The Best of Mary Roberts Rinehart

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  Well, the husbands left on Saturday morning, and by eleven o'clock Ida, Alice and I were all at Carrie's. The change in her was simply startling. She looked like a willow wand. She'd put her hair low on her neck, and except for a touch of black on her eye lashes, and of course her lips coloured, she hadn't a speck of makeup on. She'd taken the pearls out of her ears, too, and she wore tennis clothes and flatheeled shoes that made her look like a child.

  She was sending the children off in the car as we went up the drive.

  "They're off to mother's," she said. "I'll miss them frightfully, but this is a real lark, girls, and I can't imagine anything more killing to romance than small children."

  She kissed the top of the baby's head, and he yelled like a trooper. Then the motor drove off, and, as Alice Warrington said, the stage was set.

  "Get your tennis things on," Carrie said. "The men will be here for lunch."

  We said with one voice that we wouldn't play tennis. le was too hot. She eyed us coldly.

  "For heaven's sake," she said, "play up. Nobody asked you to play tennis. But if you are asked don't say it's too hot. Do any of the flappers at the club ever find it too hot to play? Sprain an ankle or break a racket, but don't talk about its being too violent, or that you've given it up the last few years. Try to remember that for two days you're in the game again, and don't take on a handicap to begin with."

  Well, things started off all right, I'll have to ad mit that, although Carrie looked a trifle queer when Harry Delaney, getting out of the motor that had brought them from the station, held out a baby's rattle to her.

  "Found it in the car," he said. "How are the youngsters anyhow?"

  "Adorable!" said Carrie, and flung the rattle into the house.

  Roger came straight to me and took both my hands.

  "Upon my word, Clara," he said, "this is more luck than I ever expected again. Do you remember the last time we were all here together?"

  "Of course I do." He was still holding my hands and I felt rather silly. But the others had paired off instantly and no one was paying any attention.

  "I was almost suicidal that last evening. You you had just told me, you know."

  I withdrew my hands. When a man is being senti mental I like him to be accurately sentimental. It had been a full month after that house party, at a dance Carrie gave, that I had told him of my engage ment to Bill. However, I said nothing and took a good look at Roger. He was wonderful.

  Why is it that married men lose their boyishness, and look smug and sleek and domesticated almost before the honeymoon is over? Roger stood there with his hat in his hand and the hot noon sun shining on him. And he hadn't changed a particle, except that his hair was grey over his ears and maybe a bit thinner. He was just as eager, just as boyish, just as lean as he'd ever been. And positively he was handsomer than ever.

  Bill is plain. He is large and strong, of course, but he says himself his face must have been cut out with an axe. "Rugged and true," he used to call himself. But lately, in spite of golf, he had put on weight.

  Well, to get on.

  Luncheon was gay. Everyone sat beside the per son he wanted to sit beside, and said idiotic things, and Peter Arundel insisited on feeding Alice's straw berries to her one by one. Nobody talked bills or the high cost of living. Roger is a capital raconteur, and we laughed until we wept over his stories. I told some of Bill's stock jokes and they went with a hurrah. At three o'clock we were still at the table, and when Carrie asked the men if they wanted to run over to the Country Club for a couple of hours of golf Wilbur Bayne put the question to a vote and they voted "No" with a roar.

  I remember that Harry Delaney said a most satis factory thing just as luncheon was over.

  "It's what I call a real party," he said. "After a man is thirty or thereabouts he finds debutantes still thrilling, of course, but not restful. They're always wanting to go somewhere or do something. They're too blooming healthy. The last week-end I spent I danced until 4 A. M. and was wakened at seven-thirty by a fair young flower throwing gravel through my open window and inviting me to a walk before breakfast!"

  "Anyone seen about the place before eleven to morrow morning," said Carrie, "will be placed un der restraint. For one thing, it would make the ser vants talk. They're not used to it."

  So far so good. I'll confess freely that if they'd let me alone I'd never have thought of getting even. But you know Carrie Smith. She has no reserves. And she had to tell about my party and the way the husbands behaved.

