Part 12

"'Not much,' said Porshinger. 'The matter is progressing; Pendleton is not invulnerable--I've found a way to reach him, and he soon will be having troubles of his own.'

"Murchison advised him to leave well enough alone; to which Porshinger replied that that might be Murchison's way but it wasn't his way--that you had started the fight, and you would think 'merry hell was loose' before he was done with you."

"Is that all Miss Emerson heard?" asked Pendleton.

"Y--e--s, that is all."

"Are you sure, dear?"

"There _was_ something else--it's of no consequence, however. I don't recall it now!" she fluttered.

"Wouldn't you better tell me all?" he said quietly.

"Isn't what I have told you sufficient?" she parried.

"Tell me the rest, Stephanie," he urged.

"He called you a 'snob.'"

He smiled. "You're keeping something back."

"You _have_ made him an enemy?" she evaded.

"I'm afraid I've also made him an enemy of some one else--and that she is hiding it from me. Tell me, dear, weren't _you_ included in the threat?"

"I'm a poor hand at evasion," she sighed.--"Yes, I was included. He said--'and the Lorraine woman too.'"

"I thought as much!" he exclaimed--"the miserable, skulking coward!"

"But I don't understand!--What is it all about--what does it mean?"

"It means that Burgoyne and I had some words with Porshinger and his friend Murchison the night of your return. It was up at the Club and late and no one saw it. They have been so quiet about it since that I thought it had been dropped. I didn't realize what a vindictive brute we had stirred up. Well, we will try to be prepared for the great man!" he laughed.

"This fight," she began----

"I didn't say there was a fight," he interposed.

"No, you didn't say it--but there _was_ a fight, and it was about me--something that he or Murchison said in your hearing, and which you resented.--Wasn't it, Montague?"

"You're very knowing!" he smiled.

"I don't ask you _what_ it was--but _if_ it was?" she persisted.

"Something of that sort," he admitted--"though the--ostensible dispute was over the cut of Porshinger's coat, as I recall it. Your name was not mentioned."

"But _they_ understood?"

"It seems so."

"Tell me about it, Montague," she begged--"the fight and all."

"It doesn't tell well," he objected.

"Tell it anyway!"

"It was just a scrap between us, nothing more."

"But I want to hear it--you did it for me, so why shouldn't you tell me?"

He looked down into the soft eyes upturned to him--and yielded.

"It was this way," he said.... "It was foolish, I suppose," he ended, "but one doesn't always stop to consider under some provocation. I never for an instant thought it would involve _you_ in his spite. I didn't credit him with being so small and mean."

"And now I want you to promise me that you will take every precaution to guard yourself against him," she said.

"Myself!" he exclaimed. "Yes, myself for the purpose of protecting you."

"And for the purpose of protecting yourself also," she broke in. "I am persuaded that Porshinger means mischief."

"What persuaded you?" he smiled.

"The man himself."

"You don't know him?"

"I met him this morning."

"At Criss-Cross--he was here?"

"No--I met him on the Churchville road--while I was taking my early morning walk."

"Had he the effrontery to address you?"

"Very respectfully and very courteously--I did not resent it in the least.--You see," as he looked at her doubtfully, "I myself was trying something, Montague."

"Trying to put salt on the tiger's tail?" he smiled.

"After a fashion. I was reconnoitering--trying to find out his weak points."

"Did you succeed?"

"A little--he is like all men--fond of a pretty woman and--her figure."

"Which you might very readily have inferred," Pendleton remarked.

"No," said she. "Some men with his characteristics are totally indifferent to women. I found out also that he is sensitive about his personal appearance--he wants to look and act a gentleman--and that he will do much to be received by our set."

"Do you consider such weakness very vulnerable?" he asked, amused.

"Most undoubtedly--he will forego much to advance his social position."

"And _you_ think of helping him on?"

"Not that exactly," she reflected. "I think to use it to our advantage--though how I've not the least idea as yet."

"I think you don't appreciate what manner of man Porshinger is, my dear," said he soothingly. "He is as cold as ice and as hard as armor-plate."

"I inferred as much--and such men are usually easy to influence if they have a hobby. Porshinger's hobby--concealed though it be--is the social whirl. Let him but think that he's whirling and anything is possible."

"You're not thinking of--flirting with him?" he asked, puzzled.

