IV
THE FLESH-POTS OF EGYPT
The westward journey began at the appointed hour in the evening with theresourceful Ormsby in command; and when the outsetting, in which she hadto sustain only the part of an obedient automaton, was a factaccomplished, Elinor settled back into the pillowed corner of hersleeping-car section to enjoy the unwonted sensation of being the onecared for instead of the caretaker.
She had traveled more or less with her mother and Penelope ever since herfather's death, and was well used to taking the helm. Experience and theresponsibilities had made her self-reliant, and her jesting boast that shewas a dependable young woman was the simple truth. Yet to the most modernof girl bachelors there may come moments when the soul harks back to theeternal-womanly, and the desire to be petted and looked after andsafe-conducted is stronger than the bachelor conventions.
Two sections away the inevitable newly married pair posed unconsciously topoint the moral for Miss Brentwood. She marked the eagerly anticipativesolicitude of the boyish groom, contrasting it now and then with Ormsby'sless obtrusive attentions. It was all very absurd and sentimental, shethought; and yet she was not without a curious heart-stirring of envyprovoked by the self-satisfied complacency of the bride.
What had that chit of a girl done to earn her immunity fromself-defendings and the petty anxieties? Nothing, Elinor decided; atleast, nothing more purposeful than the swimmer does when he lets himselfdrift with the current. None the less, the immunity was hers, undeniably,palpably. For the first time in her life Miss Brentwood found herselflooking, with a little shudder of withdrawal and dismay, down the possiblevista--possible to every unmarried woman of twenty-four--milestoned byunbroken years of spinsterhood and self-helpings.
Was she strong enough to walk this hedged-up path alone?--single-heartedenough to go on holding out against her mother's urgings, against Ormsby'smasterful wooing, against her own unconquerable longing for a sureanchorage in some safe haven of manful care and supervision; all this thatshe might continue to preserve her independence and live the life which,despite its drawbacks, was yet her own?
There were times when she doubted her resolution; and this first night ofthe westward journey was one of them. She had thought at one time that shemight be able to idealize David Kent, but he had gone his way to hew outhis fortune, taking her upstirrings of his ambition in a purely literaland selfish sense, so far as she could determine. And now there wasBrookes Ormsby. She could by no possibility idealize him. He was a fixedfact, stubbornly asserted. Yet he was a great-hearted gentleman, unspoiledby his millions, thoughtful always for her comfort, generous,self-effacing. Just now, for example, when he had done all, he had seemedto divine her wish to be alone and had betaken himself to thesmoking-compartment.
"I promised not to bore you," he had said, "and I sha'n't. Send the porterafter me if there is anything I have forgotten to do."
She took up the magazine he had left on the seat beside her and sought toput away the disquieting thoughts. But they refused to be dismissed; andnow among them rose up another, dating back to that idealizing summer atthe foot of Old Croydon, and having its genesis in a hard saying of hermother's.
She closed her eyes, recalling the words and the occasion of them. "Youare merely wasting time and sentiment on this young upstart of a countrylawyer, Elinor. So long as you were content to make it a summer day'samusement, I had nothing to say; you are old enough and sensible enough tochoose your own recreations. But in justice to yourself, no less than tohim, you must let it end with our going home. You haven't money enough fortwo."
Her eyes grew hot under the closed lids when she remembered. At the timethe hard saying was evoked there was money enough for two, if David Kentwould have shared it. But he had held his peace and gone away, and nowthere was not enough for two.
Elinor faced her major weakness unflinchingly. She was not a slave to theluxuries--the luxuries of the very rich. On the contrary, she had tried tomake herself believe that hardness was a part of her creed. But latterly,she had been made to see that there was a formidable array of things whichshe had been calling comforts: little luxuries which Brookes Ormsby's wifemight reckon among the simplest necessities of the daily life, but whichDavid Kent's wife might have to forego; nay, things which Elinor Brentwoodmight presently have to forego. For she compelled herself to front thefact of the diminished patrimony squarely. So long as the modest WesternPacific dividends were forthcoming, they could live comfortably andwithout pinching. But failing these----
"No, I'm not great enough," she confessed, with a little shiver. "I shouldbe utterly miserable. If I could afford to indulge in ideals it would bedifferent; but I can't--not when one word of mine will build a barrier sohigh that all the soul-killing little skimpings can never climb over it.And besides, I owe something to mother and Nell."
