can. Last evening I was up at the Club-house until rather late, and
four or five of us were sitting in a sheltered place on the North
piazza. While we were there, Porshinger and Murchison came out and sat
down just around the corner. After a short while all of our party went
in except Mr. Burgoyne and myself--and he was called, a moment after,
to the telephone. Left alone I could not but hear Porshinger's and
Murchison's talk. We had been making a good deal of noise, and they
evidently thought from the silence that we all had gone in. But however
that is, I heard Murchison say:
"'Is there anything new in the Lorraine matter?'
"'Not much,' said Porshinger. 'The thing is coming along though, never
fear. Pendleton, the snob, is not invulnerable. I've found a way to
reach him, and it's only a matter of a little time till he will be
having troubles of his own--and Mrs. Lorraine also.'
"'Better leave well enough alone,' Murchison cautioned.
"'That may be your way--it's not mine!' retorted the other. 'They
started the fight, now I'm going to accommodate them. They will think
merry hell has broke loose before I'm through with them.'
"Then Mr. Burgoyne returned and I heard no more. Can you understand it?"
Stephanie shook her head.
"I can not," she said--"but possibly Mr. Pendleton can explain it. I
shall tell him, if you don't mind, the next time I see him."
"Tell him by all means," Marcia responded. "You have my permission."
X
AT CRISS-CROSS
Criss-Cross, the Chamberlain country place, was two hours out by a fast
train. Mrs. Chamberlain had been dead a number of years and Gladys
presided over her father's establishment with the ease of careful
training and the assurance of an only child.
She met Stephanie at the station when the latter arrived late that
afternoon, and they drove back to Criss-Cross by a round-about
way that stretched the two miles into twenty--during which Gladys
learned all the happenings of the last week in town, particularly the
present attitude of the Queen P's and their followers, resultant from
Lorraine's accident and Stephanie's behaviour incident thereto with the
prospect of their reconciliation.
"Marcia Emerson seems to be an exceedingly nice girl," Stephanie
observed. "Two years have done wonders for her."
Gladys nodded.
"Marcia is a dear!" she replied. "She's a good sport in everything, and
she is something to look at besides. The two years that you were away
have made her. I don't blame the men for being crazy about her. The
only drawback she has is her mother. She's a pusher. She thinks she's
put Marcia in society, whereas Marcia has come in naturally, and the
old lady rides on her train, so to speak. I can't abide Mrs. Emerson!
To me she has about every obnoxious fault of her class. Old Emerson
is not half so bad; he is honest and amusing--and the men like him, I
understand. I've asked Marcia down to-morrow, for the week-end--you
don't mind, I hope."
"Not in the least--if _she_ doesn't mind me," said Stephanie.
"She knows you are to be here. Mrs. Emerson, however, may throw a fit
when she knows it!" Gladys laughed.
"Is any one else coming?" Stephanie asked.
"Just a few--your friends, of course: Dorothy Tazewell, and Helen
Burleston, with Montague Pendleton, Sheldon Burgoyne, Warwick Devereux
and Steuart Cameron. Two tables of Auction, you know--and plenty of go
to the crowd."
"Mayn't I be a wet blanket?" Stephanie suggested.
"Why?" was the astonished query.
"Do they also know I'm coming? They may not care to be housed up with
me for two days."
"Sure they know. You're too timid, my dear--when did it come on you?"
"Abroad, I reckon," Stephanie replied. "I appear cold and calm enough,
but it's all bluff, Gladys. The truth is, I'm scared to death."
"I shouldn't care to pick you for a dead one!" Gladys laughed. "You
have a way about you, my dear, that is rather chilling when you choose
to make it so. You know what we used to call you--The Disconcerter."
"That was before I----" she paused. "Now _I'm_ the one who is
disconcerted--inwardly at least."
"Assuredly it's not outwardly," Gladys declared.
"I hope it isn't--but you never can tell when I shall fail to carry it
off. I am always thinking--whenever I'm talking to anyone or walking
the street--what must be in the other's mind: Amherst and me."
"Forget it, Stephanie--forget it!" Gladys exclaimed.
"I only wish I could."
"_Don't_ think of it."
"I don't believe it's possible."
"Make it possible."
"How?"
"By making yourself interested in some one else--and some one else
interested in you."
Stephanie looked at her friend with an incredulous smile.
