AN UNDERSTUDY
Soon after the doctor started on his trip to the North the Thayers
closed their Beacon Street home and went to their North Shore cottage.
The move was made a little earlier than usual this year, a fact which
pleased the children not a little and delighted Helen Denby especially.
"You see, I'm always so afraid in Boston," she explained to Mrs. Thayer,
as the train pulled out of the North Station.
"Afraid?"
"That somewhere--on the street, or somewhere--I'll meet some one from
Dalton, or somebody that knew--my husband."
Mrs. Thayer frowned slightly.
"Yes, I know. And there was danger, of course! But--Helen, that brings
up exactly the subject that I'd been intending to speak to you about.
Thus far--and advisedly, I know--we have kept you carefully in the
background, my dear. But this isn't going to do forever, you know."
"Why not? I--I like it."
Mrs. Thayer smiled, but she frowned again thoughtfully.
"I know, dear; but if you are to learn this--this--" Mrs. Thayer
stumbled and paused as she always stumbled and paused when she tried to
reduce to words her present extraordinary mission. "You will have to--to
learn to meet people and mingle with them easily and naturally."
The earnest look of the eager student came at once to Helen Denby's
face.
"You mean, I'll have to meet and mingle with swell people if I, too,
am-- Oh, that horrid word again! Mrs. Thayer, _why_ can't I learn to
stop using it? But you mean-- I know what you mean. You mean I'll have
to meet and mingle with--with ladies and gentlemen if I'm to be one
myself. Isn't that it?"
"Y-yes, of course; only--the very words 'lady' and 'gentleman' have been
so abused that we--we--Oh, Helen, Helen, you do put things so baldly,
and it sounds so--so-- Don't you see, dear? It's all just as I've told
you lots of times. The minute you begin to talk about it, you lose it.
It's something that comes to you by absorption and intuition."
"But there are things I have to learn, Mrs. Thayer,--real things, like
holding your fork, and clothes, and finger nails, and not speaking so
loud, and not talking about 'folks' being 'swell' and 'tony,' and--"
"Yes, yes, I know," interrupted Mrs. Thayer, with a touch of
desperation. "But, after all, it's all so--so impossible! And--" She
stopped abruptly at the look of terrified dismay that always leaped to
Helen Denby's eyes in response to such a word. "No, no, I don't mean
that. But, really, Helen," she went on hurriedly, "the time has come
when you must be seen more. And it will be quite safe at the shore, I am
sure. You'll meet no one who ever saw you in Dalton; that is certain."
"Then, of course, if you say I'll have to--I'll have to. That's all."
"I do say it."
"My, but I dread it!" Helen drew in her breath and bit her lip.
"All the more reason why you should do it then," smiled Mrs. Thayer
briskly. "You're to learn _not_ to dread it. See? And it'll be easier
than you think. There are some very pleasant people coming down. The
Gillespies, Mrs. Reynolds and her little Gladys,--about Betty's age, by
the way,--and next month there'll be the Drew girls and Mr. Donald Estey
and his brother John. Later there will be others--the Chandlers, and Mr.
Eric Shaw. And I'm going to begin immediately to have them see you, and
have you see them."
"They'll know me as 'Mrs. Darling'?"
"Of course--a friend of mine."
"But I want to--to help in some way."
"You do help. You help with the children--your companionship."
"But that's the way I've learned--so many things, Mrs. Thayer."
"Of course. And that's the way you'll learn--many other things. But
there are others--still others--that you can learn in no way as well as
by association with the sort of well-bred men and women you will meet
this summer. I don't mean that you are _always_ to be with them, my
dear; but I do mean that you must be with them enough so that it is a
matter of supreme indifference to you whether you are with them or not.
Do you understand? You must learn to be at ease with--anybody. See?"
Helen sighed and nodded her head slowly.
"Yes, I think I do, Mrs. Thayer; and I will try--so hard!" She
hesitated, then asked abruptly, "Who is Mr. Donald Estey, please?"
There was an odd something in Mrs. Thayer's laugh as she answered.
"And why, pray, do you single him out?"
"Because of something--different in your voice, when you said his name."
Mrs. Thayer laughed again.
"That's more cleverly put than you know, child," she shrugged. "I never
thought of it before, but I fancy we all do say Mr. Donald Estey's
name--with a difference."
"Is he so very important, then?"
