CHAPTER XVIA SERIOUS LETTER“Thisis my idea of the work I’d like to do for my living,” said Mrs. Harlan with a yawn, as she tilted her sun-shade a little forward and settled herself deeper in the soft sand. “All I need now to be perfectly happy is to have one of you read to me until I fall asleep.”“Lola looks as though she could sleep without that,” said Bob, glancing at her lazily. “You went to bed early enough last night; couldn’t you get any rest?”“I do feel a little tired,” answered Lola. “I slept some, of course, but not for hours.”“That’s queer,” exclaimed Dick. “I knocked on your door when I went upstairs about eleven, and you didn’t answer. If you were awake you must have heard me. You didn’t leave your room again, did you?”“Why should I?” She sat up rather flushed, andturned to him angrily. “Where would I have gone? What are you talking about? Why do you always say such absurd things?”“Come now, Lola,” broke in Mrs. Harlan soothingly. “Dick hasn’t said anything dreadful. Don’t be cross, please, and spoil a day like this.”“No, don’t, for pity sake don’t let’s have any rows,” said Bob earnestly; “nothing in the world so bad for my digestion.”“Anyone would think you had something to hide, by the way you are jumping on me,” complained Dick resentfully. “I don’t see any crime in asking you if you had stepped out of your room for a minute.”“I have told you that I did not.”“You might have run in to see Madge.”“No! No! No!” She spoke almost in a scream. “How many times do I have to repeat it? No! No! No!”“Come on, Madge; that’s the three-alarm signal,” exclaimed Bob, as he got to his feet heavily. “Great God, Lola,” he looked down at her, his fat, good-natured face expressing his deep disgust, “why can’t you learn to keep your disposition in the ice chest?You’re all right when you are all right, but you’re a wonder at kicking up a row.”“I guess Bob’s playing safe,” agreed Mrs. Harlan, as she took his proffered hand and got to her feet. “We’ll leave you two alone, as usual, to fight it out. Come on, Bob; I may not be as great a social light as Lola is getting lately, but I’m perfectly willing to sit in the sand and let you go to sleep.”Lola made no effort to stop them, and they walked on up the beach in search of peace and quiet, Mrs. Harlan angry and disgusted, Bob deeply discouraged.“There,” exclaimed Dick. “You’ve driven them away again!”“What of it?” Lola looked at him coldly. “Go with them if you want to!”“I don’t, but Bob’s getting tired of this sort of thing, and he’s too good a fellow to be made uncomfortable all the time.”“He’s a fool—a perfect fool; you know he is, Dick Fenway. The only thing in the world that would really please him would be to eat a good dinner in a deaf and dumb asylum. I’m tired to death of him and of your Mrs. Harlan, too. She’s coarse, and low, andvulgar, and if you had any respect for me at all you wouldn’t force me to be with such a person!”“But, my dear girl, you know I can’t help it!”“Well, you ought to help it,” she replied cruelly. “It puts me in a false position, to be seen with a woman of that sort. Everyone notices it. Mr. Bradley practically said as much to me this morning.”“And took time enough saying it, too,” said Dick resentfully. “I thought the old man had tied himself to your skirts for the day. You kept me waiting a good half hour. What are you trying to jolly him for; we don’t want any of his money.”She made no reply to this, but threw herself back on the sand and, shading her face with her parasol, deliberately closed her eyes.“I say, Lola,” Dick remarked after a moment’s pause; “if you don’t care to make any more of an effort than this to be sociable, I think I’ll leave you here while I go back to the hotel; the mail is in by now, and I’m almost sure to get some news from Cleveland.”“A very good idea,” she answered calmly. “I’ll wait right here until you return. You are so cross to-day that I don’t think you would be very good company.”He made no reply. “What was the use of starting another battle?” he said to himself bitterly; “all that I can do is to go away and come back when she isn’t so cranky.”They parted like this, as men and women have parted since first they came into the world. She, perfectly serene, as sure of his return as she was of her own unreasonableness. He, puzzled as to just what his fault had been and not quite sure whether to be angry with her or with himself. A man is always very sorry for the thing he is quite innocent of having done; it is only when he has really been at fault that he remains calmly indifferent.Lola was very comfortable; it was a warm day, but there was a breeze from the water, and she lay there, every muscle relaxed, shading her face with her parasol, which she had dropped on the sand, looking dreamily out to where a long line of black smoke on the horizon marked the passing of some great steamer.Somehow the thought of a ship at sea brought Dr. Crossett to her mind. She often thought of him, more often than of her father or of John. The Doctor had loved her; she knew that; not as a father loves,through instinct, or as a lover, from desire, but because he had put her in the place of the one woman who had represented the idea of love in his life. He was a rich man, Dr. Crossett; what fun they could have together in Paris! If anything ever went wrong with her, she was going to him; she had quite made up her mind to that, but, after all, what could go wrong? Dick would always give her what she wanted, and if not Dick, there were plenty of others. The only trouble was that if they had money they were either stupid, like poor Dick or old, like Mr. Bradley; if they were strong and handsome, like that splendid young life-guard, they were hopelessly poor. On the whole, however, she was satisfied with life. She had done well enough so far, and she very strongly intended to do better. She was very tired, very sleepy; the little waves breaking over the smooth sand soothed her; the wind swept softly over her like a caress; she laughed happily to herself as she thought of Dick’s anger. How silly he was. What would he do if he knew where she had really been, as he stood outside her door, the night before. How had she dared to do it? She blushed red at the thoughts that came crowding into her head,and thrilling, trembling with a new knowledge of life, she fell asleep.She stirred uneasily after a time, and sitting up suddenly, conscious as one sometimes is of being the object of another’s thoughts, she met the eyes of Mr. Miller, the old gentleman of the night before, fixed earnestly upon her. “How long had he stood there, looking at her?” she thought angrily to herself. “How dared he smile at her like that, as though his wise old eyes could read her mind.”