TWO LADIES ON A BALCONY.
The outer aspect of Ardsley is, frankly, feudal. The idea of a North
Carolina estate had grown out of Ardmore’s love of privacy and his wish
to get away from New York, where his family was all too frequently
struck by the spot light. The great tract of land once secured he
had not concerned himself about a house, but had thrown together a
comfortable bungalow which satisfied him for a year. But Ardmore’s
gentle heart, inaccessible to demands of many sorts, was a defenceless
citadel when appeals were made to his generosity. A poor young
architect, lately home from the Ecole des Beaux Arts, with many honours
but few friends, fell under Ardmore’s eyes. The towers and battlements
that soon thereafter crowned the terraced slopes at Ardsley, etching
a noble line against the lovely panorama of North Carolina hills,
testified at once to the architect’s talent for adaptation and
Ardmore’s diminished balances at the Bronx Loan and Trust Company.
On a balcony that commanded the sunset--a balcony bright with geraniums
that hung daringly over a ravine on the west--Mrs. Atchison and Miss
Jerry Dangerfield were cosily taking their tea. Their white gowns, the
snowy awning stirring slightly in the hill air, the bright trifles of
the tea-table mingled in a picture of charm and contentment.
“I wonder,” said Mrs. Atchison abruptly, “where Tommy is.”
“I have no definite idea,” said Jerry, pouring cream, “but let us hope
that he is earning his salary.”
“His salary?” and Mrs. Atchison’s brows contracted. “Do you mean that
my brother is taking pay for this mysterious work he is doing?”
“He shall be paid in money,” replied Jerry with decision. “As I have
only the barest acquaintance with Mr. Ardmore, never, in fact, having
seen him until a few days ago, it would be very improper for me to
permit him to serve me except under the rules that govern the relations
of employer and employee.”
Mrs. Atchison smiled with the wise tolerance of a woman of the world;
and she was a lady, it must be said, who had a keen perception of that
sane and ample philosophy of life which proceeds, we may say, for the
sake of convenience, from the sense of humour. She did not like to
be puzzled; and she had never in her life been surprised, least of
all by any word or deed of her singular brother Tommy. She liked and
even cultivated with daring the inadvertent turns in a day’s affairs.
The cool fashion in which her brother had placed the daughter of the
governor of North Carolina in her hands on board her car at Raleigh
had amused her. She had learned nothing from Jerry of the beginnings
of that young woman’s acquaintance with the master of Ardsley--an
acquaintance which seemed to be intimate in certain aspects but
amazingly distant and opaque in others. Miss Geraldine Dangerfield,
like Mrs. Atchison herself, was difficult to surprise, and Tommy
Ardmore’s sister admired this in any one, and she particularly admired
it in Jerry, who was so charming in so many other ways. Mrs. Atchison
imagined that Jerry’s social experience had been meagre, and yet the
girl accepted the conditions of life at Ardsley as a matter of course,
and in the gatherings of the house party Jerry--there was no denying
it--held the centre of the stage.
The men, including the Duke of Ballywinkle, hung upon her lightest
word, which often left them staggering; and she frequently flung the
ball of conversation into the blue ether with a careless ease that kept
expectancy a-tiptoe in the minds and hearts of all the company.
“I hope,” said Mrs. Atchison, putting down her cup and gazing dreamily
into the west, “that you have not given Tommy any commission in which
he is likely to fail. If it were a matter of finding a fan you had
left behind somewhere, or even of producing an extinct flower from
the Andes, he would undoubtedly be faithful to the trust imposed on
him; but in anything that is really serious, really of importance, one
should never depend on Tommy.”
This was, as the lady knew, almost vulgarly leading; but Jerry folded
her arms, and spoke out with charming frankness.
“I have heard my father say,” said Jerry, “that incapable men often
rise to great opportunities when they are pushed. Mr. Ardmore has
undertaken to perform for me a service of the greatest delicacy and not
unattended with danger. You have been kind to me, Mrs. Atchison, and as
you are my chaperon and entitled to my fullest confidence, it is right
for you to know just how I came here, and why your brother is absent in
my service.”
For once curiosity bound Mrs. Atchison in chains of steel.
“Tell me nothing, dear, unless you are quite free to do so,” she
murmured; but her heart skipped a beat as she waited.
