In the final outcome of matters at the office, Keith offered to stay all the afternoon and get some drawings done that had been promised by early Monday morning. He could see that his offer made somewhat of a hit with the elder, worried partner who was greatly relieved that it was going to be possible to fulfill the promises made about a difficult contract.
So he worked away happily, whistling softly to himself fragments of melodies his mother used to play, some of which Daphne had played when they were together for that little while in the old house.
He was just looking at his completed drawings, making sure that every measurement was according to specifications, when the janitor of the building looked in.
"Well, say, you are staying late," he remarked. "Didn't you know this was Sat'day? You're missin' out on yer half-holiday, aren't ya? D'ya know what time it is?"
Keith looked at his watch in dismay. There was barely time for him to rush to his apartment and change and catch the last train to the shore, and he had promised Anne he would try to get the earlier one so they might have a little time on the beach before dinner. Now, Anne would be furious again, and he sighed wearily at thought of battling with her. Somehow it had been restful to get away from everything and just work, at clean, wholesome work. That was probably the best thing in the world. Everything else was hectic. That was probably what kept Daphne Deane so sweet and wholesome; she wasn't afraid of work and absorbed herself in it, and didn't have time to think about herself and become morbid. He wondered if the minister would be keen enough to appreciate how fine she was.
These thoughts went rampaging through his mind while he was rushing frantically through the motions of getting dressed and hurrying to the station.
Then on the train he leaned his head back and closed his eyes and tried to get some kind of poise for the evening that was before him. There was just one resolve firmly fixed in his mind, and that was that he wouldn't be placated. He wouldn't be persuaded to do what she wanted him to do. It was a dishonorable way to earn one's living, according to his standards anyway, and while he didn't want to say in so many words what he thought of her father's methods, he could never approve them, and he must maintain his own right to independence of thought or there could be no hope of future happiness. Also he clearly saw that if he gave in to Anne's blandishments and allowed himself to be deceived by her present yielding attitude, he would find himself involved before he knew it.
How was it that he was suddenly beginning to see and acknowledge these things to himself now, when he had always put such thoughts away from him before? Was it that getting back to the old home and simpler surroundings had cleared his vision?
Did he really love Anne enough to marry her? Or was it that he loved her but did not trust her? Perhaps that was it. He had felt since he first knew her that if he could once get her away from her surroundings she would be very different. But would that be possible? Were not her surroundings a part of her very self? He wasn't sure. But this much was certain. He must not marry her until he was sure. And perhaps this evening would be the testing time. Perhaps his absence had brought her to see how wrong her attitude was.
The train slid into the station, and among the expensively attired throng suddenly he saw Anne Casper. She was wearing something white and softly transparent that drifted about her in the breeze and gave her the look of a Greek goddess! Keith stared at her startled! He had never seen her look like that. It was amazing! Usually the clothes she affected were smart, excessively so, but she wore them with an arrogant air as if to compel respect for them in spite of their disregard of all the laws of real beauty. But this lovely garment she was wearing now was all gracious flowing lines that softened her whole appearance. Even the short trifling jacket of the same cloudlike texture had simple sleeves that fell away from her rounded arms with exquisite charm. The regal little head that usually was so sleek, like shining black satin plastered in severe lines about the face, had somehow changed its character to long, loose waves that seemed the perfection of only nature itself, with little soft curls framing the face, soft loose black curls that gave her a pensive sweetness he had never seen there before, a sweetness that not even the daring brilliancy of her small red lips could deny. And there were shadows delicately circling her great dark eyes and enhancing the mystery that always seemed hidden there. It never occurred to him to wonder how much of her various moods was makeup. He would have been indignant had anyone suggested such a thought. Though she so quickly attained that lovely pallor with only a hint of rose, when sometimes she seemed to glory in the deep tan she had acquired.
But however that was, she stood there awaiting him, one lovely arm lifted to wave a greeting, all in white, with a single gorgeous jewel hanging on a thread of platinum about her neck, and her soft dark hair beaten by the wind into a frame for her lovely face. She was a new Anne Casper. No, not new; she had never shown him this side of her nature before, that was all. Suddenly his heart leaped up with a strange thrill. Was this then the real Anne Casper, this peerless girl? And was this true love that was shining from her dark eyes till they looked like twin dusky jewels above the diamond at her throat?
She was standing in front of a beautiful shining car that was blue with chromium finishings, and a chauffeur in uniform to match was in attendance. She was a notable figure even in that sophisticated crowd at the exclusive shore station, and he went forward to meet the greeting in her eyes with wonder and a question in his own. Was this the real Anne Casper, and had their brief separation brought her to understand true values at last? Was she trying now to show him that she was repentant? Almost he seemed to see that in her eyes.
When he reached her side, coming through the cheerful crowd, some of whom were acquaintances, it almost seemed that Anne lifted her face as if she expected him to kiss her. Of course she didn't, of course that was only an illusion of his excited brain. Anne Casper was not sentimental. She was keen and quick and clever. But his new Anne he did not know, so sweet and gentle and winning, perhaps she was purposely trying to show him a new side, one meant for him alone.
