Mephistopheles; past Joan of Arc, flirting vigorously with Torquemeda;
past the Queen of the Fairies, chatting to a miscellaneous group of
knights and demons; past every variety of hero and lady fair went the
self-sacrificing Agatha, intent on her altruistic aim. "For," as she
muttered to herself, "if he has proposed to her, already, it isn't very
likely that he will change for a little while, anyway, and I want to be
married before any of the other girls. Besides it wouldn't be half so
nice to marry a man who had been refused by your own cousin; though
every one would think you had cut her out and Lynn is so funny that she
would probably just giggle and say nothing, so it wouldn't matter much.
But, as matters stand, I think it would be really wicked to let Lynn
actually refuse him, particularly when I can get so many others: and,
once they are married, she will be grateful to me as well as he and they
will have a nice home and entertain a lot and I can be their bridesmaid
and everyone will say how much prettier I am than the bride and"--At
this moment she caught sight of her quarry.
Lynn had been dancing and had just come out to the hall in search of a
vacant chair or stair when she saw a vision of pink tulle gazing at her
with such an unusual amount of feeling and expressiveness that, with a
hasty excuse, she dropped her partner's arm and hurried to her small
cousin's side.
"Agatha," she exclaimed, wonderingly. "What is it? Is anything the
matter? Do you want me?"
"Indeed I do," responded Agatha, solemnly.
"Then just let me speak to Mr. Barnes a moment and explain why I am
going: then we can run upstairs to Del's little sitting-room and talk
quietly."
This programme was carried out; and, when they were safely ensconced
behind closed doors, Lynn turned eagerly to her cousin.
"Now, Agatha!" she said.
Agatha turned and looked at her.
"Lynn," she said with portentous solemnity, "I don't know what you will
think of me and I don't care. Some one has got to talk to you."
Lynn stared in amazement, wondering if her thrice-engaged cousin
objected to her dancing twice with the same man: she could think of no
other enormity of which she had been guilty that evening.
"I have been sitting out a couple of dances with Mr. Lighton, and he
became unusually confidential," went on Agatha, turning almost pale:
"and he tells me," pausing impressively, "he tells me that
you--have--refused--him."
"He tells the truth," responded Lynn, looking annoyed, "and all I can
say is, Agatha, that if you have torn me away from the dance"--
"Wait a moment," said Agatha, earnestly. "This is very important to me,
Lynn. It isn't only that I feel sorry that you, being my cousin, should
be so foolish as to refuse him, once; but what I want to know is,--did
you mean it?"
"Assuredly I did," said Lynn, staring.
"You meant," said Agatha, pathetically, "you really meant, Lynn, to
refuse that nice house and"--
"Yes, and that nice horse, too," exclaimed Lynn, turning red. "Upon my
word this is too much! I can stand Aunt Lucy and Del, but when it comes
to you, Agatha--understand once for all that I meant to refuse that nice
house and that good-sized yard at the back and that commodious stable
with all that it contains--not even excepting the horse which every one
seemed to think that I would accept with tears of rapture, despite the
fact that it was encumbered with a master whom I should have to accept,
likewise, as they are inseparable."
"Oh, Lynn, dear! such a lot of long words and such a temper and all
because I tried to advise you for your own good."
"Agatha, I give you fair warning that I shall gently but firmly
assassinate the very next person who tries to advise me for my own
good."
Agatha sat for a moment, absorbed in thought.
"Lynn," she said, presently, "does anyone know that you have refused Mr.
Lighten?"
"Not unless he has chosen to tell anyone. I am not in the habit of
publishing every offer I receive in the daily papers, which is one
reason why some people suppose that I never get any."
"Then," said Agatha, thinking deeply, "I suppose, Lynn, you will not
mind if I advise you not to--not to tell anyone? Do you remember what
you said to me about those things--proposals and engagements and things,
you know!--well, at the time I did say I thought it was foolish not to
tell when people proposed to you because then lots of people, as you
say, think you never get any--but since then I have changed my mind; I
really think it is more sensible not to--particularly in your case where
it would be so embarrassing for Mr. Lighton if he were attentive to some
girl."
Lynn burst out laughing.
"I never in my life told on any man who was misguided enough to ask me
to marry him. I have always felt that the pain of feeling that he had
so lowered himself was punishment enough for any crime."
"Why, Lynn, I don't quite see what you mean," said Agatha, patient but
bewildered.
