Baird had noticed that there was not a paunched or bull-necked man in
this family. He was not fat, thank heaven! and did not intend to be, but
he would never be able to attain the nice muscles and graceful carriage
that, in this family, seemed to be inherent. Even old Colonel Ridley
Dickenson had a perfect boot-leg. Most of the younger men were too
long-backed for great strength, good horsemen but poor wrestlers, Baird
judged, and the two boys of twenty who represented the third generation
were inclined to be weedy and hatchet-faced; but, on the whole, they
were a clean-limbed and exceedingly well-featured collection.
The women struck Baird as delicately pretty rather than beautiful or
handsome. Though in several delicacy was pronounced enough to suggest
ill-health, the Westmore features predominated, fine brows, dark hair,
clear skin, slimness and roundness combined. The only golden-haired girl
of the company was Elizabeth Dickenson, and it was easy to see how she
came by her fairness; her mother was not of the clan, a somewhat
hard-faced, blonde New Yorker, who had brought money to her husband, and
modern social proclivities as well. Elizabeth Dickenson was more like
the Chicago girls Baird had met, more striking and self-assertive than
her county kin, and far more fashionably gowned.
But Judith Westmore was easily the beauty of the entire collection.
There was something joyous about her mien this evening; perhaps because
for the first time in many years Westmore was like the Westmore of old.
Baird had gathered from the conversation he had over-heard between Mrs.
Dickenson and Mrs. Copeley that this was the inauguration of a new era
at Westmore.
"Edward's money--" Mrs. Dickenson had said significantly. "Judith will
make the best of it."
"And who deserves it more than Judith!" Mrs. Copeley returned warmly.
"When I think of all Judith has gone through! Where would Westmore be
but for Judith? Sold to some carpetbagger, years ago! It nearly went, I
can tell you, Cousin Mary."
"If Garvin would follow Edward's example now, and marry a girl with
money," Mrs. Dickenson had remarked.
Mrs. Copeley had said nothing.
"But, then, Garvin Westmore is not Edward--any more than Sarah Westmore
is Judith," Mrs. Dickenson had concluded dryly. From the cloud that
settled on Mrs. Copeley's face, Baird judged that the reference was not
a happy one. Who Sarah Westmore was he did not know; she was not of the
assembled party.
Mrs. Dickenson was evidently giving thought to Westmore's new
prosperity, for it was she who asked Edward, across the table, "Ed,
while you are getting things, why don't you get an automobile? You'd
look particularly well in an automobile." She had a carrying voice; it
reached Baird at his end of the table.
Edward sat at the head of the table, Judith at the foot; Baird was at
Judith's left, with Elizabeth Dickenson as his dinner partner. Garvin
was on the other side of the table, and both he and Elizabeth Dickenson
ceased to talk and waited for Edward's answer.
Baird thought that he had never seen a more smileless and at the same
time a more attentive host than Edward Westmore. The man's white face
was carven, his eyes melancholy, yet he talked easily and gracefully. In
spite of his pallor, he was the most distinguished-looking man in this
gathering of well-favored men, perhaps because he lacked their local
flavor. He looked what he was, a much-traveled man with a fund of
experience.
He did not smile at Mrs. Dickenson, though he answered pleasantly, "Not
for me, Cousin Mary--but Garvin may have a machine if he wants it."
Garvin flushed but said nothing. It was little Priscilla Copeley who
exclaimed, "Do you mean it, Cousin Ed?"
"Take him up on it, Garvin! Take him up quick!" Colonel Dickenson cut in
mischievously. "By George, suh, you'd be the most popular spark in the
county--with the ladies! Every man whose horse you scared could cuss you
all the way to limbo. Hot water you'd be in! and that's what you
like.... Go ahead, suh!" He might have been hallooing on the hounds. The
colonel was a keen sportsman, and a bon-vivant, a member of two hunt
clubs and several city clubs--his wife's money had given him both the
leisure and the opportunity.
Garvin was not allowed an immediate hearing. "Oh, Garve! I can see you
making a Nebuchadnezzar of yourself under that machine!" Elizabeth
Dickenson exclaimed, and one of the Copeley boys added: "I'd rather have
it than the sorrel, Garve. George Pettee told me there were two hundred
automobiles now in the city--every fellow wants one. Yours would be the
first out here--unless father'll get us one. Will you, suh?"
