here to-day? They look so cheerful and fresh. I thought they would
probably want to rest, the first evening; but they seem to be enjoying
it."
"Yes. They're nineteen. At nineteen one enjoys everything but rest. I
knew that and so I determined to start in without a moment's delay. I'm
perfectly delighted with them, myself. I don't see how in the world
that old curmudgeon of a brother of Henry's ever contrived to have two
such good-looking, good-humoured children. And their names are so
cute--Bert and Bertie; and the likeness is something extraordinary."
It was. Lynn, who had elected to remain outside the game and keep her
hostess company, glanced from the cosy corner where she was ensconced to
a table in the middle of the room where Miss Bertha Hadwell was sitting:
then a little further on to where Mr. Albert Hadwell was scooping up
tricks with a dexterity which bespoke long practice. The boy was
slightly, very slightly taller than the girl; but, apart from that, one
might have fancied that one was the other's double. The same olive
cheeks, slightly tinged with rose-red: the same impish, restless dark
eyes: the same long, thin mouth, ever parting to show gleaming,
irregular white teeth.
They were an attractive pair: and Lynn's eyes rested on them for several
moments before they wandered slowly over the rest of the room. The
usual company was present: the pretty girl who never counted the tricks
and continually appealed to her partner to tell her "what was trumps";
the stout woman who remembered everything and berated her confrere
soundly if he forgot the thirteenth card; the mild-looking man who
smiled sweetly as his lady partners trumped his tricks and cursed them
bitterly on his way home; the pompous man who never failed to instruct
all the rest of the table; the excitable debutante who invariably
dropped the wrong card on the trick, then shrieked aloud and sought
permission to "take it back" on the ground that she "hadn't been
thinking"; and, last but not least, the bad-tempered man who regarded
bridge as a religion, and burned to slay the sacrilegious ones who
violated its tenets.
"Oh, Lynn," whispered Mrs. Hadwell with a sigh of contentment, "aren't
people a treat? I wonder if they're getting hungry. Do you think I had
better give orders to have supper served?"
"It mightn't be a bad idea. Let me go with you, Del."
"Such a queer thing has happened to-day, Lynn," whispered Mrs. Hadwell,
confidentially, as they went out together. "You remember my speaking to
you of my prize housekeeper? the one beside whose frigid nature my own
showed in the light of a volcano? Well, she has actually shown signs of
being human for once. To-day she approached me with a request for an
extra night out: at least she didn't call it that, but it was
practically what she wanted. Under the circumstances--the twins arriving
and the bridge people coming here, to-night--I demurred a little and
asked if to-morrow wouldn't do. She then told me--with an air of
wishing she didn't have to--that General Shaftan--_the_ General
Shaftan--had been an old friend of hers in childhood days; and that she
had just received an urgent message, asking that she go without fail to
his house to-night. He must be better; it is queer, for I understood
that he had been quite given up: he has two nurses and is never left for
a moment, day or night. Imagine! Of course I told her to go--but what
in the world do you suppose it means? You know the story about the
General and the bewitching Langham-Greene, of course? They were engaged
to be married some twenty years ago when Langham-Greene--who was plain
Bill Greene, then--hove upon the scene with his half a million: and 'the
scene was changed.' My lady dropped Shaftan like a hot potato and
transformed Bill into a Benedict and a Langham-Greene. Then she drove
him to drink: at least they say so! I don't believe, myself, that he
took much driving. At all events he was thoughtful enough to drink
himself to death: and thoughtless enough to speculate and leave her very
poorly off--comparatively speaking, of course! Shaftan, in the
meantime, had left the city and gone to India: and just about the time
that Bill Greene drank his last glass, he blossomed out as a General and
dear knows what all. Wasn't it rich? Poor Julia thought she had only to
hold out a welcoming hand, when he returned; but to every one's
surprise, he had neither forgotten nor forgiven. If he had even refused
to meet her it would have been some solace to her vanity, but he was
quite ready to go so far and was extremely polite when he did: only he
would never talk to her if he could help it. She gave him up at last as
a bad job. Now, when the papers can talk of nothing else but the career
of the famous General Shaftan and his approaching death he sends for my
housekeeper--and by the way, Mrs. Waite knew the Langham-Greene well
when she was a girl, for the latter told me so, adding in her pleasant
way that the poor thing had never had but the one offer which she
accepted."
