II
For nearly an hour John Dene had sat in his chair listening. From time to time he gave to the unlit half-cigar in his mouth a rapid twirl with his tongue; but beyond that he had manifested no sign of emotion.
Quietly and as succinctly as possible Malcolm Sage had gone over the happenings of the last few months, telling of the discovery of Mr. Montagu Naylor's secret code, how it had enabled Department Z. to enlarge the scope of its operations, how Finlay had hampered Mr. Naylor in his murderous intentions with regard to his prisoner by suggesting the displeasure that would be created in high quarters, if anything happened to John Dene before the plans of the Destroyer had been secured.
"I didn't figure on Jim getting corralled," said John Dene at length.
"That was where your reasoning was at fault," was Malcolm Sage's quiet retort.
"I warned him," began John Dene; then a moment later he added, "I'd hate to have anything happen to Jim. He seems all used up."
"He'll be all right in a month or so," said Colonel Walton reassuringly.
"He's always sort of been around when I've wanted things done, has Jim," continued John Dene with a note of real feeling in his voice. "He's a white man, clean to the bone."
Malcolm Sage had already learned all he wanted to know with regard to James Dene. Quiet, taciturn, seldom uttering more than a word or two at a time, and then only when absolutely necessary, he was entirely devoid of the brilliant qualities of his brother, for whom, however, he possessed an almost dog-like affection. All their lives it had been John who had planned things, and James who had stood admiringly by.
"I was tickled to death about those advertisements," said John Dene presently.
"You probably thought we were barking up the wrong tree," suggested Colonel Walton.
"Sure, until you put me wise."
"We were trying to play into your hands and save your brother," said Malcolm Sage, as he knocked the ashes from his pipe against the heel of his boot, and proceeded to stuff tobacco into the bowl.
"If it hadn't been for those advertisements——" began John Dene, then he paused.
"The first hole dug in Mr. Naylor's back-garden would have been filled-in again," said Sage quietly.
"But how did they manage Jim after he'd got into that taxi?"
"The driver released a multiple curtain that fell over his head. As it dropped chloroform was sprayed over it. Quite a simple automatic contrivance."
There was a look in John Dene's eyes that would have been instructive to Mr. Naylor could he have seen it.
"They took him right out into the country," continued Sage, "then brought him to and doped him. He was taken to 'The Cedars' between one and two the next morning. That was where we picked up the scent again," he added.
As Sage ceased speaking, Colonel Walton offered his cigar-case to John Dene, who, taking a cigar proceeded to light it.
"By the way, Mr. Dene," said Sage casually, "do you remember some one treading on your toe at King's Cross the night you were going north. You were quite annoyed about it."
John Dene nodded and looked across at Sage, as if expecting something further.
"That was one of our men."
"But——"
"I told him to tread on your toe," proceeded Malcolm Sage, "so that you might remember that Department Z. was not quite so——"
"Now it gets me," cried John Dene. "It was you who trod on my foot at the theatre."
"At 'Chu Chin Chow,'" said Malcolm Sage, smiling.
"Seems to be a sort of stunt of yours," said John Dene as he rose.
"Going, Mr. Dene?" enquired Colonel Walton.
"Yep!" he said, as he shook hands with each in turn, then with an air of conviction added: "I take it all back. You'd do well in T'ronto:" and with a nod he went out.
"I wonder if that's a testimonial to us, or a reflection upon Toronto," murmured Malcolm Sage, as he polished his nails with a silk handkerchief.
"What I like about colonials," remarked Colonel Walton drily, "is their uncompromising directness."
Whilst John Dene was removing, from the list of things that required gingering-up, Department Z. and its two chiefs, Mr. Llewellyn John was engaged in reading Commander Ryles's report upon the operations of the Destroyer. It proved to be one of the most remarkable documents of the war. First it described how the Destroyer had hung about the Danish coast, but had been greatly embarrassed by the density of the water, owing to the shallowness of the North Sea. She had carefully to seek out the clear passages where the depth was sufficiently great to prevent the discolouration of water by sand.
After the first few weeks the Destroyer had been brought south, there to catch U-boats soon after they submerged. That was where the Germans suffered their greatest losses. Once the Destroyer had penetrated right into the Heligoland Bight, her "eyes" enabling her to avoid submerged mines and entanglements.
