ANOTHER CONQUEST
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Bradley, but I am Dick Fenway."
Mr. Bradley looked up from his paper and saw Dick standing on the
veranda beside him.
"Dick Fenway! My friend Fenway's boy."
"Yes, sir."
"I am glad to know you, very glad!" He shook hands warmly with the
young man and turned to where his daughter was standing, looking at
them with a smile of interest. "Alice, this is Dick Fenway."
"It was good of you to come to us like this," she said pleasantly as
she gave him her hand. "Your father has spoken of you so often that we
feel quite as though we had always known you."
"You are awfully good, I am sure," replied Dick. "I know that father
would never forgive me if he heard that I had been at the same hotel
with you, without making myself known."
"Sit down, my boy, and tell us all about yourself." Mr. Bradley seated
himself and pointed to a chair. "How long are you going to stay, and
who is that stunning girl I saw you with this afternoon?"
"Miss Barnhelm," replied Dick, a little embarrassed at the question.
"She is travelling with an old friend of mine, Mrs. Harlan. I happened
to meet them at Bar Harbor last week, and as it was dead as a doornail
down there, I begged them to allow me to come on here with them."
"She is very pretty and very reckless," said Alice. "I thought for a
moment this afternoon that she would be drowned. Has she quite
recovered from her experience?"
"I think so," answered Dick. "Naturally she's a little nervous, or was
when I saw her last. She is upstairs now with Mrs. Harlan, but they
sent down word that they would go for a walk before dinner, so I guess
she's all right."
"A girl that looks like that ought to know enough to take care of
herself," remarked Mr. Bradley. "Did she think she could swim across
the sound?"
"It was her heart," replied Dick. "She can swim like a fish, but she's
had one or two little heart attacks lately, and she ought to keep
quiet. The life-guard that brought her in said she was all right as
soon as he got her in his boat, but it was a close call, and the worst
of it is that she is very likely to do the same thing to-morrow."
"She is coming down the veranda now," said Alice, "and she looks quite
as though being half drowned was an every-day experience."
The two men looked up as Lola came toward them, and both rose as she
stopped by Dick's side.
"Are you ready for that walk, Mr. Fenway?"
"Quite. May I introduce Miss Barnhelm, Miss Bradley, Mr. Bradley."
Lola greeted them pleasantly, and after a moment's coldness Alice
found herself quite won by her sweetness. She spoke of her adventure
of a few hours before in a tone of regret for what she called "making
a show of herself," and her manner was so gentle and so modest that
Alice decided that she must be a girl of good family and, in spite of
the looks of the woman with whom she was travelling, a very pleasant
and desirable acquaintance. "Surely," she thought, "Mr. Fenway would
not introduce her unless she was all right in every way."
Lola, who was seated next to Dick, took advantage of a moment when
Alice turned to answer some remark of her father's, and whispered to
Dick quickly, "There come Bob and Mrs. Harlan; keep them away. I'll
meet you at dinner!"
"But," Dick protested, "why should I----"
"Do as I tell you!" She spoke so sharply that Dick, who had learned by
experience that to oppose her meant a painful scene, rose unwillingly
and went to head off his long-suffering friends, making rather a brief
excuse for his abrupt departure.
"I thought you had intended to take a walk before dinner, Miss
Barnhelm," said Alice.
"I had," replied Lola, "but I find myself more tired than I thought I
was, and it is so comfortable here."
"It is," sighed Alice, "but I must dress. I see that you were wise
enough to get ready before you came down. Are you coming, father?"
"Why, no, my dear," replied her father. "I am going to take advantage
of my age, and dine just as I am to-night. I'll sit here with Miss
Barnhelm, if she will allow me; meet me here when you come down."
"Very well, dear; I won't be long. Good-bye for the present, Miss
Barnhelm."
She left them together and went up to her room, a little surprised and
troubled at the evident interest her father had taken in this
stranger. Since her mother's death she had often felt a fear that he
might some day allow himself to become attached to some of the many
women who, attracted by his wealth, had done all in their power to
fascinate him. He was different from most men of his age. She knew
that. He was strong and well, and had much of the ardent spirit of
youth still remaining, but so far as she had ever seen, he had shown
no desire to respond to any feminine advances, had never in fact shown
as much interest in any woman as he had in this girl, not only since
he had talked with her, but before. She had not forgotten the glance
Lola had given him as they had passed on the shore road, or his
admiration for her prowess in the water. She dismissed any fears she
had, however. Miss Barnhelm was a lady; that was evident from her
manner. She was probably going to marry Dick Fenway; there had been an
air of security in her attitude toward him that spoke of a complete
understanding. How foolish of her to worry about such an absurd
thought.
