“Last Thursday,” he said, “you fascinated everybody with your lute and your Chinese robes. Heaven help the men when they see you in armour! I’ll perform my act of fealty now.” And he lifted her hands and kissed them lightly where the gauntlets had left pink imprints on the smooth white skin.
As always when he touched her, she became silent; and, as always, he seemed to divine the instant change in her to unresponsiveness under physical contact. It was not resistance, it was a sort of inertia — an endurance which seemed to stir in him a subtle brutality, awaking depths which must not be troubled — unless he meant to cut his cables once for all and drift headlong toward the rocks of chance.
“You and Herrendene behaved shockingly last night,” he said lightly. “Where on earth did you go?”
“Is it to you that I must whisper ‘je m’accuse’?” she asked smilingly.
“To whom if not to me, Jacqueline?”
“Please — and what exactly then may be your status? Don’t answer,” she added, flushing scarlet. “I didn’t mean to say that. Because I know what is your status with me.”
“How do you know?”
“You once made it clear to me, and I decided that your friendship was worth everything to me — whatever you yourself might be.”
“Whatever I might be?” he repeated, reddening.
“Yes. You are what you are — what you wrote me you were. I understood you. But — do you notice that it has made any difference in my friendship? Because it has not.”
The dull colour deepened over his face. They were standing near the closed door now; she laid one hand on the knob, then ventured to raise her eyes.
“It has made no difference,” she repeated. “Please don’t think it has.”
His arms had imprisoned her waist; she dropped her head and her hand slipped from the knob of the great oak door as he drew her toward him.
“In armour!” she protested, trying to speak lightly, but avoiding his eyes.
“Is that anything new?” he said. “You are always instantly in armour when my lightest touch falls on you. Why?”
He lifted her drooping head until it rested against his arm.
“Isn’t it anything at all to you when I kiss you?” he asked unsteadily.
She did not answer.
“Isn’t it, Jacqueline?”
But she only closed her eyes, and her lips remained coldly unresponsive to his.
After a moment he said: “Can’t you care for me at all — in this way? Answer me!”
“I — care for you.”
“This way?”
Over her closed lids a tremor passed, scarcely perceptible.
“Don’t you know how — how deeply I — care for you?” he managed to say, feeling prudence and discretion violently tugging at their cables. “Don’t you know it, Jacqueline?”
“Yes. I know you — care for me.”
“Good God!” he said, trying to choke back the very words he uttered. “Can’t you respond — when you know I find you so adorable! When — when you must know that I love you! Isn’t there anything in you to respond?”
“I — care for you. If I did not, could I endure — what you do?”
A sort of blind passion seized and possessed him; he kissed again and again the fragrant, unresponsive lips. Presently she lifted her head, loosened his clasp at her waist, stepped clear of the circle of his arms.
“You see,” she managed to say calmly, “that I do care for you. So — may I go now?”
He opened the door for her and they moved slowly out into the hall.
“You do not show that you care very much, Jacqueline.”
“How can a girl show it more honestly? Could you tell me?”
“I have never stirred you to any tenderness — never!”
She moved beside him with head lowered, hands resting on her plated hips, the bright hair in disorder across her cheeks. Presently she said in a low voice:
“I wish you could see into my heart.”
“I wish I could! And I wish you could see into mine. That would settle it one way or another!”
“No,” she said, “because I can see into your heart. And it settles nothing for me — except that I would like to — remain.”
“Remain? Where?”
“There — in your heart.”
He strove to speak coolly: “Then you can see into it?”
“Yes.”
“And you know that you are there alone?”
“Yes — I think so.”
“And now that you have looked into it and know what is there, do you care to remain in the heart of — of such a man as I am?”
“Yes. What you are I — forgive.”
An outburst of merriment came from the library, and several figures clad in the finery of the early nineteenth century came bustling out into the hall.
“Cheer after cheer rang through the hallway”
Evidently his guests had rifled the chests and trunks in the attic and had attired themselves to their heart’s content. At sight of Desboro approaching accompanied by a slim figure in complete armour, they set up a shout of apprehension and then cheer after cheer rang through the hallway.
“Do you know,” cried Betty Barkley, “you are the most darling thing in armour that ever happened! I want to get into some steel trousers like yours immediately! Are there any in the armoury that will fit me, Jim?”
“Did you discover her?” demanded Reggie Ledyard, aghast.
“Not within the time limit, old chap,” said Desboro, pretending deep chagrin.
“Then you don’t have to marry him, do you, Miss Nevers?” exclaimed Cairns, gleefully.
“I don’t have to marry anybody, Mr. Cairns. And isn’t it humiliating?” she returned, laughingly, edging her way toward the stairs amid the noisy and admiring group surrounding her.
“No! No!” cried Katharine Frere. “You can’t escape! You are too lovely that way, and you certainly must come to lunch in your armour!”
“I’d perish!” protested Jacqueline. “No Christian martyr was ever more absolutely cooked than am I in this suit of mail.”
Helsa Steyr started for her, but Jacqueline sprang to the stairs and ran up, pursued by Helsa and Betty.
