Croyden was sitting before the house, later in the afternoon, when an
elderly gentleman, returning leisurely from town, turned in at the
Clarendon gates.
"My first caller," thought Croyden, and immediately he arose and went
forward to meet him.
"Permit me to present myself, sir," said the newcomer. "I am Charles
Carrington."
"I am very glad to meet you, Captain Carrington," said Croyden, taking
the proffered hand.
"This is your first visit to Hampton, I believe, sir," the Captain
remarked, when they were seated under the trees. "It is not
Northumberland, sir; we haven't the push, and the bustle, and the
smoke, but we have a pleasant little town, sir, and we're glad to
welcome you here. I think you will like it. It's a long time since
Clarendon had a tenant, sir. Colonel Duval's been dead nearly ten years
now. Your father and he were particular friends, I believe."
Croyden assured him that such was the case.
"Yes, sir, the Colonel often spoke of him to me with great affection. I
can't say I was surprised to know that he had made him his heir. He was
the last of the Duvals--not even a collateral in the family--there was
only one child to a generation, sir."
Manifestly, it was not known in Hampton how Hugh Croyden came to be the
Colonel's heir, and, indeed, friendship had prompted the money-loan,
without security other than the promise of the ultimate transfer of
Clarendon and its contents. And Croyden, respecting the Colonel's wish,
evident now, though unexpressed either to his father or himself,
resolved to treat the place as a gift, and to suppress the fact that
there had been an ample and adequate consideration.
After a short visit, Captain Carrington arose to go.
"Come over and take supper with us, this evening, sir," said he. "I
want you to meet Mrs. Carrington and my granddaughter."
"I'll come with pleasure," Croyden answered, thinking of the girl with
the blue-black hair and slender ankles.
"It's the house yonder, with the white pillars--at half-after-six,
then, sir."
* * * * *
As Croyden approached the Carrington house, he encountered Miss
Carrington on the walk.
"We have met before," she said, as he bowed over her hand. "I was your
original guide to Clarendon. Have you forgot?"
"Have I forgot?" said Croyden. "Do you think it possible?" looking her
in the eyes.
"No, I don't."
"But you wanted to hear me say it?"
"I wanted to know if you could say it," she answered, gayly.
"And how have I succeeded?"
"Admirably!"
"Sufficiently well to pass muster?"
"Muster--for what?" she asked, with a sly smile.
"For enrollment among your victims."
"Shall I put your name on the list--at the foot?" she laughed.
"Why at the foot?"
"The last comer--you have to work your way up by merit, you know."
"Which consists in?"
"_That_ you will have to discover."
"I shall try," he said. "Is it so very difficult of discovery?"
"No, it should not be so difficult--for you," she answered, with a
flash of her violet eyes. "Mother!" as they reached the piazza--"let me
present Mr. Croyden."
Mrs. Carrington arose to greet him--a tall, slender woman, whose age
was sixty, at least, but who appeared not a day over forty-five,
despite the dark gown and little lace cap she was wearing. She seemed
what the girl had called her--the mother, rather than the grandmother.
And when she smiled!
"Miss Carrington two generations hence. Lord! how do they do it?"
thought Croyden.
"You play Bridge, of course, Mr. Croyden," said Miss Carrington, when
the dessert was being served.
"I like it very much," he answered.
"I was sure you did--so sure, indeed, I asked a few friends in
later--for a rubber or two--and to meet you."
"So it's well for me I play," he smiled.
"It is indeed!" laughed Mrs. Carrington--"that is, if you care aught
for Davila's good opinion. If one can't play Bridge one would better
not be born."
"When you know Mother a little better, Mr. Croyden, you will recognize
that she is inclined to exaggerate at times," said Miss Carrington. "I
admit that I am fond of the game, that I like to play with people who
know how, and who, at the critical moment, are not always throwing the
wrong card--you understand?"
"In other words, you haven't any patience with stupidity," said
Croyden. "Nor have I--but we sometimes forget that a card player is
born, not made. All the drilling and teaching one can do won't give
card sense to one who hasn't any."
"Precisely!" Miss Carrington exclaimed, "and life is too short to
bother with such people. They may be very charming otherwise, but not
across the Bridge table."
"Yet ought you not to forgive them their misplays, just because they
are charming?" Mrs. Carrington asked. "If you were given your choice
between a poor player who is charming, and a good player who is
disagreeable, which would you choose, Mr. Croyden?--Come, now be
honest."
