Chapter 3

"I live in Essex. We're on the Rappahannock. There isn't a railroad in the county. We have to take the boat for Fredericksburg or Norfolk to get anywhere, unless we cross the river into Westmoreland County and drive over to the Potomac side and make the boat to Washington. Have you ever been to Washington?"

"Of course. I've been pretty well over the world."

"And left out its best part!" Claudia laughed and got up to turn the logs which were smoking. "You mustn't die before seeing it. There isn't so much to see, perhaps, but a good deal to feel. Do you like fox-hunting?"

"Never tried it." Again Miss French looked at the girl now standing in front of her. She was certainly not a plate of fashion--that is, not a French plate--but she was graceful, and her clothes were really very good. Her unconsciousness of self was rather astounding in a country girl.

"I think you'd like a fox-hunt. I will miss the big one this year--Thanksgiving comes so late, and Christmas there's no time."

"Christmas in the country must be very stupid."

"Stupid!" Claudia's hands, which had been clasped behind her back, opened and came together on her breast. "Of course"--her eyes were raised to Miss French's--"it's a point of view, I suppose. We don't think it's stupid. We love it."

Miss French got up, put her cigarette-case in her velvet hand-bag, slipped on her coat, fastened her veil, picked up her muff, shook it, and looked toward the door, between whose curtains Mrs. Warrick was standing.

"I thought you'd gone for good, Hope. You must have been telling all you knew, and more. Miss Keith was just saying she loved Christmas in the country. I can't imagine anything worse, unless it's Christmas in town. I hate Christmas! If I could go to sleep a week before, and not wake up until a week after, I'd surely do it. Why, Winthrop Laine!"

On her way to the door Miss Robin French stood still and looked at the man coming in; and over her ruddy face swept color, almost purple in its deepness. She was a handsome woman, stubbornly resisting the work of time. In her eyes was restless seeking, in her movements an energy that could not be exercised in the limits of her little world; and Claudia, watching her, felt sudden whimsical sympathy. She was so big, so lordly, so hungrily unhappy.

She held out her hand. "How do you do?" she said. "I am just going home, as your sister hasn't asked me to dinner. I suppose you will stay--"

"If there's to be any dinner. Hope has a way of cutting it out every now and then." He turned to his sister. "Are you going out to-night?"

"I certainly am not, and I'm so glad you've come! I've lots to tell you and ask you. Won't you stay, Robin?" The question was put feebly. "Do stay. Oh, I beg your pardon, Claudia, you were so far off! You haven't met my brother. Winthrop, this is Channing's cousin, Miss Keith. Please give him some tea, Claudia. I know he's frozen. Can't you stay, Robin--really?"

"Really nothing! Good-bye." Miss French waved her muff to the man who, over the teacups, was shaking hands with the girl on the opposite side of the table, and shook her head as he started toward her. "Don't come, Jenkins is out there with the car. I'd stay to dinner, but Hope doesn't enjoy hers if there's a high-neck dress at the table. Good-bye, Miss Keith; see you to-morrow night, I suppose." And, like a good strong draught that passes, she was gone.

"I'm glad she had sense enough not to stay." Mrs. Warrick came toward the tea-table. "I'm fond of Robin, but of late she's been even more energetic and emphatic than usual, and I feel like I'm being battledored and shuttlecocked whenever I see her. Why don't you drink your tea, Winthrop?"

"I don't believe I put any sugar in it. I beg your pardon!" Claudia took up the sugarbowl. "It was Miss French, I guess. She's such a--such a gusty person. I love to hear her talk. How many, Mr. Laine?"

"Three, please, and no comments, Hope. If a man must drink tea he ought to have all the sugar he wants. That last lump was so very little I think you might put in another, Miss Keith. Thank you. Perhaps this is sweet enough." "Winthrop just takes tea to have the sugar, He's as bad as Dorothea about sweet things." Mrs. Warrick turned to her brother. "Are you really going to stay to dinner? Please do. This is the only evening we're to be home for a week, and Charming is anxious to see you on some business."

