"As well as to annoy," he supplemented. "You mean I will try to annoy
Dev?"
"I don't think the lady will be annoyed, if you were to try the
overhauling act. You know Dev--and so does she, I assume. If she
does want to land him, you'll be a relief. In either event, she'll
be grateful--and a grateful woman can do much for the gratefulee,
especially when he is a man."
"Where do I come in?" he smiled.
"That is for you to find out," she replied.
"You think it is worth trying?"
"Don't _you_ think so?"
"I don't know. I might overtake--and then not want the trick when I get
it. Or I might want the trick--and then not be able to overtake."
"Certainly, you might--but you have to risk something in the game; and
you're a good gambler, Sheldon--or you used to be. Have you lost your
nerve?"
"I'm older!" he replied.
"Three years!" she smiled. "Moreover, I understood that the race is
on."
"Not exactly--I'm just trailing--keeping the field in view."
"Rather full view, isn't it?"
"Well, I don't require a glass," he admitted.
"You're lying back until you're sure what you want, and see a chance to
get it?" she said.
"That is too comprehensive," he replied. "At present I'm simply looking
on--and being entertained."
"There is no possible doubt that you're being entertained!" she
laughed. "How does Dev like it--is he being entertained also?"
"Sure--anything entertains him until he tires of it."
"He has not tired of Miss Emerson yet--and it has been a long time
_for him_. In the normal run, he should have butter-flied away to
half-a-dozen girls."
"He has never before had a Marcia Emerson to keep him on the jump,"
said Burgoyne. "He is used to having the girls go down before his money
and birth like scuttle-pins. She is a new experience for him--and he's
half tempted to become serious. If I press him too close he may become
serious, and I don't want that to happen--just yet."
"Till you know if you want it to happen ever?" she laughed. "Do you
fancy that Marcia Emerson doesn't know--or at least suspect?"
"I haven't thought," he admitted,--"except that she hasn't yet made up
her mind about Devereux. If she concludes that she wants him she'll get
him without the least difficulty, I'm sure."
"And if she concludes that she wants--someone else?"
"Meaning me?" he inquired blandly.
"Meaning you," she replied.
"If I'm too close she'll get _me_ easy--hence I'm riding far aback.
Good term that--far aback!"
"Perfectly good term, Sheldon--but not true in point of fact. If Miss
Emerson wants you she has only to beckon, and you'll burst a girth to
come up. All you nice men are alike--at the mercy of a beautiful woman
when she calls."
"The vampire!" he reflected. "'A rag, a bone, and a hank of hair!'"
"Maybe"--she reflected. "At any rate, I shall not dispute it. But men
like vampires--_beautiful_ vampires."
"'Down to Gehenna and up to the Throne;
He travels the fastest who travels alone.'"
he quoted.
"Again there is no possible doubt of that," she replied. "The
difficulty is that he rarely travels _alone_. The vampire usually
gets him, and he carries her too. We women are all more or less
vampires--just as you men are more or less rogues."
"I reckon you're right," he admitted. "At the best, it is simply a
matter of degree--and we notice it only when the particular man and
woman aren't properly mated. Then she is a vampire or he is a rogue, as
the case may be."
"Now you know what to look for. A vampire who will mate your rogue!"
she laughed. "Is Miss Emerson the vampire?--that is what _you_ have to
determine."
"Or am I her rogue!" he laughed back. "It's a pity we don't always
match up, isn't it----" Once again he bit off the words and tried to
catch them back.
And once again she smiled indulgently.
"You never can know how you're going to match up until after you've
tried it--and then it's too late," she answered. "That is the pity of
it, Sheldon, that is the pity of it."
"The pity of what?" asked Pendleton, who had happened to catch her last
words.
"The pity of not knowing," she replied, dismissing Burgoyne with a
significant smile and turning to Pendleton.
"Not knowing what?" he asked.
"Nothing absolutely."
"Rather heavy talk for a dinner," he observed.
"It wasn't heavy--Sheldon and I were discussing the vampire and the
rogue."
"Heavens!" he ejaculated.
"And we agreed that every woman is more or less vampire and every man
more or less rogue."
"A trifle cynical, to say the least," he remarked.
"Don't _you_ agree with us?"
"As a general proposition--with exceptions--I'll join the party."
"But we also agree that the exceptions are only a matter of degree."
"You mean there are no exceptions?"
"Exactly!"
"But there are infinitesimal degrees?"
"I--suppose so," she hesitated.
"Very well, I'll go along with _you_. What degree do you think I am?"