  "Don't glare, Clara," she said. "Your house is nice and your food and drink all that could be desired. But it was not a hilarious party, and I'll put it up to the others."

  Then and there she told about the swimming and the golf and the knitting. The men roared. She exaggerated, of course. Bill did not go to sleep at dinner. But she made a good story of it, and I caught Roger's eye fixed on me with a look that said plainly that lie' d always known I'd made a mistake, and here was the proof.

  We went out into the garden and sat under a tree. But soon the others paired off and wandered about. Roger and I were left alone, and I was boiling.

  "Don't look like that, little girl," said Roger, bending toward me. "It hurts me terribly to to think you are not happy."

  He put a hand over mine, and at that moment Alice Warrington turned from a rosebush she and Peter were pretending to examine, and saw me. She raised her eyebrows, and that gave me the idea. I put my free hand over Roger's and tried to put my soul into my eyes.

  "Don't move," I said. "Hold the position for a moment, Roger, and look desperately unhappy."

  "I am," he said. "Seeing you again brings it all back. Are they looking? Shall I kiss your hand?'

  I looked over. Alice and Peter were still staring.

  "Bend over," I said quickly, "and put your cheek against it. It's more significant and rather hopeless. I'll explain later."

  He did extremely well. He bent over passionately until his head was almost in my lap, and I could see how carefully his hair was brushed over a thin place at the crown. Thank goodness, Bill keeps his hair anyhow!

  "How's this?" he said in a muffled voice.

  "That's plenty." I'd made up my mind, and I meant to go through with it. But I felt like a fool. There's something about broad daylight that makes even real sentiment look idiotic.

  He sat up and looked into my eyes.

  "There are times," he said, raising his voice, "when I feel I can't stand it. I'm desperately desperately unhappy, Clara."

  "We must make the best of things," I said, and let my eyes wander toward Alice and Peter. They had turned and were retreating swiftly through the garden.

  "Now," said Roger, sitting back and smoothing his hair, "what's it all about?"

  So I told him and explained my plan. Even now, when I never want to see him again, I must admit that Roger is a sport. He never turned a hair.

  "Of course I'll do it. It isn't as hard as you imagine. Our meeting like this revives the old fire. I'm mad about you, recklessly mad, and you're crazy about me. All right so far. But a thing like that won't throw much of a crimp into Carrie. Probably she expects it."

  "To-night," I explained, "we'll be together, but silent and moody. When we smile at their nonsense it is to be a forced smile. We're intent on ourselves. Do you see? And you might go to Carrie after din ner and tell her you think you'll go. You can't stand being near me. It's too painful. I'll talk to one of the men too."

  He looked rather uncomfortable.

  "Oh, I wouldn't do that, Clara. They wouldn't understand."

  "Not about you," I retorted coldly. "I'll merely indicate that Bill and I aren't hitting it off, and that a woman has a right to be happy. Then, when things happen, they'll remember what I said."

  He turned round his wicker chair so that he faced me.

  "When things happen?" he said. "What things?"

  "When we elope to-morrow night," I replied.

  I'm not defending myself. Goodness knows I've gon
e through all that. I am merely explaining. And I think Roger deserves part of the blame, but of course the woman always suffers. If he had only been frank with me at the time it need never have happened. Besides, I've been back to that bridge again and again, and with ordinary intelligence and a hammer he could have repaired it. It is well enough for him to say he didn't have a hammer. He should have had a hammer.

  At the mention of an elopement Roger changed colour, but I did not remember that until afterward. He came up to scratch rather handsomely, when he was able to speak, but he insisted that I write the whole thing to Bill.

  "I can tell him afterward," I protested.

  "That won't help me if he has beaten me up first. You write him to the office, so he'll get it Monday morning when he gets back from the game. If any thing should slip up you're protected, don't you see?

  Tell him it's a joke and why we're doing it. I--I hope Bill has kept his sense of humor."

