On Saturday afternoon Cynthia arrived at Silverwood House, with Cairns
in tow; and they were welcomed under the trees by their host and
hostess. Which was all very delightful until Cynthia and Jacqueline
paired off with each other and disappeared, calmly abandoning Cairns and
Desboro to their own devices, leaving them to gaze at each other in the
library with bored and increasing indifference.
"You know, Jim," explained the former, in unfeigned disgust, "I have
quite enough of you every day, and I haven't come sixty miles to see
more of you."
"I sympathise with your sentiments," said Desboro, laughing, "but Miss
Lessler has never before seen the place, and, of course, Jacqueline is
dying to show it to her. And, Jack--did you _ever_ see two more engaging
young girls than the two who have just deserted us? Really, partiality
aside, does any house in town contain two more dignified, intelligent,
charming----"
"No, it doesn't!" said Cairns bluntly. "Nor any two women more upright
and chaste. It's a fine text, isn't it, though?" he added morosely.
"How do you mean?"
"That their goodness is due to their characters, not to environment or
to any material advantages. Has it ever occurred to you how doubly
disgraceful it is for people, with every chance in the world, not to
make good?"
"Yes."
"It has to me frequently of late. And I wonder what I'd have turned
into, given Cynthia's worldly chances." He shook his head, muttering to
himself: "It's fine, _fine_--to be what she is after what she has had to
stack up against!"
Desboro winced. Presently he said in a low voice:
"The worst she had to encounter were men of our sort. That's a truth we
can't blink. It wasn't loneliness or poverty or hunger that were
dangerous; it was men."
"Don't," said Cairns, rising impatiently and striding about the room. "I
know all about _that_. But it's over, God be praised. And I'm seeing
things differently now--very, very differently. You are, too, I take it.
So, for the love of Mike, let's be pleasant about it. I hate gloom.
Can't a fellow regenerate himself and remain cheerful?"
Desboro laughed uncertainly, listening to the gay voices on the stairs,
where Jacqueline and Cynthia were garrulously exploring the house
together.
* * * * *
"Darling, it's too lovely!" exclaimed Cynthia, every few minutes, while
Jacqueline was conducting her from one room to another, upstairs, down
again, through the hall and corridor, accompanied by an adoring
multitude of low-born dogs and nondescript cats, all running beside her
with tails stuck upright.
And so, very happily together, they visited the kitchen, laundry,
storeroom, drying room, engine room, cellars; made the fragrant tour of
the greenhouses and a less fragrant visit to the garage; inspected the
water supply; gingerly traversed the gravel paths of the kitchen
garden, peeped into tool houses, carpenters' quarters; gravely surveyed
compost heaps, manure pits, and cold frames.
Jacqueline pointed out the distant farm, with its barns, stables, dairy,
and chicken runs, from the lantern of the windmill, whither they had
climbed; and Cynthia looked out over the rolling country to the blue
hills edging the Hudson, and down into gray woodlands where patches of
fire signalled the swelling maple buds; and edging willows were palely
green. Over brown earth and new grass robins were running; and bluebirds
fluttered from tree to fencepost.
Cynthia's arm stole around Jacqueline's waist.
"I am so glad for you--so glad, so proud," she whispered. "Do you
remember, once, long ago, I prophesied this for you? That you would one
day take your proper place in the world?"
"Do you know," mused Jacqueline, "I don't really believe that the
_place_ matters so much--as long as one is all right. That sounds
horribly priggish--but isn't it so, Cynthia?"
"Few ever attain that self-sufficient philosophy," said Cynthia,
laughing. "You can spoil a gem by cheap setting."
"But it remains a gem. Oh, Cynthia! _Am_ I such a prig as I sound?"
They were both laughing so gaily that the flock of pigeons on the roof
were startled into flight and swung around them in whimpering circles.
As they started to descend the steep stairs, Jacqueline said casually:
"Do you continue to find Mr. Cairns as agreeable and interesting as
ever?"
"Oh, yes," nodded the girl carelessly.
"Jim likes him immensely."
"He is a very pleasant companion," said Cynthia.
When they were strolling toward the house, she added:
"He thinks you are very wonderful, Jacqueline. But then everybody does."
The girl blushed: "The only thing wonderful about me is my happiness,"
she said.
Cynthia looked up into her eyes.
"_Are_ you?"
"Happy? Of course."
"Is that quite true, dear?"
"Yes," said Jacqueline under her breath.
"And--there is no flaw?"
"None--now."
Cynthia impulsively caught up one of her hands and kissed it.
In the library they found beside their deserted swains two visitors,
Daisy Hammerton and Captain Herrendene.
