Hayden was half ill when he left Ydo's apartment. He felt a curious
stifling sensation, a longing for air and motion and so strong was this
feeling that he decided to dismiss the motor and walk home; but he had
proceeded only a block or so, when he noticed an electric brougham draw
up to the sidewalk. His heart gave a quick throb for he saw that Marcia's
chauffeur was driving; but a moment later, his hopes were turned to
disappointment, for instead of Marcia's dear face, the somewhat worn and
worried countenance of her mother gazed out.
The moment she caught a glimpse of him, she brightened perceptibly and
with a quick motion summoned him. Almost mechanically he made his way
across the crowded sidewalk and took the hand she extended.
"Oh, Mr. Hayden," with a plaintive quaver in her voice, "won't you drive
about a little with me? I must talk to some one. I must have advice
and--and the sympathy that I know your generous heart will be only too
ready to give. It may be unconventional to ask you, and I may be taking
up far too much of your valuable time. You will tell me frankly if this
is so, will you not?"
Hayden murmured a polite protest, and expressed his appreciation of the
privilege in a few words, scarcely conscious of what he was saying, and
then sank into the seat beside her, inwardly lamenting his stupidity that
he had so impulsively dismissed his waiting taxicab.
"So unconventional!" again murmured the lady as he took his seat, "but
then, I am all impulse and intuition. As Mr. Oldham has so often said to
me, 'I would rather depend on your intuitions than on the reasoning of
the wisest statesmen.' Very, very absurd of him, and yet so dear and in
one sense, true."
"True in all senses," said Hayden with the gallantry expected of him.
This Venus Victrix was not so critical as to cavil at the manifest effort
in his tones. Let it be forced or spontaneous, a compliment was a
compliment to her.
"Mr. Hayden, Robert, if I may call you so, I am very, very unhappy this
morning, and--and I have no one, no one to console or comfort me."
Hayden felt a quick impulse of pity, for there was that in her speech and
appearance which convinced him that she really was fretting over
something, and he saw that under her careful powder and rouge her face
looked worn and worried.
"Dear Mrs. Oldham," he said with the effect at least of his natural
manner, "I am sure you are bothering. Will you not tell me why and let me
at least try and be of some service to you? You know that I shall be only
too delighted to have you make me useful in any way that you can."
He spoke with sincere earnestness, for the small, frail creature beside
him, her Dresden-china prettiness all faded and eclipsed, her coquetry
extinguished, roused in him a sense of pity and protection.
"Ah, Mr. Hayden, Robert,--you gave me permission to call you Robert, did
you not?--you are too, too kind," She leaned her head back against the
cushions and carefully dabbled her eyes with her handkerchief.
"Now please, do not think of that," he urged; "just consider what a
pleasure it is to me to be of service to you."
"Ah," she threw aside all pretense now, and turning to him clutched his
arm, "the most terrible things have been happening and I have had to bear
them all alone. Marcia," petulantly, "has left me to bear all things
alone. She did not come home at all last night, but Kitty Hampton
telephoned quite late, after I had gone to bed, that she would spend the
night at her, Kitty's, home. Fancy! Rousing me from my sleep like that!
And then, early this morning, Marcia telephoned herself and said that she
could not possibly be at home before evening. Imagine! The
thoughtlessness, the heartlessness of such a thing!
"But that," resignedly, "that was a mere drop in the bucket. I wish her
father were alive! How he would tower in indignation at the thought of my
being so neglected and ignored, and by my own daughter, too,--a girl on
whose education he lavished a fortune! Why, Mr. Hayden, forgive me,
Robert, he would turn in his grave, literally turn in his grave, and"--in
a burst of fitful weeping--"he may be quite aware of it, for all we know,
and he may be turning in his grave at this very minute."
"Dear Mrs. Oldham," the late and ever lamented Oldham himself, could not
have been more sympathetic, "you must have been very lonely indeed, and
very much bored, I can quite understand that, but surely, you are not
making yourself unhappy over this--this seeming neglect on the part of
your daughter. Believe me, you will find that she has some good reason
for this action. Surely that is not the only thing that is worrying you."
