Alice had been married five years--it seemed a long time. The first
five years of married life are likely to be long enough to chart pretty
accurately the currents of the future, however insufficient to predict
just where those currents will carry one.
Much disillusioning comes in the first five years; when they have passed
we know less of ourselves and more of our consort. Undoubtedly the
complement of this is true, and our consort knows more of us; but this
thought, not always reassuring, comes only when we reflect concerning
ourselves, which fortunately, perhaps, is not often. Married people, if
we may judge from what they say, tend to reflect more concerning their
mates.
Alice, it is certain, knew less of herself. Much of the confidence of
five years earlier she had parted with, some of it cruelly. Yet coming
at twenty-five into the Kimberly circle, and with the probability of
remaining in it, of its being to her a new picture of life, Alice
gradually renewed her youth. Some current flowing from this joy of
living seemed to revive in her the illusions of girlhood. All that she
now questioned was whether it really was for her.
Her husband enjoyed her promise of success in their new surroundings
without realizing in the least how clearly those about them
discriminated between his wife and himself. She brought one quality
that was priceless among those with whom she now mingled--freshness.
Among such people her wares of mental aptness, intelligence, amiability,
not to discuss a charm of person that gave her a place among women, were
rated higher than they could have been elsewhere. She breathed in her
new atmosphere with a renewed confidence, for nothing is more gratifying
than to be judged by what we believe to be the best in us; and nothing
more reassuring after being neglected by stupid people than to find
ourselves approved by the best.
Walter MacBirney, her husband, representing himself and his Western
associates, and now looked on by them as a man who had forced
recognition from the Kimberly interests, made on his side, too, a
favorable impression among the men with whom his affairs brought him for
the first time in contact.
If there was an exception to such an impression it was with Robert
Kimberly, but even with him MacBirney maintained easily the reputation
accorded to Western men for general capacity and a certain driving
ability for putting things through.
He was described as self-made; and examined with the quiet curiosity of
those less fortunate Eastern men who were unwilling or unable to ascribe
their authorship to themselves, he made a satisfactory showing.
In the Kimberly coterie of men, which consisted in truth more of the
staff associates in the Kimberly activities than of the Kimberlys
themselves, the appearance of MacBirney on the scene at Second Lake was
a matter of interest to every one of the fledgling magnates, who, under
the larger wing of the Kimberlys, directed the commercial end of their
interests.
McCrea, known as Robert Kimberly's right-hand man; Cready Hamilton, one
of the Kimberly bankers, and brother of Doctor Hamilton, Robert's
closest friend; Nelson, the Kimberly counsel--all took a hand in going
over MacBirney, so to say, and grading him up. They found for one thing
that he could talk without saying anything; which in conducting
negotiations was an excellent trait. And if not always a successful
story-teller, he was a shrewd listener. In everything his native energy
gave him a show of interest which, even when factitious, told in his
favor.
Soon after the call on Uncle John, Dolly arranged a dinner for the
MacBirneys, at which Charles Kimberly and his wife and Robert Kimberly
were to be the guests. It followed a second evening spent at the
Nelsons', whence Robert Kimberly had come home with the De Castros and
MacBirneys. Alice had sung for them. After accepting for the De Castro
dinner, Robert at the last moment sent excuses. Dolly masked her
feelings. Imogene and Charles complained a little, but Arthur De Castro
was so good a host that he alone would have made a dinner go.
MacBirney, after he and Alice had gone to their rooms for the night,
spoke of Robert's absence. "I don't quite understand that man," he
mused. "What do you make of him, Alice?"
Alice was braiding her hair. She turned from her table. "I've met him
very little, you know--when we called at his house, and twice at the
Nelsons'. And I saw very little of him last night. He was with that
drinking set most of the evening."
MacBirney started. "Don't say 'that drinking set.'"
"Really, that describes them, Walter. I don't see that they excel in
anything else. I hate drinking women."
"When you're in Rome, do as the Romans do," suggested MacBirney, curtly.
