CHAPTER IX
ROSALIND’S REWARD.
“I should like to know what you mean by that, Mr. Morgan?”
Rosalind Thornton stood before Dade Morgan, her pretty lips trembling.
He had made an evening call on her at the residence of her aunt, and was now on the point of taking an early leave. They were standing together at the foot of the stairs, under the red globe of the swinging hall-lamp near the outer door.
“You don’t know how pretty you are in that mood, Rose! But perhaps you do know? It tempts me to steal a kiss.”
Rosalind Thornton was, indeed, a pretty girl, and never more so than at that moment. A flash of hurt pride made her winsomely attractive—so attractive that Morgan almost relented from the purpose he had formed in his heart.
She drew back and put out a little hand.
“You have no right to say such things to me!”
There was a glow of fire behind the unshed tears. Morgan laughed in his usual reckless, nonchalant way, and hurt Rose by saying roughly:
“Well, I didn’t call to take you out riding this afternoon, as I promised to do—because I didn’t care to!”
How handsome he was as he stood there looking at her with eyes as dark as her own. She was as fully alive to his good looks as he was to hers. There was a mysterious something in his strong, athletic form; in the resolute face, smiling mouth, and white, even teeth. Dade Morgan was undeniably a handsome youth, aside from a trick he had of dropping his lids down over his eyes, to shut out the strange glitter that occasionally took the beauty out of them.
It was the magnetism of his beauty and strength that had made pretty Rosalind Thornton willing to hurt the honest heart of big Dick Starbright—had made her willing to turn from him and accept the pleasant company of this man, who was his confessed and deadly enemy.
Rosalind’s affections were warm and womanly, but they were not of an enduring type. She was, besides, of a petulant, jealous disposition. She had at first accepted Dade’s attentions in the thought that this would bring Dick Starbright to her feet as a willing and devoted subject. Then she had suddenly found herself captivated by Dade’s good looks and winning smile, and wavered in her affection for Starbright, telling herself that, if Dick did not care to come back, Morgan would be as acceptable, perhaps more so.
“I suppose I’m a fool, Rose!”
He again moved toward her. Once more she put out a detaining hand.
“Yes, I think you are; but do not call me Rose, please!”
“Rosalind!”
“Nor that!”
He laid his hand on his heart in mock gallantry.
“Miss Thornton, any fellow is a fool who doesn’t fall in love with you!”
“Thanks!”
The laughing smile which he so admired and which he hoped to coax back to her eyes did not make its reappearance.
“You are quite angry?”
“You didn’t care to keep your word this afternoon!”
Her lips again trembled as she thought of it—thought of the pride and pleasure with which she had gowned herself—the triumphant pride, which had made her desire to sweep in Dade’s carriage in grand style past her former lover, Dick Starbright, whom she was still anxious to draw after her, as a conquering captor draws a captive.
Dade laughed and dropped the lids over his eyes.
“Well, to tell the truth, I came up here to-night principally to say that I don’t care to go out driving that way any more.”
The girl’s cheeks paled.
“You’re an awfully pretty girl, Miss Thornton——”
She put out her hand again, but he went on.
“I don’t need to tell you that, for you know it. But there’s no use of keeping this thing up, you see. You might begin to think that I—I care for you. To be frank, I don’t. I suppose you’ll say that’s brutal.”
She dropped into a seat on the stairs. Dade looked at her a moment, still handsome and smiling.
“I hope you aren’t crying,” he said, crossing to her side. “When you seem so distressed, you know, it makes me—makes me almost lo—care for you!”
He tried to take her hand. She dashed it away, and turned toward him. She was undeniably crying now. A strange thrill came to his heart. He began to think he had been blunt and harsh. His pride was flattered. It was something to make a pretty girl cry—it evidenced the fact that he was attractive to women. And he began to ask himself why he had not been content to go on and make her believe that he cared for her? His vanity was lashing him, not his conscience.
“I don’t think you care to talk to me any longer,” she declared, in a low, icy voice. “At least, I don’t care to continue the conversation. I thought you something which you are not—a gentleman! You were going, I believe?”
“But perhaps I don’t care to go. Perhaps I—perhaps I prefer to stay. If we can go on with the understanding that what we’re doing is just for fun, just for a jolly time and to make Dick Starbright——”
“You were going, I believe!” she icily repeated.
Her eyes were very bright now, and, with the exception of a red spot glowing in each cheek, her face was white. The tears had dried.
A step was heard on the outer step, making Dade start. He stood in a listening attitude and heard footsteps departing. Some one had been on the piazza, and was now going away. Morgan stood a moment in silence, then opened the door and looked out. The electric light was more than half a block distant, and the light in front of the house was not good. Yet he saw a tall form moving down the street.
“If I didn’t know that he couldn’t be guilty of such a thing, I should say that our good friend Starbright had followed me here this evening and had been eaves-dropping,” he said, as he withdrew his head and shoulders from the doorway and closed the door.
“I don’t want to leave until we have settled this matter!” he continued, still feeling that perhaps he had acted too hastily, and that Rosalind was altogether too pretty and winsome a girl to be thrown over in that manner, even if he did not care for her.
“It is settled, I think!” she declared; then turned from him and began to mount the stairs.
He looked after her, flushed and angry. He had come to the house with the deliberate intention of telling her that he did not care to take her driving any more, or to continue their further intimate acquaintance, and had half-broken down in it because of her beauty and evident distress. Dade Morgan loved himself better than anything else in the world, and his self-pride had been hurt. Some way he did not feel as care-free about the matter as he had fancied he would. He had never cared for Rosalind Thornton, and had used her merely as a weapon with which to strike Starbright, but this was somewhat like the weapon striking back at him when he sought to discard it.
Yet he did not try to speak to her again, though a strange and fiery light came into his eyes, which, through force of habit, he besought to conceal. Then he put on his hat, opened the door without saying “Good night!” and was soon trailing down the street after the person he had fancied was Dick Starbright.
“Well, she’s off my hands!” he reflected, as he hurried on. “I guess it’s better that way, though she is deucedly handsome, and I might come to like her in time, if I could ever like anybody! But that finishes it, unless I really want to go back. I think I can do that, if I care to try the trick. Likely I sha’n’t care to try it. I wonder if that was Starbright? It would be a joke if she’s been playing double, and Starbright has been calling here all the time. But, no, he wouldn’t do that. Starbright isn’t a chump, whatever else he is!”
He failed to see Starbright or any one resembling him.
“Taken an electric for down-town, I suppose!”
Then his thoughts went back to Rosalind.
“Umph! Women cry easily; but crying sometimes makes them pretty!”
Hurt, angered, humiliated, Rosalind had rushed into her room, thrown herself on her bed, and was crying as if her foolish little heart were about to break.