They came into May, the joyous, exciting, stimulating May of New York,
with its laughing promise of adventure. To Tom Whitelaw that sense of
adventure was in the happy sunlight, in the blue sky, in the scudding
clouds, in winds that were warm and yet with the tang of salt and ice
in them, in the flowers in the Park, in the gay dresses in the Avenue,
in the tall young men already beginning to look summery, in the shop
windows with their flowers, fruit, jewels, porcelains, and brocades,
in the opulent crush of vehicles, and in his own heart most of all.
Never before had he known such ecstasy of life. It was more than vigor
of limb or the strong coursing of the blood. It was youth and love and
expectation, with their call to the daring, the reckless, and the new.
They reached a Saturday. Business was taking Whitelaw to Boston. Tom
went with him to the station, to carry his brief-case, to hand him his
ticket, to check his bags, and perform the other small services of a
clerk for the man of importance.
"I shall come back on Wednesday," the banker explained to him, before
entering the train. "On Thursday I shall not be at the office. It's a
day on which I never leave my wife. Though I often have to go abroad
and leave her behind, I always manage it so that we may have that
particular day together. I shall see you then on Friday."
He saw him, however, on Thursday, since Mr. Phips willed it so. At
least, it was Mr. Phips who willed it, as far as Tom ever knew. About
three on that day he came to Tom with a brief-case stuffed with
documents.
"The Chief may want to run his eyes over these before he comes to the
office to-morrow. Ask for himself. Don't leave them with anybody else."
To the best of Tom's belief there was no staging of what happened next
beyond that which was set by Phips's intuitions.
By the time he rang at the house in Fifth Avenue it was a little after
four. Admitted to the big dim hall, he heard a hum of voices coming
from the sitting room. In Dadd's manner there was some constraint.
"Will you step in here, sir, and I'll tell the master that you've come?"
The library was on the same side of the house as the dining room,
but it got the afternoon sun. The sun woke its colors to a burnished
softness in which red and blue and green and gold melted into each
other lovingly. A still, well-ordered room, little used by anyone, it
gave the impression of a place of rest for ancient beauty and high
thought. Rich and reposeful, there was nothing in it that was not a
masterpiece, but a masterpiece which there was no one but some chance
visitor to care anything about. In the four who made up the Whitelaw
family there were too many aching human cares for knowledge or art to
comfort.
Tom's eyes studied absently the profile of a woman on an easel. She
might have been a Botticelli; he didn't know. She only reminded him
of Hildred--neatly piled dark hair, long slanting eyes, a small snub
nose, and lips deliciously _moqueur_. The colors she wore were also
Hildred's, subdued and yet ardent, umber round the shoulders, with a
chain of emeralds that almost sparkled in the westering light.
Whitelaw entered with his quick and eager tread, his quick and eager
seizing of the young man's hand. Again the left hand rested on his
shoulder; again there was the deep and earnest searching of the eyes,
as if a lost secret had not yet been found; again there was the little
weary push.
"Come."
Taking the brief-case into his own hands, he left Tom nothing to do but
follow him. Diagonally crossing the hall, Tom noticed that the hum of
voices had died down. Without knowing why he nerved himself for a test.
The test came at once. Whitelaw, having preceded him into the room,
had carried his brief-case to a table, and at once went to work on
the contents. Perhaps he did this purposely, to throw Tom on his own
resources. In any case, it was on his own resources that he felt
himself thrown the instant he appeared on the threshold. He judged
from the face of anguish and protest which Mrs. Whitelaw turned on him
that he was not expected. Dimly he perceived that Tad and Lily were in
the room, and some one else whom as yet he hadn't time to see. All his
powers were focused on the meeting of the woman who was not his mother,
and didn't want him there.
He thought quickly. He would be on the safest side. He had come there
as a clerk; as a clerk shown in among the family he would conduct
himself. He bowed to Mrs. Whitelaw, who let him take her hand, though
that too seemed to suffer at his touch; he bowed to Lily; he nodded
respectfully to Tad. He turned to salute distantly the other person in
the room, and found her coming towards him.
He knew her free swinging motion before he had time to see her face.
"Oh, Tom!"
"Why, Hildred!"
Her manner was the protecting one he had often seen in other years,
when she thought he might be hurt, or be ignorant of small usages. She
was subtle, tactful, and ready, all at once.
"Come over here." She drew him to a seat on a sofa, beside herself.
"Mrs. Whitelaw won't mind, will you, Mrs. Whitelaw? You know, Tom and I
are the greatest friends--have been for years."
He forgot everyone else who was present in the joy and surprise of
seeing her. "When did you come? Why didn't you let me know?"
"I didn't know myself till late last night, did I, Mrs. Whitelaw? Mrs.
Whitelaw only wired to invite me after Mr. Whitelaw came back from
Boston. Of course I wasn't going to miss a chance like that. I don't
see New York oftener than once in two years or so. Then there was the
chance of seeing you. I was ready in an hour. I took the ten o'clock
train this morning, and have just this minute arrived."
Only when these first few bits of information had been given and
received did Tom feel the return of his embarrassment. He was in a
room where three of the five others were troubled by his presence. He
wasn't there of his own free will, and since he was a clerk he couldn't
leave till he was dismissed. He would not have known what to do if
Hildred hadn't kept a small conversation going, drawing into it first
one and then another, till presently all were discussing the weather or
something of equal importance. In spite of her emotion Mrs. Whitelaw
did her best to sustain her rôle of hostess, Tad and Lily speaking only
when they were spoken to. At a given minute Tad got up, sauntering
toward the door.
He was stopped by his father. "Don't go, Tad. Tea will be here in a
minute." The voice grew pleading. "Stay with us to-day."
Lighting a cigarette, Tad sank back into his chair, doing it rather
sulkily. Whitelaw continued to draw papers from the brief-case,
arranging them before him on the table.
When Dadd appeared with the tea-tray Tom made a push for escape. "If
you've nothing else for me to do, sir...."