CHAPTER XVII
Carey came in at a quarter to six, a most unwonted thing for him to do, even though he had been implored to do so by both sisters; and a great anxiety rolled from their minds as he went whistling merrily up the stairs and was heard splashing around in the bathroom. He had not been allowed to go into the dining-room. Louise had met him at the front door, showed him the glories of her new dress, and piloted him straight to the upper floor; but the general gala atmosphere of the house and the breath of the roses in the living room gave him the sense of festivity. He had not yet recovered from his boyish pleasure of the morning gifts and the unwonted tenderness of his father. He had the air of intending to do his part toward making this evening a pleasant one. As he went about an elaborate toilet, he resolved not to go out at all, but to stay at home the whole evening and try to make himself agreeable to his family, who were going to so much trouble for him. This virtuous resolve gave an exalted ring to the jazzy tune he whistled above the sound of the running water, and also served to hide from his ears numerous sounds below stairs.
Grace Kendall arrived and slipped into the kitchen; donned a big apron, and did efficient service arranging the lettuce leaves on the salad plates and turning out the pretty quivering jelly on them. Louise was posted at the front window with wildly throbbing heart and earnestlittle face, awaiting the guest of anxiety, afraid she would come before Carey got out of the bathroom and safely up into his room, afraid and half hoping she wouldn’t come at all, after all—and yet! Oh! There she was coming right in the gate! Suddenly Louise’s feet grew heavy, and for one awful second she knew she couldn’t walk to the front door and open it. And Carey—yes Carey was unlocking the bathroom door. He was going upstairs. Strength returned to her unwilling feet, and she sped to the door, and found herself opening it and bowing pleasantly to the overdressed and somewhat embarrassed young woman standing on the steps. Suddenly the sweetness and simplicity of the little pink organdie her sister had made for her enveloped all Louise’s shyness and anxiety, and she felt quite able to carry off the situation.
“Come right in,” she said sweetly with a tone of real welcome.
Clytie stepped in, and stared around curiously, almost furtively. It was evident she had not at all known to what sort of place she was coming and was startled, embarrassed. She was dressed in a vivid turquoise-blue taffeta evening frock composed of myriads of tiny ruffles, a bit of a girdle, and silver shoulder straps, the whole being much abbreviated at both ends and but partially concealed under a flimsy evening coat of light tan. Her face had that ghastly coloring of too much powder and paint. Her hat was a strange creation of henna ostrich-feathers hanging out in a cascade behind and looking like a bushy headof red hair. Rings and bracelets glittered and tinkled against a cheap bead hand-bag, and her gauzy hosiery and showy footgear were entirely in keeping with thetout ensemble. But when she stepped into the beautiful living room with its flickering fire, its softly shaded lights, its breath of roses and harmony of color, she seemed somehow as much out of place as a potato-bug in a lady’s boudoir. Louise had a sudden feeling of compassion for her as the victim of a terrible joke, and she felt afraid of her no longer.
“Will you come upstairs and take off your hat?” she asked sweetly, and led the way up to her bedroom, where everything was in dainty order. A single rose in a tiny vase in front of the mirror under a pink-shaded candle-light set the keynote for the whole room.
Clytie stepped awesomely into the pretty room, and gazed about fearsomely, almost as if she suspected a trap somewhere, almost as if she felt herself an intruder, yet bold enough to see the experience through to the finish. It wasn’t in the least what she had expected of Carey, but it was interesting. She decided they were “highbrows” whatever that was. She took off the elaborate hat, and puffed out her hair, bobbed in the latest way and apparently electrified to make every hair separate from every other, in a whirl around her head, much like a dandelion gone to seed.
Louise watched her as she prinked a moment before the mirror, rubbing her small tilted nose with a bit of a dab from her hand-bag, touching her eyebrows and lips, andruffling out her hair a little wilder than before. The little girl was glad that the guest said nothing. Now if she could only get her down into the living room before Carey suspected! Somehow she felt that it would not be well for Carey to know before he came downstairs that that girl was in the house. There was no knowing what Carey might do. So she led the silent guest downstairs, and remarked as they reached the safety of the landing, “It’s a pleasant evening.”
The guest stepped down, took another survey of the astonishingly lovely room, and responded absently: “Yeah! It is!”
“Just sit down, and I will tell my sister you have come,” said Louise airily, and vanished with relief, her awful duty done.
Cornelia came in at once, followed by Grace, and overwhelmed the young woman with their pleasant welcome. Astonishment and wary alertness were uppermost in the guest’s face. She had begun to suspect something somewhere. She was sharp. She knew a girl of this kind would never have chosen her as a guest. Could it be that Carey had demanded it? She resented the presence of this other pretty, quiet girl in a blue organdie with no rouge on her face. Who was she, and what did they have to invite her for? Was she another of Carey’s girls? She sat down uncomfortably on the edge of the chair offered her, and tried to pull down her inadequate little skirts. Somehow these graceful girls made her feel awkward and out of place.
Cornelia excused herself, and went back to the kitchen after a few pleasant words; and Grace Kendall took over the task of entertaining the silent guest, who eyed her sullenly and could not be made to vouchsafe more reply to any question than “Yes” or “No.” But Grace had not been born a minister’s daughter for nothing, and she was past mistress of all the graces of conversation and of making people feel at their ease. She was presently deep in the story of a certain set of photographs of strange lands that had been gathered by her father in a trip he had taken several years before, and the other girl in spite of herself was getting interested.