"Certainly not," The little lady tossed her head and spoke with emphasis.
"Marcia's selfishness and thoughtlessness and indifference toward one who
should be the dearest thing on earth to her is very hard to bear, very;
but I am not made of the stuff that could break under an affliction of
that kind. Mr. Oldham used so often to say that he never saw such
fortitude and courage, never dreamed that such qualities existed in women
until he knew me, and saw the way I met trouble. Oh, no indeed," again
dabbling her eyes, "that is not it at all. No, my only feeling about
Marcia's conduct is that I have been left to bear intolerable grief and
Insult alone."
"Intolerable grief and insult alone!" Hayden really roused himself. "My
dear Mrs. Oldham, those are strong words. What can possibly have
happened?"
"That is just it. It is a case requiring strong words," she said firmly.
"Who do you think paid me a visit this morning? Why, Lydia Ames, who
hasn't darkened my doors since Wilfred became interested in Marcia. The
idea!" overcome by indignation. "What did she want? A princess of the
blood? Apparently not! She wants instead a fortune-teller, a madcap like
Ydo Carrothers. She spent the whole time this morning telling me how
charming and fascinating Ydo was and what a fillip she gave to life. I
told her frankly that I had been very thoroughly acquainted with Miss Ydo
Carrothers from her youth up, and that she would be a handful for any
one. I'd as lief undertake to chaperone a cyclone. She only chuckled in
that disagreeable way of hers and spoke of Wilfred's admiration for that
Gipsy. When, Robert--you see I was able to say it that time--when every
one has been talking, for the past year of Wilfred's devotion to Marcia.
Such a dear fellow and so rich! I loved him like a son; and now, now they
Will say that he has jilted her, jilted Marcia, and you know, Robert, a
girl never recovers from that sort of thing.
"And then, Lydia Ames, horrid thing, said, oh, how can I tell it, that
she was anxious to present Ydo, Ydo Carrothers, forsooth, with a set of
butterflies as beautiful as Marcia's. Oh, Mr. Hay-- Robert, did you, did
you ever hear of anything so cruel? Oh, I tried not to think she had any
particular reason for saying it, when in walked Edith Symmes, Edith
Symmes of all people, and do you know, Robert, she began to get off the
same thing."
She paused to let the enormity of this sink into his consciousness. The
tears were streaming down her face, a mask of tragedy, and Hayden could
only gaze at her in profound perplexity.
"I'm afraid, I don't know quite what you mean," he said slowly.
So absorbed was she with her grief that she did not appear to have heard
him. "You know how malicious they both are," she wailed, "and both of
them coming at the same time meant something. 'Talking of butterflies'?
Edith Symmes said in that way of hers, 'Well, Mrs. Oldham, you needn't
put on such airs because Marcia has the loveliest set in town; nor you,
Mrs. Ames, because you're thinking of ordering a set, for I'm going to
have a set myself,' Oh, you see, it meant something."
"Mrs. Oldham," said Hayden with the calmness of desperation, "will you
not kindly tell me just what you mean? I am utterly and entirely at sea."
"They mustn't know the secret of those detestable butterflies," she
answered miserably.
"What secret, Mrs. Oldham?"
"Why, the way Marcia is involved. Oh," weeping afresh, "it's too, too
much. Oh, if Mr. Oldham were only here!"
It was impossible to get a coherent explanation from her, and Hayden felt
as if he could bear no more. He had only one desire, one longing, to
escape, to be alone, to sit down in some quiet spot, and try to pull
himself together sufficiently to think things out.
"Dear Mrs. Oldham," he said gently, "I am convinced that you are worrying
yourself unnecessarily. Won't you go home now and rest, and let me see
you this evening or to-morrow? I am sure you will then take a calmer view
of the matter. I am going to leave you now. I have some business matters
which must be attended to at once. Good-by."