It was small wonder, said the knowing at Asquith, that Mr. Charles
Wrexell Allen should be attracted by Irene Trevor. With the lake breezes
of the north the red and the tan came into her cheeks, those boon
companions of the open who are best won by the water-winds. Perhaps they
brought, too, the spring to the step and the light under the long lashes
when she flashed a look across the table. Little by little it became
plain that Miss Trevor was gaining ground with the Celebrity to the
neglect of the other young women at Asquith, and when it was announced
that he was to lead the cotillon with her, the fact was regarded as
significant. Even at Asquith such things were talked about. Mr. Allen
became a topic and a matter of conjecture. He was, I believe, generally
regarded as a good match; his unimpeachable man-servant argued worldly
possessions, of which other indications were not lacking, while his
crest was cited as a material sign of family. Yet when Miss Brewster,
one of the brace of spinsters, who hailed from Brookline and purported
to be an up-to-date edition of the Boston Blue Book, questioned the
Celebrity on this vital point after the searching manner warranted
by the gravity of the subject, he was unable to acquit himself
satisfactorily. When this conversation was repeated in detail within the
hearing of the father of the young woman in question, and undoubtedly
for his benefit, Mr. Trevor threw shame to the winds and scandalized the
Misses Brewster then and there by proclaiming his father to have been
a country storekeeper. In the eyes of Mr. Farquhar Fenelon Cooke the
apotheosis of the Celebrity was complete. The people of Asquith were not
only willing to attend the house-warming, but had been worked up to the
pitch of eagerness. The Celebrity as a matter of course was master of
ceremonies. He originated the figures and arranged the couples, of which
there were twelve from Asquith and ten additional young women. These
ten were assigned to the ten young men whom Mr. Cooke expected in
his private car, and whose appearances, heights, and temperaments the
Celebrity obtained from Mr. Cooke, carefully noted, and compared with
those of the young women. Be it said in passing that Mrs. Cooke
had nothing to do with any of it, but exhibited an almost criminal
indifference. Mr. Cooke had even chosen the favors; charity forbids that
I should say what they were.
Owing to the frequent consultations which these preparations made
necessary the Celebrity was much in the company of my client, which
he came greatly to prefer to mine, and I therefore abandoned my
determination to leave Asquith. I was settling down delightedly to
my old, easy, and unmolested existence when Farrar and I received
an invitation, which amounted to a summons, to go to Mohair and make
ourselves generally useful. So we packed up and went. We made an odd
party before the arrival of the Ten, particularly when the Celebrity
dropped in for lunch or dinner. He could not be induced to remain
permanently at Mohair because Miss Trevor was at Asquith, but he
appropriated a Hempstead cart from the Mohair stables and made the trip
sometimes twice in a day. The fact that Mrs. Cooke treated him with
unqualified disapproval did not dampen his spirits or lessen the
frequency of his visits, nor, indeed, did it seem to create any breach
between husband and wife. Mr. Cooke took it for granted that his friends
should not please his wife, and Mrs. Cooke remarked to Farrar and
me that her husband was old enough to know better, and too old to be
taught. She loved him devotedly and showed it in a hundred ways, but she
was absolutely incapable of dissimulation.
Thanks to Mrs. Cooke, our visit to Mohair was a pleasant one. We were
able in many ways to help in the arrangements, especially Farrar, who
had charge of decorating the grounds. We saw but little of Mr. Cooke and
the Celebrity.
The arrival of the Ten was an event of importance, and occurred the
day of the dance. I shall treat the Ten as a whole because they did not
materially differ from one another in dress or habits or ambition or
general usefulness on this earth. It is true that Mr. Cooke had been
able to make delicate distinctions between them for the aid of the
Celebrity, but such distinctions were beyond me, and the power to make
them lay only in a long and careful study of the species which I could
not afford to give. Likewise the life of any one of the Ten was the life
of all, and might be truthfully represented by a single year, since
each year was exactly like the preceding. The ordinary year, as is
well-known, begins on the first of January. But theirs was not the
ordinary year, nor the Church year, nor the fiscal year. Theirs began in
the Fall with the New York Horse Show. And I am of the opinion, though
open to correction, that they dated from the first Horse Show instead
of from the birth of Christ. It is certain that they were much better
versed in the history of the Association than in that of the Union, in
the biography of Excelsior rather than that of Lincoln. The Dog Show was
another event to which they looked forward, when they migrated to New
York and put up at the country places of their friends. But why go
farther?
