"You forget that I already have a husband--a Mr. Lorraine," she
replied.
"That is precisely why I suggest the need for another."
"One can't have two husbands, Montague."
"Not at the same time--and be lawful," he answered.
"Do you mean that I should try another--Amherst?" she asked.
He held up his hands.
"God forbid!" he replied. "I mean 'according to God's own ordinances,'
and so forth."
"Who would have _me_?" she said bitterly.
He leaned a bit forward and looked at her intently.
"I'm a tainted thing--amusing, good to look at, to chat with, to while
away the time with, like the high class _demi-monde_; but for anything
more--no! no!"
"You don't think that," he replied.--"You know----"
"I know what the world says of a married woman who does as I have done.
It may tolerate her but a man never marries her--or if he does the
world punishes him by loss of caste."
He leaned closer, bending down until her hair brushed his face and its
perfume rose about him like a cloud.
"I am ready to risk it, dear one," he whispered. "I am ready to marry
you the moment you are free."
"You are ready to marry me?" she breathed. "No! no! Montague, I was not
playing for that, I was not----"
"Stephanie, dearest, don't you love me?" he asked.
She looked at him steadily an instant--then over her face broke the
entrancing smile, and she put up her arm and drew his face close to
hers.
"Yes, sweetheart," she whispered--and kissed him on the lips.
But when he would have gathered her into his embrace she stayed him.
"No, dearest," she said, "I will not let you be an Amherst, even in
a little--nor would you yourself. I am not going to provoke a fresh
scandal that will involve you and make of our--love a reproach. Suppose
some one saw me in your arms--what would be the natural inference--with
my recent past?"
"No one would see," he pleaded.
"We must not risk it--for your sake, we must not." She put out her
hand and slipped it into his. "You may hold me as close as you like in
fancy--you can't hold me _too_ close--but help me to be strong, dear
one, help me to be strong!"
"You are right," he reflected.--"Just another kiss, and then----"
She held up her face--and their lips met.
As they did so, the lights suddenly flared up in the room directly in
the rear and through an open window fell full upon them.
He straightened up instantly.
"No one saw!" he said, glancing around toward the house.
"One can never tell," she answered, with a nervous little laugh. "Some
one _may_ have seen." She got up hastily. "Let us go in, we have been
out here long enough--and Devereux will be on our trail."
He took her hand and drew it through his arm, and they passed down the
piazza and into the house.
* * * * * * *
And some one did see!
Porshinger and Woodside were coming up the walk just as the light
flashed out.
"Look there!" the latter exclaimed.
Porshinger nodded.
"A new one on the string," Woodside continued. "Oh, these fascinating
women!--You may be able to use that kiss to--advantage, my friend.
Two on the string are not too many, unless _you_ would be the only
one.--Hey?"
But Porshinger did not answer--and Woodside, with a sharp glance at
him, said no more. He did not understand.
As for Porshinger, after the episode of the morning, he did
not know whether to be pleased or sorry. He walked on a few
steps--hesitated--stopped.
"On the whole, I think we'll not drop in," he remarked--"at least,
not this evening. It might not be a propitious time; moreover, Miss
Chamberlain may consider me as an intruder. You have no right,
Woodside, you know, to take me there, even in a happen-in, without her
express permission."
Whereat Woodside stared--and then laughed.
"Precisely my idea!" he remarked--and faced about. Assuredly he did not
understand.
XIII
THE UNPOPULAR GUEST
"My offer to include Porshinger in the party rather met with
opposition!" Gladys laughed, as she and Stephanie sat alone together in
the farmer's boudoir that night. She balanced her slipper on one silken
toe and surveyed it critically. "I thought Sheldon Burgoyne would choke
and that Warwick Devereux would have a fit. As for Montague Pendleton,
one never can tell from _his_ manner whether he is sitting on a red hot
stove, a piece of ice--or an easy chair. Though my private opinion is
that he liked it the least of any of them."
"No, you never can tell by Montague's manner," Stephanie agreed. "It is
always severely indifferent outwardly, and no one ever gets behind the
scenes--with him."
"No one--but Stephanie Lorraine!" Gladys smiled, "and she won't tell.
In fact, you two are much alike in temperament--the calmly placid sort
on the surface, and the devil knows how turbulent underneath."
"You flatter me indeed," Stephanie replied, drawing one gleaming
coppery braid slowly through her fingers. "I consider it a very great
compliment to be likened to Montague, even in a little thing."
