TIDES
Philip paused a moment when he reached the grassy bank.
"You're quite sure you wish to walk?" he said.
"I certainly am," she returned with an effort at lightness. "It's the
best thing I can do, now that I've been so careless."
He set her down gently, and picked up the cushions with one hand while
he put the other under her arm, and they started; but there was no
path; the points of granite and the grassy hummocks made difficult
walking for sound feet. Phil felt his companion's sudden limps and
cringes, the while she was talking valiantly of the satisfaction it was
to feel that a little pain didn't matter, so long as one knew that the
best thing for a strain was exercise; but all the time it seemed to her
that home was miles away, and that this Transgressors' Boulevard would
never end.
Phil smiled down at the dark uncovered head so near his shoulder; then
as she sank in an unexpected hollow:--
"Pluck is all very well, Kathleen," he said, "but I'm going to pick you
up again."
"No, no, Phil! You could never carry me home. I'm much too heavy to be
doing these foolish things." Tears of vexation stood in the girl's eyes.
"I needn't carry you home," he returned quietly, "but it is all my
fault that you slipped. As soon as we get to level ground you shall try
again. Cushions will be safe in Arcadia, I fancy," he added, storing
them at the foot of a rock they were passing. "I can come back for
them."
"Put this heavy polo coat with them," said Kathleen, trying not to cry.
"No need of carrying any more than you have to. Oh, Phil, really! I
could hop. Couldn't I hop if you lifted me on one side?"
"We'll hop, skip, and jump when we get on the level," he returned,
wrapping the coat carefully about her, and taking her up again.
"Put your arm around my neck, please. There we are." He moved on at a
good pace. "Can't you feel that it's easy?"
"I'm so ashamed to make you this trouble." Kathleen's lip quivered.
"I'm so ashamed that you are hurt, but I need the exercise," rejoined
her bearer. "What am I going to do now that I don't have to struggle
with the Villa? Have you a rowboat?"
"Yes," returned Kathleen, in a small voice.
They were approaching a cottage with sightless midnight eyes. She had
no idea what time it was, but devoutly hoped they were the only persons
awake on the island. It was ridiculous to be carried about like this,
and a terrible imposition on an innocent guest; but how wonderful he
was, striding along from hummock to hummock with apparent ease.
"Then I'll do some rowing, if you'll let me. Do you like to row?"
"Yes," came again in such a small, choked voice, that Phil suddenly
turned his head and his face came close to Kathleen's. The elegant
remote Miss Fabian, with the slumbrous eyes and the red-brown hair, was
a helpless child in his arms.
"Are you suffering?" he asked, and such a note of tenderness sounded
suddenly in his voice that the girl's heart gave a great throb.
"Only in my mind," she faltered, trying to laugh. "You'll set me down
as soon as we reach the point, won't you? It's easy from there."
It was not very easy from there, but Kathleen set her teeth, and walked
it, leaning on Phil's arm, and sometimes stopping to rest.
"And I thought it was such a small island," she said with a little
sighing laugh when at last the home piazza was reached.
Philip helped her upstairs to her room.
"Shall I knock on your mother's door?" he asked.
"No, indeed. I can get on perfectly well now." She held out her hand.
"Will you forgive me?"
He took it and looked straight into her eyes without speaking.
For an instant he held her hand, still mute, then turned, and instead
of going to his room went downstairs again.
Kathleen, closing her door softly, heard him. She stood a moment
perfectly still, her lambent eyes looking into space, the long straight
lines of her white coat shining in the dim room.
"If it should be!" she thought with awe. "If it should be!"
Philip went out on the porch. The tide was receding and dragging in and
out the stones of the beach. He frowned thoughtfully at the rolling
expanse. "This is disturbing," he reflected. His blood was pumping and
dragging mightily at locked doors of his own which he knew must be
locked for years to come.
"And even then it cannot be Kathleen who opens them," he reminded
himself. While she was flashing about to fashionable functions in her
limousine the coming season, he would still be planning which meal to
make the substantial one of the day.
"The cushions!" he thought suddenly, and, finding relief in action,
he began running back with long, even strides, through the silent,
silvered fields.
* * * * *
Before ten o'clock the next morning Edgar presented himself at the
farmhouse to make inquiries for the invalid. He was eager to begin
treating Violet right; and as a commencement he brought a box of
bonbons which he had ordered from the city before that resolution was
made. However, flowers and candy were conventional attentions. So were
books. He reflected that no one could criticize his giving Violet a
marked copy of Tennyson.
"She isn't here," Mrs. Wright told him when he reached the house. "She
has gone somewhere to get an extra coat of tan and see the tide come
in."
"Why didn't I come sooner!" exclaimed Edgar, vexed. "I thought her
headache--I thought she wouldn't be up early."
"Oh, I think you must have exorcised that last night," said Mrs.
Wright. "How we all enjoyed the medicine! Will you promise to sing
every night if one of us will fall ill?"
Edgar smiled and twisted his mustache. "We have a lame duck over at our
house," he said. "Kathleen managed to slip on the rocks last night.
