the distant hills; the air was soft with the breath of the open
country; the dew was still heavy on grass and shrub. As he swung
along, whistling merrily as a school boy on his way to a vacation-day
frolic, he did not in the remotest degree suggest the cold, hard man
of finance, compared to whom an arctic night is as a torrid afternoon.
It was the one occasion on which he permitted himself to relax and be
entirely natural.
Presently, away off in front on the macadam road, he noticed a
pedestrian--who, as he slowly decreased the distance, was resolved
into a woman--and, as he gradually overtook her, into a tall, willowy
figure, in a short walking skirt, high tan shoes lacing well up the
leg, and a small Continental hat, set at a rakish angle.
"Who is it?" he kept asking himself--and then there came a sharp turn
in the road and he recognized her.
It was Stephanie Lorraine.
A momentary smile of satisfaction crossed his lips, and he extended his
stride a trifle. Here was an opportunity, better than any of Woodside's
devising, for him to make her acquaintance--quite by accident and
altogether informally. And for her to snub him, if she were so minded,
with no one but themselves to witness it nor to remember.
He came up with her a little farther on. As she glanced casually at
him he raised his hat and said, bowing and pausing as he did so:
"Good morning, Mrs. Lorraine!"
Stephanie knew who had been behind--she had heard his quick, sharp step
a long way back and had contrived, as only a woman can, to see who it
was without betraying that she had seen. And she had decided what she
would do, if he overtook her,--and she was intending that he should
overtake her--and speak; also what she would do if, by any chance, he
did not speak.
"Good morning, sir," she replied.
It was politely indifferent, yet at the same time courteous. It neither
repelled, repressed nor invited.
"It is a charming morning," said he, appraising the situation as he saw
it.
It was just as he had anticipated. She had no thought of snubbing
_him_--she was very well content to take him as one of the circle to
which she belonged, and to treat him accordingly.
"Perfectly lovely!" she answered.
He shortened his steps, so that he remained a trifle in advance and
appeared to be slowly passing her.
"It's the cream of the day, to me," he said--"particularly at this
season of the year. I don't know that I should call it so _all_ the
year."
"No!" she said. "Nor I--here in the North."
She saw what was coming--and it came.
"If I present myself to you properly, may I walk along?" he
smiled--"we're going the same road, it seems."
"Are you willing to be sponsor for yourself?" she smiled back.
"Only in exceptional instances," he bowed and removed his hat. "Permit
me to present Charles Porshinger to Mrs. Lorraine!"
She held out her hand.
"I'm glad to meet Mr. Porshinger," she said.
He fell back into step with her and they swung along, appraising each
other while they talked--only Stephanie's appraisal was also with a
woman's natural intuition. And the more she appraised him the less
she liked him, but the more she set herself to win him--slowly and
discreetly, as a clever woman knows so well how to do. And for all his
shrewdness in the affairs of men, he was as a child in the ways of
women.
Presently they came to a stile and Stephanie paused.
"I leave the highway here," she said. "I go back through the
fields--there is a path running around the hill. Do you know it?"
"No--but I should like to know it," he invited. "Won't you show it to
me?"
"It will take you out of your course!" she suggested.
"I have no course this morning but the one you fix," he said.
"Take care, _m'sieur_!" she warned. "I may be a poor--navigator."
"I'll risk it, _madame_--both your skill as a pilot and your ability as
a captain."
She shot him a look from under her long lashes.
"Very well," she replied and sprang lightly to the stile.
He was before her at the steps, however, with hand extended to help
her.... For just an instant, her fingers rested in his; then dropped
them, and she was over. A faint smile touched his lips as he followed.
The path was scarcely wide enough for two; and the high grass on either
side confined it even more, so that he was perforce obliged to walk
just a shade behind--and talking is difficult when one precedes the
other. But it gave him a fine opportunity to observe the woman before
him, and he made the best of it.
The morning sun was spinning her auburn hair to gleaming copper, and
beneath the dead white of her cheek the blood pulsed faintly pink. The
trim, slender figure was, for all its seeming listlessness, alive with
latent energy and spirit--her shoulders, even under her jacket, he
could see were beautifully proportioned, her neck was slender and long,
but not too long--and her feet, even in the heavy shoes, were slim and
arched, and she put them down _well--distinctly well_. A subtle perfume
floated back to him, and he found himself bending forward to catch a
fuller fragrance. Then the path widened and, half turning, she waited
for him to draw up.
"This path evidently wasn't made by the socially inclined," he said.
