Part 12

"Come," said Mrs. Bunker, with a beaming face, "pass her round."

"You dear old things," cried Indiana, "this is what I call a surprise! Now sit down, all of you." She pulled her father and mother down on the lounge, sitting between them. Mrs. Stillwater gazed at her, speechless with happiness. Stillwater smoothed her hair tenderly, pressing her head against his breast. "Tell me all the news. How's everybody at home? Anybody engaged--or married? How did you happen to come? What put it in your heads? How long are you going to stay? How--?"

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker, "one at a time, Indy."

Thurston stood aside, watching Indiana's radiant face, with an unselfish joy and an impulse of gratitude to the kindly chance which had brought her loved ones at the very moment when they were so urgently needed. Then he withdrew quietly, thinking she would like to be alone with them. He also wished to acquaint his mother with the surprise.

"I've come over only for one thing," said Mrs. Stillwater. "That's to see you, Indiana. After you left, and the excitement was over, I couldn't settle down again. My body was there, but my heart and soul were following you over the water. I don't know how we ever let you go," her eyes filled, "and I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to come over to see for myself if you were happy." She looked yearningly into Indiana's face.

"My dear mother," said Indiana, tenderly, pressing her cheek to hers, "my dear, kind, loving mother!"

"Mary," said Stillwater, severely. "It's done now, and we must make the best of it." The spectacle of his wife and child clasped in each other's arms, affected him to an intense degree. During the term of Indiana's engagement and marriage, he had found it necessary to be stern with his gentle wife--without stringent measures--from pure fear that she would collapse utterly. His severity served also as a moral brace, when he himself was concerned.

Jennings entered in his usual noiseless fashion. "Would yer little leddyship like tea served?"

"Yes, if you please, Jennings," answered Indiana, assuming her English accent. "Father, Jennings has been a butler in our family all his life." Every eye was centred upon Jennings, who bowed with a most self-congratulatory expression, and walked proudly from the room.

"Em--em--lack of ambition," said Stillwater, "that's the trouble with this country. I could see it before I was two hours landed. The Britishers are too well-satisfied with themselves. Life's too easy. They haven't had to grow up with a new town--they ought to have been in my shoes, eh, mother?"

Mrs. Bunker walked about, surveying the room.

"Father--mother--grandmother!" exclaimed Indiana, taking the centre of the room. "I have married into a great family. None of your new nobility. We are one of the few unadulterated families in England, which has never married out of its sphere--except in my case. And I shall assimilate, not diverge. No one speaks of progression here. All are sublimely content. New ideas are shunned, as modern depravity, by her ladyship. Look about you, at these old family relics--"

"I expect to see a ghost every moment," interrupted Mrs. Bunker, affecting to shiver.

"It's like a nasty old vault," whispered Mrs. Stillwater, confidentially, to her husband.

"There's nothing better than us," remarked Indiana, with a toss of her head. "Nothing, from an ancestral point of view."

"Indiana, drop that English accent," said Mrs. Bunker, sharply, "it's too affected."

"Hush!" answered Indiana, looking toward the door. Thurston entered, with Lady Canning on his arm.

Indiana approached her with a very marked change of manner, speaking in soft, low English tones. "My dear Lady Canning, I have had such a delightful surprise. This is my father and mother."

"My dear Mrs. Stillwater, I am really delighted. And Mr. Stillwater."

"And this is my grandmother," continued Indiana.

"Your grandmother!" exclaimed Lady Canning, staring in surprise at the vivacious and essentially modern woman before her. Mrs. Bunker, on this occasion, wore a very becoming, extremely youthful hat.

"It's difficult to realize, isn't it?" remarked Mrs. Bunker, laughing and flattered at Lady Canning's astonishment. "We consider it criminal in the States for a woman not to look at least ten years younger than she really is. I've always been regarded as a remarkable woman for my age."

"The costume is deceiving," answered Lady Canning, regarding Mrs. Bunker's fashionable attire with disapproving eyes. "At first glance I thought you were a young woman, Mrs.--er--"

"Bunker," smiling graciously.

"Mrs. Bunker. However, on close inspection, I see you are not."

