Hugh clenched his lips and his blood boiled at the treatment.
“I am an American, Lord Huntingford,” spoken easily, his pride showing only by a perceptible lift of the head; “and my ancestors were not Tories in the Revolution. Relationship, if any, would be—er—distant. I claim none.”
“A trifle strained,” admitted his Lordship, laughing disagreeably.
At that moment the band could be heard in the distance playing the strains of a waltz; also the voices of the couples who were promenading and passing the open door. To Hugh’s amazement, Lord Huntingford, obviously heedless of his peculiar action, recommenced shuffling the stack of cards, though the dealt hands remained untouched on the table. Instinctively, Hugh was convinced that no play was intended. There was something on the mind of the wily old diplomat far more momentous than a mere game of cards; yet no chance had been given to him to penetrate into the other’s motives.
It was not long forthcoming.
Suddenly, clear as a bell, Hugh distinguished the laughter of Lady Huntingford, and involuntarily he smiled. This seemed to enrage his Lordship. Hatred and menace shone from his eyes as he glanced at the man opposite him. With an oath he rose, walked to the door and closed it. Then ruthlessly laying aside the last vestige of his assumed courtliness, he picked up his stick from the table, leaned far over, shook it in Hugh’s face, and became an irascible, shouting old man.
“Look here, young man—Ridge—Ridgeway—or whatever your blasted name—do you think I’ll allow you to carry on an affair with my wife—my wife, sir?” he vociferated. “Henceforth, I forbid you to speak to her! Do you hear me?”
It was debatable whether Hugh was more astonished at the mention of Lady Huntingford’s name in connection with his own, or at the stick in dangerously close proximity to his countenance. It was some time before he could find words; but his face from red went white.
“And if I decline?”
There was that in the low tone that should have warned the aggressor from further insult; but forgetting that the swaggering domination he had been accustomed to exercising over his own countrymen, officially his inferiors, would not for a moment be tolerated by one of another nationality, he again broke out:
“You bounder! Yankee upstart! I’ll thrash you, and then have the captain put you on shore at the first port—you infernal impostor!”
In an instant Hugh was over the table. He tore the stick from Lord Huntingford’s hand and clutched his throat, forcing him down on the seat cushions. With the exception of the younger man’s hard breathing and some gasps from the other, the struggle was noiseless. Not until Lord Huntingford was growing black in the face did Hugh come to his senses. Then releasing one hand from the throat, he pinned him with the other and a knee.
“You old scoundrel!” Hugh began, jerking out the scathing words; “if it were not for your old age and your wife I’d drag you on deck and make you apologize on your knees before them all. I’ll spare you that degradation; but if I ever hear of you mentioning the name Ridegway—I’ve my own reasons for concealing it, and they don’t concern you—I’ll make some charges in regard to your card playing that will bar you from every club in the world, and, unlike your poor dupes, I am in a position to substantiate them without fear of consequences.”
Lord Huntingford grudgingly mumbled a throttled promise, and Hugh allowed him to regain his feet. At that instant Veath, with Grace and Lady Huntingford, standing behind him, opened the door of the smoking-room.
“Here, Veath!” called out Hugh to the astonished Indianian. “I want you to bear witness that Lord Huntingford has promised to keep absolutely quiet about a little altercation of ours, and—”
The quick gesture of caution from Veath came too late. Lady Huntingford with astonished eyes was gazing into the room at them. Hugh promptly went over to her.
“You must pardon me, Lady Huntingford; I am sorry to cause you any pain or annoyance. In a dispute over the cards with your husband I forgot myself for a moment. Pray forgive me.”
Ridgeway quietly strode away with Grace and Veath. Lady Huntingford directed a look of unutterable contempt at her husband, turned on her heel and left him to slink away as quickly as possible, like a cur that has felt the whip.
