Wainwright came back presently. His hair was tossed up over his forehead and again she thought how much he looked like a nice boy.
He stopped and murmured to her like a friend of years. “I’m going out to the drugstore for something the doctor wants. I won’t be gone long. I’ll phone about your car and see that it’s cared for. The doctor wants you to lie still unless he calls you. He says you must rest so you can help the nurse when he has to go. I’ll be back very soon and do anything that’s needed.”
She tried to protest, but he stepped into his shoes, swung on his beautiful overcoat over his vest, and was gone before she could do so. She lay there, still staring at the empty doorway where he had stood for an instant before he closed the front door so carefully after him. Then she turned her gaze back to the room, to the handsome evening coat that lay slumped across a chair as if it were perfectly at home. She thought of the strange happenings of the evening, like a dream, with a great fear standing grimly in the background and Wainwright like a strong angel dominating everything. She thought how strange it was for his coat to be lying there across their shabby little armchair; he a stranger from another world than theirs! How kind he was! How like a tried friend! And he was an absolute stranger. She didn’t know a thing about him except his name, a name she had never heard before! What would her mother say to it all? Would she live to know about it?
Then fear came back and held her heart again until it quivered, and she prayed an agonized, wordless prayer.
She must have closed her eyes while she prayed, for when she opened them again it was with a sense of a strong breath of air from outdoors having blown in her face. The light was turned out in the front room where she lay, and it seemed a long time afterward. But when she looked in a fright toward her mother’s room she could see the nurse coming with a glass in her hand, and then she sensed Wainwright standing near her looking down at her. Their eyes met in the dimness of the room, and he smiled. He had a kind look in his eyes, and he stooped over her and put two fingers gently on her wrist for a moment.
“Oh yes.” She stirred softly and tried to rise. “I am quite rested now! I must go to Mother! And you should go home and get some sleep. You have been so good!”
He shook his head and stooped to speak in her ear. “Your mother is resting comfortably now. The doctor thinks there has been a shade of improvement. I’m staying awhile out there in the hall. If you want me, just give a soft little cough and I’ll come. And don’t worry about your car. They’re taking care of it. It’s gone to a garage.”
He drifted away like one of the shadows in the room. She stared around her and wondered if he, too, had been a dream. Then she noticed the big chair was gone and his evening coat was slung across the top of the piano as if it had been a day laborer’s coat. Still marveling, between wakefulness and sleeping, she fell asleep. She did not even hear the milk wagons when they began their rounds nor the bread wagons a little later when they went clop, clop, clopping down the icy street. It was broad daylight when she woke with a start and heard the water running in the kitchen sink. She threw aside the coverings and got up quickly, thoroughly awake now and alive to duty and anxiety.
She hurried out into the hall softly with a fearsome glance toward her mother’s room where the shades were drawn, keeping out the brightness of the morning. She could not see into the dim darkness of the room; her eyes were not yet accustomed to the light of day.
She wondered as she crossed the room how her shoes came to be off and where they were, and then she came into the dimness of the hall and saw Wainwright slumped down in the old Morris chair, his overcoat around him and his hair tossed back in disorder. He was asleep, and his face looked white and tired and boyish. He had stayed all night! How wonderful! But what an obligation to have to a stranger!
But before she could pass him, he had roused and caught her hand as she would have gone by.
“Good morning!” he whispered. “Are you all right, Camilla?” He did not seem to speak her name as if he felt himself a stranger.
She caught her breath softly.
“I’m fine,” she answered, “but—my mother! How is she? Oh, I shouldn’t have gone to sleep!”
“She’s better!” he said with a light of eagerness in his eyes almost as if she might have been his mother. “Sleep was just what you should have done. Come out in the kitchen where we can talk.”
He took her hand and led her through the dining room, and she did not realize that they were walking hand in hand until they came sharply upon the nurse washing a cup and plate. But she did not seem to think it strange. She said good morning in a businesslike tone and then, “Well, your mother is better, Miss Chrystie!”