Commander Ryles had himself witnessed the destruction of thirty-four U-boats. Three times the Destroyer had returned to her base to re-victual and recharge her batteries, also to rest her crew. At the termination of the third trip, it had been decided that the boat was badly in need of a thorough overhaul, and in accordance with the instructions received, he had prepared his report and brought it south in order that he might deliver it in person to the First Lord.
When he had finished the lengthy document, Mr. Llewellyn John laid it on the table beside him. For some minutes he sat thinking. Presently he pressed the knob of the bell. As a secretary appeared he said, "Ring through to Sir Roger Flynn, and tell him I shall be delighted if he can breakfast with me to-morrow."
And Mr. Llewellyn John smiled.
CHAPTER XX
JOHN DENE'S PROPOSAL
Marjorie Rogers had entered the outer office at Waterloo Place expecting to find Dorothy. Instead, John Dene sat half-turned in her direction, with one arm over the back of the chair.
"She's gone home," he said, divining the cause of Marjorie's call.
The girl slipped into the room, softly closing the door behind her, and walked a hesitating step or two in John Dene's direction, a picture of shy maidenhood. Marjorie Rogers was an instinctive actress.
"Gone home!" she repeated as a conversational opening. "Is she ill?" She gave him a look from beneath her lashes, a look she had found equally deadly with subs and captains.
John Dene shook his head, but continued to gaze at her.
He was a very difficult man to talk to, Marjorie decided. She had already come to the conclusion that she had been wrong in her suspicion that he made love to Dorothy.
"You don't like us, do you, Mr. Dene?" She made a half-step in his direction, dropping her eyes and drawing in her under lip in a way that had once nearly caused a rear-admiral to strike his colours.
"Like who?" demanded John Dene, wondering why the girl stayed now that he had told her Dorothy had gone home.
"Us girls." Marjorie flashed at him the sub-captain look. "May I sit down?" she asked softly.
"Sure." John Dene was regarding her much as he might a blue zebra that had strayed into his office.
"Thank you, Mr. Dene." Marjorie sat down, crossing her legs in a way that gave him the full benefit of a dainty foot and ankle. She had on her very best silk stockings, silk all the way up, so that there need be no anxiety as to the exact whereabouts of her skirt.
"I have been wondering about Wessie——"
"Wessie, who's she, a cat?"
Marjorie dimpled, then she laughed outright.
"You are funny, Mr. Dene," and again she drew in her lower lip and raked him with her eyes.
"Who's Wessie, anyhow?" he demanded.
"Wessie's Dorothy," she explained. "You see," she went on, "her name's West and——"
"I get you." John Dene continued to regard her with a look that suggested he was still at a loss to account for her presence.
"As I said," she continued, "I've been wondering about Dorothy."
"Wondering what?"
John Dene was certainly a most difficult man to talk to, she decided.
"She's thinner," announced Marjorie after a slight pause.
"Thinner?"
"Yes, not so fat." How absurd he was with his——
"She never was fat." There was decision in John Dene's tone.
"You know, Mr. Dene, you're very difficult for a girl to talk to," said Marjorie.
"I never had time to learn," he said simply.
"I think it's through you, Mr. Dene." She gave him a little fugitive smile she had learned from an American film, and had practised assiduously at home.
"What's through me?" he demanded, hopelessly at sea as to her drift.
"At first I thought you were working her too hard, Mr. Dene, but," she added hastily, as if in anticipation of protest, "but—but——"
"But what?" John Dene rapped out the words with a peremptoriness that startled Marjorie.
"But when you got lost——" She hesitated.
"Got what?"
"I mean when you disappeared," she added hastily, "then I knew."
"Knew what?"
Marjorie no longer had any doubts about John Dene's interest in Dorothy. He had swung round his chair, and was now seated directly facing her.
"You know she worried," continued Marjorie, "and she got pale and——" Again she paused.
John Dene continued to stare in a way that made her frightened to look up, although she watched him furtively through her lowered lashes.
"Is that what you came here to say?" demanded John Dene.
"I—I came to see Dorothy, and now I must run away," she cried, jumping up. "I've got an appointment. Good-bye, Mr. Dene. Thank you for asking me in;" and she held out her hand, which John Dene took as a man takes a circular thrust upon him.
A moment later Marjorie had fluttered out, closing the door behind her.
