Part 5

“Nothing could have been more judicious, my young kinsman,” responded the Colonel, “and these ladies, I am sure, are the magnets that have drawn you to us.”

“Are you quite sure of that, Corbin?” asked Mr. Romaine, with a foxy smile. “Sometimes a cow does not like to be chased by a haystack.”

Sir Archy, still busy with his traps, did not take this in. Ethel Maywood did not contradict it at all. She never took issue with Mr. Romaine, but Letty flushed angrily. She concluded then that Mr. Romaine was very old and very disagreeable.

Farebrother was still lingering, although the first whistle had already blown. It was about nine o’clock on a lovely September evening. The moon had risen, and a pale, opaline glow still lingered on sea and sky, bathing the harbor and the white walled fort and a fleet of yachts in its magic light. The scene and the hour melted Letty. She had been very happy at Newport. Usually, the first taste a provincial gets of the great world beyond is bitter in the mouth, but her experiences had been rather happy, and of all the men she met, Farebrother, whose father had made his money in wines and liquors, and who had conscientious scruples against making money, had impressed her the most. With the easy confidence born of youthful vanity, and the simplicity of a provincial girl, Letty fancied that Farebrother would turn up at Corbin Hall within a month, unable to keep away from her longer. But at the actual moment of saying good-by, some lines she had once heard came back to her--“A chord is snapped asunder at every parting”--some faint doubt, whether, after all, he cared enough about her to seek her out, crossed her mind. Farebrother caught her eyes fixed on him with a new light in them. He had begun then to make his good-bys. Ethel Maywood only felt that general regret at parting with him that she always felt at seeing the last of an eligible man--but the presence of Mr. Romaine and Sir Archy Corbin was more than enough to console her. All the others, though, were genuinely sorry--he was so bright, so full of good fellowship, such a capital fellow all around.

The Colonel wrung his hand for five minutes. He gave Farebrother seven separate invitations to visit them at Corbin Hall, each more pressing than the last; he sent his regards to everything at the Farebrother cottage, including the butler. “A very worthy man, although in an humble station in life, and particularly attentive to me whenever I availed myself of your noble hospitality, so that I did not feel the want of my own serving man, David, who is equally worthy, although a great fool.”

Miss Jemima pressed Farebrother’s hand warmly, and promised to send him a gallon of a particular kind of peach cordial which she knew was very superior to the trashy imported cordial he had been reduced to drinking.

Letty said nothing, but when Farebrother came to say good-by to her, she made a deft movement that took them off a little to themselves, where a word might be said in private without the others hearing it.

“Good-by,” she said, in a voice with a real thrill in it, such as Farebrother had never heard before.

He had heard her in earnest about books, politics, religion, and numerous other subjects, but seriousness in her tone with men, and especially with men who admired her, was something new. He held her slim gloved hand in his, and he felt the light pressure of her fingers as she said quickly, in a low voice:

“I sha’n’t forget your goodness to me. I hope we shall meet again.”

“I hope so too,” answered Farebrother, laughing.

The extreme cheeriness of his tone grated upon Letty. She tried to withdraw her hand, but Farebrother held on to it stoutly. A change, too, came over him. His bright, strong face grew tender, and he looked at Letty with a glance so piercing that it forced her to meet his gaze and then forced her to drop her eyes.

“We shall meet again, and soon, if I can compass it; and meanwhile, will you promise not to forget me?”

A hubbub of talk had been around them. The tramp of the last belated ones hurrying across the gang-plank, and the screaming of the whistle made a commotion that drowned their voices except for each other.

“I promise,” said Letty, her heart beginning to beat and her cheeks to flush.

She was very emotional and she was conscious that her eyes were filling with tears and her throat was beginning to throb, and she wanted Farebrother to go before she betrayed herself.

“Good-by, and God bless you,” he said, with one last pressure of the hand.