The Ten made themselves very much at home at Mohair. One of them told
the Celebrity he reminded him very much of a man he had met in New York
and who had written a book, or something of that sort, which made the
Celebrity wince. The afternoon was spent in one of the stable lofts,
where Mr. Cooke had set up a mysterious L-shaped box, in one arm
of which a badger was placed by a groom, while my client's Sarah, a
terrier, was sent into the other arm to invite the badger out. His
objections exceeded the highest hopes; he dug his claws into the wood
and devoted himself to Sarah's countenance with unremitting industry.
This occupation was found so absorbing that it was with difficulty the
Ten were induced to abandon it and dress for an early dinner, and only
did so after the second peremptory message from Mrs. Cooke.
“It's always this way,” said Mr. Cooke, regretfully, as he watched
Sarah licking the accessible furrows in her face; “I never started in on
anything worth doing yet that Maria did not stop it.”
Farrar and I were not available for the dance, and after dinner we
looked about for a quiet spot in which to weather it, and where we
could be within reach if needed. Such a place as this was the Florentine
galleried porch, which ran along outside the upper windows of the
ball-room; these were flung open, for the night was warm. At one end
of the room the musicians, imported from Minneapolis by Mr. Cooke, were
striking the first discordant notes of the tuning, while at the other
the Celebrity and my client, in scarlet hunting-coats, were gravely
instructing the Ten, likewise in scarlet hunting-coats, as to their
conduct and functions. We were reviewing these interesting proceedings
when Mrs. Cooke came hurrying towards us. She held a letter in her hand.
“You know,” said she, “that Mr. Cooke is forgetful, particularly when
his mind is occupied with important matters, as it has been for some
time. Here is a letter from my niece, Miss Thorn, which he has carried
in his pocket since Monday. We expected her two weeks ago, and had given
her up. But it seems she was to leave Philadelphia on Wednesday, and
will be at that forlorn little station of Asquith at half-past nine
to-night. I want you two to go over and meet her.”
We expressed our readiness, and in ten minutes were in the station
wagon, rolling rapidly down the long drive, for it was then after nine.
We passed on the way the van of the guests from Asquith. As we reached
the lodge we heard the whistle, and we backed up against one side of the
platform as the train pulled up at the other.
Farrar and I are not imaginative; we did not picture to ourselves any
particular type for the girl we were going to meet, we were simply doing
our best to get to the station before the train. We jumped from the
wagon and were watching the people file out of the car, and I noticed
that more than one paused to look back over their shoulders as they
reached the door. Then came a maid with hand-bag and shawls, and after
her a tall young lady. She stood for a moment holding her skirt above
the grimy steps, with something of the stately pose which Richter has
given his Queen Louise on the stairway, and the light of the reflector
fell full upon her. She looked around expectantly, and recognizing Mrs.
Cooke's maid, who had stepped forward to relieve hers of the shawls,
Miss Thorn greeted her with a smile which greatly prepossessed us in her
favor.
“How do you do, Jennie?” she said. “Did any one else come?”
“Yes, Miss Marian,” replied Jennie, abashed but pleased,--“these
gentlemen.”
Farrar and I introduced ourselves, awkwardly enough, and we both tried
to explain at once how it was that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Cooke was there
to meet her. Of course we made an absolute failure of it. She scanned
our faces with a puzzled expression for a while and then broke into a
laugh.
“I think I understand,” she said; “they are having the house-warming.”
“She's first-rate at guessing,” said Farrar to me as we fled
precipitately to see that the trunks were hoisted into the basket.
Neither of us had much presence of mind as we climbed into the wagon,
and, what was even stranger, could not account for the lack of it. Miss
Thorn was seated in the corner; in spite of the darkness I could see
that she was laughing at us still.
“I feel very badly that I should have taken you away from the dance,” we
heard her say.
“We don't dance,” I answered clumsily, “and we were glad to come.”
“Yes, we were glad to come,” Farrar chimed in.
