long time side by side while Jane told of all that had happened in
the woods, including the sudden and unpleasant termination of her
idyl. Nellie Pennington listened soberly, and learned more of the
definiteness with which fate had placed the steps of these two young
people upon the same pathway into the future. Love dwelt in Jane’s
eyes and confidence, a trust and belief in Phil Gallatin that put
Nellie Pennington’s rather assertive indorsement of him to the blush.
She realized now that below Jane Loring’s placid exterior, there was
a depth of feeling, a quiet strength and resolution of which she had
never even dreamed; for she, too, had thought Jane a “nice little
thing”--a pretty, amiable, cheerful soul without prejudices, who would
add much to her own joy of life, and to the intimate circle of young
people she chose to gather around her. Some of the girl’s faith found
its way into her own heart and she saw Phil now, as she had always
hoped to see him, taking his place among the workers of the world,
using the brains God had given him, and accomplishing the great things
that she knew had always been within his power to accomplish.
When Jane rose to go, Mrs. Pennington detained her a moment longer.
“How well do you know Nina Jaffray?” she asked slowly.
“Oh, we’ve always got along admirably, because we’ve never interfered
with each other, I think. But I don’t understand her--nor does she me.
Why do you ask?”
“Oh--I don’t know----”
“I thought you liked her, Nellie.”
“I do. I like everybody who doesn’t bore me. Nina amuses me because she
keeps me in a continual state of surprise. That’s all very well so long
as her surprises are pleasant ones; but when she wishes to be annoying,
I assure you she can be amazingly disagreeable.”
“I imagine so. But I don’t think we’ll have differences--at least I
hope----”
“Don’t be too intimate--that’s all. Understand?”
They kissed; after which Jane departed, and on the way uptown found
herself wondering from time to time whether Nellie Pennington could
have meant something more than Jane thought she did. But in her state
of exaltation nothing could long avail to divert her spirit from its
joyous flight among the enchanted realms that had been discovered
to her. That afternoon late, it was only going to be very late in
the afternoon she now remembered, Phil Gallatin was to walk home
with her from somebody’s tea, to-morrow they were to dine at the
Dorsey-Martin’s, and late in the week there was the party at the
“Pot and Kettle.” After that--but what did it matter what happened
after that? Each day, she knew, was to be more wonderful than the one
that had gone before and it was not well to question the future too
insistently. Sufficient unto the day was the good thereof, and Solomon
indeed was not arrayed--inwardly at least--as Jane was.
Taking Mrs. Pennington’s advice, as soon as she reached home she
sought her mother’s room. Mrs. Loring was reclining at full length on
a portable wooden table which had been set up in the middle of her
large apartment, and an osteopath was busy manipulating her small
body. There wasn’t really anything the matter with her except social
fag, but she chose this method of rehabilitating her tired nerves
instead of active exercise which she abhorred. It was almost with a
feeling of pity that Jane sat beside her mother when the practitioner
had departed, for she knew that a scene would follow her confidences.
And she was not mistaken; for when half an hour later, Jane went to
her own room, her mother was in a state of collapse upon her bed, and
Jane’s nerves were singing like taut wires, while on her mind were
unpleasantly impressed the final words of maternal recrimination. But
Jane knew that in spite of the violence of her mother’s opposition, she
was very much less to be dreaded than her father, and that by to-morrow
she would be reconciled to her daughter’s point of view and even might
be reckoned upon as an ally. Nor would she speak to Mr. Loring without
her daughter’s acquiescence. This Jane had no intention of giving, for
she was sure that a meeting of her father and Phil, which must, of
course, ensue at once, was not to be looked forward to with pleasurable
expectation.
It was therefore in no very happy mood that Jane met Phil Gallatin late
that afternoon at the Suydams’ tea whence he went home with her. She
had said nothing of her interview with her mother, and was relieved to
learn at the house that Mrs. Loring had gone out.
She led Phil back into the library and they sat before the open fire.
“What is it, Jane?” he asked. “Are you regretting----?”
“No,” she smiled. “There isn’t room in my heart for regret. It’s full
of--other things.”
“I’m very dense. Can you prove it?”
“I’ll try.”
The davenport was huge, but only one end of it complained of their
weight.
“Phil, are you _sure_ there is no mistake?”
“Positive.”
“And you never cared for any one else?”
[Illustration: “‘And you never cared for any one else?’”]
“Never.”
“Not Nina Jaffray?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“She once told me you had a boy-and-girl affair.”
“Oh, that! She used to tease me and I would wash her face in the snow.
