Six months had passed. The Villa of Maecenas was closed at Los Osos
Canyon, and the southwest trade-winds were slanting the rains of the wet
season against its shut windows and barred doors. Within that hollow,
deserted shell, its aspect--save for a single exception--was unchanged;
the furniture and decorations preserved their eternal youth undimmed
by time; the rigidly-arranged rooms, now closed to life and light,
developed more than ever their resemblance to a furniture warehouse.
The single exception was the room which Grace Nevil had rearranged for
herself; and that, oddly enough, was stripped and bare--even to its
paper and mouldings.
In other respects, the sealed treasures of Rushbrook's villa, far from
provoking any sentimentality, seemed only to give truth to the current
rumor that it was merely waiting to be transformed into a gorgeous
watering-place hotel under Rushbrook's direction; that, with its new
ball-room changed into an elaborate dining-hall, it would undergo still
further improvement, the inevitable end and object of all Rushbrook's
enterprise; and that its former proprietor had already begun another
villa whose magnificence should eclipse the last. There certainly
appeared to be no limit to the millionaire's success in all that he
personally undertook, or in his fortunate complicity with the enterprise
and invention of others. His name was associated with the oldest
and safest schemes, as well as the newest and boldest--with an equal
guarantee of security. A few, it was true, looked doubtingly upon this
“one man power,” but could not refute the fact that others had largely
benefited by association with him, and that he shared his profits with
a royal hand. Some objected on higher grounds to his brutalizing
the influence of wealth by his material and extravagantly practical
processes, instead of the gentler suggestions of education and personal
example, and were impelled to point out the fact that he and his
patronage were vulgar. It was felt, however, by those who received his
benefits, that a proper sense of this inferiority was all that ethics
demanded of them. One could still accept Rushbrook's barbaric gifts by
humorously recognizing the fact that he didn't know any better, and that
it pleased him, as long as they resented any higher pretensions.
The rain-beaten windows of Rushbrook's town house, however, were
cheerfully lit that December evening. Mr. Rushbrook seldom dined
alone; in fact, it was popularly alleged that very often the unfinished
business of the day was concluded over his bountiful and perfect board.
He was dressing as James entered the room.
“Mr. Leyton is in your study, sir; he will stay to dinner.”
“All right.”
“I think, sir,” added James, with respectful suggestiveness, “he wants
to talk. At least, sir, he asked me if you would likely come downstairs
before your company arrived.”
“Ah! Well, tell the others I'm dining on BUSINESS, and set dinner for
two in the blue room.”
“Yes, sir.”
Meanwhile, Mr. Leyton--a man of Rushbrook's age, but not so fresh and
vigorous-looking--had thrown himself in a chair beside the study fire,
after a glance around the handsome and familiar room. For the house had
belonged to a brother millionaire; it had changed hands with certain
shares of “Water Front,”--as some of Rushbrook's dealings had the true
barbaric absence of money detail,--and was elegantly and tastefully
furnished. The cuckoo had, however, already laid a few characteristic
eggs in this adopted nest, and a white marble statue of a nude and
ill-fed Virtue, sent over by Rushbrook's Paris agent, and unpacked
that morning, stood in one corner, and materially brought down the
temperature. A Japanese praying-throne of pure ivory, and, above it, a
few yards of improper, colored exposure by an old master, equalized each
other.
“And what is all this affair about the dinner?” suddenly asked a
tartly-pitched female voice with a foreign accent.
Mr. Leyton turned quickly, and was just conscious of a faint shriek, the
rustle of a skirt, and the swift vanishing of a woman's figure from the
doorway. Mr. Leyton turned red. Rushbrook lived en garcon, with feminine
possibilities; Leyton was a married man and a deacon. The incident
which, to a man of the world, would have brought only a smile, fired the
inexperienced Leyton with those exaggerated ideas and intense credulity
regarding vice common to some very good men. He walked on tip-toe to the
door, and peered into the passage. At that moment Rushbrook entered from
the opposite door of the room.
“Well,” said Rushbrook, with his usual practical directness, “what do
you think of her?”
Leyton, still flushed, and with eyebrows slightly knit, said, awkwardly,
that he had scarcely seen her.
“She cost me already ten thousand dollars, and I suppose I'll have
to eventually fix up a separate room for her somewhere,” continued
Rushhrook.
“I should certainly advise it,” said Leyton, quickly, “for really,
Rushbrook, you know that something is due to the respectable people who
come here, and any of them are likely to see”--
“Ah!” interrupted Rushbrook, seriously, “you think she hasn't got on
clothes enough. Why, look here, old man--she's one of the Virtues, and
that's the rig in which they always travel. She's a 'Temperance' or a
'Charity' or a 'Resignation,' or something of that kind. You'll find her
name there in French somewhere at the foot of the marble.”
Leyton saw his mistake, but felt--as others sometimes felt--a doubt
whether this smileless man was not inwardly laughing at him. He replied,
with a keen, rapid glance at his host:--
“I was referring to some woman who stood in that doorway just now, and
addressed me rather familiarly, thinking it was you.”
“Oh, the Signora,” said Rushbrook, with undisturbed directness; “well,
you saw her at Los Osos last summer. Likely she DID think you were me.”
The cool ignoring of any ulterior thought in Leyton's objection forced
the guest to be equally practical in his reply.
“Yes, but the fact is that Miss Nevil had talked of coming here with me
this evening to see you on her own affairs, and it wouldn't have been
exactly the thing for her to meet that woman.”