Then we relapsed into a discomfited silence, and wished we were anywhere
else. But Miss Thorn relieved the situation by laughing aloud, and with
such a hearty enjoyment that instead of getting angry and more mortified
we began to laugh ourselves, and instantly felt better. After that we
got along famously. She had at once the air of good fellowship and
the dignity of a woman, and she seemed to understand Farrar and me
perfectly. Not once did she take us over our heads, though she might
have done so with ease, and we knew this and were thankful. We began to
tell her about Mohair and the cotillon, and of our point of observation
from the Florentine galleried porch, and she insisted she would join us
there. By the time we reached the house we were thanking our stars she
had come. Mrs. Cooke came out under the port-cochere to welcome her.
“Unfortunately there is no one to dance with you, Marian,” she said;
“but if I had not by chance gone through your uncle's pockets, there
would have been no one to meet you.”
I think I had never felt my deficiency in dancing until that moment. But
Miss Thorn took her aunt's hand affectionately in hers.
“My dear Aunt Maria,” said she, “I would not dance to-night if there
were twenty to choose from. I should like nothing better than to look on
with these two. We are the best of friends already,” she added, turning
towards us, “are we not?”
“We are indeed,” we hastened to assure her.
Mrs. Cooke smiled.
“You should have been a man, Marian,” she said as they went upstairs
together.
We made our way to the galleried porch and sat down, there being a lull
in the figures just then. We each took out a cigar and lighted a match;
and then looked across at the other. We solemnly blew our matches out.
“Perhaps she doesn't like smoke,” said Farrar, voicing the sentiment.
“Perhaps not,” said I.
Silence.
“I wonder how she will get along with the Ten?” I queried.
“Better than with us,” he answered in his usual strain. “They're
trained.”
“Or with Allen?” I added irresistibly.
“Women are all alike,” said Farrar.
At this juncture Miss Thorn herself appeared at the end of the gallery,
her shoulders wrapped in a gray cape trimmed with fur. She stood
regarding us with some amusement as we rose to receive her.
“Light your cigars and be sensible,” said she, “or I shall go in.”
We obeyed. The three of us turned to the window to watch the figure, the
music of which was just beginning. Mr. Cooke, with the air of an English
squire at his own hunt ball, was strutting contentedly up and down one
end of the room, now pausing to exchange a few hearty words with some
Presbyterian matron from Asquith, now to congratulate Mr. Trevor on the
appearance of his daughter. Lined against the opposite wall were the
Celebrity and his ten red-coated followers, just rising for the figure.
It was very plain that Miss Trevor was radiantly happy; she was easily
the handsomest girl in the room, and I could not help philosophizing
when I saw her looking up into the Celebrity's eyes upon the seeming
inconsistency of nature, who has armed and warned woman against all but
her most dangerous enemy.
And then a curious thing happened. The Celebrity, as if moved by a
sudden uncontrollable impulse, raised his eyes until they rested on the
window in which we were. Although his dancing was perfect, he lost the
step without apparent cause, his expression changed, and for the moment
he seemed to be utterly confused. But only for the moment; in a trice
he had caught the time again and swept Miss Trevor rapidly down the room
and out of sight. I looked instinctively at the girl beside me. She had
thrown her head forward, and in the streaming light I saw that her lips
were parted in a smile.
I resolved upon a stroke.
“Mr. Allen,” I remarked, “leads admirably.”
“Mr. Allen!” she exclaimed, turning on me.
“Yes, it is Mr. Allen who is leading,” I repeated.
An expression of perplexity spread over her face, but she said nothing.
My curiosity was aroused to a high pitch, and questions were rising to
my lips which I repressed with difficulty. For Miss Thorn had displayed,
purposely or not, a reticence which my short acquaintance with her
compelled me to respect; and, besides, I was bound by a promise not to
betray the Celebrity's secret. I was, however, convinced from what had
occurred that she had met the Celebrity in the East, and perhaps known
him.
Had she fallen in love with him, as was the common fate of all young
women he met? I changed my opinion on this subject a dozen times. Now
I was sure, as I looked at her, that she was far too sensible; again, a
doubt would cross my mind as the Celebrity himself would cross my view,
the girl on his arm reduced to adoration. I followed him narrowly when
in sight. Miss Thorn was watching him, too, her eyes half closed, as
though in thought. But beyond the fact that he threw himself into the
dance with a somewhat increased fervor, perhaps, his manner betokened
no uneasiness, and not even by a glance did he betray any disturbing
influence from above.
