Elinor Benton’s social success was all that she had seen envisioned on
the night of her début. In the months that followed whirls of teas,
luncheons, dinners, dances all but dizzied her sophisticated little head
as she dashed madly from one to the other. Vague hints in the society
columns linked her name with eligibles who were the despair of the
mothers of other girls in her set. But blonde young Elinor took it as
her meed and due, and laughed to her dimpled face in the mirror when she
told herself how far wrong they were. She had no intention of entering
the ranks of young matrons yet. Life was too full; too sweet. Homage was
too dear to her, and the sway she held in one man’s heart, her father’s,
too complete to think of exchanging him for any other man; her own
wonderful home for that of another.
True to his word, Hugh Benton had made himself a real chum to her. It
was to him she took her petty worries; her secrets. Though not often
referred to, they had one thing in common not usual between father and
daughter—their disapproval of the mother and wife, their intolerance of
what they chose to call her old-fashioned ways, of her Puritanism, her
love of the good and upstanding orthodoxy.
Busy at his desk one morning, Hugh frowned at the soft opening and
closing of his door. He did not like even his confidential employees to
disturb him when he was answering personal letters. But he knew it was
no employee when he felt two soft arms about his neck, felt the softness
only less so of rich furs against his cheeks and caught the subtle
perfume he had come to associate with his daughter.
“Guess who!” whispered Elinor’s voice. Then she answered her own
question with a kiss. Aloud she added with a pretended pout: “Aren’t you
glad to see me—and surprised——”
Hugh laughed as he pulled her to his knees.
“Yes, a little—to that last part,” he said, hastening to add gallantly:
“But delighted, nevertheless. What brings you into town at this time?
You must have had an early start.”
“Oh, a lot. First, there’s a luncheon engagement at the Biltmore with
some of the girls, and then we’re going to the matinée. But those are
small matters. The principal thing was to see you all alone—I have a
lot to talk to you about that I decided would be much better to say here
at your office instead of at home, so I came in an hour ahead of time.”
And Elinor, settling herself in a comfortable easy chair, sat facing her
father with an air of being ready to spend the hour.
Hugh Benton, his keen eyes taking in every detail of her appearance,
thought he had never seen his daughter more beautiful. Her taffeta gown
of navy blue, her drooping picture hat with its one touch of color, her
graceful squirrel scarf, all went so naturally into the making of the
picture. As had become usual with him when in the presence of this
daughter the man before whom kings of finance bowed, glowed inwardly
with the pride of possession.
“Well, baby girl, how much?” He smiled as his hand went towards his
check-book.
“No, Dad dear, it isn’t money this time.” Elinor’s face dimpled
deliciously as she shook her head, “strange as it may seem to you,” she
added. Then seriousness chased the dimples away. “No, dear, it’s
something uncomfortably serious. It’s—it’s about mother!”
“Your mother!” Hugh’s face, too, became serious. “Not ill, I hope.”
“No, she is perfectly well,” the girl answered, as a dull red crept into
her cheeks. “Oh, dad, I’m so ashamed of myself to sneak to you in this
way, but dear, you might as well know the truth. It is utterly
impossible for me to get along with mother. There! It’s out! Do you
think I’m so dreadful?” anxiously.
Hugh was solemn as he listened. Then he nodded.
“I believe I do know your difficulty, dear,” he answered, as if
uncertain just what to say in this moment he had been in a way prepared
for. “And,” he added, “of course, I don’t think you’re dreadful——”
Without waiting for him to conclude, Elinor burst out passionately:
“Oh, Dad, surely you can see I simply cannot be the old-fashioned,
namby-pamby bread-and-butter school-girl that mother wishes me to be.
Why, everything I do meets with her disapproval—we can’t agree in a
single instance. Really, Dad, it is unbearable, and I’m just sick about
it!”
Tears which had been valiantly withheld began to trickle down her
cheeks. From his pocket Hugh took his handkerchief and wiped them
tenderly away. “There, dear, you mustn’t cry and spoil your pretty
eyes,” he soothed. “Remember your luncheon and matinée—I’m sure your
misunderstanding with your mother can easily be straightened out. Calm
down and tell me about it. What do you do that she objects to?”
“Oh, just everything.” Elinor’s sigh was one of resignation as she
completed restoring, with a small dab of lace and linen, the ravages to
her complexion her father had begun. “For instance,” she went on,
“mother looks upon my playing bridge for money as a dreadful calamity.
My drinking a cocktail is an utter degradation, and if I attempt to
light a cigarette in her presence, she nearly collapses.”
“Do all the other girls in your set do these things?” Hugh asked. His
brows met in a slight frown.
