The Beloved Stranger Read online

  Betty and Doris and Jane had been put in the second room, with Rena, the maid of honor whom Aunt Pat had wanted her to ask because she was the daughter of an old friend. It was rather funny having a maid of honor whom one hadn’t met, for she hadn’t arrived yet when Sherrill had gone to her room to dress, but assurance had come over the telephone that she was on her way in spite of a flat tire, so there had been nothing to worry about. Who or what Rena was like did not matter. She would be wholly engaged in eyeing her dear bridegroom’s face. What did it matter who maid-of-honored her, so long as Aunt Pat was pleased?

  Sherrill paused as she stepped into this second room. It was absolutely dark, but strangely enough the door to the left, opening into the middle room, had been left open. That was curious. Hadn’t Carter been put in there to dress? Surely that was the arrangement, to save him coming garbed all the way from the city! But of course he was gone long ago! She had heard him arrange to be early at the church to meet the best man, who had been making some last arrangements about their stateroom on the ship. That was it! Carter had gone, and the girls, probably not even knowing that he occupied that room, had gone out that way through the other door into the hall.

  So Sherrill, her soft train swung lightly over her arm, the mist of lace gathered into the billow that Gemmie had arranged for her convenience in going down stairs, and the great sheaf of roses and valley-lilies held gracefully over her other arm, stepped confidently into the room. She looked furtively toward the open door, where a brilliant overhead light was burning, sure that the room was empty, unless some servant was hovering about watching for her to appear.

  She hesitated, stepping lightly, the soft satin making no sound of going more than if she had been a bit of thistle down. Then suddenly she stopped short and held her breath, for she had come in full sight of the great gilt-framed pier glass that was set between the two windows at the back of the room, and in it was mirrored the full-length figure of her bridegroom arranging his tie with impatient fingers and staring critically into the glass, just as she had been doing but a moment before.

  A great wave of tenderness swept over her for him, a kind of guilty joy that she could have this last vision of him as himself before their lives merged, a picture that she felt would live with her throughout the long years of life.

  How dear he looked! How shining his dark hair, the wave over his forehead! There wasn’t any man, not any man, anywhere as handsome—and good, she breathed softly to herself—as Carter, her man!

  She held herself back into the shadow, held her very breath lest he should turn and see her there, for—wasn’t there a tradition that it was bad luck for the bride to show herself in her wedding garments to the groom before he saw her first in the church? Softly she withdrew one foot and swayed a little farther away from the patch of light in the doorway. He would be gone in just a minute, of course, and then she could go on and give Mary her glimpse and hurry back without being seen by anyone. She dared not retreat further lest he should hear her step and find out that she had been watching him. It was fun to be here and see him when he didn’t know. But sometime, oh sometime in the dear future that was ahead of them, she would tell him how she had watched him, and loved him, and how all the little fright that had clutched her heart a few minutes before had been melted away by this dear glimpse of him.

  Sometime, when he was in one of those gentle moods, and they were all alone—they had had so little time actually alone of late! There had always been so many other things to be done! But sometime, soon perhaps, when he was giving her soft kisses on her eyelids, and in the palm of her hand as he held her fingers back with his own strong ones, then she would draw him down with his face close to hers and tell him how she had watched him, and loved him—!

  But—! What was happening? The door of the back hall, which was set next to the nearest window, was opening slowly, without sound, and a face was appearing in the opening! Could it be a servant, having mistaken her way? How blundering! How annoyed he would be to have his privacy broken in upon!

  And then the face came into the light and she started.

  It was a face she had seen before, a really pretty face, if the makeup on it had not been so startling. There was something almost haggard about it, too, and wistful, and the eyes were frightened, pleading eyes. They scanned the room hurriedly and rested upon the man, who still stood with his back to the room and his face to the mirror. Then the girl stepped stealthily within the room and closed the door as noiselessly as she had opened it.

  Who was it? Sherrill held her breath and stared. Then swift memory brought the answer. Why, that was Miss Prentiss, Carter’s secretary! But surely no one had invited her! Carter had said she was comparatively new in the office. He had not put her name on the list. How dared she follow him here? Had something come up at the last minute, some business matter that she felt he must know about before he left for his trip to Europe? But surely no one could have directed her to follow him to the room where he was dressing!

  This all went swiftly through Sherrill’s mind as she stood that instant and watched the expression on the girl’s face, that hungry desperate look, and something warned her with uncanny prescience. So Sherrill stood holding that foolish bouquet of baby roses and swinging lily-bells during what seemed an eon of time, till suddenly Carter McArthur saw something in the mirror and swung around, a frozen look of horror and anger on his handsome face, and faced the other girl.

  “What are you doing here, Arla?” he rumbled in an angry whisper, and his bride, standing within the shadow, trembled so that all the little lily-bells swayed in the dark and trembled with her. She had never heard him speak in a voice like that. She shivered a little, and a sudden thought like a dart swept through her. Was it conceivable that he would ever speak so to her? But—of course this intruder ought to be rebuked!

