The next two weeks they spent at Nahant with Loring's mother.
The dream was fading fast--the dream, but not her love for him. That
remained like clear marble from which the purple glamour cast through
stained glass slowly withdraws. And this clear, white love had more and
more of the maternal in it. She could not have forgiven those scenes of
drink-inflamed passion had not there been in her love for him much of
the indulgent tenderness with which she regarded Bobby's outbreaks. She
did not realise this fully--the purple glow still lingered. Love to a
poet is poetry or it is nothing. If she should ever come to read him in
cold prose, love would flee forever--Pteros--the Flyer, he is called, as
well as Eros....
By the nineteenth of June they were in the full swing of the Newport
season.
Sophy did not play tennis herself, but she would go with Morris to the
Casino in the morning. It amused her to watch all these passionately
energetic young women bent on fashionable slimness, violently exercising
in the torrid heat--looking like some new type of odalisque, veiled with
thick brown veils half way up their noses to prevent sunburn. Madly they
would dart to and fro until midday, then rush for the beach. She found
it even more amusing to see these crowds of men and women disporting on
the well-kept beach and in the sea that looked so well-kept also; the
men, of amazingly varied shapes--bereft of all elegance by their scant
attire; the women more elegant than ever, with the decolletage of
charming legs, and wearing fantastic headgear that made them look like
great sea-poppies and bluets blooming on the tawny sand--or flying, as
though wind-blown, in the swing.
The routine was much as she remembered it as a girl--luncheons, dinner
parties with dancing to follow at the hostess's house or some
other--balls, fancy-balls, theatricals at the Casino--the usual
fantastic, highly-coloured, sparkling Masque of Pleasure. It was
agreeable enough for a week or two--but her heart failed when she
thought of the whole summer--and many summers to follow--spent in this
fashion. She was glad when August drew to its close, and nearly all the
women had taken the pose of being tired or even ill, and not going out
any more. Then she had some delightful, real country rides again with
Morris. The Island was charming to explore. The golden-rod was beginning
to blow in the fields. It made her long for Sweet-Waters. But she would
not vex him with such an allusion.
"It's nice to have these quiet days together, isn't it?" she said, as he
tied a great bunch of golden-rod to the dees of her saddle, and another
to his own.
These quiet days at Newport did not last long, however. The Kron Prinz
of Blauethuerme arrived suddenly one day, practically unheralded. And
presto!--all the weary and ailing became restored as by magic. The
descent of His Royal Highness into the stagnant social waters was like
the descent of the angel into the pool of Bethesda. He did but trouble
the waters with his princely foot, and straightway all sufferers were
restored to abounding and healthful vigour. The erstwhile exhausted
ladies went scampering about like chipmunks. And the "society" journals,
that had been mournfully pecking here and there for stray grains of
interest, now fluttered triumphant with whole sheaves of "snapshots" and
thrilling items.
Sophy winced to see a photograph of herself as frontispiece of a "smart"
weekly. It had been taken as she crossed the lawn of the Casino with the
Crown Prince. It was headed, "A Famous Beauty and a Foreign Prince."
Underneath was written, "Mrs. Morris Loring walking with H. R. H. the
Crown Prince of Blauethuerme. Mrs. Loring is one of our most
distinguished and _chic_ young matrons. She entertains lavishly and
brilliantly both at her unique town house in New York (said to be
decorated by her own fair hands) and at her sumptuous summer palace in
Newport. Mrs. Loring was formerly the wife of the Hon. Cecil Chesney,
younger brother of Viscount Wychcote."
She tossed the paper to Morris with a grimace. "Look at that snobbish
abomination!" she said. "_How_ good Americans would love a King and
Court all their own! It's a pity Washington didn't accept that crown
they offered him...."
But she broke off, rather dismayed at Loring's extreme fury over the
picture. She did not realise that what so enraged him was the allusion
to her as "formerly the wife of the Hon. Cecil Chesney."
"Damn it!" he fumed. "How dare they take liberties with your name! You
are my wife-- I'll teach them to accept that fact for good and all!"
The thing rankled in him for days. Indeed Sophy had cause to remember
the visit of the Crown Prince of Blauethuerme in more ways than one; for
there was a "stag dinner" given him towards the end of his stay at
Newport, and Loring was one of the hosts. It is hard to leave a "stag
dinner" in perfect equipoise of mind and body, especially when its chief
guest is a Royalty who chooses to remain until dawn, and shows a truly
regal prowess with the wine-cup. Loring returned at five o'clock and
demanded to enter Sophy's room. She had locked the door. She came to it
when she heard his voice, but refused to open it.
"Damn it! Do you turn me from your door like a beggar?" he called
angrily, rattling the knob.
"Don't talk so loud, Morris.... You'll be dreadfully sorry for losing
your temper like this to-morrow.... You'll be glad I wouldn't let you
in...."
He was quite frantic.
"Some fine day you'll shut me out too often, my lady!" he raged at her.
"Morris! The servants will hear you. Do go!"
"All right. But you won't always be able to whistle me to heel when you
want to.... I give you that straight."
He laughed coarsely. His state showed more in his laughter than in his
speaking voice.
She had never known him as bad as this. Her very soul felt sick and
faint under it. She heard him muttering as he went off along the
corridor to his own room. She went back to bed trembling. She thought
there must be _some_ way to stop it. She sat there in the chill August
dawn, thinking, thinking.