As Bud Lee came through the lilacs into the courtyard, he heard the
tinkle of a distant piano and the tremolo of a violin, so faint as
hardly to be distinguished above the plash and gurgle of the fountains.
The court, bathed in soft light, seemed a corner of fairyland, the
music vanishing elfin strains of some mischievous troop putting sighs
and love dreams into a sleeping maid's breast. The night was rich with
stars, warm with summer, serene with the peace of the mountains. He
was late. They were already dancing within.
He stood a moment, looking in at the outer edge of the flood of light
which gushed through the wide doors. Behind him Japanese lanterns
hanging from a vine-covered trellis; before him flowers, bright
chandeliers, girls' dresses like fluttering, many-colored, diaphanous
butterfly wings. He had been saying to himself: "I must hurry if I
want to dance with Marcia." And something stirring restlessly within
him shoved aside the thought of Marcia and put in its stead the old
wonder: "What sort of a Judith would he see to-night?"
He found it difficult to form any picture of her here, among these gay,
inconsequent merry-makers. Judith to him spelled a girl upon a horse,
booted, spurred, with a scarf about her neck fluttering wildly behind
her as she rode, the superb, splendid figure of a girl of the
out-of-doors, alive with the hot pioneer blood which had been her rich
inheritance, a sort of wonderful boy-girl. Remove her flapping hat,
her boots, and spurs and riding-suit, and what was left of Judith?
Outside were half a dozen of the boys who had not mustered courage to
set foot on the polished floors, Carson and Tommy Burkitt among them.
Tommy stared at Bud Lee and his jaw dropped in amazement. Carson took
swift stock of such clothes as he had never suspected a good horse
foreman owned, and gasped faintly:
"The damn . . . lady-killer!"
But Lee had neither eyes nor thoughts for them, nor remembrance of his
own change from working garb to that of polite society. The dance came
to a lingering end, the couples throughout the big rooms strolled up
and down, clapping their hands softly or vehemently as their natures or
degree of enthusiasm dictated, and Lee forgot Marcia and sought eagerly
for a glimpse of Judith.
Refused a second encore, the couples stood about chatting, the hum of
lively voices bespeaking eager enjoyment. There was no early chill
upon the assembly, to be dissipated as the dance wore on; the day of
festivity outdoors had thawed the thin crust of icy strangeness which
is so natural a part of such a function as this. Already it seemed
that everybody was on the most cheerful terms with everybody else.
Suddenly Lee's eyes, still seeking Judith, found Marcia. Surrounded by
a little knot of men, each of them plainly seeking to become her happy
partner for the next dance, adorably helpless as usual, Miss Langworthy
was allowing the men to fight it out among themselves. Lee moved a
little nearer to see her better. In a pale-blue gown, fluffy as a
summer cloud, her cheeks delicately flushed, a white rose like a
snowdrop in the gold of her hair, she was flutteringly happy, reminding
him of those little meadow blues that had flown palpitatingly about him
that day in the fields. And she was obviously as much at her ease
here, in an atmosphere of music and flattery, as the tiny butterflies
in their own meadows.
Bud Lee came in, his tall form conspicuous, and went straight to
Marcia. She saw him immediately; forget herself to stare almost as
Carson had done; smiled at him brightly; waved her fan to him.
He took her hand and told her with his eyes how pretty she was. The
delicate tint in Marcia's cheeks deepened and warmed, her eyes grew
even brighter.
"Flatterer!" she chided him. "Are we to talk of the moth and the star
again, Mr. Lee?"
The knot of men about her melted away. Lee stood looking down into her
upturned eyes, measuring her gentle beauty. He had thought of her as a
little blue butterfly--she was more like a wee white moth, fluttering,
fluttering . . .
The music, again from a hidden distance, set feet to tapping. Marcia
plainly hesitated, flashed a quick look from Lee to the others about
them, then whispered hurriedly:
"It's terrible of me, but----"
And she slipped her hand into his arm, cast another searching glance
over her shoulder for a partner who had been too tardy in finding her,
and yielded to the temptation to have this first dance with "the most
terribly fascinating man there"! Lee slipped his arm about her, felt
her sway with him, and lightly they caught the beat of the dance and
lost themselves in it. And still, again and again turning away from
Marcia, he sought Judith.
