**** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE ****

Find this Story

Print, a form you can hold

Wireless download to your Amazon Kindle

Look for a summary or analysis of this Story.

Enjoy this? Share it!

PAGE 6

The Mind Reader
by [?]

As Philip did not know the name of the Dresden-china doll, it was fortunate that on opening the door, the butler promptly announced:

“Her ladyship is not receiving.”

“Her ladyship will, I think, receive me,” said Philip pleasantly, “when you tell her I come as the special ambassador of his lordship.”

From a tiny reception-room on the right of the entrance-hall there issued a feminine exclamation of surprise, not unmixed with joy; and in the hall the noble lady instantly appeared.

When she saw herself confronted by a stranger, she halted in embarrassment. But as, even while she halted, her only thought had been, “Oh! if he will only ask me to forgive him!” Philip felt no embarrassment whatsoever. Outside, concealed behind a cab horse, was the erring but bitterly repentant husband; inside, her tenderest thoughts racing tumultuously toward him, was an unhappy child-wife begging to be begged to pardon.

For a New York reporter, and a Harvard graduate of charm and good manners, it was too easy.

“I do not know you,” said her ladyship. But even as she spoke she motioned to the butler to go away. “You must be one of his new friends.” Her tone was one of envy.

“Indeed, I am his newest friend,” Philip assured her; “but I can safely say no one knows his thoughts as well as I. And they are all of you!”

The china shepherdess blushed with happiness, but instantly she shook her head.

“They tell me I must not believe him,” she announced. “They tell me–“

“Never mind what they tell you,” commanded Philip. “Listen to ME. He loves you. Better than ever before, he loves you. All he asks is the chance to tell you so. You cannot help but believe him. Who can look at you, and not believe that he loves you! Let me,” he begged, “bring him to you.” He started from her when, remembering the somewhat violent thoughts of the youthful husband, he added hastily: “Or perhaps it would be better if you called him yourself.”

“Called him!” exclaimed the lady. “He is in Paris-at the races–with her!”

“If they tell you that sort of thing,” protested Philip indignantly, “you must listen to me. He is not in Paris. He is not with her. There never was a her!”

He drew aside the lace curtains and pointed. “He is there–behind that ancient cab horse, praying that you will let him tell you that not only did he never do it; but, what is much more important, he will never do it again.”

The lady herself now timidly drew the curtains apart, and then more boldly showed herself upon the iron balcony. Leaning over the scarlet geraniums, she beckoned with both hands. The result was instantaneous. Philip bolted for the front door, leaving it open; and, as he darted down the steps, the youthful husband, in strides resembling those of an ostrich, shot past him. Philip did not cease running until he was well out of Berkeley Square. Then, not ill-pleased with the adventure, he turned and smiled back at the house of yellow stucco.

“Bless you, my children,” he murmured; “bless you!”

He continued to the Ritz; and, on crossing Piccadilly to the quieter entrance to the hotel in Arlington Street, found gathered around it a considerable crowd drawn up on either side of a red carpet that stretched down the steps of the hotel to a court carriage. A red carpet in June, when all is dry under foot and the sun is shining gently, can mean only royalty; and in the rear of the men in the street Philip halted. He remembered that for a few days the young King of Asturia and the Queen Mother were at the Ritz incognito; and, as he never had seen the young man who so recently and so tragically had been exiled from his own kingdom, Philip raised himself on tiptoe and stared expectantly.

As easily as he could read their faces could he read the thoughts of those about him. They were thoughts of friendly curiosity, of pity for the exiles; on the part of the policemen who had hastened from a cross street, of pride at their temporary responsibility; on the part of the coachman of the court carriage, of speculation as to the possible amount of his Majesty’s tip. The thoughts were as harmless and protecting as the warm sunshine.