By that time the gang-plank was being hauled in. Farebrother swung himself over the rail to the deck below, ran along the steamer’s gangway, and just as the blue water showed between the great hull and the dock, he cleared it at a bound and stood on the pier waving his hat. The gigantic steamer moved majestically out, while handkerchiefs fluttered from her decks and from the dock. It was now almost dark, but as they steamed quickly out into the moonlit bay, Letty fancied she could still distinguish Farebrother’s athletic figure in the shadowy darkness that quickly descended upon the shore.

V

Next morning, after the usual tussle and struggle for their luggage, in which the whole party, including Mr. Romaine’s valet, Sir Archy’s man and Miss Maywood’s and Mrs. Chessingham’s maid took part, they were all driven up to the old-fashioned “before the war” hotel where they had all engaged quarters.

Those for Mr. Romaine and his party were of course the finest in the house, on the drawing-room floor, and the best corner rooms. Sir Archy cared very little where he was put, except that his rooms must be large and have a bath, at which he never ceased to grumble, because there were not shower baths, Turkish baths, Russian baths, and every other arrangement provided for all varieties of bathing.

Colonel Corbin, having in hand what he considered a magnificent sum of money, less a considerable hole in it made by prolonging his stay at Newport, and a present to Letty and a like sum to Miss Jemima, established himself _en prince_. He had a bed-room and sitting-room for himself, besides the bed-rooms and sitting-room for Miss Jemima and Letty. He insisted upon having their meals served in private, but at this Letty flatly rebelled. Go to the public dining-room she would, to see and be seen. The Colonel was no match for Letty when she really put forth her prowess--for liberty or death was that young woman’s motto--and in an hour or two after their arrival at the hotel, he very obediently followed her down to the great red-carpeted room, where all the lazy people in the hotel were taking a ten o’clock breakfast.

Letty looked uncommonly charming in her simple, well-fitting gown of dark blue, and masculine eyes were pretty generally turned on her as she entered. But the Colonel attracted still more attention. As he stalked in the great open doorway the head waiter, as imposing as only a black head waiter can be, suddenly exclaimed:

“Hi! Good Lord A’mighty! Ef dis heah ain’ Marse Colonel!”

The Colonel recognized his friend in an instant, and extended his hand cordially.

“Why, bless my soul! If it isn’t Black Peter, that used to be Tom Lightfoot’s body servant! How do you do? how do you do?”

By that time they were sawing the air with mutual delight.

“An’ ter think I done live ter see Marse Colonel agin! An’ how is all de folks? How ole missis, and Miss Sally Lightfoot, and little Marse Torm?”

“Admirably, admirably well,” cried the Colonel, beginning to give all the particulars of ole missis, Miss Sally, little Marse Torm, etc., in his big baritone. The people all turned toward the Colonel and his long-lost friend, and everybody smiled. Letty, not at all confused, stood by her grandfather’s side and put her hand into Black Peter’s paw.

Peter was extremely elegant, after an antique pattern, not unlike the Colonel’s own, and proud to be recognized as a friend by “de fust quality.”

He escorted Colonel Corbin and Letty to the most prominent table in the room, called up half a dozen waiters to take their orders, and succeeded in making everybody in the great room see and hear what was going on. He was at last obliged to tear himself away, and the Colonel, while waiting for breakfast, suddenly remembering that he must go to the office to inquire after the health of the room-clerk, who was also an old acquaintance, he left Letty alone for a moment, while he stalked out, magnificently.

Letty had picked up the newspaper and was deep in an editorial on the tariff, when she realized that some one was approaching, and the next moment Farebrother drew a chair up to hers.

For a moment she was too astonished to speak, and simply stared at him, upon which Farebrother began laughing.

“W-where did you come from?” she cried, breathlessly.

“From Newport,” answered Farebrother, still laughing at Letty’s face.

“And how did you come?”

“By train. Do you suppose when I saw Sir Archy turn up, to come down here, that I meant to be left in the lurch? So I made up my mind in a jiffy, threw a few things in my bag, and made the ten o’clock train; lovely night going down, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” answered Letty, who was instantly armed with the whole panoply of coquetry, “lovely. I sat out on deck two hours with Sir Archy.”

“That was a pretty good stretch for a fellow. There are very few girls who can hold a man’s attention that long, and it’s rather a dangerous thing to try,” said Farebrother, with calm assurance.

