Complete weird tales of.., p.660
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 660
“It may shift overnight,” she said. “If to-morrow is a magnificent and cloudless day, with just a hint of silver in the horizon blue, then it means a frost and a flight to-morrow night.”
“And that,” he said, “would mean an end to — the roses.”
“Yes.”
“An end to anybody sitting out here again this year.”
“Probably.”
“So it seems a pity,” he went on, “not to enjoy it while we may, Miss Rivett.”
“I have enjoyed it — for an hour.”
“You are not very generous.”
“Why? You may remain another hour if you wish?” she said, smiling.
“Alone?”
“I was alone during my hour.”
“I have been alone for an entire year,” he said under his breath.
“What?”
She had heard him, but her abrupt question seemed to have been beaten out sharply from her startled heart.
He made no reply; she stood, one hand clasping the chain, not looking at him, conscious of the clamor of her heart.
“Miss Rivett,” he said, “am I too much of a fool — too hopeless a thing for you to listen to?”
“What do you mean?” she said faintly.
“I mean that — this night, now, for the first time since I knew you — I can use, decently, honorably, whatever liberty of speech you permit me.”
Presently her white hand relaxed, the chain slipped through her fingers; she sank down on the swinging seat.
After a moment he stepped toward her. She raised her head in the moonlight, and he saw the tears in her eyes.
“Christine,” he said under his breath.
“Are we free to speak to each other?” she faltered.
“Thank God, yes!”
“Thank God,” she whispered.
But for a long, long while they did not use the inestimable privilege of free, articulate speech. There seemed to be no need of it further than apparently irrelevant fragments such as, “My darling!” and, “Oh, Billy, if you only knew!”
Far away beyond them Diana came out on the terrace with young Wallace, and gazed very earnestly down at the rose garden.
“Shall we walk there?” he said persuasively.
“‘Oh, dear,’ she said, ‘there’s somebody down there already.’”
Suddenly Diana’s face sparkled. “Oh, dear,” she said, “there’s somebody down there already — two of them! And — and it looks to me as though they were spooning. What a world this is, Mr. Wallace! I think I’d better go in and play bottle pool.”
That night she wrote to Edgerton:
“DEAR JIM:
“You have not answered my letter — but men were made to pardon.
“Somehow — and I don’t quite know how — that wretched and melancholy Inwood man, fortified by a gentle push from me, contrived to get up sufficient momentum to carry my little Christine by assault. The darling has just been in here to whisper her happiness to me. We wept together, which is our feminine fashion of uttering three cheers.
“There is, of course, papa to inform. I don’t envy Christine. Papa has a will of his own, but so has his infant daughter.
“Even yet I can’t understand why this Inwood boy has lost all this time dingling and dangling around Mrs. Wemyss. Evidently he wasn’t doing it because he was having a good time. I was inclined to suppose him either blighted or a mooner.
“But you should see the change in your intimate friend now! Why, Jim, he fairly pranced up to me as I was saying good night, and he wrung my hand and said, ‘Thanks, awf’lly, Miss Tennant!’ And all I had done was to give him a rendezvous with me in an arbor, and then go off to walk with Scott Wallace.
“Scott’s a nice boy. You’d like him; he’s a terrible tease. It seems that he’s really a dead wing shot, and has just been jollying me all this time. I really enjoy him, which is more than I can say for the remainder of the sporting fraternity now investing this place. They’re a hard young lot, without, perhaps, being really very hard; but they are a loud, careless, irresponsible bunch of wealthy young men who, as far as I can learn, spend their entire time in shooting at something or other, including clay birds.
“They seem to be Wall Street men when occupied at all, and all betray a very healthy respect for Mr. Rivett. People say he is a factor to be reckoned with in New York; but I don’t care. He’s nice to me, and his wife is adorable. As for Christine, I dearly love her, Jim. No girl is more fitted for happiness, and I’m glad she’s got her Inwood boy at last.