  Well, it looked simple enough. We were to act perfectly silly and moonstruck all the rest of that day and Sunday until we had them all thoroughly worried. Then on Sunday night we were to steal Wallie's car and run away in it. The through train stops at a station about four miles away, at eleven-fourteen at night, and we were to start that way and then turn around and go to mother's.

  We planned it thoroughly, I must say. Roger said he'd get one of the fellows to cash a check for all the money he had about him. They'd be sure to think of that when Carrie got my note. And I made a draft of the x note then and there on the back of an old envelope from Roger's pocket. We made it as vague as possible.

  "Dear Carrie," it ran, "by the time you receive this I shall be on my way to happiness. Try to for give me. I couldn't stand things another moment. We only live one life and we all make mistakes, Read Ellen Key and don't try to follow me. I'm old enough to know my own mind, and all you have been saying this last few days has convinced me that when a chance for happiness comes one is a fool not to take it. IT; en for you I should never have ha to what I've been missing all this time. I have wasted my best years, but at last I am being true to myself. CLARA."

  "Now," I said, rather viciously I dare say, "let her read that and throw a fit. She'll never again be able to accuse me of making things dull for her."

  Roger read it over.

  "We'd better write Bill's letter," he said, "and get it off. We it wouldn't do to have Bill worried, you know."

  So we went into the house and wrote Bill's letter. We explained everything how stupid they'd all found our party and that this was only a form of revenge.

  "Suppose," Roger said as I sealed it, "suppose they get excited and send for the police?"

  That stumped us. It was one thing to give them a bad night, and telephone them in the morning that it was a joke and that I'd gone direct from Carrie's to mother's, which was the arrangement. But Car rie was a great one for getting in detectives. You remember, the time her sister was married, that Car rie had a detective in the house for a week before the wedding watching the presents, and how at the last minute the sister wanted to marry the detective, who was a good-looking boy, and they had a dread ful time getting her to the church.

  We both thought intently for quite a time.

  "We must cut the telephone wire, Roger," I said at length.

  Roger was not eager about cutting the telephone. He said he would probably be shocked to death, al though if he could find a pair of rubber overshoes he'd take the risk.

  "It ought to be done the very last thing," he said. "No use rousing their suspicions early."

  We played up hard all afternoon. Roger kissed the lump of sugar he put in my tea, and went and sulked on the parapet when Peter Arundel came and sat beside me. Carrie joined him there, and I could see her talking earnestly to him while Roger looked out over the landscape with eyes that were positively sombre.

  "Having a good time?" said Peter Arundel to me.

  "Heavenly, Peter," I replied, looking at Roger. "I didn't believe I could be so happy."

  "Go to it," said Peter. "What's a day or two out of a lifetime."

  I turned round and faced him, my hands gripped hard in my lap.

  "That's it," I said tensely. "That's the thought that's killing me. One can only be happy for a day or two."

  "Oh, I wouldn't go so far as that," said Peter. "You have a pretty fair time, you know, Clara. Old Bill's a good sort."

  "Oh, Bill!" I said.

  "I went to college with Bill. Maybe Bill hasn't any frills, but he's a real man." He glared at Roger's drooping shoulders. "He's no tailor's dummy anyhow."

  I ignored this.

  "Peter," I said in a thin voice, "have you ever read Ellen Key?"

  "Not on your life!" said Peter.

  I quoted a bit I happened to remember.

  " 'Nothing is wiser than the modern woman's desire to see life with her own eyes, not only with those of a husband.'" I sighed.

  "If I were Bill," said Peter, "I'd burn that book."

  " 'Nothing,' " I continued, "'is more true than that souls which are parted by a lack of perfect frankness never belonged to one another.'"

  "Look here," said Peter, and got up; "I think you've lost your mind, Clara--you and Roger Waite both. Look at him mooning over there. I'd like to turn the garden hose on him."

  I looked at Roger--a long gaze that made Peter writhe.