"We also were of a mind that no one knows until after marriage what
degree the other is--that is the pity of it."
"In other words, marriage is an eye-opener!" he laughed. "Well we are
unanimous on that point also. In fact, I'm ready to agree with you on
anything, for anything, and at any time."
"Thank you, Montague--thank you, very much," she replied, with a quick
glance through her long lashes. "I want you presently to agree with
me--about something."
"It's done!" he replied. "What is it?"
"I cannot tell you here--wait until after dinner, when we are quite
alone. I'll manage that--there will be time before Auction begins."
"If we're to be _quite_ alone," he said, "can't you manage that Auction
doesn't begin?"
"Don't ask the impossible!" she smiled. "Moreover, Auction is an
excellent game."
"When one isn't more agreeably employed," he added.
She shot him another glance.
"You say nice things to me, Montague," she remarked.
"I do more than say them--I _mean_ them."
"Nicer things even than you used to say," she mused.
"And I mean them even more--if that is possible."
"You are spoiling me with compliments."
"I want to spoil you."
"Why?" she asked, a bit startled.
"Because it pleases me to do it--and," leaning a little closer,
"because you deserve to be spoiled in the proper way."
"I didn't deserve it--once," she answered.
"You're a different woman from what you were--once, Stephanie."
"People seem to think so!" she said, a trifle bitterly.
"I didn't mean _that_," he answered quietly. "I mean that there has
been little enough in your life of late to spoil you, so I shall try to
make it up to you. May I?"
For a moment she did not answer--bending her head lower over her plate.
Then she turned and faced him--the adorable smile on her lips.
"You may spoil me, Montague,--if you think it wise," she said. "I'm a
wilful creature, you know."
"I'll risk the wilfulness," he declared--"it is little enough to risk."
"Pendleton can tell us," came Cameron's voice--"if he will stop talking
trash to Mrs. Lorraine long enough to answer."
"And talk trash to you instead, I presume," Pendleton remarked.
"Certainly, what is it?"
"How long has Porshinger belonged to the Club?" asked Cameron.
"Longer than he ought," said Pendleton dryly.
"We know that!" the other laughed, in which the table joined. "But was
it last year, or the year before--you were on the Board of Governors,
weren't you?"
"Not when _he_ came in," Pendleton replied. "Consequently it must have
been within the last two years; since my term expired. Sorry I can't
help you out."
"Why is it that every Governor fights shy of having voted for
Porshinger?" Cameron asked. "If you press them, they all side-step the
responsibility. Porshinger isn't such a bad fellow as a whole."
"Taken as a whole!" exclaimed Devereux. "Lord save the mark! the dose
is prohibitive--very little of him is more than sufficient for me."
"What is the matter with him--except that he's a bounder and all that?"
Cameron asked.--"There are many in the same class, and some of them
'belong.'"
"True enough," Devereux agreed; "but we tolerate the belongers who
belong, on account of their families--at least for a time. Those of
Porshinger's stamp are just plain bounders; they have nothing to go on
except themselves."
"Would you rather be a bounder with Porshinger's wealth and financial
position, or a bounder with only a family behind you?" Cameron inquired.
"Me for Porshinger!" Burgoyne declared. "He has the money and may
improve--the other chap is hopeless."
"He is at the next place--Woodside's, I understand," Miss Chamberlain
broke in. "Suppose we ask him over and try our softening influence on
him."
"Sample him before tasting," Cameron suggested.
"Shake well before taking," Devereux amended.
"We shall ask Pendleton to do the shaking--so it is thoroughly done!"
Cameron laughed.
Burgoyne gave Pendleton an amused smile, which the latter returned.
They were thinking of the episode on the Club-house piazza.
"You're not serious, Gladys?" cried Mrs. Burleston.
"It is for the table to say," Gladys submitted. "Vote, please--you
begin, Dorothy."
"I vote for--that we have him over," said Miss Tazewell.
"So do I," said Mrs. Burleston.
"Marcia, how do you vote?" asked Gladys.
"With the others," Miss Emerson acquiesced--but she hesitated just a
trifle before she said it.
"And Mrs. Lorraine?"
Stephanie did not understand the hostess' game, but she caught her
significant look and acquiesced.
"I also will vote with the others," she replied.
"The gentlemen, of course, are of the same mind as the ladies so it
will be unnecessary to ask them." Miss Chamberlain smiled. "Therefore
it is unanimously resolved that Mr. Porshinger be invited to
Criss-Cross and to make one of the party. We need another man anyway.
