note in her remarks. “You don’t mean that I----”
“I thought that you might like to marry me,” she repeated coolly.
“You can’t mean it,” he gasped. “That you--that I----”
“I mean nothing else. I’d like to marry you, Phil.”
Gallatin laughed.
“Really, Nina, I was almost on the point of taking you seriously. You
and I--married! Wouldn’t we have a lark, though?”
“I’m quite serious,” she insisted. “I’d like to marry you, if you
haven’t any other plans.”
“Plans!” He searched her eyes again. “Why, Nina, you silly child,
you’ve never even--even flirted with me, at least, not for years.”
“That’s true. I couldn’t somehow. I couldn’t flirt with anybody I cared
for.”
“Then you do--_care_ for--me?” he muttered in bewilderment.
“Don’t mistake me, Phil,” she put in. “I care for you, yes, but I’m not
in the least sentimental. I abhor sentimentality. You’re simply the
nearest approach I have found to my idea of masculine completeness.
You’re not an ideal person by any means. Your vices are quite brutal,
but they don’t terrify me--and you’re pretty well endowed with
compensating virtues. It’s about time you gathered in your loose reins
and took to the turnpike. I’d like to help you and I think I could.”
“I--I haven’t any doubt of it,” he stammered. “Only----”
“What?”
“I’m not a marrying man, that’s all,” he blundered on, still struggling
with incomprehension.
She remained silent a moment.
“You say that, because you believe you oughtn’t to marry, don’t you,
Phil?”
“I say it because I’m not going to marry--until I know just where I
stand--just what I’m worth in a long game. Single, I haven’t hurt
anybody but myself, but I’m not going to let any woman----”
He stopped suddenly. And then with an abrupt gesture rose.
“I can’t talk of this, Nina,” he said quickly. “You must see it’s--it’s
impossible. You’re not in love with me--or likely to be----”
“Oh, I’m in no hurry. I might learn,” she said calmly.
There was no refuge from her quiet insistence but in laughter, and so,
brutally, he took it.
“Really, Nina, if I hadn’t known you all my life, I could almost
believe you serious.”
“Don’t laugh! I am,” she said immovably.
And now that it seemed to Gallatin there remained no doubt that she
meant it, he sat down again beside her and took her hand in his,
his face set in serious lines. He liked Nina, but like many other
persons had always weighed her lightly. Even now he felt sure that, by
to-morrow, she would probably have forgotten the entire conversation.
But the situation was one that required a complete understanding.
“If I can believe you, you’ve succeeded in flattering me a great deal.
I’ve always been used to expect amazing things of you, but I can’t say
I’m quite prepared for the extraordinary point of view on married life
which you ask me to share. I’ve always had another idea of marriage,
the same one that you have deep down in your heart, for without it you
wouldn’t be a woman. You’ll marry the man you love and no other.”
“And if the man I love won’t marry _me_?”
“It will be time to settle that when you meet him.”
“I’ve already met him.”
Gallatin searched her eyes for the truth and was again surprised when
he found it in them. Her gaze fell before his and she turned her head
away, as though the look he had seen in her eyes had shamed her.
“It isn’t true, Nina. It can’t be----”
“Yes,” she murmured. “It’s quite true. I think I’ve pitied you a
little, but I’m quite sure that I--I’ve cared for you always.”
There was a silence and then she heard,
“God knows, I’m sorry.”
There was a note of finality in his tone which affected her strangely.
It was not until then that she guessed the truth.
“You--you care for Jane Loring?”
“Yes,” he said almost inaudibly. “I do.”
He owed her that frankness.
“Thanks,” she said quietly. “It’s strange I shouldn’t have guessed.
I--I didn’t think you cared for any one. You never have, you know. And
it never entered my head that you could be really interested in--in a
girl like Jane. Even when I learned that you had been together in the
woods, I couldn’t believe--I don’t think I quite believe it yet. She’s
hardly your style----”
She stopped and he remained silent, his head averted.
“Funny, isn’t it?” she went on. “Larry Kane wants to marry me, I want
to marry you, and you want to marry Jane. Now if Jane would only fall
in love with Larry!”
She laughed and drew away from him, for over his head she saw the
figures of Jane Loring and Coleman Van Duyn who had just entered the
kitchen. Jane had glanced just once in their direction and then had
turned aside. Nina glanced at Phil. He was unconscious of the presence
of the others--it almost seemed, unconscious of herself.
All the mischief in her bubbled suddenly to the surface. Jane Loring at
least should see----
“I’m sorry, Phil,” she murmured. “I think I’ll survive. We can still be
friends. I want one favor of you, though.”
He questioned.
