Part 13

Bertie seemed to-night as though possessed of some demon of mischief and unrest. She confessed to a rather bad cold already, but it detracted nothing from her appearance though it affected her usually sweet voice, rendering it hoarse and strained. No entreaties could keep her from the icy balcony, though, and her partners soon stopped making them and devoted themselves to carrying on the flirtations which she seemed determined to push to the utmost limit. Never had any of her Canadian admirers seen her in such a mood; her usual gay, but rather reserved manner had given place to the one commonly attributed to the American girl in foreign fiction. Her partners were at first amazed, then flattered at her open and eager anxiety for their attentions; but some, including Donovan, her companion of the hockey match, who had come to like and admire the pretty Ohio girl, were rather repelled and disgusted at the change in her. Toward the end of the evening his disgust reached a climax. An extremely shy and painfully proper youth to whom Bertie had begged him to introduce her at the beginning of the evening, had just emerged from sitting out a dance with her and had asked Donovan to have a smoke with him in Mr. Hadwell's "den," which, for this night, was given over to the needs of the dancers. On Donovan's assenting, Mr. Simcoe, the shy youth, had unfolded a tale of horror. He had come up for his dance with Miss Hadwell when she, without a word of apology, had piloted him in the direction of the stairs, murmuring, as she did so, "We don't want to dance, do we? We can do better than that." On his expressing his willingness to do as she wished she had squeezed his arm and informed him in an ecstatic whisper that he was a duck, a perfect duck, and that she was going to show him a nice little cubby hole behind some curtains at the end of the hall which she was sure Mrs. Hadwell must have fixed expressly for them. "Of course," Mr. Simcoe had remarked, nervously, "of course I couldn't refuse to go, Donovan." Donovan, looking very grim, had agreed with him: of course he could not. So, it appeared, they had gone. Mr. Simcoe had seemed unwilling to divulge the secrets of his prison house but had gone so far as to hint that ladies who asked fellows to kiss them on so short an acquaintance were not in his line. Donovan had informed him here that gentlemen did not, as a rule, "kiss and tell": and had refused to listen further, regardless of Mr. Simcoe's anguished explanation. "But I didn't, Donovan! hang it all, it was she who insisted, you know, and she can't blame me for speaking of it." Donovan had walked off in a furious rage, awakened, not so much by Mr. Simcoe's lack of gallantry as by Miss Hadwell's lack of common sense and good breeding.

If Miss Bertie's conduct gave rise to comment, what shall be said of Mr. Bert's? It is safe to say that never before in a Montreal drawing-room had any gentleman disported himself with such amazing freedom. Before many dances had transpired ominous whispers might have been heard among the young ladies who had been honoured with his partnership; and it was a matter of common observation that, toward the end of the evening, several of his companions flatly refused to "sit out" dances which he had engaged, earlier. The most amazing snub which he received came from Miss Reed, who, on his reminding her that she had promised him the eighteenth dance, had answered in tones of ice, "So sorry, Mr. Hadwell, but I never dance--except with gentlemen!" This was merely the climax of a series of unpleasant remarks which had been showered upon him; but, coming from Miss Reed, who was known to have absorbed all his time and attention until that evening, it was expected to have had a chilling effect upon him. This, however, was far from being the case. "I may not be exactly a gentleman, Miss Reed," he had returned with the utmost sangfroid, "but"-- At this moment he had caught sight of his sister's eye, fixed on him with a look in which rage and consternation were strangely blended; and breaking off abruptly, he had left Erma's side, his manly shoulders shaking visibly. Bertie had held a hasty and agitated conversation with him; and the twinly devotion which had so impressed the assembled company when the dance commenced was apparently conspicuous by its absence.

In the midst of the dance Mrs. Hadwell was seen to leave the room, hastily, in response to a whispered message from a housemaid. When she returned her eyes were sparkling mischievously and her whole demeanour was charged with importance. Presently she beckoned confidentially to Mrs. Langham-Greene, who stood, resplendent in pale green draperies and water lilies, a most pleasing and graceful Undine. Undine approached and Titania linked her arm in hers. "My dear," she cooed, "you haven't an idea--oh, how shall I begin? You know my housekeeper, don't you? Wasn't she an old school friend of yours?"

