“Salut! Monsieur! You’re a good sort after all! You’ve got more sand
than I thought you had. I’m beginning to like you a great deal. You
can look me in the eye now, straight in the eye. That’s right. We
understand each other.”
He faced around into the room which had been the scene of so many of
his failures, and of his last and greatest success. The light from the
windows was growing brighter. It was painting familiar objects with
pale violet patches, glinting on glassware and porcelain like the cold
light of intellect, which now dominated the merely physical. He swept
the room with a glance. Before the light the shadows were fading. The
Enemy----
There _was_ no Enemy!
Gallatin poked down the embers of the fire and heaped on wood and coal.
He stripped to his underclothes, did twenty minutes with dumb-bells and
chest weights, and then went in to draw his bath, singing. He soused
himself in the cold water and came out with chattering teeth, but in a
moment his body was all aglow.
“It’s a good body,” he mused as he rubbed it, “a perfectly good body,
too good to abuse. There’s a soul inside there, too. Where, nobody
seems to know, but it’s there and it isn’t in the stomach, and that’s
a sure thing, though that’s where the stomach thinks it is. We’ll give
this body a chance, if you please, a square deal all around.”
He chuckled and thumped himself vigorously, as though to assure himself
of the thoroughness of his recuperation. Seven o’clock found him on
the street walking vigorously in the direction of the Park. He knew
that there was no chance of meeting Jane Loring at this hour of the
morning, but he chose the west side that he might not even see the
marble mass where she was sleeping, for the memory of what had happened
there yesterday rankled like an angry wound.
He breakfasted at the Cosmos at eight, and before nine was at the
office where he finished the morning mail before even Tooker and the
clerks were aware of his presence there. There were many threads of the
Sanborn case still at a loose end and he spent a long while writing
and dictating to his stenographer, who was still at his side, when, at
about eleven o’clock, the office boy brought in Nina Jaffray’s card.
He was still looking at it when Nina entered.
“I was afraid you might be busy, Phil,” she said calmly, “but I wanted
to see you about something.”
He nodded to his stenographer and she took up her papers and went.
“The mountain wouldn’t come to Mahomet and so----”
“Do sit down, Nina.”
“I’m not interrupting you _very_ much, am I?”
He laughed.
“No. I’m glad you came, if only to prove to my friends that I really
_do_ work.”
“Oh, is _that_ all?”
“No. I’m glad to see you for other reasons.”
“I’m curious to know them.”
“To be assured, for one thing, that you’ve forgiven me for my
boorishness----”
“Oh, that! Yes. Of course.”
“And for another--that your mood will spare me the pains of further
making a fool of myself.”
Nina shrugged lightly and laughed at him.
“Of course you know your limitations, Phil. How could I promise you
that?”
Gallatin smiled at her. She was very fetching this morning in a wide
dark beaver hat with a lilac veil, and her well-cut tailor-made, snugly
fitting in the prevailing mode, defined the long lines of her slim
figure which seemed in his office chair to be very much at its ease.
“_Will_ you be serious?”
“In a moment. For the present I’m so overjoyed at seeing you, that I’ve
forgotten what I came for. Oh, yes--Phil, I’m hopelessly compromised
and you’ve done it. Don’t laugh and don’t alarm yourself. You’re doing
both at the same time--but I really am--seriously compromised. There’s
a story going around that you and I----”
“Yes, I’ve heard it,” he said grimly.
“What interest people can possibly discover in the mishaps of a belated
platonic couple in a snowstorm is more than I can fathom. Of course,
if there had been anything for them to talk about, I’d have come off
scot-free. As it is I’m pilloried in the market place as a warning
to budding innocence! Imagine it! Me! I’m everything that’s naughty,
from Eve to Guinevere. It would be quite sad, if it wasn’t so amusing.
Weren’t we the very presentment of amatory felicity? Can’t you see us
now, swathed in our fur coats, sitting like two bundled mummies upon
each side of that monstrosity they called a stove, ‘The Parlor Heater,’
that was the name, from Higgins and Harlow, Phila., Pa., done in
nickel at the top. Can’t you see us sitting upright on those dreadful
hair-cloth chairs, silent and so miserable? That, my dear Philip, was
the seductive hour in which I fell from grace. Touching picture, isn’t
it?”
Gallatin refused to smile.
“Who told this story, Nina?”
“The chauffeur probably. I discharged him the next day.”
“Of course--that was it. But it’s such a silly yarn. Who will believe
it----?”