  “I have come because I cannot let this thing go on!” said the girl in a desperate voice. “I have tried to do as you told me. Oh, I have tried with all my might”—and her voice broke in a helpless little sob—“but I can’t do it. It isn’t right!”

  “Be still, can’t you? You will rouse the house. Do you want to bring disgrace upon us all?”

  “If that is the only way,” said the girl desperately, lifting lovely darkly circled eyes to his face, and suddenly putting her hands up with a caressing motion and stealing them around his neck—desperate clinging arms that held him fast.

  “I can’t give you up, Cart! I can’t! I can’t! You promised me so long ago you would marry me, and you’ve always been putting me off—and now—this! I can’t!”

  “Hush!” said the man sternly with a note of desperation in his voice. “You are making me hate you, don’t you know that? Don’t you know that no good whatever can come of this either for me or yourself? How did you get here anyway? Have you no shame? Who saw you? Tell me quick!”

  “Nobody saw me,” breathed the girl between sobs. “I came up the fire escape and along the back hall. This was the room I came to that day to take dictation for you when you had a sprained ankle and had to stay out here. Don’t you remember? Oh, Cart! You told me then that someday you and I would have a house just like this. Have you forgotten how you kissed my fingers, and the palm of my hand, when they all had gone away and left us to work?”

  “Hush!” said the man, his face stern with agony. “No, I haven’t forgotten! You know I haven’t forgotten! I’ve explained it all to you over and over again. I thought you were reasonable. I thought you understood that this was necessary in order to save all that I have worked so hard to gain.”

  “Oh, but Cart! I’ve tried to, but I can’t! I cannot give you up!”

  “You won’t have to give me up,” he soothed impatiently. “We’ll see each other every day as soon as I get back from this trip. We’ll really be closer together than if we were married, for there’ll be nothing to hinder us from having good times whenever we like. No household cares or anything. And really, a man’s secretary is nearer—”


  There came a sharp imperative tap on the door of the sitting room. McArthur started and pushed the weeping girl from him into a corner.

  “Yes?” he said harshly, going over to the door. “Has the car come for me? Well, say, I’ll be there in just a minute. There is plenty of time by my watch. But I’ll be right down.”

  There was a painful silence. Sherrill could see the other girl shrinking behind a curtain, could hear the painful breathing as she struggled to keep back the sobs, could see the strained attitude of Carter McArthur as he stood stiffly in the middle of the room glaring toward the frail girl.

  “Arla, if you love me, you must go away at once,” he said sternly, coming toward the girl again, and now he was within the range of the next room, and Sherrill had to shrink farther back into the shadow again lest he should see her.

  Suddenly she saw him stoop, put both arms about the other girl, draw her close to him, and put his lips down on hers, hungrily, passionately, kissing her and devouring her with his eyes, just as he had sometimes on rare and precious occasions done to Sherrill! Sherrill clutched her bridal flowers and shivered as she shrank into the shadow and tried to shut the sight out by closing her eyes, yet could not.

  A great awful cold had come down upon her heart, caught it with an icy hand, and was slowly squeezing it to death. She wanted to cry out, as in a nightmare, and waken herself—prove that this was only a hideous dream; yet something was stopping her voice and holding her quiet. It must not be that he should hear her, or see her! It must never happen that she should be drawn into this dreadful scene. She must keep very still, and it would pass. This awful delirium would pass, and her right mind would return! She was going pretty soon to the church to be married to this man, and all this would be forgotten, and she would be telling him sometime how she had watched him and loved him as he prepared to go forth and meet her, her dear bridegroom! He would be kissing her fingers and her eyelids this way…. But no! She was going crazy! That would never happen! A great wall had come down between them. She knew in her heart that now she would never, never tell him! He would never take her in his arms again, or kiss her lips or eyelids, or call her his! That was over forever. A dream that could not come true.

  Then an impassioned voice broke the stillness and cut through to the depths of her being. It was his voice with that beloved quality she knew so well!

  “Oh my darling, my darling! I can’t stand to see you suffer so! There will never be any girl like you to me. Why can’t you understand?”

  “Then if that is so,” broke out the weeping girl, lifting her head with sudden hope, “come with me now! We can get out the way I came and no one will see us. Let us go away! Leave her and leave the business, and everything. No one will see us! Come!”

  The man groaned.

  “You will not understand!” he murmured impatiently. “It is not possible! Do you want to see me ruined? This girl is rich! Her fortune and the connection with her family will save me. Sometime later there may come a time when I could go with you—not now!”

  Then into the midst of the awfulness there swung a sweet-toned silver sound, a clock just outside the door striking the hour in unmistakable terms, and Carter McArthur started away from the girl, fairly flinging her in his haste, till she huddled down on her knees in the corner sobbing.

  “Shut up, can’t you!” said the man wildly as he rushed over to the mirror and began to brush the powder marks from his otherwise immaculate coat. “Can’t you see you’re goading me to desperation? I’ve got to go instantly! I’m going to be late!”

  “And what about me?” wailed the girl. “Would you rather I took poison and lay down in this room to die? Wouldn’t that be a nice thing to meet you when you came back from the church?”

