In a Steamer Chair And Other Stories by Robert Barr

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"Well, yes, that is my belief. I will admit I believe all that. What of
it?"

"What of it? There is this of it. You are the junior partner of a large
establishment in New York?"

"Nothing criminal in that, is there?"

"Oh, I don't put it as an accusation, I am merely stating the fact. You
admit the fact, of course?"

"Yes. The fact is admitted, and marked 'Exhibit A,' and placed in
evidence. Now, what next?"

"In the same establishment there was a young woman who sold ribbons to
all comers?"

"Yes, I admit that also, and the young lady's name was Miss Katherine
Earle."

"Oh, you knew it, then?"

"Why, certainly I did."

"You knew it before you proposed to me."

"Oh, I seem to have known that fact for years and years."

"She told it to you."

"She? What she?"

"You know very well who I mean, George. She told it to you, didn't she?"

"Why, don't you think I remembered you--remembered seeing you there?"

"I know very well you did not. You may have seen me there, but you did
not remember me. The moment I spoke to you on the deck that day in the
broken chair, I saw at once you did not remember me, and there is very
little use of your trying to pretend you thought of it afterwards. She
told it to you, didn't she?"

"Now, look here, Katherine, it isn't I who am making a confession, it
is you. It is not customary for a penitent to cross-examine the father
confessor in that style."

"It does not make any difference whether you confess or not, George; I
shall always know she told you that. After all, I wish she had left it
for me to tell. I believe I dislike that woman very much."

"Shake hands, Kate, over that. So do I. Now, my dear, tell me what she
told _you_."

"Then she _did_ tell you that, did she?"

"Why, if you are so sure of it without my admitting it, why do you ask
again?"

"I suppose because I wanted to make doubly sure."

"Well, then, assurance is doubly sure. I admit she did."

"And you listened to her, George?" said Katherine, reproachfully.

"Listened? Why, of course I did. I couldn't help myself. She said it
before I knew what she was going to say. She didn't give me the chance
that your man had in that story you were speaking of. I said something
that irritated her and she out with it at once as if it had been a crime
on your part. I did not look on it in that light, and don't now. Anyhow,
you are not going back to the ribbon counter."

"No," answered the young lady, with a sigh, looking dreamily out into
the hazy distance. "No, I am not."

"At least, not that side of the counter," said George.

She looked at him for a moment, as if she did not understand him; then
she laughed lightly.

"Now," said Morris, "I have done most of the confession on this
confession of yours. Supposing I make a confession, and ask you to tell
me what she told you."

"Well, she told me that you were a very fascinating young man," answered
Katherine, with a sigh.

"Really. And did after-acquaintance corroborate that statement?"

"I never had occasion to tell her she was mistaken."

"What else did she say? Didn't mention anything about my prospects or
financial standing in any way?"

"No; we did not touch on that subject."

"Come, now, you cannot evade the question. What else did she say to
you about me?"

"I don't know that it is quite right to tell you, but I suppose I may.
She said that you were engaged to her."

"Had been."

"No, were."

"Oh, that's it. She did not tell you she was on her wedding tour?"

"No, she did not."

"And didn't you speak to her about her father being on board?"

Katherine laughed her low, enjoyable laugh.

"Yes," she said, "I did, and I did not think till this moment of how
flustered she looked. But she recovered her lost ground with a great
deal of dexterity."

"By George, I should like to have heard that! I am avenged!"

"Well, so is she," was the answer.

"How is that?"

"You are engaged to me, are you not?"

Before George could make any suitable reply to this bit of humbug, one
of the officers of the ship stopped before them.

"Well," he said, "I am afraid we shall not see Liverpool to-night."

"Really. Why?" asked George.

"This haze is settling down into a fog. It will be as thick as pea-soup
before an hour. I expect there will be a good deal of grumbling among
the passengers."

As he walked on, George said to Katherine, "There are two passengers who
won't grumble any, will they, my dear?"

"I know one who won't," she answered.

The fog grew thicker and thicker; the vessel slowed down, and finally
stopped, sounding every now and then its mournful, timber-shaking
whistle.

EIGHTH DAY.

On the afternoon of the eighth day George Morris and Katherine Earle
stood together on the deck of the tender, looking back at the huge
steamship which they had just left.

"When we return," he said, "I think we shall choose this ship."

"Return?" she answered, looking at him.

"Why, certainly; we are going back, are we not?"

