CHAPTER X

ANN RECEIVES A CALLER

"Whoopee, what a pretty pitcher!" Waterloo cried admiringly, as he came down to breakfast this morning with the belt of his rompers still unfastened and a look of sleepiness in his brown eyes.

He followed his mother into the kitchen, as did we all, for the cook was late, and Rufe was anxious to get off early.

"Let me play with it. I won't hurt it."

I do not know whether it was the appeal in his voice or the wish to avoid a conflict, which always made her so nervous that she let the toast burn, which made Cousin Eunice pick the object under discussion up in her hand and silently debate a minute.

"Isn't it a sign of the times when a child of his age doesn't know a coffee-pot when he sees one?" Rufe asked, as he stood in the doorway and absorbed lots of space. When Galileo, or whoever it was, made his famous remark about nobody being able to occupy more than one space at a time he had never seen a man in the kitchen before breakfast.

"I think it speaks well for his up-bringing," he continued (Rufe's I mean, not Galileo). "It shows how entirely we are on the water wagon here at this house."

"Lemme play with the coffee-pot," Rufus, junior, was insisting, dangerous signs appearing around the corner of his mouth. Cousin Eunice, who is observant, noticed these signs. It always gives her a spell of indigestion for him to have a crying spell before breakfast.

"Now listen, son," she said, handing the vessel over to him with a dubious look, "you must be very careful with the coffee-pot. Father went up himself yesterday and bought it for mother, because we are going to have so much company this afternoon that the other pot won't hold enough. So you just sit down on a pile of sofa pillows to play with it, then you can't drop it and make ugly dents in the pretty, shiny thing."

This arrangement proved so satisfactory that breakfast was finished and eaten before Waterloo could be prevailed upon to break his fast. A pocket full of marbles poured headlong into the new-fangled coffee-pot had added very materially to its success as a plaything, and the music of this kept him engaged for at least half an hour after the cook finally showed up and took the reins of the kitchen work out of our relieved hands.

Cousin Eunice then went into the dining-room to give another look at the piles of silver, china and napery that are considered necessary accompaniments to civilized eating in public.

"Almonds, olives, mints," she said, touching the glass and silver dishes which were placed in a row on the sideboard. "Oh, isn't there always a gala feeling about eating out of wedding presents? And I'm going to use every pretty dish I have this afternoon."

"Is Mrs. Barnette such a big personage, then?" I inquired. The "Scribblers' Club" was going to meet with Mrs. Clayborne, and I had heard much of the visiting lioness just mentioned. Cousin Eunice is the kind of woman who takes her parties hard, and before the actual date of one, everything in the house, from Waterloo's scalp to the back kitchen shelves, is put in apple-pie order--as if a visit from the health officer were impending.

"Big?" Cousin Eunice was going over the row of dishes again, to make sure that she was going to be able to use them all. "Why, she speaks seven different languages, and has all her underclothes suspended from her shoulders."

"Mercy! Then it will take every piece of silver and fine glass you can muster to offset that, I'm sure."

"Naturally I must make an impression some way. If my book had been published and talked about all I should do would be to offer them a cup of tea and a wafer--and they would fall all over themselves for the honor of coming."

"Meanwhile, being humble and obscure, you have to serve flesh and fowl and coffee--say, don't you reckon I'd better be scrubbing out the coffee-pot?"

"Please do," she nodded, as she went on with her work while I bearded Waterloo and demanded the glittering object of his admiration. Manlike, he had already tired of the plaything, and was ready to scamper away with Grapefruit, for she had found a dead frog out in the yard, she said, and they would have a grand funeral if he would come on.

"Take him for a little walk now and save the funeral ceremonies until afternoon," I suggested, "so he'll stay out of his mother's way during the party."

Then I poured the marbles out of the coffee-pot into his grimy little hands, the life-lines and head-lines of which constituted little streaks of whiteness, thereby proving them to be the hands of a Caucasian.

"There's one that won't come out," he informed me, as he pocketed the others and departed with Grapefruit.