  "'Love's double heartbeat'--" I began. But Peter stalked away, muttering.

  Carrie had left Roger, so I put down my cup and followed him to the parapet of the terrace.

  "Darling!'" he said. And then, finding Peter was not with me: "How's it going?"

  "Cracking! They're all worried already."

  "We've hardly started. Slip your arm through mine, Clara, and I'll hold your hand. Dear little hand!" he said. "When I think that instead of that ring " Here he choked and kissed my hand.

  Then I saw that Harry Delaney was just below the wall.

  Carrie's voice broke in on our philandering.

  "If," she said coldly, "you two people can be pried apart with a crowbar for a sufficient length of time, we will motor to Bubbling Spring. There's just time before dinner."

  "I don't think I'll go, Carrie," I said languidly. "I have a headache and Roger has just offered to read to me. Do you remember how you used to cure my headaches, Roger?"

  "I'd rather not talk about those days, Clara," said Roger in a shaky voice.

  "I wish you two people could see and hear yourselves!" Carrie cried furiously, and turned on her heel.

  "I guess that will hold her for a while," Roger purred. "Clara, you're an angel and an inspiration. I haven't had such a good time since I had scarlet fever."

  Dinner, which should have been gay, was simply noisy. They were all worried, and it is indicative of how Carrie had forgotten her pose and herself that she wore her diamond necklace. Roger had been placed at the other end of the table from me, but he slipped in and changed the cards. There were half a dozen dinner guests, but Roger and I ate little or nothing.

  "Act as though the thought of food sickens you," I commanded. ,

  "But I'm starving!"

  "I'll have my maid take a tray into the garden later."

  In spite of me he broke over at the entree, which was extremely good. But everyone saw that we were not eating. The woman on Roger's right, a visitor, took advantage of a lull in the noise to ac cuse Roger of being in love. Ida giggled, but Roger turned to his neighbour,

  "I am in love," he said mournfully; "hopelessly, idiotically, madly, recklessly in love."

  "With any particular person?"

  "With you," said Roger, who had never seen her before.

  She quite fluttered.

  "But I am married!"

  "Unfortunate, but not fatal," said Roger distinctly, while everyone listened. "These days one must be true to one's self."

  We were awfully pleased with ourselves that evening. I said my head still ached and I could not dance. Roger and I sat out-of-doors most of the t
ime, and at eleven o'clock Powell, my maid, brought out a tray of what was left from dinner and the dance supper. She took it by order to a small shaded porch off the billiard room, and we found her there with it.

  "Thank you, Powell," I said. But Roger followed her into the house. When he returned he was grinning.

  "Might as well do it right while we're about it," he observed. "To-morrow morning Powell will go to Carrie and tell her you sat up all night by the window, and she's afraid you are going to be ill."

  In the dusk we shook hands over the tray.

  Well, a lot of things happened, such as our overhearing the men in the billiard room debating about getting poor old Bill on the long distance.

  "It isn't a flirtation," said Wilbur Bayne. "I've seen Clara flirting many a time. But this is different. They're reckless, positively reckless. When a man as fond of his stomach as Roger lets a whole meal go by, he's pretty far gone."

  Roger bent over, with a part of a squab in his hand.

  "Have they bitten!" he said. "They've not only swallowed hook, line and sinker but they're walking up the bank to put themselves in the basket!"

  Well, the next morning it was clear that the girls had decided on a course and were following it. Although it had been arranged that everyone was to sleep late, breakfast trays appeared in the rooms at nine-thirty, with notes asking us to go to church. When I said I had not slept, and did not care to go, no one went, and when Roger appeared at eleven the girls surrounded me like a cordon of police.

  Roger was doing splendidly. He came up across the tennis court, covered with dust, and said he had not slept and had been walking since six o'clock. The men eyed him with positive ferocity.

  I'll not go into the details of that day, except to relate a conversation Ida Elliott and I had after luncheon. She came into my room and closed the door behind her softly, as if I were ill.