Part 15

“No--not to-night,” and in lowered tones, “or any other night.”

“Jane, I----”

“Let me pass, please.”

The music began again and Percy Endicott at this moment came up, claiming her for a partner. Before Gallatin could speak again, Jane was in Endicott’s arms, and laughing gayly, was sweeping around the room to the measure of a two-step. Gallatin stared at her as though he had not been able to believe his own ears. He waited a moment and then slowly walked back toward the kitchen.

His appearance in the doorway was the signal for a shout from Egerton Savage who held a glass aloft and offered his health. His health! He swayed forward heavily. What did it matter? His blood surged. What would it matter--just once? Just once!

He lunged forward into the chair somebody pushed toward him, took up the glass of champagne his host had poured for him, drained it, his eyes closed, and put it down on the table.

Just once! It was a beautiful wine--sent out for the occasion from Mr. Savage’s own collection in town, and it raced through Gallatin’s veins like quicksilver, tingling to his very finger ends. He looked up and laughed. Something had bothered him a moment ago. What was it? He had forgotten. Life was a riot of color and delight and here were his friends--his men friends--who were always glad to see a fellow, no matter what. It was good to have that kind of friends.

Somebody told a story. Gallatin had not heard the beginning of it, but he realized that he was laughing uproariously, more loudly than any one else at the table. The lights swam in a mist of tobacco smoke and the figures of the men around him were blurred. Egerton Savage had filled his glass again, and Gallatin was in the very act of reaching forward to take it when Bibby Worthington, who sat alongside, rose suddenly as though to get a match from the holder, and the sleeve of his laced coat somewhat obtrusively swept Gallatin’s glass off the table to the stone flagging.

“Beg pardon,” he said cheerfully. “There’s many a lip ’twixt the nip and the pip. Sorry, Phil.”

The crash of glass had startled Gallatin, who looked up into Worthington’s face for a possible meaning of the incident, for it was the clumsiest accident that could befall a sober man. But Bibby, his lighted match suspended in mid-air, returned his gaze with one quite calm and unwavering. Gallatin understood, and a dark flush rose under his skin. He was about to speak when Bibby broke in.

“Phil, I’m probably the most awkward person in the world,” he said evenly. “The only thing about me that’s ever in the right place is my heart. Understand?”

If Gallatin had thought of replying, the words were unuttered, for he lowered his head and only muttered a word or two which could not be heard.

Bibby blew the strands of his tousled wig from his eyes and carefully brushed the liquor from his sleeve with his lace handkerchief.

“Sad thing, that,” he said gravely, “vintage, too.”

“Lucky there’s more of it,” said Savage, taking up the bottle. “Hand me one of those glasses on the side table there, Bibby.”

Worthington turned slowly away, looked down at Gallatin and a glance passed between the two men. As Bibby moved off Gallatin took out his case and hastily lit a cigarette.

“Never mind, Bibby,” he found himself saying. “No, thanks, Egerton, I’m--er--on the wagon.” He lit his cigarette, rose, opened the door, and looked out into the winter night, drinking in deep draughts of the keen air. His evil moment had passed.

“Howling success, this party, Egerton,” somebody was saying. “Listen to those infants on the veranda.”

“Hello,” cried Bibby. “It’s _Bobby Shafto_, by George. I’ll have to go in and make my bow. Come along, Phil. They’ll be calling for you presently. What the devil _are_ you anyway?”

Phil Gallatin took his arm and walked out on the terrace.

“I--I’m a d---- fool, Bibby, pretty poorly masked,” he muttered heavily.

“You are, my boy. But it takes a wise man to admit he is a fool. Glad you know it. Awfully glad. Not sore, are you?”

“No,” said Gallatin slowly. “Not in the least.”

“Nothing like the crash of glass--to awake a fellow. Feel all right?”

“Yes, I--I think so.”

“I had a lot of nerve to do a thing like that, Phil, but you see----”

“I’m glad you did. I--I won’t forget it, Bibby.”

The two men clasped hands in the darkness in a new bond of friendship.