“Oh!” Camilla caught her breath and closed her eyes for an instant, a light coming into her face. “Could I go to her?”
“No, she’s sleeping quite naturally now, and the doctor said she shouldn’t be disturbed. He’s gone to another operation, and he’ll be back again in about two hours to see how we’re getting on.”
“Oh, I should have been here to get him some breakfast!” said Camilla, aghast.
“Oh no you shouldn’t!” said the nurse capably. “I made him some coffee and toast and scrambled him some eggs. Now you can get yourself and Mr. Wainwright some breakfast. I’ve had all I want. Mr. Wainwright has been invaluable. I don’t know what we should have done without him.”
Camilla turned to Wainwright with gratitude and apology in her eyes. “Oh, how terrible for me to sleep through everything and you, a stranger, doing it all.”
Wainwright ran his fingers through his hair and turned around on her sharply, blinking at her through big, blue, pleasant eyes.
“What did you say I was, young lady?” he asked, catching hold of her wrists and looking her straight in the eyes.
Camilla, her heart suddenly light, looked up with a shamedly sweet smile on her white young face.
“I said you were a—friend,” she said shyly.
He gave her hand a quick warm clasp.
“Thank you for those kind words!” he said. “Remember, I’m a young fellow taking his tests and mighty anxious to pass muster.”
Then he let her go, but not without another look that seemed somehow to cement a friendship that she knew no way to prevent.
It was when they were sitting across from each other at the white enameled kitchen table eating scrambled eggs and drinking coffee together cozily that she summoned words again to protest gratefully all he had done for her and to deplore the fact that he had been up all night.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve eaten in a kitchen at an early hour in the morning,” he said gravely. “I’ve often danced all night and ended up with scrambled eggs in the morning, but I can’t say they ever tasted so good as these do. And I can tell you truly that I’ve had more satisfaction out of this night than I ever had out of any of those other nights. I’m so very glad your mother is better!”
She looked at him, startled as his words gave her evidence of even more differences between them than she had envisioned. Yes, of course he would belong to a world like that! A fashionable world, with all it stood for today! His coat might have told her that, and the gardenia in his buttonhole. There was a strange little uneasy twinge as she took that in and put it away for future thought.
And yet, it was all the more wonderful that he had stayed and been so fine and worked so hard when he came of an entirely different world! She would not let his kindness and friendship for that one night be spoiled or discounted in the least by any differences there might be in their worlds. Whatever he was or had been or was to be, he had been great last night, and had a right to be called a friend.
He even helped her wipe their few dishes, as if he had been her playmate from childhood. She knew it couldn’t last, of course. It would be over like a dream—with this difference: it was a dream that she never would forget.
When he went away at last, after the doctor had returned and pronounced the mother out of
immediate danger, he had his overcoat well buttoned up to hide his evening attire. But he came back immediately from his car with a big, long, white box in his hand and a nice grin on his face.
Camilla, from the window, had been watching him away and hurried to the door as she saw him return.
“Won’t you relieve me of these flowers?” he asked, with a funny, wry smile. “The occasion for them is past, and I wouldn’t know how to dispose of them. Perhaps your mother will enjoy them.”
“Oh,” said Camilla, with a conscience-stricken look. “I’ve kept you from so much!” And then as the box was put in her hands she said, “And somebody has been missing you, and missing these, and wondering! I do hope you telephoned and explained.”
She lifted her eyes and saw a strange, puzzled look on his face.
“No,” he said thoughtfully, “I didn’t explain. I don’t know that I shall. And I wasn’t sure that I was going to use those flowers when I bought them. I think it was a good thing that I didn’t!”
Then with a smile he was gone.
Camilla watched his car glide out from the curb where it had stood through the night, saw his lifted hand in adieu, and turned back to the house with wonder in her eyes and a thoughtful countenance. She went out to the kitchen with the big box to be alone and think this out.