"It wasn't. It was made originally by the cattle which pastured
here--and do so still," she added, as they passed a copse of trees and
undergrowth and came upon a herd of a dozen cows with a brawny bull at
their head.
The latter, at the sight of the two strangers who were invading his
domain, flung up his head and stared at them with a distinctly hostile
air.
"His Majesty does not seem pleased with us!" she laughed.
"No--I should say we don't make a favorable impression, judging from
his attitude," he answered, glancing carelessly toward the animals.
"He's not properly appreciative of the honor you do him, Mr.
Porshinger," she remarked.
He did not quite like the words--he thought he detected just a touch of
irony; but she flashed him a smile from her lash-shaded eyes, and the
suspicion vanished.
"He doesn't want any one poaching on his pasture," he said.
The bull suddenly put down its head, pawed the earth, and bellowed.
"I think we would better hurry," she remarked, quickening her step.
"It's only a protest!" he laughed. "He is like the average man--he
makes plenty of fuss and racket but doesn't do anything that _will
really_ correct the trouble. And the trouble continues--just as we are
doing."
Another bellow, and fiercer, came from the bull--and he began to trot
slowly toward them.
"He's coming!" exclaimed Stephanie, beginning to run.
"Make for the nearest fence!" counselled Porshinger, and stopped.
The bull kept straight on until he was within a few feet of
Porshinger--then he paused, pawed the earth again, and let out another
bellow.
Stephanie, glancing over her shoulder, saw the situation and halted.
"Come on, Mr. Porshinger!" she called.
"Get over the fence!" he answered sharply, not taking his eyes off the
angry beast.
"I shall get to the fence when you----"
The rest was drowned in the voice of the bull. He let out a terrific
roar and charged straight at the man before him.
Stephanie gave a shriek of terror.
Porshinger sprang swiftly aside--and the bull tossed the air instead of
the man. When his head came up he saw only Stephanie in front of him,
and bellowing again he bore down upon her at full speed.
"Run! Run!" cried Porshinger, as he raced across the field in pursuit.
Stephanie stood as if petrified.
"_Run!_" yelled Porshinger again. "_For the love of God, run!_"
With the enraged brute almost upon her, she came suddenly to life.
Sweeping up her narrow skirts above her knees, she turned and fled.
She could hear the thundering of the hoofs behind her, and drawing
closer and closer, while the fence seemed far, far away. She heard
Porshinger's cries, and knew that he was trying to divert the bull and
to help her in the only way he could. The fence was nearer now--and
so were the hoof-beats behind her. She dared not glance back--and yet
the temptation was well-nigh irresistible. How close was the bull! How
close was the bull!--Would she reach the fence in time?--Would she
reach the fence in time?--
It was well for Stephanie that she was fond of athletics and sports
and was still given to taking regular exercise. And she ran as she
had never run, her breath coming in gasps--corsets are not made for
such strenuosity--until the blood seemed to congest in her head and
her heart, and black spots floated before her eyes. There was a last
frightful moment--the hoof-beats were pounding at her heels--the fence
was just ahead, a stout rail fence.--Would she reach it?--could she
spring over it if she did reach it?
Then her hands closed upon a post. And not caring how she managed
it, nor what might be the exposé, she sprang somehow--and fell--and
got across just as the bull came crashing into the panel. Then she
collapsed in a heap on the ground, while the huge beast roared and
foamed in baffled rage a few feet distant.
As Porshinger vaulted the fence farther down, Stephanie recovered
herself and, pushing down her skirts, sat up.
"You're not hurt?" he cried breathlessly.
"Not hurt--except in my vanity!" she laughed. "_It's_ punctured badly."
"Just so _you_ aren't punctured," he returned. "It was a close call!
You and the bull were right together at the fence--I couldn't tell
whether _he_ tossed you over, or whether you jumped. You looked as
though----"
"Please forget how I looked!" she smiled. "And hand me my hat. Now if
you will you may help me up.--Thank you, Mr. Porshinger."
She was seriously shaken, and he saw it.
"Come over and sit down," he said, leading her toward a rock near by.
"You will feel better for a moment's rest."
"No--I'm all right," she answered;--"but I _will_ sit down until I've
put on my hat. It's a fortunate thing the fence held. Ough!" she
shivered, with a glance at the bull, who was still pawing the ground in
baffled rage, and frothing at the mouth. "It was a fearful feeling with
those awful horns just behind me, and expecting every instant to be
gored and tossed."
