GIVE AND TAKE
“DOES everything look in order in the dining-room, Duncan?” inquired
Mrs. Fordyce anxiously, on her son’s entrance, laying down the magazine
she was reading.
“Of course it is, dear mother,” he replied, sitting down on the
lounge beside her. “You can always trust Perkins to arrange the table
decorations to the Queen’s taste. Why so anxious tonight?”
“It is our first dinner-party in Washington, and I want everything to
go off well for Janet’s sake. First impressions count for so much.”
Duncan laughed outright. “You, mother, worrying about a simple dinner
of sixteen? Your Beacon Street ancestors will disown you.”
“My dear, Beacon Street traditions and Washington etiquette have to
assimilate slowly. The official and diplomatic life here presents many
pitfalls for the unwary, and Janet is young....”
“But you have provided her with a chaperon.” Duncan yawned as he
arranged his white tie.
“The chaperon isn’t any too old,” confessed Mrs. Fordyce. She had not
taken her family entirely into her confidence in referring to Marjorie,
contenting herself with mentioning the fact, two days before, that she
had engaged a chaperon for Janet, a statement which raised a storm of
protest on that young débutante’s part.
“Then why in the world did you engage her?” asked Duncan.
Mrs. Fordyce debated the question. “Mrs. McIntyre assured me she was
altogether charming, and most popular. She said she knew Washington’s
complex social system to a dot....”
“And we are to supply the dash?” Duncan shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Apparently you have secured a domestic treasure; well, your plan may
work out all right, but, mother, I don’t like the idea of your retiring
so much from social life.”
“With my infirmity I cannot face strangers; don’t ask me, dear.”
“Mother! As if anyone ever thinks of that after they have once met
you,” exclaimed Duncan, greatly touched by the unuttered grief in Mrs.
Fordyce’s eyes, and he gave her an impulsive hug.
“Here, here, this will never do,” protested a hearty voice from the
other end of the boudoir. “Duncan, my boy, do you realize there are
young ‘buds’ downstairs waiting for your fond embraces?”
“Oh, get out!” retorted Duncan undutifully.
“Are our guests arriving, Calderon?” asked Mrs. Fordyce in some alarm.
“And you are not in the drawing-room?”
“Perhaps they haven’t come just yet,” admitted her husband. “Don’t
take me too literally, Flora. Where did you pick up the chaperon?”
“She came to me highly recommended,” said Mrs. Fordyce, her placid
manner undisturbed. “You were not in town, Calderon----”
“As if that would have made any difference?” he chuckled. “My dearest,
your wish is law in this house; if you want a dozen chaperons you shall
have them. I predict, Duncan,” turning to his son who had risen and was
lazily stretching himself, “that with Janet and her chaperon on deck,
we shall have a lively winter.”
“Back to the wilds for me!” retorted Duncan. “Tell me, mother, did your
chaperon pick out our guests tonight?”
“Oh, no; Janet selected the young girls and men who have already shown
her attention, the invitations were sent out over ten days ago. You
see, in place of giving a big reception to introduce Janet, I plan to
have a series of weekly dinner-dances.”
“What is the name of your paragon?” asked Duncan.
“Marjorie Langdon, her mother was an old school friend of mine.”
“The name sounds familiar,” Duncan wrinkled his brow in puzzled thought.
“Go down and meet her and then you’ll be certain about it,” put in his
father. “Now, Flora, will you give me your attention....”
Taking the hint Duncan strode to the door and vanished. As he reached
the head of the staircase he heard his name called, and turning
around, saw Janet standing before the elevator shaft. He retraced his
steps and joined her, and they entered the lift together.
“How do I look, Duncan?” she asked eagerly, turning slowly around for
his inspection, as the automatic car shot downward.
“The gown’s all right; the worst piece is in the middle,” he teased,
glancing admiringly at her blond prettiness. She was dressed in
exquisite taste, and her suddenly acquired grown-up manner sat quaintly
upon her. Her slightly offended expression caused him to add hastily:
“I like your hair arranged that way.”
