On the evening of the thirty-first of May, Endicott had gone to bed with his ticket purchased for America and his last five-pound note to last him until the boat sailed.He was a miserable young man.He knew now that he loved Helen Carey in such a way that to put the ocean between them was liable to unseat his courage and his self-control.In London he could, each night, walk through Carlton House Terrace and, leaning against the iron rails of the Carlton Club, gaze up at her window.But, once on the other side of the ocean, that tender exercise must be abandoned.He must even consider her pursued by most attractive guardsmen, diplomats, and belted earls.He knew they could not love her as he did; he knew they could not love her for the reasons he loved her, because the fine and beautiful things in her that he saw and worshipped they did not seek, and so did not find.And yet, for lack of a few thousand dollars, he must remain silent, must put from him the best that ever came into his life, must waste the wonderful devotion he longed to give, must starve the love that he could never summon for any other woman.
On the thirty-first of May he went to sleep utterly and completely miserable.On the first of June he woke hopeless and unrefreshed.
And then the miracle came.
Prichard, the ex-butler who valeted all the young gentlemen in the house where Philip had taken chambers, brought him his breakfast.As he placed the eggs and muffins on the tables to Philip it seemed as though Prichard had said: "I am sorry he is leaving us.The next gentleman who takes these rooms may not be so open-handed.He never locked up his cigars or his whiskey.Iwish he'd give me his old dress-coat.It fits me, except across the shoulders."Philip stared hard at Prichard; but the lips of the valet had not moved.In surprise and bewilderment, Philip demanded:
"How do you know it fits? Have you tried it on?""I wouldn't take such a liberty," protested Prichard."Not with any of our gentlemen's clothes.""How did you know I was talking about clothes," demanded Philip.
"You didn't say anything about clothes, did you?""No, sir, I did not; but you asked me, sir, and I--""Were you thinking of clothes?"
"Well, sir, you might say, in a way, that I was, answered the valet."Seeing as you're leaving, sir, and they're not over-new, I thought ""It's mental telepathy," said Philip.
"I beg your pardon," exclaimed Prichard.
"You needn't wait," said Philip.
The coincidence puzzled him; but by the time he had read the morning papers he had forgotten about it, and it was not until he had emerged into the street that it was forcibly recalled.The street was crowded with people; and as Philip stepped in among them, It was as though every one at whom he looked began to talk aloud.Their lips did not move, nor did any sound issue from between them; but, without ceasing, broken phrases of thoughts came to him as clearly as when, in passing in a crowd, snatches of talk are carried to the ears.One man thought of his debts;another of the weather, and of what disaster it might bring to his silk hat; another planned his luncheon; another was rejoicing over a telegram he had but that moment received.To himself he kept repeating the words of the telegram--"No need to come, out of danger." To Philip the message came as clearly as though he were reading it from the folded slip of paper that the stranger clutched in his hand.
Confused and somewhat frightened, and in order that undisturbed he might consider what had befallen him, Philip sought refuge from the crowded street in the hallway of a building.His first thought was that for some unaccountable cause his brain for the moment was playing tricks with him, and he was inventing the phrases he seemed to hear, that he was attributing thoughts to others of which they were entirely innocent.But, whatever it was that had befallen him, he knew it was imperative that he should at once get at the meaning of it.
The hallway in which he stood opened from Bond Street up a flight of stairs to the studio of a fashionable photographer, and directly in front of the hallway a young woman of charming appearance had halted.Her glance was troubled, her manner ill at ease.To herself she kept repeating: "Did I tell Hudson to be here at a quarter to eleven, or a quarter past? Will she get the telephone message to bring the ruff? Without the ruff it would be absurd to be photographed.Without her ruff Mary Queen of Scots would look ridiculous!"Although the young woman had spoken not a single word, although indeed she was biting impatiently at her lower lip, Philip had distinguished the words clearly.Or, if he had not distinguished them, he surely was going mad.It was a matter to be at once determined, and the young woman should determine it.He advanced boldly to her, and raised his hat.
"Pardon me," he said, "but I believe you are waiting for your maid Hudson?"As though fearing an impertinence, the girl regarded him in silence.
"I only wish to make sure," continued Philip, "that you are she for whom I have a message.You have an appointment, I believe, to be photographed in fancy dress as Mary Queen of Scots?""Well?" assented the girl.
"And you telephoned Hudson," he continued, "to bring you your muff."The girl exclaimed with vexation.
"Oh!" she protested; "I knew they'd get it wrong! Not muff, ruff!
I want my ruff."
Philip felt a cold shiver creep down his spine.
"For the love of Heaven!" he exclaimed in horror; "it's true!""What's true?" demanded the young woman in some alarm.
"That I'm a mind reader," declared Philip."I've read your mind!
I can read everybody's mind.I know just what you're thinking now.You're thinking I'm mad!"The actions of the young lady showed that again he was correct.
With a gasp of terror she fled past him and raced up the stairs to the studio.Philip made no effort to follow and to explain.