The other looked at her speculatively a bit, drumming the while with
slow fingers on the dressing table in front of her. Stephanie, with a
dreamy, absent air, continued drawing the braid back and forth against
her cheek.
"It's a pity!" reflected Gladys thoughtfully.
Stephanie continued to toy with her braid and did not seem to hear.
"It's a pity," Gladys repeated.--"A grievous pity that you didn't marry
Montague Pendleton--instead of Harry Lorraine."
"It's more than a pity--it's a calamity," replied Stephanie
imperturbably.
"Why don't you marry him now?" Gladys demanded.
"Simply because it's contrary to the law of the land for a woman to
have two husbands at the same time. Harry Lorraine happens still to be
alive."
"Why don't you get a divorce?"
"I haven't any cause--and he hasn't any pluck."
"You can go to Reno," Gladys suggested.
"What will Reno accomplish--if he opposes it! Moreover, I don't want a
Reno divorce. I should never feel that I _was_ divorced."
Gladys smiled and was silent.
"It is better than Amherst and six months in Europe, you are thinking,"
Stephanie added. "And you're quite right; that was hell--perfect hell."
Gladys picked up her hand-glass and studied her face in an impersonal
way--as though it were the face of a stranger.
"And you think," she said presently, "it would be a heaven with
Pendleton?"
"By comparison, yes--a perfect heaven," was the answer.
"You would be willing to risk it?"
Stephanie ceased playing with her braid, and leaning forward took a
cigarette from the case on the table.
"Yes, I should be willing to risk it," she replied,--"if he were to ask
me--and Lorraine were out of the way."
"I think," said Gladys, laying aside the mirror and drawing her slender
feet up under her, "I think he will ask you, if Lorraine gets out
of the way in a reasonable time. But you mustn't expect him to wait
forever--a man is a fickle beast at best, you know."
"Beast is an appropriate term for most men!" Stephanie exclaimed.--"But
it doesn't apply to Montague."
"Possibly it doesn't--you never can tell, however, until you've lived
with a man and tried him."
"Montague is a _dear_!" Stephanie declared.
"Of course he is a dear, a perfect dear," her friend agreed--"and you
are not taking much of a chance, but there is a chance."
"_He_ would be taking an infinitely greater chance," said Stephanie.
"He would be taking no chance whatever."
"With my past?"
"Your past is what warrants you--you have been tried in the fire
and all the dross fused out of you. I would rather trust you _now_
than--myself."
"You think that all the bad is out?"
"I do, indeed!"
"I wish I were so sure of it," Stephanie mused.
Gladys laughed softly.
"You _are_ sure of it, dear. Montague Pendleton himself couldn't drag
you out of the straight and narrow--and that even though you were to
love him madly." She got up and going over perched herself on the
other's chair-arm. "Forget the past--your friends have forgotten it. Be
thankful that it _is_ the past--and that once more the sun is shining.
You have those who are devoted to you, and you have--Montague."
Stephanie drew the other down and kissed her.
"_Maybe_ I have him!" she smiled. "You said that I have him for a
reasonable time--that man is a fickle beast at best."
"The reasonable time varies with the man!" Gladys smiled back. "With
Montague Pendleton it is likely to be forever. He loved you, I think,
before your marriage--he loves you still. Isn't that an assurance of
the future?--Now let us get back to the Porshinger matter. I didn't
telephone--I wanted to discuss the invitation with you. I know that
Mrs. Woodside is absent and he's simply down with Woodside, so we could
ask him well enough. And, on the whole, I think it would not be a bad
scheme. You're afraid of him for Montague, as well as for yourself. He
is a climber, with enormous wealth and power--and he's coming over the
wall, so why not assist him? He will be grateful and it may cause him
to relent. He will know that if he injures Montague he will injure his
chances for Society. Moreover, the sooner we start to draw his fangs
the better it will be for you two."
"I don't think Montague will approve," said Stephanie. "I told him
Marcia Emerson's story, and he laughed at my fears--though admitting
there _had been_ a difficulty and that I had to do with it. Then I also
told him of the walk with Porshinger and of Overton's bull; and while
he didn't say much, I could see that he didn't like it."
"All of which goes to prove his affection for you--if you doubt it,"
Gladys remarked.
Stephanie smiled an answer but did not voice it--and Gladys put her arm
around her friend's neck and was silent also for a moment.
Presently she said:
"Was Montague actually averse to Porshinger's being asked to
Criss-Cross?"
"In a mild sort of way, yes--but nothing vehement, I assure you."