It was the final straw. When any weakness of the human heart can find aseeming virtue to go hand in hand with it, the battle is as good as lost;and at that moment Brookes Ormsby, placidly refilling his short pipe inthe smoking-room of the Pullman, was by no means in the hopeless case hewas sometimes tempted to fancy himself.
As may be surmised, a diligent suitor, old enough to plan thoughtfully,and yet young enough to simulate the youthful ardor of a lover whose hairhas not begun to thin at the temples, would lose no ground in a threedays' journey and the opportunities it afforded.
In Penelope's phrase, Elinor "suffered him", enjoying her freedom fromcare like a sleepy kitten; shutting the door on the past and keeping itshut until the night when their through sleeper was coupled to the WesternPacific Flyer at A.& T. Junction. But late that evening, when she wasrummaging in her hand-bag for a handkerchief, she came upon David Kent'sletter and read it again.
"Loring tells me you are coming West," he wrote. "I assume there is atleast one chance in three that you will pass through Gaston. If you do,and if the hour is not altogether impossible, I should like to meet yourtrain. One thing among the many the past two years have denied me--theonly thing I have cared much about, I think--is the sight of your face. Ishall be very happy if you will let me look at you--just for the minute ortwo the train may stop."
There was more of it; a good bit more: but it was all guarded commonplace,opening no window in the heart of the man David Kent. Yet even in thecommonplace she found some faint interlinings of the change in him; not amere metamorphosis of the outward man, as a new environment might make,but a radical change, deep and biting, like the action of a strong acidupon a fine-grained metal.
She returned the letter to its envelope, and after looking up Gaston onthe time-table fell into a heart-stirring reverie, with unseeing eyesfixed on the restful blackness of the night rushing rearward past the carwindows.
"He has forgotten," she said, with a little lip-curl of disappointment."He thinks he ought to remember, and he is trying--trying because Granthamsaid something that made him think he ought to try. But it's no use. Itwas only a little summer idyl, and we have both outlived it."
She was still gazing steadfastly upon the wall of outer darkness when theporter began to make down the berths and Penelope came over to sit in theopposite seat. A moment later the younger sister made a discovery, orthought she did.
"Why, Elinor Brentwood!" she said. "I do believe you are crying!"
Elinor's smile was serenity undisturbed.
"What a vivid imagination you have, Nell, dear," she scoffed. Then shechanged the subject arbitrarily: "Is mother quite comfortable? Did youhave the porter put a screen in her window?--you know she always insistsshe can't breathe without it."
Penelope evaded the queries and took her turn at subject-wrenching--an artin which she excelled.
"We are on our own railroad now, aren't we?" she asked, with purposefullack-interest. "And--let me see--isn't Mr. Kent at some little town wepass through?"
"It is a city," said Elinor. "And the name is Gaston."
"I remember now," Penelope rejoined. "I wonder if we shall see him?"
/> "It is most unlikely. He does not know we are coming, and he wouldn't belooking for us."
Penelope's fine eyes clouded. At times Elinor's thought-processes were asplain as print to the younger sister; at other times they were not.
"I should think the least we could do would be to let him know," sheventured. "Does anybody know what time the train passes Gaston?"
"At seven-fifteen to-morrow evening," was the unguarded reply; andPenelope drew her own conclusions from the ready answer and the foldedtime-table in Elinor's lap.
"Well, why don't you send him a wire? I'm sure I should."
"Why should I?" said Elinor, warily.
"Oh, I don't know: any other young woman of his acquaintance would, Ifancy. I have half a mind to do it myself. _I_ like him, if you don't carefor him any more."