“I should not think of doing so except of my own free will,” declared
Jerry, carelessly following the flight of a hawk that flapped close
by toward the neighbouring woods. “It may interest you to know that
just now your brother, Mr. Thomas Ardmore, is the governor of North
Carolina. He does not exactly know it, for at Raleigh I myself was
governor of North Carolina at the time we met, and I only made Mr.
Ardmore my private secretary; but when it became necessary to take the
field I placed him in full charge, and he is now not only governor of
the Old North State, but also the commander-in-chief of her troops in
the field.”
With a nice feeling for climax Jerry paused, picked a lump of sugar
from the silver bowl on the tea-table, bit the edge of it daintily, and
tossed it to the robins that hopped on the lawn beneath.
Mrs. Atchison moved forward slightly, but evinced no other sign of
surprise. The hour, the scene, the girl were all to her liking.
She would even prolong the delight of hearing the further history
of her brother’s amazing elevation to supreme power in an American
commonwealth--it was so foreign to all experience, so heavy with
possibilities, so delicious in that it had happened to Tommy of all men
in the world!
“I trust,” she said, smiling a little, “that Tommy will not prove
unworthy of the confidence you have reposed in him.”
“If he does,” said Jerry, slapping her hands together to free them of
an imaginary sugar crumb, “I shall never, never marry him.”
“Then may I ask, Miss Dangerfield, if you and he are engaged?”
“Not at all, Mrs. Atchison! Not only are we not engaged, but he has
never even proposed to me. Besides, I am engaged to Colonel Rutherford
Gillingwater, our adjutant-general.”
“Then if you are engaged to this military person, just wherein lies the
significance of your threat never to marry my brother.”
“That,” said Jerry, “is perfectly easy of explanation. Your brother
and I have met only a few times, and I never become engaged to any
man whom I have not known for a week at least. Marriage is a serious
matter; and while the frequent breaking of engagements is painful in
the extreme, I think one cannot be too careful in assuming the marriage
bond.”
Mrs. Atchison wondered whether the girl was amusing herself at her
expense, but Jerry’s tone was grave and Jerry’s eyes were steady. Jerry
was a new species, and she had appeared at a fortunate moment when Mrs.
Atchison had almost concluded that the world is a squeezed lemon.
“In view of the fact that you are engaged to Dillingwater----” began
Mrs. Atchison, anxious for further disclosures touching Jerry’s ideas
on matrimony.
“Colonel Rutherford Gillingwater, please!” corrected Jerry.
“--I don’t quite grasp this matter of your attitude toward my brother.
Unless I misunderstood you, you remarked a moment ago that unless he
succeeded in his present undertaking you would never marry him.”
“That is exactly what I said, and I meant every word of it,” declared
Jerry. “I will not conceal from you, Mrs. Atchison, my determination
that your brother shall be my second husband.”
There was no question of Mrs. Atchison’s complete surprise now.
“Your _second_ husband, child?”
“My second husband, Mrs. Atchison. Life is short at best, and I
was told by my old mammy when I was a little child--she turned out
afterward to be a real voodoo woman--that I should be married twice.
I am very superstitious, and that made a great impression on my mind.
It is not in keeping with my ideas of life, Mrs. Atchison, to be long
a widow, so that I think it perfectly right to choose a second husband
even before I am quite sure that I have chosen wisely for my first.”
“Has the military person weak lungs?”
“No; but his mind is not strong. Anything sudden, like apoplexy, would
be sure to go hard with him.”
“Then you should be careful not to shock him. It would be almost
criminal to break your engagement with him.”
“That rests entirely with him, Mrs. Atchison. The man I love must be
brave, tender, and true. After our present difficulties are over I
shall know whether Rutherford Gillingwater is the man I believe I am
going to marry in October.”
“But you spoke a moment ago of Tommy’s official position. Is this
arrangement a matter of general knowledge in North Carolina?”