"Dear me," she replied, "I had not thought of that. You see, when I left
America I did not intend to go back."

"Did you not? I thought you were only over here for the trip."

"Oh no. I told you I came on business, not on pleasure."

"And did you intend to stay over here?"

"Certainly."

"Why, that's strange; I never thought of that."

"It is strange, too," said Katherine, "that I never thought of going
back."

"And--and," said the young man, "won't you go?"

She pressed his arm, and stood motionless.

"'Where thou goest, I will go. Thy people shall be my people.'"

"That's a quotation, I suppose?" said George.

"It is," answered Katherine.

"Well, you see, as I told you, I am not very well read up on the books
of the day."

"I don't know whether you would call that one of the books of the day or
not," said Katherine; "it is from the Bible."

"Oh," answered the other. "I believe, Kate, you will spend the rest of
your life laughing at me."

"Oh no," said the young lady, "I always thought I was fitted for
missionary life. Now, look what a chance I have."

"You have taken a big contract, I admit."

They had very little trouble with their luggage. It is true that the
English officials looked rather searchingly in Katherine's trunk for
dynamite, but, their fears being allayed in that direction, the trunks
were soon chalked and on the back of a stout porter, who transferred
them to the top of a cab.

"I tell you what it is," said George, "it takes an American Custom-house
official to make the average American feel ashamed of his country."

"Why, I did not think there was anything over there that could make you
feel ashamed of your country. You are such a thorough-going American."

"Well, the Customs officials in New York have a knack of making a person
feel that he belongs to no place on earth."

They drove to the big Liverpool hotel which is usually frequented by
Americans who land in that city, and George spent the afternoon in
attending to business in Liverpool, which he said he did not expect to
have to look after when he left America, but which he desired very much
to get some information about.

Katherine innocently asked if she could be of any assistance to him,
and he replied that she might later on, but not at the present state of
proceedings.

In the evening they went to a theatre together, and took a long route
back to the hotel.

"It isn't a very pretty city," said Miss Earle.

"Oh, I think you are mistaken," replied her lover. "To me it is the most
beautiful city in the world."

"Do you really mean that?" she said, looking at him with surprise.

"Yes, I do. It is the first city through which I have walked with the
lady who is to be my wife."

"Oh, indeed," remarked the lady who was to be his wife, "and have you
never walked with----"

"Now, see here," said Morris, "that subject is barred out. We left all
those allusions on the steamer. I say I am walking now with the lady
who _is_ to be my wife. I think that statement of the case is perfectly
correct, is it not?"

"I believe it is rather more accurate than the average statement of the
average American."

"Now, Katherine," he said, "do you know what information I have been
looking up since I have been in Liverpool?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," she said. "Property?"

"No, not property."

"Looking after your baggage, probably?"

"Well, I think you have got it this time. I _was_ looking after my
baggage. I was trying to find out how and when we could get married."

"Oh!"

"Yes, oh! Does that shock you? I find they have some idiotic arrangement
by which a person has to live here three months before he can be
married, although I was given some hope that, by paying for it, a person
could get a special licence. If that is the case, I am going to have a
special licence to-morrow."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, indeed. Then we can be married at the hotel."

"And don't you think, George, that I might have something to say about
that?"

"Oh, certainly! I intended to talk with you about it. Of course I am
talking with you now on that subject. You admitted the possibility of
our getting married. I believe I had better get you to put it down in
writing, or have you say it before witnesses, or something of that
sort."

"Well, I shouldn't like to be married in a hotel."

"In a church, then? I suppose I can make arrangements that will include
a church. A parson will marry us. That parson, if he is the right sort,
will have a church. It stands to reason, therefore, that if we give him
the contract he will give us the use of his church, _quid pro quo_, you
know."

"Don't talk flippantly, please. I think it better to wait until
to-morrow, George, before you do anything rash. I want to see
something of the country. I want us to take a little journey together
to-morrow, and then, out in the country, not in this grimy, sooty city,
we will make arrangements for our marriage."

"All right, my dear. Where do you intend to go?"

"While you have been wasting your time in getting information relating
to matrimony, I have been examining time-tables. Where I want to go
is two or three hours' ride from here. We can take one of the morning
trains, and when we get to the place I will allow you to hire a
conveyance, and we will have a real country drive. Will you go with me?"

"_Will_ I? You better believe I will. But you see, Katherine, I want to
get married as soon as possible. Then we can take a little trip on the
Continent before it is time for us to go back to America. You have never
been on the Continent, have you?"

