china, as she glanced at him over the tea-cups. She was genuinely fond
of Warner, the little society lady; his sense of the dramatic, something
told her, made them subtly kin. “Tell us the most awful--and the
funniest--tragedy you can think of, Jim, an original one, you know.” And
Sheila pushed her chair back from the teatable, and curled down into it,
in a luxury of anticipation.
“All right”--Warner’s drawl came a bit slower than usual; he was sitting
forward, gazing steadily at the fire--“I’ll tell you one. It--I’m quite
sure it’s original, that it’s never been told before. Because,” he
laughed contagiously, looking around at all of them, “it was my tragedy,
you see!”
“_Yours_--ha! ha!” Every one was laughing with him, as they drew their
chairs into a closer circle. “A tragedy that happened to Jim! That’s a
good one. Go on, Jim; it starts rippingly!”
Warner balanced a plate of frivolous pink cakes on one of his crossed
knees; his eyes, as he regarded them, were full of negligent amusement.
“She--that’s the way all tragedies begin, of course--was a bachelor
girl, and lived in a flat. Nothing very original about that, but then
she was the sort of girl who made the commonplace very nice. She even
made me very nice--for a time: at least so people told me. And out of
sheer gratitude, I suppose, I--silly ass!--fell in love with her.”
“Haw! Haw!” It was Hawley’s large roar that interrupted. He had just
come in, and was standing near the door. “Warner in love!--that’s the
best yet! Nothing that chap won’t tell, for the sake of a story. Funny
old Warner!”
“Fact.” Warner grinned back at him. “Well, naturally, when I realized
the shocking state I was in, I set about to pry into the lady’s
emotions. But _malheureusement_, I found she hadn’t any. That is, not
for me. There were other men--oh, a disgusting lot of other men!--with
whom she was shy, coquette, difficult--all the encouraging things, you
know; but with me she remained always that frightful neutrality, one’s
Platonic friend. So, things went; I mean, stood still. I went to the
flat, and she came out to dine; and, ah, yes; a pretty touch I had
almost forgotten--she always wore a tiny carved jade elephant hung on a
fine gold chain about her neck. Lends a neat flavor of the artistic,
that elephant, what?” He smiled at the little group whimsically. “Um-m;
one night at the Savoy----”
“Ah! It was in London then?” The ugly old lady’s beautiful bright eyes
betrayed what she thought of London. “You didn’t tell us that.”
“Of course--in London, five years ago last November. As I said, we were
having supper at the Savoy, and she told me she called the elephant Jim.
I thought it a crude joke, myself; but I let it pass.... I let it pass.
He did me no end of good turns after all, that elephant: every time I
was on the verge of insanity--blurting the thing, I mean, of course, and
so losing her for a pal or anything--I seemed to catch that old beast’s
green eye fixed on me--with the leeriest grin you ever saw. And I swore
I’d never be as clumsy as he, no matter if our names were the same.
“Well, to get on to the tragedy”--Warner’s laugh rang out so
delightfully clear that every one had to join in it; even Sheila, whose
adorable butterfly face had been rather serious in its attention. “One
dull afternoon I had dropped in to tea, as I did a shocking lot of rainy
evenings, and found her in a blue frock--um-m--a delicious frock
really--but blue and in a mood to match. After she’d made us each three
very bad cups of tea--and she generally made very creditable tea, too,
for a girl--I said: ‘Come, let’s have it! which of them is it--who’s
bothering you?’
“For a minute she looked as though she’d like to box my ears--you know
the kind of look, when you’ve just displayed a little perspicacity in
some one’s else affairs; then ‘it’s the one who isn’t bothering me,’ she
said, toying with the little elephant and looking at it in a peculiar
sort of fashion. ‘The one who hasn’t the perception to bother me--or
doesn’t want to,’ she added, in a rather lower voice.
“‘But who----?’ I began.
“‘Never mind’---- you know how girls are, the minute one begins to be
useful; nothing women hate so much as usefulness. A practical man has
absolutely no chance with ’em. ‘I’m absurd even to mention it to you. I
hate rainy days--they always make one so absurd. Come, let’s try those
new songs----’
“‘Not until you’ve told me----’
“‘What? I don’t intend to tell you anything,’ she declared--so firmly
that I knew she would end by telling me everything.
“‘Oh, yes, you do,’ I said--with that disgusting urbanity which has made
all my friends abhor me, more or less--‘yes, you do. First of all,
what’s his name?’
“‘J--Jack,’ she stammered. The reason people hate that urbanity is
because it’s a sort of subtle hypnotic.