"No--just trying to make him like me well enough to forego his revenge. If he foregoes me, he likely will forego you also--as a matter of policy."

"My dear child!" smiled Pendleton. "I'm not concerned about his revenge--not in the least. He can't hurt me, and I don't see how he can hurt you--_if you let him alone_. The danger, with his kind, is in being nice to them and in having your motives misunderstood and misinterpreted. Since you have met him, you can be politely nice to him but--tell me about this meeting on the road," he said suddenly. "Did it seem to be premeditated on his part?"

"I don't know--but I think not. He overtook me about a mile from the Overton stile--you know the place. He merely raised his hat and spoke casually--as one does in the country--and was passing; then held back; and I gave him leave, by my manner, to accompany me--which he did as far as the Criss-Cross gates."

"Were you going or returning?"

"Going--we returned by the path through the Overton property."

"Why do you smile?" he asked.

"At something that happened--not with him, you foolish boy, not with him--with the Overton bull."

"The what?" Pendleton exclaimed.

"The Overton bull--he assisted me over the fence."

"You don't mean it?" he cried.

"If you had seen me going over you would think that I meant it!" she laughed. "However, I'm quite satisfied that you didn't--there was altogether too generous a display of silk hosiery and lace."

"You prefer that Porshinger should see.--What was the bounder doing?--why didn't he protect you?" he demanded.

"He couldn't--he tried to protect me, but the bull avoided him and made for me."

"He is a bull of sense," said Pendleton. "I compliment him on his discrimination."

"But you can't say so much for me?" she smiled.

"You need some one to look after you, dear--some one on whom you can depend----"

"A matador?" she suggested.

"Very effective so far as the bull is concerned--but not the sort you seem to require."

"You mean something that will keep off undesirable acquaintances."

"Precisely."

"What would you suggest--measles or smallpox?"

"I would suggest a husband."

She shrugged her bare shoulders.

"You forget that I already have a husband--a Mr. Lorraine," she replied.

"That is precisely why I suggest the need for another."

"One can't have two husbands, Montague."

"Not at the same time--and be lawful," he answered.

"Do you mean that I should try another--Amherst?" she asked.

He held up his hands.

"God forbid!" he replied. "I mean 'according to God's own ordinances,' and so forth."

"Who would have _me_?" she said bitterly.

He leaned a bit forward and looked at her intently.

"I'm a tainted thing--amusing, good to look at, to chat with, to while away the time with, like the high class _demi-monde_; but for anything more--no! no!"

"You don't think that," he replied.--"You know----"

"I know what the world says of a married woman who does as I have done. It may tolerate her but a man never marries her--or if he does the world punishes him by loss of caste."

He leaned closer, bending down until her hair brushed his face and its perfume rose about him like a cloud.

"I am ready to risk it, dear one," he whispered. "I am ready to marry you the moment you are free."

"You are ready to marry me?" she breathed. "No! no! Montague, I was not playing for that, I was not----"

"Stephanie, dearest, don't you love me?" he asked.

She looked at him steadily an instant--then over her face broke the entrancing smile, and she put up her arm and drew his face close to hers.

"Yes, sweetheart," she whispered--and kissed him on the lips.

But when he would have gathered her into his embrace she stayed him.

"No, dearest," she said, "I will not let you be an Amherst, even in a little--nor would you yourself. I am not going to provoke a fresh scandal that will involve you and make of our--love a reproach. Suppose some one saw me in your arms--what would be the natural inference--with my recent past?"

"No one would see," he pleaded.

"We must not risk it--for your sake, we must not." She put out her hand and slipped it into his. "You may hold me as close as you like in fancy--you can't hold me _too_ close--but help me to be strong, dear one, help me to be strong!"

"You are right," he reflected.--"Just another kiss, and then----"

She held up her face--and their lips met.

As they did so, the lights suddenly flared up in the room directly in the rear and through an open window fell full upon them.

He straightened up instantly.

"No one saw!" he said, glancing around toward the house.

"One can never tell," she answered, with a nervous little laugh. "Some one _may_ have seen." She got up hastily. "Let us go in, we have been out here long enough--and Devereux will be on our trail."

He took her hand and drew it through his arm, and they passed down the piazza and into the house.

* * * * * * *

And some one did see!