"Not a friend, exactly," answered the elegant Undine, rather deprecatingly. "An acquaintance, rather. Such an ugly little thing and so lacking in any sort of brightness and attractiveness"--

"To us yes!" purred Titania. "But only think of a man like General Shaftan having cared so much for her that he was unable to die without seeing her and imploring her for the last time to become his wife"-- She paused and viewed the crimsoning Undine with a countenance absolutely devoid of guile.

"General Shaftan?" inquired her guest, turning from crimson to scarlet. "General Shaftan? Why, my dear Mrs. Hadwell"--

"I know," murmured Titania, sympathetically, casting a demure glance at the infuriated water nymph, "I know! we all thought it was you--and, no doubt, he made you think so as well! men are such dreadful deceivers--but he sent for Mrs. Waite on his death-bed and wanted to marry her."

Undine found her breath.

"My _dear_ Mrs. Hadwell," she laughed, lightly. "Does it sound a probable story?"

"No; and if the poor woman, herself, had told me about it, I regret to say that I should have doubted her. But the General told his nurse and trusted her with the secret contents of his will. It was drawn up three hours before he sent for Mrs. Waite and, in it, he says that he leaves all of which he dies possessed to Amy Marion Waite in the belief that that lady will, in the next few hours, become his wife, as he hopes and intends she shall."

Mrs. Langham-Greene said nothing, but turned white and twisted the fan which she held in her long, snake-like fingers feverishly. Titania, looking at her, felt a sudden twinge of compassion and compunction. She left her with some hurried excuse.

"So," she said, slowly to herself, "so even that unscrupulous, wheedling serpent is capable of caring for somebody: and caring for him all those years, too. Am I the only woman living who--who"----

Something wet and glistening fell on her chiffon dress. She hastily wiped it away and stared in amazement.

"Getting sentimental at my age?" she inquired in stupefaction. "Here, Estelle Hadwell, don't be a fool! You've got everything you ever wanted and you're ten times happier than anyone else you know. Think of your dresses and your jewelry and your friends and your--n-n-no, I don't know that you need think of him--not just now, at all events! But think of"--

She looked up, up the long, broad stairway, up to the big, quiet nursery. Then she smiled and tossed her head.

"I have everything, practically everything," she said, defiantly. "Everything but a sentimental experience which disappears, anyway, after six months of married life. I'm a fool, that's what I am! a discontented, ungrateful fool. The trouble with me is that I've got too much. If only--if only one of them doesn't"----

A spasm of agony crossed her face at the unwelcome thought; then she resolutely crossed the hall and opened an animated conversation with one of her numerous admirers. Lack of self-control was not one of the pretty Titania's failings.

Presently Lynn Thayer joined her, looking grave and perplexed. "May I have Mrs. Hadwell to myself for a few moments?" she asked, smiling in a rather forced way: then, putting her hand on Mrs. Hadwell's arm, she drew her aside.

"Del," she said in a low voice, "you know I am no prude and I don't make a fuss, unnecessarily, about anything; but I tell you plainly that you must speak to those young connections of yours."

"Why, what have the poor things been doing?" asked Mrs. Hadwell in amazement. "I noticed that they were awfully lively but, surely, at their age"--

"My dear Del, their conduct is outrageous. Particularly Bertie's. After all, if a boy of twenty chooses to act like a fool he simply gets severely snubbed and, in time, comes to his senses and is forgiven. But when a girl of the same age, a girl who has had every advantage, starts to act in her uncle's house like an extremely fast barmaid, why, you know as well as I do that it won't be forgotten in a hurry. What has got into them to-night I don't know; but the whole room is talking of their actions. Imagine Bertie asking that shy little recluse of a Simcoe to kiss her and pretending to weep when he hesitated"----

"_Lynn!_"

"My dear, that isn't the worst of it. She has taken about half her partners to that little alcove in the second floor hall, which is curtained off, and has treated them to a course of hoydenish flirtation which is, to say the least of it, in the poorest taste. Silly little Simcoe was bad enough, but, when it comes to Parham, one of the fastest men in the city"----

"Surely not!"