Mr. Copeley was a tall white-haired man, second cousin to the Westmores,
and markedly a Westmore. He had looked his surprise at Edward's offer,
then had looked thoughtful. "No, suh," he said quietly. "I don't like
them. If the county's goin' to be overrun with them, I'll move....
Garvin, you'll have to get to work on that two miles of road from here
to the Post-Road befo' you can run a machine over it--that would be the
most sensible thing you've done in years. I reckon Edward would like you
to get to work at something--it doesn't matter much what.... You
wouldn't be furnishing a chauffeur, would you, Ed?"
"No," Edward said.
Baird had watched his opportunity. It was only in his sleep that
Nickolas Baird lost sight of business, and not always then. "I can get
you a good machine, straight from the factory, and at trade price,
Garvin."
Garvin had given his, cousin Copeley a flaming glance, but he answered
his brother courteously. "Thank you, Ed. I'll take the machine--and I'll
put the road in shape."
"Very well--we'll thank Mr. Baird to-morrow for his kind offer."
"Will you take me riding, Garve?" Priscilla Copeley asked softly, under
cover of the remarks that followed.
Baird had noticed her, the pretty, dark-eyed girl who sat beside Garvin.
She nestled against his elbow for her half-whisper, and Baird saw the
look her mother gave her and the sharp gesture that made her daughter
straighten and flush. Baird did not know why he felt sorry for Garvin at
that moment; possibly his sensing of the general disapproval. He did
not like the man, but that was mainly because of his wild act that
morning. But it was a little hard on a fellow, having every one down on
him. And it was plain that Garvin mourned his horse. The hunt and
Garvin's mishap had been thoroughly discussed in the drawing-room, and
Garvin had been restless under it. All they knew was that Garvin had had
to shoot his horse. There had been a touch of desperation in Garvin's
aside to Baird: "God! I wish they'd let up on the subject--I've had
about enough for one day!"
And now Mr. Copeley was giving him another thrust. "You're in for it
now, Garvin--are you going at the road pick and shovel?"
Judith spoke for the first time since the subject had been introduced.
"Bear Brokaw would be the best man to help you, Garvin," she suggested
brightly.
She had been watching the serving of dinner, a word now and then to the
three negroes who bore around the best viands Baird had ever tasted.
Soup had been followed by roast oysters, terrapin and turkey, and
accompanying vegetables and hot breads. The evening had turned very
mild, as warm as a May night, and the mint-juleps taken in the
drawing-room had been soothing. Edward was evidently a connoisseur, the
wines were of the best and the array of glasses were not allowed to
languish; the men one and all appeared to be good drinkers.
But Judith had evidently not been too absorbed to follow the
conversation and to note Garvin's curled lip and angry eyes, for her
remark instantly created a diversion. Mrs. Morrison, Judith's aunt, a
stately woman with proudly-carried head, spoke from Edward's end of the
table. "I'm surprised at you, Judith--after the way that white-trash
robbed me! Ben's nothing but a common thief!"
The young people smiled covertly, but Edward asked with genuine concern:
"Bear Brokaw rob you, Aunt Carlotta! Why, I remember Bear--I used to go
hunting with him. I thought there wasn't an honester man living than
Bear Brokaw."
"He is a thief, Edward," Mrs. Morrison reiterated decidedly.
Edward looked his surprise.
"Ben Brokaw bought a tree of Aunt Carlotta Morrison," Judith said
demurely. The look she flashed on Baird was a-gleam with mirth.
Edward glanced casually about the table and caught the covert smiles.
"Well?" he questioned more equably.
Baird had discovered that the interests of the clan were entirely local
and centered in themselves; he had not heard a single remark that
ventured beyond their native state. They evidently criticized one
another freely, but Baird judged that any stranger who essayed the same
freedom would be set upon by the entire connection, with the ferocity of
a pack of hounds.
"It was a thoroughly thievish transaction, Edward," Mrs. Morrison
maintained warmly. "You know I never approved of the man--a creature
that climbs trees like a monkey and sleeps out in the woods like a
savage. Your uncle would have known better, but I consented to sell him
that tree--you know, one of the big chestnuts down by the cabins. It was
dead, and I wanted it down, and I didn't tell Ben I thought he was crazy
when he wanted me to sign a slip of paper, just sayin' that I'd sold the
tree to him, half shares on the wood. I thought the lumberin' old thing
had got some funny notion. But he knew what he was about.... Edward, it
was a honey-tree! He'd been watching and had seen the bees goin' in and
out. He got forty buckets of honey out of that tree!... If that's not
stealing, I don't know what is, and I think the family ought to boycott
him."
