and the furniture bore marks of having been used not wisely, but too
well. Everything was clean, though not aggressively so. He ascribed the
absence of lace curtains to Romeo and the Cloisonne vase to Juliet. The
fishing rods in one corner were probably due to both.
When the others came down, Juliet tied a big blue gingham apron over her
white muslin gown and excused herself. She had been cooking for the
better part of two days and took a housewifely pride in doing everything
herself. They had chosen the things they liked the most, so the dinner
was unusual, as dinners go.
Isabel, eating daintily, made no effort to conceal her disdain, but
Doctor Jack ate heartily, praised everything, and brought the blush of
pleasure to Juliet's rosy cheeks.
Romeo, at the head of the table, radiated the hospitality of the true
host, yet a close observer would have noted how often he cast admiring
glances at Isabel. She was so dainty, so beautifully gowned and
elaborately coiffured, that Romeo compared her with his sister greatly
to the disadvantage of the latter.
Juliet's hair was unruly and broke into curls all around her face;
Isabel's was in perfect order, with every wave mathematically exact.
Juliet's face was tanned and rosy; Isabel's pale and cool. Juliet's
hands were rough and her finger-tips square; Isabel's were white and
tapering, with perfectly manicured nails. And their gowns--there was no
possible comparison there. Both were in white, but Romeo discovered that
there might be a vast difference in white gowns.
Afterward, the guests were taken out into the yard, and led to the
comprehensive grave of the nineteen dogs. Minerva kept at a safe
distance, but the five puppies gambolled and frolicked, even to the
verge of the sepulchre. Romeo desired to send a dog to Allison, and
generously offered Isabel her choice, but she refused.
"I'll take the pup," said the Doctor. "It might amuse him, and anyhow,
he'd like to know that you thought of him."
Isabel had strolled down toward the barn. Juliet hesitated, duty bidding
her follow Isabel and inclination holding her back. Presently Isabel
returned, and her face was surprisingly animated.
"Is that our car in the barn?" she asked. Her manner betrayed great
excitement.
"Why, it's Allison Kent's car, isn't it?" inquired Romeo.
"I thought it was mine. Colonel Kent gave it to me for a wedding
present."
"I thought you couldn't keep the wedding presents unless the wedding
came off," Juliet observed, practically.
"I've still got my ring," said Isabel. "Allison said he wanted me to
keep it, and he gave me his violin, too. I should think they'd want me
to keep the car."
"Better make sure," suggested Doctor Jack, politely.
"People don't scatter automobiles around carelessly among their friends,
as a general rule," observed Juliet.
"I wish I could get it up to Kent's," Romeo said, thoughtfully. "It
always reminds me--here."
"I'd just as soon drive it back," the Doctor answered. "It's more of a
trot out here than I supposed it was."
"Why, yes," cried Juliet. "You can drive it back to-night and take
Isabel home!"
"Charmed," lied the Doctor, with an awkward bow.
So it happened that Isabel once more climbed into the red car and went
back over the fateful road. The machine ran well, but it seemed to
require the driver's entire attention, for his conversation consisted of
brief remarks to which answers even more brief were vouchsafed.
When he turned, on the wide road in front of Madame Bernard's, after
leaving Isabel at the gate, she lingered in the shadow, watching, until
he was out of sight. The throb of the engine became fainter and fainter,
then died away altogether. Isabel sighed and went in, wondering if
Allison, after giving her the ring and the violin, would not also want
her to have the car. Or, if that seemed too much, and she should send
back the violin--she pondered over it until almost dawn, then went to
sleep.
The following afternoon, while Madame Bernard slept, Isabel sat idly in
the living-room, looking out of the window, though, as she told herself
fretfully, there was not much use of looking out of the window when
nobody ever went by. But no sooner had she phrased the thought than she
heard the faint chug-chug of an approaching motor.
She moved back, into the shelter of the curtain, and presently saw the
big red automobile whizz by. Doctor Jack, hatless and laughing, was at
the wheel. Beside him was Colonel Kent.
Had they gone out and left Allison alone? Surely, since there was no one
else. Fortune favoured her if she wished to see him. But did she dare?
Isabel was nothing if not courageous. Arming herself with an excuse in
the shape of the violin, she sallied forth and made her way to Kent's,
meeting no one upon the well-worn path.
As it happened, Allison was on the lower veranda, walking back and
forth, persistently accompanied by the Crosby pup. Assisted by the
Colonel and Doctor Jack, he had come down without accident, and had
promised to go out in the car with them a little later.
