CHAPTER I

JANE WEARS PEARLS

A tap upon her door sent Mrs. Murray Townsend flying across the room to answer it. She expected to find her husband there, awaiting her permission to come in and see her in the cloud-like white gown which she had worn but once before--two months ago. He had vowed since that he had never seen that wedding-gown, being occupied wholly upon the occasion on which it was worn in keeping his head, in order to play his own part with dignity and self-command.

But to Jane's disappointment, she opened the door only to a maid with a florist's box. The box, upon being examined, yielded up among a mass of roses Murray's card, which bore this message:

Sorry to be delayed, dear, but father wanted to go over everything that has happened at the office during my absence. Will be up in time for the pow-wow. Wear one of these for

MURRAY.

Jane smiled regretfully. It had seemed a long day. Only that morning she and Murray had returned, belated, from their wedding journey across the continent, to find cards out for a reception in their honour to take place that very evening.

"You knew the date," Mrs. Harrison Townsend had said to her elder son, when, upon being told that his delay had caused much anxiety to the givers of the affair, he turned to his bride with a soft whistle of recollection and chagrin.

"I certainly did," he had owned. "I forgot, I 'm afraid, that there were such things as after-wedding festivities due to society, and that this was the date for the first of the series. I don't think Jane even knew."

"I didn't," said Jane, looking regretfully at her mother-in-law's handsome face, which betrayed a slight annoyance. It certainly had been trying to receive daily telegrams from the travellers throughout the past week, announcing delays at this place and that on the homeward way.

"Of course it's of no consequence now that you are safely here. I 'm only sorry Jane will have no chance to rest and visit. The florist's men will arrive within an hour, and the house will be generally upset."

"I 'll run away over to Gay Street, then," said Jane. "Murray 's going down to the office, and mother and Nan will be looking for me."

"My dear, I 'm sorry, but Olive has asked a few friends informally for luncheon, people from out of town who are coming for to-night. It would hardly do for you not to meet them--since two are cousins."

So Jane had had to be content with one brief hour in the little home round the corner in Gay Street, and then she had come back to the big house in Worthington Square, there to begin to act the part expected of her. Murray had been more than sorry to leave her on this first day, but his father's affairs were pressing, the office work had suffered in his absence, and he felt it a necessity to get back into the harness without an hour's delay. He had expected to be early at home, but his message showed Jane that even for her he did not mean to cut short the work of taking up again the routine of business at the point where he had left it two months ago.

Selecting half a dozen of the finest of her roses, Jane, with a long, light coat slipped on over her finery, opened the door and peeped cautiously out into the large, square gallery of the upper hall. Nobody was in sight. The doors of Mrs. Townsend's and Olive's rooms were closed, the ladies dressing for the affair of the evening. The door of a guest-room, occupied by the two cousins from out of town, was slightly ajar, and a maid was to be seen inside, offering a cup of tea on a tray. One of the cousins had a headache, and was fortifying herself for a fatiguing evening.

Jane slipped quietly by this door and round the gallery to the point where a staircase led to the lower landing, a place just now embowered in palms, which were to serve as a screen for the string orchestra. She paused an instant on this landing, to look down upon the brilliant picture presented by the entrance-hall and its opening rooms below. The look of it reminded her of an evening long ago, the first upon which she had set foot as a guest in the great unknown house in Worthington Square, when Murray had taken charge of her and brought her up here on the landing, to look down upon the scene in which neither of them had much cared to take part.

"Can this really be my home?" thought Jane, feeling as if it could not all be true, even yet. She ran quickly on downstairs and round the foot of the staircase to a door beneath, which furnished an inconspicuous exit from the big hall, and which opened upon a short passage and a side entrance not much used by the family. This had long been a favourite entrance for Murray himself, for it shortened the way to Gay Street.

A very short cut Jane made of it, for a flood of light from the long row of windows in the dining-room fell across the path, and turned it into one less obscure than she wished it to be just now. Holding her delicate skirts well away from the dust of the road, she hurried across, through the warm air of the May evening.

There was nobody to be seen downstairs in the old house, although lamps were lighted and the small rooms wore their usual air of home-likeness and order. Jane ran up the steep little staircase which led to the sleeping-rooms above. She understood that, as at the big house, the family were engaged in arraying themselves for the Townsend reception. She paused at the top of the stairs to listen and observe, for the various doors were all more or less ajar, and the usual atmosphere of friendly family comradeship gave her a little pang of homesickness.

