The exact moment that her name was on Ned’s lips, Lenore Hardenworth
herself, in her apartment in a region of fashionable apartments eight
blocks from the Cornet home, was also wondering at the perverse ways of
parents. It was strange how their selfish interests could disarrange
one’s happiest plans. All in all, Lenore was in a wretched mood,
savagely angry at the world in general and her mother in particular.
They had had a rather unpleasant half-hour over their cigarettes. Mrs.
Hardenworth had been obdurate; Lenore’s prettiest pouts and most winsome
ways hadn’t moved her a particle. The former knew all such little wiles;
time was when she had practiced them herself with consummate art, and
she was not likely to be taken in with them in her old age! Seeing that
these were fruitless, her daughter had taken the more desperate stand of
anger, always her last resort in getting what she wanted, but to-night
it some way failed in the desired effect. There had been almost, if not
quite, a scene between these two handsome women under the chandelier’s
gleam—and the results, from Lenore’s point of view, had been absolutely
nil. Mrs. Hardenworth had calmly stood her ground.
It was the way of the old, Lenore reflected, to give too much of their
thought and interest to their own fancied ills. Not even a daughter’s
brilliant career could stand between. And who would have guessed that
the “nervousness” her mother had complained of so long, pandered to by a
fashionable quack and nursed like a baby by the woman herself, should
ever lead to such disquieting results. The doctor had recommended a sea
voyage to the woman, and the old fool had taken him at his word.
It was not that Lenore felt she could not spare, for some months, her
mother’s guiding influence. It was merely that sea voyages cost money,
and money, at that particular time, was scarce and growing scarcer about
the Hardenworth apartment. Lenore needed all that was available for her
own fall and winter gowns, a mink or marten coat to take the place of
her near-seal cloak, and for such entertaining as would be needed to
hold her place in her own set. Seemingly the only course that remained
was to move forward the date of her marriage to Ned, at present set for
the following spring.
She dried her eyes, powdered her nose; and for all the late storm made a
bewitching picture as she tripped to the door in answer to her fiancé’s
knock. Lenore Hardenworth was in all probability the most beautiful girl
in her own stylish set and one of the most handsome women in her native
city. She was really well known, remembered long and in many places, for
her hair. It was simply shimmering gold, and it framed a face of
flowerlike beauty,—an even-featured, oval face, softly tinted and
daintily piquant. Hers was not a particularly warm beauty, yet it never
failed to win a second glance. She had fine, firm lips, a delicate
throat, and she had picked up an attractive way of half-dropping firm,
white lids over her gray, langourous eyes.
No one could wonder that Lenore Hardenworth was a social success.
Besides her beauty of face, the grace of a slender but well-muscled
form, she unquestionably had a great deal of ambition and spirit. She
was well schooled in the tricks of her trade: charming and ingratiating
with her girl friends, sweet and deeply respectful to the old, and
striking a fine balance between recklessness and demureness with
available men. It can be said for Lenore that she wasted no time with
men who were not eligible, in every sense of the word. Lenore had her
way to make in this world of trial and stress.
Long ago Ned had chosen her from among her girl friends as the most
worthy of his courtship,—a girl who could rule over his house, who
loved the life that he lived, whose personal appeal was the greatest.
Best of all, she was the product of his own time: a modern girl in every
sense of the word. The puritanism he deplored in his own parents was
conspicuously absent in her. She smoked with the ease and satisfaction
of a man; she held her liquor like a veteran; and of prudery she would
never be accused. Not that she was ever rough or crude. Indeed there was
a finesse about her harmless little immoralities that made them, to him,
wholly adorable and charming. She was always among the first to learn
the new dances, and no matter what their murky origin—whether the
Barbary Coast or some sordid tenderloin of a great Eastern city—she
seemed to be able to dance them without ever conveying the image of
vulgarity. Her idea of pleasure ran along with his. Life, at her side,
offered only the most delectable vistas.
Besides, the man loved her. His devotion was such that it was the
subject of considerable amusement among the more sophisticated of their
set. He’d take the _egg_, rather than the _horse-and-buggy_, they told
each other, and to those inured in the newest slang, the meaning was
simply that Lenore, rather than Ned, would be head of their house. The
reason, they explained wisely, was that it spelled disaster to give too
much of one’s self to a wife these days. Such devotion put a man at a
disadvantage. The woman, sure of her husband, would be speedily bored
and soon find other interests. Of course Lenore loved him too, but she
kept herself better in hand. For all his modern viewpoint, it was to be
doubted that Ned had got completely away from the influence of a dead
and moth-eaten generation. Possibly some little vestige of his parent’s
puritanism prevailed in him still!
Ned came in soberly, kissed the girl’s inviting lips, then sat beside
her on the big divan. Studying his grave face, she waited for him to
speak.
“Bad news,” he said at last.
She caught her breath in a quick gasp. It was a curious thing,
indicating, perhaps, a more devout interest in him than her friends gave
her credit for, that a sudden sense of dismay seemed to sweep over her.
Yet surely no great disaster had befallen. There was no cause to fear
that some one of the mighty arms on which they leaned for happiness—the
great fur house of Cornet, for instance—had weakened and fallen. Some
of the warm color paled in her face.
“What is it?” She spoke almost breathlessly, and he turned toward her
with wakened interest.
“Nothing very important,” he told her casually. “I’m afraid I startled
you with my lugubrious tones. I’ve got to go away for three months.”
She stared a moment in silence, and a warm flush, higher and more angry
than that which had just faded, returned to her cheeks. Just for an
instant there was a vague, almost imperceptible hardening of the little
lines about her beautiful eyes.