“Why, of course, Dad. All modern girls believe in having a good time. We
never go to extremes in anything; but if you want to be thoroughly up to
date you simply can’t be a prude.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he admitted slowly, “but just the same, when I
was a young man——”
“When you _were_ a young man!” Elinor interrupted indignantly. “You’re
as young as a boy now, and you’re the handsomest man in New York, Dad.”
Her father, flushed, pleased as he always was, at this compliment.
“Little flatterer,” he joked, pinching her cheeks. “You can’t lead me
astray by paying me compliments. The things that you now call modern and
up to date, in my day, would have been considered—fast.”
“No doubt they would have been too—just that,” was the girl’s composed
retort, “but you know that we’re living in a progressive world, and no
one needs to tell you how rapidly things have changed since your days.”
“Guess you’re right, baby,” Hugh replied. “I must admit that my own
ideas of life have greatly changed since we came to New York sixteen
years ago. I know one thing—all your friends come from the best of
families, so if you do as they do, I can’t see where objection should
arise.”
“Bravo, Dad!” Elinor clapped her hands in glee. “I knew you would see
things in the right light. You’re so broad-minded about everything—and
you’ll speak to mother?”
“Yes, dear, I’ll speak to your mother to-night, and try to reason with
her a little——”
“Just a minute, Dad. I almost forgot the most important thing that I
want you to try to make mother be reasonable about, and that
is—Geraldine.”
“Geraldine?”
“Yes, Geraldine DeLacy. She’s a distant relative of the Thurstons, and
she is visiting them at present. We girls are all crazy about her—she’s
an adorable young widow, just twenty-six, and she makes the most
wonderful chaperone imaginable. That’s the very thing mother so
strenuously objects to.”
“I can’t see why,” Hugh seemed surprised. “The Thurstons are most
desirable and surely, any relative of theirs must be an aristocrat.”
Elinor threw out her hands in a gesture of despair.
“Haven’t I wasted hours and hours trying to make mother realize that
very thing,” she exclaimed, “and with no success whatever! For some
unaccountable reason, she has taken an aversion to Geraldine. She
objects to her age—says she’s too young to be a chaperone—she calls
her frivolous for permitting the girls to address her by her Christian
name and all in all there isn’t a thing the poor woman does that meets
with mother’s approval.”
Hugh considered deeply. “I fail to see anything objectionable in what
you have told me,” he said finally. “The only thing I can do is to judge
for myself when I have the pleasure of meeting your perfect chaperone.
In the meantime, precious, don’t you worry—your old Dad will always
stand by you. Run along now, and have a good time.”
He extracted a bill from his wallet, and reaching for Elinor’s mesh bag
tucked it in.
“Thank you so much, Dad dear, you’re so wonderful to me.” Elinor looked
at him with grateful affectionate eyes. “The Thurstons are giving a
dance for Nell on the 17th—mother received the invitation for it this
morning—she says she is going to decline, but you must arrange to take
me, and then you’ll meet Geraldine. I know you’ll agree with me and
admit that she is adorable.”
“Splendid—you may count upon me to act as your gallant escort to the
Thurston dance,” and Hugh kissed his daughter affectionately, as they
walked to the door.
Late as usual, Elinor reached the Biltmore to find Nell Thurston,
Rosebud Greely, and Josephine Wyeth, three of the season’s débutantes,
patiently awaiting her. They were in especially fine humor and willing
even to forgive Elinor since their beloved Mrs. DeLacy was chaperone.
Pretty, happy, light-hearted girls were these friends of Elinor
Benton’s, with but three aims in life—a good time, endeavoring to spend
some of their parents’ too great wealth and to make at last “a brilliant
batch.”
Mrs. DeLacy, the youthful widow, was remarkable principally because of
her knack of mentioning her late dear husband at the right times, deftly
to manage to secure sympathy and admiration. It had been remarked, too,
that this was most generously forthcoming from men.
She was prepossessing—there was no denying that—and with a strange
fascination that made her singularly attractive.
The luncheon was a jolly little affair, the girls were permitted to
indulge in as many cigarettes as they wished, and relate stories worthy
of a demi-monde.
It was no wonder her charges considered Mrs. DeLacy a wonderful
chaperone. She placed no restraint whatsoever upon any of their actions,
coincided with all their plans and arrangements, and managed to make
herself thoroughly agreeable at all times. The mere fact that she was
_Mrs._ DeLacy sufficed to make her a perfectly proper and legitimate
chaperone in the eyes of the world.
The curtain was rising as they were ushered to a stage-box. The play, a
modern society drama, in its eighth week, playing to capacity at every
performance, was featuring the popular matinée idol, Templeton Druid, in
the stellar rôle.