When he saw Isabel coming up the walk, he stopped in astonishment. He
did not go to meet her, but offered her a chair and said, with formal
politeness: "How do you do? This is an unexpected pleasure."
"I brought this," began Isabel, offering him the violin.
He took it with a smile. "Thank you. I don't know that I shall ever use
it again, but I am glad to have it."
There was a pause and Isabel moved restlessly in her chair. Then she
slipped the ring from her finger. "Do you want this now?" she asked. Her
face was a shade paler.
Allison laughed. "Indeed I don't. Whom could I give it to?"
"Rose," suggested Isabel, maliciously.
Allison sighed and turned his face away. "She wouldn't take it," he
said, sadly.
Isabel slipped it back on her finger, evidently relieved. "I'm glad
you're better," she went on, clearing her throat.
"Thank you. So am I."
"I saw your father, out in the car. The Doctor was with him."
"Yes. They're coming back for me in a little while."
"It's a lovely car. The Doctor brought me home in it last night, from
Crosby's."
"So he told me." Allison did not see fit to say just how much Doctor
Jack had told him. He smiled a little at the recollection of the young
man's remorseful confession.
"I told them," continued Isabel, "that I thought it was mine--that your
father had given it to me, but it seems I was mistaken."
"It seems so," Allison agreed. "Dad gave it to the Doctor this morning."
Isabel repressed a bitter cry of astonishment. "For keeps?"
"Yes, for keeps. It's little enough to give him after all he's done for
me. We both wanted him to have it."
"You could get another, couldn't you?"
"I suppose so, if I wanted it. People can usually get things they want,
if they are intangible."
"I wanted to tell you," resumed Isabel, "that I was sorry I acted the
way I did the last time I was here."
"Don't think of it," replied Allison, kindly. "It was very natural."
"It was all a great shock to me, and I was lame, and--and--I wish
everything could be as it was before," she concluded, with a faint flush
creeping into her face.
"That is the great tragedy of life, Isabel--that things can never be as
they were before. Sometimes they're worse, sometimes better, but the
world is never the same."
"Of course," she answered, without grasping his meaning, "but you're
going to be all right again now, and--that's the same."
Allison shrugged his shoulders and bit his lips to conceal a smile. "It
may be the same for me, but it couldn't be for you. I couldn't give you
any guarantee that it wouldn't happen again, you know. I might be run
over by a railroad train or a trolley car, or any one of a thousand
things might happen to me. There's always a risk."
Tears filled Isabel's eyes. "I don't believe you ever cared very much
for me," she said, her lips quivering.
"I did, Isabel," he answered, kindly, "but it's gone now. Even at that,
it lasted longer than you cared for me. Come, let's be friends."
He offered his hand. She put hers into it for a moment, then quickly
took it away. He noted that it was very cold.
"I must be going," she said, keeping her self-control with difficulty,
"Aunt Francesca will miss me."
"Thank you for coming--and for bringing the violin."
"You're welcome. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Silver Girl. I hope you'll be happy."
Isabel did not answer, nor turn back. She went out of the gate and out
of his life, pride keeping her head high until she had turned the
corner. Then, very sorry for herself, she sat down and wept.
XXIII
"TEARS, IDLE TEARS"
"Say, Jule," inquired Romeo, casually, "why is it that you don't look
like a lady?"
"What do you mean?" demanded Juliet, bristling.
"I don't know just what I mean, but you seem so different from everybody
else."
"I'm clean, ain't I?"
"Yes," he admitted, grudgingly.
"And my hair is combed?"
"Sometimes."
"And my white dress is clean, isn't it?"
"Yes, but it doesn't look like--like hers, you know."
"Her? Who's 'her'?"
"You know--Isabel."
Juliet sighed and bit her lips. Her eyes filled with tears and she
winked very hard to keep them back. An ominous pain clutched at her
loyal little heart.
"What do you want me to do, Romie?" she asked, gently.
"Why, I don't know. Men never know about such things. Just make yourself
like her--that's all."
"Huh!" Juliet was scornful now. "I don't know whether I want to look
like her or not," she remarked, coldly.
"Why not?" he flashed back.
"And I don't want to be like her, either. She can't do anything. She
can't cook, or swing on the trapeze, or skate, or fish, or row, or swim,
or climb a tree, or ride horseback, or walk, or anything." "I could
teach her," mused Romeo, half to himself. "I taught you."
