Breakfast in the court was a late affair the morning after the hold-up.
Steve did not appear. Tommy had given Jerry a sketchy account of his
adventure of the night before, minimizing his part in it. Ming Soy
hovered about the table with what, in an Occidental, would be tearful
devotion. The world was as clean and fresh and sweet as wind and rain
and sunshine could make it. Faintly from the corral came the voices of
riders coming and going; the skip and cough and stutter of tractors
drifted in on the breeze. Benito, with much fluttering and shivering and
croaking, was taking his matutinal plunge in the basin of the fountain.
Goober lay beside Jerry's chair, his tawny eyes fixed unblinkingly on
the parrot, his tongue hanging, his white teeth gleaming.
The girl, in a pink and white frock that suggested the daintiness of
morning-glories, had been absorbed in the thoughts induced by Tommy's
story. It was some time before she became conscious of the obstinate
silence maintained by the usually talkative Peg, who was a bit more
bewilderingly lovely than ever in a frock just a trifle less blue than
the sky above her. Benson was tenderly solicitous of her comfort. Would
she have more honey? Hopi Soy had broken his own record with the
waffles; sure she wouldn't have one? Peg answered his questions with an
indifferent shake of her head. Jerry observed the two in silence for a
few moments before she protested:
"Don't grovel, Tommy. I don't know what you've done to displease her
royal highness, but knowing you as I do I am sure that it was nothing to
warrant such rudeness. 'Fess up, children, what has happened? 'Who first
bred strife between the chiefs that they should thus contend?'" she
quoted gayly. "That is worthy even of you, Tommy."
"You may think it's funny, Jerry," flared Peg indignantly. "But if you
had been--been----"
"Say it! Tell the gentlemen of the jury just what happened, Miss
Glamorgan," prompted Benson in a judicial tone and with a glint in his
blue eyes. "You won't?" as the girl responded only with a glance of
superb scorn. "Then I will." He disregarded her startled, "Don't dare!"
and announced, "I--I kissed her yesterday, Mrs. Steve."
"I won't stay to hear!"
"Yes, you will!" He caught Peggy gently but firmly by the shoulders. He
stood behind her as he explained. "You see--I want--I intend to marry
your sister, Mrs. Steve. Yesterday I staked my claim. I kissed her
once."
"Hmp! Squatter rights!" interpolated Peggy angrily.
"Only once! Are you--sure, Tommy?" Jerry's voice was grave but there was
a traitorous quiver of her vivid lips as she asked the question.
"Only once, on honor. I told her that I should never do it again until
she gave me permission. I meant it. I know that she is young. I expect
to wait until----"
Peggy twisted herself free from the restraining hands on her shoulders.
Half-way across the court she turned. Her hazel eyes were brilliant with
laughter, her lips curved tormentingly as she flouted the two at the
table.
"I--I hate--quitters!" she flung at Benson before she disappeared in the
path which led to the office. Tommy followed her with his eyes, then
turned to Jerry.
"I always watch where my ball falls so that I can find it quickly," he
explained. The assurance had drained from his voice when he asked,
"What--what do you think of my pronunciamento? Will your father stand
for it, Mrs. Steve?"
"If you and Peg decide that you really care for one another he will have
to," encouraged Jerry gravely.
"Peg has told me how he feels about family. Mine is the finest ever--but
we don't date back to Colonial days on this continent. I suppose that we
must have existed somewhere before we came to this country, we couldn't
have been prestidigitated out of the everywhere into the here, could we?
There is plenty of money behind us but--but that angel girl thinks I'm
poor."
"Don't enlighten her. Let her think so--it may--make her kinder. When
the time comes I'll talk with Dad. I'm with you heart and soul, Tommy,
but I am afraid you have a long road to travel before Peg says 'Yes.'"
"You are wasting your sympathy. 'I scorn to change my state with
kings!'" he declaimed dramatically before he disappeared into the path
which had swallowed up Peggy.
Jerry rested her elbows on the table, her chin on her clasped hands, and
gazed thoughtfully after him. Subconsciously she noted the sound of
horses' hoofs on the hard road in front of the house. Who was arriving
at ten o'clock in the morning, she wondered idly before she returned to
thoughts of Peg and Tommy. She sat motionless for so long that Goober
rose, stretched and poked his cold nose under her hands. She stroked his
head gently.