He got into the limousine beside her, and they rode away into the soft pink light of dusk. Winding down the white pebbled drive among the flower beds maintained by the railroad company, bowing to this one and that as other cars passed them, carefree laughter, bright clothes, to Keith it was suddenly like another world. Electric lights were beginning to spring up on the station platform, garish in the twilight. Lights were shooting out from the drugstore on the corner of the beach drive, lights from the tearoom where latecomers were idly drinking tea, and quiet pink lights subduing the gold and pink and turquoise of the evening sea, whose waves seemed barely to be whispering as they slid up the far stretch of sand. And then a pale glow of light sifted from the frail ghost of a moon that was rising steadily higher and higher out of a silver sea.
As Keith took in the beauty of the scene and then looked down at the beautiful girl beside him, he felt that he had somehow stepped into a dream. He couldn't realize that it was real. Where were all the tumult of vexation and unhappiness through which he had passed, all the anger and bitterness that she had roused in him at their last meeting, the hours of brooding, and his own perplexities? Here she was by his side looking up at him with liquid lovely eyes and no sign of the fury with which she had sent him away. The scorn of her eyes was changed to gentleness, and there was about her that lure that he had felt when first he met her, the slow, sweet lifting of those lovely lashes, the deep meaningful glance in her eyes as if he were the final answer to all her dreams. What did it mean?
He did not entirely forget his high resolves not to yield too easily to her charms. He was not trusting all this at once. There was grave perplexity and question in his glance as he regarded her, the look and question of a man who has been getting back to first principles and trying to feel firm ground beneath his feet.
He was not returning as the eager lover who had been summoned back to be forgiven and handed another chance. He
was meeting her gentleness with grave and distant conversation about the beauty of the sea, the last regatta, the swimming meet, and-- "You're looking well, Anne."
As the car swept into the wide gateway between the tall hedges and up to the palatial summer mansion, he saw her father standing at the top of the marble steps on the wide veranda to welcome them, and he gave a startled look at him and then a quick glance at the girl. She had implied in her letter that her father was away in Boston for the weekend and she was alone with an ancient aunt. It had been one of the reasons why he was willing to come down, because he might have some chance of seeing her alone and clearing up their differences, if such a thing could be done. But now with her father here the occasion would necessarily be more formal.
He gave her that one quick searching glance, and her lashes fell and then rose again with a lovely sweep and a smile on her lips.
"Dad came back this afternoon unexpectedly," she explained quickly, as if in answer to that searching glance. And then there was no time for more, for Mr. Casper came down the steps to meet them, and Keith Morrell, on guard at once when he looked into the face of the man of the world, answered the greeting with a quiet, noncommittal aloofness.
Just what was going to be the outcome of this meeting? Had this all been planned? Was the father here to look him over?
Almost a sternness came into Keith Morrell's eyes and about the set of his lips. The stage was set in this stately mansion by the sea, with the rhythm of the waves for accompaniment and the rising moon for lighting. Anne Casper, in white robes and a great diamond, dressed for her part. But where and how did he come in?
Chapter 11
William Knox had been enduring agonies during the last few days. He had not been able to attend to any other business excepting the matter of the Morrell estate. His wife had seen to it that he did not. She nagged him until he scoured the town to get in touch with Bill Gowney and failed utterly. It began to seem strange even to mild-minded William Knox that people who were supposed to know more or less about Bill and his family, simply shut up like clams when they were asked where he was and with furtive glances at one another faded out of the picture as quietly and unobtrusively as possible.
After he had searched every possible place where Gowney might be found he came home in a panic, lest Gowney would call upon him and ask if he had made the ten-thousand raise offer to the owner. He tried again to get Keith Morrell on the telephone. Failing to reach him he sat down and wrote a letter to him under the strict supervision of Martha, stating that the house was already sold and the matter had gone too far to stop it. The buyer had already taken possession. For Martha had been considering what it would be to have that fat commission and knew exactly how she wanted William to spend it.
But William was so excited over the whole matter, and so annoyed at Martha for her interference, that he made a mistake in the address and wrote it "Rosedale" instead of "New York," so it was returned to him the next day by the canny Rosedale postmaster. Unfortunately it was brought to the notice of Martha, which made matters still worse, and William began to look worn to a thread.
Matters were at this stage when Daphne went over to call on Emily Lynd one morning with a fresh supply of flowers, some of them out of the old Morrell garden.
She found her old friend had not been very well for the last few days.
"I haven't been sleeping as well as usual," she said. "A strange thing happened. I got an idea I saw a light in the old Morrell house one night. You know, I can look out of my window from the bed here and see it, and I always used to get such comfort out of watching the lights in that house. When Mrs. Morrell was living I used to watch for her light in her bedroom window every night, and when it went out I knew she had gone to bed and it was time for me to put my book away and go to sleep. It came to be a sort of habit with me, to look across out of the window toward that house every night. I've missed it a great deal since they went away."