Having thus summarily thrown cold water on Mrs. Bunker's enthusiasm, Lady Canning proceeded on Thurston's arm to her usual chair by the fire, Lord Stafford, entering shortly after, exchanged laughing greetings with his fellow-travellers.

"Lady Canning, I wouldn't harbor any old bachelors," remarked Mrs. Bunker, her irrepressible spirits rising to the surface again. "If he were my brother, I'd just turn him out, and he would be obliged to marry for a shelter."

"Mrs. Bunker," said Lord Stafford, "I once heard a Yankee farmer say, 'An old hoss that's been jogging along a good many years alone, is always good to jog along a few years more, but if you yoke him with another hoss, he's winded at once, and goes to the wall.' Ha, ha, ha, ha!"

Indiana, who was sitting at the tea-table, strained her eyes and ears, trying to hear everything that was said. At one time she became so absorbed, making anxious and involuntary comparisons between her relatives and Thurston's, that she forgot to pour out the tea, while Jennings stood anxiously watching her, waiting for the cups.

"And how do you find your daughter looking, Mrs. Stillwater?" inquired Lady Canning.

Mrs. Stillwater, sitting near the elder lady by the fire, shook her head dolefully. "Her color's not as high as it used to be. I suppose it's living in these dark, musty rooms. And she's used to flying about in the open air."

"Mother!" exclaimed Indiana.

"What is it, Indiana?" answered Mrs. Stillwater, starting.

Indiana gave her a warning glance. "You don't take sugar, do you?"

"No, dear," answered Mrs. Stillwater, quite oblivious to the glance, "Don't wait on me. Shall I pour the tea?"

"Sit down, dear Mrs. Stillwater," said Lady Canning. "Indiana always does her duty as mistress of the house. No doubt you miss her very much. I can understand that."

"I'll tell you frankly, I was very much against it, she's the only one we have. I begged her not to do it. I even warned Thurston against her. One must give in to Indiana in order to get along with her, and, living with a mother-in-law, I was afraid of it."

Lady Canning laughed quietly.

"Mother!" exclaimed Indiana.

"Yes, dear," answered Mrs. Stillwater. She went over to Indiana and bent over her.

"Stop that," whispered Indiana.

Mrs. Stillwater looked at her with a piteous expression, then sank down into a chair near the tea-table.

"This cup is for Lady Canning. No, Jennings, I'll take it to her myself."

Mrs. Stillwater watched her jealously as she waited on Lady Canning, and drank her tea with a vague feeling of disappointment in her reunion with Indiana. Mr. Stillwater inspected, with interest, various objects in the room, walking about with Thurston, their cups in their hands.

"There's a solidity about all this, which speaks for itself," said Mr. Stillwater. "It's no use talking, a man can't buy it." Thurston called his attention to a tapestry. "Yes, I know--Gobelin--very fine. I admire it right here, because it belongs here. But when our millionaires import other people's old furniture, even that of princes and cardinals, and put it in their brand-new American homes--it seems to me snobbery. The only value of an antique is when it belongs to a nation."

"I agree with you, Mr. Stillwater."

After some further conversation, Lady Canning said, gently, to Indiana, "My darling, will you excuse me now? I know you have much to say to your people." She shook hands graciously with them all. "Now, when will you come and dine with us?"

"Oh, we'll run in any old time," said Mrs. Bunker.

"We won't wait for invitations," added Mr. Stillwater. "We'll run over to breakfast or supper, just as the spirit moves us. We'll take possession while we're here."

"You will always be very welcome whenever you care to come," answered Lady Canning. "But we are not used to being taken unawares." She bowed with a set smile, as she left the room leaning on her brother's arm. But her presence was still felt by a perceptible chill in the atmosphere. Thurston, however, soon dispelled the restraint. He took them through the house, entertaining them with histories of different family relics, to which they listened with interest. Then they adjourned to his own particular den, where all the trophies of his travels were collected. Finally Indiana carried them off to her apartments, leaving Thurston in his den. When they were all comfortably installed in the boudoir, Indiana, leaning on her mother's breast, looked thoughtfully up in her face and then at the others. She could scarcely realize that they were substantial creations.

"Indiana Stillwater," said Mrs. Bunker, "the way you crawl to that woman is very un-American."