Edward kept his countenance in spite of the titter about him. "Did he
cord his wood according to agreement?" he asked.
"Yes, he did," Mrs. Morrison admitted.
"He was doing up-to-date business--that's all, Aunt Carlotta," Judith
remarked.
"Something more than that," Edward said. "I remember Uncle Morrison
broke up some of his traps and warned him off the property. You urged
him to it, if I remember, Aunt Carlotta."
"But think of such revengefulness--after all these years! And your uncle
dead, too!"
"There's a good deal of such undying hatred about," Edward answered
evenly. "It's a pity." He looked down at his plate.
But the younger people were still smiling. "Don't worry, Aunt Carlotta,
Bear isn't going to work for any of us," one of the Copeley boys said.
"I saw him this evenin' on my way here--he's at the Pennimans'.... By
the way--he said Coats Penniman was coming home."
It was Judith's perceptible start and Edward's quick lift of the head
that arrested Baird's attention. But neither of them spoke; it was
Garvin who asked swiftly, "When is he coming?"
"To-morrow, Bear said."
Garvin made no comment, but Mr. Copeley exclaimed, "Why didn't you tell
your bit of news sooner, my boy?... It means Coats will take hold of the
place. I'm afraid it does, Ed."
His remark had some significance that was evidently not clear to other
members of the family, for Mrs. Morrison asked, "Why, what difference
does it make to you who runs the Penniman place, Edward?"
Edward paid no attention to her question; he was motioning to one of the
servants to bring him more wine, and when his glass was filled he
emptied it at a draft. It did not flush him, however; if anything, he
looked paler. It struck Baird that the man must be ill, there must be
some reason for such persistent pallor.
The dinner was nearing an end, and Baird himself was warmed through and
through. He had been well treated. Priscilla Copeley had played prettily
with him across the table, and not been reproved by her mother; she had
promised to ride with him the next day. And Elizabeth Dickenson had said
that his name would be on the list for the next Assembly Ball. Baird was
not particularly fond of dancing, and a formal ball was a nuisance, but
he welcomed her invitation to the next Fair Field Hunt Club meet.
Colonel Dickenson was president of the club, and Baird knew that he
would be well presented to a group of sportsmen who would be useful to
him.
But it was Judith who stirred him. He was alive to his finger tips with
admiration, and fully conscious that he had given himself up to a new
experience; delighting in it. In the last few days he had merely touched
the fringe of the new thing. He had seen very little of society, nothing
at all of people such as these, and Judith was the embodiment of caste.
Her ancestry spoke in every atom of her. She was a thoroughbred. She was
superb; so truly a part of that old Georgian house with its indelible
history.
And Baird loved to see good generalship. Judith had handled that long
tableful of people as a gambler would a pack of cards. She had attended
to every one's needs, been observant of every face, and at the same time
had devoted herself to him. She had furthered the two girls' play with
him, and then had drawn him back to her again. She was wonderful and
very beautiful. He was giving her the first adoration he had ever
experienced.
This was the first time Baird had seen Judith with shoulders bared, the
tantalizingly perfect shoulders and bust of a mature woman, but that
realization did not stir him half so much as his capture of the
brilliant glance with which she swept the table. It softened into
intimacy when he caught it; took him into her confidence. When, on their
way to the ballroom, the negro fiddlers paused under the dining-room
window and played the first bars of a waltz, and the young people sprang
up to follow, leaving their elders to coffee and wine, Baird was as
eager as any one of them. Judith had promised him the first dance, she
would be in his arms for the first time, but Baird was thinking less of
that than he was of what she was going to say to him, a favor she had
said she meant to ask.
VIII
THE COLONEL IS SUSPICIOUS
Like most big-framed men who have a sense of rhythm, Baird danced well,
though a little lazily. He found Judith an exhilarating partner. A touch
of languor would have made her an exquisite dancer, but Baird discovered
that her apparently soft curves covered muscles of tempered steel; there
was subdued energy and swift grace in every movement of hers; no wonder
she was a perfect horsewoman.
During their first dance Baird told Judith, in his downright fashion,
that she was the most delightful hostess he had ever known and the most
beautiful woman he had ever seen; a "wonder-woman" he called her, which,
for Nickolas Baird, was a poetic flight. When they danced again, he
begged her to set him his task: "What is it you are going to ask of me,
Wonder-woman?... I've never had the least inclination to became a knight
until I met you. I'm aching to swear allegiance--what is it I'm to do
for you?"
