transitions, began laughing softly.
“It was such a wonderful opportunity--and you were so blissfully
ignorant! Oh, Phil, and you did look such a fool!”
“Oh, did I?”
“I’m sorry. But I’d probably do it again--if I might--to-morrow. Jane
Loring is so prim, so self-satisfied----”
The motor had been moving more slowly and the man in front after
testing various mechanisms, brought the machine to a stop and climbed
out. They heard him tinkering here and there and after a moment he
opened the door and announced.
“Sorry, Miss Jaffray, but there’s come a leak in the tank, and we’ve
run out of gasoline.”
XIX
LOVE ON CRUTCHES
Mrs. Pennington’s philosophy had taught her that it was better to be
surprised than to be bored, and that even unpleasant surprises were
slightly more desirable than no surprises at all. It was toward the
end of January on her halting journey homeward from Aiken, one morning
in Washington, that she saw in a local journal the announcement of
an engagement between Miss Jane Loring and Mr. Coleman Van Duyn. To
say that she was surprised puts the matter mildly, and it is doubtful
whether the flight of her ennui compensated her for the sudden pang of
dismay which came with the reading of this article. She had left New
York the day after the affair at “The Pot and Kettle,” and so had only
the memory of Jane’s confidences and Phil Gallatin’s happy face to
controvert the news.
And when some days later she arrived in New York, she found that,
though unconfirmed in authoritative quarters, the rumors still
persisted among her own friends and Jane’s. Of Phil Gallatin she saw
nothing and learned that he was out of town on an important legal
matter and would not return for a week. When she called on the Lorings,
Jane showed a disposition to avoid personal topics and at the mention
of Philip Gallatin’s name skillfully turned the conversation into other
channels.
To a woman of Mrs. Pennington’s experience the hint was enough and she
departed from the Loring mausoleum aware that something serious had
happened which threatened Phil Gallatin’s happiness. But, in spite of
the warmth of Jane’s greeting and the careless way in which she had
discussed the gossip of the hour, Nellie Pennington was not deceived,
and by the time she was in her own brougham had made one of those rapid
deductions for which she was famous. Jane looked jaded. Therefore, she
was unhappy; therefore, she still loved Phil Gallatin. Phil Gallatin
was working hard. Therefore, Phil was keeping straight; there must be
some other cause for Jane’s defection. What? Obviously--a woman. Who?
Nina Jaffray.
Having reached this triumphant conclusion, Mrs. Pennington set about
proving her several premises without the waste of a single moment of
time. To this end she sought out Percy Endicott, who as she knew was
better informed upon most people’s affairs than they were themselves,
and from him learned the truth. Philip Gallatin had been discovered
with Nina Jaffray in his arms on the kitchen stairs at the “Pot
and Kettle.” Percy Endicott’s talent for the ornamentation of bare
narrative was well known and before he had finished the story he had
convinced himself, if not his listener, that this happy event had
brought to a culmination a romance of many years’ standing and that
Nina and Phil would soon be directing their steps, with all speed, to
church.
Mrs. Pennington laughed, not because what Percy told amused her, but
because this narrative showed her that however much she was still
lacking in reliable details, her earliest deductions had been correct.
She would not believe the story until it had been confirmed by “Bibby”
Worthington to whom Coleman Van Duyn had related it as an eye-witness,
and then herself supplied the grain of salt to make it palatable.
The grain of salt was her knowledge of Nina Jaffray’s extraordinary
personality, which must account for any differences she discovered
between the Phil Gallatin who kissed upon the back stairs and the Phil
Gallatin with whom she was familiar. Whatever his deficiencies in other
respects, he had never been considered as available timber by the gay
young married women of Mrs. Pennington’s own set who had given him
up in the susceptive sense as a hopeless case; and if Phil had been
addicted to the habit of promiscuous kissing, he had gone about the
pursuit with a stealth which belied the record of his unsentimental
but somewhat tempestuous history. She found herself wondering not so
much about what had happened to Phil as about how Nina had managed what
_had_ happened. Nina’s remarkable confession a few days before Egerton
Savage’s party recurred to her mind, and Nina’s clearly expressed
intention to bring Phil to her chariot-wheel seemed somehow to have an
intimate bearing upon the present situation. And yet, even admitting
Nina’s direct methods of seeking results, she could not understand how
a fellow as much in love with another girl as Phil was could have been
made so ready a victim. Could it be? No. There was no talk of _that_.
