A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

A Woman Intervenes

R >> Robert Barr >> A Woman Intervenes




Kenyon reclined in his deck-chair with his eyes fixed on the blue sky.
His mind was at rest about the syndicate report now that it had been
mailed to London. His thoughts wandered to his own affairs, and he
wondered whether he would make money out of the option he had acquired at
Ottawa. He was not an optimistic man, and he doubted.

After their work for the London Syndicate was finished, the young men had
done a little business on their own account. They visited together a
mica-mine that was barely paying expenses, and which the proprietors were
anxious to sell. The mine was owned by the Austrian Mining Company,
whose agent, Von Brent, was interviewed by Kenyon in Ottawa. The young
men obtained an option on this mine for three months from Von Brent.
Kenyon's educated eye had told him that the white mineral they were
placing on the dump at the mouth of the mine was even more valuable than
the mica for which they were mining.

Kenyon was scrupulously honest--a quality somewhat at a discount in the
mining business--and it seemed to him hardly the fair thing that he
should take advantage of the ignorance of Von Brent regarding the mineral
on the dump. Wentworth had some trouble in overcoming his friend's
scruples. He claimed that knowledge always had to be paid for, in law,
medicine, or mineralogy, and therefore that they were perfectly justified
in profiting by their superior wisdom. So it came about that the young
men took to England with them a three months' option on the mine.

Wentworth had been walking about all morning like a lost spirit
apparently seeking what was not. 'It can't be,' he said to himself. No;
the thought was too horrible, and he dismissed it from his mind, merely
conjecturing that perhaps she was not an early riser, which was indeed
the case. No one who works on a morning newspaper ever takes advantage of
the lark's example.

'Well, Kenyon,' said Wentworth 'you look as if you were writing a poem,
or doing something that required deep mental agony.'

'The writing of poems, my dear Wentworth, I leave to you. I am doing
something infinitely more practical--something that you ought to be at.
I am thinking what we are to do with our mica-mine when we get it over
to London.'

'Oh, "sufficient for the day is the evil thereof,"' cried Wentworth
jauntily; 'besides, half an hour's thinking by a solid-brained fellow
like you is worth a whole voyage of my deepest meditation.'

'She hasn't appeared yet?' said Kenyon.

'No, dear boy; no, she has _not_. You see, I make no pretence with you as
other less ingenuous men might. No, she has _not_ appeared, and she has
not breakfasted.'

'Perhaps----' began Kenyon.

'No, no!' cried Wentworth; 'I'll have no "perhaps." I thought of that, but
I instantly dismissed the idea. She's too good a sailor.'

'It requires a very good sailor to stand this sort of thing. It looks so
unnecessary, too. I wonder what the ship is rolling about?'

'I can't tell, but she seems to be rolling about half over. I say,
Kenyon, old fellow, I feel horrible pangs of conscience about
deserting you in this way, and so early in the voyage. I didn't do it
last time, did I?'

'You were a model travelling companion on the last voyage,' returned
Kenyon.

'I don't wish to make impertinent suggestions, my boy, but allow me to
tell you that there are some other very nice girls on board.'

'You are not so bad as I feared, then,' replied Kenyon, 'or you wouldn't
admit that. I thought you had eyes for no one but Miss--Miss--I really
didn't catch her name.'

'I don't mind telling you confidentially, Kenyon, that her name is
Jennie.'

'Dear me!' cried Kenyon, 'has it got so far as that? Doesn't it strike
you, Wentworth, that you are somewhat in a hurry? It seems decidedly
more American than English. Englishmen are apt to weigh matters a
little more.'

'There is no necessity for weighing, my boy. I don't see any harm in
making the acquaintance of a pretty girl when you have a long voyage
before you.'

'Well, I wouldn't let it grow too serious, if I were you.'

'There isn't the slightest danger of seriousness about the affair. On
shore the young lady wouldn't cast a second look at me. She is the
daughter of a millionaire. Her father is in Paris, and they are going on
to the Riviera in a few weeks.'

'All the more reason,' said Kenyon, 'that you shouldn't let this go too
far. Be on your guard, my boy. I've heard it said that American girls
have the delightful little practice of leading a man on until it comes to
a certain point, and then arching their pretty eyebrows, looking
astonished, and forgetting all about him afterwards. You had better wait
until we make our fortunes on this mica-mine, and then, perhaps, your
fair millionairess may listen to you.'