  But with a last desperate brush of his coat Carter snapped out the light and swung out into the upper hall, slamming the door significantly behind him and hurrying down the stairs with brisk steps that tried to sound merry for the benefit of the servants in the hall below.

  The girl’s voice died away into a helpless little frightened sob, and then all was still.

  And Sherrill stood there in the utter darkness trying to think, trying to gather her scattered senses and realize what had happened, what might happen next. That something cataclysmic had just taken place that would change all her after life she knew; but just for that first instant or two after she heard her bridegroom’s footsteps go down the stairs and out the front door, she had not gotten her bearings. It was all that she could do just then to stand still and clutch her great bouquet while the earth reeled under her trembling feet.

  The next instant she heard a sound, soft, scarcely perceptible to any but preternaturally quickened senses, that brought her back to the present, the necessity of the moment and the shortness of time.

  The sound was the tiniest possible hint of stirring garments and a stealthy step from the corner where the weeping girl had been flung when the angry, frightened bridegroom made his hasty exit.

  Instantly Sherrill was in possession of herself and reaching forward accurately with accustomed fingers, touching the switch that sent a flood of light into the sitting room.

  Then Sherrill in her white robes stepped to the doorway and confronted the frightened, cowering, blinking interloper, who fell back against the wall, her hands outspread and groping for the door, her eyes growing wide with horror as she caught the full version of her lover’s bride.

  Chapter 2

  For just an instant they faced one another, the bride in her beauty, and her woebegone rival, and in spite of herself Sherrill could not help thinking how pretty this other girl was. Even though she had been crying and there were tears on her lashes. She was not a girl whom crying made hideous. It rather gave her the sweet dewy look of a child in trouble.

  She stood wide-eyed, horror and fear on her face, the soft gold of her hair just showing beneath a chic little hat. She was dressed in a stylish street suit of dark blue with slim correct shoes and long-wristed wrinkled white doeskin gloves. Even as she stood, her arms outspread and groping for refuge against the unfriendly wall, she presented an interesting picture. Sherrill could not help feeling sorry for her. There was nothing arrogant about her now. Just the look of a frightened child at bay among enemies.

  “How long have you known him?” asked Sherrill, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

  The other girl burst forth in an anguished tone, her hands going quickly to her throat, which moved convulsively: “Ever since we were kids!” she said with a choking sob at the end of her words. “Always we’ve been crazy about each other, even in high school. Then after he got started up in the city, he sent for me to be his secretary so we could be nearer to each other till we could afford to get married. It has never been any different till you came. It was you—you who took him away from me—!” and the girl buried her hands in the soggy little handkerchief and gave a great sob that seemed to come from the depths of her being.

  Sherrill felt a sudden impulse to put her face down in her lovely roses and sob, too. It somehow seemed to be herself and not this other girl who was sobbing over there against the wall. Oh, how could this great disaster have befallen them both? Carter! Her matchless lover! This girl’s lover, too! How could this thing be?

  “No,” she said, very white and still, her voice almost toneless and unsteady. “I never took him away from you. I never knew there was such a person as you!”

  “Well, you took him!” sobbed the other girl, “and there’s nothing left for me but to kill myself!” and another great sob burst forth.

  “Nonsense!” said Sherrill sharply. “Don’t talk that way! That’s terrible. You don’t get anywhere talking like that! Hush! Somebody will hear you! We’ve got to be sensible and think what to do!”

  “Do?” said Arla, dropping her hands from her face and flashing a look of scorn at the girl in bridal array. “What is there to do? Oh, perhaps you mean how you can get rid of me the easiest way? I don’t see w
hy I should make it easy for you I’m sure, but I suppose I will. I’ll go away and not make any more trouble of course. I suppose I knew that when I came, but I had to come! Oh!”—and she gave another deep sob and turned her head away for an instant, then back to finish her sentence—“and you will go out to the church to marry him. It is easy enough for you to say ‘hush’ when you are going to marry him!”

  “Marry him!” said Sherrill, sudden horror in her voice. “I could never marry him after this! Could you?”

  “Oh yes,” said the girl in a quivering, hopeless voice. “I’d marry him if I got the chance! You can’t love him the way I do or you would, too. I’d marry him if I had to go through hell to do it!”

  Sherrill quivered at the words. She was watching this other girl, thinking fast, and sudden determination came into her face.

  “Then you shall!” she said in a low clear voice of determination. “You may get taken at your word. You may have to go through hell for it. But I won’t be responsible for that. If you feel that way about it, you shall marry him!”

  The other girl looked up with frightened eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you shall marry him! Now! Tonight!” “But how could I?” she asked dully. “That would be impossible.”

  “No, it is not impossible. Come! Quick. We have got to work fast! Listen! There comes somebody to the door. Come with me! Don’t make a sound!”

  Sherrill snapped the light off and, grasping the gloved hand of the girl, she pulled her after her through the dimly lighted middle rooms and inside her own door, which she swiftly closed behind her, sliding the bolt.