The first thing distinguishable was the fact that Peter seemed to be having a bad time with his neck-gear, and that his cousin, Ross McAndrew, was enjoying his perturbation of mind.

"Either my neck is bigger than it was, or this neckband has shrunk." Peter's growl rolled out into the tiny hall, and brought a dimple into Jane's cheek as she listened.

"Probably both catastrophes have happened." This was Ross's voice in reply. "Anybody who has seen you stow away buckwheat cakes and maple-syrup all winter could n't be surprised if your neck should take a seventeen collar this spring."

"Seventeen nothing! Sixteen's my size, and when I wear a bigger it 'll be because---- O jiminy, I 've burst that buttonhole! What on earth am I to do now? I don't own but one dress shirt that 'll fit the barn-door opening in my white waistcoat."

"Your mother 'll sew that up on your back. I 'll do it myself if you won't howl at a prick or two."

"Much obliged, but I know the general style of your repairs in a case like this. Nan 'll do it, if she's dressed," and Peter's door swung open. Intent on reaching his younger sister, whose door was next beyond his own, he did not observe the figure at the head of the stairs in the shadow. He proceeded to perform a double tattoo upon Nancy's door.

"What's the matter, Petey?" sounded an amiable voice from within.

"Neckband of my shirt's a wreck. Want you to come and splice the main brace."

"All right--if you 'll button me up the back. I can't reach below the fourth button, and mother's busy dressing, too. It's so inconvenient having Janey married."

"Give and take's fair play," agreed Peter, as a charming young figure in pink-flowered muslin backed out of the door, both bare arms strenuously demonstrating that they could not reach below the fourth button. "Stand still now--no fidgeting. What on earth a girl wants her rigging fastened behind for is beyond me! If it must be, why not use buttons big enough to get hold of?"

"Look out, don't treat my buttonholes as you did your own, or I 'll have to be sewed up, too."

"All right--you're done. Turn round and let's see how you look in front. Good work! You 're a stunner, and tremendously grown up, too, with your hair that way. Put it up the day you were eighteen, did n't you?"

"Of course," admitted Nancy, with her comely head held high. Then, as Jane's white skirts in the shadow caught her eye, "Why, there 's Janey! You dear! Oh, how good it looks to see you standing there!"

At the cry three doors flew wide open, and Mr. Bell, Ross, and Rufus appeared simultaneously upon their respective thresholds, while a voice from within called, "Is Jane there? Come here, dear!"

"O mother, let me do your hair, will you?" offered Jane, eagerly, when she had succeeded in making her way past the embraces of her delighted family.

"Not in that dress, child! Mercy, remember it's your wedding-gown, and don't whisk round so! Sit down there and let me look at you while I put my hair up; it won't take but a minute, and then you shall help me into my dress."

"If you won't let me do your hair, I 'll go sew up Pete's buttonhole. I must do something for somebody. It seems so funny to have got dressed over in the big house. I just had to come over here and see the rest of you getting ready and consulting each other on details as usual. Where's your work-basket, mother dear? Nan," running to the door--"don't you _dare_ to mend Peter's shirt! I want to do it myself."

"All right, Mrs. Townsend, nothing will suit me better," declared Peter, with satisfaction, kneeling in front of his sister with his back to her, while she sat on the edge of his splint-bottomed armchair and threaded her needle. "What does Murray think, by the way, of having his bride rush over here to assist her family, and leave him to shift for himself? Why are n't you putting in his studs and things, like a dutiful wife?"

"He could n't get home from the office till the last minute. Mr.--Father Townsend wanted to consult him on so much that's happened while we 've been gone. Of course I 'm going back before he comes," responded Jane. "Dear me--wreck is certainly the word for this buttonhole. Did you try to put your thumb through it?"

"Tried to climb through it myself bodily at the last. Anything better calculated to put a fellow into a lovely frame of mind for an affair where's he's expected to make himself agreeable I don't know. Wrestling to get an iron collar on a steel neckband is--well--it's a trifle upsetting to the nerves. Be sure you get that buttonhole the right size. Better try the collar-button in it before you make fast."

"When you 're done with him you can tie my tie for me, if you 're looking for work," announced Rufus, appearing in the doorway. "I can't seem to get the right curve on the thing."

"Janey, would you wear this bracelet Shirley gave me last Christmas, or would n't you?" Nancy looked in over Rufus's shoulder. At eighteen she was tall for her years; at twenty-one Rufus, although sturdily built, had no advantage of her in inches. It was Peter, with his six feet of brawn, who was the family pride in the matter of size.