"Poor father," she said to herself; "how angry he would be with me if
he knew of what I had been thinking."
Had she been able to see the growing intimacy between Lola and the old
man of whom she was so fond, it is probable that her fears would not
have been so easily overcome. They were chatting away already quite
like old friends. Lola was leading him to tell of some of his
adventures in the lumber camps of Northern Michigan, and incidentally
gaining a good idea of his vast power in that region and of the great
value of his timber lands and pulp mills. She was a good listener,
interrupting him only to encourage his confidence and quick to see and
appreciate any good points in his somewhat long, drawn-out stories of
personal prowess. He looked at her with great approval. "Here was a
girl who had real brain, who knew a man when she saw one, and was not
either afraid of or repelled by a few white hairs." Her fresh beauty
and something in the bold friendliness of her eyes as she sat looking
at him thrilled him as no woman had had the power to thrill him for
years. How wonderful it would be, he thought, if--but no; she was
young. What chance after all would his millions have with a girl like
this? What need she care for wealth with beauty like hers? Dick Fenway
was probably the lucky man. Damned young loafer. Good God! How gladly
he would give all he had to be that age again! To be thirty and back
in the lumber country with his axe, and his youth, and his girl!
Strong desires, fought down and smothered out of respect for a dead
wife and a living daughter, blazed up again, fired by a spark from
this young woman's eye. There was something in her look that seemed to
tell him that to her he was not old, not rich, not past all chance of
woman's love or hope of romance. She was looking into his eyes as
women had looked years ago, and she was finding there what they had
found. She was seated very close to him, bending forward, eagerly
listening to his story, her hand resting on the arm of his chair
touched his; she did not draw it away; how warm it was, how soft. What
was this woman? This young girl, who in a few moments had gained the
power to stir into life feelings that he thought had been forever
buried with the other things that had made life so sweet? What was
there in her boldness that charmed without offending him?
The story he was telling ended abruptly in the middle. They sat there
in the gathering darkness silently. The little warm hand that lay
beside his own slowly turned and closed about his. His heart leaped;
he bent toward her, but she sprang up with a low laugh, and before he
could speak she was gone.
Alice found him there when she came down a little later.
"How well you look, father dear," she exclaimed. "I am sure that this
place is doing you good. You look almost young."
"Why shouldn't I?" he answered gayly. "A man is as old as he feels,
and I don't feel like an old man to-night."
As they went in to dinner they met Dick Fenway waiting in the hall.
"I don't seem to be able to find Miss Barnhelm," he announced rather
impatiently. "You didn't happen to notice what became of her, did
you?"
"She went down the steps, I think," replied Mr. Bradley, "although it
had grown so dark that I couldn't be sure of it. Come on, Alice; we
are late now."
They went into the dining-room, leaving Dick alone. Mrs. Harlan and
Bob found him there, quite out of temper, when they appeared ready
dressed for dinner.
"Where the devil can Lola be?" he growled angrily. "It is almost eight
o'clock."
"Well, you may do as you please, my dear boy," said Mrs. Harlan
firmly, "but I'm not going to wait. How about you, Bob?"
"Well," replied Bob very earnestly, "I would do an awful lot for Lola;
she's behaving splendidly, and she's a big credit to the party to-day,
but she couldn't expect a fellow to take a chance of missing his
dinner."
"You two go on in. I'll find her." Dick turned and left them, going
down the steps to the shore road and glancing up and down, in the hope
of seeing her. He could make out a couple down by the water, their
figures looming dimly through the darkness; lovers probably, he
thought; they seemed to be walking very slowly and very near together,
but he could see nothing of the solitary form for which he was
looking. She was not in her room; he had made sure of that, and as far
as he could see in the dim light, this one couple had the shore to
themselves. He was conscious of a feeling of envy; if only Lola and he
could sometimes do as these two were doing; forget everything but one
another; be together like that, alone. He would be content if he was
sure of her love; he, who had asked much of women, would be satisfied
with so little, but Lola seemed to have no sentiment. Things would be
all right, of course, after they were married, but now it was hard.
They were coming toward him slowly, those two, and as he stood there
waiting he watched them idly.
A man and a girl, of course; no two men or two women ever walked like
that. He laughed to himself as he realized the sentimentality of his
mood. The man was very tall; even in the darkness one could tell that
he was young and strong. The girl was small, delicate; something in
her bearing reminded him---- "By God! It is Lola!" He started forward
and met them at the foot of the steps just as they came out of the
shadow into the light thrown out by the bright illumination of the
veranda.