"It would depend upon the size of the game," Croyden responded. "If it
were half a cent a point, I should choose the charming partner, but if
it were five cents or better, I am inclined to think I should prefer
the good player."
"I'll remember that," said Miss Carrington. "As we don't play, here,
for money stakes, you won't care if your partner isn't very expert."
"Not exactly," he laughed. "The stipulation is that she shall be
charming. I should be willing to take _you_ for a partner though you
trumped my ace and forgot my lead."
"_Merci_, _Monsieur_," she answered. "Though you know I should do
neither."
"Ever play poker?" Captain Carrington asked, suddenly.
"Occasionally," smiled Croyden.
"Good! We'll go down to the Club, some evening. We old fellows aren't
much on Bridge, but we can handle a pair or three of-a-kind, pretty
good. Have some sherry, won't you?"
"You must not let the Captain beguile you," interposed Mrs. Carrington.
"The men all play poker with us,--it is a heritage of the old
days--though the youngsters are breaking away from it."
"And taking up Bridge!" the Captain ejaculated. "And it is just as
well--we have sense enough to stop before we're broke, but they
haven't."
"To hear father talk, you would think that the present generation is no
earthly good!" smiled Miss Carrington. "Yet I suppose, when he was
young, his elders held the same opinion of him."
"I dare say!" laughed the Captain. "The old ones always think the young
ones have a lot to learn--and they have, sir, they have! But it's of
another sort than we can teach them, I reckon." He pushed back his
chair. "We'll smoke on the piazza, sir--the ladies don't object."
As they passed out, a visitor was just ascending the steps. Miss
Carrington gave a smothered exclamation and went forward.
"How do you do, Miss Erskine!" she said.
"How do you do, my dear!" returned Miss Erskine, "and Mrs.
Carrington--and the dear Captain, too.--I'm charmed to find you all at
home."
She spoke with an affected drawl that would have been amusing in a
handsome woman, but was absurdly ridiculous in one with her figure and
unattractive face.
She turned expectantly toward Croyden, and Miss Carrington presented
him.
"So this is the new owner of Clarendon," she gurgled with an 'a' so
broad it impeded her speech. "You have kept us waiting a long time, Mr.
Croyden. We began to think you a myth."
"I'm afraid you will find me a very husky myth," Croyden answered.
"'Husky' is scarcely the correct word, Mr. Croyden; _animated_ would be
better, I think. We scholars, you know, do not like to hear a word used
in a perverted sense."
She waddled to a chair and settled into it. Croyden shot an amused
glance toward Miss Carrington, and received one in reply.
"No, I suppose not," he said, amiably. "But, then, you know, I am not a
scholar."
Miss Erskine smiled in a superior sort of way.
"Very few of us are properly careful of our mode of speech," she
answered. "And, oh! Mr. Croyden, I hope you intend to open Clarendon,
so as to afford those of us who care for such things, the pleasure of
studying the pictures, and the china, and the furniture. I am told it
contains a Stuart and a Peale--and they should not be hidden from those
who can appreciate them."
"I assume you're talking of pictures," said Croyden.
"I am, sir,--most assuredly!" the dame answered.
"Well, I must confess ignorance, again," he replied. "I wouldn't know a
Stuart from a--chromo."
Miss Erskine gave a little shriek of horror.
"I do not believe it, Mr. Croyden!--you're playing on my credulity. I
shall have to give you some instructions. I will lecture on Stuart and
Peale, and the painters of their period, for your especial
delectation--and soon, very soon!"
"I'm afraid it would all be wasted," said Croyden. "I'm not fond of
art, I confess--except on the commercial side; and if I've any
pictures, at Clarendon, worth money, I'll be for selling them."
"Oh! Mrs. Carrington! Will you listen--did you ever hear such heresy?"
she exclaimed. "I can't believe it of you, Mr. Croyden. Let me lend you
an article on Stuart to read. I shall bring it out to Clarendon
to-morrow morning--and you can let me look at all the dear treasures,
while you peruse it."
"Mr. Croyden has an appointment with me to-morrow, Amelia," said
Carrington, quickly--and Croyden gave him a look of gratitude.
"It will be but a pleasure deferred, then, Mr. Croyden," said Miss
Erskine, impenetrable in her self conceit. "The next morning will do,
quite as well--I shall come at ten o'clock--What a lovely evening this
is, Mrs. Carrington!" preparing to patronize her hostess.
The Captain snorted with sudden anger, and, abruptly excusing himself,
disappeared in the library. Miss Carrington stayed a moment, then, with
a word to Croyden, that she would show him the article now, before the
others came, if Miss Erskine would excuse them a moment, bore him off.