That’s Nina’s idea of mutual affection.”
“It isn’t her idea now, is it?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Larry Kane.”
“And you don’t ever think about her?”
“No--except with vague alarm for the safety of the species.”
Jane laughed. “I don’t want you to be unkind,” she said, but was not
displeased.
There was a silence in which Gallatin peered around the great room and
his eyes smiled as they sought her face again.
“What are you thinking of?” she asked.
“Of this shelter--and another.”
“Up among the pine trees? Oh, how white and cold it must be there now!
It’s ours though, Phil, so personal----”
“I’ll build another--here in New York.”
“Not like this?”
“No--hardly--” he smiled.
“I’m glad of that. This house oppresses me. It’s so big--so silent and
yet so noisy with the money that has been spent on it. I don’t like
money, Phil.”
“That’s because you’ve never felt the need of it. I’m glad you don’t,
though. You know I’m not very well off.”
“I don’t suppose Daddy would ever let me starve,” she laughed.
His expression changed and he chose his words deliberately, his face
turned toward the fire.
“It isn’t my intention to place you in any such position,” he said with
curious precision. “I don’t think you understand. It isn’t possible for
me to accept anything from your father, except yourself, Jane. I’ll
take you empty-handed as I first found you--or not at all.”
“But even then you know it was _my_ saucepan----”
But he shook his head. “It isn’t a question of saucepans now.”
“You’re not fair, Phil,” she murmured soberly. “Is it my fault that
father has become what he is? Why shouldn’t I help? I have something of
my own--some stock in----”
He closed her lips with a kiss.
“I’ve got to have my own way. Can’t you understand?” he whispered
earnestly. “It’s my sanity I’m fighting for--sanity of body and mind,
and the medicines are toil--drudgery--responsibility. I’ve never
known what work really meant. One doesn’t learn that sort of thing
in the crowd I’ve been brought up with. It’s only the money a fellow
makes himself that does him any good. I’ve seen other fellows raised as
I was--losing their hold on life--slipping into the quagmire. I always
thought I could pull up when I liked--when I got ready. But when I
tried--I found I couldn’t.”
He paused and Jane pressed his hand in both of hers. But he went on
decisively, “Desperate illnesses need desperate remedies, Jane. I
learned that--up there with you. I’ve been ill, but I’ve found the
cure and I’m taking it already. Downtown I’ve cut myself off from all
financial support. I shan’t have a dollar that I cannot make. I’m
driven to the wall--and I’m going to fight.”
He paused and then turned and looked into her eyes. “That’s why it is
that I want you to come to me empty-handed. I want to remember every
hour of the day that on my efforts alone your happiness depends--_your_
peace of mind, _your_ future.”
“Yes, I understand--but it might be made easier----”
“There isn’t any easy way. And, whatever my other sins, I wouldn’t
climb to fortune on a woman’s shoulders. I’ve nothing to offer you but
my love----”
“It’s enough.”
“No, I came into your life a pauper--a derelict--an idler--a dr----”
“Don’t, Phil,” she whispered, her fingers on his lips.
“I shall come to you sane and whole or I shall not come to you. I ask
nothing of you. You must make me no promises.”
“I don’t see how you can prevent that,” she smiled. “I shall make them
anyway.”
“No, you’re not promised to me.”
“I am.”
“No.”
“I don’t see how you can prevent my promising. I promise to love, honor
and obey----”
“Then obey at once and stop promising.”
“I won’t----”
“Then what validity has a promise, broken the moment it’s made?” His
logic was inevitable.
“Cherish, then,” she evaded.
He held her away from him, looked into her eyes and laughed. “If it
establishes no precedent--er--you may cherish me at once.”
“What does cherish mean?”
He showed her.
“I’m afraid the precedent is already established, Phil,” she sighed.
She sank back in his arms and he kissed her tenderly.
“I can’t stop seeing you, Jane,” he whispered at her ear. “You renew
me, give me new faith in myself, new hope for the future. I know that I
oughtn’t to have the right, but I can’t give you up. I need you. When
I’m with you, I wonder how there could ever be any sin in the world.
Your eyes are so clear, dear, like the pool--_our_ pool in the woods
and my image in them is as clear as they are. Whatever I’ve said I
don’t want that image to go out of them. Keep it there, Jane, no matter
what happens, and believe in me.”
“I will,” she whispered, “whatever happens.”
“I’ll come for you some day, dear,--soon perhaps. I’m working on a big
case, one that involves large issues. All of me that isn’t yours, I’m
giving to that--and that’s yours, too.”
