by George Gibbs
*CHAPTER V*
*DINERS OUT*
When the visitors had gone, Camilla disappeared in the direction of herown apartment. The thought of being alone with Jeff was intolerable toher. She must have time to think, to wash away the traces of heremotion, which she was sure even the shadows of the drawing room couldhardly have hidden from the sharp eyes of her elderly guest. Herhusband had given no indication of having noticed anything unusual inher appearance, but she knew that he would not have let her discover itif he had. She breathed a sigh of relief when the door was closedbehind her, dismissed her maid, and, slipping into a comfortablegarment, threw herself face downward on a couch and buried her head inits pillow.
Out of the disordered tangle of her thoughts one idea graduallyevolved--that she must not see Cortland Bent again. She could not planjust now how she was to avoid him, for General Bent had already invitedthem to dine at his house, and she knew that she must go, for Jeff'ssake, no matter what it cost her. She could not blame Cortland as muchas she blamed herself, for she realized now how vulnerable she had beeneven from the first moment when she had entered the room, bravelyassuring herself that she cared for him no longer. The revelation ofher husband's part in the lease of the "Lone Tree" had shocked her, buteven her abomination of his brutal method of consummating the businesswas lost in the discovery of her own culpability. Before to-day it hadnot seemed so great a sin to hold another man's image in her heart, butthe disclosure of her secret had robbed it of some of the dignity ofseclusion. The one thing that had redeemed her in the past had been thesoft pains of self-abnegation, and now she had not even those to comforther.
The revelation to Cort had even made their relation a little brutal.She fought with herself silently, proposing subterfuge and sophistry,then dragging her pitiful treasure forth remorselessly under the garishlight of conscience. She could not understand the change thatCortland's presence made; for what yesterday had been only unduteous,to-day was a sin. What then had been a balm was now a poison.
Morning brought regeneration. The sun shone brightly through her yellowcurtains, and her maid brought with her breakfast tray a note from thecontrite Cortland.
"Forgive me, Camilla. Forgive me. Call me selfish, unreasonable,cruel--anything you like--but don't tell me I shall not see you again.You will find me a model of all the virtues. Gladys is calling on youto-day. You are coming to the dinner, aren't you? I will be there--ina corner somewhere, but I won't bother you. The night has brought mepatience. Forgive me.
"C."
Camilla slipped the note among her laces, and when Jeff looked in tobring her the invitation which had arrived in the morning mail to dineat the house of Cornelius Bent, she presented a fair face and joyouscountenance.
General Bent's dinners had a way of being ponderous--like himself. Fromsoup to coffee the victuals were rich and highly seasoned, the winesfull-bodied; his dishes were heavy, his silver-service massive, hisfurniture capacious. The impression of solidity was further enhanced bythe thick oak paneling, the wide fireplace, and the sumptuouscandelabra. Many, if not all, of these adjectives might readily beapplied to his men-servants, who had been so long in his employ that theessentials of their surroundings had been seared into their souls. TheBent regime was their religion, the General its high priest, and theiroffices components of a ceremony which they observed with impressivedignity and sedate fervor.
As a rule, the personality of the General's guests did nothing todetract from the impression of opulence. They were the heavy men ofaffairs, the big men of clubdom, of business, of religion, of politics.Camilla had been warned of what she must expect, but it was withfeelings of trepidation not far removed from awe that she and Jeff gotdown from their taxi under the glow of the porte-cochere before the wideportal of the great house in Madison Avenue. Her last admonition to herhusband in the cab had been, "Jeff, don't shuffle your feet! And don'tsay 'ma'am.' And keep your hands out of your pockets! If you can'tthink of anything to say, don't say it."
Wray only laughed. He was very much at his ease, for he had convincedhimself downtown that the doors of the Bent establishment would not haveswung so wide had the General not found that Wray's holdings andinfluence in the West were matters which some day he would have toreckon with.
When they arrived they were pleased to discover that there were to beyoung people among the guests as well as old. Three stout, floridgentlemen, members of the directorate of the Amalgamated ReductionCompany, whom Jeff had met downtown, with their wives, and Mr. and Mrs.Worthington Rumsen lent their share to the dignity the General required,but there was a leaven of a younger set in Gladys, his daughter (Mrs.Bent had died many years before), Cortland, his son, and some others.Most of the guests were already in the drawing room when the Wrays wereannounced. And Camilla entered a little uncertainly, her eyessparkling, seeking her hostess. There was a subdued masculine murmur ofapproval, a raising of lorgnons to aged feminine noses, a generalmovement of appreciation.