“‘And he--ah, doesn’t bother you enough? Isn’t sufficiently courageous
in his attitude of approach, I mean?’
“‘Oh!’ she threw up her hands with a little gesture of abandon. ‘He’s
sufficiently courageous, I suppose; but he doesn’t _see_. Oh, I don’t
know why I tell you all this, but it’s gone on so long now--our being
just such good pals and all that--it--it’s getting on my nerves
frightfully. And then this beastly wet afternoon’---- she laughed a bit
hysterically. ‘Yes, yes; I’ll tell you. You see (she was twisting the
jade elephant almost off its chain) this man I’ve known for ages--a year
at least--and we’ve done everything together; I’ve always kept my best
jokes for him, and my craziest hopes and plans, and--yes, I’m afraid my
worst moods, too. He’s never seemed to mind somehow, no matter how
disagreeable I’ve been, and--well, just lately I’ve found that--that I
can’t go on being pals, that’s all. I daren’t even hint to him--I might
lose everything, you see; and yet--oh, don’t you see, if he _did_
care--and was perhaps in exactly my position--I’ve worn the mask so
faithfully. If he did care----! Oh, Jim (but she was looking at the
clumsy little elephant), isn’t it funny? Isn’t it funny, funny, funny!’
“And _’twas_ funny, now, wasn’t it? Nothing so frightfully funny as a
real tragedy. Now I--I was just clown enough to snatch at one little
ravelled end of her story, and try to match it up with a ragged corner
of mine--that, you see, was where the delicious joke of it came in. Of
course, I couldn’t be sure, but--something said slyly, ‘Why it’s you she
means, can’t you see? It’s you, you blessed idiot, and everything’s
coming out all shipshape.’
“Just the same, one can’t believe oneself just offhand like that--it
seems so reckless; so I suggested, carelessly, you know, that she bring
this tongue-tied impossibility to tea with me next day. In that way, I
told her, I could see exactly how things stood (and I meant it more
literally than she knew, by a good deal!); we’d tea at some
Galleries--good place, I pointed out, for me to watch this Jack person,
without his knowing it, and then (by this time my ridiculous tongue was
fairly tripping itself up with expectation) she and I would have another
talk, and decide her next move.
“‘Capital!’ she pronounced--a bit nervously, I thought at the time. ‘If
only I can get hold of Jack for to-morrow----’
“‘Oh, well, if to-morrow turns out impossible, any day next week will be
all right,’ I said cheerfully--the burning question being, of course,
whether she would find it possible, any day, to produce this
‘Jack’--whom by the way I was beginning to care for quite foolishly--as
one cares for oneself, don’t you know! ‘Say you meet him at the New, at
four; have an hour for the pictures--which means anything you want to
say to him, while I stroll quietly about after you--unobserved. Then we
go to tea _à trois_, and--the game’s complete. At tea----’ I
endeavored to look at her quite impersonally--‘I shall try to make you
understand just what I think. It’s understood?’
“‘Yes.’ She drew a long breath. ‘Yes, I suppose it might as well be
to-morrow as any other day. We can’t go on as we’ve been doing, that’s
certain.’
“‘No,’ I said--my voice as leading man was quite good in this part,
really! ‘No,’ I said, ‘we can’t. We must er--come to some new
arrangement to-morrow.’
“But will you believe me, when I said good-bye to her, that detestable
elephant actually leered at me; and for some unaccountable reason I was
suddenly furious at his being named Jim. A senseless liberty, I thought
it. However, when I was outdoors again, and walking home through
Regent’s Park, I began to think less and less about the elephant; more
and more about _her_ peculiar nervousness and agitation. The way she’d
answered me at first--‘it’s the one who isn’t bothering me--who hasn’t
the perception to bother me, or doesn’t want to’--and all the time
looking at that little jade elephant, _whose name was Jim_! Not such a
bad elephant after all, I decided.
“Then the way she hesitated when I asked his name: ‘J-Jack’ why of
course! She was always the frankest, most absurdly truthful creature;
and she had started to say--ah! It was almost too exquisite, even the
hint of it. And--‘it’s gone on so long now--our being just good pals’
came back to me on leaping little bounds of recollection; and then ‘oh,
don’t you see, if he _did_ care--and was perhaps in exactly my
position’--Hm! There was certainly no one else of whom she could
possibly have thought that; no one else who had been shown her ‘worst
moods’ as well as her ‘craziest hopes and plans!’ My children (Warner
passed his plate of pink cakes to each one of them, with an elaborate
bow, while his wonderful smiling eyes mocked their gravity), I assure
you, that was one of the most remarkable twenty-four hours I have ever
spent--from the time I left her, till the time I saw her again next
afternoon. Those of you who have known the emotion will remember its
alternative phases--of leaving one entirely strangled, and again
curiously hollow. I underwent them both, with breathless rapidity, all
night and the next day; and they left me rather weak-kneed and stuttery,
when I arrived at the Galleries at precisely half past four.
