Part 20

"I don't see anything wanting in the lady immediately in our fore!" Pendleton smiled. "Only in her case, she has been doing it so long it has become part of her life--she actually does it naturally and by arrogation of divine right. It must be pleasant to have such a comfortable feeling about one's self."

Mrs. Postlewaite, in her progress down the piazza, glanced casually in and saw them.--She paused, considered an instant; then facing around, and dismissing her attendants she came over to the window.

"Stephanie, dear!" she purred, in her most gracious tones, "will you come out a moment. I've something I want to tell you."

_Stephanie, dear!_

It was the evidence of the return of the royal favor--the piazza had heard it--the entire Club-house would know it in a moment--it would spread like the wind.

Even Stephanie's equanimity was startled into a calm surprise, which showed in her face and in her heightened color. And coming _now_--of all times!

"Certainly, Mrs. Postlewaite," Stephanie answered.

"And bring Montague along. I want him to hear it too," the _grande dame_ went on.

"What does it mean?" Stephanie whispered, as she and Pendleton passed toward the door.

"You heard what she called you: 'Stephanie, dear'?"

"Yes!"

"Then there isn't much doubt."

"But at this juncture!" she marvelled.

"Mrs. Postlewaite knows the exigencies and the juncture too, never fear. The turn has come, sweeth--I mean, Stephanie."

She shot him a bewildering smile; the next moment they stood in "the presence."

"Stephanie, dear," began Mrs. Postlewaite, without any preliminary, "I have heard of Mr. Dolittle's nasty tale of what he saw last night in the Croyden conservatory; I have also heard of Harry's prompt prosecution of that unspeakable Porshinger, and I want to tell you that I and Mrs. Porterfield are ready to testify in your behalf. We were on the little balcony overhanging one side of the room; we saw Porshinger make the attempt, your indignant repulse, your seizure again, your freeing yourself, and then your making him take you back to the ball-room. The last was delightful! I saw it all, my dear--and I'm proud of Harry Lorraine, because he chose to believe your story rather than that horrid Dolittle's, and to prosecute Porshinger instead of a disgraceful use of physical violence."

"You're very kind, Mrs. Postlewaite," Stephanie replied--"very kind----"

"Not at all, my dear, not at all! We shall take particular care to tell it. It is fortunate we happened to see everything, and so can vouch for your story in the face of Dolittle's scandalous tale and Porshinger's lie--he will lie, of course. Now, if you don't mind, we will let by-gones be by-gones--and start fresh." She laid her hand intimately on Stephanie's arm. "And we'll have tea together here to bind it--just we three. Will you, my dear?"

"Of course, I will, Mrs. Postlewaite!" Stephanie responded, with a happy little laugh. The Porshinger episode was over--the victory was theirs.

Just then, from somewhere downstairs, came a voice calling so loudly the whole piazza heard:--

"I say, fellows, do you know that Amherst is in town--got back this morning? I shouldn't be surprised if the damn scoundrel would actually have nerve enough to come up here and ask us all to take a drink!"

Pendleton deliberately leaned forward and took Stephanie's hand in his--and held it, with a reassuring pressure.

"As you were saying, Mrs. Postlewaite," he remarked, "I hear that the Croyden ball was a charming affair, though I was so unfortunate as to miss it."

XXI

OBSESSED

When tea was over Mrs. Postlewaite arose.

"Come around soon and see me, Stephanie!" she smiled, and with an intimately gracious nod, she resumed her progress down the piazza.

"Where is Gladys?" Pendleton asked.

"On the other side, playing Auction, I think; don't disturb her, Montague--and if you will call my car, I'll go home. I've had about enough excitement for one afternoon." She breathed a sigh of intense relief. "The last is very gratifying, isn't it, my friend?"

"Mrs. Postlewaite and Mrs. Porterfield, of all others!" exclaimed Pendleton. "The best witnesses you could possibly have. It's too lucky for words! Your rehabilitation is effected and Porshinger is undone. He will be cut by everyone and expelled from the Clubs. It is a social Waterloo for him."

"But it doesn't relieve _you_ of his revenge," she objected. "It will make him all the more determined to square off."

"Don't let that bother you, dear--I mean, Stephanie!" he laughed. "You're free of him--he won't try his dirty tricks on you--and I'm a man, and it doesn't matter. I can meet him half way and then some. In fact, I'm hoping he will be kind enough to give me the opportunity."