Camilla was radiant. Cortland Bent came forward from his corner, slowlydrinking in her loveliness with his eyes. She was gowned in white andwore no ornaments. The slenderness which all women ape was hers withoutasking. Her ruddy hair at the last moment had resisted the arts of thehair-dresser, and so she wore it as she had always done, in a heavy coillike a rope of flame. If she had been pale as she entered, the bloodnow flowed quickly--almost too quickly to be fashionable--suffusing herface and gently warming her splendid throat and shoulders.
"Am I late?" she asked. "I'm so sorry. Will you forgive me?"
"You're not late," said her hostess. "Awfully glad----"
"We're bountifully repaid," put in General Bent gallantly, as he cameforward. "I'm sure you're quite worth waiting for. I've been tellingNew York for years it had better keep its eyes on the West. Now I mustwarn its women. How are you, Wray? You know Warrington--and Janney.Let me present you, Wray--the Baroness Charny."
Jeff felt himself appraised civilly.
"You are _the_ Mr. Wray?" she asked him. "The rich Mr. Wray?"
Jeff flushed with pleasure. Nothing ever tickled him more than areference to his possessions.
"I'm Wray--from Colorado. And you--you know I've never seen a real livebaroness before. So don't mind if I look at you a little. You see, wenever have anybody like you out our way----"
"I don't mind in the least," she said with a slight accent. "What didyou think a baroness ought to look like?"
"I had a kind of an idea she was stoutish, wore a crown, and sat in abig chair all day, ordering people around."
"I'm afraid you read fairy stories. I don't own a crown, and I mightorder people all day, but nobody would pay the least attention to me."
"What a pity," he said soberly.
His ingenuousness was refreshing.
"You know, Mr. Wray, baronesses aren't any more important nowadays thananybody else. The only barons worth while in the world are the CoalBarons, the Wheat Barons, the Gold Barons, like you." And then, "Didyou know that you were to take me in? Are you glad?"
"Of course," with a vague attempt at gallantry. "I'd take you anywhereand be proud to."
"Then give me your arm," she laughed. And they followed the others into dinner. Wray's other neighbor was Mrs. Rumsen, his host's sister.Camilla had related many tales of her social prowess, and she was reallythe only person at the table of whom Jeff stood the least in awe. Mrs.Rumsen's nose was aquiline like her brother's, her eyebrows high andslightly arched, her eyes small and rather close together, as thoughnature had intended them for a short but concentrated vision. She heldher head very erect, and from her great height was enabled withoutpretence to look down on all lesser things. Cortland had described heras a grenadier, and, as Wray realized that the moment when he must talkto her was inevitably approaching, he lost some faith in his moods andtenses.
"Mr. Wray," she began, in a tone which was clearly to be heard th
elength of the table, "you have a handsome wife."
"Yes, ma'am," he drawled. "I'm glad you think so, Mrs. Rumsen."
"A woman with her looks and your money could have the world at her feetif she wished."
"Yes. I've told her the same thing. But I don't think she likes afuss. Why, I sent up a whole carload of hats--all colors, with plumesand things, but she wouldn't have one of them."
The old lady's deep wrinkles relaxed.
"And diamonds----" he went on. "She's got half a peck, but I can't gether to put them on."
Mrs. Rumsen did not reply, only examined him with her small eyes throughher lorgnon.
"You know, Mr. Wray, ever since you came into the room you have been apuzzle to me. Your features resemble those of some one I haveknown--years ago--some one I have known intimately--curious I can't----"
"Have you ever been West?"
"Oh, yes. Were your people----?"
"I have no people, Mrs. Rumsen," he said with a quick air of finality.
"Oh!" She still looked at him wonderingly. "I beg your pardon." Thenshe went on calmly, "You really interest me a great deal. I have seenWesterners in New York before--but you're different--I mean," she added,"the cut of your nose, the lines of your chin, the set of your head onyour shoulders. I hope you'll forgive an old woman's curiosity."
Jeff bowed politely. "I'm very much flattered, Mrs. Rumsen."
"You and my brother have business interests in common?"
"Yes, I've a mine--a chain of mines and property interests, including acontrol of the Denver and Western Railroad."
She laid a hand impressively on his arm.
"Hold them. Take my advice and hold them. I know it is a greattemptation to extend your control, to be a big man East and West. Butdon't try it by weakening what you have. Other men have come here toset the Hudson afire----"
"Some of them have done it, too, Mrs. Rumsen."
She shrugged. "What is the use? You have an empire of your own. Stayat home, develop it. Wouldn't you rather be first in Mantua than secondin Rome?"
