Who Cares? A Story of Adolescence

by Cosmo Hamilton

  XII

  "And now, Mr. Harley," said Grandmother Ludlow, lashing theseptuagenarian footman with one sharp look because he had spilt two orthree drops of Veuve Cliquot on the tablecloth, "tell me about thepresent state of the money market."

  Under his hostess's consistent courtesy and marked attentions GeorgeHarley had been squirming during the first half of dinner. He had ledher into the fine old dining room with all the style that he couldmuster and been placed, to his utter dismay, on her right. He wouldinfinitely rather have been commanded to dine with the Empress ofChina, which he had been told was the last word in mental and physicaltorture. Remembering vividly the cold and satirical scorn to which hehad been treated during his former brief and nightmare visit the oldlady's change of attitude to extreme politeness and even deference madehim feel that he was having his leg pulled. In a brand new dinnerjacket with a black tie poked under the long points of a turned-downcollar, which, in his innocence, he had accepted as the mode ofgentlemen and not, as he rightly supposed of waiters, he had done hisbest to give coherent answers to a rapid fire of difficult questions.The most uneasy man on earth, he had committed himself to statementsthat he knew to be unsound, had seen his untouched plate whisked awaywhile he was floundering among words, and started a high temperaturebeneath what he was perfectly certain was lurking mockery behindapparently interested attention.

  If any banker at that moment had overheard him describing the state ofthe money market he would have won for himself a commission in theearth's large army of unconfined lunatics.

  The old sportsman, sitting with Joan on his right and hisdaughter-in-law on his left, was more nearly merry and bright than anyone had seen him since the two great changes in his household. Hisdelight in having Joan near him again was pathetic. He had shaved forthe second time that day, a most unusual occurrence. His white hairglistened with brilliantine, and there was a gardenia in hisbuttonhole. Some of the old fire had returned to his eyes, and histongue had regained its once invariable knack of paying charmingcompliments. In his excitement and delight he departed from his rigiddiet, and, his wife's attention being focussed upon George Harley,punished the champagne with something of his old vigor, and revived asa natural result many of the stories which Joan and her mother had beentold ad nauseam over any number of years with so much freshness as tomake them seem almost new.

  Mrs. Harley, wearing a steady smile, was performing the painful feat oflistening with one ear to the old gentleman and with the other to theold lady. All her sympathy was with her unfortunate and uneasy husbandwho looked exactly like a great nervous St. Bernard being teased by aPekinese.

  Joan missed none of the underlying humor of the whole thing. It wasamusing and satisfactory to be treated as the guest of honor in a housein which she had always been regarded as the naughty and rebelliouschild. She was happy in being able to put her usually morosegrandfather into such high spirits and moved to a mixture of mirth andpity at the sight of George Harley's plucky efforts. Also she hadbrought away with her from the girl she called the fairy a strengtheneddesire to play the game and a good feeling that Marty was nearer to herthan he had been for a long and trying week. It's true that from timeto time she caught in her grandmother's eyes that queer look oftriumphant glee that had disturbed her when they met and the sameexpression of malicious spite at the corner of Gleave's sunken mouthwhich had made her wonder what he knew, but these things she wavedaside. Instinct, and her complete knowledge of Mrs. Cumberland Ludlow'stemperament, made her realize that if the old lady could find a way toget even with her for having run off she would leave no stone unturned,and that she would not hesitate to use the cunning ex-fighting man tohelp her. But, after all, what could they do? It would be foolish toworry.

  Far from foolish, if she had had an inkling of the trap that had beenlaid for her and into which she was presently going to fall withoutsuspicion.

  The facts were that Gleave had seen Martin drive up to his house withTootles, had watched them riding and walking together throughout theweek, had reported what he had seen to Mrs. Ludlow and left it to herfertile imagination to make use of what was to him an ugly business.And the old lady, grasping her chance, had written that letter to Mrs.Harley and having achieved her point of getting Joan into her hands,had discovered that she did not know where Martin was and had made upher mind to show her. Revenge is sweet, saith the phrasemonger, and tothe old lady whose discipline had been flouted and whose amour proprehad been rudely shaken it was very sweet indeed. Her diabolical scheme,conceived in the mischievous spirit of second childhood, was to leadJoan on to a desire to show off her country house to her relations atthe moment when the man she had married and the girl with whom he wasamusing himself on the sly were together. "How dramatic," she chuckled,in concocting the plan. "How delightfully dramatic." And she might haveadded, "How hideously cruel."

  But it was not until some little time after they had all adjourned tothe drawing-room, and Joan had played the whole range of her old piecesfor the edification of her grandfather, that she set her trap.

  "If I had my time over again," she said, looking the epitome ofbenevolence, "I would never spend spring in the city."

  "Wouldn't you, dear?" prompted Mrs. Harley, eager to make theconversation general and so give poor George a rest.