“We had a very interesting time,” answered Letty, stiffly.

“Oh, yes, I know how an Englishman talks to a girl by moonlight. Tells her about sheep farming, or how he hooked a salmon in the Highlands, or killed a pig in India.”

“Our conversation _was_ a little on that order,” replied Letty, weakly. “But it is a relief to meet with a man who can withstand the influences of the moon and talk sense.”

“I never could,” said Farebrother, and then he asked for Miss Jemima and the rest of the party. Letty explained that Mr. Romaine and the Chessinghams preferred their meals in their rooms, and the Colonel proposed the same thing to her, but she objected, first, because she liked the liveliness of the public dining-room, and secondly, because it cost more, and she didn’t believe in spending money to make one’s self lonely and uncomfortable, which could generally be done for nothing.

Presently the Colonel reappeared, and was delighted to see Farebrother, whose arrival did not surprise him in the least. Farebrother, who was astute, immediately made a series of engagements with the Colonel and Miss Jemima and Letty for a drive in Central Park, a visit to the opera, and various other festivities, strictly limited to a party of four, from which he intended Sir Archy should be conspicuously left out.

When breakfast was over, and Letty had gone to prepare for the drive, she met Sir Archy as she was coming down the stairs, putting on her gloves.

“Are you going out?” he asked. “I had my breakfast in my room, and took a spin around the park before nine o’clock.”

“I am going to the park now. Mr. Farebrother takes us. He came down last night, on the late train.”

Sir Archy looked rather black at this. Of course Farebrother’s arrival could mean but one thing--he had Letty’s encouragement to come. Letty, however, was anxious to disclaim all responsibility for his presence in New York. This only puzzled Sir Archy the more. He was not up in the subtility of American flirtations, and regarded Letty’s way of playing off as a grave infraction of the moral code. Something of this he hinted to her. At this Letty’s gay laughter pealed out.

“Why, don’t you suppose that American men know how to take care of themselves?” she cried.

“They ought to--they have opportunities enough to learn,” answered Sir Archy, grimly.

But then Letty heard the Colonel’s voice, and tripped down the steps, leaving Sir Archy moodily chewing his mustache, and wondering at the depravity of American girls.

The day was bright and beautiful, and there was an autumn crispness in the blue air. Letty leaned back in her own corner of the big easy landau, shading her pretty, thoughtful face with her red parasol. She had on a little black gown, and a large black hat, which suited well her dainty type. Farebrother thought so, sitting opposite her, and watching the look of calm delight in her eyes as they drove along the leafy roads, and stopped in the bosky dells of the park.

There were not many people out--the “carriage people” had not yet returned to town, and there was a charming air of peace and quiet over the scene. The leaves were beginning to turn, and the caretakers were busy gathering up piles of those that had dropped. Occasionally the carriage stopped in the shade, and the voices of the little party fell in unison with the faint rustling of the leaves and the sylvan stillness. Sometimes they could almost forget that they were near the throbbing heart of a mighty city.

At one part of the drive, in the very loneliest spot they had yet seen, Farebrother proposed to Letty to get out and take a little stroll. Letty agreed very promptly, and the Colonel and Miss Jemima concluded they would stay where they were. So Letty and her friend strolled away down to the banks of a little stream, where the dry leaves of the young trees rustled to the whispering of the wind. It was high noon then, but so retired was this spot that the glare was utterly shut out. Whenever Letty found herself alone with Farebrother she felt a very acute sympathy between them. She felt this now, more than usual. Farebrother did not make love to her in the least with seriousness. Indeed, he had never done so, and his most suggestive compliments were paid when they were laughing and joking most familiarly. When they were alone, his tone was one of tender friendship and respect, which was very captivating to Letty. She was used to the overflowing sentiment of Southern men, and the calm and sane admiration of a man like Farebrother pleased her with its novelty, and flattered her by its respect.

