"My dear Cally! Really, I can say nothing for you but better late than
never," said mamma.
"Salutations!" said Hugo, rising. "And by Jove! What a perfectly
stunning dress!"
"Oh, do you like it?" said Carlisle, trailing forward, her eyes shining.
"Then you won't scold, will you, if my watch _was_ a trifle slow! And I
should have been ready hours ago, even at that, but for Flora's
over-staying at her uncle's. Tell Mr. Canning, Flora, wasn't it all
your fault?"
And Flora, having followed her young mistress in with the
carriage-cloak, giggled into her hand as at a royal jest and said yas'm,
it certny was....
In holiday vein the trio departed from the suite, dropped sixteen
stories in the lift, and presently came by taxicab to the Café des
Ambassadeurs, where had taken place the memorable dinner for two, just
two months ago to a night....
Here all was glittering and gay. The Ambassadeurs, pending the arrival
of something newer, was on the pinnacle of expensive popularity. At this
hour everything was in fullest swing, and the impressive looking
major-domo was shaking his head without hope to arriving applicants who
had not ordered a table beforehand, as Hugo had done by messenger.
The Heth ladies turned into the cloak-room to remove their wraps. The
air of vivacity pervading the place, or possibly it was her daughter's
staccato liveliness, entered the blood of Mrs. Heth: she was imperious
with the ladies' maid who assisted with the unwrapping. Carlisle,
strolling about as she unbuttoned her gloves, came to the elaborate
screen which sheltered the doorway and glanced out. Directly opposite,
over the brilliant corridor, her gaze fell upon the glass and
yellow-wood of a long-distance telephone booth.
Then she caught sight of Hugo, and smiled at him, and at the same moment
mamma's voice said at her elbow:
"There's Hugo, waiting.... Are you ready?"
"And waiting, too," said Carlisle.
They emerged from the ladies' bower into the stir of the antechamber.
Met halfway by their escort, they proceeded toward the dining-room.
Advance was a little slow; there was some confusion here and even
crowding, replete diners blocking the way of those just going in. Just
at the door, a party of five or six managed to come between Carlisle and
Canning, who was dutifully looking out for his future mother-in-law; the
girl became momentarily separated from her protectors. Or perhaps it was
partly Cally's own fault, precipitated by the sight of a page standing
near, who certainly seemed to have been stationed there by the hand of
Providence....
Having stared fascinated at this page for half a second, Carlisle
brought him to her side by a nod. The lad was fifteen and had seen
lovely ladies in his time, but raising his eyes to this one, he
acknowledged that she was a Queen.
"Call long distance for me, boy.... I'll write the number."
The boy produced pad and pencil, and she scribbled rapidly, a smile
hovering over the sweet mouth whose slight irregularity charmed the eye
beyond flawlessness.
Why, indeed, wait longer, running and sticking one's head in the sand,
when here was the telephone, immediate and conclusive, when she felt now
so brave and sure, and could tell mamma and Hugo this very night without
a tremor? All was simple now, and highly adventurous besides. And then
there was Jack Dalhousie to whom even a day or two, now that she stopped
to think of it, would probably make a good deal of difference....
Turning again with bright cheeks, Cally encountered strange faces; and
then, in a second or two, the familiar ones of her mother and Canning,
both looking back for her....
"There you are!" she laughed, coming up with them again. "What an
exciting jam!"
They proceeded into the dining-place and to their table, a somewhat
ceremonial progress headed by three spiketails. Even in that display of
beauty, wealth, consequence, and their lifelike imitations, these three,
or perhaps we should say these two, drew much attention. Carlisle was
conscious of lorgnettes; once she caught the whisper of the name so soon
to be her own. Late as they were, the room was still crowded: the
well-bred but wandering eye saw no vacant seat anywhere. There was music
in the air, and the clash of cutlery, the vocal hum, and the faint
tinkle of glasses. There were flushing faces and eyes that sparkled like
the wine, and of it, many fragrances commingled, of flowers, chefs'
_chefs-d'oeuvre_, of Pinaud and Roget. Through all, too, was to be felt
the hard inquisitive stare of New York, each man wondering who and
whence his neighbor was, speculating under his smile as to which man of
them made, on the whole, the best appearance, seemed most plentiful of
his money....
Pink-shaded candles stood on the little table; also La France roses of
Canning's purchasing; also glasses, three more of them brought as they
took their seats.
"Do you spurn your cocktail, Carlisle?" asked Canning, and when she
convivially indicated that she didn't, he added, man to man: "How!"
