THE WAY OF A MAID
Larchmont Harbor!
It was fair even to the eyes of Bill Marshall, as he stood under the
after awning of the _Sunshine_, staring out over the shining water, as
yet untouched by so much as a breath of breeze. He was in no pleasant
mood this morning, but he could not deny the serene, luxurious charm of
the harbor. At another time it might have awakened the spirit of the
muse within him; Pete always insisted that far under the surface Bill
was a poet. But now its influence was not quite so potent as that; it
merely laid a restraining spell upon him, soothing him, mollifying him,
yet not lifting him to the heights.
There were many yachts at anchor, with club ensigns and owners' flags
drooping limp in the sluggish air. Bill watched them for signs of life,
but it was still an early hour for Larchmont. Occasionally he saw a hand
scrubbing a deck or polishing a brass, but he discovered no person who
resembled an owner or a guest. A warm mist had thinned sufficiently to
show the rocky shore, and beyond it, partly sequestered among the trees,
the summer homes and cottages of persons who still slept in innocence of
the designs of Aunt Caroline. The harbor was not even half awake; it was
yet heavy with the unspent drowsiness of a summer night.
Bill was on deck early because he had slept badly. The affair of Mary
Wayne and Pete Stearns, as he interpreted it, rankled. The yacht had
been clear of Hell Gate before he went to his stateroom, and even then
it was a long time before he closed his eyes. The fact that Bill was
jealous he did not himself attempt to blink; he admitted it.
"He's not a valet, of course," Bill was muttering, as he continued to
watch the harbor. "But she doesn't know that. Why does she have to pick
a valet? And if she wanted to go ashore with him, why didn't she say so,
instead of sneaking off? I wish I'd stayed home. Damned if I'll go into
society, either by way of the steamboat route or any other way."
A steward brought breakfast and served it under the awning. Bill greeted
it with his usual sound appetite; nothing ever seriously interfered with
his breakfast.
"Good morning!"
He looked up from the omelette at Mary Wayne, who stood there all in
white, fresh, clear-eyed, a part of the morning itself.
Bill arose and drew another chair to the table; he could do no less.
"Good morning," he said.
"Doesn't it make you just want to shout?" she exclaimed. "I was watching
it from my stateroom window while I dressed. It's Larchmont, isn't it? I
love it already."
Bill pushed the coffee pot toward her and rang for the steward.
"Yes; it's Larchmont," he said.
"Aren't you just glad all over that we came?"
"Not particularly."
Mary studied him more carefully.
"Oh," she said.
Bill continued to eat in silence. The steward brought another omelette
and she helped herself sparingly.
"How long shall we stay here, do you think?" she ventured.
"What have I got to say about it?"
"I should think you'd have quite a lot to say. I would if I was in
command of a yacht."
"Suppose you weren't sure who was in command?"
"I'd make sure," she answered promptly.
Bill glowered sullenly. The spell of the morning was loosening its grip.
"Well, aboard this yacht it appears that everybody does as he pleases,"
said Bill, helping himself to more coffee and ignoring her proffered
assistance.
His mood pleased her. She would not, of course, show him that it did;
but her innermost self accepted it as a tribute, no matter how
ungraciously the tribute might be disguised.
"That's something new, isn't it?" she inquired. "At sea I always thought
the captain was a czar. Have we a soviet, or something like that?"
"I'm not sure we have even that much. More coffee?"
"No, thank you."
He appeared determined to relapse into a silence, but Mary would not
have it so. She had not been wholly tranquil when she came on deck; she
was somewhat uncertain about the night before. But now everything suited
her very well.
"Do you go ashore here?" she asked.
"Don't know."
"Will any of us be permitted to go ashore?"
"Why ask me?"
"Because you don't seem to want us to use the launch."
Bill gave her a measuring glance.
"Did I say so?"
"Not exactly; that is, not in so many words. But last night----"
"We won't talk about last night, if you don't mind."
She was becoming better pleased every minute. When she had retired the
night before she made up her mind that it would be necessary to make a
clear explanation concerning Peter, the valet. Now she knew that she
would never explain.
"Well, if we're not permitted to go ashore here, do you think we can get
permission at Newport?" she asked.
"Confound it! I didn't say you couldn't go ashore. You can go ashore any
time you want. You can----"
Bill excused himself abruptly and walked forward. Mary beamed at his
retreating back and poured another cup of coffee.
"He was going to say I could go to hell," she murmured. "Oh, lovely!"
Aunt Caroline had breakfast served in her stateroom and then sent for
Mary. After a satisfactory conference, she dismissed Mary and sent for
Bill.
