Lord Stafford looked at him incredulously. He had just been talking with
Thurston, and Indiana was not likely to go out without him. They always
remained at home on Sunday nights. "Impossible!"
"Her little leddyship's gone out with a gentleman from America," said
Jennings.
A light broke on Lord Stafford. "Oh, evidently young Masters," he
thought. He sank into a chair by the fire, pulling his moustache
contemplatively. "Thurston was apparently unaware of the
fact--something's up."
Thurston came into the library a moment later. "I thought you were
dining out to-night, Uncle Nelson." He rubbed his hands, holding them
over the fire.
Lord Stafford lit a cigarette, trying to appear unconcerned. "I shall
be off in a minute."
"I'm as hungry as a bear," said Thurston, cheerily. "I must go and find
Indiana. I left her asleep here. She is usually dressed and down by
this time."
"Er--Thurston," commenced Lord Stafford. But Thurston had left the room
before he could speak. Jennings, still standing near the window, was a
little, old figure turned into stone. "By George," muttered Lord
Stafford. "A pretty mess, this."
"Indiana's not upstairs!" exclaimed Thurston, when he entered again.
"She may be with my mother. I did not think of that."
"Her little leddyship's gone out, sir," said Jennings, shrinking into
the shadow of the curtains.
"Impossible!" exclaimed Thurston, loudly. "I left her asleep here."
Lord Stafford put his hand warningly on his shoulder.
"Her little leddyship left a note," continued Jennings, peering over the
table.
Thurston instantly saw the little white note lying among the books. He
seized and read it quickly. His first expression of incredulous
surprise faded away. His face became impassive.
"Will I serve dinner at eight, sir?"
"Certainly," answered Thurston, calmly crushing the note in his hand.
Lord Stafford looked at him inquiringly, as Jennings left the room.
"She has gone with Glen Masters to dine with her people--at the
Cecil--and asks me to fetch her," said Thurston, slowly.
"Then it's all right." Lord Stafford felt, in a measure, relieved.
"It's not all right, by any means, Uncle Nelson," answered Thurston, in
the same repressed voice. "My wife has gone against my express wishes."
"Ah, by George! Too bad!" exclaimed Lord Stafford, sympathetically.
"You'll go and fetch her, of course?" Thurston failed to answer. An
ash dropped loudly on the hearth.
"No," said Thurston, finally.
"Shall I go and fetch her?"
"No." The frozen monosyllable dropped from his lips like an icicle.
"What are you going to do?"
"I--I am going to wait up for my wife--like a good, obedient husband,"
he said, bitterly, dropping into a chair.
*CHAPTER XVII.*
*Late Visitors*
The great bronze clock on the mantel struck eleven. Thurston paced the
library restlessly. His mother had retired, as usual, a little after
ten. He had thought it best to keep from her the fact of Indiana's
escapade; excusing her absence from dinner on the score of a nervous
headache, due to the surprise she had received that afternoon. He had
impressed upon his mother the necessity of perfect rest and quiet, for
that night, at least. Lady Canning had promised not to disturb her,
confiding to Thurston that she had anticipated his wife would suffer bad
effects from such a "cruel shock," as she expressed it. He wished to
save Indiana from the blame his mother would be sure to attach to her,
if she knew the truth. He could not brook the idea that his wife should
fall one iota from her esteem. And he also wished his mother's belief in
his happiness to remain undisturbed. She would have suffered intense
anxiety, on his account, if she had suspected there was any flaw in his
marital relations. He hoped that some blessed future period would see
his union, with Indiana, established on the solid rock of mutual love.
Until then his unhappiness was his own secret, one which he guarded
jealously. The inference his household might take from Indiana's
action, was a source of great mortification to him. He went to the
window and looked out. The thought rankled in him that if she had felt
the slightest respect or love, she could not have treated his wishes
with such contempt. When he turned back into the room, Jennings was
standing at the door, looking at him wistfully.
