"I do not want to distress you," he said huskily. "If I were to tell you why it is best for us to go on as we are, you would lose what little faith you may still have in me. I have not always been able to conceal my feelings. You do not care as I do,--and I have been pretty much of a rotter in showing you just how I feel from time to time,--an ordinary bounder, and G.o.d knows I hate the word,--so there's nothing more I can say without distressing and offending you. I want you to feel perfectly secure so far as I am concerned. We are out here alone in the night. If I were to let go of myself now and say what I want to say to you,--well, you would be frightened and hurt and,--G.o.d knows I wouldn't hurt you for the world. I hope you understand, Miss Clinton."

She had had time to fortify herself.

"Yes,--I understand," she said, but not without a strange wonder filling her mind.

He was fair,--and yet he was baffling. She had not expected this rare trait in him. Men she had known were not like this. The men who loved her,--and they had been many,--were impetuous and insistent, demanding much and offering everything,--vain-glorious warriors who counted confidently on easy conquest. She had come in contact with but one cla.s.s of men: the spoiled, c.o.c.ksure sons of the rich who love in haste and have it over with while there is yet time to love again. She caught herself guiltily wondering how many men of her acquaintance would have allowed this engaging opportunity to pa.s.s without making the most of it!

And why should this man be different from the others? She experienced a sharp feeling of irritation, and out of that sprang the wilful desire to hurt him because he was different. So she lifted her chin, and looking straight into his eyes, said: "I understand perfectly. You prefer that I should not put you in the cla.s.s with Manuel Crust."

"I'm not quite certain that Manuel's way of handling women isn't the best after all," he said musingly. "Ride over 'em rough-shod, trample them under foot, kick them to one side and then ask them whether they love you or not. If they say they don't, all you have to do is to behave like a gentleman and leave them alone."

She laughed. "But suppose they were to say they did love you,--what then?"

"That, I understand, is what they generally do say,--and it causes a great deal of trouble for the unfortunate gentleman."

"Are you never in earnest, Mr. Percival?"

"I was very much in earnest a moment ago. You knew how much in earnest I was or you wouldn't have said that nasty thing about Manuel Crust."

"I am sorry I said it," she cried. "It was uncalled for,--and I was deliberately trying to be mean."

"I knew it," he said quietly. "I don't think any the worse of you for it. A woman plays fair until you get her into a corner,--and then she plays fairer than ever to make up for what she did when cornered. Am I not right?"

She did not reply. She was staring past him, down the line of huts. The door of Olga Obosky's cabin had opened and closed, projecting for an instant an oblong block of light into the darkness. The figure of a woman, emerging into the full light of the moon, had caught Ruth's attention. Percival turned quickly. Together they watched the figure move swiftly across the Green toward them. Suddenly it stopped, and then, after a moment, whirled and made off down the line of cabins, soon to be swallowed up by the gloom.

"Were you expecting some one?" inquired Ruth, icily.

He was still looking intently into the far-reaching gloom. Neither had spoken for many seconds. He started, and looked searchingly into her eyes.

"That was Madame Obosky," he said.

"I know. I recognized her," said she evenly.

"And you believe she was coming out here to meet me,--isn't that so?"

She drew herself up. "I shall have to say good night, Mr. Percival. No!

It is not necessary for you to walk home with me."

He placed himself in front of her. "Would you mind answering my question?"

"Yes," she flashed, "I think she was coming out here to meet you. Permit me to pa.s.s, please."

He stood aside. "Good night, Miss Clinton."

He watched her until the door of her cabin swung open,--and he smiled as she stood revealed for an instant in the square of light, for she had obeyed the impulse to glance over her shoulder.

She was angry, hurt, disgusted as she slammed the door behind her.

"Where have you been?" cried out an accusing voice, and Ruth's gaze fell upon the figure in one of the deck chairs beside the fire. "I have been waiting for you for--"

"How long have you been here?" cried the girl, stock-still and staring.

"If Mrs. Spofford had not been so entertaining, I should say for hours and hours," said Madame Obosky.

"As a matter of fact," said Mrs. Spofford from her side of the fireplace, "it hasn't been more than an hour. Madame Obosky came soon after you went out, dear."

"But--but I saw you just now coming out of your cabin," cried Ruth blankly. She had a queer sensation as of the floor giving way beneath her.

"You saw--Oh, now I understand!" cried the Russian, with a laugh. "Zose girls of mine! Zey--they are like so many grandmothers. They will not go to bed until zey know I am safely tucked in myself. Alas, Mrs. Spofford, zose girls do not trust me, I fear. If I go out at night alone, zey instantly put their heads together and shake zem all at the same time.

So that is what has happen, Miss Clinton. One of them,--Alma, I suspect, because she had a sister who,--Yes, it would be Alma, I am sure,--in any case, one of zem comes out to get me, so like a policeman. But still I do not understand something. I have told them I was coming here to see you. If it was one of my girls, why has she not come?"

Ruth had turned away, ostensibly to pull down the little window shade but really to send a swift searching glance out across the Green.

"She went the other way," she replied, rather breathlessly.

Olga sprang to her feet. "Now, what is zat little fool up to?" she cried, angrily. "If I catch her running out to meet men at zis hour of--"

Ruth interrupted her. "She started in this direction but when she saw us, she turned and went the other way. I was talking to Mr. Percival out near the meeting-house. About the Easter services, Auntie," she made haste to say as Mrs. Spofford looked up in surprise.

Olga was looking at her fixedly, an odd expression in her eyes, her lips slightly parted.

"He has promised to help me. He is delighted to sing in the choir.

Madame Careni-Amori will sing two solos. She promises to make Joseppi sing one or two. I--I was discussing the arrangements with Mr.

Percival."

"Now I understand," said Olga, gaily, but with the odd, inquiring look still in her eyes. "Alma thought it was I. I have zem very well-trained, those girls. She sees me with a man,--zip! She runs the other way as fast as she can! That is the height of propriety,--is it not, Mrs.

Spofford?"

"I do not quite understand what you mean, Madame Obosky."

"Why did he say it was you?" cried Ruth, hot with chagrin.

Olga shrugged her shoulders. "He is so very amiable," said she. "I dare say he thought it would please you."

Ruth bit her lip. There was no mistaking the challenge in the Russian's remark, however careless it may have sounded.

"I came to see you about Mr. Percivail's birthday," said Olga, abruptly changing the subject. "Some one has suggested zat we all join in giving him a grand great big celebration. Bonfires, fire-works, a banquet with speeches, and all zat kind of thing. What do you think, eh?"

"He wouldn't like it at all," said Ruth promptly. "Moreover, why should we celebrate his birthday? He doesn't deserve it any more than scores of other--"

"Oh, then we must drop it altogether," broke in Olga, rather plaintively. "I thought every one would be in favour of it. But, of course, if there is the slightest opposition--"

"I do not oppose it," said Ruth coldly. "Pray do not let me upset your plans."

"It is not my plan. Zat nice, sarcastic Mr. Fitts, and Mr. Malone, and Captain Trigger, they have proposed it, Miss Clinton, not I. But men never quite get over being boys. They do not stop to question whether a thing is right or wrong. I dare say after they have thought a little longer over it, zey will agree with you that it is foolish to be so enthusiastic about this fellow Percivail,--and the whole project will dissolve into thin air."

Her hand was on the latch. She met Ruth's hara.s.sed, unhappy gaze with her indolent, almost insolent, smile. Suddenly the American girl s.n.a.t.c.hed up her jacket and the little fur collar she had thrown across a chair in the corner.

"If you don't mind, I will walk part of the way home with you," she said.