A WEST INDIAN SQUALL
By half past two that afternoon Mr. Warren's launch with its party of
pleasure seekers was well under way.
The "Automobile Girls" had gathered in one end, and were
enthusiastically commenting on the beauty of the scenery. Miss Sallie
had been conscientiously trying to cultivate Maud Warren, and rather
than antagonize her in the beginning had exerted herself to be agreeable
to the De Lancey Smythes. Mrs. De Lancey Smythe, however, had other
views afoot than the cultivation of Miss Sallie, and had immediately
engaged in conversation with Mr. Stuart. Hardly had the launch put out
from shore, before she beckoned him to one side of the little deck, and
complacently kept him there until Ruth, far from pleased with this turn
of affairs, called to her father to join them. But Mrs. De Lancey Smythe
proved equal to the occasion, for rising gracefully, she calmly strolled
by Mr. Stuart's side to the end of the launch where the four girls were
seated. Here they were joined by Miss Sallie, who had been watching the
manoeuvres of the other woman with well-veiled contempt, and the
conversation became general.
"Do you know many people here, Mrs. Smythe?" asked Miss Sallie, turning
to the other woman.
"Only a few," replied Mrs. De Lancey Smythe indifferently. "Most of the
people I know have been abroad all winter. Many of my dearest friends
are among the peerage. Two people I know well, arrived to-day, however.
The young Count de Sonde and his friend, Monsieur Duval."
She pronounced the two names with a faultless accent that was not lost
upon the practised ears of Ruth, who had spoken French fluently since
she was a child and had had a French nursery governess for years.
Whatever were her shortcomings, Mrs. De Lancey Smythe could at least
speak French.
"A real count!" exclaimed Mollie. "How interesting!"
"Oh, we know lots of titled people," Marian interposed. "There were two
countesses and a marquis at our hotel in Newport last summer."
"Isn't all this lovely?" cried Barbara. She was not interested in counts
and titles. She was keenly alive to the beauty of the scenery about
them. "I can't decide which out-blues the other, the lake or the sky."
"But aren't there a great many clouds in the sky?" questioned Ruth. "See
how they have piled up over there? Do you suppose, by any chance, that
we shall have rain? We were told that it never rained down here. It
simply isn't tolerated."
The launch was now running far out from the shore, which was lined with
pretty villas, set here and there in the midst of cocoanut palms and
oleander trees. Following the boat's path of rippling waves came another
launch much smaller than Mr. Warren's. It was manned by two men who had
apparently not observed them. The men were deep in earnest conversation.
"Oh, Marian, there is the Count de Sonde with his friend!" exclaimed her
mother. "How fortunate that we should run across them, just now."
"Which one is the count?" asked Maud Warren. She had taken very little
interest in anything before. "I hope he is not the older man."
"No; he is the slender, dark-haired one," returned Mrs. Smythe. "He is
dressed in white."
In the meantime Mr. Stuart had changed his seat. He had come to Palm
Beach to enjoy his four "Automobile Girls." No fascinating widow should
swerve him from his original plans. Like most hard-working successful
men he loved a holiday like a schoolboy and resented deeply any
interference with his pleasure.
"Are my girls having a good time?" he queried, smiling into four
charming faces.
"Yes, indeed!" exclaimed four voices in chorus.
"We thought the scenery beautiful in the Berkshires and along the Hudson
river, Mr. Stuart. But this is the most beautiful of all!" cried Mollie,
clasping her small hands ecstatically.
"Do you suppose people ever really work here?" inquired Grace. "It is
like fairy land. Everything happens by magic."
"You are right, Grace. This is a land of pleasure," returned Mr. Stuart.
"The only people who work are the employes in the hotels and the
servants in the cottages."
"Palm Beach is dedicated to pleasure," explained Ruth, "because it was
by accident that it came to be here at all. So it can just as well be
spared for an earthly paradise."
"Why is Palm Beach an accident?" queried Mollie.
"Years ago this was just a wild, desolate coast," Ruth went on. "Even
now the wilderness is only a mile away. There was a wreck out there,
somewhere, on the other side of the peninsula," she pointed toward the
ocean. "A ship was loaded with cocoanuts, which were washed ashore. By
and by the cocoanuts sprouted and grew into tall palm trees. So this
barren shore was transformed into one of the most beautiful palm groves
in the world."
Mr. Stuart pinched his daughter's cheek. "You've been stealing a march
on us, Mistress Ruth," he said. "You have been reading a guide book."
Just then a shadow clouded the brilliant sunshine. The engineer of the
launch glanced up uneasily.
"You don't think it is going to rain, do you?" asked Mr. Warren.
"It would be a very unusual thing if it did, sir," replied the man,
without committing himself.
A fresh wind had come up, bearing with it the fragrance of many flowers.
It seemed to have blown over miles of lily beds and orange groves.
Barbara closed her eyes as she breathed in the warm, scented air. "How
easy to forget all responsibilities, in an enchanted place like this!"
she thought. "How easy just to drift along."
"Papa, do tell the man to turn back," said Maud in a voice that broke
unpleasantly into Bab's reflections. "It's getting a little chilly. And
besides, we must have tea this afternoon in the cocoanut grove."
"Very well, my dear," replied her father, turning to give his order to
the engineer.
The launch swung around. Immediately the whole party spied another boat
bobbing helplessly on the water. One of the men in it was leaning over
examining the machinery of the frail craft. The other one, in white,
stood at the side of the boat, scanning the water.
No other launches were in sight. The many pleasure boats which had
dotted the lake with flecks of white, only a few minutes before, had now
put in to shore. A black cloud had spread itself over the whole sky,
casting a dark and ominous shadow over the lake.
