"BECAUSE YOU--ARE YOU"
Poor, brave-hearted girl! How pitiful and heartrending to a keen-eyed
man of the world, seemed her poor, little sham about her father's trust
in her! For _I_ knew the facts, you know!
What a little thoroughbred she was! By Jove, I just sat there for a full
two minutes, bending toward her worshipfully, but with such a lump
choking my devilish throat that dash me if I could chirp a single word.
Just sat there--that's all--blinking damply at her with my free eye,
studying with growing wonder the light she managed to summon to her
face; heartsick for the care-free mockery of the cherry lips, shaping
seemingly in a meditative whistle; all my jolly heart beating time to
the lithesome tapping of her smart little boot upon the wooden floor.
And she? She, brave heart, leaning back watching me through her long,
fringing lashes--forcing a quizzical smile to her face, the while the
jolly worm was gnawing at her what-you-call-'ems!
And suddenly it came to me that I just couldn't and wouldn't let her go
on this way, without the sympathy of the man she loved; without the
precious consolation of knowing that he knew! She was being badgered and
rough-shouldered and put upon and distrusted and maligned by every one
she knew, and she had _no_ one in all the world to turn to but me--and--
Oh, I wanted her to know what _I_ thought, don't you know!
I slipped to the seat beside her.
"Er, Miss Billings--" I began, thinking absentmindedly of what I should
say, and forgetting that we were quite alone.
"'Miss Billings!' _Why_ do you call me that?" Her lovely brows puckered.
"I remember, now, that's twice you--"
"_Frances_, then!" I corrected softly.
She straightened, her bosom lifting with a quick intake. By Jove, that
was what she wanted!
"Oh!" Then she leaned slowly back, looking at me thoughtfully through
half-closed eyes, her lips parted in the oddest smile.
And I screwed my monocle tight and let her have smile for smile,
determined to chirp her up and make her feel our oneness--that sort of
thing, you know. And I succeeded! For of a sudden her head went back and
the joyous peal of her canary laugh started off the jolly birds in the
trees above us.
"Oh, you--" A stare, and then another burst as she bent forward, face
buried in her hands. Then it lifted sharply, flame-dyed--her lips
tremulous, her eyes shining like sapphire stars. "Oh!" she gasped, and
how I envied the little hand she pressed against her waist; but the
windows--dash the windows! "That's--that's _it_--Frances--just that
much! But, do you know, I don't--don't believe you really know my full
name. I remember now several th--" She bent toward me witchingly, her
wide blue eyes challenging my candor. "_Honestly_, now--_do_--you?"
So it was _that_ thought that was tickling her! Well, by Jove, I had her
there, for I had heard the judge mention her name in full. I would
surprise her!
"Oh, _don't_ I?" I exclaimed, winking as I polished my glass. "Well, how
about Frances Leslie Billings?" I let her have it slowly, distinctly,
and with yet a note of triumph I could not altogether hide. And then
remorseful for her amazed expression, I explained frankly: "Got it from
your father this morning, don't you know, during our long talk about you
in the library."
"Wh--"
Then she swallowed and her face fell perfectly blank. By Jove, I could
have kicked myself for a jolly ass for breaking it to her so raw! Of
course, she would know that if her father talked of her, it would be
nothing for me to hear that was true or kind--nothing she could wish
might be said to the man she loved.
I hastened to reassure her:
"But I don't believe a dashed word of anything he said about you"--I
spoke hotly--"and I don't care a jolly hang for what the others said,
either--so there you are!"
"Oh, you _don't_?" Could tell how I had touched her by her expression,
don't you know; and she fell to looking at me the queerest way. "And
would you mind telling me who the 'others' are?"
I eyed her gloomily, sympathetically. As _if_ she didn't know already!
"Well--oh, dash it, my mind has been filled with--er--just anything!" I
began cautiously.
"_I_ know,"--she murmured it as if to herself--"one can _see_ that!" And
she bit her lip.
"In the first place, you know"--and there I pulled up. No, dash it, I
wasn't going to say a jolly word about poor Jack--no, _sir_! But then,
about the other one--well, _she_ was just a treacherous snake in the
what's-its-name, and she ought to be exposed. By Jove, she should be!
"It's the frump, you know," I said indignantly.
"The--the _what_?"
Her pretty teeth flashed like the keyboards of a tiny organ--you could
even hear a little gurgly, musical quiver somewhere behind. And then I
remembered that, of course, she wouldn't know whom I meant.