"It must have been fearful," he sympathized.
"Why is it," she said with a quizzical smile, "that a woman is always
afraid of a bull and a mouse?"
"They wish to be extreme, I fancy!" he laughed.
"Also there is a lot between a bull and a mouse that they are afraid
of!" she added.
"Animate or inanimate?" he asked.
"Both," she answered.
Her hair was awry and she straightened it as best she could, removing
her gloves to do it the better.
He remarked the long, slender fingers, with the filbert nails and
the crescents shining at their base--and he stole a look at his own
ill-shaped hand, with its thick, formless, heavy-pointed fingers and
hairy back. For the first time he regretted the difference.
Her hair temporarily put to rights, she stuck the pins--which were
scattered on the ground and which Porshinger collected for her--in her
cocked hat, and fastened it into place. Then she got up, suffered him
to brush the dust and dirt from her clothes--she helping--and they
resumed the walk.
"Adieu, your Taurus Majesty!" she called, with a farewell wave of her
hand toward the still indignant and frowning bull.
"I'll see that he is killed to-day," Porshinger volunteered.
"Indeed, you'll not," she said. "He was defending his own pasture and
his own kind. You would have done the same if you were a bull."
Porshinger winced despite himself. There was something distinctly
unpleasant in the comparison. She had not called him a bull. Yet that,
doubtless, was what she considered him--uncouth and untamed, not broken
to polite society.
"I suppose so," he said thoughtfully. "It may be an apt comparison."
"What is an apt comparison?" she asked.
"Comparing me to the bull!"
"Preserve me then from you, if it is apt!" she laughed. "I want no more
bulls in mine."
Was he making sport of her or was he serious, she wondered?--and
could not decide. Reading his every action through her knowledge of
his declared purpose to injure Pendleton and her, she was prone to
suspicion. True, he had done what he could to save her from the bull's
attack, but any man, were he only half a man, could not have done less.
"Is that an invocation?" he asked.
She looked at him questioningly.
"Is a bull amenable to invocation?" she replied. "Will he withhold his
attack if you pray--very hard?"
She had touched the matter rather closely; and he, not knowing that she
knew, was puzzled at its significance. While she, seeing that she had
ventured almost too far, tactfully changed the conversation.
They regained the highway, a little farther on, and tramped rapidly
homeward. At the entrance to Criss-Cross, Stephanie stopped and held
out her hand.
"It is too early in the morning to ask you in," she said. "My hostess
won't be visible as yet. She's not an early rambler--like we are, Mr.
Porshinger. Thank you for saving me from that horrid bull."
"And a less strenuous time on our next walk," he replied, bowing
awkwardly over her hand. "You do walk 'most every morning, don't you,
Mrs. Lorraine?"
"Every morning that it is convenient," she answered.
"Will it be convenient to-morrow morning?" he asked.
"Not to-morrow," she replied. "I've something else on," and with a
little nod she turned away and went up the drive to the house.
"Send my breakfast up in half an hour," she said to the butler, as she
passed through the hall.
Once in her room, she rang for a maid, got out of her dusty walking
suit and into the grateful shower bath--having first protected her hair
with a rubber cap. Then she dressed, put on a flowing silk kimono, and
went in to her breakfast, which the servant was just laying on the
table by the window.
In the midst of it, there was a knock on the door and Gladys entered.
"Had your breakfast?" Stephanie inquired.
"An hour ago," Gladys replied. "You take the early morning hours to
walk; I take them for my correspondence and household orders. You win
this time--it was a beautiful morning. Where did you go?"
"Out the Churchville road, across the path through the Overton property
to the Henrystown road, and home."
"The path through the Overton property!" exclaimed Gladys. "I forgot to
warn you that they are using those fields for pasturing cattle, with a
vicious bull among them. Did you see him?"
"Yes, we saw him," Stephanie answered, buttering a roll.
"Did he come close?"
"Fairly close!"
"Weren't you frightened?" Gladys asked.
"A trifle."
"I should have been scared stiff."
"On the contrary," said Stephanie, tapping an egg with the tip of her
spoon, "I think you would have been scared into the quickest action
you have ever known."
"What do you mean?" Gladys demanded.
"I mean that you would have made a record run for the fence," slowly
measuring the salt.
"Is that what you did?"
"Precisely what I did--and I just made it."
"You just made what?"
"The fence."
"Do you mean the bull actually attacked you?"