“I do think it’s becoming,” admitted Janet, twisting about in the
lift so as to catch a better glimpse of herself in the tiny mirror.
“Marjorie Langdon dressed it for me. Do you know, Duncan, I believe I’m
going to like her.”
He was saved from comment by the stopping of the lift, and Janet, her
dignity flying to the four winds, scampered over to the drawing-room.
Duncan followed her more slowly, and paused abruptly at the threshold
of the room on perceiving a tall girl arranging roses in a vase, on one
of the empire tables.
Marjorie Langdon belonged to a type which appears to greater advantage
in evening dress than in street costume, and with half-cynical, wholly
critical eyes Duncan studied the girl, who, unaware of his presence,
stood with her profile turned toward him. In her shimmering white gown,
which suited her perfectly, and her color heightened by the excitement
of her first official appearance in the Fordyce house, she was well
worth a second look.
“Lord! she needs a chaperon herself,” Duncan muttered under his
breath, then stepped toward her as Marjorie looked in his direction.
“I shall have to present myself, Miss Langdon--Duncan Fordyce,” he
said pleasantly. “My sister Janet is too much excited to remember the
formalities.”
“I beg your pardon,” broke in Janet from the window seat. “I thought
you two had met.”
Successfully concealing her surprise under a friendly smile, Marjorie
shook his hand cordially; until that moment she had not known of Duncan
Fordyce’s existence. “When did you come to Washington?” she inquired.
“Three days ago----” the arrival of his father and several other men
interrupted his speech.
Ten minutes later the last guest had arrived, and Duncan, keeping up a
detached conversation with a nervous débutante, watched Marjorie with
increasing interest. Her youth might be against her as a chaperon, but
her poise and good breeding left nothing to be desired. No sign of
awkwardness was discernible in her manner as she stood by Janet’s side
assisting her in receiving the guests, and Calderon Fordyce, stopping
beside his son, whispered a vehement: “She’ll do.” His attention
distracted, Duncan failed to see one guest’s quickly concealed
astonishment on beholding Marjorie standing beside Janet.
“You here!” exclaimed Chichester Barnard. “How--how--delightful!”
“Thank you,” replied Marjorie gently. “I think, Chichester, you are to
take out our hostess, Miss Fordyce,” as the butler and footman parted
the portières. “Ah, Baron von Valkenberg, am I your fate? Suppose
we wait until the others have gone out,” and she stepped back, the
diplomat at her side.
After the arrival of the ices, Marjorie permitted herself a second’s
relaxation, and sat back in her chair. Both her neighbors were busily
engaged in conversation with the young girls sitting on the other
side of them, and glad of the respite, she glanced about the table.
She had been talking incessantly since the commencement of dinner and
her vocal chords actually ached. Everyone seemed to be having a gay
time, there was no lull in the conversation. Marjorie took in the
handsome silver and glass table appointments, and the beautiful flower
centerpiece with secret satisfaction; the dinner and the service had
been irreproachable. In fact, the ease and quiet elegance of the dinner
recalled her own mother’s delightful hospitality before they lost
their money. Marjorie sighed involuntarily; then her lips stiffened
resolutely. She had, on thinking over Mrs. Fordyce’s proposal, decided
to back out of her engagement, but Madame Yvonett, delighted with the
plan, refused to permit her to withdraw her acceptance, and bag and
baggage she had arrived at the Fordyce residence at five o’clock that
afternoon.
“Aren’t you going to give me a word?” inquired Duncan, her left-hand
neighbor, turning abruptly to her. “All I’ve seen of you is a pink ear.
Baron von Valkenberg has monopolized you outrageously.”
“He is a stranger,” replied Marjorie laughing. “He has only been in
this country five weeks; I’ve been trying to make him feel at home.”
“A very laudable object; but I’m a stranger, too,” protested Duncan.
“You might be nice to me.”
“But you _are_ at home,” Marjorie’s smile was one of her greatest
charms, and Duncan, all unconscious, fell under its spell. “Is this
your first visit to Washington?”
“No. When at Yale I used to spend my vacations here with Mrs. McIntyre.