"Oh, your guest, you know--your friend from school," I went on, trying
to tread cautiously and yet feeling myself growing red. "Oh, see here
now, I don't like to say things, but--er--"
"Oh, _go_ on!" she trilled, her sweet face shining wistful.
"Well, I mean this--er--Miss Kirkland; came out with us this
morning, don't you know. _I_ think of her as _the frump_--little
idea--er--nickname of mine, you know, she's so _awful_!" And I screwed
my glass with a chuckle.
For an instant I thought she wouldn't catch it, she stared at me so
blankly. _Then_ the joke of it--the jolly aptness, so to speak--got her
full and square, and she just lifted a scream, hugging her knee and
rocking back and forth, her face suffused, her laughter pealing like a
chime of bells.
And I just rocked, too, keeping her company. Really, I don't think I
ever laughed so much since some chap plunked down on the hard crown of
my new tile last winter. At least I _wanted_ to laugh--in church, you
know, and it's so awful how you feel there when something--oh, _you_
know! And if you could have seen that poor fellow's face!
By Jove, how glad I was for her jolly sense of humor that could see the
point of things so quickly, and think them _clever_. Always had so
dashed little patience with stupid people, don't you know. And just here
another little thing came to me and I let her have it:
"Oh, I say!"--I leaned nearer, chuckling--"your father pretends to
think her a most beautiful and winning girl--_fancy_!" And my face
stretched itself in such a jolly grin that I could hardly hold my glass.
She bent toward me, smiling adorably. "You mean this--er--'Miss
Kirkland'?"
I nodded chortlingly.
She peered at me through her long what-you-call-'ems--oh, _such_ a way!
"But _you_ don't think so, _do_ you?" How sweetly, how fetchingly she
said it!
"Me?" I gasped. By Jove, in my horror, I lost my grip upon my jolly
grammar. "Oh, I say now! _I_ think the frump--this Miss Kirkland, you
know--is a fright--regular freak, dash it! I told the judge so!"
"You--you--"
"Of _course_!" And I shrugged disgustedly, making the ugliest grimace I
possibly could. "Why, dash it, if I were a woman and had a face like
hers, I never would have left China, or England--or wherever her jolly
home was--_no, sir_!"
She caught her breath with a little gasp--then she was off again! This
time she rested her arms upon the rail behind and buried her head in
them, her lovely shoulders jiggling up and down, her sobbing laughter
sending her off at last into a spell of coughing.
"Oh!" she breathed, lifting at last her gloriously blushing face and
dabbing at it with her ridiculous little handkerchief, "oh, you'll
_kill_ me--I know you will!"
I certainly had stirred her up, and I was delighted. It _was_ funny to
think of any one calling the frump beautiful--it must seem funnier still
to her, of course--to Frances, I mean. Why, dash it, _she_ seemed to
find a funny side to it that I didn't, don't you know!
"Tell me, now"--she clasped her knee, lifting her lovely face
coaxingly--"tell me all that she said about me--_everything_!"
And I did--every word, by Jove!
And no one could look into that sweet, ingenuous face as I proceeded,
and doubt that the slanders were new to her. Never a jolly one touched
her--only you could see their absurdity amused her. Several times I had
to pause as she bent under a gale of laughter.
Only once was she brought up, shocked.
"Oh!" she uttered faintly, as I came to the intimation about her being
hail-fellow-well-met with the footmen and her drinking and carousing
with them and other men-servants until three in the morning. I realized
that it wasn't the matter of the drinking that feazed her and drew from
her little gasps as I came to this--knew _that_ didn't bother her, don't
you know, for I knew she did drink--_could_ drink, I mean to say; for I
had not forgotten the two full whisky glasses of high-proof Scotch she
had tossed off that night in my rooms. Why, no, dash it, she was _able_
to drink--it went in the family! I could never forget with what pride
she had told me of putting her brother Jack under the table two nights
running. _That_ was all right--it was the other part of the frump's
scandal that brought her up, standing, so to speak.
For _now_ she really looked embarrassed, despite another lapse to
laughter. Her face and neck were dyed a lovely crimson.
"Oh, dear!" she said finally; and she wiped her eyes. "_What_ you must
think of me!"--and she looked away, a pretty frown contracting her face;
then the jolly dimple deepened once again and she choked into her
handkerchief. "Oh, _dear_!" she repeated, biting her lip to hold her
quivering mouth corners. "Oh, it's a shame," I heard her mutter; "I
_mustn't_ let him--it's too--" She wheeled upon me, her lips tightened.
