He never--there
really wasn't--you saved me the only time he--he--that he was really
rude; and I am so grateful for it, Mr. Gordon."
I wasn't in a mood to enjoy even Miss Cullen's gratitude. Without
stopping for words, I dashed into 218, and, going straight to Albert
Cullen, I shook him out of a sound sleep, and before he could well
understand me I was alternately swearing at him and raging at Lord
Ralles.
Finally he got the truth through his head, and it was nuts to me, even
in my rage, to see how his English drawl disappeared, and how quick he
could be when he really became excited.
I left him hurrying into his clothes, and went to my car, for I didn't
dare to see the exodus of Lord Ralles, through fear that I couldn't
behave myself. Albert came into 97 in a few moments to say that the
Englishmen were going to the hotel as soon as dressed, the captain
having elected to stay by his brother.
"I wouldn't have believed it of Ralles. I feel jolly cut up, you
know," he drawled.
I had been so enraged over Lord Ralles that I hadn't stopped to reckon
in what position I stood myself toward Miss Cullen, but I didn't have
to do much thinking to know that I had behaved about as badly as was
possible for me. And the worst of it was that she could not know that
right through the whole I had never quite been able to think badly of
her. I went out on the platform of the station, and was lucky enough
to find her there alone.
"Miss Cullen," I said, "I've been ungentlemanly and suspicious, and
I'm about as ashamed of myself as a man can be and not jump into the
Grand Canon.
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