A SUPERNATURAL HAPPENING
“I could not help listening,” the woman half apologized with a
good-humored smile. “You see, I am so ‘dead nuts’ on things psychic,
and I can tell you gentlemen a _re_-markable story, which may interest
you, and which my husband, who is just now _en_-joying a cocktail, can
vouch for. That gentleman” (indicating Philip with a fat, white hand
sparkling with jewels), “thinks he saw his dead sweetheart looking out
of another woman’s eyes. Now, that was a very tall story, or would be
to some people’s thinking, because the second lady must be supposed to
have a spirit of her own to accommodate in her body already. But I can
very well believe it. _With_ your permission, I will bring my cup to
your table. Fortunately, everyone has left us now, and we can be just
comfortable.”
The two men made a place for the extraordinary woman, who sat down at
once in the chair Philip offered her.
At first both Philip and Browne had been disposed to take offence, but
the woman’s daring won the day.
“Now, in Chicago, where we hail from, there is a family as proud as
Lucifer because the woman’s grandmother was an English aristocrat. This
grandmother used to do most wonderful tapestry; she spent all her time
that way. When she was dying, she was all the time worrying about a
piece she had not finished, and her last words were, ‘I _will_ finish
it!’”
She waited for effect.
“Well, now, I’ll go on to the _con_-clusion. The granddaughter of this
strong-willed old aristocrat was a very stupid girl, and all their
dollars could make nothing of her, but she was to take a top seat all
the same. That girl, who could not sew on a button, took and finished
the fine tapestry her grandmother had begun, and the work was perfect!
All the family, even the cook and the boot-boy, came to have a look
at her working. They peeped through a nick in the door. And when the
work was done, the girl said she had not done it, and had never seen
it; and if she _had_ done it, it must have been in her sleep! and from
the day the tapestry was finished she never touched a needle! What do
you gentlemen think of that? Of course, the _grandmother_ had used the
girl’s fingers, and finished the work, as she had vowed to do when she
was dying.”
The narrator of this story was a little disappointed in its reception,
for both Philip and Browne seemed to find it funny merely. They laughed
a good deal.
“That was a case of the ruling passion strong _after_ death, wasn’t
it?” asked Philip.
“There is no such thing as death,” affirmed the lady with some warmth.
“There is something pretty disagreeable called by that name,
nevertheless,” commented Browne.
“I guess that when I am what they call dead, I shall know a heap more
than those who are putting wreaths on me,” she declared. “But there is
my husband, and we are going out, so I wish you both _good_-bye.”
“What a curious specimen!” said Philip, as the silk skirts disappeared
through the door. “You had better look out or she will hang on to you,
as you are staying here.”
“She would, I am sure,” laughed Browne; “but I go back to London
to-morrow morning.”
“I go back to Hastings to-morrow, too,” answered Philip.
“Well, we will enjoy to-night together, at any rate,” Browne concluded.
It had been a good thing for Philip that he had met Browne that night.
Depression had been playing up with him more than he knew.
He was at a loss to understand why he had felt so wretchedly blue
since Phyllis had gone. It was certainly not the loss of that erratic
young woman that had caused it. It was certainly not the loss of the
manuscript, for he had come to dislike the book heartily since Miss Le
Breton had not liked it. The strained relations at Hawk’s Nest were no
new thing.
Philip was at a loose end, and his one desire was to open his heart to
Dan’s “Madonna.”
But would it be fair to Dan?
After all, there was nothing definite between Dan and his “Madonna”--as
yet. There could be no harm in going to the White House and getting a
little comfort for himself.
He had quite forgotten his idea of making a marriage which should
help his career! The man had done this in his story. He now heartily
despised that man, who was so unpleasantly like himself. Possibly the
self-knowledge that had mysteriously come to him had something to do
with his depression.
One thing he decided during the train journey home: He would make
himself agreeable when he got there. If he did not do that, he could
not face Miss Le Breton. This was curious, as she could know nothing
about it. But somehow he felt that he must improve himself, if he were
to come into that girl’s presence--that girl! Dan’s “Madonna!”--and Dan
was invited to stay there. Dan was going.
Happy Dan!
Philip began to pity himself as that most unhappy of beings--the man
who must stand aside and look upon another man’s joy. Philip liked
Dan--genuinely liked him. Dan had always been a reliable friend. He
had put up with moroseness and ill-humor. He had shown ill-deserved
affection towards a man few liked, and many disliked. Good old Dan! but
Philip envied him all the same.