"No--he didn't get quite close enough to _actually_ attack--he missed
me by the fraction of a hair. I went over the fence just as he banged
into it. We had a nerve-racking finish--the bull and I. I won it by an
eyelash."
Gladys laughed merrily.
"Your pardon, dear! But I really can't help it--the idea of you and
Overton's bull sprinting it across the field! It's too ridiculous. And
you won, dear, you won!" She laughed again. "All the bull could do was
to stand at the fence and look."
"If he had any sense of propriety he _didn't_ look," Stephanie
remarked--"especially when I was going over. I must have resembled a
Broadway beauty chorus."
"And no one but the bull on the ball-headed row!" Gladys bubbled.
"Possibly--I was in too much haste to observe whether Mr. Porshinger
saw or not."
"Porshinger!" cried Gladys. "Porshinger! What in Heaven's name was he
doing in Overton's pasture?"
"Walking with me!" was the demure reply.
"Walking with you!--Stephanie Lorraine, will you explain yourself?"
"Sure!" said Stephanie, and explained.
At the end, Gladys selected a tiny gold-tipped cigarette from the case
on the dressing table and carefully lighted it.
"What is your plan?" she asked, from back of a thin cloud of smoke.
"I haven't any plan," Stephanie replied, pouring herself another cup
of coffee. "It was only a reconnoissance, made on the spur of the
moment----"
"Made on the horns of the bull! I should say," Gladys smiled. "What is
your next move?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want me to ask him to Criss-Cross?"
"No--not yet."
"Well--if you do, I'll ask him," said Gladys. "We're in this thing
to win, you know. But it would not be wise, I think, to have him and
Montague Pendleton at the same time."
"No, decidedly no!" said Stephanie--"at least, for the present."
XII
A MATTER OF LIGHT
Pendleton was late in arriving at Criss-Cross. He was the last of the
party to come in, and he hastened to the quarters, the servant showed
him, in the bachelor end over the billiard room in a separate angle of
the house.
Once there, he flung off his business suit, plunged through his bath,
flourished his safety, cutting himself in his haste (who ever saw a
safety that was safe?) and then proceeded to dash into the clothes laid
out for him.
"Damn!" he exclaimed forcefully, as a stud that had been insecurely
fastened slipped from its hole and retired gracefully under the bureau.
He was down on his knees searching for it when there was a knock on his
door.
"Come in!" he shouted, without looking up.
Sheldon Burgoyne entered, stopped a moment with a quizzical smile, and
without a word sat down. It was not a time for speech--_on his part_.
Pendleton presently retrieved the stud and arose, red in the face and
angry.
"Why didn't you say something?" he demanded.
"I thought it was a time to be quiet," Burgoyne replied.
Pendleton paused, with the stud half in, and looked at him.
"Hum!" he grunted. "You _do_ have a glimmering of sense, it seems!
Why is it, if you drop a stud or a collar button in a room a hundred
feet square with only one piece of furniture in the place, the
infernal thing will dash under it? Talk of a chicken, or a mule, or a
pig--they're not in it with the article under discussion."
"So I have observed!" Burgoyne remarked. "The chap who invents a
non-hiding stud will make his everlasting fortune. Of course, the
reason for the seemingly peculiar is perfectly evident--it is the law
of direction and applied force, that's all. I'll illustrate it on you,
if you wish."
"It is not at all necessary!" said Pendleton. "Is every one here, I
wonder."
"Yes--you're the laggard--you're generally the laggard.--Why didn't you
ever marry, Pendleton?"
"Because I was too much occupied attending to my own business,"
Pendleton answered.
"I had never observed it!" the other grinned.
"There is nothing peculiar about that--you never observe anything but
the ladies."
"Do you criticise my taste?"
"Far be it from me!" Pendleton laughed. "Who are here--do you know?"
"Dorothy Tazewell, Helen Burleston and Marcia Emerson, the men are
Steuart Cameron and Warwick Devereux. We all came down on the same
train. Stephanie Lorraine, I understand, came yesterday."
"Thank heaven, it is a congenial crowd! How is Miss Emerson--as
fascinatingly pretty as ever?"
"More so!--More so!" exclaimed Burgoyne. "She is pushing Stephanie hard
for first place," with a bland smile--which Pendleton saw but did not
remark.
That he had admired Stephanie Mourraille was no secret, Pendleton
knew; and that the admiration had not decreased since she had become
Stephanie Lorraine, Society could very readily infer. For his part, he
did not care what they inferred; and when he had intimated to Stephanie
that he might be coming around her too much, she had put her hand on
his shoulder--he could feel it there now--and had asked him, if _he_
objected? Her inference was too plain to miss and he said no more--at
the time--though he felt a bit culpable for not doing it.
