The Haunted Pajamas

"Did like? I do still!" – her tone lifted in earnest protest – "I love to think of brave, dear Arthur and his knights – so few, and yet so full of love, of gallantry and daring!"

So his nights were like that! By Jove, I was devilish glad then that they had been so few– that was some comfort, dash it! I wondered if the beggar was dead. But what difference did it make now, after all? She was mine now and she knew I knew it; that was why this sweet, ingenuous child was laying bare to me her past – the darling!

Really, I ought not to let her go on.

"Never mind them now," I urged soothingly. And heedless of the windows, I hitched a wee bit closer. "That's all past and gone and you and I will yet see as good nights as they ever were." I spoke with assurance. "Don't you think so?" I added softly.

She sighed. "I don't know – I hope so!" – she lingered dubiously over it, looking away again, the while her hand put back the fleecy, golden what-you-call-it that was snuggling to her eyes. I looked at the goddess-like forearm, bared to above the elbow, where it slipped from sight under the roll of sleeve, and thought of that night in my apartment when she had made me feel of her biceps, don't you know.

How deliciously shy she was! Remembered hearing Pugsley say they are often that way with the development of love. Told me he thought he'd get married once – looked over the girls of his set and picked out one; then he went to see her. She was devilish cordial at first and until Pugsley began to tell her about it, then she began to grow agitated – finally went out of the room and had hysterics. Next time he saw her she hardly was able to speak to him! Said that ended it and he passed her up – too dashed much bother trying to follow 'em, he decided; they were too high-strung, too emotional, too uncertain of themselves, he thought.

I gave her five seconds, and then —

"You don't know?" I repeated with gentle reproach. "Oh, I say, you know! You know you know you know!" By Jove, that sounded rather rum, but I knew she knew I knew she knew– see?

She looked at me sidewise, her slender forefinger pressing the half-parted lips slowly shaping in a curve. Then her little teeth flashed, jewel-like – regular jolly pearl setting in the frankest, sweetest smile! – and then her glorious arm and wrist arched suddenly toward me.

"Yes!" she said contritely, and with the most delightful, kindest inflection and laugh – such a laugh! – a laugh gurglingly melodious – oh, dash it, yes; I mean just that! – like the flute notes in the overture to what's-his-name —that sort!

"That's the way I love to hear a man talk!" she said warmly. "I think it takes an American to stand up for his own place, his own times —please!"

And gently, but with a lovely smile, she withdrew her hand that I had folded close in mine. I let it go, for I saw her look toward the house, and, of course, I understood – jolly careless of me not to have remembered – but she would know from my nod and shrug that I comprehended.

And really, by Jove, it was almost as pleasant as holding her hand, just to watch her leaning back against the iron pillar about which curved the dark-leaved tendrils of some purple-flowering vine. By Jove, she just looked like a stunning, white, Easter-card angel – that's what! – even to the golden hair they always have and the jolly wings; for her gleaming arms, spread behind her head, made you think of that. But that was as near as one of them could come to her, for no golden-haired angel in white flowing nightgown was ever a patch on her for style!

Never a one could look so chic as she did in her smart linen suit, with its blue flannel collar, caught low with a flowing, breezy tie; and no jolly angel I ever saw pictured could sport a waist like that, so dainty, so modish, so jolly snug and – er – squeezable, don't you know —never! And I was devilish sure that no barefooted or sandaled angel would ever dare to put a foot beside one of those little white Oxfords or that arching instep, just blushing faintly through the silken mesh that held it – well, I guess not! And where the angel, I should like to know, that could match her glorious, fluffy pompadour or the distracting little golden smoke wisps that whirled and pulled and tangled and tossed and twisted and tugged, trying to lift her in their feeble arms into the current of the wandering breeze?

I sighed, and my deep breath brought her gaze back to me and her flashing smile as well.

"And so," she said, lifting her little chin, "you think there are just as many knights now as there used to be?"

I almost laughed at the child-like question – but I didn't! Dash it, no, I wouldn't have done so for the world. Just looked at her seriously and answered her in kind:

"Perfectly sure of it, don't you know!"

