They dined at a little French restaurant just off Madison Avenue. In
this quiet atmosphere of good food, simple furnishings and honest
citizens and their wives and sweethearts, with Mary pleased and very
pretty opposite him, Elise Van Zile fled very far into the distance.
Rodrigo had banned all talk of business for the evening. He wanted
Mary to tell him about herself, he said. This violated a little the
embargo against shop talk, for Mary's interests it developed, lay
almost wholly in her mother's welfare and in schooling herself for an
executive position with Dorning and Son. She expressed regret that
she had never had the opportunity to travel abroad and visit the
great art centers of Europe. She seemed to believe that Rodrigo's
career, before joining Dorning and Son, had consisted of a rigid
course of training and later of travel with art battling with
occasional ladies in the foreground. He gently drew the conversation
around to a more personal basis. Almost pathetically anxious to make
a good impression upon her, he yet gently wished to disillusion her
regarding his past. Any other course would not be honorable. For
some day soon he hoped to tell her that he loved her.
They saw a very sprightly musical comedy together, a gay little show
in which a brother-and-sister dancing pair, who were the ruling rage
of the town, starred and gave an exhibition of spontaneous vivacity
and grace such as one seldom sees behind the footlights. The whole
entertainment was keyed to their joyous pitch, and, though the other
performances fell somewhat short of the pace set for them, the
impression left with the audience at the final curtain was such that
a congenial warmth seemed to envelop the outgoing throngs.
Rodrigo wisely did not suggest further tarrying amid the Broadway
lights, and, starting their long taxi ride back to Brooklyn, both
Mary and he were very cheerful and feeling very kindly indeed toward
each other and the world. And yet he did not make love to her,
though she sat as close to him as had Sophie Binner in a similar
taxi. There was a light in Mary's eye as she turned to him that he
was almost awed to see. As they drew up to her door, he told
himself, with thumping heart, that she would not resent it if he
kissed her. Yet he helped her from the taxi with almost too much
politeness and stood at the door of her rather antiquated brownstone
house as she slipped in her key.
"I would invite you in to meet my mother, Rodrigo," she said, "but
she is probably asleep. You will come some other time?"
"I would like to, Mary, very much," he replied.
He shook her hand and held it while she thanked him for a very nice
time. Then he turned, the door closed, and she was gone.
During the next few days he made no effort to press the advantage he
had won in establishing their relations upon a more personal basis.
Mary would not like him to, he knew, and he was desperately anxious
not to offend her. The affairs of Dorning and Son took him
continually into her presence, and he sensed a change in her attitude
toward him which she could not conceal. It made him very happy.
On Wednesday of that week, which was the first of June, a matter of
vast importance to Rodrigo, a matter of genuine pleasure to both
himself and the whole personnel of Dorning and Son, reached its
consummation. Rodrigo was made a partner in the firm.
Henry Dorning broke his long confinement at Greenwich by making the
trip into New York for the occasion. The papers had been drawn up by
Emerson Bates, and the meeting was held in the lawyer's offices, a
many-doored domain of thick carpets, glass-topped desks, soft-footed
clerks, and vast arsenals of thick books. It was a dignified,
congenial ceremony, having seemed to Rodrigo to have the effect of
being received into an ancient and honorable order, of becoming a
part of the Dorning family, as well as receiving stock in a very
lucrative business.
Henry Dorning, looking thinner and whiter than Rodrigo had ever
remembered him, but happy and keen-witted, signed the papers and
shook hands with his new partner.
"I know you are going to be an even greater asset to Dorning and Son
than ever now--in more ways than one," he said, and Rodrigo wondered
if the significance of his remark lay in the promise made to broaden
John Dorning. Well, there was the tea to Elise Van Zile and her aunt
to-morrow. John had promised to be there. Rodrigo had been trying
not to look forward to that occasion.
Later in the day, Henry Madison, gray-haired manager of Dorning and
Son, whom Rodrigo had learned to respect for his vast knowledge of
his job, sought out the new member of the firm, congratulated him,
and said cordially, "I am mighty glad about this, Rodrigo. I confess
now I was a bit dubious about you when you first came here. Damned
narrow-mindedness, that's all. I've long since changed my mind, and
I don't know of a man I'd rather be working for than you."
"And I don't know of anybody I'd rather have say those nice things to
me than you, Mr. Madison," Rodrigo replied. This was not quite true,
for a few minutes previously he had been congratulated by Mary Drake.
The next afternoon he reluctantly left an accumulation of work to fly
up to the apartment and supervise for the last few minutes the
efforts of Mrs. Brink, the housekeeper who worked part-time for John
and him, to prepare the place and the collation for the tea to Elise
Van Zile and her aunt. John had promised to come up within the next
half hour. Mrs. Brink, having arranged things to his satisfaction,
left, and Rodrigo had just completed a change in attire when the
telephone rang.