"She has been sitting up there with him for the last two dances; and she is evidently taken with him, for, when she showed me her programme and I remarked on her having promised him three dances in succession, she giggled in the most affected manner and said, 'Oh, I simply adore those sad-eyed, soft-voiced men with reputations yards long!' and danced off before I had a chance to suggest that"----

"Why, Lynn, what can I have been thinking about to allow it? Oh, the silly child! If she must act like a goose, why couldn't she do it a little more privately? Don't laugh, Lynn: you know what I mean. And you tell me that Bert?"----

"Has been acting like a perfect fool. He even wanted to kiss me."

"Lynn! the boy must have taken leave of his senses."

"I was afraid myself that he was drunk. In fact I took the liberty of asking him if he was. He was quite angry for a moment. 'What do you mean by saying that I am drunk?' he asked. 'Oh,' I said, 'I didn't say that you _were_ drunk: on the contrary I said I hoped you weren't.' 'But why should you think I was?' persisted my gentleman. So I told him that when people tried to make love to me I always thought they must be drunk. He shouted at that and explained that he was in good spirits--animal, not vegetable--and wanted to enjoy himself. I treated him to a piece of my mind, but it didn't seem to do much good."

"Isn't it extraordinary? With all their high spirits and love of fun I thought those twins were as well-bred a pair as you would want to meet. Well! I must do my duty, I suppose. Where are the miscreants, Lynn?"

"Bert is in the ballroom, trying to pacify his partners, most of whom are not pleased with him for reasons best known to themselves. Bertie, as I told you, is sitting behind a fairly thick curtain with a man who shouldn't be admitted into any respectable house."

"My dear child, don't start to lecture about that! I have enough on my hands."

She mounted the stairs with a determined but bored expression and presently descended, followed by the unrepentant Bertie who winked joyously at the stony and disapproving visage of her aunt's friend. Behind them strolled the redoubtable Parham, apparently highly amused.

Mrs. Hadwell entered the ballroom and looked about for Bert. He was presently discovered in the act of fanning an indignant-looking lady who pretended to ignore his efforts at small talk. Mrs. Hadwell beckoned and he sprang to his feet with alacrity.

"Bert!" said his aunt by marriage, sternly, "there are limits to my forbearance. I am sorry to say that you have transgressed those limits. I am still sorrier that you have no better taste than to take pleasure in showing impertinence to my guests."

Bert's face worked for a moment: he said something in an aside to his sister, then spoke.

"Aunt Del," he said, humbly but with an irrepressible twinkle in his black eyes, "we have acted like a couple of demons, I must admit, but, if you'll only forgive us this once, I swear we'll straighten things out. Every one is going to supper, now; well, Bertie and I are going in together and, just as soon as the people are seated, you will see what will happen."

"I will not," was Mrs. Hadwell's unexpected rejoinder. "I have had quite enough nonsense, Bert. It must end, here."

Bert consulted his sister with his eyes; then, catching his diminutive aunt by the waist, he whirled her down the room and whispered something in her ear. She gasped, then suddenly laughed and looked relieved; and Bertie approached and entered into an animated conversation with her.

Five minutes later, when the assembled company was seated at supper, the unruly and ostracized pair walked solemnly in and stood for a moment at the head of the room. Then Bert raised his crimson-decked arm with a mute request for silence. A hush of surprise fell on the revellers. He spoke.

"My dear friends," he said, gravely, "my sister and I have acted so badly to-night and have laid ourselves open to so much well-deserved censure that we think the least we can do is to apologize, and we do it--thus!"

He deliberately laid hold of his companion's snowy locks and, with a vigorous pull, exposed a close cropped head. Then he doffed his crimson headgear and a dark tress fell athwart his nose.

When the prolonged shrieks of amazement and laughter had died into silence Bert--the real Bert--spoke.

"My sister says that if all the girls whom she has kissed will forgive her she will never do it, again," he said. "And, as for me," he paused and cast a glance of pure delight in the direction of Messrs. Simcoe and Parham, "as for me, while I must confess that I am a horrible flirt"--

He could get no further.

An hour later Undine, looking paler than her wont, sat whispering behind a large fan to two or three other women. One of them, a pleasant-faced middle-aged woman, looked distinctly sad and uncomfortable.