"This is all I mean," said Lynn, gravely. "If you have any idea of going
in for Lighton--and certainly his house is all that could be
desired--why, don't feel as you walk up the aisle in veil and orange
blossoms that I am whispering to my nearest acquaintance, 'I could have
had that man if I had wanted him.'"
"But," said Agatha, timidly, "suppose such a thing _did_ happen--it
would not be very nice for you, Lynn, to think that people were saying
that I had cut you out. That is the first thing that Mrs. Langham-Greene
would think."
"I can think of nothing at the moment less likely to worry me than Mrs.
Langham-Greene's thoughts concerning me."
"Oh, how queer you are!" said Agatha, opening her eyes widely. "Then,
Lynn, if you should hear--well, anything! you won't mind. For there is
still time for you to change your mind, you know; and really he's very
fond of you, and his house"--
"Has only one drawback! Now don't dare to tell him I said that, Agatha,
or"--
"Why, I don't know what you did say," responded Agatha, patiently. "You
say such queer things, Lynn, that half the time I don't know what you're
driving at. At all events, however, as I understand, you are quite
determined not to accept Mr. Lighton."
"Quite."
"Then," said Agatha, dimpling bewitchingly and adjusting her rose wreath
with an air of satisfaction, "then, Lynn, I must just go and tell him
so, I suppose."
She found the Rejected sitting where she had left him, and gazing
disconsolately into space. He brightened a little as she sat down
beside him.
"You had no luck, I suppose?" he remarked, tentatively.
"Mr. Lighton," cooed Agatha, softly, "she is not worthy of you. She is
my own cousin, but I can't help saying so."
Mr. Lighton turned a rich, ripe tan colour, the nearest approach to a
flush of rage that his skin was capable of attaining.
"Made fun of me, I suppose?" he queried in tones of stifled fury. "Oh,
you needn't try to smooth it over, Miss Ladilaw! I know that tongue of
hers too well."
"Well," said Agatha, commiseratingly, "I must say, Mr. Lighton, that she
might have been nicer. It's one thing to refuse a man and another to
make jokes about it. Not that she said much, you know, but there was one
speech about your house having only one drawback"--
"That," exclaimed Mr. Lighton in a burst of horrible enlightenment, "was
Me!"
"I am afraid so," said Agatha, softly. "But please don't tell any one I
repeated it, Mr. Lighton. I really shouldn't have, you know. But I
felt so disturbed and angry at the idea of any one belonging to me being
so heartless"--
Six months later when Miss Agatha Ladilaw, "the prettiest debutante of
the former season," made "the match of the year," Lynn felt rather hurt
at the demeanour of both bride and groom toward her.
"I was disagreeable," she reflected, "but he brought it on himself and I
can't understand why the mention of my name should invariably produce a
chill in the Ladilaw household. Agatha, at least, has nothing to blame
me for."
Agatha and Agatha's husband, however, agreed in seeing as little as
possible of Agatha's cousin and in acting as coldly as was consistent
with politeness whenever they did meet her. This, Society thought, was
owing to the fact that poor Miss Thayer had cherished useless
aspirations in the direction of the Lighton house, herself. Poor Miss
Thayer!
*CHAPTER XX*
*THE TWINS UNDER A NEW ASPECT*
"Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful jollity."
--_Milton_.
The fun was at its height. The most delightful waltz of the evening had
just concluded and streams of gaily dressed forms poured in the
direction of the balcony. It was mid-winter and the thermometer stood
at five below: yet more than one couple strolled out on the balcony and
stood, contracting lung trouble and pneumonia, while they gazed
enraptured at the beautiful panorama which spread beneath them. The
city was a mass of glittering lights, seen through the delicate
pencilled branches of bare maples and willows; and seemed to the
watchers as though lying hundreds of feet below Hadwell Heights. At the
foot of the high hill on which the house was built lay Pine Avenue,
thronged with couples arrayed in sporting garb and bent on their way to
the toboggan slide at the back of the mountain. Less often a party of
snowshoers would rush past on their ungainly footgear: an object of
little amusement to the Canadians but one of never-failing interest to
the Americans: and, less frequently still, a couple of men on skis. The
twins, who never thought of colds or of precautions against them, spent
most of their time between the dances in standing in the most exposed
part of the balcony and watching the passers-by until the icy winds
which whirled around drove them indoors, shivering but happy.
