At last the line ended and the introductions were complete. The debutantes were at once the center of interested groups composed of those who felt it a duty or pleasure to show them attention. Diana wandered to the music room and waylaid Arthur Weldon, who was just about to make his escape from the house, having decided it was impossible to find an opportunity to converse with Louise that evening.
“I’m so glad you came, Arthur,” she said, a quick glance assuring her they were not overheard. “You landed from the steamer but yesterday, I hear.”
“And came straightway to pay my respects to my old friend,” he answered lightly. “Isn’t it unusual for you to present debutantes, Diana?”
“You know these girls, don’t you, Arthur?”
“Yes; I met them in Europe.”
“And flirted with Miss Merrick? Be honest, Arthur, I know your secret.”
“Do you? Then you know we were merely good friends,” said he, annoyed at her accusation.
“Of course. You called her ‘Louise,’ didn’t you?”
“To be sure. And Patsy called me ‘Arthur. You may have heard her.”
“Patsy?”
“That’s Miss Patricia Doyle — our dear little Patsy.”
“Oh. I’m sure you didn’t fall in love with her, at any rate.”
“I’m not so sure. Everybody loves Patsy. But I had no time for love-making. I was doing Europe.”
“Wasn’t that a year or so ago?” she asked, realizing he was trying to evade further reference to Louise.
“Yes.”
“And since then?”
“I’ve been away the last six or seven months, as you know, on my second trip abroad.”
“But before that — when you first returned?”
“If I remember rightly I was then much in the society of Miss Von Taer. Is the catechism ended at last?”
“Yes,” she replied, laughing. “Don’t think me inquisitive, Arthur; I was surprised to find you knew these girls, with whom I am myself but lightly acquainted.”
“Yet you introduce them to your very select set?”
“To please my father, who wishes to please Mr. Merrick.”
“I understand,” said he, nodding. “But they’re nice girls, Diana. You’re not running chances, I assure you.”
“That relieves me,” she replied rather scornfully. “If Arthur Weldon will vouch for them — ”
“But I don’t. I’ll vouch for no one — not even myself,” he declared hastily. She was calmly reading his face, and did not seem to approve the text.
“Are you as fickle as ever, then, mon cher?” she asked, softly.
“I’m not fickle, Diana. My fault is that I’m never serious.”
“Never?”
“I cannot remember ever being serious; at least, where a girl was concerned.”
Diana bit her lips to restrain a frown, but her eyes, which he was avoiding, flashed wickedly.
“That is surely a fault, my Arthur,” was her tender reply. “Were you never serious during our quiet evenings together; our dances, theatre parties and romps?”
“That was merely fun. And you, Diana?”
“Oh, I enjoyed the fun, too. It meant so much to me. I began to live, then, and found life very sweet. But when you suddenly left me and went abroad — ah, that was indeed serious.”
Her tone was full of passionate yearning. He laughed, trying to appear at ease. Some sort of an understanding must be had with Diana sooner or later, and she might as well realize at this present interview that the old relations could not be restored. His nature was not brutal and he disliked to hurt her; moreover, the boy had an uneasy feeling that he had been a far more ardent admirer of this peculiar girl than any fellow should be who had had no serious intentions; yet it would be folly to allow Diana to think she could win him back to his former allegiance. No compromising word had ever left his lips; he had never spoken of love to her. Yet the girl’s attitude seemed to infer a certain possession of him which was far from agreeable.
Having gone so far, he should have said more; but here again his lack of moral courage proved his stumbling-block, and he weakly evaded a frank expression of his true feelings.
“Life,” he began somewhat haltingly, to break the embarrassing pause, “is only serious when we make it so; and as soon as we make it serious it makes us unhappy. So I’ve adopted one invariable rule: to laugh and be gay.”
“Then I too will be gay, and together we’ll enjoy life,” responded Diana, with an effort to speak lightly. “I shall let your moods be my moods, Arthur, as a good friend should. Are we not affinities?”