They entered the house from another door and passed through the closed veranda. Upon the floor of the living room, in a large circle facing the center, the infants sat, tailor fashion, singing lustily, and greeted _Bobby Shafto’s_ appearance with shouts of glee. They made him get into their midst and dance, which he did with all the grace of a jackdaw, while Betty Tremaine played the accompaniment on the piano.

Bobby Shafto’s gone to sea Silver buckles on his knee He’ll come back and marry me Darling Bobby Shafto.

“But _who_ is he going to marry?” maliciously chortled one of the débutantes, in the ensuing pause.

“_You_, my angel, if you’ll have me?” and leaning over he quickly kissed her.

There was a laugh at the girl’s expense and Bibby retired in triumph.

One by one the characters were summoned and noisily greeted: _Old King Cole_, who was Yates Rowland; _Old Mother Hubbard_, who was Percy Endicott (“Aptly taken, by Jove!” was Spencer’s comment) and _Simple Simon_, who was Dirwell De Lancey (and looked the part). But the hit of the occasion was the dance which followed between _Jill_ and the _Infant Bacchus_. It was clear that no nursery music would be suitable here. So Betty Tremaine’s fingers hurried into the _presto_ of Anitra’s Dance from the “Peer Gynt” music, which caught the requirements of the occasion. The dancers were well-matched and the audience upon the floor, which had at first begun to clap its hands to the gay lilt, slowly drew back to give more room, and then finding itself in danger from the flying heels dispersed and looked on from adjacent doorways. The dance was everything and it was nothing--redowa, tarantella, cosaque, fandango, and only ended when the dancers and pianist were exhausted.

The party broke up amidst wild applause and led by Mrs. Pennington the guests were already on their way to the dressing-rooms, when Nina Jaffray, still breathless from her exertions stepped before Gallatin and whispered amusedly:

“It almost seems as if you _might_ go with me after all, doesn’t it, Phil?” she laughed. “It’s too late for a train and all the machines but mine are crowded----”

“You’re very kind, but I think I’ll walk. It’s only twenty miles.”

“Don’t be disagreeable, Phil. Larry Kane wanted to go with me, but I’ve sent him along with Ogden Spencer--just because I wanted to apologize to you.”

“Apology!” he laughed. “Why dwell on that? Besides you’re a little too prompt to be quite sincere.”

“Haven’t you any sense of humor, Phil?”

“No.”

“What a situation! _You_ kiss me and _I_ apologize for it! Laugh, Phil, laugh! Mrs. Grundy is shrieking with delight. O boy! What a silly thing you look!”

“Good night, Nina.”

“No, au revoir,” she corrected. “You know, Phil, you mustn’t insult me--not publicly, that is. You see you couldn’t force yourself into somebody else’s machine, when I’m going home alone in an empty one. Besides, it’s all arranged with Egerton.”

Gallatin smiled and shrugged. “Oh, of course,” he said, “you seem to have me at your mercy.”

“I’ll be very good though, Phil,” she said, moving toward the stairway, “and if you’re afraid of me, I’ll ask Egerton to be chaperon.” She laughed at him over her shoulder, and he had to confess that this was the humor which suited her best.

Gallatin went slowly toward his dressing-room, his lips compressed, his head bent, a prey to a terrible depression made up of fervid self-condemnation. He had been on the very verge of--that which he most dreaded. In his heart, too, was a dull resentment at Jane’s intolerance--an attitude he was forced to admit when he could think more clearly that he had now amply justified, not because Jane had been a witness of the incident upon the kitchen stairway, but because of the other thing. Slowly he began to realize that to a woman a kiss is a kiss, whether coolly implanted near the left ear, as his had been, or upon a more appropriate spot; and the distinction which, at the time of the occurrence, had been so clear to his mind, seemed now to be less impressive. Jane’s position was unreasonable, but quite tenable, and he now discovered that unless he threw Nina’s confidences into the breach, a defense hardly possible under the circumstances, the matter would be difficult to explain. And yet the act had been so harmless, his intention so innocent, that, weighed in the balance with his love for Jane, the incident seemed to him the merest triviality, with reference to which Jane should not have condemned him unheard. He heard her laugh as she went down the stairs, and the carelessness of that mirth cut him to the marrow. What right had she to be gay when she knew that he must be suffering?

