As she served coffee in the library after dinner Jerry pondered over
those low-spoken words. The firelight set the sequins on her pale blue
gown glittering like jewels; it accentuated the satiny sheen of her
hair, betrayed the troubled expression in her lovely eyes. Nicholas
Fairfax was in his room. He had collapsed when he went up to dress for
dinner. Doctor Rand, whom he had brought with him, stood back to the
fire stirring his coffee. There was a suggestion of fat and wheeze about
the little man. His weather-stained face had the wrinkled effect of a
quite elderly, quite plump russet apple. His white hair bushed a la
Golliwog. His frock coat was of finest, pre-war broadcloth. The
flamboyant effect of his black necktie made the girl think of the bow on
the neck of a pet kitten. He tested his coffee before he observed dryly:
"If a man with an under-developed heart-beat and an over-developed
blood-pressure will go chasing half-way across the continent to see a
pretty girl," he bowed with somewhat ponderous gallantry in Jerry's
direction, "what can you expect but collapse? He's crazy about you,
Steve, and somewhere he got the fool notion that you were unhappy.
That's what started him East. I tried to hold him back. I knew the price
he'd pay."
Stephen Courtlandt came suddenly from the window where he had been
looking out upon the snow-dusted world. He approached the fire. His eyes
looked strained.
"Then you think he won't rally from this attack, Doc?" he asked
anxiously.
"It's better for you to know the truth, Steve. He knows. He's wired for
Greyson of the X Y Z and----"
"Oh-h!"
The startled exclamation had escaped Jerry's lips before she realized
that she had made a sound. A delicate pink stole to her hair as she met
Steve's steady eyes. Doctor Rand was apparently quite unconscious of the
interruption.
"And sent for your family lawyer. Your father is with him now. I'll go
and relieve him. Your cookie sure makes good coffee, Mrs. Jerry. Bring
her out to the Double O and invite us old bachelors for eats once in a
while. You'd be doing a charity bigger than some you spend your time on
here, I can tell you."
"Mrs. Courtlandt would starve for people in that wilderness, Doc,"
announced Stephen with parrot-like glibness.
"Would she now? Sure, she doesn't look like a child who'd be so
dependent on chatter. Well, the Double O isn't in the Dude ranch region,
neither is it exactly a wilderness. It's a seething cauldron of society
in comparison to some of the places. You knew that Old Nick and Greyson
had given the Bear Creek ranch to a returned service man, didn't you,
Steve?" then as Courtlandt nodded, "He brought a wife out last spring.
She doesn't have a woman to speak to but she reminds me of a
meadow-lark, little and quiet but with a voice that sings."
"Do she and her husband live there all alone?" Jerry asked in wonder.
"Yes--that is--there's a range-rider but--but that's another story." Had
she not thought it quite out of character Jerry would have sworn that
Doc Rand was embarrassed. "We--here I am talking when my patient needs
me. It's all your fault, Mrs. Jerry. You shouldn't have vamped me so
outrageously. Steve, I want a prescription filled."
"I'll send Carter for it, Doc. Give it to me." He left the room with the
slip of paper in his hand. Rand looked after him, then thoughtfully at
the girl where she sat in the flickering light of the fire. He set his
cup on the tray and patted her hand gently.
"Don't mind Old Nick, child. He's sick and jealous and--and mad about
Steve--it will all come right. Things have a marvelous unbelievable way
of coming right. That's what I kept telling Fairfax but he wouldn't
listen."
"Why--why should he hate me so?"
"He doesn't hate you, he's--he's just afraid for Steve, that's all. He
adored his sister--he used to say that when he found a woman like her,
he'd marry----" he looked up at the portrait over the mantel. Jerry's
glance followed his. The eyes, so like Steve's, were thoughtful, there
was a suspicion of laughter in the curve of the lips, the flesh tints
were marvelously lovely, a string of rare pearls gleamed softly on the
creamy neck. The artist had worked lovingly and had produced a portrait
that was humanly, warmly alive, a spirit that dominated the quiet room.
"Steve,--Steve and Sir Peter love her like that too, do they not?"
Rand thrust his hands under his coat tails and flapped them in time with
his heel and toe teeter.
"Love her! It is more than love. Betty Fairfax, the name clung even
after marriage, makes me believe in immortality. The best of her is
living in Steve and it will be handed on to his children. Her spirit is
just as much alive for her husband and son as it was the day she left
them. That's why Steve has kept straight through temptations which would
have lured most chaps of his age. No one can ever tell me, and get
across with it, that a mother's influence doesn't live forever. That boy
is one of a thousand, isn't he, Mrs. Jerry?"
"Oh--perhaps, as thousands go." She looked up from under her long lashes
at his discomfited face. Laughter gleamed through the tears which his
tribute to the mother had brought. "You shouldn't pry into the secrets
of a maiden's heart," she teased with exaggerated demureness. Rand
responded to her mood.
"That's better. A child like you should laugh, not be as serious as
you've been ever since I've seen you. Don't let Nick's condition depress
you. He may live for weeks and when he does go, it will be a release. He
wants it--if--if he can go knowing that Steve's happiness is assured."
