The following afternoon, Peter, Kenyon and Belle went to see Ranken
Townsend's pictures and to have tea with Betty. The little party was a
great success. Peter and the artist got on splendidly together, which
filled Betty with joy and gladness, and Kenyon had added to the general
smoothness and pleasantness by offering extremely intelligent and
enthusiastic criticism of the canvasses that were shown to him, drawing
subtle comparisons between them and those of Reynolds and Gainsborough.
Like all true artists, Townsend was a humble man and unsuspicious. He
believed, in the manner of all good workers, that he had yet to find
himself, although he had met with uncommon success. He was, therefore,
much heartened and warmed by the remarks of one who, although young,
evidently knew of what he was talking and proved himself to be something
of a judge. When Kenyon received a cordial invitation to come again to
the studio he solidified the good impression that he had made by saying
that he would be honoured and delighted.
There had been a sharp shower during tea, but the sky had cleared when
they left Gramercy Park, taking Betty with them, and so they started out
to walk home.
Belle and Betty went on in front, arm in arm, and the two friends
followed. This suited Kenyon exactly. He had laid his plan and had
something to say to Peter.
Belle was very happy, and she showed it. She looked round at Betty with
her eyes dancing. "I can see that you're dying to ask me something," she
said. "But don't. You and I don't have to ask each other questions.
We've always told each other everything, and we always will."
"Belle, you're en-ga----"
"S-s-s-h! Don't mention the word."
"Why?"
"Well, we've been talking this afternoon and Nicholas says, and I think
he's right--though I wish he weren't--that he doesn't want to go to
father until he's been here longer and has made up his mind what he's
going to do. You see, he's not well off. He's got to work,--although I
can't fancy Nicholas working,--and so we're not going to be really
engaged for a few months. Meantime, he's going to look round and find
something to do. That'll be easy. You don't know how clever he is,--not
merely clever--a monkey can be clever, or a conjurer--the word I meant
to use was 'able.' Aren't you glad? Isn't it splendid?"
"Oh, my dear," said Betty, "wouldn't it be perfectly wonderful if we
could be married on the same day? Of course I've seen it coming----"
Belle laughed. "I knew you'd say that. Personally I didn't see it
coming. After we'd left Oxford I began to think that Nicholas had only
been flirting with me. He wrote such curious, aloof little letters and
very few of them. They might have been written by an epigramist to his
maiden aunt; but last night,--well, last night made everything
different, and this afternoon we've had a long talk. Of course I wish we
were going to be openly and properly engaged, but I'm very happy and so
I don't grumble."
"As the future Countess of Shropshire, I wonder whether you will ever
give a little back room in your beautiful English place to the young
American lawyer and his wife!"
"Betty, I swear to you that I don't care a dime about all that now,--I
mean the title and the place. It's just Nicholas that I want--Nicholas,
and no one else. I wouldn't care if he were what he calls a 'bounder' or
a 'townee.' My dear, I'm mad about him--just mad."
"Isn't everything as right as Truth?" said Betty. "The more I see Peter
the more I love him. He's,--well, he's a man, and he's mine. He's mine
for another reason, and that's because he's always going to be a boy,
and I'm here to look after him. He'll need me. And I must have him need
me, too, because I need to be needed. Do you understand?"
Belle nodded. "You're the born mother, my dear," she said, "whereas,
I'm,--well, not. I want love--just love. I'll give everything I've got
in the world for that--everything. Love and excitement and movement,--to
go from place to place meeting new people, hearing new languages, seeing
new types, living bigly and broadly, being consulted by a man who's
brilliant and far-seeing,--_that's_ what I need. That's _my_ idea of
life. Ah-h!" She shot out a deep breath and threw her chin up as though
to challenge argument.
Betty watched her with admiration. She had never looked so unusual, so
exhilarated, so fine. All about her there was the very essence of youth
and courage and health. There was a glow in her white skin that was the
mere reflection of the fire that was alight in her heart. Given
happiness this girl would burst into the most fragrant blossoming and
gleam among her sisters like a rose in a pansy bed. Given pain and
disillusion she had it in her to fling rules, observances, caution,
common sense and even self-respect to the four winds and go with all
possible speed to the devil.
"What would have happened to us both if we hadn't gone to Oxford?" asked
Betty, with an almost comical touch of gravity. "Think! I should be
doomed to be a little old maid, with nothing but an even smaller dog to
keep in order, and as for you----"
"I? Don't let's talk about it. I should have gone top-pace through
several years and then, with thirty looming ahead, married a nice safe
man with oodles of money who would spend his life following me round.
Thank Heaven, I shall never be the centre of that ghastly picture!"
And so they went on, these two young things, opening up their hearts to
each other as they walked home and flying off at all manner of feminine
tangents.
Kenyon, perfectly satisfied with his talk to Belle, whom he had secured
without binding himself to anything definite, was wearing white spats,
and so he picked his way across the wet streets like a cat on hot
bricks. For several blocks he permitted Peter to talk about Betty. His
affectation of interest and sympathy was not so well done as usual. He
had determined, with a sort of professional jealousy, not to allow Ita
Strabosck to trade on Graham's credulity any longer. All his thoughts
were concentrated on his plan to smash up that burlesque arrangement, as
he inwardly called it. If anyone were to make use of Graham he intended
to be that one. The girl, at present a humble member of the great army
of parasites in which he held a commission, must be cleared out. She was
inconveniently in the way.
When Peter was obliged to stop for breath, Kenyon jumped in. "Look
here!" he said. "You're coming with me to the shrine of the pernicious
Papowsky to-night."
"You mean on Graham's business?" asked Peter. "Is it absolutely
necessary to go to that place?"
"Absolutely. You'll see why, if everything works as I think it will,
when we get there."
"Right. And how about Graham?"
"You and Graham are going to have dinner with me at Sherry's. I shall
have to see that he has half a bottle too much champagne. That'll make
him careless and put a bit of devil into him, and when I suggest that he
shall take us to Papowsky's, he will jump at the notion, He's awful keen
to show us what a blood he is. Once he gets us inside the rest will
follow."
"I see. By Jove, I shall be thundering glad when Graham's plucked out of
this wretched mess. The only thing is I'm booked to dine with Mr.
Townsend at his club to-night."
"It can't be done," said Kenyon. "Directly you get home you must
telephone. Say that an urgent matter has just cropped up and beg to be
excused. Call it business--call it anything you like--but get out of
it."
"All right!" said Peter. "I'm heart and soul with you, old boy. I'm very
grateful for all the trouble you're taking. You always were a good
chap."
"My dear Peter, add to my possession of the ordinary number of senses
one that is almost as rare as the Dodo,--the sense of gratitude. Hello!
Here's some of the family in the car!"
They had halted on the steps of the Doctor's house as Mrs. Guthrie and
Ethel were driven up. Kenyon sprang forward, opened the door and handed
the ladies out with an air that Raleigh himself would have found
commendable.
"Blood tells," said Belle, who watched from the top step, with a proud
smile.
"Yes," said Betty, "but I prefer muscle. Look!"
The pavement was uneven in front of the house and the rain had made a
little pool. So Peter picked his mother up, as though she were as light
as a bunch of feathers, and carried her into the house.
"My dearest big boy!" she said.
"Darling little Mum!" said Peter.