"Yes," laughed Daphne, "so has Mother, and in fact all of us children. You know Mother made a sort of a fairy tale for us when we were little, out of the old house and its people, and it really was a shock to our young minds to have it all closed up and ended."
"I know just how you felt," said Emily Lynd smiling. "And you can imagine how startled I was a few nights ago, I think it was Tuesday night, to glance across the meadow and see a small bright light staring at me like an eye."
"Why, how strange!" said Daphne, thinking of her own experience.
"Yes, wasn't it?" went on the old lady. "I couldn't believe my senses at first. But it shone on, quite steadily for a long time, till I finally got out my binoculars and looked at it. And there it was, a little speck of a bright light beaming away, and I couldn't understand it. For it wasn't upstairs in Mrs. Morrell's window, you know. It wasn't even in the first story, it was away down quite near to the ground, as if it might have been in one of the cellar windows. I decided it must be that someone had been in the house and left the light turned on in the cellar, and I wondered if I ought not to send word to the agent and have it looked after. But the next night I looked and it wasn't there, so I didn't know what to think."
"It couldn't be the electric light," said Daphne, puzzled, "because the power is turned off. I know because Mr. Morrell was at our house Tuesday and asked me to go over with him and look around. I had never been in the house, you know."
"Oh," said Miss Lynd, "I'm glad you saw it. It is such a lovely old house. I used to go over so often in the days when I could still get around a little. I'm glad you know Keith. He's such a dear fellow."
"I only know him a little," said Daphne. "We were in high school together, you know."
"Yes, he told me. I hadn't remembered that. Well, perhaps he left a candle down in the cellar and it burned out. That might explain it, except that last night I saw the light again! You see, I had kind of got in the habit of watching for it."
"You did?" said Daphne, her eyes wide. "How very strange! I wonder if it has anything to do with what I heard!" And Daphne told of her experience.
"And last night I heard the same noises again, although I didn't see any light," she went on. "Do you suppose that it is just some truck driver from a distance who drives in there to rest a little while? And mightn't he have gone around to the front terrace to smoke a cigarette? Could it have been the bright end of a cigarette you saw?"
"Oh no, it was bigger than that. Brighter than that!" said the old lady decidedly. "I just couldn't make out at all what it could be. I suppose there is some explanation, but I couldn't understand it at all. And of course, I, like a silly fool, had to lie awake and try to think it out."
"Well, I've been in the same fix," said Daphne, "only I haven't seen any more fireflies. I guess we'll have to ask Mrs. Gassner what it is. I'm sure she'd have some solution of the mystery. She always seems to know everything that's going on in the neighborhood. She came over to borrow some salt yesterday just to try and find out if we knew why Mr. Morrell came home last week. She said she heard he was going to turn his old home into a summer hotel and start taking borders, and she wanted to know whether he had asked Mother to take charge of it. She said if he hadn't she might like to apply for the position herself. She said she thought she could run it and still keep her own home going, it was so handy, but she didn't want to snatch the job from Mother if she planned on taking it. Mother told her she didn't think Mr. Morrell had any idea of using his ancestral home for a hotel, that he didn't speak as if he had any such intention. She must have been misinformed. But isn't she the limit?"
"Yes," said Miss Lynd almost gravely, "she is. I'm afraid she makes a lot of trouble for people. I understand she's spreading a terrible story about that poor motherless little Cassie Winters, just because she sees her walking the street arm in arm with Archie Reamer. The poor child hasn't any other place to meet her friends since her home was broken up! She was in here the other day on an errand for Mrs. Mathison, the woman she works for over on the south side, and she was c
rying as if her heart would break to think that people would say such mean things about her. I declare I was indignant! Mrs. Gassner ought to have been a fiction writer, the ways she invents stories about people. And she has only to say 'I shouldn't wonder if--' and in half a day it is all over Rosedale as a fact. Sometimes I think I'll send word for her to come over here and just reason with her about it. Then I think maybe it would be better just to pray about it and let the Lord work. He never makes blunders the way I do. And while we're praying I wish you'll remember Cassie Winters and Archie, Daphne. He's a steady sort of lad, but he's out of a job. He wants to marry her and have a little home of their own, but that good-for-nothing brother-in-law of his got angry with him and dismissed him from the lumberyard, and Archie can't seem to find another job. I think they're both Christians of a sort, but they've never learned to trust the Lord, and it goes hard with them. And then, Daphne, there's Keith Morrell. I'm sure he needs the Lord. I've known him since he was a baby, you know, and I love him as if he belonged to me. He's in the world a good deal. He told me a few things when he called on me last week, and I can read between the lines. We'll pray for him, too. You lead off, dear."
So Daphne knelt beside the bed with her hand in the soft warm hand of the invalid, as she had often knelt before, and they two brought their petitions to the throne. They had these little times of prayer together now and then, and Daphne, though shy about it at first, had grown to love the fellowship greatly.
And when the prayer was ended Miss Lynd pressed the young hand tenderly, looking into the bright lovely face of the girl.
"Now, tell me, dear, all about the old house. I haven't been there in so many years. I'd like your impression of it. I'd like to see it again through your eyes."
Daphne Dean Page 11