I investigated and found a marble lodged firmly in the neck of the spout, a most tantalizing position it occupied, resisting coyly my efforts to remove it, yet protruding almost halfway into the body of the pot. I stood there fingering it until Cousin Eunice came to see what was the matter. I explained, and when she insisted upon trying her own hand at the marble's removal I reluctantly gave it over to her.

"Now isn't that _too_ bad?" she finally exclaimed with a nervous impatience after she saw that it was useless to try any further. "It serves me right for giving it to him to play with--but I _do_ hate to get him started before breakfast."

Each member of the family and the servants took turns at trying to get the marble out of the fine new coffee-pot, spending, all told, several hours of the busy morning, and when Rufe came in to luncheon the story was poured into his somewhat unsympathetic ears.

"I knew he would do the thing some damage when I saw you hand it over to him to play with this morning," he said with a fatherly air. "Doesn't he tear, or break, or _chew_, or sprinkle over with talcum powder everything he can get his hands on?"

"Maybe you can get the marble out," I said, bringing the coffee-pot to Rufe, and he worked over it for a full half-hour.

"Oh, it's ruined," he said disgustedly, when he saw that it wasn't coming out. "Of course the coffee won't _pour_! It will just drop, as reluctantly as tears at a rich uncle's funeral."

"Why, we hadn't thought to try," Cousin Eunice said, and I took the thing from Rufe's hand and sped with it to the kitchen sink.

"It pours," I announced triumphantly.

"Then your glory as a hostess is saved," Rufe comforted her.

"But who wants to go through life with a marble up the coffee-pot spout?" she persisted, with little worried lines between her eyes.

"Besides it will be sure to taste like marbles," I added.

The little worried lines between Cousin Eunice's blue eyes grew deeper in the early afternoon as the ices and cakes were delayed an hour in coming, and we found that Waterloo had sprinkled frazzled wheat biscuit all over the chairs and floor of the reception-room, just as the door-bell was ringing to announce the first Scribbler. Then she grew cheerful again when some of her best friends among the club members arrived, and only slightly flurried at the advent of Mrs. Barnette.

I stayed in the presence of the learned body long enough to hear with my own ears that they were not discussing anything too deep for me to understand, everything being spoken in plain English; but this happened to be a business meeting as well as an occasion for social enjoyment, so when the time for election of officers drew near I fled, fearing at least Esperanto--if not actual blows.

I was present once at a meeting of mother's missionary society when this ordeal had to be gone through with, and I shall never forget the injured expression and cutting accents of the secretary _pro tem._ when she found that the office was not permanently hers.

The only untoward event that happened this afternoon (and that wasn't untoward through any fault of ours) was when Mrs. Howard, an immensely tall, raw-boned Scribbler, happened to speak in complimentary terms of dear Mrs. Clayborne's lovely sylvan room.

"I am _so_ sensitive to rooms," she said, fluttering her rich lace scarf toward one corner of the apartment which she particularly liked, "and the least false note gets so on my nerves!" She was sitting alone upon a small sofa--alone, yet not alone, for Waterloo's little, but _loud_, mechanical bug was also sitting on the sofa, although his presence was unsuspected by Mrs. Howard.

This amazing insect is like love in the springtime, it only takes a touch to set it a-fluttering, for it seems always to be wound up. The heavy lace scarf hanging from Mrs. Howard's long arms and creeping over its back and sprawling legs was quite enough. It caught in the silken fabric with its sudden zizzing, clicking noise; and it climbed steadily upward, toward the lady's stalwart, but nervous, shoulders.

The meshes of the lace concealed the true identity of the intruder, and Mrs. Howard no doubt considered herself to be in the clutches of some poisonous and persistent spider. She shook her scarf; she tried to slay the monster with her book of minutes; she screamed. Finally, jerking the scarf from her shoulders and flinging it into the middle of the floor, she bravely trampled the "thing" underfoot, and thus she silenced it. Then she subsided upon the sofa, pale and exhausted.