"Well, that's given him something to think about," she murmured, as she walked down the stairs. "Wessie must have me down to stay with her. He's sure to get a title;" and she made for the Tube, there to join the westward-rolling tide of patient humanity that cheerfully pays for a seat and hangs on a strap.
For nearly an hour John Dene sat at his table as Marjorie had left him, twirling in his mouth a half-smoked cigar that had not been alight since the early morning. His face was expressionless, but in his eyes there was a strange new light.
The next morning when Dorothy arrived at the office, she found Sir Bridgman North with John Dene, who was angry.
"Just because somebody's lost a spanner, or a screw-driver, they're raising Cain about it. Look at all these," and he waved a bunch of papers in front of Sir Bridgman.
"It's a way they have in the Navy. We never lose sight of anything."
"Except the main issue, winning the war," snapped John Dene.
"Oh, we'll get on with that when we've found the spanner," laughed Sir Bridgman good humouredly.
"I don't want to be worried about a ten cent spanner, and have a couple of letters a day about it," grumbled John Dene, "and I won't have it."
"What I used to do," said Sir Bridgman, "was just to tell them that everything possible should be done. Then they feel happier and don't worry so much. Why I once lost a 12-inch gun, and they were quite nice about it when I told them that somebody must have put it aside for safety, and that it had probably got mislaid in consequence. I never found that gun. You see, Dene," he added a moment later, "we indent everything—except an admiral, and it doesn't matter much if he gets lost."
John Dene grumbled something in his throat. He was still smarting under the demands from the Stores Department to produce forthwith the missing article.
"Now I must be off," said Sir Bridgman, and with a nod to John Dene and a smile to Dorothy he departed.
All the morning John Dene was restless. He seemed unable to concentrate upon anything. Several times he span round in his revolving chair with a "Say, Miss West;" but as soon as Dorothy raised her eyes from her work, he seemed to lose the thread of his ideas and, with a mumbled incoherence, turned to the mechanical sorting of the papers before him.
Dorothy was puzzled to account for his strangeness of manner, and after a time determined that he must be ill.
Presently he jumped up and began restlessly pacing the room. Three times he paused beside Dorothy as she was engaged in checking inventories. Immediately she looked up, he pivoted round on his heel and restarted the pacing, twirling between his lips the cigar that had gone out an hour before.
On the fourth occasion that he stood looking down at her, Dorothy turned.
"If you do that, I shall scream," she cried.
He stepped back a pace, obviously disconcerted by her threat.
"Do what?" he enquired.
"Why, prance up and down like that, and then come and stand over me. It—it makes me nervous," she added lamely, as she returned to her work.
"Sorry," said John Dene, as he threw himself once more into his chair.
Suddenly with an air of decision, Dorothy put down her pencil and turning, faced him.
"Aren't you well, Mr. Dene?" she inquired.
"Well," he repeated with some asperity. "Of course I'm well."
"Oh!" she said, disconcerted by his manner. Then for a moment there was silence.
"Why shouldn't I be well?" he demanded uncompromisingly.
"No reason at all," said Dorothy indifferently, "only——" She paused.
"Only what?" he enquired sharply.
"Only," she continued calmly, "you seem a little—a little—may I say jumpy?" She looked up at him with a smile.
Without replying he sprang from his chair, and once more started pacing the room with short, nervous strides, his head thrust forward, his left hand in his jacket pocket, his right hanging loosely at his side.
"That's it!" he exclaimed at last.
Dorothy continued to regard him in wonder. Something of vital importance must have happened, she decided, to produce this effect on a man of John Dene's character.
"It's—it's not the Destroyer" she cried breathlessly at last. "Nothing has happened?"
John Dene shook his head vigorously, and continued his "prancing."
"Then what——" began Dorothy.
"Listen," he said. "I've never had any use for women," he began, then stopped suddenly and stood looking straight at her.
Dorothy groaned inwardly, convinced that she was about to be dismissed. In a flash there surged through her mind all that this would mean. She might be taken on again by the Admiralty; but at less than half her present salary. It was really rather bad luck, she told herself, when the extra money meant so much to her, and she really had tried to be worth it.
"You see, I don't understand them."
The remark broke in upon her thoughts as something almost silly in its irrelevancy. Again she looked up at him as he stood before her rather as if expecting rebuke. Again he span round and continued his pacing of the room.
As he walked he threw staccatoed remarks from him rather than directed them at Dorothy.