"It isn't Montague's way to be vehement," Gladys observed. "At any
rate, I think we'll try the experiment. I'll ask him over to-morrow in
time for tea, explaining that we need another man--and so boost him up
the wall a bit. We can size up the situation--his amenability to kind
treatment principally--and if it's not promising we need go no further
with him. But I'm inclined to the notion that being nice to him will be
exceedingly effective. He impressed you as well-mannered and fairly
agreeable, didn't he?"
Stephanie nodded. "So far as I could judge superficially he is no
different from the men we've known always. I found him very pleasant
and courteous. Whether it was natural with him or only company manners
I didn't try to find out."
"Naturally not.--Well, we'll turn the wild animal loose among the tame
ones and see what happens. _We_ can at least enjoy the fun.--_You_
don't object, my dear?"
"Not in the least!" Stephanie laughed.
* * * * * * *
The following morning Woodside came out on his piazza, a queer look on
his face.
"You're wanted on the telephone," said he to Porshinger, who was
sitting looking out over the valley.
"Mr. Porshinger, this is Miss Chamberlain," said a particularly sweet
voice, when he had answered.
"Yes, Miss Chamberlain, how do you do?" said he.
"I want to know if you won't come over to Criss-Cross this afternoon
and join us at tea, and stay for dinner and the night? Mr. Woodside has
been exceedingly nice and says he will excuse you--now you be equally
nice and _come_, won't you?"
"Why certainly, certainly--I shall be delighted," Porshinger responded;
"but I can't stay the night. I'm going back to town on the midnight
train. I must be there early in the morning."
"That's _very_ good of you--we shall be glad to have you for the
evening--at five o'clock then--good bye, Mr. Porshinger!"
Porshinger hung up the receiver and went slowly out to Woodside, who
was smoking like a chimney.
The latter glanced at him with a shrewd smile.
"Getting on, aren't you?" he remarked.
"I don't know whether I'm getting on or getting under," Porshinger
replied.
"You're getting both, I should say. It won't be long until they have
you under hack with the rest of the men."
"You think so?"
"I'm perfectly sure of it--you'll be so satisfied to be _in_ that
you'll eat out of their hands. You may be the devil in business and
the stock market--also adamant--but you'll be an innocent little lamb
and a wax baby in the women's game. They won't pick your pockets--oh
no! you'll hand out everything you have and hustle for more to give
them--and do it cheerfully."
"You seem to be wise!" Porshinger retorted.
"I am wiser than you, at any rate. You've been too absorbed in
acquiring money to give any time to the petticoats--except those of
a certain kind, and you don't learn anything from _them_ but bargain
and sale. You have a new experience coming, old man, a new experience!
These people don't care a damn for your money----"
"Then why am I asked?" Porshinger interrupted.
"Because you're wanted--for some other reason."
"Hum!" said Porshinger. "Maybe I'm wanted to play the clown."
"It is entirely possible!" laughed Woodside: "though a likelier guess
would be that they want to inspect you--to size you up, and to try you
out, and to play Auction with you. However, you've got two of them at
an advantage--that kiss on the piazza last night ought to be good for
something."
Porshinger blew a cloud of smoke high in the air and watched it whirl
away on the morning breeze.
"It ought to make the fair widow--Mrs. Lorraine, I mean; I'm always
thinking of her as a widow--more--obliging," his host commented.
"You're a bit of a beast, Woodside!" Porshinger observed.
"Oh, I don't know!" was the response. "When it comes to that there
isn't much choice between us, Charlie, old boy. You know perfectly well
it's her face and figure that's the attraction."
"Well, do you blame me?"
"Hell, no!--I rather envy you the chance."
"The chance of what?" asked Porshinger.
"The chance to _improve_ on acquaintance. You have accepted, I presume?"
Porshinger nodded. "If you will excuse me."
"Sure--delighted to facilitate your campaign."
There was just a suspicion of mockery in the words--and Porshinger
detected it.
"So you think it is a campaign when one tries to know new people?" he
inquired.
"I wouldn't put it just that way!" was the laughing reply.
"What?"
"I shouldn't call the Chamberlains and their house-party _new_ people."
"Don't be absurd; you know what I meant. There are circles within
circles in Society, and----"
"We are in one of the outer circles and aiming to climb into the inner
ones, I understand. Miss Chamberlain's invitation is a big boost for
you--if you make good. If you don't make good, you are in for a nasty
tumble. Query:--Are you invited that you may tumble, or are you invited
that you may climb--in plain words, are they making sport of you or are
they not?"