"In his own estimation--yes! There! I was wrong to say that, Helen, and
you must forget it. Mr. Donald Estey is a very wealthy, very capable,
very delightful and brilliant young bachelor. He is a little spoiled,
perhaps; but that's our fault and not his, I suspect, for he's petted
and made of enough to turn any man's head. He's very entertaining. He
knows something about everything. He can talk Egyptian scarabs with my
brother, and Irish crochet with me, and then turn around and discuss
politics with my husband, and quote poetry to Phillis Drew in the next
breath. All this, of course, makes him a very popular man."
"But he's a--a real gentleman, the kind that my husband would like?"
"Why, of--of course!" Mrs. Thayer frowned slightly; then, suddenly, she
laughed. "To tell the truth he's very like your husband, in some ways,
I've heard my brother say--tastes, temperament, and so forth."
An odd something leaped to Helen Denby's eyes.
"You mean, what _he_ likes, Burke likes?" she questioned.
"Why, y-yes; you might put it that way, I suppose. But never mind.
You'll see for yourself when you see him."
"Yes, I'll see--when I see him." Helen Denby nodded and relaxed in her
seat. The odd something was still smouldering in her eyes.
"Then it's all settled, remember," smiled Mrs. Thayer. "You're not to
run and hide now when somebody comes. You're to learn to meet people.
That's your next lesson."
"My next lesson--my next lesson," repeated Helen Denby, half under her
breath. "Oh, I hope I'll learn so much--in this next lesson! I won't run
and hide now, indeed, I won't, Mrs. Thayer!"
And at the glorified earnestness of her face, Mrs. Thayer, watching,
felt suddenly her own throat tighten convulsively.
In spite of her valiant promise, Helen Denby, a week later, did almost
run and hide when the Gillespies, the first of Mrs. Thayer's guests,
arrived. Held, however, by a stern something within her, she bravely
stood her ground and forced herself to meet Mr. and Mrs. Gillespie and
their daughters, Miss Alice and Miss Maud. It was not so difficult the
next week when Mrs. Reynolds came, perhaps because of the pretty little
Gladys, so near her own Betty's age.
Fully alive to her own shortcomings, however, embarrassed, and
distrustful of herself, Helen was careful never to push herself forward,
never to take the initiative. And because she was so quiet and
unobtrusive, her intense watchfulness, and slavish imitation of what she
saw, passed unnoticed. Gradually, as the days came and went, the
tenseness of her concentration relaxed, and she began to move and speak
with less studied caution. It was at this juncture that Mr. Donald Estey
arrived. Instantly into her bearing sprang an entirely new, alert
eagerness. But this, too, passed unnoticed, for the change was not in
herself alone. The entire household had made instant response to the
presence of Mr. Donald Estey. The men sharpened their wits, and the
women freshened their furbelows. Breakfast was served on the minute with
never a vacant chair; and even the steps of the maids in the kitchen
quickened.
Because Mr. Donald Estey was always surrounded by an admiring group, the
fact that "that quiet little Mrs. Darling" was almost invariably one of
the group did not attract attention. It was Mr. Donald Estey himself, in
fact, who first noticed it; and the reason that he noticed it was
because once, when she was not there, he found himself looking for her
eager face. He realized then that for some time he had been in the habit
of finding his chief inspiration in a certain pair of wondrously
beautiful blue eyes bent full upon himself.
Not that the encountering of admiring feminine eyes bent full upon him
was a new experience to Mr. Donald Estey; but that these eyes were
different. There was something strangely fascinating and compelling in
their earnest gaze. It was on the day that he first missed them that he
suddenly decided to cultivate their owner.
He began by asking casual questions of his fellow guests, but he could
find out very little concerning the lady. She was a Mrs. Darling, a
friend of their hostess (which he knew already). She was a widow, they
believed, though they had never heard her husband mentioned. She was
pleasant enough--but so shy and retiring! Charming face she had, though,
and beautiful eyes. But did he not think she was--well, a little
peculiar?
Mr. Donald Estey did not answer this, directly. He became, indeed,
always very evasive when his fellow guests turned about and began to
question him. Very soon, too, he ceased his own questioning. But that
he had not lost his interest in Mrs. Darling was most unmistakably shown
at once, for openly and systematically he began to seek her society--to
the varying opinions (but unvarying interest) of the rest of the house
party.
If Mr. Donald Estey had expected Mrs. Darling to be shy and coy at his
advances, he found himself entirely mistaken. She welcomed him with a
frank delight that was most flattering, at the same time most puzzling,
owing to a certain elusive quality that he could not name.
Mr. Donald Estey thought that he knew women well. It pleased his fancy
to think that he had his feminine friends nicely pigeonholed and
labeled, and that he had but to pass an hour or two of intimate talk
with any woman to be able at once to ticket her accurately. His first
hour of intimate talk with Mrs. Darling, however, left him confused and
baffled--but mightily interested: in the course of that one hour he had
shelved her in almost every one of his pigeonholes, only to find at the
end of it that she was still free and uncatalogued.
