THE FOLLY.
About a week later Mr. Tremain found at his breakfast plate another
letter, and though bearing no crest or motto, and not suggestive of
violets, was nevertheless a dainty enough feminine epistle.
"THE FOLLY,
"Staten Island,
"_April_, 188--.
"DEAR MR. TREMAIN,
"Will you come down to us for as long as you can stay without
becoming bored to extinction! Your favourite rooms are waiting you,
your favourite horse stands idle in his stall, the yacht is in
perfect condition, and this delicious foretaste of summer makes
sailing in her delightful. We are bored to death, however, for want
of some one out of the common. Come and be that some one. I can
offer you a pretty girl, a clever girl, and a girl of the period to
flirt with successively; then there is myself, and your little
god-daughter, Marianne, for common sense and dulness; while George,
poor fellow, is pining for another battle at tennis and billiards
with you. The ponies, my new ones, and their mistress, will be at
the five-thirty boat to-morrow afternoon, to meet you, so pray
don't disappoint,
"Yours most cordially,
"ESTHER NEWBOLD."
Nothing loth, Mr. Tremain put himself on board the _Castleton_ the next
day, and enjoyed the half-hour's crossing to the island, whose wooded,
picturesque shores, clad in fairest green, were a refreshment to his
senses, accustomed for so many months to the hard lines and sharp
angles of New York. As he stepped off the boat at New Brighton, he was
at once attracted by a very small boy, in a very tall hat, top-boots,
and silver buttons; then the most perfect of pony-carriages and ponies
met his view; and last, but not least, a pretty little woman in a
Gainsborough hat, and a light ulster, who put out a welcoming hand, in a
heavy driving-glove, as he appeared, and said gaily:
"Oh, Mr. Tremain, this is very good of you. You know I said I should
come for you myself. Now, then, are you quite settled to your liking?
Let go their heads, Tony; go on, my beauties."
The ponies answered spiritedly to the flick of her whip; and, indeed,
pranced off so suddenly that the small atom of humanity, perched up
behind, quite lost his dignity, and only retained his equilibrium by
super-human efforts.
Once on the Terrace they bowled along at a good pace, and after the
usual questions had been asked and answered, Mr. Tremain inquired whom
he was to meet at the Folly.
Mrs. Newbold answered with a little laugh: "I think I told you in my
letter of the three varieties of graces--a specimen of each--I have
prepared for you? Here they are by name, and ticketed with the
attributes they pose for, and fondly imagine they possess. A clever girl
from Boston of course, Rosalie James--small and dark, and
critical--reads all the newest books with the most jaw-breaking names,
goes in for all the 'ologies' and 'isms,' the later the better; likes to
think herself a disciple of the most advanced agnostic cult, is nothing
if not cultured, and pins her artistic canons to those of Burne Jones
and Walter Crane; is a working member of the Sorosis Club, the
Nineteenth Century, and every other woman's club in the Union; writes
for the magazines, and always has an æsthetic novel on the stocks, which
never is launched. How do you like this style, Philip?"
"Honestly, not at all," answered Tremain, echoing her thrill of
laughter; "from the woman of brains defend me! What have you next to
show me?"
"Ah well, she's not so bad as she sounds," said Mrs. Newbold, "I've
known her do a great many kind things; and after all it's not her fault,
you know, if like the little boy in _Punch_ she fails to take interest
in any event subsequent to the Conqueror. And now to number two, my
pretty girl, Baby Leonard, and a very pretty girl she is, in a slow,
superb Juno-like fashion. I don't _know_ of my own knowledge that she
ever shows greater animation than a languid yes, or no, implies; but if
you feel a very keen desire to read beneath the tranquillity of her
manner, go to Jack Howard for information, she is his latest victim, and
he may have touched the depths of even her shallow soul."
"Thank you," returned Tremain, "I do not feel _my_ soul intensely drawn
by occult forces--isn't that the correct jargon?--towards that of Miss
Leonard; let us allow Jack full innings there."
"Ah, you are very hard to please," cried Mrs. Newbold in pretended
petulance. "Now this is really my last and only remaining girl; in my
heart of hearts I think she is worth the other two, in spite of her
always handicapping herself; enter then Dick Darling, and shouldn't you
know by the sound of her name that she is a girl of the period? Pretty?
Oh, yes, but more fascinating than pretty; has a brown face, and
laughing eyes, and turned-up nose, uses all the latest slang, wears a
hard hat, a cut-away jacket, a Stanley necktie, and eye-glass and chain,
and carries the slenderest of walking-sticks, smokes her own cigarettes,
drinks Bass's ale, and plays a rattling good game at poker; and despite
all her mannish affectations, has the best heart in the world. She rides
like a bird, pulls an oar with the best, and can give as ugly a twister
at tennis as you could wish to see. Now is she more to your liking?"
Mr. Tremain shrugged his shoulders.