“And now, Jim, dear, there are two matters which very sorely perplex me; and, somehow, I turn to you to help me solve them.... No, only one of them, because I shall not bother about the other matter yet.
“But about the matter which is really nearer my heart, Jim — we must leave this place; and the reason is this: Jack Rivett is making himself miserable over Silvette.
“Silvette doesn’t love him; at least, I don’t think she does. She couldn’t do it honorably, anyway. She told me so, and I quite see it, because she and I are employed here under the Rivetts’ roof, practically in a position of trust, and dedicated to their service.
“It is not a loyal thing to permit the son of the house to lose his head, and Silvette tries so hard not to let him. But he’s doing it, and she can’t keep him from being nice to her; and she and I know perfectly well what his father’s plans for him are, and that they include a fashionable marriage.
“Of course, that argues well for Christine. The Inwoods are fashionable people, are they not? But poor Silvie! Alas! her connection with your race isn’t near enough to impress Jack’s father; besides, Silvette doesn’t love him, and the boy is in a bad way all around.
“Now, what ought we to do? If we offer to sever social and business relations with Mr. Rivett, he will ask why we do it.
“Shall we tell him? Is that square to poor Jack? Or shall we lie? Or shall we simply remain and let Jack suffer and make Silvie miserable?
“Oh, wise young sir, inform a suppliant at your knee!
“There is nothing more to tell you about, except that your progress makes me very happy. You are doing only what you would ultimately have done without any impudent advice from me. You have found yourself, Jim; you are climbing the rungs very quickly.
“Jim, I am not yet very old — but I might easily be younger.... I was thinking the other day — and to-night — that sometime I shall be too old and unattractive to practice this not very dignified profession; and I’m disinclined to do anything more strenuous. I don’t want to struggle and grub and starve along respectably as a feminine physician. It’s too late for that, anyway.
“So I don’t know what to do, ultimately, unless I accomplish what I started out to do — marry a wealthy man. I mean the first agreeable one I encounter.
“Well, I won’t bother with that problem to-night; my head aches a little.
“Good night, Jim.
“JAPONETTE.”
Diana finished her letter, sealed and stamped it, and kissed the superscription. She always did when she wrote his name.
Then she laid her aching temples on her arms and, leaning limply on the desk, thought about him.
Hers was a strange, sweet pride in him — a fierce jealousy lest he should not take the place in the world to which he was entitled, and prove himself every inch a man.
Nor did she pretend to hide from herself what his return among his own friends must ultimately mean. If the love he had offered her had not been totally extinguished by her light mockery and smiling insolence, then this return to his own set would do it ultimately. The standards that measured women there would be fatal to her; nor could he choose but apply them, sooner or later.
She knew this when she sent him back among his own sort. She realized perfectly that if any love for her survived her irony and flippancy — her airy but trenchant scorn — it could not survive very long when he came to his cool-headed and reasoning self, and looked around him at the women, and at the families and relatives of the women among whom he had always lived.
Already he had spoken of little Aliss Ellis — a mere child, of course — yet — yet it was a straw prophesying a change in the wind to her.
She knew; she had accomplished what she had desired. She had done this thing to herself, to her whole life, for his sake. What more could she wish for?
Sick at heart, she lifted her throbbing head and kissed his name once more where she had written it on the envelope. Then she placed it on the desk, and lay down on the bed to wait for Silvette before ringing for the maid who attended them; and after a little while she fell asleep.
CHAPTER XII
NUNC AUT NUNQUAM
WARM WEATHER CONTINUED; no flight occurred. The men thrashed about with the dogs after grouse and a few native woodcock bred in the willows along the river, or rode, motored, and played cards. One or two had to give up, and return to the city.
Colonel Curmew was at his best on these gay occasions — gallant, jocose, busy, everybody’s friend, including Jack Rivett’s, who quietly began to hate him.
