Cornelia, alert to make everything pass off smoothly, and aware that
Carey was coming down the stairs, had slipped off her apron and
entered the living room exactly as her father flung open the front
door. Now she came forward easily, brightly, as if strange guests
flung at her feast at the last moment were a common occurrence in her
life, and greeted this tall, handsome stranger.
“The plate’s all on,” she answered gayly, putting out a welcoming
hand and meeting a pair of very nice, very curious, wholly interested
eyes that for the moment she wasn’t aware of ever having seen before.
She was aware only of the eight plates back in the oven keeping
piping hot, and the eight places at the pretty table, and the awful
thing that her father had done to her already incongruous party, and
wondering what she should do. Then suddenly she recognized the young
man; and a pretty color flew into her cheeks, and a brightness into
her eyes. The room with its strange guests, Grace Kendall trying
to interest Brand and Clytie in her lapful of photographs, Carey
standing on the stair-landing, even her young brother and sister
peeping curiously in at the dining-room door, fell away, and she put
out her hand in real welcome to this stranger. An instant more, and
her pulses swept wildly back into frightened array again, and her
thoughts bustled around with troubles and fears. What should she do
now? How would he ever mix? That awful girl with her face all flour!
That slam-bang Brand with his slang and bold indifference! How could
she ever make the party a success, the party over which she had so
worked and prayed and hoped? And Carey! Would he vanish out the back
door? The birthday candles around the cake were all lighted. Harry
had lighted them as she came in. If Carey should bolt, how could they
ever go out into that dining-room, into the flicker of those foolish
pink candles, and have a birthday dinner without the chief guest?
“Oh, but, indeed, I couldn’t think of intruding,” the young man’s
words interrupted her anxious thoughts. “I merely dropped in on my
way to dinner to leave this box of ferns that my mother sent with
very explicit directions to be delivered to you at once before they
died. As I’m not much of a florist myself, and as they have already
had to wait all day without water, I’m ashamed to say, I wouldn’t
answer for the consequences if I hadn’t got them here tonight. Mother
is very particular about having her directions carried out. I hope
the ferns will live and be worthy of this most beautiful setting”;
his glance went appreciatively about the pretty room. “You certainly
look cozy here, and I know you’re going to have a beautiful time. I
won’t keep you a minute longer.”
There was something wistful in his tone even as he lifted his hat to
put it on and began backing out the door. Cornelia’s resolve to let
him go was fast weakening even before her father spoke up.
“Daughter, Mr. Maxwell has come four miles out of his way to bring
those ferns, and it will be late before he gets any dinner. He ought
to stay. I told him he was welcome.”
Cornelia’s cheeks flamed, but a smile came into her eyes.
“We shall be _very_ glad to have you stay,” she urged gently,
“unless—some one else is waiting for you.”
A quick flush mounted into the young man’s face and he suddenly felt
strangely loath to have this clear-eyed girl think that anyone was
waiting for him. He would not like her to know what kind of girl was
expecting his coming.
“Oh, it’s not that”—he managed to say lamely, “but I simply
couldn’t think of butting into a family party like this.” His eyes
glanced about questioningly, hesitating at Brand and pausing with a
reflective wonder at Clytie in the background.
“But it’s not a family party,” said Cornelia laughingly; “it’s just
a few friends called in to help us celebrate my brother’s birthday,
and—they don’t even know one another very well yet; so won’t you come
in and be another? We really would be glad to have you, and we’ll try
to make you feel at home. We’re not a bit formal or formidable. Let
me introduce my brother Carey. Carey, come here and meet Mr. Maxwell.
You remember my telling how nice his mother was to me on the way home
from college.”
She was talking fast, and the pretty color was in her cheeks. She was
aware that the stranger was watching her admiringly. Her heart was
thumping and the blood was surging through her ears so that it seemed
as though she could not hear anything but her own high-pitched voice,
and she wanted nothing so much as to break out crying and run and
hide. Would Carey come, or would he——
Carey came, dazed, but polite. He was well dressed and groomed, and
he knew it. He had no objection to meeting a pleasant stranger who
owned a car like the one he had seen drive up at the door before he
had left his room. Carey had a habit of judging a man by his car. The
two young men appraised each other pleasantly, and there seemed to be
a mutual liking. Then suddenly Brand Barlock, never allowing himself
long to be left out of consideration, came noisily over to the group,
and slapped Carey on the back.