I don't hear any objection so the resolution stands. I shall telephone
him in the morning."
"And he will be bounder enough to come!" muttered Devereux.
"Of course he will," said Gladys--"it is just because he is a bounder
that we're going to ask him. You don't suppose I would venture it on
you, or any other gentleman--to take you from another house where
you're a guest for the week-end!"
"Cameron, what possessed you to inquire about Porshinger? You're
responsible for all this fool thing!" declared Devereux.
"It was a perfectly harmless inquiry," Cameron protested, "which turned
out to be loaded. I beg your pardon, Devereux, I shall never do it
again."
"Remember I shall expect you men to be civil to him," Miss Chamberlain
cautioned.
"Do you _actually_ mean to ask him, Gladys?" said Burgoyne.
"I never was more serious in my life. Moreover it is the will of the
table."
Burgoyne held up his hands.
"Oh Lord! Oh Lord!" he exclaimed.
"It isn't all bad," Cameron remarked. "If we treat him half decent
maybe sometime we can all borrow an extra wad at the Tuscarora."
"Touching that matter," laughed Devereux, "I have known such things to
happen."
"But not touching Porshinger," Cameron observed. "The man who touches
him will be a fencer indeed."
"He'll be a burglar!" Devereux retorted. "Why are _you_ so quiet?"
turning to Pendleton. "Why don't you say something?--join in, join in!"
"It's not up to me to say anything," Pendleton replied, as he sunk his
fork into the asparagus salad.
"It's your funeral as much as anyone's!" Devereux exclaimed.
"Not at all--it is Miss Chamberlain's. She will have to bear the
responsibility and the burden--and be nice to him in future. We
are obligated to nothing except to be civil to him while we're at
Criss-Cross. It is not worrying me in the least--moreover, I'm not in
need of money."
"Now you have it, Devereux!" said Cameron. "Want any more?"
"Not at present, thank you!" Devereux laughed. "Meanwhile we have until
to-morrow before the bounder arrives. I'm going to enjoy the time while
it lasts--it is short enough as it is."
"How are you going to enjoy it?" asked Mrs. Burleston.
"Making love to you."
"Why should Mr. Porshinger's coming interfere with you making love to
Helen?" Gladys inquired.
"'Oh, the fascinating widow!'" sang Devereux.
"Do be sensible, Dev," Mrs. Burleston exclaimed.
"Ask of him something possible!" Gladys laughed.
"Dear Lady, you speak with a cruel tongue----"
"But with a true tongue," she interjected.
"Perchance--yes! Verily I say unto you that unless you wear red hosiery
in the autumn the truth isn't in you and you shall surely be damned."
"There is not the least doubt of _your_ being damned," remarked Cameron.
"You mistake the sex--I don't wear _hosiery_. I wear socks."
"I'm not so sure!" Cameron retorted.
"That could be taken as a reflection on me, but you naturally referred
to the ladies. 'Twas a most ungallant speech, monsieur, a most
ungallant speech! Remember it not against him, mademoiselles--he knows
not what he does."
"What a clown Dev can be when he tries!" smiled Pendleton. "His facial
expressions make funny what otherwise would be rotten."
"And it is so absurd in him, who is such a wonder in business,"
Stephanie added. "The man has a double nature, surely--and I can't say
that I care for this side. It doesn't fit!"
"On the contrary, it seems to me it fits admirably. He is able to throw
off his cares and forget them--and to make a boy of himself. That
may be the reason he is so shrewd--he comes at business fresh every
morning. I think it was a pretense at first, but it has become second
nature now."
"I like a manly man, not a combination of a man and a harlequin," said
Stephanie. "A man like Mr. Chamberlain or--you, Montague," with a
tantalizing smile from under her lowered lids.
"Don't tempt me!" he warned.--"Don't tempt me!"
"It is perfectly safe to tempt you--_here_."
"It may not be on the piazza."
"The temptation _passes_ when we leave this room," she enjoined.
"I am not so sure," he threatened.
The hostess arose.
"Does it pass?" Stephanie asked.
He only smiled, and drew out her chair.
"Does it pass?" she repeated as she faced him.
His only answer was another smile.
"Very well, sir; I'll not go on the piazza with you until you
acquiesce--and neither will I arrange that we are quite alone, as I had
intended."
"You win!" he laughed. "The temptation passes--for to-night."
Half an hour later, the coffee finished, Mrs. Lorraine arose and went
into the house. Presently a servant very quietly summoned Pendleton to
the telephone. Stephanie was on the landing when he entered the hall,
and she met him at the foot of the stairs.
