"No, dear," answered Mrs. Stillwater, quite oblivious to the glance,
"Don't wait on me. Shall I pour the tea?"
"Sit down, dear Mrs. Stillwater," said Lady Canning. "Indiana always
does her duty as mistress of the house. No doubt you miss her very much.
I can understand that."
"I'll tell you frankly, I was very much against it, she's the only one
we have. I begged her not to do it. I even warned Thurston against
her. One must give in to Indiana in order to get along with her, and,
living with a mother-in-law, I was afraid of it."
Lady Canning laughed quietly.
"Mother!" exclaimed Indiana.
"Yes, dear," answered Mrs. Stillwater. She went over to Indiana and bent
over her.
"Stop that," whispered Indiana.
Mrs. Stillwater looked at her with a piteous expression, then sank down
into a chair near the tea-table.
"This cup is for Lady Canning. No, Jennings, I'll take it to her
myself."
Mrs. Stillwater watched her jealously as she waited on Lady Canning, and
drank her tea with a vague feeling of disappointment in her reunion with
Indiana. Mr. Stillwater inspected, with interest, various objects in
the room, walking about with Thurston, their cups in their hands.
"There's a solidity about all this, which speaks for itself," said Mr.
Stillwater. "It's no use talking, a man can't buy it." Thurston called
his attention to a tapestry. "Yes, I know--Gobelin--very fine. I
admire it right here, because it belongs here. But when our
millionaires import other people's old furniture, even that of princes
and cardinals, and put it in their brand-new American homes--it seems to
me snobbery. The only value of an antique is when it belongs to a
nation."
"I agree with you, Mr. Stillwater."
After some further conversation, Lady Canning said, gently, to Indiana,
"My darling, will you excuse me now? I know you have much to say to your
people." She shook hands graciously with them all. "Now, when will you
come and dine with us?"
"Oh, we'll run in any old time," said Mrs. Bunker.
"We won't wait for invitations," added Mr. Stillwater. "We'll run over
to breakfast or supper, just as the spirit moves us. We'll take
possession while we're here."
"You will always be very welcome whenever you care to come," answered
Lady Canning. "But we are not used to being taken unawares." She bowed
with a set smile, as she left the room leaning on her brother's arm.
But her presence was still felt by a perceptible chill in the
atmosphere. Thurston, however, soon dispelled the restraint. He took
them through the house, entertaining them with histories of different
family relics, to which they listened with interest. Then they
adjourned to his own particular den, where all the trophies of his
travels were collected. Finally Indiana carried them off to her
apartments, leaving Thurston in his den. When they were all comfortably
installed in the boudoir, Indiana, leaning on her mother's breast,
looked thoughtfully up in her face and then at the others. She could
scarcely realize that they were substantial creations.
"Indiana Stillwater," said Mrs. Bunker, "the way you crawl to that woman
is very un-American."
"In England it's the custom for people to pay great respect to their
elders."
"That's a nice slap in the face for us," remarked Mrs. Bunker.
"Grandma Chazy, you don't want the deference due to age," answered
Indiana, propitiatingly. "You won't for many years, I hope. Think of
treating ma and pa like that. They wouldn't like it a bit."
"No," said Mrs. Stillwater, "we're satisfied as long as you love us.
But don't let anyone else take our place." She pressed her lips to
Indiana's soft hair, crying silently. Indiana tightened her arms about
her mother's waist, unaware of the tears that were falling on her yellow
puffs.
"Well, then," said Mrs. Bunker, "just put on your things and come and
have supper with us at the hotel. All the Americans in town will be
there, beside the English celebrities. Come along. I'll show you the
whole push."
"I'd love to go."
"We'll have a good time, if it is Sunday night. Well, what are you
sitting there for? Get your things on."
"I must ask my husband," said Indiana, slowly, the eager sparkle
suddenly dying in her eyes.
Mrs. Bunker sank down in the chair, from which she had sprung in her
enthusiasm. "Indiana Stillwater, I never thought you would turn out
such a spiritless kind of a woman. Of course it's none of my business,
but if you start in this way, you'll lose your entire individuality."
"It's not so, Grandma Chazy. I do just as I like. I allow no one to
compel me."
"You're quite right to ask your husband, and, if it's against his
religious views, you stay home and read the Bible to his mother." Mrs.