“I strolled about, and watched the Americans, at the same time keeping a
weather eye out for her--and Jack! Awfully amusing, you know, waiting
round for one’s fate to make up its mind! I never spent such a funny
half hour in my life!
“Then I saw her. And she was alone. And, you know, to this day, for the
life of me, I can’t remember what I thought--much less what I said or
did, when I saw her--alone--at five o’clock! I do remember she had on
another blue gown, some sort of tailored thing, with little lines in it;
and those lines danced themselves up and down and round that room, till
somehow they caught up those tiresome weighted feet of mine, and drew me
over to her.
“‘Jack not here?’ I asked--oh, with an enormous carelessness. My voice,
once out, sounded so odd, I just asked again to make sure.
“‘Jack not here?’ ‘No--no; that is, not yet. I can’t understand,’ she
went on hurriedly, ‘I wrote him a line--rather an absurd line, I’m
afraid--and told him if for any reason he couldn’t be here, to send me a
wire. And he didn’t send the wire, and I haven’t seen anything of
him--up till now.’
“Up till now! I was grinning like a fool, trying to remember all I had
planned to say, and failing utterly to say anything--until she took the
reins and suggested rather faintly that we might as well have tea.
“So we had it; and I gulped mine, and said quite the most brilliant
things I’ve ever said in my life--naturally, since I hadn’t an idea what
I was talking about; and watched her eat her muffin (which she did with
the most frantic deliberation), wishing to goodness she’d finish, so
that--well, one certainly could not propose, with _the person_ eating a
muffin!
“At last she did finish, and--I was cold from my head to my feet--I knew
it was The Time! She had given me undivided attention all during tea,
gave it me still. Her eyes had never once wandered after some one who
might be expected.
“‘Dear old girl’--I had leaned forward to where I could watch her eyes a
bit better; when suddenly I saw in them something--something I had never
seen before, something I have never seen since, in a woman’s eyes. It
knocked the breath all out of me--you see (Warner’s laugh was the
lightest thing in the world) I thought it was for me, that look. Great
joke!--for in another second she’d jumped up, run round the other side
of the table behind me, and held out both hands to--Jack! Some wretched
duffer I’d never heard of, he turned out to be; knew her in Paris or
somewhere, where she’d spent a lot of time. Seems that since he’d come
to England people had rather scared him off, by tales of _me_! Perf’ly
ridiculous, I told him; she told him, too. Absolutely extraordinary! Why
I--I was just old Jim, you know--like the elephant; good old friend--er
pal’s the word rather; good old pal, and all that, but--well, so that’s
the end (Warner stood up and faced them all, more debonair than ever),
for they lived happily ever after.”
“Yes, but--but how did this er--eccentric young person who preferred
some one else to you, effect the er--the explanation, I mean to say?”
came from Lady Trot’s dim corner of the room. “Such extremely quick
adjustment, you make it, dear Mr. Warner!”
“‘Twas,” said Warner blithely. “When I saw him, and he saw her, and she
waited to see what he’d say when he saw her, why I just said it for him,
d’ye see? ‘You’ve come to get congratulated, now haven’t you?’ I accused
him. And he half murdered my hand, and said that that was about it.”
“And then----?” It was Sheila, the little society lady, who questioned
very softly. But she did not look at Warner.
“Oh, then, having said my piece, I went away and left him to say his.
And do you know”--Warner’s drawl was one of exceeding gentleness--“I’ve
always cared for--Jack; like one cares for oneself, you know, the person
who should have been oneself. And I’m sure _she_ likes him; better than
the elephant. Such a clumsy, conceited beast, an elephant.”
He turned to have a laugh with Hawley, who--with singular interest--was
still standing by the door; when just then, in came Knollys Verplanck,
laden with parcels, and a little air of excitement as well. “I’ve
brought you your guest, Sheila,” he announced, over the heads of some
superfluous people. “Her husband deserted her at the door, to attend to
some luggage, so I offered myself as escort. Their boat got in a bit
ahead of time, you see.”
With a little rush, Sheila had come forward. “Joan, you _angel_, you
wretch, for not sending me a wireless--oh, where _are_ these lights!