“Hello, old man! Got a birthday, have you?”
“Oh, hello, Brand! Forgot you were here. Saw your car out the
window. Meet Mr. Maxwell, Mr. Barlock,” and the two acknowledged the
introduction.
“My father, Brand.”
Mr. Copley spoke graciously to the young man, yet with a degree of
dignity, looking him over speculatively. This was not the kind of
young man he would choose for his son’s intimate; yet he regarded him
with leniency.
Suddenly Carey turned and saw Grace Kendall.
“Oh, I say, Miss Kendall! This is awfully good of you.” He took a
step, and shook hands with her. “Say, this is a real party, after
all, isn’t it? A surprise party. Upon my word I thought Cornelia was
kidding me when she said we were going to have a birthday party.”
Grace Kendall laughed, and clapped her hands, and all the rest
followed her example. In the din of laughter and clapping Carey
suddenly sighted Clytie glowering back by the fireplace, and a wave
of panic swept over his face. He turned startled eyes on his sister
and father, and stood back while Cornelia introduced their guests to
Maxwell and her father. He wondered how she could say “Miss Dodd” so
easily, and how she had got acquainted with Clytie. His cheeks began
to burn. Then she must have seen him that day on Chestnut Street,
after all. And Louise had talked too! And yet his sister’s face was
sweet and innocent!
Then he became aware that an appeal was being made to him to keep the
young stranger to dinner and that the stranger was protesting that
he could not thrust himself on a birthday party in this way. Carey
roused to the occasion, and gave an eager invitation.
“Of course you’re going to stay to my party!” But even as he said it
he wondered what a man of Maxwell’s evident type would think of a
girl like Clytie. Oh, if only she weren’t here! And Grace Kendall!
What must she think? He stole a look at her, standing there so
gracefully in that blue dress like a cloud, talking to Brand. What
business did Brand have looking at her like that as if he had known
her always? Now Brand would rush her. Carey could see that Brand
liked her. He always rushed a girl he took a notion to. He would
take her out riding in that car of his, and—
But everybody was talking now, and Cornelia had called upon him to
bring in the box of ferns. She herself had suddenly disappeared into
the kitchen, and was standing against the closed door, pressing her
hand against her forehead and trying to think.
“What shall we do, Louie, dear? What _shall_ we do? Father has
invited that man.” Cornelia found she was trembling; even her lips
were trembling so she could hardly speak.
“Do?” said Louise maturely. “We’ll go right ahead. We heard it all.
Harry has fixed it up that he’ll stay out and help. There’s plenty
of things left over for him to eat, and I’ll fix him a plate between
times.”
“I can fix my own plate,” growled Harry happily. “You know I didn’t
want to sit in there with all those folks any of the time.”
“But Harry! It’s Carey’s party, and you not at it!”
“Sure! I’m at it! I’m _it_! Don’t you see? I’m the chauffeur running
this car. I’m the chef cooking this dinner! Get out there quick,
Cornie, and file those folks into their seats. This soup is getting
cold, and they ought to get to work. That’s a good guy; and he’s got
some car, I’ll tell the world!”
So Cornelia went back to marshall the party out to the table. Maxwell
was turning to leave, saying once more that it was awfully kind of
them to ask him but he could not possibly stay. And just then the
dining-room door was flung open by Harry and the whole company
stopped and breathed a soft “Ah!” as they saw the pretty candle-lit
room. Then as one man they went forward and began to search for their
places, all save Maxwell who went forward indeed to get a closer
glimpse of the pretty table, but lingered in the doorway. There was
something so wholesome and homelike about the place, something so
interesting and free from self-consciousness about the girl, that he
was held in spite of himself. He had not realized that there were
such girls as this in his day. He was curious to watch her and see if
she really was different.
So far Carey had not even spoken to his own special guest, Clytie.
Since he had sighted her afar he had religiously kept his eyes turned
away from her vicinity.