“No, it is not. You and he and I are the only persons who know it. Papa
does not know it yet; and when papa finds it out it may go hard with
him. You see, Mrs. Atchison”--and Jerry leaned forward and rested an
elbow on the tea-table and tucked her little chin into the palm of her
hand--“you see, papa is very absent-minded, as great men often are, and
he went away and forgot to perform some duties which the honour and
dignity of the state require to be performed immediately. There are
some wicked men who have caused both North Carolina and South Carolina
a great deal of trouble, but they must not be punished in this state,
but in South Carolina, which is just over there somewhere. There are
many reasons for that which would be very tiresome to tell you about,
but the principal one is that Barbara Osborne, the daughter of the
governor of South Carolina, is the snippiest and stuck-upest person I
have ever known, and while your brother and I are in charge of this
state I have every intention of annoying her in every way I can. When
Mr. Ardmore has caught those wicked men I spoke of, who really do not
belong in this state at all, they will be marched straight into South
Carolina, and then we shall see what Governor Osborne does about it;
and we will show Barbara Osborne, whose father never had to paper _his_
dining-room, after the war between the states, with bonds of the
Confederacy--we will show her that there’s a good deal of difference
between the Dangerfields and the Osbornes, and between the proud Old
North State and the state of South Carolina.”
“And you have placed this business, requiring courage and finesse, in
Tommy’s hands?”
“That is exactly what I have done, Mrs. Atchison. Your brother is no
great distance from here, and we have exchanged telegrams to-day;
but when I told you a moment ago that I did not know his whereabouts
exactly I spoke the truth. Your brother’s appearance on the scene
at the beginning was most providential. The stage was set, the
curtain waited”--Jerry extended her arms to indicate a breadth of
situation--“but there was no valiant hero. I needed a leading man, and
Mr. Ardmore walked in like a fairy prince ready to take the part. And
what I shall say to you further, as my chaperon, will not, I hope,
cause you to think ill of me.”
“I love you more and more! You may tell me anything you like without
fear of being misunderstood; but tell me nothing that you prefer to
keep to yourself.”
“If you were not Mr. Ardmore’s sister I should not tell you this;
and I shall never tell another soul. I was coming home from a visit
in Baltimore, and the train stopped somewhere to let another train
pass. The two trains stood side by side for a little while, and in the
window of the sleeper opposite me I saw a young man who seemed very
sad. I thought perhaps he had buried all his friends, for he had the
appearance of one lately bereaved. It has always seemed to me that we
should do what we can to cheer the afflicted, and this gentleman was
staring out of his window very sadly, as though he needed a friend,
and as he caught my eye it seemed to me that there was an appeal in
it that it would have been unwomanly for me to ignore. So, just as my
train started, at the very last moment that we looked at each other, I
winked at that gentleman with, I think, my right eye.”
Miss Geraldine Dangerfield touched the offending member delicately with
her handkerchief.
Mrs. Atchison bent forward and took both the girl’s hands.
“And that was Tommy--my brother Tommy!”
“That gentleman has proved to be Mr. Thomas Ardmore. I had not the
slightest idea that I should ever in the world see him again. My only
hope was that he would go on his way cheered and refreshed by my sign
of good-will, though he was either so depressed or so surprised that he
made no response. I never expected to see him again in this world; and
when I had almost forgotten all about him he coolly sent in his card
to me at the executive mansion in Raleigh. And I was very harsh with
him when I learned who he was; for you know the Ardmore estate owns a
lot of North Carolina bonds that are due on the first of June, and Mr.
Billings had been chasing papa all over the country to know whether
they will be paid; and I supposed that of course your brother was
looking for papa too, to annoy him about some mere detail of that bond
business, for the state treasurer, who does not love papa, has gone
away fishing, and Mr. Billings is perfectly wild.”
“Delicious!” exclaimed Mrs. Atchison. “Perfectly delicious! And I am
sure that when Tommy explained his real sentiments toward Mr. Billings
you and he became friends at once.”
“Not at once, for I came very near having him thrown out of the house;
and I laughed at him about a jug that was given to him on the train at
Kildare with a message in it for papa. You know when you are governor
people always give you presents--that is, your friendly constituents
do. The others give you only unkind words. The temperance people send
you jugs of buttermilk on board your train as you pass through the
commonwealth, and others send you applejack. Your brother gave back
the buttermilk and kept the jug of applejack, which had a warning to
father in its corn-cob stopper. I thought it was very funny, and I
laughed at your brother so that he was scared and ran out of the house.
Then afterwards I looked out of the window of papa’s office, and saw
Mr. Ardmore sitting on a bench in the state-house yard looking ever so
sad and dejected, and I sent the private secretary out to get him; and
now we are, I think, the best of friends, and Mr. Ardmore is, as I have
already told you, the governor of North Carolina to all intents and
purposes.”
“May I call you Jerry? Thank you, dear. Let me tell you that I am
thirty-two, and you are----?”
