IX. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER
It would be difficult to define the emotions that consumed MissGarrison as she entered her mother's boudoir. She could not concealfrom herself the sensation of jubilant delight because he had cometo Brussels. At the same time, even though his visit was that of amere friend, it promised complications which she was loath to face.She went into the presence of her mother with the presentiment thatthe first of the series was at hand.
"What is Philip Quentin doing here, Dorothy?" demanded Mrs.Garrison. She was standing in the center of the room, and herattitude was that of one who has experienced a very unpleasantsurprise. The calm, cold tone was not far from accusing; her steelyeyes were hard and uncompromising. The tall daughter stood beforeher, one hand still clutching the bits of white paper; on her facethere was the imprint of demure concern.
"I haven't had time to ask him, mamma," she said, lightly, "Would itbe quite the proper thing to demand the reason for his presence herewhen it seems quite clear that he is paying us a brief morningcall?"
"Do not be absurd! I mean, what is he doing in Brussels? Didn't hesay he was to return to New York last week?" There was refinedbelligerence in her voice. Dorothy gave a brief thought to the cool,unabashed young man below and smiled inwardly as she contemplatedthe reception he was to receive from this austere interrogator.
"Don't ask me, mamma, I am as much puzzled as you over his suddenadvent. It is barely possible he did not go to New York."
"Well, why didn't he?" This was almost a threat.
"It is a mystery we have yet to unravel. Shall we send for SherlockHolmes?"
"Dorothy, I am very serious. How can you make light of thisunwarranted intrusion? He is--"
"Why do you call it intrusion, mamma? Has he not the right to come?Can we close the door in his face? Is he not a friend? Can we helpourselves if he knocks at our door and asks to see us?" Dorothy felta smart tug of guilt as she looked back and saw herself trudgingsheepishly up the front steps beside the intruder, who had not beenpermitted to knock at the door.
"A gentleman would not subject you to the comments of--of--well, I maysay the whole world. He certainly saw the paragraphs in those Londonpapers, and he knows that we cannot permit them to be repeated overhere. He has no right to thrust himself upon us under thecircumstances. You must give him to understand at once, Dorothy,that his intentions--or visits, if you choose to call them such--areobnoxious to both of us."
"Oh, mamma! we've talked all this over before. What can I do? Iwouldn't offend him for the world, and I am sure he is incapable ofany desire to have me talked about, He knows me and he likes me toowell for that. Perhaps he will go away soon," said Dorothy,despairing petulance in her voice, Secretly she was conscious of thejustice in her mother's complaints.
"He shall go soon," said Mrs. Garrison, with determination.
"You will not--will not drive him away?" said her daughter, quickly.
"I shall make him understand that you are not the foolish child heknew in New York. You are about to become a princess. He shall beforced to see the impregnable wall between himself and the PrincessRavorelli--for you are virtually the owner of that glorious title. Asingle step remains and then you are no longer Dorothy Garrison.Philip Quentin I have always disliked, even mistrusted. Hisreputation in New York was that of a man of the town, a richroisterer, a 'breaker of hearts,' as your uncle has often calledhim. He is a daring notoriety seeker, and this is rare sport forhim." Mrs. Garrison's eyes were blazing, her hands were clenched,her bearing that of one who is both judge and executioner.
"I think you do him an injustice," said Dorothy, slowly, a feelingof deep resentment asserting itself. "Philip is not what you callhim. He is a gentleman." Mother and daughter looked into eachother's eyes squarely for a moment, neither flinching, bothjustifying themselves for the positions they were to take.
"You defend him?"
"As he would defend me."
"You have another man to defend. Do you think of him?"
"You have yet to say that Ugo is no gentleman. It will then be timefor defense, such as I am offering now."
"We are keeping your friend waiting, Dorothy," said Mrs. Garrison,with blasting irony. "Give him my compliments and say that we trusthe may come every day. He affords us a subject for pleasantdiscussion, and I am sure Prince Ugo will be as charmed to meet himhere as he was in London."
"Don't be sarcastic, mamma. It doesn't help matters and--" beganDorothy, almost plaintively.