They stood there a long time, Letty idly throwing pebbles into the stream. They said but little, and that in the low tone to which the voice naturally drops in the woods, and presently, a silence that was full of sweet companionship fell between them. They might have stayed there all day, so charming was it, had not Letty suddenly remembered herself.

“Oh, we must be going,” she said.

“Yes,” answered Farebrother, with a little sigh, “we must be going.”

When they caught sight of the carriage, the Colonel was just about getting out in order to go in search of them. Letty’s face grew scarlet, and she was unusually silent on their way home and wished she had not stayed so long alone with Farebrother.

Farebrother had arranged to take the Colonel and Letty to the theater that evening; Miss Jemima had declined. Letty spent the afternoon in her room, resting. At dinner she came out radiant in a white gown, a charming white hat, with white fan and gloves. This, she fondly imagined, was the correct wear for the theater, in orchestra seats. Farebrother had got those seats with a wary design. If he had taken a box, Sir Archy might have found out where they were going, and it is possible to pay visits in a box, and Farebrother determined to have Letty free from the claims of any other man except the Colonel on that one evening. He saw in a moment that Letty had got altogether the wrong ideas about costume, but she looked so fresh and fair that, with masculine indifference to conventionality, he was glad she had put on her white gown.

When dinner was over, and they were waiting in the reception-room for their carriage, the Chessinghams, Ethel Maywood and Mr. Romaine appeared, also bound for the theater, and for the same play that Farebrother had selected. It was the first appearance of a celebrated artist in a play new in this country, and Farebrother had given more attention to the artist than the piece. It was the first meeting of the whole party since they had parted on the boat that morning. Mr. Romaine, when he found that they were all bound for the same performance, grinned suggestively, and said to Farebrother:

“May I ask if you have ever seen this piece?”

“No,” answered Farebrother, “but I fancy it’s very good. It’s an adaptation from the French, no doubt made over to suit American audiences, which are the most prudish in the world.”

Mr. Romaine indulged in one of his peculiar silent laughs. “It is thoroughly French,” he remarked, slyly.

This made Farebrother genuinely uncomfortable. He knew that not only Letty knew little of the theater, but that she was super-sensitive as to questions of propriety, and that this outrageous coquette would not stand one equivocal word. And the Colonel was as prudish as she. Farebrother would have hailed with delight then anything that would have broken up his party, and wished that he had suggested the Eden Musée.

Nothing escaped Mr. Romaine’s brilliant black eyes. He took in at once Letty’s white costume, and with malice aforethought, whispered to Miss Maywood:

“Pardon me, but is a white gown the correct thing for the theater, except in a box, for I see our young friend is radiant to-night as snow.”

“No,” answered Ethel, very positively, “it is the worst possible form, and if we were going in the same party, I should not hesitate to ask Miss Corbin to wear something quieter. Otherwise we would all be made conspicuous from her bad judgment.”

Miss Maywood had on her darkest and severest tweed frock, and her most uncompromising turban. Mr. Romaine, having got this much out of Miss Maywood, proceeded to extract amusement from Miss Corbin. He went over to her, and leaning down, whispered:

“My dear young friend, I wish you had persuaded Miss Maywood into wearing something more festive than her traveling gown on this occasion. Because ladies wear their bonnets at the theater, that is no reason why they should ransack their trunks for their oldest and plainest gowns, too.”

“I quite agree with you,” answered Letty, promptly, who was not ill-pleased to be complimented at Ethel Maywood’s expense. “She looks a regular guy. Of course if we were going together, I shouldn’t mind giving her a delicate hint, because it would scarcely be kind of me to carry off all the honors of costume on the occasion, and no doubt she would be much obliged to me. But I really can’t interfere now.”

Mr. Romaine went off chuckling, and the whole way to the theater he was evidently in a state of suppressed amusement, which puzzled Ethel very much.

Arrived in their seats, which were near the other party, Letty settled herself with an ecstatic air of enjoyment to hear the play. The overture was unmixed delight. So was the first quarter of the first act. But in about ten minutes “the fun began,” as Farebrother afterward ruefully expressed it. The play was one of the larkiest descriptions of larky French comedy.