"The latter ought not to be especially difficult," Gladys went on--"as
to the former, it depends upon yourself."
"Would you suggest a married man?" Stephanie asked.
"Married or single, it makes no difference; though the single man is
unattached and easier to make obey orders."
"And what of Lorraine?"
"Lorraine isn't worth considering--he doesn't count."
"I grant you that, but----"
"Oh, I know, you're tied by law--but you're free in fact."
"Perhaps!" reflected Stephanie.
"Moreover, there is no earthly reason why you should let Lorraine
interfere with your enjoyment of life," Gladys went on. "I assume that
you don't intend to repeat the--other experiment--so why shouldn't
you do as you please, so long as that pleasure doesn't transgress the
proprieties."
"You know I was at the Hospital?" said Stephanie.
"Yes--the night of the accident."
"And again to-day."
"I call it very considerate in you," Gladys declared.
"Maybe you don't know that Harry has offered to take me back."
"I didn't know it--but I'm not surprised. He always is doing things too
late. You're not going back?"
Stephanie shook her head.
"No--I'm not going back--ever," said she.
"Have you told him?"
"Yes--before the accident, not since."
"He is just silly enough to fancy that his mishap and your visits to
the Hospital have changed your decision," Gladys remarked.
"Not likely. My visits were very brief and--calm."
"The Disconcerter!" Gladys laughed.
"I tried to be--distant," Stephanie confessed.
"Then you succeeded--I can't imagine anyone presuming after that."
"The difficulty is you are not Mr. Lorraine."
"To my mind the whole difficulty is Lorraine himself," Gladys declared.
"If he were half a man your trouble never would have started. You
were about as well fitted for each other as--pardon me--an eagle
and a chicken. The only thing surprising is the length of time you
hung together. Of course, it's a pity you didn't select some other
way out--but I don't know that it's not the natural way, after all.
Only----"
"Why did I choose Amherst, you mean?" remarked Stephanie quietly. "I
don't exactly know. Propinquity, opportunity--perversity--especially
the last."
"But more especially because he is a slick-tongued scoundrel with the
odor of eminent respectability and a perfectly fascinating way with
women," said Gladys.
They were mounting a steep hill. Near the crest, she threw quickly into
second; and when they were over it went back again into high.
"What started us on this subject anyway?" she exclaimed. "I beg your
pardon, dear--I never thought what I was saying."
"Nonsense!" smiled Stephanie. "I don't mind in the least--with you.
Truth is, I rather like it. Harry Lorraine is nothing to me--and never
can be. I'm not sensitive because he happens to be my husband. My
poor judgment in making him such is too apparent for me to deny that
I was a fool--neither can I deny that I took the worst possible way
out of a bad bargain by running away with Amherst. I admit I've been
headstrong and willful and everything else idiotic. That possibly is my
saving grace--my readiness to admit it--after it is too late. I suppose
Society will consider him marvellously magnanimous in offering to take
me back, and me a stupendously silly woman in declining. In fact, it
won't believe that such a thing is possible. It already assumes that a
reconciliation is to be effected. Mrs. Postlewaite was willing to speak
to me to-day, and Mrs. Porterfield actually did bow."
"You are coming along!" Gladys laughed. "The Queen P's having
indicated--it is for their followers to do likewise."
"What will they do, however, when they know the truth?" Stephanie
inquired.
"Stampede--if they haven't committed themselves too far."
"They haven't--it was a tentative recognition only."
"It's perfectly absurd for two old women to set themselves up as the
absolute arbiters of who shall be in it, and what shall be done to
stay in--and for Society as a class to follow them abjectly," Gladys
declared. "They are the high priestesses of the Conventional; and
it's the fear of transgressing and being cast into outer darkness
that holds every one to their narrow-minded ritual. I'm ashamed for
my sex--they're so like sheep. They follow blindly after the leaders
who in turn follow their fetish, the Customary; and it's useless to
hope for a change. We've always done it; I reckon we always will do
it--and those of us who aren't tractable and won't submit are viewed
with suspicion, and may be driven without the fold if we transgress too
far. I'm thinking of starting a society of my own, in which the members
will attend to their own business so long as they don't interfere
with property rights. I'm inclined to think it would be mighty
popular--especially among the younger set."
"There isn't a doubt of it," Stephanie agreed, with an amused smile.
"Suppose we suggest it to the rest--the Order of Do as You Please--we
will call it."