He entered Nina’s limousine, very much sobered, with a wish somewhere hidden in his heart that for this night at least Nina had been in Jericho. If the lady in the machine divined his thought she gave not the least sign of it; for when they had left the Club, some time after the others, and were on their way to the city, she carelessly resumed.

“I didn’t ask Egerton to come, Phil. You’re not really alarmed, are you?”

“Not in the least,” he smiled. “In fact, I was hoping we’d be alone.”

“Phil, you’re improving. Why?”

“So that we may continue our interesting conversation at the point where we left off.”

“Where did we leave off? Oh, yes, you kissed me, didn’t you? Shall we begin there?”

“I suppose that’s what you asked me here for, isn’t it?” he said brutally.

“Oh, Phil, you don’t believe--that!”

She deserved this punishment, she knew, but the carelessness of his tone shocked her and she moved away into her corner of the vehicle and sat rigidly as though turned to stone, her eyes gazing steadily before her at the white circle of light beyond the formless back of the chauffeur. In the reflected light Gallatin saw her face and the jest that was on his lips was silenced before the look he found there. And when she spoke her voice was low and constrained.

“I’m sorry you said that.”

“Are you? You weren’t sorry earlier in the evening.”

“I’m sorry now.”

“It’s a little late to be sorry.”

She didn’t reply. She was looking out into the light again with peering eyes. Objects in the landscape emerged, shadowless, in pale outline, brightened and disappeared.

“It isn’t like you--not in the least like you,” she murmured. “You’ve rather upset me, Phil.”

“What did you expect?” he asked. “You’ve made a fool of me. You’ve been flirting with me abominably.”

“And you repay me----”

“In your own coin,” he put in.

“Don’t, Phil.” She covered her face with her hands a moment. “You’ve paid me well. Oh, that you could have said that! I meant what I said, Phil, back there. You’ve got to believe it now--you’ve shamed me so. You’ve got to know it--to believe it. I wasn’t flirting with you. I was serious with you when I said I--I loved you. It’s the truth, the ghastly truth, and you’ve got to believe it, whatever happens. No, don’t touch me. I don’t want you to think I’m that kind of a girl. I’m not. I’ve never been kissed before to-night, believe it or not. It’s true, and now----”

She stopped and clutched him by the arm. “Tell me you believe it, Phil,” she said almost fiercely, “that I--that I’m not that kind of a girl.”

“Of course, you’ve said so----”

“No--not because I’ve said so, but because you think enough of me to believe it whether I’ve said so or not.”

“I had never thought you that sort of a girl,” he said slowly. “I’ve known you to flirt with other fellows, but I didn’t think you really cared enough about men to bother, least of all about me. That’s why I was a little surprised----”

“I couldn’t flirt with you--I didn’t feel that way. I don’t know why. I think because there was a dignity in our friendship--” she stopped again with a sharp sigh. “Oh, what’s the use? I’m not like other girls--that’s all. I can’t make you understand.”

“I hope I--understand----”

“I’m sorry, Phil, about what happened to-night.”

She stopped, leaned back in her corner and, with one of her curious transitions, began laughing softly.

“It was such a wonderful opportunity--and you were so blissfully ignorant! Oh, Phil, and you did look such a fool!”

“Oh, did I?”

“I’m sorry. But I’d probably do it again--if I might--to-morrow. Jane Loring is so prim, so self-satisfied----”

The motor had been moving more slowly and the man in front after testing various mechanisms, brought the machine to a stop and climbed out. They heard him tinkering here and there and after a moment he opened the door and announced.

“Sorry, Miss Jaffray, but there’s come a leak in the tank, and we’ve run out of gasoline.”

XIX

LOVE ON CRUTCHES

Mrs. Pennington’s philosophy had taught her that it was better to be surprised than to be bored, and that even unpleasant surprises were slightly more desirable than no surprises at all. It was toward the end of January on her halting journey homeward from Aiken, one morning in Washington, that she saw in a local journal the announcement of an engagement between Miss Jane Loring and Mr. Coleman Van Duyn. To say that she was surprised puts the matter mildly, and it is doubtful whether the flight of her ennui compensated her for the sudden pang of dismay which came with the reading of this article. She had left New York the day after the affair at “The Pot and Kettle,” and so had only the memory of Jane’s confidences and Phil Gallatin’s happy face to controvert the news.