She's as plucky as they make 'em, though. She's limping around. Phil
was with her--not very bright of him, I must say."
"Oh, I'm sorry he has that cloud over his first morning at the studio,"
returned Mrs. Wright. "I saw him go in there an hour ago."
"You're sure Violet isn't there?" asked Edgar quickly.
"Oh, perfectly," rejoined Mrs. Wright quietly. "We're as much warned
off the Villa as ever, now, you know. I hope he is going to do great
things."
"Yes, I hope so," said Edgar absently. "This full sunlight isn't
particularly good for Violet's head. Don't you think I'd better find
her and get her out of it?"
"Oh, it's the steadiest little head in the world. Last night was simply
the exception that proves the rule."
"Well, then, she'll be fit for tennis. I'm going to find her and see if
we can't have some singles before dinner."
"All right, if you can find her."
Edgar tossed his head. "Perhaps I couldn't put a girdle 'round the
earth, but this island's a cinch"; and with the beribboned box under
his arm and the sun glinting on his polished blond head, Edgar set off
running toward the rocks where Kathleen had met her slip.
Perhaps, he reflected, it was just as well that Violet had been _hors
de combat_ last evening. If they had come down here in the moonlight,
and he had sung, and she had turned upon him that wonderful, confiding,
devout look which warmed every fibre of his vanity, there is no telling
what he might have said or done. He was shrewd enough to know that
Mrs. Larrabee's rebuff had caused a rebound in which just such an
innocent, womanly girl as Violet Manning could catch his heart in both
hands. She had laughed at him yesterday afternoon, and to force her
to capitulate he might have done something foolish in the evening. Now
that pitfall--the time, the place, and the girl--was past, and the
bright clear winds of morning found him forewarned and forearmed; but
friendly, perfectly friendly. He thoroughly liked Violet Manning.
All this time he was running toward the show-place at high tide, the
precipitous rocks whose walls and crannies repulsed the crashing waves,
causing a never-ending series of fountains, and cascades of crystal
water.
A few penguins in shade hats studded the heights this morning, but
Violet was not among them. He walked past slowly, scanning the rocks.
A few rods farther on, a small harbor pierced the island's side. Its
farther bank was soft with evergreens; a sturdy growth of tall spruces
which fixed their roots amid the inhospitable rocks.
An artist had set up his easel on the near shore, and was sitting on
a camp-stool before it, working busily. A large straw hat was crowded
down to the tops of his ears to thwart the wind, and Edgar wondered
who might be the competitor of the painter who was working away at the
Villa Chantecler. He glanced carelessly at the artist and then renewed
his scrutiny of the rocks; being so engrossed, that the next time his
gaze went forward, he saw that a girl was lying on the rock near the
easel, leaning on her elbow and alternately watching the artist and the
sea.
Edgar suspected the truth with a wave of anger. How could Phil be in
two places at once? He had allowed Kathleen to slip on the rocks.
Probably he had been absent-minded. This had been planned for; Mrs.
Wright couldn't have known it.
He strode forward.
"Good morning!" he said, with awe-inspiring dignity.
"Oh, hello," returned Violet carelessly, turning her head so as to see
the newcomer.
Could this nonchalant girl be she who had wept at the window!
"I went over to the house to see how you were," said Edgar severely,
"and Mrs. Wright said you were watching the tide."
"Yes," returned Violet, lazy in the sun, "but I found something so much
better to watch."
"You can't see anything from there," declared Edgar, speaking crisply.
"Do you allow that, Mr. Sidney?" asked the girl.
"I allow anything but people to talk to me," said Phil, busy with the
blues and greens of the water.
"There, you see!" said Violet accusingly. "He hadn't said a word of
reproach to me before you came"; and the little minx allowed herself
to throw a devoted glance in the direction of the artist's hat. If the
mouse were going ultimately to make its escape, surely the kitten was
entitled to whatever fun it could find in the situation.
Edgar pulled himself together.
"It's great just now," he said. "Don't you want to come out on the
rocks, and see the row?"
Violet shook her head and touched her finger to her lips warningly.
Edgar scowled and looked at Phil's swift brush. Confound the girl,
how was he to treat her magnanimously if she wouldn't give him an
opportunity?
He held out the beribboned box and raised his eyebrows, gesturing with
his head toward the rocks.
"Is there a string tied to it?" asked Violet, with a saucy, lazy
smile; and Edgar lifted his chin superbly and tossed the box into her
lap.
"The only girl here," she reflected; for she felt tempted to be
flattered by the implied forethought.
"How perfectly sweet," she said and opened the luxurious box. Rising
to her knees she lifted a chocolate in the little tongs and put it in
Philip's mouth.
"_Mille remerciments_," he mumbled; "but don't do it again, please."
"Phil wants to be alone," said Edgar. "Can't you see that?" He held out
his hand to Violet to rise. She ignored it, but rose with supple grace.
"Well," she said, "if little boys will come and chatter to me, I
suppose I shall have to go. It's been so interesting, Mr. Sidney.
