the wheel of fortune turned. From the lowest depths I washoisted in a moment to a height I had come to believe impossible."
A faint, puzzled line had come into her low forehead. For a moment shewaited, expecting him to continue. When he did not, she raised hereyebrows a trifle.
"But how----" she began.
"I can't tell you," he put in swiftly. "I've promised to keep silent.I can only say that I was given a very large sum of money to carry outcertain conditions, and that those conditions carry with them no loss ofself-respect. What I want you to do is to take a little--just alittle--of this money to tide you over this period of hard luck."
A sudden color flamed into her face, and her lips parted. Before shecould utter a word Barry went on pleadingly:
"Please don't say no, Miss Rives. The situation is desperate. If thisgirl friend of yours has moved, what will you do? Even if she is stillthere, I don't suppose you would keep on accepting hospitality from onewho probably couldn't afford it. I can, you see, and if you'll onlylook upon me as Phil's friend, acting in his place, I'm sure you won'trefuse."
For a long minute the girl sat staring into his frank, kindly face witheyes which seemed to plumb his very soul. Perhaps it was what she sawthere that made her give in; perhaps it was the thoughts which flashedthrough her mind of the awful streets, wind-swept and dark and bittercold, with even more poignant terrors lurking in the shadows. At allevents, she sighed faintly, and reached for her gloves.
"Very well, Mr. Lawrence," she said quietly. "You may lend me--tendollars."
"But that isn't----"
"It is quite enough," she put in decidedly, "to make me grateful to youas long as I live. Would you mind--if we go now? It's getting late."
Without further protest, Barry paid the bill at once, and helped her onwith her coat. As they reached the street he handed her a ten-dollarbill, which she slipped into her worn glove with another brief word ofthanks.
The ride uptown was a rather silent one. Barry did most of the talking,for he felt that the girl would rather say little.
At Forty-eighth Street they got out, and, turning westward, walkedbriskly through the chilly street. As they approached a certainshabby-looking house midway in a block, Miss Rives, glancing upward,gave an exclamation of satisfaction at the sight of a light in the frontroom on the top floor.
"I'm sure Sally's still there," she said, turning to Lawrence. "Sheused to sit up reading till all hours." She hesitated an instant, andthen went on more slowly: "I think I'd better go to the door alone. Thewoman who keeps the house is very kind, and, even if Sally's gone,she'll take me in. Good-by, Mr. Lawrence, and--thank you--a thousandtimes, for what you have done. Will you--give me your address so that Ican send back the money--when I have it?"
Barry's fingers closed firmly over the hand she held out.
"I'm at the St. Albans just now," he returned. "But I probably won'tstay there long. Wouldn't it be better if I looked you up to see howyou're getting on?"
For a bare second Shirley Rives hesitated. Then she turned away, andbegan mounting the steps.
"I should be very glad to see you again, Mr. Lawrence," she answered."Good night!"
From a little distance Barry watched her ring the bell, saw the dooropen with almost no delay at all, and heard a brief murmur ofconversation. When the girl finally stepped into the house and the doorclosed, he turned away with a sigh of satisfaction, and started backtoward Broadway.
He had not gone more than a few steps when he saw approaching the lightsof a rapidly moving carriage, and a moment later a well-appointedprivate brougham passed him, the iron-shod hoofs of the spirited horsesstriking sparks from the icy street. A vague, languid curiosity stirredhim as to what a conveyance of that sort was doing there at that hour,but it swiftly vanished in the interest of another discovery.
Reaching the corner of Eighth Avenue, he happened to glance swiftly tohis right, and noticed a man standing silently in the corner of adarkened doorway. There was nothing very ext
raordinary in this, savefor the fact that it was a night which offered no temptations forloitering in the street; but there was something about the powerful,square-shouldered figure, accentuated by the heavy ulster whichenveloped it, that struck Lawrence as oddly familiar. The coat collarwas turned up and buttoned close; the brim of the soft felt hat waspulled well down, so as to conceal the face, but in spite of that a bitof grizzled beard was visible, which stimulated Barry's memory.
In that momentary hesitation on the curb he remembered that just such aman had been standing in another doorway near the restaurant as theyleft it less than an hour before, and he wondered at the curiouscoincidence which should bring about this second meeting.
Before he reached Broadway Lawrence began to have doubts as to whetherit really was a coincidence or not. Another man would have thoughtnothing of the matter; but Barry had lately been through an experienceof shadowing which taught him many things about the methods of privatedetectives and others of their ilk, which had produced in him a habit ofbeing constantly on guard.
At least it would do no harm to be sure, he thought, and, rounding thecorner of Broadway, he hastened forward a few steps to the entrance of amoving-picture theater. Once within its shelter, he swiftly found aspot where the plate-glass windows of the ticket booth acted as anadmirable reflector. Then, back squarely to the street, and eyesriveted on the improvised mirror, he leisurely undid his fur coat, asleisurely produced a cigarette from his case, and hunted for his matchbox.
It was just as he struck a light that his patience was rewarded. In theglass he saw the stranger steal silently into view around the corner,hesitate for the fraction of a second, then, catching sight of Barry'sback, as softly withdrew out of sight.
The Riddle and the Ring; or, Won by Nerve Page 4
