"WHO IS MRS. MAY?"
Only one letter had Nick written to Carmen Gaylor--the one he had promised
to write, telling her of his arrival in New York; that he was "pretty
lonely, and didn't know how long he could stand for seeing no home
sights." It never occurred to him to write again; and Carmen was not
surprised at his remissness. She knew that Nick was not the sort of man
who likes to write letters or can put his feelings upon paper. But when
she received her invitation to visit Rushing River Camp, she could have
sung for joy.
"We are hoping that an old friend of yours, Mr. Nickson Hilliard, may be
with us when you come; as well as Miss Dene, the authoress," Mrs. Harland
said in her note. And Carmen believed that she had Hilliard to thank for
the compliment paid her by Falconer and his sister.
She knew that he had met Falconer and admired him; and putting two and two
together, she fancied that already Nick must have come West, meaning to
surprise her by his sudden appearance; that he had fallen in with Mrs.
Harland and Falconer on the journey, perhaps been invited by them, and
suggested, or at least hinted, that she should be asked to join the
house-party at the same time.
"Otherwise, I don't believe they'd ever have thought of me," she told
herself, with a humility which would have had an element of sulkiness if
she had not been half out of her wits with happiness over the idea that
Nick was near, and wanting her. If he had not wanted her, he would not
have schemed to have her with him at Rushing River Camp.
All the anxieties and suspicions of the past weeks were forgotten. She
telegraphed her acceptance, and began thinking what to wear during the
visit. She admitted in her mind that Mrs. Harland was a "bigger swell"
than she, and knew more of the world and Society. But she determined that
the hostess should not outdo her guest in the way of "smart" dresses,
hats, and jewellery.
Carmen broke her journey at San Francisco, staying there two days at the
Palace Hotel. On the first of these days, as it happened, Nick and Angela
motored to Mount Hamilton, and stayed late at the Lick Observatory. On the
second day they went to Mount Tamalpais, lunching at the delightful
"tavern" on the mountain-top, and rushing madly down the wondrous steeps
at sunset, in the little "gravity car" guided by the landlord.
So it was that Carmen got no chance glimpse of the two together, and had
no suspicion that in the hotel register of the St. Francis was inscribed
the name of Nickson Hilliard. She shopped contentedly, and enjoyed looking
at the prettily dressed women, because she saw none whom she thought as
good-looking as herself. Then, on the second evening, just as Angela and
Nick were tearing down the rocky height known familiarly to San Francisco
as "the mountain," Carmen left for Shasta Springs.
It was early next morning after the long journey north, that the white
pinnacle of Mount Shasta appeared floating in the sky above dark pines,
and the rushing stream of the Sacramento, fed by eternal snows. But Carmen
hardly glanced out of her stateroom window at the hovering white glory,
though her maid mentioned that Shasta was in sight. Mrs. Harland and
Falconer were both coming to meet her at the Springs station, and would
motor her to Rushing River Camp by the fifty-mile road over the mountains.
Carmen hoped that Nick might be with them, though nothing had been said
about him in the telegram they had sent. In any case, her one care was to
be beautiful after the night journey. She took no interest in mountains
and rivers. Her whole soul was concentrated upon the freshness of her
complexion and the angle of the mauve hat on her dark waved hair. Never a
good sleeper, she had been too feverish at the prospect of seeing Nick to
do more than doze off for a few minutes in her berth; consequently, there
were annoying brown shadows under her eyes, and her cheeks looked a little
sallow; but Mariette was an accomplished maid, who had been with Carmen
ever since the old theatrical days, and when Mrs. Gaylor was ready to
leave her stateroom at Shasta Springs station she looked as bright-eyed
and rosy as if she had slept without dreaming. This effect was partly due
to liquid rouge and bismuth, but largely to happy excitement--a woman's
greatest beautifier.
