Carlita was sleeping fitfully.
The morning had broken brilliant and balmly, as an indolent day in idle
spring, with the usual inaccuracy of our unstable climate. Through the
neglected slats of her shutters the sun crept in delicious defiance,
and after a time awakened her. She arose and opened the shutters wide,
then lay back upon the bed, her arms stretched out like those of an
infant in his idle longing to clasp the golden beam. She had forgotten
the old ache in her heart for the time, but life was suddenly recalled
to her by the gentle opening of her door and the entrance of her maid.
"Good-morning, Ahbel," she exclaimed, lazily. "Is the morning as
glorious as it looks, or is poor humanity deceived by the brilliancy of
the sun?"
"It is like a perfect day in summer," answered the maid; "it is even
more beautiful than it looks. Here is a letter for you. It is so early
that I feared to bring it lest I should disturb you; but the messenger
is waiting, and insisted that you should receive it at once. There is
also one for Miss Chalmers."
Carlita raised herself upon her pillow and took it, an expression of
interest in her dark eyes. She broke the seal, and as the first words
met her eye, would have flung it from her but for the presence of her
maid. As it was, she compressed her lips angrily, and read it calmly:
"DARLING CARLITA: I arose with the lark this morning, my breast too
small a space for the confinement of my great joy, and find the day
so superb that I have planned a little excursion in which I know
you will be interested. You have never seen my yacht, the 'Eolus.'
I have her now at the yacht club pier at the foot of Twenty-sixth
Street--ordered out of winter quarters for the trip I expected to
take, but will not, thank Heaven!--where she is rocking in the
gentlest breeze of the year, longing to welcome the presence of her
sweet mistress. Won't you come out for a little cruise? It will be
indescribably beautiful today. I have written to Jessica, asking her
and Mrs. Chalmers, and shall find Redfield Ash or Dudley Maltby,
and perhaps Colonel Washburn for Mrs. Chalmers, if you will only
consent. Of course you can come back any time that you may get tired
of it, if you are not a good sailor; but I assure you that the day
is too fine for danger from _mal de mer_, even if you are the worst
on record. Don't disappoint me, darling. If you consent, I will send
up for you at ten-thirty, so that you can be at the pier at eleven,
sharp. It will be impossible for me to come myself, as there will be
considerable that will require my attention. The bay is magnificent.
Anticipating a day of elysium,
"Yours faithfully unto death,
"LEITH."
The very sight of the name distressed her, bringing back all the horror
and suffering, the very mental exhaustion of the evening before. She
hated him still more that he had intruded upon her forgetfulness, her
happy oblivion of the moment, and sprang from the bed, intending to
pen a hasty refusal.
Her escritoire stood in the corner by the window, and as she sat down,
the sun streamed through, touching her shoulder with a warmth that was
caressing.
She paused, with the pen poised in air, and looked out.
How smilingly beautiful nature was!
She saw the bay, in imagination, smooth as a mirror, scarcely a ripple
marring its surface. There were white sails dotted here and there
fluttering in the soft breeze. Further off was the brown, beaten shore,
in happy contrast with the indolent life upon the water, and over all
the golden sun streaming down in unforbidden splendor.
The imaginative picture was too attractive to be resisted.
As she sat there, still hesitating, Jessica came in with her note open
in her hand. She had flung a negligee over her night-dress, and while
her hair was disheveled, the dancing light in her eyes made her almost
beautiful.
"Of course you'll go!" she exclaimed, breathlessly. "Leith says that he
has written to you. I have already awakened mamma, and she is getting
dressed now. Won't it be delicious? I never saw a finer day in March,
and it would be simply sinful not to take advantage of it."
"You think I ought to accept?" asked Carlita, wistfully.
"Think? Great heavens! you hadn't thought of declining?"
"Certainly."
"Then put such madness out of your head at once. Leith Pierrepont has
one of the nicest yachts afloat. It isn't the largest, and it isn't the
fleetest, but I'll venture to say that none of them can surpass her in
luxuriousness. Write your note and accept for all of us."
Carlita hesitated again.