Thus we stood silently until the figure was finished, when Miss Thorn
seated herself in one of the wicker chairs behind us.
“Doesn't it make you wish to dance?” said Farrar to her. “It is hard
luck you should be doomed to spend the evening with two such useless
fellows as we are.”
She did not catch his remark at first, as was natural in a person
preoccupied. Then she bit her lips to repress a smile.
“I assure you, Mr. Farrar,” she said with force, “I have never in my
life wished to dance as little as I do now.”
But a voice interrupted her, and the scarlet coat of the Celebrity was
thrust into the light between us. Farrar excused himself abruptly and
disappeared.
“Never wished to dance less!” cried the Celebrity. “Upon my word,
Miss Thorn, that's too bad. I came up to ask you to reconsider your
determination, as one of the girls from Asquith is leaving, and there is
an extra man.”
“You are very kind,” said Miss Thorn, quietly, “but I prefer to remain
here.”
My surmise, then, was correct. She had evidently met the Celebrity,
and there was that in his manner of addressing her, without any formal
greeting, which seemed to point to a close acquaintance.
“You know Mr. Allen, then, Miss Thorn?” said I.
“What can you mean?” she exclaimed, wheeling on me; “this is not Mr.
Allen.”
“Hang you, Crocker,” the Celebrity put in impatiently; “Miss Thorn knows
who I am as well as you do.”
“I confess it is a little puzzling,” said she; “perhaps it is because I
am tired from travelling, and my brain refuses to work. But why in the
name of all that is strange do you call him Mr. Allen?”
The Celebrity threw himself into the chair beside her and asked
permission to light a cigarette.
“I am going to ask you the favor of respecting my incognito, Miss Thorn,
as Crocker has done,” he said. “Crocker knew me in the East, too. I had
not counted upon finding him at Asquith.”
Miss Thorn straightened herself and made a gesture of impatience.
“An incognito!” she cried. “But you have taken another man's name. And
you already had his face and figure!”
I jumped.
“That is so,” he calmly returned; “the name was ready to hand, and so I
took it. I don't imagine it will make any difference to him. It's only a
whim of mine, and with me there's no accounting for a whim. I make it
a point to gratify every one that strikes me. I confess to being
eccentric, you know.”
“You must get an enormous amount of gratification out of this,” she said
dryly. “What if the other man should happen along?”
“Scarcely at Asquith.”
“I have known stranger things to occur,” said she.
The Celebrity smiled and smoked.
“I'll wager, now,” he went on, “that you little thought to find me
here incognito. But it is delicious, I assure you, to lead once more a
commonplace and unmolested existence.”
“Delightful,” said Miss Thorn.
“People never consider an author apart from his work, you know, and
I confess I had a desire to find out how I would get along. And there
comes a time when a man wishes he had never written a book, and a
longing to be sought after for his own sake and to be judged on his own
merits. And then it is a great relief to feel that one is not at the
beck and call of any one and every one wherever one goes, and to know
that one is free to choose one's own companions and do as one wishes.”
“The sentiment is good,” Miss Thorn agreed, “very good. But doesn't it
seem a little odd, Mr. Crocker,” she continued, appealing to me, “that
a man should take the pains to advertise a trip to Europe in order to
gratify a whim of this sort?”
“It is indeed incomprehensible to me,” I replied, with a kind of grim
pleasure, “but you must remember that I have always led a commonplace
existence.”
Although the Celebrity was almost impervious to sarcasm, he was now
beginning to exhibit visible signs of uneasiness, the consciousness
dawning upon him that his eccentricity was not receiving the ovation it
merited. It was with a palpable relief that he heard the first warning
notes of the figure.
“Am I to understand that you wish me to do my part in concealing your
identity?” asked Miss Thorn, cutting him short as he was expressing
pleasure at her arrival.
“If you will be so kind,” he answered, and departed with a bow. There
was a mischievous mirth in her eye as she took her place in the window.
Below in the ball-room sat Miss Trevor surrounded by men, and I saw her
face lighting at the Celebrity's approach.
“Who is that beautiful girl he is dancing with?” said Miss Thorn.
I told her.
“Have you read his books?” she asked, after a pause.
“Some of them.”
“So have I.”
The Celebrity was not mentioned again that evening.