She was a flirt; she was not a flirt. She was sincere; she was
hypocritical. She was brilliantly subtle; she was incredibly stupid. She
was charming; she was commonplace. She was as clear as crystal; she was
as inscrutable as a sphinx--and she was all these things in that one
short first hour. At the end of it, Mr. Donald Estey, with a long breath
and a frown, but with a quickened pulse, decided that he would have
another hour with her as soon as possible.
He had no difficulty in obtaining it. Mrs. Darling, indeed, seemed quite
as desirous of his society as he was of hers; yet there was still the
elusive something in her manner that robbed it of all offensive
eagerness. Again to-day, after the hour's intimate talk, Estey found
himself confused and baffled, with the lady still outside his
pigeonholes. Nor did he find the situation changed the next day, or the
next. Then suddenly he awoke to a new element in the case--the
extraordinary deference that was being paid his lightest wish or
preference on the part of Mrs. Darling.
At first, doubting the accuracy of his suspicions, he systematically put
her to the test, choosing purposely the most obvious and unmistakable.
Blue was his favorite color, he said: she appeared in blue the next day.
Browning was his best-loved poet, he declared: in less than an hour he
found her poring over "Pippa Passes" in the library. A woman who could
talk, and talk well, on current events won his sincere admiration every
time, he told her: he wondered the next morning how late she must have
sat up the night before, studying the merits and demerits of the four
presidential candidates.
Mr. Donald Estey was flattered, amused, and curiously interested. Not
that what looked to be a determined assault upon his heart was exactly a
new experience for him; but that the circumstances in this case were so
out of the ordinary, and that he was still trying to "place" this young
woman. He was not sure even, always, that she was trying to make a bid
for his affections. He was not sure, either, of his own mind regarding
her. In spite of his interest, he was conscious, sometimes, of a
distinct feeling of aversion toward her. She was not always, to his
mind, quite--the lady, though she was improving in that respect. (Even
in his thoughts the word gave him a shock: he could hardly imagine a
candidate for the position of Mrs. Donald Estey in need
of--improvement!) But she was beautiful, and there was something
wonderfully alluring in her eager way of listening to his every word.
She was, indeed, not a little refreshing after the languid conservatism
of some of the sophisticated young women one usually found at these
country houses. Besides, was she, after all, really in love with him?
Very likely she was not. At all events, it could do no harm--this mild
flirtation--if flirtation it were! He would not worry about it. Plenty
of time yet to--to withdraw. He had but to receive (apparently) a
summoning message, and he could go at once. That would, of course, end
the affair. Meanwhile-- But just exactly what type of woman was she,
anyway?
Still amused, interested, and contentedly secure, therefore, Mr. Donald
Estey pursued for another week his pleasant pastime of finding just the
proper pigeonhole for this tantalizing will-o'-the-wisp of femininity;
then, sharply, he received a jolt that left him figuratively--almost
literally--breathless and gasping.
They were talking of marriage.
"But you yourself have never married," she said.
"No, I have never married."
"I wonder why."
Mr. Donald Estey frowned and stirred restlessly--there were times when
Mrs. Darling's unconventionality was not "refreshing."
"Perhaps--the right girl has never found me," he shrugged.
"Oh, Mr. Estey, please, what sort of a girl would be the right one--for
you?"
"Well, really--er--" He stopped and stirred again uneasily--there was an
almost frenzied earnestness in her face and manner that was somewhat
disconcerting.
"That might be hard telling," he evaded banteringly.
"But you _could_ tell me, Mr. Estey. I know you could. And, oh, won't
you, please?"
"Why, er--Mrs. Darling!" He gave an embarrassed laugh as he sought for
just the right word to say. "You seem--er--extraordinarily interested."
He laughed again--to hide the fact that he knew that he had said just
the _wrong_ thing.
"I am interested. Indeed, Mr. Estey, it would mean--you cannot know what
it would mean--if you'd tell me."
"Why--er--really--"
"Yes, yes, I know. I hadn't ought to talk like this. Ladies don't. I can
see it in your face. But it's because I want to _know_ so--because I
must know. Please, won't you tell me?"
With a quick lifting of his head Mr. Donald Estey pulled himself sharply
together. Flattering as it was to be thus deferred to, this
flirtation--if flirtation it were--had gone quite far enough. He laughed
again lightly and sprang to his feet.
"Couldn't think of it, Mrs. Darling. Really, I couldn't, you know!"