It is curious how many little things manage to get across into one’s consciousness at a time like this. How, for instance, did Cornelia in the kitchen, taking up the cutlets and placing them on the hot plates, know just the precise instant when Brand Barlock’s car drew up before the door, and Carey’s clear whistle in the third story ceased? She felt it even before the door opened and Louise’s excited whisper announced: “He’s come, Nellie! Hurry!” and she was even then unbuttoning the big enveloping apron and hurrying forward.
So she met Brand Barlock at the front door with a welcoming hand outstretched to greet him, and a hearty low-voiced “I’m so glad you could come! Carey doesn’t know about it yet, but I expect he’ll see your car out of his window. He’s upstairs dressing. Come in. Let me take your hat. Mr. Barlock, let me introduce Miss Kendall and Miss Dodd.”
Brand Barlock stared. First at Cornelia, swiftly, approvingly, and with an answering smile for her cordial one; then at the lovely room which he entered, and gave a swift, comprehensive survey; and then at the lovely girl in blue who came forward to greet him.
“Pleased to meet you, I’m sure!” he said giving her a direct appraisement, a respectful interest, and shaking her hand quite unnecessarily. He was entirely at his ease, and altogether accustomed to rapid adjustments to environment one could see that at once; yet it was also perceptible that he was surprised, and agreeably so. He held Grace Kendall’s slim young hand impressively, a trifle longer than was in keeping with polite usage, yet not long enough to be resented; and his eyes made several sentences progress in acquaintance with her before he took them from her face and let them rest upon Miss Dodd, who had at last risen with some show of interest in life again and come a step or two forward. Then he stared again.
“Oh! Hello, Clytie! You here?” he greeted her carelessly, and went and sat down beside Miss Kendall. His tone said that Clytie Dodd was decidedly out of her element, and suddenly under the heavy veneer of white Clytie Dodd grew deeply red. Cornelia with a glance took in all these things, and a wave of sudden compassion swept over her, too, for the girl whom she had thus placed in a trying position. Had she done well? She could not tell. But it was too late now. She must go forward and make it a success. She tried to make it up by smiling at the girl pleasantly.
“Now, if you will just talk a minute or two, I think Carey will be down soon. It is time for father’s car to come, and we’ll have dinner at once.” Cornelia disappeared through the dining-room door again.
Just at that precise moment Arthur Maxwell slowed up his car at the corner where Mr. Copley’s trolley was about to stop, and looked perplexedly about him, studying the houses on either side.
“I beg your pardon,” he said politely, as Mr. Copley got out of the trolley and crossed the street in front of him. “Could you tell me if there is a family by the name of Copley about here? I seem to have mislaid the address, but my memory of it is that they live somewhere along this block or the next.”
“Copley’s my name, sir,” said Mr. Copley with his genial smile. “What can I do for you?”
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Copley,” said Maxwell cordially. “I’ve had no end of a time finding your house. Thought I could go directly to it, but find my memory wasn’t so good as I banked on. I must have left the address at home, after all. I’ve a box here to deliver to your daughter. You have a daughter, haven’t you?”
“Why, yes, two of them,” said the father, smiling. He liked this pleasant young man with the handsome smile and the expensive car, asking after his daughter. This was his idea of the kind of friends he would like his daughters to have if he had the choosing. “I guess you mean Cornelia. I suppose you’re somebody she met at college.”
“No, nothing so good as that. I can’t really claim anything but a second-hand acquaintance. It was my mother who met her on a journey to Philadelphia some months ago. Mother quite fell in love with her, I believe; and she’s sent her some ferns, which she asked me to deliver. Suppose you get in, and I’ll take you the rest of the way. Is it in this block?”
Mr. Copley swung his long limbs into the seat beside the young man.
“No, the next block, middle of the block, just at the top of the hill, right-hand side,” he said. “I remember Cornie speaking of your mother. She was very kind, and Cornie enjoyed her. It certainly is good of her to remember my little girl. Ferns!” He looked back at the box. “She certainly will like those. She’s a great one for fixing up the house, and putting flowers about and growing things. She’ll be pleased to see you. Here’s the house, the one with the stone chimney. Yes, that’s new, my son built it since Cornie came home. She wanted a fireplace. Now you’ll come right in. Cornie ’ll want to thank you.”
“Thank you,” said the young man, lifting out the heavy box. “That won’t be necessary. She can thank mother sometime when she sees her. I’ll just put the box here on the porch, shall I?—and not detain your daughter. I really ought to be getting along. I haven’t had my dinner yet.”
“Oh, then you’ll come right in and take dinner with us. The young people will be delighted to have you, Iknow. Cornie said they were going to have a company supper tonight because it’s my son’s birthday, twenty-one. I’d like you to meet my son; that is, I’d like him to know you, you know”; and the father smiled a confiding smile.
“Oh, but really,” Arthur Maxwell began.
But Mr. Copley had a detaining hand upon the young man’s arm.
“We couldn’t really let you go this way, you know,” said the father. “We couldn’t think of it. We haven’t any very grand hospitality to offer you, but we can’t let you go away without being thanked. Cornie!”
Mr. Copley threw wide the door of the living room. “Cornie, here’s Mr. Maxwell. He’s brought you some ferns, and he’s going to stay to dinner with us. Put on another plate.”
It was just at this instant that Carey Copley, humming his jazzy tune and fumbling with a refractory cuff-link, started down the front stairs, and paused in wild dismay.