"I wish she had said that to me."
"She knows your tongue too well, my dear. And you make a great mistake
in not conciliating the creature. Never make an enemy of a cad, male or
female; for 'it' can use weapons which you would disdain to touch, and
those weapons are frequently poisoned. If you must make enemies, make
them of honourable people, who will simply let you alone, and not be
trying to injure you; and be careful to see that every obnoxious kind of
human reptile loves you. But what's the use of talking? one can't teach
you common sense."
When the business of ascertaining the highest scores had been attended
to Miss Erma Reed was found to be the winner of the lady's prize. Mrs.
Hadwell was much amused by the warmth of Mr. Bert Hadwell's
congratulations. Such plaudits as he bestowed upon her are rarely
called forth by the most amazing skill: and his aunt by marriage laughed
and pinched Miss Thayer's arm as she listened to them.
"When one considers Erma's height and proportions and the almost
unnatural whiteness of her skin, one sees that it is merely to be
expected that such a slender and brown individual as Bert should be
impressed by her cleverness at bridge.... Here is your prize, dear! I
am so glad you won it and I think it will go nicely with your pretty
dress."
"It" was a pearl pendant which Erma received with something as nearly
approaching animation as that stately and somewhat shy damsel ever
showed. She was, beyond all doubt, one of the most beautiful girls in
Montreal; her absolutely flawless skin and generous though graceful
proportions instinctively recalling the masterpieces of Grecian
sculpture. Yet it was a cold beauty, unlit by intellectual or mirthful
fires: and some of the unthinking who merely assimilate the general
effect without noticing details had been heard to say openly that they
preferred Mrs. Hadwell's vivacious prettiness to the younger woman's
more stately charms. No one had laughed more freely at this than Mrs.
Hadwell, herself. She was well aware that, devoid of artificial
advantages, she would be a most insignificant little nonentity, but that
fact gave her no uneasiness and diminished nothing of her graciousness
toward the younger and prettier girls who thronged her entertainments
and sang her praises without stint. Yet she could not bear "green
girls."
"Lynn," she would say to her friend, "you have no idea what a comfort it
is to feel that I can get away from them sometimes and take a rest with
you. After these giggling, insipid debutantes you are like a--a
cocktail! Yet it is the thing for nice women to be adored by young
girls and so I must be adored, worse luck!"
*CHAPTER XV*
*"BE PITIFUL, O GOD!"*
"O God! to clasp those fingers close and yet to feel so lonely,
To see a light within those eyes that is the daylight only--
Be pitiful, O God!"
--_E. Barrett Browning_.
Amy Waite walked swiftly down the path which led from Hadwell Heights to
Pine Avenue. The night was a cold one; the moon hung bright and
glittering in the starlit heavens and the white, still earth seemed to
her as cruel as Life, as inexorable as Time. She shivered as she walked
and drew her shabby fur more closely around her throat. When would this
cruel walk end? When would this crueler interview be over?
She reached her destination at length and rang the bell. General
Shaftan had no relatives in Montreal, but his fame and character had won
him many friends. Yet he lay dying alone in his handsome house; alone,
save for the ministrations of a hired nurse. Mrs. Waite's thin lips
curved in a smile more tragic than most tears are as she stood on the
doorstep of the silent house while the keen winds blew dismally about
her. Alone! What freak had made him send for her at such a time?
A silent man-servant admitted and conducted her upstairs. Amy paused
long enough to remove her wraps and, while she waited, the nurse came
out from the sickroom and spoke, softly.
"The General is failing fast," she whispered. "He was determined to see
you this evening and so I sent you that urgent message. This afternoon
he saw his lawyer on business connected with his will and I wanted him
to wait till to-morrow for this, but he would not. He seemed to fear
that he might not live to see another day." Her voice trembled; she was
a kind-hearted soul and the General had a way of endearing himself to
all with whom he came in contact. Mrs. Waite, however, stood erect and
tearless, and the nurse, after a half-wondering, half-resentful glance,
directed her to enter.
"He wants to see you, alone," she said, reluctantly. "But, if any
change should take place in him, be sure to let me know at once."