"I'm afraid for you, Montague--indeed I'm afraid!" she repeated.

"Nonsense, little woman. Don't you worry about me--I tell you there is no need. _You're_ out of it now.--I admit I _was_ mightily concerned for you; that is why I didn't favor Gladys' and your scheme to placate him: because it involved you. He could have made it most unpleasant--as he did--and as he didn't, thanks to Mrs. Postlewaite."

He put her in her car, with the courteous deference he always had for a woman--were she but a beggar who accosted him on the street--and which was always just a shade more courteous and more deferential to _her_.

"When shall I see you again?" he asked, as he bent over her hand.

"This evening, if you wish!" she smiled, with just the faintest pressure of her fingers.

"You are very good," he murmured. "I most assuredly _do_ wish."

"I'll expect you then--at nine, Montague. I want to--talk over--matters--Amherst, you know."

"At nine!" he answered, and the car rolled away.

Pendleton went in through the Club-house, and out again on the east piazza where Miss Chamberlain was playing Auction. She saw him coming and motioned to a chair beside her. Mrs. Postlewaite was a little way off, holding her usual court. Gladys glanced toward her and smiled.

"We all know it, Montague," she said. "Everyone in the Club-house and on the links knows it--and it has been telephoned to town, I dare say: Mrs. Postlewaite asked Stephanie to have tea with her here. It's the sensation of the--year."

"And for a sensation mighty satisfactory," Pendleton returned.

"Those of us who have been for Stephanie all through can take courage--our course has been approved by the ultimate authority," Gladys observed. "If we hadn't been staunch for our friend, the Queen wouldn't have come around."

"She'll hear you, Gladys," warned Mrs. Burleston.

"Let her--I would confide the same thing to her, if she asked me.--I've never come under her authority. I'll double your three hearts, Helen."

"By!" said Miss Tazewell, after a pause to consider whether she should take her partner out of it.

"By!" said Miss Rutledge promptly.

"I'll go back--your lead, Gladys," said Mrs. Burleston.

There was silence until the last card fell--Mrs. Burleston had made good her contract.

"That's ninety-six below, and a hundred above, and simple honors," said Miss Chamberlain, as she put down the score. "You had a bully hand, Helen."

On the next deal, Miss Rutledge was the declarant. Gladys spread out her cards; then, with a significant look at Pendleton, arose and moved out to the rail.

"What else have you to tell me?" she said, as he joined her.

"How did you know?" he smiled.

"I guessed it--from your manner!" she laughed. "A woman's intuition, if you please."

"It's more than tea for Stephanie," he said. "You have only part of it.--The Porshinger matter is won."

"He has plead guilty!" she marvelled.

"Better than that."

"What--better! How can that be?"

"Mrs. Postlewaite and Mrs. Porterfield witnessed the whole episode, and have voluntarily come to Stephanie's assistance--to deny Dolittle's story, and with an offer to testify against Porshinger."

"Oh, delightful!" Gladys cried. "The Queen P's actually witnessed the whole occurrence?"

"Yes--from the little balcony which, you know, runs along one side of the conservatory."

"Does Lorraine know it?"

"No."

"Where is Stephanie?"

"Gone home."

She looked at him thoughtfully.

He looked at her and smiled.

"I'm sorry for you, Montague.--Lorraine will be the more determined than ever on a reconciliation."

"I've a bit more news," he replied seriously. "I was so pleased with the Postlewaite matter it clean escaped me, for the moment.--I've just heard that Amherst is back."

"Here--in town!" she cried.

"So I understand--he arrived this morning."

She held up her hands helplessly.

"What a complication!" she breathed.--"What will Lorraine do, do you suppose?"

"I give it up," he replied, with a shake of his head. "No one can depend on him for anything--but if he is still of the mind he was this afternoon, it would be just as well for him and Amherst not to meet."

"We're waiting, Gladys!" came Mrs. Burleston's voice.

"Coming!" Gladys replied.--"You'll do your best to keep them apart, Montague?"

"Yes--I'll do what I can; but I may have a devil of a job, and then not succeed. Lorraine's himself again, you know--which means he is as erratic as a crazy man. However----"

"Where is he now, do you know?"