Baird was accustomed to making love somewhat roughly and altogether
carelessly, he merely yielded a little to habit when he held Judith
closely and spoke in her ear. Nevertheless, it was plain to even an
onlooker that the spell of profound respect was upon him. It made his
rough strength appealing, the sort of appeal a young man of Baird's
virile type usually makes to a woman older than himself. What he was
asking was how best to please her; his forgetfulness implied restrained
impetuosity, not presumption. And evidently he pleased Judith; her
occasional upward glance was not disapproving.
So Colonel Dickenson thought as he watched them dance. He had forsaken
the dining-room for the moment, and, avoiding the drawing-room where the
elder women were gathered, had come by the veranda to the ballroom. He
had a jovial remark for each couple as they circled by him, and for
Judith and Baird also:
"I couldn't trip it more lightly myself--damme if I could!"
But Judith had caught his eye. "I see Cousin Ridley over there--I'm
afraid I'm wanted," she said, when the dance was over. "That's the
penalty I pay for being 'a delightful hostess.'" If her lips had been
fuller they would have pouted.
"Can't you be allowed a little respite?" Baird exclaimed. "I want
another dance--and another after that!"
Judith smiled and shook her head.
"But you haven't told me what I'm to do for you, yet, Wonder-woman?"
"It must wait.... There will be some square dances by and by, and an
even number of couples without us."
"And we can go to the porch--somewhere where we can talk--where it is
cool?"
Judith made a little affirmative gesture.
"I'll do my duty till then," Baird said bruskly. "I hate dancing--except
with you."
She allowed him to capture her intimate glance, but the instant she had
turned away her face settled into gravity, an expression both hard and
apprehensive. It made her look more nearly her age.
"What is it, Ridley?" she asked sharply. "Anything wrong--up-stairs?"
"No, no!" the colonel said. "I just wanted a word with you befo' I've
lost my feet--Edward's goin' to have us all under the table befo'
mo'nin'." The colonel usually abbreviated his syllables when warmed.
Judith drew a quick breath. "Oh--well, come out to the veranda--"
The entrance to Westmore was the usual Georgian portico; the veranda
crossed the back of the house, a gallery, really, overlooking the
terraces and connecting the two wings of the house, affording an
entrance to the ballroom at one end, to the kitchens at the other, and a
rear entrance to the main hall. There were high-backed benches here, and
Judith led the way to one of them. She sighed inaudibly as she sat down.
The colonel began promptly: "I wasn't meaning to spoil your dance,
Judith, but Mary's been telling me to ask that young friend of Garvin's
to our Fair Field meet. Of co's' you can be relied on to choose your
friends sensibly, but Garvin's not so certain. Who is this Nickolas
Baird? If I introduce him, I've got to stand fo' him. I want to know a
little more about him than Mary could tell me. I'll be damned if I'll
present him--knowin' no more about him than I do! What's his family?"
"I doubt if he has any," Judith answered equably. "In fact, I know he
hasn't--he told me that both his father and his mother were dead."
"You know what I mean, Judith!" the colonel objected warmly.
"Of course the first question would be, 'What's his family?' and the
next, 'Has he money?'" There was amusement in Judith's voice. Then she
added more seriously, "I really know very little about him,
Ridley--except that he seems to be a nice, clever sort of boy. Edward
approves of him, so I asked him here. Edwin Carter can tell you more
about him than I can. He put him up at the Hunt Club and introduced him
to Edward and Garvin. Edwin Carter spoke highly of him."
The chill of the veranda had cooled the colonel somewhat. "Edwin Carter,
eh!" he said more quietly. "Well, he generally knows what he is about.
He has more social sense than most of his money-makin' crowd--but then
he would have--he's a Carter. He certainly has a deal more business
sense than any Westmore born, and if he's back of this young fellow,
there's some business reason fo' it. Has he money, Judith?"
"Mr. Baird? I think so. He seems to make money easily, at any rate. He
speaks of losing fifty thousand dollars with far more lightness than you
would of dining, or of being deprived of the meal. His brain appears to
be stored with schemes, and all sorts of useful knowledge as well. He is
entertaining, for he has been everywhere and knows all kinds of people.
Get him to tell you about South America some time, Ridley, and you'll be
repaid for the trouble."
"Well, I hope he's not scheming to relieve Edward of some of his money,"
was the colonel's frank comment.
"Now, Ridley!"