Porshinger and Woodside were coming up the walk just as the light flashed out.

"Look there!" the latter exclaimed.

Porshinger nodded.

"A new one on the string," Woodside continued. "Oh, these fascinating women!--You may be able to use that kiss to--advantage, my friend. Two on the string are not too many, unless _you_ would be the only one.--Hey?"

But Porshinger did not answer--and Woodside, with a sharp glance at him, said no more. He did not understand.

As for Porshinger, after the episode of the morning, he did not know whether to be pleased or sorry. He walked on a few steps--hesitated--stopped.

"On the whole, I think we'll not drop in," he remarked--"at least, not this evening. It might not be a propitious time; moreover, Miss Chamberlain may consider me as an intruder. You have no right, Woodside, you know, to take me there, even in a happen-in, without her express permission."

Whereat Woodside stared--and then laughed.

"Precisely my idea!" he remarked--and faced about. Assuredly he did not understand.

XIII

THE UNPOPULAR GUEST

"My offer to include Porshinger in the party rather met with opposition!" Gladys laughed, as she and Stephanie sat alone together in the farmer's boudoir that night. She balanced her slipper on one silken toe and surveyed it critically. "I thought Sheldon Burgoyne would choke and that Warwick Devereux would have a fit. As for Montague Pendleton, one never can tell from _his_ manner whether he is sitting on a red hot stove, a piece of ice--or an easy chair. Though my private opinion is that he liked it the least of any of them."

"No, you never can tell by Montague's manner," Stephanie agreed. "It is always severely indifferent outwardly, and no one ever gets behind the scenes--with him."

"No one--but Stephanie Lorraine!" Gladys smiled, "and she won't tell. In fact, you two are much alike in temperament--the calmly placid sort on the surface, and the devil knows how turbulent underneath."

"You flatter me indeed," Stephanie replied, drawing one gleaming coppery braid slowly through her fingers. "I consider it a very great compliment to be likened to Montague, even in a little thing."

The other looked at her speculatively a bit, drumming the while with slow fingers on the dressing table in front of her. Stephanie, with a dreamy, absent air, continued drawing the braid back and forth against her cheek.

"It's a pity!" reflected Gladys thoughtfully.

Stephanie continued to toy with her braid and did not seem to hear.

"It's a pity," Gladys repeated.--"A grievous pity that you didn't marry Montague Pendleton--instead of Harry Lorraine."

"It's more than a pity--it's a calamity," replied Stephanie imperturbably.

"Why don't you marry him now?" Gladys demanded.

"Simply because it's contrary to the law of the land for a woman to have two husbands at the same time. Harry Lorraine happens still to be alive."

"Why don't you get a divorce?"

"I haven't any cause--and he hasn't any pluck."

"You can go to Reno," Gladys suggested.

"What will Reno accomplish--if he opposes it! Moreover, I don't want a Reno divorce. I should never feel that I _was_ divorced."

Gladys smiled and was silent.

"It is better than Amherst and six months in Europe, you are thinking," Stephanie added. "And you're quite right; that was hell--perfect hell."

Gladys picked up her hand-glass and studied her face in an impersonal way--as though it were the face of a stranger.

"And you think," she said presently, "it would be a heaven with Pendleton?"

"By comparison, yes--a perfect heaven," was the answer.

"You would be willing to risk it?"

Stephanie ceased playing with her braid, and leaning forward took a cigarette from the case on the table.

"Yes, I should be willing to risk it," she replied,--"if he were to ask me--and Lorraine were out of the way."

"I think," said Gladys, laying aside the mirror and drawing her slender feet up under her, "I think he will ask you, if Lorraine gets out of the way in a reasonable time. But you mustn't expect him to wait forever--a man is a fickle beast at best, you know."

"Beast is an appropriate term for most men!" Stephanie exclaimed.--"But it doesn't apply to Montague."

"Possibly it doesn't--you never can tell, however, until you've lived with a man and tried him."

"Montague is a _dear_!" Stephanie declared.

"Of course he is a dear, a perfect dear," her friend agreed--"and you are not taking much of a chance, but there is a chance."

"_He_ would be taking an infinitely greater chance," said Stephanie.

"He would be taking no chance whatever."

"With my past?"