And, by Jove, I was! Knew if there had been any change, some newspaper-reading chap at the club would have mentioned it —that was safe: especially one silly ass who was always reading of some jolly comet that was coming. He would know about the nights.

"Yes – oh, yes, there are just as many," I affirmed positively, and added quickly: "More, you know!" For suddenly I remembered it was leap-year, and I knew there was some jolly rhyme about leap-year gives us one day more – so, of course, there'd be another night!

"You don't know how glad I am to hear you say that," she said musingly. "There are just as many knights, you mean, but the conditions have changed – the man is changed – is that it?"

I should say the man was changed! "Oh, dash it, yes!" I blurted. By Jove, I hoped there wouldn't be another change.

"You mean" – with a little, challenging, puzzled smile, she leaned forward, her elbow resting upon her knee like a sculptured, Grecian pillar; her flower-like curving fingers supporting her chin like a Corinthian what's-its-name, you know, the sort of thing the ancient what-you-call-'ems always added to top off their stunning marble columns —you know! – well, like that – "you mean we may find knights, not only in the field, but in the shops, upon the streets – even in the slums; or in the hospitals, in the church or even on the bench —that is your idea?"

It wasn't my idea at all – I should say not! Who wanted to spend nights prowling around that way? Why – why, it wasn't respectable, dash it! Besides, that sort of thing – excursioning about seeing things – was devilish tiresome, if you asked me. I never did do it, even abroad, where you meet Americans, jolly bored and tired, doing all sorts of rum places no one else ever thinks of, don't you know.

And as for a bench! Well, it was like her, in her innocence of the world, not to know how downright vulgar that would be. I had seen couples sitting evenings in the park – and I knew!

But I answered tactfully:

"I don't mean those places so much, don't you know – I think we can find lots jollier and better nights elsewhere." And I closed my free eye and beamed at her through my glass. "Don't have to go so far, you know; under one's own roof, or – er – some one else's roof, for instance – why not here?" I jerked my head toward the old stone pile behind us.

"Oh!" – her eyebrows lifted at me – "so you've thought of that, too?" – she nodded gravely – "you mean in the library there?"

I winked assent.

The library suited me all right!

"Just now," she said in an oddly sobered voice, "I looked in as I passed through, and he was looking so crushed, so worn and tired, you know – he had just come from up-stairs; and yet he faced me so bravely and smilingly" – she shook her head – "poor fellow!"

I stared – puzzled, don't you know. Offhand, dash me if I could see what the judge had to do with our evenings together – why, I had his own approval of my suit. Then I remembered that she, of course, didn't know that —yet. Probably what she had in her dear little mind was that he might be holding the library – and he would, if he continued to think he was busy; for I had heard him say he expected to work all night. But then, there were dozens and dozens of others places we could go – well, I should just say!

I had just bent forward to suggest this to her when I saw she was going to speak. So I waited, smiling at her tenderly.

"And about Arthur – " she began, and I cut myself a painful stab with my nails – right in the palm – "now there is a case where I think you find" – she nodded toward the house again – "where you find one of his superb qualities, the one quality that, of all, I admire in a man the most."

"By Jove!" I said, leaning forward. I wondered what it was – and then, dash it, I asked her.

"Just trust!" she said simply, and her face grew luminous. "Faith, perhaps I should say. My father has it larger than any man I ever knew; it is something that goes out from him with his friendship, with his love, making a dual gift" – her voice dropped thoughtfully – "I have studied it in him all my life, and it has always seemed so beautiful to me – so wonderful – the unquestioning peace he has" – her blue eyes widened, shining – "has ever in return for the perfect, abiding trust that he gives to the thing he calls his own. I know, for he has made me feel it from the time I was a tiny little girl!" The last word was almost a whisper, so tense, so vibrant with feeling was it – she seemed to have forgotten my existence. "And if ever I find a man – " she breathed.

I coughed slightly and she started, stared at me – and then the dimple deepened in her cheek, lost in a bed of jolly roses. Her laughter pealed forth, birdlike – delicious!

