Chapter II

It is not the purpose of this tale to tell in detail how Arthur Caldwell laid siege to Ann Austin. He was a cautious man, and for some time he contented himself by presenting occasional reports of his progress with the damsel of the Telephone Company. Ann, in her friendly and unselfish way, was delighted to hear, a few days later, that he had met his ideal. Then, averring that he needed further counsel, Arthur persuaded her to have lunch with him one day; and Ann, convinced that the young man was in love with someone else, saw no reason why this should not be done. Perhaps it was a little odd that at their various meetings they should have talked so much of themselves, their ambitions, the books they had been reading, and so on; and so little of the Telephone lady. But surely it was strictly a matter of business that Arthur should send Miss Austin some of Fawcett's novels, for her to review in the _Planet_; and equally a professional matter that he should discuss with her her opinion of them. And then came the day when Arthur called up to say that things were going so well with the Telephone lady that he wanted Cynthia to meet her; and would she join them in St. Paul's Churchyard at half-past twelve? Ann, with just a curious little unanalyzed twinge in her heart, agreed to do so.

But when she reached the bench in the graveyard, where a bright autumn sunshine filled the clearing among those tremendous buildings, Arthur was there alone.

“Where's Alice?” said Ann, innocently--for such was the name Arthur had always given the lady of the Telephone Company.

“She couldn't come,” he said. “But I want to show you her picture.”

They sat down on the bench, and he took out of his pocket a copy of the noon edition of the _Planet_. He turned to the feature page, and displayed the little cut of Cynthia at the head of the Lovelorn column.

“There,” he said, stoutly (though his heart was tremulous within him), “there, you adorable little thing, there she is.”

It would be pleasant to linger over this scene, but, as I have just said, this is not our _denouement,_ but only an incident. Ann, shot through with delicious pangs of doubt and glory and anger, asked for explanations.

“And do you mean to say there never was any Alice, the beautiful Telephone blonde?” she said. “What a fraud you are!”

“Of course not,” he said. “You dear, delightful innocent, I just had to cook up some excuse for coming up to see you. And you can't be angry with me now, Ann, because in your own answer to Sincerity's letter you said the girl ought not to be offended. You told me to take a chance! Just think what self-control I had, that first time I came up to see you, not to blurt out the truth.” And then he tore off a scrap of margin from the newspaper and measured her finger for a ring.