Like most of its neighbors in the gold-plated Fifth Avenue shopping
district intersected by the Fifties, Dorning and Son resembled, from
the pavement, more a monastery than a business establishment. Its
austere concrete and marble exterior quietly bespoke class and
dignity. The graceful little Chinese vase standing chastely alone in
exactly the correct spot in the show window seemed a warning to the
passers-by on the other side of the highly polished glass that only
true lovers of art were wanted within. The reputation of Dorning and
Son for integrity and quality was as high as their prices. The
original John Dorning, who founded the business in a tiny showroom on
Fourteenth Street, had been resting quietly under the sod for twenty
years. He had had no impulses in that time to turn over in his
grave. He had inculcated in his son the ideals upon which the
delicately contrived wedding of art and commerce that was Dorning and
Son had been based. The son had later sown the seeds of the same
ideals in the character of the third John Dorning. In his keeping,
the ideals flourished as never before.
Rodrigo, who had the true aristocrat's respect and liking for the
things of the spirit, caught something of this atmosphere immediately
he stepped from John Dorning's roadster and walked beside his friend
across the broad sidewalk toward the plain bronze entrance door of
Dorning and Son.
The uniformed elderly doorman's face lit up as he recognized young
Dorning. John shook hands with him with unaffected pleasure.
They entered an austere region that resembled the art gallery of a
very well cared for and sumptuous private residence. Soft, deep
carpets covered the floor. Painted masterpieces adorned the walls.
Exquisite furniture and _objets d'art_, placed with the
unostentatious grace of the expert, harmonized into a paradise for
the artist and collector. A railed balcony ran around three sides of
the large, rectangular shaped room. Under the balcony were located
the offices of John Dorning, the manager, Henry Madison, and John
Dorning's father.
Rodrigo wondered if the white-haired, dignified gentleman who stood
just inside the door as they entered and who now advanced smilingly
to greet John was Madison, the man who disliked foreigners. He was
rather sorry to hear John address him by another name, for he seemed
a pleasant, if slightly gone-to-seed sort. Other clerks became aware
of John's return and gathered about to welcome him. There was about
them none of the fawning, artificial pleasantry which subordinates in
many establishments lavish upon those in authority over them. These
men were more than salesmen, and they were attached to John Dorning
both by a personal liking for him and by the common bond of a genuine
love for the beautiful.
Attracted by the buzz of conversation and sallies of laughter
outside, a tall, gray man opened the door of one of the offices and
looked out. Then his rather severe face softened into a smile and he
came forward to take both of Dorning's hands in his.
"It's good to see you, John," he said. "We've missed you."
"Thanks, Mr. Madison," John replied. He loved this old friend of his
father's. His boyish respect for the man's honesty and uncanny
knowledge had not lessened with his own growth of experience. The
manager would always be "Mr. Madison" to John Dorning.
"I want you to meet Count Rodrigo Torriani, about whom I cabled and
wrote you," said John. Rodrigo bowed and took Madison's outstretched
hand. He felt the elderly man's sharp, scrutinizing glance upon him
and he returned the glance with a disarming smile.
"I understand from John that you are to be associated with us," said
Henry Madison, and the clerks looking on showed a renewed interest in
the newcomer. "You can rest assured I shall do all I can to make
things pleasant for you." Behind this perfunctory promise the
manager seemed to be warning that whether or not things were made
pleasant depended largely upon Rodrigo. This, the Italian said to
himself, was fair enough. Madison turned to John and said in a lower
voice, "When you have a moment, if I could talk with you
privately--there are some matters----"
[Illustration: "I HAD NO IDEA I WAS TO MEET A GIRL LIKE YOU SO
QUICKLY," RODRIGO SMILED.]
But John had turned away and was shaking hands with the girl who,
coming out of Madison's office with a sheaf of papers, had diverted
her course at the sight of Dorning and invaded the group about him.
Rodrigo, who had stepped politely aside to let her pass to his
friend, was struck at once with her. In spite of the pallor with
which office work had bleached her fair complexion, she was
beautiful. Silken blond hair arranged skillfully around her
well-shaped head, large, expressive blue eyes, lips that were
innocent of rouge--all this feminine daintiness contrasted with the
brisk, business-like manner in which she walked and the crisp tones
of her voice.
"Has anyone told you how wonderful you're looking, John?" she asked.
"Your trip has done you good."
"Do you really think so, Mary?" he replied. "I suppose you've got
work a mile high piled upon my desk." This last was to tease her,
for he knew she would have his desk as clear as the glass in the
show-window outside. Then he remembered Rodrigo and said, "This is
my very efficient secretary and assistant, Miss Mary Drake."