During the intermission, between the first and second acts, as the girls
discussed the play and the star with animated enthusiasm, Mrs. DeLacy
exploded a bombshell in their midst when she calmly remarked:
“You children seem so fascinated by Mr. Druid—would you like to meet
him?”
“Do you know him, Geraldine?” The question was chorused eagerly.
“I have known him all my life,” was the reply. “We were neighbors in
Richmond, raised together as children, attended the same high-school,
and graduated from the same class.”
“Well, why in the world didn’t you say so before?” Rosebud Greely pouted
as though she had been personally injured, as she pulled her skirts
higher for more comfort for her crossed legs with their bare knees
visible above her rolled-down silk stockings. “Pigging it, I’d call
it—wanted him all to yourself, I suppose. And you knew what play we
were coming to see, and who was starring in it?”
Geraldine DeLacy smiled tolerantly.
“Don’t fly off so quickly, dear,” she advised. “I didn’t know myself
till just now, for how could I imagine that Thomas Temple, a boy from my
home town, whom I haven’t seen in years, was this Templeton Druid,
popular Broadway star. I knew he always had a soaring ambition to become
an actor, but I could never dream of his going this far in so short a
time.”
“Isn’t it wonderfully interesting and romantic?” Nell Thurston, her eyes
aglow with excitement, wanted to know more.
“You asked about our caring to meet him. Can you manage it, Geraldine?”
Elinor Benton was all eagerness.
“Easily enough,” Geraldine shrugged her handsome shoulders as she
replied. “I’ll send back a note asking him to join us at the Waldorf for
tea after the matinée. He’ll be there—” There was a worldly meaning in
her last words that even her sophisticated charges failed to get.
“How positively thrilling!” Rosebud giggled. “Do you know I’ve never
talked to a real actor in my life?”
With the prospect of meeting the star, interest in the play increased
ten-fold. Romantic revelries ran riot through four foolish little heads.
Geraldine sat back and smiled cynically. “Young idiots,” she thought
contemptuously, as her roving glance settled upon Elinor Benton. With
tightly compressed lips and eyes aflame with envy, she stared at the
girl. Only for a fleeting instance, however, did she permit her
expression to betray her chaotic emotion. She leaned forward in her
chair apparently absorbed in the people on the stage.
As she had expected, Templeton Druid’s reply to her invitation was a
delightfully affable little billet expressing his pleasure at the hope
of seeing Mrs. DeLacy and meeting her friends. He promised to arrive at
the Waldorf as expeditiously as possible after the matinée.
After their drive to the Waldorf in the Thurston limousine, it was
Geraldine who maneuvered to walk behind with Elinor, as they strolled
leisurely through the hotel lobby. Young as she was, Elinor Benton could
not help but notice that something was disturbing her chaperone as Mrs.
DeLacy glanced nervously from side to side.
“What is it, Geraldine?” she asked in concern. “Is anything wrong?”
Mrs. DeLacy shook her head half-heartedly, then her fine eyes came to
rest appealingly on Elinor’s.
“No—no,” she began, then hurried on with nervous suddenness.
“No—er—well, yes, there is, Elinor dearest. I hate so to tell you,
but—but—well,” she lowered her voice to a whisper: “I’m afraid, dear,
you’ll have to come to my rescue. Here I have invited you all to tea and
asked Mr. Druid to join us, and I have just discovered that I lack the
necessary funds——”
“Not another word, please, Geraldine,” Elinor interrupted hastily. “It’s
a pleasure to be of any service to you, dear.” And opening her bag, she
extracted the fifty-dollar bill her father had placed there, and pressed
it into Geraldine’s hands.
“Thank you so much,” beamed the chaperone, glancing hurriedly at the
bill before she thrust it into her purse. “I’ll return it at the
earliest opportunity.”
If anyone had dared assert that Geraldine DeLacy was a social parasite,
Elinor would have defended her with emphatic loyalty.
Nevertheless, that was an appellation Mrs. DeLacy justly deserved. It
was no great secret how she subsisted luxuriously upon the generosity of
friends and acquaintances. Habitual borrowing had become her source of
income, and she was well known to mention her inadequate memory as
extenuation for failing to repay her obligations.
At their table for six in one of the tea rooms, it was again Geraldine
who adroitly managed to leave the vacant seat for the actor between
Elinor and herself. They had barely fluttered into place before
Templeton Druid entered pompously as was his wont. His appearance caused
the mild sensation he always hoped for. Heads turned in his direction;
there were whispered comments. To the unbiased onlooker, it was clear as
light the actor was not displeased.
“This is indeed an unexpected pleasure,” he told Geraldine as he reached
her table and bowed low over her hand. “I would have known you anywhere.
If there is a change it is that you are more beautiful than ever, if
that is possible.”