"Oh, I can't!" she exclaimed. "I can't write it. You do it, won't you,
dear?"
"Of course, I shan't!" cried Jessica. "You must do it yourself!"
Once more Carlita's eyes wandered out to the sunlight, she who had
lived under its scorching rays for the greater part of her life, and
loved it, then she turned wearily to her desk and again dipped the pen
in ink.
What should she say to him? How begin a note of acceptance to this
man? She shivered, and then became conscious that the ink had dried
upon her pen again. She thrust it back into the well, realizing that
thought would accomplish nothing, in this instance; she must trust to
inspiration.
"So charming an invitation could not be refused on a day like this,"
she wrote, hastily. "I love the sea. Expect us promptly at eleven.
I accept for Mrs. Chalmers and Jessica as well as myself. With
gratitude for the thought that suggested so delightful an excursion,
CARLITA."
She dispatched it to the messenger, and then the details of costuming
was begun, Jessica almost like a child in the delight of anticipation.
And very _chic_ they looked in their pretty gowns as they stood upon
the old pier below the Bellevue Morgue, the breeze almost too light to
even wave the skirts of their dresses.
Dudley Maltby, Colonel Washburn and Leith were waiting for them, with
the pretty bright dory at the foot of the stairs swaying gently on the
water, manned by two sailors in fresh, artistic costume.
"How good of you to come!" exclaimed Leith in a low tone, as he pressed
Carlita's hand. "I was so afraid you wouldn't, that it seemed to me
the messenger was gone a week. Come, let me put you in the dory. Take
care. That step is wet and may be slippery. There is the 'Eolus' lying
over there. Doesn't she look proud of the trust I am putting in her
today by allowing her to carry so precious a life?"
"She is very--handsome," stammered Carlita.
In spite of the brilliancy of the day, she was wishing with all her
heart that she had not come; but as her eye caught sight of the yacht
she sighed with a pleasure which she would have been more than human
not to feel.
As Jessica had said, she was not so large as some, but to a practiced
eye would have appeared about one hundred and seventy-five feet over
all, a length that precludes the possibility of cramped quarters for a
small party, so trimly built, so dainty and tasteful a little craft,
that the most unappreciative could have regarded her with nothing but
pleasure.
As Carlita ascended the lowered steps, carpeted gayly in brilliant red
Axminster, attended by her careful knight, she saw the fittings of the
luxurious deck, great deep chairs, huge broad couches, upholstered with
a richness of material that seemed extravagance even in a man of great
wealth, with pillows strewn about that were artistic enough to have
occupied a place in the most costly _boudoir_.
Nor were the saloon, sleeping apartments, drawing-room and library
behind in point of attraction, and Carlita clasped her hands in delight
as one suite, of unusual beauty, was shown her.
"I am going to have this refitted for you," Leith said, as he bent
above her dark head caressingly. "I have in my mind now just what the
draperies shall be, worthy of the goddess they will surround."
"It is already fit for a princess!" exclaimed Carlita, forgetting all
about the past and the future in her present pleasure.
"But not comparable to what it will be. I am so glad you like it."
"The greatest of Sybarites must necessarily do so."
"Let us go on a long cruise in her for our wedding-trip, will you? Or
should you grow tired of so close a companionship with me?"
The question broke the spell again.
Suddenly the atmosphere seemed to grow hot and stifling to her. The
smile upon her lips drew to a worn line of suffering and care. She
pressed her hand upon her heart and answered faintly:
"Let us get into the air. It is close and--and oppressive. Where are
the others?"
He looked at her curiously, wistfully, just a trifle reproachfully,
then exclaimed contritely:
"What a selfish brute I am! Always forgetting my promises in the light
of my own desire. Forgive me, won't you? I promise not to offend again
today. Come. The others have all seen the yacht and are on deck. We
will join them. You are quite sure that you have forgiven me?"
She looked up at him with a little smile, but it was very pitiful,
so filled with misery that it cut him to the heart. His fingers had
wandered toward hers, that rested lightly upon his arm, but they
dropped at his side, unable to touch her.
In silence they went up the companion-way and on to the deck.