"You don't need suggest it to the men--they belong already. No one
controls them. I wish I were a man!"
"You do quite well as you are--and are a lot more worth while," said
Stephanie. "You can get a dozen men, my dear. Which one have you picked
out for yourself, in the present instance?"
"I hadn't thought!" she laughed. "Pendleton is for you, of course--that
is all I know now."
"Why of course?" said Stephanie.
"You can answer that better than I."
"Not _your_ reasons, my dear."
"Do you object to Montague being allotted to you?" Gladys asked, with a
sly smile.
"Not in the least----"
"And do you fancy _he_ will have the slightest objection?"
"You will have to ask him."
"I'm asking for _your opinion_, not for his."
"Montague is very adaptable," Stephanie remarked.
"Adaptable!" cried Gladys. "He may be _now_--he hasn't been in the
_recent_ past. Your influence has evidently been softening--I shouldn't
have thought of asking him if it hadn't been for you."
"Thank Heaven, I've a softening influence on some one," said Stephanie.
"Without a doubt--yes."
They were starting down a long, steep and winding grade. She cut off
the spark, threw into second and opening the throttle let the gas shoot
into the cylinders to cool the engine.
"My recommendation that you get some one interested in you is rather
unnecessary under the circumstances, don't you think?" she remarked.
"How about my getting interested in some one?" Stephanie inquired.
"On second thought, it is not necessary--and it is better that you
shouldn't. You can handle Pendleton much more easily if your affections
are not engaged--except in a rational way."
"You might explain what you would call a 'rational way'!"
"I can't be specific!" Gladys laughed; "rationality depends on the
circumstances of every case--and the individual view."
"Which is a trifle difficult to analyze," Stephanie remarked.
"Don't you wish to have Montague assigned to you?" the other demanded.
"I'll give him to Dorothy, if you don't--she will be content."
"Won't you have some trouble in giving Montague to anybody--unless
he's entirely willing to be given?" Stephanie smiled. "He isn't one to
stay put, I fancy--whose place is this?" she ended, indicating a garish
country-house, some little distance back from the road. "It is new,
isn't it?"
"As new as the people who own it," Gladys answered. "The Woodsides live
there. They belong to the Pushers Clique--and they are trying to pry
their way through the outer portals. I don't like them."
"So I should infer," said Stephanie. "Who are their friends?"
"They haven't any--yet. They're trying to get in--nobody has any
friends until they're in, my dear--and not many after they're in.
They're pirates until the second generation."
"Do they belong to the Club?"
"Yes--that's no recommendation _now_."
"I think I don't know them!" Stephanie reflected.
"Of course you don't. They came up from the weeds recently--along with
Porshinger and Murchison and Berryman and their ilk."
"Who are Porshinger and Murchison?" Stephanie asked.
"Bounders. Plenty of money and an unlimited supply of brass. You know
the sort. They are friends of the Woodsides and are down here very
often. You may be afforded a view of them to-morrow."
"I saw them to-day--they spoke to Marcia Emerson as we were leaving
Partridge's."
"Well, did you see much?" remarked Gladys.
"I saw two men--well groomed and superficially presentable."
"You saw it all then--you won't care to go deeper."
"You say they have money?"
"Great wads of it."
"What is their business?"
"Capitalists and professional directors," Gladys replied. "They are
on about every important Board in town--including the Tuscarora Trust
Company."
"Where did they make it?"
"Oil--principally and first. Afterward they made it everywhere. I think
they must coin it, to tell you the truth. If you sold them a piece
of swamp and scrub oak, gold would be discovered on it the next day.
They're buying their way into Society; already they seem to regard it
as an asset to be realized on. It is only a matter of time until they
capitalize it, issue bonds on it, and have the stock for their own
profit--you understand?"
"Not exactly!" laughed Stephanie, "but I catch your idea: They are
exceedingly objectionable and offensively rich."
"Exactly!--and not a lot more beside. They are worse than bounders,
they're muckers. That is about the meanest, most contemptible thing one
man can call another, isn't it?"
It was easy to see that Gladys reflected her father's opinion of
Porshinger and Murchison, and it disturbed Stephanie. If one of Mr.
Chamberlain's disposition so considered them, then, beyond question,
they were a bad lot and she must warn Montague at the earliest moment.