She threw up her hands in mock despair.
“Every one--unfortunately. You see Coley Van Duyn didn’t help matters
any by telling about your kissing me on the stairs.”
“D----n him,” said Phil, through his teeth.
“Besides, I’ve been careless of their opinion for so long that people
are only glad to get something tangible.”
“But it isn’t tangible. That farmer out there could----”
Nina raised her hand.
“Denial is confession, my dear. I shall deny nothing. I shall only
smile. In my saddest moments the memory of Higgins and Harlow’s
parlor heater with its nickel icicles around the top will restore my
equanimity. I don’t think I’ve ever before really appreciated the true
symbolism of the nickel icicle.”
Gallatin had risen and was pacing the floor before her.
“This gossip must be stopped,” he said scowling at the rug. “If I can’t
stop it in one way, I can in another.”
“And drag my shattered fabric into the rumpus? No, thanks. _J’y
suis--j’y reste._ The rôle of martyr becomes me. In my own eyes I’m
already canonized. I think I like the sensation. It has the merit of
being a novel one at any rate.”
“Nina, do stop talking nonsense,” he put in impatiently. “I’m not going
to sit here placidly and let them tell this lie.”
“Well,”--Nina leaned back in her chair and tilted her head
sideways--“what are you going to do about it?”
“I’ll make them answer to me--personally. It was my fault. I ought to
have walked home, I suppose.”
“But you didn’t--that’s the rub. They won’t answer to you personally
anyway, at least nobody but the chauffeur, and he might do
it--er--unpleasantly.”
“I’ll thrash him--I’ll break his----”
“No, you won’t. It wouldn’t do the least bit of good, and besides it
would make matters worse if _he_ thrashed _you_. There’s only one thing
left for you to do, my friend.”
“What?”
“Marry me!”
Phil Gallatin stopped pacing the floor and faced her, frowning.
“You still insist on that joke?”
“I do. And it’s no joke. It seems to be the least thing that you can
do, under the circumstances.”
“Oh, is it?”
“Of course. You wouldn’t leave things as they are, would you? Think
of my shrinking susceptibilities, the atrocious significance of your
negligence. Really, Phil, I don’t see how you can refuse me!”
Gallatin laughed. He understood her now.
“I’m immensely flattered. I’ll marry you with great pleasure----”
“Oh, thanks.”
“If I ever decide to marry any one.”
“Phil!”
She glanced past him out of the window, smiling. “And you’re not going
to marry--any one?”
“No.”
“I was afraid you might be.” She rose and took up her silver
bric-a-brac which clanked cheerfully. She had learned what she came for.
“Oh, well, I won’t despair. I’m not half bad, you know. Think it over.
Some day, perhaps.”
“It would be charming, I’m sure,” he said politely.
“And, Phil----” She paused.
“What?”
“Come and see a fellow once in a while, won’t you? You know,
propinquity is love’s _alter ego_.”
“I’m sure of it. Perhaps that’s why I’m afraid to come.”
She laughed again as she went out and he followed her to the door of
the outer office where Miss Crenshaw and Miss Gillespie scrutinized her
perfectly appointed costume and then tossed their heads the fraction of
an inch, adjusted their sidecombs and went on with their work.
XXII
SMOKE AND FIRE
Downstairs Miss Jaffray entered her machine and was driven northward.
It is not for a moment to be supposed during the weeks which followed
Mr. Egerton’s party that Miss Jaffray had retired from the social
scene. And if her rebuff at Phil Gallatin’s hands had dampened the
ardor of her enjoyment, no sign of it appeared. She was more joyously
satirical, more unmitigably bored, more obtrusively indifferent
than ever. But those who knew Nina best discovered a more daring
unconvention in her opinions and a caustic manner of speech which
spared no one, not even herself. She was, if anything, a concentrated
essence of Nina Jaffray.
A woman’s potentiality for mischief proceeds in inverse ratio to her
capacity for benevolence, and Nina’s altruism was subjective. She gave
her charity unaffectedly to all four-legged things except the fox,
which had been contributed to the economic scheme by a beneficent
Providence for the especial uses of cross-country riders. She spent
much care and sympathy upon her horses, and exacted its equivalent in
muscular energy. Two-legged things enjoyed her liking in the exact
proportion that they contributed to her amusement or in the measure
that they did not interfere with her plans.
But the word benevolent applied to Nina with about as much fitness as
it would to the Tropic of Capricorn.
