Desboro's guests were determined to turn the house out of the windows;
its stodgy respectability incited them; every smug, smooth portrait
goaded them to unusual effort, and they racked their brains to invent
novelties.
On one day they opened all the windows in the disused west wing, flooded
the ground floor, hung the great stone room with paper lanterns, and
held an ice carnival. As masks and costumes had been made entirely out
of paper, there were several startling effects and abrupt retirements to
repair damages; but the dancing on skates in the lantern light was very
pretty, and even the youth and pride of Westchester found the pace not
unsuitably rapid.
On another day, Desboro's feminine guests sent to town for enough green
flannel to construct caricatures of hunting coats for everybody.
The remains of a stagnant pack of harriers vegetated on a neighbouring
estate; Desboro managed to mount his guests on his own live-stock,
including mules, farm horses, polo ponies, and a yoke of oxen; and the
county saw a hunting that they were not likely to forget.
Reggie Ledyard was magnificent astride an ox, with a paper megaphone for
a hunting horn, rubber boots, and his hastily basted coat split from
skirt to collar. The harriers ran wherever they pleased, and the
astonished farm mules wouldn't run at all. There was hysterical
excitement when one cotton-tail rabbit was started behind a barn and
instantly lost under it.
The hunt dinner was a weird and deafening affair, and the Weber-Field
ball costumes unbelievable.
Owing to reaction and exhaustion, repentant girls came to Jacqueline
requesting an interim of intellectual recuperation; so she obligingly
announced a lecture in the jade room, and talked to them very prettily
about jades and porcelains, suiting her words to their intellectual
capacity, which could grasp Kang-he porcelains and Celedon and
Sang-de-boeuf, but balked at the "three religions," and found _blanc
de Chine_ uninspiring. So she told them about the _famille vert_ and the
_famille rose_; about the K'ang Hsi period, which they liked, and how
the imperial kilns at Kiangsi developed the wonderful _clair de lune_
"turquoise blue" and "peach bloom," for which some of their friends or
relatives had paid through their various and assorted noses.
All of this her audience found interesting because they recognised in
the exquisite examples from Desboro's collection, with which Jacqueline
illustrated her impromptu lecture, objects both fashionable and
expensive; and what is both fashionable and expensive appeals very
forcibly to mediocrity.
"I saw a jar like that one at the Clydesdales'," said Reggie Ledyard, a
trifle excited at his own unexpected intelligence. "How much is it
worth, Miss Nevers?"
She laughed and looked at the vase between her slender fingers.
"Really," she said, "it isn't worth very much. But wealthy people have
established fictitious values for many rather crude and commonplace
things. If people had the courage to buy only what appealed to them
personally, there would be a mighty crash in tumbling values."
"We'd all wake up and find ourselves stuck," remarked Van Alstyne, who
possessed some pictures which he had come to loathe, but for which he
had paid terrific prices. "Jim, do you want to buy any primitives,
guaranteed genuine?"
"There's the thrifty Dutch trader for you," said Reggie. "I'm loaded
with rickety old furniture, too. They got me to furnish my place with
antiques! But you don't see me trying to sell 'em to my host at a house
party!"
"Stop your disputing," said Desboro pleasantly, "and ask Miss Nevers for
her professional opinion later. The chances are that you both have been
properly stuck, and I never had any sympathy for wealthy ignorance,
anyway."
But Ledyard and Van Alstyne, being very wealthy, became frightfully
depressed over the unfeeling jibes of Desboro; and Jacqueline seemed to
be by way of acquiring a pair of new clients.
In fact, both young men at various moments approached her on the
subject, but Desboro informed them that they might with equal propriety
ask a physician to prescribe for them at a dance, and that Miss Nevers'
office was open from nine until five.
"Gad," remarked Ledyard to Van Alstyne, with increasing respect, "she is
some girl, believe _me_, Stuyve. Only if she ever married up with a man
of our kind--good-night! She'd quit him in a week."
Van Alstyne touched his forehead significantly.
"Sure," he said. "Nothing doing _inside_ our conks. But why the Lord
made her such a peach outside as well as inside is driving me to
Jersey! Most of 'em are so awful to look at, don't y'know. Come on,
anyway. _I_ can't keep away from her."
"She's somewhere with the others playing baseball golf," said Reggie,
gloomily, following his friend. "Isn't it terrible to see a girl in the
world like that--apparently created to make some good gink happy--and
suddenly find out that she has even more brains than beauty! My God,
Stuyve, it's hard on a man like me."
"Are you really hard hit?"
"_Am_ I? And how about you?"
"It's the real thing here," admitted Van Alstyne. "But what's the use?"
They agreed that there was no use; but during the dance that evening
both young men managed to make their intentions clear to Jacqueline.
Reggie Ledyard had persuaded her to a few minutes' promenade in the
greenhouse; and there, standing amid thickets of spicy carnations, the
girl listened to her first proposal from a man of that outer world about
which, until a few days ago, she had known nothing.
The boy was not eloquent; he made a clumsy attempt to kiss her and was
defeated. He seemed to her very big, and blond, and handsome as he stood
there; and she felt a little pity for him, too, partly because his ideas
were so few and his vocabulary so limited.
Perplexed, silent, sorry for him, yet still conscious of a little thrill
of wonder and content that a man of the outer world had found her
eligible, she debated within herself how best to spare him. And, as
usual, the truth presented itself to her as the only explanation.
"You see," she said, lifting her troubled eyes, "I am in love with some
one else."
"Good God!" he muttered. After a silence he said humbly: "Would it be
unpardonable if I--_would_ you tell me whether you are engaged?"
She blushed with surprise at the idea.
"Oh, no," she said, startled. "I--don't expect to be."
"What?" he exclaimed incredulously. "Is there a man on earth ass enough
not to fall in love with you if you ever condescended to smile at him
twice?"
But the ideas which he was evoking seemed to distress her, and she
averted her face and stood twisting a long-stemmed carnation with
nervous fingers.
Not even to herself, either before or since Desboro's letter which had
revealed him so unmistakably, had the girl ventured in her inmost
thoughts to think the things which this big, blond, loutish boy had
babbled.
What Desboro was, she understood. She had had the choice of dismissing
him from her mind, with scorn and outraged pride as aids to help the
sacrifice, or of accepting him as he was--as she knew him to be--for the
sake of something about him as yet inexplicable even to herself.
And she had chosen.
But now a man of Desboro's world had asked her to be his wife. More than
that; he had assumed that she was fitted to be the wife of anybody.
* * * * *
They walked back together. She was adorable with him, kind, timidly
sympathetic and smilingly silent by turns, venturing even to rally him a
little, console him a little, moved by an impulse toward friendship
wholly unfeigned.
"All I have to say is," he muttered, "that you're a peach and a corker;
and I'm going to invent some way of marrying you, even if it lands me in
an East Side night-school."
Even he joined in her gay laughter; and presently Van Alstyne, who had
been glowering at them, managed to get her away. But she would have
nothing further to do with greenhouses, or dark landings, or libraries;
so he asked her bluntly while they were dancing; and she shook her head,
and very soon dropped his arm.
There was a bay-window near them; she made a slight gesture of
irritation; and there, in the partly curtained seclusion, he learned
that she was grateful and happy that he liked her so much; that she
liked him very much, but that she loved somebody else.
He took it rather badly at first; she began to understand that few girls
would have lightly declined a Van Alstyne; and he was inclined to be
patronising, sulky and dignified--an impossible combination--for it
ditched him finally, and left him kissing her hands and declaring
constancy eternal.
That night, at parting, Desboro retained her offered hand a trifle
longer than convention required, and looked at her more curiously than
usual.
"Are you enjoying the party, Jacqueline?"
"Every minute of it. I have never been as happy."