"Where is your master?" she whispered into one of his big ears. The dog
shook his head, sneezed violently and looked up, his eyes eloquent with
reproach. "Did it tickle? I'm sorry." She reached for a lump of sugar in
the squatty Dutch silver bowl. "If you could say please----" Goober rose
on his hind feet, dangled his crossed forepaws and with head on one side
avidly regarded the enticing white morsel in the girl's fingers. He gave
a short, sharp bark. She tossed him the sugar which he crunched between
his strong teeth. She patted his head. "Do you know, Goober, I think
that any dog is more interesting than the average human. Wait for me.
I'll get my hat and we'll take Patches a lump of sugar."
Obediently the dog took up his position beside her chair. Humming
lightly Jerry went toward the house. What a glorious morning. The
nightmare of yesterday already seemed like an impossible dream. Some day
she would explain that elopement business to Steve and they would laugh
about it together. She caught her breath as a vision of his face as he
had held her in his arms crowded itself into her mind. She raced up the
court steps to elude her clamorous thoughts. At the door of the
living-room she stopped as though galvanized. She brushed her hand
impatiently across her eyes. Coming into the shadowy room from the
gleaming world outside certainly did queer things to one's vision.
That--that couldn't be Steve with a woman's arm about his neck! There
was an inarticulate sound in her throat as she took a step forward.
Courtlandt heard it. With a muttered imprecation he loosened the
clinging arm. His face was white, his eyes inscrutable as they met
Jerry's.
"Felice, here is Mrs. Courtlandt. I have been telling Mrs. Denbigh of
her husband's----" the woman beside him interrupted.
"Steve forgets that I haven't had a husband for several years. I confess
the news was a shock. I had no idea that he was in this part of the
country. I suppose that detestable Fairfax man knew it when he suggested
to Bruce Greyson that he invite me here for the summer. Does that
surprise you, Steve?" as Courtlandt stifled an exclamation.
"If--if I can do anything to help you----" Jerry had produced an apology
for a voice at last.
"Thank you, no. Steve is all I need. He is such a comfort. Would anyone
but he have had the sympathetic understanding to wait until he thought I
would be awake before coming with such news to the X Y Z? But I came
here to help him. I have had his happiness on my mind since I found this
on the bench outside the door just after Mr. Greyson had received a
mysterious summons." She held out Steve's campaign hat with its black
and gold cord and the band of silver filigree which Jerry had added the
day before. There was malice thinly disguised with solicitude in the
tone in which she added, "Then--then I understood that--that you and he
had gone----"
"Felice, cut that out! When I want your intervention in my affairs I'll
ask for it," Courtlandt's tone lashed. "Now that you have returned the
hat you may go. Greyson has made arrangements for you to leave on the
east-bound train in the early afternoon. Your maid is packing for you."
"But why should I go East, Steve? Phil Denbigh is nothing to me, while
you----" her tone was drenched with significance. She looked defiantly
at Jerry who was conscious that she was giving an excellent imitation of
an automaton. Only her eyes felt alive, they burned, and the pulses in
her throat throbbed. She knew that if she opened her lips it would be to
hurl words at Felice of which she would be utterly ashamed later, that
if she unclenched her hands it would be to strike the mocking woman. She
was terrified at the tumult which shook her. Without a glance toward the
two near the window she crossed the room, entered her boudoir and closed
the door behind her. She leaned against it and listened. She heard the
front door close, footsteps on the porch, voices, then the sound of
horse's hoofs. They had gone!
With the realization, something inside her seemed to crash. The barrier
of ice which she had erected between her heart and Steve was swept away
in a surge of passionate emotion. She knew now why she had been so
terrified last night when she had heard that a man had been wounded, she
had feared it might be Steve; why she had been so furiously angry at
Felice; why it had hurt so intolerably to see her in Steve's arms. It
wasn't because she thought him false and untrue--it was because she
loved him.