"Let's have the sandwiches--quick," Cousin Eunice whispered to me, and I fled to the dining-room to see that everything was in readiness.

Under the genial influence of the buffet luncheon I found that they all unbent somewhat--enough to get down to commonplaces, even discussing such things as husbands, wall-paper and jap-a-lac.

I vibrated between the scene of gaiety in the house and the more enjoyable frog funeral, which was in full blast in the back yard.

Grapefruit had taken down one of the kitchen window shades to make a tent, under which there was an attractive tub of water, with several members of the bereaved frog family sporting heartlessly around in its muddy depths.

I had not thought of danger, although I had seen Waterloo dabbling in this tub pretty constantly during the last sad rites; but after the final Scribbler had departed and his weary mother came upon the scene, little Waterloo was ordered peremptorily in the house, and dire predictions were made.

"Oh, you'll be sure to have croup to-night," Cousin Eunice said dejectedly, as she followed Waterloo up the stairs and rubbed down his dripping little hands and arms with a Turkish towel. This task being finished to her maternal satisfaction, she turned to me with a look of unutterable weariness.

"Unhook me, Ann; my head is bursting. I'm going to bed."

So this is how it came about that when the door-bell rang at eight o'clock to-night there was nobody but me in fit condition to receive callers. Rufe was alternately filling the hot-water bottle for Cousin Eunice's aching head and racking his own brain trying to remember where he had put the wine of ipecac after Waterloo's last spell of croup. And the poor little darling was coughing in a manner that to me was frightfully alarming. With no thought in my mind save to help Rufe in his nursing feats, I had taken off my party frock and had slipped on a low-neck Peter Pan blouse, with a fresh linen skirt. My hair was about ready to tumble and my face flushed with worry over Waterloo.

"Oh, the devil!" Rufe pronounced, when the penetrating sound of the door-bell reached us. But it was not the devil.

"It is Mr. Chalmers," I said, with a little catch in my breath as I heard his voice down in the hall.

"Well, you run down and get him settled," Rufe said, holding up a little bottle of dark-colored liquid to the light to read the label, "--then come on back for a few minutes and help me give the rooster a dose of this--will you? It always requires an assistant."

"Let's give the medicine now--then I'll dress before I go down."

"Nonsense! You look a thousand times prettier flushed and careless--as you are now--than you do all fixed up with your hair smooth. I don't like to keep him waiting long, for he might have come to see me about something important. You sound him, like a good girl, and if he doesn't want to see me particularly tell him that my family is ill and that you will entertain him."

I did take time to glance into the mirror to satisfy myself that Rufe was not entirely wrong--then I ran down-stairs.

Mr. Chalmers was standing on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire (which Cousin Eunice had ordered kindled up all over the house when she realized that there was danger of Waterloo having croup), as I came down the steps, and when he saw, through the big doorway, that I was alone, he came to the foot of the stairs to meet me. The front part of the house was still open, and there was a beautiful moonlight. After I had greeted him I stood in the dimly lighted hall a moment, looking out into the night; then I went on into the long, beautiful room, which was filled with the scent of roses to-night, and, as we drew up before the fire, I shivered a little. There was just enough crispness in the chilly air to cause a deliciously shivery sensation.

"Well, you have no engagement for this evening, I hope," he began, as I moved closer to the hearth and stirred the fire into a brighter blaze. "I should have telephoned, I know, but I was detained at the office until quite late."

"No, there are no engagements to-night. Cousin Eunice has gone to bed with a headache and Rufe is nursing Waterloo through a spell of croup. By the way, you'll excuse me while I run back a few minutes and help give the little fellow a dose of medicine?"

"Certainly--if you'll promise not to be long," he said with a smile.

"Oh, it will take only a little while. Then, when the invalids both get settled Rufe can come down--unless you are in a special hurry to see him about some mighty political secret. In that case I can send him right now, and play the part of nurse myself."

"Please do _not_," he answered, speaking much more earnestly than the occasion warranted. "I came solely to see you. Tell Clayborne he is not to disturb himself on my account."