“I beg your pardon, Miss Barnhelm.” He spoke in the gentle, kindly voice she had so resented the night before. “I am afraid that I have disturbed you.”“Why were you looking at me?” she demanded bluntly.“It was very rude, very unfair,” he admitted, “but you looked so comfortable and, if I may say so, so absurdly young, that it did not at the time seem a serious offence.”“You were studying me,” she exclaimed hotly, “trying to read my mind, as I lay here asleep. Using me for a subject to dissect for one of your stupid books. Well—what have you discovered?”“Nothing! You are so frank with me that I will be honest in my turn. It is my habit to study those about me. I am sorry; I hope you are fully aware that in my interest there was nothing that could in any way offend you.”“You mean, I suppose, that you would have looked just as closely at a toad or a potato-bug! I am quite aware of that. I am not even angry any more, only curious. What can you tell me about myself?”“Nothing, my dear young lady, only that you have, in common with the rest of the world, two natures, warring against one another, in your heart. I will confess that in your case I thought I saw a flash of something deeper, more tragic, than one usually finds in the face of a young girl, just a bad dream perhaps, or perhaps a real trouble. If the last, I would gladly do my best to help you.”“Why?”“Because I have worked very hard for fifty years, and sometimes I am discouraged at the little real good my knowledge has ever done. I have more than my share of money, and time, and influence; any or all of these are at your disposal.”“You were a Professor, they told me, and a writer of books?”“Yes. I am, if I am anything, a Psychologist.”“My father was that,” remarked Lola a trifle bitterly, “although to me it was never anything but a name.”“It is merely a name for a very simple thing: the art of keeping one’s eyes open. Psychology is the study of mental phenomena; I believe that is as good a definition as it is possible to give, and it means only the study of our fellow creatures, in the hope that in the end the psychologist may do for the mind what the physician now does for the body.”“And to do this, to learn this new trade of yours, you hesitate no more about robbing me of my mind and dissecting it than a country medical student would hesitate to rob a grave.”“Not any more certainly,” he replied, evidently still much amused at her indignation, “but as I have perceived nothing but a well-deserved rebuke, perhaps you will forgive me. I am on duty to-day, as you see; after many years of careful study I am consideredworthy of a very sacred trust. I am granted the privilege of playing nurse to a child and a dog.”He pointed along the beach to where his granddaughter was playing with her absurd little poodle, and as his eyes rested upon them his smile lost its queer, impersonal look and became very commonplace indeed, just the smile of a good man, whose heart goes out in thankfulness to God for the joy of seeing a little child of his own blood safe and well.“You are,” said Lola gravely, “the very queerest person I have ever met. If you are anxious to study mental phenomena you might buy yourself a looking-glass. I must confess that I can’t understand you at all.”“Since we seem to have met upon a rather unusual attitude of frankness,” he responded mildly, “I am going to return the compliment. Our impressions seem to have been identical.” He turned as if to leave, but after a slight hesitation he faced her, and said in a more serious tone, “My offer of assistance was sincere; should you be in need of anything that is in my power to grant you, surely my age should make it easy for you to come to me.” He bowedrather stiffly, like a man to whom social conventions are a habit rather than a pleasure, and left her there, sitting on the sand, looking after him a little anxiously. “He was a queer old man,” she thought; “there could be no doubt of that,” and she wondered just what he had meant when he confessed that he could not understand her. She watched him as he joined the child, and until they and the little dog disappeared together around a rocky point she sat there, thinking of the strange look of speculation she had seen on his face.“Miss Barnhelm!” She looked up quickly at the sound of the voice and saw the young life-guard standing beside her.“Why did you follow me?” she demanded angrily. “I might have known I couldn’t trust you.”“I saw that you were alone,” he stammered, very much upset by her tone. “I—I had to see you.”“Why?”“Why!” He looked at her amazed. “Why? Do you think a man can forget—just in a few hours—forget you? I never knew that there were women like you in the world. I—I wouldn’t have dared to raisemy eyes to you—but—but you came to me—yourself!”“The woman tempted me, and I did fall,” she sneered. “I suppose that is what you mean?”“I mean, Miss Barnhelm, that I love you! I am not fool enough to dream that you could care enough for a man like me to let me make any difference in your life, but I can’t let you go away from me like this!”“My poor boy,” she spoke kindly, and looked at him with something very like sadness in her eyes, “you are making a mistake. We met yesterday in your boat. We walked together for a moment in the evening; that is all.”“And—and last night?”“Was a dream.”“No!”“Just a dream, and dreams don’t last. You must go now, quickly, please, because I see Mr. Fenway coming.”“Go and leave you to him!”“Yes.”He did not answer, but he had not the least idea ofgoing; she saw that in the same glance that showed her that Dick had seen them together and had quickened his pace. She must not let these two men meet; there was danger in that; this young man must be made to go, and in less than a minute. She looked up at him, flashing one look straight into his eyes.“Go now,” she said, almost in a whisper, “and wait for me—to-night.”“I will.” As he spoke he turned and walked on up the beach. She sighed as her eyes followed his free, powerful movements and noticed his easy, graceful figure and broad shoulders; then she turned to meet Dick.