"I'm the telephone," she remarked.
"I had hoped so," he smiled. "Where shall we go?"
"On the side piazza, where the lights are not burning."
He held back the portieres, and they went through the library and out
into the star-light night, where the silver crescent of the moon was
cutting its way toward the western horizon. All was still save for the
faint hum of voices at the front and occasional laughter.
"It's a perfect night!" she breathed. "How much better the country is
for one than the dirt and noise and bustle of the big town. The peace
and calm--the _dolce far niente_ of it all--is very, very restful."
"It's the place for women who don't have to work--and the men who
can afford not to," he said. "Everyone is gravitating toward the
country--the pure air, the pure water--the simple life that is not
quite so simple as it once was."
"But it's simpler than town life--heaps simpler," as she led the way to
a remote corner, where two chairs stood apart.
She took one.--He drew the other close over, and sitting on the arm
reached down and took her hand.
"You said the temptation passed," she admonished--while suffering it to
remain.
"This isn't temptation--it's admiration, adoration----"
"Flirtation!" she laughed.
"Whatever it is, it _isn't_ flirtation," he said. "You know that, don't
you, Stephanie?"
She gave him a fleeting look.
"Yes, Montague, I know that," she answered softly--and quietly withdrew
her hand. "Now sit down and let me tell you what it is I want you to
agree to--we haven't much time, you know. Devereux will be on our
trail if we're absent too long."
He whirled the chair around and sat down--then calmly leaned forward
and, in a masterful matter-of-fact way, took possession of both her
hands.
"Will that make you more amenable?" she laughed softly, yielding them
to him.
"I'll agree to anything you wish, _now_," he responded.
"But it's not exactly right, Montague," she protested.
"I know it isn't," he admitted; "when we want, we do a lot that isn't
right. What is it you have to tell me?"
"It's about Porshinger--" she hesitated.
"You knew Gladys was going to ask him?" he said.
She shook her head. "No, I didn't--she did it on the spur of the
moment, I'm sure, though she may have had this matter we are coming to
in mind. You're puzzled--and I don't wonder. Tell me, Montague, did you
ever have any trouble with Porshinger?"
"Not especially!" he said, trying to throw surprise into his voice. Who
had told her?
"Not especially!" she repeated. "What does that mean?"
"Perhaps you would better tell me what _you_ mean," he said.
"Yes, I think I would," she replied, "and it's this: I lunched with
Marcia Emerson yesterday at Partridge's--then I took her home in
my car. On the way she told me that a few nights prior she was up
at the Club until late, and while sitting alone on the piazza she
had overheard Porshinger and Murchison--who were seated around
the corner from her and evidently thought they had the place to
themselves--discussing you. It was only a few words, but they were
significant. Murchison asked if there was anything new in the
_Lorraine_ affair.
"'Not much,' said Porshinger. 'The matter is progressing; Pendleton is
not invulnerable--I've found a way to reach him, and he soon will be
having troubles of his own.'
"Murchison advised him to leave well enough alone; to which Porshinger
replied that that might be Murchison's way but it wasn't his way--that
you had started the fight, and you would think 'merry hell was loose'
before he was done with you."
"Is that all Miss Emerson heard?" asked Pendleton.
"Y--e--s, that is all."
"Are you sure, dear?"
"There _was_ something else--it's of no consequence, however. I don't
recall it now!" she fluttered.
"Wouldn't you better tell me all?" he said quietly.
"Isn't what I have told you sufficient?" she parried.
"Tell me the rest, Stephanie," he urged.
"He called you a 'snob.'"
He smiled. "You're keeping something back."
"You _have_ made him an enemy?" she evaded.
"I'm afraid I've also made him an enemy of some one else--and that she
is hiding it from me. Tell me, dear, weren't _you_ included in the
threat?"
"I'm a poor hand at evasion," she sighed.--"Yes, I was included. He
said--'and the Lorraine woman too.'"
"I thought as much!" he exclaimed--"the miserable, skulking coward!"
"But I don't understand!--What is it all about--what does it mean?"
"It means that Burgoyne and I had some words with Porshinger and his
friend Murchison the night of your return. It was up at the Club and
late and no one saw it. They have been so quiet about it since that I
thought it had been dropped. I didn't realize what a vindictive brute
we had stirred up. Well, we will try to be prepared for the great man!"
he laughed.
"This fight," she began----
"I didn't say there was a fight," he interposed.
"No, you didn't say it--but there _was_ a fight, and it was about
me--something that he or Murchison said in your hearing, and which you
resented.--Wasn't it, Montague?"