Waterloo was breathing better and had gone to sleep by the time I reached his bedside again.

"I don't believe he's going to need the stuff, after all," Rufe said, unbuttoning his collar and beginning to make preparations to be comfortable. "Eunice says her head is a little easier, so I'm going to lie down here and read the paper until I'm sleepy. Chalmers didn't want anything special with me, did he?"

"No. He said you were not to disturb yourself at all," I answered, and he looked up quickly as he deposited his collar on the dressing-table.

"So? He came to see you?"

"That's what he says. He may later swear it by the inconstant moon. She is so beautiful to-night, that you can forgive her for being inconstant." I rattled away to hide my trembling joy, brought on by the anticipation of two hours alone with _him_.

But Rufe's eyes were grave.

"Ann, don't lose your head over Chalmers," he said soberly, with that queer density with which a married man usually regards a love affair. (Oh, stupid Rufe! My head has been lost so long that I have grown delightfully accustomed to doing without it!) "He is a good fellow, and all that, but I don't know that he's good enough for you."

"Ann!" It was Cousin Eunice's voice calling weakly from the darkened room beyond. I went to her bed.

"Ann, is that Richard Chalmers down-stairs?"

"Yes."

"And Rufe isn't going down?"

"No."

"Well, listen, dear: he may propose to you to-night--I have seen that he was only waiting to get a good chance--but _don't_ promise him anything! Until we know him better, dear!"

I patted her hand softly, then ran into my own room to get a fan that I might have something to toy with. There was a bottle of rich perfume on my table, my favorite lily-of-the-valley, and I drew the long glass stopper across my lips. Then I went to the window and looked out at the white light of the moon.

"Not promise him anything!" I said half aloud, the beauty of the night drawing a sigh of longing that was almost a sob. "Oh, don't they _know_ that I would promise him my very soul if he should ask it?"

Richard was restlessly walking up and down the length of the long room when I came down again. He crossed to meet me and held out his hand, catching mine in his strong grip, just as if we had not shaken hands only a short time before. "So I am going to have you all to myself to-night?"

"Rufe said he would stay with his ailing family, if you would put up with my society."

"Ah! Don't you believe that I came just to see you? I was afraid that I should not be able to get a moment alone, so I was going to ask Mrs. Clayborne, as a great favor, to let me take you to the theater--or anywhere else that you preferred. I have tickets here to the Lyceum, and there is a taxi-cab at the door. Shall we go?"

"Let's stay here," I begged. "It has been an awfully tiresome day. Go and dismiss the cab."

He looked gratified at my decision, then went out to send the cab away. I glanced at the bower of a room and felt a thrill of satisfaction. It was all so beautiful, and I love beauty.

"Shall I close these doors?" he asked carelessly, as he came in again and I heard the chug-chug of the cab as it sped away. "Shall I close these doors? It is really chilly to-night."

"Yes, I noticed," I said in some confusion, for I remembered that the closing of a door had meant a great deal to Alfred a few days ago. Ann Lisbeth had closed it, because she knew that he wanted her to; and he had looked to see before he had said a word. Evidently it is a way with lovers!

"I noticed that it is cold," I repeated, as he came over and stood near me without speaking. "My hands are quite cold."

I recognized the absurdity of this as soon as the silly words were out of my mouth, and I tried to think of something else to say quickly enough to cover my shamefaced silence, but nothing would come to my aid, and I had finally to meet his compelling eyes with a frankly embarrassed little laugh.

"Let me draw your chair back from the fire," he said, after we looked straight into each other's eyes for a moment, "or, better still, throw something around you and let's go out on the little side balcony where Clayborne and I always go to smoke. It is a glorious night."

I went out into the hall and got a long, loose wrap. As he held it for me to slip my arms into the sleeves his eyes traveled slowly over the crisp freshness of the linen gown I wore. My back was to him, but I was watching him in the mirror.