"Never."

"Well, I am very glad of that. I shall be your guide, philosopher, and
friend, and, added to that, your husband."

"Very well, we will arrange all that on our little excursion to-morrow."

NINTH DAY.

Spring in England--and one of those perfect spring days in which
all rural England looks like a garden. The landscape was especially
beautiful to American eyes, after the more rugged views of Transatlantic
scenery. The hedges were closely clipped, the fields of the deepest
green, and the hills far away were blue and hazy in the distance.

"There is no getting over the fact," said Morris, "that this is the
prettiest country in the whole world."

During most of the journey Katherine Earle sat back in her corner of the
first-class compartment, and gazed silently out of the flying windows.
She seemed too deeply impressed with the beauty of the scene to care for
conversation even with the man she was to marry. At last they stopped
at a pretty little rural station, with the name of the place done in
flowers of vivid colour that stood out against the brown of the earth
around, them and the green turf which formed the sloping bank.

"Now," said George, as they stood on the platform, "whither away? Which
direction?"

"I want to see," said she, "a real, genuine, old English country home."
"A castle?"

"No, not a castle."

"Oh, I know what you want. Something like Haddon Hall, or that sort of
thing. An old manor house. Well, wait a minute, and I'll talk to the
station master, and find out all there is about this part of the
country."

And before she could stop him, he had gone to make his inquiry of that
official. Shortly after he came back with a list of places that were
worth seeing, which he named.

"Holmwood House," she repeated. "Let us see that. How far is it?"

George again made inquiries, and found that it was about eight miles
away. The station-master assured him that the road thither was one of
the prettiest drives in the whole country.

"Now, what kind of a conveyance will you have? There are four-wheeled
cabs, and there is even a hansom to be had. Will you have two horses or
one, and will you have a coachman?"

"None of these," she said, "if you can get something you can drive
yourself--I suppose you are a driver?"

"Oh, I have driven a buggy."

"Well, get some sort of conveyance that we can both sit in while you
drive."

"But don't you think we will get lost?"

"We can inquire the way," she said, "and if we do get lost, it won't
matter. I want to have a long talk with you before we reach the place."

They crossed the railway by a bridge over the line, and descended into a
valley along which the road wound.

The outfit which George had secured was a neat little cart made of wood
in the natural colour and varnished, and a trim little pony, which
looked ridiculously small for two grown people, and yet was, as George
afterwards said, "as tough as a pine knot."

The pony trotted merrily along, and needed no urging. George doubtless
was a good driver, but whatever talents he had in that line were not
brought into play. The pony was a treasure that had apparently no bad
qualities. For a long time the two in the cart rode along the smooth
highway silently, until at last Morris broke out with--

"Oh, see here! This is not according to contract. You said you wanted a
long talk, and now you are complacently saying nothing."

"I do not know exactly how to begin."

"Is it so serious as all that?"

"It is not serious exactly--it is merely, as it were, a continuation
of the confession."

"I thought we were through with that long ago. Are there any more
horrible revelations?"

She looked at him with something like reproach in her eyes.

"If you are going to talk flippantly, I think I will postpone what I
have to say until another time."

"My dear Kate, give a man a chance. He can't reform in a moment. I never
had my flippancy checked before. Now then, I am serious again. What
appalling--I mean--you see how difficult it is, Katherine--I mean, what
serious subject shall we discuss?"

"Some other time."

"No--now. I insist on it. Otherwise I will know I am unforgiven."

"There is nothing to forgive. I merely wanted to tell you something more
than you know about my own history."

"I know more now than that man in the story."

He did not object to the knowledge, you know. He objected to receiving
it from a third person. Now I am not a third person, am I?"

"Indeed, you are not. You are first person singular--at present--the
first person to me at least. There, I am afraid I have dropped into
flippancy again."

"That is not flippancy. That is very nice." The interval shall be
unreported.

At last Katherine said quietly, "My mother came from this part of
England."

"Ah! That is why you wanted to come here."

"That is why I wanted to come here. She was her father's only daughter,
and, strange to say, he was very fond of her, and proud of her."

"Why strange?"

"Strange from his action for years after. She married against his will.
He never forgave her. My father did not seem to have the knack of
getting along in the world, and he moved to America in the hope of
bettering his condition. He did not better it. My father died ten years
ago, a prematurely broken down man, and my mother and I struggled along
as best we could until she died two years ago. My grandfather returned
her letter unopened when mother wrote to him ten years ago, although the
letter had a black border around it. When I think of her I find it hard
to forgive him, so I suppose some of his nature has been transmitted to
me."

