In The Bishop's Carriage [13]
stood beside it.
It bruised my knee and tore my hand, but oh!--it was nuts to me. For it was a woman's trunk filled with women's things.
A skirt! A blessed skirt! And not a striped one. I threw off the bell-boy's jacket and I got into that dear dress so quick it made my head swim.
The jacket was a bit tight but I didn't button it, and I'd just got a stiff little hat perched on my head when I heard the tramp of men on the sidewalk, and in the dusk saw the cop's buttons at the gate.
Caught? Not much. Not yet. I threw open the glass doors and walked out into the garden.
"Miss--Omar--I wonder if it would be Miss Omar?"
You bet I didn't take time to see who it was talking before I answered. Of course I was Miss Omar. I was Miss Anybody that had a right to wear skirts and be inside those blessed gates.
"Ah--h! I fancied you might be. I've been expecting you."
It was a lazy, low voice with a laugh in it, and it came from a wheeled chair, where a young man lay. Sallow he was and slim and long, and helpless--you could see that by his white hanging hands. But his voice--it was what a woman's voice would be if she were a man. It made you perk up and pretend to be somewhere near its level. It fitted his soft, black clothes and his fine, clean face. It meant silks and velvets and--
Oh, all right, Tommy Dorgan, if you're going to get jealous of a voice!
"Excuse me, Mr. Latimer." The cop came in as he spoke, Moriway following; the rest of the hounds hung about. "There's a thieving bell-boy from the hotel that's somewhere in your grounds. Can I come in and get him?"
"In here, Sergeant? Aren't you mistaken?"
"No; Mr. Moriway here saw him jump the gate not five minutes since."
"Strange, and I here all the time! I may have dozed of, though. Certainly--certainly. Look for the little rascal. What's he stolen? Diamonds! Tut! tut! Enterprising, isn't he? . . . Miss Omar, won't you kindly reach the bell yonder--no, on the table; that's it--and ring for some one to take the officer about?"
I rang.
Do you know what happened? An electric light strung on the tree above the table shone out, and there I stood under it with Moriway's eyes full upon me.
"Great--!" he began.
"Just ring again--" Mr. Latimer's voice came soft as silk.
My fingers trembled so, the bell clattered out of them and fell jangling to the ground. But it rang. And the light above me went out like magic. I fell back into a garden chair.
"I beg your pardon, Mr.--was Moriway the name?--I must have interrupted you, but my eyes are troubling me this evening, and I can't bear the light. Miss Omar, I thought the housekeeper had instructed you: one ring means lights, two mean I want Burnett. Here he comes. . . Burnett, take Sergeant Mulhill through the place. He's looking for a thief. You will accompany the Sergeant, Mr.--Moriway?"
"Thank you--no. If you don't mind, I'll wait out here."
That meant me. I moved toward the gate.
"Not at all. Have a seat. Miss Omar, sit down, won't you?" I sat down.
"Miss Omar reads to me, Mr. Moriway. I'm an invalid, as you see, dependent on the good offices of my man. I find a woman's voice a soothing change."
"It must be. Particularly if the voice is pleasing. Miss Omar--I didn't quite catch the name--"
He waited. But Miss Omar had nothing to say that minute.
"Yes, that's the name. You've got it all right," said Latimer. "An uncommon name, isn't it?"
"I don't think I ever heard it before. Do you know, Miss Omar, as I heard your voice just before we got to the gate, it sounded singularly boyish to me."
"Mr. Latimer does not find it so--do you?" I said as sweet--as sweet as I could coax. How sweet's that, Tom Dorgan?
"Not at all." A little laugh came from Latimer as though he was enjoying a joke all by himself. But Moriway jumped with satisfaction. He knew the voice all right.
"Have you a brother, may I ask?" He leaned over and looked keenly at me.
"I am an orphan," I said sadly, "with no relatives."
"A pitiful
It bruised my knee and tore my hand, but oh!--it was nuts to me. For it was a woman's trunk filled with women's things.
A skirt! A blessed skirt! And not a striped one. I threw off the bell-boy's jacket and I got into that dear dress so quick it made my head swim.
The jacket was a bit tight but I didn't button it, and I'd just got a stiff little hat perched on my head when I heard the tramp of men on the sidewalk, and in the dusk saw the cop's buttons at the gate.
Caught? Not much. Not yet. I threw open the glass doors and walked out into the garden.
"Miss--Omar--I wonder if it would be Miss Omar?"
You bet I didn't take time to see who it was talking before I answered. Of course I was Miss Omar. I was Miss Anybody that had a right to wear skirts and be inside those blessed gates.
"Ah--h! I fancied you might be. I've been expecting you."
It was a lazy, low voice with a laugh in it, and it came from a wheeled chair, where a young man lay. Sallow he was and slim and long, and helpless--you could see that by his white hanging hands. But his voice--it was what a woman's voice would be if she were a man. It made you perk up and pretend to be somewhere near its level. It fitted his soft, black clothes and his fine, clean face. It meant silks and velvets and--
Oh, all right, Tommy Dorgan, if you're going to get jealous of a voice!
"Excuse me, Mr. Latimer." The cop came in as he spoke, Moriway following; the rest of the hounds hung about. "There's a thieving bell-boy from the hotel that's somewhere in your grounds. Can I come in and get him?"
"In here, Sergeant? Aren't you mistaken?"
"No; Mr. Moriway here saw him jump the gate not five minutes since."
"Strange, and I here all the time! I may have dozed of, though. Certainly--certainly. Look for the little rascal. What's he stolen? Diamonds! Tut! tut! Enterprising, isn't he? . . . Miss Omar, won't you kindly reach the bell yonder--no, on the table; that's it--and ring for some one to take the officer about?"
I rang.
Do you know what happened? An electric light strung on the tree above the table shone out, and there I stood under it with Moriway's eyes full upon me.
"Great--!" he began.
"Just ring again--" Mr. Latimer's voice came soft as silk.
My fingers trembled so, the bell clattered out of them and fell jangling to the ground. But it rang. And the light above me went out like magic. I fell back into a garden chair.
"I beg your pardon, Mr.--was Moriway the name?--I must have interrupted you, but my eyes are troubling me this evening, and I can't bear the light. Miss Omar, I thought the housekeeper had instructed you: one ring means lights, two mean I want Burnett. Here he comes. . . Burnett, take Sergeant Mulhill through the place. He's looking for a thief. You will accompany the Sergeant, Mr.--Moriway?"
"Thank you--no. If you don't mind, I'll wait out here."
That meant me. I moved toward the gate.
"Not at all. Have a seat. Miss Omar, sit down, won't you?" I sat down.
"Miss Omar reads to me, Mr. Moriway. I'm an invalid, as you see, dependent on the good offices of my man. I find a woman's voice a soothing change."
"It must be. Particularly if the voice is pleasing. Miss Omar--I didn't quite catch the name--"
He waited. But Miss Omar had nothing to say that minute.
"Yes, that's the name. You've got it all right," said Latimer. "An uncommon name, isn't it?"
"I don't think I ever heard it before. Do you know, Miss Omar, as I heard your voice just before we got to the gate, it sounded singularly boyish to me."
"Mr. Latimer does not find it so--do you?" I said as sweet--as sweet as I could coax. How sweet's that, Tom Dorgan?
"Not at all." A little laugh came from Latimer as though he was enjoying a joke all by himself. But Moriway jumped with satisfaction. He knew the voice all right.
"Have you a brother, may I ask?" He leaned over and looked keenly at me.
"I am an orphan," I said sadly, "with no relatives."
"A pitiful