EVERYBODY PLOTS
“May I come in?”
Nan Lockhart hardly paused for permission to enter Fanny’s room, so
accustomed was she to share intimately with her friend most of her
possessions, including rooms. Therefore she followed her knock and
question with her entrance--and paused upon the threshold with a boyish
whistle of surprise not unmixed with derision.
Fanny turned away from the long mirror with a little laugh. “Well, how
do you like me in it?” she inquired.
“Oh, you’re stunning, of course,” Nan admitted. “Trying on all the
different forms of war service, to see which is most becoming? You’ll
let that decide it, of course?”
“Certainly, Miss Cynic! And why not? Shouldn’t a girl make the most of
herself, under all conditions?”
Fanny had donned a white blouse and skirt, white shoes and stockings,
and had pinned a white towel about her head. She had even gone to
the trouble of cutting out a small red cross and fastening it upon
the front of her head-gear. The towel did not entirely cover her
hair; engaging ringlets showed themselves about her small ears. She
resembled a fascinating young nun except that in her eyes danced a most
unconventional wickedness.
“This is merely stage play, I suppose?” Nan questioned dryly. “You’ve
no possible thought of offering your services, in towels or out of
them?”
Fanny Fitch swung herself up to the footboard of her bed, and sat
there, swinging her pretty feet. She smiled at her friend disarmingly;
but Nan did not disarm under the smile.
“You’re the most distrustful creature I ever knew, Nancy Lockhart.
Don’t you think I could get away with the nursing proposition? Smooth
the fevered brow, and count the throbbing pulse, and charm the
disordered brain back to sanity and calm? Read aloud to----”
“And wade around in floods of gore, and scrub the floor of the
operating room, and keep on working when your back aches like fury, and
get about four hours’ sleep out of twenty-four? Wear your white uniform
with the ward below fifty degrees--and zero outside? Game, are you,
Fanny?”
“Bless my soul!--how terribly technical you sound! What do you know
about it all?”
“More than you do, I’ll wager. I’ve been reading about an American girl
who has been in it for two years already. She ‘_wears the rue--with a
difference_,’ methinks, Fanny.”
“Oh, well--I’ve got to get in it somehow,” announced the wearer of the
pseudo-uniform frankly. “Because, you know, my friend Robert Black is
going, and I can’t think with serenity of the wide Atlantic rolling
between us. Of course there’s just one way I’d like to go, and maybe
I’ll achieve that yet.” Her eyes sparkled. “Ye gods, but wouldn’t that
be great! What’ll you wager I go--that way?”
“What way?”
“As his--well--” Fanny seemed to be enjoying herself intensely--“as
his comrade-at-arms, you know--meaning, of course, his--comrade _in_
arms. Oh-h!”--she gave the exclamation all the dramatic force it could
hold, drawing it out with an effect of ecstasy--“Think of walking
away with Robert McPherson Black from under the very eyes of his
congregation--and of the demure but intriguing Jane!” And she threw
both arms wide in a gesture of abandon, then clasped them across her
breast, slipped down from the footboard, and fell at Nan’s feet,
looking up at her with beseeching eyes and an utter change of aspect.
“Oh, please, my dearest dear, don’t put any spokes in my wheel! Let
me just imagine I’m doing something to bridge the chasm--the enormous
chasm between us. It’s a frightful thing to be so deeply, darkly,
desperately in love as I am--and then to see your hero absorbed in
plans to take himself away from you, out of your world, with never a
look behind!”
“Fanny!”
“Oh, but I’ll _make_ him look behind--I will--I will! I’ll turn those
rapt black eyes of his back to the earth, earthy--or to the United
States, United States-y--and to Fanny Fitch. And--I’ll keep Jane Ray
home if I have to put poison in her food.”
“Fanny, get up!” Nan reached down and shook her friend’s shoulders.
“What on earth is the matter with you? Have you gone crazy?”
“I think so.” Fanny buried her head in Nan’s skirts, clasping her arms
about the other’s waist. “Raving crazy. I met Mr. Black on the street
just now. He was rushing along with his wagon hitched to a star, by
the look of him. He didn’t even see me till he all but ran into me. Of
course I had put myself in his way. Then he snatched off his hat, asked
pardon and how I was, all in the same breath--as if I had been one of
his very oldest old ladies--and got away like a catapult. He was going
in the direction of the station, I admit, but that wouldn’t reasonably
have prevented his exchanging a few friendly words with me. Oh, I can
stand anything--anything--but having a man not even see me!”