"Find it hard? Katherine, if you were not an angel you would find it
impossible."

"Well, there is nothing more to tell, or at least, not much. I thought
you should know this. I intended to tell you that last day on shipboard,
but it seemed to me that here was where it should be told--among the
hills and valleys that she saw when she was my age."

"Katherine, my dear, do not think about it any more than you can help.
It will only uselessly depress you. Here is a man coming. Let us find
out now whether we have lost our way or not."

They had.

Even after that they managed to get up some wrong lanes and byways, and
took several wrong turnings; but by means of inquiry from every one they
met, they succeeded at last in reaching the place they were in search
of.

There was an old and grey porter's lodge, and an old and grey gateway,
with two tall, moss-grown stone pillars, and an iron gate between them.
On the top of the pillars were crumbled stone shields, seemingly held in
place by a lion on each pillar.

"Is this Holmwood House?" asked Morris of the old and grey man who came
out of the porter's lodge.

"Yes, sir, it be," replied the man.

"Are visitors permitted to see the house and the grounds?"

"No, they be'ant," was the answer. "Visitors were allowed on Saturdays
in the old Squire's time, but since he died they tell me the estate is
in the courts, and we have orders from the London lawyers to let nobody
in."

"I can make it worth your while," said George, feeling in his vest
pocket; "this lady would like to see the house."

The old man shook his head, even although George showed him a gold piece
between his finger and thumb. Morris was astonished at this, for he had
the mistaken belief which all Americans have, that a tip in Europe, if
it is only large enough, will accomplish anything.

"I think perhaps I can get permission," said Katherine, "if you will let
me talk a while to the old man."

"All right. Go ahead," said George. "I believe you could wheedle anybody
into doing what he shouldn't do."

"Now, after saying that, I shall not allow you to listen. I shall step
down and talk with him a moment and you can drive on for a little
distance, and come back."

"Oh, that's all right," said George, "I know how it is. You don't want
to give away the secret of your power. Be careful, now, in stepping
down. This is not an American buggy," but before he had finished the
warning, Katherine had jumped lightly on the gravel, and stood waiting
for him to drive on. When he came back he found the iron gates open.

"I shall not get in again," she said. "You may leave the pony with this
man, George, he will take care of it. We can walk up the avenue to the
house."

After a short walk under the spreading old oaks they came in sight
of the house, which was of red brick and of the Elizabethan style of
architecture.

"I am rather disappointed with that," said George, "I always thought old
English homesteads were of stone."

"Well, this one at least is of brick, and I imagine you will find a
great many of them are of the same material."

They met with further opposition from the housekeeper who came to the
door which the servant had opened after the bell was rung.

She would allow nobody in the house, she said. As for Giles, if he
allowed people on the grounds that was his own look-out, but she had
been forbidden by the lawyers to allow anybody in the house, and she had
let nobody in, and she wasn't going to let anybody in.

"Shall I offer her a tip?" asked George, in a whisper.

"No, don't do that."

"You can't wheedle her like you did the old man, you know. A woman may
do a great deal with a man, but when she meets another woman she meets
her match. You women know each other, you know."

Meanwhile the housekeeper, who had been about to shut the door, seemed
to pause and regard the young lady with a good deal of curiosity. Her
attention had before that time been taken up with the gentleman.

"Well, I shall walk to the end of the terrace, and give you a chance
to try your wiles. But I am ready to bet ten dollars that you don't
succeed."

"I'll take you," answered the young lady.

"Yes, you said you would that night on the steamer."

"Oh, that's a very good way of getting out of a hopeless bet."

"I am ready to make the bet all right enough, but I know you haven't a
ten-dollar bill about you."

"Well, that is very true, for I have changed all my money to English
currency; but I am willing to bet its equivalent."

Morris walked to the end of the terrace. When he got back he found that
the door of the house was as wide open as the gates of the park had
been.

"There is something uncanny about all this," he said. "I am just
beginning to see that you have a most dangerous power of fascination. I
could understand it with old Giles, but I must admit that I thought the
stern housekeeper would----"

"My dear George," interrupted Katherine, "almost anything can be
accomplished with people, if you only go about it the right way."

"Now, what is there to be seen in this house?"

