Hemming, the adventurerRoberts, Theodore Goodridge
General
Hemming, the adventurer
Roberts, Theodore Goodridge
Canadian fiction -- 20th century
Dinner that night was a dull affair. Hemming and Hicks were both
absent from the table. Cuddlehead had excellent manners, and all the
outward signs of social grace, but a warning was marked on his face.
The President tried to be entertaining, but the terror of an
impending disturbance, and even of ruin, hung over him. Mrs. Tetson,
guessing somewhat of her husband's troubles, sat pale and fearful.
Marion was polite, with a politeness that, after two or three essays
of gallantry on Cuddlehead's part, left him inwardly squirming.
After dinner Miss Tetson described the visitor to Hicks, mentioning
the horrible mouth, the shifting eyes, and the odious attentions.
"He must be pretty bad, for you to talk about him," said Valentine,
in wonder.
"Oh, if I had never seen men like you and Mr. Hemming," she answered,
"he would not seem so utterly ridiculous."
Hicks was in a chair by the window, and Marion was perched on the arm
of it. His eyes were desperate. Hers were bright and daring. Her
mouth was tremulous.
"I can understand your admiration for Hemming," he said. "He is the
best chap on earth, barring only you."
Marion smiled.
"I wonder," he continued, presently, "I wonder if--that was all a
dream?"
"What?" she asked.
"I wish I could see you," he said. "I believe you are laughing at me
up there."
"I am laughing," she replied, "but I don't know why exactly."
"At my stupidity, perhaps."
"You are certainly very stupid."
"No, I'm a coward."
"What are you afraid of?"
He leaned back as far as he could, trying to see her face.
"I am afraid you pity me--and don't love me," he said.
He breathed hard after that, as if he had run a mile.
"I am not modest enough to pity you," she said, softly, "though no
doubt you are deserving of pity."
"Marion," he whispered, "for God's sake, don't. I'm too blind with
anxiety to read riddles. Tell me straight--do you love me? Have I
even the ghost of a chance?"
"Do you believe in ghosts?" asked she, with trembling laughter, and,
bending forward, with a hand on either of his thin shoulders, she
pressed her cheek to his.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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