"I scarcely think that they will make sport of me!" Porshinger laughed.
"I'm not accustomed to being used that way. Moreover, they are too well
bred. Our intimates might do it, Woodside, but not these people. That
is why I'm for climbing the fence--understand?"
"Pooh!" Woodside scoffed. "They are no different from other people,
except that they think they're more exclusive."
"And think it so successfully that every one who is outside wants
inside--yourself among them, my friend, yourself among them."
"I don't give a damn for them!" Woodside declared.
"Maybe you don't--but Mrs. Woodside does--and you do too, if you'd be
honest. Everyone does, Josh, everyone does. It's a humanly universal
failing. Let some set themselves up as particularly exclusive and the
rest are wild to get in with them."
"Hell!" muttered Woodside.
The two men smoked a while in silence--then Woodside spoke.
"It's mighty queer," he said, "and altogether lucky for you."
Porshinger raised his eyes and waited inquiringly.
"Altogether lucky!" the other repeated. "You back out of a 'happen in'
yesterday, and receive a 'come-in' to-day. Can you explain it?"
"I can't explain it--unless it is the result of my walk with Mrs.
Lorraine, yesterday morning. However, I'm frank to say that I didn't
play a particularly heroic part in the bull episode; so unless I made
an impression otherwise I reckon that isn't it."
"Has Miss Chamberlain been especially friendly before this?" Woodside
asked.
"Not at all."
"How about the others at Criss-Cross?"
Porshinger shook his head.
"Might it be old Chamberlain?"
"Possibly--but I think not. He never allows business to dictate his
friends, I understand."
"Good thing when you can afford it!--Well, there must be _some_ reason
for asking you."
"A particularly sage observation. Button! button! who has the button?"
"Butt in! butt in! you're the butt in!" amended Woodside.
"Get out!" laughed Porshinger, flinging a magazine at him. "I haven't
an idea what is the reason, but I'm perfectly sure it won't be declared
this trip, and possibly never. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth,
Josh."
"Better be sure it is a gift horse," was the answer. "However, you for
it, my friend--it's your funeral, not mine."
"I'm going to it a pretty live corpse."
"You'll need to be very much alive, I take it. I should be afraid
of that gang. They're so damn dignified and unobtrusive in their
self-assurance. You can't tell what they are playing for nor how. As
I said before, you're a wonder for business but you're in the novice
class in this woman's game. You have my best wishes, my friend--also my
prayers. You don't care for the prayers? Oh, very well."
At the same hour on the piazza of Criss-Cross, Gladys Chamberlain
confided to her guests that Porshinger was coming to them at five
o'clock.
"Any objections?" she inquired, looking at Devereux.
"Plenty of them!" he answered; "but I'll save them for an exclusively
masculine audience."
"How about you, Steuart?" she asked.
"Same here!" replied Cameron.
She turned to Burgoyne. "And you?"
"Ditto!" said he.
"Really I am overcome by such gratifying unanimity!" she laughed. "You
too, Montague, I suppose?"
"Not at all," Pendleton answered. "I'm in the hands of my hostess."
"Which is exceedingly polite but means nothing," Cameron explained.
"It was meant to mean nothing," Devereux interrupted.
"Was it, Montague?" Gladys asked.
"It was meant to mean whatever you wish," said Pendleton. "Whatever is
agreeable to you is my desire. If you wish Porshinger what have we to
say or to do--except to be agreeable?"
"Oh, certainly--Miss Chamberlain knows that we'll be agreeable!"
Devereux exclaimed--"also that we do object to Porshinger. What is the
use of spoiling a particularly congenial crowd by having a bounder run
in on us?--However--orders are orders. We'll turn out the guard to
receive him and do him full reverence for your dear sake, Gladys." He
tossed his cigarette away and arose, "Miss Emerson, I have the honor to
ask you to go for a stroll--wilt come, sweetheart, wilt come?"
"Coming, dearest, coming!" laughed Marcia. "Tarry only until I get a
sunshade."
"At the foot of the steps, I will await you. Haste, little one, haste,
I pray."
"You will be back for luncheon, I presume?" Gladys called after them,
as they went down the walk.
"Not if I can persuade the beauteous lady to elope with me," replied
Devereux. "Otherwise, we shall be back--and hungry."
"What is the reason for this unusual tack of Gladys?" Burgoyne asked
Pendleton in an undertone.
"You mean as to Porshinger?"
"Of course."
"Friendship and interest, I presume," Pendleton answered.