Turn them on, do, Jim--and then I want you to meet Mrs. Herrington.
She’s--oh!” And every one else in the room drew in their breath
involuntarily also; for the lady with whom Warner was shaking hands, was
dressed in a blue tailored gown. And on a fine gold chain about her neck
she wore a tiny carved jade elephant.
“And is its name still Jim?” asked Warner, gently.
“Awfully funny, Warner,” said Knollys to Hawley, mechanically.
“Awfully funny,” agreed Hawley--a bit uncertainly.
VI
CHALMERS--CLEARLY A CLUBMAN
“But I can tell you _one_ thing, Claire”--Patsy looked at her stepmother
across a sea of chiffon, surging round seven fat red-lettered
trunks--“never do I go abroad for six months again! And if the Angel’s
education perishes (grimly) it’ll have to perish, that’s all; as long as
his father--as long as Warren remains what he is. Of course, I’ve always
known Warren was weak, but----”
“I’ve always thought you were rather glad he was weak,” ventured the
stepmother, her dainty silvered head half lost in the vastness of the
biggest trunk. “You have always said----”
“I’ve said I was glad he wasn’t infallible, certainly,” Patsy cut in a
bit shortly. “So I am. I wouldn’t have Warren goody-good--like so many
handsome men!--for anything. At the same time, you must admit there’s a
difference between--well, ordinary flirtation, and the sort of thing
Warren’s just confessed to; it must be a _very_ deep interest in a
woman, that would allow one to accept her influence in obtaining a
Cabinet appointment! I daresay (carelessly) you’ve seen the woman?”
“Yes.” The stepmother’s head was altogether lost to view, this time.
“Yes; I’ve seen her.”
“Warren didn’t tell me her name,” Patsy gazed hard at the lace she was
folding. “He started to, but I wouldn’t let him. I told him”--she
laughed lightly--“I really took no interest. He knew of course I could
find out from you, as you’d been staying here in Washington ever since I
went away.”
The stepmother opened her lips, but shut them again--rather tightly.
Then, “He lost no time in making a clean breast of it,” she said--as
though something forced her to say it. “And really, Patsy, the whole
affair--well, Warren certainly did not take the initiative; you know a
popular young Congressman----”
“Cannot afford to get himself talked about,” finished Patsy, rising to
the full dignity of her five feet five. “There is not the slightest use
in your pleading for Warren, Claire,” she said coldly. “Of course he
knew I should hear all about this Mrs.--Whatever-her-name-is, the first
tea-party I’d go to: his telling me, the first morning I got home, is
only a part of his other cowardice--he couldn’t bear to have me hear
from some one else. One can always tell one’s story more agreeably than
the onlooker, you know. However”--and Patsy’s smile made the little
stepmother wince--“we’re not twenty-one this time, are we, dear? And
it’s not such a serious case as when Warren caught _me_ sliding down the
bannisters!”
“I suppose we all like to slide down the bannisters, once in a while?”
The stepmother regarded Patsy rather wistfully. No, she was no longer
twenty-one, this beautiful, tawny-eyed little person. The ten years
since then--well, was not Patsy unpacking her trunks?--and quite
calmly? The stepmother wished--as with unreasonable ardor--that they
were back again at that day when she had packed them up and left Warren.
One can do so much more with the age that takes things tragically, she
reflected.
But, as Patsy said, it was not so serious now. Though the bannisters--in
the present case--were more slippery. “I suppose we all like to slide
down them?” persisted the stepmother. “When our playfellows are
gone--and there’s nothing else to do?”
Patsy kissed her. “You’re a dear, Claire,” she said softly. “It’s very
evident _you_’ve never lived in Washington ten years, and been--Warren’s
wife,” she ended suddenly. “Oh, I know well enough they never let him
alone,” she added, half under her breath; “women _can’t_, somehow, if a
man’s good-looking--and has influence. But there’s Kent Chalmers--one
never hears of Kent like that; and he’s quite as attractive as
Warren--well, _almost_--and if he liked he could have twice Warren’s
influence. But somehow Kent just saunters along--nothing in particular
happens to him, nothing in particular’s said about him. He’s just an
agreeable person--clearly, a clubman pure and simple.” Patsy laughed.
“That’s funny, isn’t it, dear? A clubman pure and simple! But” (the
lovely tawny eyes grew serious again) “Kent is; and he’s miles too good
for his wife--you know that, Claire”--Patsy’s voice came from the depths
of a huge cupboard, where she was storing away very small
boots--“Farleigh Chalmers is nowhere _near_ good enough for Kent.”