"I suppose you realise that everybody is quite mad about you."
"Everybody is nice to me! People are so much kinder than I imagined."
"Are they? How do you get on with the gorgon?"
"Mrs. Hammerton? Do you know she is perfectly sweet? I never dreamed she
could be so gentle and thoughtful and considerate. Why--and it seems
almost ridiculous to say it--she seems to have the ideas of a mother
about whatever concerns me. She actually fusses over me
sometimes--and--it is--agreeable."
An inexplicable shyness suddenly overcame her, and she said good-night
hastily, and mounted the stairs to her room.
Later, when she was prepared for bed, Mrs. Hammerton knocked and came
in.
"Jacqueline," she said bluntly, "what was Reggie Ledyard saying to you
this evening? I'll box his ears if he proposed to you. Did he?"
"I--I am afraid he did."
"You didn't take him?"
"No."
"I should think not! I'd as soon expect you to marry a stable groom. He
has all the beauty and healthy colour of one. Also the distinguished
mental capacity. You don't want that kind."
"I don't want any kind."
"I'm glad of it. Did any other fool hint anything more of that sort?"
"Mr. Van Alstyne."
"Oho! Stuyvesant, too? Well, what did you say to _him_?" asked the old
lady, with animation.
"I said no."
"What?"
"Of course, I said no. I am not in love with Mr. Van Alstyne."
"Child! Do you realise that you had the opportunity of your life!"
Jacqueline's smile was confused and deprecating.
"But when a girl doesn't care for a man----"
"Do you mean to marry for _love_?"
The girl sat silent a moment, then shook her head.
"I shall not marry," she said.
"Nonsense! And if you feel that way, what am I good for? What earthly
use am I to you? Will you kindly inform me?"
She had seated herself on the bed's edge, leaning over the girl where
she lay on her pillows.
"Answer me," she insisted. "Of what use am I to you?"
For a full minute the girl lay there looking up at her without stirring.
Then a smile glimmered in her eyes; she lifted both arms and laid them
on the older woman's shoulders.
"You are useful--this way," she said; and kissed her lightly on the
forehead.
The effect on Aunt Hannah was abrupt; she caught the girl to her breast
and held her there fiercely and in silence for a moment; then, releasing
her, tucked her in with mute violence, turned off the light and marched
out without a word.
* * * * *
Day after day Desboro's guests continued to turn the house inside out,
ransacking it from garret to cellar.
"We don't intend to do anything in this house that anybody has ever done
here, or at any house party," explained Reggie Ledyard to Jacqueline.
"So if any lady cares to walk down stairs on her head the incident will
be quite in order."
"Can she slide down the banisters instead?" asked Helsa Steyr.
"Oh, you'll have to slide up to be original," said Betty Barkley.
"How can anybody slide _up_ the banisters?" demanded Reggie hotly.
"You've the intellect of a terrapin," said Betty scornfully. "It's
because nobody has ever done it that it ought to be done here."
Desboro, seated on the pool table, told her she could do whatever she
desired, including arson, as long as she didn't disturb the Aqueduct
Police.
Katharine Frere said to Jacqueline: "Everything you do is so original.
Can't you invent something new for us to do?"
"She might suggest that you all try to think," said Mrs. Hammerton
tartly. "That would be novelty enough."
Cairns seized the megaphone and shouted: "Help! Help! Aunt Hannah is
after us!"
Captain Herrendene, seated beside Desboro with a half smile on his face,
glanced across at Jacqueline who stood in the embrasure of a window, a
billiard cue resting across her shoulders.
"Please invent something for us, Miss Nevers," he said.
"Why don't you play hide and seek?" sneered Mrs. Hammerton, busily
knitting a tie. "It's suited to your intellects."
"Let Miss Nevers suggest a new way of playing the oldest game ever
invented," added Betty Barkley. "There is no possibility of inventing
anything new; everything was first done in the year one. Even
protoplasmic cells played hide-and-seek together."
"What rot!" said Reggie. "You can't play that in a new way."
"You could play it in a sporting way," said Cairns.
"How's that, old top?"
"Well, for example, you conceal yourself, and whatever girl finds you
has got to marry you. How's that for a reckless suggestion?"
But it had given Reggie something resembling an idea.
"Let us be hot sports," he said, with animation; "draw lots to see which
girl will hide somewhere in the house; make a time-limit of one hour;
and if any man finds her she'll marry him. There isn't a girl here," he
added, jeeringly, "who has the sporting nerve to try it!"
A chorus of protests greeted the challenge. Athalie Vannis declared that
she was crazy to marry somebody; but she insisted that the men would
only pretend to search, and were really too cowardly to hunt in earnest.
Cairns retorted that the girl in concealment would never permit a real
live man to miss her hiding place while she possessed lungs to reveal
it.
"There isn't," repeated Reggie, "a girl who has the nerve! Not one!" He
inspected them scornfully through the wrong end of the megaphone. "Phony
sports," he added. "No nerves and all fidgets. Look at me; _I_ don't
want to get married; but I'm game for an hour. There isn't a girl here
to call my bluff!" And he ventured to glance at Jacqueline.
"They've had a chance to look at you by daylight, Reggie, and that is
fatal," said Cairns. "Now, if they were only sure that I'd discover
'em, or the god-like captain yonder, or the beautiful Mr. Desboro----"
"I've half a mind to do it," said Helsa Steyr. "Marie, will you draw
lots to see who hides?"
"Why doesn't a man hide?" drawled Miss Ledyard. "I'm very sure I could
drag him to the altar in ten minutes."
Cairns had found a sheet of paper, torn it into slips, and written down
every woman's name, including Aunt Hannah's.
"She's retired to her room in disgust," said Jacqueline, laughing.
"Is _she_ included?" faltered Reggie.
"You've brought it on yourself," said Cairns. "Are you going to renig
just because Aunt Hannah is a possible prize? Are you really a tin
sport?"
"No, by heck! Come on, Katharine!" to Miss Frere. "But Betty Barkley
can't figure in this, or there may be bigamy done."
"That makes it a better sporting proposition," said Betty coolly. "I
insist on figuring; Bertie can take his chances."
"Then I'm jingled if I don't play, too," said Barkley. "And I'm not sure
I'll hunt very hard if it's Betty who hides."
The pretty little woman turned up her nose at her husband and sent a
dazzling smile at Desboro.
"I'll whistle three times, like the daughter in the poem," she said.
"Please beat my husband to it."
Cairns waved the pool basket aloft: "Come ladies!" he cried. "Somebody
reach up and draw; and may heaven smile upon your wedding day!"
Betty Barkley, standing on tip-toe, reached up, stirred the folded
ballots with tentative fingers, grasped one, drew it forth, and
flourished it.
"Goodness! How my heart really beats!" she said. "I don't know whether I
want to open it or not. I hadn't contemplated bigamy."
"If it's my name, I'm done for," said Katharine Frere calmly. "I'm
nearly six feet, and I can't conceal them all."
"Open it," said Athalie Vannis, with a shiver. "After all there's the
divorce court!" And she looked defiantly at Cairns.
Betty turned over the ballot between forefinger and thumb and regarded
it with dainty aversion.
"Well," she said, "if I'm in for a scandal, I might as well know it.
Will you be kind to me, Jim, and not flirt with my maid?"
She opened the ballot, examined the name written there, turned and
passed it to Jacqueline, who flushed brightly as a delighted shout
greeted her.
"The question is," said Reggie Ledyard excitedly, "are you a sport, Miss
Nevers, or are you not? Kindly answer with appropriate gestures."
The girl stood with her golden head drooping, staring at the bit of
paper in her hand; then, as Desboro watched her, she glanced up with
that sudden, reckless smile which he had seen once before--the first day
he met her--and made a gay little gesture of acceptance.
