THE ONLY WOMAN
“ALMOST the amount,” mused Marjorie folding the letter and placing
it carefully away in the top drawer of her bureau. “The company will
have to take it and wait for the remainder. I can do no more,” and
she turned dejectedly in her chair and surveyed her room, the dainty
furnishings of which left nothing to be desired in point of taste and
comfort. Mrs. Fordyce had given Marjorie the large double room on the
second bedroom floor, and adjoining Janet’s, the two girls using the
communicating dressing-room.
The past few days had sorely taxed Marjorie’s composure and endurance.
Besides her worry over money matters, her awakening to Chichester
Barnard’s duplicity had shocked her beyond measure. The disillusion
had been complete. Barnard was but a common fortune hunter; Janet his
quarry, and her paid chaperon only a plaything to amuse his idle hours.
Marjorie burned with shame and indignation at his daring to hold her so
cheaply. What had she done that he should have so poor an opinion of
her intelligence and integrity as to believe she should tamely submit
to being made a cat’s-paw? The thought scorched her like a white-hot
iron. She saw Barnard with new eyes; he was undeniably handsome,
entirely selfish, plausible--ah, too plausible; it had been his charm
of manner and fascinating personality which had held her captive for so
long, and quieted her haunting doubts of his sincerity.
She felt it to be her duty to warn Mrs. Fordyce of Barnard’s true
character, but hesitated, fearing her motive might be misconstrued.
Janet would undoubtedly declare her interference sprang from jealousy.
It was obvious that the young girl was flattered by Barnard’s
attention, and Marjorie reasoned that opposition would but fan her
liking into an impetuous espousing of his cause, and that might lead
to the very thing Marjorie most heartily wished avoided. During
wakeful nights she decided to temporize; to quietly undermine whatever
influence Barnard had gained over Janet’s impressionable nature, and to
see that his friendly footing in the household was discontinued. But it
was uphill work, for Barnard had ingratiated himself with every member
of the family, except Duncan, and Marjorie had sought her room after
luncheon thoroughly discouraged. A tap at the door disturbed her, and
on opening it, she found Mrs. Fordyce’s maid standing in the hall.
“Mrs. Fordyce would like to have you stop in her boudoir, Miss
Marjorie, before you go out,” she said respectfully.
“Tell Mrs. Fordyce I will come at once, Blanche,” and pausing long
enough to get her coat and furs, she ran down to the first bedroom
floor and entered the boudoir. With a word of apology, she passed
Calderon Fordyce, and sat down on the lounge by his wife.
“Father’s on the rampage,” announced Janet, uncurling herself in the
depths of a large chair. “He pretends to be awfully shocked at the
Calhoun-Cooper dinner last night.”
“There’s no pretense about it,” fumed Fordyce. “Why I was invited is
beyond me....”
“I suppose they thought they couldn’t ask me without you,” broke in
Janet. “Duncan hasn’t been decently civil to Joe, and Marjorie wasn’t
invited either.”
“If you had followed Marjorie’s advice you would not have accepted the
invitation, Calderon,” said Mrs. Fordyce mildly. “Were the Coopers so
very _outré_?”
“Oh, the Coopers themselves weren’t bad,” admitted Fordyce.
“You seemed to get on beautifully with Pauline during dinner,”
protested Janet.
“How was she dressed?” asked Mrs. Fordyce, whose busy mind was taken up
with replenishing Janet’s wardrobe.
“I don’t know, I didn’t glance under the table,” growled Fordyce.
“I hear Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper and Pauline are called ‘High-Lo,’” added
Janet, winking mischievously at Marjorie.
“And who is ‘Jack in the game’?” demanded Fordyce.
“Her latest admirer,” retorted his daughter, flippantly.
“What roused your ire at the dinner?” demanded Mrs. Fordyce, bestowing
a frown on Janet.
“Janet’s contemporaries made up the guests, Judge and Mrs. Walbridge
and I being thrown in for good measure,” smiled Fordyce. “Left more or
less to myself I watched the arrival of the young people, and I give
you my word, Flora, the main endeavor of each guest appeared to be how
to enter the drawing-room without greeting their host and hostess--and
most of them succeeded in their purpose. I have seen better manners in
a lumber camp.”
“What would the older generation do if they didn’t have us to
criticize?” asked Janet, raising her hands in mock horror.
“Let me tell you, young lady, if I catch you forgetting the manners
your mother taught you, I’ll pack you off to a convent,” warned Fordyce.
“You needn’t get so awfully excited,” objected his daughter, looking a
trifle subdued. “I’m sure some of the married people are just as rude.”
“The more shame to them; they are old enough to know better,” declared
Fordyce. “Life is too short to bother with ill-bred and stupid people.
I came to Washington to avoid them.”
“Pray, who sent you here?” inquired Marjorie.
“I thought a friend,” Fordyce’s eyes twinkled. “Now I’ve mingled
in Capital society, I’m beginning to believe that my friend had a
perverted sense of humor.”
“You are too harsh in your judgment, Calderon,” put in Mrs. Fordyce.