Mrs. Palmer's voice came over the wire. "Dear Count Torriani," she
almost quavered, "I have never felt so mortified and so sorry. I
should never have accepted your engagement for tea this afternoon.
It completely slipped my mind at the time that it was the date of the
Wounded Soldiers' Bridge and Bazaar at the Plaza. And--will you ever
forgive me?--I quite lost track of my engagement at your apartment
until just this minute. I am chairman of one of the Bazaar
committees, you see. And here I am at the Plaza, and, really, it
would be impossible to get away. Will you have mercy, dear Count
Torriani, and forgive me and invite me some other time?" The poor
old lady seemed on the verge of bursting into tears.
A great load was lifting from Rodrigo's mind, and he had difficulty
in restraining the relief in his voice. "Certainly, Mrs. Palmer.
Don't worry in the least. I shall miss the pleasure of your company,
and that of your niece, but we can easily make it some other time.
Don't put yourself to any inconvenience by leaving your friends. I
am not annoyed in the slightest."
He hung up the receiver and smiled into the mirror above the
telephone. The smile departed as the apartment bell rang. But then
he thought it must be John, who had doubtless mislaid his key.
Rodrigo walked over to the door and opened it.
"Am I late?" smiled Elise Van Zile, very beautiful and calm on the
threshold. "Has my aunt arrived yet?"
Rodrigo, concealing his feelings, bowed her in politely. "Please
come in. Mrs. Palmer hasn't come yet." He was puzzled, and both
happy and annoyed to see her.
When he had closed the door, she turned her dark face to him and gave
a short laugh of defiant geniality. "What is the use of pretending?
I have just come from the Plaza. I left my aunt as she was going to
telephone you that she wasn't coming. But the Bazaar is a frightful
bore, and I wasn't to be cheated out of my engagement with--your art
treasures. If you are displeased or shocked, please send me away at
once. But you aren't, are you?"
"Of course not," he replied almost too promptly. "Won't you sit
down?" She sank into John's favorite chair, and Rodrigo took a seat
away from her. Her quick eyes understood the precaution, and a
small, mocking glint beamed for a moment in their cool depths.
"Oh, please don't be so terribly polite with me," she chaffed. "It
doesn't become a man like you, and I don't especially fancy it." She
turned idly to a painting over the mantelpiece. "I see you have the
sign of your avocation continually before you."
His eyes followed hers. "You mean the prize fight? It is an
original by George Bellows, one of your few real American artists.
Poor chap, he died in his prime. But why my 'avocation'?"
"When I first met you--at the night club--you had just knocked some
poor person sprawling, if I remember rightly."
Rodrigo blushed.
She added significantly. "That is what first interested me in you.
I might otherwise consider you merely the usual effete foreign titled
gentleman. I adore strong men. I especially adore prize fights and
attend them whenever I have the chance." She leaned back
challengingly. "Now tell me that I am bold and and unfeminine."
"I think you're quite wonderful," he said with sudden emphasis, and
moved to a chair nearer to her. She leaned closer. Her mask-like
face softened, and she laid her thin, graceful fingers upon his
chair. She showed no signs of displeasure as he laid his hand upon
hers.
She had succeeded in moving him again. She knew now that she could
mold him to her wish, but she did not wish to do so quite yet. So
she professed to ignore his pressure upon her hand, and commented,
"This is an adorable place. You must be frightfully rich, if you
will pardon my vulgarity in mentioning it."
"I'm not rich," he said. "The place is Dorning's."
"Really?" She shot a quick glance at him and, involuntarily, made a
motion to withdraw her hand. "But the car outside is yours. I have
seen you driving it."
"That is Dorning's too." Her evident interest in this question of
money cooled his ardor somewhat, drew him back toward earth. He said
plainly, "Dorning has a couple of millions in his own name, but I
haven't a nickel, except what I earn by working hard every day."
She arose thoughtfully after a moment. As he rose to his feet also,
she swept him with admiring eyes. But her attitude had subtly
changed. She had ceased to wish him to make love to her.
"Your friend, Mr. Dorning--is he married?" she asked carelessly.
"No. He takes little interest in girls." She accepted a cigarette,
and he held the match for her. Lighting his own, he wondered swiftly
if such a glamorous lady would consider the quiet John Dorning worth
trying her charms upon. "I am expecting Mr. Dorning here at any
moment," he offered. It would be more amusing than anything else to
see her focus her alluring artillery upon his friend, he decided. He
had every confidence that she would find John impregnable.