Mrs. Waite gave the required promise and left her. The General lay,
half-propped up with pillows; his bronzed face was pale with the pallor
of approaching dissolution, but his eyes were the eyes of twenty. Amy's
dead youth sprang to sudden life beneath them and something akin to the
hopeless, useless rapture of thirty years ago awoke and cried in her
heart. Her face was set and pallid, and the hands which clasped the
dying soldier's were cold as his own. They looked at one another in
silence which the woman could not break. The man spoke at last, a
little disappointed at her lack of feeling.
"Well, Amy?" he whispered, half-quizzically.
"You--wanted to see me, Arnold?"
"I did--very much. I'm dying--I suppose you know that, eh?"
"I had heard so. I didn't know"----
"Oh, it's true enough. Don't I show in my looks that I am?"
Amy did not answer immediately nor did her face betray any especial
interest in the statement. The General, after scrutinizing her closely,
almost anxiously for a moment, relinquished her hand and laughed, half
in amusement, half in disappointment.
"You're a cold-blooded little creature, Amy," he cried. "You always
were. But you're a faithful little soul--I'd trust you through thick
and thin--and I want to do something for you before I go. Also I want
you to help me to pay off old scores and spite my lady Julia--you won't
mind lending a hand in that, I'll wager." His still brilliant grey eyes
twinkled significantly.
Amy watched him passively and smiled a little, wondering why an ugly,
faded woman of forty-eight with a sordid past should feel as keenly and
cruelly as an untrained girl of eighteen. No answer suggested itself
and she sat in silence, watching the dying man and wishing that she,
herself, had died long ago.
The General laughed feebly as he looked at her. She was, as he had told
her, such a cold-blooded little thing--rather unpleasantly like a
fish--but, after all, poor little soul! she had had a beastly hard time
of it; why, she looked like an old woman at fifty. He could do one good
turn to a friend before he died, at all events.
"Amy," he said at last, "give me your hand, little woman! I want to
know if you will marry me. Don't look surprised: this is no freak. You
see if we are married I can leave you all my money--I am not poor,
though I am not rich--and it's only right that you should have some
comfort before you die. Then, too, I want to prevent Mrs. Julia from
saying what she will say as soon as I am dead--that I always wanted her
and died of grief as well as of my wound, because of her refusal. She
shan't say that, by---- She spoilt my life and I'll not die till I've
paid her back a little. It seems queer," he went on, with the radiant,
mischievous smile that had made his listener's heart ache in the old
days, "it seems queer to die a married man, Amy, after living a single
one all my life. But it's never too late to mend. How thin your hand
is, you poor little thing! You've had hard luck, haven't you?" He
relapsed into silence, staring steadily at the wall at the foot of his
bed. His eyes grew glazed and feverish.
"Don't leave me," he muttered. "Julia! Julia!"
Amy started and winced.
"You're a beastly little flirt," he went on, angrily, gripping her hand
till she with difficulty refrained from crying out with pain, "a
heartless, despicable little flirt and I despise you from the bottom of
my soul--but, O God! I can't help loving you. No other woman has ever
been to me what you were--and you--threw--me--over," he went on, slowly,
with a hard, cruel expression, "for Greene. Greene! the miserable,
worthless sot! Well, you made one mistake, my lady, didn't you? ... But
don't turn away, Julia!" he went on, imploringly, "don't turn away from
me! I can't stand it.... Your hand is cold--you don't care--O my God!
you don't care!" His voice rose almost to a wail. "Julia!" he cried.
"Julia! my darling, my darling!--say it's a mistake! You're not what you
pretend to be--you can't be!--Julia!"
He sank back exhausted and his face relaxed. A look of intense relief
overspread his features and his lips formed a smile of great beauty and
tenderness.
"_Julia!_" he murmured softly. Then he died.
Amy sat quite unmoved and looked at the rigid figure. She showed no
particular emotion; yet the peace which made the dead face so beautiful
was lacking in the living. Some minutes elapsed. She rose at last and
stood for a moment, looking down. About that lifeless thing on the bed
had clustered all her poor, starved life had held of love and romance.
She bent slowly toward it; then straightened, a faint red colour in her
sallow cheek.
"No!" she said, almost proudly.
She rang the bell.
"The General has just died," she said in level, unemotional accents.
"It was very sudden. It was impossible to call you. I am sorry."