“You’ll win, Phil.”
“Yes, I’ll win. I must win,” he finished. “I _must_.”
“Oh, Phil, dear,” she murmured. “It doesn’t matter. What should I care
whether you win or lose? Whatever you have been, whatever you are or
hope to be, you’ve kissed me and I’m yours--until the end. What does
it matter what I promise--or what I fail to promise? I’ll wait for you
because you wish it, but I would tell the world to-morrow if you’d let
me.”
“No,” he said quickly. “Not yet. I want to look my Enemy in the eyes,
Jane, for--for a long while. I’ll stare him down until he slinks
away--not into the shadows behind me--but away--far off--so far that he
shall not find me again--or I him--ever.”
“Is the Enemy here--now?” she questioned anxiously.
“No,” he smiled. “Not here. I drove away from him in an enchanted
brougham.”
Jane straightened and looked into the fire.
“Phil.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve told Nellie Pennington and--and mother.”
He folded his arms and gazed steadily into the fire.
“What did they say?”
“Nellie Pennington was pleased; mother was not,” she said frankly.
“I’m sorry to hear that. But I could hardly have expected----”
“It doesn’t matter,” she went on hastily. “I thought you ought to know.”
“I shall see Mr. Loring,” he said, his brows tangling.
“Is it necessary--at once?”
“I think so. There mustn’t be any false positions. I hope I can make
him understand. Obviously I can’t visit the house of a man who doesn’t
want me there.”
Jane couldn’t reply at once. And when she did her face was as serious
as his own.
“Won’t you leave that to me, Phil?” she said gently.
XVII
“THE POT AND KETTLE”
The “Pot and Kettle” was up in the hills near Tuxedo, within motoring
distance of the city and near enough to a station to be convenient to
those who were forced to depend upon the railroad. It was a gabled
farmhouse of an early period converted by the young men of Colonel
Broadhurst’s generation into its latter-day uses as a club for
dilettante cooks, where the elect might come in small parties on snowy
winter nights, or balmy summer ones, and concoct with their own hands
the glasses and dishes most to their liking. Its membership was limited
and its fellows clannish. Most of the younger members of the Club had
been proposed on the day of their birth, and accession at the age of
twenty-one to its rights and privileges had always been the signal for
a celebration with an intent both gastronomic and bibulous. On club
nights every one contributed his share to the evening’s entertainment,
and the right to mix cocktails, make the salad dressing, or grill the
bird was transmitted by solemn act in writing from those of the older
generation to those of the new, who could not be dispossessed of their
respective offices without a proper delegation of authority or the
unanimous vote of those present.
A member of the “Pot and Kettle” had the privilege of giving private
entertainments to a select few, provided due notice was given in
advance, and upon that occasion the Club was his own and all other
members were warned to keep off the premises. This gave the “Pot and
Kettle” affairs a privacy like that which the member enjoyed in his
own home, for it was the unwritten law of the Club that whatever passed
within its doors was not to be spoken of elsewhere.
Egerton Savage had long ago discovered that no preparation was
necessary to make entertainments successful at the “Pot and Kettle.”
The number of a party given, to the steward and his wife, all a host
had to do was to put on his white apron and await the arrival of his
guests. But to give an added zest to this occasion the fortunate ones
had been advised that the party was “for children only.”
And as children they came. Ogden Spencer, Larry Kane and Coley Van
Duyn in a motor direct from the Cosmos Club arrived first and hurried
upstairs with their packages from the costumers to dress; the Perrines
and Betty Tremaine followed; then Mrs. Pennington, the chaperon, and
a limousine full of débutantes; Jane Loring with Honora Ledyard and
Bibby Worthington; and Dirwell De Lancey with Clifford Benson, and
Freddy Sackett. Nina Jaffray had driven out alone. Most of the girls
had dressed at home and arrived ready for the fray, and after a few
finishing touches in the ladies’ dressing-room upstairs were ready to
greet their host, at the foot of the stairs. Egerton Savage, his thin
legs emerging from velvet knee breeches, as _Little Boy Blue_, met
_Little Miss Muffett_, _Old King Cole_, _Old Mother Hubbard_, _Peter
Piper_, _Margery Daw_, _Bobby Shafto_, _Jack Spratt_, _Solomon Grundy_,
and all of the rest of the nursery crew. Nellie Pennington’s débutantes
scattered about the building like a pack of inquisitive terriers,
investigating every nook and cranny, peering into cupboards and closets
and punctuating the clatter of arrival with pleasant little yelps of
delight.