'John,' cried Wentworth, 'you are the most cold-blooded man I know of. I
never noticed it so particularly before, but it seems to me that years
and years of acquaintance with minerals of all kinds, hard and flinty,
transform a man. Be careful that you don't become like the minerals you
work among.'

'Well, I don't know anything that has less tendency to soften a man than
long columns of figures. I think the figures you work at are quite as
demoralizing as the minerals I have spent my life with.'

'Perhaps you are right, but a girl would have to be thrown into your
arms before you would admit that such a thing as a charming young lady
existed.'

'If I make all the money I hope to make out of the mica-mine, I expect
the young ladies will not be thrown into my arms, but at my head. Money
goes a long way toward reconciling a girl to marriage.'

'It certainly goes a long way toward reconciling her mother to the
marriage. I don't believe,' said Wentworth slowly, 'that my--that Miss
Brewster ever thinks about money.'

'She probably doesn't need to, but no doubt there is someone who does the
thinking for her. If her father is a millionaire, and has, like many
Americans, made his own money, you may depend upon it he will do the
thinking for her; and if Miss Brewster should prove to be thoughtless in
the matter, the old gentleman will very speedily bring you both to your
senses. It would be different if you had a title.'

'I haven't any,' replied Wentworth, 'except the title George Wentworth,
accountant, with an address in the City and rooms in the suburbs.'

'Precisely; if you were Lord George Wentworth, or even Sir George, or
Baron Wentworth of something or other, you might have a chance; as it is,
the title of accountant would not go far with an American millionaire, or
his daughter either.'

'You are a cold, calculating wretch.'

'Nothing of the sort. I merely have my senses about me, and you haven't
at this particular moment. You wouldn't think of trusting a book-keeper's
figures without seeing his vouchers. Well, my boy, you haven't the
vouchers--at least, not yet, so that is why I ask you to give your
attention to what we are going to do with our mine; and if you take my
advice you will not think seriously about American millionaires or their
daughters.'

George Wentworth jumped to his feet, the ship gave a lurch at that
particular moment, and he no sooner found his feet than he nearly lost
them again; however, he was an expert at balancing himself as well as his
accounts, and though for the moment his attention was occupied in keeping
his equilibrium, he looked down on his companion, still placidly
reclining in his chair, with a smile on his face.

'Kenyon,' he said, 'I am going to look for another girl.'

'Is one not enough for you?'

'No, I want two--one for myself, and one for you. No man can sympathize
with another unless he is in the same position himself. John, I want
sympathy, and I'm not getting it.'

'What you need more urgently,' said Kenyon calmly, 'is common-sense, and
that I am trying to supply.'

'You are doing your duty in that direction; but a man doesn't live by
common-sense alone. There comes a time when common-sense is a drug in
the market. I don't say it has come to me yet, but I'm resolved to get
you into a more sympathetic mood, so I am going to find a suitable young
lady for you.'

'More probably you are going to look for your own,' answered Kenyon, as
his friend walked off, and, disappearing round the corner, crossed to
the other side of the ship.

Kenyon did not turn again to his figures when his companion left him. He
mused over the curiously rapid turn of circumstances. He hoped Wentworth
would not take it too seriously, for he felt that, somehow or other, Miss
Brewster was just the sort of girl to throw him over after she had whiled
away a tedious voyage. Of course he could not say this to his friend, who
evidently admired Miss Brewster, but he had said as much as he could to
put Wentworth on his guard.

'Now,' said Kenyon to himself, 'if she had been a girl like _that_, I
wouldn't have minded.' The girl 'like _that_' was a young woman who for
half an hour had been walking the deck alone with marvellous skill. She
was not so handsome as the American girl, but she had a better
complexion, and there was a colour in her cheek which seemed to suggest
England. Her dress was not quite so smart nor so well-fitting as that of
the American girl; but, nevertheless, she was warmly and sensibly clad,
and a brown Tam o' Shanter covered her fair head. The tips of her hands
were in the pockets of her short blue-cloth jacket; and she walked the
deck with a firm, reliant tread that aroused the admiration of John
Kenyon. 'If she were only a girl like _that_,' he repeated to himself, 'I
wouldn't mind. There's something fresh and genuine about her. She makes
me think of the breezy English downs.'