“So I should judge, my dear, from past experience,” Nan commented,
grimly. She had put her arms rather reluctantly about Fanny, however;
it was impossible not to see that something, at least, of this
hysteria was caused by real feeling, if amazingly undisguised. She
was quite accustomed to Fanny’s self-revelations, and entirely used
to taking them without seriousness. But in the present instance her
sympathies were supplemented by her understanding of how it might be
quite possible for a girl to lose her head over Robert Black without
his being in the least responsible by personal word or deed. She now
endeavoured to apply a remedy to the situation.
“Fanny,” she said, “Mr. Black isn’t thinking about anything just now
but war, and how to get across. He has lost those fine young nephews,
whom he expected to have come here when the war was over, and his
mind is full of them. He hasn’t a corner of his attention to give to
women--any woman----”
“I’ve met him twice in the last week coming out of Jane Ray’s. Of
course Cary was with him one of the times, and Doctor Burns the
other--but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t been confabbing with Jane.
He’s wise as a serpent, but I’m not at all sure he’s harmless as a
dove--he’s much too clever to be seen paying attentions to any of us.
He’s always with some man--you can’t get at him. And when he comes
here he has Tom hanging round him every minute. Of course I know Tommy
wants to keep him away from me--but he appears to want to be kept
away, so I can’t so much as get a chance. If I could---- But--I _will_!”
Fanny sat back on her heels, wiping away a real tear with the corner of
her towel.
“Of course you will, if you set out to do it. But--be careful, my dear.
Robert Black can’t be taken by storm.”
“That’s the one way he can be taken. I might plot and plan forever
to make an impression on him in the ordinary ways--he’s steel proof,
I think, against those. The only way to get his attention is the way
this war has got it--by shot and shell. If I can just somehow be badly
wounded and fall down in his path, he’ll--stoop and pick me up. And if
he once finds me in his arms----”
“Oh, Fanny, Fanny! For heaven’s sake don’t try to play a game with
him!” Nan spoke sternly. She removed herself by a pace or two from
her friend, and stood aloof, her dark brows drawing together. “I know
you’re a born actress and can assume any part you like. That may be
well enough in ordinary times--though I doubt it--but not in times like
these. Don’t go to war to play the old game of hitting hearts. You’re
not going to war--I know that--but don’t pretend you want to. It isn’t
fair. This thing is one of life or death, and that’s what’s taking
men like Doctor Burns and Mr. Black into it. They’ll have no use for
anybody who doesn’t offer himself, body and soul. That’s what Jane Ray
is doing--but not you, you know. You just want--to marry a man.”
“Oh, but you’re hard!” Fanny got to her feet, moved over to the window
and stood looking out, the picture of unhappiness. “Jane Ray, indeed!
How does it happen you believe in her so fast? Why isn’t she playing a
game, too?--Of course she is. But because her hair is smooth and dark,
and her manner so sweetly poised, you take her at her own valuation.
She’s clever as Satan, and she’ll put it over, I suppose. But why,
just because I’m of a different type, I must be forever accused of
acting----”
“My dear--I’m taking _you_ at your own valuation. Haven’t you explained
to me exactly the part you intend to play--getting badly wounded and
falling down in Robert Black’s path----”
“You’re so intensely literal!” Fanny spoke bitterly. “Heaven knows it
will be no acting if I do get wounded. I’m wounded now--to the heart.
And if I fall down in his path it’ll be because I can’t stand up. Last
Sunday, when he stood there under the colours--who _wouldn’t_ have
wanted him? Why, even you--” she turned to look full at Nan, with her
reddened eyes searching Nan’s grave face--“it wouldn’t take an awful
lot of imagination to put you in the same class with me, in spite of
that wonderful grip you always keep on yourself. Honestly, now, can you
tell me you wouldn’t marry him, if he asked you?”
Annette Lockhart was not of those who turn scarlet or pale under
cross-examination. Moreover, she was the daughter of Samuel Lockhart
and had from him the ability to keep close hold of her emotions.
She was entirely accustomed to facing down Fanny Fitch when she did
not choose to reveal herself to her. Nevertheless, it may have cost
her the effort of her life to answer neither too vehemently nor too
nonchalantly this highly disconcerting question.