As they all assembled at last in the kitchen, large white aprons, which
covered their costumes from neck to foot, were handed out and the real
business of the evening was begun. Egerton Savage, chief-cook and
arbiter, with a shrewd knowledge of the capabilities of débutantes,
handed each of the young ladies a loaf of bread and a long toasting
fork, their mission being to provide the toast, as well as the toasts
of the night; and presently an odor of scorching bread pervaded the
place.
Jane rebelled.
“I simply _won’t_ be subjected to such an indignity, Mr. Savage,” she
laughed. “I can cook--really I can.”
He eyed her askant and laughed.
“You must be _Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary_, aren’t you?”
“I am, and I _won’t_ cook toast.”
At last he commissioned her to poach the eggs.
Larry Kane, a club member, as the _Infant Bacchus_, in fleshlings
and cheesecloth with a garland of grape-leaves on his head, had
already begun the concoction known as the “Pot and Kettle punch,” an
amber-colored fluid with a fragrant odor of spices, and a taste that
was mildness itself, but in which there lurked the potent spell of the
wassail of many lands. It was against this punch that Nellie Pennington
had taken pains on the way out in the machine, to warn her small
brood; and some of those young ladies who had already retired from the
fire, stood beside the mixer of ingredients, sniffing at the uncorked
bottles, making pretty faces and lisping in childish disapproval.
Coleman Van Duyn, as _Little Jack Horner_, his scarlet face rising
like a winter sunset from his white apron, was superintending the
broiling of the lobsters; Dirwell De Lancey, who proclaimed himself
_Simple Simon_, was carving cold turkey, Freddy Sackett was making
the salad-dressing; while Betty Tremaine, a very comely _Bo-Peep_, was
drying the lettuce leaves and crushing them to the proper consistency
between her slender pink fingers; Yates Rowland stewed the terrapin;
Percy Endicott made the coffee; and Sam Purviance, with Nina Jaffray’s
help, made the cocktails.
The festivities of supper were well under way before Phil Gallatin
arrived. It had been late before he could leave the office, and so
he had been obliged to come out by train. After getting into costume
he sought the room eagerly for Jane and their eyes met in wireless
telegraphy across the table. The chairs beside her were occupied by
Worthington and Van Duyn, so he dropped into a chair Savage offered him
between Mrs. Pennington and Miss Tremaine. His host thrust a cocktail
in front of him on the table, and Phil thanked him over his shoulder,
but when Savage had gone, he pushed it away. Nellie Pennington realized
that he looked a little tired and serious, but made no comment.
Gallatin had been working hard all day and until the present moment
had forgotten that he had had no lunch. Food revived him and it was
not long before he could enter into the gay spirit of the company.
They were children, indeed. The cooking finished, their white aprons
had been discarded and loud was the joy at the appearance of the men
and eager the compliments for the ladies. The babel of baby rattles
and tin whistles, discontinued for a time, arose again and the table
rang from end to end with joke and laughter. Bibby Worthington’s wig of
_Bobby Shafto_ got askew and at an unfortunate moment was jostled off
into the salad-bowl, upon which his bald head received baptism in fizz
at the hands of the _Infant Bacchus_. Freddy Perrine, who had had more
than his share of punch, was shooting butter-balls from the prongs
of a fork at Kent Beylard’s white shirt-front, for Beylard hadn’t had
time to go to the costumer. Dirwell De Lancey insisted upon singing
“The Low-Backed Car,” but was prevented from doing so by the vehemence
of his chorus which advised him to get a limousine. Sam Purviance
began telling a story which seemed to be leading toward Montmartre
when Nellie Pennington rose from the table, and followed by her buds,
adjourned to another room. Here the sound of a piano was immediately
heard and the tireless feet of the younger set took up the Turkey Trot
where they had left off at three o’clock the night before.
No word had passed between Phil Gallatin and Jane, and he had just
gotten to his feet in pursuit of her when Nina Jaffray stood in his way.
“Hello, Phil,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to see you.”
“Me? I’m glad of that, Nina. You’re certainly a corker in that get-up.
What are you?”
“I’m _Jill_. Won’t you help me fetch a pail of water?”
“And have my crown broken? No, thanks. Besides I couldn’t. It wouldn’t
be in the part. You see I’m----
“‘Tommy Trot, the man of law,
Who sold his bed to lay on straw.’”
“Are you? It isn’t true, is it, Phil? I heard you were going out of the
firm.”