"You're not really going to do it, are you?" said Betty, incredulously.
"You don't have to; they're every one of them short sports themselves!"
"_I_ am not," said Jacqueline, smiling.
"But," argued Katharine Frere, "suppose Reggie should find you. You'd
never marry _him_, would you?"
"Great Heavens!" shouted Ledyard. "She might have a worse fate. There's
Desboro!"
"You don't really mean it, do you, Miss Nevers?" asked Captain
Herrendene.
"Yes, I do," said Jacqueline. "I always was a gambler by nature."
The tint of excitement was bright on her cheeks; she shot a daring
glance at Ledyard, looked at Van Alstyne and laughed, but her back
remained turned toward Desboro.
He said: "If the papers ever get wind of this they'll print it as a
serious item."
"I _am_ perfectly serious," she said, looking coolly at him over her
shoulder. "If there is a man here clever enough to find me, I'll marry
him in a minute. But"--and she laughed in Desboro's face--"there isn't.
So nobody need really lose one moment in anxiety. And if a girl finds me
it's all off, of course. May I have twenty minutes? And will you time
me, Mr. Ledyard? And will you all remain in this room with the door
closed?"
"If nobody finds you," cried Cairns, as she crossed the threshold, "we
each forfeit whatever you ask of us?"
She paused at the door, looking back: "Is that understood?"
Everybody cried: "Yes! Certainly!"
She nodded and disappeared.
For twenty minutes they waited; then, as Reggie closed his watch, a
general stampede ensued. Amazed servants shrank aside as Cairns, blowing
fearful blasts on the megaphone, cheered on the excited human pack;
everywhere Desboro's cats and dogs fled before the invasion; room after
room was ransacked, maids routed, butler and valet defied. Even Aunt
Hannah's sanctuary was menaced until that lady sat up on her bed and
swore steadily at Ledyard, who had scaled the transom.
Desboro, hunting by himself, entered the armoury, looked suspiciously at
the armoured figures, shook a few, opened the vizors of others, and
peered at the painted faces inside the helmets.
Others joined him, prying curiously, gathering in groups amid the
motionless army of mailed men. Then, as more than half of the allotted
hour had already expired, Ledyard suggested an attic party, where trunks
full of early XIXth century clothing might be rifled with pleasing
results.
"We may find her up there in a chest, like the celebrated bride,"
remarked Aunt Hannah, who had reappeared from her retreat. "It's the
lesser of several tragedies that might happen," she added insolently, to
Desboro.
"To the attic!" thundered Cairns through his megaphone; and they
started.
But Desboro still lingered at the armoury door, looking back. The noise
of the chase died away in the interior of the main house; the armoury
became very still under the flood of pale winter sunshine.
He glanced along the steel ranks of men-at-arms; he looked up at the
stately mounted figures; dazzling sunlight glittered over helmet and
cuirass and across the armoured flanks of horses.
Could it be possible that she was seated up there, hidden inside some
suit of blazing mail, astride a battle-horse?
Cautiously he came back, skirting the magnificent and motionless ranks,
hesitated and halted.
Of course the whole thing had been proposed and accepted in jest; he
told himself that. And yet--if some other man did discover her--the
foundation of the jest might serve for a more permanent understanding.
He didn't want her to have any intimate understanding with anybody until
he and she understood each other, and he understood himself.
He didn't want another man to find and claim the forfeit, even in jest,
because he didn't know what might happen. No man was ever qualified to
foretell what another man might do; and men already were behaving toward
her with a persistency and seriousness unmistakable--men like
Herrendene, who meant what he looked and said; and young Hammerton,
Daisy's brother, eager, inexperienced and susceptible; and Bertie
Barkley, a little, hard-faced snob, with an unerring instinct for
anybody who promised to be popular among desirable people, was beginning
to test her metal with the acid of his experience.
Desboro stood quite still, looking almost warily about him and thinking
faster and faster, trying to recollect who it was who had dragged in the
silly subject of marriage. That blond and hulking ass Ledyard, wasn't
it?
He began to walk, slowly passing the horsemen in review.
Suppose a blond animal like Reggie Ledyard offered himself in earnest.
Was she the kind of girl who would nail the worldly opportunity? And
Herrendene--that quiet, self-contained, keen-eyed man of forty-five. You
could never tell what Herrendene was thinking about anything, or what he
was capable of doing. And his admiration for Jacqueline was
undisguised, and his attentions frankly persistent. Last night, too,
when they were coasting under the new moon, there was half an hour's
disappearance for which neither Herrendene nor Jacqueline had even
pretended to account, though bantered and challenged--to Desboro's vague
discomfort. And the incident had left Desboro a trifle cool toward her
that morning; and she had pretended not to be aware of the slight
constraint between them, which made him sulky.
* * * * *
He had reached the end of the double lane of horsemen. Now he pivoted
and retraced his steps, hands clasped behind his back, absently scanning
the men-at-arms, preoccupied with his own reflections.
How seriously had she taken the rôle she was playing somewhere at that
moment? Only fools accepted actual hazards when dared. He himself was
apt to be that kind of a fool. Was _she_? Would she really have abided
by the terms if discovered by Herrendene, for example, or Dicky
Hammerton--if they were mad enough to take it seriously?
He thought of that sudden and delicious flash of recklessness in her
eyes. He had seen it twice now.
"By God!" he thought. "I believe she would! She is the sort that sees a
thing through to the bitter end."
He glanced up, startled, as though something, somewhere in the vast,
silent place, had moved. But he heard nothing, and there was no movement
anywhere among the armoured effigies.
Suppose she were here hidden somewhere within a hollow suit of steel.
She must be! Else why was he lingering? Why was he not hunting her with
the pack? And still, if she actually were here, why was he not
searching for her under every suit of sunlit mail? Could it be because
he did not really _want_ to find her--with this silly jest of marriage
dragged in--a thing not to be mentioned between her and him even in
jest?
Was it that he had become convinced in his heart that she must be here,
and was he merely standing guard like a jealous, sullen dog, watching
lest some other fool come blundering back from a false trail to discover
the right one--and perhaps her?
Suddenly, without reason, he became certain that she and he were there
in the armoury alone together. He knew it somehow, felt it, divined it
in every quickening pulse beat.
He heard the preliminary click of the armoury clock, indicating five
minutes' grace before the hour struck. He looked up at the old dial,
where it was set against the wall--an ancient piece in azure and gold
under a foliated crest borne by some long dead dignitary.
Four more minutes now. And suppose she should stir in her place, setting
her harness clashing? Had the thought of marrying him ever entered her
head? Was it in such a girl to challenge the possibility, make it as
near a serious question as it ever could be? It had never existed for
them, even as a question. It was not a dead issue, because it had never
lived. If she made one movement now, if she so much as lifted her
finger, this occult thing would be alive. He knew it--knew that it lay
with her; and stood silent, unstirring, listening for the slightest
sound. There was no sound.
It lacked now only a minute to the hour. He looked at the face of the
lofty clock; and, looking, all in a moment it flashed upon him where she
was concealed.
Wheeling in his tracks, on the impulse of the moment he walked straight
back to the great painted wooden charger, sheathed in steel and cloth of
gold, bearing on high a slender, mounted figure in full armour--the
dainty Milanese mail Of the Countess of Oroposa.
The superb young figure sat its saddle, hollow backed, graceful, both
delicate gauntlets resting easily over the war-bridle on the gem-set
pommel. Sunbeams turned the long spurs to two golden flames, and
splintered into fire across the helmet's splendid crest. He could not
pierce the dusk behind the closed vizor; but in every heart-beat, every
nerve, he felt her living presence within that hollow shell of inlaid
steel and gold.