Alice's tone hardened a trifle. "Or at least let the Romans do as they
please, without comment."
"Exactly," snapped her husband. "I don't know just what to make of
Kimberly," he went on.
"Charles, or the brother?"
"Robert, Robert. He's the one they all play to here." MacBirney,
sitting in a lounging-chair, emphasized the last words, as he could do
when impatient, and shut his teeth and lips as he did when perplexed.
"I wonder why he didn't come to-night?"
Alice had no explanation to offer. "Charles," she suggested, tying her
hair-ribbon, "is very nice."
"Why, yes--you and Charles are chummy already. I wish we could get
better acquainted with Robert," he continued, knitting his brows. "I
thought you were a little short with him last night, Alice."
"Short? Oh, Walter! We didn't exchange a dozen words."
"That's just the way it struck me."
"But we had no chance to. I am sure I didn't mean to be short. I sang,
didn't I? And more on his account, from what Dolly had said to me, than
anybody else's. He didn't like my singing, but I couldn't help that.
He didn't say a single word."
"Why, he did say something!"
"Just some stiff remark when he thanked me."
Alice, rising, left her table. MacBirney laughed.
"Oh, I see. That's what's the matter. Well, you're quite mistaken, my
dear." Catching Alice in his arms as she passed, in a way he did when
he wished to seem affectionate, MacBirney drew his wife to him. "He
_did_ like it. He remarked to me just as he said good-night, that you
had a fine voice."
"That does not sound like him--possibly he was ironical."
"And when I thanked him," continued MacBirney, "he took the trouble to
repeat: 'That song was beautifully sung.' Those were his exact words."
In spite of painful experiences it rarely occurred to Alice that her
husband might be deceiving her, nor did she learn till long afterward
that he had lied to her that night. With her feelings in some degree
appeased she only made an incredulous little exclamation: "He didn't ask
me to sing again," she added quietly.
MacBirney shrugged his shoulders. "He is peculiar."
"I try, Walter," she went on, lifting her eyes to his with an effort,
"to be as pleasant as I can to all of these people, for your sake."
"I know it, Alice." He kissed her. "I know it. Let us see now what we
can do to cultivate Robert Kimberly. He is the third rail in this
combination, and he is the only one on the board of directors who voted
finally against taking us in."
"Is that true?"
"So Doane told Lambert, in confidence, and Lambert told me."
"Oh, Lambert! That detestable fellow. I wouldn't believe anything he
said anyway."
MacBirney bared his teeth pleasantly. "Pshaw! You hate him because he
makes fun of your Church."
"No. I despise him, because he is a Catholic and ridicules his own."
Her husband knew controversy was not the way to get a favor. "I guess
you're right about that, Allie. Anyway, try being pleasant to Kimberly.
The way you know how to be, Allie--the way you caught me, eh?" He drew
her to him with breezy enthusiasm. Alice showed some distress.
"Don't say such things, please."
"That was only a joke."
"I hate such jokes."
"Very well, I mean, just be natural," persisted MacBirney amiably, "you
are fascinating enough any old way."
Alice manifested little spirit. "Does it make so much difference to
you, Walter, whether we pay attention to _him_?"
MacBirney raised his eyebrows with a laughing start. "What an innocent
you are," he cried in a subdued tone. And his ways of speech, if ever
attractive, were now too familiar. "Difference!" he exclaimed cheerily.
"When they buy he will name the figure."
"But I thought they had decided to buy."
"The executive committee has authorized the purchase. But he, as
president, has been given the power to fix the price. Don't you see?
We can afford to smile a little, eh?"
"It would kill me to smile if I had to do it for money."
"Oh, you are a baby in arms, Allie," exclaimed her husband impatiently,
"just like your father! You'd starve to death if it weren't for me."
"No doubt."
MacBirney was still laughing at the idea when he left his wife's room,
and entering his own, closed the door.
Alice, in her room, lay in the darkness for a long time with open eyes.