"Yes," cried Juliet, swallowing the persistent lump in her throat, "and
now you've done it, you're ashamed of me!"
"I didn't say so," he temporised.
"You didn't have to. Don't you suppose I can see?"
"Don't get so mad about it. She was laughing at you last night and so
was the Doctor. They didn't think it was nice for you to put on your
knickers and swing on the trapeze. Ladies don't do that."
"You taught me," she reminded him, quickly.
"Yes, but I didn't ask you to do it before everybody. You started it
yourself. Isabel wouldn't look at you, and you remember what the Doctor
said, don't you? He told you to cut it out."
"That was because he thought it was dangerous."
"'Tisn't dangerous, and he knows it. He knew it wasn't refined and lady-
like for you to do that before men."
"It was only a doctor," Juliet replied, in a small, thin voice. "They're
different from other people. I wouldn't let the Kents see me in my
knickers, and you know it."
"You would, too, if you wanted to. You're a perfect tomboy. You wouldn't
see Isabel doing that."
"Probably not," answered Juliet, dryly. "She's no more likely to do that
than I would be to go back on the man I'd promised to marry, just
because his hand was hurt."
"You'll never have a chance to go back on anybody, so you don't know
what you'd do."
"Why won't I?"
"Because," answered Romeo, choosing his words carefully, "when a man
gets married, he wants to marry a lady, not a tomboy." For some unknown
reason, he resented any slur cast at Isabel.
"And," replied Juliet, cuttingly, "when a lady gets married, she wants
to marry a gentleman." The accent carried insult with it, and Romeo left
the house, slamming the door and whistling, defiantly until he was out
of hearing.
There was no longer any need for Juliet to keep back the tears.
Stretched at full length upon the disembowelled sofa, she buried her
face in the pillow and wept until she could weep no more. Then she
bathed her face, and pinned up her tangled hair, and went to the one
long mirror the Crosby mansion boasted of, to take an inventory of
herself.
She could see that Romeo was right--she didn't look like a lady. Her
skirt was too, short and didn't hang evenly, and her belt was wrong
because she had no corsets. Juliet made a wry face at the thought of a
corset. None of her clothes fitted like Isabel's, her face was tanned,
her hands rough and red, and her nails impossible.
"I look just like a boy," Juliet admitted to herself, "dressed up in
girl's clothes. If Romie's hair was long, and he had on this dress, he'd
look just like me."
Pride forbade her to go to Isabel and inquire into the mysteries of her
all-pervading femininity. Anyhow, Isabel would laugh at her. Anybody
would laugh at her--unless Miss Bernard--but she had gone away. She was
a lady, even more than Isabel, and so was the little old lady everybody
called "Aunt Francesca."
If she could see "Aunt Francesca," she wouldn't be ashamed to tell her
what Romeo had said. If she only knew what to do, she could do it, for
she had plenty of money. Juliet dimly discerned that money was very
necessary if one would be the same sort of "lady" that the others were.
"If Mamma hadn't died," said Juliet, to herself, "I guess I'd have been
as much of a lady as anybody, and nobody would have dared call me a
tomboy." Her heart ached for the gentle little mother who had died many
years ago. "She would have known," sighed Juliet. "Mamma was a lady if
anybody ever was, and she didn't have the money we've got either."
The life of the Crosbys had been bare of luxuries and sometimes even of
comforts, until the considerate uncle died and left his money to the
twins. As fortunes go, it was not much, but it seemed inexhaustible to
them because they did not know how to spend it.
"I'll go this very day," thought Juliet, "and see Aunt Francesca. I'll
ask her. If Isabel is there, I'll have to wait, but if I don't ask for
Isabel, maybe I won't see her."
Having decided upon a plan of action, the way seemed easier, so Juliet
went about her daily duties with a lighter heart, and even sang after a
fashion, as she awkwardly pressed the wrinkles from her white muslin
gown. Though it was September, it was still warm enough to wear it.
Romeo, having only the day before attained his maturity, had taken unto
himself the masculine privilege of getting angry at someone else for
what he himself had done. He was furious with Juliet, though he did not
trouble himself to ask why. "The idea," he muttered, "of her criticising
Isabel!"
His wounded sensibilities impelled him to walk past the Bernard house,
very slowly, two or three times, but there was no one in sight. He went
to the post-office as a mere matter of habit; there was seldom any mail
for the Crosbys except on the first of the month, when the lawyer's
formal note, "enclosing remittance," came duly to hand. Nobody seemed to
be around--there was nothing to do. It would have been natural to go
back home, but he was too angry for that, and inwardly vowed to stay
away long enough to bring Juliet to her senses.