As she walked back and forward, one or two young men seemingly made an
attempt to become acquainted with her, but it was evident to Kenyon that
the young woman had made it plain to them, politely enough, that she
preferred walking alone, and they raised their sea-caps and left her.

'She doesn't pick up the first man who comes,' he mused.

The ship was beginning to roll more and more, and yet the day was
beautiful and the sea seemingly calm. Most of the promenaders had left
the deck. Two or three of them had maintained their equilibrium with a
gratifying success which engendered the pride that goeth before a fall,
but the moment came at last when their feet slipped and they had found
themselves thrown against the bulwark of the steamer. Then they had
laughed a little in a crestfallen manner, picked themselves up, and
promenaded the deck no more. Many of those who were lying in the
steamer-chairs gave up the struggle and went down to their cabins. There
was a momentary excitement as one chair broke from its fastenings and
slid down with a crash against the bulwarks. The occupant was picked up
in a hysterical condition and taken below. The deck steward tied the
chair more firmly, so that the accident would not happen again. The young
English girl was opposite John Kenyon when this disaster took place, and
her attention being diverted by fear for the safety of the occupant of
the sliding chair, her care for herself was withdrawn at the very moment
when it was most needed. The succeeding lurch which the ship gave to the
other side was the most tremendous of the day. The deck rose until the
girl leaning outward could almost touch it with her hand, then, in spite
of herself, she slipped with the rapidity of lightning against the chair
John Kenyon occupied, and that tripping her up, flung her upon him with
an unexpectedness that would have taken his breath away if the sudden
landing of a plump young woman upon him had not accomplished the same
thing. The fragile deck-chair gave way with a crash, and it would be hard
to say which was the more discomfited by the sudden catastrophe, John
Kenyon or the girl.

'I hope you are not hurt,' he managed to stammer.

'Don't think about me!' she cried. 'I have broken your chair, and--and----'

'The chair doesn't matter,' cried Kenyon. 'It was a flimsy structure at
best. I am not hurt, if that is what you mean--and you mustn't mind it.'

Then there came to his recollection the sentence of George Wentworth: 'A
girl will have to be thrown into your arms before you will admit that
such a thing as a charming young woman exists.'




CHAPTER IV.


Edith Longworth could hardly be said to be a typical representative of
the English girl. She had the English girl's education, but not her
training. She had lost her mother in early life, which makes a great
difference in a girl's bringing up, however wealthy her father may be;
and Edith's father was wealthy, there was no doubt of that. If you asked
any City man about the standing of John Longworth, you would learn that
the 'house' was well thought of. People said he was lucky, but old John
Longworth asserted that there was no such thing as luck in business--in
which statement he was very likely incorrect. He had large investments in
almost every quarter of the globe. When he went into any enterprise, he
went into it thoroughly. Men talk about the inadvisability of putting all
one's eggs into one basket, but John Longworth was a believer in doing
that very thing--and in watching the basket. Not that he had all his eggs
in one basket, or even in one kind of basket; but when John Longworth was
satisfied with the particular variety of basket presented to him, he put
a large number of eggs in it. When anything was offered for
investment--whether it was a mine or a brewery or a railway--John
Longworth took an expert's opinion upon it, and then the chances were
that he would disregard the advice given. He was in the habit of going
personally to see what had been offered to him. If the enterprise were
big enough, he thought little of taking a voyage to the other end of the
world for the sole purpose of looking the investment over. It was true
that in many cases he knew nothing whatever of the business he went to
examine, but that did not matter; he liked to have a personal inspection
where a large amount of his money was to be placed. Investment seemed to
be a sort of intuition with him. Often, when the experts' opinions were
unanimously in favour of the project, and when everything appeared to be
perfectly safe, Longworth would pay a personal visit to the business
offered for sale, and come to a sudden conclusion not to have anything to
do with it. He would give no reasons to his colleagues for his change of
front; he simply refused to entertain the proposal any further, and
withdrew. Several instances of this kind had occurred. Sometimes a large
and profitable business, held out in the prospectus to be exceedingly
desirable, had come to nothing, and when the company was wound up,
people remembered what Longworth had said about it. So there came to be a
certain superstitious feeling among those who knew him, that, if old Mr.
Longworth was in a thing, the thing was safe, and if a company promoter
managed to get his name on the prospectus, his project was almost certain
to succeed.