She was so thoroughly a creature of business that, in a spirit of
mischief, Rodrigo took her hand and kissed it in the continental
fashion. She gave him such a searching look for his pains as he
straightened up that he actually flushed a little. The blue eyes had
gone cold for an instant. They resumed their warmth as she seemed to
have satisfied herself that his action had been simply his natural
mannerism. John, whom the by-play had secretly amused, continued,
"Count Torriani is an expert on Italian art, ancient and modern. He
is also a very good friend of mine. He is to join us here and help
us out." John was anxious that his two friends should get along well
together. Knowing Mary, he had no fears that Rodrigo's good looks
would impair her efficiency in the slightest. Indeed it would be
better for Mary, John had sometimes thought, if something did come
into her life to divert her mind a bit from the hard, monotonous
business pace she set herself. Dorning added, "If you'll show Count
Torriani into my office, Mary, and answer questions for him, I'll
talk with Mr. Madison."
On the way to the polished mahogany door under the balcony, Rodrigo
ventured a perfunctory remark to her about the attractiveness of the
establishment. Intent upon rearranging the papers in her hand, Mary
gave no indications of hearing him. The Italian shrugged his
shoulders, a trifle annoyed. He took advantage of her preoccupation
to examine the soft profile of her neck as it disappeared under her
fluffy light brown tresses. It was perfect, he decided. What was
this America anyway, where girls as potentially beautiful as this
were allowed to bury themselves in offices and cultivate a brisk
twang in their speech and suspicion of every man who looked at them
as if they were human? He gravely held the door open for her. She
sat down in the big arm-chair in front of the massive glass-topped
desk. He took the visitor's chair beside the desk, crossing his
carefully creased trouser-legs and foraging in his silver case for a
cigarette.
"Pardon," he said, "may I smoke?"
She looked up from the papers to ask colorlessly, "Why not?"
He inhaled deeply, blew the smoke toward the ceiling, and, leaning
slightly toward her, offered, "You know, I was rather afraid I was
going to be lonely in America. I had no idea I was to meet a girl
like you so quickly."
She colored a little and said, with affected innocence, "I don't
understand. Mr. Dorning said he was your friend. You will not be
lonesome. He will introduce you to many nice people, I'm sure.
Besides, you have been in America before, haven't you? You must know
people here."
"What makes you think so?"
"You are an Italian and you speak English without the trace of an
accent."
"Thank you, but one does not have to come to America to learn to
speak English. In fact, quite the reverse, many say. It happens
that my mother was English, and I am an Oxford man. However, you are
right. I have been in America once before."
She had resumed checking the papers, placing them one by one, after a
close scrutiny, into the box marked "Outgoing Mail." Rodrigo tried
his luck once more on the intimate tack, "Are you fond of the
theatre, Miss Drake?"
The look she gave him could not have been construed as friendly.
"Yes," she replied. "I go quite often--with my mother." And she
returned to her paper with renewed concentration.
After a few moments of silence, Rodrigo rose and pretended a sudden
interest in the pictures adorning the office wall. Every now and
then he stole a glance back at her bent head. He did not like to
admit to himself that he had made no more impression upon this pretty
girl than as if he were the chair upon which he had been sitting.
He had hardly resumed his seat when John Dorning and Madison appeared
at the door of the office, still talking earnestly together. Madison
eyed the scene within, showing the well groomed and handsome Italian
edging his chair nearer to Mary Drake and evidently trying to become
better acquainted with her. The manager glanced significantly at
Dorning. What met his eye seemed to confirm his belief as to the
demoralizing effect of foreigners. John laughed and patted Madison's
shoulder, terminating their interview, and Madison walked off.
"Well, have you told Rodrigo all about our business?" Dorning asked
his secretary, smiling.
"Count Torriani did not ask me about the business," she replied,
rising and making a movement to retire to her own little private
office that adjoined Dorning's at the rear. Rodrigo grinned. The
girl had a tongue.
Mary walked briskly over to her own sanctum and closed the door
behind her.
"Rodrigo, I want you to be good friends with Miss Drake," John said
gravely in a confidential voice. "She has this whole business at her
finger tips--a remarkable girl in every way. Good as gold. She can
smooth the way for you here better than anyone else can. Everybody
likes and respects her and will be strong for anybody she sponsors.
There is no nonsense about Mary Drake. She is all business."
"But, John," Rodrigo asked, genuinely puzzled, "you called her 'Mary'
out there. Is that the custom with employers and their secretaries
over here?"