"He said he was tired and was going home."

"Then let us hope he'll stay there until morning," she said.

"And that some kind friend won't call him up and put him wise," he added--and they went back to the game.

"Montague, will you either stay here or go away--_far_ away, that is," Dorothy Tazewell requested--"down to the grill-room would be about right."

"Wherefore this happy consideration!" Pendleton laughed.

"So we can continue our game, stupid, without the attendant interruption of having Gladys desert us every time she's dummy."

"By which I might infer----" Pendleton began.

"Whatever you wish that is complimentary--or otherwise; it's a free for all.--Two royal!" and she smiled at him with roguish demureness.

"I'm squelched," said he, with affected sadness. "I _was_ just about to ask you all to take dinner with me here this evening, but of course it is out of the question now. I'm awfully sorry it happened, you know. It's the----"

"Go 'long with you, Montague!" Mrs. Burleston exclaimed. "How can one remember the cards while that sirenly seductive voice of yours is playing on the diapason."

"Yes, run along, Montague!" agreed Dorothy--"or you'll have to pay my losses; it's a quarter of a cent a point, too, and I can't afford to lose."

"Me for the tall timber," he declined.

"Mercy! Montague," Gladys exclaimed. "One would think you were Warwick Devereux."

"I was wondering if anyone would recognize the impersonation!" Pendleton laughed.--"What is it," he asked, as a servant stopped beside him and stood at attention.

"Mr. Cameron is waiting in the grill-room, sir," the man replied.

Pendleton nodded in dismissal.

"How about having the dinner to-morrow evening?" he asked.--"Good! That's very nice indeed--will seven-thirty be convenient? All right--seven-thirty it is."

The grill was comfortably filled; the talk was of but one subject:--Amherst's return, what it signified and what would follow.

"It's too late to kill him," said Devonshire, as Pendleton entered the room, "but if I were Lorraine, I should get me a good hefty raw-hide and beat him within an inch of his life, paying particular attention to his handsome face. When I was through with him there wouldn't be much beauty left, I can tell you."

"But can Lorraine do it--has he the strength?" asked Smithers.

"In such a case the rightness of his cause would give him strength," Devonshire returned--"and any decent chap who was handy would lend him assistance if it was needed."

"The trouble is with Lorraine himself, I think," Carstairs remarked. "It isn't that he hasn't the nerve, but that he hasn't the determination, the stability, the something essential in the man who _does_. I fancy he has changed his mind on the subject of what to do in this matter as often as he has changed his clothes. He is a queer compound--none other like him."

"And yet he is a mighty attractive fellow at times," Smithers observed.--"It wasn't until this Amherst affair that he revealed anything particularly vacillating."

"He never before had occasion to reveal it," Devonshire explained. "The trial came--and he wasn't equal to it. Some of us might not be equal to it either, if we were in similar case. It's a mighty difficult case, my friends. Moreover, Lorraine has done the decent thing now--he is anxious for a reconciliation."

"It's decent, after a fashion," Smithers agreed--"it would be decenter if he first followed your notion and beat up Amherst--beat him until he couldn't walk; half killing would be about right, to my mind."

"This is all very well by way of discussion but what by way of prophecy?" said Carstairs. "I'll lay a bottle of wine that Lorraine doesn't do a damn thing."

"So will I," Smithers agreed. "That is why Amherst has the courage to come back. He despises the man he has wronged."

"He may be fooled," said Devonshire.

"I trust he will be," Carstairs remarked--"but I doubt mightily."

"You hear what they are saying, Pendleton?" Cameron asked, with a jerk of his head toward the other table.

"I hear," said Pendleton. "Have you seen Lorraine today?"

"No--only talked with him over the telephone."

"He hasn't heard of Amherst's return?"

"He didn't mention it."

"The evening papers will likely have it."

"I suppose so--I didn't know of it until I came up here--where it's the event of the day."

"You can't much blame them--knowing all the circumstances and the parties as club-mates do."

"What do _you_ think Lorraine will do--anything?" asked Cameron.

Pendleton carefully knocked the ashes from his cigarette and studied the bare coal a moment.

"I think," said he slowly, "that it would be just as well for Amherst to keep out of Lorraine's way."

"You do?" said Cameron quietly. "Why?"