“Isn’t she the cunningest, sweetest thing!” sighed Athalie Vannis, looking after her. “I’m simply and sentimentally mad over her. Why didn’t you have brains enough to discover her, Jim, and make her marry you?”
“I’d have knocked ’em out if he had had enough brains for that,” muttered Ledyard. “But the horrible thing is that I haven’t any brains, either, and Miss Nevers has nothing but!”
“A girl like that marries diplomats and dukes, and discoverers and artists and things,” commented Betty. “You’re just a good-looking simp, Reggie. So is Jim.”
Ledyard retorted wrathfully; Desboro, who had been summoned to the telephone, glanced at Aunt Hannah as he walked away, and was rather disturbed at the malice in the old lady’s menacing smile.
But what Daisy Hammerton said to him over the telephone disturbed him still more.
“Jim! Elena and Cary Clydesdale are stopping with us. May I bring them to dinner this evening?”
For a moment he was at a loss, then he said, with forced cordiality:
“Why, of course, Daisy. But have you spoken to them about it? I’ve an idea that they might find my party a bore.”
“Oh, no! Elena wished me to ask you to invite them. And Cary was listening.”
“Did he care to come?”
“I suppose so.”
“What did he say?”
“He grinned. He always does what Elena asks him to do.”
“Oh! Then bring them by all means.”
“Thank you, Jim.”
And that was all; and Desboro, astonished and troubled for a few moments, began to see in the incident not only the dawn of an understanding between Clydesdale and his wife, but something resembling a vindication for himself in this offer to renew a f
riendship so abruptly terminated. More than that, he saw in it a return of Elena to her senses, and it pleased him so much that when he passed Aunt Hannah in the hall he was almost smiling.
“What pleases you so thoroughly, James — yourself?” she asked grimly.
But he only smiled at her and sauntered on, exchanging friendly body-blows with Reggie Ledyard as he passed.
“Reggie,” said Mrs. Hammerton, with misleading mildness, “come and exercise me for a few moments — there’s a dear.” And she linked arms with him and began to march up and down the hall vigorously.
“She’s very charming, isn’t she?” observed Aunt Hannah blandly.
“Who?”
“Miss Nevers.”
“She’s a dream,” said Reggie, with emphasis.
“Such a thoroughbred air,” commented the old lady.
“Rather!”
“And yet — she’s only a shop-keeper.”
“Eh?”
“Didn’t you know that Miss Nevers keeps an antique shop?”
“What of it?” he said, turning red. “I peddle stocks. My grandfather made snuff. What do I care what Miss Nevers does?”
“Of course. Only — would you marry her?”
“Huh! Like a shot! But I see her letting me! Once I was even ass enough to think I could kiss her, but it seems she won’t even stand for that! And Herrendene makes me sick — the old owl — sneaking off with her whenever he can get the chance! They all make me sick!” he added, lighting a cigarette. “I wish to goodness I had a teaspoonful of intellect, and I’d give ’em a run for her. Because I have the looks, if I do say it,” he added, modestly.
“Looks never counted seriously with a woman yet,” said Mrs. Hammerton maliciously. “Also, I’ve seen better looking coachmen than you.”
“Thanks. What are you going to do with her anyway?”
“I don’t have to do anything. She’ll do whatever is necessary.”
“That’s right, too. Lord, but she’ll cut a swathe! Even that dissipated creature Cairns sits up and takes notice. I should think Desboro would, too — more than he does.”
“I understand there’s a girl in blue, somewhere,” observed Mrs. Hammerton.
“That’s a different kind of girl,” said the young man, with contempt, and quite oblivious to his own naïve self-revelation. Mrs. Hammerton shrugged her trim shoulders.
“Also,” he said, “there is Elena Clydesdale — speaking of scandal and James Desboro in the same breath.”
“Do you believe that story?”
“Yes. But that sort of affair never counts seriously with a man who wants to marry.”
“Really? How charming! But perhaps it might count against him with the girl he wants to marry. Young girls are sometimes fastidious, you know.”
“They never hear about such things until somebody tells ‘em, after they’re married. Then it’s rather too late to throw any pre-nuptial fits,” he added, with a grin.
“Reginald,” said Mrs. Hammerton, “day by day I am humbly learning how to appreciate the innate delicacy, chivalry, and honourable sentiments of your sex. You yourself are a wonderful example. For instance, when rumour couples Elena Clydesdale’s name with James Desboro’s, does it occur to you to question the scandal? No; you take it for granted, and very kindly explain to me how easily Mrs. Clydesdale can be thrown over if her alleged lover decides he’d like to marry somebody.”
“That’s what’s done,” he said sulkily. “When a man — —”
“You don’t have to tell me!” she fairly hissed, turning on him so suddenly that he almost fell backward. “Don’t you think I know what is the code among your sort — among the species of men you find sympathetic? You and Jack Cairns and James Desboro — and Cary Clydesdale, too? Let him reproach himself if his wife misbehaves! And I don’t blame her if she does, and I don’t believe she does! Do you hear me, you yellow-haired, blue-eyed little beast?”
