"At last!" said Philip; and his wife responded with a happy smile. The
afternoon trip to St. Barnabas had begun. The two were sitting in the
Pullman, at liberty to forget everything in the world but their wedding
journey. As yet it was too soon to regard the future; the present was
all satisfying. Isabel began to speak of their marriage ceremony, as
most brides are apt to do. "How simple and easy it all was," she
declared. "I shall always love that darling chapel among the hills. Did
you feel the spring coming through the open windows? And did you hear
the meadow lark on our way back? Oh, I loved it all."
Her husband smiled at her natural joy. Then peering into Philip's face
Isabel saw again that his cheeks were thin. If anything he was more
distinguished looking, yet already she feared for his health. He had
been working too hard, and the next month must do wonders for the man
she loved. "At St. Barnabas we shall live out of doors every moment of
the day," she declared. "I can hardly wait to show you that wonderful
country. It will be perfect to go about in the saddle; how glad I am
that we sent the horses on ahead and in full time."
"You are a fairy wife instead of a fairy godmother," said Philip.
"Nonsense," she answered. "I am absolutely selfish. I love the saddle
far better than my dinner, and my only fear is that I may tire you out."
"No danger; I'm going to astonish you. Besides, you have given me the
easiest horse."
She denied the charge. "One is as fine a mount as the other. I shall
never cease to be thankful to our friend Cole. And isn't it nice that he
is to take care of the horses during our stay at the hotel?"
"Pretty nice for him," said Philip.
"And for us, too," she persisted. "I really did not wish to leave madame
and Reginald without a coachman. Of course I could have let Tom come,
but he is altogether too fond of a good time. Parker threatens to find
another groom every week. Besides," she hesitated, then laughed,
"besides, I wanted Cole and his little wife to have a treat. They will
both enjoy getting away from the foothills."
"I called you a good fairy, now I am sure of it," said her husband. She
smiled.
"Of what use is an income if we may not enjoy it?"
"Absolutely good for nothing," he answered.
"And it's almost selfishness to do little favors that in reality cost
only the thought. Some day we must do something big--found an art
institute, perhaps on this very coast." She was thinking of his lost
cathedral. "Then I should love to help talented young girls with no way
of reaching 'head waters.'" He looked at her proudly. "There are so many
things needed--so many appeals to choose from, that we will surely find
the right place for a little money." Philip remembered the check which
she had sent him over a year ago.
Now her desire to make the whole world glad was part of her new
happiness. But soon they talked of other matters, or else looked out
through the wide window at charming, changing landscape. All afternoon
the train climbed the rugged coast range, often boring its way through a
tunneled mountain. At five o'clock they had tea on a small table, when a
wonderful sunset touched every hill and spur of their upland road.
Evening came all too soon. Stars began to peep, and suddenly domestic
lights twinkled across a populous valley. Then, near by, the great
Pacific beat eternal measure on silver sands. It was eight o'clock when
the train stopped in St. Barnabas, at the rear of a noted caravansary
flaming electrical welcome. Philip had already engaged rooms. Resigning
his checks and suit cases to a waiting porter, he led Isabel down the
footpath through a garden of palms and flowers. The way seemed
fairyland, while on either hand the breath of blossoms filled the night.
"My wife--my precious wife," he said softly. At their feet stretches of
shasta daisies lay as snow. Isabel pressed her husband's arm.
"Could any place be more perfect for our honeymoon?" she asked.
Lapping of waves reached the garden. The newly wed pair did not hasten,
yet all too soon the flower-bordered path ended beneath lighted arches.
The two went slowly forward, while just how to pass unconcernedly from
the clerk's desk to the elevator, made them really seem like "bride and
groom." For the first time each secretly acknowledged happy, bewildered
self-consciousness. The blazing corridor filled with beautifully gowned
women and men in evening dress, groups of older people back from an
early dinner, strains of music calling late diners to waiting tables,
gave instant local color to both time and place. Philip scrawling
personal decoration on the hotel daybook grew careful and wrote the new
appendage to his name with telltale neatness. However, it was soon over.
Neither looking to right nor left the couple bolted past groups of
curious women, were all but safe in the protecting elevator, when a
familiar voice spoke Isabel's name. Gay Lewis, alert for sensation,
faced the grating of the rising lift. "Delighted to see you!" she called
after them. And Philip Barry's wife answered with the smile prescribed
under all conditions for a bride.
As they rose above, Philip looked questioningly at Isabel. "An old
school friend of mine," she told him. He made a wry face.