"There's nothing wrong with the Destroyer. When you're after one thing you don't seem to notice all the other things buzzing around. One day you wake up to find out that you've been missing things. I've been telling myself all the time that some things didn't matter, but they do."
He paused in front of Dorothy, expressing the last three words with almost savage emphasis.
"There's never been anybody except Jim—and the boys," he added, "until your mother was——" He stopped dead, then a moment later continued: "I'd like her to know." To Dorothy his voice seemed a little husky. "May be it'ud please her to think that she had—you see I'm telling you the whole shooting-match," he blurted out as he resumed his restless pacing up and down.
"But that's just what you're not doing," said Dorothy. "I don't in the least understand what you mean, and—— Oh, I wish you could stand still, if only for a minute."
Instantly John Dene stopped in his walk, and stood in the middle of the room looking over Dorothy's head.
"I'm trying to ask you to marry me, only I haven't got the sand to do it," he blurted out almost angrily.
"Oh!" Dorothy's hands slipped into her lap, her eyes widened and her lips parted, as she looked up at him utterly dumbfounded.
"There, I knew what it would mean," he said, as he continued his pacing. "What have I got to offer? Look at me. I'm not good-looking. My clothes are not right. I don't wear them properly. I can't say pretty things. The best I can do is to buy flowers and chocolates and express them. I daren't even hand them to you. Oh, I've thought it all over. What use am I to a woman?" Then as an after-thought he added, "to a girl?" He turned and paced away from Dorothy without looking at her.
"Oh, shucks!"
John Dene swung round on his heel as if he had been struck. His jaw dropped, his cigar fell from his mouth, and he looked at her as if she had said the most surprising thing he had ever heard.
"I said 'shucks'" she repeated. Her eyelids flickered a little and she was unusually pale.
"You mean——" His voice was far from steady.
"I mean," said Dorothy quietly, "that a man who could invent the Destroyer ought to be able to learn how to talk to—to—be nice to a girl." The last five words came tumbling over each other, as if she had found great difficulty in uttering them, and then had thrown them all out at one time.
"Say," he began, hope shining from his eyes. Then he stopped abruptly and walked over to his chair, throwing himself into it with a sigh. "You mean."
"Perhaps," said Dorothy, dropping her eyes and playing about with a fastening on her blouse, "I might be able to help you." Then after a pause she added, "You know you got me a rise."
And then John Dene smiled. "Say, this is great," he cried. "I—I——" Then suddenly he jumped up, dashed for his hat and made for the door. As he opened it he threw over his shoulder:
"We'll start right in to-morrow. I'm through with work for to-day. I'll be over to-night."
Then suddenly Dorothy laughed. "Was ever maid so wooed?" she murmured. "But——" and she left it at that.
As she thrust the pins into her hat, she decided that John Dene had been right. It would have been awkward to—to—well, to do anything but go home.
Just as she was about to lock the outer door of the office, she had an inspiration. Returning to her table she removed her gloves and, after a few minutes' thought and reference to the London Directory, she sat down to her typewriter and for a few minutes her fingers moved busily over the keys.
With a determined air she pulled the sheet from the clips and read:—
Tailors . . . Pond and Co., 130 Sackville Street.
Hosiers . . . Tye Brothers, 320 Jermyn Street.
Bootmakers . Ease & Treadwell, 630 Bond Street.
Hatters . . . Messrs. Bincoln and Lennet, Piccadilly.
When a man knows his job, let him do it and don't butt in."
With a determined little nod of approval, she folded the sheet of paper, inserted it in an envelope, which she addressed to "John Dene, Esq., The Ritzton Hotel, S.W. Immediate," and left the office.
"I wonder what you would think of that, mother mine," she murmured as she left the hotel, after having given strict injunctions that the note be handed to John Dene immediately he returned.
CHAPTER XXI
MARJORIE ROGERS PAYS A CALL
"Well, mother darling," cried Dorothy, as she jerked the pins into her hat, "you've lost the odd trick."
"The odd trick!" repeated Mrs. West, looking up with a smile into her daughter's flushed and happy face. "What odd trick?"
"John Dene of Toronto. Whoop! I want to jazz. I wonder if he jazzes;" then, with a sudden change of mood she dropped down beside her mother's chair and buried her face in her lap. When she looked up her eyes were wet with tears. "Mother, darling, I'm so happy." She smiled a rainbow smile.