"What do you think of her?" she demanded.
"Pompous and stupid--an irritating nuisance, I should call her."
"She's more!--she is the most arrogant, self-opinionated,
self-complacent, vapid piece of humanity in this town or any other
town. She irritates me to the point of impoliteness. She never sees
that people don't want her. She's as dense as asphalt."
"It is very amusing!" Croyden interjected.
"At first, yes--pretty soon you will be throwing things at her--or
wanting to."
"She's art crazy," he said. "Dilettanteism gone mad."
"It isn't only Art. She thinks she's qualified to speak on every
subject under the sun, Literature--Bridge--Teaching--Music. Oh, she is
intolerable!"
"What fits her for assuming universal knowledge?" asked Croyden.
"Heaven only knows! She went away to some preparatory school, and
finished off with another that teaches pedagogy. Straightway she became
an adept in the art of instruction, though, when she tried it, she had
the whole academy by the ears in two weeks, and the faculty asked her
to resign. Next, she got some one to take her to Europe--spent six
weeks in looking at a lot of the famous paintings, with the aid of a
guide book and a catalogue, and came home prepared to lecture on
Art--and, what's more, she has the effrontery to do it--for the benefit
of Charity, she takes four-fifths of the proceeds, and Charity gets the
balance.
"Music came next. She read the lives of Chopin and Wagner and some of
the other composers, went to a half dozen symphony concerts, looked up
theory, voice culture, and the like, in the encyclopaedias, and now
she's a critic! Literature she imbibed from the bottle, I suppose--it
came easy to _her_! And she passes judgment upon it with the utmost
ease and final authority. And as for Bridge! She doesn't hesitate to
arraign Elwell, and we, of the village, are the very dirt beneath her
feet. I hear she's thinking of taking up Civic Improvement. I hope it
is true--she'll likely run up against somebody who won't hesitate to
tell her what an idiot she is."
"Why do you tolerate her?" Croyden asked. "Why don't you throw her out
of society, metaphorically speaking."
"We can't: she belongs--which is final with us, you know. Moreover, she
has imposed on some, with her assumption of superiority, and they
kowtow to her in a way that is positively disgusting."
"Why don't you, and the rest who dislike her, snub her?"
"Snub _her_! You can't snub her--she never takes a snub to herself. If
you were to hit her in the face, she would think it a mistake and meant
for some one else."
"Then, why not do the next best thing--have fun with her?"
"We do--but even that grows monotonous, with such a mountain of
Egotism--she will stay for the Bridge this evening, see if she
doesn't--and never imagine she's not wanted." Then she laughed: "I
think if she does I'll give her to you!"
"Very good!" said he. "I'd rather enjoy it. If she is any more
cantankerous than some of the women at the Heights, she'll be an
interesting study. Yes, I'll be glad to play a rubber with her."
"If you start, you'll play the entire evening with her--we don't change
partners, here."
"And what will _you_ do?" he asked.
"Look on--at the _other_ table. She will have my place. I was going to
play with you."
"Then the greater the sacrifice I'm making, the greater the credit I
should receive."
"It depends--on how you acquit yourself," she said gayly. "There are
the others, now--come along."
There were six of them. Miss Tilghman, Miss Lashiel and Miss Tayloe,
Mr. Dangerfield, Mr. Leigh, and Mr. Byrd. They all had heard of
Croyden's arrival, in Hampton, and greeted him as they would one of
themselves. And it impressed him, as possibly nothing else could have
done--for it was distinctly new to him, after the manners of chilliness
and aloofness which were the ways of Northumberland.
"We are going to play Bridge, Miss Erskine, will you stay and join us?"
asked Miss Carrington.
"I shall be charmed! charmed!" was the answer. "This is an ideal
evening for Bridge, don't you think so, Mr. Croyden?"
"Yes, that's what we _thought_!" said Miss Tilghman, dryly.
"And who is to play with me, dear Davila?" Miss Erskine inquired.
"I'm going to put Mr. Croyden with you."
"How nice of you! But I warn you, Mr. Croyden, I am a very exacting
partner. I may find fault with you, if you violate rules--just draw
your attention to it, you know, so you will not let it occur again. I
cannot abide blunders, Mr. Croyden--there is no excuse for them, except
stupidity, and stupidity should put one out of the game."
"I'll try to do my very best," said Croyden humbly.
"I do not doubt that you will," she replied easily, her manner plainly
implying further that she would soon see how much that "best" was.