"Have you many more of them about the hotel?" She laughed softly.
"I cannot say. One never knows whom one may meet in California."
They were leaving the elevator, following a boy with keys to their
rooms. "I hope we shall not be surprised on every side," the man
persisted. Isabel caught his hand.
"Never mind," she whispered, "I'll take care of you. But you must be
nice to Gay Lewis. We are simply destined to meet the world over, and
Gay has a way of saying things." The bell boy was beyond hearing
distance. "Not that she has anything to say about us of slightest
interest to strangers," she hastened to add. Philip saw the flush on her
cheeks. Was she already beginning to dread unavoidable notoriety? The
thought sobered him. Now he understood. But Isabel should not suffer, if
being polite to every one in Christendom could help matters.
"I shall bend to 'the higher criticism,' do my best to impress Miss
Lewis," he declared with assumed gayety.
Then Isabel exclaimed as the door to their spacious sitting-room flew
open. The place was a bower of roses. "Did you tell them to do it?" she
asked.
Philip forgot a passing shadow and smiled an affirmative answer.
"It is lovely! the loveliest room I was ever in," she declared. "How
dear of you." Philip stopped by the window, enjoying his wife's girlish
joy. She sank her face into every separate bunch of flowers. "Oh, these
dear, dear pink ones!" she cried.
American Beauties nodded above her head, and she stood on a footstool to
inhale their fragrance. On a round table covered with a white cloth was
a huge bowl of "bride roses," fitting emblem for the day. Philip's
surprise had been perfect. The delicate forethought which had ordered
her bower, which stipulated for the little dinner to be served in the
sitting-room, away from curious eyes, touched her beyond words. Her
husband was indeed a lover! She ran to him with outstretched arms. As
never before she knew the depth of a long-denied moment. And later, when
she laid aside her coat and hat, to sit at the first little dinner
alone,--but for the deferential waiter coming in and going out,--she
kept thinking of all that they had in store, of their happiness to come.
Philip was never as gay, never so like the boy of years back--the boy
who had loved the girl. Both were beginning over again and time between
had taught them the price of joy.
"On this night we toast each other," said Philip, lifting his glass.
"There is just 'one cold bottle' for our 'little hot bird'! I drink to
my wife!"
His eyes glowed. Isabel touched his glass with her own. "To the dearest
husband in the whole big world!" she responded, then kissed him. He held
her away from him, feasting on her beauty. But she begged for freedom,
and took her place at the opposite side of the table. "We must behave,"
she cautioned. "He's coming! I hear him down the hall."
"I will be circumspect," Philip promised. "But I'm losing my appetite. I
don't feel glad of salad and the rest. Let's fire him before the coffee;
I want to sip mine with my wife on my knee."
"For shame!" she chided, as the waiter tapped the door, with a loaded
tray. "Do seem to be hungry. If we send things back untouched we shall
be the talk of the hotel kitchen." Laughter was a natural part of the
little dinner. "It is just like playing party," she declared, when the
man again disappeared.
"Please pass the sugar," Philip begged. "Won't you kiss me again?"
"Not now," she refused. "We must remember that Reginald is learning
table manners; if we act too badly through our honeymoon, he may notice
shortcomings when we get home. Besides, he's coming--the waiter's
coming. Be dignified."
"Will coffee ever begin?" Philip complained.
"Very soon." They both laughed.
"Which shall I use, a fork or a spoon for my frozen pudding?"
"Your fork--by all means; now please talk sensibly; he's just outside."
Philip thought of the king who dined without servants, and wished that
he too had built a table for the occasion, one with a dummy lift in its
center, to bring up food and to carry away the dishes.
Isabel watched with playful eyes until the last of his pudding was gone.
Then she dismissed the waiter. Black coffee and a first cigar for the
benedict state were both enjoyed without interruption. The evening
lengthened. Philip saw his wife flit about the rooms with joyous air of
proprietorship. Reginald's picture stood on the table beside the "bride
roses."
Something told him to go below on a natural pretext, for their trunks
were late. When he went out Isabel did not stir. Everything was so
wonderful, so much more wonderful than she had fancied. But at last she
began to move about, smiling. She hung her traveling coat in the closet
and brushed her hat. Her suit case was unlocked and unstrapped, and she
drew forth things which were needed. She loosened her hair, plaiting it
as usual. Two golden braids hung down her back. Then she slipped into a
soft robe of silk and lace, and stood by the window facing the sea,
waiting for her husband.