And if Phil had again been in trouble, Mrs. Pennington knew that the
indefatigable Percy would have told her of it.
She thought about the matter awhile and finally gave it up, uncertain
whether to be anxious or only amused. But as the week went by she was
given tangible evidence that whatever feelings Jane Loring cherished
in her heart for Phil Gallatin, the wings of victory, for the present
at least, were perched upon the banneret of Mr. Coleman Van Duyn. Jane
rode, walked, and danced with him, and within a few short weeks, from a
state of ponderous misery Coleman Van Duyn had revived and now bore the
definite outlines of a well-fed and happy cupid.
The rumors of an engagement persisted, and Mrs. Pennington was not
the only person forced against her judgment or inclination to believe
that the old Van Duyn mansion would once more have a mistress. Dirwell
De Lancey, whose tenderness in Jane’s quarter had been remarked, went
into retirement for a brief period, and only emerged when resignation
had conquered surprise. Colonel Crosby Broadhurst sat in his corner
at the Cosmos and wondered, as other people did, what the devil Jane
Loring could see in Coley. Bibby Worthington still hovered amiably in
Jane’s background and would not be dislodged. He had proposed in due
form to Jane and had been refused, but the cheerful determination of
his bearing and his taste in cravats advised all who chose to concern
themselves that he was still undismayed.
After Mrs. Pennington, who thought that she saw a light, perhaps the
person most surprised at Jane’s sudden attachment for Coleman Van Duyn
was Mrs. Loring. She had listened with incredulity to Jane’s first
confession of her relations with Philip Gallatin and had waited with
resignation a resumption of the conversation. But as the days passed
and her daughter said nothing, she thought it time to take the matter
into her own hands and told Jane of her intention to speak of it to her
husband.
“I’ll save you the trouble, Mother,” said Jane, kissing her gravely on
the forehead. “There is nothing between Mr. Gallatin and myself.”
Mrs. Loring concealed her delight with difficulty.
“Jane, dear, something has happened.”
“Nothing--nothing at all,” said Jane. “I’ve changed my mind--that’s
all.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Loring. This much imparted, Jane would say no more; the
matter was dropped, and to Mrs. Loring it seemed that in so far as
Jane was concerned, Mr. Gallatin had simply ceased to exist.
But it was not without some difficulty that Jane convinced herself that
this was the case. The day after the “Pot and Kettle” affair, Phil
Gallatin wrote, ’phoned, wired and called. His note Jane consigned to
the fire, his telephone was answered by Hastings, his wire followed
his note, and to his visit she was out. This, she thought, should
have concluded their relations, but the following morning brought
another letter--a long one. She hesitated before deciding whether to
open it or to return it, but at last she broke the seal and read it
through, her lips compressed, her brows tangled angrily. It was a
plea for forgiveness, and that was all. There were many regrets, many
protestations of love, but not one word of explanation! He had even
gone so far as to call the incident a trifle (a trifle, indeed!) and to
call _her_ to account for an intolerance which he had the temerity to
say was unworthy of the great love that he had given her.
The impudence of him! What did he mean? Was the man mad? Or was this
the New York idea? She realized now that he was an animal that she
had met in an unfamiliar habitat, and that perhaps the things to be
expected of him here were those dictated by the inconsiderable ideals
of the day. It dismayed her to think that after all here in New
York, she had only known him a little more than a week. His vision
appeared--and was banished, and his letter, torn again and again into
small pieces was consigned to the flames of her open fire. She made no
reply.
Another letter came on the morrow, was read like the other, but
likewise destroyed. His persistence was amazing. Would he not take a
hint and save her the unpleasant duty of sending his letters back
to him unopened? Apparently not! And with the letters came baskets
of flowers which, like those from Mr. Van Duyn, filled her room with
pleasant odors.
She was willing to believe now that a word of explanation, a clue to
his extraordinary behavior might have paved the way to reconciliation,
and she found herself wondering in a material way what was becoming of
him and worrying, in spite of herself, as to his future, of which, as
she had once fondly believed, she was the guardian. What was he doing
with himself in the evenings?
This thought sent the blood rushing to her cheeks and hardened her
heart against him. He was with Nina Jaffray, of course. In his last
letter he had written that he must go away on business and for two
mornings no letter arrived. She missed these letters and was furious
with herself that it was so. But the energy of her anger was conserved
in the form of further favors for Coley Van Duyn who radiated it
in rapturous good-will toward all the world. When the letters were
resumed, she locked them in her desk unread, determining upon his
return to town to make them into a package and send them back in bulk.