"Oh!" she ejaculated sharply, almost petulantly, and her foot struck
smartly on the boards. "I wonder how much you think--think--"
"Think _lots_," I said simply, watching her little toe as it tapped.
"Well, _I_ should think as much!" And this time her laugh was
short--oddly constrained. She looked away off down the slope to the
river. "_Oh!_" This time it was a tiny gasp as of dismay. And the toe
tapped like an electric what's-its-name.
"Yes," I said, watching it musingly, "I suppose it's because you're the
only girl, don't you know, that I ever _did_ think of before--oh, ever
at all, dash it!"
The toe stopped. I could _feel_ her looking at me sidewise, but I did
not glance up, that I remember; was looking down, trying to get hold of
a dashed idea I wanted to express.
"Don't know," I continued, boring away at her toe, yet hardly seeing it,
"but suppose that's the reason I knew all the time she was _lying_; but
still, somehow that doesn't seem to be the _real_ reason I knew. I think
the real reason I knew it couldn't be and wasn't true was"--I sighed
heavily--"oh, dash it, it's _so_ hard to get hold of the jolly thing!"
And there was a pause.
"The real reason?" her voice coaxed gently.
"Was because--" Then she moved the toe and it put me out--"I think just
because--oh, yes, I _know_ now!" And I looked up eagerly. "Just because
I knew that you--are _you_!" I finished beamingly.
"Oh, I see!" She said it musingly, her finger lightly pressing upon her
lips, her beautiful eyes studying me with the oddest, keenest
side-glance.
A pause; and then: "And _how_ long have you known me, pray? Just a--"
"A thousand years!" I said promptly and earnestly. "A thousand years and
all my life, don't you know! Never will know you any better."
"I wonder," she murmured, nodding slowly. And then for a moment she
didn't say a word, just sat there looking me over curiously, her
expression half shy, half quizzical, don't you know.
Then her smile flashed again--a radiant, dazzling brightness that
brought her nearer, like the effect of the sunlight's sudden gleam there
at times upon the blue line of the "West Shore" away across the broad,
three-mile span of the old Tappan Zee.
"And now"--again her splendid young arms were clasped, wing-like, behind
her head; and its golden glory hung like a picture against the dark vine
leaves, bossed with the clustered purple flowers--"now," she repeated,
settling comfortably, "you must just go on and tell me the rest--I can
bear it! What did my"--her big blue eyes twinkled as she smiled--"my
father say about me?"
I shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, I can't, you know!" I demurred. "I say,
what's the use, dash it?" Poor old boy, somehow I just hated to round on
him--he was so jolly hard hit already; Jack, don't you know! Besides--
"Please!" Jove, how she said it!
"Oh, dash it, I'm afraid it will hurt you," I protested uneasily; "and I
don't think the judge really--"
"I just don't care _that_"--a snap from her little fingers and her arm
went back--"for anything _he_ ever said about me that was _mean_! So,
please go on--I must go dress for luncheon."
And so I just took a deep breath, a long running leap, and cleared the
bar--told her all, you know!
Oddly, this time she didn't laugh--and I knew why: it was her father,
and it had cut her to the heart. This was what I had feared. As I
proceeded, narrating the interview in the library, she just grew rosier
and rosier red, but sat looking at me wide-eyed and unflinching. The
pulsation of her bosom quickened a little, but her dear face remained
unchanged, save for her little trick of dragging her under-lip through
her white teeth.
"And, by Jove, that's all!" I finished with relief as I mopped my face.
"But who cares, don't you know, or believes any bit of it? Anyhow, _we_
don't--for we know!"
"Are you _sure_?" She spoke gravely, yet in her eyes were the dancing
star-motes of a laugh. "The extravagance, the gambling, and the--oh, all
of it? I must tell you _I_ heard some sad things myself about Francis
Billings while I was at Cambridge--"
I grunted scornfully. "_I_ know: from that two-faced cat, Miss Kirkland!
Say, how I wish, by Jove, that woman would pack up and go back to
China--the _sponge_!" And I screwed my glass indignantly.
"Oh, now!" she remonstrated sweetly, "you mustn't say _that_! You might
be sorry!" She smiled archly.
I grunted contemptuously.
Again she rested her little chin upon her hand, eying me thoughtfully,
earnestly.
"And so you don't believe any of it?"