"What did you mean about the odd trick, dear?" enquired Mrs. West greatly puzzled, accustomed as she was to her daughter's rapid change of mood.
"John Dene's the odd trick," she repeated, "and I'm going to marry him." Again she hid her face.
"Dorothy!"
"I am, mother, really and really." She looked up for a moment, then once more she buried her face in her mother's lap.
"Dorothy dear, what do you mean?"
"Oh! he was so funny when he proposed," gurgled Dorothy, "and I just said 'shucks.' That seemed to please him."
"Dorothy dear, are you joking?"
"Not unless John Dene's a joke, mother dear," she replied. "Wouldn't it be funny to call him Jack?" Then she told her mother of the happenings of the afternoon.
"Please say you're glad," she said a little wistfully.
"I'm—I'm so surprised, dear," said Mrs. West, stroking her daughter's head gently; "but I'm glad, very glad."
"I thought you would be, and I shall be Lady Dene. Everybody at the Admiralty says he'll get a title, and you'll have to say to the servants, 'Is her ladyship at home?' You won't forget, mother, will you?" She looked up with mock anxiety into her mother's face.
Mrs. West smiled down at Dorothy; her eyes too were wet.
"But oh! there's such a lot of spade work to be done," continued Dorothy. "I shall begin with his boots."
"His boots!"
"They're so dreadful, mother. They're all built up in front as if they were made to kick with, and when I marry him, if there's any kicking to be done, I'm going to do it."
"Of course you realise, dear, that he's much older than you," said Mrs. West hesitatingly.
"He's a perfect baby-in-arms compared with me," she smiled at her mother, a quaint confident little smile.
"But you're sure that—that——" Mrs. West hesitated.
Dorothy nodded her head violently.
"When——" began Mrs. West.
"It—it was when he disappeared," she said with averted face. "I—I seemed to miss him so much. Oh! but mother," she cried, clasping her mother's knee, "he's so funny, and really he wants someone to look after him. You see," she continued slowly, gazing away from her mother, "it's always difficult to—— What made you love—care for father?" she corrected.
"He was your father, dear."
"Yes; but he wasn't before you married him."
"Dear, you——" began Mrs. West, a flush of embarrassment mounting to her cheeks.
"Own up, mother, that you don't know. You can't say it was the shape of his nose, or the way he ate, or his chest measurement."
"Dorothy! why will you never be serious?" protested Mrs. West.
"I can't, mother," cried Dorothy, jumping up and walking over to the window. "No girl ever really knows why she wants to marry a man," she remarked, gazing out of the window. "It's just a feeling. I've got a feeling that I want to take care of John Dene, and—and—oh, mother! see to his boots," she finished with a laugh.
"I like Mr. Dene, Dorothy," said Mrs. West with a decisiveness that was with her uncommon.
"I know you do," said Dorothy mischievously. "That's what I'm afraid of."
"Dorothy dear, you mustn't," began Mrs. West.
"And," continued Dorothy relentlessly, "I won't have any poaching. I don't mind his being nice to you," she continued, leaving the window and planting herself in front of her mother, "because you really are rather nice." She tilted her head on one side, a picture of impudence. "Now, Mrs. West," she said, "the sooner we understand each other the better."
Again she was back on the stool at her mother's feet. For some minutes there was silence.
"Mother!" She looked up with grave and serious eyes.
"Yes, dear."
"I always prayed for—for him to come back. I—I—— Oh bother!" as the bell rang.
"I wonder who that is. We won't answer it."
"But we must, dear," expostulated Mrs. West. "It might be a friend."
"Oh, well," cried Dorothy, getting up and going out into the tiny hall. A moment later she re-entered, followed by Marjorie Rogers. "It's Marjorie, mother."
Mrs. West smiled up at her as the girl bent to kiss her.
"I've come to know," began Marjorie, then she hesitated.
"To know what?" asked Dorothy.
"If it's all right."
"If what's all right?"
"J. D."
"What do you mean, Rojjie?" cried Dorothy, blushing.
"Did he propose? You know I ran in this afternoon and gave him a hint."
"You what?" cried Dorothy aghast.
"Oh! I just gave him a sort of hint that he was——"
"You wretched little creature!" cried Dorothy, seizing Marjorie and shaking her vigorously. There was a look in her eyes that half frightened the girl.
"Help! Oh, Mrs. West!" cried Marjorie, "she's killing me."