"In England it's the custom for people to pay great respect to their elders."

"That's a nice slap in the face for us," remarked Mrs. Bunker.

"Grandma Chazy, you don't want the deference due to age," answered Indiana, propitiatingly. "You won't for many years, I hope. Think of treating ma and pa like that. They wouldn't like it a bit."

"No," said Mrs. Stillwater, "we're satisfied as long as you love us. But don't let anyone else take our place." She pressed her lips to Indiana's soft hair, crying silently. Indiana tightened her arms about her mother's waist, unaware of the tears that were falling on her yellow puffs.

"Well, then," said Mrs. Bunker, "just put on your things and come and have supper with us at the hotel. All the Americans in town will be there, beside the English celebrities. Come along. I'll show you the whole push."

"I'd love to go."

"We'll have a good time, if it is Sunday night. Well, what are you sitting there for? Get your things on."

"I must ask my husband," said Indiana, slowly, the eager sparkle suddenly dying in her eyes.

Mrs. Bunker sank down in the chair, from which she had sprung in her enthusiasm. "Indiana Stillwater, I never thought you would turn out such a spiritless kind of a woman. Of course it's none of my business, but if you start in this way, you'll lose your entire individuality."

"It's not so, Grandma Chazy. I do just as I like. I allow no one to compel me."

"You're quite right to ask your husband, and, if it's against his religious views, you stay home and read the Bible to his mother." Mrs. Bunker went to the mirror, arranging her hat, as if the question had been settled.

"It's not so!" exclaimed Indiana, rising and stamping her foot. "You don't understand the conditions of life over here."

"It's the thing in London now, to dine out on Sunday nights. You can't tell me, Indiana Stillwater."

"It may be the thing, but we don't do it. Must I tell you again I have married into a very conservative family?"

"We're not good enough for you, now," replied Mrs. Bunker, sarcastically.

"I'll always love my own people, but I won't be blind to their faults. We lack culture and repose."

"You may be right, Indy," said Mr. Stillwater, hitherto a silent listener. "But if you keep cultivating a field of wheat right along, you'll cultivate it till it doesn't produce anything. They're running to seed fast here--and we're still bearing strong. Repose! Let them have it. Thank heaven, we youngsters are always on our feet. Now, mother!" Mrs. Stillwater was crying. At the sight of her tears Indiana capitulated.

"I'll come, mother," she said, despairingly, throwing herself on her knees beside her.

"Darling!" cried Mrs. Stillwater. "Don't you think we ought to ask Thurston?"

"I'll ask him, of course," said Indiana, "but I'm sure he won't come."

"We'll manage without him," said Mrs. Bunker. "On second thoughts, I think we'll send for you, Indiana." She looked significantly at the others. "We'll send for her at eight o'clock." They nodded. "That'll just give you time to dress. We've another surprise in store for you." They all laughed.

"Ah, don't tell me. It's so nice to look forward to something one don't expect."

"Take off that dowdy thing," directed Mrs. Bunker. "Go back to your trousseau."

"We turned you out better than that," commented Stillwater, looking her over. Indiana pouted like a child, teased. Thurston emerged from his den as they descended the stairs. Lord Stafford also joined them below in the library.

"Thurston," asked Stillwater, taking him aside, "has she broken out yet?" Thurston shook his head, laughing.

Stillwater took Indiana in his arms.

"Goodbye. God bless you!"

Mrs. Bunker kissed her vehemently.

"I couldn't let you go," whispered Mrs. Stillwater. "If I wasn't sure I'd see you to-night."

Indiana sank into a chair as they all left the room, Thurston and Lord Stafford accompanying them to the door. Her thoughts were in a whirl. Her pride had been hurt at the idea her family should think she was not utterly a free agent, and that was one of the main reasons why she had consented to join them that night. Then they brought her old life back so forcibly. If her relatives had suffered in comparison with Thurston's, her present life now suffered in comparison with the old--its freedom, and lack of obligation. She realized now that she had been truly queen of her own territory. She heard them all laughing and talking below. Gradually their voices died away, the voices of her old life. She felt a sense of loneliness.

