The male figure, however, after mingling with his fellow-worshippers to the corner of the block, stopped a moment under the lamp-post as if uncertain as to the turning, but really to cast a long, scrutinizing look towards the scattered umbrellas now almost lost in the opposite direction.He was still gazing and apparently hesitating whether to retrace his steps, when a horse and buggy rapidly driven down the side street passed him.In a brief glance he evidently recognized the driver, and stepping over the curbstone called in a brief authoritative voice:
"Ned!"
The occupant of the vehicle pulled up suddenly, leaned from the buggy, and said in an astonished tone:
"**** Demorest! Well! I declare! hold on, and I'll drive up to the curb.""No; stay where you are."
The speaker approached the buggy, jumped in beside the occupant, refastened the apron, and coolly taking the reins from his companion's hand, started the horse forward.The action was that of an habitually imperious man; and the only recognition he made of the other's ownership was the question:
"Where were you going?"
"Home--to see Joan," replied the other."Just drove over from Warensboro Station.But what on earth are YOU doing here?"Without answering the question, Demorest turned to his companion with the same good-natured, half humorous authority."Let your wife wait; take a drive with me.I want to talk to you.She'll be just as glad to see you an hour later, and it's her fault if Ican't come home with you now."
"I know it," returned his companion, in a tone of half-annoyed apology."She still sticks to her old compact when we first married, that she shouldn't be obliged to receive my old worldly friends.And, see here, ****, I thought I'd talked her out of it as regards YOU at least, but Parson Thomas has been raking up all the old stories about you--you know that affair of the Fall River widow, and that breaking off of Garry Spofferth's match--and about your horse-racing--until--you know, she's more set than ever against knowing you.""That's not a bad sort of horse you've got there," interrupted Demorest, who usually conducted conversation without reference to alien topics suggested by others."Where did you get him? He's good yet for a spin down the turnpike and over the bridge.We'll do it, and I'll bring you home safely to Mrs.Blandford inside the hour."Blandford knew little of horseflesh, but like all men he was not superior to this implied compliment to his knowledge.He resigned himself to his companion as he had been in the habit of doing, and Demorest hurried the horse at a rapid gait down the street until they left the lamps behind, and were fully on the dark turnpike.
The sleet rattled against the hood and leathern apron of the buggy, gusts of fierce wind filled the vehicle and seemed to hold it back, but Demorest did not appear to mind it.Blandford thrust his hands deeply into his pockets for warmth, and contracted his shoulders as if in dogged patience.Yet, in spite of the fact that he was tired, cold, and anxious to see his wife, he was conscious of a secret satisfaction in submitting to the caprices of this old friend of his boyhood.After all, **** Demorest knew what he was about, and had never led him astray by his autocratic will.It was safe to let **** have his way.It was true it was generally ****'s own way--but he made others think it was theirs too--or would have been theirs had they had the will and the knowledge to project it.
He looked up comfortably at the handsome, resolute profile of the man who had taken selfish possession of him.Many women had done the same.
"Suppose if you were to tell your wife I was going to reform," said Demorest, "it might be different, eh? She'd want to take me into the church--'another sinner saved,' and all that, eh?""No," said Blandford, earnestly."Joan isn't as rigid as all that, ****.What she's got against you is the common report of your free way of living, and that--come now, you know yourself, ****, that isn't exactly the thing a woman brought up in her style can stand.
Why, she thinks I'm unregenerate, and--well, a man can't carry on business always like a class meeting.But are you thinking of reforming?" he continued, trying to get a glimpse of his companion's eyes.
"Perhaps.It depends.Now--there's a woman I know--""What, another? and you call this going to reform?" interrupted Blandford, yet not without a certain curiosity in his manner.
"Yes; that's just why I think of reforming.For this one isn't exactly like any other--at least as far as I know.""That means you don't know anything about her.""Wait, and I'll tell you." He drew the reins tightly to accelerate the horse's speed, and, half turning to his companion, without, however, moving his eyes from the darkness before him, spoke quickly between the blasts: "I've seen her only half a dozen times.
Met her first in 6.40 train out from Boston last fall.She sat next to me.Covered up with wraps and veils; never looked twice at her.She spoke first--kind of half bold, half frightened way.
Then got more comfortable and unwound herself, you know, and I saw she was young and not bad-looking.Thought she was some school-girl out for a lark--but rather new at it.Inexperienced, you know, but quite able to take care of herself, by George! and although she looked and acted as if she'd never spoken to a stranger all her life, didn't mind the kind of stuff I talked to her.Rather encouraged it; and laughed--such a pretty little odd laugh, as if laughing wasn't in her usual line, either, and she didn't know how to manage it.Well, it ended in her slipping out at one end of the car when we arrived, while I was looking out for a cab for her at the other." He stopped to recover from a stronger gust of wind."I--I thought it a good joke on me, and let the thing drop out of my mind, although, mind you, she'd promised to meet me a month afterwards at the same time and place.Well, when the day came I happened to be in Boston, and went to the station.