Bertie seemed to-night as though possessed of some demon of mischief and
unrest. She confessed to a rather bad cold already, but it detracted
nothing from her appearance though it affected her usually sweet voice,
rendering it hoarse and strained. No entreaties could keep her from the
icy balcony, though, and her partners soon stopped making them and
devoted themselves to carrying on the flirtations which she seemed
determined to push to the utmost limit. Never had any of her Canadian
admirers seen her in such a mood; her usual gay, but rather reserved
manner had given place to the one commonly attributed to the American
girl in foreign fiction. Her partners were at first amazed, then
flattered at her open and eager anxiety for their attentions; but some,
including Donovan, her companion of the hockey match, who had come to
like and admire the pretty Ohio girl, were rather repelled and disgusted
at the change in her. Toward the end of the evening his disgust reached
a climax. An extremely shy and painfully proper youth to whom Bertie
had begged him to introduce her at the beginning of the evening, had
just emerged from sitting out a dance with her and had asked Donovan to
have a smoke with him in Mr. Hadwell's "den," which, for this night, was
given over to the needs of the dancers. On Donovan's assenting, Mr.
Simcoe, the shy youth, had unfolded a tale of horror. He had come up
for his dance with Miss Hadwell when she, without a word of apology, had
piloted him in the direction of the stairs, murmuring, as she did so,
"We don't want to dance, do we? We can do better than that." On his
expressing his willingness to do as she wished she had squeezed his arm
and informed him in an ecstatic whisper that he was a duck, a perfect
duck, and that she was going to show him a nice little cubby hole behind
some curtains at the end of the hall which she was sure Mrs. Hadwell
must have fixed expressly for them. "Of course," Mr. Simcoe had
remarked, nervously, "of course I couldn't refuse to go, Donovan."
Donovan, looking very grim, had agreed with him: of course he could not.
So, it appeared, they had gone. Mr. Simcoe had seemed unwilling to
divulge the secrets of his prison house but had gone so far as to hint
that ladies who asked fellows to kiss them on so short an acquaintance
were not in his line. Donovan had informed him here that gentlemen did
not, as a rule, "kiss and tell": and had refused to listen further,
regardless of Mr. Simcoe's anguished explanation. "But I didn't,
Donovan! hang it all, it was she who insisted, you know, and she can't
blame me for speaking of it." Donovan had walked off in a furious rage,
awakened, not so much by Mr. Simcoe's lack of gallantry as by Miss
Hadwell's lack of common sense and good breeding.
If Miss Bertie's conduct gave rise to comment, what shall be said of Mr.
Bert's? It is safe to say that never before in a Montreal drawing-room
had any gentleman disported himself with such amazing freedom. Before
many dances had transpired ominous whispers might have been heard among
the young ladies who had been honoured with his partnership; and it was
a matter of common observation that, toward the end of the evening,
several of his companions flatly refused to "sit out" dances which he
had engaged, earlier. The most amazing snub which he received came from
Miss Reed, who, on his reminding her that she had promised him the
eighteenth dance, had answered in tones of ice, "So sorry, Mr. Hadwell,
but I never dance--except with gentlemen!" This was merely the climax
of a series of unpleasant remarks which had been showered upon him; but,
coming from Miss Reed, who was known to have absorbed all his time and
attention until that evening, it was expected to have had a chilling
effect upon him. This, however, was far from being the case. "I may
not be exactly a gentleman, Miss Reed," he had returned with the utmost
sangfroid, "but"-- At this moment he had caught sight of his sister's
eye, fixed on him with a look in which rage and consternation were
strangely blended; and breaking off abruptly, he had left Erma's side,
his manly shoulders shaking visibly. Bertie had held a hasty and
agitated conversation with him; and the twinly devotion which had so
impressed the assembled company when the dance commenced was apparently
conspicuous by its absence.
In the midst of the dance Mrs. Hadwell was seen to leave the room,
hastily, in response to a whispered message from a housemaid. When she
returned her eyes were sparkling mischievously and her whole demeanour
was charged with importance. Presently she beckoned confidentially to
Mrs. Langham-Greene, who stood, resplendent in pale green draperies and
water lilies, a most pleasing and graceful Undine. Undine approached and
Titania linked her arm in hers. "My dear," she cooed, "you haven't an
idea--oh, how shall I begin? You know my housekeeper, don't you?
Wasn't she an old school friend of yours?"