For a moment he stood staring up at her, then glanced mechanically
toward the high clock. Thirty seconds! Time to speak if he would; time
for her to move, if in her heart there ever had been the thought which
he had never uttered, never meant to voice. Twenty seconds! Through that
slitted vizor, also, the clock was in full view. She could read the
flight of time as well as he. Now she must move--if ever she meant to
challenge in him that to which he never would respond.
He waited now, looking at the clock, now at the still figure above him.
Ten seconds! Five!
"Jacqueline!" he cried impulsively.
There was no movement, no answer from the slitted helmet.
"Jacqueline! Are you there?"
No sound.
Then the lofty gold and azure clock struck. And when the last of the
twelve resounding strokes rang echoing through the sunlit armoury, the
mailed figure stirred in its saddle, stretched both stirrups, raised its
arms and flexed them.
"You nearly caught me," she said calmly. "I was afraid you'd see my eyes
through the helmet slits. Was it your lack of enterprise that saved
me--or your prudence?"
"I spoke to you before the hour was up. It seems to me that I _have_
won."
"Not at all. You might just as well have stood in the cellar and howled
my name. That isn't discovering me, you know."
"I felt in my heart that you were there," he said, in a low voice.
She laughed. "What a man feels in his heart doesn't count. Do you
realise that I'm nearly dead sitting for an hour here? This helmet is
abominably hot! How in the world could that poor countess have stood
it?"
"Shall I climb up beside you and unlace your helmet?" he asked.
"No, thank you. Mrs. Quant will get me out of it." She rose in the
stirrups, swung one steel-shod leg over, and leaped to the floor beside
him, clashing from crest to spur.
"What a silly game it was, anyway!" she commented, lifting her vizor and
lowering the beaver. Her face was deliciously flushed, and the gold hair
straggled across her cheeks.
"It's quite wonderful how the armour of the countess fits me," she said.
"I wonder what she looked like. I'll wager, anyway, that she never
played as risky a game in her armour as I have played this morning."
"You didn't really mean to abide by the decision, did you?" he asked.
"Do you think I did?"
"No, of course not."
She smiled. "Perhaps you are correct. But I've always been afraid I'd do
something radical and irrevocable, and live out life in misery to pay
for it. Probably I wouldn't. I _must_ take off these gauntlets, anyway.
Thank you"--as he relieved her of them and tossed them under the feet of
the wooden horse.
"Last Thursday," he said, "you fascinated everybody with your lute and
your Chinese robes. Heaven help the men when they see you in armour!
I'll perform my act of fealty now." And he lifted her hands and kissed
them lightly where the gauntlets had left pink imprints on the smooth
white skin.
As always when he touched her, she became silent; and, as always, he
seemed to divine the instant change in her to unresponsiveness under
physical contact. It was not resistance, it was a sort of inertia--an
endurance which seemed to stir in him a subtle brutality, awaking depths
which must not be troubled--unless he meant to cut his cables once for
all and drift headlong toward the rocks of chance.
"You and Herrendene behaved shockingly last night," he said lightly.
"Where on earth did you go?"
"Is it to you that I must whisper 'je m'accuse'?" she asked smilingly.
"To whom if not to me, Jacqueline?"
"Please--and what exactly then may be your status? Don't answer," she
added, flushing scarlet. "I didn't mean to say that. Because I know what
is your status with me."
"How do you know?"
"You once made it clear to me, and I decided that your friendship was
worth everything to me--whatever you yourself might be."
"Whatever _I_ might be?" he repeated, reddening.
"Yes. You are what you are--what you wrote me you were. I understood
you. But--do you notice that it has made any difference in my
friendship? Because it has not."
The dull colour deepened over his face. They were standing near the
closed door now; she laid one hand on the knob, then ventured to raise
her eyes.
"It has made no difference," she repeated. "Please don't think it has."
His arms had imprisoned her waist; she dropped her head and her hand
slipped from the knob of the great oak door as he drew her toward him.
"In armour!" she protested, trying to speak lightly, but avoiding his
eyes.
"Is that anything new?" he said. "You are always instantly in armour
when my lightest touch falls on you. Why?"
He lifted her drooping head until it rested against his arm.
"Isn't it anything at all to you when I kiss you?" he asked unsteadily.
She did not answer.
"Isn't it, Jacqueline?"
But she only closed her eyes, and her lips remained coldly unresponsive
to his.
After a moment he said: "Can't you care for me at all--in this way?
Answer me!"
"I--care for you."
"_This_ way?"
Over her closed lids a tremor passed, scarcely perceptible.
"Don't you know how--how deeply I--care for you?" he managed to say,
feeling prudence and discretion violently tugging at their cables.
"Don't you _know_ it, Jacqueline?"
"Yes. I know you--care for me."
"Good God!" he said, trying to choke back the very words he uttered.
"Can't you respond--when you know I find you so adorable! When--when you
must know that I love you! Isn't there anything in you to respond?"
"I--care for you. If I did not, could I endure--what you do?"
A sort of blind passion seized and possessed him; he kissed again and
again the fragrant, unresponsive lips. Presently she lifted her head,
loosened his clasp at her waist, stepped clear of the circle of his
arms.
"You see," she managed to say calmly, "that I do care for you. So--may I
go now?"
He opened the door for her and they moved slowly out into the hall.
"You do not show that you care very much, Jacqueline."
"How can a girl show it more honestly? Could you tell me?"
"I have never stirred you to any tenderness--never!"
She moved beside him with head lowered, hands resting on her plated
hips, the bright hair in disorder across her cheeks. Presently she said
in a low voice:
"I wish you could see into my heart."
"I wish I could! And I wish you could see into mine. That would settle
it one way or another!"
"No," she said, "because I _can_ see into your heart. And it settles
nothing for me--except that I would like to--remain."
"Remain? Where?"
"There--in your heart."
He strove to speak coolly: "Then you _can_ see into it?"
"Yes."
"And you know that you are there alone?"
"Yes--I think so."
"And now that you have looked into it and know what is there, do you
care to remain in the heart of--of such a man as I am?"
"Yes. What you are I--forgive."
An outburst of merriment came from the library, and several figures clad
in the finery of the early nineteenth century came bustling out into the
hall.
[Illustration: "Cheer after cheer rang through the hallway"]
Evidently his guests had rifled the chests and trunks in the attic and
had attired themselves to their heart's content. At sight of Desboro
approaching accompanied by a slim figure in complete armour, they set up
a shout of apprehension and then cheer after cheer rang through the
hallway.
"Do you know," cried Betty Barkley, "you are the most darling thing in
armour that ever happened! I want to get into some steel trousers like
yours immediately! Are there any in the armoury that will fit me, Jim?"
"Did _you_ discover her?" demanded Reggie Ledyard, aghast.
"Not within the time limit, old chap," said Desboro, pretending deep
chagrin.
"Then you don't have to marry him, do you, Miss Nevers?" exclaimed
Cairns, gleefully.
"I don't have to marry anybody, Mr. Cairns. And _isn't_ it humiliating?"
she returned, laughingly, edging her way toward the stairs amid the
noisy and admiring group surrounding her.
"No! No!" cried Katharine Frere. "You can't escape! You are too lovely
that way, and you certainly must come to lunch in your armour!"
"I'd perish!" protested Jacqueline. "No Christian martyr was ever more
absolutely cooked than am I in this suit of mail."
Helsa Steyr started for her, but Jacqueline sprang to the stairs and ran
up, pursued by Helsa and Betty.
"_Isn't_ she the cunningest, sweetest thing!" sighed Athalie Vannis,
looking after her. "I'm simply and sentimentally mad over her. Why
_didn't_ you have brains enough to discover her, Jim, and make her marry
you?"
