The Place of Honeymoons - Page 69/123

"Touched!" he murmured, for he was a thorough sportsman and appreciated a

good point even when taken by his opponent.

"I never saw anything like it," whispered Mrs. Harrigan into the colonel's

ear.

"Saw what?" he asked.

"Mr. Courtlandt can't keep his eyes off of Nora."

"I say!" The colonel adjusted his eye-glass, not that he expected to see

more clearly by doing so, but because habit had long since turned an

affectation into a movement wholly mechanical. "Well, who can blame him?

Gad! if I were only twenty-five or thereabouts."

Mrs. Harrigan did not encourage this regret. The colonel had never been a

rich man. On the other hand, this Edward Courtlandt was very rich; he was

young; and he had the entrée to the best families in Europe, which was

greater in her eyes than either youth or riches. Between sips of tea she

builded a fine castle in Spain.

Abbott and the Barone carried their cups and cakes over to the bench and

sat down on the grass, Turkish-wise. Both simultaneously offered their

cakes, and Nora took a ladyfinger from each. Abbott laughed and the Barone

smiled.

"Oh, daddy mine!" sighed Nora drolly.

"Huh?"

"Don't let mother see those shoes."

"What's the matter with 'em? Everybody's wearing the same."

"Yes. But I don't see how you manage to do it. One shoe-string is virgin

white and the other is pagan brown."

"I've got nine pairs of shoes, and yet there's always something the

matter," ruefully. "I never noticed when I put them on. Besides, I wasn't

coming."

"That's no defense. But rest easy. I'll be as secret as the grave."

"Now, I for one would never have noticed if you hadn't called my

attention," said the padre, stealing a glance at his own immaculate

patent-leathers.

"Ah, Padre, that wife of mine has eyes like a pilot-fish. I'm in for it."

"Borrow one from the colonel before you go home," suggested Abbott.

"That's not half bad," gratefully.

Harrigan began to recount the trials of forgetfulness.

Slyly from the corner of her eye Nora looked at Courtlandt, who was at

that moment staring thoughtfully into his tea-cup and stirring the

contents industriously. His face was a little thinner, but aside from that

he had changed scarcely at all; and then, because these two years had left

so little mark upon his face, a tinge of unreasonable anger ran over her.

"Men have died and worms have eaten them," she thought cynically. Perhaps

the air between them was sufficiently charged with electricity to convey

the impression across the intervening space; for his eyes came up quickly,

but not quickly enough to catch her. She dropped her glance to Abbott,

transferred it to the Barone, and finally let it rest on her father's

face. Four handsomer men she had never seen.