"How soon are you going ashore, William?" she asked.
"I didn't know I was going."
"Why, of course. You have friends here. You can't leave Larchmont
without calling. That's what we came for."
"Who are the friends, I'd like to know."
"Well, in the first place, I believe Bishop Wrangell is staying
here--with the Williamsons. It will give you an opportunity to meet
them; they're very desirable. And then the Kingsleys have a cottage
here, or did, at any rate. You remember the little Kingsley girl at the
party--the one in blue?"
Bill remembered. Only she was not the Kingsley girl; she was Arnold
Gibbs's little girl.
"You must look them up, too. They'll probably have some people visiting
them, too; the Kingsleys always did entertain, and they have a very good
position. And Miss Norcross thinks it just possible that the Humes have
opened their house. You've never met Mrs. Hume, but if you just
mentioned that you're a Marshall, she'll be delighted to see you. She
knew your mother."
Bill groaned.
"Talk to Miss Norcross about it," added Aunt Caroline. "She'll know
exactly what you should do."
"Good Lord, Aunt Caroline! Don't you think I know how to behave without
getting tips from Miss Norcross? You'll be wanting me to consult Peter
next."
"And a very good idea it would be, William. I suggest it. And now see if
you can find last night's _Evening Post_; I haven't seen it yet. After
that I think you'd better start."
Bill walked out like a surly child. He could not find the _Evening
Post_, but he picked up a copy of _Devilish Stories_, gave it to a maid
and told her Aunt Caroline wanted it. Then he went on deck and ordered
the launch.
He had no intention of calling on anybody. He might ring up Kid Whaley
on the 'phone and see if everything was all set for that little affair.
But what he wanted principally was a change of environment.
Mary saw him sulking at the rail as he waited for the launch to be
brought around to the gangway. She smiled, bit her lip and approached.
"You're going ashore?"
"Uhuh."
"You have cards with you, I suppose? Your aunt's also?"
Bill faced her savagely.
"Stacks of cards," he barked. "Mine and my aunt's and my valet's and my
secretary's and the steward's and everybody else's. And my shoes are
clean and I've washed behind my ears and brushed my hair in the back.
Anything else?"
"I don't think of a thing, unless you've forgotten a handkerchief," she
said, sweetly.
The launch arrived and Bill boarded it. At the final moment it occurred
to him that he had, perhaps, been ungracious.
"Want to come along?" he asked, looking up at the rail where Mary stood.
He really hoped she would say yes.
Mary shook her head and smiled like the morning.
"I'm afraid I've too many things to do," she answered. "But thank you,
just the same. You won't forget to call on Mrs. Hume, if she's here."
"I won't forget to take you by the neck and pitch you overboard," was
what Bill had in his mind, but he did not give utterance to it. He
merely scowled and turned his back.
Mary watched the launch as it headed for the yacht club landing and,
when it had moved beyond any possibility of hearing, laughed outright.
"The poor man!" she said. "I'd better watch myself. Back in New York I
felt as if I were living in a reign of hidden terror. Now the pendulum
is at the other extreme and I feel as if I could do anything that
pleased me. It's a time for caution, probably. But he is so funny!"
Bill was gone for several hours. He was late for lunch when the launch
drew alongside the _Sunshine_; in fact, everybody else had had lunch
long ago. His visit ashore had not been satisfactory and was only
prolonged because he felt that the shore, however strange and lonesome,
was more congenial than the deck of his yacht.
He spied Aunt Caroline in an easy chair.
"Nobody home, Aunt Caroline!" he said.
"Oh, I'm sorry, William. Well, there's no hurry, of course; we can stay
over indefinitely. Probably you'd better go back this afternoon."
Bill had no intention of going back. He had not visited a single house;
he had done nothing beyond making several futile attempts to get a
telephone connection with Kid Whaley.
He glanced about the deck and saw nobody but a couple of hands.
"Where's Miss Norcross?" he asked.
"She went swimming," said Aunt Caroline.
"Swimming!"
"Right off the yacht, William. Do you know that she's a very remarkable
swimmer. I was completely astonished."
William went to the rail and surveyed the harbor. He saw no sign of a
swimmer.
"Where is she?" he demanded.
"Oh, somewhere out there," said Aunt Caroline, with an easy gesture.
"She's perfectly safe. Peter is with her."
"What!"
"They went swimming together. I wish you could have seen them, William.
They were just like two children. They've been swimming all around among
the yachts. Where they are now I haven't the least idea; but they'll be
back."
Bill struck the rail savagely and once again glared out at the harbor.