"I have a worshipful reverence for virginity," he said at length, "even if it be only of a white linen suit. I have always wanted the first and best of everything. It is this entirely fresh and unspoiled quality of your beauty that has so attracted me."

We were walking out through the long French window which opens on to the balcony, and as we gained the shadow of a thick growth of vines at one side he stopped, putting up his arm to stop me.

"Ann," he said, with the same sudden directness that had startled me that day in the orchard when he had asked me about our first meeting, "Ann, you have seen that--I am attracted? Dear, I don't want to frighten you, you beautiful little _young_ thing," here he lost his self-possession, "but I love you, sweetheart--love only you--love you--_you_!"

His arms slipped about me, and tightening their clasp after a moment, he drew me very close, so close that his perfect face closed everything else on earth from my view. And his keen gray eyes became two points of steel that pierced through, straight to my soul, and carried with them a sweet potion that inoculated my being with adoration for him.

I felt his cheek brush close to mine, his thin, cold face transfigured; and, as if to prolong the exquisite torture of suspense, we both held apart a moment before our lips met full. Then--

I was so swept by the storm of strange and wonderful emotion that my senses failed to take it in at first--that Richard Chalmers was mine! He loved me; he was feeling the same joy and the same torture that were running like fire and wine to my brain. Even in the dim light my eyes must have betrayed some of this bewilderment to him, if his own thoughts had not been equally in a tumult.

"You are _sure_?" he questioned, after his passionate breath had slackened a little so that he could speak. "Ann, this means everything to me. Don't let me kiss you like that again unless you are very sure of your own mind."

--But he kissed me again, and kissed--and kissed until his lips grew cold, and I felt suddenly so tired that I could stand up no longer.

Oh, divine rapture of senses and soul! Could I forget that kiss in the hour of death? I wished that death might come then, as we stood together in that first passionate embrace, our lips meeting in kisses of fire, our hearts throbbing in physical pain. Oh, to die thus--together! So perfect was the moment--so supreme the joy!

My head fell over, with a little droop of utter weariness upon his shoulder, and his arms loosened.

"You are tired," he said, in quick contrition, turning my face up to the moonlight. "Shall we go back into the house? I'm a brute to treat you this way!"

We passed in through the long window and walked over to the far corner, where the big leather chair is. I sat down, lost in its ample depths. Then he stood up in front of me and looked down with the calmly contented expression of one who is greatly pleased over a new possession.

"You beautiful little _young_ thing," he said again.

"Young?" I felt so secure, so happy, when discussing the question of age with him now.

"That is all I'm afraid of! You may grow tired of me."

"You are afraid of nothing, Coeur de Lion," I answered with an adoring look that brought on another avalanche of caresses. "I have always called you that."

"Always? Since when?"

"Since that day at the gates of the cemetery."

"Ah! And I have never ceased for an hour to think of you since that day--and to wonder how I could make you love me."

"When all the time you were the man of my dreams. Your face told me that when I first saw you--cold as steel to all the world, yet strong as steel for me."

"You have never imagined yourself in love before, Ann?" he asked, after a little silence which he beguiled by raising each finger-tip of my left hand to his lips.

"No."

"I thought not. A woman doesn't kiss like that but once."

"--And a man?"

"I've told you that I have never cared for any other woman. That's what makes me feel such an utter fool now! To think that, at my age, I should have let a passion take such possession of me--before I knew whether or not there was the slightest chance of its being returned!"

"Oh, love, how humble the little god makes us! When all along you have been _King_ Richard to me."

"Well, there was never a king who found so worthy a queen-consort. When are you going to marry me, Ann?"

We had strayed off the heights a little and I was taking a much-needed breathing spell in the less rarified air, when he sent my senses reeling again at the question. Married! To this regal creature, who is so splendid in mind, body and spirit! And he was asking me to marry him, me--simple Ann Fielding, a dreamer of dreams, who had never dreamed one half so radiant as this blessed reality! To live with him always! "The desire of the moth for the star," oh, joy, the moth was going to reach the star this time! Greater joy! the star was reaching out just as longingly for the moth, and calling the tiny creature another, an infinitely brighter star!