"I'd have knocked 'em out if he had had enough brains for that,"
muttered Ledyard. "But the horrible thing is that I haven't any brains,
either, and Miss Nevers has nothing but!"
"A girl like that marries diplomats and dukes, and discoverers and
artists and things," commented Betty. "You're just a good-looking simp,
Reggie. So is Jim."
Ledyard retorted wrathfully; Desboro, who had been summoned to the
telephone, glanced at Aunt Hannah as he walked away, and was rather
disturbed at the malice in the old lady's menacing smile.
But what Daisy Hammerton said to him over the telephone disturbed him
still more.
"Jim! Elena and Cary Clydesdale are stopping with us. May I bring them
to dinner this evening?"
For a moment he was at a loss, then he said, with forced cordiality:
"Why, of course, Daisy. But have you spoken to them about it? I've an
idea that they might find my party a bore."
"Oh, no! Elena wished me to ask you to invite them. And Cary was
listening."
"Did _he_ care to come?"
"I suppose so."
"What did he say?"
"He grinned. He always does what Elena asks him to do."
"Oh! Then bring them by all means."
"Thank you, Jim."
And that was all; and Desboro, astonished and troubled for a few
moments, began to see in the incident not only the dawn of an
understanding between Clydesdale and his wife, but something resembling
a vindication for himself in this offer to renew a friendship so
abruptly terminated. More than that, he saw in it a return of Elena to
her senses, and it pleased him so much that when he passed Aunt Hannah
in the hall he was almost smiling.
"What pleases you so thoroughly, James--yourself?" she asked grimly.
But he only smiled at her and sauntered on, exchanging friendly
body-blows with Reggie Ledyard as he passed.
"Reggie," said Mrs. Hammerton, with misleading mildness, "come and
exercise me for a few moments--there's a dear." And she linked arms with
him and began to march up and down the hall vigorously.
"She's very charming, isn't she?" observed Aunt Hannah blandly.
"Who?"
"Miss Nevers."
"She's a dream," said Reggie, with emphasis.
"Such a thoroughbred air," commented the old lady.
"Rather!"
"And yet--she's only a shop-keeper."
"Eh?"
"Didn't you know that Miss Nevers keeps an antique shop?"
"What of it?" he said, turning red. "I peddle stocks. My grandfather
made snuff. What do I care what Miss Nevers does?"
"Of course. Only--would _you_ marry her?"
"Huh! Like a shot! But I see her letting me! Once I was even ass enough
to think I could kiss her, but it seems she won't even stand for that!
And Herrendene makes me sick--the old owl--sneaking off with her
whenever he can get the chance! They all make me sick!" he added,
lighting a cigarette. "I wish to goodness I had a teaspoonful of
intellect, and I'd give 'em a run for her. Because I have the looks, if
I do say it," he added, modestly.
"Looks never counted seriously with a woman yet," said Mrs. Hammerton
maliciously. "Also, I've seen better looking coachmen than you."
"Thanks. What are you going to do with her anyway?"
"I don't have to do anything. She'll do whatever is necessary."
"That's right, too. Lord, but she'll cut a swathe! Even that dissipated
creature Cairns sits up and takes notice. I should think Desboro would,
too--more than he does."
"I understand there's a girl in blue, somewhere," observed Mrs.
Hammerton.
"That's a different kind of girl," said the young man, with contempt,
and quite oblivious to his own naïve self-revelation. Mrs. Hammerton
shrugged her trim shoulders.
"Also," he said, "there is Elena Clydesdale--speaking of scandal and
James Desboro in the same breath."
"Do you believe that story?"
"Yes. But that sort of affair never counts seriously with a man who
wants to marry."
"Really? How charming! But perhaps it might count against him with the
girl he wants to marry. Young girls are sometimes fastidious, you know."
"They never hear about such things until somebody tells 'em, after
they're married. Then it's rather too late to throw any pre-nuptial
fits," he added, with a grin.
"Reginald," said Mrs. Hammerton, "day by day I am humbly learning how to
appreciate the innate delicacy, chivalry, and honourable sentiments of
your sex. You yourself are a wonderful example. For instance, when
rumour couples Elena Clydesdale's name with James Desboro's, does it
occur to you to question the scandal? No; you take it for granted, and
very kindly explain to me how easily Mrs. Clydesdale can be thrown over
if her alleged lover decides he'd like to marry somebody."
"That's what's done," he said sulkily. "When a man----"
"You don't have to tell _me_!" she fairly hissed, turning on him so
suddenly that he almost fell backward. "Don't you think I know what is
the code among your sort--among the species of men you find sympathetic?
You and Jack Cairns and James Desboro--and Cary Clydesdale, too? Let him
reproach himself if his wife misbehaves! And I don't blame her if she
does, and I don't believe she does! Do you hear me, you yellow-haired,
blue-eyed little beast?"
Ledyard stood open-mouthed, red to the roots of his blond hair, and the
tiny, baleful black eyes of Mrs. Hammerton seemed to hypnotise him.
"You're all alike," she said with withering contempt. "Real men are out
in the world, doing things, not crawling around over the carpet under
foot, or sitting in clubs, or dancing with a pack of women, or idling
from polo field to tennis court, from stable to steam-yacht. You've no
real blood in you; it's only Scotch and soda gone flat. You've the
passions of overfed lap dogs with atrophied appetites. There's not a
real man here--except Captain Herrendene--and he's going back to his
post in a week. You others have no posts. And do you think that men of
your sort are fitted to talk about marrying such a girl as Miss Nevers?
Let me catch one of you trying it! She's in my charge. But that doesn't
count. She'll recognise a real man when she sees one, and glittering
counterfeits won't attract her."
"Great heavens!" faltered Reggie. "What a horrible lambasting! I--I've
heard you could do it; but this is going some--really, you know, it's
going some! And I'm not all those things that you say, either!" he
added, in naïve resentment. "I may be no good, but I'm not as rotten as
all that."
He stood with lips pursed up into a half-angry, half-injured pout, like
a big, blond, blue-eyed yokel facing school-room punishment.
Mrs. Hammerton's harsh face relaxed; and finally a smile wrinkled her
eyes.
"I suppose men can't help being what they are--a mixture of precocious
child and trained beast. The best of 'em have both of these in 'em. And
you are far from the best. Reggie, come here to me!"
He came, after a moment's hesitation, doubtfully.
"Lord!" she said. "How we cherish the worst of you! I sometimes think we
don't know enough to appreciate the best. Otherwise, perhaps they'd give
us more of their society. But, generally, all we draw is your sort; and
we cast our nets in vain into the real world--where Captain Herrendene
is going on Monday. Reggie, dear?"
"What?" he said suspiciously.
"Was I severe with you and your friends?"
"Great heavens! There isn't another woman I'd take such a drubbing
from!"
"But you _do_ take it," she said, with one of her rare and generous
smiles which few people ever saw, and of which few could believe her
facially capable.
And she slipped her arm through his and led him slowly toward the
library where already Farris was announcing luncheon.
"By heck!" he repeated later, in the billiard room, to a group of
interested listeners. "Aunt Hannah is all that they say she is. She
suddenly let out into me, and I give y'm'word she had me over the ropes
in one punch--tellin' me what beasts men are--and how we're not fit to
associate with nice girls--no b'jinks--nor fit to marry 'em, either."
Cairns laughed unfeelingly.
"Oh, you can laugh!" muttered Ledyard. "But to be lit into that way
hurts a man's self-respect. You'd better be careful or you'll be in for
a dose of Aunt Hannah, too. She evidently has no use for any of
us--barrin' the Captain, perhaps."
That gentleman smiled and picked up his hockey stick.
"There's enough ice left--if you don't mind a wetting," he said. "Shall
we start?"