"Oh, you're a clever woman, Judith, that's sure, but you don't know
anything about promoters. I know too much about 'em. I'll wager my best
horse this young man's a promoter--in with the Carter gang and out here
at the Hunt Club fo' a purpose. What does he mean--givin' away
automobiles. He spoke up like a flash at dinner; there's something in it
fo' him, I'll wager." The colonel expressed himself with all the
astuteness of the man who had never in his life handled a dollar of his
own making, and whose business ventures had been confined to a lordly
interest in his wife's safety-deposit box.
Judith laughed. "I hope there is something in it for him, I'm sure....
I wish he would teach Garvin his secret," she added with a sigh.
"He'll probably lead Garvin into mischief," the colonel returned
severely. "There are too many of this young man's kind bein' received
into our first families. I'm continually at odds with Mary over the
young men she recommends to Elizabeth. I don't feel inclined to
countenance this young man, Judith."
"Would you have Elizabeth marry a cousin?" Judith asked coldly. "There
has been a little too much of that in our family, don't you think?"
The colonel said nothing.
Judith continued more brightly: "I'll tell you, Ridley, exactly what I
think of Mr. Baird: I think he is a very clever young man, with no
family background and not much money, but with influential men behind
him. They know he is a financial genius. If you're wagering a horse,
I'll wager Black Betty that in ten years Mr. Nickolas Baird will be
worth a million.... And your discountenancing him will not make a
particle of difference. Christine Carter told Elizabeth that he was
going to be asked to the next Assembly Ball, and you know that that
places him. If he wants to go to the Fair Field meet, he will go--he is
the sort of man who'll always get what he wants. It's just as well for
people like ourselves to realize that Mr. Baird's type is becoming
plentiful--right here in our stronghold--and adapt ourselves to the
inevitable. If we are sensible, we'll draw what advantage we can from
it.... I'll tell you what I should do, if I were you, Ridley: I'd ask
Mr. Baird to dinner at your club and study him a little--you are an
excellent judge of character"--Judith's voice was soothing at this
point--"and if you don't like him, drop him.... As for me, I have no
intention of dropping him--principally because Edward likes him." She
concluded firmly enough.
"It's not so much Edward who likes him, is it?" the colonel blurted out.
"The young man's pretty well smitten with you, if I'm any judge, and if
I should see Elizabeth at your tricks I'd say that she was something
more than flirting."
Judith was plentifully endowed with Westmore temper; the colonel was
wont to say that there had never been a more imperious Westmore than his
Cousin Judith; he grew uncomfortably warm during the perceptible pause
that followed his hasty speech.
Then Judith's laugh rang clearly. "My dear Ridley! You are amusing!...
Yes, that clever boy is scheming to take Edward's money, and I am
helping him to it! Either that, or he is in love with me and I am
forgetting that I am thirty-four and he twenty-six--a little romance
snatched at in my old age!" She rippled into more subdued mirth as she
rose. "You go on in and talk to Edward--he'll give you the best of
reasons for _our_ countenancing Mr. Baird." She changed then suddenly to
sternness. "I'd advise you, though, not to make any such remarks to him
as you've just made to me, Cousin Ridley. Edward is head of our family,
remember, and you're more Westmore than Dickenson--at least I've always
thought so. I'm certainly Westmore enough to set the family interest
before everything else--I've always done so in the past, and am likely
to do so in the future."
The colonel had been entertaining a jumble of thoughts, among others,
that women of thirty-four were sometimes emotionally erratic,
particularly if they had had so barren an emotional existence as Judith;
and also, that young fellows of twenty-six were apt to be dangerously
impressionable. But at Judith's reproof he came up standing:
"I beg your pardon, Cousin Judith," he said, in his old-fashioned,
florid manner. "Edward's hospitality has been a little too much fo'
me--my tongue has run a little too loose. That happens to me sometimes,
as you know. I beg yo' pardon. What I really think is that you are a
woman in a million, Judith--a very splendid woman, my dear. Westmo' owes
everything to you--we all know that, and I'm on my knees to you--I
always have been."
Judith Westmore was not demonstrative, so her answer to his apology
surprised and vastly pleased the colonel. She framed his tanned face
with her hands and kissed his cheek. "You are a dear," she said
brightly. "Now go in to Edward and be nice to him. He's worried over
Garvin--and a number of things.... I'm going in now to talk to Cousin
Mary, and after that I'll have to go up-stairs. If any one wants to see
me, just say I'm busy."