But when she opened the box there were large white orchids! And suddenly her problem was complicated by the vision of a third person, the girl for whom these strange white flowers had been bought! What was she? Who was she? His friend? His sweetheart? His wife perhaps!
The distance between her world and the world of the stranger who had befriended her in her need was widening fast, and daylight was upon her. There was no more time for dreams.
Then suddenly the nurse called her, and she left the white flowers in water hastily drawn in the bread bowl and went to meet the doctor.
White orchids in a yellow bread bowl!
Chapter 3
Jeffrey Wainwright drove out into the morning, back into the commonplace of his life, and remembered what had happened a little more than fifteen hours ago, before the accident.
He had been driving away from Stephanie Varrell’s apartment to which he had just brought her home from a matinee they had been attending that afternoon, and as he turned the corner and glanced back down the street, something in the swing of a figure approaching from the other direction brought a familiar wrath to his consciousness. Was that his old enemy, Myles Meredith? It certainly was. No other man could walk like that, with that insolent swagger, described in Jeffrey Wainwright’s imaginative language as “walking delicately.” How he despised him! Not because he was, in a way, a rival for Stephanie Varrell’s smiles, for Wainwright had an honest, fair mind, and liked to play the game squarely and take his medicine if things didn’t go his way. But the man was a sneak, a snake in disguise, a double-crosser, an unprincipled cad. In fact, there wasn’t a word in Wainwright’s vocabulary of despicable adjectives that he hadn’t at some time used in reference to Meredith, either in his own mind or to Stephanie, and once to Meredith himself.
Wainwright was on his way home to dress for a dinner Stephanie was giving that night, and he had supposed himself to be in a hurry, but he brought his car to an abrupt stop on the crossing and watched Myles Meredith swing on affectedly down the street to the door of the big apartment house, which sheltered Stephanie’s charming abode, and enter.
For a second he sat there, staring at the empty space on the sidewalk that Meredith had just vacated. Then he became aware of an automobile horn blowing viciously just behind him and a traffic officer’s whistle not far away, and he started his car with a sudden jerk that sent it shooting down the street at a frantic pace. His usually nice, pleasant face was a study in frowns.
What was this villain doing here? He had supposed him to be on his way to Europe. He was to have sailed last Friday! Sneak! Had he dared to return after the affair of last week? And would Stephanie receive him, knowing he had been criminally involved with a girl of notorious character? Fool he had been, that he had not stayed around to watch if she sent him away. If Stephanie let him hang around her after what had happened, he was done with her!
And yet, she was the girl he had about decided to marry!
Well, he must get this thing cleared up before he went any further! He would go back and find out if Meredith was there, and if so, he would demand that Stephanie choose between them.
He was so angry that he turned corners on two wheels and pulled up speedily before the big apartment house again.
There was no sign of Meredith in either direction. He had not had time as yet to get far away. Likely he was just coming down in the elevator, if Stephanie had refused to see him. But he found himself doubting whether Stephanie would do that. Stephanie loved to trifle with dangerous things.
He decided to stay there for a few minutes and wait for Meredith. This was as good a time as any for a showdown. He could dress quickly afterward. What matter if he was late when so important a circumstance was in the balance?
So he drew up to the curb and waited, with his frowning gaze fixed upon the entrance from which he had just a few minutes ago come out so happily.
Perhaps it was the thought of his own evening garb, which he was expecting to assume hastily, that recalled the glimmer of white shirt front between the richly furred lapels of Myles Meredith’s top coat. Myles Meredith, then, was dressed for the evening and had been unfastening the outer coat as he entered the apartment house door, as if he was sure of an entrance and was going in to stay.
Could it be possible that Myles Meredith was invited to Stephanie’s dinner? Or had even dared to call her up and ask if he might call? Either possibility was an insult to Stephanie, whom Jeffrey Wainwright wanted with all his heart to respect. Surely, surely, after all she knew, after all she had promised him, Stephanie would not involve herself again with that contemptible creature!