Bunker went to the mirror, arranging her hat, as if the question had
been settled.
"It's not so!" exclaimed Indiana, rising and stamping her foot. "You
don't understand the conditions of life over here."
"It's the thing in London now, to dine out on Sunday nights. You can't
tell me, Indiana Stillwater."
"It may be the thing, but we don't do it. Must I tell you again I have
married into a very conservative family?"
"We're not good enough for you, now," replied Mrs. Bunker,
sarcastically.
"I'll always love my own people, but I won't be blind to their faults.
We lack culture and repose."
"You may be right, Indy," said Mr. Stillwater, hitherto a silent
listener. "But if you keep cultivating a field of wheat right along,
you'll cultivate it till it doesn't produce anything. They're running to
seed fast here--and we're still bearing strong. Repose! Let them have
it. Thank heaven, we youngsters are always on our feet. Now, mother!"
Mrs. Stillwater was crying. At the sight of her tears Indiana
capitulated.
"I'll come, mother," she said, despairingly, throwing herself on her
knees beside her.
"Darling!" cried Mrs. Stillwater. "Don't you think we ought to ask
Thurston?"
"I'll ask him, of course," said Indiana, "but I'm sure he won't come."
"We'll manage without him," said Mrs. Bunker. "On second thoughts, I
think we'll send for you, Indiana." She looked significantly at the
others. "We'll send for her at eight o'clock." They nodded. "That'll
just give you time to dress. We've another surprise in store for you."
They all laughed.
"Ah, don't tell me. It's so nice to look forward to something one don't
expect."
"Take off that dowdy thing," directed Mrs. Bunker. "Go back to your
trousseau."
"We turned you out better than that," commented Stillwater, looking her
over. Indiana pouted like a child, teased. Thurston emerged from his
den as they descended the stairs. Lord Stafford also joined them below
in the library.
"Thurston," asked Stillwater, taking him aside, "has she broken out
yet?" Thurston shook his head, laughing.
Stillwater took Indiana in his arms.
"Goodbye. God bless you!"
Mrs. Bunker kissed her vehemently.
"I couldn't let you go," whispered Mrs. Stillwater. "If I wasn't sure
I'd see you to-night."
Indiana sank into a chair as they all left the room, Thurston and Lord
Stafford accompanying them to the door. Her thoughts were in a whirl.
Her pride had been hurt at the idea her family should think she was not
utterly a free agent, and that was one of the main reasons why she had
consented to join them that night. Then they brought her old life back
so forcibly. If her relatives had suffered in comparison with
Thurston's, her present life now suffered in comparison with the
old--its freedom, and lack of obligation. She realized now that she had
been truly queen of her own territory. She heard them all laughing and
talking below. Gradually their voices died away, the voices of her old
life. She felt a sense of loneliness.
It was early spring, when Jennings made it a rule to light the candles
later. Everything in the room had faded into the growing dusk. The old
objects so easily blended with a waning light. Indiana heard Thurston
laughing heartily with Lord Stafford, as they ascended the stairs.
"All in the dark, sweetheart!" He touched the electric button of the
lamp on the table, revealing Indiana, buried in one of the big chairs,
gazing dismally before her. The smile died on his face.
"Oh, go on! Don't mind me!" exclaimed Indiana. "Laugh at them!
Ridicule them! Tell me you don't want them to darken your doors again.
I'm ready for anything."
"Indiana!" exclaimed Thurston, justly hurt at this unreasonable
outburst. "How can you? I wasn't laughing in that way. I find your
people very witty and amusing. As for separating you from them, I hope
we shall see as much of them as we possibly can. Grandma Chazy is a new
creation for us. We simply revel in her. She'll make a sensation
wherever she goes. I shouldn't wonder if she would marry well and
settle down in England. There now, the storm's over." He smoothed the
hair back from her forehead with a soothing touch. "Poor little thing,
she's had a shock. I hate surprises myself. Lie down for an hour and
rest. Come," lifting her up from the chair, "I'll put you on the sofa."
"No, no!" protested Indiana, "there's no time. I--I have promised to go
out." He looked at her in astonishment. "The folks wouldn't take 'no'
for an answer," affecting not to notice his surprise, "and naturally,
they want me with them as much as possible."