Many times she unlocked her desk and scrutinized the envelopes, but it
was always to thrust them into their drawer which she shut and locked
each time with quite unnecessary violence.
Another matter which caused some inquietude was Nellie Pennington’s
return to town, for Mrs. Pennington was the only person, besides Mr.
Gallatin and her mother, in actual possession of her secret, the only
person besides Mr. Gallatin whom it was necessary to convince as to
the definiteness of her recantation. At their first meeting Jane had
carried off the situation with a carelessness which she felt had
rather overshot the mark. Her visitor had accepted the hints with a
disconcerting readiness and composure, and Jane had a feeling after
Mrs. Pennington left the house that her efforts had been singularly
ineffective; for she was conscious that her visitor had scrutinized
her keenly and that anything she had said had been carefully sifted,
weighed and subjected to that kind of cunning alchemy which clever
women use to transmute the baser metals of sophistry into gold.
Mrs. Pennington had now taken an initiative in the friendship and
refused to be disconcerted. Jane’s engagements with Coleman Van Duyn
provided no effectual hindrance to Mrs. Pennington’s enthusiastic
fellowship, and she frequently helped to make a party in which, to Mr.
Van Duyn at least, three was a crowd. Mrs. Pennington accepted his
presence without surprise, without annoyance or other emotion; and
somehow succeeded in conveying the impression that she was conferring
a favor upon them both, a favor for which, in her own heart at least,
Jane was grateful.
It was not surprising to Jane, therefore, when one morning Nellie
Pennington called up on the ’phone and made an engagement for the
afternoon at five, at the Loring house, urging a need of Jane’s advice
upon an important matter. She entered the library, where Jane had been
reading, with a radiance which did much to dispel the gloom of the day
which had been execrable; and when her hostess suggested that they go
upstairs to her own dressing-room, where they might be undisturbed,
Nellie Pennington threw off her furs.
“No, thanks, darling,” she said. “I can’t stay long. And you know when
one reaches my mature years, each stair has a separate menace.”
“There’s the lift,” Jane laughed.
“Oh, never! That would be a public confession. I’ll stay here if you
don’t mind,” and she sank into an armchair by the fire.
“Coley isn’t coming?” she inquired.
“No,” said Jane. “I had a headache.”
Nellie Pennington sighed gratefully.
“You know, Jane, Coley is a nice fellow, but he’s just about as plastic
as the Pyramid of Cheops. You’ve done wonders with him, of course, and
he is really quite bearable now, but it must have been wearing, wasn’t
it?”
“Oh, no,” Jane smiled. “He’s quite obedient.”
“I sometimes wonder whether men are worth the pains we women waste on
them.” Mrs. Pennington went on reflectively. “When we are single they
adore us for our defects; married, we have a real difficulty in making
them love us for our virtues. But love abhors the word obedience. It
knows no arbitrary laws. An obedient husband is like an egg without
salt and far more indigestible. You’re not going to marry Coley, are
you, Jane?” she finished abruptly.
Jane paled and her head tilted the fraction of an inch. It was the
first time Nellie Pennington had approached the subject so directly,
and Jane had not decided whether to silence her questioner at once or
to laugh her off when she broke in again.
“Oh, don’t reply if you don’t want to. I’m sure nothing I could say
would have the slightest influence on your decision. It doesn’t matter
in the least whom one marries anyway, because whatever the lover is,
the husband is always sure to be something quite different. If Coley is
obedient now, married he’ll be a Tartar.”
“I--I didn’t say I was going to marry Mr. Van Duyn.”
“You didn’t say you weren’t.”
“Why should I? Must a girl marry, because she receives the
attentions----”
“_Exclusive_ attentions,” put in Mrs. Pennington quickly. “Jane, you’re
rather overdoing it,” she finished frankly.
“I like Mr. Van Duyn very much,” said Jane, her head lowered.
“But you don’t love him. Oh, Jane,” she whispered earnestly, “play the
scene in your own way if you like, but don’t try to hide the real drama
from me.”
“There is no drama,” put in Jane. “It was a farce----”
“It’s a drama in Phil Gallatin’s heart. Can you be blind to his
struggle?”
“I care nothing for Mr. Gallatin’s struggles,” said Jane, her head high.
