Miss Cavendish was standing behind the curtains in the window of her
room, when Croyden and Macloud came up the walk, at four o'clock.
She was waiting!--not another touch to be given to her attire. Her
gown, of shimmering blue silk, clung to her figure with every movement,
and fell to the floor in suggestively revealing folds. Her dark hair
was arranged in simple fashion--the simplicity of exquisite
taste--making the fair face below it, seem fairer even than it was. She
was going to win this man.
She heard them enter the lower hall, and pass into the drawing-room.
She glided out to the stairway, and stood, peering down over the
balustrade. She heard Miss Carrington's greeting and theirs--heard
Macloud's chuckle, and Croyden's quiet laugh. Then she heard Macloud
say:
"Mr. Croyden is anxious to meet your guest--at least, we took her to be
a guest you were driving with this morning."
"My guest is equally anxious to meet Mr. Croyden," Miss Carrington
replied.
"Why does she tarry, then?" laughed Croyden.
"Did you ever know a woman to be ready?"
"You were."
"I am the hostess!" she explained.
"Mr. Croyden imagined there was something familiar about her," Macloud
remarked.
"Do you mean you recognized her?" Miss Carrington asked.
(Elaine strained her ears to catch his answer.)
"She didn't let me have the chance to recognize her," said he--"she
wouldn't let me see her face."
(Elaine gave a little sigh of relief.)
"Wouldn't?" Miss Carrington interrogated.
"At least, she didn't."
"She couldn't have covered it completely--she saw you."
"Don't raise his hopes too high!" Macloud interjected.
"She can't--I'm on the pinnacle of expectation, now."
"Humpty-Dumpty risks a great fall!" Macloud warned.
"Not at all!" said Croyden. "If the guest doesn't please me, I'm going
to talk to Miss Carrington."
"You're growing blase," she warned.
"Is that an evidence of it?" he asked. "If it is, I know one who must
be too blase even to move," with a meaning glance at Macloud.
A light foot-fall on the stairs, the soft swish of skirts in the
hallway, Croyden turned, expectantly--and Miss Cavendish entered the
room.
There was an instant's silence. Croyden's from astonishment; the
others' with watching him.
Elaine's eyes were intent on Croyden's face--and what she saw there
gave her great content: he might not be persuaded, but he loved her,
and he would not misunderstand. Her face brightened with a fascinating
smile.
"You are surprised to see me, messieurs?" she asked, curtsying low.
Croyden's eyes turned quickly to his friend, and back again.
"I'm not so sure as to Monsieur Macloud," he said.
"But for yourself?"
"Surprised is quite too light a word--stunned would but meekly express
it."
"Did neither of you ever hear me mention Miss Carrington?--We were
friends, almost chums, at Dobbs Ferry."
"If I did, it has escaped me?" Croyden smiled.
"Well, you're likely not to forget it again."
"Did you know that I--that we were here?"
"Certainly! I knew that you and Colin were both here," Elaine replied,
imperturbably. "Do you think yourself so unimportant as not to be
mentioned by Miss Carrington?"
"What will you have to drink, Mr. Croyden?" Davila inquired.
"A sour ball, by all means."
"Is that a reflection on my guest?" she asked--while Elaine and Macloud
laughed.
"A reflection on your guest?" he inflected, puzzled.
"You said you would take a _sour_ ball."
Croyden held up his hands.
"I'm fussed!" he confessed. "I have nothing to plead. A man who mixes a
high ball with a sour ball is either rattled or drunk, I am not the
latter, therefore----"
"You mean that my coming has rattled you?" Elaine inquired.
"Yes--I'm rattled for very joy."
She put her hands before her face.
"Spare my blushes, Geoffrey!"
"You could spare a few--and not miss them!" he laughed.
"Davila, am I?" she demanded.
"Are you what?"
"Blushing?"
"Not the slightest, dear."
"Here's your sour ball!" said Macloud, handing him the glass.
"Sweetened by your touch, I suppose!"
"No! By the ladies' presence--God save them!"
"Colin," said Croyden, as, an hour later, they walked back to
Clarendon, "you should have told me."
"Should have told you what?" Macloud asked.
"Don't affect ignorance, old man--you knew Elaine was coming."
"I did--yesterday."
"And that it was she in the trap."
"The muff hid her face from me, too."
"But you knew."
"I could only guess."
"Do you think it was wise to let her come?" Croyden demanded.
"I had nothing to do with her decision. Miss Carrington asked her, she
accepted."
"Didn't you give her my address?"
"I most assuredly did not."
Croyden looked at him, doubtfully.
"I'm telling you the truth," said Macloud. "She tried to get your
address, when I was last in Northumberland, and I refused."
"And then, she stumbles on it through Davila Carrington! The world _is_
small. I reckon, if I went off into some deserted spot in Africa, it
wouldn't be a month until some fellow I knew, or who knows a mutual
friend, would come nosing around, and blow on me."
"Are you sorry she came?" Macloud asked.
"No! I'm not sorry she came--at least, not now, since she's here.--I'll
be sorry enough when she goes, however."
"And you will let her go?"