"Your past is what warrants you--you have been tried in the fire and all the dross fused out of you. I would rather trust you _now_ than--myself."

"You think that all the bad is out?"

"I do, indeed!"

"I wish I were so sure of it," Stephanie mused.

Gladys laughed softly.

"You _are_ sure of it, dear. Montague Pendleton himself couldn't drag you out of the straight and narrow--and that even though you were to love him madly." She got up and going over perched herself on the other's chair-arm. "Forget the past--your friends have forgotten it. Be thankful that it _is_ the past--and that once more the sun is shining. You have those who are devoted to you, and you have--Montague."

Stephanie drew the other down and kissed her.

"_Maybe_ I have him!" she smiled. "You said that I have him for a reasonable time--that man is a fickle beast at best."

"The reasonable time varies with the man!" Gladys smiled back. "With Montague Pendleton it is likely to be forever. He loved you, I think, before your marriage--he loves you still. Isn't that an assurance of the future?--Now let us get back to the Porshinger matter. I didn't telephone--I wanted to discuss the invitation with you. I know that Mrs. Woodside is absent and he's simply down with Woodside, so we could ask him well enough. And, on the whole, I think it would not be a bad scheme. You're afraid of him for Montague, as well as for yourself. He is a climber, with enormous wealth and power--and he's coming over the wall, so why not assist him? He will be grateful and it may cause him to relent. He will know that if he injures Montague he will injure his chances for Society. Moreover, the sooner we start to draw his fangs the better it will be for you two."

"I don't think Montague will approve," said Stephanie. "I told him Marcia Emerson's story, and he laughed at my fears--though admitting there _had been_ a difficulty and that I had to do with it. Then I also told him of the walk with Porshinger and of Overton's bull; and while he didn't say much, I could see that he didn't like it."

"All of which goes to prove his affection for you--if you doubt it," Gladys remarked.

Stephanie smiled an answer but did not voice it--and Gladys put her arm around her friend's neck and was silent also for a moment.

Presently she said:

"Was Montague actually averse to Porshinger's being asked to Criss-Cross?"

"In a mild sort of way, yes--but nothing vehement, I assure you."

"It isn't Montague's way to be vehement," Gladys observed. "At any rate, I think we'll try the experiment. I'll ask him over to-morrow in time for tea, explaining that we need another man--and so boost him up the wall a bit. We can size up the situation--his amenability to kind treatment principally--and if it's not promising we need go no further with him. But I'm inclined to the notion that being nice to him will be exceedingly effective. He impressed you as well-mannered and fairly agreeable, didn't he?"

Stephanie nodded. "So far as I could judge superficially he is no different from the men we've known always. I found him very pleasant and courteous. Whether it was natural with him or only company manners I didn't try to find out."

"Naturally not.--Well, we'll turn the wild animal loose among the tame ones and see what happens. _We_ can at least enjoy the fun.--_You_ don't object, my dear?"

"Not in the least!" Stephanie laughed.

* * * * * * *

The following morning Woodside came out on his piazza, a queer look on his face.

"You're wanted on the telephone," said he to Porshinger, who was sitting looking out over the valley.

"Mr. Porshinger, this is Miss Chamberlain," said a particularly sweet voice, when he had answered.

"Yes, Miss Chamberlain, how do you do?" said he.

"I want to know if you won't come over to Criss-Cross this afternoon and join us at tea, and stay for dinner and the night? Mr. Woodside has been exceedingly nice and says he will excuse you--now you be equally nice and _come_, won't you?"

"Why certainly, certainly--I shall be delighted," Porshinger responded; "but I can't stay the night. I'm going back to town on the midnight train. I must be there early in the morning."

"That's _very_ good of you--we shall be glad to have you for the evening--at five o'clock then--good bye, Mr. Porshinger!"

Porshinger hung up the receiver and went slowly out to Woodside, who was smoking like a chimney.

The latter glanced at him with a shrewd smile.

"Getting on, aren't you?" he remarked.

"I don't know whether I'm getting on or getting under," Porshinger replied.

"You're getting both, I should say. It won't be long until they have you under hack with the rest of the men."

"You think so?"

"I'm perfectly sure of it--you'll be so satisfied to be _in_ that you'll eat out of their hands. You may be the devil in business and the stock market--also adamant--but you'll be an innocent little lamb and a wax baby in the women's game. They won't pick your pockets--oh no! you'll hand out everything you have and hustle for more to give them--and do it cheerfully."