"I--I'm afraid I don't just take you?"
"I mean, wouldn't you rather be an emperor among your own people thanfetch and carry--as so many others are doing--for Wall Street?"
"That's just the point. Only the boot is on the other leg. Wall Streetneeds the West. Wall Street doesn't think so. It's away behind thetimes. Those people downtown are so stuck on themselves that they thinkthe whole country is stooping with its ear to the ground listening towhat they're doing. Why, Mrs. Rumsen, there are men in the West--bigmen, too--who think Wall Street is a joke. Funny, isn't it? WallStreet doesn't seem to know that millions of acres of corn, of wheat,and potatoes keep growing just the same. Those things don't wait tohear what Wall Street thinks. Only God Almighty can make 'em stopgrowing. And as long as they grow, we don't bother much."
She smiled approvingly.
"Then why do you care?"
"Oh, I'm a kind of missionary. These people downtown are heathencritters. They're so ignorant about their own country it almost makesme ashamed to talk to them."
The last vestige of the grenadier aspect in Mrs. Rumsen had vanished,and her face dissolved in smiles.
"Heathens! They are," she laughed delightedly. "Critters--yes,critters, too. Splendid! Have you told Cornelius--my brother--that?"
Wray's truffle stuck in his throat and he gasped, "Good God, ma'am! No.You won't tell him, will you?"
"I'd like to," she chuckled. "But I won't."
Jeff laughed. "I'm afraid I've put my foot in it. I'm apt to. I'mrather a raw product----"
"Whatever you do, Mr. Wray, don't change. You're positively refreshing.Anybody can learn to be good form. It's as simple as a, b, c. If itwasn't easy there wouldn't be so many people practising it. The peoplein the shops even adopt our adjectives before they're well out of ourmouths. Hats are 'smart,' when in earlier days they were simply'becoming.' Gowns are 'fetching' or 'stunning' that were once merely'pretty.' Let a fashionable Englishman wear a short coat with a highhat to the Horse Show, and every popinjay in town will be doing the samething in a week. If you're a raw product, remain so by all means. Rawproducts are so much more appetizing than half-baked ones."
"I don't think there's any way to make me any different, Mrs. Rumsen,"he laughed, "even if I wanted to be. People will have to take me as Iam. Your brother has been kind. It seems as if he had a broader viewof our people than most of the others."
"Don't be too sure. They're all tarred with the same stick. It's amaxim of mine never to put my trust in any person or thing belowTwenty-third Street. The farther downtown you go, the deeper thevillainy. You'll find all New Yorkers much the same. Out of businesshours they are persons of the most exemplary habits, good fathers,vestrymen in churches, excellent hosts. In business----" she held upher hands in mock horror.
"Oh, I know," Wray chuckled. "But I'm not afraid. I'm something of awolf myself. Your brother needs me more than I need him. I think we'llget along."
"You have everything you want. Take my advice and keep your money inthe West."
"Thanks. But I like New York, and I don't want to be idle. Besides,there's Camilla--Mrs. Wray, you know."
"Yes, I see. I can't blame her. No woman with her looks wants to wastethem on mountain scenery. I must know her better--and you. She must letme call on her. I'm giving a ball later. Do you think you could come?"
And the great lady turned to her dinner partner.
The Baroness, too, was amiable. It was her first visit to America. Herhusband was an attache of an embassy in Washington. She had not yetbeen in the West. Were all the men big, as Mr. Wray was?
She had a charming faculty of injecting the personal note into herquestions, and before he was aware of it Wray found himself welllaunched in a description of his country--the mountains, the plains, thecowboys.
She had never heard of cowboys. What were they? Little cows?
Jeff caught a warning look from Camilla across the table, which softenedhis laughter. He explained, and the Baroness joined in the merriment.Then he told her that he had been for years a cowpuncher down in Arizonaand New Mexico before he went into business, described the "round-up,"the grub wagon, and told her of a brush with some Yaqui Indians who wereon the warpath. When he began, the other people stopped talking andlistened. Jeff was in his element and without embarrassment finishedhis story amid plaudits. Camilla, listening timidly, was forced to admitthat his domination of the table was complete. The conversation becamegeneral, a thing which rarely happened at the Bent dinners, and Jeffdiscovered himself the centre of attention. Almost unconsciously hefound himself addressing most of his remarks to a lady opposite, who hadlistened and questioned with an unusual show of interest.
When the ices were passed he turned to Mrs. Rumsen and questioned.
"Haven't you met her?" And then, across the table, "Rita--you haven'tmet Mr. Wray--Mrs. Cheyne."