Jane snipped off her thread and turned to look at her younger sister. "Do as you like, Nan, of course," said she, "but--if you want to look quite perfect in my eyes you 'll leave it off."

"Good for you!" Peter observed Nancy's simple frock and fair neck with approval. "Lots of time for the gewgaws when they 're needed to cover up the hollows."

"Now I 'll go help mother," said Jane, having adjusted Rufus's cravat to his satisfaction, mended a tiny rip in Ross's glove, and given her father a hug, since his dressing was completed, and there seemed to be nothing else she could do for him. He had held her fast, regardless of her bridal attire, for he had missed her sorely during her two months' absence, and the thought that, however often she might seek it, his roof was no longer hers, was one not easily assimilated.

"I should really not have felt properly dressed," averred Mrs. Bell, as Jane hovered about her, performing all sorts of small offices, "if you had not been here to assure me that I was quite right in all points."

As Jane smiled, first at her mother, then at her father, wondering how she had ever been able, even for Murray's sake, to leave two people so dear, a low call, apparently proceeding from downstairs, reached her ear, and she turned quickly to listen.

"Jane?" came the voice again, interrogatively. "Gentle Jane, you 're not lost to me for good and all?"

Jane ran to the head of the small stairway and looked down. In the light from a bracket lamp at the foot, her husband's face smiled up at her. A bright, strong face it was, ruddy with health, and alert with interest in that which he beheld at the top of the stairs. Murray was in evening dress, and as Jane observed the fact she cried softly and regretfully:

"Why, it must be later than I thought! I did n't mean to be away when you came--I 'm so sorry! It doesn't seem as if I 'd been here five minutes."

"No excuses necessary, dear," he answered. "When I sent you word, I did n't expect to be able to get away till the last minute, but a telegram from a man who had an appointment with father let us out, and I followed my message home. I came after you because mother is getting a bit uneasy. She wants to be sure the bride is at her elbow, ready for the fray, though not a soul will show up, of course, till long after the hour on the cards."

"I 'll come this minute," and Jane caught up her long coat, threw a kiss at her family, and hurried down. "You 'll all come right away, won't you?" she called back, and let Murray walk off with her.

At the curb she paused. "I meant to have borrowed Nan's rubbers," she said, looking down at her white-shod feet. "I forgot when I came over."

"That's easy," and Murray had her across the street before she could protest that she was too heavy for him.

"You could n't have done that when I first knew you, could you?" laughed Jane, with pride in his strength of arm.

"Not much. What a slim and sickly whiffet I was! I wonder you ever looked twice at me, with Pete at hand as a contrast."

"I liked muscle, but I like brains too," explained Jane, as if this were the first time the matter had been made clear.

"Thank you. I 'm afraid I had none too many of those, either. The house looks festive, does n't it? Have you seen the dining-room? Mother seemed to be particularly pleased with the decorations there."

"I 'm afraid I ran away in too much of a hurry to notice."

Murray gave his young wife an amused look as they stood together on the steps of the small side entrance by which Jane had come out an hour before.

"Do you know where you are to stand in the receiving line?" he inquired.

Jane shook her head.

"Do you know whether you are to shake hands with the guests or merely bow?"

"No. You 'll tell me, won't you?"

"Do you know whether I 'm to present people you don't know to you, or whether you 're to depend on mother for that?"

"I suppose I'll find that out when the time comes."

"Do you know whether you ought to look beamingly happy or coolly composed?"

"Which do you prefer?"

Murray laughed. "A judicious mixture of both, I should say. Well, my small bride, ignorant as you profess to be of your part, I 'm not worried about you. Just the same, I expect we 'd better hunt up mother and be coached as to the precise line of conduct she expects of us. I 've never played the leading man's part in a bridal 'At Home' myself, and mother's something of a stickler for doing things according to the latest revision of the code. Well, well," he added in surprise, glancing at his watch as they entered the hall, "it's later than I thought. Do you need to go upstairs?"

"Just a minute--to smooth my unruly hair," and Jane ran away, leaving him gazing after her.

"Murray!" His mother came toward him from the library, a striking, even imposing, figure in black and white lace and amethysts. "Between you and Jane, I was getting anxious. I have n't seen the child since I went to her room, at least two hours ago."

"She is all ready--dressed early so she might run home, since I sent her word I should be late."

"But where is she now?"