Again he knew not what to say. Her persistence in clinging to her intangible hold upon him was extremely irritating, and he realized the girl was far too clever for him to cope with and was liable to cause him future trouble. Instead of seizing the opportunity to frankly undeceive her he foolishly evaded the subject.
“You’ve been tempting fate to-night,” he remarked with assumed carelessness. “Don’t you remember that to stand four girls in a row is a bad omen?”
“Only for the one who first winks. Isn’t that the way the saying goes? I seldom wink, myself,” she continued, smilingly. “But I have no faith in ill omens. Their power is entirely due to mental fear.”
“I think not,” said Arthur, glad the conversation had taken this turn. “Once I knew a fellow with thirteen letters in his name. He had no mental fear. But he proposed to a girl — and was accepted.”
She gave him one of those sudden, swift glances that were so disconcerting.
“If you had a middle initial, there would be thirteen letters in your own name, Arthur Weldon.”
“But I haven’t, Diana; I haven’t,” he protested, eagerly. “And if ever I propose to a girl I’m sure she’ll refuse me. But I’ve no intention of doing such a crazy thing, so I’m perfectly safe.”
“You cannot be sure until you try, Arthur,” she replied pointedly, and with a start he became conscious that he was again treading upon dangerous ground.
“Come; let us rejoin your guests,” said he, offering her his arm. “They would all hate me if they knew I was keeping the fair Diana from them so long.”
“Arthur, I must have a good long; talk with you — one of our old, delightful confabs,” she said, earnestly. “Will you call Sunday afternoon? Then we shall be quite undisturbed.”
He hesitated.
“Sunday afternoon?” he answered.
“Yes.”
“All right; I’ll come, Diana.”
She gave him a grateful look and taking his arm allowed him to lead her back to the drawing-room. The crush was over, many having already departed. Some of the young people were dancing in the open spaces to the music of a string orchestra hidden behind a bank of ferns in the hall.
Louise and Beth were the centers of attentive circles; Patsy conversed with merry freedom with a group of ancient dowagers, who delighted in her freshness and healthy vigor and were flattered by her consideration. Mrs. Merrick — for she had been invited — sat in a corner gorgeously robed and stiff as a poker, her eyes devouring the scene. Noting the triumph of Louise she failed to realize she was herself neglected.
A single glance sufficed to acquaint Diana with all this, and after a gracious word to her guests here and there she asked Arthur to dance with her. He could not well refuse, but felt irritated and annoyed when he observed Louise’s eyes fastened upon him in amused disdain. After a few turns he discovered some departing ones waiting to bid their hostess adieu, and escaped from his unpleasant predicament by halting his partner before them. Then he slipped away and quietly left the house before Diana had time to miss him.
CHAPTER VII
THE HERO ENTERS AND TROUBLE BEGINS
The Von Taer reception fully launched the three nieces in society. Endorsed by Diana and backed by John Merrick’s millions and their own winsome charms, they were sure to become favorites in that admirable set to which they had fortunately gained ad
mittance.
Cards poured in upon them during; the succeeding days and they found themselves busy returning calls and attending dinners, fetes, bridge parties and similar diversions. The great Mrs. Sandringham took a decided fancy to Louise, and when the committee was appointed to arrange for the social Kermess to be held in December, this dictatorial leader had the girl’s name included in the list. Naturally the favor led to all three cousins taking active part in the most famous social event of the season, and as an especial mark of favoritism they were appointed to conduct the “flower booth,” one of the important features of the Kermess.
Mrs. Merrick was in the seventh heaven of ecstatic delight; Uncle John declared his three girls were sure to become shining lights, if not actual constellations, wherever they might be placed; Major Doyle growled and protested; but was secretly pleased to have “our Patsy the captain of the dress parade,” where he fondly imagined she outclassed all others. All former denunciations of society at large were now ignored, even by unimpressive Beth, and the girls soon became deeply interested in their novel experiences.
