From time to time the banker, pitying his homeless and friendless condition, had invited him to his own home, where he had spent many a delightful hour with Allison, who, from the first, had conceived a strong friendship for the handsome, manly fellow.
For a long time Mr. Brewster did not once think that any serious result would be likely to follow this “boy-and-girl acquaintance.” Allison, his idolized daughter, was happy to have Gerald come to tea; to drive with her in the park on Saturday afternoons or holidays; to have him to dinner with them now and then on Sundays, and he was ever indulgent to her lightest wish.
But of late—during the last five or six months—he had suddenly awakened to the fear that there might be danger ahead if these relations were continued.
He had become very fond of Gerald—he knew him to be a noble, whole-hearted, high-principled fellow; but he was not to be considered, for a moment, as a possible son-in-law. No struggling, plodding clerk who had his fortune to make by his own unaided efforts would be a suitable mate for the banker’s heiress, whose million, or more, in prospect, must be matched by at least an equal amount and a position as enviable and secure as her own.
So, during the last half-year, Gerald had received no invitations to the banker’s princely home—there was always some excuse of extra office work or special and important errands whenever Allison proposed his coming, and thus she saw him only when, occasionally, she slipped into the bank upon some pretense. This was the first time for months that they had been alone in each other’s presence, and Allison, making the most of her opportunity, gave herself up to the pleasure of the moment, and chatted, girllike, of anything and everything that came into her pretty head.
Gerald, also, thawing out beneath her sunny influence, dropped the formality which he had assumed upon her entrance, and, during the half-hour that followed, feasted his heart upon her beauty and the charm of her companionship.
Into this little banquet of love there suddenly intruded a man of perhaps thirty-five years—a tall, gaunt figure, with a slight stoop in his shoulders, but faultlessly attired. His face was thin, and absolutely colorless, save for the faint tinge of red in his lips and the cold blue of his eyes, which contrasted strangely with the intense black of his hair and mustache.
His eyes lighted with sudden fire as they fell upon the dainty figure and bright beauty of Allison Brewster.
“Ah, good morning, Miss Allison,” he remarked, in bland, oily tones, his thin lips relaxing into a smile that revealed a ghastly row of dead-white teeth beneath the black mustache. “This is an unexpected pleasure. I do not need to inquire if you are well—your blooming appearance speaks for itself.”
“Yes, thank you, I am well,” the girl quietly replied, but without bestowing a second glance upon him.
The man then turned to Gerald, a vicious smile just curling the corners of his mouth.
“Ahem! Winchester, here is a message that must go immediately to the Second National Bank.”
“Is it imperative?” Gerald questioned.
“Yes; it must go at once.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Hubbard, but Mr. Brewster is out, and, as you know, I am not allowed to leave the office during his absence,” the young man replied.
Mr. Hubbard frowned, and then his gaze wandered again to Allison, with an eager look.
“Yes, I know that is the rule,” he said, “but you will have to break it for once. The bank closes at twelve to-day, being Saturday, and the message must be delivered before that. Miss Brewster will doubtless excuse you,” he added, with the suspicion of a sneer, “and I will entertain her during your absence, or until Mr. Brewster returns.”
Gerald glanced at the clock, and a troubled expression flitted over his face, but after another moment of thought, he said quietly but firmly:
“I would like to oblige you, Mr. Hubbard, but Mr. Brewster’s orders to me are imperative. I can, under no circumstances, leave the office during his absence.”
“But I tell you this is an unusual case,” said the man impatiently; “there is no messenger in just now—we are very busy to-day, and you will have to go.”
“It is impossible—I cannot leave my post without orders direct from Mr. Brewster,” Gerald responded, an unmistakable note of determination in his tones; “you will have to ask one of the clerks in the other room to take the message.”
John Hubbard turned sharply upon his heel, muttering something under his breath, and abruptly left the room.
Allison suddenly threw down her fan and shrugged her shapely shoulders.
“Ugh!” she said, shivering slightly. “I don’t need that any more—I always get a chill whenever that man comes near me.”
Gerald smiled, yet he looked somewhat disconcerted, for, of late, he had been conscious of a growing barrier between himself and this strangely clever man, who was an expert accountant, a talented lawyer, a director of the bank, and one at whose touch everything seemed to turn into gold.
“But Mr. Hubbard is very valuable to Mr. Brewster and the bank,” he said, in reply to Allison’s remark; “he inspects all accounts, manages all law business, and has recently been made one of the directors of the bank.”
“Is that so?” queried the young girl, with some surprise.
“Yes; he owns quite a good deal of stock.”
But Allison Brewster was not much interested to know who owned stock in the bank; business had little attraction for her beyond its results, which, of course, were a necessary factor in her life, while John Hubbard and his affairs were of no moment whatever to her.
“Gerald!” she exclaimed, after a moment, and abruptly changing the subject, “I almost forgot a part of my errand here. Papa is going to let me give a lawn-party before we go to Newport—and I am going to send out my invitations for two weeks from to-day—I set it for Saturday because you are at liberty so much earlier on that day. Will you come?”
Gerald’s eyes glowed, and the color mounted to his temples at this evidence of her thought for him. His voice thrilled with repressed emotion as he replied:
“That was certainly very kind of you, Al—Miss——”
“Take care, Gerald!” suddenly interposed the fair girl, as she raised a finger menacingly at him. “I will not be ‘missed’ by you—at least”—with a gleam of roguishness in her dancing eyes—“until I am gone for the summer, and then you may miss me as much as you like. See?”
And, detaching one of the three beautiful pink rosebuds from her corsage, she playfully tossed it at him, and with such unerring aim that it brushed his cheek with its fragrant petals, and then lodged upon his shoulder. Gerald captured it with a hand that tingled in every nerve.
“Yes, Allison, I see,” he said, smiling into the piquant face. “Thanks for this souvenir—I never saw anything more lovely.”
But he was not looking at the rose as he spoke—he was gazing straight into the blue eyes of beautiful Allison Brewster.
“Now will you promise to come to my party?” she asked, rising to go.
“Yes, if——”
“ ‘If!’ ” she repeated sharply, a quick flush mantling her face.
“If there is no extra work to be done and I can get off,” he explained.
“Of course you can get off on Saturday afternoon,” said the girl impatiently; then added appealingly: “Gerald, you must come—it will just spoil the whole thing for me if you do not. Now, good-by—tell papa I could not wait any longer. I have an appointment with my dressmaker at one, and I have a lot of shopping to do before that.”
And