"Well, what is it?" he asked, in a quick, sharp tone.
"I'll keep up the fire, sir, it's a bit sharp out to-night," answered
Jennings, apologetically. Thurston continued to pace the floor, while
Jennings piled fresh logs on the fire, shaking his head and muttering,
as he was sometimes in the habit of doing. Suddenly there was an
imperative knock upon the front door. "Ah, here she is, now, sir!"
exclaimed Jennings, struggling to his feet. "Here's her little
leddyship." He hurried from the room, chuckling with delight.
Thurston's eyes were illumined with a sudden flash of joy and he rushed
to the door to meet his wife. But the movement was an involuntary one.
On second thought he sat down to the table, took up a book and
endeavored to appear disinterested. "Why," he thought, remembering anew
the facts of her absence, "should he act as though she had done nothing
wrong. That in itself would be a condonation of her offence." He
turned his head slowly, as Jennings came back to the room, followed
hurriedly by Stillwater, holding his overcoat and opera hat. Thurston
rose, his expression of cold and assumed indifference changing to one of
deep disappointment and anger.
"Where's my wife--where is she?" he demanded, with an uncontrollable
burst of passion.
"She's all right, my boy, she's all right," answered Stillwater, in a
conciliating tone, beneath which there was a trace of embarrassment.
"She's at the hotel, with mother and Grandma Chazy. And I came to bring
you back to finish up the evening with us."
"Thank you, very much," said Thurston, sinking into his chair.
"Now, you're mad. You won't be so foolish as to make a fuss about
nothing." Thurston looked at him, in incomprehending surprise.
"Mr. Stillwater, do you know that my wife left the house against my
express wish and command? Drove away from my door on Sunday evening
with a gentleman not her husband."
"Yes, I know all about it, my boy," answered Stillwater. "But it was
only Glen--just the same as her own brother."
"My household does not know that. The appearance of such a proceeding is
not favorable."
"I know--but it's Indiana's way of doing things," said Stillwater,
rather impatiently. "Just because you said she shouldn't, she would.
Now, if you handled her a little better--you'll excuse me, but I've
known her longer than you--"
"You may have known her longer, but I doubt if you understand her
better. As to handling her, as you call it, I will never stoop to bribe
or cajole her into doing her duty."
"That's all right," continued Stillwater. He was there on an errand of
conciliation, and, though his son-in-law's argument seemed absurdly
precise and conventional, and he assured himself that he did not approve
of any such cut-and-dried policy, he was determined to carry out his
intention. "I approve of the stand you are taking, but commence after
we're gone. It seems rather mean to spoil mother's holiday, doesn't it?
Now come along, and Indy will receive you with open arms. It'll be all
right, I promise you."
Thurston felt irritated by his father-in-law's free-and-easy good
nature, his light way of disposing of a matter which struck the core of
all that was sacred to him.
"I am very sorry to mar your pleasure," he answered, firmly and coldly.
"This is the first time my wife has openly defied my wishes. It must be
the last. If I give in, it will be the beginning of endless
repetitions. And I shall fall in line behind her, like a good American
husband."
Stillwater took a slight exception to these last words, uttered in a
bitterly sarcastic tone. "It's not such a terrible thing to be an
American husband," he said, in an offended voice. "I'm one--I don't look
very bad on it, do I?"
Thurston smiled. "My dear father-in-law, if I were an American, I would
consider it the acme of bliss to be in the leading-strings of my pretty
wife. But I'm an Englishman and--"
"You're not built that way," interrupted Stillwater, with an explosion
of mirth. Thurston shrugged his shoulders and joined in the laugh.
"Come along, Thurston," said Stillwater, feeling more at his ease.
"Come along. She's only a mite. She's done wrong, she knows it, and
she's mighty uncomfortable." Thurston's spirits rose at this. Then she
was not utterly without heart or conscience, where he was concerned.
Stillwater watched his face, keeping his hand on his shoulder. "Now
come, and when you get her home, read her the riot act."