"How," said Cally.
She touched it to her lips, giving back his smile over the rim of her
glass, and feeling gay, indeed. Two cocktails before one dinner--well!
"What kind of one is this, Hugo?" she demanded, quite knowingly.
Canning named it.
"Well, then," said she, "it was a Bronx I had before."
She did not say before what, and nobody asked. About them, as they sat
in the lively hum, circled servitors without end. One fellow had brought
their bit of caviare; another bore away the traces of it; another had no
share of them but to fetch crisp rolls. Little omnibuses in white suits
moved about, gathering up papers or napkins dropped by careless diners;
bigger omnibuses in dinner jackets exported trays of dishes which the
lordly artists of the serving force were above touching. Other varlets
merely stood about and cooed....
Dinner, having begun with the cocktails, swept on with a rattle of talk.
There was debate about the theatre afterwards. The girl's eyes turned
often toward the door.
"What do you think of it all, Carlisle?"
"Sweet, Hugo!... So simple and artless and homey!"
"Exactly," said Canning; and obtained permission for a cigarette. "But
yet interesting as a vaudeville show, don't you think? What so amusing
as to see human vanity displaying itself not merely without reserve but
with a terrific blowing of horns?"
"Well put, Hugo!" said Mrs. Heth, who held that any kind of
generalization constituted good talk. She added: "Who are all these
people? How would one place them?"
Canning could indicate a celebrity or two. He had bowed several times,
finding acquaintances, it seemed, even in this glittering farrago. But
his eyes returned to his bride-to-be, from whom he removed his gaze with
reluctance to-night. She wore a dress of yellow crêpe-de-chine, with a
draped arrangement of blue chiffon, which followed faithfully the long
lines of her figure; and a hat of blue straw with an uncurled yellow
plume. It was a beautiful dress, though mamma considered it just a
thought too low, even with a handkerchief put in.
And Cally looked back at her lover and thought: Who so honored and
honorable as he? He'll only be sorry that I've waited so long....
"Only," she said, aloud, "they do keep the room rather hot for the
provinces, where some air is preferred. More good things to eat, Hugo?
It's a collation...."
"A poor one, I'm afraid. You've touched nothing."
He dispatched an army of men to adjust electric fans, turn patent
ventilators, and even to do so crude a thing as open a window.
"It is all most delicious, Hugo," reassured Mrs. Heth. "I hadn't noticed
that the room was warm, either."
"My cheeks are burning. Touch my hand, Hugo. You see it's on fire."
All three looked up as a boy in buttons stood at Carlisle's elbow, and
said:
"Got your party on the wire, mum."
"Party on the wire? What's this?" said mamma.
Carlisle laid her napkin on the table. Surprise confronted her, written
large on the faces of her mother and her lover; but it did not
arrest her.
"I'm wanted at the telephone. Do you mind, Hugo? I won't he gone a
minute."
"_But_--you mustn't go _now_, my dear!" said Mrs. Heth, astonished. "Let
the boy take the number. Why--who on earth could it be, calling you
_here?_--"
"I'd rather go now, mamma, if Hugo'll forgive me--"
"It's from Flora!" said Mrs. Heth, positively. "No one else knew. A
telegram's come, saying your father is sick--"
Carlisle laughed and rose dazzingly, burning without but colder than
Alpine snow within.
"Not in the least, mamma dear! You see I put in this call myself. I'll
explain all about it in a minute...."
Explain! Why she would walk back to this table from the telephone,
laughing, and saying: "Now, praise me, Hugo and mamma, for I've just
been doing a deed of mercy! Do you remember that day at the Beach?..."
Was it the fear of this that she had let plague her all these days?...
"To be answered _here_--at dinner--in this public place? Why, my dear
Cally, I really...."
But Hugo, the understanding, though personally opposed to interruptions
during dinner, knew the folly of arguing with the whims of the
unreasoners. He had risen with Carlisle, and now said: "I'll show
you the way."
Cally gave him a look of exquisite gratitude, but answered: "_Please_
don't trouble, Hugo! The boy will--"
"No trouble. Let's be off before the tolls eat you out of house and
home."
"Oh, no! Please don't! Couldn't I have my way about such a little
matter, Hugo dear?"
In this glaring publicity, the dialogue began to take on something of
the nature of a "scene." Canning yielded with perfect grace.
"Of course you can, if you really prefer it. Well, then!... Hurry back."
"In two minutes," said she, with certainty; and smiled brightly into
mamma's censorious concern.
