CHAPTER XI.ALICE AND CRAIG.
Craig had been sitting on the piazza a long time waiting for somebody to come, but the somebody waited for had not appeared and he was growing rather impatient and wondering what kept her. Twice Mark Hilton had walked the length of the piazza,—an unusual proceeding for him at that hour in the morning when his duties confined him in the office. Once as he was passing Craig he stopped abruptly and asked, “Have you seen her?”
Craig felt intuitively whom he meant and answered, “No, have you?”
“Only very indistinctly in the rain,” Mark replied, and walked on wondering at the unrest which possessed him and had made him quite as wakeful the previous night as Craig had been.
He knew it was Helen whom he had carried through the rain, for he heard her mother speak her name. He had not seen her face, but the way her arms had clung around his neck, as if afraid he would let her fall, and the pressure of her hand on his as he put her down, had been like an electric shock which he still felt, calling himself a fool many times to be upset by the touch of a hand and the clasp of a girl’s arms around his neck. It was a new experience for him, as he had never paid much attention to the ladies. No one who saw him ever suspected the morbid vein in his nature which made him dwell secretly upon a past in which he had no part and with which few ever connected him. He had felt it to an unusual degree that afternoon when he stood by ’Tina’s grave, the shadow of which was always with himwhen his laugh was the lightest and his manner the proudest. He couldn’t forget it, and fancied that other people remembered it, as he did. To the guests at the hotel he was polite and kind and attentive, but never familiar with them, especially if they were ladies, who were sure to hear the story and gossip about it. He had thought a good deal about the Tracys, who represented a different class from those who usually frequented the hotel. They were the extreme fashionables, who would probably think of him as a kind of servant to do their bidding. His attention to them in the rain was what he would have given to any ladies, and he was not prepared for the way in which Helen had received it. She certainly had pressed his hand and clasped his neck as her mother had not done, and she was just as conscious of the act as he was. This he did not know. It was an accident, he believed, and she would never give him another thought, while he should subside into his place as the hotel clerk and watch and admire her at a distance. This was his decision as he left Craig and went to speak to a gentleman who had come from the train and was inquiring the way to a farmhouse among the hills of West Ridgefield.
Left to himself Craig looked at his watch and then picked up Browning, which he usually had with him. He had joined a Browning club in Boston, partly because it was the thing to do, and partly because he really liked the poet and enjoyed trying to find out what he meant, if anything. He had taken up the Story of Sordello for his summer work, resolved to make himself master of its obscurities and astonish the club in the autumn with his knowledge. But reading Sordello alone, with no one to suggest or disagree, was uphill business, and he had only accomplished the first book. This he had read three times and was debating whether to give it a fourthtrial, or to attack Book second, when he heard the sound of a footstep and a young girl came round the corner singing softly,
“Oh the glorious summer morningWith its dewy grass and flowers,”
“Oh the glorious summer morningWith its dewy grass and flowers,”
“Oh the glorious summer morningWith its dewy grass and flowers,”
“Oh the glorious summer morning
With its dewy grass and flowers,”
“Only there are no flowers here,” she added. Then seeing Craig she stopped suddenly and said, “I beg your pardon; I didn’t know any one was here.”
She was tall and slender, with a willowy grace in every motion. Her complexion was pale, but betokened perfect health and vitality. Her light brown hair was twisted into a flat knot low in her neck where it was making frantic efforts to escape in little wisps of curls. Her eyes were large and blue and clear as a child’s. Her mouth was rather wide, but very sweet in its expression when she smiled. Her dress was a simple muslin of lavender and white, and at her throat and belt she wore a half-opened lily which she had gathered on the river and which seemed to harmonize so well with her pure complexion and general appearance. Some such idea was in Craig’s mind as he rose quickly and said to her, “You are not intruding at all. I come here because it is so quiet and I like the outlook across the fields to the woods, but I have no right to monopolize the place. Be seated, won’t you?”
He brought her a chair, but took the precaution to put it at a safe distance from his own and where he could see her squarely. He had been thinking only of Helen, expecting her and waiting for her. This was she, of course, and her simple, unaffected manner was her premonitory artillery against which she would find him proof. She was very pretty, but he was not sure that hehadn’t seen faces prettier than hers, and on the whole he was a little disappointed to find her less formidable than he had expected. All this passed through his mind while Alice was thanking him for the chair in which she seated herself, with half of her new boots showing under the hem of her dress. Craig saw them and thought them very small and well fitting and that she was displaying them on purpose.