He waited for ten long minutes, and still there was no sign of Meredith. Then he went into the office of the apartment house, sought out a booth, and telephoned up to Stephanie’s apartment.
He was told that Miss Varrell was busy just now and not able to come to the telephone. He might leave a message or call later, but at his insistence, he finally heard her slow drawl mingled with annoyance.
“For sweet pity’s sake, Jeff, what can be the matter with you? You haven’t been away from here ten minutes. You can’t have reached home yet. Have you been in a smash-up or anything?”
Wainwright’s tone was hard and insistent as he demanded to know: “Is Meredith there with you, Stephanie?”
There was an instant’s silence. Evidently she had not expected that question. Her voice was vexed as she replied.
“Why in the world should you ask that, Jeff?” She was stalling for time to think. He could feel her hesitation over the wire.
“Because I saw him going in there just as I turned the corner!” said Wainwright. There was a grim indignation in his tone.
“Well,” said Stephanie, adopting her haughtiest tones full of resentment, “and suppose he is? What is that to you? Haven’t I a right to have anyone call at my apartment? Is it your business to spy on me?”
“You told me that Meredith sailed for Europe last Friday!” he accused her.
“Well, so he did. At least he went on board the ship, but he found a message delaying him another week. Really, Jeff, you are most trying. You promised me that you would go home and dress and get back as soon as possible. Please hurry! You’ll delay everything if you don’t get back when I asked you.”
“Is that bounder going to be at your dinner, Stephanie?” The grim voice was not to be placated.
“Jeff, you are simply impossible! What right have you to hold up my dinner while you ask tiresome questions?”
“The right of a man who has asked you to marry him and who won’t do it again until he knows where he stands.”
“That’s not enough to make you the censor of m
y list of dinner guests!” she said angrily. “I invite whom I will to my apartment. We’re not married yet, remember. The question is merely under consideration. I’m sure you’re not doing much just now to help your side of the case.”
“Your list of dinner guests!” repeated Wainwright thoughtfully, ignoring her last remark. “Then he is an invited guest! Not a chance, unexpected caller! Then you knew this afternoon that he was coming?” His voice was accusatory, condemning.
“Well, suppose I did?” said the woman, vexed. “What is that to you?”
“A good deal!” said Wainwright. “I like to know how far I can trust my friends. Thanks for letting me know in time!”
“What do you mean ‘in time,’ Jeff? You certainly aren’t going to stage a scene at my dinner, are you?”
“No,” said Wainwright coldly with finality in his voice, “I shall not be there!”
“Infant!” she cried furiously. “Jealous infant—that’s what you are! Just because poor Mylo was held up a day or two, you are fussing. I declare, I didn’t know you were such a child!”
“This is not a matter of jealousy, Stephanie! You know my reasons. You know he is not fit to be around you. You know what he is, and yet you ask him to one of your most intimate affairs!”
“Oh, nonsense! Don’t be so extravagant in your denunciation! How hard men are on one another! Of course Mylo isn’t an angel, but I like him. I always have. I asked him. Yes, I asked him because he is good company. I like to have him around. It doesn’t matter to me what he has done, nor what he is. I enjoy an evening in his company.”
“Then you’ll not mind dispensing with mine, of course!” said Wainwright.
“Oh, you child, you!” mocked the girl with a forced laugh. “You know you haven’t the slightest intention of staying away. You know you would come just out of curiosity, if for nothing else, to see what Myles Meredith is up to next. Go home, Jeff darling, as fast as you can, get dressed, and hurry back. Don’t let’s have any more child’s play about it. You’re going to sit beside me, you know.” Her tone was low and insinuating, as if she wished to guard it from being heard by a possible listener. “And remember”—there was intimate caressing in the tone now, like patting a small boy on the back after reproof—“remember, white orchids, darling!”
The Flower Brides Page 55