Desboro rose, saying carelessly: "The Hammertons and Clydesdales are
coming over. I'll have to wait for them."
Bertie Barkley turned his hard little smooth-shaven face toward him.
"Where are the Clydesdales?"
"I believe they're stopping with the Hammertons for a week or two--I
really don't know. You can ask them, as they'll be here to dinner."
Cairns laid aside a cue with which he had been punching pool-balls; Van
Alstyne unhooked his skate-bag, and the others followed his example in
silence. Nobody said anything further about the Clydesdales to Desboro.
Out in the hall a gay group of young girls in their skating skirts were
gathering, among them Jacqueline, now under the spell of happiness in
their companionship.
Truly, even in these few days, the "warm sunlight of approval" had done
wonders for her. She had blossomed out deliriously and exquisitely in
her half-shy friendships with these young girls, responding diffidently
at first to their overtures, then frankly and with a charming
self-possession based on the confidence that she was really quite all
right if everybody only thought so.
Everybody seemed to think so; Athalie Vannis's friendship for her verged
on the sentimental, for the young girl was enraptured at the idea that
Jacqueline actually earned her own living. Marie Ledyard lazily admired
and envied her slight but exceedingly fashionable figure; Helsa Steyr
passionately adored her; Katharine Frere was profoundly impressed by her
intellectual attainments; Betty Barkley saw in her a social success,
with Aunt Hannah to pilot her--that is, every opportunity for wealth or
position, or even both, through the marriage to which, Betty cheerfully
conceded, her beauty entitled her.
So everybody of her own sex was exceedingly nice to her; and the men
already were only too anxious to be. And what more could a young girl
want?
As the jolly party started out across the snow, in random and chattering
groups made up by hazard, Jacqueline turned from Captain Herrendene,
with whom she found herself walking, and looked back at Desboro, who had
remained standing bareheaded on the steps.
"Aren't you coming?" she called out to him, in her clear young voice.
He shook his head, smiling.
"Please excuse me a moment," she murmured to Herrendene, and ran back
along the middle drive. Desboro started forward to meet her at the same
moment, and they met under the dripping spruces.
"Why aren't you coming with us?" she asked.
"I can't very well. I have to wait here for some people who might arrive
early."
"You are going to remain here all alone?"
"Yes, until they come. You see they are dining here, and I can't let
them arrive and find the house empty."
"Do you want me to stay with you? Mrs. Hammerton is in her room, and it
would be perfectly proper."
He said, reddening with surprise and pleasure: "It's very sweet of you.
I--had no idea you'd offer to do such a thing----"
"Why shouldn't I? Besides, I'd rather be where you are than anywhere
else."
"With _me_, Jacqueline?"
"Are you really surprised to hear me admit it?"
"A little."
"Why, if you please?"
"Because you never before have been demonstrative, even in speech."
She blushed: "Not as demonstrative as you are. But you know that I might
learn to be."
He looked at her curiously, but with more or less self-control.
"Do you really care for me that way, Jacqueline?"
"I know of no way in which I don't care for you," she said quickly.
"Does your caring for me amount to--love?" he asked deliberately.
"I--think so--yes."
The emotion in his face was now palely reflected in hers; their voices
were no longer quite steady under the sudden strain of self-repression.
"Say it, Jacqueline, if it is true," he whispered. His face was tense
and white, but not as pale as hers. "Say it!" he whispered again.
"I can't--in words. But it is true--what you asked me."
"That you love me?"
"Yes. I thought you knew it long ago."
They stood very still, facing each other, breathing more rapidly. Her
fate was upon her, and she knew it.
Captain Herrendene, who had waited, watched them for a moment more,
then, lighting a cigarette, sauntered on carelessly, swinging his
hockey-stick in circles.
Desboro said in a low, distinct voice, and without a tremor: "I am more
in love with you than ever, Jacqueline. But that is as much as I shall
ever say to you--nothing more than that."
"I know it."
"Yes, I know you do. Shall I leave you in peace? It can still be done.
Or--shall I tell you again that I love you?"
"Yes--if you wish, tell me--that."
"Is love _enough_ for you, Jacqueline?"
"Ask yourself, Jim. With what you give I must be content--or starve."
"Do you realise--what it means for us?" He could scarcely speak now.
"Yes--I know." She turned and looked back. Herrendene was now a long way
off, walking slowly and alone. Then she turned once more to Desboro,
absently, as though absorbed in her own reflections. Herrendene had
asked her to marry him that morning. She was thinking of it now.
Then, in her remote gaze the brief dream faded, her eyes cleared, and
she looked up at the silent man beside her.
"Shall I remain here with you?" she asked.
He made an effort to speak, but his voice was no longer under command.
She waited, watching him; then they both turned and slowly entered the
house together. Her hand had fallen into his, and when they reached the
library he lifted it to his lips and noticed that her fingers were
trembling. He laid his other hand over them, as though to quiet the
tremor; and looked into her face and saw how colourless it had become.
"My darling!" But the time had not yet come when he could tolerate his
own words; contempt for them choked him for a moment, and he only took
her into his arms in silence.
She strove to think, to speak, to master her emotion; but for a moment
his mounting passion subdued her and she remained silent, quivering in
his embrace.
Then, with an effort, she found her voice and loosened his arms.
"Listen," she whispered. "You must listen. I know what you are--how you
love me. But you are wrong! If I could only make you see it! If you
would not think me selfish, self-seeking--believe unworthy motives of
me----"
"What do you mean?" he asked, suddenly chilled.
"I mean that I am worth more to you than--than to be--what you wish me
to be to you. You won't misunderstand, will you? I am not bargaining,
not begging, not trading. I love you! I couldn't bargain; I could only
take your terms--or leave them. And I have not decided. But--may I say
something--for your sake more than for my own?"
"Yes," he said, coolly.
"Then--for your sake--far more than for mine--if you do really love
me--make more of me than you have thought of doing! I know I shall be
worth it to you. Could you consider it?"
After a terrible silence, he said: "I can--get out of your life--dog
that I am! I can leave you in peace. And that is all."
"If that is all you can do--don't leave me--in peace. I--I will take the
chances of remaining--honest----"
The hint of fear in her eyes and in her voice startled him.
"There is a martyrdom," she said, "which I might not be able to endure
forever. I don't know. I shall never love another man. And all my life I
have wanted love. It is here; and I may not be brave enough to deny it
and live my life out in ignorance of it. But, Jim, if you only could
understand--if you only knew what I can be to you--to the world for your
sake--what I can become merely because I love you--what I am capable of
for the sake of your pride in--in me--and----" She turned very white.
"Because it is better for your sake, Jim. I am not thinking of myself,
and how wonderful it would be for me--truly I am not. Don't you believe
me? Only--there is so much to me--I am really so much of a woman--that
it would begin to trouble you if ever I became anything--anything less
than your--wife. And you would feel sorry for me--and I couldn't
truthfully console you because all the while I'd know in my heart what
you had thrown away that might have belonged to us both."
"Your life?" he said, with dry lips.
"Oh, Jim! I mean more than your life and mine! For our lives--yours and
mine--would not be all you would throw away and deny. Before we die we
would want children. Ought I not to say it?" She turned away, blind with
tears, and dropped onto the sofa. "I'm wondering if I'm in my right
mind," she sobbed, "for yesterday I did not even dare think of these
things I am saying to you now! But--somehow--even while Captain
Herrendene was speaking--it all flashed into my mind. I don't know how I
knew it, but I suddenly understood that you belonged to me--just as you
are, Jim--all the good, all the evil in you--everything--even your
intentions toward me--how you may deal with me--all, all belonged to me!