“Do you think you will like it here?” he asked, feeling he must say something.
“Oh, yes,” she answered enthusiastically. “I like the country, and it is so delightfully cool after the heat of yesterday. Do you know I have a great desire to roll in that new mown hay which smells so sweet. I believe I am something of a romp.”
Craig did not know what to say to this, so he spoke of the lilies which Alice was wearing.
“I see you like them, too; they are my favorites,” he said, “and I always buy one of Jeff. He hasn’t been round yet. I wonder what keeps him.”
“Pray take this. I have more,” Alice said, offering him the lily which was in her belt, without a thought that she might seem too familiar, until she saw something like surprise on Craig’s face which brought a blush to her own.
She certainly was a little forward, Craig thought, but he took the lily, thinking it quite in keeping with her character to give it to him. He didn’t know that in her forgetfulness of self Alice would give away anything another wanted and that she would as soon have given the lily to Uncle Zacheus as to him. He was a bit of a prig she was thinking, and wondering what she should say to him, when Jeff appeared with his basket.
“You are too late. I have one; the young lady gave it to me,” Craig said.
“All right. She helped me pull ’em,” Jeff answered, as he darted away, while a suspicion of his mistake began to dawn upon Craig.
“You helped him gather them! Aren’t you Miss Tracy?” he asked in some confusion.
Alice laughed and replied, “AMiss Tracy, yes; but nottheMiss Tracy you have evidently mistaken me for. That is Helen. I am Alice,—the cousin. I live at Rocky Point, among the mountains between Springfield and Albany, and taught school there the last spring term. My aunt very kindly invited me to spend my vacation with her and Helen, and here I am, and so glad to be here.”
She was not Helen, for whom Craig was waiting. She was an unaffected country girl, with the manners of a perfect lady, and he began to admire her greatly and to think Uncle Zach not far out of the way when he called her a daisy. She had given him her confidence and he began at last to give her his, and before he realized it had told her a great deal of himself and what he liked and disliked; had told her about the hotel and the town and the places to visit and had introduced her to Mark, who had joined them for a moment.
When he was gone Craig spoke of him in the highest terms, and then the talk turned upon books, for a part of Alice’s duty was to find out what Craig’s favorites were.
“Do you have much inclination to read here?” she asked, glancing at the half open volume beside him.
“Not much,” he replied, taking up the book and passing it to her. “I have been trying to master Sordello, butguess I shall have to give it up unless you can help me. Do you like Browning?”
“Mercy, no!” Alice answered quickly, then added, as she saw a shade of disappointment in his face, “Perhaps I should not say no so decidedly when I know so little about him. I might like him if I knew more of him. I have always thought him very obscure. You like him of course?”
“Yes, I like him for his very obscurity. There is a pleasure in finding out what he means just as there is in cracking a hard nut for the rich meat you know there is inside. It is pleasanter, though, studying him with other people. I belong to a Browning Club in Boston and find it rather different here plodding along alone. I suppose you have no clubs in Rocky Point.”
He did not think how the last part of his speech sounded, nor mean any disrespect to Rocky Point. But Alice resented it and answered quickly, “No, we haven’t. We are nearly all poor working people earning our bread, with no time for clubs. Many of us never heard of Browning; certainly not of Sordello. I think, though, some of uscouldunderstand him as well as members of clubs, give us a chance. EvenImight, if I could hear you read and explain. Perhaps you will do me that honor.”
She spoke sarcastically, but Craig, who was conscious of no blunder in his speech, did not notice it and was only pleased with her wish to hear him read Browning. He should be delighted, he said, and if her cousin would join them with Mr. Hilton and perhaps his mother and Mrs. Tracy, they would make quite a class. Between them all they ought to master Sordello. Did she think her cousin would like it?
Inwardly Alice shook with laughter as she thought ofHelen, who at that moment was struggling with the May Queen in order to appear learned, posing as a lover of Browning, and expounding the meaning of Sordello. She could, however, say truthfully that she was sure her cousin would be happy to hear Mr. Mason read, whenever he was kind enough to do so.