"Is he?" Laine put down his cup. "Well, he won't see me on business to-night. I've an office down-town. In your part of the world, Miss Keith, don't you ever let men have a chance to forget there's such a thing as business?"

Claudia got up. "I'm afraid they have too much chance." She put her hand lightly on Mrs. Warrick's arm. "Will you excuse me, Hope? I have a letter to write." She bowed slightly in Laine's direction and was gone before he could reach the door to draw aside the curtains for her.

Mrs. Warrick leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Do sit down, Winthrop, and let's talk. I'm so glad to have a little time alone with you. I so seldom have it that--"

"Your guest was certainly not slow in giving it to you. She could hardly do anything but leave after your insistence upon having things to tell me. What in the name of Heaven did you do that for? Does she think we don't know how to behave up here?"

"Oh, she understands! She knows you didn't come to see her, and, besides, she's gone up-stairs to write to her mother. If King George had been here she'd have gone. You know, I really dreaded her coming, but I needn't. She has been to a good many places--was abroad for a year with one of her sisters whose husband was secretary or something to one of our ministers or somebody--but she doesn't know New York at all. She's met a number of her friend's friends already, and I won't have to scoop up men for her. Last night at the Van Doren's she had more around her than she could talk to. Always has had, Channing says. She'll be no bother; and don't stay away because she's here. Tell me"--she put her hand on his knee--"is it true you are going to Panama next month? Robin French told me she heard you would leave on the twelfth."

"If Miss French could sell fairy tales as rapidly as she can repeat them she'd make a fortune. I have no idea what I am going to do next month."

"I wish I didn't know I was going to Savannah for Christmas. It's Channing's year, and of course we ought to go to his mother, as she is too old to come to us, but there's so much going on, and then you'll be alone."

"Oh, I'll manage all right. The one good thing about Christmas is it doesn't last long." He leaned forward and with the tongs turned a smoldering log. "But it's incomprehensible how a woman with a home can keep up this everlasting going to other people's houses. To-morrow night you go--"

"To the Taillors. Mrs. Taillor's debutante daughter makes her first bow to--"

"Capitalized society, does she? Poor child! The pains of pleasure are many."

"They surely are! She looks like a scared rabbit, and I heard her say only a week ago she'd rather die than be a debutante. But she'll get on. Her mother will corral the men and compel them to come in and pay her attention. Are you going?"

"Hardly." Laine looked at his watch. "What time do you have dinner?"

"Seven. It's time for me to dress." Mrs. Warrick got up. "Do pray be decent and go to-morrow night, Winthrop. Mr. Taillor has been such a good friend, and Mrs. Taillor will be so pleased. Don't forget to send the child flowers. I wonder if Claudia is ready. Dorothea grabs her every chance she gets, and I don't doubt she's with the children this minute. She'll stay until dinner is served, so don't worry; and for goodness' sake don't let her being here keep you away."

VIII

THE RECEPTION

Going down the crowded steps into the crowded drawing-room, Winthrop Laine slowly made his way through the door to the place where Mr. and Mrs. Taillor and their daughter were receiving their guests and passing them on with a rapidity that would have been creditable to the custodian of a game of human roulette, and as he reached them his name was called with uncomfortable clearness.

"Well, this is a surprise!" Both of Mrs. Taillor's hands held Laine's. "But commend me to a person who knows when to change his mind. Jessica, you should feel honored. Awfully good of you to come! How do you do, Mrs. Haislip?" And Laine, too, was passed on, and a moment later found himself in a corner where he could watch the door and all who came in.

What was he here for? He didn't know. The air was heavy with perfume. In the distance music reached him faintly, and the throb and stir and color and glow for some minutes interested him as he glanced around the handsome room with its massed palms, its wealth of flowers, its brilliant lights, and streams of gorgeously gowned women and prosperous-looking men, and then he wondered what had made him start anything of this sort again. To come had been a sudden decision. Long ago the dreariness of functions such as these had caused their giving-up, but a fancy to look once more upon one had possessed him unaccountably, and he had come.