"My dear Mrs. Newbold, what can I say? Miss Darling is doubtless a
thoroughly good young lady, but more after the hearts and tastes of
younger men than such a graybeard as I. Do not, I beg of you, make any
efforts in the young-lady line on my behalf, I ask nothing better than a
good share of your company, and an hour or two of romps with my little
god-daughter. I shall be more than blessed if you will put up with my
dulness."
"What a very pretty speech, Philip, it is quite refreshing to my old
married ears; very well, you may sacrifice yourself on the altar of
decorum and innocence if you like, I will not say you nay. The men of
our party I think you know; besides Jack Howard we have handsome Freddy
Slade--the beauty of the day--and one or two inoffensive lads to fetch
and carry. And so you don't think either of my graces worthy your
consideration, Philip? Yet I do believe each one of them owns a good and
true heart, in spite of their individual fads."
"I do not doubt it," answered Mr. Tremain; "but seriously, my dear
Esther, you must surely know that having suffered once in that way, I am
not likely to be easily attracted again. I fancy the woman who could win
my cynical and fastidious heart, has not yet come from the other world;
she must needs combine all the beauties of the graces, the attributes of
the muses, and be withal, like Cæsar's wife, above suspicion. Find me
such a divinity, Esther, or else I shall wait for your own little
Marianne."
A silence followed Philip's half-jesting, half-bitter reply, broken at
last by Mrs. Newbold's lightest laugh, as she asked:
"Do you like my ponies? George gave them to me on my last birthday; Dick
Darling christened them, Rock and Taffy; hard and soft, you know, or
dependable and doubtful, or any opposing virtues you choose to select.
Now then, here we are," as she turned her ponies cleverly over an
awkward incline, and dashed through the gates.
"Shall we join the world at lawn-tennis, or will you come in with me and
have a cup of tea?"
"With you, if you please," answered Philip, mock-pleadingly. "My dear
Mrs. Newbold, don't deliver me into the hands of the Philistines
prematurely."
Esther's blithe laugh rang out merrily as they sped up the long avenue,
shaded by the rows of graceful elm trees on either side; she brought the
ponies to the door with a workmanlike flourish, and scarcely touching
Philip's assisting hand, sprang out and was up the low broad steps
before him.
"Let us have tea at once, Long. This way, Mr. Tremain."
They entered the library together; it was a large room and the favourite
one, _par excellence_, of all the apartments in that most charming and
hospitable of homes, the Folly. On one side ran a broad, covered,
outside verandah, on to which opened two large windows of stained glass,
through whose mellow tints the light shone in tenderest colours; heavy
draperies, of some wondrous Eastern fabric, fell on either side of the
broad low door; a neutral-tinted wall supported rare plaques of Moorish
faïence, and choice selections of _bric-à-brac_, with here and there the
glimmer of brass sconces and silver _repoussé_ ovals, relieving the
somewhat sombre tone; while everywhere, in each possible or impossible
spot, on every table, in every vase or bowl, a wealth of Maréchal Niel
roses filled the air with their subtle pungent perfume, and caught and
held the sunshine as in a trance. The one picture of the room stood upon
an easel, hung with plush of ruddy hue; it was an artist proof engraving
of Correggio's "Io and Jupiter." A fire of pine-logs smouldered on the
andirons, and through the curtained doorway a vanishing perspective
revealed a vista of drawing-room, music-parlour, and billiard-hall, all
in the half tints of twilight.
Mrs. Newbold threw off her hat and ulster, and pushing back the light
fluffy curls from her forehead, called out laughingly:
"Mimi, Mimi!"
A little fairy, all yellow curls and white frock, darted through the
open door, and dancing up to the pretty lady threw her arms rapturously
around her; her mamma bent down her own head above the little one, and
kissed the eager little lips.
"See, Philip," she said, "here is your god-daughter. Has she not
blossomed into a little hoyden?"
"A Hebe, rather," answered Philip, "and as like her mother as a bud is
like the rose."
Esther laughed. "You certainly do pay one the very prettiest
compliments, Mr. Tremain; I make you my humble acknowledgments," and she
dropped him a mock curtsey. "If this is the result of stern law, why,
commend me to its votaries."
And thus laughing, chatting and sipping their tea, they beguiled the
time away, until the first dressing-gong broke upon them with surprise,
and Philip escaped to his room before the tennis party appeared, flushed
with victory, or despondent with defeat.
As Mr. Tremain moved leisurely about his apartment, his ear caught the
sound of his own name; he stopped, with a half smile on his lips, and
listened. The speakers, two girls, were evidently oblivious to the fact,
that given open windows and unmodulated voices, what is sent out of one
window, may enter at the other.
"Who is this Philip Tremain?" asked voice No. 1. "I am bored to death by
Esther Newbold's praises of him. _I_ don't know him."
"He can't be great things then, can he?" said mockingly voice No. 2.
"Only you see, Rosie, this time you're out of it altogether; Philip
Tremain is just too awfully utter, just the swellest thing out in men,
my dear, though you _don't_ know him Boston-way. Handsome mug, heaps of
shiners, Mayflower family, and good form from way back."