And when some days later she arrived in New York, she found that, though unconfirmed in authoritative quarters, the rumors still persisted among her own friends and Jane’s. Of Phil Gallatin she saw nothing and learned that he was out of town on an important legal matter and would not return for a week. When she called on the Lorings, Jane showed a disposition to avoid personal topics and at the mention of Philip Gallatin’s name skillfully turned the conversation into other channels.

To a woman of Mrs. Pennington’s experience the hint was enough and she departed from the Loring mausoleum aware that something serious had happened which threatened Phil Gallatin’s happiness. But, in spite of the warmth of Jane’s greeting and the careless way in which she had discussed the gossip of the hour, Nellie Pennington was not deceived, and by the time she was in her own brougham had made one of those rapid deductions for which she was famous. Jane looked jaded. Therefore, she was unhappy; therefore, she still loved Phil Gallatin. Phil Gallatin was working hard. Therefore, Phil was keeping straight; there must be some other cause for Jane’s defection. What? Obviously--a woman. Who? Nina Jaffray.

Having reached this triumphant conclusion, Mrs. Pennington set about proving her several premises without the waste of a single moment of time. To this end she sought out Percy Endicott, who as she knew was better informed upon most people’s affairs than they were themselves, and from him learned the truth. Philip Gallatin had been discovered with Nina Jaffray in his arms on the kitchen stairs at the “Pot and Kettle.” Percy Endicott’s talent for the ornamentation of bare narrative was well known and before he had finished the story he had convinced himself, if not his listener, that this happy event had brought to a culmination a romance of many years’ standing and that Nina and Phil would soon be directing their steps, with all speed, to church.

Mrs. Pennington laughed, not because what Percy told amused her, but because this narrative showed her that however much she was still lacking in reliable details, her earliest deductions had been correct. She would not believe the story until it had been confirmed by “Bibby” Worthington to whom Coleman Van Duyn had related it as an eye-witness, and then herself supplied the grain of salt to make it palatable.

The grain of salt was her knowledge of Nina Jaffray’s extraordinary personality, which must account for any differences she discovered between the Phil Gallatin who kissed upon the back stairs and the Phil Gallatin with whom she was familiar. Whatever his deficiencies in other respects, he had never been considered as available timber by the gay young married women of Mrs. Pennington’s own set who had given him up in the susceptive sense as a hopeless case; and if Phil had been addicted to the habit of promiscuous kissing, he had gone about the pursuit with a stealth which belied the record of his unsentimental but somewhat tempestuous history. She found herself wondering not so much about what had happened to Phil as about how Nina had managed what _had_ happened. Nina’s remarkable confession a few days before Egerton Savage’s party recurred to her mind, and Nina’s clearly expressed intention to bring Phil to her chariot-wheel seemed somehow to have an intimate bearing upon the present situation. And yet, even admitting Nina’s direct methods of seeking results, she could not understand how a fellow as much in love with another girl as Phil was could have been made so ready a victim. Could it be? No. There was no talk of _that_. And if Phil had again been in trouble, Mrs. Pennington knew that the indefatigable Percy would have told her of it.

She thought about the matter awhile and finally gave it up, uncertain whether to be anxious or only amused. But as the week went by she was given tangible evidence that whatever feelings Jane Loring cherished in her heart for Phil Gallatin, the wings of victory, for the present at least, were perched upon the banneret of Mr. Coleman Van Duyn. Jane rode, walked, and danced with him, and within a few short weeks, from a state of ponderous misery Coleman Van Duyn had revived and now bore the definite outlines of a well-fed and happy cupid.

The rumors of an engagement persisted, and Mrs. Pennington was not the only person forced against her judgment or inclination to believe that the old Van Duyn mansion would once more have a mistress. Dirwell De Lancey, whose tenderness in Jane’s quarter had been remarked, went into retirement for a brief period, and only emerged when resignation had conquered surprise. Colonel Crosby Broadhurst sat in his corner at the Cosmos and wondered, as other people did, what the devil Jane Loring could see in Coley. Bibby Worthington still hovered amiably in Jane’s background and would not be dislodged. He had proposed in due form to Jane and had been refused, but the cheerful determination of his bearing and his taste in cravats advised all who chose to concern themselves that he was still undismayed.