The motto of New York is “The Devil Take the Hindmost,” and it
feelingly voiced Nina’s sentiments in the world and in the hunting
field. She had always made it a practice to ride well up with the
leaders, and to keep clear of the underbrush, and had never had much
sympathy for the laggards. There was a Spartan quality in her point
of view with regard to others, which remained to be put to the test
with regard to herself. The occasion for such a test, it seemed, had
arrived. For the first time in her life she was apparently denied
the thing she most wanted. She had even been willing to acknowledge
to herself that she wouldn’t have wanted Phil Gallatin if she hadn’t
discovered that he wanted some one else.
But her liking for him had been transmuted into a warmer regard with
a rapidity which really puzzled her and forced her to the conclusion
that she had cared for him always. And Phil Gallatin’s indifference had
stimulated her interest in him to a degree which made it necessary for
her to win him away from Jane Loring at all hazards.
She was not in the least unhappy about the matter. Here was a real
difficulty to be overcome, the first in personal importance that she
had ever faced, and she met it with a smile, aware that all of the arts
which a woman may use (and some which she may not) must be brought into
play to accomplish her ends.
As a matter of fact, Nina’s mechanism was working at the highest degree
of efficiency and she was taking a real delight in life, such as she
had never before experienced. Since the “Pot and Kettle” affair she
had thought much and deeply, had noted Coleman Van Duyn’s attentions
to Jane Loring, and her acceptance of them, had heard with an uncommon
interest of their reported engagement and had kept herself informed
as to the goings and comings of Phil Gallatin. And she read Jane
Loring as one may read an open book. Their personal relations were the
perfection of amiability. They had met informally on several occasions
when Nina had noted with well-concealed amusement the slightly
exaggerated warmth of Jane’s greeting, and had taken care to return
this display of friendship in kind. Everything added to the conviction
that Jane’s love of Phil was only exceeded by her hatred of Nina
Jaffray.
And yet until this morning Nina had had moments of uncertainty, for the
incident Jane had witnessed was too trivial to stand the test of sober
second thought, and Jane was just silly enough to forgive and forget it.
Nina’s visit to Phil Gallatin’s office had agreeably surprised her, for
Phil had made it perfectly clear that his estrangement from Jane still
existed. But to make the matter doubly sure, Nina had decided to play
a card she had been holding in reserve. In other words, more smoke was
needed and Nina was prepared to provide the fuel.
First she met Coleman Van Duyn by appointment at her own house, and
they had a long chat, during which, without his being aware of it, he
was the subject of a searching examination which had for its object the
revelation of the exact relation between himself and Miss Loring. Even
Coley, it seemed, was not satisfied with the state of affairs. They
were not engaged. No. He was willing to admit it, but he had hopes that
before the winter was over Miss Loring would see things his way. His
dislike of Phil Gallatin was thinly veiled and Nina played upon it with
a skill which left nothing to be desired, to the end that at the last
Coley came out into the open and declared himself flat-footed.
“I don’t know--your relations with him, Nina. Don’t care, really. You
know your way about and all that sort of thing, but he’s going it too
strong. I’m tired of beatin’ about the bush. I know a thing or two
about Phil Gallatin and I’ll tell ’em soon. It’s time people knew the
sort of a Johnny that fellow is.”
“Oh, I know, Coley. You’re prejudiced. You’ve got a right to be. A man
doesn’t want any scandal hanging around the name of the girl he’s going
to marry. Everybody knows, of course, that Phil and Jane Loring were
together last summer up in the woods and that----”
Van Duyn had risen, his eyes more protrusive, his face more purple than
was good for him. It was the first time he had heard that story spoken
of with such freedom, and it shocked him.
“It wasn’t Jane,” he roared. “She wasn’t the only woman in Canada last
summer. How do you know it was Jane?”
“She admitted it,” said Nina sadly.
“Oh, she did! Well, what of it? If I don’t care, what business is it of
anybody else? She suits me and I’m going to marry her.”
He stopped and glared at Nina, as though it was she who was the sole
author of his unhappiness. Nina only smiled up at him encouragingly.
“Of course, you are. That’s one of the things I wanted to see you
about. I think I can help you, Coley, if you’ll let me.”
She made him sit down again and when he was more composed, went on.