It was early spring, when Jennings made it a rule to light the candles later. Everything in the room had faded into the growing dusk. The old objects so easily blended with a waning light. Indiana heard Thurston laughing heartily with Lord Stafford, as they ascended the stairs.

"All in the dark, sweetheart!" He touched the electric button of the lamp on the table, revealing Indiana, buried in one of the big chairs, gazing dismally before her. The smile died on his face.

"Oh, go on! Don't mind me!" exclaimed Indiana. "Laugh at them! Ridicule them! Tell me you don't want them to darken your doors again. I'm ready for anything."

"Indiana!" exclaimed Thurston, justly hurt at this unreasonable outburst. "How can you? I wasn't laughing in that way. I find your people very witty and amusing. As for separating you from them, I hope we shall see as much of them as we possibly can. Grandma Chazy is a new creation for us. We simply revel in her. She'll make a sensation wherever she goes. I shouldn't wonder if she would marry well and settle down in England. There now, the storm's over." He smoothed the hair back from her forehead with a soothing touch. "Poor little thing, she's had a shock. I hate surprises myself. Lie down for an hour and rest. Come," lifting her up from the chair, "I'll put you on the sofa."

"No, no!" protested Indiana, "there's no time. I--I have promised to go out." He looked at her in astonishment. "The folks wouldn't take 'no' for an answer," affecting not to notice his surprise, "and naturally, they want me with them as much as possible."

"Naturally!" said Thurston, coldly. If she wished to go out with her family, why had she not consulted him first, he thought, instead of considering it sufficient to merely apprise him of her intention.

"I won't ask you to waste your night," she said, carelessly, endeavoring to make it apparent that she was quite innocent of any departure from the conventional order of things. He looked at her again, in astonishment. Why should she assume a night spent with her was wasted? It was an evident fact he was not wanted. "But, you can call for me," she wound up, airily.

"Where?"

"Oh, they've mapped out a programme," she answered, irrelevantly. "Grandma Chazy knows what's to be seen." She turned to leave the room, as though summarily dismissing the subject.

"I am only your husband, it is true, but I think I have a right to know, if my wife goes out, where she is going."

Indiana paused half way to the door. "I'm going to dine with them at the Cecil, where they are stopping." He was silent. She waited, in some suspense, for a remark, her hand on the door.

"I am sorry to disappoint you--but I cannot permit you to go," he said, at length, slowly. "It's not the place for Lady Canning. It may be all very well for strangers--sight-seers--but London is our home. These places are resorts for foreigners, professional women, men-about-town, and others, who delight to bask in the public eye. I have another reason. I do not wish you to be seen in public, until I have formally presented you--as my wife." He approached her and removing her hand gently from the handle of the door, led her back into the room. She went unwillingly, her head drooping. "Indiana," he put his hand under her chin and lifted her face, so that her eyes met his. "I don't wish to force you, but to convince you. Admit it would be a very foolish and inconsistent thing to do."

"Yes, but that's just why I want to do it," she answered, wilfully deaf to the note of appeal in his voice.

"You child! Come now," he forced her gently to lie down on the sofa. "Quiet that eager little mind of yours," tucking her carefully in a rug. "Shut those restless American eyes and sleep for a while. Dream yourself into good humor again." He closed her eyes, patting her cheek tenderly.

"Thurston, they've got a surprise for me," she said, piteously.

"What, another!" he exclaimed. "Your nerves won't stand any more surprises to-night. Now, in one hour, I shall come in and awaken my sleeping beauty with a kiss." Indiana made a little grimace and shut her eyes tightly. He watched her for a moment.

"Asleep already," bending over her, "or sulking--which?"

She flung the rug from her, suddenly sitting up. "Thurston, I want to go. Thurston, why can't I go?"