"You're very knowing!" he smiled.
"I don't ask you _what_ it was--but _if_ it was?" she persisted.
"Something of that sort," he admitted--"though the--ostensible dispute
was over the cut of Porshinger's coat, as I recall it. Your name was
not mentioned."
"But _they_ understood?"
"It seems so."
"Tell me about it, Montague," she begged--"the fight and all."
"It doesn't tell well," he objected.
"Tell it anyway!"
"It was just a scrap between us, nothing more."
"But I want to hear it--you did it for me, so why shouldn't you tell
me?"
He looked down into the soft eyes upturned to him--and yielded.
"It was this way," he said.... "It was foolish, I suppose," he ended,
"but one doesn't always stop to consider under some provocation. I
never for an instant thought it would involve _you_ in his spite. I
didn't credit him with being so small and mean."
"And now I want you to promise me that you will take every precaution
to guard yourself against him," she said.
"Myself!" he exclaimed. "Yes, myself for the purpose of protecting you."
"And for the purpose of protecting yourself also," she broke in. "I am
persuaded that Porshinger means mischief."
"What persuaded you?" he smiled.
"The man himself."
"You don't know him?"
"I met him this morning."
"At Criss-Cross--he was here?"
"No--I met him on the Churchville road--while I was taking my early
morning walk."
"Had he the effrontery to address you?"
"Very respectfully and very courteously--I did not resent it in the
least.--You see," as he looked at her doubtfully, "I myself was trying
something, Montague."
"Trying to put salt on the tiger's tail?" he smiled.
"After a fashion. I was reconnoitering--trying to find out his weak
points."
"Did you succeed?"
"A little--he is like all men--fond of a pretty woman and--her figure."
"Which you might very readily have inferred," Pendleton remarked.
"No," said she. "Some men with his characteristics are totally
indifferent to women. I found out also that he is sensitive about his
personal appearance--he wants to look and act a gentleman--and that he
will do much to be received by our set."
"Do you consider such weakness very vulnerable?" he asked, amused.
"Most undoubtedly--he will forego much to advance his social position."
"And _you_ think of helping him on?"
"Not that exactly," she reflected. "I think to use it to our
advantage--though how I've not the least idea as yet."
"I think you don't appreciate what manner of man Porshinger is,
my dear," said he soothingly. "He is as cold as ice and as hard as
armor-plate."
"I inferred as much--and such men are usually easy to influence if they
have a hobby. Porshinger's hobby--concealed though it be--is the social
whirl. Let him but think that he's whirling and anything is possible."
"You're not thinking of--flirting with him?" he asked, puzzled.
"No--just trying to make him like me well enough to forego his revenge.
If he foregoes me, he likely will forego you also--as a matter of
policy."
"My dear child!" smiled Pendleton. "I'm not concerned about his
revenge--not in the least. He can't hurt me, and I don't see how he
can hurt you--_if you let him alone_. The danger, with his kind, is
in being nice to them and in having your motives misunderstood and
misinterpreted. Since you have met him, you can be politely nice to him
but--tell me about this meeting on the road," he said suddenly. "Did it
seem to be premeditated on his part?"
"I don't know--but I think not. He overtook me about a mile from the
Overton stile--you know the place. He merely raised his hat and spoke
casually--as one does in the country--and was passing; then held back;
and I gave him leave, by my manner, to accompany me--which he did as
far as the Criss-Cross gates."
"Were you going or returning?"
"Going--we returned by the path through the Overton property."
"Why do you smile?" he asked.
"At something that happened--not with him, you foolish boy, not with
him--with the Overton bull."
"The what?" Pendleton exclaimed.
"The Overton bull--he assisted me over the fence."
"You don't mean it?" he cried.
"If you had seen me going over you would think that I meant it!" she
laughed. "However, I'm quite satisfied that you didn't--there was
altogether too generous a display of silk hosiery and lace."
"You prefer that Porshinger should see.--What was the bounder
doing?--why didn't he protect you?" he demanded.
"He couldn't--he tried to protect me, but the bull avoided him and made
for me."
"He is a bull of sense," said Pendleton. "I compliment him on his
discrimination."
"But you can't say so much for me?" she smiled.
"You need some one to look after you, dear--some one on whom you can
depend----"
"A matador?" she suggested.
"Very effective so far as the bull is concerned--but not the sort you
seem to require."
"You mean something that will keep off undesirable acquaintances."
"Precisely."
"What would you suggest--measles or smallpox?"
"I would suggest a husband."