CHAPTER XI
DISCOVERED
Lord Huntingford could not forgive the man who had put his aristocratic nose out of joint in such an effective manner. He was, however, as polite as nature would permit him to be to Miss Ridge and Mr. Veath. As for Hugh, that young gentleman thought it the wiser plan, when unavoidably relating a mild description of last night’s encounter, to abstain from acquainting Grace with Lord Huntingford’s discovery of his name—whether accidental or otherwise. Quite rightly he surmised that it would unnecessarily distress her, and he preferred not to cross the bridge until he came to it.
It was the evening following the conflict. As night approached, the sun fell behind the shores of the Red Sea, the stars twinkled out through the blackness above, and yet they had not caught a glimpse of her Ladyship. At dinner, he and Grace had agreed that she had either renounced them entirely, or had been compelled to avoid him in particular. Veath was less concerned. He was thinking of another woman.
Hugh and Grace again stole away for a few moments of seclusion on deck. They found chairs and sat down, neither very talkative.
“Oh, Hugh, just think where we are,” she murmured at last. “Thousands of miles from home, and no one the wiser save ourselves. Chicago is on the other side of the world.”
“Are you sorry you came, dear?”
“I am glad. But isn’t it awful to consider how far we are from everybody we know? We might just as well be dead, Hugh.” She was very solemn and wide-eyed.
“I am afraid you are losing heart,” he said disconsolately.
“Why, Hugh Ridgeway—Ridge, I mean,—how can I afford to lose heart now? Don’t ever say that to me again.”
“Yes; we are a long way from home, dear,” mused he after a while.
“How far are we from Manila?” she asked suddenly.
“A million miles, judging by the way time goes. We’ll be there in twenty days, the captain says.”
“What do you suppose Mr. Veath will say when he hears of our marriage?” This question was propounded after a longer interval of silence than usual.
“Why should we care what Mr. Veath says? If he doesn’t approve, let him go to—” but Hugh checked his fiery speech as abruptly as he began it.
“He will be awfully shocked to learn how we have deceived him,” she went on, as if he had not spoken.
“Well, do you care?” demanded Hugh.
“Yes, I care,” she cried. “I shall be very sorry if he loses the good opinion he may have formed. He is the kind of a man who would not understand such an affair as this.”
“But, then, we are not obliged to tell him. We can get married and leave Manila at once without ever seeing him again. After that we will be Mr. and Mrs. Ridgeway, and he could never find the people known as Hugh Ridge and sister.”
“That would be a shameless way to treat him. He has been so true, so good, Hugh,” she cried reproachfully. For quite a while their eyes lingered upon the dark water without seeing it, their thoughts centred upon the fast approaching end of their relationship with Henry Veath.
“I wish he could be told,” murmured she, her voice far away.
“I couldn’t do it to save my soul. What would he say?” There was an awed anxiety in his voice.
“I don’t care what other people say, but I do care what he says. He seems so honest, so far above tricks of this kind.”
“What’s one man’s opinion, anyhow, especially when he’s to be buried in Manila for years?”
“Oh, Hugh! How lonely he will be in that strange place. And how dreadful it will be in us to sneak away from him like cowards, just as if we cared nothing for him at all. He doesn’t deserve that, does he?”
“No, he doesn’t, that’s a fact. We can’t t
reat him like a dog.”
“I wish he could be told,” sighed she pensively.
“When?”
“You might try to tell him at any time,” she said, a perceptible strain in her voice.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said he, taking her hand in his. “I will tell him the day before we reach Manila.”
“I’m afraid it will be too late,” she cried, all a-flutter.
“Too late? Why?”
“I mean,” she went on confusedly, “he might think we had waited too long.” She was thinking of Veath’s wistful eyes.
“Hello! Here you are,” cried a strong voice, and Veath loomed up through the shadows. Hugh released her hand and dropped back in the chair from which he had half risen to kiss her. “You hide away like a pair of silly lovers. There’s nothing prosaic about this brother and sister. Do you know, I have often marvelled over one thing in connection with you. You don’t look any more like brother and sister than the sea looks like dry land.”