"Not a friend, exactly," answered the elegant Undine, rather
deprecatingly. "An acquaintance, rather. Such an ugly little thing and
so lacking in any sort of brightness and attractiveness"--
"To us yes!" purred Titania. "But only think of a man like General
Shaftan having cared so much for her that he was unable to die without
seeing her and imploring her for the last time to become his wife"--
She paused and viewed the crimsoning Undine with a countenance
absolutely devoid of guile.
"General Shaftan?" inquired her guest, turning from crimson to scarlet.
"General Shaftan? Why, my dear Mrs. Hadwell"--
"I know," murmured Titania, sympathetically, casting a demure glance at
the infuriated water nymph, "I know! we all thought it was you--and, no
doubt, he made you think so as well! men are such dreadful
deceivers--but he sent for Mrs. Waite on his death-bed and wanted to
marry her."
Undine found her breath.
"My _dear_ Mrs. Hadwell," she laughed, lightly. "Does it sound a
probable story?"
"No; and if the poor woman, herself, had told me about it, I regret to
say that I should have doubted her. But the General told his nurse and
trusted her with the secret contents of his will. It was drawn up three
hours before he sent for Mrs. Waite and, in it, he says that he leaves
all of which he dies possessed to Amy Marion Waite in the belief that
that lady will, in the next few hours, become his wife, as he hopes and
intends she shall."
Mrs. Langham-Greene said nothing, but turned white and twisted the fan
which she held in her long, snake-like fingers feverishly. Titania,
looking at her, felt a sudden twinge of compassion and compunction. She
left her with some hurried excuse.
"So," she said, slowly to herself, "so even that unscrupulous, wheedling
serpent is capable of caring for somebody: and caring for him all those
years, too. Am I the only woman living who--who"----
Something wet and glistening fell on her chiffon dress. She hastily
wiped it away and stared in amazement.
"Getting sentimental at my age?" she inquired in stupefaction. "Here,
Estelle Hadwell, don't be a fool! You've got everything you ever wanted
and you're ten times happier than anyone else you know. Think of your
dresses and your jewelry and your friends and your--n-n-no, I don't know
that you need think of him--not just now, at all events! But think
of"--
She looked up, up the long, broad stairway, up to the big, quiet
nursery. Then she smiled and tossed her head.
"I have everything, practically everything," she said, defiantly.
"Everything but a sentimental experience which disappears, anyway, after
six months of married life. I'm a fool, that's what I am! a
discontented, ungrateful fool. The trouble with me is that I've got too
much. If only--if only one of them doesn't"----
A spasm of agony crossed her face at the unwelcome thought; then she
resolutely crossed the hall and opened an animated conversation with one
of her numerous admirers. Lack of self-control was not one of the
pretty Titania's failings.
Presently Lynn Thayer joined her, looking grave and perplexed. "May I
have Mrs. Hadwell to myself for a few moments?" she asked, smiling in a
rather forced way: then, putting her hand on Mrs. Hadwell's arm, she
drew her aside.
"Del," she said in a low voice, "you know I am no prude and I don't make
a fuss, unnecessarily, about anything; but I tell you plainly that you
must speak to those young connections of yours."
"Why, what have the poor things been doing?" asked Mrs. Hadwell in
amazement. "I noticed that they were awfully lively but, surely, at
their age"--
"My dear Del, their conduct is outrageous. Particularly Bertie's. After
all, if a boy of twenty chooses to act like a fool he simply gets
severely snubbed and, in time, comes to his senses and is forgiven. But
when a girl of the same age, a girl who has had every advantage, starts
to act in her uncle's house like an extremely fast barmaid, why, you
know as well as I do that it won't be forgotten in a hurry. What has
got into them to-night I don't know; but the whole room is talking of
their actions. Imagine Bertie asking that shy little recluse of a Simcoe
to kiss her and pretending to weep when he hesitated"----
"_Lynn!_"
"My dear, that isn't the worst of it. She has taken about half her
partners to that little alcove in the second floor hall, which is
curtained off, and has treated them to a course of hoydenish flirtation
which is, to say the least of it, in the poorest taste. Silly little
Simcoe was bad enough, but, when it comes to Parham, one of the fastest
men in the city"----
"Surely not!"