That's going to be wonderful. I hope you'll let me watch you again
sometime."
"You didn't really want to stay there, did you?" asked Edgar, when they
had begun to climb out on the rocks at a point where there were no
other gazers.
"Indeed I did, marplot," returned the girl, "but three's a crowd when
one is painting."
"Oh, very well," said Edgar, stiffly; "I'll stay away the next time."
"That's right. Do," returned Violet. "Have a chocolate? These are
delicious."
"No, I thank you." Edgar gave a dark glance at his companion. He did
not like her mood.
"I didn't know you cared more for painting than for music," he said.
"More?" she returned with wide eyes. "Oh, no, I'm an impartial and
humble admirer of all the arts."
Wasn't she going to speak of last evening? He stood in silence beside
her for a space to give her opportunity; but she was engrossed in
munching a chocolate.
"My!" she said, regarding the heavy, satin, heart-shaped crimson box
admiringly, "I've gazed at these with awe in shop windows, and then
gone in and bought ten cents worth in a striped bag. I feel so grand!"
"I was disappointed last night," said Edgar, his gloomy regard changing
slowly to his best look of devotion. There was nothing for him in
Violet's eyes this morning. The expression he craved must be brought
back in order that he might exercise care to treat her fairly.
"Because I couldn't go to walk with Mr. Sidney?" she rejoined, with the
ironical gayety Edgar hated. "I was, too; but your charming serenade
almost made up for it."
Edgar ground the even teeth. "I suppose it was foolish of me to exert
myself," he said. "I probably waked you up."
"Oh, it didn't sound like the least bit of exertion," replied Violet.
"The ease of your singing is really its great charm. You didn't mind my
laughing, right at the end, did you?"
"Laughing!"
"Yes; you see Miss Foster is on my side of the house, and when you sang
'Turn down an empty glass,'
I knew she'd think it was a prohibition song, and I nearly suffocated."
Edgar met her dancing eyes, and glared at her while she ate a chocolate
with relish.
"And I thought you were temperamental!" he muttered.
"Do you wonder really that Maine is a prohibition state?" she asked
conversationally. "Here, eat this peppermint one for me. I don't like
them," and the even teeth opened mechanically to receive the bonbon she
popped between them. "I mean because it's so intoxicating here anyway.
Why, I can hardly keep my feet still this morning"; and as they were
standing, Violet, on her flat rock, and with the great crimson heart
pressed to her breast, began to clog.
Edgar half unconsciously moved away to where he could see her nimble
feet. "Whistle," she laughed. "Whistle, and I won't come to you, my
lad!"
Edgar whistled, he couldn't help it. Her fair hair blowing, her
sea-blue eyes shining, and her sure feet dancing, she seemed the
incarnation of the radiant morning. He found himself patting in rhythm,
and whistling like a bird until she tired and sank in a blue heap on
the rock.
"Oh, it's a jolly world," she cried.
"And you're a jolly girl!" he exclaimed, striding over and flinging
himself down beside her. "Why don't you teach me to do that? You
promised."
"I've begun twice, haven't I? You haven't any patience."
"Oh, that was in the woods. What could I do on a hillside? Teach me in
the summer house this afternoon."
"That's where you ought to be now, practising," said Violet.
"I've put in half an hour this morning."
"That isn't enough. It's time for another."
"Oh, you want me to go, do you, so you can go back and watch Phil?"
"Well, I never before had a chance to see the wheels go 'round in a
painting. Don't you think it's wonderful?"
"Yes, he's a wizard. It's a pity you couldn't go with him last night.
He took Kath and she managed to turn her ankle."
"So he has been telling me. I'm sorry. So you'd rather have had mine
turned? Then I couldn't have taught you to clog, remember."
"No; he might not have gone mooning around then. He might have paid
more attention to _you_."
Violet glanced at the speaker out of the tail of her eye and ate a
chocolate. Then she cast a look over on the point where the easel
stood. "He is so good-looking," she sighed. "I like smooth-faced men."
"My mustache is catching it next, is it?" said Edgar irritably,
twisting that treasure.
"Oh, I simply despise mustaches," rejoined Violet equably; "but of
course if it makes you look older, or more dignified, or helps you in
your career, you have to wear one."
"I don't know as there's any 'have to' about it," returned Edgar. "It's
just a matter of taste with me"; he made the addition with a superior
carelessness.
"So it is with me," returned Violet with engaging frankness. "Here's
another peppermint." She picked it up in the silver tongs. "Open your
mouth and shut your eyes and I'll give you something to make you wise."
Edgar jerked back his head, seized the confection in his fingers, and
scaled it across the rocks.
"I loathe peppermint," he said shortly, "and as for making me wise,
you're making me wiser every day. Will you, or will you not give me a
lesson in clogging this afternoon?"
"I _will_!" returned Violet, dramatically. "You paid partly in advance
last night, and I'm the soul of honor!"
He met her mischievous eyes with a baffled look. He longed to shake
her. His hand lifted mechanically to his mustache and dropped again. He
had lost faith in that, too.