"Bosh!" said Burgoyne. "What is it--do you know?"
"I told you: friendship and interest--in Mrs. Lorraine?--and
incidentally in your humble servant."
"Good enough! but just where does it come in, please--what does it
consist in?"
"In drawing his fangs--Porshinger's fangs."
Burgoyne looked puzzled.
"You remember our little fracas with Porshinger and Murchison up at the
Club some time ago?" said Pendleton.
"Sure--that is what makes his coming here embarrassing--though they
both have utterly ignored it since."
"Only outwardly. Porshinger has threatened vengeance on Stephanie and
me, it seems. The women heard of it--Gladys and Stephanie, that is--and
have a scheme to propitiate him, the first course of which is this
invitation to Criss-Cross. Subsequent courses will depend on how this
one goes down with all concerned. It's nonsense, certainly, but as
he _can_ injure Stephanie, if he sets himself to do it, I don't feel
justified in opposing it."
"The infernal scoundrel!" Burgoyne exclaimed. "Do you actually think
he contemplates taking his revenge on a woman?"
"To be quite candid, I don't know. However, judging from his business
methods, he is mean enough for anything."
"Can he reach _you_?"
"If he should try, yes--he has sufficient power, with his enormous
wealth and its ramifications, to reach almost any one in some way or by
some means."
"He is a good hater, I've always understood," said Burgoyne.
"I'm not alarmed," Pendleton answered.
"Doesn't he include me in his revenge?"
"In the story Stephanie told me your name was not mentioned. Moreover,
you'll remember that you trimmed Murchison, while I did for Porshinger."
"I don't like it--I mean this invitation. The women are lending
themselves to--placate the rotten beast."
"Nor I," Pendleton returned; "but just because Stephanie is involved, I
dare not protest. Gladys says Porshinger is going to get in anyway--it
is only a matter of a short time, and that the end justifies the means.
I made light to Stephanie of their apprehension, but nevertheless it is
serious. It was a grievous blunder to begin that fight--and Porshinger
knows he can even up with us best, and hurt us most, by injuring
Stephanie. If he can knife me also, so much the better."
"I don't like it!" Burgoyne reiterated.
"On the other hand," Pendleton continued, "Stephanie says, and
Gladys supports her in it, that if she is nice to him, in an ordinary
acquaintance way, he may get a change of heart."
"I doubt it."
"So do I--but she has the right to her opinion and to act on it."
"More than likely she will only injure herself by being nice to the
cur," said Burgoyne. "Are you sure she isn't doing this on _your_
account, Pendleton?"
"No, I'm not sure," he answered. "I've tried to disabuse her mind of
the notion that he can hurt me, but I don't know how successful I've
been."
"Hum!" Burgoyne thought. "You never can tell what fool ideas a woman
has--when she cares for a man."
* * * * * * *
At five o'clock Porshinger drove up to Criss-Cross in the Woodsides'
car. A servant took his bag, and another showed him up to the west
piazza, where tea was being served.
"I'm so glad to see you, Mr. Porshinger!" exclaimed Gladys, with a
welcoming smile that fell on fruitful soil. "You know every one, I
believe."
Porshinger did not _know_ everyone, but everyone greeted him as though
he did. The women smiled and nodded, the men "how-are-you-Porshingered"
him in the careless fashion of their kind, and went on with their talk
and high-balls.
"Rye or Scotch--or will you have some tea?" asked Miss Chamberlain,
pointing to a vacant chair beside her.
"I'll have some rye, if I may," Porshinger answered.
"Help yourself--they're on the side-table there."
He helped himself and returned to her. She met him with just the
word needed to start the conversation and the moment was relieved
of embarrassment. Then she picked out a topic mutually negative and
sufficiently interesting, and they tossed it lightly back and forth.
Presently Cameron glanced over and broke in.
"Possibly Mr. Porshinger can tell us," he said--"Do you know whether
Betheson has sailed yet for China to take up those railroad concessions
he has succeeded in financing?"
"I'm not sure," Porshinger answered. "I think he was to sail this
week--I understand that he arranged for the money in New York and
started at once."
"The Tuscarora didn't get aboard then?"
"No--we were offered the underwriting but we didn't fancy going so far
away. It looked like a good thing, however."
"So Betheson thought!" Devereux smiled.
"He will likely make a pot of money out of it," Burgoyne chimed in.
"If he doesn't spend two pots in the attempt," added Pendleton.
"Which is altogether possible--and has been known to happen!"
Porshinger laughed.
And so, the ice being broken, the talk became general.