THE SINGER
The combination of at last having a definite aim in life, and the
cutting rebuke received in his father's library, had caused Edgar
Fabian to wake up.
On the hot morning when he took the train for Portland, he even looked
a little pale from the unwonted vigil of the night before. As he tossed
on his bed in the small hours, he had fretted at the heat, but it
was not temperature that made him survey the causes for his father's
drastic words; and he recalled the emotion which Kathleen had not been
able to conceal with a sort of affectionate dismay. Kathleen was a good
sort, after all. She had worked for him, he knew, and mitigated the
situation so far as she could.
"Father wants to be shown, does he?" he thought, clenching his teeth.
"Well, I'll show him. I will."
His soul was still smarting when he boarded the train in the breathless
station and the porter carried his suitcase to his chair in the day
coach.
A group of girls were standing about the neighboring seat, but he did
not regard them. One of them observed him, and for her the thermometer
suddenly went up ten degrees more.
"Hurry girls, you must go," she said, softly and peremptorily, moving
with them to the end of the car. "How I wish you didn't have to!" Then,
as they reached the door, the flushed one squeezed their arms. "That
was Mr. Fabian, girls!" she added.
"Where? Where?" they ejaculated, looking wildly about.
"Back there in the very next chair to mine. Oh, get off, dears."
They regarded the rosy face.
"Slyboots!" exclaimed Roxana.
"Indeed, I knew nothing of it!" declared Violet.
"Very well." Regina spoke in hasty exhortation. "The sun shines hard
enough for you to make all the hay there is. I've a great mind to throw
a pump after you!"
The friends slipped off just in time, and Violet waved them a laughing
adieu; then her face sobered while her eyes shone. She could not go
back to her place at once. The combination was more than flesh and
blood could endure nonchalantly: her work finished, she starting for
the island earlier than she had hoped, with the joyful anticipation of
surprising her aunt, and, instead of journeying alone, to find _the_
man beside her.
Violet was extremely indignant with herself for calling Edgar _the_
man. Never one thing had he done to deserve it. There was no one
on earth to whom in reality she was more indifferent. She allowed
conductors, porter, passengers, and luggage to stumble by and over her
in the narrow passage while she reflected upon the utter uncongeniality
of herself and Edgar Fabian; the gulf fixed between their lots, their
habits, their tastes. A man who was so artificial that he couldn't like
Brewster's Island. How could any girl with genuine feeling do more than
politely endure him!
Violet finally, having been bumped and trodden on until she realized
that she was being scowled at by all comers, stepped under the portière
into the ladies' room and looked in the glass. The neatest and trimmest
of visions regarded her.
"I don't care a snap how I look, but I am dreadfully warm," she
thought, and taking a powder-puff from her mesh bag, she raised her
veil and cooled her crimson cheeks and dabbed her nose; then she pinned
the veil back closely; and gave her bright eyes a challenging and
warning gaze.
"If you dare!" she murmured, then moved out into the aisle again and
sought her place.
Edgar had hung up his hat, his back was to the car, and his gloomy eyes
gazed out of the window. Violet sank into her chair, turning its back
to him. "There!" she thought sternly, "we can ride this way all day.
There's not the slightest necessity for recognition."
An hour passed and this seemed only too true. She took up the copy of
"Life" which Roxana had left with her, and looked through it with more
grim determination than is usually brought to bear upon that enlivening
sheet.
Everything continued to be quiet behind her. She wondered if Edgar had
gone to sleep; but what was it to her what he was doing? She became
conscious that there were more strokes on the illustrations than the
artists had intended.
"I must take off my veil!" she reflected.
Of course, no girl can take off her veil and hat without making some
stir. She hoped she should not attract her neighbor's attention by
these movements. She didn't.
At last all was comfortably arranged, and she picked up the periodical
which had been Regina's offering and looked at her chatelaine watch,
wondering how much time had been wasted already.