“You see it’s this way. I don’t mind your running Phil down, if it
gives you any pleasure, but you might as well know that I don’t share
your opinions. He isn’t your sort, you don’t understand him, and he has
managed to come between you and Jane. But I don’t see the slightest
use in getting excited. These silly romantic affairs of the teens are
seldom really dangerous. Phil’s infirmities excited her pity.”
“His infirmities!”
“Yes, but Jane Loring isn’t the kind of a girl to put up with that kind
of thing long.”
“Rather--not!”
“Oh, I don’t mean what you do. I mean that she isn’t suited to him,
that’s all. There are other women who might marry him and make
something of him.”
“Who?” he sneered.
“I,” she said calmly.
Her quiet tone transfixed him.
“You want to--to marry him?”
“Yes--and I’m going to. Perhaps you understand now how we can help each
other.”
“By George! I hadn’t an idea, Nina. I knew you’d been flirting with
him--and all that--but marriage!”
She nodded.
“You _are_ a good sort,” he grinned. “Do you really mean it? Of course
I’ll help you if I can, but I hardly see----”
“You don’t have to see. Jane Loring may still have a fancy for Phil
Gallatin, but it ought to be perfectly obvious that she can’t marry him
if he’s going to marry me. All I want you to do just now is to make
yourself necessary to Jane Loring. Propose to her again to-morrow,” and
then with convincing assurance, “I think she’ll accept you.”
“You do? Why?”
“That, if you’ll pardon me, is a matter I do not care to discuss.” She
arose and dismissed him gracefully, and Van Duyn wandered forth into
Gramercy Park with a feeling very like that of a timorous hospital
patient who has for the first time been subjected to the X-ray.
Nina lunched alone, then dressed for the afternoon and ordered her
machine. She had made no mistake in presupposing that Jane Loring’s
curiosity would outweigh her prejudices. In their talk upon the
telephone there had been a slight hesitation, scarcely noticeable, on
Jane’s part, after which, she had expressed herself as delighted at the
opportunity of seeing Nina at the Loring house.
Miss Jaffray entered the portals of the vast establishment, her slender
figure lost in the great drawing-room, as she moved restlessly from one
object of art to another awaiting her hostess, like a mischievous and
lonely bacillus newly liberated into a new field of endeavor.
“Nina, dear!” said Jane effusively as she entered. “_So_ sweet of you.
I haven’t really had a chance to have a talk with you for _ages_.”
“How wonderfully pretty you look, Jane? I’m simply _wild_ with envy of
you.”
It was the feminine convention. Each pecked the other just once below
the eye and each wished that the other had never been born. Jane led
the way into the library where they sat side by side on the big divan,
where they both skillfully maneuvered for an opening for a while,
feinting and parrying carte and tierce, advancing, retreating, neither
of them willing to risk a thrust.
But at last, the preliminaries having given her the touch of her
opponent’s foil, Nina returned.
“You’re really the success of the season, Jane. And you know when a
back number like I am admits a thing like that about a débutante, it’s
pretty apt to be true. But the thing I can’t understand is why you want
to end it all and marry.”
“Marry--whom?”
“Coley.”
“Oh, you have some private source of information on the subject?” Jane
asked pleasantly.
“None but your own actions,” Nina replied coolly. “It’s funny, too,
because I’ve had an idea--ever since that Dryad story--I’ve feared that
you were rather keen on Phil Gallatin.”
Nina was forced to admiration of the carelessness of Jane’s parry.
“Mr. Gallatin!” she said, her eyes wide with wonder. “What in the
world made you think of him? If I was ever grateful to the man for his
kindness up there in the woods, every instinct in me revolted at the
memory of what people said of us. Do you think I could care for a man
who would let a thing like that be told?” She hesitated a moment and
then added, “Besides, there are other reasons why Mr. Gallatin and I
could never be friends.”
“Oh, I see,” Nina said slowly, her gaze on the fire. “You know, I’m
very fond of Phil, and though you may not approve of him, he’s really
one of the best fellows in the world.”
“Well, why don’t you marry him?” said Jane carelessly.
“Marry! Me!” Nina laughed softly up at the portrait over the mantel.
“Good Lord, Jane, you want to bridle me! No, thanks. I’ve only one
life, you know, and I hardly feel like spending it on the Bridge of
Sighs. _My_ recording angel wouldn’t stand domestication. She’s on
the point of giving up the job already. I suppose I’ll have to marry
some day, but when I do I’ll select the quiet, elderly widower of some
capable person who has trained him properly. A well-trained husband may
be a dull blessing, but he’s safe. Not Phil Gallatin, my dear. The girl
who marries Phil will have her hands full. But he’s _such_ a dear!