"I hardly expected you to be in such a hurry about marrying," I finally answered, after he had repeated the question. "I have heard you say such cynical things about the holy estate--when you thought I wasn't listening. One time you said you thought passion consisted largely of not knowing what a woman looks like before breakfast."

"Sweetheart," and his eyes were very serious, "I am sorry for every light word I have ever spoken about marriage--since you have honored me so." Then teasingly he continued after a moment, "The thing I desire most on earth just now is to know what _you_ look like before breakfast, sweet Mistress Ann."

"Do you desire that most? Then what next?"

"You know, love. My ambition is next--and all I have in the world besides you."

"You want to marry me and be governor of this state--now, on your honor, which do you desire the more--_Richard_?"

He threw his arms around me again, as I called his name, and stopped my mouth with kisses.

"Don't jest," he begged. "It is sacrilege to-night."

Then we strayed from the heights again, and fell to talking about his ambition, and from that to more commonplace affairs still--how we were going to spend the next few days, and how we might arrange that to-morrow, Sunday, could be passed together. _Together_, that was all that either of us desired.

"I'll come early enough in the morning to go to church with you," he suggested, "then we'll have luncheon at Beauregard's, if we can get Mrs. Clayborne to go with us, and--"

"Mrs. Clayborne?" I asked in surprise. "What for?"

"Ann," and he took my hand gently, as if he might be admonishing a child, "I consider it entirely out of place for a woman to go out alone with a man, even if the two are engaged. Evidently your mother has never given the matter as much consideration as I have always insisted should be used in the case of my sister--for I have seen you alone with this friend, Doctor Morgan, several times. When I happened to meet you in Beauregard's the night of the _circus_," there was a struggle here between amusement and sarcasm, "I thought, of course, he was some very close relative. But I find that he is only a dear friend, with whom you take long country drives--and who gives you heirloom volumes of Byronic poetry."

"We have known each other since he first started to college," I stated, by way of defense, but I own with less assurance than I should have used if there had not been before me the picture of the scene in Ann Lisbeth's library.

"I think it would be well to return the book with a note saying that you had found it too valuable a gift for you to feel justified in accepting. And, of course, you understand that from now on _I_ furnish you with every pleasure that it is in the power of a man to provide for the woman he loves. If you want books, you have only to let me know; if you wish to take a long country drive, you have but to call me. I'll even take you to the circus," we both laughed, "if your inclination is in that direction; but, little love, no other man must come near you!"

"You are inclined to be jealous?"

"Not at all! I am simply trying to avoid all cause for jealousy."

"There isn't any other man who wants to come near me," I answered truthfully, as I recalled Alfred's beseeching look when he had virtually asked me to avoid meeting him.

"Nonsense," he declared, so suddenly and so decidedly that I smiled with the pure joy of having him jealous. Richard Chalmers jealous! Afraid that I might fall in love with some other man! "Nobody could look at you without being attracted. I am far from being a ladies' man, but I acted a fool for weeks last winter--because I had happened to pass you on a country road. When you were driving with another man, too!"

"That was because we had found each other," I said, running my hand through his soft, light hair, and dwelling on the proud privilege that was mine.

"--Well, you will be guided by my advice in this matter, I feel sure," he said finally, "and you are too clever a little woman not to manage to keep all other men at arm's length without betraying the secret of our engagement."

"Secret?"

"Yes, please, dearest! Let us keep it secret from every one save our families until this deuced nomination business is over. There would be a lot of talk, you understand, because I happen to be a little in the limelight now. They would be wanting to put your picture in the papers for all the other men to gaze at. I can't bear to see a woman's picture in the paper."

I laughed a little and agreed with him. This was only another phase of his kingly character. Whatever is his must be _his_, with a fanatical exclusion of every one else.

"I called you Richard, Coeur de Lion, but it was a mistake. You are a sultan."

"With only one love, my Nourjehan."