"Mr. Estey!" She, too, was on her feet. She had laid a persuasive hand
on his arm. "Please, you think I'm joking; but I'm not. I really mean
it. If you only would do it--it would mean so much to me! And
don't--don't look at me like that. I _know_ I'm not being proper, and I
know ladies don't do so--what I'm doing. But when I saw it--such a
splendid chance to ask you, I--I just had to do it."
"But--but--" The startled, nonplussed man stuttered like a bashful
schoolboy; "it really is so--so absurd, Mrs. Darling, when you--er--stop
to think of it."
She sighed despairingly, but she did not take her hand from his arm.
"Then, if"--she spoke hurriedly, and with evident embarrassment--"if you
won't tell me that way, won't you please tell me another? Could
you--would you-- Am I _any_ like that girl, Mr. Estey?"
Mr. Donald Estey was guilty of an actual gasp of dismay. In a whirl of
vexation at the situation in which he found himself, he groped blindly
for a safe way out. Of course young women (young women such as he knew)
did not really propose to one; but was it possible that that was exactly
what this somewhat remarkable young widow was doing? It seemed
incredible. And yet--
"Am I, Mr. Estey? Or do you think I could--learn?"
"Why, er--er--"
"I mean, would you--could you marry--_me_?"
Every vestige of self-control slipped from the tortured man like a
garment. Conscious only of an insane desire to flee from this wretched
woman who was about to march him to the altar willy-nilly, he quite
jerked his arm free.
"Well, really, Mrs. Darling, I--I--"
"You wouldn't, I can see you wouldn't!" There was a heartbroken little
sob in her voice.
"But--but, Mrs. Darling! Oh, hang it all! What a perfectly preposterous
situation!" he stormed wrathfully. "I don't want--to marry anybody. I
tell you I'm not a marrying man! I--" He stopped short at the astounding
change that had come to the little woman opposite.
She was staring into his face with a growing terror that suddenly, at
its height, broke into a gale of hysterical laughter. She covered her
face with her hands and dropped into the chair behind her.
"Oh, oh, you didn't--you didn't--but you _did_!" she choked, swaying
her body back and forth. The next moment she was on her feet, facing
him, a new something in her eyes. The laughter was quite gone. "You
needn't worry, Mr. Donald Estey." She spoke hurriedly, and with all the
wild _abandon_ of her old self. "I wasn't asking you to marry me--so you
don't have to refuse." Her voice quivered with hurt pride.
"Why, of course not, of course not, my dear lady!" He caught at the
straw. "I never thought--"
"Yes, you did; and you was floundering around trying to find a way to
say no. I wasn't good enough for you. And that's just what I was trying
to find out, too,--but it hurt, just the same, when I did find out!"
"Oh, but, Mrs. Darling, I didn't mean--"
"Yes, you did. I saw it in your eyes, and in the way you drew back. Only
I--I didn't mean _you_. I never thought of your taking it that way--that
I wanted to marry _you_. It was some one else that I meant."
"Some one _else_?" The stupefaction in the man's face deepened.
"Yes. You don't know him. But they said you was--_were_, I mean, like
him; that what _you_ liked, he would like. See? And that's why I tried
to find out what--what you did like, so I could learn to be what would
please him."
The petted idol of unnumbered drawing-rooms blinked his eyes.
"You mean you were using _me_ as an--er--understudy?" he demanded.
"Yes--no--I don't know. I was just trying to walk and talk and breathe
and move the way you wanted me to, so I could do it by and by for--him."
Mr. Donald Estey drew in his breath.
"Well, by--Jove!"
"And I'm going to." She lifted her chin determinedly. "_I'm going to!_
And now you know--why I asked you what I did. I was hoping I--I had
gained a little in all these weeks. I've been trying so hard. And before
you came, when Mrs. Thayer told me you were like--like the man I love, I
determined then to watch you and study you, and do everything the way
you liked, if I could find out what it was. And now to have you think I
was _asking_ you to--to-- As if I'd ever marry--_you_!" she choked. The
next moment, with a wild fling of her arms, she was gone.
Alone, Mr. Donald Estey drew a long breath. As he turned, he faced his
own image in the mirror across the room. Slowly he advanced toward it.
There was a quizzical smile in his eyes.
"Donald, me boy," he apostrophized, "you have been rejected. Do you
hear? _Rejected!_ Jove! But what an extraordinary young woman!" His eyes
left the mirror and sought the door by which she had gone.
Mr. Donald Estey did not see Mrs. Darling again during his stay. A
sudden indisposition prevented her from being among the guests for some
days.