And so I went back to you, to help you. And now I have said this
thing--for your sake alone, not for my own--only so that in years to
come you may not have me on your conscience. For if you do not marry
me--and I let myself really love you--you will wish that the beginning
was to be begun again, and that we had loved each other--otherwise."
He came over and stood looking down at her for a moment. His lips were
twitching.
"Would you marry me now," he managed to say, "_now_, after you know what
a contemptible cad I am?"
"You are only a man. I love you, Jim. I will marry you--if you'll let
me----"
Suddenly she covered her eyes with her hands. He seated himself beside
her, sick with self-contempt, dumb, not daring to touch her where she
crouched, trembling in every limb.
For a long while they remained so, in utter silence; then the doorbell
startled them. Jacqueline fled to her room; Desboro composed himself
with a desperate effort and went out into the hall.
He welcomed his guests on the steps when Farris opened the door,
outwardly master of himself once more.
"We came over early, Jim," explained Daisy, "because Uncle John is
giving a dinner and father and mother need the car. Do you mind?"
He laughed and shook hands with her and Elena, who looked intently and
unsmilingly into his face, and then let her expressionless glance linger
for a moment on her husband, who was holding out a huge hand to Desboro.
"I'm glad to see you, Clydesdale," said Desboro pleasantly, and took
that bulky gentleman's outstretched hand, who mumbled something
incoherent; but the fixed grin remained. And that was the
discomforting--yes, the dismaying--characteristic of the man--his grin
never seemed to be affected by his emotions.
Mrs. Quant bobbed away upstairs, piloting Daisy and Elena. Clydesdale
followed Desboro to the library--the same room where he had discovered
his wife that evening, and had learned in what esteem she held the law
that bound her to him. Both men thought of it now--could not avoid
remembering it. Also, by accident, they were seated very nearly as they
had been seated that night, Clydesdale filling the armchair with his
massive figure, Desboro sitting on the edge of the table, one foot
resting on the floor.
Farris brought whiskey; both men shook their heads.
"Will you have a cigar, Clydesdale?" asked the younger man.
"Thanks."
They smoked in silence for a few moments, then:
"I'm glad you came," said Desboro simply.
"Yes. Men don't usually raise that sort of hell with each other unless a
woman starts it."
"Don't talk that way about your wife," said Desboro sharply.
"See here, young man, I have no illusions concerning my wife. What
happened here was her doing, not yours. I knew it at the time--if I
didn't admit it. You behaved well--and you've behaved well ever
since--only it hurt me too much to tell you so before to-day."
"That's all right, Clydesdale----"
"Yes, it is going to be all right now, I guess." A curious expression
flitted across his red features, softening the grin for a moment. "I
always liked you, Desboro; and Elena and I were staying with the
Hammertons, so she told that Daisy girl to ask you to invite us. That's
all there is to it."
"Good business!" said Desboro, smiling. "I'm glad it's all clear between
us."
"Yes, it's clear sailing now, I guess." Again the curiously softening
expression made his heavy red features almost attractive, and he
remained silent for a while, occupied with thoughts that seemed to be
pleasant ones.
Then, abruptly emerging from his revery, he grinned at Desboro:
"So Mrs. Hammerton has our pretty friend Miss Nevers in tow," he said.
"Fine girl, Desboro. She's been at my collection, you know, fixing it up
for the hammer."
"So you are really going to sell?" inquired Desboro.
"I don't know. I _was_ going to. But I'm taking a new interest in my
hobby since----" he reddened, then added very simply, "since Elena and I
have been getting on better together."
"Sure," nodded Desboro, gravely understanding him.
"Yes--it's about like that, Desboro. Things were rotten bad up to that
night. And afterward, too, for a while. They're clearing up a little
better, I think. We're going to get on together, I believe. I don't know
much about women; never liked 'em much--except Elena. It's funny about
Miss Nevers, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Mrs. Hammerton's being so crazy about her. She's a good girl, and a
pretty one. Elena is wild to meet her."
"Didn't your wife ever meet her at your house?" asked Desboro dryly.
"When she was there appraising my jim-cracks? No. Elena has no use for
my gallery or anybody who goes into it. Besides, until this morning she
didn't even know that Miss Nevers was the same expert you employed. Now
she wants to meet her."
Desboro slowly raised his eyes and looked at Clydesdale. The unvaried
grin baffled him, and presently he glanced elsewhere.
Clydesdale, smoking, slowly crossed one ponderous leg over the other.
Desboro continued to gaze out of the window. Neither spoke again until
Daisy Hammerton came in with Elena. If the young wife remembered the
somewhat lurid circumstances of her last appearance in that room, her
animated and smiling face betrayed no indication of embarrassment.
"When is that gay company of yours going to return, Jim?" she demanded.
"I am devoured by curiosity to meet this beautiful Miss Nevers. Fancy
her coming to my house half a dozen times this winter and I never
suspecting that my husband's porcelain gallery concealed such a
combination of genius and beauty! I could have bitten somebody's head
off in vexation," she rattled on, "when I found out who she was. So I
made Daisy ask you to invite us to meet her. _Is_ she so unusually
wonderful, Jim?"
"I believe so," he said drily.
"They say every man who meets her falls in love with her
immediately--and that most of the women do, too," appealing to Daisy,
who nodded smiling corroboration.
"She is very lovely and very clever, Elena. I think I never saw anything
more charming than that rainbow dance she did for us last night in
Chinese costume," turning to Desboro, "'The Rainbow Skirt,' I think it
is called?"
"A dance some centuries old," said Desboro, and let his careless glance
rest on Elena for a moment.
"She looked," said Daisy, "like some exquisite Chinese figure made of
rose-quartz, crystal and green jade."
"Jade?" said Clydesdale, immediately interested. "That girl knows jades,
I can tell you. By gad! The first thing she did when she walked into my
gallery was to saw into a few glass ones with a file; and good-night to
about a thousand dollars in Japanese phony!"
"That was pleasant," said Desboro, laughing.
"Wasn't it! And my rose-quartz Fêng-huang! The Chia-Ching period of the
Ming dynasty! Do you get me, Desboro? It was Jap!"
"Really?"
Clydesdale brought down his huge fist with a thump on the table:
"I wouldn't believe it! I told Miss Nevers she didn't know her business!
I asked her to consider the fact that the crystallisation was
rhombohedral, the prisms six-sided, hardness 7, specific gravity 2.6, no
trace of cleavage, immune to the three acids or the blow-pipe alone, and
reacted with soda in the flame. I thought I knew it all, you see. First
she called my attention to the colour. 'Sure,' I said, 'it's a little
faded; but rose-quartz fades when exposed to light!' 'Yes,' said she,
'but moisture restores it.' So we tried it. Nix doing! Only a faint
rusty stain becoming visible and infecting that delicious rose colour.
'Help!' said I. 'What the devil is it?' 'Jap funny business,' said she.
'Your rose-quartz phoenix of the Ming dynasty is common yellow crystal
carved in Japan and dyed that beautiful rose tint with something, the
composition of which my chemist is investigating!' Wasn't it horrible,
Desboro?"
Daisy's brown eyes were very wide open, and she exclaimed softly:
"What a beautiful knowledge she has of a beautiful profession!" And to
Desboro: "Can you imagine anything in the world more fascinating than to
use such knowledge? And how in the world did she acquire it? She is so
very young to know so much!"
"Her father began her training as a child," said Desboro. There was a
slight burning sensation in his face, and a hotter pride within him.
After a second or two he felt Elena's gaze; but did not choose to
encounter it at the moment, and was turning to speak to Daisy Hammerton
when Jacqueline entered the library.
Clydesdale lumbered to his feet and tramped over to shake hands with
her; Daisy greeted her cordially; she and Elena were presented, and
stood smiling at each other for a second's silence. Then Mrs. Clydesdale
moved a single step forward, and Jacqueline crossed to her and offered
her hand, looking straight into her eyes so frankly and intently that
Elena's colour rose and for once in her life her tongue remained silent.