Thus Penelope; and a little while afterward, finding herself in thelibrary compartment with blanks and pen and ink convenient and nothingbetter to do, she impulsively made the threat good in a ten-word messageto Kent.
"If he should happen to drop in unexpectedly it will give Ellie the shockof her life," she mused; and the telegram was smuggled into the hands ofthe porter to be sent as occasion offered.
* * * * *
Those who knew Mr. Brookes Ormsby best were wont to say that the world ofaction, a world lusting avidly for resourceful men, had lost the chance ofacquiring a promising leader when he was born heir to the Ormsby millions.Be that as it may, he made the most of such opportunities for theexercising of his gift as came to one for whom the long purse leveled mostbarriers; had been making the most of the present leaguer of a woman'sheart--a citadel whose capitulation was not to be compassed by meremoney-might, he would have said.
Up to the final day of the long westward flight all things had gone wellwith him. True, Elinor had not thawed visibly, but she had been tolerant;Penelope had amused herself at no one's expense save her own--a boon forwhich Ormsby did not fail to be duly thankful; and Mrs. Brentwood hadcontributed her mite by keeping hands off.
But at the dining-car luncheon on the last day's run, Penelope,languishing at a table for two with an unresponsive Ormsby for avis-a-vis, made sly mention of the possible recrudescence of one DavidKent at a place called Gaston: this merely to note the effect upon anunresponsive table-mate.
In Penelope's observings there was no effect perceptible. Ormsby said"Ah?" and asked if she would have more of the salad. But later, in acontemplative half-hour with his pipe in the smoking-compartment, he letthe scrap of information sink in and take root.
Hitherto Kent had been little more than a name to him; a name he had neverheard on Elinor's lips. But if love be blind in the teens and twenties, itis more than apt to have a keen gift of insight in the thirties andbeyond. Hence, by the time Ormsby had come to the second filling of hispipe, he had pieced together bits of half-forgotten gossip about theCroydon summer, curious little reticences on Elinor's part, vague hintslet fall by Mrs. Brentwood; enough to enable him to chart the rock onwhich his love-argosy was drifting, and to name it--David Kent.
Now to a well-knit man of the world--who happens to be a heaven-borndiplomatist into the bargain--to be forewarned is to be doubly armed. Atthe end of the half-hour of studious solitude in the smoking-room, Ormsbyhad pricked out his course on the chart to a boat's-length; had trimmedhis sails to the minutest starting of a sheet. A glance at his watch andanother at the time-table gave him the length of his respite. Six hoursthere were; and a dining-car dinner intervened. Those six hours, and thedinner, he decided, must win or lose the race.
Picturing for ourselves, if we may, how nine men out of ten would havegiven place to panic-ardor, turning a possible victory into a hopelessrout, let us hold aloof and mark the generalship of the tenth, who chancesto be the heaven-born.
For five of the six precious hours Ormsby merely saw to it that Elinor wasjudiciously marooned. Then the dining-car was reopened and the eveningmeal was announced. Waiting until a sufficient number of passengers hadgone forward to insure a crowded car, Ormsby let his party fall in withthe tail of the procession, and the inevitable happened. Single seats onlycould be had, and Elinor was compelled to dine in solemn silence at atable with three strangers.
Dinner over, there remained but twenty minutes of the respite; but thediplomatist kept his head, going back to the sleeping-car with his chargesand dropping into the seat beside Elinor with the light of calm assurancein his eye.
"You are quite comfortable?" he began. "Sha'n't I have the Presence in thebuffet make you a cup of tea? That in the diner didn't deserve the name."
She was regarding him with curious anger in the gray eyes, and her replyquite ignored the kindly offer of refreshment.
"You are the pink of dragomans," she said. "Don't you want to go andsmoke?"
"To be entirely consistent, I suppose I ought to," he confessed, wonderingif his throw had failed. "Do you want me to go?"
"I have been alone all the afternoon: I can endure it a little whilelonger, I presume."
