Elaine Milner was sitting on the veranda again, the next afternoon, all
ready with an astounding piece of news. A station taxi came up the
drive, and out stepped Mandeville Ryder.
“Oh, Mandy!” she cried, when her attention was diverted by the arrival
of a second taxi, from which descended her Uncle Lucian.
“For Heaven’s sake!” thought she. “Separate taxis--and they’re not even
speaking to each other!”
Before she had recovered herself, both men had gone into the house.
Robinson went to his wife’s room, where she was not. Mandeville went to
Mrs. Milner’s boudoir, where she was. He knocked on the door.
“Come in!” called his two sisters, and in he went.
“Sheila!” he said. “Look here! I--I want you to send for Miss La Chêne
to come back--”
“I dare say you do!” his sister interrupted.
His face was flushed, and no man had ever a guiltier air. Young
Mandeville was not diplomatic, not adroit. So far in his life he had had
no occasion to be. He had existed in magnificent candor.
“You made a big mistake,” he went on. “I knew it all the time. I knew
she--”
“Perfectly obvious!” murmured Sheila.
These words very greatly perturbed him. He didn’t know quite what his
sister meant, and he was alarmed; but he continued doggedly:
“Because I found your confounded bracelet this morning--in your room at
the hotel, where you’d left it.”
Mrs. Robinson and Mrs. Milner looked at each other.
“Ah!” murmured Sheila.
“And here it is,” said he.
Mrs. Robinson took the velvet case that he held out to her, opened it,
and looked inside.
“I see!” said she. “What a sweet, dear boy you are, Mandy! Isn’t he,
Nina?”
“Perfectly pathetic!” said Mrs. Milner.
“Well, why?” he demanded, horribly confused.
No one answered him.
“Well, look here!” he went on. “Now that you’ve got the thing, will you
send for her to come back? Or you can tell me where she lives, and I’ll
go and explain--”
“Oh, I’m sure you would, Mandy!” said Sheila sweetly.
“Well, what--” he began, growing angry now.
There was another knock at the door, and in came Lucian Robinson. He
started at the sight of Mandeville. He wished never to see Mandeville
again. He couldn’t forget that look; and he couldn’t forget that if
Mandeville had known the truth, his contempt would have been beyond
measure greater. At the same time, he couldn’t help liking the
contemptuous young man, and admiring him, because he knew that nothing
in this world could ever induce Mandeville to do a base or cowardly
thing.
“I--I--I--” he said, turning toward the door again. “L-later, my dear!”
“Do come in, Lucian!” said his wife. “Mandeville was just speaking of
Miss La Chêne.”
“Th-that’s queer!” cried Robinson, with very strained geniality. “Dashed
queer! Because I--”
“Because you were just thinking about her?” his wife inquired
pleasantly.
“N-no,” said he; “but--but--but--the thing is, I got thinking about that
b-bracelet, and--well!” From his pocket he pulled a velvet case. “H-here
it is!” he said. “I found it in your room at the--”
He stopped, stricken with horror by the expression on his wife’s face.
She rose. She opened the door into Mrs. Milner’s bedroom.
“Miss La Chêne!” she said. “Kindly come here! Perhaps _you_ can explain
this!”
In came Miss La Chêne. Her face bore the marks of recent tears, but she
looked not at all abashed or humbled. On the contrary, she held her
little head mighty high.
“You see,” Mrs. Robinson said to her, “both these gentlemen found my
bracelet in the room at the hotel. Doesn’t that seem rather strange?”
She turned toward her husband. “Because,” she went on, “I telephoned to
Miss La Chêne this morning, to tell her that I had found it myself, in
my bureau drawer.”
Silence.
“I wanted to apologize to Miss La Chêne,” Sheila continued. “I thought
she might be feeling badly about it. I didn’t know how _many_ people
there were to look after her and defend her. Mandeville and
Lucian--Mandeville I can understand, but why you should take it upon
yourself, Lucian, to shield this girl before you knew whether or not--”
“Please!” Miss La Chêne interrupted anxiously. “It was a kind and
generous thing for Mr. Robinson to do for--”
“You have the effrontery to take his part against me?” cried Mrs.