"The poor girl!" she said.

"Such people should be exposed," returned Undine, coldly. "The idea of her being here at all. Mrs. Hadwell cannot associate with fast women and expect to keep her own character. Personally I never think there is any real harm in Mrs. Hadwell, though"-- She paused tentatively while a venomous gleam lit her large, pale eyes.

"Oh, no, no!" cried the others in horrified unison; and Mrs. Langham-Greene saw that it would be dangerous to venture further. She bade an affectionate farewell to her hostess and ordered a closed sleigh.

"My dress is so thin," she explained, smiling.

As the sleigh drove away she crouched among the fur rugs and bit her naked arms and writhed.

"I'll pay them for this," she whispered, catching her breath in torture. "He sent for her--for her! and that little cat dared to tell me to my face--oh, I can't reach her, not yet; but I can hurt her through her friend, anyway. She really cares for the Thayer girl; it'll make trouble with her pompous old husband when she insists on supporting her--oh, I'll do what I can! it may help me to forget." She groaned. "Oh, I can't bear it: I didn't mind his death as I mind this! it's like losing him all over again--I'll pay her for what she's made me suffer to-night! _I'll pay her!_"

*CHAPTER XXI*

*A LIE WHICH IS PART A TRUTH*

"A lie which is part a truth is ever the blackest of lies, A lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight." --_Tennyson_.

Mrs. Langham-Greene's pretty town house possessed a drawing-room as elegant as its mistress, and far less harmful. It was flanked by two bay windows, admirably adapted for gazing on the peccadilloes of one's neighbours, the while one ruminated contentedly on one's own virtues. Here its fair owner loved to sit on winter afternoons, dispensing excellent tea and gossip: and here one bright January day found her brewing the witching potion for a waiting guest. This was no other than Gerald Amherst, who happened to be painting the lady's portrait. When the daylight faded she had insisted on his accompanying her home and joining her in a cup of five o'clock tea. The fair widow was not an especial favourite of the artist's; but his stock of excuses had been exhausted on previous occasions and he had therefore submitted meekly.

Mrs. Langham-Greene was a woman who wore well, as the saying is. Her figure was straight and supple as a girl of twenty's and her delicate features had escaped the pinched look which frequently accompanies thinness in a woman of fifty. Her skin had always been colourless and now resembled fine ivory; her hair, which she wore parted in the middle in the Madonna style, was only very slightly flecked with grey. Julia Langham-Greene was a distinguished woman, an interesting woman, an elegant woman. When, at thirty-five, she had first donned widow's weeds, she had created such a furore that it was many years before she found herself able to relinquish them. However, when a woman reaches forty and finds herself capable of wearing pale blue and scarlet to advantage--she usually does.

Mrs. Langham-Greene was now forty-seven, yet she could attend a fancy dress ball attired in Nile green and pearls and look the part of Undine to perfection. Small wonder, then, that she wished to transfer such lasting charms to still more lasting canvas; and Amherst had attained distinction as a portrait painter years before. She smiled delicately on him now, as she sugared his tea and inquired in tones of melted honey whether he took cream or lemon; and pondered inwardly how best to land the shaft she held in store.

"You are too good," she purred, in response to a perfunctory compliment on his part. "Far too good. Among so many young and pretty girls I fear I must have been quite unnoticed. Miss Reed, for instance! What regular features she has; quite ideal! What a pity that she has so little conversation! and such poor taste in dress. And is it true that her father has fits and that her mother was a house-maid before he married her?"

"I never heard that," returned Amherst, opening his honest eyes in amazement. "Miss Reed is a striking looking girl, but, to my mind, Miss Ladilaw is far prettier."

"But so uninteresting, don't you think?"

"Not more so than the majority of very young girls."

"Still," pursued Mrs. Langham-Greene, thoughtfully, "she is a nice lady-like little thing. I daresay she will marry young; she is so naive and pretty. It is not likely that she will hang on year after year like that poor, plain cousin of hers."

"Surely you don't mean Miss Thayer?"

"I mention no names," said the widow, archly: then her face dropped, pathetically. "I should not like to say one thing about that poor, misguided girl that might sound unkind,--poor creature, she has enough to bear."