It was Grace Kendall who took her by the arm and led her to her seat
at the right of the host, for Cornelia had known she could depend
upon her father’s kindliness to make all go smoothly during the
supper; and, much as he might dislike the looks of the girl, she felt
sure he would be polite and see that she was well taken care of.
Brand Barlock was on Clytie’s right with Louise next, and she had
placed Carey opposite Clytie, not liking to seem to separate them too
much, and yet not wishing to throw them together too conspicuously.
Grace Kendall was on Carey’s left, with Harry’s place next her. This
would have to be for the stranger, and would place him on Cornelia’s
right, the fitting place for the guest of honor; yet—her cheeks
burned. What would he think? Still, he had come unannounced. He had
stayed. Let him take the consequences! What did she care what he
thought? She would likely never see him again.
Perhaps he was not going to stay, after all. He was lingering still
in the doorway, but seemed just about to go.
Suddenly from behind her came a low whistle:
“Hist! Whist!”
Harry from behind the kitchen door was signalling violently,
forgetting that his white shirt-sleeve in his excited gestures was as
visible to the rest of the company as to the astonished young man in
the opposite doorway about to take a hasty leave.
“Oh, I say! Come ’ere!” came Harry’s sepulchral whisper, as he
beckoned wildly with a hand that unconsciously still grasped a muggy
dish-towel.
“Are you—calling me?” young Maxwell signalled with his lifted
eyebrows.
Harry’s response was unmistakable, and the young man slipped past the
group who were studying place cards and sliding into chairs and bent
his head to the retreating head of the boy.
“I say, don’t you _see_ I don’t want to come in there with all those
folks? Be a good sport, and stay, ’r I’ll have to. I’d ruther stay
out here and dish ice-cream. You go take my chair. That’s a good guy.”
Maxwell smiled with sudden illumination, and lifted his eyes to find
that Cornelia had heard the whole affair.
“All right, old man, I’ll stay,” said the young man. “You win.
Perhaps you’ll let me come into the kitchen afterwards and help clean
up.”
“Sure!” said Harry joyfully, with the tone of having found a pal.
“We’ll be glad to have you, won’t we Cornie?”
To himself Maxwell said: “It will be just as well to go later to
see Evadne. Better in fact. I don’t want her to think I’m too keen.
I can have more time to decide what to say to her. This is a good
atmosphere in which to decide. Besides, I’m hungry and the dinner
smells good. It would be ages before we got settled to eating at the
roof garden or some cabaret. I’d have to go home and dress.”
Then he became aware that Cornelia was speaking to him.
Cornelia’s cheeks were red as roses, and there was a look in her
laughing eyes as if tears were not far off; but she carried the thing
off bravely, and declared that those things could be settled later;
they really must sit down now, or the dinner would be spoiled. So
they all sat down, and there was a moment’s awkward silence till Mr.
Copley bowed his head and asked a blessing, Clytie and Brand openly
staring the while. When it was over, Maxwell discovered the place
card with “Harry” on it, and gravely deposited it in his vestpocket,
saying in a low tone to Cornelia: “I shall make this up to him later.”
“You mustn’t think you’re depriving him,” said Cornelia, smiling
and lifting her spoon to the luscious cup of iced fruit. “He really
has tried in every way he knew short of running away to get out of
coming to the table. He knows he has me in a corner now, and he’s
tremendously pleased; so don’t think another thing about it. Suppose
you play you’re one of our old friends, and then it won’t worry you
any more. It’s really awfully nice of you to come in this way.”
But all the time in her heart she was wondering why, oh, why, did
this have to happen just this night when she wanted to devote all her
energies to making the other people feel at home, and now she was so
distracted she didn’t know what she was saying?
However, the other people seemed to be getting along famously. When
she glanced up, she saw that her father was talking pleasantly to
Clytie, keeping her at least employed with questions to answer, about
where she lived, and how her father was employed, and whether she
had brothers and sisters. He had just asked: “And what school do
you attend? High school, I suppose?” and Cornelia caught a fleeting
glance of annoyance on Carey’s face as she replied with a giggle:
“Oh, my goodness, no! I quit school when I was thirteen. I couldn’t
stand the pace. Too dull for me!”