"Not any more," answered Valentine. "I've become more interested in
autographs and association books. I have a wonderful letter of Gay's
from--from--oh, you know, where he was staying when he wrote the
Beggar's Opera--that duke's place--well, it will come to me."
But it never did come to him--not, at least, until he went home and
looked it up--because, glancing at his hostess, he saw in those
anxious, dark-fringed eyes that she wasn't a bit interested in his Gay
letter; and so, with that tact that all artists possess if they will
only use it, he said gently, "But it wasn't about autographs that you
wanted to see me, was it? It's about your benefit."
"The benefit?"
"No? Well, what is it then?"
"Oh, I hoped you would understand without my being obliged to dot all
the _i_'s."
She said this with a great deal of meaning. Leaning forward on her
elbow, in her mauve and silver tea gown, behind her silver tea tray,
she looked very charming. Valentine thought that he had never known a
woman who combined such perfection of appointments with such simplicity
of manner. He had a strong instinct for the best in any art. It struck
him that for a certain sort of thing this was the best.
She went on: "Perhaps you will think I should not have sent for you;
but what could I do? I am so alone. My husband and I, as you perhaps
know, are divorced."
Valentine achieved just the right sort of murmur at this, indicating
that he personally could not regret the fact, but found it of intense
interest.
Mrs. Hazlitt hurried on: "I feel I must apologize for my silly
child--so vulgar and absurd, though I suppose girls must think they're
in love--not that I mean it's absurd to think--I mean in your case it's
natural enough--your last play--so romantic, dear Mr. Valentine--only,
would you mind telling me just how it was you brought my daughter home
a week ago Friday?"
Valentine emerged from this like a dog from the surf, successive waves
had passed over him without his having had any idea what it meant.
"I don't think I have the pleasure of knowing your daughter," he said.
"Ah, not by name!"
She was ready for him there. She rose, and taking a silver-framed
photograph from the table she thrust it into his hands.
He studied it and said politely, "What a charming little face! How like
you, if I may say so!"
"Don't you recognize it? Hasn't she sent it to you? Hasn't she written
you letters?"
"Possibly," said Valentine, and he added apologetically, "You know, I
can't read all my letters. The telegrams I do try to manage, although--"
Mrs. Hazlitt could not pretend to be interested in how Valentine
managed his telegrams.
"You mean you didn't bring Lita home last Friday--a week ago?" she
said, and her eyes began to get large.
Valentine leaned back and looked at the ceiling, stamped one foot
slightly on the floor and crossed the other leg over it. This seemed to
help him think, for almost immediately he said:
"We were putting in our new villain"; and when he saw that Mrs. Hazlitt
did not grasp the information, he added, "We were rehearsing all that
afternoon."
Of course, she told him the whole story, and heard in return many
interesting and surprising incidents of a popular actor's life. He was
extremely interesting and sympathetic; so different from what she had
expected--delightful. She felt she had made a real friend. In fact,
she had promised to have tea with him at his apartment the following
Thursday. She was so glad he had not said Friday. Lita would be back
for her holidays on Friday, and somehow it would be hard to explain
after all she had said against actors; though, of course, Lita herself
would be called on to explain how she had allowed--and who was the
man who had brought her home? Thursday would be safe, though; and she
did want to meet this new Spanish actress Doria for whom the party was
given. Valentine had assumed that Mrs. Hazlitt spoke Spanish, and when
she insisted that she did not he was perfectly tactful. His own, he
said, was getting rusty; but Doria was all right in French. He said he
would come for her himself on Thursday. She thought that very kind.
She had a flurried, excited feeling when he had gone that she was
entering upon a new phase of life. She had had a delightful afternoon.
But the mystery of Lita's conduct was deeper than ever. Who was the
man? Had there been a man at all? She sat down to write to her child,
demanding to know the truth; but was interrupted by the entrance of
Freebody with a long, narrow box which looked as if it might contain a
boa constrictor, but did actually contain a dozen long-stemmed roses,
with Valentine's card.
Mrs. Hazlitt tore up her letter. After all, it would be better to wait
until Friday, and when Lita returned they could have a long, clear
explanation.
But, as things turned out, Lita came back on Thursday. A little girl in
one of the younger classes contrived to catch a light case of measles,
and the school was hurried home a day ahead of time. It was generally
mentioned that the child deserved a tablet in the common room; and she
did actually receive a laurel wreath tied with red, white and blue
ribbon, and bearing the inscription, "_Dulce et decora est_ to get
measles for the good of your schoolmates."
The New York girls came back unheralded, for the school did not have
time to telephone every parent. Miss Jones went about in a bus dropping
the girls at their places of residence.
Lita, for the first time in her life, hoped that her mother would not
be in. She wanted to be free to telephone Doctor Dacer without comment.
She knew her mother would disapprove of her telephoning. She had had
other glimpses of the last generation's method of dealing with romantic
complications. They had strange old conventions about letting the
advances come from the masculine side, or at least of maneuvering so
that they appeared to. Subtle, they called it. Lita thought it rather
sneaky.
She learned from Freebody at the door that her mother was dressing
and was to be out to tea, but was to be home to dinner. Lita walked
straight to the library, and having looked up Dacer's number called the
office. The office nurse answered. Yes, the doctor was in. Who wished
to speak to him? Miss Hazlitt? Just a minute. There was a long silence.
What would she do if he refused to speak to her? Go there?
"Oh, Doctor Dacer, I wanted to tell you that Miss Barton told you
something that wasn't true, though she thought it was. You know what
I mean.... I want to see you, please. I wish you would.... Now; the
sooner the better.... Yes; good-by."