She could not understand how Pendleton and she had offended--when
she had not even so much as a recollection of ever having seen them
before to-day. And it was a joint offence, at least she was joined in
it someway, for they had distinctly mentioned her name and included
her in their meditated revenge--that is, Porshinger had included her,
Murchison, as she remembered, had been against it.
"This Mr. Porshinger," she said--"is he particularly vindictive?"
"Vindictive?" was Gladys' puzzled interrogation.
"That is a bit strong, maybe. Unforgiving--unrelenting, is better."
"Why do you ask?" the other inquired.
"I just wanted to know."
"So one would naturally suppose," said Gladys. "However, I did hear a
man, whom I consider thoroughly discriminating, say one day recently
that he regarded Porshinger as vindictive as an Apache and as cruel,
without conscience and without mercy. Is that sufficiently definite?"
"Appallingly so!" Stephanie replied.
"Do you mind telling me who has fallen under his displeasure?"
"I have."
"You!" cried Gladys. "Why you said you didn't even know him--that you
had never seen him before to-day."
"Precisely!"
"Then will you tell me what you mean?"
"I will tell you what I was told--you can help me guess what it means,"
she answered.
And she told her.
"It surely is astonishing!" was Gladys' comment when she had heard
Stephanie's tale. "It's true to the worst they say about him--to strike
at a man through a woman! or rather to strike at you because somehow
you are involved in the injury which Montague appears to have done him.
Tell Montague at once--he will know what it means and he should be
warned. Can't you imagine what it is?"
"I haven't an idea," said Stephanie.
"Strange!" reflected Gladys, with a serious shake of her head. "You are
intimately concerned, it seems, and yet you haven't done a thing. Well,
we shall have to wait for Montague to solve the riddle."
She surmised that it had something to do with Stephanie's return--that
she was the _casus belli_--but she did not suggest it. And Stephanie,
while thinking the same, did not voice it; it seemed too far fetched.
Moreover, it was predicated on Pendleton's voluntary defense of her in
her absence. And the latter, she thought, would be assuming much more
than the circumstances warranted, and would make her appear exceedingly
well satisfied of his regard.
"You're very fortunate to have been warned thus early," Gladys
continued. "Montague will have time to prepare--at least, he won't be
taken completely unawares. Father knows Porshinger in business, and he
says that if a man gets the best of him to the extent of a nickel, he
will square off though it takes a year. Of course I know that a man's
method in business isn't necessarily carried into his private life, but
Porshinger does not come under that class."
"How about Murchison?" Stephanie asked.
"Not quite so bad--he is rather better mannered and has more feeling.
The conversation that Marcia detailed illustrates the difference
between the men, I should say. Murchison was for letting well enough
alone--which only seemed to make Porshinger the more determined."
"On the whole, Porshinger must be a very pleasant fellow to have
camping on one's trail!" smiled Stephanie. "I'm curious to hear
Montague's opinion."
"I'd rather hear him express it to a _man_--it would likely be a trifle
more picturesque!" Gladys laughed.
"What can Porshinger do?" Stephanie asked.
"What _can't_ he do with all his money and financial influence! God is
on the side of the heaviest bank account."
"All things being equal, I grant it; but there is a wide difference
between Montague Pendleton and Charles Porshinger as men--and I've
faith in the blood. It will win, Gladys, it will win."
"Blood doesn't count for much in these automobile pace days," Gladys
responded. "It is the money that talks."
"Blood counts for much in such a contest."
"Not where money is the basis of everything except eligibility to
hereditary societies of the self-glorification stripe."
"You're too pessimistic!" laughed Stephanie.
"My dear, you haven't a father who is an officer in the Tuscarora
Trust Company--and you haven't seen the men who visit him. It's a sad
commentary on what we are coming to--and the elevation of the parvenu.
Let's change the subject. I'm becoming excited; the next thing I'll
ditch the car, or run into a telegraph pole."
"Heaven forefend!" exclaimed Stephanie.
A little later, as they spun down the macadam near the Criss-Cross
gates, they passed a station-wagon drawn by a spanking pair of bays.
The man in it took off his hat and bowed.
"There is Porshinger now!" said Stephanie.
Gladys nodded. "He has come out to spend the night at the Woodsides', I
reckon--it's their conveyance."
XI
THE OVERTON MEADOW
"I see the Lorraine woman is with Gladys Chamberlain," observed
Porshinger, as he and his host were enjoying a good-night smoke in the
billiard room, and incidentally knocking the balls about.