“That was that Blake, the life-guard,” Dick spluttered, his sallow face whiter than ever now with anger. “You must think I’m a damned fool to stand for a thing like this!”“I think that you are forgetting, Dick, that you are not speaking to one of your chorus-girl friends.”“Do you? Well, let me tell you something; even one of what you are pleased to call my chorus-girl friends would have the decency to play the game straight while she played it at all. There’s anothername for a woman who takes one man’s money and when his back is turned lets another fellow——”“You would be wise to stop right there!” She sprang up and faced him, white with rage, and with a look that, angry as he was, he dared not face. “I have taken your money; yes, this is not the first time you have chosen to remind me of it, but it is the very last. You won’t have another chance! I won’t take another dollar from you until we are married; after that, if you ever dare to repeat a thing like that, I will leave you! Now you go, get that divorce you talk so much about before you let me see your face again, and get it soon, if you expect me to wait for you!”“Lola, forgive me. I—I was wrong, but I am worried sick, or I wouldn’t have made such a fool of myself! Don’t be hard, Lola; I’ve troubles enough without that. I—I’m in a devil of a mess.”“What mess?” she questioned quickly. “More trouble with your father?”“Yes, another letter. He’s sore because I’ve been away from New York so long, neglecting my business, he says, and spending too much money. He will comearound all right; he always does, but to tell you the truth he refused to send me the check I asked for.”“He never did that before, did he?”“No, but it’s sure to be all right. I sent him a ‘day letter,’ and he’ll come around, but it rattled me, and my lawyers wrote that my confounded wife sticks out for fifty thousand!”“Well?”“I wired them to offer forty cash. I know the old man will pay that. He’s tired of having her around Cleveland, calling herself Mrs. Fenway. Forty thousand is an awful hold-up, but I can’t wait. The whole thing may be settled to-day.”“If your father, who has refused you ten thousand, agrees to give you fifty, and if this woman, who has stood out for fifty thousand, agrees to take forty, if all this happens you will be a free man, but these things have not happened yet, and if they do you will have to prove to me that there will be no more of this talk about the money you have spent on me, and the obligation I am supposed to be under to you, before I will agree to tie myself to you. Favors! Look at me! If I am not worth the few thousand I have costyou, go back to Broadway; you can buy more for your money there!”“Don’t, Lola. Don’t talk that way! I never thought a thing like that. I don’t deserve to have to hear you say it. When have I denied you anything, when have I asked anything in return, but just that you would care for me? I was wrong to lose my head, of course; you can’t help it if that cad of a life-guard has the nerve to hang around you. Can’t you let it go at that? Can’t you see that I am worried enough, without your turning against me?”“I see,” she answered coldly, “that Bob and Mrs. Harlan are coming, and it is hardly necessary to take them into our confidence. Mrs. Harlan has quite enough knowledge of our affairs; I think it is about time we saw the last of her. If you had less to do with women of that class, you might be able to remember that you can’t talk to me as though I were one of them.”Mrs. Harlan, as they all walked back to the hotel together, could not make up her mind as to just how matters stood. Dick was nervous, that was plain enough, but Lola’s mood puzzled her; she was veryquiet, very thoughtful, and from time to time, when she looked at Dick, she seemed to be trying to make up her mind.“I don’t like it,” Mrs. Harlan confided to Bob as they followed the others up the beach. “She’s up to something, or I miss my guess. She’s dangerous enough when she’s in one of her tantrums, but when she’s quiet, like she is now—look out. What do you suppose is the matter with her now?”“I don’t know,” replied Bob thoughtfully, “unless she’s hungry.”This could hardly have been the explanation, however, for she refused to go in to lunch with the others, and sat at the far end of the veranda, still seemingly in deep thought, until, hearing some one approaching, she looked up and saw Mr. Bradley.Her smile, as she welcomed him, however, had no trace of anything but girlish pleasure, and shrewd as he was, he could not but be flattered by the soft blush on her cheek, and the gladness in her eyes, as she rose to meet him.“Miss Barnhelm,” he began quickly, “I am anxious to speak with you, in confidence, before yourfriends or my daughter come from the dining-room.”“Yes, Mr. Bradley.”“I have a letter here.” As he spoke he drew the letter from his pocket. “I have decided to let you read it, although, as you will see, it is a breach of confidence on my part to do so. It is from Cleveland, from Dick Fenway’s father; it may perhaps offend you, but it may be a big help for you to know just how things stand. Here it is.”Lola took the letter calmly enough, and read it through without a word. It was dated from Cleveland two days before, and read as follows:“My Dear Bradley:“My son Dick has wired me to address him at the Hotel where you and Alice are staying. I am worried about the boy and want you to do me a favor. He has always been a great trouble to me, as you know, but he is all I have, and I am fool enough to love him. Will you have a talk with him, and tell him for me that he has come to the end of his rope. He has a wife whom I am willing to buy off on one condition. He is to return to New York at once and go to work, andhe is to convince you, as my agent, that from now on he gives up, absolutely and forever, any connection or acquaintance with a girl by the name of Lola Barnhelm, with whom he has been travelling for the last six weeks. Tell him that my information as to this young woman is complete. I have had them followed, and am in receipt of a daily report as to their movements. The efforts he has been making to secure a speedy divorce seem to point to an intention on his part to marry this person. If he does, please make it plain to him that he will support her himself, without help from me. Try to make him understand that I am not quite the fool he thinks me. I don’t like what I have heard about this Barnhelm girl, and I am serious when I say that if he marries her he will not support her on the money I have earned by hard work. You may be able to make him see his real position. Thank you in advance, old friend, for the help I know you will not refuse me. Give my love to your daughter. What a happy man I would be if my boy had brains enough to love a girl like her, and character enough to be worthy of her love.