“You certainly must be a little mad to-day, my dear girl. Just because
you are so hard hit, don’t go to fancying that the woods are full of
the slain. I like Mr. Black very much, but I’m not a case for the
stretcher-bearers--nor likely to be. And just now I’m wanting so much
to go myself, and know I can’t possibly, because Tom will, and Father
and Mother couldn’t face our both going at once.”
Fanny began suddenly to get out of her white apparel. “I’m going
round to see Jane Ray,” she announced, with one of the characteristic
impulses to whose expression Nan was well used. “It’s best to make
friends with the enemy in this case, I think. And possibly I may meet
Robert Black--coming out or going in under cover of a man friend. In
that case I may receive one casual glance from His Eminence which will
complete my undoing for to-day. That will surely be worth while.” She
laughed unhappily.
Half an hour afterward she walked into Jane Ray’s shop. Her eyes were
red no longer, her colour was charming, her manner was composed. When
Jane was at liberty Fanny discussed “pie-crust” tables with her,
declaring her intention to present something of the sort to Mrs.
Lockhart.
“I’ve made such a terribly long visit,” she explained, “and still they
urge me to stay on. Of course it’s wonderful for me--with my mother
so far away. But I shall only stay till I can find out where to offer
myself--if mother will just say I may go. Poor dear, she has such a
horror of war--she may make it difficult for me. Meanwhile--I want to
take every possible step, so I can have every argument to meet her
with. If I could only go with someone--some other girl--she might feel
differently about it.”
“Yes, I should think that might help it,” Jane agreed. Her dark eyes
met Fanny’s lustrous blue ones across the group of tables they had been
considering. She was very much on her guard now wherever Miss Fitch
was concerned. The problem of the friendship between Nan Lockhart, whom
Jane couldn’t help liking and thoroughly trusting, and Fanny Fitch,
whom she could somehow neither like nor trust, was one which she had as
yet found no means of solving. Also, Cary’s sudden and intense interest
in Fanny had set his sister to studying the girl with new acuteness.
Thus far she seemed to Jane all actress; it was becoming increasingly
difficult not to suspect her constantly of being other than she seemed.
“And yet we all act, more or less,” Jane said to herself honestly.
“I’m acting this very minute, myself. I’m playing the part of one who
is only politely interested in what she means to do, while I’m really
crazily anxious that she shall not do certain things which involve Cary
and me.”
“I wonder if you would trust me with any of your own plans,” Fanny
said, engagingly. “I can’t help knowing that you mean to go, and I’m
sure you must have much real knowledge that I’m ignorant of. Is nursing
the only thing a girl can do? You’re not trained for that, are you?
Forgive me--I’m not just curious, you know--I’m tremendously serious.”
“My plans aren’t fully worked out,” Jane answered. “I have enough
training to go as nurse’s assistant, under the Red Cross.”
“Oh, have you? How wonderful! Could I get that, do you suppose?
I’m really a terribly quick study--I used to cram any amount of
stuff in the forty-eight hours before an exam, and get away with
it. If I could--oh, Miss Ray--would it be possible--would you be
willing--_could_ you consider letting me go with you?”
Jane looked into the sea-blue eyes which were looking so appealingly
into her own. “Yes,” she said to herself again, “I can see exactly how
you do it. That look is absolutely irresistible--just angel-sweet and
full of sincerity. I wish I could trust you--I really wish I could. But
somehow--I can’t. Something inside me says that you don’t mean it--you
don’t--you’re not genuine. You’ve some stake you’re playing for--you
don’t care a copper cent about helping over there. How am I going to
deal with you?”
It’s odd, isn’t it? How do we do it--how do we keep up this double
discussion, one with our lips, the other with our thoughts? Jane and
Fanny went into the matter rather thoroughly, talking with entire
friendliness of manner about possible courses to be followed, sources
of information to be consulted; and all the time the things they both
were thinking ran so far ahead in volume and in direction of the things
they were saying that there could be no comparison between the two.
Both were much too well trained in worldly wisdom to allow the smallest
particle of personal antagonism to show in word or manner, and yet as
the talk proceeded each became more and more aware that there was and
could be no sympathy or openness between them.