"Lola!" He stood facing her angrily, glancing from her to the young
fellow at her side, a sun-burned, wind-tanned young giant in loose
flannels. "Where have you been?"
"Why, I took a little walk, Dick," she answered calmly. "I met Mr.
Blake, and he was good enough to offer to stroll back with me. Mr.
Blake is the life-guard who fished me out of the water this afternoon.
This is Mr. Fenway, Mr. Blake."
"Oh!" Dick returned the young man's bow rather curtly. "I am glad of
the chance of thanking you again, Blake. I would have looked you up,
of course, in the morning. I was in my bathing suit at the time, and
when I got dressed you had gone off duty. Here." He had taken out his
pocketbook as he spoke, and now drew out a bill and held it out.
"I thank you very much, Mr. Fenway," said the young man with what
seemed to Dick to be surprisingly good manners for a fellow of his
position, "but I can't take it. Miss Barnhelm had already rewarded me
most liberally." He raised his cap politely, and with a brief good
night stepped out of the circle of light and was swallowed up in the
darkness.
"What the devil are you laughing at, Lola?" demanded Dick angrily. "Do
you see anything especially funny?"
"Oh, no, dear; not at all," she answered, "and I think it would be a
good thing if we were to go in to dinner."
Once in the dining-room, Lola's high spirits seemed to desert her. She
seemed languid and rather moody, and in spite of Bob's really eloquent
description of various dishes that he had stamped with the seal of his
approval, she refused to do more than nibble at a crust of bread and
drink a glass or two of champagne, of which she had grown very fond.
After dinner they went out on the veranda and met Mr. Bradley and
Alice, and by them were introduced to many of the guests of the hotel.
Lola, who in spite of her present bad temper was looking very well,
soon found herself the centre of a lively group. There was no doubt at
all of her success; she received the two infallible proofs--admiration
from the men, envy from the women. She found herself seated next to
the sweet-faced old gentleman whom she had noticed at the lunch table;
he had his little granddaughter seated on his knee, and a very small
and very aristocratic French poodle perched upon the arm of his chair.
Of all the group these two alone, the child and the dog, refused to
devote themselves to Lola; the child, after one long look into her
eyes, had thrown her arms about the old man's neck and hidden her face
on his shoulder; the dog had bared his little teeth in a snarl at the
first touch of her hand.
"Quiet, Tony," reproved Mr. Miller sharply, as he changed the dog to
the other arm of his chair. "I can't think why he should act so
queerly, Miss Barnhelm, nor you, either, Molly," he said as he stroked
the child's head lovingly. "You are both tired out, I think, and you
must go to bed."
"Will you come upstairs and hear me say my prayers in a little while,
grandfather?" asked little Molly in a low voice. "Nurse and mother are
there, but I think God can hear me better when you are with me."
[Illustration: LOLA GOES TO KEEP HER APPOINTMENT AT THE STEEL PIER.]
"I will come, of course, Molly." He looked up at Lola with a smile.
"This little girl is worried about her father, who is on the ocean,
but I have told her that God always considers the prayers of little
girls who pray for those they love."
"You believe that?" questioned Lola with something very like a sneer,
"or do you think it is the proper thing to tell a child?"
"I believe it," said the old man gently, "or naturally I would not
teach it to this little girl. I have told her that God's power is
infinite, but that his purpose is not always easy for us to
understand. I know, however, that such prayers as hers must do great
good to her and to him she prays for. Don't you?"
"No," replied Lola coldly, "I do not." She resented the look of cool
inquiry in this man's eye; he was a famous writer, they had told her,
an authority on many subjects of which the very names were new to her.
Well, he could not study her, or if he tried he would find that she
was not the empty-headed creature his rather amused look seemed to say
he thought her.
"I know nothing of the kind," she went on calmly, "and I am surprised
that a man like you can believe such worn-out old superstitions."
"That need not surprise you, that we believe, this child and I," he
said gently. "Belief is so very easy to us. She is very young, and I
am very old, and to such belief comes naturally. It is, I think,
because the very young are fresh from God's presence and because the
very old are drawing nearer to it."
He rose as he spoke and, taking the child's hand, bowed to Lola kindly
and went into the hotel, the little dog following them gravely.
"I've had enough of this," declared Lola, rising angrily. "I'm bored
to death! You people do as you please; I'm going to bed!"