The dance over, their talk was interrupted by an excited and rather
overdignified youth with a hurt look in his young worshipping eyes, who
stiffly reminded Miss Langworthy that she had cut his dance. She was
so contrite and helpless about it that the youth's heart was touched;
she blamed herself for her terribly stupid way of always getting things
tangled up, gave him the promise of the next dance, which she had
already given to some one else, disposed of him with charming skill,
and sighed as she turned again to Lee.
"I haven't paid my respects to our hostess," he said quietly. "Where
is Miss Sanford?"
"She sent her excuses," Marcia told him. "Aren't we in a draft, Mr.
Lee?"
He moved with her away from the soft current of air, a distinct
disappointment moving him to the verge of sudden anger. What business
had Judith to stay away?
"You mean she isn't coming at all?" he asked quickly.
"Oh, no," she told him, busy with the rose in her hair, her eyes bright
on his. "Just as the dance was beginning she had to go to the
telephone. Some ranch business, I don't know what. But she sent word
she would be here immediately--I believe," and Marcia made her remark
teasingly, though she did want to know, "that a certain mysterious
gentleman who masquerades as a horse-breaker is very much interested in
Judith."
"What makes you say a thing like that?" he asked, startled a little.
Marcia laughed.
"A woman's intuition, Sir Mystery!" she informed him gayly.
"What does the woman's intuition find to be the mysterious gentleman's
interest in a certain Miss Langworthy?" he asked lightly.
"It tells her that he likes her; that it would be fun for him to come
and play with her; that he would be kind and courteous; but that he
considers her very much as he would a foolish little butterfly!"
Again she startled him. He looked at her wonderingly. But before he
could frame a bantering reply, Marcia had involuntarily gripped at his
arm with a look upon her face that first was sheer bewildered
astonishment, and was crying for him to look yonder.
Judith had come.
Across the floor, now nearly deserted, Bud Lee and Marcia stared at
her. She was coming toward them, her dainty little slippers seeming to
kiss their own reflections in the gleaming floor. It was Judith and
not Judith. It was some strange, unknown Judith. A wonderfully
gowned, transcendently lovely Judith. A Judith who had long hidden
herself, masquerading, and who now stepped forth smiling and bright and
vividly beautiful; a Judith of bare white arms, round and soft and rich
in their tender curves; a Judith whose filmy gown floated about her
like a sun-shot mist; a Judith whose skin above the low-cut corsage was
like a baby's, whose tender mouth was a red flower, whose hair was a
shimmering mass of bronze-brown, whose eyes were Aphrodite's own,
glorious, dawn-gray; a Judith of rare maidenly charm; a glorious,
palpitant, triumphant Judith.
It might have been just because it was fitting that they should greet
their hostess so; it might have been because the men and women who saw
this new Judith were caught suddenly in a compelling current of
admiration, that above the hum of voices rose from everywhere a quick
clapping of hands as she came through the room. The color of her
cheeks deepened, her eyes flashed a joyous acknowledgment of the
greeting, and bright and cool and self-possessed she came on to Marcia.
"Marcia, dear," she said, taking Marcia's two hands--and Bud Lee found
that even Judith's voice had taken on a new note, deeper, richer,
gladder, fraught with the quality of low music--"forgive me for being
late. I wanted to be here every little second to see you enjoy
yourself." She put her lips closer to Marcia's ear, whispering: "You
are the prettiest thing to-night I ever saw!"
Marcia shook her head, her eyes filled with frank wonder.
"Don't fib, Judith, dear," she answered. And, for Marcia, she was very
grave. "I know you have a glass in your room. You wonderful,
wonderful Judith!"
Their voices were indistinct to Bud Lee. Now at the moment when she
was so rich in the splendor of her own sweet femininity he filled his
heart with her. Judith had come in the only way Judith could come,
surrendering herself utterly to the hour.