The big-hearted nurse looked at her with hearty repulsion and dislike
and burst into a flood of tears. There seemed no particular reason for
waiting further; Amy moved mechanically to the door and down the steps;
and so passed quietly into the bitter night.
*CHAPTER XVI*
*THE HOCKEY MATCH*
"The day is short, the evening cometh fast;
The time of choosing, Love, will soon be past;
The outer darkness falleth, Love, at last.
Love, let us love ere it be late--too late!
* * * * *
Once, only, Love, may love's sweet song be sung,
But once, Love, at our feet life's flower is flung;
Once, Love, once only, Love, can we be young."
--Anon.
The Montreal Arena is a building of considerable size, capable of
accommodating many thousands. It has been the scene of many a revel;
horses, prima donnas, vegetables, all have exhibited here at one time or
another; from Calve, who raved with indignation at the idea of singing
in such a place, to Emperor, the finest horse in Canada, who made no
objection, whatever. Only a hockey match, however, can count positively
on filling it from wall to wall.
To-night was the Wales-Conquerors match: and many a business man of
mature years had sent his office boy days before to "stand in line" from
nine to eleven on a bitter winter morning in order to procure tickets.
Mrs. Hadwell had secured six seats and had organized a party to escort
her American guests thither. She, however, had not accompanied them,
frankly acknowledging the obvious fact that she was "no sport."
"I do love to be fin-de-siecle," she had said. "But, when it comes to
hockey or pug dogs--well, I simply can't, that's all." Then she had
told a plaintive tale of how, when a girl, she had been taken to a
hockey match. Her escort had been an enthusiast of the most virulent
type; and she had been obliged to feign a joy which she by no means
felt.
"It was ghastly," she observed, "ghastly. There I sat, huddled in
grandmother's sealskin which wasn't a bit becoming, and watched a lot of
weird things dressed like circus clowns knocking a bit of rubber round a
slippery rink. And all those poor misguided beings who had paid two,
three and five dollars to see them do it yelled like mad whenever the
rubber got taken down a little faster than usual--oh, you may laugh! but
I can tell you that when one of those silly men whacked another silly
man over the head when the umpire wasn't looking because the second ass
had hit that absurd bit of rubber oftener than he, the first ass,
had--why, I felt sorry to think that the human species to which I
belonged was so devoid of sense. And that great goat who stood at one
end and tried to stop the thing from getting between two sticks! why did
everyone think he was a hero when he managed to get his two big feet
together in time to stop the rubber from getting through? I don't see
anything very clever in putting your feet together and letting a rubber
thing come bang against your toes, do you?
"But what's the use of talking! You must think it clever. You must! or
why should you go? Where is the attraction? Do you _like_ hearing those
wild-looking men shouting insults at the men who don't play on their
team? Does it amuse you to hear them snarling, 'Dirty Smith!
Putimoff!' 'Butcher Brown! Knockiseadoff, Robinson!' It is
incomprehensible to me. I shall always remember Alice Mann's proud face
as she watched her brother chasing round while the crowd hailed him by
the dignified and endearing title of 'Dirty Mann.' I think that, if I
had a brother and heard him called 'Dirty Mann' in public, I should want
to leave the city."
Accordingly Mrs. Hadwell had stayed at home; but a merry and expectant
party had met at Hadwell Heights and had driven to the Arena, where they
sat now, awaiting the fray. It would be some time before this began, so
the young strangers had time to look about them and comment on the
various spectators. Ladies wrapped in costly furs sat side by side with
shabbily dressed men, who, in spite of the printed reminder that smoke
was forbidden, ejected a constant stream in the air, the while they
hoarsely sang the merits of their favourite team and the demerits of the
opposing one. Small boys perched on the rafters, looking as though a
finger touch would hurl them to instant destruction.
"If one of them did fall," inquired Bertie, with a shudder, "wouldn't he
be instantly killed?"
"If he were lucky," returned her companion, a young McGill professor
named Donovan, cheerfully. "Otherwise he might only injure himself for
life."
"But"----
"But you see, Miss Hadwell, none of them ever do fall. Not one boy has
ever lost his hold, as far as I know. If one of them did get killed of
course it would be stopped."
"But don't they get awfully excited?"
"Excited! They go mad. But they don't fall."