“Yours always,“Richard Fenway.”Lola finished the letter and, folding it carefully, handed it back to him.“Well?” she inquired calmly.“I—I thought,” he answered, very much embarrassed, “that you would want to know how you stood.”“Yes, I am very much obliged, but I am afraid I don’t. Are you acting now as Mr. Fenway’s agent, or as my friend?”“As your friend,” he replied earnestly.“Do you believe the insinuations this man has dared to make? That I am not a proper wife for his son?”“Well, I—I—only want you to know that if you marry the boy, his father will not give him another dollar.”“Do you believe what he believes of me?”“I think that you are too pretty to——”“Do you believe these things?”“What were you doing out of the hotel until three o’clock this morning?”“I—I——”“I could not sleep, because I was thinking of you! I was at my window, and I saw you when you returned,and I saw the young fellow who left you at the steps.”“Oh!” She looked at him for a moment; then a slow smile formed itself on her lips. “Then you, I suppose, do not care to count yourself any longer as my friend?”“Why not?” He looked at her with a new boldness. “I am a man of the world. Dick can’t do anything more for you, but is there any reason why you and I should not be good friends?”“I think you are making a mistake,” she answered quietly. “Dick fully intends to marry me. I am not the sort of girl you seem to think.”“And last night?”“Was my own affair.”“Very well,” he rose reluctantly, “I suppose there isn’t anything more to say. So you will marry Dick?”“Yes.”“And starve with him?”“Perhaps.”“I can’t figure this out.” He looked at her, doing his best to read her real intentions in her face. “You can’t love him, or why this other fellow? I supposeyou count on his father’s forgiveness, but that, if it comes at all, won’t come for years. You can’t wait years; don’t you see that? Your youth is your capital; you would be a fool to squander it, and you don’t look to me like a fool.”“No, I am not a fool,” she said quietly. “I have certain plans, certain intentions, that mean everything to me. Dick, nor his father, nor you can’t come between me and the life I want. You might help me, any one of you, but you can’t hold me back. I should like to tell you just what it is I do want, but not here, not now. Are you afraid to trust yourself alone with me?”“Are you laughing at me?”“Perhaps.”“What is it that you want me to do?”“Meet me in half an hour on the shore road, just above the place where we met yesterday; do you remember?”“Yes.”“Get out of your head, before you meet me, the thought that I am the sort of woman who can be bought by any man. Until last night no man, in allmy life, ever had the right to say that he had been anything to me. Do you believe that?”“Yes. I can’t doubt it, when you look at me as you look now.”“And you will be there, in half an hour?”“Yes. Your friends are coming. I will go now; I will be waiting for you.”He passed Dick, and Bob, and Mrs. Harlan, and as he was about to descend the steps to the road, his daughter’s voice stopped him.“Father.” Alice stepped out of the house with a letter in her hand. “Look! Here is a letter from Aunt Helen; she is coming on the late train to-night.”“That’s fine,” he answered heartily. “I am delighted! Good-bye, dear; I’m off for a little walk. I won’t be long.”“Take care of yourself,” she called after him gayly, “and don’t be late.” She turned away, joining Mr. Miller and Molly, and they all walked along the veranda, followed by the little dog, until they stopped at the group that now were gathered about Lola. Mr. Miller noticed, as he took the chair one of the young men offered him, that Lola was not making more thana half-hearted effort to join in the general conversation, and he was watching the unmistakable signs of repressed emotion on her sensitive face, when she looked up and saw him. He expected to see a blaze of anger in her eyes, but for some reason she seemed anxious to avoid his scrutiny, and bent over, rather obviously to escape his glance, and patted the little dog, who was sitting sedately beside his mistress, only a foot or two away. At the first touch of her hand the tiny creature gave a snarl and, turning, buried his little teeth in her wrist. Molly cried out and sprang forward, but Lola threw her aside and, catching up a tennis racquet from the arm of one of the chairs, struck the dog with all her strength. Molly screamed as she saw the little figure fall back motionless, and all the others rose quickly and stepped forward with cries of indignation, but Lola did not hear them; again and again she struck, although her first blow had done its work; and as she struck she screamed, like the snarling scream of an angry wolf; for a moment no one moved, but at last Bob threw her aside as he would have thrown a man, and Molly dropped down, sobbing bitterly by the side of her little friend. Noone spoke; Lola shuddered and, turning her head, looked about her from one to another. No eyes met hers; they all stood there, sick with horror. After a moment of silence, broken only by the sobbing of the child, she gave a short, contemptuous laugh and, dropping the blood-stained racquet, walked down the veranda to the door.
“Thisis my idea of the work I’d like to do for my living,” said Mrs. Harlan with a yawn, as she tilted her sun-shade a little forward and settled herself deeper in the soft sand. “All I need now to be perfectly happy is to have one of you read to me until I fall asleep.”
“Lola looks as though she could sleep without that,” said Bob, glancing at her lazily. “You went to bed early enough last night; couldn’t you get any rest?”
“I do feel a little tired,” answered Lola. “I slept some, of course, but not for hours.”
“That’s queer,” exclaimed Dick. “I knocked on your door when I went upstairs about eleven, and you didn’t answer. If you were awake you must have heard me. You didn’t leave your room again, did you?”