"Fine treatment!" protested Cairns, looking at Cynthia, as Jacqueline
came forward with charming friendliness and greeted her guests and made
Cynthia known to them. "Fine treatment!" he repeated scornfully,
"--leaving Jim and me to yawn at each other until Daisy and the Captain
yonder----"
"Jack," interrupted his pretty hostess, "if you push that button
somebody will bring tea."
"Twice means that Scotch is to be included," remarked Desboro. "You
didn't know that, did you, dear?"
"The only thing I know about your house, monsieur, is that your cats
and dogs must _not_ pervade the red drawing-room," she said laughing.
"_Look_ at Captain Herrendene's beautiful cutaway coat! It's all covered
with fur and puppy hair! And now _he_ can't go into the drawing-room,
either!"
Cairns looked ruefully at a black and white cat which had jumped onto
his knees and was purring herself to sleep there.
"If enough of 'em climb on me I'll have a motor coat for next winter,"
he said with resignation.
Tea was served; the chatter and laughter became general. Daisy
Hammerton, always enamoured of literature, and secretly addicted to its
creation, spoke of Orrin Munger's new volume which Herrendene had been
reading to her that morning under the trees.
"Such a queer book," she said, turning to Jacqueline, "--and I'm not yet
quite certain whether it's silly or profound. Captain Herrendene makes
fun of it--but it seems as though there _must_ be _some_ meaning in it."
"There isn't," said Herrendene. "It consists of a wad of verse, blank,
inverted, and symbolic. Carbolic is what it requires."
"Isn't that the moon-youth who writes over the heads of the public and
far ahead of 'em into the next century?" inquired Cairns.
"When an author," said Herrendene, "thinks he is writing ahead of his
readers, the chances are that he hasn't yet caught up with them."
The only flaw in Daisy Hammerton's good sense was a mistaken respect for
printed pages. She said, reverently:
"When a poet like Orrin Munger refers to himself as a Cubist and a
Futurist, it _must_ have some occult significance. Besides, he went
about a good deal last winter, and I met him."
"What did you think of him?" asked Desboro drily.
"I scarcely knew. He _is_ odd. He kissed everybody's hand and spoke with
such obscurity about his work--referred to it in such veiled terms that,
somehow, it all seemed a wonderful mystery to me."
Desboro smiled: "The man who is preëminent in his profession," he said
quietly, "never makes a mystery of it. He may be too tired to talk about
it, too saturated with it, after the day's work, to discuss it; but
never fool enough to pretend that there is anything occult in it or in
the success he has made of it. Only incompetency is self-conscious and
secretive; only the ass strikes attitudes."
Jacqueline looked at him with pride unutterable. She thought as he did.
He smiled at her, encouraged, and went on:
"The complacent tickler of phrases, the pseudo-intellectual scrambler
after subtleties that do not exist, the smirking creators of the
tortuous, the writhing explorers of the obvious, who pretend to find
depths where there are shallows, the unusual where only the commonplace
and wholesome exist--these will always parody real effort, and ape real
talent in all creative professions, and do more damage than mere
ignorance or even mere viciousness could ever accomplish. And, to my
mind, that is all there is and all there ever will be to men like
Munger."
Daisy laughed and looked at Herrendene.
"Then I've wasted your morning!" she said, pretending contrition.
He looked her straight in the eye.
"I hadn't thought of it that way," he said pleasantly.
Cairns, tired of feigning an interest in matters literary, tinkled the
ice in his glass and looked appealingly at Cynthia. And his eyes said
very plainly: "Shall we go for a walk?"
But she only smiled, affecting not to understand; and the discussion of
things literary continued.
It was very pleasant there in the house; late sunshine slanted across
the hall; a springlike breeze fluttered the curtains, and the evening
song of the robins had begun, ringing cheerily among the Norway spruces
and over the fresh green lawns.
"It's a shame to sit indoors on a day like this," said Desboro lazily.
Everybody agreed, but nobody stirred, except Cairns, who fidgeted and
looked at Cynthia.
Perhaps that maiden's heart softened, for she rose presently, and
drifted off into the music room. Cairns followed. The others listened to
her piano playing, conversing, too, at intervals, until Daisy gave the
signal to go, and Herrendene rose.
So the adieux were said, and a wood ramble for the morrow suggested.
Then Daisy and her Captain went away across the fields on foot, and
Cynthia returned to the piano, Cairns following at heel, as usual.
Jacqueline and Desboro, lingering by the open door, saw the distant
hills turn to purest cobalt, and the girdling woodlands clothe
themselves in purple haze. Dusk came stealing across the meadows, and
her frail ghosts floated already over the alder-hidden brook. A near
robin sang loudly. A star came out between naked branches and looked at
them.
"How still the world has grown," breathed Jacqueline. "Except for its
silence, night with all its beauties would be unendurable."