After Mrs. Pennington, who thought that she saw a light, perhaps the person most surprised at Jane’s sudden attachment for Coleman Van Duyn was Mrs. Loring. She had listened with incredulity to Jane’s first confession of her relations with Philip Gallatin and had waited with resignation a resumption of the conversation. But as the days passed and her daughter said nothing, she thought it time to take the matter into her own hands and told Jane of her intention to speak of it to her husband.

“I’ll save you the trouble, Mother,” said Jane, kissing her gravely on the forehead. “There is nothing between Mr. Gallatin and myself.”

Mrs. Loring concealed her delight with difficulty.

“Jane, dear, something has happened.”

“Nothing--nothing at all,” said Jane. “I’ve changed my mind--that’s all.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Loring. This much imparted, Jane would say no more; the matter was dropped, and to Mrs. Loring it seemed that in so far as Jane was concerned, Mr. Gallatin had simply ceased to exist.

But it was not without some difficulty that Jane convinced herself that this was the case. The day after the “Pot and Kettle” affair, Phil Gallatin wrote, ’phoned, wired and called. His note Jane consigned to the fire, his telephone was answered by Hastings, his wire followed his note, and to his visit she was out. This, she thought, should have concluded their relations, but the following morning brought another letter--a long one. She hesitated before deciding whether to open it or to return it, but at last she broke the seal and read it through, her lips compressed, her brows tangled angrily. It was a plea for forgiveness, and that was all. There were many regrets, many protestations of love, but not one word of explanation! He had even gone so far as to call the incident a trifle (a trifle, indeed!) and to call _her_ to account for an intolerance which he had the temerity to say was unworthy of the great love that he had given her.

The impudence of him! What did he mean? Was the man mad? Or was this the New York idea? She realized now that he was an animal that she had met in an unfamiliar habitat, and that perhaps the things to be expected of him here were those dictated by the inconsiderable ideals of the day. It dismayed her to think that after all here in New York, she had only known him a little more than a week. His vision appeared--and was banished, and his letter, torn again and again into small pieces was consigned to the flames of her open fire. She made no reply.

Another letter came on the morrow, was read like the other, but likewise destroyed. His persistence was amazing. Would he not take a hint and save her the unpleasant duty of sending his letters back to him unopened? Apparently not! And with the letters came baskets of flowers which, like those from Mr. Van Duyn, filled her room with pleasant odors.

She was willing to believe now that a word of explanation, a clue to his extraordinary behavior might have paved the way to reconciliation, and she found herself wondering in a material way what was becoming of him and worrying, in spite of herself, as to his future, of which, as she had once fondly believed, she was the guardian. What was he doing with himself in the evenings?

This thought sent the blood rushing to her cheeks and hardened her heart against him. He was with Nina Jaffray, of course. In his last letter he had written that he must go away on business and for two mornings no letter arrived. She missed these letters and was furious with herself that it was so. But the energy of her anger was conserved in the form of further favors for Coley Van Duyn who radiated it in rapturous good-will toward all the world. When the letters were resumed, she locked them in her desk unread, determining upon his return to town to make them into a package and send them back in bulk. Many times she unlocked her desk and scrutinized the envelopes, but it was always to thrust them into their drawer which she shut and locked each time with quite unnecessary violence.

Another matter which caused some inquietude was Nellie Pennington’s return to town, for Mrs. Pennington was the only person, besides Mr. Gallatin and her mother, in actual possession of her secret, the only person besides Mr. Gallatin whom it was necessary to convince as to the definiteness of her recantation. At their first meeting Jane had carried off the situation with a carelessness which she felt had rather overshot the mark. Her visitor had accepted the hints with a disconcerting readiness and composure, and Jane had a feeling after Mrs. Pennington left the house that her efforts had been singularly ineffective; for she was conscious that her visitor had scrutinized her keenly and that anything she had said had been carefully sifted, weighed and subjected to that kind of cunning alchemy which clever women use to transmute the baser metals of sophistry into gold.