“Kiss me, will you, Phil?” she whispered.
And Gallatin did; to turn in a moment and see Jane Loring’s skirts go
fluttering past the dining-room door, through which, grinning broadly
over his shoulder, Coleman Van Duyn quickly followed her.
XVIII
THE ENEMY AND A FRIEND
It was a moment before Gallatin realized the full significance of the
incident, but when he turned to look at Nina, he found her leaning
against the wall convulsed with silent laughter.
“You knew, Nina?” he said struggling for his self-control. “You saw
them--there?”
“Oh, yes, I saw them,” she replied easily. “I couldn’t help it very
well.”
“You asked me to--to kiss you!” he stammered, his color rising.
“Yes, I did. You never _had_ kissed me before, you know, Phil.”
“You--you wanted her to see,” he asserted.
“I didn’t mind her seeing--if that’s what you mean.”
“You had no right----”
She held up her hand with a mock gesture of command.
“Don’t speak! You’ll say something you’ll regret. It’s not often I ask
a man to kiss me, and when I do I expect a display of softer emotions.
But anger--dismay! I’m surprised at you. You’re really quite too
rustic, or is it rusty? Besides, you know, I’ve done you the greatest
of favors.”
“Favors!” he exclaimed.
“Precisely. In addition to accepting your--er--fraternal benediction,
I’ve succeeded in creating a diversion in the ranks of the dear enemy.
Jealousy is the vinegar of the salad of love, Phil. Jane is quite sure
to love you madly now.”
“Come,” he said briefly, “let’s get out of this.”
“You mustn’t use that tone to me. It’s extremely annoying.”
“You’re mischievous,” he growled.
“Am I?” with derisive sweetness. “I hadn’t meant to be. Perhaps my
infatuation has blinded me. I’m really very badly in love with you,
Phil. And you must see that it’s extremely unpleasant for me to
discover that you’re in love with somebody else. You know I can’t
yield placidly. I’m not the placid kind. I may be in advance of my
generation, but I’m sure if I had my way I’d abduct you to-night in the
motor and fly to Hoboken.”
Gallatin laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was too absurd. And her
mocking effrontery made it difficult for him to remember that a moment
ago he had thought her serious.
“Fortunately, I am capable of moderating my emotions,” she went on.
“My heart may be beating wildly, but behold me quietly submissive to
your decision. All I ask is that you won’t offer to be a brother to me,
Phil. I really couldn’t stand for that.”
“Nina, you’re the limit.”
“I know I am--I’m excited. It’s the outward and visible expression of
inward and spiritual dissolution. What would you advise, Paris green
or a leap from the Metropolitan Tower? One exit is plebeian, the
other squashy; or had I better blow out the gas? Will you see that my
headlines are not too sentimental? Not, ‘She Died for Love’; something
like ‘Scorned--Social Success Suicides’ or ‘Her Last Cropper,’ are more
in my line. Sorrowfully alliterative, if you like, but chastely simple.
Aren’t you sorry for me, Phil?”
“Hardly. As the presentment of disappointed affection you’re not a
success. Your martyrdom has all the aspects of a frolic at my expense.
Don’t you think you’ve made a fool of me long enough?”
“Yes, I think so. I _have_ made a fool of you, haven’t I? I’m sorry. I
didn’t intend to until I found that you had made a fool of me. I wanted
company.”
Her humor changed as he turned away from her and she restrained him
with a hand on his arm, her eyes seeking his.
“You’re my sort, Phil, not hers,” she whispered earnestly. “You’re
a vagabond--a vagrant on life’s highway, as I am--a failure, as I
am, only a worse one. You’ve tried to stem the tide against you,
but you couldn’t. What have you to do with Jane Loring’s bourgeois
respectability? Do you think you’ll be immune because of her? Do you
think that she can cleanse you of the blood of your fathers and make
you over on her own prim pattern? You’re run in a different mold.
What Jane Loring wants is a stupid respectable Dodo, an impoverished
patriarch with an exclusive visiting list. Let her buy one in the open
market. The clubs are full of them.” She laughed aloud. “What does Jane
Loring know of you? What chance have you----?”
“I think I’ve heard enough, Nina,” said Gallatin. He walked to the
dining-room and stood, waiting for her to pass before him. She paused,
shrugged her shoulders carelessly and, as she passed through the door,
she leaned toward him and whispered.
“You’ll never marry her, Phil. Do you hear? Never!”
Gallatin inclined his head slightly and followed.