I chuckled at the idea. "Oh, I say now, Frances, you _know_ I don't!"
And I shoved a bit nearer, looking into her eyes. But just then I saw
Wilkes come out and look around.
And _she_ must have glanced about quickly and have seen him, too, for as
I shifted my eyes to her again she was blushing furiously and had moved
a bit.
"I'm afraid," she said measuredly, her chin lifting a little, "you do
believe--_part_ of it!" And in her eyes was a glint of fire.
And then as my face fell blankly, a slow little smile came creeping back
to hers. Her eyes softened.
"Forgive me," she said gently; "I misunderstood!"
The darling! And, dash it, if they were going to have vines to a
pavilion, why didn't they _have_ vines?
"Do you know," she said, "I don't believe you _do_ believe any of these
awful things could be true about me,"--her voice quickened here--"and do
you know I just think it's lovely of you! I _do_!" And her dear voice
dropped like the softer notes of a what's-its-name. Her hands lay in her
lap and she was studying me in the kindest, sweetest way! And I wanted
to tell her how good she was and how much I loved her, don't you know,
but just then, behind the pavilion, came the gardener. He was talking to
one of his assistants about slugs--_dash_ slugs!
And then her face lighted again as though she would speak and I leaned
eagerly toward her--waiting, expectant.
"When Arthur made his court at--" she began, and, by Jove, my jolly
heart sank. If she would only drop Arthur and give me a chance to make
_my_ court, dash it! "Camelot, you know," she went on, and I almost
groaned. What did _I_ care that he came a lot? Perhaps, now, if I could
divert her mind--
"Oh, I say, you know," I broke in interestedly, "what was it you
were--er--humming--just now, don't you know."
"Vivian's song--don't you remember it?"
I tried to think, but I couldn't seem to place her, though I knew the
whole line of 'em back to Lottie Gilson.
I finally had to shake my head.
She smiled. "Don't you know," she said:
"'I think you hardly know the tender rhyme
Of "trust me not at all or all in all."'"
She was right! I didn't know the jolly thing, that was a fact, but
somehow I liked the swing of it. She went on, and struck me with another
remark. By Jove, she seemed to have forgotten about the jolly song and I
was devilish glad, for _I_ had rather hear her _talk_, don't you know.
"'In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours--'"
"_If?_" I ejaculated reproachfully, hitching nearer. But she only
smiled, and continued her remark:
"'Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers;
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.'"
"Oh!" I uttered. For, by Jove, she had said it--the thing I had felt all
the time and couldn't express; the something that had been with me all
along in connection with herself. And here _she_ had the jolly idea pat
upon her tongue! I just blinked at her admiringly--didn't dare speak,
you know; afraid I'd break the thread of what's-its-name.
She went on telling me something about a lover's lute, and it was hard
not to speak _then_, for I did so want to ask what a jolly lute was. And
then some remark about specks in garnered fruit--here her line of
thought had been changed, I knew, by some remark of the gardener
outside: something about worms and the orchard. However, I just chirped
up a nod and listened as attentively as though she had gone right on.
She was busy with her hair now, but with her mind still on the worm,
murmured abstractedly:
"'That rotting inward slowly moulders all.'"
And just here, with a little clatter, her back comb struck the floor,
bounding to the other side of the pavilion. As I scrambled to get it,
her voice lifted through a choke of laughter:
"'It is not worth the keeping; let it go!'"
The idea!
I laughed as I caught the thing up and whirled, my hand outstretched to
lay it in her own. She was on her feet, pulling down her belt, and
paused to lift away a leaf that clung to her snowy skirt. And just here,
the gardener's voice lifted startlingly across the park to some one
distant and invisible:
"Better bring paris green, Jud; it's the only way we'll ever get rid of
'em," he bawled. "I see they're going after the leaves now, and they can
live on them and air. Pizen'll fix 'em, though!"
The comb outstretched, I stood staring at Frances, doubled over and
writhing. And then, with a long-drawn gasp that was half a screech, her
lithesome figure straightened, her head went back, and from her throat
there trilled the very joy of health and youth and happy days.
"Oh!" she gasped, her hand pressing to her side. And while I looked at
her anxiously, she went on pantingly, her eyes bright with tears:
"'But shall it? Answer, darling, answer no,
And trust me not at all or all in all.'"
"Jove!" I said delightedly, placing the comb in her outstretched hand
and pressing it--the hand, I mean, dash it! "I _do_, don't you know! I
trust you all in all!"