“Why should I?” She sat up rather flushed, andturned to him angrily. “Where would I have gone? What are you talking about? Why do you always say such absurd things?”
“Come now, Lola,” broke in Mrs. Harlan soothingly. “Dick hasn’t said anything dreadful. Don’t be cross, please, and spoil a day like this.”
“No, don’t, for pity sake don’t let’s have any rows,” said Bob earnestly; “nothing in the world so bad for my digestion.”
“Anyone would think you had something to hide, by the way you are jumping on me,” complained Dick resentfully. “I don’t see any crime in asking you if you had stepped out of your room for a minute.”
“I have told you that I did not.”
“You might have run in to see Madge.”
“No! No! No!” She spoke almost in a scream. “How many times do I have to repeat it? No! No! No!”
“Come on, Madge; that’s the three-alarm signal,” exclaimed Bob, as he got to his feet heavily. “Great God, Lola,” he looked down at her, his fat, good-natured face expressing his deep disgust, “why can’t you learn to keep your disposition in the ice chest?You’re all right when you are all right, but you’re a wonder at kicking up a row.”
“I guess Bob’s playing safe,” agreed Mrs. Harlan, as she took his proffered hand and got to her feet. “We’ll leave you two alone, as usual, to fight it out. Come on, Bob; I may not be as great a social light as Lola is getting lately, but I’m perfectly willing to sit in the sand and let you go to sleep.”
Lola made no effort to stop them, and they walked on up the beach in search of peace and quiet, Mrs. Harlan angry and disgusted, Bob deeply discouraged.
“There,” exclaimed Dick. “You’ve driven them away again!”
“What of it?” Lola looked at him coldly. “Go with them if you want to!”
“I don’t, but Bob’s getting tired of this sort of thing, and he’s too good a fellow to be made uncomfortable all the time.”
“He’s a fool—a perfect fool; you know he is, Dick Fenway. The only thing in the world that would really please him would be to eat a good dinner in a deaf and dumb asylum. I’m tired to death of him and of your Mrs. Harlan, too. She’s coarse, and low, andvulgar, and if you had any respect for me at all you wouldn’t force me to be with such a person!”
“But, my dear girl, you know I can’t help it!”
“Well, you ought to help it,” she replied cruelly. “It puts me in a false position, to be seen with a woman of that sort. Everyone notices it. Mr. Bradley practically said as much to me this morning.”
“And took time enough saying it, too,” said Dick resentfully. “I thought the old man had tied himself to your skirts for the day. You kept me waiting a good half hour. What are you trying to jolly him for; we don’t want any of his money.”
She made no reply to this, but threw herself back on the sand and, shading her face with her parasol, deliberately closed her eyes.
“I say, Lola,” Dick remarked after a moment’s pause; “if you don’t care to make any more of an effort than this to be sociable, I think I’ll leave you here while I go back to the hotel; the mail is in by now, and I’m almost sure to get some news from Cleveland.”
“A very good idea,” she answered calmly. “I’ll wait right here until you return. You are so cross to-day that I don’t think you would be very good company.”
He made no reply. “What was the use of starting another battle?” he said to himself bitterly; “all that I can do is to go away and come back when she isn’t so cranky.”
They parted like this, as men and women have parted since first they came into the world. She, perfectly serene, as sure of his return as she was of her own unreasonableness. He, puzzled as to just what his fault had been and not quite sure whether to be angry with her or with himself. A man is always very sorry for the thing he is quite innocent of having done; it is only when he has really been at fault that he remains calmly indifferent.
Lola was very comfortable; it was a warm day, but there was a breeze from the water, and she lay there, every muscle relaxed, shading her face with her parasol, which she had dropped on the sand, looking dreamily out to where a long line of black smoke on the horizon marked the passing of some great steamer.
Somehow the thought of a ship at sea brought Dr. Crossett to her mind. She often thought of him, more often than of her father or of John. The Doctor had loved her; she knew that; not as a father loves,through instinct, or as a lover, from desire, but because he had put her in the place of the one woman who had represented the idea of love in his life. He was a rich man, Dr. Crossett; what fun they could have together in Paris! If anything ever went wrong with her, she was going to him; she had quite made up her mind to that, but, after all, what could go wrong? Dick would always give her what she wanted, and if not Dick, there were plenty of others. The only trouble was that if they had money they were either stupid, like poor Dick or old, like Mr. Bradley; if they were strong and handsome, like that splendid young life-guard, they were hopelessly poor. On the whole, however, she was satisfied with life. She had done well enough so far, and she very strongly intended to do better. She was very tired, very sleepy; the little waves breaking over the smooth sand soothed her; the wind swept softly over her like a caress; she laughed happily to herself as she thought of Dick’s anger. How silly he was. What would he do if he knew where she had really been, as he stood outside her door, the night before. How had she dared to do it? She blushed red at the thoughts that came crowding into her head,and thrilling, trembling with a new knowledge of life, she fell asleep.
She stirred uneasily after a time, and sitting up suddenly, conscious as one sometimes is of being the object of another’s thoughts, she met the eyes of Mr. Miller, the old gentleman of the night before, fixed earnestly upon her. “How long had he stood there, looking at her?” she thought angrily to herself. “How dared he smile at her like that, as though his wise old eyes could read her mind.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Barnhelm.” He spoke in the gentle, kindly voice she had so resented the night before. “I am afraid that I have disturbed you.”
“Why were you looking at me?” she demanded bluntly.
“It was very rude, very unfair,” he admitted, “but you looked so comfortable and, if I may say so, so absurdly young, that it did not at the time seem a serious offence.”