She turned to him, no surprise at his own costume in her happy eyes,
and gave him her cool hand. A swift tremor ran through him at the
contact, a tremor which was like that of the night in the cabin, which
he could not conceal, which Judith must notice. She said something,
but he let the words go, holding only the vibrant music of the voice.
She had stirred him, and now he did not seek a theory for a buckler;
the sight of her, the brushing of her fingers against his, made riotous
tumult in his blood.
The first strains of a waltz joined the lure of Judith's warm
loveliness, whispering, counselling, commanding: "Take her." Marcia
gasped and stepped back, startled by the look she saw in the eyes of
this man who, having spoken no word since Judith came, put out his arms
and took her into them. Judith flashed at him a look of quick wonder.
His face was almost stern; no hint of a smile had come into his eyes.
He merely caught her to him as though she were his, and swung her out
into the whirl of dancers.
"You are rather--abrupt, aren't you?" said Judith coolly.
"Am I?" he asked gravely. "I don't know. It seems to me that I have
been loitering, just loitering while----"
He didn't attempt to finish. He held Judith in his arms while for him
the room was emptied of its gay throng, the music no longer pulsed; its
beat was in the rhythm of their bodies, swaying as one.
The dance over, she was lost to him in the crowd of men who came
eagerly to her. His eyes followed her wherever she went. A slow anger
kindled in his heart that she should let other men talk with her, that
she should suffer another man to take her in his arms.
A number of country dances followed. He stood by the door waiting a
little before he went again to Judith. He saw Marcia across the room
beckoning to him with her fan. There was nothing to do but to go to
her. He frowned but went, still watching for Judith. Marcia wanted
him to meet some of her friends. He shook hands with Hampton, was
introduced to Rogers. Marcia explained that Mr. Lee was the gentleman
who achieved perfect wonders in the education of his horses. She
turned to introduce Farris, the artist. But Farris broke into Marcia's
words with a sudden exclamation.
"Dave Lee!" he cried, as if he could not believe his eyes. "You!
Here!"
"Hello, Dick," Lee answered quietly. "Yes, I'm here. I didn't know
that you were the artist fellow Hampton had brought up with him."
Farris's hand went out swiftly to be gripped in Lee's. Marcia,
mystified, looked from one to the other.
"You two know each other? Why, isn't that----"
She didn't know just what it was, so stopped, looking frankly as though
she'd like to have one of them finish her sentence for her.
"But," muttered Farris, "I thought that you----"
"Never mind, Dick," said Lee quickly. And to Marcia's mystified
expression: "You'll pardon us a moment, Miss Langworthy? I want to
talk a little with Mr. Farris."
His hand on the artist's elbow, Bud Lee forced him gently away. The
two disappeared into the little room off the library where José was
placing a great bowl of punch on the table.
"_Que hay_, Bud," grinned José. "Your ol' nose smell the booze damn'
queek, no?"
He set down his bowl and went out. Farris stared wonderingly at Lee.
"Bud, is it?" he grunted. "Breaker of horses; hired man at a dollar a
day----?"
"Ninety dollars a month, Dick," Lee corrected g him, with a short
laugh. "Give a fellow his true worth, old-timer."
Farris frowned.
"What devil's game is this!" he demanded sharply. "Isn't it enough
that you should drop out of the world with never a word, but that you
must show up now breaking horses and letting such chaps as Mrs.
Simpson's Black Spanish chum with you? Not a cursed word in five
years, and I've lain awake nights wondering. When you went to
smash----"
"When a Lee goes to smash," said Bud briefly, "he goes to smash.
That's all there is to it."
"But there was no sense, no use in your dropping out of sight that
way----"
"There was," said Lee curtly, "or I shouldn't have done it. It wasn't
just that I went broke; that was a result of my own incompetence in a
bit of speculation and didn't worry me a great deal. But other things
did. There were a couple of the fellows that I thought were friends of
mine. I found out that they had knifed me; had helped pluck me to
feather their own nests. It hurt, Dick; hurt like hell. Losing the
big ranch in the South was a jolt, I'll admit; seeing those fellows
take it over and split it two ways between them, sort of knocked the
props out from under me. I believed in them, you see. After that I
just wanted to get away and sort of think things over."