The pair caught breath sharply and Hugh almost snorted aloud. Grace could do nothing but look up to where she saw the red fluctuating glow of a cigar tip in the darkness. It made her think of a little moon which could breathe like herself.
“It all goes to show how deceptive appearances can be,” went on Veath easily. “Don’t you want to walk, Miss Ridge? I’m sure you need exercise.”
“I promised Hugh I would drive away his blues, Mr. Veath. Thank you, but I believe I’ll sit here for a while and then go below,” she said, a trifle disconnectedly.
“We’ll take Hugh along,” said Veath obligingly. “Come along, both of you.”
“Excuse me, Henry, but I don’t feel like walking,” said Hugh, a tinge of sullenness in his manner.
“Lazy, eh? Well, I’ll bring Miss Ridge back in half an hour. You wouldn’t have me wander about this dismal old boat alone, would you? Smoke a cigar, Hugh, and I’ll take care of your sister while you count the stars.” He offered Hugh a cigar.
Hugh rose suddenly and started away.
“Hugh!” called she, “come and walk with us.” He could distinguish the loving entreaty, the trouble in her tones, but he was unreasonable.
“Never mind me,” he sang out with an assumption of cheerfulness. Grace flushed hotly, her heart swelling with injured pride. Without another word she rose and walked away with Veath. Indignation burned within her soul until she went to sleep, hours afterward.
Ridgeway stamped the full length of the promenade before he came to an understanding with himself. On reaching that understanding, he whirled and walked back to where he had left them, expecting to find Veath occupying the chair he had vacated. Of course they were not to be found, so he threw himself on one of the chairs, more miserable than he had been since they started on their voyage. The lady in the chair to his left stirred nervously and then a soft laugh came from her lips.
“Are you sleepy, Mr. Ridge?” she asked. Hugh turned quickly and looked into the face of Lady Huntingford.
“Not at all,” he replied. “But how strange it seems that you should always appear like the fairy queen when I am most in need of a bracer. Oh, I beg your pardon,” he went on, rising in some perturbation. “I forgot that there is a—a barrier between us. War has been declared, I fear.”
“I am ready to make friendly overtures,” she said gaily. “Isn’t there some such thing as a treaty which requires a strong power to protect its weaker ally in time of stress?”
“You mean that we may still be friends in spite of all that happened last night?” he cried. She nodded her head and smiled, and he shook her hand as only an impulsive American would.
“But Lord Huntingford? What will he say?” he asked.
“His Lordship’s authority can be carried to a certain limit and no farther,” she said, and her eyes flashed. “He knows when to curse and abuse; but he also knows when that attitude might operate against him. He is not in a position to push me to the wall.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he knows enough not to drive me to the point where I would turn and fight.” Hugh never had seen her so entrancing as she was in that dim light, her face the picture of proud defiance.
“I wonder not a little that you have not asked for a divorce long before this.”
“You are not a woman or you would not ask that.”
“Lots of women ask for divorces.”
“It should be the last resort with any woman. But let us talk of something else. Where is your sister? I have not seen her today.”
This question was particularly ill-timed, for it restored the forgotten bitterness to the position from which it had been temporarily driven by the interruption.
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“I thought I heard her talking to you here a few moments ago—in fact, I saw you.”
“Where were you?”
“I passed within a dozen feet of you. Neither of you saw me, I am sure. You would not have cut me intentionally, would you?”
“I should say not. You walked past here?”
“Yes, you were tying her shoe-string.”
“What!” exclaimed he, starting to his feet, “tying Grace’s shoe-string?” The first thought that rushed to his mind was that Veath had knelt to plead his love to Grace Vernon.
“Lady Huntingford, let us walk,” he exclaimed. It was a fierce, impatient command instead of a polite invitation. The pretty young woman calmly lay back in her chair and laughed. “If you won’t come, then please excuse me. I must go.”
“Why are you so eager to walk, Mr. Ridgeway?” she asked.
“Because I want—what was that you called me?” he gasped, his heart almost turning upside down.