And then Cary came dashing into the shop, and seeing Fanny pounced
upon her and bore her away with him for a walk, vowing he should so
soon be gone he must make the most of every opportunity. Jane looked
after them as they went, wishing heartily that the day would come
quickly when Cary would be off and away. His plans were rapidly taking
shape; his old newspaper, after a searching interview with him and a
series of inquiries directed toward establishing the thoroughness of
his reformation, had made him a sort of probational offer which he had
accepted with mingled glee and resentment.
“They’ll send me, only with all kinds of conditions attached which I’d
never accept if I weren’t so wild to go. But they’ll see--I’ll show
them. Just let me send back one rattling article from the real front,
and they’ll be wiring to tie me up to the thing for the duration of the
war.” Thus he had exultantly prophesied to his sister, and to Robert
Black, and to Red, and they had agreed that it was certainly up to him.
He had his chance--the chance to retrieve himself completely; they
were all three concernedly eager to see him safely off upon his big
adventure.
He was so excited about it, so restless, so impatient for the call
which had been virtually promised him for an early date, that they felt
constrained to watch him carefully. Without knowing exactly why, none
of these three friends quite liked to see him often with Fanny Fitch.
Jane herself was unwilling to appeal to Fanny, or to give her even a
vague idea of his past weakness; she now saw them go away together with
an uneasy feeling that she wished it hadn’t happened.
An hour later Cary telephoned that he wouldn’t be back for dinner;
he would take it in town, he said--he had some equipment to look
up. He might be back late--Jane was not to sit up for him. He said
nothing about Miss Fitch, but Jane’s instant conviction was that
the two were dining together. Probably they would go to the theatre
afterward and come out on a late local. Well, what of it? Fanny was
no schoolgirl to need chaperonage; there was nothing in this program
to disturb anybody. But Jane was disturbed. Suppose--well, suppose
Fanny were the sort of girl who didn’t object to having a cocktail--or
a glass of champagne--or both--at a hotel dinner alone with a man?
What would companionship on that basis do for Cary, just now? She
had no reason to suppose that Miss Fitch was that sort of girl, and
yet--somehow--she felt that the chances were in favour of her being
precisely that sort of girl. Nan Lockhart’s friend--wasn’t that voucher
enough? Still, friends didn’t always know each other as well as they
supposed they did. And Fanny, ever since she had dressed the part of
the French actress with such fidelity to fact, had seemed to Jane an
over-sophisticated young woman who wouldn’t much mind what she did,
so that she drew men’s eyes and thoughts to herself. Excitement--that
was what Fanny wanted, Jane was sure. An excellent chance for it, too,
dining with a brilliant young war-correspondent, himself keyed to high
pitch over his near future. And if the play chanced to be----
A certain recollection leaped into Jane’s brain. She went hurriedly to
the back of the shop for the city daily, and scanned a column of play
offerings. Yes, there it was--she remembered seeing it, and Cary’s
laughing reference to it at the breakfast table that morning, coupled
with the statement that he meant to see it. The play was one of the
most noted dramatic successes of the season, its star one famous
for her beauty and sorcery, and not less than infamous for the even
artistically unjustifiable note she never failed to strike, its lines
and scenes the last word in modern daring. A great play for a man and
woman to see together, with wine before and after! And Cary could not
safely so much as touch his lips to a glass of the most innocent of
the stimulants without danger to that appetite of his which was as
yet only scotched, not slain. If anything happened _now_ to wreck his
plans--what confidence in him, what hope of him, could be again revived?
After all, perhaps Jane was borrowing trouble. The pair might have had
only the walk they went for, Cary afterward taking the train for town
alone. On the impulse--what did it matter whom she offended if she
saved her brother from his great temptation?--she went to the telephone
and called up the Lockhart residence. Was Miss Fitch in? The answer
came back promptly: Miss Fitch was not in. She had not left word when
she would be in, but it was likely that she had gone into town, as she
had spoken of the possibility.
Jane hung up the receiver with a heavy heart. Perhaps her imagination
was running away with her--she hoped it was. But the conviction grew
upon her that part, if not all, of her supposition was likely to prove
true. Fanny Fitch might be quite above the kind of thing Jane was
imputing to her; it might be that Cary himself, aware of the danger to
his whole future of one false step now, would be too thoroughly on his
guard to take one smallest chance. Hotel lobbies and cafés were always
the meeting places of newspaper men; he might easily be recognized by
some man who knew that he was upon probation; Cary understood this
perfectly; he would take care to run no risk. Would he?