He recalled the night he had called upon Isabel and had not reached home
until late. He remembered the torrent of tears and Juliet's cry: "Oh,
Romie! Romie! I don't care where you've been as long as I've got you
back!" It pleased his masculine sense of superiority to know that he had
power over a woman's tears--to make them come or go, as he chose.
He sauntered slowly toward Kent's, thinking that he might while away an
hour or two there. It was a long time until midnight, and there seemed
to be nothing to do but to sit and wait. He could ask about the car and
whether it was all right now. If Doctor Jack could run it, maybe they
could go out together for a little spin. It would be nice to go by his
own house and never even turn his head. And, if they could get Isabel to
go, too, it would teach Juliet a much-needed lesson.
He had nearly reached his destination when he came upon the picture of
Beauty in Distress. Isabel sat at the roadside, leaning against a tree,
sobbing. Romeo gave a long, low whistle of astonishment. "Say," he
called, cheerfully, "what's wrong?"
Isabel looked up, wiped her eyes, and began to weep more earnestly.
Though Juliet's tears had moved him to anger and disdain, Isabel's grief
roused all his chivalry. He sat down beside her and tried to take her
handkerchief away from her eyes.
"Don't," he said, softly. "What's the matter?"
"Oh," sobbed Isabel, "I'm the most miserable girl in the whole world.
Nobody wants me!"
"What makes you say that?" demanded Romeo. "Look here, if you'll tell me
who's been making you cry, I'll--"
He did not finish the sentence, but his tone indicated that dire
misfortune would be visited upon the luckless individual directly
responsible for Isabel's tears.
"You know," began Isabel, after her sobs had quieted somewhat, "I was
engaged to Allison Kent until you ran over us. At first I couldn't go
over--I was so bruised and lame and before I was well enough to go, I
got a note from him, releasing me from the engagement."
"Yes?" queried Romeo, encouragingly. "Go on."
"Well, I didn't think I ought to go over, under the circumstances, but
Aunt Francesca made me go--she's been mean to me, too. So I went and he
was horrid to me--perfectly horrid. I offered him his ring and he almost
threw his violin at me, and told me to keep that, too. I was afraid of
him.
"Well, since that, everything has been awful. I wrote to Mamma and told
her about it and that I couldn't stay here any longer, and she didn't
answer for a long time. Then she said I would have to stay where I was
until she could make new arrangements for me and that she was glad I
wasn't going to marry a cripple. She said something about 'the survival
of the unfit,' but I didn't understand it.
"And then, last night, when I heard that Allison wasn't going to lose
his hand after all, I thought I ought to take his violin back to him and
try to well,--to make up, you know. So I've just been there. He took the
violin all right, but he didn't seem to want me. He said nothing could
ever be as it was before. I was ready to get married and go away--I'd do
almost anything for a change--but he actually seemed to be glad to get
rid of me and they've given my automobile, that Colonel Kent himself
gave to me for a wedding present, to that doctor who was out to your
house last night. Oh," sobbed Isabel, "I wish I was dead. If you only
hadn't run over us, everything would have been all right!"
Romeo's young face was set in stern and unaccustomed lines. He, then,
was directly responsible for Isabel's tears. He had run over them and
hurt Isabel and made everything wrong for her, and, because she was a
lady, she wasn't blaming him in the least. She had merely pointed out to
him, as gently as she could, what he had done to her.
A bright idea flashed into his mind, as he remembered that he was
twenty-one now and could do as he pleased without consulting anybody. He
reached into his pocket, drew out a handful of greenbacks and silver,
even a gold piece or two. It would serve Juliet just right and make up
to Isabel for what he had done.
"I say, Isabel," he began awkwardly. "Would you be willing to marry me?"
Isabel quickly dried her tears. "Why, I don't know," she answered, much
astonished. Then the practical side of her nature asserted itself. "Have
you got money enough?"
Romeo tendered the handful of currency. "All this, and plenty more in
the bank."
"I know, but it was the bank I was talking about. Have you got enough
for us to live at a nice hotel and go to the theatre every night?"
"More than that," Romeo asserted, confidently. "I've got loads."
"I--don't know," said Isabel, half to herself. "It would serve them all
right. Allison used to be jealous of you," she added, with a sidelong
glance that set his youthful heart to fluttering.