She never before heard of a man who stayed in his seat on the train
unless he was an invalid. One would think he would at least walk up
and down once in a while. She turned her chair a little away from the
window and toward the aisle. A fat man who was her vis-à-vis glanced
at her, and finding the glance most satisfactory, looked again, long
enough to make her aware of him. She swung slowly back toward the
window, but not so far that she could not command movements in the
aisle.
Of course, Mr. Fabian was asleep. He had probably been turning night
into day in the festivities which society events had recorded as
preceding Mrs. Larrabee's departure for Europe.
The thought was a tonic. She loved to realize how insignificant and
selfish was the life this young man led; making him not worth a second
thought to a womanly woman who scorned to associate with any man to
whom she could not look up, and he hadn't shaved off that blond pointed
mustache, either; how she despised mustaches.
"Why--why, Miss Manning." The interested greeting broke forth directly
above her, and she started and looked up straight into the scorned
mustache. "How wonderful," said Edgar. "I was just wondering who liked
the 'Century' better upside down than right-side up; then I noticed
that whoever it was had pretty hair, so I looked again and saw it was
you."
"I"--stammered Violet, blushing violently and dropping the
magazine,--"I think I was so sleepy I didn't know--I--where did you
spring from?"
"Just now from the smoking-room, but I'm here, right here in this chair
next to you. Can you beat it? Are you for the island?"
"Yes."
"I, too. Great that we should meet. Let me turn your chair around. I
was never so glad to see you."
"Why? Were you bored?" Violet's tone and manner of courteous
indifference were so excellent that they deceived the fat man, who
regarded the _contretemps_ over the top of his paper and felt quite
chivalrously impatient of the "fresh guy" who had interrupted the young
traveller's meditations; and heartily commiserated the girl for the
coincidence which had made her the prey of an acquaintance.
"No, not more bored than usual," replied Edgar, having arranged the
chairs at the best angle for sociability, "but if you talk to me I may
forget how I want to smoke."
Violet raised her eyebrows. "Oh, I'm to be useful and not ornamental,"
she said with an icily sweet smile.
"You can't help being ornamental," said Edgar, drumming nervously on
the arm of his chair. "There, that's the last compliment I'm going
to give you. I warn you. I'm a bear to-day. I'm sorry for you." The
speaker was pale and Violet laid both pallor and nervousness to the
door of the vivacious lady about to sail for foreign shores.
"Yes," she replied, looking at him blandly. "I saw that your charming
friend Mrs. Larrabee is leaving."
Edgar looked around quickly. "Yes, she's leaving. I bade her good-bye
last night."
"Is that why you wish to smoke all the time?" asked Violet, with cooing
gentleness.
"All the time! Great Scott! I've had just one cigarette since I got up."
"You said you had just come from the smoking-room."
"Yes, but I hadn't been in. That's the trouble. I'm cutting it out."
"Why? Have you made a virtuous vow?"
"I'm afraid I'm in no mood for joking this morning." Edgar frowned and
twisted his mustache.
Violet spoke with laughing sweetness.
"Nothing is more easy than to escape it," she said, and deftly turned
her chair with its back to him.
He seized it by the arm and twisted it around again.
"No, you don't," he said. "Forgive me; you know the stereotyped advice
to newly married couples about the two bears; 'bear and forbear,' don't
you? Well, remember it, please."
"I don't see the parallel," said Violet coolly; "and anyway, is the
advice directed entirely at the woman?"
"No, I'm bearing with you now for turning your back to me, you who are
going to teach me to clog when we reach the island." He gave her the
smile designed to melt the icy heart.
"In consideration," returned Violet, "for a continuous ripple of song."
Edgar suddenly looked important, and gazed out of the window. Then he
turned back to the girl who was regarding him.
"What do you think of my voice--honestly?" he asked.
"I think it is one of the most beautiful I have ever heard," she
answered promptly.
He nodded slowly. "I fished to some purpose, didn't I," he said
gravely. "Well, since you really think that, and I've always admired
your sincerity, you may be interested to know that I have given up
business in order to cultivate it."