“You do. Love like yours comes only once in a woman’s eyes. I saw
it----”
“You’re mistaken.”
“No. And it isn’t quenched with laughter----”
“Don’t, Nellie.”
“I must. You’re trying to kill something in you that will not die.”
“It’s dead now.”
“No--nor even sleeping. Don’t you suppose I read you, silly child,
your false gayety, the mockery of your smiles, and the way you’ve
thrown Coley Van Duyn into the breach to soothe your pride--even let an
engagement be undenied so that Phil could think how little you cared?
You once let me behind the scenes; no matter how much you regret it,
I’m still there.”
“Mr. Gallatin is nothing to me.”
Mrs. Pennington leaned back in her chair and smiled.
“You told me that your faith in Phil was unending. Your eternity, my
dear, lasted precisely one week.”
Jane flashed around at her passionately, aroused at last, as Nellie
Pennington intended that she should be.
“Oh, why couldn’t he have explained?”
“Explain! At the expense of another girl? Phil is a gentleman.”
Mrs. Pennington had had that reply ready. She had considered it
carefully for some days.
Jane paused, and her eyes, scarcely credulous, sought the face of her
visitor. Nellie Pennington met her look eagerly.
“Nina Jaffray’s,” she went on. “Could Phil tell why it happened?
Obviously not.”
“But he kissed her----”
Mrs. Pennington shrugged her pretty shoulders.
“As to that, Nina, of course, had reasons of her own.”
“Nina--Miss Jaffray--reasons?”
“She probably asked him to----”
“Impossible!”
“She did.”
“Do you know that?”
“No, but I know Nina.”
“I can’t see that that alters anything.”
“But it does--amazingly--if you’ll only think about it.”
“I saw it all.”
“Oh! Did you? I’m glad.”
“Glad! Oh, Nellie!”
“Of course. Think how much worse it might have seemed if you hadn’t.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If some one else had told you, you might have believed anything.”
“I saw enough to believe----”
“What did you see?”
“He--he--he just kissed her.”
“Oh, Jane, think! What did you see? Why should Phil kiss a girl he
doesn’t love? Aren’t there any kisses in the world but lovers kisses?
Think. You must. Phil’s whole life and yours depend upon it.”
Jane rose and walked quickly to the window.
“This conversation--is impossible.”
Nellie Pennington watched her narrowly. She had created a diversion
upon the flank, which, if it did nothing else, had temporarily driven
Jane’s forces back in confusion. She looked anxiously toward the door
of the drawing-room and then smiled, for a figure had entered and was
coming forward without hesitation.
With one eye on Jane, who was still looking out of the window, Nellie
Pennington rose and greeted the newcomer.
“Hello, Phil. I had almost given you up. You don’t mind, do you, Jane.
I had to see Mr. Gallatin and asked if he wouldn’t stop for me here.”
At the sound of his name Jane had twisted around and now faced them,
breathless. Mrs. Pennington was smiling carelessly, but Phil Gallatin,
hat in hand, stood with bowed head before her. At the door into the
hallway, the butler, somewhat uncertainly, hovered.
“Thank you, Hastings,” Jane summoned her tongue to say. “That will be
all.”
XX
THE INTRUDER
And when the man had gone her voice came back to her with surprising
clearness.
“You were going, I think you said, Nellie, dear. So sorry. If you’ll
excuse me I think I’ll hurry upstairs. I’m dining out and----”
“Jane!” Gallatin’s voice broke in. “Don’t go. Give me a chance--just
half an hour--ten minutes. I won’t take more than that--and then----”
“I’m sorry, but----”
“You wouldn’t see me or reply to my letters, and so I had to choose
some other way. Give me a moment,” he pleaded. “You can’t refuse me
that.”
“I don’t see--how anything that you say can make the slightest
difference--in anything, Mr. Gallatin,” she said haltingly. “We both
seem to have been mistaken. It’s very much better to avoid a--a
discussion which is sure to--to be painful to us both.”
“What do you know of pain,” he whispered, “if you can’t know the pain
of absence? Nothing that you can say will hurt more than that, the pain
of being ignored--forgotten--for another. I have stood it as long as I
can, but you needn’t be afraid to tell me the truth. If you say that
you love--that you’re going to marry Van Duyn, I’ll go--but not until
then.”
“Mrs. Pennington is waiting for you, I think,” she gasped. But when she
turned and looked into the drawing-room Mrs. Pennington was nowhere to
be seen.