  "No, my love. I would make my winter season begin in November and endin February--four good months for the Opera, the theatres, entertainingand so forth. Then on the first of March, the kind-hearted month thatnurses April's violets, I would leave town for my country place and, asthe poets have it watch the changing skies and the hazel blooms peepthrough the swelling buds and hear the trees begin to whisper and thethrostles break into song. One loses these things by remaining amongbricks and mortar till the end of April. Joan, my dear, give this yourconsideration next year. If your good husband is anything like hisfather, whom we knew very slightly and admired, he is a lover of thecountry and should be considered."

  "Yes, Grandmamma," said Joan, wondering if Marty had come back andfound her note on his dressing-table.

  "Always supposing, of course, that next year finds you both as much inlove as you are to-day,--the most devoted pair of turtle doves, as I amtold." She laughed a little roguishly to disguise the sting.

  "They will be," said Mrs. Harley quickly. "There is no doubt aboutthat."

  "None," said Joan, looking full at the old lady with a confident smileand a high chin. Would her grandmother never forget that escape fromthe window?

  "Why suggest the possibility of a break?" asked Mr. Ludlow, with atouch of anger. "Really, my dear."

  "A little joke, Cumberland, merely a little joke. Joan understands me,I know."

  "I think so," said Joan, smiling back. Not on her, whatever happened,would she see the white feather. Some one had told the tale of herkid's rush into the heart of things and her many evenings with Palgraveand the others, when "Who cares?" was her motto.

  The old lady went on, with infinite artfulness. "During the comingsummer, my love, you should look out for a pleasant little house insome charming part of the country, furnish it, put men to work on thegarden, and have it all ready for the following spring."

  "I know just the place," put in George. "Near a fine golf course andcountry club with a view across the Hudson that takes your breath away."

  "That might necessitate the constant attendance of a doctor," said Mrs.Ludlow drily, "which would add considerably to the expenses. I wouldadvise the Shinnecock Hills, for instance, which are swept by seabreezes and so reminiscent of Scotland. Martin would be within astone's throw of his favorite course, there, wouldn't he, Joan?"

  "Yes, Grandmamma," said Joan, still with a high head and a placidsmile, although it came to her in a flash that her statement as towhere Martin was had not been believed. What if Grandmother knew whereMartin had gone? How absurd. How could she?

  And then Mr. Ludlow broke in again, impatiently. The effect of thechampagne was wearing off. He hated feminine conversation indrawing-r
ooms, anyhow. "Why go searching about for a house for thechild when she's got one already."

  "Why, so I have," cried Joan. "Here. I'd forgotten all about it!"

  Nothing could have suited the old lady so well. Her husband could nothave said anything more right if he had been prompted. "Of course youhave," she said, with a cackle of laughter. "I had forgotten it too.Mr. Harley, can you believe our overlooking the fact that there is amost excellent house in the family a gunshot from where we are allsitting? It's natural enough for me, who have never met Joan's younghusband. But for you, my love, who spent such a romantic night there!Where are your wits?"

  Joan's laugh rang out. "Goodness knows, but I really had forgotten allabout it. And although I've only been in it once I've known it by sightall my life. Martin's father had it built, Papa George, and it'sawfully nice and sporting, with kennels, and tennis courts, andeverything."

  "Yes, and beautifully furnished, I remember. I dined there severaltimes, years ago before Mr. Gray had--" Mrs. Harley drew up short.

  Mrs. Ludlow finished the sentence. "A little quarrel with me," shesaid. "I objected to his hounds scrambling over this property and wrotepithily to that effect. We never spoke again. My dear, while we are alltogether, why not personally conduct us over this country house ofyours and give us an unaccustomed thrill of excitement."

  "Yes, do, darling," said Mrs. Harley. "George would love to see it."

  "I will," said Joan. "I'd adore to. I don't know a bit what it's like,except the hall and the library. It will come as a perfect surprise tome."

  "A very perfect surprise," said Mrs. Ludlow.

  Joan sprang to her feet. "Let's go now. No time like the present."

  "Well," said Mrs. Harley cautiously, though equally keen.

  "No, no, not to-night. Bear with your aged grandparents. Besides, thehousekeeper and the other servants will probably be in bed. To-morrownow, early--"

  "All right," said Joan. "To-morrow then, directly after breakfast.Fancy forgetting that one possessed a country house. It's almostalarming." And she put her hands on her grandfather's shoulders, andbent down and kissed him. She was excited and thrilled. It was herhouse because it was Martin's, and soon she would be Martin's too. Andthey would spend a real honeymoon in the place in which they had sattogether in the dark and laid their whispered plans for the greatadventure. How good that would be!

  And when she went back to the piano and rattled off a fox trot,Grandmother Ludlow got up and hobbled out of the room, on her tappingstick, to hide her glee.