"After all, it is a lying institution, my friend; and are you not deposing your masculine muse, --your cigar? Oh, that reminds me of the annual peace-pipe."
She jumped up, snatched a candle, and left the room. As she turned toward the staircase she was arrested by the ringing of the doorbell. She stood quite still, holding the lighted candle while the maid opened the door.
"Is Miss Levice in?" asked the voice that made the little candle-light seem like myriads of swimming stars. As the maid answered in the affirmative, she came mechanically forward and met the bright-glancing eyes of Dr. Kemp.
"Good-evening," she said, holding out her disengaged hand, which he grasped and shook heartily.
"Is it Santa Filomena?" he asked, smiling into her eyes.
"No, only Ruth Levice, who is pleased to see you. Will you step into the library? We are having a little home evening together."
"Thank you. Directly." He slipped out of his topcoat, and turning quietly to her, said, "But before we go in, and I enact the odd number, I wish to say a few words to you alone, please."
She bent a look of inquiry upon him, and meeting the gaze of his compelling eyes, led him across the hall into the drawing-room. He noticed how the soft light she held made her the only white spot in the dark room, till, touching a tall silver lamp, she threw a rosy halo over everything. That it was an exquisite, graceful apartment he felt at a glance.
She placed her candle upon a tiny rococo table, and seated herself in a quaint, low chair overtopped by two tiny ivory horns that spread like hands of blessing above her head. The doctor declined to sit down, but stood with one hand upon the fragile table and looked down at her.
"I am inclined to think, after all," he said slowly, "that you are in truth the divine lady with the light. It is a pretty name and a pretty fame, --that of Santa Filomena."
What had come over her eyelids that they refused to be raised?
"I think," he continued with a low laugh, "that I shall always call you so, and have all rights reserved. May I?"
"I am afraid," she answered, raising her eyes, "that your poem would be without rhyme or reason; a candle is too slight a thing for such an assumption."
"But not a Rose Delano. I saw her to-day, and at least one sufferer would turn to kiss your shadow. Do you know what a wonderfully beautiful thing you have done? I came to-night to thank you; for any one who makes good our ideals is a subject for thanks. Of course, the thing had no personal bearing upon myself; but being an officious fellow, I thought it proper to let you know that I know. That is my only excuse for coming."
"Did you need an excuse?"
"That, or an invitation."
"Oh, I never thought of you--as--as--"
"As a man?"
How to answer this? Then finally she said,-- "As caring to waste an evening."
"Would it be a waste? There is an old adage that one might adapt, then, 'A wilful waste makes a woful want.' Want is a bad thing, so economy would not be a half-bad idea. Shall we go in to your family now, or will they not think you have been spirited away?"
He took the candle from her, and they retraced their steps. As she turned the handle of the door, she said,-- "Will you give me the candle, please, and walk in? I am going upstairs."
"Are you coming down again?" he asked, standing abruptly still.
"Oh, yes. Father," she called, opening wide the door, "here is Dr. Kemp."
With this announcement she fled up the staircase.
She had come up for some cigars; but when she got into her father's room, she seated herself blindly and looked aimlessly down at her hands. What a blessed reprieve this was! If she could but stay here! She could if it were not for the peace-pipe. Such a silly performance too! Father kept those superfine cigars over in the cabinet there. Should she bring only two as usual? Then she was going? Why not? It would look very rude not to do so. Besides, she wondered what they were talking about. She supposed she must have looked very foolish in that gown with her hair all mussed; and then his eyes-- She arose suddenly and walked to the dressing-table with her light. After all, it was not very unbecoming. Had her face been so white all the evening? Louis liked her face to be colorless. Oh, she had better hurry down.
"Here comes the chief!" cried her mother as she entered. "Now, Doctor, you can see the native celebrating her natal day."
"She enacts the witch," said her father "and sends us, living, to the happy hunting-grounds. Will you join us, Doctor?"
"If Lachesis thinks me worthy. Is the operation painful?"
He received no answer as Ruth came forward with a box of tempting Havanas.
She selected one, and placing the box on a chair, reached to the high-tiled mantel-shelf, whence she took a tiny pair of scissors and deftly cut off the point of the cigar. She seemed quite unconscious that all were watching her. Louis handed her a lighted match, and putting the cigar between her lips, she lit it into life. The doctor was amused.
She blew up a wreath of the fragrant smoke and handing it to her father, said,-- "With this year's love, Father."
The doctor grew interested.
She took another, and lighting it as gracefully, and without the slightest approach to Bohemianism, gave it into Louis's outstretched hand.
"Well?" he suggested, holding it from his lips till she had spoken.
"I can think of nothing you care for sufficiently to wish you."
"Nothing?"
"Unless," with sudden mischief, "I wish you a comfortable bed all the year round--and pleasant dreams, Louis."
"That is much," he answered dryly as he drew a cloud of smoke.
The doctor became anticipative.
Ruth's embarrassment was evident as she turned and offered him a cigar.
"Do you smoke?" she asked, holding out the box.
"Like a chimney," he replied, looking at her, but taking none, "and in the same manner as other common mortals."