"What did you say to him?" demanded Dorothy fiercely.
"I just gave him a hint," repeated Marjorie airily. "I knew he was in love with you."
"What did you say to him?" Again Dorothy shook her.
"Oh, Wessie, if you do that you'll shake all my hair off, not to speak of my teeth. All I said was that you had wasted away when he was lost, and mind, you've got to ask me down to your place, wherever it is, because it's all through me. Oughtn't she, Mrs. West?" she appealed.
Mrs. West smiled a little uncertainly.
"Marjorie, you're a pig," cried Dorothy, "and I don't believe you did go and see him."
"Oh! didn't I, then why do you suppose I've got my new stockings on?" she cried, lifting her skirts.
"Children, children," smiled Mrs. West.
"My chief says he'll be made a baronet, so that'll be all right for the kids," said Marjorie.
"Rojjie!" cried Dorothy in confusion, and a moment later she had rushed from the room.
When Dorothy returned to the little drawing-room a quarter of an hour later, she found that Marjorie had accepted Mrs. West's invitation to stay to dinner.
"Is he going to call this evening?" she asked eagerly.
"Don't be inquisitive," cried Dorothy, conscious that she was blushing.
"You're in love with him, Dorothy, aren't you?" persisted Marjorie.
"Oh, mother, please tread on this horrid little creature," cried Dorothy; but Mrs. West merely smiled.
"You know," continued Marjorie candidly, "he's not much to look at; but he beats all those boys at the Admiralty." She shrugged her shoulders indifferently. "It's nothing but chocolates, lunches and dinners, and take it out in kisses."
"My dear," said Mrs. West with quiet dignity, "you mustn't talk like that."
"I'm so sorry," cried Marjorie contritely; "but you know I get so fed up, Mrs. West. John Dene's so different. If it hadn't have been for Dorothy, I should have tried to get him for myself. I could," she added, looking from one to the other.
"You could probably get anything in the world except what you most wanted, Rojjie," said Dorothy sweetly.
"What I most wanted," repeated the girl.
"Yes, dear, a good spanking."
Marjorie made a face at her. Suddenly she jumped up from the table, and throwing her arms round Dorothy, kissed her impulsively, then a moment later she returned to her seat, a little shamefacedly as Dorothy and Mrs. West smiled across at her.
"I know you think I'm a feather-headed little cat, Mrs. West," said Marjorie wisely. "No, don't deny it," she persisted, as Mrs. West made a movement as if to speak. "But I'm not worldly all through, really, and I do like John Dene, and of course I just love Dollikins," she said with a quaint little smile in Dorothy's direction. "Would you sooner I went?" she asked, looking from one to the other.
"Sooner you went?"
"Yes, after dinner, I know that John Dene's coming to-night, although Dorothy won't own up."
"We shouldn't let you go, should we, mother?"
Mrs. West smiled and shook her head.
"Oh, won't it be lovely," cried Marjorie ecstatically, "when I refer to my friend, Lady Dene. And you will ask me down, Wessie darling, won't you, and get a lot of nice boys."
Dorothy lowered her eyes to her plate and blushed.
Later in the evening when they were all sitting in the drawing-room and a ring at the bell was heard, Marjorie danced about the room with excitement.
"Oh, please let me open the door," she cried. "I promise I won't kiss him."
"No, dear," said Mrs. West. "Dorothy."
With flaming cheeks and reluctant steps Dorothy left the room. It seemed to Marjorie a long time before she returned, followed by John Dene, who, when he had greeted Mrs. West, turned to Marjorie and shook hands.
"His boots, Dorothy," whispered Marjorie a minute later.
Dorothy looked down at John Dene's feet. The ugly American "footwear" had been replaced by a pair of well-fitting brown boots.
"Please, Mr. Dene, may I be a bridesmaid?"
"Marjorie!" cried Dorothy.
"I may, mayn't I?" persisted Marjorie. "I'm sure Dorothy won't ask me unless you insist."
"Sure," replied John Dene genially. He was always a different man when with Mrs. West and Dorothy.
"You hear, Dorothy. If you don't make me chief bridesmaid I shall—I shall create a disturbance and say it's bigamy or something, and that Mr. Dene has already got two wives in Toronto, not to speak of Salt Lake City. And now I must be running away. Oh! Mrs. West, you said you would give me that pattern," she said suddenly.