Here a little whiff from a Russian cigarette fluttered in. "Ha, ha,"
laughed Philip, as he sniffed at it, "the girl of the period, and her
least hated friend; matters grow interesting."
"How disgustingly slangy you are, Dick," broke in voice No. 1; "really
your language is most offensive."
"Poor cultured child!" cried out the other, with a merry laugh, that had
something honest in its tone. "How I afflict her! Oh, ye gods and little
fishes, how shall I appease her? But seriously, Rosie, don't you
remember some one telling us all about him, and the dreadful cropper
handsome Patty Hildreth came over him? Long ago, my dear, when she was
young, and we had not even seen our 'green and salad days.' He was
tremendously in love with her, they say, and was blind to Patty's little
peculiarities where men and flirting were concerned, until at last
something worse than usual came to his ears, some scrape more daring and
hare-brained, in which Patty's name figured largely, and he cut up rough
about it; Patty was wilful and obstinate, and Mr. Tremain injured and
harsh, and so the engagement came to everlasting smash, and Patty
engaged herself, before the week was out, to old Tom Naylor, who left
her a cool million, and died within the year of her dismissing him. What
luck some girls have! By the way, Esther has asked her here, she says;
what a lark it will be to see the meeting of the old-time pals. Good
gracious! are you all dressed, Rosa? I shall be late again, as sure as
eggs is eggs, and George is such a Turk about meals."
Then the speaker evidently moved away from the window, and Philip heard
no more; but what he had listened to set him thinking, and brought a
smile of bitterness to his lips.
"So Patty is coming, Patty is to be here," he mused, "and I must meet
her after all these long years. Poor, wilful, pretty Patricia!"
A few moments later he entered the library, and found the room still in
half-lights and apparently tenantless; but as he moved towards the
fireplace he became aware of a tall, slight figure, severely clad in a
dark, trailing gown of some heavy silken material. A fall of black lace
surrounded the drooping head and fell low about the face, throwing such
deep shadows upon it that Philip looked in vain for any definite
characteristics. The long and slender hands lay crossed lightly upon her
knees, and were guiltless of rings. Something in their attitude,
however, recalled Patty to him, and, with a half-credulous smile, he
quickened his steps towards the quiet, almost motionless figure; but as
he reached her side, a ripple of laughter and light voices broke the
spell, as the door was thrown open, and Mrs. Newbold entered, followed
by her bevy of fair maidens.
"Ah, Mr. Tremain," cried Esther, "are you here before us? How shall I
apologise? Now, will you take your introductions homoeopathically, or
in one dose? Girls, fall into line!"
Laughingly she presented him to each in turn, and with a careless, "The
men you know," slipped her hand within his arm, saying: "Shall we go in
to dinner?"
But Philip stayed her.
"You have forgotten _one_," he said, in a low voice, glancing towards
the figure by the fire, that had remained motionless during all the gay
_argot_ and repartee.
"Oh," replied Mrs. Newbold, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders, "you
mean Mdlle. Lamien. She is Mimi's governess. I will present you,
however. Mademoiselle, permit me; Mr. Tremain--Mdlle. Lamien."
The lady thus addressed turned and bowed slightly--the barest
recognition of Mr. Tremain's presence. She raised her face a little, and
the light from the wax candles in the sconce above her head fell full
upon it. It was a face pale in the extreme, with the dull waxen colour
of death--a pallor increased and intensified by the masses of snow-white
hair piled high above it, and the heavy black lace folds about it. The
dark eyes set in deep shadows burned with a strange inward fire, that
not even the heavy lashes could veil. Across one cheek a long cruel mark
of greyish blue seemed to throb, as if in angry remembrance of the cruel
blow that had caused it; the fair skin would bear its traces for life.
The mouth was firm and hard, save for a nervous twitching that sometimes
marred its outline. It was a countenance neither handsome nor
attractive, and Mr. Tremain turned away, after the barest interchange
of civilities, with a feeling of irritable disappointment. What right
had such a figure, youthful and full of grace, to be surmounted by a
face almost grotesque in its plainness? He had thought of Patty, when
first he saw the quiet, dark figure and clasped hands; but as he turned
now with Esther's hand still on his arm, the fleeting evanescent vision
passed from him.
"Mimi will come to us at dessert, mademoiselle," said Esther, not
unkindly. "Will you not also join us?"
"Madame is very kind, but I beg she will excuse me," was the reply, in a
voice that sounded young for so old a face, and yet that held an echo of
such hopelessness in its cadences, it haunted Philip's ears unceasingly,
and so dulled his senses that Miss James's most brilliant high
æsthetical conversation fell unheeded, while Dick Darling's most daring
slang evoked only a passing shudder of disapproval.
Miss James shrugged her thin shoulders and voted him a good-looking
bore, then turned her dark head and left shoulder upon him, and carried
the battle into the enemy's camp, by appropriating Jack Howard, who, by
all rights, social and flirtatious, belonged to pretty Baby Leonard.