As all the world knows--at least the part of the world which lives on
pleasure waters--a strict etiquette prevails among these small boats.
One boat always helps another in distress.
The engineer of Mr. Warren's launch did not wait for orders. He turned
at once toward the drifting craft.
"Is your engine broken?" he asked, as the boats touched sides.
The young man in white was the Count de Sonde himself. He looked
decidedly relieved at the appearance of the rescuers. He removed his
Panama hat with a flourish and bowed low to the women. The other man
answered the boatman.
"We are quite helpless, you see," the count ejaculated, shrugging his
shoulders and raising his eyebrows at the same time. "My friend can do
nothing."
In the meantime the friend had arisen from the engine. He was examining
the boatload of people with guarded interest.
"How do you do, Count? How are you, Monsieur Duval?" called Mrs. De
Lancey Smythe.
It was not a time for conventional introductions. The boatman made a
line fast from the small craft to the larger one. He meant to tow the
smaller launch toward home.
But Mrs. De Lancey Smythe persisted. Mr. Warren and his friends must
meet the Count de Sonde and Monsieur Duval.
Suddenly the heavens were shaken by a terrific clap of thunder.
Mrs. Smythe gave a little scream. "I am always frightened during a
storm," she averred. "Mr. Stuart, would it be too much to ask you to
assist me into the cabin?"
Miss Sallie glanced rather contemptuously at the other woman, and
wondered if her fright were real. Mr. Stuart rose and courteously
assisted Mrs. De Lancey Smythe into the tiny cabin, just as a driving
sheet of rain bore down upon them.
The "Automobile Girls" crouched in the centre of the boat. Maud and
Marian followed Mrs. Smythe.
"Make for the nearest boathouse!" called Mr. Warren to his engineer. "We
can't get back to the hotel in such a storm as this."
The storm now burst in all its West Indian fury. The waters were churned
into foam. The wind whistled and roared. The two small boats tossed
about on the water like chips.
"We are just in time!" exclaimed Mr. Warren, as they at last reached the
boathouse. "In another five minutes I believe we should have been
swamped." He helped the women from the boat to the pier.
"What an escape!" gasped Mrs. Smythe. "Marian, my darling, are you all
right?"
"Perfectly, Mama," replied her daughter rather scornfully. It was plain
to the four "Automobile Girls" that Marian did not entirely approve of
her mother's display of fear, and the tone in which she had answered
told its own story.
The little company sought the shelter of the boathouse. The two
foreigners went with them. In one of the men, Bab recognized the
stranger she had noticed that morning on the hotel piazza. Mrs. De
Lancey Smythe introduced him as Monsieur Duval.
"We were very lucky to have met you, sir," Mr. Duval said to Mr. Stuart.
Bab noticed that he spoke very good English, with only a slight foreign
accent. "I am afraid our boat would have sunk if you had not come to our
rescue."
Mr. Stuart bowed politely, but coldly. He was wondering if his girls and
Miss Sallie would have bad colds from their wetting. They were standing
apart from the others, laughing at their plight.
The young Count de Sonde had joined Marian and her mother, as soon as he
entered the boathouse, but Maud was with them. It was upon Maud that the
count immediately bestowed his attention. He smiled upon her, until
Maud's foolish head began to flutter. Just think of capturing the
attentions of a real count so quickly! Mr. Warren saw his daughter's
delight and frowned slightly. Maud must not get any foolish ideas about
foreigners in her head. He would put an end to that nonsense. He was
about to stride over and take charge of affairs when a man servant in
plain livery appeared on the path near the boathouse door. He had come
from the pretty villa, which was only a hundred yards back from the
boathouse, set in a thick grove of palms. The man carried a large bundle
of wraps and umbrellas. He paused respectfully when he reached the steps
leading to the pavilion.
"My lady would be glad if you would seek shelter from the storm in her
house," he said in broken English to Mr. Warren.
It was great fun to scamper through the pouring rain to the pretty
villa. The foreign coats and capes kept everyone dry. Now that they were
on land Mr. Warren's boat party had begun to regard their adventure
somewhat lightly.
Once on the porch of the villa they were ushered into a large,
low-ceilinged room at one end of which a fire of pine knots was burning
brightly. The room was empty. The newcomers clustered about the blaze to
dry their soaked shoes.
The room held very little furniture. Yet it appeared to Bab as one of
the most beautiful rooms she had ever seen. A grand piano stood at one
end, and a few graceful wicker chairs were scattered about the
apartment. The room had an indescribable look of elegance. Was it the
bare highly polished floor, with only the Persian rug to break its
shining surface? Or was it the enormous bunch of daffodils in a cut
glass bowl on the table that lent the place its charm? Bab did not know.
On the mantelpiece between two tall brass candle-sticks stood a
beautiful marble bust. Barbara afterwards learned that it was known as
"The Head of an Unknown Lady."
A handsome leather writing-case lay open on the table. It displayed on
the inner side a large crest picked out in dull gold. The firelight
shone on the gold outlines and threw them into dull relief.
Bab saw the Frenchman, Monsieur Duval, walk over to this table. He
examined the crest intently for a moment, then turned away.
At this instant two women came in through the open door. The one, who
was quite old, supported herself with a gold-headed mahogany cane. The
other was young and very beautiful.
The older woman was rather terrifying in aspect. She had a hooked nose
and her bright, beady little eyes regarded the company with a look of
amused tolerance.
The younger woman came forward to meet her unknown guests without the
slightest embarrassment or affectation. The "Automobile Girls" held
their breath. Surely she was the most exquisite creature they had ever
beheld.