"Mr. Quentin certainly does not help matters, my dear. Still, if youwill enjoy the comment, the notoriety that he may be generous enoughto share with you, I can say no more. When you are ready to dismisshim, you shall find me your ally." She was triumphant because shehad scored with sarcasm a point where reason must have fallen farshort.
"I might tell Rudolf to throw him into the street," said Dorothy,dolefully, "only I am quite positive Phil would refuse to be thrownby less than three Rudolfs. But he is expecting you downstairs,mamma. He asked for you."
"I cannot see him to-day. Tell him I shall be only too glad to seehim if he calls again," and there was a deep, unmistaken meaning inthe way she said it.
"You will not go down?" Dorothy's face flushed with something akinto humiliation. After all, he did not deserve to be treated like adog.
"I am quite content upstairs," replied Mrs. Garrison, sweetly.
Dorothy turned from her mother without another word, and as she wentdown the stairs there was rebellion in her soul; the fires ofresistance showed their first tiny tongues in the hot wave thatswept through her being. Quentin was stretched out comfortably in abig chair, his back toward the stairs, his eyes upon the busy avenuebelow. She paused for a moment at the foot of the stairs and therewas a strange longing to pass her fingers over the thick dark hair.The thought passed instantaneously, but there was a new shyness inher manner as she approached.
"Hullo," he said, arising as he heard her footfall. "Been watchingthe people drive by. Pretty smart traps, some of them, too. The oldfamilies that came over in the Ark with Moses--er, Noah, I shouldsay." There was deep concern in the remark, but she was confidentthat he vaguely understood why she was alone.
"Mamma trusts you will excuse her this morning. She says she will beglad to see you when you come again." She seated herself on a divannear the window, a trifle out of the glaring light of the Augustsun. She held in her hand a fan and the bits of paper haddisappeared. "Isn't it dreadfully warm?"
"Looks like rain, too," said he, briefly. Then, with new animation:"Tell me, what was in that letter?"
"Nothing but nonsense," she replied, smiling serenely, for she wasagain a diplomat.
"How dare you! How dare you write nonsense to me? But, really, I'dlike to know what it was. You'll admit I have a right to becurious."
"It pleases me to see you curious. I believe it is the first time Iever saw you interested in anything. Quite novel, I assure you."
"Don't you mean to tell me?"
"Assuredly--not."
"Well, I think it's a roaring shame to write anything to a fellowthat he can't be allowed to read. I wouldn't treat you that way."
"I know you wouldn't. You are too good, and too sensible, and tooconsiderate, and all the other kind of too's, while I am just anunaccountable ninny. If you ever did anything crazy you wouldn'tlike to have it found out, would you?"
"By all means! Then I could take treatment for the malady. Leanforward, Dorothy, so that I can see your eyes. That's right! Now,look at me squarely. Will you tell me what was in that letter?" Shereturned his gaze steadily, almost mockingly.
"No."
"That's all I want to know. I can always tell by a girl's eyeswhether she is stubborn."
"I am not stubborn."
"Well, I'll drop the matter for all time. Doubtless you were rightwhen you said it was nonsense; you ought to know. Changing thesubject, I think I'll like Brussels if I stay here long enough." Hewas again nonchalant, indifferent. Under her mask of unconcern shefelt a t
rifle piqued that he did not persist in his endeavor tolearn the contents of the unfortunate letter.
"How long do you expect--I mean purpose to stay?" she asked.
"It depends on conditions. I may be crazy enough to stay six weeksand I may be crazy enough to go away next week. You see, I'm notcommitting myself to any specified degree of insanity; it won't makeso much difference when I am found out, as you say. At present,however, I contemplate staying until that affair at St. Gudule."
She could not hide the annoyance, the discomfiture, his assertioninspired. In a second she saw endless unpleasantries--somepleasantries, it is fair to say--and there seemed to be no gentle wayof escape. At the same time, there came once more the queer fluttershe had felt when she met him in the street, a half-hour before.
"You will find it rather dull here, I am afraid," she found courageto say. "Or do you know many people--the American minister,perhaps?"
"Don't know a soul here but you and Mrs. Garrison. It won't bedull--not in the least. We'll ride and drive, go ballooning oranything you like--"
"But I can't, Phil. Do you forget that I am to be married in sixweeks?" she cried, now frightened into an earnest appeal.