"I beg your pardon!" she said. "But when I think of papa and of how he believes in his children, especially poor little me, I think I must get – " Her roguish, puzzled smile searched my face. "How is it you say it? – oh, I know – 'I think I must be getting dippy!'"

And it was the first slang I had heard from those sweet lips since the night she was in my rooms!

CHAPTER XXIX

"BECAUSE YOU – ARE YOU"

Poor, brave-hearted girl! How pitiful and heartrending to a keen-eyed man of the world, seemed her poor, little sham about her father's trust in her! For I knew the facts, you know!

What a little thoroughbred she was! By Jove, I just sat there for a full two minutes, bending toward her worshipfully, but with such a lump choking my devilish throat that dash me if I could chirp a single word. Just sat there – that's all – blinking damply at her with my free eye, studying with growing wonder the light she managed to summon to her face; heartsick for the care-free mockery of the cherry lips, shaping seemingly in a meditative whistle; all my jolly heart beating time to the lithesome tapping of her smart little boot upon the wooden floor. And she? She, brave heart, leaning back watching me through her long, fringing lashes – forcing a quizzical smile to her face, the while the jolly worm was gnawing at her what-you-call-'ems!

And suddenly it came to me that I just couldn't and wouldn't let her go on this way, without the sympathy of the man she loved; without the precious consolation of knowing that he knew! She was being badgered and rough-shouldered and put upon and distrusted and maligned by every one she knew, and she had no one in all the world to turn to but me – and —

Oh, I wanted her to know what I thought, don't you know!

I slipped to the seat beside her.

"Er, Miss Billings – " I began, thinking absentmindedly of what I should say, and forgetting that we were quite alone.

"'Miss Billings!' Why do you call me that?" Her lovely brows puckered. "I remember, now, that's twice you – "

"Frances, then!" I corrected softly.

She straightened, her bosom lifting with a quick intake. By Jove, that was what she wanted!

"Oh!" Then she leaned slowly back, looking at me thoughtfully through half-closed eyes, her lips parted in the oddest smile.

And I screwed my monocle tight and let her have smile for smile, determined to chirp her up and make her feel our oneness – that sort of thing, you know. And I succeeded! For of a sudden her head went back and the joyous peal of her canary laugh started off the jolly birds in the trees above us.

"Oh, you – " A stare, and then another burst as she bent forward, face buried in her hands. Then it lifted sharply, flame-dyed – her lips tremulous, her eyes shining like sapphire stars. "Oh!" she gasped, and how I envied the little hand she pressed against her waist; but the windows – dash the windows! "That's – that's it– Frances – just that much! But, do you know, I don't – don't believe you really know my full name. I remember now several th – " She bent toward me witchingly, her wide blue eyes challenging my candor. "Honestly, now —do– you?"

So it was that thought that was tickling her! Well, by Jove, I had her there, for I had heard the judge mention her name in full. I would surprise her!

"Oh, don't I?" I exclaimed, winking as I polished my glass. "Well, how about Frances Leslie Billings?" I let her have it slowly, distinctly, and with yet a note of triumph I could not altogether hide. And then remorseful for her amazed expression, I explained frankly: "Got it from your father this morning, don't you know, during our long talk about you in the library."

"Wh – "

Then she swallowed and her face fell perfectly blank. By Jove, I could have kicked myself for a jolly ass for breaking it to her so raw! Of course, she would know that if her father talked of her, it would be nothing for me to hear that was true or kind – nothing she could wish might be said to the man she loved.

I hastened to reassure her:

"But I don't believe a dashed word of anything he said about you" – I spoke hotly – "and I don't care a jolly hang for what the others said, either – so there you are!"

"Oh, you don't?" Could tell how I had touched her by her expression, don't you know; and she fell to looking at me the queerest way. "And would you mind telling me who the 'others' are?"

I eyed her gloomily, sympathetically. As if she didn't know already!

"Well – oh, dash it, my mind has been filled with – er – just anything!" I began cautiously.

"I know," – she murmured it as if to herself – "one can see that!" And she bit her lip.