"She has been sitting up there with him for the last two dances; and she
is evidently taken with him, for, when she showed me her programme and I
remarked on her having promised him three dances in succession, she
giggled in the most affected manner and said, 'Oh, I simply adore those
sad-eyed, soft-voiced men with reputations yards long!' and danced off
before I had a chance to suggest that"----
"Why, Lynn, what can I have been thinking about to allow it? Oh, the
silly child! If she must act like a goose, why couldn't she do it a
little more privately? Don't laugh, Lynn: you know what I mean. And you
tell me that Bert?"----
"Has been acting like a perfect fool. He even wanted to kiss me."
"Lynn! the boy must have taken leave of his senses."
"I was afraid myself that he was drunk. In fact I took the liberty of
asking him if he was. He was quite angry for a moment. 'What do you
mean by saying that I am drunk?' he asked. 'Oh,' I said, 'I didn't say
that you _were_ drunk: on the contrary I said I hoped you weren't.'
'But why should you think I was?' persisted my gentleman. So I told him
that when people tried to make love to me I always thought they must be
drunk. He shouted at that and explained that he was in good
spirits--animal, not vegetable--and wanted to enjoy himself. I treated
him to a piece of my mind, but it didn't seem to do much good."
"Isn't it extraordinary? With all their high spirits and love of fun I
thought those twins were as well-bred a pair as you would want to meet.
Well! I must do my duty, I suppose. Where are the miscreants, Lynn?"
"Bert is in the ballroom, trying to pacify his partners, most of whom
are not pleased with him for reasons best known to themselves. Bertie,
as I told you, is sitting behind a fairly thick curtain with a man who
shouldn't be admitted into any respectable house."
"My dear child, don't start to lecture about that! I have enough on my
hands."
She mounted the stairs with a determined but bored expression and
presently descended, followed by the unrepentant Bertie who winked
joyously at the stony and disapproving visage of her aunt's friend.
Behind them strolled the redoubtable Parham, apparently highly amused.
Mrs. Hadwell entered the ballroom and looked about for Bert. He was
presently discovered in the act of fanning an indignant-looking lady who
pretended to ignore his efforts at small talk. Mrs. Hadwell beckoned
and he sprang to his feet with alacrity.
"Bert!" said his aunt by marriage, sternly, "there are limits to my
forbearance. I am sorry to say that you have transgressed those limits.
I am still sorrier that you have no better taste than to take pleasure
in showing impertinence to my guests."
Bert's face worked for a moment: he said something in an aside to his
sister, then spoke.
"Aunt Del," he said, humbly but with an irrepressible twinkle in his
black eyes, "we have acted like a couple of demons, I must admit, but,
if you'll only forgive us this once, I swear we'll straighten things
out. Every one is going to supper, now; well, Bertie and I are going in
together and, just as soon as the people are seated, you will see what
will happen."
"I will not," was Mrs. Hadwell's unexpected rejoinder. "I have had
quite enough nonsense, Bert. It must end, here."
Bert consulted his sister with his eyes; then, catching his diminutive
aunt by the waist, he whirled her down the room and whispered something
in her ear. She gasped, then suddenly laughed and looked relieved; and
Bertie approached and entered into an animated conversation with her.
Five minutes later, when the assembled company was seated at supper, the
unruly and ostracized pair walked solemnly in and stood for a moment at
the head of the room. Then Bert raised his crimson-decked arm with a
mute request for silence. A hush of surprise fell on the revellers. He
spoke.
"My dear friends," he said, gravely, "my sister and I have acted so
badly to-night and have laid ourselves open to so much well-deserved
censure that we think the least we can do is to apologize, and we do
it--thus!"
He deliberately laid hold of his companion's snowy locks and, with a
vigorous pull, exposed a close cropped head. Then he doffed his crimson
headgear and a dark tress fell athwart his nose.
When the prolonged shrieks of amazement and laughter had died into
silence Bert--the real Bert--spoke.
"My sister says that if all the girls whom she has kissed will forgive
her she will never do it, again," he said. "And, as for me," he paused
and cast a glance of pure delight in the direction of Messrs. Simcoe and
Parham, "as for me, while I must confess that I am a horrible flirt"--
He could get no further.
An hour later Undine, looking paler than her wont, sat whispering behind
a large fan to two or three other women. One of them, a pleasant-faced
middle-aged woman, looked distinctly sad and uncomfortable.
"The poor girl!" she said.
"Such people should be exposed," returned Undine, coldly. "The idea of
her being here at all. Mrs. Hadwell cannot associate with fast women
and expect to keep her own character. Personally I never think there is
any real harm in Mrs. Hadwell, though"-- She paused tentatively while a
venomous gleam lit her large, pale eyes.