Philip was destined to see more of Aimée Le Breton than he had hoped
for. Mrs. Barrimore had said to Uncle Robert after the kindness Alvin
and Mrs. Le Breton had shown to her boy, “I ought to call on them,
Robert,” and he had thoroughly agreed.
So, while Philip had been at Brighton, Mrs. Barrimore and Mr. Burns had
driven over to Gissing and made a formal call at the White House, and
had come back nearly as much in love with Aimée Le Breton as Dan was.
“If Eweretta were like Miss Le Breton--as we hear she was,” Mrs.
Barrimore had said to her brother on the way home, “I no longer wonder
that Philip was so much in love. She is adorable.”
In which sentiment Uncle Robert had agreed. He even went so far as to
say she had inspired a lyric which he would write down when he got home.
Neither Mrs. Barrimore nor Uncle Robert had seen Eweretta during that
visit to London with her father when Philip had fallen in love and
become engaged (of course, without consulting them!).
Now, having seen what Eweretta had been like, both the mother and the
uncle entirely exonerated Philip for the sudden engagement for which at
the time they had mildly blamed him.
“I should have done it myself at Philip’s age,” Uncle Robert had
confessed.
He furthermore had expressed the opinion that it was quite impossible
that Miss Le Breton’s mind had ever been clouded. She was not even
neurotic. There had been some big mistake or some big deception, Mrs.
Barrimore had arrived at precisely the same opinion.
Things had developed so far during Philip’s stay in Brighton that when
he arrived at Hawk’s Nest he found the White House folk lunching there.
He did not enter the dining-room until he had made an unusually careful
toilet. This was a new departure for Philip, who had been rather
careless of his personal appearance during the last months.
He tried on three ties from his bag before he was satisfied with
one. He arranged his hair carefully, noting the while that it wanted
cutting, and regretting that he had not seen to it. He shaved, although
he had already shaved that day, and scrutinized his features in the
glass, wondering if he looked his best clean-shaven. He decided that he
did. His mouth was good, and he needed not to hide it by a moustache.
His chin was strong. Yes, it was by no means a bad-looking face that he
saw reflected in the glass.
He was glad that Colonel Lane was not of the party. He had ascertained
that fact from the parlor-maid. She had told him that Colonel Lane had
gone back to Dulwich, as his friend Colonel Henderson had had a relapse.
When quite satisfied with his appearance, Philip went down to the
dining-room, where the tender mother was of course the first to welcome
her boy. Her loving arms were about him the moment he entered the room.
Her heart harbored no resentment for his cold and even cruel behavior
when he had parted with her. He did not forget, however, and a flush
of genuine shame came to his face as he remembered his words to her,
“Women never know when a man wants to be left alone.”
He had now had quite enough of being left alone. Never for months
had he greeted his mother so affectionately, and to his credit be it
recorded, that it was not done because the eyes of the woman with whom
he wanted to “stand well,” were upon him.
When the mother, radiant, and with one of those lovely blushes on her
cheek, had gone back to her seat; when Mrs. Le Breton, Mr. Alvin and
“Aimée” had been duly greeted, and Uncle Robert had made Philip’s hand
tingle by a hearty grip, Philip took his place with the rest.
“It is good to be home,” he said.
“‘East or West, home’s best,’” quoted Uncle Robert.
“‘And what is Home without a Mother?’” said Philip, with an
affectionate glance in Mrs. Barrimore’s direction.
“Who is quoting now?” cried Uncle Robert, beaming. “Do you know, Mrs.
Le Breton,” he went on, “my quotations drove that young man from home!
He couldn’t stand them. They got on his nerves.”
“I think _I_ got on everyone’s nerves,” said Philip. “I begin to see
that I am an intolerant beast.”
Uncle Robert stared. What had come over Philip? The Brighton air seemed
to have performed miracles.
Eweretta dropped her table-napkin and stooped to pick it up, but it was
not the stooping that flushed her pale cheek.
She did not once look at Philip till the meal was ended.
But Philip looked at her more than once.
She was wearing a black felt hat, wide in the brim, on which was a
wonderful white ostrich feather. Philip decided that black and white
was by far the most becoming combination. Eweretta, he remembered, had
dressed less quietly, though in perfect good taste.
The guests left soon after luncheon, and Alvin offered to give Philip a
“lift” home. But Philip, thanking him, said he wanted to stay a day or
two with his mother.
It was then that Philip once more saw Eweretta looking out of the eyes
of Miss Le Breton.
Again the sudden impulse to take the girl to his heart had to be
suppressed. The impulse this time was so strong that Philip wondered
afterwards that he had been able to resist it, even though others were
by.