In the midst of the general tension and expectancy concerning the long-awaited flight, Christine one morning entered her father’s study and found the author of her being conferring with Mr. Dineen.
“This won’t do, Christine,” he said. “I’m busy.”
“No, it won’t do,” she admitted, looking so significantly at Mr. Dineen that the jolly, big Irishman laughed.
“You want me to go out!” he said, shaking an enormous forefinger at her.
“Please — for a few minutes.”
“Sure,” said Mr. Dineen with an amused glance at Rivett, who sat inspecting his offspring with a face entirely devoid of expression.
When the big Mr. Dineen had closed the door behind him, Christine, a trifle pale, walked resolutely to her father and laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Dad?”
“What?”
“I’ve practically asked Billy Inwood to marry me.”
Her father’s eyes bored through and through her.
“Who did the asking, Chrissy?”
“Both of us.”
“What?” he barked.
“It wasn’t asking, exactly. I have loved him for a year, and he has loved me. There has been a misunderstanding.”
“About what?”
His daughter’s eyes never flinched.
“About a point of honor, father,” she said quietly.
He grunted.
She went on, still resting her hand on his shoulder.
“We were very unhappy; but the point of honor involved straightened itself out.... I happened to be in the rose arbor that evening. He came in by accident.... After we had talked a little, he told me that he was free to speak if I would listen to him.... Then, somehow, we merely looked at each other, and — and presently — presently we kissed each other.... I don’t remember much else ... except that I said I would marry him — before he asked me — —”
“Did you also set the date?” inquired her father sarcastically.
“No.... Mother and I are considering.... Are you happy over it, dad?”
“Not violently.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know anything about him,” he snapped.
“Yes, you know that I’m in love with him.”
“Certainly; of course. Very worthy young man, no doubt.”
“Also,” continued his daughter calmly, “you know that Jim Edgerton is his closest friend.”
“That,” said Rivett, “counts some.”
“And mother likes him,” concluded the girl.
Her father sat staring at her in silence. Suddenly she put her arms around his neck, and the little man hid his spectacles on her breast for a second.
“Thank you, dad, darling,” she whispered.
“Chrissy — Chrissy — so soon! I wanted you awhile yet.” ... He jerked his head free, produced a handkerchief, and began busily to polish his eyeglasses.
“All right,” he said brusquely, “I’ll talk it over with your mother.... She knows.... She knows more than I do. They wouldn’t believe that in Wall Street, but it’s true.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, child.”
“Couldn’t we live with you and mother?”
“Sure. D’you think I’d let any young jackanapes take you entirely away? You tell him I’ll scalp him if he talks that kind of thing to you.” ... He laughed harshly. “But I’m a fool, Chrissy; you and I are talking foolish.... You won’t come back to stay. You won’t want to.”
“I will!”
“No, dear; you don’t know yet.... Your mother and I made our own home. It was a rough one, Chrissy, but it was ours. You’ll do the same ultimately. It’s part of the game.... Tell your young man to come here.”
The girl slipped away; in a few moments Inwood knocked and entered. Mr. Rivett gave him a level and murderous look.
“How about that complication you got yourself into?” he asked harshly.
Inwood turned scarlet.
“I’m out of it.”
“With honor?”
“Honorably.”
“What was it?”
“You don’t mean to ask me that?”
“Yes, I do! ... But I didn’t expect an answer.... Can you support my little girl decently?”
“Decently.”
“Not in the style to which I have accustomed her?”
“No, sir.”
“All right,” he snapped.
After a silence the young fellow said:
“Do you disapprove of me?”
“How the devil can I? I don’t know you. If you make my little girl a good husband, I’ll love you like a son; if you don’t, I’ll — kill you. You look all right; but there’s no use talking.... You show me what stuff you’re made of, and I’ll do my part.”
“All right,” said Inwood, smiling.
Something in his smile interested Rivett.
“Was your mother a Lawrence?” he demanded suddenly.