"In the first place, you know" – and there I pulled up. No, dash it, I wasn't going to say a jolly word about poor Jack – no, sir! But then, about the other one – well, she was just a treacherous snake in the what's-its-name, and she ought to be exposed. By Jove, she should be!

"It's the frump, you know," I said indignantly.

"The – the what?"

Her pretty teeth flashed like the keyboards of a tiny organ – you could even hear a little gurgly, musical quiver somewhere behind. And then I remembered that, of course, she wouldn't know whom I meant.

"Oh, your guest, you know – your friend from school," I went on, trying to tread cautiously and yet feeling myself growing red. "Oh, see here now, I don't like to say things, but – er – "

"Oh, go on!" she trilled, her sweet face shining wistful.

"Well, I mean this – er – Miss Kirkland; came out with us this morning, don't you know. I think of her as the frump– little idea – er – nickname of mine, you know, she's so awful!" And I screwed my glass with a chuckle.

For an instant I thought she wouldn't catch it, she stared at me so blankly. Then the joke of it – the jolly aptness, so to speak – got her full and square, and she just lifted a scream, hugging her knee and rocking back and forth, her face suffused, her laughter pealing like a chime of bells.

And I just rocked, too, keeping her company. Really, I don't think I ever laughed so much since some chap plunked down on the hard crown of my new tile last winter. At least I wanted to laugh – in church, you know, and it's so awful how you feel there when something – oh, you know! And if you could have seen that poor fellow's face!

By Jove, how glad I was for her jolly sense of humor that could see the point of things so quickly, and think them clever. Always had so dashed little patience with stupid people, don't you know. And just here another little thing came to me and I let her have it:

"Oh, I say!" – I leaned nearer, chuckling – "your father pretends to think her a most beautiful and winning girl —fancy!" And my face stretched itself in such a jolly grin that I could hardly hold my glass.

She bent toward me, smiling adorably. "You mean this – er – 'Miss Kirkland'?"

I nodded chortlingly.

She peered at me through her long what-you-call-'ems – oh, such a way!

"But you don't think so, do you?" How sweetly, how fetchingly she said it!

"Me?" I gasped. By Jove, in my horror, I lost my grip upon my jolly grammar. "Oh, I say now! I think the frump – this Miss Kirkland, you know – is a fright – regular freak, dash it! I told the judge so!"

"You – you – "

"Of course!" And I shrugged disgustedly, making the ugliest grimace I possibly could. "Why, dash it, if I were a woman and had a face like hers, I never would have left China, or England – or wherever her jolly home was —no, sir!"

She caught her breath with a little gasp – then she was off again! This time she rested her arms upon the rail behind and buried her head in them, her lovely shoulders jiggling up and down, her sobbing laughter sending her off at last into a spell of coughing.

"Oh!" she breathed, lifting at last her gloriously blushing face and dabbing at it with her ridiculous little handkerchief, "oh, you'll kill me – I know you will!"

I certainly had stirred her up, and I was delighted. It was funny to think of any one calling the frump beautiful – it must seem funnier still to her, of course – to Frances, I mean. Why, dash it, she seemed to find a funny side to it that I didn't, don't you know!

"Tell me, now" – she clasped her knee, lifting her lovely face coaxingly – "tell me all that she said about me —everything!"

And I did – every word, by Jove!

And no one could look into that sweet, ingenuous face as I proceeded, and doubt that the slanders were new to her. Never a jolly one touched her – only you could see their absurdity amused her. Several times I had to pause as she bent under a gale of laughter.

Only once was she brought up, shocked.

"Oh!" she uttered faintly, as I came to the intimation about her being hail-fellow-well-met with the footmen and her drinking and carousing with them and other men-servants until three in the morning. I realized that it wasn't the matter of the drinking that feazed her and drew from her little gasps as I came to this – knew that didn't bother her, don't you know, for I knew she did drink —could drink, I mean to say; for I had not forgotten the two full whisky glasses of high-proof Scotch she had tossed off that night in my rooms. Why, no, dash it, she was able to drink – it went in the family! I could never forget with what pride she had told me of putting her brother Jack under the table two nights running. That was all right – it was the other part of the frump's scandal that brought her up, standing, so to speak.