On the heels of the proud page, Cally threaded her way among the
glittering tables for the telephone and Jefferson 4127, unaware for once
that she was the cynosure of many eyes. She was buoyed within, thrilled
with a sense of strange adventure, baffling to analysis, but somehow
comparable to that soaring moment last week. She was captain of her
soul. That she was now standing by her flare-up, deliberately
reattaching herself to a past which she had moved heaven and earth to
cut away from her, did not occur to her, in just that way. But she was
conscious of a curious inner sense of freedom, and somehow of
fulfilment. And now she saw that she must have been secretly thinking of
doing this for some time, nibbling fearfully at the idea....
She was alone in a glass booth, with a telephone before her, receiver
off its hook. She sat down, put the receiver to her ear, and said:
"Hello?"
[Illustration: _PLEASE_ DON'T TROUBLE, HUGO]
There reached her only a faint great buzzing, the humming of distant
wires, fleeting snatches of talk a long way off, striking out of nowhere
back into nothing.... And now she was the Lady Bountiful, stepping
aside a moment from her brilliant entourage to scatter boons to the poor
and needy. Jack Dalhousie would know to-morrow morning, at the latest,
by the telegram from his friend Mr. V.V.,--as that little creature
called him,--and whatever vexation he might be inclined to feel towards
her at first, his joy and his father's would soon dispose of that. And
of course he would hurry straight off with his news to that girl from
the East he had fallen in love with--what a hand he was for affairs,
poor old Jack!--and....
Out of the confused murmuring, a soft voice spoke clearly:
"Hello, New York. I got your party. What's the matter?"
A nasal voice gave answer, apparently at Carlisle's elbow:
"Well, be ca'm, little one. You people got the rush-bug worsen some
full-size cities aintyer? Butt out and gimme a chanst. Hello! W'ere
arey'r, Bassadoors!"
"Here I am," said Bassadoors.
"Miss Heth?"
"I am Miss Heth."
"Minute 'm...."
In the glass beside her Cally caught a reflection of her head and bare
shoulders, and her eyes were shining, the long and slightly tri-corner
eyes so piquantly fringed. A minute--that was all it would take. A
minute more and she would thread her way back through the glitter to
Hugo and mamma, and Hugo at least would say well-done....
"Well, whatsermatter? There y' are!"
The soft voice said: "All right, Dr. Vivian. Ready now!... Hello! All
right...."
"Hello," said Cally.
Then all sounds faded away, and out of a sudden great desert of silence,
she heard a man's voice, clear though it came all the way from Meeghan's
Grocery, across the street from the old Dabney House, back home.
"Hello?"
_Mr. V.V.!_
And the moment she heard that voice, Carlisle was aware that her feeling
toward the owner of it had mysteriously changed somewhere in the last
week, that he stood in her mind now almost as a friend. Had he not been,
by the strangeness of fate, her one confidant in the world, who now
could never think of her again as a poor little thing?...
"Dr. Vivian?... Can you guess who it is? Or did the operator give me
away?"
"Yes.... I don't hear you very well.... Where are you?"
"I'm in New York, if you please, to sail for Europe next week! We left
home last night.... Is that better?"
"Yes.... That's much better."
Mr. V.V.'s voice, over the long miles of wire, sounded strained and
hard; but the girl noticed nothing, being full of novel thrills.
"Perhaps you can guess why I've called you up.... Though, you know, it
was to be a secret unless you saw me again, and _I_ really don't count a
letter as seeing!..."
"I didn't see you," came back the unfamiliar voice. "I am to blame."
"Ah, but the letter was just as good," said Carlisle, and laughed
excitedly into the transmitter. And then, having never admitted any
particular sense of guilt, having felt almost no "conviction of sin" as
religious fellows would term it, she went on without the smallest
embarrassment: "You see, I flew into a panic for some reason, and didn't
mean for you ever to see me again. I ran away! And then I couldn't get
his letter out of mind--I'd never taken it in that he was so miserable,
really!--and I was quite ashamed of being such a coward. And so," she
said, the upward-lifting lip pressing the instrument in her eagerness,
"I've called up now to say I want--"
His voice broke in, not with the burst of praise and thanksgiving she
had looked for, but only to say abruptly and anti-climacterically:
"I can't hear you. Will you say that again?"
However, but few words were needed, after all, to ring this climax.
Carlisle said, slowly and distinctly:
"I say I want you to tell Mr. Dalhousie now--and his father, too.
To-night, if you wish."
Then there was a desolating silence, out of which she heard something
far off like a man groaning.