Jane looked up the train schedule. Then she dressed carefully, locked
the shop, took the earliest train which would get her to town, and
tried to make plans on the way. As to just what she meant to do she
was not clear. If no other way presented she felt that she must get
hold of Fanny herself and warn her of Cary’s susceptibilities and the
consequences of any weakening at this hour of his life. And then what?
Was there that in Fanny to be counted on?
All the way she was wishing for Robert Black! Just what he could do
she had no idea; that he would somehow find a way she was certain. But
it was small use wishing. The next best thing would be to come upon
Red Pepper Burns, and this seemed not impossible, because he was daily
to be found in this city of which his own town was the suburb; he did
most of his operating at one of its hospitals. What Red might do in the
emergency she could hardly imagine, either--but she was equally sure
that he would cut across all obstacles to force Cary out of possible
danger.
To what hotel would Cary take Fanny? She could be pretty sure of
this--it was one at the moment highly popular with the sociably
inclined younger element of the city, as well as with the floating
class who pick out a certain pronounced type of hostelry wherever
they may go. Rather more than moderately high prices, excellent food,
superlatively good music, a management astute beyond the average--plus
a general air of prosperity and good fellowship--this makes the place
for the gathering of the clans who love what they call a good time, and
who have in their pockets--for the hour, at least--the money to pay for
it.
Jane left her train in haste, crossed the big waiting-room with quick
glances to right and left in search of a possible encounter, and at
the outer door ran full upon someone she had not been looking for
but at sight of whom a light of relief leaped into her face. Mrs.
Redfield Pepper Burns stood close beside the door, evidently waiting
for someone. Instantly Jane’s decision was made. She did not know Mrs.
Burns nearly as well as she did the red-headed doctor, but she knew
her quite well enough to take counsel with her, sure that she would
understand and help.
“Mrs. Burns,”--Jane spoke rapidly and low--“please forgive me for
bothering you with my affairs. I may be borrowing trouble, but I am
anxious about my brother. I think he is dining in town to-night at the
Napoleon, and may be going to a play. He is with Miss Fitch, I believe,
and I’m afraid she doesn’t understand that--just now--he mustn’t
take--any sort of stimulant. Doctor Burns understands--perhaps you do,
too--or will, from my telling you this much. I wish--would it be too
much?--to ask you to stay and have dinner with me at the Napoleon, and
perhaps join Miss Fitch and Cary--or ask them to join us? I can’t think
just what else to do.”
She had always deeply admired Ellen Burns; now, quite suddenly, she
found herself loving her. One long look from the beautiful black
eyes, one firm pressure from the friendly hand, the sound of the low,
warm-toned voice in her ear, and she knew that she had enlisted a true
friend.
“My dear--just let me think. I believe we can do even better than
that.” A minute of silence followed, then Mrs. Burns went on: “My
husband and Mr. Black are staying in together, to meet a quite
famous man from abroad. They were to have dinner together first
at----Wait--I’ll not stop to explain--Let me leave a message here, and
then we’ll take a cab and run back up there. I’ve only just left them.”
In the cab, five minutes later, Mrs. Burns worked out her quickly
conceived idea.
“We’ll find my husband and Mr. Black, go to dinner at the Napoleon,
and ask your brother and Miss Fitch to join us. Once Red knows the
situation he will find a way to get Mr. Ray off with them to meet the
famous one, and you and I will take Miss Fitch to the play. What is on
to-night?” She drew her lovely brows together. “Not--oh, not that very
unpleasant Russian thing?--Yes? Oh, we’ll find something else--or go
to a charming violin recital I had half intended to stay in for. Don’t
be anxious, Miss Ray, we’ll work it out. And what we can’t think of
Robert Black will--he’s quite wonderfully resourceful.”
Hours afterward, when, well towards morning, Jane closed her eyes and
tried to sleep, her mind refused to give her anything to look at but
a series of pictures, like scenes in a well-staged play. Certain ones
stood out, and the earliest of these showed Mrs. Burns crossing a quiet
reception room to lay one hand on her husband’s arm, while her eyes
met frankly first his questioning gaze and then that of Robert Black.
Nothing could have been simpler than her reasonable request of them.