At this point his mother joined him and was presented to Alice. Mrs. Mason was a woman with some strong opinions, one of which was that no coquette could be a well principled girl. Helen Tracy was a noted coquette, consequently she was not well principled and might lead Craig into all manner of wrong doing. He was not very susceptible, it was true, and for that reason there was more to fear, for if he were once interested he would be in deadly earnest, and she was thinking of proposing that they leave Ridgefield for some other place. Her first thought when she saw Alice talking so familiarly with her son was, “She has lost no time.”
Craig’s introduction to MissAliceTracy disarmed her at once. She had seen a great deal of the world and could judge one’s character pretty correctly by the face. What she saw in Alice was a frank, open countenance, with eyes which met hers steadily, and a voice so pleasant and winsome that she was drawn to her immediately, and as they talked together her admiration increased. Alice was so artless and frank and so inexpressibly glad to be enjoying herself, with no dread of the dingy school house among the hills, with its closeness and smell of tin pails, and children not always the cleanest.
“Only think,” she said, “of two whole months of freedom and how much can be crowded into them. You don’t know what this vacation is to me.”
She was not in the least affected, and as she talkedthere came a faint flush to her cheeks and her eyes sparkled with excitement.
“She is very pretty and very sweet and very real,” Mrs. Mason was thinking, when Celine appeared, and told Alice that Mademoiselle Heléne wanted to see her.
With a bow and smile for Mrs. Mason and Craig, Alice said good morning and hurried away.
Alice found Helen in her room, seated before a mirror and waiting for Celine to arrange her hair. On the dressing table were combs and brushes and cut glass bottles and all the paraphernalia of a lady’s toilet, golden stoppered and silver mounted, showing a luxurious taste and utter disregard of expenditure. She had read Tennyson’s May Queen in bed and two or three shorter poems, and had committed a stanza or two here and there in order to seem posted, if Craig proved to be an admirer of Tennyson. If he were not and she found herself in deep waters she trusted to her tact and Alice’s help to extricate herself some way. Getting tired of Tennyson and the bed she arose at last and in her dressing gown dawdled about the room, beginning to feel bored and wondering why Alice did not come. She had heard from her mother that Craig was stopping in the hotel, and Celine had told her of being introduced to him by a funny old gentleman as Miss Mooseer, and Helen had laughed till she cried. Celine had also told her that Alice was talking with him on the north piazza.
“Pumping him,” she said to herself. “I hope it won’t take her long. I am so impatient to hear the result and know if he is worth the trouble.”
Sitting down by the window in a chair she began to think of the past and the white faces and sad eyes which had looked at her during the seven years since her first offer when she was only fifteen. Behind these were other faces, some of boys, some of men, whom she had played with and flattered and then thrown aside without regret.
“Doesn’t it say somewhere in the Bible ‘Vengeance is mine and I will repay,’ saith the Lord,” she thought. “Surely my payment will be heavy if it equal my indebtedness; but it is my nature, and I cannot help it.”
At last as she grew more and more impatient and Alice did not come, she sent Celine for her. Celine, who had been Helen’s maid for years and knew her nearly as well as she knew herself, was never in the way, and Helen bade her go on with her hair dressing as soon as she re-entered the room. To Alice who came in with Celine her first word was, “Well?”
“Well!” Alice returned, and Helen continued, “What news from Genoa? You have been gone a long time and must have something to tell.”
“Lots! About everything. Shall it be the Sphinx first, or Hercules?” Alice asked, and Helen repeated, “Hercules? Who is he? Oh, yes, I know. I’ll take him second, and the Sphinx first. I know he is here; mamma told me. You have been on the river with a dreadful boy who stands on his head and picked your pocket. Skip him, and begin with the Sphinx. What is he like?”
“Very much like any other city bred gentleman,” Alice replied. “A little stiff, perhaps, especially in the matter of shirt fronts and collars. Jeff,—that’s the dreadfulboy,—says he changes them every day, and he does impress you as having just been washed and ironed, he looks so clean from his head to his feet.”
“Nonsense! You are comparing him with those sweaty men on your uncle’s farm. Seven shirts and collars and fourteen cuffs a week! What a laundry bill! But go on. Is he good looking?”
“Yes; with a rather delicate cast of countenance for a man. He was very polite, and after his stiffness wore off, talked delightfully. He mistook me foryou.”
“Oh,” Helen said quickly, as if not quite pleased. “You undeceived him of course.”
“Certainly I did. I told him I was only your cousin, a teacher in a district school among the mountains.”