Up-stairs in the men's room his reappearance had been banteringly commented on, and with good-natured hand-shaking he had been welcomed back; but down here many faces were strange and figures unrecognizable; and with something of shock he realized how few were the years necessary to change the personnel of any division of humanity. The heat was intense, and moving farther back toward a screen of palms near a half-open window, he pulled one slightly forward that he might see and not be seen, and again watched each newcomer with mild speculation as to whether he or she were known or not.

For a while it was puzzling, this continuing arrival of new faces, with here and there one he knew well or slightly; but gradually its effect chilled, and he was wondering if he could get away when he heard his name called.

"Winthrop Laine! Of all people!" Miss French held out her hand. "From what loophole were you watching this passing show for man's derision given? May I come in?"

"You may."

Miss French moved behind the palms and pushed a tall leaf aside. "You and I are too old for these things, Winthrop. I don't know why I come--to get away from myself, I suppose. Look at that Miss Cantrell! She parades her bones as if they were a private collection of which she was proud! And did you ever see anything as hideous as that gown Miss Gavins has on? Paris green couldn't be more deadly. I heard Mathilda Hickman tell her just now to be sure and wear it to her dinner next week, it was so becoming; and only yesterday she was shrieking over it at a luncheon where everybody was talking about it, Mr. Trehan is to be at the dinner, and Mathilda wants every woman to look her worst. Hello! There comes Channing and Hope and the cousin from the country. Rather a nice sort of person, awfully young and inexperienced, but--" She put up her lorgnette. "They are talking to Miss Cantrell. Miss Keith is not becoming to Miss Cantrell, or Miss Gavins, either. Her shoulders are excellent and her head perfectly poised. That white dress suits her. Have you been in the dining-room?"

Laine came from behind the palms. "No; I was to wait for Hope. Awfully glad to have seen you, Robin. A stranger in a strange land has a chance, but a man who has lost his place hasn't. People have a way of closing up if you lose step, and I"--he laughed--"I lost step long ago. I'll see you again." And, watching, Miss French saw him take possession of Miss Keith and go with her out of the room.

Half an hour later Laine found a chair for Claudia at the end of the hall opposite the dining-room, and as she sat down he wiped his forehead. "I used to play football, but--"

"You're out of practice? I don't believe you did take more than three men by the shoulders and put them aside. I don't understand football very well, but a dining-room seems to be the center-rush. Please look at that crowd over there!" She nodded toward the open door, through which a mass of men could be seen struggling. "Isn't it queer--the eagerness with which a plate of salad is pursued?"

"And the earnestness with which it is devoured." Laine put his handkerchief in his pocket. Will you wait here a moment until I can get you something? I'll be back--"

"Indeed I won't." Claudia stood up. "It's fun to watch, but only fruit from the tree of life would be worth a scrimmage of that kind. If I could get on top of a picture-frame or a curtain-pole, or anything from which I could look down on a show like this, I'd have a beautiful time, but"--she opened her fan--"it's rather stuffy to be in it."

Laine glanced around. He knew the house well. Next to the library, but not opening into it, was a small room of Taillor's which could only be reached by a narrow passage at their right. He walked away and looked in at the door. The room was empty.

"I think it will be more comfortable over there," he said, coming back, then saw she was talking to a man he had long known and long disliked. He stopped a servant who was passing, a man who had once been in the employ of one of his clubs. "Bring some stuff over here and be quick, will you, David?" he said, then spoke to the man talking to Miss Keith.

His greeting to Dudley was not cordial. It was with difficulty indeed that he did not take Claudia away at once. Dudley was not the sort of man for her to have anything to do with. In a time incredibly short, but to Laine irritatingly long, David was back, abundantly supplied; and with a nod he was directed to the room at the end of the narrow hall, and Laine turned to the girl at his side. "Are you ready?"

"Good night." Miss Keith held out her hand. "Bettina sent you many messages."

"I'm coming to get them--may I?" Mr. Dudley's eyes were frankly eager. "But where are you going? Laine always was a monopolist. What are you doing at a thing of this kind, anyhow, Laine? Don't pay any attention to him, Miss Keith. He's mere facts and figures, and the froth of life is not in him. I'm much better company."