“Ridgeway. That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, a great many things,” she said with a serious face.
Hugh was visibly annoyed. There was to be more trouble from the nobleman; evidently he did not intend to keep his promise.
“In the first place,” she continued, “I must acknowledge that I forced from my husband an account of last night’s affair; he also told me your name. But, believe me, it will go no further. I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Ridgeway,” the color stealing into her cheeks.
Ridgeway bowed.
“In the next place,” she went on playfully, “you are very jealous of Mr. Veath. Tut, tut, yes you are,” with a gesture of protest. “He thinks Miss Ridge is your sister, and she is not your sister. And lastly, nobody on board knows these facts but the very bright woman who is talking to you at this moment.”
“But you are mistaken, madam,” with a last attempt at assumption of dignity.
“Would I say this to you if I were not positive? You think you are very clever; I’ll admit that you are. Your secrets came to me through an accident. Do not think that I have pried into your affairs. They really forced themselves upon me.”
“Tell me what you know, for Heaven’s sake,” cried the dismayed Ridgeway.
“I was in your sister’s room earlier in the day. Her trunk was open and I saw a portfolio with Vernon in silver lettering; and I was more mystified than ever when I observed that the initials on her trunk were ‘G.V.’ All day yesterday I tried to solve the problem, taking into consideration the utter absence of family resemblance between you, and I was almost sick with curiosity. Today I was convinced that her name is not Ridge. She inadvertently signed her name to the purser’s slip in my presence, and she did not sign the—yours. She scratched it out quickly and asked him to make out another one. Now, what is this mystery?” She bent her gaze upon his face and he could not meet it.
“Do you want to know the reason why I did not see you yesterday?” she continued.
“Yes,” he murmured, mopping his brow.
“Because I was so distressed that I feared I could not face either of you, knowing what I do.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you are running away.
” Not a word was spoken for a full minute. He could scarcely breathe. “You do not deny it?” she questioned gently. “Please do not fear me.”
“I do not fear you,” he half whispered, sinking his chin in his hands. Another long silence.
“There are some circumstances and conditions under which a woman should not be condemned for running away,” she said in a strained, faraway voice. “Has—has she children?”
“Good Heaven!” cried Hugh, leaping to his feet, horror-struck.
CHAPTER XII
THE HARLEQUIN’S ERRAND
Lady Huntingford, alarmed by his manner, arose and steadied herself against the deck-house. His exclamation rang in her ears, filling them with its horror. At length he roughly grasped her arm, thrusting his face close to hers, fairly grated out the words:
“You think she is a wife?”
“I feared so.”
“She is not! Do you hear me? She is not!” he cried so fiercely that there was no room for doubt. “She is the purest, dearest girl in the world, and she has done all this for me. For God’s sake, do not expose us.” He dropped back in the chair. “It’s not for my sake that I ask it, but for hers,” he went on quickly.
“I’m sure I have wronged her and I have wronged you. Will you believe me?”
He did not answer at once. His turbulent brain was endeavoring to find words with which to convince her of the innocence of the escapade. Looking up into her eyes, he was struck by their tender staunchness. Like a flash came to him the decision to tell her the true story, from beginning to end.
“Lady Huntingford, I will tell you everything there is to tell. It is not a long tale, and you may say it is a very foolish one. I am sure, however, that it will interest you.”
“You shall not tell me a word if you do so in order to appease my curiosity,” she began earnestly.
“I think it is best that you should know,” he interrupted. “One favor first. You will earn my eternal gratitude if you do not allow Grace to feel that you have discovered our secret.”
“You have my promise. I have kept many secrets, Mr. Ridge.” He drew his chair quite close to hers. Then he told her the full story of the adventure, from first to last. She scarcely breathed, so deeply was her interest centred in this little history of an impulse. He spoke hurriedly, excitedly. Not once did she take her eyes from his earnest face, almost indistinguishable in the darkness; nor could he remove his from hers.
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 174