"Naturally!" said Thurston, coldly. If she wished to go out with her
family, why had she not consulted him first, he thought, instead of
considering it sufficient to merely apprise him of her intention.
"I won't ask you to waste your night," she said, carelessly, endeavoring
to make it apparent that she was quite innocent of any departure from
the conventional order of things. He looked at her again, in
astonishment. Why should she assume a night spent with her was wasted?
It was an evident fact he was not wanted. "But, you can call for me,"
she wound up, airily.
"Where?"
"Oh, they've mapped out a programme," she answered, irrelevantly.
"Grandma Chazy knows what's to be seen." She turned to leave the room,
as though summarily dismissing the subject.
"I am only your husband, it is true, but I think I have a right to know,
if my wife goes out, where she is going."
Indiana paused half way to the door. "I'm going to dine with them at the
Cecil, where they are stopping." He was silent. She waited, in some
suspense, for a remark, her hand on the door.
"I am sorry to disappoint you--but I cannot permit you to go," he said,
at length, slowly. "It's not the place for Lady Canning. It may be all
very well for strangers--sight-seers--but London is our home. These
places are resorts for foreigners, professional women, men-about-town,
and others, who delight to bask in the public eye. I have another
reason. I do not wish you to be seen in public, until I have formally
presented you--as my wife." He approached her and removing her hand
gently from the handle of the door, led her back into the room. She
went unwillingly, her head drooping. "Indiana," he put his hand under
her chin and lifted her face, so that her eyes met his. "I don't wish
to force you, but to convince you. Admit it would be a very foolish and
inconsistent thing to do."
"Yes, but that's just why I want to do it," she answered, wilfully deaf
to the note of appeal in his voice.
"You child! Come now," he forced her gently to lie down on the sofa.
"Quiet that eager little mind of yours," tucking her carefully in a rug.
"Shut those restless American eyes and sleep for a while. Dream
yourself into good humor again." He closed her eyes, patting her cheek
tenderly.
"Thurston, they've got a surprise for me," she said, piteously.
"What, another!" he exclaimed. "Your nerves won't stand any more
surprises to-night. Now, in one hour, I shall come in and awaken my
sleeping beauty with a kiss." Indiana made a little grimace and shut
her eyes tightly. He watched her for a moment.
"Asleep already," bending over her, "or sulking--which?"
She flung the rug from her, suddenly sitting up. "Thurston, I want to
go. Thurston, why can't I go?"
"Because you yourself have acknowledged it would not be right," he
answered, coldly. Her small, red lips drooped plaintively, she coiled
herself up on the sofa in a disconsolate attitude. Thurston stood
watching her. The sad, little face staring at the fire, stirred his
sympathy. This was the first request he had ever refused. He felt an
impulse to press her against his heart and beg her not to grieve--to
tell her that he felt her disappointment far deeper than she herself
could have any idea of. But pride prevented him. He had lately been
chary in his demonstrations. His nature, which at first had sung a paean
over the mere fact that she was his, rejoicing in the lavish display of
its love, gradually conscious of no hint of response, only a tacit
acceptance, had crept back into its cloak of reserve. He suffered from
the repression, becoming at times the victim of a terrible
discouragement--that sinking of the heart, inevitable to the thought
that one has given one's very best in vain. He realized what a frail
structure he had builded--that beautiful fairy fabric of spider's webs,
illuminated with the tints of the rainbow. Standing, watching Indiana,
Thurston remembered the day when she had promised to marry him--that
gray, soft, still evening in autumn. It had been like a tender poem.
He had likened the little path between the trees upon which they walked,
to the dim, narrow aisle of a church, leading to the altar. It had led
them to the altar, but he had failed yet to realize the dream, the
infinite suggestion beyond. He felt they were still kneeling there. He
and the church had done their part. It needed Indiana only to make the
bond complete. He suffered in a great measure for her sake alone.
Could she respect her own womanhood as his wife when she failed to love
him, he asked himself. She, too, might be suffering, without his
knowledge. The little figure maintained its disconsolate position. It
was only a trivial matter, after all, but he did not want her to harbor
the least resentment against him.
"Indiana," he said, tenderly, placing his hand on her head, "do you
remember the day I asked you to be my wife? Do you forget already the
condition upon which you accepted me?"
"What condition?" asked Indiana, innocently.
