Well, I will tell you of one conversation at least between Mr. Nugent
and myself. A very celebrated--you may be sure he is in the superlative
class--lung specialist came up the other day to visit the Chenoweths.
Although Bertie is apparently so much better, the moment this doctor
appeared I felt that I must have a verdict. At first I thought of
appealing to Mr. Rogers, but finally concluded that as I had talked
so much to Mr. Nugent it would be positively unkind to pass him
over; besides it is so much easier to speak to him about _anything_.
The _one_ thing that keeps me from feeling the _perfect_ freedom of
friendship when I am alone with him is the fear that he suddenly will
lose his head and take me in his arms and kiss me. He looks passion
incarnate and I know that if he ever did let go he would be like one of
these alarming electrical storms that visit us every two or three days.
However, I have managed him rather well, so far.
Well, I confided in him, and he engaged to persuade Dr. Soulé and
Bertie to meet for examination, and pledged himself to get the truth
out of the doctor and tell me every word of it. It was finally
agreed--Bertie was a long time being persuaded--that they were to meet
this morning in Mr. Nugent’s room and that at four this afternoon Mr.
N. and I would meet at a certain spot in the forest, where I should
hear the fateful truth--I thought the appointment was justifiable in
the circumstances.
By three I was so nervous that I could not stay in the house and
I plunged into the forest, praying that I would meet no one else.
Fortunately our camp is alone on our side of the lake and the others
prefer the trails behind the Club House and at the north end. I walked
far down the mountain to quiet my nerves a little, then returned to
the place where we had agreed to meet. It was the rocky brook I told
you of, but some distance below the boulder. The opposite bank sloped
up gently, its gloom hung with scattered leaves and sun-flecks. I
sat down on a rock among the alders, still nervous, my hand, indeed,
pressed against my heart, but--what strange tricks the mind plays
us--my terrible anxiety crossed by imaginings of what Mr. N. would do
and say should he bring me the worst. In a moment, too, my mind was
diverted by the dearest sight. A chipmunk--a tiny thing no longer than
my finger with a snow white breast and reddish brown back striped with
grey and ivory--sat on his hind legs on a stone opposite me eating a
nut which he held in his front paws. His black restless eyes never left
my face as he tore that nut apart with teeth and nail, and he seemed to
have made up his little mind that I was quite stationary--he did seem
to enjoy that nut so much. His bushy tail stood straight up behind and
curled back from his head. It was quite an inch longer than himself,
and not a bit of him moved but those tight little arms and those
crunching teeth. He ate the entire nut, and when he had finished and
dropped the shell, he still sat there on his hind legs, glancing about,
his eyes never wandering far from my face, and absorbing my attention
so completely that I quite forgot the apprehension that had torn me
for the past four hours. But our mutual interest was shattered by a
footstep. I sprang to my feet and he scampered into the ferns.
The moment I saw Mr. N.’s face I knew that I was not to hear the
worst, at all events; and then, for the life of me, I could not let
the subject be broached. I hurriedly commenced to tell him about the
chipmunk and he sat down on the stone it had deserted and listened as
if he never had heard of a chipmunk before.
“I’ll try and get you one,” he said. “I think one might be tamed.”
“Oh, I should love it!” I exclaimed. “It would be company for hours at
a time. I am sure it has intelligence.”
“I am afraid you have many lonely hours,” he said. “I think you do not
like our people here.”
“No,” I said, “they fidget me. I really admire them and I never in all
my life believed that so many clever people could be got together in
one place. But--that is it--they are not my own sort.”
“No, they are not, and I have a plan to propose to you, that I think
might be carried out now that your brother is so much better. I have a
number of friends at another lake about ten miles from here. They are
very different from these--far more like what you have been used to.
They belong to one of the worldly sets in New York, and, while they are
quite as clever as our friends here, cleverness is not their métier and
they are not so self-conscious about it. They bought Chipmunk Lake and
built cottages there that they might go into camp whenever they felt
that they needed rest more than Europe or Newport--Should you like to
visit there?”
“Yes, but how?”
“I should have said that my married sister is there and that I have
written to her about you. She would be delighted if you would pay her
a visit. Of course Lady Agatha will go with you, and the Duke can
transfer himself to the Club House for a time.”
“He is there always, anyhow,” I said, and I suspect I pouted. At all
events he smiled sympathetically and said,
“I am afraid you have learned already something of the selfishness and
ingratitude of man.”
“It is a good preparation for matrimony,” I remarked drily.
“Are you contemplating matrimony?” It is interesting rather to bring
some colour into the face of an American.
“I am always afraid I might marry some time when I am unusually bored.”
“It is not so great a risk to bore you, then?”
“Oh, I mean by Circumstances. I should expect the man to descend
suddenly into them with the wings of an archangel and bear me off.”
“Are you very much bored here? Have I come too soon?”
“I never have enjoyed myself so much.”
“Nevertheless you are not averse to a change.”
“Oh, as my time is short in the United States and as human nature is
the most interesting study in the world, I want to meet as many of your
interesting types as possible.”
“Your stay may be longer than you think. Soulé says that the Duke must
not think of leaving the Adirondacks for two years.”
He had me at last. “Two years!” I gasped. “Must we stay up here for two
years?” The place has lost some of its charm since these people came.
“Not here, for you would be snowed in in winter and uncomfortable in
every way. I have suggested to the Duke that he endeavour at once to
lease a house at Lake Placid. There you would be close to an express
train to New York--which you could visit frequently--and undoubtedly
could find a house with golf links, tennis court, etc., to say nothing
of good trails where you could have daily rides. I know you are longing
to be on a horse again.”
“Oh, I am! How did you guess it? That does not sound so hopeless. I
suppose our friends would visit us occasionally.”
“I can assert positively that some of them would come as often as they
were asked.”
“It would be charity, of course. How kind you and Mr. Rogers have been
to think of everything for us.”
Again I had managed to bring the colour into his face. “Rogers is
a kind fatherly soul,” he said, tartly. “I don’t pretend to be
philanthropic.”
Here I was afraid he would propose to me so I said hurriedly:
“We have forgotten all about Chipmunk Lake. I should like to see some
other lakes and some other people. But it is a great deal to ask of
your sister.”
“My sister is undoubtedly pining for a new acquaintance. There are
only four families at the lake and they soon get talked out. Will you
go? I may as well confess that I have already written to and heard from
her. Here is her note to you.”
It was such a jolly letter, so direct and natural and unwitty. I felt
at home with her at once--her name is Mrs. Van Worden, and I liked her
further because she spelt Van with a capital V. I am told that Van in
New York is quite an insignia of nobility and I met two of its proud
possessors in London who had it printed on their cards with a small v.
Considering that it is over every other shop in Holland and Belgium,
this certainly is an instance of American progressiveness.
But to return to Mr. Nugent--who is delightfully free of all nonsense,
bless him.
“Yes, I do want to go,” I said, “and I hope it can be arranged--if only
for the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Van Worden. I _feel_ I shall get on
with her.”
“Yes, you will get on, I am sure. She and her friends at the lake
belong to the great world without going in for _all_ its frivolities
and vulgarities. Let us go back and arrange it at once,” he said,
jumping up. “There is no reason why we should not go to-morrow.”