"How are you and Devereux hitting it?" he asked, to shift the talk.
"Not in time!" smiled Burgoyne,--"not at all in time. It's like a
two-step and a schottische."
"Who's doing the schottische?"
"Both--at different periods. Miss Emerson is the only one who is always
in step."
"Because she makes the step?" Pendleton laughed. "You rather like to
dance, don't you, Burgoyne?"
"It isn't a question of like or dislike. It's a question of what the
lady wants--and whom she wants. Devereux is a fool about her, and
I think I'm getting dippy too. Nothing serious, Pendleton, nothing
serious, I assure you; but she is a mighty attractive girl and we both
know it. You understand."
"I understand!" Pendleton answered. "What did I tell you the first day
you saw her--at the Club, wasn't it?"
"Yes--the same day that you met Stephanie Lorraine when she drove up
alone--you remember?"
Pendleton nodded--finished knotting his tie, drew on his waist-coat and
coat, picked up his gloves, and he and Burgoyne went down-stairs, just
as the clock was striking eight.
Immediately dinner was announced, and they went in without partners,
and found who they were when they got to the table.
Pendleton was not surprised to find he had Stephanie Lorraine on his
right; in fact, he would have been a trifle disappointed had she not
been there. It was becoming the rule among Stephanie's few (at present)
friends always to include him in their invitations, and always to put
them together when it could be done without making too much of a point
of it. She was looking particularly fit this evening, in a dull green
gown, with a collar of emeralds about her soft white throat and a
copper-gold net binding her copper-red hair.
She met him with the familiar little nod that she reserved for him
alone, and looked up at him with a bewitching glance as he placed her
chair.
"I am surprised to see you!" she smiled.
"Here?" he asked.
"Anywhere!" she answered.
"Is it a pleasant surprise?"
"Of course."
"Anywhere?"
"Everywhere!"
"Everywhere is rather more comprehensive than anywhere!"
"Is it?" she inflected slyly.
"Did you mean it so?" he asked.
"Perhaps."
"You're doubtful?"
"Sometimes."
"When are the sometimes?"
"It depends--on the sometimes."
"Will there ever come a time when there won't be any sometimes?" he
asked, bending toward her.
She looked at him--a dreamy, thoughtful light in her eyes.
"I wonder," she said--"what do you think, _mon ami_?"
"I don't think--I _hope_," he replied.
She smiled faintly, but with entrancing sweetness.
"Thank you, Montague," she said low--"I shall not forget--at present, I
don't dare remember--you understand?"
"I understand," he answered--"more's the pity.--How is Lorraine?"
"Better--he sent for me yesterday."
His eyes sought her face questioningly.
"I went--and stayed a minute," she replied. "I hope I wasn't in too
great hurry to get away. It was ghastly, however--perfectly ghastly! I
trust he doesn't send for me again. Don't let us talk about it," and
she gave a little shudder and reached for her sherry.
Burgoyne, on her left, caught her eye as she did so and raised his
glass.
"How!" he said.
"When did you join the Army!" she asked, as the glasses were replaced.
"Whenever we drink a toast to a pretty woman!" he laughed. "It's better
than the navy's 'sweethearts and wives.' Sometimes it is a trifle
awkward to drink to them both, you know."
He did not realize how it would sound to her until he ended--then he
tried to gasp it back.
But she only smiled.
"I don't mind from you, Sheldon," she said.
"I didn't mean it!" he protested. "I was only talking."
"Just keep on talking," she replied. "I know you didn't mean it _that_
way.--And it is true enough sometimes--and _sometimes_ one doesn't
care to drink to either," and she smiled slightly. "How lovely Marcia
Emerson is, this evening," she remarked.
"From another woman that is a compliment indeed--but you can well
afford to be generous, Stephanie, you can give them all cards and
spades and little casino--and the ace of hearts."
"So long as I retain the Jack of Hearts, _n'est ce pas_?"
"And since you retain all the other hearts--your own included," he
replied.
"Consider yourself curtsyed to most profoundly!" she laughed. "Now let
us return to Miss Emerson. Warwick Devereux seems to be making pretty
fast going--can you overhaul him?"
"I?"
She nodded. "Yes, you--can you?"
"Why should _I_ try to overhaul him?" he asked.
"For divers reasons--too numerous to mention--the main one is across
the table."
"I see."