"Because Lorraine seems to have become possessed of two ideas--and like all weak men he is becoming obsessed by them. One idea is to effect a reconciliation with Stephanie; the other is to be revenged on Amherst. I have tried to persuade him that if he would do Stephanie a service, he must do Amherst no physical hurt--it would simply revive the scandal and react upon her, and probably terminate any chance he has to have her return to him."

"What chance has he?" Cameron asked. "None, to my mind."

"Not the slightest in the world, to my mind either," Pendleton replied. "But the question now is, I think, which idea will prevail:--the hope of reconciliation with Stephanie, or vengeance on Amherst. I admit I won't even attempt to predict. It will depend on the circumstances of the moment."

"With the chances in favor of violence," said Cameron instantly. "I fear it--I've feared it ever since Stephanie's return. Why the devil does Lorraine do everything too late?"

"It is the nature of the animal, I suppose. Some men seem to do everything backward."

"What do you say to both of us going to see him after dinner, and--well, trying what we can do? He may listen to us."

"If you wish I'll go--but I've given him my views on it once to-day; and while he seemed to agree, I know it was only half-heartedly. However, it will do no harm for you to go.--Amherst's return may have set him wild. Lorraine at his worst is a crazy irresponsible--and I'm rather inclined to look for the worst."

"Very good!" said Cameron. "Now about this miserable Porshinger affair. We----"

"The Porshinger affair is easy," Pendleton interrupted. "Mrs. Postlewaite has cleared that up beautifully--and Stephanie also."

"What!" exclaimed Cameron, "Mrs. Postlewaite?"

Pendleton nodded.

"Mrs. Postlewaite and Mrs. Porterfield were witnesses of Porshinger's assault on Stephanie," he replied--and he told the story.

When it was finished, Cameron's face wore a most satisfied smile.

"It is the end of Porshinger!"--he laughed, "he is busted for good. The case will never come to trial. Stephanie is completely vindicated by Mrs. Postlewaite's story. She need never think of him again. She has been a bit foolish in her conduct toward him, but that is only a passing matter, and will be lost in the general satisfaction at his complete discomfiture. What a fool he was--to risk his social life on a single throw!"

"He didn't imagine he was risking it," Pendleton rejoined. "He thought that she was dazzled by his money and quite ready to be his. The fellow is simply drunk with his financial success. He thinks anything is within his reach; that it is simply a matter of price, and he has the price. As between him and Amherst there is mighty little choice. Amherst is a seducer; Porshinger is a purchaser who trades on the other's crime to procure a victim."

"The truth is, Lorraine would be justified in killing both," Cameron declared.

"I think that I should start with Porshinger," said Pendleton--"to me he is the more contemptible and the more criminal. To try to drag a woman down after she has made a mistake, and is endeavoring to make amends for the past! Such a man is a monster."

"You're right!" said Cameron, "right as gospel! And yet Lorraine may not--because in Amherst's case he dallied too long, and in Porshinger's, the law would view it as absolutely unjustifiable."

"Oh, surely!" Pendleton responded, "I know that you're not recommending violence--just stating what, to my mind as well as to yours, the circumstances warrant."

"I wanted to discuss Lorraine's case with you, but it isn't necessary now," Cameron remarked. "Porshinger will be only too glad if it is dropped. Lorraine can't object, for Stephanie is cleared of Dolittle's nasty story."

"Our trouble, it seems, isn't any longer with Porshinger, but with Amherst and Lorraine--either to keep them apart or to persuade the latter to be sensible," Pendleton observed. "I confess that, if it were not for Stephanie, I wouldn't meddle in the affair. They might go their own gait. I'm disgusted with Lorraine."

"I don't blame you," the other nodded. "But, you see, Lorraine is a client of mine and I've always been fond of him, though naturally I don't approve of his course with Stephanie."

"You can go to him this evening--I shall refrain," Pendleton decided. "If you need me for anything, I'll be at the Mourrailles'. For heaven's sake! don't tell him--he may veer around and get notions as to me.--Let us have dinner. Shall I order, or do you want anything in particular?"

"Only a pint of Sparkling Burgundy--anything will do for the rest," Cameron answered. Then he raised his hand for the captain of the waiters. "Will you please have Mr. Lorraine telephoned at his apartments that I'll be in to see him on an important matter at eight o'clock this evening."