The last words were lost in the push of new arrivals, and quickly Laine led the way to the room where David was waiting. Through the open door the sound of music reached them faintly over the shrill rise and fall of many voices; and as Claudia sat down near the table on which various plates had been placed she put her hands to the sides of her face and, laughing, drew them away.

"Did you ever put a cockle-shell to your ear and notice its roar?" she asked. "That's how a Tea sounds when there're only women at it. When there're men it's more so. What is this?" She held her fork suspended for a moment. "It's awfully good, but very elusive. What do you suppose it is?"

"A bunch of guesses wouldn't hit it. Clicot is providing the provender, I believe; I see his men here, and the ambition of Clicot's life is to create a new dish. I'm glad you like it. It's as near nothing as anything I ever ate. Are you comfortable? Is that chair all right?"

Claudia nodded. "Why don't you sit down? I'm sorry we can't see the people, but it's nice to be out of the crowd." She looked around the room. "This is a very handsome house. I never saw more gorgeous flowers, and tomorrow," she gave a queer little sigh, "tomorrow it will all be over--and the flowers faded."

"Faded things are the penalties of wealth. It's the one compensation for follies of this sort that they are soon over."

"I don't think they are always follies. When I was young--"

He looked down at her, in his eyes a quiet gleam. "When you were what?"

"Young. Really young, I mean. I had my party when I was eighteen. I remember it just as well." She gave a happy little laugh. "But of course we change with time. My sister says I am developing a dreadful disease. It's a tendency. Did you ever have it?"

"A what?"

"A tendency--to think and wonder and ask questions, you know. She says people who have it are very trying. But how can you help a thing you're born with?" She leaned forward, pushed the plates aside, and folded her arms on the table. "I always wondered about things, but I didn't entirely wake up until I was over twenty. I don't blame people for having things like this"--she waved her hands inclusively--"that is, if they like this kind of thing." She looked up at him. "We're just like children. All of us love to splurge every now and then. Don't we?"

"It looks that way. Splurge has a variety of forms." Laine leaned forward, hands clasped loosely between his knees. "But the tendency--is it catching?"

She laughed. "In the country it is. I live in the country, but it didn't develop in me until I had several winters in the city. I used to love things like this. I didn't know much about a good many other things, and it was when I found out that I began to look at people and wonder if they knew, and cared, and what they were doing with it--their life I mean, their chance, their time, their money. One winter it got so bad Lettice sent me home. Lettice lives in Washington; she's my second sister. My oldest sister is a widow, and is still in London, where her husband died two years ago. I kept looking for glad faces and real, sure-enough happiness; and so many people looked bored and bothered and tired that I couldn't understand--and Lettice made me go home. Her husband is in Congress, and she said I wanted to know too much."

"Have you yet found what you were looking for?" Laine leaned back in his chair and shaded his eyes with his hand.

"Yes." She laughed lightly and got up. "You can find anything, I guess, if you look for it right. And in such unexpected places you find things!" She stopped and listened. "I believe people are going home. Please take me to Hope. I can't imagine what made us stay in here so long!"

IX

DOROTHEA ASKS QUESTIONS

At the library window Dorothea drew the curtains aside and looked up and down the street. Presently she blew softly upon the pane and with her finger made on it four large letters, then rubbed them out and went back to the mantel, before whose mirror, on tiptoe, she surveyed the bow on her hair and straightened it with care.

"I don't see why they don't come," she said, aggrievedly, smoothing down her skirt. "It's time, and I'm going to ring for tea, anyhow. Mother said I could pour it, and I'll play lady all by myself if nobody comes to play it with. I believe"--she turned her head--"I believe they're coming now."

Again she went to the window, then rang for tea. "Quick, Timkins; please hurry and bring it in before they come," she said. "They'll be frozen." And as Timkins disappeared she put a fresh log on the fire, drew the table closer to it, and seated herself at it.