“Rudeness we have with us everywhere, whereas in Washington, while
there are numerous _nouveaux riches_ seeking social recognition,
who think lack of manners shows _savoir faire_, there are also many
distinguished men and women spending the winter here. In addition the
resident circle is certainly most charming and cultivated. The people
who strive for vulgar ostentatious display are grafted from other
cities.”
“I have no desire to be put in that class,” remarked Fordyce. “So,
Janet, mind your p’s and q’s.”
Janet rose abruptly. “’Nuff said, Daddy. Are you going downtown,
Marjorie?”
“Yes. Did you wish to see me, Mrs. Fordyce?”
“I will be greatly obliged if you will stop at Galt’s, Marjorie, and
order the articles I had put aside yesterday, sent to me; then please
stop at Small’s....”
“I think I’ll go with you,” volunteered Janet.
“Hurry then,” Fordyce darted an impatient look at the mantel clock.
“Two thirty-five. I’ll send you both down in the motor, and you can
stop at the bank, Janet, and draw a check for me. I’ll go and make it
out; come to the library before you go,” and he left the room, followed
by Janet.
“Are you happy here, Marjorie?” asked Mrs. Fordyce, turning directly to
the girl.
“What a question, dear Mrs. Fordyce! You have done everything for my
comfort,” and Marjorie looked gratefully at the older woman. “I have
seldom met with such consideration and kindness. You--you are not
dissatisfied with me?” in quick alarm.
“No, indeed.” Mrs. Fordyce’s tone was flattering in its sincerity, and
Marjorie’s fears were allayed. “I can’t get on without you; in fact, I
am afraid I’m putting too much upon you. You are so dependable I forget
your youth.”
Marjorie’s laugh was followed by an unconscious sigh. “Youth with me
is a thing of the past; I rival Methuselah,” she said lightly. “Don’t
worry about me, dear Mrs. Fordyce; I can never do enough to repay your
kindness. My work here is most congenial.”
“Come along, Marjorie,” called Janet from the hall.
“Go, my dear,” Mrs. Fordyce impulsively kissed Marjorie. “Don’t keep my
husband waiting; he’ll never forgive you.”
Mrs. Fordyce had been by herself but a scant ten minutes when the hall
door again opened and Duncan walked in.
“Where’s everybody?” he demanded, seating himself by her.
“Your father had an engagement at the Riding and Hunt Club.” She
inspected the clock. “He should be there now.”
“And what are the others doing?”
“Janet and Marjorie? Oh, they are out shopping for Christmas.”
“I wish I’d known it, I’d have gone with them,” and he beat an
impatient tattoo on the back of the lounge.
“I am afraid you find Washington very dull,” said Mrs. Fordyce
regretfully. “But I am selfish enough to wish to keep you here. Stay as
long as you can, dear.”
“Of course I’m going to stay,” heartily, catching the wistful appeal
in her eyes. “I’ve given up returning to the West until February and
you’ll have me on your hands until then.”
“That’s dear of you, Duncan,” she leaned over and stroked his hand. “My
bonnie big boy,” and there was infinite pride in her tone. “You have
no idea of my joy in having your father, Janet, and you under one roof
again. This will be a blessed Christmas to me.”
She sat silent as memories of lonely years in their San Francisco home
rose before her. Originally from Boston, she had married Calderon
Fordyce in New York, and had accompanied him to the Pacific coast where
he had eventually built up an immense importing trade. His business had
taken him frequently to the Orient, and Mrs. Fordyce after her railroad
accident had perforce remained in San Francisco. She had not minded
her husband’s absences so much while her children were young, but when
Duncan departed to college, and later Janet to boarding school, her
loneliness and physical condition had preyed so much on her mind that
her husband had become alarmed. On consulting their physician, Calderon
Fordyce had been advised to see that his wife had more distractions,
and placing his business affairs in competent hands, he and Mrs.
Fordyce had spent the past few years traveling in Europe, and while
there she had formed the plan to introduce Janet to Washington society
on her reaching her eighteenth year.
“I am particularly glad for Janet’s sake that you are here, Duncan,”
she said presently. “It is nice for her to have a big elder brother at
dances and dinners.”
“Miss Langdon takes such excellent care of Janet that my services as
cavalier are not required,” replied Duncan lazily. “Janet is pretty
enough to have plenty of partners, and Miss Langdon sees that she meets
men.”
“I think I was very lucky to secure Marjorie,” and Mrs. Fordyce nodded
her head complacently.
“I think you were,” agreed Duncan, idly turning the leaves of a
magazine. “I’m afraid Janet is tiring her out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Too many late parties,” tersely. “Miss Langdon is fagged out.”
“She doesn’t look strong,” admitted Mrs. Fordyce thoughtfully. “But I
think her pale cheeks and distrait manner are induced by a love affair.”
“Eh!” Duncan turned toward his mother with unusual sharpness. “Who’s
the man?” The question seemed almost forced from him.
“Chichester Barnard.”
“Oh, nonsense.”
“It is not nonsense,” replied Mrs. Fordyce, somewhat nettled by his
manner. “I have watched them very closely when they are together, and
I am sure I am right.” Duncan rose abruptly and walked over to the
window. “Mr. Barnard and Marjorie are both so good looking that they
would make an ideal couple.”