"That I should not give in."
"Oh!" exclaimed Indiana, falling back on the sofa. If he brought up
that justification, there was no longer any ground to argue upon.
"I have never in my life broken my word once given. This is our first
difference. I must keep my promise to you. No matter how much I
suffer, I will not give in." He tucked her in the rug again,
extinguished the lamp, and left the room.
*CHAPTER XVI.*
*An Escapade*
Indiana, lying in the dark, tossed restlessly. Scattered scenes and
personages of her old life and the new, floated through her mind,
jumbled in a rare confusion. She counted and multiplied to induce
sleep. Finally she thought of the formula children repeat when they
play hide-and-seek--
"'Ena, mino, mina, mo,
Catch a nigger by the toe.
If he hollers let him go.
Ena, mino, mina, mo.
You're it--I'm out!'"
"Out of everything," she added, with a sob. "Oh, I can't sleep!" She
tossed the pillows about desperately, feeling nervous and irritable,
angry with herself, angry with Thurston and her family. The room was
suddenly lit from the lamp on the centre-table. Indiana's dazzled eyes
saw a tall figure standing before her. "Glen!"
Jennings retreated with a chuckle of delight. Indiana threw her arms
about her old playmate's neck, and was on the point of kissing him, but
drew suddenly back at the recollection that he had been her lover as
well as her comrade.
"I'll bet you forgot, for the moment, you were married--now didn't you?"
Indiana nodded. Tears were not very far from her eyes. He pressed her
hands, looking into her face. He felt both pain and joy--pain that she
was another's, and joy at beholding her in the flesh once more, no
matter under what circumstances.
"So you were the surprise," said Indiana, a little shyly. He looked so
manly, so strikingly tall and handsome, as he stood there in his evening
clothes. His dark eyes gazed at her in an unmistakably tender fashion.
"Just as though I were not married at all," thought Indiana, with a
sudden uprising of wifely virtue.
"I was the surprise," answered Glen, releasing her hands slowly.
"I was just trying to sleep, and, thinking of the old days when we
played tag together and--"
"Yes," said Glen, eagerly.
"Oh, never mind," answered Indiana, brushing the tears from her eyes.
"The old days," repeated Glen, staring into the fire.
"They seem so far away, and it's only a few months, Glen. So much has
happened--I suppose that's the reason."
He looked at her intently. There was a wistful expression in her eyes.
She was paler and thinner, more thoughtful. He gathered his own
conclusions from her appearance, aided by certain hints which the family
had let fall. He knit his brows in a fierce scowl.
"What's the matter, Glen?"
"My old thoughts are working on me again--that's what it is--your
mentioning the old days. They were the best after all, Indiana. Why,
people are always raving over sunsets. You should have heard them on
the steamer coming over. But once I saw a sunset far off in an orchard
in Indiana--there's never been anything to compare with it since--there
never will be--to the end of time."
"Sit down, Glen. Tell me all about yourself. You've changed so much
for the better, I'm quite bewildered."
"It's worth crossing the ocean to hear that--from you," said Glen, with
a superior air. "But I won't sit down here--the place chokes me. I've
brought a hansom, and we'll jump in and take a spin about, till it's
time to join the folks at dinner."
"I'm not going," said Indiana, without meeting his eyes. "My husband
won't let me."
"Your husband won't let you? Poor child--so it's come to this!"
Indiana's pride rose in arms. "Don't waste any sympathy!" she
exclaimed, her eyes flashing. "I'm perfectly happy, I assure you."
"Yes, you look it," said Glen, skeptically. "I understand it's a case
of jealousy. He's trying to wean you from your own people. I suppose I
won't be allowed to see anything of you either. I'm glad they let me in
this time, to get one glimpse of you. Next time it will be 'Not at home'
or 'Engaged.' I'm very sorry you couldn't come this one night. It'll
spoil the evening for all of us, and I had so much to tell you. But I
won't keep you. Good-bye."
"Glen!" cried Indiana, clenching her hands and stamping her foot. "How
can you act like that? I'm no prisoner. I can go if I want to--but I
don't want to."
"That makes it worse than ever," replied Glen, seriously. "We
sympathize with you, in the other case, but now we must have the pride
not to beg when you turn upon us. Good night!"