"You went to Europe?"
"I did not. I don't know how that report got out, but if people chose
to think I had gone to take a hand in the fighting over there, I saw no
need to contradict a harmless rumor. I took a horse and beat it up
into the coast mountains. I tell you, Dick, I wanted to think! And I
found out before I was through thinking that I was sick of the old
life, that I was sick of people, the sort of people you and I knew,
that there was nothing in the world but horses that I cared the snap of
my finger about, that the only life worth living--for me--was a life in
the open. I drifted up this way. I've been living my own life in my
own way for five years. I am happier at it than I used to be. That's
all of the flat little story, Dick."
"You might have let me know, it seems to me," said Farris a bit stiffly.
"So I might," answered Lee thoughtfully. "I was going to in the first
place. But you'll remember that you were off somewhere travelling when
the bubble broke. When Dick Farris travels," and his grave smile came
back to him, "let no mad letter think that it can track him down. Then
I hit my stride in this sort of life; I grew away from the old news;
the years passed as years do after a man is twenty-five; and I just
didn't write. But I didn't forget, Dickie, old man," he said warmly,
and his hand rested on Farris's shoulder. "You can put it in that old
black pipe of yours and smoke it, that I didn't forget. Some day I
planned to hit town again, heeled you know, and remind you of auld lang
syne."
"You are a fool, David Burrill Lee," said Farris with conviction.
"Look here: you can take a new start, pull yourself together, come
back--where you belong."
But Lee shook his head.
"That's like the old Dick Farris I used to know," he said gently. "But
this is where I belong, Dick. I don't want to start over, I don't want
to come back to the sort of thing we knew. The only thing in the world
I do want is right here. And I don't see that it would do any good for
you to go stirring up any memories about the old Lee that was shot
'somewhere in France.'"
When Farris had to go and claim a dance, Lee watched him with eyes soft
with affection. Then he, too, left the room and went back to the outer
door, to his old spot, looking for Judith.
"The only thing I want is right here," he repeated softly.
He watched Farris join Marcia and Judith. He noted the eager
excitement in Marcia's eyes, saw her turn impulsively to Farris. The
artist shook his head and left them, ostensibly going in search of his
partner. Marcia was speaking excitedly to Judith. Lee frowned.
Once more that night he held Judith in his arms. He meant to make
amends for his brusque way with her before. But again the magic of her
presence was like a glorious mist, shutting them in together, shutting
all of the world out. They spoke little and the music had its will
with them. Judith did not know that she sighed as the dance ended.
She seemed moving in a dream as Lee led her through the door. They
were out in the courtyard, the stars shining softly down on them. In
the subdued light here he stood still, looking down into her
pleasure-flushed face. Again the insistent tremor shot down his blood.
Here in this tender light she looked to him the masterpiece of God
striving for the perfect in a woman's form. Her gown, gently stirred
by the warm breeze, seemed a part of her, elusive, alive, feminine.
The milk-white of bare throat and shoulder and rounded arm, the rise
and fall of her breast, the soft lure of her eyes, the tender smile
upon her lips, drew him slowly closer, closer to her. She lifted her
face a little, raising her eyes until they shone straight into his.
"Judith," he said very quietly, very gravely, making her wonder at the
tone and the words to follow: "You have had your way with me to-night.
Do you understand all that means? And now--I am going to have my way
with you!"
He caught her in his arms, crushed her to him, kissed her. Then he let
her go and stood, stern-faced, watching her.
For a moment he thought that the hand at her side was rising to strike
him full in the face. But he did not move.
Had such been Judith's intention, suddenly it changed.
"So," she cried softly, "this is the sort of fine gentleman into which
a dress-suit has made Bud Lee, horse foreman! For so great an honor
surely any woman would thank him!"
She made him a slow, graceful courtesy, and laughed at him. And so she
left him, her laughter floating back, taunting him.
Lee watched her until she had gone from his sight. Then he turned and
went down the knoll, into the night.