There being nobody present who was employed in Mr. Fabian's office, the
dignity of this statement was not impaired by hilarity; and Violet,
greatly impressed, clasped her hands.
"Oh, I'm so glad," she said. "All your friends will be so glad."
Had she known it, she might have added, "and all your business
associates"; but neither word nor look minimized the enthusiasm of the
moment.
Enough of Violet's faith and admiration shone in her speaking eyes to
fall like balm on Edgar's wounded soul. He began to heal under it;
began to mount into his wonted atmosphere of assurance.
"I've been studying ever since January with Mazzini. I've kept quiet
about it because, after all,"--the speaker spread his hands in a modest
gesture,--"he might be mistaken in his extremely enthusiastic estimate."
"Oh, no, no!" said Violet earnestly. Edgar drank more healing from the
fountain of her eyes. "What shall you do? Go into opera?"
"I don't know yet," replied the aspirant, with the air of one who was
holding Mr. Hammerstein in the hollow of his hand, uncertain whether
to throw him over or to be gracious. "I'm very much alone in this," he
added, meeting the girl's gaze with an air of confidence. "Of course
my father and mother and sister are willing; in fact, they are pleased
that I have undertaken this."
"Think of giving up smoking!" exclaimed Violet. "What a sacrifice that
means to a man! I should think your family would see by that how in
earnest you are."
"Yes, they believe I am in earnest; but when one in a family is keenly
temperamental and the others are not, there are only certain planes on
which they can meet, you understand?"
"By all means!" Violet understood perfectly.
"I have certain ideas that I never divulge to them. They would only
laugh. What would it mean to them if I were to say that I had purple
moods--and red moods--"
"Probably nothing," returned Violet, quickly and with close attention.
"Black and green and blue are the only common ones."
Edgar looked at her suspiciously. Had the fountain of healing
admiration vanished, and was she laughing at him? Not at all. She was
regarding him with a respect and awe which he could not doubt.
"Explain the others to me. Do you think you could?" she asked.
"I'm afraid not," he answered gently, "but, well, for instance, while
in the purple mood I could never learn to clog. Does that mean anything
to you?"
"Ah, yes," returned Violet fervently. "I see. You would be too intense."
"Exactly. In the red, I might. It would depend on which way it took me."
His listener nodded earnestly. "Yes, yes. A berserk rage is red. They
always see red in books."
"But so is a glowing sunset red," said Edgar. "The red of joy. I see
you understand. Oh, what rest it is to have people understand!"
Violet glowed. Some memory recurred to her. "Does Mr. Sidney know about
this?" she asked.
Edgar shrugged his shoulders. "He is at the island with my people. They
may have told him."
The girl's rosy lips set. "Now," she wondered, "would he chuckle over
foolish sketches of conceited robins! At all events, he would very soon
give it up."
The two travellers had a wonderful day together, undaunted by heat and
cinders.
Edgar gave Violet as dainty a luncheon as circumstances permitted, and
when they reached Portland too late for the last boat, he left her at
her hotel with the promise to call for her in the morning.
The boat they took next day was the same one which bore Miss Jane
Foster to her summer home; so when, after the cooling ride down the
bay, they arrived at Brewster's Island and saw Philip Sidney and Eliza
Brewster waiting with Kathleen, Edgar pointed Eliza out to Violet with
amusement.
"I wonder how Sidney enjoys his shadow," he remarked, "I suppose she's
trailing him all over the place."
As Mrs. Wright had no expectation of her niece's early arrival, Eliza
looked out with indifference from under her closely tied shade hat at
the fair girl in neat tailor gown who stood by Edgar as the boat pulled
in; and the exclamation of her companions was her first intimation that
it was Violet Manning.
Eliza stood quietly amid the greeting and laughing and explanations of
the young people, and was introduced to Miss Manning; then she caught
sight of Jane Foster, for whose eagerly expected face Phil had been
gazing over the heads of everybody, notwithstanding that he had no idea
what she looked like.
"Better go home with the Fabians and come to us later," she suggested,
speaking low to him.