This was more than Indiana could bear. "Glen, I'll go!" she exclaimed,
desperately.
He came back slowly into the room, his eyes shining with joy. "Will
you, Indiana?"
"Just sit down and I'll slip into a dress. I shan't be long, Glen."
"Yes."
"We'll have a good time, altogether, this one night." Her resolve, once
taken, she threw scruples to the wind. Glen, walking restlessly up and
down the room after she had gone to dress, spied her photograph on a
cabinet. First looking suspiciously around him, he took possession of it
and kissed it passionately.
"Poor little thing," he murmured, gazing on the photograph, and seating
himself in a comfortable position, his feet on the table. "Now the
first blaze of glory is over, and you find--you're in for life--what are
you going to do, little western bobolink, with your wings clipped, and
your little eyes peering over the cruel ocean? Oh, you'll never
complain--you're too proud." He let the photograph fall, and buried his
face in his hands.
Indiana rang for her maid, and dressed in feverish haste. She wished to
leave the house without coming in contact again with Thurston. Slipping
quietly down the stairs, she saw a light in his den. The door was not
quite closed, and she peeped through the crack. He was sitting at his
table, reading, in a patient attitude, his head propped on his hand.
She passed the door, then, moved by a sudden impulse, went back and
looked at him again. There was something which appealed to her in the
solitary figure sitting there, in a pose so passive as to almost suggest
hopelessness. She noticed the touch of gray in his hair, under the
lamplight--that, too, appealed to her. She felt vaguely that his was
not the face of a happy man, and also, in a vague sense, her conscience
reproached her for being responsible. She remembered they had always
been together since their marriage. Neither had taken any pleasure
apart. She would have liked to have kissed him good-night, and gone
with his sanction--but, she told herself, that would be impossible to
gain. With an involuntary sigh she sped down to the library. Glen was
still sitting, his face buried in his hands. The photograph had fallen
on the floor.
"Here I am, Glen," throwing her white wrap in his lap. "It's not
necessary to ask you how I look. I've completely stunned you." He
looked at her with worshipping eyes. She had donned an airy, diaphanous
white gown, and her cheeks were glowing, her eyes sparkling with
excitement. "You've been looking at my new photo. Do you like it?"
"Oh, so-so," he answered, indifferently.
"Now I'm going to leave a message for Thurston." She sat down to the
table and drew some writing materials towards her. Then she gnawed the
end of the pen in some perplexity, looking a little grave.
"You're afraid," said Glen. "You're sorry--you'd like to back out."
"Not at all," answered Indiana, drawing herself up indignantly. "I know
just what my husband will do. He won't say a word to anyone--he'll jump
in a cab and follow me."
"And then--a family row."
"Not at all. My husband is too high-bred for any public display of
feeling. He'll look cold and proud, I'll quiver my eyelids--and--he'll
kiss me--that's all." She smiled triumphantly as she scribbled a hasty
note.
"I know," agreed Glen, with a sigh. "You could soften anything--even
stone."
"Do you know that my husband is an H.F.R.G.S.?" sealing the note.
"Is he? You quite astonish me."
"Now, what is it? Of course you don't know. Honorary Fellow Royal
Geographical Society. They want him to lead an expedition to the North
Pole. If I had said 'no,' he would have gone. It was a toss-up."
"What a shame he didn't go," remarked Glen, shaking his head dolefully.
"What a loss to science! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" He laughed so heartily,
Indiana felt obliged to join him. "How jolly I am!" he thought,
bitterly.
"Oh, I'm so excited!" exclaimed Indiana. "I love uncertainty of any
kind."
"Women are born gamblers," observed Glen, fastening her wrap under her
chin. Jennings entered, in answer to the bell.
"Jennings," said Indiana, with an indifferent air, "there's--there's a
note on the table for--your master."
"Yes, yer little leddyship."
"Er--I shall be--"
"I hear someone coming downstairs," whispered Glen. "Quick, or
Bluebeard will cut off our heads!"
"I feel like a bad boy, playing truant," laughed Indiana. "Scoot!"
They ran, giggling quietly, into the hall. Jennings, with a
horror-stricken face, tottered to the window, pushed aside the curtains
hastily, and pressed his face against the glass.
Lord Stafford, entering the library then, saw him in this position and
heard the sound of wheels. "Who's driving off, Jennings?"