"Hello!" she called sharply. "Are you there?"
"Where are you, Miss Heth?" was Dr. Vivian's reply; and his voice was
like the voice of the man who had groaned....
"Are you in your room at the hotel? Is your mother with you there?"
Singular words these, from the receiver of confidences and high favors.
There fell upon Cally a nameless fear.
"N-no--I'm alone--Why, what--"
"Could I speak to your mother a moment--first? I have some bad news. It
would be better--"
"No--tell me! My mother's at dinner. I--what are you talking about?..."
Had he betrayed her already, then? Was the town now ringing with her
name? Had Colonel Dalhousie ...
Quite distinctly, though he evidently was not addressing her, she heard
the man's hard voice say: "This cannot be borne."
And then in a different voice, there came these words over the miles
from Meeghan's Grocery:
"Miss Heth;--I didn't see you when I should have--and now we are just
too late. I can't reach Dal now."
"You--don't mean?..."
"He is dead."
_"Dead!"_
And it was this girl's shame, the fruit of her long fear, that her first
feeling was one of base relief. So works Nature's first law. Dal was
dead; all was settled; there was nothing to tell now. And then, as by
the turning of a corner, she came front to front with a sudden horror,
and there unrolled before her a moment of blackness....
"You must not blame yourself too hard," came the distant voice, dropping
out of space like the sentences of destiny. "It's ... cruel, the way
it's happened. But you'll always know you had the courage and the will
to set him free, when you might--"
Carlisle's hand clenched the edge of the little table where she sat.
"Tell me," said her voice, pitifully faint. "Did he ... I--must
know--Did he ...?"
There was a roaring in her ears, but through it the words came clear as
flame:
"He went out of his mind. I know that. That could not be foreseen. Not
waiting ... he took his own life. It was this afternoon. A telegram
came--from some friend of his...."
All further words, if more there were, bounded off from the sudden iron
stillness within her. Mechanically she raised the receiver to the hook,
for was not her talk with Meeghan's quite finished? Jack Dalhousie had
killed himself. Sackcloth and ashes would not get a telegram to him
now.... And then, some flying remembrance of the bearer of the tidings
struck through her numbness, and she caught down the receiver again and
said indistinctly:
"I can't talk any more now.... I'll be all right...."
Then all thought stopped, and her head went forward upon her hands. The
yellow plume nodded bravely....
Outside the door of the booth was the brilliant corridor, and beyond a
glimpse of the dining-room, pretty with shaded lights, gay with music
and talk, and eyes that stared unabashed. Somewhere in there were Mrs.
Heth and Canning, dining well.
The page stood near, the call-slip offered upon his tray. He, who
admired her, was aware of a subtle distortion in this lady's winning
loveliness.
"Take it, please," said she, "to the lady at the table where you found
me. And say I shall not come back to dinner."
Then Carlisle found herself in the cloak-room, which happened to be
empty except for the smiling maid. She had hardly entered and repelled
the woman's overtures, when she heard the hurried step of her mother,
brought quickly by the buttons' strange words.
"Cally! Are you ill? What on earth's happened?"
Cally sat stiffly in a chair against the wall, her face colorless.
Different, this, from the telling she had contemplated, not five minutes
ago. What had happened, indeed?
She said in a small flat voice: "I heard some bad news--over the
telephone. A man--has died. He killed himself, this afternoon--"
Commanding even in that moment, Mrs. Heth turned upon the hovering maid
and said: "A glass of water."
When the woman had passed out of earshot, she turned again, and put her
two strong hands on Cally's shoulders.
"What man? Who was this you called up long-distance?"
"Mr. Dalhousie," said Cally's small voice. "I called up a friend of
his...." She looked up fixedly at her mother and said: "Mamma, he did it
because of me."
The name of ill omen staggered the mother a little. Her voice was half
harsh, half frightened:
"Because of you! You are ill, my poor child. The shock has upset you.
You are out of your head. The boy's mind was unhinged by drink. Every
one said so. He had broken his father's heart with--"
"But he did this because of me. Because of what I let everybody think of
him.... Mamma, I--I must go back home. I'm sorry to upset
everything so...."
The maid stood by with her tray and glass, but no hand reached for the
offering.
"Back to the hotel? Of course!--you are ill, my poor dear! You need
rest...."
"I mean back home. You see I can't be here now ... when this has
happened. I must go now, to-night. I remember the train goes at
nine-fifty-five."
Mrs. Heth, wheeling upon the maid with livid perturbation, cried:
"Get my wraps."