“She was born Elizabeth Lawrence.”
“Betty Lawrence,” he repeated, staring at the younger man.
“Did you know her?” asked Inwood.
“I taught her in school.... Betty Lawrence.... Only two people ever smiled like that — you and your mother.... You have good blood in you, Inwood.... I know your father — in Wall Street. We are on good terms.... Don’t ever be a fool again, will you?”
“No, sir.”
They shook hands seriously. As Inwood left, Dineen came in.
Rivett looked at Dineen without speaking for a full minute, then he said slowly:
“My daughter is going to be married.”
“God bless my soul!” ejaculated the big Irishman— “not that child!”
“Yes; I guess she means business, John.”
“When? — in the name of the saints!”
“When she’s ready, I presume.... She’s a good girl.... They’re good children. They’ve stayed as long as they could. Their time is nearly up.... But the smallest hut is a big barn when the children have taken wing.... I wish I could have seen more of my father and mother.... But I had to go out into a lean world and hunt a living.”
“The best of us have passed that way,” observed Dineen; and, after a moment: “Who’s the lucky divil, Jacob?”
“Young Inwood.”
“Stuart Inwood’s boy?”
“That’s the one.”
Dineen lit a cigar and, drawing it into vaporous action, ruminated with enormous thumbs joined.
“It’s good stock,” he said, finally; “none better betwixt the Bowling Green and Patroon Van Courtlandt’s old shebang. There’s money, too; and an opera box and a bit of a shack at Newport. What kind of a lad is it?”
“He can look me in the face,” said Rivett. “Otherwise he looks like everybody else of his sort, and probably resembles them, too. Ah!” — he broke out angrily— “these sleek-headed, tailor-made, smooth-faced young pups from New York, with their pleasant manners when they want anything, and their ways and means and by-ways and ten-cent brains — God! Dineen, do they really ever turn into men? Answer me that! You’ve lived long enough to see a new-born snob grow to be thirty. Do they ever turn into anything except the harmless fools they’re born?”
Dineen slowly revolved his thumbs and squinted at a sunbeam, while the smoke from the cigar in his cheek rose to the ceiling in a straight, thin column.
“Dineen slowly revolved his thumbs and squinted at a sunbeam.”
“Some of them become men,” he said deliberately. “The most o’ them is born spots and rots; or, if they’re not, college addles ’em. But, God be praised! if it wasn’t for them the good people of Reno, Palm Beach, and Paris, France, would starve entirely.... Jacob, they say there’s a use even for the San José scale; and cursing would become a lost art barring the mosquito.”
“What do you know about young Inwood?” asked Rivett.
“Nothing; he’s a broker.”
“Then we’ve nothing to learn, I guess,” said Rivett dryly, “unless he gets into the papers.... Well, my wife likes him.... She’s always right, John. I’ll go and talk to her presently.... What were you saying about young Edgerton before my daughter came?”
“I said that he’s the same as all the Edgertons. By jimmy! I started him on ink wells to see would he stand for it, and he was there every morning at seven; and he cleaned those ink wells and desks till nobody knew them — with his busted arm and all. Then I set him at the ledgers, and I let him stew for a week. A week was enough to see a good man wasting his fist and eyes at fifteen per.
“‘G’wan into the designing room,’ I said to him, using Doolan as meejum for my remarks; and I let him stew there with his compass and his tracing paper, doping out the work of worse than he.
“Then I gave Williamson the kitty-wink. ‘Give us a pair of gates for a gentleman’s estate,’ said Williamson, very damn polite, knowing who was backin’ the lad for a place.... They’re using the sketch now.”
“I told you so,” said Rivett calmly.
“Ah, go on! I told you so! Let it go at that, Jacob. So I talked to Everly, and Everly sent him into the laboratory. When he isn’t there he’s nosing around the shops, or asking questions of Cost and McCorkle over in Jersey, or he’s investigating the Holmes Construction plant.”