"That's it, precisely. After that you can't go ballooning withanybody but the prince, so for at least a month you can have a goodtime telling me what a jolly good fellow he is. That's what girlslike, you know, and I don't mind in the least. If you want to talkabout him by the hour, I won't utter an objection. Of course, Isuppose you'll be pretty busy with your trousseau and so forth, andyou'll have the house full of visitors, too, no doubt. But you cangive me a little time."
"I am sure mamma would not--"
"She never did approve, if that's what you were about to say. Whatis she afraid of? Does she imagine that I want to marry you? Goodheavens!" So devout was his implied denial of such a project thatshe felt herself grow hot. "Doesn't she think the prince has yousafely won? You are old enough to take care of yourself, I'm sure."
"She knows that I love Prince Ugo, and that he is the only man Ishall ever love. Her disapproval would arise from the needlessexposure to comment. You remember what the London paper said aboutus." If she thought that he was chilled by her bold openingassertion she was to find herself mistaken. He smiled complacently.
"I thought it was very nice of them. I am preserving the clipping,"he said, airily. "We can talk over this little difficulty withpublic opinion when we've had more time to think about it. You see,I've been here but ten hours, and I may be willing to leavetomorrow, that is, after I've seen more of the town. I may not likethe king, and I'm quite sure the palace doesn't suit me. I'll comearound to-morrow and we'll drive through one of these famous parks--"
"Oh, no, Phil! Really, you don't know how it embarrasses me--"
"I'll go away to-night, if you say you don't want to see me at all,Dorothy," he said, seriously, rising and standing before her.
"I don't mean that. You know I want to see you--for old times' sake."
"I shall go, nevertheless, if you merely hint that I am unwelcome."She arose and suddenly gave him her hand.
"You are not unwelcome, and you are foolish to speak in thatmanner," she said, seriously.
"And your mother?"
"She must endure what I endure."
"Somewhere Baedeker says that the Bois de la Cambre is the finestpark in Brussels," said he, his eyes gleaming.
"I am quite sure Baedeker is reliable," she agreed, with a smile.
"At three o'clock to-morrow afternoon, then, I will come for you.Will you remember me to your mother and tell her I am sorry not tosee her to-day? Good-bye!"
She followed him to the door, and when he sped lightly down thesteps there was a broad smile on the face of each. He turned andboth laughed outright. "Where there's a will, there's a way," shemused, as she went to her room upstairs. An hour later her dailyletter to the prince was ready for the post. The only allusion tothe visitor of the morning was: "Mr. Quentin--our New York friend,you will remember--made us a brief call this morning. He is quiteundecided as to the length of his stay here, but I hope you will behere to see him."
Then, dismissing Quentin from her mind, she sat down to dream of theone great event in her life--this wonderful, glorious wedding in oldSt. Gudule's. Already her trousseau was on a fair way to completion.She gave no thought to the fortune that these gowns were to cost,she considered not the glories she was to reap by becoming a realprincess, she dwelt not on the future before her, for she knew shewas to be happy with Ugo. Instead, she dreamed only of the "colorscheme" that was to make memorable her wedding procession.
In her mind's eye she saw the great church thronged with the mostbrilliant, illustrious assemblage it had ever held (she was quitesure no previous gathering could have been more august), and a smileof pride came to her lips. The great chorus, the procession, thelights, the incomprehensible combination of colors, the chancel, theflowers, her wedding gown, and Ugo's dark, glowing face rushed inand out of her vision as she leaned back in her chair and--almostforgot to breathe. The thought of Ugo grew and grew; she closed hereyes and saw him at her side as they walked proudly from the altarwith the good bishop's blessing and the song of the choir in theirears, the swelling of love in their souls. So vivid became the dreamof his presence that she could almost feel his hand touching hers:she felt her eyes turn toward him, with all that great crowdwatching, and her heart quivered with passion as his dark, happyeyes burnt through to her very soul. Somehow she heard distinctlythe whisper, "My wife!"
Suddenly a strange chill came over this idle, happy dream, and sheopened her eyes with a start, Ugo's face fading away like a flash.The thought had rushed in like a stab from a dagger. Would PhilipQuentin be there, and would he care? Would he care?
X. TWO IN A TRAP
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