Her heart was beating fast under embroidered, dove-coloured chiffon and
pale gray Shantung, a dress too elaborate for a railway journey; and she
had no eyes for the fairylike greenness of the place, the mountain-side
shadowed by tall trees, or rocks clothed in delicate ferns and spouting
forth white cascades. The full, rich summer she had left at home in the
South was early spring in the cool North. The earth was like a bride,
displaying her trousseau of lace, fall after fall of it, on green velvet
cushions, and the gold of her dowry, the splendour of her wedding gifts,
in a riot of flowers. No money coined in mints could buy diamonds such as
this bride had been given by her mother--Nature; diamonds flashing in
river and cascade upon cascade. But Carmen Gaylor had no eyes for them.
She had merely a pleasant impression that Shasta Springs seemed to be a
pretty place, and no wonder it was popular with millionaires, who built
themselves houses up there on the height, in the forest! But it was only a
passing thought, as he alighted from the train in the welcoming music of
many waters, which she hardly heard. Her attention was centred on picking
out Mrs. Harland and Falconer among the people who were waiting to meet
friends, and on seeing whether Nick Hilliard was with them.
There was a crowd on the platform. Pretty "summer girls" with bare heads,
over which they held parasols of bright green, or rose-red, that threw
charming lights and shadows on their tanned faces: brown young men in
khaki knickerbockers, shaking hands with paler men just coming from town,
and little children in white, laughing at sight of arriving "daddies".
Soon Falconer, towering over most others, appeared with his sister by his
side, and Carmen was pleased to see that Mrs. Harland's clothes could not
compare with hers. Having no idea of suiting her costume to the country,
she thought herself infinitely preferable in her Paris gown to Mrs.
Harland in a cotton frock, and shady straw hat. But no Nick was visible,
and Carmen's pleasure was dashed.
The brother and sister met her cordially, took her to look at the bubbling
spring in its kiosk, and then up the height on the scenic railway.
Presently they landed on the level of the parklike plateau, where a big
hotel and its attendant cottages were visible, with many golden dolomitic
peaks and great white Shasta itself peeping through the trees. Still
nothing had been said about Nick; and Carmen dared not ask. She feared
some disappointment, and shrank from the blow.
Mariette had brought coffee to her mistress's stateroom very early, but
Carmen was not averse to the suggestion of breakfast at the hotel before
motoring over the mountains. As they ate, they talked of impersonal
things: the colony under the trees; the making of the mountain road; and
Falconer told how Mount Shasta--long ago named by Indians "Iska, the
White"--was the abode of the Great Spirit; and how, in old, old times,
before the Indians, the sole inhabitants of the country were grizzly
bears. Carmen listened to the unfolding of the tale into a fantastic
love-story, saying, "Oh!" or "How interesting!" at polite intervals.
Always she asked herself, "Where's Nick? Hasn't he come yet? Is it
possible he's been prevented from coming at all?" She tried to brace
herself against disappointment and not show that she cared, but she turned
red and white when Mrs. Harland said at last, "We're so sorry Mr. Hilliard
couldn't be with us. We both like him so much, and it would have been very
nice to have him too, while you are at Rushing River Camp."
"Oh, he couldn't come!" Carmen echoed dully.
"No. Isn't it too bad? We thought you'd know--that he might have
written----"
"Perhaps he has, and I've missed the letter," Carmen broke in, hating to
let these strangers think her slighted by Hilliard. "I've been in San
Francisco two days. But--where is he? On his way home?"
"I don't quite know," replied Mrs. Harland, rather evasively, it seemed.
And then she changed the subject.
Carmen had never seen anything like that winding road over the mountains,
with the white, phantom glimpses of Shasta at every forest turning.