“Ideal?” Duncan’s laugh was mirthless. “You are an idealist, mother.”
“Better that than an image breaker,” retorted Mrs. Fordyce. “Now, run
along, dear, I must take my usual afternoon nap.”
“All right, mother, I’ll be down in the billiard-room if you should
want me.”
Duncan spent an unsatisfactory hour knocking the balls around,
then took refuge in the library. Selecting a novel he made himself
comfortable before the open fire, and commenced reading. But his
attention wandered from the printed page; before him constantly was
Marjorie Langdon’s face. Surely he had not found his ideal but to lose
her? He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the fireplace,
and his mouth set grimly. What chance had his plain features and
taciturn manner against Barnard’s handsome face and gay debonair
personality? He had inherited his looks and his temperament from some
dour Scotch ancestor. It would take a miracle to make him a parlor
knight. His book fell with a thud to the floor, and as he stooped to
pick it up, the door opened and Marjorie walked in.
“Can I see your father?” she asked.
“I am sorry, he is not in,” Duncan sprang up and pushed forward a
chair. “Won’t I serve the purpose?”
“Oh, yes.” She stepped forward and removed a small roll of bank notes
from her muff. “Janet cashed one hundred and fifty dollars for your
father, and asked me to give it to him. Will you see that the money
reaches him?” placing the bank notes on the library table. “I’m afraid
I can’t sit down, Mr. Fordyce; your sister is waiting for me.”
“Let her wait,” calmly. “It’s beastly cold outside; I am sure the fire
will be a comfort. Sit down for a moment.”
“I mustn’t,” Marjorie’s color, made brilliant by the wind outside,
deepened to a warmer tint as she caught his eyes. “Janet and Baron von
Valkenberg are waiting in the motor for me; we are going down to the
Basin to skate. The river is frozen over, you know. Good-bye,” and she
vanished through the doorway.
“D--mn! they might have asked me to go along!” Duncan threw a fresh log
on the fire as a slight vent to his feelings, then strolled over to the
window opening on Sheridan Circle. He was just in time to see Marjorie
assisted into the waiting motor by Chichester Barnard.
Duncan drew back, stung to the quick, and making his way to the table,
dropped into his father’s revolving chair. For a time he sat blindly
scratching marks on a pad, then threw down his pencil in disgust.
“The only woman!” he muttered, and his clenched hands parted slowly. As
he rose to leave the room his eyes fell on a small pile of bank notes
lying on the floor where he had knocked them some minutes before. He
gathered them up, and paused idly to count the bills.... “Nine tens,
ten tens, one hundred; one ten----” his hand remained suspended in the
air; surely Marjorie had mentioned one hundred and fifty dollars? Where
was the odd forty? He went slowly over the bills again, with the same
result--one hundred and ten dollars.
With infinite pains Duncan searched the table and then the floor.
Leaving the library he went carefully down the hall and staircase, and
from there to the front door and down to the street. Finding no trace
of any bank notes, he retraced his steps to the house, but instead of
mounting the stairs he went up in the lift, first carefully examining
its interior. On reaching the drawing-room floor he returned to the
library and sat for some time contemplating the fire. The tinkle of the
telephone bell aroused him, and he hastened to remove the receiver.
“Yes, this is Duncan Fordyce,” he called. “Yes, Janet, what is it?”
“I can’t rent a pair of skates here that will fit me,” came Janet’s
answer. “Please have Blanche hunt in my closet and find my own pair,
and send them down to me by messenger at once, Duncan.”
“I’ll attend to it,” he promised. “Wait, Janet. Did you draw out some
money for father?”
“Yes, a hundred and fifty dollars. Marjorie said she gave it to you.
What did you say, Duncan?”
“Nothing. I’ll send the skates. Good-bye,” and he banged up the
receiver. But it was some minutes before he moved, and when he rose
there were lines about his mouth which had not been there before. He
pushed the electric bell, and on Perkins’ entrance, gave him full
instructions regarding the skates. As the butler left the room,
Calderon Fordyce appeared.
“All alone, Duncan?” he asked. “Where’s Janet?”
“Down skating on the Potomac.”
“Deuce take the girl! What does she mean by gadding about? I told her
to return here at once with my money. I promised to advance Perkins’
wages, and----”
“Janet left it with me,” Duncan stepped forward and handed his father
the roll of bills. “Here it is.”
“Thanks, Duncan,” Fordyce took out his leather wallet and stuffed the
bank notes inside it.
“Hold on,” cautioned Duncan. “Hadn’t you better count your money?”
Fordyce eyed his son in astonishment. “What are you driving at?” he
demanded brusquely. “I’m not in the habit of questioning anything you
and Janet give me.”
“Some of that money is missing,” stated Duncan.
“What?” Fordyce’s smile vanished, and his eyes darkened.
“I borrowed forty dollars,” added Duncan tranquilly. “Here’s my check
for the amount,” taking it up from the table. “I needed the ready
money, so”--smiling whimsically, “helped myself.”