* * * * *

When Edith Longworth was pronounced finished so far as education was
concerned, she became more and more the companion of her father, and he
often jokingly referred to her as his man of business. She went with him
on his long journeys, and so had been several times to America, once to
the Cape, and one long voyage, with Australia as the objective point, had
taken her completely round the world. She inherited much of her father's
shrewdness, and there is no doubt that, if Edith Longworth had been cast
upon her own resources, she would have become an excellent woman of
business. She knew exactly the extent of her father's investments, and
she was his confidante in a way that few women are with their male
relatives. The old man had a great faith in Edith's opinion, although he
rarely acknowledged it. Having been together so much on such long trips,
they naturally became, in a way, boon companions. Thus, Edith's education
was very unlike that of the ordinary English girl, and this particular
training caused her to develop into a different kind of woman than she
might have been had her mother lived.

Perfect confidence existed between father and daughter, and only lately
had there come a shadow upon their relations, about which neither ever
spoke to the other since their first conversation on the subject.

Edith had said, with perhaps more than her usual outspokenness, that she
had no thought whatever of marriage, and least of all had her thoughts
turned toward the man her father seemed to have chosen. In answer to
this, her father had said nothing, but Edith knew him too well to believe
that he had changed his mind about the matter. The fact that he had
invited her cousin to join them on this particular journey showed her
that he evidently believed all that was necessary was to throw them more
together than had been the case previously; and, although Edith was
silent, she thought her father had not the same shrewdness in these
matters that he showed in the purchasing of a growing business. Edith had
been perfectly civil to the young man--as she would have been to
anyone--but he saw that she preferred her own company to his; and so,
much to the disgust of Mr. Longworth, he spent most of his time at cards
in the smoking-room, whereas, according to the elder gentleman's opinion,
he should have been promenading the deck with his cousin.

William Longworth, the cousin, was inclined to be a trifle put out, for
he looked upon himself as quite an eligible person, one whom any girl in
her senses would be glad to look forward to as a possible husband. He
made no pretence of being madly in love with Edith, but he thought the
marriage would be an admirable thing all round. She was a nice girl, he
said to himself, and his uncle's money was well worth thinking about. In
fact, he was becoming desirous that the marriage should take place; but,
as there was no one upon whom he could look as a rival, he had the field
to himself. He would therefore show Miss Edith that he was by no means
entirely dependent for his happiness upon her company; and this he
proceeded to do by spending his time in the smoking-room, and playing
cards with his fellow-passengers. It was quite evident to anyone who saw
Edith, that, if this suited him, it certainly suited her; so they rarely
met on shipboard except at table, where Edith's place was between her
father and her cousin. Miss Longworth and her cousin had had one brief
conversation on the subject of marriage. He spoke of it rather jauntily,
as being quite a good arrangement, but she said very shortly that she had
no desire to change her name.

'You don't need to,' said Cousin William; 'my name is Longworth, and so
is yours.'

'It is not a subject for a joke,' she answered.

'I am not joking, my dear Edith. I am merely telling you what everybody
knows to be true. You surely don't deny that my name is Longworth?'

'I don't mean to deny or affirm anything in relation to the matter,'
replied the young woman, 'and you will oblige me very much if you will
never recur to this subject again.'

And so the young man betook himself once more to the smoking-room.

On this trip Edith had seen a good deal of American society. People over
there had made it very pleasant for her, and, although the weather was
somewhat trying, she had greatly enjoyed the sleigh-rides and the
different festivities which winter brings to the citizen of Northern
America. Her father and her cousin had gone to America to see numerous
breweries that were situated in different parts of the country, and
which it was proposed to combine into one large company. They had made a
Western city their headquarters, and while Edith was enjoying herself
with her newly-found friends, the two men had visited the breweries in
different sections of the country--all, however, near the city where
Edith was staying. The breweries seemed to be in a very prosperous
condition, although the young man declared the beer they brewed was the
vilest he had ever tasted, and he said he wouldn't like to have anything
to do with the production of it, even if it did turn in money. His uncle
had not tried the beer, but confined himself solely to the good old
bottled English ale, which had increased in price, if not in excellence,
by its transportation. But there was something about the combination
that did not please him; and, from the few words he dropped on the
subject, his nephew saw that Longworth was not going to be a member of
the big Beer Syndicate. The intention had been to take a trip to Canada,
and Edith had some hopes of seeing the city of Montreal in its winter
dress; but that visit had been abandoned, as so much time had been
consumed in the Western States. So they began their homeward voyage,
with the elder Longworth sitting a good deal in his deck-chair, and
young Longworth spending much of his time in the smoking-room, while
Edith walked the deck alone. And this was the lady whom Fate threw into
the arms of John Kenyon.