Falconer's big automobile, which he kept at the "Camp," ran up the steep
gradients without appearing to know that they existed, and Carmen strove
to be cheerful, to look as if she were enjoying the drive. But her heart
was a lump of ice, though she talked and laughed a great deal, telling
Mrs. Harland about the rich or important people she knew, instead of
drinking in the sweet air, and giving her eyes to the wild loveliness. It
was bad enough that Nick was not coming, but the air of reserve or
uneasiness with which Mrs. Harland had said, "I don't quite know," touched
the situation with mystery. She realized that, if there were anything to
hide, she would not find it out from her host or hostess; but when on the
veranda of the glorified log-house overhanging the river she saw Theo
Dene, Carmen instantly said to herself with conviction, "If _she_ knows,
I'll get it out of her!"
And seeing Miss Dene at Rushing River Camp she was almost inclined to be
glad that Nick was not there. She admired Theo's splendid red hair and
dazzling skin. She saw that, though the young woman's clothes were simple,
their simplicity was Parisian and expensive; and she saw also that Theo
was a flirt--a "man-eater," as she put it to herself, her dark eyes
meeting the green eyes in a first understanding glance.
Miss Dene was far from unwilling to be pumped. In fact, she meant to be
pumped; and that afternoon, while Mrs. Harland was writing letters and
Falconer was with his secretary, whom he could not escape even in the
country, she invited Mrs. Gaylor to sit with her on the broad veranda,
beneath which the river ran singing a never-ending song.
The two pretty women, the one dark the other fair, made a charming
picture, and neither was oblivious of the fact; but it would not have
occurred to Carmen that her self-appreciation might be put into words.
However, she laughed when Theo said:
"What a shame there aren't any men to admire us! We're both looking too
adorable, aren't we? I should love to snapshot you in that Indian hammock,
though the picture would lose a lot without colour. And it's very unkind
of you if you wouldn't like to have a picture of me in my green
rocking-chair on the scarlet rug."
This gave Carmen a chance to touch upon the subject in her heart without,
as she thought, arousing any suspicion.
"You look awfully pretty," she said; "and this balcony is lovely, hanging
over the river. It's quite different from my home; though mine's nice,
too. And we have got one man--Mr. Falconer."
"He's engaged," said Theo.
"Oh, is he? I didn't know that. Well, and Mr. Hilliard will come, perhaps.
Have you met him?"
"Yes," replied Theo promptly; "at Santa Barbara. He was motoring with Mrs.
May. I thought him one of the handsomest men I ever saw. But I'm afraid he
isn't coming. She isn't either--of course."
Carmen's face crimsoned; then her colour died away and left her sickly
white, all but the little pink spots of rouge she had put on in the
morning.
"Motoring with Mrs. May!" she repeated, harshly, then controlled her voice
by a violent effort. "Was Mrs. May expected here?"
"Was expected," Theo echoed with emphasis. She was enjoying herself
thoroughly; literally enjoying "herself." This was almost as good as if
Hilliard had not refused the invitation and Angela had not basely slipped
out of the engagement after practically accepting. "She won't come. I
suppose she thinks she's having more fun where she is. Though if Mr.
Hilliard had come I haven't the ghost of a doubt that she would. Do you
know Mr. Hilliard well?"
This in a tone as innocent as that of a little child talking of its dolls.
"Pretty well," answered Carmen, moistening her lips. "Who is Mrs. May? I
heard of her once. She's a friend of the Morehouses."
"She's a new importation," replied Theo lightly. "So far as I can make
out, she and Mr. Hilliard met in New York."
"Is she--pretty?"
"Yes, very. Fair hair and gray eyes that look dark. Mourning is becoming
to her."
"Is she a widow?"
"She--gives that impression," Miss Dene smiled. This Carmen Gaylor was
like a beautiful, fiery thundercloud. Teasing her was delightful. Theo
felt as if she were in a play. It was a dreadful waste of good material
not to have an audience. But she would "use the scene" afterward. She
remembered hearing a great actress tell how she visited hospitals for
consumptives, and even ran up to Davos one winter, when she was preparing
to play _La Dame aux Camélias_. Theo would have done all that if she had
been an actress. She was fond of realism in every form, and did not stick
at gruesomeness.
"A grass widow?" exclaimed Carmen eagerly.