"You seem to be wise!" Porshinger retorted.

"I am wiser than you, at any rate. You've been too absorbed in acquiring money to give any time to the petticoats--except those of a certain kind, and you don't learn anything from _them_ but bargain and sale. You have a new experience coming, old man, a new experience! These people don't care a damn for your money----"

"Then why am I asked?" Porshinger interrupted.

"Because you're wanted--for some other reason."

"Hum!" said Porshinger. "Maybe I'm wanted to play the clown."

"It is entirely possible!" laughed Woodside: "though a likelier guess would be that they want to inspect you--to size you up, and to try you out, and to play Auction with you. However, you've got two of them at an advantage--that kiss on the piazza last night ought to be good for something."

Porshinger blew a cloud of smoke high in the air and watched it whirl away on the morning breeze.

"It ought to make the fair widow--Mrs. Lorraine, I mean; I'm always thinking of her as a widow--more--obliging," his host commented.

"You're a bit of a beast, Woodside!" Porshinger observed.

"Oh, I don't know!" was the response. "When it comes to that there isn't much choice between us, Charlie, old boy. You know perfectly well it's her face and figure that's the attraction."

"Well, do you blame me?"

"Hell, no!--I rather envy you the chance."

"The chance of what?" asked Porshinger.

"The chance to _improve_ on acquaintance. You have accepted, I presume?"

Porshinger nodded. "If you will excuse me."

"Sure--delighted to facilitate your campaign."

There was just a suspicion of mockery in the words--and Porshinger detected it.

"So you think it is a campaign when one tries to know new people?" he inquired.

"I wouldn't put it just that way!" was the laughing reply.

"What?"

"I shouldn't call the Chamberlains and their house-party _new_ people."

"Don't be absurd; you know what I meant. There are circles within circles in Society, and----"

"We are in one of the outer circles and aiming to climb into the inner ones, I understand. Miss Chamberlain's invitation is a big boost for you--if you make good. If you don't make good, you are in for a nasty tumble. Query:--Are you invited that you may tumble, or are you invited that you may climb--in plain words, are they making sport of you or are they not?"

"I scarcely think that they will make sport of me!" Porshinger laughed. "I'm not accustomed to being used that way. Moreover, they are too well bred. Our intimates might do it, Woodside, but not these people. That is why I'm for climbing the fence--understand?"

"Pooh!" Woodside scoffed. "They are no different from other people, except that they think they're more exclusive."

"And think it so successfully that every one who is outside wants inside--yourself among them, my friend, yourself among them."

"I don't give a damn for them!" Woodside declared.

"Maybe you don't--but Mrs. Woodside does--and you do too, if you'd be honest. Everyone does, Josh, everyone does. It's a humanly universal failing. Let some set themselves up as particularly exclusive and the rest are wild to get in with them."

"Hell!" muttered Woodside.

The two men smoked a while in silence--then Woodside spoke.

"It's mighty queer," he said, "and altogether lucky for you."

Porshinger raised his eyes and waited inquiringly.

"Altogether lucky!" the other repeated. "You back out of a 'happen in' yesterday, and receive a 'come-in' to-day. Can you explain it?"

"I can't explain it--unless it is the result of my walk with Mrs. Lorraine, yesterday morning. However, I'm frank to say that I didn't play a particularly heroic part in the bull episode; so unless I made an impression otherwise I reckon that isn't it."

"Has Miss Chamberlain been especially friendly before this?" Woodside asked.

"Not at all."

"How about the others at Criss-Cross?"

Porshinger shook his head.

"Might it be old Chamberlain?"

"Possibly--but I think not. He never allows business to dictate his friends, I understand."

"Good thing when you can afford it!--Well, there must be _some_ reason for asking you."

"A particularly sage observation. Button! button! who has the button?"

"Butt in! butt in! you're the butt in!" amended Woodside.

"Get out!" laughed Porshinger, flinging a magazine at him. "I haven't an idea what is the reason, but I'm perfectly sure it won't be declared this trip, and possibly never. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Josh."

"Better be sure it is a gift horse," was the answer. "However, you for it, my friend--it's your funeral, not mine."