Half a Rogue | Page 3

her lips to smother the sob which rose in her throat.
"Be seated," he said, drawing out the opposite chair.
A wave of alarm spread over her face. She clasped her hands.
"Sir, if you are a gentleman--"
Warrington interrupted her by giving her his card, which was addressed.
She glanced at it through a blur of tears, then sat down. He shrugged
his shoulders slightly; his vanity was touched. There was, then, a young
woman in New York who had not heard of Richard Warrington.
"In asking you to be seated," he explained, "it was in order that you
might wait in comfort while I despatched a messenger to your home.
Doubtless you have a brother, a father, or some male relative, who will
come at once to your assistance." Which proved that Warrington was

prudent.
But instead of brightening as he expected she would, she straightened
in her chair, while her eyes widened with horror, as if she saw
something frightful in perspective.
What the deuce could be the matter now? he wondered, as he witnessed
this inexplicable change.
"No, no! You must not send a messenger!" she protested.
"But--"
"No, no!" tears welling into her beautiful eyes again. They were
beautiful, he was forced to admit.
"But," he persisted, "you wished the waiter to do so. I do not
understand." His tone became formal again.
"I have reasons. Oh, heavens! I am the most miserable woman in all the
world!" She suddenly bowed her head upon her hands and her
shoulders rose and fell with silent sobs.
Warrington stared at her, dumfounded. NOW what? He glanced
cautiously around as if in search of some avenue of escape. The waiter,
ever watchful, assumed that he was wanted, and made as though to
approach the table; but Warrington warned him off. All distrust in the
girl vanished. Decidedly she was in great trouble of some sort, and it
wasn't because she could not pay a restaurant check. Women--and
especially New York women--do not shed tears when a stranger offers
to settle for their dinner checks.
"If you will kindly explain to me what the trouble is," visibly
embarrassed, "perhaps I can help you. Have you run away from
borne?" he asked.
A negative nod.
"Are you married?"

Another negative nod.
Warrington scratched his chin. "Have you done anything wrong?"
A decided negative shake of the head. At any other time the
gesticulation of the ostrich plume, so close to his face, would have
amused him; but there was something eminently pathetic in the
diapasm which drifted toward him from the feather.
"Come, come; you may trust me thoroughly. If you are afraid to return
home alone--"
He was interrupted by an affirmative nod this time. Possibly, he
conjectured, the girl had started out to elope and had fortunately paused
at the brink.
"Will it help you at all if I go home with you?" he asked.
His ear caught a muffled "Yes."
Warrington beckoned to the waiter.
"Order a cab at once," he said.
The waiter hurried away, with visions of handsome tips.
Presently the girl raised her head and sat up. Her eyes, dark as shadows
in still waters, glistened.
"Be perfectly frank with me; and if I can be of service to you, do not
hesitate to command me." He eyed her thoughtfully. Everything
attached to her person suggested elegance. Her skin was as fine as
vellum; her hair had a dash of golden bronze in it; her hands were white
and shapely, and the horn on the tips of the fingers shone rosily. Now,
what in the world was there to trouble a young woman who possessed
these favors, who wore jewels on her fingers and sable on her shoulders?
"Talk to me just as you would to a brother," he added presently.
"You will take this ring," she said irrelevantly. She slipped a fine

sapphire from one of her fingers and pushed it across the table.
"And for what reason?" he cried.
"Security for my dinner. I can not accept charity," with a hint of
hauteur which did not in the least displease him.
"But, my dear young woman, I can not accept this ring. You have my
address. You may send the sum whenever you please. I see no reason
why, as soon as you arrive home, you can not refund the small sum of
two dollars and ten cents. It appears to me very simple."
"There will be no one at home, not even the servants," wearily.
Warrington's brows came together. Was the girl fooling him, after all?
But for what reason?
"You have me confused," he admitted. "I can do nothing blindly. Tell
me what the trouble is."
"How can I tell you, an absolute stranger? It is all so frightful, and I am
so