The stepmother gazed at the back of Patsy’s head--a little strangely.
“No--I don’t believe she is,” she said. “Patsy, I see the Angel--I see
Junior coming up the drive--and--_no_, my dear! He has _not_ got his
rubbers on! That child----!”
Patsy threw an arm around her. “Never mind, grannie dear. What’s it
matter, rubbers or not, when one’s ten, and owns a velocipede! Nothing
happens then, somehow, does it?” She was peering through the twilight at
a sturdy figure trudging up the drive. A very tall figure followed
it--rather slowly. “It’s Warren with him,” said Patsy, stiffening; “no
it isn’t--why it’s Kent! He’s come to say hello--but how odd of him,
when all the men are at the Club--and Kent’s such a _very_ clubman,
isn’t he? I think that’s rather sweet of Kent, Claire--I’ll run down
right away; he must have wanted to see me especially!”
“Yes,” said the stepmother, smoothing Patsy’s lovely hair, “he must.
I--I’ll just wait up here for Junior, dear. His feet, you know----”
Patsy laughed. “Of course. I’ll send him straight to you. I shan’t be
long down myself, probably; Kent will want to get on to the Club, you
know. It’s his business, Farleigh says--the Club!”
* * * * *
“Well, Patsy?”
“Well, Kent?”
“You’re home?”
“Yes, I’m home. Oh, yes!”--Patsy’s eyes were following two absurd autumn
leaves, chasing each other across the wind-swept lawn. “I’m home,” she
said again--very quietly; as her eyes came back to the comfort of the
fire-lit sitting-room.
“Aren’t you glad, then?” asked Chalmers gently. He had sat down opposite
her, by the fire. Patsy admitted again that he was _almost_ as handsome
as Warren. Too bad he never _did_ anything, she reflected; he was too
good for just the Club. In fact, Patsy decided suddenly, he was good
enough to help her.
“Am I glad?” she repeated slowly, while her eyes still measured him.
“Well, Kent--you know all about it, of course--would you be? Oh, I
suppose I’m a little cad to answer you like that,” she went on swiftly,
“even though you are Timothy’s friend--my brother’s friend, and--my
husband’s. _Because_ you are, perhaps I should say. But Kent”--she faced
him squarely, with that little boyish movement of the shoulders that
Patsy would never lose, no matter how many tens of years went
by--“you’re my friend too--have been ever since I came to Washington;
and that’s a very long time. You know how I’ve worked for Warren, how
I’ve hated the work I had to do for him--because of the wires to be
pulled and the finesse to be made use of, all the sort of thing a
Congressman’s wife has to do, you know, and that was like driving nails
into the frankness Timothy and I had always been used to. But you know I
_did_ do that work, Kent--for Warren’s sake; nothing else in the world!
And (Patsy turned her head away abruptly) my reward was always, that I
was _everything_ to Warren.”
“Yes----?” Chalmers’ voice came to her like the strong grip of an
understanding hand.
“Well,--that’s all. You know--Warren says every one in Washington
knows--I’ve not been everything to him. It was only necessary for me to
go away for a very little time and--Warren found some one who was
_really_ everything to him.” Patsy looked across at Warren’s friend, but
he was shading his eyes, so that she could not see them. “Just put
yourself in my place, Kent; suppose Farleigh----”
“That is what I’m trying to do, put myself in your place,” Chalmers
interrupted very quietly; “and I admit it’s not a pleasant place, Patsy.
Still--Warren told you all this? He came straight to you, and told you
everything?”
“Yes. But----”
“He might very easily not have told you,” meditated Chalmers.
“People--in such cases, people don’t often tell, you know.”
“He knew, of course, I’d find out,” returned Patsy a bit scornfully. “In
this place every one knows everything.”
“Or invents it,” retorted Chalmers. “Tell me truthfully, Patsy, if you
had heard that Warren was er--interested in some other woman, that she
was using her influence” (Chalmers hesitated), “her husband’s influence
to get him a Cabinet appointment--Warren told you that?” he added
quickly.
“Yes,” said Patsy, very low.
“Then--_truthfully_--if any one in Washington had told you this thing
about Warren, tell me--would you have believed it? _Would you_, Patsy?”
There was a moment of rather tense silence; then “Warren sent you here
to plead for him,” Patsy broke out, tying her handkerchief in hard
little knots; “and you’re doing it--oh, cleverly! But it’s no good,
Kent. Of course, I wouldn’t have believed it; you know that. But it’s no
good, Kent, Warren----”