Ormsby permitted himself a single heart-throb of exultation. He haddeliberately gone about to break down her poise, her only barrier ofdefense, and it began to look as if he had succeeded.
"I couldn't help it, you know," he said, catching his cue swiftly. "Thereare times when I'm obliged to keep away from you--times when every fiberof me rebels against the restraints of the false position you have thrustme into. When I'm taken that way I don't dare play with the fire."
"I wish I could know how much you mean by that," she said musingly. Deepdown in her heart she knew she was as far as ever from loving this man;but his love, or the insistent urging of it, was like a strong currentdrifting her whither she would not go.
"I mean all that an honest man can mean," he rejoined. "I have fought likea soldier for standing-room in the place you have assigned me; I havetried sincerely--and stupidly, you will say--to be merely your friend,just the best friend you ever had. But it's no use. Coming or going, Ishall always be your lover."
"Please don't," she said, neither coldly nor warmly. "You are getting overinto the domain of the very young people when you say things like that."
It was an unpleasant thing to say, and he was not beyond wincing a little.None the less, he would not be turned aside.
"You'll overlook it in me if I've pressed the thing too hard on the sideof sentiment, won't you? Apart from the fact that I feel that way, I'vebeen going on the supposition that you'd like it, if you could only makeup your mind to like me."
"I do like you," she admitted; "more than any one I have ever known, Ithink."
The drumming wheels and a long-drawn trumpet blast from the locomotivemade a shield of sound to isolate them. The elderly banker in the oppositesection was nodding over his newspaper; and the newly married ones wereoblivious, each to all else but the other. Mrs. Brentwood was apparentlysleeping peacefully three seats away; and Penelope was invisible.
"There was a time when I should have begged hard for something more,Elinor; but now I'm willing to take what I can get, and be thankful. Willyou give me the right to make you as happy as I can on the unemotionalbasis?"
She felt herself slipping.
"If you could fully understand----"
"I understand that you don't love me, in the novelist's sense of the word,and I am not asking more than you can give. But if you can give me thelittle now, and more when I have won it--don't curl your lip at me,please: I'm trying to put it as mildly as I can."
She was looking at him level-eyed, and he could have sworn that she wasnever calmer or more self-possessed.
"I don't know why you should want my promise--or any woman's--on suchconditions," she said evenly.
"But I do," he insisted.
The lights of a town suburb were flitting past the windows, and themonotonous song of the tires was drowned in the shrill crescendo of thebrakes. She turned from him suddenly and laid her cheek against thegrateful cool of the window-pane. But when he took her
hand she did notwithdraw it.
"Is it mine, Elinor?" he whispered. "You see, I'm not asking much."
"Is it worth taking--by itself?"
"You make me very happy," he said quietly; and just then the train stoppedwith a jerk, and a shuffling bustle of station-platform noises floated inthrough the open deck transoms of the car.
As if the solution of continuity had been a call to arouse her, Elinorfreed her hand with a swift little wrench and sat bolt upright in hercorner.
"This station--do you know the name of it?" she asked, fighting hard forthe self-control that usually came so easily.
Ormsby consulted his watch.
"I am not quite sure. It ought to be----"
He broke off when he saw that she was no longer listening to him. Therewas a stir in the forward vestibule, and the porter came in with ahand-bag. At his heels was a man in a rough-weather box-coat; a youngishman, clean-shaven and wind-tanned to a healthy bronze, with an eager faceand alert eyes that made an instant inventory of the car and itscomplement of passengers. So much Ormsby saw. Then Penelope stood up inher place to greet the new-comer.
"Why, Mr. Kent!" she exclaimed. "Are you really going on with us? How niceof you!"
Elinor turned coolly upon her seat-mate, self-possession once more firmlyseated in the saddle.
"Did you know Mr. Kent was going to board the train here?" she askedabruptly.
"Do you mean the gentleman Penelope has waylaid? I haven't the pleasure ofhis acquaintance. Will you introduce us?"
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