At the first _risqué_ situation, Farebrother, whose heart was in his mouth, saw the Colonel’s eyes flash, and an angry dull red creep into his fine old face. Letty was blissfully unconscious of the whole thing, and remained so much longer than the Colonel. But when the curtain came down on the first act, her cheeks were blazing, and she turned a pair of indignant eyes full on Farebrother, who felt like a thief, a sneak, and a liar. What made Letty blush never frightened her in the least, but simply angered her, so that she was always able to take care of herself. Farebrother, whose ruddy face was crimson, and who struggled between a wild disposition to swear and to laugh, leaned over toward the Colonel, and said in an agonized whisper, that Letty caught distinctly:

“For Heaven’s sake, Colonel, don’t think that I brought you knowingly to see this thing. I had never seen it myself, and merely went by the advertisement in the papers.”

“Your intentions were no doubt good, my young friend,” replied the Colonel, stiffly, “but you should exercise greater care in the selection of plays to which you ask innocent young women.”

At that, Farebrother would have been thankful if the floor had opened and swallowed him up. But Letty had evidently heard his few words of explanation, and they had mollified her. She felt sorry for Mr. Farebrother, and pitied his chagrin.

“Nevertheless, sir,” continued the Colonel, in a savage whisper, “if this sort of thing continues, I shall deem it my duty to withdraw my granddaughter.”

Farebrother was in an agony, and looking around, he saw Mr. Romaine’s bright eyes fixed on him gleaming with malicious amusement. Poor Farebrother at that moment was truly to be pitied. But disaster followed disaster, and worse ever seemed to remain behind. The second act was simply outrageous, and Farebrother, although he had more than the average masculine tolerance for _risqué_ and amusing plays, was so disconcerted by the Colonel’s scowl and Letty’s discomfort that he fixed his eyes on his program and studied it as if it were the most fascinating composition he had ever read. Not so the Colonel. He kept his attention closely upon the stage, and at one point which brought down the house with roars of laughter and applause, the Colonel rose, with a snort, and with a countenance like a thunder-cloud, offering his arm to Letty, stalked down the main aisle of the theater, with Farebrother, utterly crestfallen, following them. Not only was Farebrother deeply annoyed at having brought his innocent Virginia friends to such a play, but the absurdity of his own position and the illimitable chaff he would have to put up with on account of it at the club and at masculine dinners was a serious consideration with him.

And there was no room for misunderstanding the reason of their departure. The Colonel’s face was a study of virtuous indignation. Letty was crimson, and her eyes persistently sought the floor, particularly as they passed the Romaine party, while poor Farebrother’s hangdog look was simply pitiable. He glanced woefully at Mr. Romaine and Dr. Chessingham; both of them were grinning broadly, while a particular chum of his, who had an end seat, actually winked and poked a stick at him as he followed his friends out.

In the carriage he laid his hand upon the knee of the Colonel, who had maintained a terrible and portentous silence, and said, earnestly:

“Pray, Colonel Corbin, forgive me for my mistake in taking you and Miss Corbin there. Of course I didn’t dream that anything would be given which would offend you, and I am more sorry than I can express.”

The Colonel cleared his throat and responded:

“I can well believe, my dear sir, that your mistake came from the head, not the heart, and as such I fully condone it. But I could not allow my granddaughter to remain and see and hear things that no young girl, or any woman for that matter, should see or hear, and so I felt compelled to take some decisive step. I am prodigiously concerned at treating your hospitable intention to give us pleasure in this manner. But I ask you, as a man of the world, what was I to do?”

Farebrother restrained his inclination to haw-haw at the Colonel’s idea of a man of the world, and accepted his view of the whole thing with the most slavish submission. He whispered in Letty’s ear, though, as they rattled over the cobblestones, “Forgive me,” to which Letty, after a moment, whispered back, “I do.”

As it was so early in the evening, Farebrother proposed Delmonico’s, not having the courage to suggest any more theaters. They went, therefore, and had a very jolly little supper, during which the _entente cordiale_ was thoroughly restored, and the unlucky play forgotten. On the whole the evening did not end badly for Farebrother.