I suppose we have all taken note of that malignant influence in the
unseen world which makes us unreasoningly and unguardedly happy just
before our stiffest blows. One would think these bitter contrasts were
purposely arranged to destroy our power of philosophy.
It was at breakfast that I was confounded, more nearly knocked over
than I ever was in my life.
“By the way, Nell,” Bertie remarked casually, “what a ripping fine
woman Mrs. Coward is.”
“Mrs. Coward?” I gasped.
“Yes. Don’t mean to say you didn’t know she was here?”
“I did not!” I could barely articulate. And a perturbed glance from
Agatha increased my consternation. “When did she come?”
“Three or four days ago--Oh, yes, she said you had left the same
morning for your camping tramp.”
“Whom is she visiting? I had no idea the aristocracies would mix.”
“Mrs. Laurence. Don’t you like Mrs. Coward?”
“I am glad she is visiting Mrs. Laurence. I should say they would
scratch each other’s eyes out immediately.”
“I’m disappointed you don’t like her. I hoped you’d have her in the
house a lot. She’s a long sight the most fascinating American I ever
met--a regular ripper, by gad!”
I don’t know how I controlled myself, but I knew that if I said too
much and suggested opposition Bertie would be on his hind legs at once.
This was what she had up her sleeve, Polly. What deceit, what
treachery, what sneakingness. Only a _widow_ would be capable of such
a thing. But I must say I respect her. She fooled me completely. I
could not have been capable of so clever a revenge, and I detest
her for it, because she has not the true sporting instinct, but she
is to be reckoned with all the same. In spite of her platitudes and
her ingenuous pride in the seven generations, she is both clever and
deep--when her pride is in arms, and revenge and ambition both spur her
on to capture a duke.
But _will_ she marry him? _Oh!_ Many moths have fluttered about that
flame. But she is so subtle. And in addition to her indisputable
magnetism she has developed fascination into a fine art. Of course she
has scented out all Bertie’s weak points and flattered them. I can hear
her discoursing about the solemn responsibilities of the hereditary
legislator, and that is what is haunting Bertie most at present. Of
course she knows all about Dad, and her dulcet enthusiasms on that
convenient weakness--Oh, _dear_! Agatha says they have been almost
inseparable since the afternoon she arrived. She did not lose a minute!
He actually asked me if he could take her out in _my gondola_. I felt
like telling him to take her out and drown her, but I gave my consent
as graciously as I could, and came into the house to think. I dare not
go to the forest, for I know that Mr. N. is lying in wait for me and
I feel certain that after this gondola declaration he will press his
suit; and when he _does_ plant himself on both feet in the middle of
the trail and I on the wrong side--Oh, heaven!
I induced Agatha to go over to the tennis court so that I could not
receive Mr. Rogers if he called. But for some time I could not even
write to you, I could only storm up and down the living-room and try to
think of some way to foil that woman and deliver Bertie. Fancy having
her for a sister-in-law! And she would radiate a subtle triumph till
the day of her death. But the real--underlying--point is that she is
not the wife for Bertie. He must marry an intelligent woman who will
give herself to him and his career, and this one would be entirely
wrapped in her own petty ambitions.
It suddenly occurred to me that Miss Page had promised to spend the
first two weeks of September with me. She is still at Chipmunk Lake,
for the other women do not leave for two days yet. The buckboard had
not gone. I wrote her a note, imploring her to come at once as I was
bored and lonely. Then I bribed the driver to take it to her to-day,
and he said he would wait and bring her back. She is far more beautiful
than Mrs. C., and younger. She may not be so subtle but she has all the
fascination of a buoyant and unaffected coquette. And she is worth six
of Mrs. C. as regards character and sincerity. Not, alas! that that
adds to one’s power over man. But I am hoping that Bertie will contrast
her real brightness with Mrs. C.’s platitudes, and discover that the
widow is boring, that he will succumb to Miss Page’s superior beauty,
and that propinquity will do its work. If only it doesn’t all happen
before she gets here! Mrs. C. has had him in her pocket for three
hours--_in my gondola_. She has on a white frock and a scarlet shawl
and a red poppy in her hair. There is no denying that she is hideously
attractive. Oh, Polly, how I wish you were here!
To add to my burdens Bertie gave me, this morning--he mercifully forgot
it last night--an impassioned epistle from Mr. Carlisle. His mother is
better and he is returning to Chipmunk Lake for the hunting season. He
says he shall devote three days a week to deer and the rest to me--that
if they won’t invite him to the Club House he’ll camp on the next lake,
which is only a mile away and on State lands. But of course they’ll
invite him to the Club House. Oh, Polly! Do you think any woman ever
was in such a tangle before!
On the whole I think I’ll go out into the forest and talk to Mr. N.
about it. I _must_ talk to somebody or I’ll have brain fever. And I’m
used to diverting his mind--“standing him off,” as they say here. And I
want sympathy.
This is really good-bye. I won’t write another line till I am in a
more cheerful state of mind--induced by Miss Page’s triumph over the
widow--for I do not want to add to your worries.