“Ned! You can’t! After all our plans. I won’t hear of it——”
“Wait, dearest!” the man pleaded. “Of course I won’t go if you say
not——”
“Of course I say not——”
“But it’s a real opportunity—to make forty or fifty thousand. Wait till
I tell you about it, anyway.”
He told her simply: the exact plan that his father had proposed. Her
interest quickened as he talked. She had a proper respect for wealth,
and the idea of the large profits went home speedily and surely to her
imagination, shutting out for the moment all other aspects of the
affair. And soon she found herself sitting erect, listening keenly to
his every word.
The idea of trading obsolete gowns for beautiful furs was particularly
attractive to her. “I’ve got some old things I could spare,” she told
him eagerly. “Why couldn’t you take those with you and trade them to
some old squaw for furs?”
“I could! I don’t see why I shouldn’t bring you back some beauties.”
Her eyes were suddenly lustful. “I’d like some silver fox—and enough
sable for a great wrap. Oh, Ned—do you think you could get them for
me?”
His face seemed rather drawn and mirthless as he returned her stare. It
had been too complete a victory. It can be said for the man that he had
come with the idea of persuading Lenore to let him go, to let him leave
her arms for the sake of the advantages to be accrued from the
expedition, but at least he wanted her to show some regret. He didn’t
entirely relish her sudden, unbounded enthusiasm, and the avaricious
gleam in her eyes depressed and estranged him.
But Lenore made no response to his darkened mood. Sensitive as she
usually was, she seemed untouched by it, wholly unaware of his
displeasure. She was thinking of silver fox, and the thought was as
fascinating as that of gold to a miser. And now her mind was reaching
farther, moving in a greater orbit, and for the moment she sat almost
breathless. Suddenly she turned to him with shining eyes.
“Ned, what kind of a trip will this be?” she asked him.
He was more held by the undertone of excitement in her voice than by the
question itself. “What is it?” he asked. “What do you mean——?”
“I mean—will it be a hard trip—one of danger and discomfort?”
“I don’t think so. I’m going to get a comfortable yacht—it will be a
launch, of course, but a big, comfortable one—have a good cook and
pleasant surroundings. You know, traveling by water has got any other
method skinned. In fact, it ought to be as comfortable as staying at a
club, not to mention the sport in hunting, and so on. I don’t intend to
go too far or too long—your little Ned doesn’t like discomfort any too
well to deliberately hunt it up. I can make it just as easy a trip as I
want. It’s all in my hands—hiring crew, schooner, itinerary, and
everything. Of course, father told a wild story about cold and hardship
and danger, but I don’t believe there’s a thing in it.”
“I don’t either. It makes me laugh, those wild and woolly stories about
the North! It’s just about as wild as Ballard! Edith Courtney went clear
to Juneau and back on a boat not long ago and didn’t have a single
adventure—except with a handsome young big-game hunter in the cabin.”
“But Juneau—is just the beginning of Alaska!”
“I don’t care. This hardship they talk about is all poppycock, and you
know it—and the danger too. To hear your father talk, and some of the
others of the older generation, you’d think they had been through the
infernal regions! They didn’t have the sporting instincts that’ve been
developed in the last generation, Ned. Any one of our friends would go
through what they went through and not even bother to tell about it. I
tell you this generation is better and stronger than any one that
preceded it, and their stories of privation and danger are just a
scream! I’m no more afraid of the North than I am of you.”
She paused, and he stared at her blankly. He knew perfectly well that
some brilliant idea had occurred to her: he was simply waiting for her
to tell it. She moved nearer and slipped her hand between his.
“Ned, I’ve a wonderful plan,” she told him. “There’s no reason why we
should be separated for three months. You say the hiring of the launch,
itinerary, and everything is in your hands. Why not take mother and me
with you?”
“My dear——”
“Why not? Tell me that! The doctor has just recommended her a sea trip.
Where could she get a better one? Of course you’d have to get a big,
comfortable launch——”
“I intended to get that, anyway.” Slowly the light that shone in her
face stole into his. “Are you a good sailor——?”
“It just happens that neither mother nor I know what sea-sickness means.
Otherwise, I’m afraid we wouldn’t find very much pleasure in the trip.
You remember the time, in Rex Nard’s yacht, off Columbia River bar? But
won’t you be in the inside passage, anyway?”
“The inside passage doesn’t go across the Bay of Alaska—but father says
it’s all quiet water among the islands we’ll trade at, in Bering Sea. It
freezes over tight in winter, so it must be quiet.” He paused, drinking
in the advantages of the plan. They would be together; that point alone
was inducement enough for him. By one stroke an arduous, unpleasant
business venture could be turned into a pleasure trip, an excursion on a
private yacht over the wintry waters of the North. It was true that
Lenore’s point of view was slightly different, but her enthusiasm was no
less than his. The plan was a perfect answer to the problem of her
mother’s sea trip and the inevitable expense involved. She knew her
mother’s thrifty disposition; she would be only too glad to take her
voyage as the guest of her daughter’s fiancé. And both of them could
robe themselves in such furs as had never been seen on Second Avenue
before.
“Take you—I should say I will take you—and your mother, too,” he was
exclaiming with the utmost enthusiasm and delight. “Lenore, it will be a
_regular_ party—a joy-ride such as we never took before.”
For a moment they were silent, lost in their own musings. The wind off
the Sound signaled to them at the windows—rattling faintly like ghost
hands stretched with infinite difficulty from some dim, far-off
Hereafter. It had lately blown from Bering Sea, and perhaps it had a
message for them. Perhaps it had heard the scornful words they had
spoken of the North—of the strange, gray, forgotten world over which it
had lately swept—but there was no need to tell them that they lied. A
few days more would find them venturing northward, and they could find
out for themselves. But perhaps the wind had a note of grim, sardonic
laughter as it sped on in its ceaseless journey.