"I believe we both need quiet," he said.
"Yes, quiet--and each other."
Her voice had fallen so exquisitely low that he bent his head to catch
her words. But when he understood what she had said, he turned and
looked at her; and, still gazing on the coming night, she leaned a
little nearer to him, resting her cheek lightly against his shoulder.
"That is what we need," she whispered, "--silence, and each other. Don't
you think so, Jim?"
"I need _you_--your love and faith and--forgiveness," he said huskily.
"You have them all. Now give me yours, Jim."
"I give you all--except forgiveness. I have nothing to forgive."
"You dear boy--you don't know--you will never know how much you have to
forgive me. But if I told you, I know you'd do it. So--let it
rest--forgotten forever. How fragrant the night is growing! And I can
hear the brook at intervals when the wind changes--very far away--very
far--as far as fairyland--as far as the abode of the Maker of Moons."
"Who was he, dear?"
"Yu Lao. It's Chinese--and remote--lost in mystery eternal--where the
white soul of her abides who went forth 'between tall avenues of spears,
to die.' And that is where all things go at last, Jim--even the world
and the moon and stars--all things--even love--returning to the source
of all."
His arm had fallen around her waist. Presently, in the dusk, he felt
her cool, fresh hand seeking for his, drawing his arm imperceptibly
closer.
In the unlighted music room Cynthia's piano was silent.
Presently Jacqueline's cheek touched his, rested against it.
"I never knew I could feel so safe," she murmured. "I
am--absolutely--contented."
"Do you love me?"
"Yes."
"You have no fear of me now?"
"No. But don't kiss me--yet," she whispered, tightening his arm around
her.
He laughed softly: "Your Royal Shyness is so wonderful--so wonderful--so
worshipful and adorable! When may I kiss you?"
"When--we are alone."
"Will you respond--when we are alone?"
But she only pressed her flushed cheek against his shoulder, clinging
there in silence, eyes closed.
A few seconds later they started guiltily apart, as Cairns came striding
excitedly out of the darkness:
"I'm going to get married! I'm going to get married!" he repeated
breathlessly. "I've asked her, but she is crying! Isn't it wonderful!
Isn't it wonderful! Isn't it won----"
"_You!_" exclaimed Jacqueline, "and Cynthia! The _darling_!"
"I _said_ she was one! I called her that, too!" said Cairns, excitedly.
"And she began to cry. So I came out here--and I _think_ she's going to
accept me in a minute or two! Isn't it wonderful! Isn't it won----"
"You lunatic!" cried Desboro, seizing and shaking him, "--you
incoherent idiot! If that girl is in there crying all alone, _what_ are
you doing out here?"
"I don't know," said Cairns vacantly. "I don't know what I'm doing. All
this is too wonderful for me. I thought she knew me too well to care for
me. But she only began to cry. And I am going----"
He bolted back into the dark music room. Desboro and Jacqueline gazed at
each other.
"That man is mad!" snapped her husband. "But--I believe she means to
take him. Don't you?"
"Why--I suppose so," she managed to answer, stifling a violent
inclination to laugh.
They listened shamelessly. They stood there for a long while, listening.
And at last two shadowy figures appeared coming toward them very slowly.
One walked quietly into Jacqueline's arms; the other attempted it with
Desboro, and was repulsed.
"You're not French, you know," said the master of the house, shaking
hands with him viciously. "Never did I see such a blooming idiot as you
can be--but if Cynthia can stand you, I'll have to try."
Jacqueline whispered: "Cynthia and I want to be alone for a little
while. Take him away, Jim."
So Desboro lugged off the happy but demoralised suitor and planted him
in a library chair vigorously.
"Now," he said, "how about it? Has she accepted you?"
"She hasn't said a word yet. I've done nothing but talk and she's done
nothing but listen. It knocked me galley west, too. But it happened
before I realised it. She was playing on the piano, and suddenly I knew
that I wanted to marry her. And I said 'You darling!' And she grew white
and began to cry."
"Did you ask her to marry you?"
"About a thousand times."
"Didn't she say anything?"
"Not a word."
"That's odd," said Desboro, troubled.
A few minutes later the clock struck.
"Come on, anyway," he said, "we've scarcely time to dress."
In his room later, tying his tie, Cairns' uncertainty clouded his own
happiness a little; and when he emerged to wait in the sitting-room for
Jacqueline, he was still worrying over it.
When Jacqueline opened her door and saw his perplexed and anxious face,
she came forward in her pretty dinner gown, startled, wondering.
"What is it, Jim?" she asked, her heart, still sensitive from the old,
healed wounds, sinking again in spite of her.
"I'm worried about that girl----"
"_What_ girl!"