"Ran upstairs to see if her hair was right. Is n't that the invariable custom at the last minute?"

"She is wearing her wedding-gown, of course?"

"She surely is."

"No ornaments?"

"I sent her some roses. She 'll carry them, or wear one, or something, I suppose."

"But no jewels?"

"I think she 's wearing the pearl pin I gave her."

"Murray! You are quite as bad as Jane! To be sure, her girlish way of dressing has been very pretty and appropriate in view of her father's lack of means. But her position now, as your wife, is different. Olive insists that Jane does not care for ornaments of any sort, but I am sure she would not object, Murray, to wearing that beautiful pearl necklace of Grandmother Townsend's--if you explain to her that it's an heirloom and that it will give me great pleasure to have her wear it? Pearls are not becoming to Olive," added Mrs. Townsend, and her son smiled.

"If you want Jane to wear that, mother, you will have to ask her yourself. She 's coming now, I think. Yes"--as Jane looked over the gallery rail and nodded down at him--"here she is. Do you really think she needs 'ornaments'? They strike me as superfluous."

Mother and son were watching Jane as she came down the staircase, her white figure outlined against the dark green of the palms and foliage. Her bronze-tinted hair shone like a crown under the radiance of the lights, and her softly blooming face made one forget the simplicity of her attire. At least, it made Murray forget it. But Mrs. Harrison Townsend saw in the white neck and arms a background for her pearls. She picked up a case from the table where she had laid it.

"My dear," she said, "you are very sweet, and I shall be very proud to present you as my daughter. And you won't mind wearing, to please me, these pearls of Murray's great-grandmother's, will you? They are just what you need to set off your colouring."

Jane's face grew warm as her eyes fell upon the pearls, lying in a worn old case lined with faded green velvet. She looked from them to Murray--an appealing little glance and a questioning one. He nodded ever so slightly in return, smiling at her.

"You are very kind," said Jane, simply, to her mother-in-law. "I will wear them--if you wish."

She let Mrs. Townsend clasp the necklace, received that lady's kiss and approving comment on the difference it made in her appearance, and allowed herself to be led to a mirror to see the effect. As she stood before it, her lashes falling after one glance of a pair of unwilling eyes, somebody called Murray's mother away. Jane looked at her husband again.

"Yes, I know you hate it, little modesty," said he. "And I own I like to see you without any jewels. Yet there can be no doubt you become those pearls. You set them off, not they you. And seeing they 're not diamonds----"

Jane's eyes flashed. "Not even for you----"

His eyes responded with an answering brilliance, as he shook his head, laughing. "Not even for me! Are you sure? But you need n't fear. Diamonds, little Jane Townsend, were not made for you. Let those sparkle who want to. I prefer a steady glow!"

An hour later Ross McAndrew and Peter Bell, making their entrance to the long drawing-room together, and waiting their turn to advance toward the receiving party, exchanged a series of low-voiced comments, under cover of the general hum of talk.

"My word, Pete! Can that be our small girl, standing up there like a young queen? Watch her! I say, watch her!"

"I am watching her," said Peter, with great satisfaction. "If you see my eyes drop out, pick 'em up, will you?"

"Not that we might n't have expected it of her. I knew well enough she 'd be sweet and charming--but that little gracious manner--that self-possession--jolly, she's great!"

"Look at Murray! Is he proud of her, or is n't he?"

"Proud as Lucifer. And has a right to be. His mother looks pretty complacent herself. And Olive--she's stunning, as usual. But our Jane--"

The time to go forward had arrived. With head up and shoulders squared Peter led the way. As he passed his host and hostess he was a model of well-trained propriety, but when he reached Jane and Murray his formal manner relaxed, and he grasped each hand with a hearty grip.

"You're a delightful pair," he murmured, "and the sight of you takes me off my feet."

"You look perfectly composed, even bored," retorted Murray, laughing, glad to greet a brother who could be relied upon not to say the usual thing.

But Jane whispered as she smiled up at him, "I 'm dreadfully frightened, Petey, and I can't do it well at all."

"Keep on being frightened, then," advised her brother. "The result's perfectly satisfactory, is n't it, Murray?"

"You're not really frightened?" whispered her husband, taking advantage of a slight lull in his duties to detain Peter. "She does n't look it, does she?"

"Not a bit."

"You 've only to look at mother," was Murray's comforting assurance, "to know that she's entirely satisfied. If she were not--well--she'd look different, that 's all!"