"I shall be interested to meet a New York millionaire who is not
interested in girls," she said. Was there a challenge in her remark?
Rodrigo wondered. He was still considering the question when John
Dorning turned the key and walked hurriedly into the room, stopping
at the sight of the visitor.
Rodrigo introduced them.
"I had expected to meet my aunt, Mrs. Palmer, here, but she has not
arrived," Elise explained. "Of course I am leaving at once. I was
just saying good-bye to Count Torriani."
Astonishment and a tribute to her cleverness were written upon
Rodrigo's face. Her whole voice and manner had changed suddenly from
those of a virile sophisticated woman to a demure clinging vine,
humbly asking John not to misunderstand her. And she was boldly
counting upon Rodrigo for an ally. She was a superb actress. For
the first time since their acquaintance, Rodrigo saw John Dorning's
face light up with interest toward a woman other than his sister or
Mary Drake.
"I've just been admiring your perfectly wonderful place," she said
naïvely to John, flattering admiration in her eyes. "You have
furnished it so exquisitely. I am such a novice in the arts. You
must let me come to your galleries some day and have you enlighten
me."
To Rodrigo there was something uncanny and alarming in the way John
hung upon her words, stared at her. It was as if she had a different
method for fascinating every man she met, as if she had instinctively
sensed what no woman had hitherto discovered--a way to interest John
Dorning.
"I'd be tickled to death to have you visit our shop," Dorning
floundered.
"I've been fascinated by what Count Torriani has told me about it,"
she smiled gravely. "And I'm especially interested to meet the owner
of it all. And now, really, I must go."
"My car is outside," Dorning offered eagerly. "I--that is,
Rodrigo--will drive you home."
"Don't bother, please, either of you," she replied. "I'd be
frightened to ride with Count Torriani. He flashed by me the other
day so rapidly that he did not see me at all."
This, Rodrigo knew, was a prevarication. He had not driven a car in
any park anywhere since Elise Van Zile's arrival in New York.
"I know," Dorning laughed. "He does drive like a comet.
But--er--I'm a regular snail at the wheel. If Rodrigo doesn't
mind----"
"He doesn't," Rodrigo cut in rather sullenly.
John turned eagerly toward her, and she said gayly, "Very well, Mr.
Dorning, and you may drive just as slowly and carefully as you know
how."
"Fine," returned John. "We'll take a turn in the park on the way.
It's a wonderful afternoon." He hurried to open the door for her.
"Good afternoon, Count Torriani, the tea was delicious," she said
suavely, dark, ironic eyes upon his grave face. He glanced at the
undisturbed tea things upon the little taboret, shrugged his
shoulders, and bent over her hand. Vexed as he was with her, he
could not kiss her hand without feeling a little emotion within him.
He watched her disappear into the hall. To John Dorning, following
her, he called suddenly, "John, you'll need your hat, won't you?"
John shamefacedly returned for it. Rodrigo handed it to him with a
smile.
Rodrigo sank down into a comfortable chair, lighted a cigarette, and
thoughtfully poured himself a cup of the neglected tea.
It was an hour later that John returned, flushed by the wind and
something that had nothing to do with the elements. Rodrigo was
still in the chair, trying to read.
"You didn't mind my running off with Miss Van Zile?" John asked, with
a strange indication in his voice that he didn't care whether his
friend minded or not. He was excited, eager to confide.
"Not at all," returned Rodrigo, "but John----"
John had lighted a cigarette and was walking around the room. "She's
wonderful, isn't she, Rodrigo?" he said suddenly. "A very remarkable
and very beautiful girl. She's never been to New York before, she
says. She's frightened with the city, but eager to see the sights.
I've made several engagements with her to show them to her."
Rodrigo was silent.
John enthused on. "Rodrigo, if I fell in love, it would be with that
kind of a girl--frank, unspoiled, sweet and lovely. She has
something Eastern women utterly lack. They are all so sophisticated
and blasé. You could never imagine such a woman marrying me for my
money, for instance."
Rodrigo wondered if he was a coward. He ought to warn John that he
was playing with dynamite, that this girl was everything that his
friend thought she was not. But John was so utterly absorbed in her.
And he, Rodrigo, had promised Henry Dorning to show his son something
of worldly women. Here was John's opportunity to secure an
education. Probably with no serious results. Elise must be playing
with Dorning, and it couldn't last. She could have no serious
intentions toward John. He was exactly the opposite of the type of
man that interested her. Rodrigo, with no sense of self-flattery,
even suspected shrewdly that she had played up to John with the
object of making John's room-mate jealous.
And so, he decided, for the time being, that he would keep silent.