The dance was in full swing, and outside in the enclosed veranda a game
of “Pussy Wants a Corner” had come to an end because Sam Purviance
insisted upon standing in the middle of the floor and reciting
tearfully the tale of “Old Mother Hubbard and Her Dog.” Then they
tried charades which failed because the actors insisted on disappearing
into the wings and couldn’t be made to appear, and because the audience
found personal problems more interesting. A game of “Follow My Leader,”
led by Larry Kane upstairs and down, developed such amazing feats of
gymnastics that Nellie Pennington rebelled.
Phil Gallatin followed Jane with his eyes, but she refused even to
glance in his direction and he was very unhappy. There seemed no
chance of getting a word with her, for when at the end of the dance
he approached her, she snubbed him very prettily and went out with
Van Duyn to sit among the palms at the end of the veranda. Gallatin
felt very much like the fool Nina had said he was and wandered around
from group to group joining half-heartedly in their conversations, his
uneasiness apparent to any who chose to perceive. Several times Nina
Jaffray passed him smiling wickedly, and once she stopped and whispered.
“Hadn’t you better go home in my car, Phil? I don’t believe there will
be room for you in Jane’s.”
He laughed with an air of unconcern he was very far from feeling.
“Thanks, I’m afraid you’d take me to Hoboken.”
She went on to the dance and Gallatin watched her until she
disappeared. He was alone in the dining-room. Through the door by which
she had gone came the sound of the piano and the chatter of gay voices.
Through the other door he could see a jovial group of his familiars
sitting around a table in the center of which was a tall bottle bearing
a familiar label, his Enemy enthroned as usual in this company. He was
like a vessel in the chop of two tides, one of which would bring him to
a safe port and the other to sea.
He looked away, hesitated, then walked hastily to the Colonial
sideboard where he drew a cup of hot coffee and drank it quickly. Then
he followed Nina into the dancing-room.
He waited impatiently until the dance was finished, and then, when Jane
Loring was left for a moment alone, with more valor than discretion,
went up to her.
“Jane,” he whispered, “you’ve got to give me a moment alone.”
She turned away, but he stood in front of her again.
“It’s all a mistake, if you’ll let me explain----”
“Let me pass, please.”
“No, not until you promise to listen to me--to-night. I’ll go in your
machine, and then----”
“I’m sorry. There’s no room for you, Mr. Gallatin.”
“I must see you to-night.”
“No--not to-night,” and in lowered tones, “or any other night.”
“Jane, I----”
“Let me pass, please.”
The music began again and Percy Endicott at this moment came up,
claiming her for a partner. Before Gallatin could speak again, Jane was
in Endicott’s arms, and laughing gayly, was sweeping around the room to
the measure of a two-step. Gallatin stared at her as though he had not
been able to believe his own ears. He waited a moment and then slowly
walked back toward the kitchen.
His appearance in the doorway was the signal for a shout from Egerton
Savage who held a glass aloft and offered his health. His health! He
swayed forward heavily. What did it matter? His blood surged. What
would it matter--just once? Just once!
He lunged forward into the chair somebody pushed toward him, took up
the glass of champagne his host had poured for him, drained it, his
eyes closed, and put it down on the table.
Just once! It was a beautiful wine--sent out for the occasion from
Mr. Savage’s own collection in town, and it raced through Gallatin’s
veins like quicksilver, tingling to his very finger ends. He looked
up and laughed. Something had bothered him a moment ago. What was it?
He had forgotten. Life was a riot of color and delight and here were
his friends--his men friends--who were always glad to see a fellow, no
matter what. It was good to have that kind of friends.
Somebody told a story. Gallatin had not heard the beginning of it, but
he realized that he was laughing uproariously, more loudly than any one
else at the table. The lights swam in a mist of tobacco smoke and the
figures of the men around him were blurred. Egerton Savage had filled
his glass again, and Gallatin was in the very act of reaching forward
to take it when Bibby Worthington, who sat alongside, rose suddenly as
though to get a match from the holder, and the sleeve of his laced coat
somewhat obtrusively swept Gallatin’s glass off the table to the stone
flagging.
“Beg pardon,” he said cheerfully. “There’s many a lip ’twixt the nip
and the pip. Sorry, Phil.”
The crash of glass had startled Gallatin, who looked up into
Worthington’s face for a possible meaning of the incident, for it was
the clumsiest accident that could befall a sober man. But Bibby, his
lighted match suspended in mid-air, returned his gaze with one quite
calm and unwavering. Gallatin understood, and a dark flush rose under
his skin. He was about to speak when Bibby broke in.
“Phil, I’m probably the most awkward person in the world,” he said
evenly. “The only thing about me that’s ever in the right place is my
heart. Understand?”
If Gallatin had thought of replying, the words were unuttered, for he
lowered his head and only muttered a word or two which could not be
heard.
