Shortly before five Isabel heard the horn of the returning car. She ran
to a mirror and gazed at her reflection with new interest, for after
useless struggle with Fate she had decided to let Philip Barry cross the
water. The telegram had been sent to New York and soon her message would
vibrate over the Atlantic cable. Early in the afternoon she had
overhauled gowns not intended to be worn until several months later. Her
changed toilet was a matter of significance, almost a challenge to her
aunt, who would readily construe a transformation from half mourning to
violet crepe and amethysts. She listened to the horn, dreading an
ordeal. Fortunately, intuitions concerning Mrs. Grace always developed
her own mastery. And to-day Isabel ignored the aunt's startled
expression and crude outcry, as she hastened on to meet arriving guests.
"So glad to see you looking so well!" cried Gay Lewis, a school
acquaintance of years back. "I was afraid we might be late! But luck is
on our side, and with my mother, who so wishes to know you, are our very
dear friends, Mrs. Hartley and her son." Miss Lewis assumed social
responsibility with ease. While Mrs. Doan received the ladies, she
fairly drove the man--or rather youth--of the party forward.
"Let me present you, Ned. And remember! I am doing something very
sweet. Mrs. Doan is a darling to have us for tea; do you not think so?"
"You were kind to come," said Isabel, looking at young Hartley. "How did
you manage to hit the hour exactly? Was there no trial of patience
underneath your machine?"
"Not the least," Miss Lewis volunteered, as the strangers went onward to
an immense living-room. "You should have joined us, not stayed at home
on a day like this!"
Hartley's adoring eyes renewed a previous invitation. "You will come
next time--to-morrow?" he implored.
"Have we not had a delicious run?" said Miss Lewis, speaking to the
older women, relaxing in chairs and ready for tea.
"Yes, indeed," said her mother. "Everything has been perfect."
"And Mr. Hartley is such a precious driver," the daughter went on. "He
left his chauffeur on the road--came home alone--without a mishap! You
may fancy his skill from the time we made--ninety-nine miles, was it
not? Yes, of course! a regular bargain run. And we started so late; not
until after ten, with luncheon at one. Part of our way was simply
drenched with fresh oil."
"Just like a greasy river," Mrs. Grace complained.
"An outrage upon strangers who wish to enjoy the country," chimed Mrs.
Lewis.
"I should think people who live here--and many of them own most
expensive cars--would protest. It doesn't seem fair to spoil good sport
by such aggravating conditions," said Mrs. Hartley.
"Another biscuit, Ned dear; I am shamefully hungry." Gay Lewis, who had
passed too many seasons of unavailable conquest to be accounted young by
debutantes, leaned forward. "Dear Mrs. Hartley, take two. Such jolly
biscuit, aren't they? Our hostess must indulge us all, we poor people
who stop in a hotel."
She turned to Isabel, assiduously occupied with a steaming samovar. "You
do it like an old hand; and I simply envy you this house." Miss Lewis
swept the immense, rich room with alert eyes, keen to artistic values.
"You were lucky. I am surprised that Mrs. Grant consented to rent.
However, I am told that her stay abroad is apt to be protracted. You
know she is most ambitious for her daughters?"
"Yes," assented Isabel, "she lives here only a few months each year."
"Is there a Mr. Grant?" asked Mrs. Hartley.
"Oh, dear yes; but he doesn't count. His wife has the money, and the
taste, too," Miss Lewis volunteered.
"We must examine those antique brasses before we leave." Gay again
addressed Mrs. Hartley. "Mrs. Grant has wonderful things," she
explained.
"I always want to clean tarnished brass up a bit," the lady answered.
"Of course! I quite forgot your wonderful housekeeping."
Ned Hartley flushed at his mother's philistine candor.
"In this particular room, with its embrasures, dull richness, almost
medieval simplicity, I should hardly dare to shine any landlady's
cathedral candlesticks," said Mrs. Doan. The humor in her remark was not
too plain.
"How charmingly the whole outside approaches into the very house," Miss
Lewis put in. "There are no grounds in town quite so appealing. I love
dear wild spots in a garden when vegetation admits of them. Where
everything grows the year round it is a mistake to be too tidy with
Nature."
"Mrs. Grant is an artist--a genius--in her way," the hostess rejoined.
"She certainly understands semi-tropical opportunities, whereas some of
her neighbors seem only to think of the well-kept lawns of an Eastern
city."
"Since the town has grown so large and shockingly up to date, there is
very little natural charm left anywhere," said Gay Lewis. "Really one
has to have better gowns and more of them out here than in New York or
Chicago. I never accepted so many invitations for inside affairs in my
life before. I positively have no time for tennis, horseback, or golf. I
just submit to the same things we do at home and spend almost every
afternoon at bridge, under electric light."