"You see," interposed Gerald Amherst, "they never think about it. If
one of them stopped clapping and wriggling and began to measure the
space from his airy perch to the ice, below; and furthermore meditate on
the consistency and solidity of the aforesaid ice and the probable fate
of anyone whose head came in contact with it after a fall of seventy to
a hundred feet--why, he would drop, that's all. They are occupied with
more important matters, however; the merits of Smith as a goal-keeper,
the demerits of Brown as a forward--they have no time to muse upon their
latter end and the thin veil that lies between them and eternity."
"I'm glad they haven't; for my part I'm convinced that I shall have
nightmare after seeing them. Is that your--what is the band playing
for? Oh, is that the Vice-Regal party? Dear me! what is every one
rising for? Must I get up, too?"
Her voice was drowned in the strains of the National Anthem which was
howled enthusiastically by boxes and rafters, alike. As, "God save the
King" died into silence the Governor-General bowed and took his seat;
while his daughters gazed with interest about the Arena which they were
visiting for the first time.
"Observe his coat," said Mr. Donovan. "Feast your American eyes on it.
That coat was bought by Lord Dufferin, and left by him to be worn by his
successors. The sleeves are quite out of style by this time; but you
see 'This is a man!' What's your opinion of him, on the whole?"
"Why, I think--good gracious, what's that!"
A roar that shook the roof arose as the opposing teams emerged from the
waiting room and skated upon the ice. The scarlet sweaters and caps of
the Conquerors stained the crystal ice with daubs of blood: and the more
sombre hues of the Wales showed with almost equal effect.
"Oh, are they beginning?" cried Bertie in ecstasy.
They were. The whistle blew and both sides skated to the centre to
receive the customary warning.
"They both seem pretty cool," remarked Mr. Amherst. "No signs of
nervousness that I can see."
"Not a particle. Look! who has won the toss? The Conquerors? Hurrah!
You must say 'Hurrah!' too, Mr. Hadwell, whenever anything nice happens
to the Conquerors. It's no fun unless you choose a team."
"Why is the Conquerors your team?"
"Because--oh, because the captain's father was baptized by my
grandfather, I believe. There is some such reason, but, for the moment,
I forget just what it is. Any reason will do, you know; the point is
that you must have a favourite team and shout whenever it scores and
groan with indignation whenever the other team does. Do you see?"
"I see. When am I to begin? and how am I to let the public know what I
am groaning about?"
"Oh, the public will know if you groan in the right place--that is, when
the other team does well. Oh, look! there goes the puck!"
It dashed across the ice, followed by a mass of skimming, pursuing
forms; and, for the next few moments, silence reigned. Then a shout
arose, "Off-side!"
"Off-side" it was; and the indignant audience hurled insults impartially
at both teams; no one seeming very sure as to which was "off-side," but
each assuming that it could not be a member of his favourite team. The
Conquerors lost to the Wales this time and the latter passed to one of
his team who succeeded in sending the puck flying toward the goal.
Intense excitement reigned: would he succeed in getting the puck past
the goal-keeper? No: the latter deftly turned it aside; and a roar of
mingled delight and disappointment arose which made the American girl
start and put her hands to her ears.
"Do they often make such a noise?" she asked, involuntarily.
"I should think so," answered Donovan, staring. "You don't mind it, do
you? Oh, shame on you, Parton! what are you thinking about,
Umpire?--don't mind me, Miss Hadwell, I'm just--Hurray! Bully for you,
Marsh! oh, good work, old boy. You're the stuff! Push it
along--_Hurray!_"
The puck had passed and the Conquerors had drawn first blood. In the
first wild shriek that rose Bertie was conscious chiefly of one
thing--everybody's mouth was wide open. No individual shriek could be
distinguished, yet, judging from appearances, every one, from the
Governor-General in his box to the smallest imp on the highest rafter,
was shouting himself hoarse. Slowly the excitement subsided; slowly the
spectators sank back into the seats which they had vacated; and, after a
minute or two of preparation, the game recommenced.
"Never tell me again that the English are a cold race," Bertie remarked
solemnly as the party took their seats in Mrs. Hadwell's carriage at the
close of the evening. "I have read of such things, but I never expected
to see them in Canada. I could go to a hockey match every night in the
week. It's grand! And, Mr. Donovan, if the Wales had won--as I thought
at one time they would--I believe I should have cried myself to sleep.
Oh, you needn't laugh! I mean it."