So this was the reason his secretary did not want to go ashore; she had
an engagement to go swimming with his valet. But if Bill was disturbed,
not so Aunt Caroline; she was once more absorbed in her magazine.
The boss of the yacht _Sunshine_ walked forward, where he found the
second officer superintending the cleaning of brasswork.
"Where's that swimming party of ours?" asked Bill, carelessly.
"Now, there's a question you might well ask, sir," said the second
officer. "Where aren't they? Seems to me they've been all over the
harbor, sir, as far as I can make out. Never saw anything like it."
"Is there any boat following them?"
"Boat, sir?" The second officer laughed. "I don't know what they'd be
doing with a boat. The last time I saw them they looked as if they were
fit to swim to Europe. And the young lady, sir!"
He made what was intended to be an eloquent gesture.
"What about the young lady?"
"A fish, sir; a fish, if ever one lived. First off they did a lot of
playing around the yacht, sir. Climbing aboard and diving off again. I
give you my word, sir, the whole crew was on deck watching. The young
lady--well, she's a little thing, but she's nicely set up, sir. She'd
think nothing of making a back dive off the end of the bridge. And the
young gentleman was no ways behind her, sir. You'd think there was a
couple of porpoises in the harbor."
Bill's soul was growing blacker and blacker.
"I've seen swimmers in my time, but never the beat of that pair, unless
it was professionals," added the second officer, in a musing tone.
He glanced out at the water, then gestured quickly.
"Look, now! There they go."
Bill looked. There was a commotion in the water a hundred yards distant.
Two heads were moving rapidly in parallel courses; one was conspicuous
in a scarlet bathing cap. He could see a flashing of wet arms; the sound
of a familiar laugh came to him. A race seemed to be in progress.
He ran up on the bridge for a better view and evidently the red cap
sighted him, for there was an instant of slackened pace and the joyous
wave of a white arm. And then she was again leaving a wake behind her as
she sped in pursuit of the second swimmer. Bill gritted his teeth and
watched. They were not returning to the yacht; rather, they were
increasing their distance from it with every stroke. He stared until
they passed from sight behind a big sloop that lay at anchor, and then
the harbor seemed to swallow them. Evidently they were again exploring
the yacht anchorage, which was crowded with craft.
Bill slowly returned to the deck.
"They've been at it over an hour," volunteered the second officer. "Get
the lady to dive for you when they come back, sir. She'll surprise you,
if I don't mistake."
Bill made no answer, but walked aft, where he plunged himself heavily
into a wicker chair. Aunt Caroline had retired to her stateroom for a
nap and he had the deck to himself.
"I'll not stand for it!" he muttered fiercely. "Last night they were
sneaking off to town together and now they're making a holy show of
themselves here. What does she think she can put over on me, anyhow? As
for Pete Stearns, I'll drown him."
In fact, Bill for a time had been minded to get into his own bathing
suit and pursue them, but his dignity intervened. No; if his secretary
chose to run away with his valet, let her do so. What made it worse, she
knew he was aboard; she had seen him; she had waved her arm at him. And
then, deliberately, she had turned her back upon him.
After half an hour of glooming he went to the rail again and once more
searched the harbor with his glance. He saw no flashing arms; no red
cap.
"I won't stand much more of this," he said, grimly. "I'll show them
where they get off."
He went to his stateroom and mixed a drink, and after that he mixed
another. Presently he returned to the deck, this time with a pair of
binoculars. The glasses showed him no more than he had been able to see
without them. He fell to pacing, his hands clasped behind him, his
glance directed at the canvas-covered deck beneath his feet. Napoleon
could have done it no better; Lord Nelson would have been hard put to
outdo him.
The afternoon was as fair as the morning, but Bill took no account of
its glory. He was wholly absorbed in plumbing the gloomy depths of his
mind.
"They think they're putting it over on me," he sneered. "All right. Let
'em see what happens."
Once again he swept the glasses in a circle of the harbor. No scarlet
cap. He glanced at his watch.
"Well, I'm through. Time's up."
Slipping the glasses into their case, he strode forward and banged on
the door of the sailing master's cabin. A sleepy-eyed officer answered
the summons.
"We're going to pull out of here at once," said Bill.
"Everybody aboard, sir?"
"Everybody that's going."
"Very good, sir. Which way are we heading?"
"I'll tell you when we get outside the harbor. I'm in a hurry."
The sailing master ducked back into his cabin, shouted an order through
a speaking tube that communicated with the engine-room and then ran
forward along the deck. A minute later the winch was wheezing and the
yacht _Sunshine_ was bringing her mud-hook aboard.
Bill retired to his stateroom and poured another drink.