She hung up the receiver with a hand not absolutely steady. He was
coming at once. She took off her hat and dropped it on the sofa and
stood still in the middle of the floor. If only her mother would keep
on dressing for half an hour or so! It couldn't take him very long
to get from his office in Sixty-third Street near Park-- Now he was
putting on his hat, now he was in the street, now he was coming nearer
and nearer every minute--
Exactly eleven minutes by the watched clock after she had hung up the
telephone receiver the doorbell rang. The doorbell could just be heard
in the library by straining ears.
And then Freebody said from the doorway, "Doctor Dacer to see you,
miss."
Dacer was standing now in the doorway, looking at her darkly. Severity
was evidently going to temper his justice.
"Well?" he said.
The main thing was that he had come.
"Didn't you think I could write a better love letter than that?" she
began.
"Unfortunately I have had no opportunities of judging."
"What does a head mistress know about girls?"
"She tells a pretty well-documented story."
It came over Lita that they were quarreling--almost--and that she liked
the process, but liked it only because she knew it must come out right.
Her case was so clear.
"The letter and the photographs belonged to Aurelia," she said. "I hid
them for her when she was taken ill. That was why I was in such a hurry
to go that first day--when you patted me on the head. And if they told
you about a mysterious man who brought me home in a taxi--that was you,
and--"
"You never wrote to Valentine?"
"Never!"
He took a step toward her.
"Never sent him your photograph?"
"No!"
He took another step.
"Never saw him except on the stage?"
"No!"
Another step would bring him to her; and what, she wondered, would
happen then?
What happened was that the door opened and Freebody said, "Mr.
Valentine."
And there he was, the man himself, more beautiful than the posters.
Never before had the chairman of the self-government committee found
herself deserted by the powers of speech and action. She stood
helplessly staring at the great artist before her. And even then
the day might have been saved if Valentine had not been so kind, so
determined to put everything straight.
"Ah," he said, supposing he had to do with an embarrassed child,
"you are Miss Hazlitt, and very like your picture. I should know you
anywhere."
"You've seen my picture?" said Lita, with a sort of feeble hope that
the question would convey her complete innocence to Dacer. She could
hear her own voice twittering high and silly like a hysterical bird.
"Yes, indeed," said Valentine; and the voice, which was only
kind, sounded in Dacer's ears significant. "This one, isn't
it? Photography"--he turned politely, including Dacer in the
conversation--"is only just getting back to where it was in the days of
the daguerreotype. How wonderful they were! So soft--"
"Photography has always had its uses, I believe," answered Dacer in his
deepest voice. He made a slight bow in the general direction of Lita.
"Good-by, Miss Hazlitt," he said, and each word came with a terrible
distinctness. "If you and I don't meet for some time, you'll remember
me to Aurelia, I hope. She seemed to me a singularly candid, truthful
nature. I admire that."
He bowed also to Valentine, and was gone. Something about his manner
struck Valentine as peculiar. He feared that he had interrupted one
of those conversations that do not bear interruption--an impression
somewhat confirmed when Miss Hazlitt snatched her hat from the sofa and
ran out of the room without a word.
Left alone, Valentine returned to Trivia; but he began to be nervous
about the time. He did not want Doria to arrive at his apartment
before he and Mrs. Hazlitt got there; so that when Alita came down,
apologizing for being late, but in the tone of the habitually late,
as if no one really expected you to be on time, he hurried her grimly
downstairs.
Freebody was waiting in the hall to open the door, and told her of
her daughter's return. She showed a disposition to stay and argue the
matter with him. How could it be, when she was not to come till the
next day? But Freebody wouldn't argue, and Valentine was firm--they
must go.
"Tell Miss Lita I'll be back before seven," said Mrs. Hazlitt, and let
herself be hurried out to the car.
Freebody stared at her. Did not she know that Miss Hazlitt had just
torn out of the house like a little mad witch?
Lita had moved fast, but an angry man faster. As she left the house she
could see him swinging on the step of a moving Madison Avenue car. As
it was a southbound car, she hoped this meant that he was going back to
his office.
She had seen the address only once, when she looked up his number
in the telephone book; but it was indelibly impressed on her mind,
although the date of the Battle of Bosworth Field, which she had spent
so much time memorizing, always escaped her. In her hurry she had
forgotten not only her gloves but her purse, so that she was obliged
to walk the eight or nine blocks. Walk? She almost ran, crossing all
necessary streets diagonally, dodging in and out between motors.
Suppose he should go out again before she got there! It was terrible!
Doctor Burroughs' office was in an oyster-colored apartment house. In a
window on the ground floor she read the blue porcelain name of Doctor
Burroughs--very large; and Doctor Dacer--very small. She entered a hall
that was low and decorated in the style of a Florentine palace. Miss
Waverley, with her white hair brushed straighter than ever, answered
the door.
"Have you an appointment with the doctor?"
She spoke very politely, but there was a hint that without an
appointment--
"I think he'll see me for a minute," said Lita.
She was far from feeling certain of this; and if he refused, she did
not know exactly what she could do except sit on the doorstep.
She was shown into the waiting room. A complete silence fell upon the
room--the house--the city. Then a returning rustling of starched skirts
in the narrow passageway was heard. The doctor would see her. She was
led down the long corridor to a small room filled for the most part by
a desk. A door was standing open into a larger room beyond, which was
lined with white tiles and decorated with glass cases along the walls
in which hideous instruments were displayed as if they were objects of
art. The nurse having ushered Lita into the first room, retired to the
second, where she remained without shutting the door between, and could
be heard moving about and doing something with instruments that made a
soft, continual clinking.
Dacer rose slowly from his desk, on which cards in several colors were
strewn.