XVIII
EDNESDAY and Thursday passed laggingly. Friday found Gordon nervous, unstrung, alternating between a calm certainty that all would come right and a despairing certainty that Peggy was lost to him. Hoping, but scarcely expecting that she might write to him to-day instead of waiting for the morrow, he stayed at home all the afternoon, breaking a business appointment to do so, and watched for the postman. As the time passed his nervousness became an irritability so unusual that Hurd became worried and dogged him solicitously until Gordon, with a flare of temper, damned him away. After the last delivery had been made he slammed out of the house and walked through a drizzle to the nearest club, where, by two in the morning he had managed by execrable playing, to lose many dollars at auction.
By Saturday morning the drizzle had become a very healthy downpour. Meaning to arise early, he overslept and reached the dining-room at half-past nine. The mail was heaped beside his plate. His heart, none too steady at best to-day, seemed to turn completely over as he sank into his chair under the sympathetic and comprehending eyes of Hurd. He pushed the grapefruit away and took up the Herald.
"Coffee, Hurd," he said. "Nothing else, please."
"The kidneys are very nice, sir," ventured Hurd.
"Nothing else, Hurd," responded Gordon in a tone that was final. Hurd poured the coffee gravely. Then he cunningly moved the toast-rack nearer.
"You may go," muttered Gordon, glancing unseeingly at the first page of the paper. Hurd retired noiselessly. Gordon gulped half the coffee, seized the letters and went to the window. There, with hands that trembled, he went over them in feverish hurry. Circulars, bills, announcements, broker's communications fell unheeded to the carpet. He had never seen Peggy's handwriting, and his first draw was a blank, an invitation to dinner. Impatiently he tossed it aside and again shuffled over the remaining letters. One, addressed in an easy flowing hand on a cheap business-shape envelope, was thrice disregarded, and only when he had been disappointed four times did he open it, already concluding that she had written, if at all, too late for the first delivery. The single sheet of cheap gray paper inside didn't fit the envelope and Gordon scarcely troubled to glance at the signature. But what he saw was sufficient to rivet his attention.
He let the note drop, fumbled for his cigarette case, and, not until he had sent a half-dozen clouds of blue smoke at the gray, rain-blurred window did he rescue the letter and, with pounding heart, read it.
Sincerely,