“I don’t see the need of your dragging that in,” Helen said, and Alice rejoined, “Knowing how rich you are he might think me rich, too, and I don’t want to sail under false colors.”
Helen, to whom deception, or even a lie was nothing, if circumstances warranted it, tossed her head and continued, “What are his tastes? What does he like?”
“He likes the country, especially Ridgefield.”
“So do I adore it. Go on.”
“He likes rowing.”
Helen had a mortal terror of a sail boat and could scarcely ever be persuaded to enter one, but answered quickly: “So do I. Go on.”
“He likes driving over the hills and into the woods.” Helen made a grimace, for if there were anything she detested it was driving over the country roads in country vehicles. But if Craig liked it, she liked it, too, and said so.
“What next?” she asked, and Alice replied, “He likes tosit on the north piazza, where it is cool, and away from the street.”
“Now you please me; that is delicious. What does he do? Smoke?”
“I think not, or drink either.”
“That’s bad. Whatdoeshe do?”
“Reads, I judge, as he had a book with him.”
“Reads what? Tennyson, I hope. I went through with the May Queen and one or two other poems.”
“I think his preference is Browning.”
“Browning!” Helen almost shrieked. “I never read a line of him in my life. Do you mean he likes Browning and will talk to me abouthim?”
“I think so. He belongs to a Browning club, and is trying to master Sordello.”
“Sordello! What’s that?” Helen asked.
“I am sure I don’t know. A man, I imagine,” Alice replied. “He said he found it hard work reading alone and suggested that we join him for half an hour, or an hour, every afternoon.”
“Oh, horror,” Helen cried in dismay. “Join a Browning club, and not know a thing except that I have seen Mrs. Browning’s house and grave in Florence, and mamma had to tell me who she was. Do you think there is a library in town?” and Helen began to brighten.
Alice thought there must be. She would inquire.
“No, that would give me away. Take a walk by yourself, and if there is one, get me Browning’s Poems. Wretched, that I must wade through them, when I was getting on so nicely with Tennyson.”
Alice laughed at her distress, but promised to go for a walk and find the library, if there were one, and get Browning, if she could.
“But suppose there are several volumes? What shallI do? I can’t get them all,” she asked, and Helen replied: “Get the one with that man in it, if it is a man. Sorrento, isn’t it?”
“Sordello!” Alice answered, beginning to understand Helen’s drift.
Her toilet was completed by this time and Alice thought she had never seen her lovelier than she was now in her Paris gown of some soft, creamy stuff, with its frills of lace and knots of ribbon and wide sleeves, which fell away from her white arms every time she raised them, which she often did, for she knew their beauty. Her complexion was of that smooth satiny kind which suggests art in its perfection. But no cosmetic of any description had ever touched her face, which was of rare beauty. Her greatest charm was in her large brown eyes, which she knew so well how to use and could make grave or gay, or even tearful at her will. They were very bright this morning, with an unusual sparkle in them, for she was on the warpath, with a new kingdom to conquer, and felt her blood tingle with excitement and pleasure.
“By the way,” she said, after surveying herself in the mirror and walking before it several times, as she always did when dressing, “Mrs. Mason is here,—a kind of dragon, I am afraid. I hear she is very proud. Did you see her?”
“Yes, and she didn’t impress me as proud at all. She was very kind to me. I like her,” Alice replied.
“You like everybody, and everybody likes you,” was Helen’s rejoinder; then she said suddenly: “What about Hercules? I came near forgetting him. Who is he?”
“Mr. Hilton, the hotel clerk,” was Alice’s reply.
“Oh—h,” and Helen’s countenance fell a little. “A clerk! A bartender! I was afraid of that.”
“He is not a bartender; there is no bar to tend. Thisis a strictly temperance house. You couldn’t get a drink if you wanted it. Jeff told me so. Mr. and Mrs. Taylor are both good Christian people, and Mr. Hilton seems a gentleman every way. He is splendid looking and Mr. Mason likes him. He came when we were talking and I was introduced to him.”
Alice had made quite a long speech in defense of Mark Hilton, while Helen, who was still surveying herself in the glass, smiled and said, “Oh, hit, are you? Well, I wish you success, but to me there is not much difference between a hotel clerk and a bartender. He did carry me beautifully though, and I’d like to see him. Am I all right, and does my dress hang as it should?”
“You couldn’t look better,” Alice said, and Helen continued, “I wish I had a flower of some kind.”