"All that there is to be seen about any old English house. I thought,
perhaps, you might he interested in it."

"Oh, I am. But I mean, isn't there any notable things? For instance, I
was in Haddon Hall once, and they showed me the back stairway where a
fair lady had eloped with her lover. Have they anything of that kind to
show here?"

Miss Earle was silent for a few moments. "Yes," she said, "I am afraid
they have."

"Afraid? Why, that is perfectly delightful. Did the young lady of the
house elope with her lover?"

"Oh, don't talk in that way, George," she said. "Please don't."

"Well, I won't, if you say so. I admit those little episodes generally
turn out badly. Still you must acknowledge that they add a great
interest to an old house of the Elizabethan age like this?"

Miss Earle was silent. They had, by this time, gone up the polished
stairway, which was dimly lighted by a large window of stained glass.

"Here we are in the portrait hall," said Miss Earle. "There is a picture
here that I have never seen, although I have heard of it, and I want to
see it. Where is it?" she asked, turning to the housekeeper, who had
been following them up the stairs.

"This way, my lady," answered the housekeeper, as she brought them
before a painting completely concealed by a dark covering of cloth.

"Why is it covered in that way? To keep the dust from it?"

The housekeeper hesitated for a moment; then she said--

"The old Squire, my lady, put that on when she left, and it has never
been taken off since."

"Then take it off at once," demanded Katherine Earle, in a tone that
astonished Morris.

The housekeeper, who was too dignified to take down the covering
herself, went to find the servant, but Miss Earle, with a gesture of
impatience, grasped the cloth and tore it from its place, revealing the
full-length portrait of a young lady.

Morris looked at the portrait in astonishment, and then at the girl by
his side.

"Why, Katherine," he cried, "it is your picture!"

The young lady was standing with her hands tightly clenched and her lips
quivering with nervous excitement. There were tears in her eyes, and she
did not answer her lover for a moment; then she said--

"No, it is not my picture. This is a portrait of my mother."

MRS. TREMAIN

"And Woman, wit a flaming torch
Sings heedless, in a powder--
Her careless smiles they warp and scorch
Man's heart, as fire the pine
Cuts keener than the thrust of lance
Her glance"

The trouble about this story is that it really has no ending. Taking
an ocean voyage is something like picking up an interesting novel, and
reading a chapter in the middle of it. The passenger on a big steamer
gets glimpses of other people's lives, but he doesn't know what the
beginning was, nor what the ending will be.

The last time I saw Mrs. Tremain she was looking over her shoulder and
smiling at Glendenning as she walked up the gangway plank at Liverpool,
hanging affectionately on the arm of her husband. I said to myself at
the time, "You silly little handsome idiot, Lord only knows what trouble
you will cause before flirting has lost its charm for you." Personally
I would like to have shoved Glendenning off the gangway plank into the
dark Mersey; but that would have been against the laws of the country on
which we were then landing.

Mrs. Tremain was a woman whom other women did not like, and whom men
did. Glendenning was a man that the average man detested, but he was a
great favourite with the ladies.

I shall never forget the sensation Mrs. Tremain caused when she first
entered the saloon of our steamer. I wish I were able to describe
accurately just how she was dressed; for her dress, of course, had a
great deal to do with her appearance, notwithstanding the fact that
she was one of the loveliest women I ever saw in my life. But it would
require a woman to describe her dress with accuracy, and I am afraid any
woman who was on board the steamer that trip would decline to help
me. Women were in the habit of sniffing when Mrs. Tremain's name was
mentioned. Much can be expressed by a woman's sniff. All that I can
say about Mrs. Tremain's dress is that it was of some dark material,
brightly shot with threads of gold, and that she had looped in some way
over her shoulders and around her waist a very startlingly coloured
silken scarf, while over her hair was thrown a black lace arrangement
that reached down nearly to her feet, giving her a half-Spanish
appearance. A military-looking gentleman, at least twice her age, was
walking beside her. He was as grave and sober as she appeared light and
frivolous, and she walked by his side with a peculiar elastic step, that
seemed hardly to touch the carpet, laughing and talking to him just as
if fifty pair of eyes were not riveted upon her as the pair entered.
Everybody thought her a Spanish woman; but, as it turned out afterward,
she was of Spanish-Mexican-American origin, and whatever beauty there
is in those three nationalities seemed to be blended in some subtle,
perfectly indescribable way in the face and figure of Mrs. Tremain.

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