That was ten years ago. Do you know, at the two entertainments I’ve
been to already, I saw some of the people I met here then, and they
knew me.”
“I’m not surprised; Washington is a place where one is never missed and
never forgotten. Where have you been since leaving Yale?”
“Knocking about the world,” carelessly. “I’ve just come up from Panama.
Who’s the good-looking man sitting on my sister’s right?”
“Chichester Barnard.”
“Oh!” The name struck a chord of memory, and the scene at the Turkish
bath three days before flashed before Duncan and he frowned. Some
telepathy seemed to tell Barnard that he was under discussion, and
catching Marjorie’s eye across the table, he raised his champagne glass
in gay challenge. She lifted hers to her lips in response, and set
it down untasted. “He’s remarkably fine looking,” reiterated Duncan.
“Something Byronic about him.”
“Yes,” agreed Marjorie; then turned abruptly to Baron von Valkenberg,
who, having refused the sweets, had been for the past five minutes
reaching under the table in a manner which suggested the loss of his
napkin. “What’s the matter, Baron?”
The young diplomat straightened up suddenly, and gravely replied: “I
sink it is a flea.”
For a moment gravity was at a discount, then Marjorie, catching Janet’s
eye, rose, and the guests and their hostess trooped back into the
drawing-room.
The men wasted but a short time over their cigars and liqueur, and
soon the dancing in the ballroom was in full swing. It was after
midnight when Chichester Barnard approached Marjorie and asked for
a dance. There was a barely perceptible pause, then, with a word of
thanks to her former partner, she laid her hand on Barnard’s arm, and
they floated out on the floor. They were two of the best dancers in
Washington, and Duncan, dancing with Janet, watched them with an odd
feeling of unrest. They had circled the room but twice when Barnard
stopped near the entrance to the library.
“I must talk to you, Madge,” he whispered hurriedly. “Come in here,”
and he led the way to a comfortable leather-covered divan. They had the
room to themselves. “Why didn’t you consult me before coming here as
chaperon.”
“Because I did not think my affairs interested you further.”
“Madge!” The soft, caressing voice held a note of keen reproach. “How
can you so misjudge me?”
But she refused to be placated. “It’s some days since I have seen you,”
she replied wearily. “How is your aunt, Mrs. Lawrence?”
“About the same, I believe,” shortly. “Tell me, how did you come to
give up your secretary work there?”
“You ask me that?” A sparkle of anger darkened Marjorie’s eyes, and he
glanced uncomfortably at the mantel clock. “You are better informed as
to what transpires in the Lawrence home than I am.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he complained. “Admiral Lawrence has a
grudge against me, witness his advising my aunt to cut me out of her
will; and now I believe he has influenced you to turn against me.
Madge, it’s not like you to go back on a pal,” he added bitterly.
“I am not the one who has ‘gone back,’” she retorted with spirit. “And
I think it’s best, all things considered, to return you this”--taking
a heavy gold signet ring out of a fold of her bodice and placing it in
his hand.
He looked at it in stupefied silence for a moment, then threw it
contemptuously on the large library table.
“Do you think by returning that ring that you can break the tie that
binds me to you, my darling?” he cried, real feeling in voice and
gesture. “That bit of gold is but a symbol of my love--as long as life
lasts, my heart, my homage, are yours.” Her pulse quickened under the
ardor in his eyes. “God! why am I poor!” He struck one fist impotently
in his other palm. “Cannot you understand, my darling, that it hurts me
cruelly to see you living here as a paid chaperon when you should reign
as queen.”
“Miss Langdon,” called Janet from the doorway. “Our guests are waiting
to say good-bye.”
Marjorie, dragged once more to earth, started guiltily for the door,
without a glance at her companion. A chaperon had small right to sit in
corners with attractive men.
After the last guest had departed Marjorie, leaving Janet and her
father and brother discussing the events of the evening, slipped back
into the library. But her search of the table and other pieces of
furniture was fruitless.
“In spite of his protests, he pocketed the ring,” she muttered, and a
queer smile crossed her lips.