“She wouldn't,” said Rushbrook, promptly; “nor would YOU, if you had
gone into the parlor as Miss Nevil would have done. But look here! If
that's the reason why you didn't bring her, send for her at once; my
coachman can take a card from you; the brougham's all ready to fetch
her, and there you are. She'll see only you and me.” He was already
moving towards the bell, when Leyton stopped him.
“No matter now. I can tell you her business, I fancy; and in fact, I
came here to speak of it, quite independently of her.”
“That won't do, Leyton,” interrupted Rushbrook, with crisp decision.
“One or the other interview is unnecessary; it wastes time, and isn't
business. Better have her present, even if she don't say a word.”
“Yes, but not in this matter,” responded Leyton; “it's about Somers. You
know he's been very attentive to her ever since her uncle left her here
to recruit her health, and I think she fancies him. Well, although she's
independent and her own mistress, as you know, Mrs. Leyton and I are
somewhat responsible for her acquaintance with Somers,--and for that
matter so are you; and as my wife thinks it means a marriage, we ought
to know something more positive about Somers's prospects. Now, all we
really know is that he's a great friend of yours; that you trust a good
deal to him; that he manages your social affairs; that you treat him
as a son or nephew, and it's generally believed that he's as good as
provided for by you--eh? Did you speak?”
“No,” said Rushbrook, quietly regarding the statue as if taking its
measurement for a suitable apartment for it. “Go on.”
“Well,” said Leyton, a little impatiently, “that's the belief everybody
has, and you've not contradicted it. And on that we've taken the
responsibility of not interfering with Somers's attentions.”
“Well?” said Rushbrook, interrogatively.
“Well,” replied Leyton, emphatically, “you see I must ask you positively
if you HAVE done anything, or are you going to do anything for him?”
“Well,” replied Rushbrook, with exasperating coolness, “what do you call
this marriage?”
“I don't understand you,” said Leyton.
“Look here, Leyton,” said Rushbrook, suddenly and abruptly facing him;
“Jack Somers has brains, knowledge of society, tact, accomplishments,
and good looks: that's HIS capital as much as mine is money. I employ
him: that's his advertisement, recommendation, and credit. Now, on the
strength of this, as you say, Miss Nevil is willing to invest in him; I
don't see what more can be done.”
“But if her uncle don't think it enough?”
“She's independent, and has money for both.”
“But if she thinks she's been deceived, and changes her mind?”
“Leyton, you don't know Miss Nevil. Whatever that girl undertakes she's
weighed fully, and goes through with. If she's trusted him enough to
marry him, money won't stop her; if she thinks she's been deceived,
YOU'LL never know it.”
The enthusiasm and conviction were so unlike Rushbrook's usual cynical
toleration of the sex that Leyton stared at him.
“That's odd,” he returned. “That's what she says of you.”
“Of ME; you mean Somers?”
“No, of YOU. Come, Rushbrook, don't pretend you don't know that
Miss Nevil is a great partisan of yours, swears by you, says you're
misunderstood by people, and, what's infernally odd in a woman who don't
belong to the class you fancy, don't talk of your habits. That's why she
wants to consult you about Somers, I suppose, and that's why, knowing
you might influence her, I came here first to warn you.”
“And I've told you that whatever I might say or do wouldn't influence
her. So we'll drop the subject.”
“Not yet; for you're bound to see Miss Nevil sooner or later. Now, if
she knows that you've done nothing for this man, your friend and her
lover, won't she be justified in thinking that you would have a reason
for it?”
“Yes. I should give it.”
“What reason?”
“That I knew she'd be more contented to have him speculate with HER
money than mine.”
“Then you think that he isn't a business man?”
“I think that she thinks so, or she wouldn't marry him; it's part of the
attraction. But come, James has been for five minutes discreetly waiting
outside the door to tell us dinner is ready, and the coast clear of all
other company. But look here,” he said, suddenly stopping, with his arm
in Leyton's, “you're through your talk, I suppose; perhaps you'd rather
we'd dine with the Signora and the others than alone?”
For an instant Leyton thrilled with the fascination of what he firmly
believed was a guilty temptation. Rushbrook, perceiving his hesitation,
added:--
“By the way, Somers is of the party, and one or two others you know.”
Mr. Leyton opened his eyes widely at this; either the temptation had
passed, or the idea of being seen in doubtful company by a younger man
was distasteful, for he hurriedly disclaimed any preference. “But,” he
added with half-significant politeness, “perhaps I'm keeping YOU from
them?”
“It makes not the slightest difference to me,” calmly returned
Rushbrook, with such evident truthfulness that Leyton was both convinced
and chagrined.
Preceded by the grave and ubiquitous James, they crossed the large hall,
and entered through a smaller passage a charming apartment hung
with blue damask, which might have been a boudoir, study, or small
reception-room, yet had the air of never having been anything
continuously. It would seem that Rushbrook's habit of “camping out” in
different parts of his mansion obtained here as at Los Osos, and with
the exception of a small closet which contained his Spartan bed, the
rooms were used separately or in suites, as occasion or his friends
required. It is recorded that an Eastern guest, newly arrived with
letters to Rushbrook, after a tedious journey, expressed himself pleased
with this same blue room, in which he had sumptuously dined with his
host, and subsequently fell asleep in his chair. Without disturbing his
guest, Rushbrook had the table removed, a bed, washstand, and bureau
brought in, the sleeping man delicately laid upon the former, and left
to awaken to an Arabian night's realization of his wish.