"Guess again, Eliza," he returned softly. Then he turned to Kathleen.
"I'll not interrupt your first _tête-à-tête_ with your brother. I'll
walk up the hill with Miss Manning and see Mrs. Wright's face when we
appear."
Kathleen nodded her agreement, and when they all reached the road, she
opened her eyes at the manner in which her brother parted from Violet.
Neither spoke. They clasped hands and exchanged a look, which was, to
say the least, unusual.
"You and Miss Manning seemed to be giving each other the grip," she
laughed when the two began their ascent slowly. "Do you belong to the
same secret society?"
His reply was still more amazing. "We do," he answered impressively.
"You guessed right the very first time. That girl has more sense in a
minute than the general run have in years."
"I always liked her," returned Kathleen, wondering.
As for Philip, he carried Violet's suitcase and Miss Foster's bag and
received the jubilant chatter of the young girl with appreciative
assent, casting sheep's eyes all the way up the hill at the modest
owner of the chicken-house, who little suspected that the big handsome
young man who was carrying her bag cared more to get one monosyllable
from her than for all the pleasant things this pretty girl might say to
him.
Mrs. Wright, busy taking Eliza's place in the preparations for the
early dinner, was not watching for the arrival, and the first warning
she had of Violet's presence was two vigorous arms being thrown around
her neck.
Her first impression was that Jane Foster had an attack of emotional
insanity, but in a moment she was returning the embrace.
"My little girl, what does this mean?" she cried joyously. "Not a
flower in your room. Nothing ready."
"Yes, dinner is. I can smell it. Oh, Aunt Amy, _you_ and vacation, and
no city and no heat, and the divine island smell, and twenty-four hours
in the day, and seven days in the week. Oh, it's too much happiness!"
And Violet danced back into the living-room straight into the arms of
Mr. Wright, who had just been washing his hands for dinner.
"Right you are, Violet. No place like the island," he said heartily,
while Eliza and Jane Foster regarded the newcomer with calm wonder. How
could they know the glamour that was gilding all?
Phil was so preoccupied, he scarcely noticed the girl's antics. His
eyes were fixed with the most lover-like eagerness on Jane Foster's
serious countenance.
"Had you better ask her or I, Eliza?" he murmured, under cover of
Violet's laughter.
"You'd better not trust me," replied Eliza darkly, upon which Phil
interrupted Miss Foster as she was starting for the stairs.
"Might I speak to you one moment before you go up?" he asked.
Her calm eyes turned to him. "You want board?" she asked.
"No--not exactly. Would you mind coming outside a minute. I'd like to
see you alone."
Jane Foster looked into the brilliant face, wondering; then she
followed him outside the door. Perhaps he wanted to buy the farmhouse.
She had made some calculation before she reached the rustic bench; but
his first words dashed her expectations.
"Miss Foster, I'm an artist and like them all, at first, I haven't
any money. I've been wondering if you'd let me camp down in your
chicken-house and do some work. What rent would you want?"
Jane Foster regarded him calmly. "'T ain't habitable," she said.
"I'll make it so," he returned forcefully.
"I can't imagine--" she began slowly.
"You don't have to," he interrupted ardently. "Imagining is my
business." He beamed upon her with a smile that warmed her through and
through from the chill of the boat. "If you haven't any other use for
it just now--"
"Oh, 'tain't any use," she said slowly.
"Then I may?" Phil embarrassed Miss Foster terribly by seizing her hand.
Violet observed them from a window. "Is Mr. Sidney proposing to Miss
Foster?" she laughed, turning to Eliza.
"Yes, he is, exactly," returned the latter, hanging up her shade hat.
"Well, I can't imagine anyone refusing him," said Violet.
"I only hope she will," muttered Eliza; but the devout words were
scarcely out of her lips when Phil came into the room like a cyclone
and she was seized and swung up till her respectable head nearly grazed
the ceiling.
"It's mine," he cried. "Hurray!" and went out of the house again and
across the field toward the boulder cottage.