T was shortly after noon, and Wainwright, going down-town to luncheon, was about to take a train at the Astor Place station of the Subway when he saw a lady coming toward him, gaily smiling and holding out her hand. Her manner was a charming compound of delicacy, vivacity, and the poise which is the result only of social experience; and he wondered, even then, that he had met her and forgotten the circumstance. However, he was sure that he should remember in a moment who she was.
"How do you do?" she cried, as he took her hand. "Who knew that you were in New York?"
"I arrived only last week," he replied, "and I'm staying out of town for the present. Are you taking this train?"
"No; I had just left it when I caught sight of you, and— Oh I perhaps it was important that you should take it!"
The gates had closed noisily.
"No, I'm in no haste."
"Really! Then—have you time to walk home with me? It isn't far—Washington Square, you know—and we can chat as we go—about London," she added, with a fleeting upward glance.
"By all means." Still finding no clue to her identity, Wainwright's perplexity increased as they climbed to the street and turned briskly west.
"But first," she lightly continued, "I think I'd better explain why you are so suddenly forced into a modern travesty of a medieval situation."
"Oh—am I?" he asked, rather blankly.
"You are. You have succored, single-handed, a maiden in distress, and you are now bearing her away in safety to her father's castle."
"Banners waving, plumes floating from my helmet, and shanks' mare gaily caracoling beneath me," he suggested.
"Precisely. I'm glad you have a sense of environment. You see— It's a little difficult to explain, but—"
"Then why bother?"
"I prefer to." A tinge of hauteur darkened her tone, and as quickly disappeared. "But it's the sort of thing that only happens, in our day and generation, between paper covers—yellow ones at that, I'm afraid. Did you notice, as we left the Subway, a middle-aged man with burning dark eyes, who stared—unpleasantly?"
"Come to think of it, I did encounter a malevolent glance—"
"But you didn't realize that you had just unhorsed him and left him prostrate on the field? You do those things so easily!" she mocked, laughing.
"Who is he?"
"He's an anachronism. He's an old and trusted retainer of my father's—his bookkeeper, to be exact—who is suffering from a mild type of dementia, resulting from overwork and disordered nerves!"
"He is a bit out of place in helmet and cuirass."
"Isn't he? But that's the form his vagary takes. He will be a knight, and he—he—"
"Sues for your favor," quietly supplied Wainwright. "I think I understand."
"Now, if you remember anything at all about my father," her glance was full of humor, "you know that he has a truly medieval inability to understand nervous phenomena of that character, and an equally medieval practice of inflicting summary chastisement, so far as he can, on those who offend him." He nodded, vainly trying to recall such a person among his acquaintances. "Consequently, it has seemed desirable that he should not be told of this man's eccentricity."
"Truly the quality of mercy gets no straining at your hands. It falls on the—"
"Ah, now you come to the melodrama! And don't you remember that in every properly constructed thriller there is a dependent family to be spared? In this case it takes the form of a widowed sister and four small children, whom he supports and is angelically good to."
"But if he persistently annoys you—"
"He doesn't—at least, not much. I generally manage to keep out of his way. Besides, he has never been in the least aggressive before,"
"You should have him taken in charge. Some day he'll—"
"No, he won't. He can't. We're going away for several months. I suppose that's why he was so desperate to-day. And it isn't as if he were vicious, or really insane. It's just a sort of obsession that will wear away as he grows stronger. But I was frightened when I got off that train, for I knew he was following me, and I didn't want to call a policeman. And then I saw you, and I knew at once that—I mean, I recognized you at once; or almost at once. I was a little in doubt, because I didn't know you were on this side until I saw your English clothes. There! I've bored you with this long story because I wanted you to understand why you were suddenly metamorphosed into a hero of melodrama." A little wave of her hand dismissed an unpleasant subject. "Now tell me all about London. You've been over a long time, haven't you?"
"Four years," said he. "How late is your information?"