"'Love's double heartbeat'----" I began. But Peter stalked away,
muttering.
Carrie had left Roger, so I put down my cup and followed him to the
parapet of the terrace.
"Darling!" he said. And then, finding Peter was not with me: "How's it
going?"
"Cracking! They're all worried already."
"We've hardly started. Slip your arm through mine, Clara, and I'll hold
your hand. Dear little hand!" he said. "When I think that instead of
that ring----" Here he choked and kissed my hand. Then I saw that Harry
Delaney was just below the wall.
Carrie's voice broke in on our philandering.
"If," she said coldly, "you two people can be pried apart with a crowbar
for a sufficient length of time, we will motor to Bubbling Spring.
There's just time before dinner."
"I don't think I'll go, Carrie," I said languidly. "I have a headache
and Roger has just offered to read to me. Do you remember how you used
to cure my headaches, Roger?"
"I'd rather not talk about those days, Clara," said Roger in a shaky
voice.
"I wish you two people could see and hear yourselves!" Carrie cried
furiously, and turned on her heel.
"I guess that will hold her for a while," Roger purred. "Clara, you're
an angel and an inspiration. I haven't had such a good time since I had
scarlet fever."
Dinner, which should have been gay, was simply noisy. They were all
worried, and it is indicative of how Carrie had forgotten her pose and
herself that she wore her diamond necklace. Roger had been placed at the
other end of the table from me, but he slipped in and changed the cards.
There were half a dozen dinner guests, but Roger and I ate little or
nothing.
"Act as though the thought of food sickens you," I commanded.
"But I'm starving!"
"I'll have my maid take a tray into the garden later."
In spite of me he broke over at the entrée, which was extremely good.
But everyone saw that we were not eating. The woman on Roger's right, a
visitor, took advantage of a lull in the noise to accuse Roger of being
in love. Ida giggled, but Roger turned to his neighbour.
"I am in love," he said mournfully; "hopelessly, idiotically, madly,
recklessly in love."
"With any particular person?"
"With you," said Roger, who had never seen her before.
She quite fluttered.
"But I am married!"
"Unfortunate, but not fatal," said Roger distinctly, while everyone
listened. "These days one must be true to one's self."
We were awfully pleased with ourselves that evening. I said my head
still ached and I could not dance. Roger and I sat out-of-doors most of
the time, and at eleven o'clock Powell, my maid, brought out a tray of
what was left from dinner and the dance supper. She took it by order to
a small shaded porch off the billiard room, and we found her there with
it.
"Thank you, Powell," I said. But Roger followed her into the house. When
he returned he was grinning.
"Might as well do it right while we're about it," he observed.
"To-morrow morning Powell will go to Carrie and tell her you sat up all
night by the window, and she's afraid you are going to be ill."
In the dusk we shook hands over the tray.
Well, a lot of things happened, such as our overhearing the men in the
billiard room debating about getting poor old Bill on the long distance.
"It isn't a flirtation," said Wilbur Bayne. "I've seen Clara flirting
many a time. But this is different. They're reckless, positively
reckless. When a man as fond of his stomach as Roger lets a whole meal
go by, he's pretty far gone."
Roger bent over, with a part of a squab in his hand.
"Have they bitten!" he said. "They've not only swallowed hook, line and
sinker but they're walking up the bank to put themselves in the basket!"
Well, the next morning it was clear that the girls had decided on a
course and were following it. Although it had been arranged that
everyone was to sleep late, breakfast trays appeared in the rooms at
nine-thirty, with notes asking us to go to church. When I said I had not
slept, and did not care to go, no one went, and when Roger appeared at
eleven the girls surrounded me like a cordon of police.
Roger was doing splendidly. He came up across the tennis court, covered
with dust, and said he had not slept and had been walking since six
o'clock. The men eyed him with positive ferocity.
I'll not go into the details of that day, except to relate a
conversation Ida Elliott and I had after luncheon. She came into my room
and closed the door behind her softly, as if I were ill.
"Well," she said, "I did think, Clara, that if you didn't have any
sense, you would have some consideration for Carrie."
I had been addressing the envelope to Bill, and so I shoved a sheet of
paper over it.
"I'm not going to try to read what you are writing," she said rudely.
"What do you mean about Carrie?"
"She's almost ill, that's all. How could anyone have had any idea that
Roger and you----" She fairly choked.
"Roger and I are only glad to be together again," I said defiantly. Then
I changed to a wistful tone. Just hearing it made me sorry for myself.
"We are old friends; Carrie knew that. It is cruel of you all to--to
spoil the little bit of happiness I can get out of life."
"What about Bill?"
"Bill?" I said vaguely. "Oh--Bill! Well, Bill would never stand in the
way of my being true to myself. He would want me to be happy."
I put my handkerchief suddenly to my eyes, and she gave me a scathing
glance.
"I'm going to telephone Bill," she said. "You're not sane, Clara. And
when you come back to your senses it may be too late."
She flounced out, and I knew she would call Bill if she could. From the
window I could see that Harry Delaney had Roger by the arm and was
walking him up and down. It was necessary, if the fun was to go on, to
disconnect the telephone. I ran down to the library and dropped the
instrument on the floor twice, but when I put it to my ear to see if it
was still working I found it was, for Central was saying: "For the love
of heaven, something nearly busted my eardrum!"
Ida had not come down yet, and the telephone was on a table in the
corner, beside a vase of flowers. When I saw the flowers I knew I was
saved. I turned the vase over and let the water soak into the green cord
that covers the wires. I knew it would short-circuit the telephone, for
once one of the maids at home, washing the floor, had wet the cord, and
we were cut off for an entire day.
During the afternoon I gave Harry Delaney the letter to Bill. Harry was
going to the little town that was the post office to get something for
Carrie.
"You won't forget to mail it, will you, Harry?" I asked in a pathetic
voice.
He read the address and looked at me.
"What are you writing to Bill for, Clara? He'll be home in the morning."