"Your husband and I are already business acquaintances," said
Jacqueline. "I know your very beautiful gallery, too, and have had the
privilege of identifying and classifying many of the jades and
porcelains."
Elena's eyes were level and cool as she said: "If I had known who you
were I would have received you myself. You must not think me rude. Mr.
Desboro's unnecessary reticence concerning you is to blame; not I."
Jacqueline's smile became mechanical: "Mr. Desboro's reticence
concerning a business acquaintance was very natural. A busy woman
neither expects nor even thinks about social amenities under business
circumstances."
[Illustration: "'Business is kinder to men than women sometimes
believe'"]
Elena's flush deepened: "Business is kinder to men than women sometimes
believe--if it permits acquaintance with such delightful people as
yourself."
Jacqueline said calmly: "All business has its compensations,"--she
smiled and made a friendly little salute with her head to Clydesdale and
Desboro,--"as you will witness for me. And I am employed by other
clients who also are considerate and kind. So you see the woman who
works has scarcely any time to suffer from social isolation."
Daisy said lightly: "Nobody who is happily employed worries over social
matters. Intelligence and sweet temper bring more friends than a busy
girl knows what to do with. Isn't that so, Miss Nevers?"
Jacqueline turned to Elena with a little laugh: "It's an axiom that
nobody can have too many friends. I want all I can have, Mrs.
Clydesdale, and am most grateful when people like me."
"And when they don't," asked Elena, smiling, "what do you do then, Miss
Nevers?"
"What is there to do, Mrs. Clydesdale?" she said gaily. "What would you
do about it?"
But Elena seemed not to have heard her, for she was already turning to
Desboro, flushed, almost feverish in her animation:
"So many things have happened since I saw you, Jim----" she hesitated,
then added daringly, "at the opera. Do you remember _Ariane_?"
"I think you were in the Barkley's box," he said coolly.
"Your memory is marvellous! In point of fact, I was there. And since
then so many, many things have happened that I'd like to compare notes
with you--sometime."
"I'm quite ready now," he said.
"Do you think your daily record fit for public scrutiny, Jim?" she
laughed.
"I don't mind sharing it with anybody here," he retorted gaily, "if you
have no objection."
His voice and hers, and their laughter seemed so perfectly frank that
thrust and parry passed as without significance. She and Desboro were
still lightly rallying each other; Clydesdale was explaining to Daisy
that lapis lazuli was the sapphire of the ancients, while Jacqueline was
showing her a bit under a magnifying glass, when the noise of sleighs
and motors outside signalled the return of the skating party.
As Desboro passed her, Elena said under her breath: "I want a moment
alone with you this evening."
"It's impossible," he motioned with his lips; and passed on with a smile
of welcome for his returning guests.
Later, in the billiard room, where they all had gathered before the
impromptu dance which usually terminated the evening, Elena found
another chance for a word aside: "Jim, I must speak to you alone,
please."
"It can't be done. You see that for yourself, don't you?"
"It can be done. Go to your room and I'll come----"
"Are you mad?"
"Almost. I tell you you'd better find some way----"
"What has happened?"
"I mean to have _you_ tell _me_, Jim."
A dull flush came into his face: "Oh! Well, I'll tell you now, if you
like."
Her heart seemed to stop for a second, then almost suffocated her, and
she instinctively put her hand to her throat.
He was leaning over the pool table, idly spinning the ivory balls; she,
seated on the edge, one pretty, bare arm propping her body, appeared to
be watching him as idly. All around them rang the laughter and animated
chatter of his guests, sipping their after-dinner coffee and cordial
around the huge fireplace.
"Don't say--that you are going to--Jim----" she breathed. "It isn't
true--it mustn't be----"
He interrupted deliberately: "What are you trying to do to me? Make a
servant out of me? Chain me up while you pass your life deciding at
leisure whether to live with your husband or involve yourself and me in
scandal?"
"Are you in love with that girl--after what you have promised me?"
"Are you sane or crazy?"
"You once told me you would never marry. I have rested secure in the
knowledge that when the inevitable crash came you would be free to stand
by me!"
"You have a perfectly good husband. You and he are on better terms--you
are getting on all right together. Do you expect to keep me tied to the
table-leg in case of eventualities?" he said, in a savage whisper. "How
many men do you wish to control?"
"One! I thought a Desboro never lied."
"Have I lied to you?"
"If you marry Miss Nevers you will have lied to me, Jim."
"Very well. Then you'll release me from that fool of a promise. I
remember I did say that I would never marry. I've changed my mind,
that's all. I've changed otherwise, too--please God! The cad you knew as
James Desboro is not exactly what you're looking at now. It's in me to
be something remotely resembling a man. I learned how to try from her,
if you want to know. What I was can't be helped. What I'm to make of
the débris of what I am concerns myself. If you ever had a shred of real
liking for me you'll show it now."
"Jim! Is this how you betray me--after persuading me to continue a
shameful and ghastly farce with Cary Clydesdale! You _have_ betrayed
me--for your own ends! You have made my life a living lie again--so that
you could evade responsibility----"
"Was I ever responsible for you?"
"You asked me to marry you----"
"Before you married Cary. Good God! Does that entail hard labour for
life?"
"You promised not to marry----"
"What is it to you what I do--if you treat your husband decently?"
"I have tried----" She crimsoned. "I--I endured degradation to which I
will never again submit--whatever the law may be--whatever marriage is
supposed to include! Do you think you can force me to--to that--for your
own selfish ends--with your silly and unsolicited advice on domesticity
and--and children--when my heart is elsewhere--when you have it, and you
know you possess it--and all that I am--every bit of me. Jim! Don't be
cruel to me who have been trying to live as you wished, merely to
satisfy a moral notion of your own! Don't betray me now--at such a
time--when it's a matter of days, hours, before I tell Cary that the
farce is ended. Are you going to leave me to face things alone? You
can't! I won't let you! I am----"
[Illustration: "'Be careful,' he said.... 'People are watching us'"]
"Be careful," he said, spinning the 13 ball into a pocket. "People are
watching us. Toss that cue-ball back to me, please. Laugh a little when
you do it."
For a second she balanced the white ivory ball in a hand which matched
it; then the mad impulse to dash it into his smiling face passed with a
shudder, and she laughed and sent it caroming swiftly from cushion to
cushion, until it darted into his hand.
"Jim," she said, "you are not really serious. I know it, too; and
because I do know it, I have been able to endure the things you have
done--your idle fancies for a pretty face and figure--your
indiscretions, ephemeral courtships, passing inclinations. But this is
different----"
"Yes, it is different," he said. "And so am I, Elena. Let us be about
the honest business of life, in God's name, and clear our hearts and
souls of the morbid and unwholesome mess that lately entangled us."
"Is _that_ how you speak of what we have been to each other?" she asked,
very pale.
He was silent.
"Jim, dear," she said timidly, "won't you give me ten minutes alone with
you?"
He scarcely heard her. He spun the last parti-coloured ball into a
corner pocket, straightened his shoulders, and looked at Jacqueline
where she sat in the corner of the fireplace. Herrendene, cross-legged
on the rug at her feet, was doing Malay card tricks to amuse her; but
from moment to moment her blue eyes stole across the room toward Desboro
and Mrs. Clydesdale where they leaned together over the distant pool
table. Suddenly she caught his eye and smiled a pale response to the
message in his gaze.
After a moment he said quietly to Elena: "I am deeply and reverently in
love--for the first and only time in my life. It is proper that you
should know it. And now you do know it. There is absolutely nothing
further to be said between us."
"There is--more than you think," she whispered, white to the lips.