The girls in their gayest muslin frocks, chaperoned by the more sedate
Mrs. Cartwright, arrived at the camp at seven. A long table was spread
under the redwoods near the bank of the little river, in whose falls
bottles lay cooling. Clive was the only other guest. Mary Gordon had
been asked; but although she had accepted with philosophy much that was
Californian, the informalities of the Bohemian Club were more than she
could stand. Clive had been begged to go alone and to stay as late as
he liked.
Helena wore a pink muslin frock, her hair in a loose braid. Her eyes
were dancing. She looked like a naughty child, and chattered clever
nonsense, apparently in the highest of spirits.
An impromptu band played softly out of sight; one could hear the
splashing of the river and the faint music of the redwoods. Chinese
lanterns, suspended in a row over the table, and from the young
redwoods, gave abundant light. It was a very informal dinner. The men
wore flannel shirts, smoked when it pleased them, and assumed any
attitude conducive to comfort. Clive tipped back his chair against
a tree, and felt that it was his duty to rejoice that Mary was not
present. Every man waited on himself and on the guests of honor.
Helena, at the head of the table, had the one servant constantly at
her elbow. It was her tendency to spoil the men she liked, and she
encouraged her Bohemians in all their transgressions; which was one of
the many reasons why they liked her better than any woman in California.
A course not pleasing her taste, she called for her guitar and sang for
them a rollicking song of the bull-fight. Clive leaned forward on the
table and watched her: her nostrils expanded as if they had the scent
of blood in them; she curled her lips under, clicking her teeth. Her
eyes had not wandered to Clive since, upon entering the camp, she had
prettily congratulated him.
“Helena, you alarm me,” said Rollins mildly, when she finished. “I
haven’t seen you look as wicked as you do to-night for several years.
You would give a stranger, Mr. Clive for instance, the impression that
you were a cruel little demon, as you sing that song. Of course we know
that only heaven in its infinite mercy lends you to us for a little.”
“Oh, Mr. Clive!” said Helena in a weary tone, but with a suspicious
alertness of eye, “I had such a funny experience with Mr. Clive, the
other night. I think I’ll have to tell it.” She threw back her head and
laughed infectiously: “Oh, it was so funny!”
Clive experienced an uncomfortable thrill. The others gave her
immediate attention.
“Don’t hesitate to tell us, Helena,” said Rollins. “We will keep your
confidence. And have mercy on our curiosity; that adjective is so
vague.”
Helena leaned forward, and clasping her hand about her chin, looked at
the company with dancing eyes.
“Probably you all know,” she said, “that not long since I spent five
hours in the forest alone with Mr. Clive, talking in the midnight
hour. Well, you don’t know that Mr. Clive had previously told me that
if he ever sat up all night with me he should kiss me, and several
times; so when I took him to the loneliest spot I knew, the intimation
was that I expected him to do justice to his principles, wasn’t it?”
“It was, Helena,” said Rollins, with an attempt at facetiousness, “and
I hope he did. Served you right.”
“Well, he did not! And I sat not three feet away from him for five
hours, and never looked better. How do you suppose I bluffed him off?”
“Oh, come Helena!” said Rollins, who was beginning to feel sorry for
Clive.
“You know,” she continued, tossing her head and tapping her foot, much
like a spirited race-horse, “I have always said I could do exactly as
I pleased with a man, and I can. So it pleased me to play chess with
an Englishman, whose only idea of the game is to jump over the board.
Well, first I mildly remonstrated with him; then we argued the matter,
quite coolly, for he smoked his pipe, and Englishmen are usually cool,
you know. My powers of persuasion were not very effective. Then I
told him that I was engaged. But as he was, too, he could not see the
force of my remark. Well, you’d never guess in the wide world what I
did then. I gently led him off on to the subject of religion, and he
preached until three o’clock, and forgot all about wanting to kiss me.
Now, I call that sort of a man a duffer!” (with an affected drawl.)
“What do you think about it?”
There was an intense and uncomfortable silence. Then Clive pushed
back his chair abruptly. He walked straight up to Helena, lifted her
from her seat, pinioned her arms, and kissed her while one could count
thirty.
The men sprang to their feet. Their sympathies were with Clive, but she
was their guest, and a woman; they would do whatever she commanded.
Clive dropped her into her chair, not too gently.
“Sit down, gentlemen,” she said serenely; “we will now go on with the
dinner.”