“You were studying me,” she exclaimed hotly, “trying to read my mind, as I lay here asleep. Using me for a subject to dissect for one of your stupid books. Well—what have you discovered?”
“Nothing! You are so frank with me that I will be honest in my turn. It is my habit to study those about me. I am sorry; I hope you are fully aware that in my interest there was nothing that could in any way offend you.”
“You mean, I suppose, that you would have looked just as closely at a toad or a potato-bug! I am quite aware of that. I am not even angry any more, only curious. What can you tell me about myself?”
“Nothing, my dear young lady, only that you have, in common with the rest of the world, two natures, warring against one another, in your heart. I will confess that in your case I thought I saw a flash of something deeper, more tragic, than one usually finds in the face of a young girl, just a bad dream perhaps, or perhaps a real trouble. If the last, I would gladly do my best to help you.”
“Why?”
“Because I have worked very hard for fifty years, and sometimes I am discouraged at the little real good my knowledge has ever done. I have more than my share of money, and time, and influence; any or all of these are at your disposal.”
“You were a Professor, they told me, and a writer of books?”
“Yes. I am, if I am anything, a Psychologist.”
“My father was that,” remarked Lola a trifle bitterly, “although to me it was never anything but a name.”
“It is merely a name for a very simple thing: the art of keeping one’s eyes open. Psychology is the study of mental phenomena; I believe that is as good a definition as it is possible to give, and it means only the study of our fellow creatures, in the hope that in the end the psychologist may do for the mind what the physician now does for the body.”
“And to do this, to learn this new trade of yours, you hesitate no more about robbing me of my mind and dissecting it than a country medical student would hesitate to rob a grave.”
“Not any more certainly,” he replied, evidently still much amused at her indignation, “but as I have perceived nothing but a well-deserved rebuke, perhaps you will forgive me. I am on duty to-day, as you see; after many years of careful study I am consideredworthy of a very sacred trust. I am granted the privilege of playing nurse to a child and a dog.”
He pointed along the beach to where his granddaughter was playing with her absurd little poodle, and as his eyes rested upon them his smile lost its queer, impersonal look and became very commonplace indeed, just the smile of a good man, whose heart goes out in thankfulness to God for the joy of seeing a little child of his own blood safe and well.
“You are,” said Lola gravely, “the very queerest person I have ever met. If you are anxious to study mental phenomena you might buy yourself a looking-glass. I must confess that I can’t understand you at all.”
“Since we seem to have met upon a rather unusual attitude of frankness,” he responded mildly, “I am going to return the compliment. Our impressions seem to have been identical.” He turned as if to leave, but after a slight hesitation he faced her, and said in a more serious tone, “My offer of assistance was sincere; should you be in need of anything that is in my power to grant you, surely my age should make it easy for you to come to me.” He bowedrather stiffly, like a man to whom social conventions are a habit rather than a pleasure, and left her there, sitting on the sand, looking after him a little anxiously. “He was a queer old man,” she thought; “there could be no doubt of that,” and she wondered just what he had meant when he confessed that he could not understand her. She watched him as he joined the child, and until they and the little dog disappeared together around a rocky point she sat there, thinking of the strange look of speculation she had seen on his face.
“Miss Barnhelm!” She looked up quickly at the sound of the voice and saw the young life-guard standing beside her.
“Why did you follow me?” she demanded angrily. “I might have known I couldn’t trust you.”
“I saw that you were alone,” he stammered, very much upset by her tone. “I—I had to see you.”
“Why?”
“Why!” He looked at her amazed. “Why? Do you think a man can forget—just in a few hours—forget you? I never knew that there were women like you in the world. I—I wouldn’t have dared to raisemy eyes to you—but—but you came to me—yourself!”
“The woman tempted me, and I did fall,” she sneered. “I suppose that is what you mean?”
“I mean, Miss Barnhelm, that I love you! I am not fool enough to dream that you could care enough for a man like me to let me make any difference in your life, but I can’t let you go away from me like this!”
“My poor boy,” she spoke kindly, and looked at him with something very like sadness in her eyes, “you are making a mistake. We met yesterday in your boat. We walked together for a moment in the evening; that is all.”
“And—and last night?”
“Was a dream.”
“No!”
“Just a dream, and dreams don’t last. You must go now, quickly, please, because I see Mr. Fenway coming.”
“Go and leave you to him!”
“Yes.”
He did not answer, but he had not the least idea ofgoing; she saw that in the same glance that showed her that Dick had seen them together and had quickened his pace. She must not let these two men meet; there was danger in that; this young man must be made to go, and in less than a minute. She looked up at him, flashing one look straight into his eyes.
“Go now,” she said, almost in a whisper, “and wait for me—to-night.”
“I will.” As he spoke he turned and walked on up the beach. She sighed as her eyes followed his free, powerful movements and noticed his easy, graceful figure and broad shoulders; then she turned to meet Dick.
“That was that Blake, the life-guard,” Dick spluttered, his sallow face whiter than ever now with anger. “You must think I’m a damned fool to stand for a thing like this!”
“I think that you are forgetting, Dick, that you are not speaking to one of your chorus-girl friends.”
“Do you? Well, let me tell you something; even one of what you are pleased to call my chorus-girl friends would have the decency to play the game straight while she played it at all. There’s anothername for a woman who takes one man’s money and when his back is turned lets another fellow——”
“You would be wise to stop right there!” She sprang up and faced him, white with rage, and with a look that, angry as he was, he dared not face. “I have taken your money; yes, this is not the first time you have chosen to remind me of it, but it is the very last. You won’t have another chance! I won’t take another dollar from you until we are married; after that, if you ever dare to repeat a thing like that, I will leave you! Now you go, get that divorce you talk so much about before you let me see your face again, and get it soon, if you expect me to wait for you!”