As they went in to the drawing-room, where the tables were arranged,
Miss Erskine leading, with a feeling of divine right and an appearance
of a Teddy bear, Byrd leaned over to Croyden and said:
"She's the limit!"
"No!" said Leigh, "she's past the limit; she's the sublimated It!"
"Which is another way of saying, she's a superlative d---- fool!"
Dangerfield ended.
"I think I understand!" Croyden laughed. "Before you came, she tackled
me on Art, and, when I confessed to only the commercial side, and an
intention to sell the Stuart and Peale, which, it seems, are at
Clarendon, the pitying contempt was almost too much for me."
"My Lord! why weren't we here!" exclaimed Byrd.
"She's coming out to inspect my 'treasures,' on Thursday morning."
"Self invited?"
"I rather think so."
"And you?"
"I shall turn her over to Moses, and decamp before she gets there."
"Gentlemen, we are waiting!" came Miss Erskine's voice.
"Oh, Lord! the old dragoon!" said Leigh. "I trust I'm not at her
table."
And he was not--Miss Tilghman and Dangerfield were designated.
"Come over and help to keep me straight," Croyden whispered to Miss
Carrington.
She shook her head at him with a roguish smile.
"You'll find your partner amply able to keep you straight," she
answered.
The game began. Miss Tilghman won the cut and made it a Royal Spade.
"They no longer play Royal Spades in New York," said Miss Erskine.
"Don't know about New York," returned Miss Tilghman, placidly, "but
_we're_ playing them here, this evening. Your lead, Miss Amelia."
The latter shut her thick lips tightly, an instant.
"Oh, well, I suppose we must be provincial a little longer," she said,
sarcastically. "Of course, you do not still play Royal Spades in
Northumberland, Mr. Croyden."
"Yes, indeed! Play anything to keep the game moving," Croyden
answered.
"Oh, to be sure! I forgot, for the instant, that Northumberland _is_ a
rapid town.--I call that card, Edith--the King of Hearts!" as Miss
Tilghman inadvertently exposed it.
A moment later, Miss Tilghman, through anger, also committed a revoke,
which her play on the succeeding trick disclosed.
That it was a game for pure pleasure, without stakes, made no
difference to Miss Erskine. Technically it was a revoke, and she was
within her rights when she exclaimed it.
"Three tricks!" she said exultantly, "and you cannot make game this
hand."
"I'm very sorry, partner," Miss Tilghman apologized.
"It's entirely excusable under the circumstances," said Dangerfield,
with deliberate accent. "You may do it again!"
"How courteous Mr. Dangerfield is," Miss Erskine smiled. "To my mind,
nothing excuses a revoke except sudden blindness."
"And you would claim it even then, I suppose?" Dangerfield retorted.
"I said, sudden blindness was the only excuse, Mr. Dangerfield. Had you
observed my language more closely, you doubtless would have
understood.--It is your lead, partner."
Dangerfield, with a wink at Croyden, subsided, and the hand was
finished, as was the next, when Croyden was dummy, without further
jangling. But midway in the succeeding hand, Miss Erskine began.
"My dear Mr. Croyden," she said, "when you have the Ace, King, and _no
more_ in a suit, you should lead the Ace and then the King, to show
that you have no more--give the down-and-out signal. We would have made
an extra trick, if you had done so--I could have given you a diamond to
trump. As it was, you led the King and then the Ace, and I supposed, of
course, you had at least four in suit."
"I'm very sorry; I'll try to remember in future," said Croyden with
affected contrition.
But, at the end of the hand, he was in disgrace again.
"If your original lead had been from your fourth best, partner, I could
have understood you," she said. "As it was, you misinformed me. Under
the rule of eleven, I had but the nine to beat, I played the ten and
Mr. Dangerfield covered with the Knave, which by the rule you should
have held. We lost another trick by it, you see."
"It's too bad--too bad!" Croyden answered; "that's two tricks we've
lost by my stupid playing. I'm afraid I'm pretty ignorant, Miss
Erskine, for I don't know what is meant by the rule of eleven."
Miss Erskine's manner of cutting the cards was somewhat indicative of
her contempt--lingeringly, softly, putting them down as though she
scorned to touch them except with the tips of her fingers.
"The rule of eleven is usually one of the first things learned by a
beginner at Bridge," she said, witheringly. "I do not always agree with
Mr. Elwell, some of whose reasoning and inferences, in my opinion, are
much forced, but his definition of this rule is very fair. I give it in
his exact words, which are: 'Deduct the size of the card led from
eleven, and the difference will show how many cards, higher than the
one led, are held outside the leader's hand.' For example: if you lead
a seven then there are four higher than the seven in the other three
hands."