"That pattern, dear," began Mrs. West, whilst Dorothy felt her cheeks burn.
"Yes, don't you remember?"
"What pattern?" began Mrs. West, then conscious that Marjorie was making hideous grimaces at her, she rose and walked towards the door, leaving John Dene and Dorothy alone.
"No one would ever think you were married, Mrs. West," said Marjorie severely, as they walked into the dining-room. "Don't you know that young people want to be alone when they're only just engaged."
This with such a serious little air of womanly worldliness that Mrs. West's smile almost developed into a laugh.
"Don't you think, Mrs. West, that God must be pleased when two nice people come together?" said Marjorie gravely.
Mrs. West looked at her with slightly widening eyes, then recovering herself, said, "God is always glad because of happiness, dear."
And Marjorie nodded her head as if in entire agreement with the sentiment.
An hour later, when Marjorie had gone, Mrs. West entered the drawing-room, having been sent in by Dorothy to entertain John Dene whilst she wrote a letter.
After a few commonplaces they sat in silence, John Dene smoking lustily, Mrs. West happy in her thoughts. It was the Good Lord, she decided, who had ordained that Dorothy and John Dene should fall in love with each other, and thus crown with happiness the autumn of her days.
"I've been trying to figure out all the afternoon why she said 'shucks,'" John Dene suddenly burst in upon her thoughts in a way that startled her.
"Said 'shucks!'" she repeated. Mrs. West had a habit of repeating a phrase when not quite understanding it, or desirous of gaining time before framing her reply.
"Sure."
"But who said 'shucks'?" she asked, lifting her brows in an endeavour to comprehend, "and—what are 'shucks,' Mr. Dene?"
"Shucks," repeated John Dene in his turn, "shucks are—are——" He paused, then as if determining that this was a side issue he added: "When I told her to-day that I'd never had any use for girls, and—and——" He looked at Mrs. West helplessly.
She smiled.
"She just said 'shucks.'"
"I think she must have meant that you were too modest," said Mrs. West softly.
"Me modest!" John Dene sat up straight in his surprise.
"I think that is what she must have meant."
"I take it that down at the Admiralty they don't figure it out that way," he said grimly. "Me modest," he repeated. "What have I got to give any girl," he continued presently, "and a girl like—Dorothy." The name seemed to come with difficulty. "I'm all wrong," he added with conviction. "I can't talk——"
"We love you just for yourself, John," said Mrs. West gently.
For a moment there was a look of surprise in John Dene's eye, then with great deliberation he rose and, walking over to Mrs. West, bent down and kissed her cheek.
"Oh!"
John Dene started up and, turning to the door, saw Dorothy standing on the threshold looking from one to the other, her eyes dancing with mischief. Mrs. West had flushed rosily, and with downcast eyes gave the impression of one who had been caught in some illicit act.
"So this is what you two get up to when I leave the room," said Dorothy severely.
"Sure," said John Dene, "and we'll be getting up to it again, won't we, mother?"
And John Dene smiled.
THE END.
BOOKS BY
HERBERT JENKINS
BINDLE
Some chapters in the Life of Joseph Bindle. One of the most popular books ever written.
THE NIGHT CLUB
Further episodes in the career of Bindle. No less than 37,000 copies were called for within a few weeks of publication.
ADVENTURES OF BINDLE
Still more about J. B. Two editions, completing 60,000 copies, were ordered before the book appeared.
MRS. BINDLE
Incidents from the life of the Bindles. Among other things it tells how Mrs. Bindle met a bull.
THE BINDLES ON THE ROCKS
Another volume of stories of the Bindle ménage. Poor old Bindle loses his job and hard times are endured.
JOHN DENE OF TORONTO
A comedy of Whitehall which struck a new note and achieved new success.
MALCOLM SAGE, DETECTIVE
Some chapters from the records of the Malcolm Sage Bureau. A book of thrills and mystery.
PATRICIA BRENT, SPINSTER
A comedy of the times, that has stirred five continents to laughter.
THE RAIN-GIRL
A romance of to-day, telling how Richard Beresford set out to tramp the roads as a vagabond.
THE RETURN OF ALFRED
A comedy of mis-identification by which a man is proclaimed a returned prodigal.
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The troubles of Mr. and Mrs. Stiffson, and how Mr. Stiffson bought a parrot. The book also contains other stories.
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