"I'm a chaperone lady. I'm chaperoning my Uncle Winthrop and my Cousin Claudia!" In gleeful delight she rocked backward and forward and twisted her hands together tightly. "I'm sorry mother has a headache, but I certainly am glad I can pour tea for them. I don't know why anybody wants to go horseback-riding on a day like this, though; I'd freeze." She straightened the embroidered cloth on the table as Timkins put the tray on it, and lighted the lamp under the kettle, and, taking up the tea-caddy, she measured out a generous amount of its contents.

"I'll be careful and not get burnt up." She waved Timkins out. "They're coming right in. It's the funniest thing about Uncle Winthrop," she went on, as if to the tea-cups she was arranging. "He didn't want to come and see Cousin Claudia, and now he comes here every day. Wouldn't it be funny if he wanted her for a sweetheart--and wouldn't it be grand!" Her arms were thrown out and then hugged rapturously to her bosom; but instantly her face sobered. "He can't have her, though, because she's somebody else's. I wonder if he knows? He ought to, for Miss Robin says when he wants anything he never gives up until he gets it, and he can't get her if she's gotten. Mother says he just comes here and takes her out and sends her flowers and things because she asked him to be nice to her; but I don't believe it's just for kindness. Gentler men aren't kind to ladies if they don't like them. I believe-- Heigho, Cousin Claudia!" She waved her hand from behind the table. "Have you had a nice ride? Where's Uncle Winthrop?"

"Coming."

Drawing off his gloves, Laine came in the library, and as he reached the table he took from Dorothea's hands the cup of tea just poured and handed it to Claudia.

"Are you frozen?" His voice was slightly worried. "We shouldn't have gone--I did not know how very cold it was."

"It wasn't a bit too cold. I love it." Claudia shook her head. "I don't want any tea until my hands can hold the cup, though. They _are_ cold." With her foot on the fender, she held out first one hand and then the other to the blazing fire and laughed in Dorothea's wide-opened eyes. "What is it, Madam Hostess? Is anything the matter with me?"

"Your cheeks look like they're painted. They didn't when you went out."

"Do they?" Claudia put her hands to her face. "The wind did it." Taking off her hat, she laid it on the table, loosened the hair on her temples, and sat down on the tapestried footstool near the hearth. "I'll have some tea now, please. Are there any sandwiches? I'm starving. Where's your mother, Dorothea?"

"Sick. Got a headache. I'm to pour tea, unless you'd rather." She got up reluctantly. "Would you?"

"Indeed I wouldn't." Claudia waved her back. "You suit that table beautifully. When you're a real grown-up lady you won't leave out anything; but this time you forgot the sugar."

"Did I? I was thinking of something else, I guess." Two lumps were put in the cup Laine handed her. "Where did you all go this afternoon?"

Claudia looked at Laine. "I don't know the names of the places around here. Where did we go?"

"We went--" Laine put his cup on the table and, drawing a chair closer to the fire, sat down. "I've forgotten the name of the road."

"Forgotten!" Dorothea stopped the rattling of the spoons. "You told me once you knew all the roads within twenty miles of New York in the pitch-dark. I think it's very funny you don't know where you've been. You couldn't have been looking much."

"We didn't look at all. It was too cold--" Laine put another log on the fire--"the roads were frozen, and to keep the horses from slipping was all we could attend to."

"Couldn't you talk?"

"Not a great deal. Miss Keith insists upon keeping her horse ahead of mine. It is snowing! Did you know it?"

Dorothea jumped up and ran to the window. "It wasn't just now when I looked out. Yes, it is." She peered through the pane, pressing her nose close to it. "It hasn't snowed since that first week you came, Cousin Claudia, and that's nearly a month ago. I hope it will snow fifty feet deep, so the cars can't run, and that the river will freeze so the boats can't go down it, and then you will have to stay; and so would we, and we could all be together Christmas. Don't you wish so, too, Uncle Winthrop?" She came back and leaned against her uncle's chair. "Did you know Cousin Claudia was going home next week?"

"She told me so this afternoon."

"I certainly am." Elbows on her knees and chin in her hands, Claudia looked straight into the fire. "If your wish comes true, Dorothea, I'll get an air-ship. I expected to stay three weeks, and will have stayed five before I get back. I ought to be home this minute."