CHAPTER V.


Steamer friendships ripen quickly. It is true that, as a general thing,
they perish with equal suddenness. The moment a man sets his foot on
solid land the glamour of the sea seems to leave him, and the friend to
whom he was ready to swear eternal fealty while treading the deck, is
speedily forgotten on shore. Edith Longworth gave no thought to the
subject of the innocent nature of steamer friendships when she reviewed
in her own mind her pleasant walk along the deck with Kenyon. She had met
many interesting people during her numerous voyages, but they had all
proved to be steamer acquaintances, whose names she had now considerable
difficulty in remembering. Perhaps she would not have given a second
thought to Mr. Kenyon that night if it had not been for some
ill-considered remarks her cousin saw fit to make at the dinner-table.

'Who was that fellow you were walking with today?' young Longworth asked.

Edith smiled upon him pleasantly, and answered:

'Mr. Kenyon you mean, I suppose?'

'Oh, you know his name, do you?' he answered gruffly.

'Certainly,' she replied; 'I would not walk with a gentleman whose name I
did not know.'

'Really?' sneered her cousin. 'And pray were you introduced to him?'

'I do not think,' answered Edith quietly, 'any person has a right to ask
me that question except my father. He has not asked it, and, as you have,
I will merely answer that I _was_ introduced to Mr. Kenyon.'

'I did not know you had any mutual acquaintance on board who could make
you known to each other.'

'Well, the ceremony was a little informal. We were introduced by our
mutual friend, old Father Neptune. Father Neptune, being, as you know, a
little boisterous this morning, took the liberty of flinging me upon Mr.
Kenyon. I weigh something more than a feather, and the result
was--although Mr. Kenyon was good enough to say he was uninjured--that
the chair on which he sat had not the same consideration for my feelings,
and it went down with a crash. I thought Mr. Kenyon should take my chair
in exchange for the one I had the misfortune to break, but Mr. Kenyon
thought otherwise. He said he was a mining engineer, and that he could
not claim to be a very good one if he found any difficulty in mending a
deck-chair. It seems he succeeded in doing so, and that is the whole
history of my introduction to, and my intercourse with, Mr. Kenyon,
Mining Engineer.'

'Most interesting and romantic,' replied the young man; 'and do you think
that your father approves of your picking up indiscriminate acquaintances
in this way?'

Edith, flushing a little at this, said:

'I would not willingly do what my father disapproved of;' then in a lower
voice she added: 'except, perhaps, one thing.'

Her father, who had caught snatches of the conversation, now leaned
across towards his nephew, and said warningly:

'I think Edith is quite capable of judging for herself. This is my
seventh voyage with her, and I have always found such to be the case.
This happens to be your first, and so, were I you, I would not pursue the
subject further.'

The young man was silent, and Edith gave her father a grateful glance.
Thus it was that, while she might not have given a thought to Kenyon, the
remarks which her cousin had made, brought to her mind, when she was
alone, the two young men, and the contrast between them was not at all to
the advantage of her cousin.

The scrubbing-brushes on the deck above him woke Kenyon early next
morning. For a few moments after getting on deck he thought he had the
ship to himself. One side of the deck was clean and wet; on the other
side the men were slowly moving the scrubbing-brushes backward and
forward, with a drowsy swish-swish. As he walked up the deck, he saw
there was one passenger who had been earlier than himself.

Edith Longworth turned round as she heard his step, and her face
brightened into a smile when she saw who it was.

Kenyon gravely raised his steamer cap and bade her 'Good-morning.'

'You are an early riser, Mr. Kenyon.'

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.