“Lola, forgive me. I—I was wrong, but I am worried sick, or I wouldn’t have made such a fool of myself! Don’t be hard, Lola; I’ve troubles enough without that. I—I’m in a devil of a mess.”
“What mess?” she questioned quickly. “More trouble with your father?”
“Yes, another letter. He’s sore because I’ve been away from New York so long, neglecting my business, he says, and spending too much money. He will comearound all right; he always does, but to tell you the truth he refused to send me the check I asked for.”
“He never did that before, did he?”
“No, but it’s sure to be all right. I sent him a ‘day letter,’ and he’ll come around, but it rattled me, and my lawyers wrote that my confounded wife sticks out for fifty thousand!”
“Well?”
“I wired them to offer forty cash. I know the old man will pay that. He’s tired of having her around Cleveland, calling herself Mrs. Fenway. Forty thousand is an awful hold-up, but I can’t wait. The whole thing may be settled to-day.”
“If your father, who has refused you ten thousand, agrees to give you fifty, and if this woman, who has stood out for fifty thousand, agrees to take forty, if all this happens you will be a free man, but these things have not happened yet, and if they do you will have to prove to me that there will be no more of this talk about the money you have spent on me, and the obligation I am supposed to be under to you, before I will agree to tie myself to you. Favors! Look at me! If I am not worth the few thousand I have costyou, go back to Broadway; you can buy more for your money there!”
“Don’t, Lola. Don’t talk that way! I never thought a thing like that. I don’t deserve to have to hear you say it. When have I denied you anything, when have I asked anything in return, but just that you would care for me? I was wrong to lose my head, of course; you can’t help it if that cad of a life-guard has the nerve to hang around you. Can’t you let it go at that? Can’t you see that I am worried enough, without your turning against me?”
“I see,” she answered coldly, “that Bob and Mrs. Harlan are coming, and it is hardly necessary to take them into our confidence. Mrs. Harlan has quite enough knowledge of our affairs; I think it is about time we saw the last of her. If you had less to do with women of that class, you might be able to remember that you can’t talk to me as though I were one of them.”
Mrs. Harlan, as they all walked back to the hotel together, could not make up her mind as to just how matters stood. Dick was nervous, that was plain enough, but Lola’s mood puzzled her; she was veryquiet, very thoughtful, and from time to time, when she looked at Dick, she seemed to be trying to make up her mind.
“I don’t like it,” Mrs. Harlan confided to Bob as they followed the others up the beach. “She’s up to something, or I miss my guess. She’s dangerous enough when she’s in one of her tantrums, but when she’s quiet, like she is now—look out. What do you suppose is the matter with her now?”
“I don’t know,” replied Bob thoughtfully, “unless she’s hungry.”
This could hardly have been the explanation, however, for she refused to go in to lunch with the others, and sat at the far end of the veranda, still seemingly in deep thought, until, hearing some one approaching, she looked up and saw Mr. Bradley.
Her smile, as she welcomed him, however, had no trace of anything but girlish pleasure, and shrewd as he was, he could not but be flattered by the soft blush on her cheek, and the gladness in her eyes, as she rose to meet him.
“Miss Barnhelm,” he began quickly, “I am anxious to speak with you, in confidence, before yourfriends or my daughter come from the dining-room.”
“Yes, Mr. Bradley.”
“I have a letter here.” As he spoke he drew the letter from his pocket. “I have decided to let you read it, although, as you will see, it is a breach of confidence on my part to do so. It is from Cleveland, from Dick Fenway’s father; it may perhaps offend you, but it may be a big help for you to know just how things stand. Here it is.”
Lola took the letter calmly enough, and read it through without a word. It was dated from Cleveland two days before, and read as follows:
“My Dear Bradley:“My son Dick has wired me to address him at the Hotel where you and Alice are staying. I am worried about the boy and want you to do me a favor. He has always been a great trouble to me, as you know, but he is all I have, and I am fool enough to love him. Will you have a talk with him, and tell him for me that he has come to the end of his rope. He has a wife whom I am willing to buy off on one condition. He is to return to New York at once and go to work, andhe is to convince you, as my agent, that from now on he gives up, absolutely and forever, any connection or acquaintance with a girl by the name of Lola Barnhelm, with whom he has been travelling for the last six weeks. Tell him that my information as to this young woman is complete. I have had them followed, and am in receipt of a daily report as to their movements. The efforts he has been making to secure a speedy divorce seem to point to an intention on his part to marry this person. If he does, please make it plain to him that he will support her himself, without help from me. Try to make him understand that I am not quite the fool he thinks me. I don’t like what I have heard about this Barnhelm girl, and I am serious when I say that if he marries her he will not support her on the money I have earned by hard work. You may be able to make him see his real position. Thank you in advance, old friend, for the help I know you will not refuse me. Give my love to your daughter. What a happy man I would be if my boy had brains enough to love a girl like her, and character enough to be worthy of her love.“Yours always,“Richard Fenway.”