Might they change their plans a bit, now that she had found Miss Ray,
and all go over to the Napoleon to dinner, to find Miss Fitch and Mr.
Ray? The hazel eyes of Red Pepper Burns had looked deeply into his
wife’s at this--he saw plainly that she was definitely planning, with
a reason. He was well used to trusting her--he trusted her now. He
nodded. “Of course, dear,” he said.
Robert Black came to Jane. “I think I understand,” he said quietly.
“We’ll all stand by.”
They crossed the street together--Red went to interview the head
waiter. Within five minutes the four were being led to a table at
the very back of the room, close beside one of those small recesses,
holding each a table for two, which are among the Napoleon’s most
popular assets. And then Mrs. Burns, looking across into the recess,
had nodded and smiled, and spoken to her husband, and he had promptly
gone across, and invited the pair there to come over and be his guests.
Cary had turned violently red, and had begun to say stiffly and very
definitely that his order had gone in, and that it would be as well
not to change, thank you, when Robert Black came also into the recess,
bowing in his most dignified manner to Fanny Fitch. Somehow Jane Ray
had not known until that moment quite how much dignity he could assume.
“Ray,” he had said, in the other’s ear, “I imagine you haven’t heard
that Richard Temple is here to-night--on his way back. Couldn’t you
cut everything else and go with me to hear him? There won’t be such a
chance again before we get across. I’m sure Miss Fitch would excuse
you. It’s a smoker, arranged in a hurry. Nobody knew he was coming.”
Well, that made all the difference. Call it luck, call it what you
will, that the great war-correspondent, the greatest of them all up to
that time, a man whom Cary Ray would almost have given his right arm to
meet, was passing through the town that night. It had been another man,
more famous in a different line, an Englishman from a great university,
turned soldier, whom Black and Red had stayed in town to meet. But the
moment Black had discovered Jane’s anxiety and its cause he had leaped
at this solution. The correspondent’s coming was an accident owing to
a train detention--he had arrived unheralded, and the two men had but
just got wind of it. They had been saying, as Mrs. Burns and Jane came
to the hotel, that it was hard to have to choose between two such rich
events, and that they must look in on the smoker when the Englishman
had been heard. But now--Black had all at once but one purpose in the
world--to carry off Cary Ray to that smoker, and to stay beside him
till he was at home again. That Cary would drink no drop while he,
Robert, was beside him, was a thing that could be definitely counted on.
It is possible that no point of view, in relation to the remainder of
the evening, could be better worth study than that of Fanny Fitch.
Sitting on the foot of Nan Lockhart’s bed at two o’clock that morning,
she gave a dramatic account of what had happened. Nan, sleepy enough
at first, and indignant with Fanny for waking her, found herself wide
awake in no time.
“The perfectly calm and charming way in which Mrs. Burns simply
switched everything to suit Jane shows plainly what an intriguer that
girl is--precisely as I told you. Oh, yes--Doctor Burns asked us over,
and Robert Black fixed Cary for the war-correspondent affair, and
Jane sat there looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Both
she and Mrs. Burns seemed merely lovely, innocent creatures intent on
distributing good to everybody! But those men never would have thought
of taking Cary away from me if they hadn’t been put up to it; men never
conceive that sort of thing by themselves. That dinner--oh, how I hated
it! _Will_ you tell me why Cary Ray had to be pried loose from me, as
if I were some kind of vampire of the movie variety----”
“But really, Fanny, Richard Temple _is_ the one man in the world Cary
Ray ought not to miss hearing and meeting just now. It would mean such
a lot to him. And if he was only there that one evening----”
“Oh, I’ll admit that! But to hear Richard Temple Cary Ray didn’t have
to be moved over to the Burns table and put in a high chair and have
a bib tied round his neck! He was furious himself when the change was
proposed; then of course he went delirious at hearing that the Temple
man was in town, and forgot his fury. He had to cancel part of his
order--worse luck; Mrs. Burns is the sort who wouldn’t stand for iced
tea if it was served in a champagne glass!”
“Fanny! You don’t mean----Why, surely you’ve been told about Cary Ray.
