The practical outcome of the friendship which he lost no chance of manifesting that morning,was that Mr.Mayhew,in an easy,informal manner,extended his invitation,and the artist accepted in a way that proved he was constrained by something more than courtesy or a sense of duty,and Conspirator Number Two walked down Broadway muttering (as do all conspirators):"Those young people are liable to stumble into paradise at any moment.""How did you manage to get through a hot August day in town after you were released from durance here?"asked Van Berg.
"I do not know that it required any special management,"replied Ida demurely."I suppose YOU took a nap after your severe labors of the morning.""Now you are satirical.My labor was all in the afternoon,for Iworked from the time you left me till dusk.""Didn't you stop for lunch or dinner?"exclaimed Ida,with surprise.
"Not a moment."
"Why,Mr.Van Berg,what was the matter with you?It will never do for me to come here and waste your forenoons if you try to make up so unmercifully after I'm gone.""You were indeed altogether to blame.Some things,like fine music or a great painting or--it happened to be yourself yesterday--often cause what I call my working moods,when I feel able to do the best things of which I'm capable.Not that they are wonderful or ever will be--they are simply my best efforts--and I assure you I'm not foolish enough to waste such moments in the prosaic task of eating.""I'm only a matter-of-fact person.Plain food at regular intervals is very essential to me."He looked up at her quickly and said:"Now you are mentally laughing at me again.I assure you I ate like an ostrich after my work was over.I even upset the dignity of an urbane Delmonico waiter."Ida bit her lip as she recalled certain resemblances on her own part to that suggestive bird,but she said sympathetically:"It must be rather stupid to dine alone at a restaurant.""I found it insufferably stupid,and I'm more grateful to your father for his invitation than you would believe."Ida could scarcely disguise her pleasure,and with mirthful eyes she said:
"Really,Mr.Van Berg,you place me in quite a dilemma.I find that in one mood you do not wish to eat at all,and again you say you have the rather peculiar appetite of the bird you named.Now I'm housekeeper at present,and scarcely know how to provide.What kind of viands are best adapted to artists and poets,and---""And idiots in general,you might conclude,"said Van Berg,laughing.
"After sitting so near me at the table all summer you must have noticed that nothing but ambrosia and nectar will serve my purpose."Ida's laughing eyes suddenly became deep and dreamy as she said:
"That time seems ages ago.I cannot realize that we are the same people that met so often in Mr.Burleigh's dining-room,and in circumstances that to me were often so very dismal.""Please remember that I am not the same person.I will esteem it a great favor if you will leave the man you saw at that time in the limbo of the past--the farther off the better.""You were rather distant then,"Ida remarked with a piquant smile.
"But am I now?Answer me that,"he said so eagerly that she was again mentally enraged at her tell-tale color,and she said hastily:
"But where am I to find the ambrosia and nectar that you will expect this evening?""Any market can furnish the crude materials.It is the touch of the hostess that transmutes them.""Alas,"said Ida,"I never learned how to cook.If I should prepare your dinner,you would have an awful mood to-morrow,and probably send for the doctor.""I would need a nurse more than a doctor.""I know of an ancient woman--a perfect Mrs.Harris,"said Ida,gleefully.
"Wouldn't you come and see me if I were very ill?""I might call at the door and ask how you were,"she replied,hesitatingly.
"Now,Miss Ida,the undertaker would do as much as that.""Our motives might differ just a little,"she said,dropping her eyes.
"Well,"said the artist,laughing,"if you will prepare the dinner,I'll risk undertaker,ancient woman,and all,rather than spend such another long stupid evening as I did last night.I expected to meet you at the concert garden again.""That's strange,"she said.
"I should say rather that I hoped to meet you and your father there.
Would you have gone if I had asked you?"
"I might."
"I'll set that down as one of the lost opportunities of life.""Why didn't you listen to the music?"
"Well,I didn't.I thought I'd inflict my stupidity on you for awhile,and came as far as your doorsteps before I remembered that I had not been invited;so you see what a narrow escape you had."In spite of herself Ida could not help appearing disappointed as she said,a little reproachfully,"Would a friend have waited for a formal invitation?""A friend did,"replied Van Berg regretfully;"but he won't again.""I'm not so sure about that;my music must have frightened you away.""I listened until I feared the police might think I had designs against the house.I didn't know you were a musician.Miss Mayhew,I'm always finding out something new about you,and I'm going to ask you this evening to sing again for me a ballad the melody of which reminded me of a running brook.It took hold on my fancy and has been running in my head ever since.""Oh,you won't like that;it's a silly,sentimental little thing.