So solemn, so innocent-looking, as though butter wouldn’t melt in his
mouth, and yet----” she paused and sighed audibly.
Jane glanced at her and was silent.
“I’ve never thought of Phil as a marrying man,” Nina went on. “The
thing is impossible, and I’d very much rather have him as he is. But it
does seem a pity about him because he has so many virtues--and he--he
really makes love like an angel.”
“Does he?” asked Jane, yawning politely. “But then so many men do that.”
“Yes--I suppose so, but Phil is different somehow.”
Jane laughed. “Yes, I gathered that--at the ‘Pot and Kettle.’”
Nina glanced up and away. “You _did_ see? It’s a pity. I’m sorry. Quite
imprudent of me, wasn’t it? I suppose I ought to be horribly mortified,
but I’m not. I’ve reached a point where I’m quite hardened to people’s
opinions--even to yours, Jane. But I confess I _was_ bothered a little
about that. I _am_ glad you don’t care for Phil, because it would have
been awkward and it might have made a difference in our friendship.
You’d have been sorry, wouldn’t you?”
Jane swallowed. “Oh--of course, I would.”
“But it doesn’t matter now whether you saw or not, because I’m sure
that you and Coley understand.”
“I’m not sure that I do understand,” said Jane with a smile toward the
cloisonné jar at the window. “As a form of diversion I can’t say that
kissing has ever appealed to me.”
“But then, you know, Jane, you’re very young--may I say verdant?
It’s an innocent amusement, if considered so. The harm of it is in
considering it harmful. You’re a hopeless little Puritan. I can’t see
how you and I have got along so well. I suppose it’s because we’re so
different.”
“Yes, perhaps that’s it. But I’m sure we wouldn’t be nearly so friendly
if we ever interfered with each other.”
“I’m glad we haven’t, Jane, darling. I’ve really gotten into the way of
depending on your friendship. You don’t think I’ve strained it a little
to-day by my--er--modern view of old conventions?”
“Not at all. For a Puritan I’m surprisingly liberal. I don’t care at
all whom my friends kiss--or why. It’s none of my affair. I’d hardly
make it so unless I was asked to.”
Nina laid her fingers on Jane’s arm. “But we _do_ understand each
other, don’t we, Jane?”
“Yes, wonderfully. I’m so glad that you think it worth while to confide
in me.”
“I do. You’re so sensible and tolerant. I’m almost too much of a
freethinker for most people, and they’re ready to believe almost
anything of me. But you don’t care what they say, do you, Jane?”
“No, I don’t, Nina. It wouldn’t make the slightest difference to me
what people said of you.”
And this was the truth, perhaps the first truth in fact or by inference
which either of them had uttered. So far so good. Honors were even.
Each of them was aware that the other was a hypocrite, each of
them was playing the game of hide and seek, bringing into play all
the arts of dissimulation to which the sex is heir. All is fair in
love and war. This was both. Under such conditions, to the feminine
conscience anything is justifiable. Nina had begun the combat with
leisurely assurance; Jane, with a contempt which fortified her against
mishap. The manners of each were friendly and confiding, their tones
caressing, but neither of them deceived the other and each of them
knew that she didn’t. Nina had taken the initiative. She had a mission
and in this was at a slight advantage, for Jane had not yet begun to
suspect what that mission was. She had made up her mind, feminine
fashion, not to believe what Nina wanted her to believe; but before
long she began to find that Nina was mixing truth and fiction with such
skill that it was difficult to distinguish one from the other.
The dangers of the social jungle develop remarkable perceptions in deer
and bird of paradise, but these defensive instincts are not always
proof against the craft of the cat tribe. If they were, the cat tribe
would long since have ceased to exist as a species. Other things being
equal, the stalker of prey has all the advantage. Nina knew that Jane
knew that she was lying. So, to gain her point, she was prepared if
necessary to use the simple expedient of _telling the truth_.
Nina was leaning forward, her chin in her hand, her gaze on the rug.
“You’ve heard, I suppose, this story people are telling about Phil and
me,” she said in a lower tone.
“No,” said Jane in tones of curiosity. “Is it something very dreadful?”
“I’m afraid it is--at least people seem to think it so. It began with
an accident to my motor and ended at a Parlor Heater.”
“A Parlor Heater! Do go on, Nina. I’m immensely interested.”