“My Dear Bradley:
“My son Dick has wired me to address him at the Hotel where you and Alice are staying. I am worried about the boy and want you to do me a favor. He has always been a great trouble to me, as you know, but he is all I have, and I am fool enough to love him. Will you have a talk with him, and tell him for me that he has come to the end of his rope. He has a wife whom I am willing to buy off on one condition. He is to return to New York at once and go to work, andhe is to convince you, as my agent, that from now on he gives up, absolutely and forever, any connection or acquaintance with a girl by the name of Lola Barnhelm, with whom he has been travelling for the last six weeks. Tell him that my information as to this young woman is complete. I have had them followed, and am in receipt of a daily report as to their movements. The efforts he has been making to secure a speedy divorce seem to point to an intention on his part to marry this person. If he does, please make it plain to him that he will support her himself, without help from me. Try to make him understand that I am not quite the fool he thinks me. I don’t like what I have heard about this Barnhelm girl, and I am serious when I say that if he marries her he will not support her on the money I have earned by hard work. You may be able to make him see his real position. Thank you in advance, old friend, for the help I know you will not refuse me. Give my love to your daughter. What a happy man I would be if my boy had brains enough to love a girl like her, and character enough to be worthy of her love.
“Yours always,“Richard Fenway.”
Lola finished the letter and, folding it carefully, handed it back to him.
“Well?” she inquired calmly.
“I—I thought,” he answered, very much embarrassed, “that you would want to know how you stood.”
“Yes, I am very much obliged, but I am afraid I don’t. Are you acting now as Mr. Fenway’s agent, or as my friend?”
“As your friend,” he replied earnestly.
“Do you believe the insinuations this man has dared to make? That I am not a proper wife for his son?”
“Well, I—I—only want you to know that if you marry the boy, his father will not give him another dollar.”
“Do you believe what he believes of me?”
“I think that you are too pretty to——”
“Do you believe these things?”
“What were you doing out of the hotel until three o’clock this morning?”
“I—I——”
“I could not sleep, because I was thinking of you! I was at my window, and I saw you when you returned,and I saw the young fellow who left you at the steps.”
“Oh!” She looked at him for a moment; then a slow smile formed itself on her lips. “Then you, I suppose, do not care to count yourself any longer as my friend?”
“Why not?” He looked at her with a new boldness. “I am a man of the world. Dick can’t do anything more for you, but is there any reason why you and I should not be good friends?”
“I think you are making a mistake,” she answered quietly. “Dick fully intends to marry me. I am not the sort of girl you seem to think.”
“And last night?”
“Was my own affair.”
“Very well,” he rose reluctantly, “I suppose there isn’t anything more to say. So you will marry Dick?”
“Yes.”
“And starve with him?”
“Perhaps.”
“I can’t figure this out.” He looked at her, doing his best to read her real intentions in her face. “You can’t love him, or why this other fellow? I supposeyou count on his father’s forgiveness, but that, if it comes at all, won’t come for years. You can’t wait years; don’t you see that? Your youth is your capital; you would be a fool to squander it, and you don’t look to me like a fool.”
“No, I am not a fool,” she said quietly. “I have certain plans, certain intentions, that mean everything to me. Dick, nor his father, nor you can’t come between me and the life I want. You might help me, any one of you, but you can’t hold me back. I should like to tell you just what it is I do want, but not here, not now. Are you afraid to trust yourself alone with me?”
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Perhaps.”
“What is it that you want me to do?”
“Meet me in half an hour on the shore road, just above the place where we met yesterday; do you remember?”
“Yes.”
“Get out of your head, before you meet me, the thought that I am the sort of woman who can be bought by any man. Until last night no man, in allmy life, ever had the right to say that he had been anything to me. Do you believe that?”
“Yes. I can’t doubt it, when you look at me as you look now.”
“And you will be there, in half an hour?”
“Yes. Your friends are coming. I will go now; I will be waiting for you.”
He passed Dick, and Bob, and Mrs. Harlan, and as he was about to descend the steps to the road, his daughter’s voice stopped him.
“Father.” Alice stepped out of the house with a letter in her hand. “Look! Here is a letter from Aunt Helen; she is coming on the late train to-night.”
“That’s fine,” he answered heartily. “I am delighted! Good-bye, dear; I’m off for a little walk. I won’t be long.”
“Take care of yourself,” she called after him gayly, “and don’t be late.” She turned away, joining Mr. Miller and Molly, and they all walked along the veranda, followed by the little dog, until they stopped at the group that now were gathered about Lola. Mr. Miller noticed, as he took the chair one of the young men offered him, that Lola was not making more thana half-hearted effort to join in the general conversation, and he was watching the unmistakable signs of repressed emotion on her sensitive face, when she looked up and saw him. He expected to see a blaze of anger in her eyes, but for some reason she seemed anxious to avoid his scrutiny, and bent over, rather obviously to escape his glance, and patted the little dog, who was sitting sedately beside his mistress, only a foot or two away. At the first touch of her hand the tiny creature gave a snarl and, turning, buried his little teeth in her wrist. Molly cried out and sprang forward, but Lola threw her aside and, catching up a tennis racquet from the arm of one of the chairs, struck the dog with all her strength. Molly screamed as she saw the little figure fall back motionless, and all the others rose quickly and stepped forward with cries of indignation, but Lola did not hear them; again and again she struck, although her first blow had done its work; and as she struck she screamed, like the snarling scream of an angry wolf; for a moment no one moved, but at last Bob threw her aside as he would have thrown a man, and Molly dropped down, sobbing bitterly by the side of her little friend. Noone spoke; Lola shuddered and, turning her head, looked about her from one to another. No eyes met hers; they all stood there, sick with horror. After a moment of silence, broken only by the sobbing of the child, she gave a short, contemptuous laugh and, dropping the blood-stained racquet, walked down the veranda to the door.