"I don't understand you," said Gerald, flushing angrily.

"Ah, you men are so gallant," commented the widow, smiling a little sorrowfully. "I am told that the things gentlemen say about Miss Thayer when they are alone could not be repeated in a lady's hearing."

"Whoever told you that, Mrs. Greene," replied Gerald, forgetting the hyphened adjunct in his fury, "is an uncommonly first class liar. The things that _gentlemen_ say about Miss Thayer could be repeated in the hearing of St. Peter."

"My dear Mr. Amherst, you have lifted a weight from my mind. Is it possible that there are men in this world so--so kindly that they refrain from unpleasant comment on a woman of that kind even when the refining influence of ladies' society"----

"A woman of that kind! Unpleasant comment! I don't know what in the--what in thunder you can mean, Mrs. Greene; and, if you will kindly inform me in as few words as possible"----

"I?"

Mrs. Langham-Greene drew her slender figure up haughtily and regarded her interrogator with stately yet grieved amazement.

"_I? I_ repeat scandal--I spread scandal about another woman? a woman, too, who, in spite of the fact, that she must be fully thirty, has not yet been able to secure a husband to protect her? Indeed, Mr. Amherst, you must not think that you can drag me into this. You quite forget yourself if you suppose that I am willing to discuss such questionable things. If you choose to delve into these unpleasant matters it shall not be in my drawing-room."

Mr. Amherst surveyed her in silence.

"Pardon me, Mrs. Greene," he said, courteously, "but was not the matter first referred to in your drawing-room, and by you?"

"If," said Mrs. Langham-Greene, rather sadly, "if I allowed an expression of sympathy for the unfortunate girl to escape me, I did not expect to be reproached for it, Mr. Amherst."

Amherst, despite his indignation, began to feel a little abashed. After all, the woman _had_ done nothing but mention Lynn pityingly; but why she or any one else should----

He pulled himself together and spoke, quietly.

"I gained the impression from what you said, Mrs. Greene, that there were unpleasant rumours afloat concerning Miss Thayer. Won't you tell me what they are?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Amherst," murmured the lady, distressfully. "I couldn't, really."

"Can't you give me an idea of them?"

"But, Mr. Amherst, you must know something. Why, the very servants talk of it. My butler and housemaid"----

"Yes? Not having the pleasure of either your housemaid's or your butler's acquaintance, I am still grievously in the dark. Has anyone else mentioned the matter to you?"

"Why, everyone. I supposed, of course, that you knew, that you had heard of it long ago or, believe me, I should never have mentioned it. Of course if it were another man--if it were even a gentleman--it would not be quite so awful. But a villainous, sickly little foreigner like Ricossia"----

"What?"

"There. You have actually dragged the name out of me," cried Mrs. Langham-Green, indignantly. "I declare! Men are perfectly horrid. They _will_ not let you be charitable and kind and keep things to yourself. That poor girl! I suppose you will be just as hard on her as all the others. I was so indignant, the other day, with Mr. Parham. He said--but really I had better not repeat it"----

"Stop!"

Amherst rose to his feet, breathing heavily.

"Parham, was it? I'll remember that," he said in quiet, metallic tones. "In the meantime, Mrs. Greene, you must tell me what you mean. What is this story?"

"Oh, my dear Mr. Amherst, I _cannot_ spread scandal," cried his hostess, anxiously. "Do sit down and have another cup of tea. Tea is so soothing when one--I felt just as you do when I first heard it. It does seem so strange that such a plain girl couldn't conduct herself like a lady. Of course if she were at all good-looking so that people noticed her and sought her out it might--oh, you're not going, already?"

"Yes, I'm going to hunt up Mr. Parham," said Gerald, searching blindly for his hat.

"No, oh, no. Oh, but I insist. Well, rather than have you run off like that I'll tell you the whole truth--all that I know, that is. It seems that--you know that Miss Thayer and Ricossia were always together when he came here first, two years ago. It was quite a joke; such a difference in their ages, you know; and he so handsome and she, poor girl, so plain! and it does seem as though it must be her fault, for certainly he never appeared to encourage her"----

"Go on, for God's sake!"