XXII

THE SILVER CANDLESTICK

Stephanie dressed with more than usual care that evening. It was the first time in two years that she had really wanted to dress for anyone--to look her best as a woman.

The gown she chose--after much deliberation--was black, unrelieved by any color and made severely plain; against it the dead white of her arms and shoulders shone like ivory. She stood a moment looking in her mirror; then she took from her jewel-case a sapphire necklace--smiled at it in recollection--and clasped it about her slender throat. They were the only jewels she wore--even her rings were laid aside. She wondered if _he_ would notice the sapphires--and the absence of all other ornaments. It had been _his_ wedding gift, and he might have forgotten--yet she would wear it on the chance that he would remark it and remember. She might not permit him any liberties, but she would grant him the privilege of inferences.

She laughed softly to herself--and ran her fingers caressingly over the jewels. His wedding gift! The only one, of all the hundreds, that she cared for now--the only one that did not suggest to her the memories of the past--of her mistake in choosing--of her broken vows--her hideous experience. But his sapphires brought only the joy of living--the hope that some day, by some means, her freedom would be won and she would be permitted to yield herself and all she had to him. For she realized now--as she had long known, indeed--that he was the only man she cared for--the only man who cared for her and had cared through all the horrible past.

She took one last look in the mirror--at the tall, slender figure in the clinging black gown; the lovely neck and arms and shoulders; the flawless face with its proud, cold beauty, that to-night was warm with tenderness; the glorious hair piled high on the aristocratic head like a gleaming crown of gold--and then went slowly down the stairway, as joyous as though she were to be married to Pendleton that very night.

All through dinner--which she had alone, Mrs. Mourraille being absent--she thought of Montague. Not hopelessly as heretofore, but with a satisfied anticipation of present property. She did not attempt to analyze it--indeed, she was quite aware it did not admit of analysis; it was the intuitive knowledge that comes at rare intervals to women--never to men.

Near the end of the meal, the desk 'phone in the living-room rang. The butler answered it. In a moment he returned.

"Mr. Pendleton wants to know, madam, if you will be at home at a quarter to nine this evening?" he said.

"Say to Mr. Pendleton that I shall be here and very glad to see him!" Stephanie replied.

The man went to deliver the message.

"Montague is impatient," she reflected, "though, as I never before knew him to be impatient, he must have a very good reason for coming a quarter of an hour earlier.... Yet why did he telephone at all--why didn't he just come?--Tompkins, was that all Mr. Pendleton said?"

"Yes, madam!" Tompkins answered, "but, if you please, it wasn't Mr. Pendleton himself; leastwise, I didn't recognize his voice."

She nodded in answer and finished her ice.

"I'll have coffee on the piazza," she said, and arose.

As she did so, the ship's clock in the hallway chimed one bell.

"Half after eight!" she thought. "Fifteen minutes more until I see him. I'm as nervously anticipatory as a débutante about to receive her first proposal. What _is_ the matter with me! I'm actually becoming afraid to meet him--to meet an old friend--the best friend a woman ever had!"

She laughed to herself, and sat down where, from the electric light at the corner, she could see his car draw up at the curb.

Tompkins brought her coffee, served it, and was dismissed. She drank two cups eagerly--to steady her nerves--then poured a third, and sipped it slowly.... Presently the butler came out to deliver a telephone message from Miss Chamberlain; when she turned again, she was just in time to catch sight of a man coming up the walk and almost at the steps.

She sprang up and glided quickly into the house. She wanted to meet Pendleton in the brightness of the living-room rather than in the subdued light of the piazza. She wanted him to have the benefit of the first impression. She was quite aware of her exquisite loveliness--more alluring to-night than ever before. And of the sapphires--_his_ sapphires alone adorning her. She flung herself in an easy chair, crossed her silken knees with fetching abandon and caught up a magazine.

There was no ring at the bell, however--and she waited, impatiently. He should have rung--should be in the hall-way now--and yet Tompkins was not even come front! It was very strange!--Possibly he had gone around to the piazza, thinking that she might be there. She half turned--one hand on the chair arm, the other on her knee--and glanced toward the piazza door.

There came a step--and a smile of happiest greeting sprang to her face--to be chilled the next instant into frigidity.

"_You!_" she exclaimed indignantly.--"YOU!"

Garrett Amherst bowed low.