“No,” he went on quickly. “She has gone. I asked her to. Oh, Jane,
listen to me. I made a mistake--under the impulse of a foolish moment.
I’ve been a fool--but I’m not ashamed of my folly. Perhaps it shocks
you to hear me say that. But I’m not ashamed--my conscience is clear.
Do you think I could look you in the eyes if there was any other image
between us? Call me thoughtless, if you like, careless, inconsiderate
of conventions, inconsiderate even of you, but don’t insult yourself
by imputing motives that never existed--that never could exist while
you were in my thoughts. Oh, Jane, can’t you understand? You’re the
life--the bone--the breath of me. I have no thought that does not
come from you, no wish--no hope that you’re not a part of. What
has Nina Jaffray to do with you and me? If I kissed her it was
because--because----” He stopped and could not go on.
“That is precisely what I want to know,” she said coolly.
“I--I can’t tell you.”
“No,” she said dryly. “I thought not. Miss Jaffray has every reason
to be flattered at your attitude. I can only be thankful that you at
least possess the virtue of silence--that you really are man enough to
preserve the confidence of the women of your acquaintance. Otherwise, I
myself might fare badly.”
“Stop, Jane!” he cried, coming forward and seizing her by the elbows.
“It’s sacrilege. Look up into my eyes. You dare not, because you know
that I speak the truth, because you know that you’ll discover in them a
token of love unending--the same look that you’ve always found there,
because when you see it you will recognize it as a force too great to
conquer--too mighty to be argued away for the sake of a whim of your
injured pride. Look up at me, Jane.”
He had his arms around her now; but she struggled in them, her head
still turned away.
“Let me go, Mr. Gallatin,” she gasped. “It can never be. You have hurt
me--mortally.”
“No. I’ll never let you go, until you look up in my eyes and tell me
you believe in me.”
“It’s unmanly of you,” she cried, still struggling. “Let me go, please,
at once.”
Neither of them had heard the opening and closing of the front door,
nor seen the figure which now blocked the doorway into the hall, but
at the deep tones which greeted them, they straightened and faced Mr.
Loring.
“I beg your pardon, Jane,” he was saying with ironical amusement.
“I chose the wrong moment it seems,” and then in harsher accents as
Gallatin walked toward him. “You! Jane, what does this mean?”
Miss Loring had reached the end of the Davenport where she stood
leaning with one hand on its arm, a little frightened at the expression
in her father’s face, but more perturbed and shaken by the fluttering
of her own heart which told her how nearly Phil Gallatin had convinced
her against her will that there was nothing in all the world that
mattered except his love and hers.
Her father’s sudden appearance had startled her, too, for though
no words had passed between father and daughter, she knew that her
mother had already repeated the tale of her romance and of its sudden
termination. She tried to speak in reply to Mr. Loring’s question, but
no words would come and after a silence burdened with meaning she heard
Phil Gallatin speaking.
“It means, Mr. Loring,” he was saying steadily, “that I love your
daughter--that I hope, some day, to ask her to be my wife.”
Loring came into the room, his eyes contracted, his bull neck thrust
forward, his face suffused with blood.
“_You_ want to marry my daughter? _You!_ I think you’re mistaken.” He
stopped and peered at one and then the other. “I’ve heard something
about you, Mr. Gallatin,” he said more calmly. “Your ways seem to be
crossing mine more frequently than I like.”
“I hardly understand you,” said Gallatin clearly.
“I’ll try to make my meaning plain. We needn’t discuss at once the
relations between you and my daughter. Whatever they’ve been or are
now, they’re less important than other matters.”
“Other matters!” Gallatin exclaimed. Jane had straightened and came
forward, aware of some new element in her father’s antipathy. Loring
glanced at her and went on.
“For some weeks past I’ve been aware of the activity of certain
interests that you or your pettifogging little firm represent in regard
to the plans of the Pequot Coal Company. I’ve followed your movements
with some curiosity and read the letters you’ve written to the New York
office with not a little amazement.”
“_You_ have read them?”
“Yes, I. _I_ am the Pequot Coal Company, Mr. Gallatin.”
Gallatin drew back a step and glanced at Jane.
“I was not aware----” he began.
“No, I guess not. But it’s about time you were,” Loring chuckled. He
walked the length of the room and back, his hands behind him, passing
Jane as though he was unaware of her existence, his huge bulk towering
before Gallatin again.