Isabel laughed. "I am threatening to abjure electricity altogether in
this particular room--burn only candles and temple lamps. I should like
to try the effect of softened light on nerves," she confided. "After
sitting in a jungle of the garden, I could come indoors and disregard
everything but day-dreams."
"The test would be worth while," Gay agreed. "And really, I should like
to have a day-dream myself."
"Absurd!" cried Mrs. Grace. "The room is dark enough already. With
nothing but candles it would be worse than a Maeterlinck play. And how
could one see cards by a temple lamp?"
"Won't you be seated?" Isabel asked of Ned Hartley, still standing. "You
have worked so hard passing tea; do enjoy yourself." A momentous
question went unanswered. "See! I am dropping preserved cherries into
your cup--true Russian brewing. Delicious!" the hostess promised.
Hartley moved a chair. "May I sit here?" he begged.
"Of course. You deserve my fervent attention. Shall I give you orange
marmalade with your biscuit?"
"Anything--everything!" he answered, all but dead to the sustained
prattle of the other women. "It's awfully good of you to look out for
me," he added, with an adoring glance. "And you will let me take you out
in the machine--to-morrow?" he pleaded.
Isabel smiled. "You are very kind."
Miss Lewis was standing by the table with her cup. "We shall never let
you rest until the thing is quite empty," she declared. "Cherries,
please, instead of lemon. As I said before, you are a lucky, lucky girl
to drop into such a place."
From a pillowed lair Mrs. Grace protested. "Don't tell her that," she
begged. "The house and garden are well enough, to be sure; yet after
all one comes from home to be free from care. I cannot understand
Isabel's prejudice against hotels. There is nothing so pleasant as a
good one, when one is a stranger in a strange land. I like life!
something doing. Last winter we had bridge every afternoon and evening.
The guests at the Archangel were delightful--so generous about buying
prizes. And of mornings the Japanese auctions right down the street were
so diverting. Of course we went every day--got such bargains, even
marked Azon vases for almost nothing. It was so easy to buy your
Christmas presents."
"How interesting," said Mrs. Hartley. "Do the auctions take place every
season?"
"Always in the spring. And they are such an education!" Mrs. Grace
persisted. "Then it is so exciting when you really want something. Of
course one does not always know what to do with so many trifles, for
often one does not expect to get caught on a bid. Still the sport is
great and usually the things are good enough to send East to relatives,
or else to give to maids about the hotel." Mrs. Grace laughed at her
frank confession. "To be honest," she continued, "I am bored to death by
our present mode of life. What Isabel finds in housekeeping I can't
understand."
"Poor Aunt Julia!" Mrs. Doan flushed at an unexpected chance. "I see
that I have been very selfish," she owned, mischievously. "Alas! I am
too content to give up, after working hard to find so much! Then outside
of personal delight--there is my boy. He is the happiest little soul
imaginable! You should see him in his overalls! How could I deprive him
of his home for another whole year?" the mother pleaded.
"He was well enough last winter," said Mrs. Grace.
"Dear Aunt Julia, our friends will think that we are quarreling. I had
no idea that you were unhappy. As soon as the Archangel reopens you must
take rooms and enjoy yourself as usual."
The woman, never prepared for a climax, rose from her pillows. "Take
rooms at the Archangel! leave you unchaperoned!" she cried in blunt
dismay. "Why, Isabel Doan, what are you thinking of?"
"I should not be alone," the niece answered. "My old French governess,
Madame Sabot, is begging to come to California. By this time she is
doubtless an ogress, well able to guard me."
A hot wave of suspicion swept the aunt's countenance.
"For that small matter," cried Miss Lewis, "I might do as well as
madame. Take me for your chaperone! won't you, dear? I should love to
act in the capacity. You know, a mere infant companion is all that is
necessary nowadays--the best of form. And I am positively old, older
than yourself," she coolly owned. Miss Lewis rose from her chair with
vanishing hopes of Ned Hartley's continued devotion. The boy was heeding
Isabel's slightest word.
"You must over think my application," she jested. "If Mrs. Grace decides
to join mother at the Archangel I shall certainly hope to displace your
French ogress. Meantime, we must be going. I have asked a man from the
city to dinner; he will put in an appearance before I am fit. So sorry
we cannot stop to see the boy in his nest. I understand he slumbers on a
roof top--under the stars--like every one else out here. Isn't sleeping
out of doors a fad? So admirable for the complexion! Really one might
leave the country with a decent bank balance, if only one had nerve to
rent an oak tree instead of rooms in a hotel." She chattered gaily above
the others, to the verge of the waiting car.
While the machine gathered power, Ned Hartley hung on Isabel's promise
just gained. "To-morrow--to-morrow at three," he impressed again. Miss
Lewis heard his invitation, then blew the horn with ironic smile.