"I see!" Croyden exclaimed. "What a bully rule!--It's very informing,
isn't it?"
"Yes, it's very informing--in more ways than one," she answered.
Whereat Miss Tilghman laughed outright, and Dangerfield had to retrieve
a card from the floor, to hide his merriment.
"What's the hilarity?" asked Miss Carrington, coming over to their
table. "You people seem to be enjoying the game."
Which sent Miss Tilghman into a gale of laughter, in which Dangerfield
joined.
Miss Erskine frowned in disapproval and astonishment.
"Don't mind them, Mr. Croyden," she said. "They really know better, but
this is the silly season, I suppose. They have much to learn, too--much
to learn, indeed." She turned to Miss Carrington. "I was explaining a
few things about the game to Mr. Croyden, Davila, the rule of eleven
and the Ace-King lead, and, for some reason, it seemed to move them to
jollity."
"I'm astonished!" exclaimed Miss Carrington, her violet eyes gleaming
with suppressed mirth.
"I hope Mr. Croyden does not think we were laughing at _him_!" cried
Miss Tilghman.
"Of course not!" returned Croyden solemnly, "and, if you were, my
stupidity quite justified it, I'm sure. If Miss Erskine will only bear
with me, I'll try to learn--Bully thing, that rule of eleven!"
It was now Croyden's deal and the score, games all--Miss Erskine having
made thirty-six on hers, and Dangerfield having added enough to Miss
Tilghman's twenty-eight to, also, give them game.
"How cleverly you deal the cards," Miss Erskine remarked. "You're
particularly nimble in the fingers."
"I acquired it dealing faro," Croyden returned, innocently.
"Faro!" exclaimed Miss Carrington, choking back a laugh. "What is
faro?"
"A game about which you should know nothing, my dear," Miss Erskine
interposed. "Faro is played only in gambling hells and mining camps."
"And in some of the Clubs _in New York_," Croyden added--at which Miss
Tilghman's mirth burst out afresh. "That's where I learned to copper
the ace or to play it open.--I'll make it no trumps."
"I'll double!" said Miss Tilghman.
"I'll go back!"
"Content."
"Somebody will win the rubber, this hand," Miss Erskine
platitudinized,--with the way such persons have of announcing a self
evident fact--as she spread out her hand. "It is fair support,
partner."
Croyden nodded. Then proceeded with much apparent thought and
deliberation, to play the hand like the veriest tyro.
Miss Erskine fidgeted in her seat, gave half smothered exclamations,
looked at him appealingly at every misplay. All with no effect. Croyden
was wrapped in the game--utterly oblivious to anything but the
cards--leading the wrong one, throwing the wrong one, matching
pasteboards, that was all.
Miss Erskine was frantic. And when, at the last, holding only a
thirteener and a fork in Clubs, he led the losing card of the latter,
she could endure the agony no longer.
"That is five tricks you have lost, Mr. Croyden, to say nothing of the
rubber!" she snapped. "I must go, now--a delightful game! thank you, my
dear Davila. So much obliged to you all, don't you know. Ah, Captain
Carrington, will you see me as far as the front gate?--I won't disturb
the game. Davila can take my place."
"Yes, I'll take her to the gate!" muttered the Captain aside to
Croyden, who was the very picture of contrition. "But if she only were
a man! Are you ready, Amelia?" and he bowed her out.
"You awful man!" cried Miss Carrington. "How could you do it!"
"I think it was lovely--perfectly lovely!" exclaimed Miss
Tilghman.--"Oh! that last hand was too funny for words.--If only you
could have seen her face, Mr. Croyden."
[Illustration: LEADING THE WRONG ONE, THROWING THE WRONG ONE, MATCHING
PASTEBOARDS, THAT WAS ALL]
"I didn't dare!" laughed he. "One look, and I'd have given the whole
thing away."
"She never suspected.--I tell you, she is as dense as asphalt," said
Miss Carrington. "Come, now we'll have some Bridge."
"And I'll try to observe the rule of eleven!" said Croyden.
He lingered a moment, after the game was ended and the others had gone.
When he came to say good-night, he held Miss Carrington's slender
fingers a second longer than the occasion justified.
"And may I come again soon?" he asked.
"As often as you wish," she answered. "You have the advantage of
proximity, at least."