For now she really looked embarrassed, despite another lapse to laughter. Her face and neck were dyed a lovely crimson.

"Oh, dear!" she said finally; and she wiped her eyes. "What you must think of me!" – and she looked away, a pretty frown contracting her face; then the jolly dimple deepened once again and she choked into her handkerchief. "Oh, dear!" she repeated, biting her lip to hold her quivering mouth corners. "Oh, it's a shame," I heard her mutter; "I mustn't let him – it's too – " She wheeled upon me, her lips tightened. "Oh!" she ejaculated sharply, almost petulantly, and her foot struck smartly on the boards. "I wonder how much you think – think – "

"Think lots," I said simply, watching her little toe as it tapped.

"Well, I should think as much!" And this time her laugh was short – oddly constrained. She looked away off down the slope to the river. "Oh!" This time it was a tiny gasp as of dismay. And the toe tapped like an electric what's-its-name.

"Yes," I said, watching it musingly, "I suppose it's because you're the only girl, don't you know, that I ever did think of before – oh, ever at all, dash it!"

The toe stopped. I could feel her looking at me sidewise, but I did not glance up, that I remember; was looking down, trying to get hold of a dashed idea I wanted to express.

"Don't know," I continued, boring away at her toe, yet hardly seeing it, "but suppose that's the reason I knew all the time she was lying; but still, somehow that doesn't seem to be the real reason I knew. I think the real reason I knew it couldn't be and wasn't true was" – I sighed heavily – "oh, dash it, it's so hard to get hold of the jolly thing!"

And there was a pause.

"The real reason?" her voice coaxed gently.

"Was because – " Then she moved the toe and it put me out – "I think just because – oh, yes, I know now!" And I looked up eagerly. "Just because I knew that you – are you!" I finished beamingly.

"Oh, I see!" She said it musingly, her finger lightly pressing upon her lips, her beautiful eyes studying me with the oddest, keenest side-glance.

A pause; and then: "And how long have you known me, pray? Just a – "

"A thousand years!" I said promptly and earnestly. "A thousand years and all my life, don't you know! Never will know you any better."

"I wonder," she murmured, nodding slowly. And then for a moment she didn't say a word, just sat there looking me over curiously, her expression half shy, half quizzical, don't you know.

Then her smile flashed again – a radiant, dazzling brightness that brought her nearer, like the effect of the sunlight's sudden gleam there at times upon the blue line of the "West Shore" away across the broad, three-mile span of the old Tappan Zee.

"And now" – again her splendid young arms were clasped, wing-like, behind her head; and its golden glory hung like a picture against the dark vine leaves, bossed with the clustered purple flowers – "now," she repeated, settling comfortably, "you must just go on and tell me the rest – I can bear it! What did my" – her big blue eyes twinkled as she smiled – "my father say about me?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, I can't, you know!" I demurred. "I say, what's the use, dash it?" Poor old boy, somehow I just hated to round on him – he was so jolly hard hit already; Jack, don't you know! Besides —

"Please!" Jove, how she said it!

"Oh, dash it, I'm afraid it will hurt you," I protested uneasily; "and I don't think the judge really – "

"I just don't care that" – a snap from her little fingers and her arm went back – "for anything he ever said about me that was mean! So, please go on – I must go dress for luncheon."

And so I just took a deep breath, a long running leap, and cleared the bar – told her all, you know!

Oddly, this time she didn't laugh – and I knew why: it was her father, and it had cut her to the heart. This was what I had feared. As I proceeded, narrating the interview in the library, she just grew rosier and rosier red, but sat looking at me wide-eyed and unflinching. The pulsation of her bosom quickened a little, but her dear face remained unchanged, save for her little trick of dragging her under-lip through her white teeth.

"And, by Jove, that's all!" I finished with relief as I mopped my face. "But who cares, don't you know, or believes any bit of it? Anyhow, we don't – for we know!"

"Are you sure?" She spoke gravely, yet in her eyes were the dancing star-motes of a laugh. "The extravagance, the gambling, and the – oh, all of it? I must tell you I heard some sad things myself about Francis Billings while I was at Cambridge – "