Ledyard stood open-mouthed, red to the roots of his blond hair, and the tiny, baleful black eyes of Mrs. Hammerton seemed to hypnotise him.
“You’re all alike,” she said with withering contempt. “Real men are out in the world, doing things, not crawling around over the carpet under foot, or sitting in clubs, or dancing with a pack of women, or idling from polo field to tennis court, from stable to steam-yacht. You’ve no real blood in you; it’s only Scotch and soda gone flat. You’ve the passions of overfed lap dogs with atrophied appetites. There’s not a real man here — except Captain Herrendene — and he’s going back to his post in a week. You others have no posts. And do you think that men of your sort are fitted to talk about marrying such a girl as Miss Nevers? Let me catch one of you trying it! She’s in my charge. But that doesn’t count. She’ll recognise a real man when she sees one, and glittering counterfeits won’t attract her.”
“Great heavens!” faltered Reggie. “What a horrible lambasting! I — I’ve heard you could do it; but this is going some — really, you know, it’s going some! And I’m not all those things that you say, either!” he added, in naïve resentment. “I may be no good, but I’m not as rotten as all that.”
He stood with lips pursed up into a half-angry, half-injured pout, like a big, blond, blue-eyed yokel facing school-room punishment.
Mrs. Hammerton’s harsh face relaxed; and finally a smile wrinkled her eyes.
“I suppose men can’t help being what they are — a mixture of precocious child and trained beast. The best of ’em have both of these in ‘em. And you are far from the best. Reggie, come here to me!”
He came, after a moment’s hesitation, doubtfully.
“Lord!” she said. “How we cherish the worst of you! I sometimes think we don’t know enough to appreciate the best. Otherwise, perhaps they’d give us more of their society. But, generally, all we draw is your sort; and we cast our nets in vain into the real world — where Captain Herrendene is going on Monday. Reggie, dear?”
“What?” he said suspiciously.
“Was I severe with you and your friends?”
“Great heavens! There isn’t another woman I’d take such a drubbing from!”
“But you do take it,” she said, with one of her rare and generous smiles which few people ever saw, and of which few could believe her facially capable.
And she slipped her arm through his and led him slowly toward the library where already Farris was announcing luncheon.
“By heck!” he repeated later, in the billiard room, to a group of interested listeners. “Aunt Hannah is all that they say she is. She suddenly let out into me, and I give y’m’word she had me over the ropes in one punch — tellin’ me what beasts men are — and how we’re not fit to associate with nice girls — no b’jinks — nor fit to marry ‘em, either.”
Cairns laughed unfeelingly.
“Oh, you can laugh!” muttered Ledyard. “But to be lit into that way hurts a man’s self-respect. You’d better be careful or you’ll be in for a dose of Aunt Hannah, too. She evidently has no use for any of us — barrin’ the Captain, perhaps.”
That gentleman smiled and picked up his hockey stick.
“There’s enough ice left — if you don’t mind a wetting,” he said. “Shall we start?”
Desboro rose, saying carelessly: “The Hammertons and Clydesdales are coming over. I’ll have to wait for them.”
Bertie Barkley turned his hard little smooth-shaven face toward him.
“Where are the Clydesdales?”
“I believe they’re stopping with the Hammertons for a week or two — I really don’t know. You can ask them, as they’ll be here to dinner.”
Cairns laid aside a cue with which he had been punching pool-balls; Van Alstyne unhooked his skate-bag, and the others followed his example in silence. Nobody said anything further about the Clydesdales to Desboro.
Out in the hall a gay group of young girls in their skating skirts were gathering, among them Jacqueline, now under the spell of happiness in their companionship.
Everybody seemed to think so; Athalie Vannis’s friendship for her verged on the sentimental, for the young girl was enraptured at the idea that Jacqueline actually earned her own living. Marie Ledyard lazily admired and envied her slight but exceedingly fashionable figure; Helsa Steyr passionately adored her; Katharine Frere was profoundly impressed by her intellectual attainments; Betty Barkley saw in her a social success, with Aunt Hannah to pilot her — that is, every opportunity for wealth or position, or even both, through the marriage to which, Betty cheerfully conceded, her beauty entitled her.
So everybody of her own sex was exceedingly nice to her; and the men already were only too anxious to be. And what more could a young girl want?
As the jolly party started out across the snow, in random and chattering groups made up by hazard, Jacqueline turned from Captain Herrendene, with whom she found herself walking, and looked back at Desboro, who had remained standing bareheaded on the steps.
“Aren’t you coming?” she called out to him, in her clear young voice.
He shook his head, smiling.
“Please excuse me a moment,” she murmured to Herrendene, and ran back along the middle drive. Desboro started forward to meet her at the same moment, and they met under the dripping spruces.
“Why aren’t you coming with us?” she asked.
“I can’t very well. I have to wait here for some people who might arrive early.”
“You are going to remain here all alone?”
“Yes, until they come. You see they are dining here, and I can’t let them arrive and find the house empty.”
“Do you want me to stay with you? Mrs. Hammerton is in her room, and it would be perfectly proper.”
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 651