Bibby blew the strands of his tousled wig from his eyes and carefully
brushed the liquor from his sleeve with his lace handkerchief.
“Sad thing, that,” he said gravely, “vintage, too.”
“Lucky there’s more of it,” said Savage, taking up the bottle. “Hand me
one of those glasses on the side table there, Bibby.”
Worthington turned slowly away, looked down at Gallatin and a glance
passed between the two men. As Bibby moved off Gallatin took out his
case and hastily lit a cigarette.
“Never mind, Bibby,” he found himself saying. “No, thanks, Egerton,
I’m--er--on the wagon.” He lit his cigarette, rose, opened the door,
and looked out into the winter night, drinking in deep draughts of the
keen air. His evil moment had passed.
“Howling success, this party, Egerton,” somebody was saying. “Listen to
those infants on the veranda.”
“Hello,” cried Bibby. “It’s _Bobby Shafto_, by George. I’ll have to
go in and make my bow. Come along, Phil. They’ll be calling for you
presently. What the devil _are_ you anyway?”
Phil Gallatin took his arm and walked out on the terrace.
“I--I’m a d---- fool, Bibby, pretty poorly masked,” he muttered heavily.
“You are, my boy. But it takes a wise man to admit he is a fool. Glad
you know it. Awfully glad. Not sore, are you?”
“No,” said Gallatin slowly. “Not in the least.”
“Nothing like the crash of glass--to awake a fellow. Feel all right?”
“Yes, I--I think so.”
“I had a lot of nerve to do a thing like that, Phil, but you see----”
“I’m glad you did. I--I won’t forget it, Bibby.”
The two men clasped hands in the darkness in a new bond of friendship.
They entered the house from another door and passed through the closed
veranda. Upon the floor of the living room, in a large circle facing
the center, the infants sat, tailor fashion, singing lustily, and
greeted _Bobby Shafto’s_ appearance with shouts of glee. They made him
get into their midst and dance, which he did with all the grace of a
jackdaw, while Betty Tremaine played the accompaniment on the piano.
Bobby Shafto’s gone to sea
Silver buckles on his knee
He’ll come back and marry me
Darling Bobby Shafto.
“But _who_ is he going to marry?” maliciously chortled one of the
débutantes, in the ensuing pause.
“_You_, my angel, if you’ll have me?” and leaning over he quickly
kissed her.
There was a laugh at the girl’s expense and Bibby retired in triumph.
One by one the characters were summoned and noisily greeted: _Old King
Cole_, who was Yates Rowland; _Old Mother Hubbard_, who was Percy
Endicott (“Aptly taken, by Jove!” was Spencer’s comment) and _Simple
Simon_, who was Dirwell De Lancey (and looked the part). But the hit
of the occasion was the dance which followed between _Jill_ and the
_Infant Bacchus_. It was clear that no nursery music would be suitable
here. So Betty Tremaine’s fingers hurried into the _presto_ of Anitra’s
Dance from the “Peer Gynt” music, which caught the requirements of
the occasion. The dancers were well-matched and the audience upon the
floor, which had at first begun to clap its hands to the gay lilt,
slowly drew back to give more room, and then finding itself in danger
from the flying heels dispersed and looked on from adjacent doorways.
The dance was everything and it was nothing--redowa, tarantella,
cosaque, fandango, and only ended when the dancers and pianist were
exhausted.
The party broke up amidst wild applause and led by Mrs. Pennington
the guests were already on their way to the dressing-rooms, when Nina
Jaffray, still breathless from her exertions stepped before Gallatin
and whispered amusedly:
“It almost seems as if you _might_ go with me after all, doesn’t it,
Phil?” she laughed. “It’s too late for a train and all the machines but
mine are crowded----”
“You’re very kind, but I think I’ll walk. It’s only twenty miles.”
“Don’t be disagreeable, Phil. Larry Kane wanted to go with me, but I’ve
sent him along with Ogden Spencer--just because I wanted to apologize
to you.”
“Apology!” he laughed. “Why dwell on that? Besides you’re a little too
prompt to be quite sincere.”
“Haven’t you any sense of humor, Phil?”
“No.”
“What a situation! _You_ kiss me and _I_ apologize for it! Laugh, Phil,
laugh! Mrs. Grundy is shrieking with delight. O boy! What a silly thing
you look!”
“Good night, Nina.”
“No, au revoir,” she corrected. “You know, Phil, you mustn’t insult
me--not publicly, that is. You see you couldn’t force yourself into
somebody else’s machine, when I’m going home alone in an empty one.
Besides, it’s all arranged with Egerton.”