"Is anyone's happiness assured?" asked the girl gravely.
"No"--he regarded her with his twinkling gray eyes--"but I'll bet my
broncho if anyone's is--it's Steve's. Good-night."
He was gone before Jerry could reply. Her heart felt curiously warmed by
his words. He--he evidently liked her if Steve didn't. She went to the
piano. Her fingers touched the keys experimentally for a moment, then
she quite unconsciously struck the opening bar of "Papillions." The
music danced and rose with dainty spontaneity. She drifted into Bach's
"Praeludium." Separated chords or flowing melody, she played with a
sympathy and sureness which showed the touch of an artist. She knew when
Steve came into the room and crossed to the window. As the last note
died away she turned. He stood with his hands clenched behind his back.
What was interesting him outside, she wondered. She wanted to speak to
him but she never yet had addressed him by his first name. It seemed
absurd, it was absurd, but she had avoided using it to his face. To
continue the avoidance presented difficulties now that his back was
turned. She usually waited until he looked at her, which she had to
acknowledge was seldom. She ran through the opening bars of "Papillions"
again but his back remained obdurately turned to the room.
"I--you----" she halted awkwardly, "I would like to talk to you," she
admitted hesitatingly. Courtlandt wheeled and approached the piano.
"Good Lord, don't you know my name that you have to juggle 'I--you----'
when you want to attract my attention?" he demanded belligerently. There
was a defiant gleam in the eyes which met his.
"It does sound silly, doesn't it--Stevie?" with exaggerated demureness
and an exact imitation of Felice Denbigh's voice. "But--but I know yours
better than you know mine--I think----" then as he opened his lips to
speak she hurried on, "I wanted to ask if you were in love with Felice
Denbigh? No--no--don't mistake me," as his blue eyes darkened to
purple-black, and his lips tightened, "I'm not jealous--really I'm
not--I only wanted you to know that if you are, I'm sorry, terribly
sorry. It's a tragedy to love one person and have to marry another."
"How do you know? Are you in love with Greyson?" with rough directness.
His sudden turn of the tables took the girl's breath. She colored
betrayingly. She knew that she must be the picture of guilt as she stood
there, her color coming and going, her heart beating like a silly
tom-tom. There was even a slight unsteadiness in her voice as she
evaded:
"I haven't seen Bruce Greyson since last winter," then maddened at her
own lack of poise she looked up with frank defiance. "It's a pity that
he doesn't live here. He could motor me to town."
He flushed darkly.
"My motoring to town with Mrs. Denbigh this morning was purely
accidental."
"But--but--you will never go with me."
"Trolley incomes should avoid limousine ladies."
"Limousine ladies!" Jerry gripped her temper and controlled her voice.
"Pardon! My mistake," she drawled maddeningly. "Is--is Mrs. Denbigh
divorced?"
"Not yet. What Old Nick said about Phil's mother was true. She did ruin
his life. It would have been better for him and for her had he been shot
to pieces, than to have him as he is now with this gnawing shame at his
heart."
"She--she was not much like your mother, was she?"
"Like Mother?" Jerry thought she had never heard anything so beautiful
as that word "Mother" as Courtlandt uttered it. He smiled up at the
portrait--"Mother was--well----" he cleared the huskiness from his voice
and went on, "As I was saying about Denbigh, remorse got too much for
him and a year ago he disappeared, dropped completely out of sight."
"Why didn't Felice go with him?"
"Do you know, I fancy that Phil didn't want her."
"Nevertheless she had married him. One doesn't take the vow 'and
forsaking all others' to break it, does one?" gravely.
"I deduce from that that you do not believe in divorce?"
"Divorce! While I acknowledge that there may be situations where it is
unavoidable, I hate the word. Always to me it takes on the semblance of
Medusa's head in my school mythology, its snaky, hissing locks striking,
stabbing, stinging, scarring indelibly. I believe in keeping covenants."
"It's hard sometimes."
"It is, but life isn't intended to be all joy-ride. I've found that
out."
"You mean----"
"Nothing which need make you glower at me like that," defiantly. "Do you
know, I fancy," with an exact imitation of his earlier voice and manner,
"that the future first families of America's 'Who's Who' will be those
who can count back at least four generations of ancestors who have, in
spite of disappointment and disillusion, poverty or riches, sickness or
health, kept their marriage covenants. A curious idea, isn't it? It just
came to me. 'A little thing but mine own,'" her tone changed from
earnestness to flippancy on the last words. She syncopated a few bars of
"Papillions" as though to emphasize her indifference.
Courtlandt thrust his hands hard into the pockets of his dinner coat.
The atmosphere tingled with electricity. The girl wondered if he were
throttling a desire to shake her. She hoped so. He met her eyes steadily
for a moment before he turned to leave the room. Jerry took a hasty
step after him.
"Wait, please--if--if----" as he kept on she added desperately, "Steve,
please." He stopped and turned. "If--if you should see Dad--do not
mention the fact that Bruce--that Mr. Greyson's ranch is near your
uncle's."
"Why not?" relentlessly.
"Because in an attack of homesickness last winter I became engaged to
him."