You wouldn’t let him----”
“Good gracious, can’t the man stand alone by this time? He’s going
overseas--has he got to have a nurse along? What’s having one little
glass at a dinner with a girl like me compared with the things men
order when they’re alone together? He’d better stay home if he
isn’t----”
“Yes, but--just now, when he’s on trial, and he might so easily be held
back! And besides, Fanny--you’re not--you ought not----”
“Oh, don’t preach! Haven’t I been a very model of propriety? And am
I not going to keep right on being one, as long as there’s the least
chance of--getting what I want? You needn’t grudge me one little jolly
evening with a boy like Cary Ray, who comes nearer understanding the
sort of fire and flame I’m made of----”
Nan Lockhart lay back upon her pillow. “Fanny,” she said despairingly,
“the best thing you can do is to go to bed. When you begin to talk
about your temperament you make me want to give you a cold plunge and a
rub-down, and tie an ice-cap on your head. You’ve probably been saved
from helping Cary Ray make a fool of himself at a time when he can’t
afford to be a fool, and you’d better be thankful. How you can imagine
that a thing like that would help you to find a place in Robert Black’s
good graces----”
“Oh, it’s gentle Jane who’s ace-high with him just now, of course!”
Fanny pulled the hairpins out of her hair with vicious twitches,
letting the whole gleaming fair mass fall upon the white silk of the
luxurious little garment in which she had enveloped herself before
coming to Nan’s room. “He’s the sort who was born to rescue the fallen,
and serve the anxious and troubled. He acted like a regular knight to
Jane--not that he said much to her, but one could see. He was very nice
to me--too nice. I’d much prefer the Jane-brand of his chivalry--sort
of an I’ll-stand-in-front-of-you-and-take-the-blows effect. And when
he went off with Cary and Doctor Burns, and I was left with those two
women creatures----”
“My dear, I can’t let you keep speaking of Mrs. Burns that way. She’s
one of the finest, sweetest----”
“She’s a peach!” said Fanny, unexpectedly. “I admit I’ve nothing
against Mrs. Burns except that she took me to a dismal violin recital
when I’d awfully wanted to see a perfectly ripping play Cary had
tickets for.”
“Not----”
Fanny nodded. “Of course--why not, Miss Prudy? I didn’t mind that so
much, though. The thing I minded was Jane Ray’s sleekness. She makes me
think of one of those silky black cats with yellow eyes----”
But here Nan Lockhart sat up in bed, fire in her own steel-gray eyes.
“Fanny Fitch, that’s enough!” she said, with low distinctness. “Jane
Ray is my friend.”
“I thought _I_ was! This is so sudden!” And quite unexpectedly, even
to herself, Fanny Fitch began to cry, with long, sobbing breaths. Nan
slipped out of bed, pulled on a loose gown hanging over its foot, and
laid hold of Fanny.
“Come!” she commanded, firmly. “I’m going to put you to bed and give
Nature a chance to restore those absurd nerves of yours. You don’t want
Cary Ray, you can’t have Robert Black, and you might just as well give
in and take that perfectly good lover of yours who has been faithful to
you all these years. He adores you enough to put up with the very worst
of you, and he ought to be rewarded with the best of you. You know
absolutely that you’d be the most miserable girl in the world married
to a man of Mr. Black’s type----”
Fanny drew a deep sigh, her head on Nan’s long-suffering shoulder.
“It’ll not be my fault if I don’t have a try at that sort of misery,”
she moaned. “And I’ll do it yet, see if I don’t! I know a way!--Oh,
yes! I know a way! Wait and see!”
Nan Lockhart saw her finally composed for sleep, her fair head looking
like a captivating cameo against her pillow, her white arms meekly
crossed upon her breast. Fanny looked up at her friend, her face once
more serene.
“Don’t I look good enough now for just anybody?” she murmured.
“You look like a young stained-glass angel,” Nan replied, grimly.
“But--since you were so unjust as to compare Jane Ray to a silky
_black_ cat I’ll tell you that just now you make me think of----”
“I know--a sleepy white one--with a saucer of cream near by.
Good-night--saint! I don’t deserve you, but--I love you just the same.
And I dare you to tell me you don’t love me!”
“I’ll take no dares of yours to-night. Go to sleep--and please let me,
even if you don’t.” And Nan went away and closed the door.
Back in her own room, when she was once more lying alone in the dark,
Nan said to herself, with a sigh deeper than any Fanny Fitch had ever
drawn in all her gay young life: “What a queer thing it is to be able
to wear one’s heart on one’s sleeve like that--and not even mind much
when the daws peck at it!”