Robinson. “This--”
“W-wait!” said Robinson.
They all turned, startled by his tone. The harassed and wretched man had
spoken with a sternness no one had ever heard him employ before. The
spectacle of Miss La Chêne defending him was a little more than he could
bear. He had come to the end of his tether. Indeed, he had cut it, and
he stood free. His stammer had left him, and so had his nervous smile.
“Be good enough to keep your disgusting suspicions to yourself,” he said
to his wife. “They only lower you in my eyes.”
“You dare--” she began.
“I’m sick and tired of being bullied and suspected and accused,” he went
on. “Of course I bought this bracelet. I did it partly to save a
defenseless girl, whom I knew to be innocent, from the outrageous
treatment I knew she’d get at your hands; but I did it chiefly because I
owed it to her. I was the last one to handle your accursed jewel case. I
took it from Miss La Chêne in the city. I met her there the day you
left. I had tea with her; and you can be proud or not of the fact that I
was afraid to tell you I had spoken to her.”
The effect of this speech was tremendous. Every one in the room was
stricken into sinister silence.
There stood Robinson, pale, but absolutely resolute, waiting for the
storm to break. It was going to be awful, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t
going to be badgered and bullied any more. Sheila was a fine woman. He
always had thought so, and he thought so now, but she--
“Lucian!” breathed Mrs. Milner, as if in awe.
“Lucian!” cried Mrs. Robinson.
And he saw that instead of being temporarily speechless with rage, she
was looking at him as she hadn’t looked for years and years--not since
that day, before they were married, when he had won the tennis singles,
and she had called him “my hero” in a very silly but somehow rather
touching way.
“Oh, Lucian!” she cried again.
His business training had taught him that nothing is more fatal than a
half triumph. He must go forward.
“No!” said he. “Don’t talk to me. I won’t be talked to about this. Only
I want to offer my most sincere and humble apologies to Miss La Chêne--”
“_Mon Dieu!_” cried Miss La Chêne, completely overcome. “_Ah, monsieur!
Que vous êtes gentil! Que vous êtes bon!_”
“Please don’t cry!” said Robinson.
“_Je n’y puis rien!_” sobbed she.
He really couldn’t bear this, especially as, for all he knew, her words
might be an appeal to his better nature. He came nearer to her and
patted her shoulder.
“There! There! There!” he said gently.
And the poor little thing, worn out by the series of terrific scenes in
which she had been engaged, and by the misery and anxiety she had
endured, rested her head on Mr. Robinson’s shoulder and cried and cried.
This was a sight which could not fail to impress Sheila Robinson deeply.
“Lucian!” she said, beginning to cry herself, and speaking in an
imploring tone. “Please forgive me! Oh, please forgive me--and come over
here!”
Robinson looked at his wife over Miss La Chêne’s shoulder. In his heart
he felt extremely sorry to see that regal creature brought low, but he
meant never to admit this.
“The episode,” said he, “is ended. You have your bracelet--three of ’em
in fact; so we’ll say no more about it.”
Then he looked at Mandeville. The young man was frowning heavily. He was
profoundly displeased, but he was no longer contemptuous. On the
contrary, he was envious.
“Er--Miss La Chêne!” said he.
She raised her head from Robinson’s shoulder, smiled uncertainly, and
walked off to a corner of the room, there to dry her eyes. Mandeville
followed her.
“Look here!” said he to her, very low. “Robinson’s a fine fellow, and so
on, but he’s married!”
“What of it?” said she coldly. “Do I do anything wrong?”
“Oh, no!” Mandeville replied hastily. “Of course not. Only--look here!
Don’t--please don’t be--too French, you know!”
They went out into the garden, and walked about there; and Mandeville
must have advanced some excellent arguments, because, before dinner was
announced, Miss La Chêne had promised not to be French at all any more,
but to become an American for the rest of her life.
MUNSEY’S
MAGAZINE
APRIL, 1925
Vol. LXXXIV NUMBER 3