Gallatin smiled and shrugged. “Oh, of course,” he said, “you seem to
have me at your mercy.”
“I’ll be very good though, Phil,” she said, moving toward the stairway,
“and if you’re afraid of me, I’ll ask Egerton to be chaperon.” She
laughed at him over her shoulder, and he had to confess that this was
the humor which suited her best.
Gallatin went slowly toward his dressing-room, his lips compressed,
his head bent, a prey to a terrible depression made up of fervid
self-condemnation. He had been on the very verge of--that which he
most dreaded. In his heart, too, was a dull resentment at Jane’s
intolerance--an attitude he was forced to admit when he could think
more clearly that he had now amply justified, not because Jane had been
a witness of the incident upon the kitchen stairway, but because of the
other thing. Slowly he began to realize that to a woman a kiss is a
kiss, whether coolly implanted near the left ear, as his had been, or
upon a more appropriate spot; and the distinction which, at the time of
the occurrence, had been so clear to his mind, seemed now to be less
impressive. Jane’s position was unreasonable, but quite tenable, and he
now discovered that unless he threw Nina’s confidences into the breach,
a defense hardly possible under the circumstances, the matter would
be difficult to explain. And yet the act had been so harmless, his
intention so innocent, that, weighed in the balance with his love for
Jane, the incident seemed to him the merest triviality, with reference
to which Jane should not have condemned him unheard. He heard her laugh
as she went down the stairs, and the carelessness of that mirth cut
him to the marrow. What right had she to be gay when she knew that he
must be suffering?
He entered Nina’s limousine, very much sobered, with a wish somewhere
hidden in his heart that for this night at least Nina had been in
Jericho. If the lady in the machine divined his thought she gave not
the least sign of it; for when they had left the Club, some time after
the others, and were on their way to the city, she carelessly resumed.
“I didn’t ask Egerton to come, Phil. You’re not really alarmed, are
you?”
“Not in the least,” he smiled. “In fact, I was hoping we’d be alone.”
“Phil, you’re improving. Why?”
“So that we may continue our interesting conversation at the point
where we left off.”
“Where did we leave off? Oh, yes, you kissed me, didn’t you? Shall we
begin there?”
“I suppose that’s what you asked me here for, isn’t it?” he said
brutally.
“Oh, Phil, you don’t believe--that!”
She deserved this punishment, she knew, but the carelessness of his
tone shocked her and she moved away into her corner of the vehicle
and sat rigidly as though turned to stone, her eyes gazing steadily
before her at the white circle of light beyond the formless back of the
chauffeur. In the reflected light Gallatin saw her face and the jest
that was on his lips was silenced before the look he found there. And
when she spoke her voice was low and constrained.
“I’m sorry you said that.”
“Are you? You weren’t sorry earlier in the evening.”
“I’m sorry now.”
“It’s a little late to be sorry.”
She didn’t reply. She was looking out into the light again with peering
eyes. Objects in the landscape emerged, shadowless, in pale outline,
brightened and disappeared.
“It isn’t like you--not in the least like you,” she murmured. “You’ve
rather upset me, Phil.”
“What did you expect?” he asked. “You’ve made a fool of me. You’ve been
flirting with me abominably.”
“And you repay me----”
“In your own coin,” he put in.
“Don’t, Phil.” She covered her face with her hands a moment. “You’ve
paid me well. Oh, that you could have said that! I meant what I said,
Phil, back there. You’ve got to believe it now--you’ve shamed me so.
You’ve got to know it--to believe it. I wasn’t flirting with you. I
was serious with you when I said I--I loved you. It’s the truth, the
ghastly truth, and you’ve got to believe it, whatever happens. No,
don’t touch me. I don’t want you to think I’m that kind of a girl. I’m
not. I’ve never been kissed before to-night, believe it or not. It’s
true, and now----”
She stopped and clutched him by the arm. “Tell me you believe it,
Phil,” she said almost fiercely, “that I--that I’m not that kind of a
girl.”
“Of course, you’ve said so----”
“No--not because I’ve said so, but because you think enough of me to
believe it whether I’ve said so or not.”
“I had never thought you that sort of a girl,” he said slowly. “I’ve
known you to flirt with other fellows, but I didn’t think you really
cared enough about men to bother, least of all about me. That’s why I
was a little surprised----”
“I couldn’t flirt with you--I didn’t feel that way. I don’t know why.
I think because there was a dignity in our friendship--” she stopped
again with a sharp sigh. “Oh, what’s the use? I’m not like other
girls--that’s all. I can’t make you understand.”
“I hope I--understand----”
“I’m sorry, Phil, about what happened to-night.”