Ought he not to take Miss Brooks in his confidence? Or should he say nothing about it at present, and trust to chance to discover the sacrilegious hider? Could it possibly be Cherry herself, guilty of the same innocent curiosity that had impelled her to buy the "Ham-fat Man"? Preposterous! Besides, the cards had been used, and she could not play poker alone!
He watched the rolling fog extinguish the line of Russian Hill, the last bit of far perspective from his window.He glanced at his neighbor's veranda, already dripping with moisture; the windows were blank; he remembered to have heard the girls giggling in passing down the side street on their way to church, and had noticed from behind his own curtains that one was rather pretty.This led him to think of Cherry again, and to recall the quaint yet melancholy grace of her figure as she sat on the stool opposite.Why had she withdrawn it so abruptly; did she consider his jesting allusion to it indecorous and presuming? Had he really meant it seriously; and was he beginning to think too much about her? Would she ever come again? How nice it would be if she returned from church alone early, and they could have a comfortable chat together here! Would she sing the "Ham-fat Man" for him? Would the dimples come back if she did?Should he ever know more of this quaint repressed sideof her nature? After all, what a dear, graceful, tantalizing, lovable creature she was! Ought he not at all hazards try to know her better? Might it not be here that he would find a perfect realization of his boyish dreams, and in HER all that--what nonsense he was thinking!
Suddenly Herbert was startled by the sound of a light but hurried foot upon the wooden outer step of his second door, and the quick but ineffective turning of the door-handle.He started to his feet, his mind still filled with a vision of Cherry.Then he as suddenly remembered that he had locked the door on going out, putting the key in his overcoat pocket.He had returned by the front door, and his overcoat was now hanging in the lower hall.
The door again rattled impetuously.Then it was supplemented by a female voice in a hurried whisper: "Open quick, can't you? do hurry!"He was confounded. The voice was authoritative, not unmusical; but it was NOT Cherry's.Nevertheless he called out quickly, "One moment, please, and I'll get the key!" dashed downstairs and up again, breathlessly unlocked the door and threw it open.
Nobody was there!
He ran out into the street.On one side it terminated abruptly on the cliff on which his dwelling was perched; on the other, it descended more gradually into the next thoroughfare; but up and down the street, on either hand, no one was to be seen.A slightly superstitious feeling for an instant crept over him.Then he reflected that the mysterious visitor could in the interval of his getting the key have easily slipped down the steps of the cliff or entered the shrubbery of one of the adjacent houses.But why had she not waited? And what did she want? As he reentered his door he mechanically raised his eyes to the windows of his neighbor's.This time he certainly was not mistaken.The two amused, mischievous faces that suddenly disappeared behind the curtain as he looked up showed that the incident had not been unwitnessed.Yet it was impossible that it could have been either of THEM.Their house was only accessible by a long detour.It might have been the trick of a confederate; but the tone of half familiarity and half entreaty in the unseen visitor's voice dispelled the idea of any collusion.He entered the room and closed the door angrily.
A grim smile stole over his face as he glanced around at the dainty saint- like appointments of the absent Tappington, and thought what that irreproachable young man would have said to the indecorous intrusion, even though it had been a mistake.Would those shameless Pike County girls have dared to laugh at HIM?