Arthur Weldon sulked at home, unhappy and undecided, for a day or two after the reception. Sunday noon he dispatched a messenger to Diana with a note saying he would be unable to keep his appointment with her that afternoon. Then he went straight to the Merrick home and sent his card to Louise. The girl flushed, smiled, frowned, and decided to go down.
No one had ever interested her so much as Arthur Weldon. There had been a spice of romance about their former relations that made her still regard him as exceptional among mankind. She had been asking herself, since the night of the reception, if she still loved him, but could not come to a positive conclusion. The boy was no longer “ineligible,” as he had been at first; even Uncle John could now have no serious objection to him. He was handsome, agreeable, occupied a good social position and was fairly well off in the way of worldly goods — the last point removing Mrs. Merrick’s former rejection of Arthur as a desirable son-in-law.
But girls are wayward and peculiar in such an affaire du coeur, and none of these things might have weighed with Louise had she not discovered that Diana Von Taer was in love with Arthur and intended to win him. That aroused the girl’s fighting instincts, rendered the young man doubly important, and easily caused Louise to forget her resentment at his temporary desertion of her. Perhaps, she reflected, it had partially been her own fault. Now that Arthur showed a disposition to renew their friendship, and she might promise herself the satisfaction of defeating Diana’s ambitions, it would be diplomatic, at least, to receive the youth with cordial frankness.
Therefore she greeted him smilingly and with outstretched hand, saying:
“This is quite a surprise, Mr. Weldon. I’d a notion you had forgotten me.”
“No, indeed, Louise! How could you imagine such a thing?” he answered, reproachfully.
“There was some evidence of the fact,” she asserted archly. “At one time you gave me no peace; then you became retiring. At last you disappeared wholly. What could I think, sir, under such circumstances?”
He stood looking down at her thoughtfully. How pretty she had grown; and how mature and womanly.
“Louise,” said he, gently, “don’t let us indulge in mutual reproaches. Some one must have been at fault and I’ll willingly take all the blame if you will forgive me. Once we were — were good friends. We — we intended to be still more to one another, Louise, but something occurred, I don’t know what, to — to separate us.”
“Why, you went away,” said the girl, laughing; “and that of course separated us.”
“You treated me like a beggar; don’t forget that part of it, dear. Of course I went away.”
“And consoled yourself with a certain Miss Diana Von Taer. It has lately been rumored you are engaged to her.”
“Me? What nonsense?” But he hushed guiltily, and Louise noted everything and determined he should not escape punishment.
“Diana, at least, is in earnest,” she remarked, with assumed indifference. “You may not care to deny that you have been very attentive to her.”
“Not especially so,” he declared, stoutly.
“People gossip, you know. And Diana is charming.”
“She’s an iceberg!”
“Oh, you have discovered that? Was she wholly unresponsive, then?”
“No,” he said, with a touch of anger. “I have never cared for Diana, except in a friendly way. She amused me for a while when — when I was wretched. But I never made love to her; not for a moment. Afterward, why — then----”
“Well; what then?” as he hesitated, growing red again.
“I found she had taken my careless attentions in earnest, and the play was getting dangerous. So I went abroad.”
Louise considered this explanation seriously. She believed he was speaking the truth, so far as he knew. But at the same time she realized from her own experience that Arthur might as easily deceive himself as Diana in his estimate as to the warmth of the devotion he displayed. His nature was impetuous and ardent. That Diana should have taken his attentions seriously and become infatuated with the handsome young fellow was not a matter to cause surprise.
Gradually Louise felt her resentment disappearing. In Arthur’s presence the charm of his personality influenced her to be lenient with his shortcomings. And his evident desire for a reconciliation found an echo in her own heart.