"Hum!" replied Woodside, as he made a neat gather along the rail. "When
did you see her--come down on the same train?"
"No--passed them in the car, as I came from the station. What's she
going to do--make it up with Lorraine, if he recovers?"
"Search me!" answered the other. "Will he have her?"
"You're a little behind, Josh--everybody knows that he has offered and
she's undecided."
"Well, I wish him success. She's a damn good looking woman--better
looking even than when she ran away with Amherst--don't you think so?
Oh! I forgot you didn't know her then."
Porshinger shot a sharp look down the table--and followed it with a
smile.
"I don't know her now--to speak to," he said. "But I have no trouble in
recollecting two years back--and I quite agree with you. She is even
better looking now. I don't wonder that she turned Amherst's head."
"It's a cold head, she turned!" Woodside laughed. "I fancy she found
it out soon enough, and that they had a parrot and monkey time of it
until they broke finally. The ways of the transgressor are full of
punctures."
"You refer to only one sort of transgressors, I imagine," Porshinger
remarked, with a thinly veiled contempt.
"Yes at that moment I did," said his host indifferently; "but it
applies to every one--you and me included," and he steadied himself for
a massè.
"You know the Chamberlains well enough to--happen in?" asked Porshinger
presently.
"Want to meet the statuesque beauty--hey?" Woodside laughed.
Porshinger nodded.
"She does rather appeal to one," Woodside confessed. "If I weren't
married, I think I would take a flyer myself."
"Don't let that stop you--marriage is no disqualification with her;
she's proven it."
"She has proven it _once_--she will be mighty careful not to let it
happen again," said Woodside.
"To the extent of running away, yes," Porshinger sneered. "Otherwise
she is but wiser in the _savoir faire_, so to speak."
"That is a damn cynical way of looking at it, Porshinger!"
"You're welcome to your view, my friend," the other shrugged.
"You pays your money and you takes your choice," commented Woodside.
"There is no possible doubt about you paying your money," Porshinger
assured dryly. "She will come high."
"If she is in the market--that is," Woodside amended.
"Most women," sneered Porshinger, as he clicked the balls down the
rail, "have their price--even Mrs. Lorraine."
"Well, that need be no obstacle to you," Woodside retorted. "You have
the price. What you haven't got is the girl--can you get her?"
"My dear fellow, I don't know yet that I want her."
His host laughed lightly.
"You want to look her over first," he said. "I understand. Well if you
do want her I wish you luck. I should hesitate about going up against
that chilly beauty--she can make you feel like thirty cents if she's so
minded."
"She'll not have a chance to make me feel like thirty cents, depend on
it," Porshinger boasted.
"You evidently don't know her," Woodside remarked.
"Do you know her?" his guest inquired.
"I've seen her at the Club, and she has the grand manner--such as you
read about in books. She can humble you with a look, patronize you with
a smile, humiliate you with a frown."
"She must be a wonderful woman!" Porshinger laughed. "I'm anxious to
meet her."
"Well, we may happen over to-morrow evening and you can see whether
it's to be a freeze or a thaw. I'm rather inclined to the notion that
it will be a freeze--and a fairly hard one, too."
"You're a cheerful sort of sponsor," Porshinger remarked. "Better not
risk your reputation as a prophet of evil."
"Don't make me your sponsor!" Woodside exclaimed. "I told you I didn't
know Mrs. Lorraine."
"You know Gladys Chamberlain, don't you?"
"Yes--in a sort of way. I think she and Mrs. Woodside exchange
calls, once a season, down here--not in town. Why don't you work old
Chamberlain--you're in the Tuscarora with him?"
"That will serve as an additional excuse for the 'happen in.' I want
the meeting to be casual--without any suggestion of pre-arrangement."
Woodside nodded.
"All right!" he agreed. "We'll try it--but what the lady may do to you
is quite another question."
"Which we will let the future determine," replied Porshinger, as he
clicked up the last point.
There was one thing, at least, about Porshinger that was normal--his
love of country life. Incident to this was his fondness for taking long
walks in the early morning--a characteristic not at all accordant with
his present station. He acquired it in the days when his occupation in
the oil fields made it the regular manner of life.
Seven o'clock the following morning saw him on the highway, clad in
knickerbockers and stout shoes, a Panama pulled down over his eyes and
a light stick in his hand.