"Cynthia----"
"Oh! _That!_ Jim, you frightened me!" She laid one hand on her heart for
a moment, breathed deeply her relief, then looked at him and laughed.
"Silly! Of course she loves him."
"Jack says that she didn't utter a word----"
"She uttered several to me. Rather foolish ones, Jim--about her life's
business--the stage--and love. As though love and the business of life
were incompatible! Anyway, she'd choose him."
"Is she going to accept him?"
"Of course she is. I--I don't mean it in criticism--and I love
Cynthia--but I think she is a trifle temperamental--as well as being
the dearest, sweetest girl in the world----"
She took his arm with a pretty confidence of ownership that secretly
thrilled him, and they went down stairs together, she talking all the
while.
"Didn't I tell you?" she whispered, as they caught a glimpse of the
library in passing, where Cairns stood holding Cynthia's hands between
his own and kissing them. "Wait, Jim, darling! You mustn't interrupt
them----"
"I'm going to!" he said, exasperated. "I want to know what they're going
to do----"
"Jim!"
"Oh, all right, dear. Only they gave me a good scare when I wanted to be
alone with you."
She pressed his arm slightly:
"You haven't noticed my gown."
"It's a dream!" He kissed her shoulder lace, and she flushed and caught
his arm, then laughed, disconcerted by her own shyness.
Farris presented himself with a tray of cocktails.
"Jack! Come on!" called Desboro; and, as that gentleman sauntered into
view with Cynthia on his arm, something in the girl's delicious and
abashed beauty convinced her host. He stretched out his hand; she took
it, looking at him out of confused but sincere eyes.
"Is it all right to wish you happiness, Cynthia?"
"It is quite all right--thank you."
"And to drink this H. P. W. to your health and happiness?"
"That," she said laughingly, "is far more serious. But--you may do so,
please."
The ceremony ended, Desboro said to Jacqueline, deprecatingly:
"This promises to be a jolly, but a rather noisy, dinner. Do you mind?"
And it was both--an exceedingly jolly and unusually noisy dinner for
four. Jacqueline and Cynthia both consented to taste the champagne in
honour of this occasion only; then set aside their glasses, inflexible
in their prejudice. Which boded well for everybody concerned, especially
to two young men to whom any countenance of that sort might ultimately
have proved no kindness.
And Jacqueline was as wise as she was beautiful; and Cynthia's intuition
matched her youthful loveliness, making logic superfluous.
Feeling desperately frivolous after coffee, they lugged out an old-time
card table and played an old-time game of cards--piquet--gambling so
recklessly that Desboro lost several cents to Cairns before the evening
was over, and Jacqueline felt that she had been dreadfully and rather
delightfully imprudent.
Then midnight sounded from the distant stable clock, and every timepiece
in the house echoed the far Westminster chimes.
Good-nights were said; Jacqueline went away with Cynthia to the latter's
room; Desboro accompanied Cairns, and endured the latter's rhapsodies as
long as he could, ultimately escaping.
In their sitting-room Jacqueline was standing beside the bowl of white
carnations, looking down at them. When he entered she did not raise her
head until he took her into his arms. Then she looked up into his eyes
and lifted her face. And for the first time her warm lips responded to
his kiss.
She trembled a little as he held her, and laid her cheek against his
breast, both hands resting on his shoulders. After a while he was aware
that her heart was beating as though she were frightened.
"Dearest," he whispered.
There was no answer.
"Dearest?"
He could feel her trembling.
After a long while he said, very gently: "Come back and say good-night
to me when you are ready, dear." And quietly released her.
And she went away slowly to her room, not looking at him. And did not
return.
So at one o'clock he turned off the lights and went into his own room.
It was bright with moonlight. On his dresser lay a white carnation and a
key. But he did not see them.
Far away in the woods he heard the stream rushing, bank full, through
the darkness, and he listened as he moved about in the moonlight.
Tranquil, he looked out at the night for a moment, then quietly composed
himself to slumber, not doubting, serene, happy, convinced that her love
was his.
For a long while he thought of her; and, thinking, dreamed of her at
last--so vividly that into his vision stole the perfume of her hair and
the faint fresh scent of her hands, as when he had kissed the slender
fingers. And the warmth of her, too, seemed real, and the sweetness of
her breath.
His eyes unclosed. She lay there, in her frail Chinese robe, curled up
beside him in the moonlight, her splendid hair framing a face as pale
as the flower that had fallen from her half-closed hand. And at first he
thought she was asleep.
Then, in the moonlight, her eyes opened divinely, met his, lingered
unafraid, and were slowly veiled again. Neither stirred until, at last,
her arms stole up around his neck and her lips whispered his name as
though it were a holy name, loved, honoured, and adored.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's The Business of Life, by Robert W. Chambers