"Juliet is jealous of you," Romeo responded disloyally. "We had an awful
scrap this morning because I asked her why she didn't try to be a lady,
like you."
"Of course," replied Isabel, smoothing her gown with a dainty hand,
"I've always liked Juliet, but I liked you better."
"Really, Isabel? Did you always like me?"
"Always."
"Then come on. Let's skip out now, the way they do in the books. Let's
take the next train."
"Why not get married here?" objected Isabel, practically, "and take the
four-thirty into town? There's a minister here, and while you're seeing
about it, I can go home and get my coat."
"All right, but don't stop for anything else. We've got to hustle. Don't
tell anybody."
"Not even Aunt Francesca?"
"No, she'd make a fuss. And besides, she doesn't deserve it, if she's
been mean to you." Romeo leaned over and bestowed a meaningless peck
upon the fair cheek of his betrothed.
"I'll never be mean to you," he said.
"I know you won't," Isabel returned, trustfully. Then she laughed as she
rose to her feet. "It will be a good joke on Allison," she said,
gleefully.
"It'll be a good joke on everybody," Romeo agreed, happily.
"Listen," said Isabel. A faint chug-chug was heard in the distance,
gradually coming nearer. "It's my car. I wish you hadn't been so quick
to get rid of it last night. We could have gone away in it now."
"Never mind, I'll buy you another."
They hoped to reach the turn in the road before the car got there, but
failed. Doctor Jack came to a dead stop. "Want a lift?" he asked.
"No, thank you," said Romeo.
"No, thank you," repeated Isabel, primly. Colonel Kent had greeted her
with the most chilling politeness, and she burned to get away.
"Say," resumed Romeo, "will you do something for me?"
"Sure," replied the Doctor, cordially. "Anything."
"Will you take a note out to my sister for me? I shan't get back for--
some time."
"You bet. Where is it?"
"I haven't written it yet. Just wait a minute."
Romeo tore a leaf from an old memorandum book which he carried, and
wrote rapidly:
"DEAR JULE:
"Isabel and I have gone away to get married. You can have half of
everything. I'll let you know where to send my clothes.
"R.C."
He was tempted to add an apology for what he had said earlier in the
day, but his newly acquired importance made him refrain from anything so
compromising.
He folded the note into a little cocked hat and addressed it. "Much
obliged," he said, laconically. "So long."
"So long," returned Doctor Jack, starting the engine.
"Good-bye," said the Colonel, lifting his hat.
Romeo left Isabel at Madame Bernard's gate. "Hurry up," he said, in a
low tone. "I'll meet you under the big elm down the road."
"All right," she whispered.
Madame Bernard was asleep, so Isabel hastily crammed a few things into a
suit-case and slipped out of the house, unseen and unheard. As the half-
starved minister of the country parish was sorely in need of the
generous fee Romeo pressed upon him in advance, the arrangements were
pitifully easy. He was at the trysting place fully ten minutes before
she came in sight, staggering under the unaccustomed burden of a heavy
suit-case.
It might not have occurred to him to relieve Juliet of a cumbrous piece
of baggage, but he instinctively took it from Isabel. "Come on," he
said. "We've got to hurry if we don't want to miss the four-thirty."
"How long does it take to get married?" queried Isabel.
"Not long, I guess. See how people fool around over it, and we're
getting through with it in one afternoon. We're making a record, I
guess."
It seemed that they were, for when they came to the shabby little brown
house, near the big white church, the minister, his wife, and a next-
door neighbour were waiting. In a very short time, the ceremony was over
and Mr. and Mrs. Romeo Crosby were on the train, speeding toward their
honeymoon and the lively years that undoubtedly lay ahead of them.
Allison had changed his mind about going out that afternoon, but
promised to go next time. Colonel Kent remained at home, and Doctor Jack
sped away alone upon his errand.
When he reached Crosby's, Juliet clad in her best, was just leaving the
house. She was outwardly cheerful, but her face still bore traces of
tears.
"Where were you going?" asked the Doctor, as Juliet greeted him. There
was a new shyness in her manner, as of some unwonted restraint.
"I was going into town. I wanted to see Aunt Francesca." She slipped
easily into the habit of the others, seldom hearing the name "Madame
Bernard."
"I'll take you. Here's a note from your brother."
Juliet opened it, read the fateful message, and turned white as death.
"What is it?" asked the Doctor, much alarmed.
In answer, she offered him the note, her hand shaking pitifully. The
Doctor read it twice before he grasped the full meaning of it. "Well,
I'll be--" he said, half to himself.