"Because you yourself have acknowledged it would not be right," he answered, coldly. Her small, red lips drooped plaintively, she coiled herself up on the sofa in a disconsolate attitude. Thurston stood watching her. The sad, little face staring at the fire, stirred his sympathy. This was the first request he had ever refused. He felt an impulse to press her against his heart and beg her not to grieve--to tell her that he felt her disappointment far deeper than she herself could have any idea of. But pride prevented him. He had lately been chary in his demonstrations. His nature, which at first had sung a paean over the mere fact that she was his, rejoicing in the lavish display of its love, gradually conscious of no hint of response, only a tacit acceptance, had crept back into its cloak of reserve. He suffered from the repression, becoming at times the victim of a terrible discouragement--that sinking of the heart, inevitable to the thought that one has given one's very best in vain. He realized what a frail structure he had builded--that beautiful fairy fabric of spider's webs, illuminated with the tints of the rainbow. Standing, watching Indiana, Thurston remembered the day when she had promised to marry him--that gray, soft, still evening in autumn. It had been like a tender poem. He had likened the little path between the trees upon which they walked, to the dim, narrow aisle of a church, leading to the altar. It had led them to the altar, but he had failed yet to realize the dream, the infinite suggestion beyond. He felt they were still kneeling there. He and the church had done their part. It needed Indiana only to make the bond complete. He suffered in a great measure for her sake alone. Could she respect her own womanhood as his wife when she failed to love him, he asked himself. She, too, might be suffering, without his knowledge. The little figure maintained its disconsolate position. It was only a trivial matter, after all, but he did not want her to harbor the least resentment against him.

"Indiana," he said, tenderly, placing his hand on her head, "do you remember the day I asked you to be my wife? Do you forget already the condition upon which you accepted me?"

"What condition?" asked Indiana, innocently.

"That I should not give in."

"Oh!" exclaimed Indiana, falling back on the sofa. If he brought up that justification, there was no longer any ground to argue upon.

"I have never in my life broken my word once given. This is our first difference. I must keep my promise to you. No matter how much I suffer, I will not give in." He tucked her in the rug again, extinguished the lamp, and left the room.

*CHAPTER XVI.*

*An Escapade*

Indiana, lying in the dark, tossed restlessly. Scattered scenes and personages of her old life and the new, floated through her mind, jumbled in a rare confusion. She counted and multiplied to induce sleep. Finally she thought of the formula children repeat when they play hide-and-seek--

"'Ena, mino, mina, mo, Catch a nigger by the toe. If he hollers let him go. Ena, mino, mina, mo. You're it--I'm out!'"

"Out of everything," she added, with a sob. "Oh, I can't sleep!" She tossed the pillows about desperately, feeling nervous and irritable, angry with herself, angry with Thurston and her family. The room was suddenly lit from the lamp on the centre-table. Indiana's dazzled eyes saw a tall figure standing before her. "Glen!"

Jennings retreated with a chuckle of delight. Indiana threw her arms about her old playmate's neck, and was on the point of kissing him, but drew suddenly back at the recollection that he had been her lover as well as her comrade.

"I'll bet you forgot, for the moment, you were married--now didn't you?"

Indiana nodded. Tears were not very far from her eyes. He pressed her hands, looking into her face. He felt both pain and joy--pain that she was another's, and joy at beholding her in the flesh once more, no matter under what circumstances.

"So you were the surprise," said Indiana, a little shyly. He looked so manly, so strikingly tall and handsome, as he stood there in his evening clothes. His dark eyes gazed at her in an unmistakably tender fashion. "Just as though I were not married at all," thought Indiana, with a sudden uprising of wifely virtue.

"I was the surprise," answered Glen, releasing her hands slowly.

"I was just trying to sleep, and, thinking of the old days when we played tag together and--"

"Yes," said Glen, eagerly.

"Oh, never mind," answered Indiana, brushing the tears from her eyes.

"The old days," repeated Glen, staring into the fire.

"They seem so far away, and it's only a few months, Glen. So much has happened--I suppose that's the reason."

He looked at her intently. There was a wistful expression in her eyes. She was paler and thinner, more thoughtful. He gathered his own conclusions from her appearance, aided by certain hints which the family had let fall. He knit his brows in a fierce scowl.

"What's the matter, Glen?"

"My old thoughts are working on me again--that's what it is--your mentioning the old days. They were the best after all, Indiana. Why, people are always raving over sunsets. You should have heard them on the steamer coming over. But once I saw a sunset far off in an orchard in Indiana--there's never been anything to compare with it since--there never will be--to the end of time."

"Sit down, Glen. Tell me all about yourself. You've changed so much for the better, I'm quite bewildered."