"Mary isn't merely my secretary," Dorning explained. "Her family and
ours were old friends in the days when--well, when her father had his
money. He lost it in Wall Street just before he died, and Mary had
to go to work to support herself and her mother. It was pretty
tough. She was seventeen at the time and had always had everything.
Dad gave her a job here after she got out of business school. She
was an art student before she studied stenography. I believe she
keeps up her art lessons at night still. She has a natural aptitude
for this line of work, and she is invaluable to me here. If anything
happened to Mary, I don't know what I'd do."
Rodrigo wondered if Dorning was in love with this girl.
The entrance of a somewhat distraught clerk, bearing in his hand a
slender porcelain vase, interrupted the conversation. The clerk
approached Dorning diffidently and, somewhat embarrassed, said, "Mrs.
Porter Palmer is out there, Mr. Dorning. She is interested in this
vase, but she has some doubts that it is a genuine Menotto. I have
assured her that it is, and she, of course, knows the reputation of
our house. But she has learned that you have returned, and she says
she must see you in person about the vase."
Dorning restrained, in front of the clerk, his real feelings at this
news and replied, "Tell Mrs. Palmer I'll be with her directly." To
Rodrigo, when the clerk had departed with the dignified
unobtrusiveness characteristic of Dorning and Son clerks, John
exclaimed, "Oh, bother Mrs. Porter Palmer! She's a fussy society
dowager with more money and time than she knows what to do with. She
is a good customer of ours, but a frightful nuisance. She knows my
father socially, and she thinks that puts us all under obligations to
her. Come along out with me, Rodrigo--perhaps you can impress her
with your knowledge of Italian art. You'll have to meet her sooner
or later anyway."
The ample and elaborately gowned form of Mrs. Porter Palmer was
draped upon a chair that seemed rather too fragile to support the
weight imposed upon it. She was tapping her expensively shod foot
impatiently and answering the polite clerk in irritated monosyllables
as John and Rodrigo came up to her.
"Ah, Mrs. Palmer, I'm glad to see you again." John smiled and shook
hands. "May I present my friend, Count Torriani, who is to be
associated with us here?"
Mrs. Porter Palmer's face brightened at once. The title had made a
decided impression, as did the aristocratic appearance of Rodrigo and
the suave manner in which he kissed her hand. Her tone was almost
apologetic as she said to John, "I didn't intend to make a fuss about
this vase. But it is such a little thing and you are asking such a
tremendous price. I want to make sure it is genuine."
Without a word Dorning took the vase from the clerk's hand and
transferred it to Rodrigo's. "Count Torriani knows Italian antiques
perfectly," he explained.
Rodrigo could see at a glance the worth of the gracefully moulded
porcelain, But he went through the motions of examining it
critically. "I can assure you it is the work of the elder Menotto,
and very rare," he gave his verdict. "I have the exact companion
piece to this one at home in Italy."
"Really?" beamed Mrs. Palmer. She would have taken his word for
anything at that moment. She was a fussy old _grande dame_ who made
a specialty of collecting young men and old art treasures.
"Then I shall have to take it, of course. Send it to my home, young
man," she shrilled to the clerk. "You know the address."
Having concluded the business of the vase, she seemed loathe to
depart from this very interesting-looking new find--an Italian Count,
no less! John had moved away, and she kept chattering on to Rodrigo
in her peculiarly irritating, metallic voice, bent upon leading the
conversation into more personal channels. Rodrigo, who didn't mind
for that moment being bored, led her on gently. It was fifteen
minutes before she glanced at the large diamond-and-platinum watch
upon her ample wrist and exclaimed in shocked surprise. "My
goodness, I'm due at Pierre's for lunch this instant. I hope I may
have the pleasure of entertaining you soon at my home, Count
Torriani. I have one of the finest art collections in New York, and
I think you'll be interested in seeing it."
He accompanied her politely to the door and assured her that he
looked forward with eager anticipation to any invitations she might
be kind enough to extend to him.
John congratulated him dryly when they were together again. "You
have made your first sale, Rodrigo," he rallied his friend, "and to
one of our best and most difficult customers. I feel that you are
going to be a great success."
Rodrigo, happening to look in the direction of John's office, saw
Mary Drake, having donned a plain but attractive hat and severely cut
tailored coat over her navy blue business suit, advance toward the
door on her way to luncheon. She smiled at John. For Rodrigo she
had a friendly but reserved nod. He wondered if he really was going
to prove a great success with the particular part of Dorning and Son
that was Mary Drake.