“And you, I find, still retain your aptitude for pretty speeches,”
Geraldine answered laughingly but not ill pleased herself. “Let me
present you to my friends.”
He acknowledged each introduction with studied gallantry, retaining
possession of each little hand a fraction of a second longer than
necessary.
With the tea, toasted muffins, and marmalade Mr. Druid talked, but
regardless of what angle his conversation started from, it invariably
reverted to the one subject uppermost in his consciousness—Templeton
Druid! He spoke of his managers, his contracts, his popularity, of the
requests he received daily for autographed photos, of success, fame,
showered upon him.
To his young auditors, so sophisticated in many ways, so little in
others, all this was something to be eagerly devoured, to be remembered.
To them he was a figure of fame, of romanticism. But as she listened,
Geraldine DeLacy turned her head that they might not see the smile of
cynicism she could not suppress. For to her, as he would so obviously
have been to any worldly person, Templeton Druid bore no romantic
glamour. He stood out through his own words for what he was—a figure of
unvarnished petty egotism. It was during a lull in his lecture on the
subject of Templeton Druid that the owner of the name bent over Elinor
Benton as he replenished her plate with marmalade.
“Haven’t I met you before, Miss Benton?” he asked, his deep romantic
eyes apparently filled with perplexity. “Your name is so familiar——”
Before Elinor could voice a regretful negative, Geraldine DeLacy
interposed hurriedly.
“Aren’t you thinking of her father, possibly?” she inquired. “Miss
Benton is the daughter of Hugh Benton, the Wall Street magnate, you
know, whose successes have earned him many a column in your favorite
literature—the newspapers.”
“Indeed!” Templeton’s tone assumed a note of deference. “Of course, I
know of your father, Miss Benton. He is a recognized celebrity in the
financial world.”
Across the room, three women seated at a table, were bowing and
endeavoring to attract the attention of Geraldine’s party. Nell Thurston
was the first to see them.
“Do any of you know any of them?” she asked. “They seem to know someone
at this table.”
“Why yes, I do,” Josephine Wyeth answered quickly. “They are friends of
mine from Baltimore. I know you will pardon me if I go over to their
table for a few moments. Come with me, Rosebud, won’t you? Don’t you
remember meeting Mrs. Powell, the time you motored to Baltimore with
us?”
“I’ll say I do,” was Rosebud’s slangy reply. Slang for this one
débutante was a favorite medium. “I’m keen for saying ‘hello’ to her.
She sure is a bully little sport.”
Geraldine moved over next to Nell Thurston.
“You two keep on talking and forbear with us for a few moments,” she
advised Elinor and Templeton. “I am anxious to discuss my idea for a new
evening frock with Nell.”
As though the change had been prearranged between them, Templeton Druid
threw a grateful glance at his old-time friend. She must have her own
reasons for giving him this opportunity with the wealthy débutante, and
he would make the most of it. He threw all the magnetism he possessed
into his voice as he said:
“This is more than I had hoped for, Miss Benton—one little word with
you. The gods must have heard my prayer. From the minute I first saw
you, there was something I knew I must ask you. May I not hope to see
you again?”
Elinor flushed, as she looked shyly up from the diagrams she was drawing
on the table cloth with her fork. It was not the girl the others knew
who only stammered, for once at a loss: “Why, I—I—oh I should so like
to have you call, Mr. Druid, but I am just out, and my mother
is—is—rather——”
“Please—” Templeton Druid looked just properly pained, and oh, such an
unjustly misunderstood man,—“I understand perfectly. Your mother
naturally would be particular with so charming a daughter, and a man in
my profession——”
“No, no, it isn’t that,” Elinor hastened to interrupt. She felt
apologetic, too. “My mother’s ideas are rather peculiar. She’s a dear,
but she is old-fashioned and——”
“I wonder,” he said slowly, placing his hand over hers as if quite by
accident and allowing it to remain there, “if we couldn’t manage to meet
in spite of—mother’s precaution. I have a perfect little speed marvel
of a roadster. Can’t I take you for a drive?—Say Tuesday afternoon?”
Elinor’s heart thumped madly, and struggle as she would, she could not
control the trembling of her hands beneath his. But she replied with
seeming carelessness, after what might have been due deliberation.
“Well—er—possibly. I know I should enjoy it immensely—still——”
Templeton Druid half suppressed a sigh as of deep joy and delight.
“Then that’s settled,” he breathed, “and I’ll be at the 57th Street
entrance to the park at two o’clock—Ah, kind—so kind!”
And his eyes, as Geraldine DeLacy caught a quick glimpse of them from
across the table and smiled, said unutterable things as he gazed into
the misty blue orbs of Elinor Benton.