The Last Woman

Sally Gardner had never seen her husband in quite such a state of excitement, but as she was one of the kind that is always ready for anything in the shape of adventure, and scented one here, she lost no time in complying with his request. Beatrice's expression was first of amusement; then, of comprehension. Almost before any of the party fully realized what had happened, Jack Gardner and his companions were gone. Patricia and Roderick Duncan were alone at the table.

She turned her expressive eyes toward him and regarded him closely, but in silence, for a moment. Then, in a low tone, she inquired: "May I ask if you understand this amazing succession of incidents? To me, it is entirely incomprehensible. If you can explain it, I wish you would do so."

"I am afraid, Patricia, that it cannot be explained--that is, any farther than I've already done so," he replied.

"Who is responsible for this remarkable story you say the newspaper man asked you about?"

Duncan hesitated. Then, he replied: "When Beatrice and I left the opera-house to-night, we entered a taxicab, and we did drive as far as the iron gateway that admits one to the Church of the Transfiguration. We did not enter; in fact, we did not leave the cab at all. It is possible, though hardly probable, that we were followed by some reporter."

"But why did you drive to the Church of the Transfiguration, at all?" she asked him, with a smile upon her face that had something of derision in it, for she plainly saw that Duncan was floundering badly in his effort to explain. When he hesitated for a suitable reply, she continued: "Why, may I ask, did you leave the box at the opera-house, in such a surreptitious manner? It seems to me that the Church of the Transfiguration was an odd destination for you to have selected, when you did leave it, with Beatrice for a companion. Or was there a pre-arrangement between you. Was it her suggestion, or was it yours, Roderick?"

"It was mine," he replied; and he could not help smiling at the recollection of it, even though the present moment was filled with tragic possibilities.

"It seems to amuse you," she told him.

"It does--now."

"Had you, for the moment, forgotten that you were under contract with me, for Monday morning?"

Instead of replying at once, he leaned forward half-across the table toward her, and, fixing his gaze steadily upon her, said, with low earnestness: "Patricia, for God's sake, let us cease all this fencing; let us put an end to this succession of misunderstandings. You know how I love you! You know--"