“Oh, no. I’ve been working, Nina. Sounds queer, doesn’t it? Fact,
though.”
“There’s something I want to see you about, Phil. I’ve been on the
point of looking you up at the office.”
“You! What is it?” he laughed. “Breach of promise or alienation of the
affections?”
“Neither,” slowly. “Seriously--there’s something I want to say to
you.” Gallatin looked at her and she met his eye fairly. “I’d like to
talk to you here--now--if you don’t mind.”
“Oh--er--of course. But if it’s anything of a serious
nature--perhaps----”
“I can speak here--will you follow me?”
Gallatin glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the room into
which Jane had disappeared, but there was nothing left but to follow,
so he helped the girl find a quiet spot on the back stairway where Nina
settled herself and motioned to him to a place at her feet. Gallatin
sat trying to conceal his impatience in the smoke of a cigarette, and
wondering how soon Nina would let him go to Jane.
“Phil, you and I have known each other a good many years. We’ve always
got along pretty well, haven’t we?”
“Of course,” he nodded.
“You’ve never cared much for girls and I’ve never thought much about
men--sentimentally I mean--but we always understood each other
and--well--we’re pretty good friends, aren’t we?”
“I’d be very sorry if I thought anything else,” he said politely.
She paused and examined his profile steadily.
“You know, Phil, I’m interested in you. I think I’ve always been
interested--but I never told you so because--because it seemed
unnecessary. I thought if you ever needed my friendship you’d come and
ask me for it.”
“I would--I mean, I do,” he stammered.
“Something has been bothering me,” she went on slowly. “The other
morning at Nellie Pennington’s, Jane Loring told us the truth about the
Dryad story.”
“Yes.”
“And, of course, even though friendship doesn’t give me the privilege
of your confidence unless you offer it voluntarily, I thought you might
be willing to tell me something----”
“What, Nina?”
“You’re not in love with--you’re not going to marry Jane Loring, are
you?”
Gallatin smiled.
“I’m hardly the sort of person any girl could afford to marry,” he said
slowly.
“Does Jane Loring think so?” she persisted.
“She has every reason to think so,” he muttered.
“You’re not engaged?” she protested quickly.
“No,” he said promptly.
She gave a sigh of relief.
“Oh--that’s all I wanted to know.”
Something unfamiliar in the tones of her voice caused him to look at
his companion.
“What did you want to know for, Nina?” he questioned.
“Because if you _were_ engaged--if you really were in love with
Jane, I wouldn’t care--I wouldn’t have the right to speak to you in
confidence.” She hesitated, looking straight at the bare wall before
her, but she smiled her devil-may-care smile and went on with a touch
of her old manner. “I doubt if you really know me very well after all.
I don’t think anybody does. I’ve got a name for playing the game wide
open and riding roughshod over all the dearest conventions of the
dodos. But I’m straight as a string, Phil, and there isn’t a man or
woman in the Cedarcroft or out that can deny it.”
Gallatin smiled.
“It wouldn’t be healthy for anybody to deny it.”
“I don’t care much whether they deny it or not. People who don’t like
my creed are welcome to their own. I won’t bother them and they
needn’t bother me. But I do care for my friends--and I’m true. You know
that, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“And I’m not all hoyden, Phil.”
“Who said you were?”
“Nobody--but people think it.”
“I don’t.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Inside of me I think I’m quite womanly at
times----”
He smiled and looked at her curiously.
“But I’m tired of riding through life on a loose snaffle. I want to
settle down and have a place of my own and--and all that.”
“I hadn’t an idea. Is that what you wanted to tell me? Who is it, Nina?”
“I’m not in love, you know, Phil,” she went on. “I’ve watched the
married couples in our set--those who made love matches--or thought
they did, those who married for money or convenience, and those
who--well--who just married. There’s not a great deal of difference
in the result. One kind of marriage is just about as successful or as
unsuccessful as another. It’s time I married and I’ve tried to think
the thing out in my own way. I’ve about decided that the successful
marriage is entirely a matter of good management--a thing to be
carefully planned from the very beginning.”
Gallatin listened with dull ears. The girl beside him was talking
heresies. Happiness wasn’t to be built on such a scientific formula.
Love was born in Arcadia. He knew. And Jane----
“You know, Phil,” he heard Nina Jaffray saying again, “I’m in the habit
of speaking plainly, you may not like my frankness, but you can be
pretty sure that I mean what I say. I’ve made up my mind to marry and
I wanted you to know about it so that you could think it over.”