With confused consciousness that she must escape from her own thoughts
she ran into the living-room. She and Goober would take that sugar to
Patches and then----The smiling, tender eyes of the portrait over the
fireplace drew her like a magnet. She crossed her arms on the mantel and
smiled back at them, valiantly.
"Mother dear----" she implored breathlessly. "Mother!"
Comforted in some inexplicable way she dropped her head on her arms. In
retrospect she went back to that evening in her father's apartment when
she and Steve had entered into their matrimonial engagement. He had
staked his future for money, she for social advancement. Old Nick had
been right. How could a man love or respect a girl who would marry for
position? Now that Felice was really free, not merely legally free,
would Steve----Absorbed in her thoughts she was conscious of nothing in
the room till Courtlandt's voice behind her announced authoritatively:
"I have something to say to you, Jerry."
To the girl's taut nerves it was the voice of the conqueror laying down
terms of surrender and clemency. In a flash she was back in the library
of the Manor, hearing Steve's cool, determined voice announce, "I shall
consider myself in a position to dictate terms to one member of the
family." If he had meant separation then, what would he mean now with
her silly elopement declaration of the night before to infuriate him?
Was he about to reproach her again for that? Felice had supplied the
last shred of evidence he needed when she produced the hat, if he needed
more than her own statement to the brakeman to convict her. Her anger
flamed. He shouldn't get a chance to indict her. To put one's opponent
on the defense meant strategic advantage. Before he could speak she
fended:
"You can't reproach me for last night, Steve, after--after what I saw
when I came into this room. Honors are even," flippantly.
He caught her by the shoulders and looked steadily into her angry eyes.
They met his defiantly. His voice was grave as he probed:
"After last night and--and this morning, Jerry, do you still--still want
to go on with it?"
"Go on with it? Do you--you mean our comedy of marriage? Why not?
'Rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of.'
You see I have contracted Tommy's pernicious habit of borrowing from the
classics when I wish to express myself with force and distinction. Let
me go!"
Courtlandt's grip on her shoulders tightened. His face was white. There
was a rigidity about his jaws which should have warned her.
"Flippancy won't save you. You are to listen to me now, girl."
"While you boast to me again as you did last night that you had not made
love to another woman? Not a chance!" she twisted away from him and
gained the threshold of her own room. "Don't--don't let me keep you from
your alluring--friend," she flung back at him before she closed and
locked her door on the inside with grating emphasis.
Then she listened with hands clasped tight over her heart. The anger
which was so foreign to her character had been a mere flash in the pan.
Already she was sorry and humiliated and ashamed. She had maintained
always that a girl who could not keep her temper, who wrangled, belonged
in the quarter where shrewish women, with shawls over their heads and
forlorn little babies forever under their feet, fought and brawled.
Hadn't she seen them in her childhood? And she--she who thought herself
superior hadn't been much better under the skin. She could have
scratched Felice's eyes out and as for Steve----
Where was he now? The living-room was portentously still. Had he gone?
Why couldn't she have listened to his explanation, have assumed a
friendliness which this new, disturbing riot in her veins made
impossible as a reality? Her eyes which still smarted with unshed tears
traveled round the dainty, chintz-hung boudoir. In a detached way she
noted that the one picture on the wall, which served as the key-note to
the color scheme of the room, needed straightening. She must speak to
Ming Soy----Her heart hopped to her throat, then did a tail-spin to her
toes as a low, stern voice outside her room commanded:
"Open the door, Jerry."
She stood rigid, motionless.
"Open the door!" there was an undercurrent in Courtlandt's words which
seemed to paralyze her muscles. In a voice the more compelling because
of its repression he threatened, "If you don't open it at once--I'll
break it in!" The shake he gave the barrier between them broke the spell
which held the girl. She turned the key and flung open the door.
With a sudden fierce movement he caught her hands. She had a confused
sense of flinging herself against an inflexible, determined will as she
struggled to free them. She met his steady, dominant eyes.
"Steve! What--what rank melodrama! Are you qualifying for the movies?"
she essayed a nonchalant tone which to her hypercritical senses seemed
horribly frightened. "What--what do you want?"
"That door open. Nothing else--now," Courtlandt answered as he dropped
her hands and turned away.