“Seventeen,” supplied Jerry.
“And this is the most amusing, interesting, and exciting thing I have
heard in all my life. It might be difficult ordinarily for me to
forgive the wink, but your explanation lifts it out of the realm of
social impropriety into the sphere of generous benevolence. And if,
after Colonel Gillingwater has gone to his reward, you should marry my
brother, I shall do all in my power to make your life in our family
happy in every way.”
“Your brother does not seem particularly proud of his family
connection,” said Jerry. “He spoke of you in the most beautiful way,
but he seems distressed by the actions of some of the others.”
Mrs. Atchison sighed.
“Tommy is right about us. We are a sad lot.”
“But he is very hard on the duke. Since I came to Ardsley his Grace has
treated me with the greatest courtesy, and he has spoken to me in the
most complimentary terms. He is beyond question a man of kind heart,
for he has promised me his mother’s pearl necklace, which had been in
her family for four hundred years.”
“I should not hesitate to take the necklace, Jerry, if he really
produces it, for my sister, his wife, has never had the slightest
glimpse of it, and it is, I believe, in the hands of certain English
trustees for the benefit of the duke’s creditors. I dislike to spoil
one of his Grace’s pretty illusions, but unless Mr. Billings softens
his heart a great deal toward the duke I fear that you will not get the
pearls this summer.”
“I must tell you as my chaperon, Mrs. Atchison, that the duke has
already offered to elope with me. He told me last night, as we were
having our coffee on the terrace, that he would gladly give up his
wife, meaning, I suppose, your sister, and the Ardmore millions for me;
but while I think him fascinating, I want you to feel quite safe, for I
promise you I shall elope with no one while I am your guest.”
Mrs. Atchison’s face had grown a little white, and she compressed her
lips in lines that were the least bit grim.
“The scoundrel!” she exclaimed half under her breath. “To think that he
would insult a child like you! He is hanging about us here in the hope
of getting more money, while my poor sister, his wife, is in an English
sanatorium half crazed by his brutality. If Tommy knew this he would
undoubtedly kill him!”
“That would be very unnecessary. A duke, after all, is something, and
I should hate to have the poor man killed on my account. And besides,
Mrs. Atchison, I am perfectly able to take care of myself.”
“I believe you are, Jerry. But it’s a terrible thing to have that beast
about, and I shall tell him to-night that he must leave this place and
the country.”
“But first,” said Jerry, “I have an engagement to ride with him after
dinner to see the moon, and the opportunity of seeing a moon with a
duke of ancient family, here on the sacred soil of North Carolina, is
something that I cannot lightly put aside.”
“You cannot--you must not go!”
“Leave it to me,” said Jerry, smiling slightly; “and I promise you that
the duke will never again insult an American girl. And now I think I
must dress for dinner.”
She rose and turned her eyes dreamily to the tower above, where the
North Carolina state flag flapped idly in the breeze. This silken
emblem with its single star Miss Geraldine Dangerfield carried with
her in her trunk wherever she travelled; and having noted Ardsley’s
unadorned flagstaff, she had, with her own hands, unfurled it, highly
resolved that it should remain until the rightful governor returned to
his own.
A few minutes later, as Mrs. Atchison was reading the late mail in her
sitting-room, she took up a New York newspaper of the day before and
ran over the headlines. “Lost: A Governor” was a caption that held
her eye, and she read a special despatch dated Raleigh with deepest
interest. Governor Dangerfield, the item hinted, had not yet returned
from New Orleans, where he had gone to attend the Cotton Planters’
Convention, and where, moreover, he had quarrelled with the governor of
South Carolina. The cowardly conduct of both governors in dealing with
the Appleweight band of outlaws was recited at length; and it was also
intimated that Governor Dangerfield was deliberately absenting himself
from his office to avoid meeting squarely the Appleweight issue.
Mrs. Atchison smiled to herself; then she laughed merrily as she rang
for her maid.
“Little Jerry’s story seemed highly plausible as she told it; and yet
she is perfectly capable of spinning romance with that pretty mouth of
hers, particularly when backed by those sweet and serious blue eyes.
Tommy and Jerry! The combination is irresistible! If she has really
turned the state of North Carolina over to my little brother, something
unusual will certainly happen before long.”
And Mrs. Atchison was quite right in her surmise, as we shall see.