Mutual explanations are excellent to clear a murky atmosphere, and an hour’s earnest conversation did much to restore these two congenial spirits to their former affectionate relations. Of course Louise did not succumb too fully to his pleadings, for her feminine instinct warned her to keep the boy on “the anxious seat” long enough to enable him to appreciate her value and the honor of winning her good graces. Moreover, she made some severe conditions and put him on his good behavior. If he proved worthy, and was steadfast and true, why then the future might reward him freely.
Diana had been making careful plans for her interview with Arthur that Sunday afternoon. With no futile attempt to deceive herself as to existent conditions she coldly weighed the chances in her mental scale and concluded she had sufficient power to win this unstable youth to her side and induce him to forget that such a person as Louise Merrick ever existed.
Diana was little experienced in such affairs, it is true. Arthur Weldon had been her first and only declared admirer, and no one living had studied his peculiar nature more critically than this observant girl. Also she knew well her own physical failings. She realized that her personality was to many repulsive, rather than attractive, and this in spite of her exquisite form, her perfect breeding and many undeniable accomplishments. Men, as a rule, seldom remained at her side save through politeness, and even seemed to fear her; but never until now had she cared for any man sufficiently to wish to retain or interest him. There were unsuspected fascinations lying dormant in her nature, and Miss Von Taer calmly reflected that the exercise of these qualities, backed by her native wit and capacity for intrigue, could easily accomplish the object she desired.
Thus she had planned her campaign and carefully dressed herself in anticipation of Arthur’s call when his note came canceling the engagement. After rereading his lame excuse she sat down in a quiet corner and began to think. The first gun had been fired, the battle was on, and like a wise general she carefully marshaled her forces for combat.
An hour or two later she turned to her telephone book and called up the Merrick establishment. A voice, that of a maid, evidently, answered her.
“I wish to speak with Miss Merrick,” said Diana.
Louise, annoyed at being disturbed, left Arthur’s side to respond to the call.
“Who is it, please?” she asked.
“Is Mr. Weldon still there, or has he gone?” enquired Diana, disguising her voice and speaking imperatively..
“Why, he’s still here,” answered bewildered Louise; “but who is talking, please?”
No ans
wer.
“Do you wish to speak with Mr. Weldon?” continued the girl, mystified at such an odd procedure.
Diana hung up her receiver, severing the connection. The click of the instrument assured Louise there was no use in waiting longer, so she returned to Arthur. She could not even guess who had called her. Arthur could, though, when he had heard her story, and Diana’s impudent meddling made him distinctly uneasy. He took care not to enlighten Louise, and the incident was soon forgotten by her.
“It proved just as I expected,” mused Diana, huddled in her reclining’ chair. “The fool has thrown me over to go to her. But this is not important. With the situation so clearly defined I shall know exactly what I must do to protect my own interests.”
Mr. Von Taer was away from home that Sunday afternoon, and would not return until a late hour. Diana went to the telephone again and after several unsuccessful attempts located her cousin, Mr. Charles Connoldy Mershone, at a club.
“It’s Diana,” she said, when at last communication was established. “I want you to come over and see me; at once.”
“You’ll have to excuse me, Di,” was the answer. “I was unceremoniously kicked out the last time, you know.”
“Father’s away. It’s all right, Charlie. Come along.”
“Can’t see it, my fair cousin. You’ve all treated me like a bull-pup, and I’m not anxious to mix up with that sort of a relationship. Anything more? I’m going to play pool to win my dinner.”
“Funds running low, Charlie?”
“Worse than that; they’re invisible.”
“Then pay attention. Call a taxi at once, and get here as soon as you can. I’ll foot the bill — and any others that happen to be bothering you.”
A low, surprised whistle came over the wire.
“What’s up, Di?” he asked, with new interest.
“Come and find out.”
“Can I be useful?”
“Assuredly; to yourself.”
“All right; I’m on the way.”
He hung up, and Diana gave a sigh of content as she slowly returned to her den and the easy chair, where Mr. Mershone found her “coiled” some half hour later.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 452