“How would a lily do?” Alice asked, and Helen replied, “No, thanks. You have chosen the lily, and resemble it more than I do. I ought to have a rose.”
Here Celine, who had heard all the conversation, said, “There is a beautiful rose on the table in the salon. It was there last night. Shall I bring it for mademoiselle?”
She did not wait for an answer, but hurrying to the salon returned with the rose which, though not quite as fresh as the previous night, was still very fragrant.
“Oh, what a beauty! Did it grow in the garden? If so, there must be more,” Helen said, inhaling the perfume, while Celine replied, “It didn’t grow here. I asked Sarah and she said Monsieur Hilton put it on the table. She did not know where he got it. Monsieur Mason helped pick and arrange thefleurs-de-lisin the centre of the table. There are plenty of those. Shall I gather some for Mademoiselle?”
Helen was radiant. Both young men had put flowers on the table,—forher, no doubt. Fond as she was ofAlice, she never thought she could be considered before or with herself. Everything was for Helen Tracy first; then, Alice, if anything were left.
“Fleurs-de-lis!Yes, I remember thinking them pretty with the ferns. And Mr. Mason put them there? I ought to feel flattered and to wear one of them. His color, too, as he is a Yale man; but they will not go well with these ribbons. I must wear Mr. Hilton’s rose. I hope it won’t fall to pieces. It does seem a little droopy.”
She fastened it in a knot of delicate pink ribbon near her shoulder where it would be very conspicuous, and declared herself ready for the preparatory skirmish.
“I suppose one can go on the north piazza any time. I wonder if Mr. Mason is there still? Celine, please go and see,” she said.
Celine went out, and when they were alone Alice, who had never had quite so clear an insight into Helen’s character before, said to her, “Do you care for Mr. Mason?”
“Of course not. How should I, when I don’t know him,” Helen replied, and Alice continued, “Then why not leave him alone. Will it be any satisfaction to win him just to throw him over as you have so many others? Is it right, or womanly?”
“A second Portia come to judgment,” and Helen laughed merrily. “Seriously, though, it isn’t right, or womanly. It is wicked and mean, and I know it as well as you do, and I had made up my mind to quit the business, and maybe take Mr. Prescott for fear some terrible judgment would overtake me. But when I heard Mr. Mason was here all the old Satan woke up in me, and I said I’ll pay him for his slight of me last summer. Perhaps I shall not throw him over. He may be the twenty-first and last. Who knows? I shall be twenty-three in December,—time I was married. Is he there?” and sheturned to Celine who had just entered the room and who reported that he was there with Monsieur Hilton and Monsieur Taylor, too.
“Three men to subjugate. Nothing could suit me better,” and Helen clasped her hands in ecstasy. “Au revoir, cousin mine. Wish me success, and don’t forget the library.”
“If it were right I’d pray that she might not succeed. I have prayed for more trivial things than that, and been heard,” Alice thought, as she watched her cousin going down the stairs and saw her turn in the direction of the north piazza.
Craig had been to the post office after his mail, and taking his mother’s letters to her room, had returned to his accustomed place on the north piazza. Here he found a large glass of iced lemonade with a straw in it waiting for him, and Uncle Zacheus, with his coat off, seated in an armchair, mopping his face with a yellow silk handkerchief.
“It’s swelterin’ hot again to-day. Most 90 in the shade, and I thought mabby some lemonade would taste good after your walk,” he said to Craig, who thanked him and began to sip the cool beverage. “That’s on old-fashioned toddy tumbler. I told Mark to use it, as I thought you’d want a big drink,” Uncle Zacheus said, and Craig thanked him again, and said he was very thoughtful.
At that moment Mark joined them, glad to escape fromthe office which at that hour of the day was very warm. There had been a lingering hope in his mind that Miss Helen Tracy might be there. But she wasn’t, and taking one of the vacant chairs, he brought it near to the railing on which he put his feet and leaning back with his hands behind his head, gave himself up to a rest which he felt he needed. Craig, too, had hoped to find Helen on his return from the post office. But he did not, and, both young men had seated themselves with a feeling of disappointment and with no suspicion of the preparations making for a raid upon them.
For a time Uncle Zacheus rambled on about the weather and the new fence for the “cemetry” for which “Widder Wilson had only given five dollars.”
“I mean to ask Miss Tracy to give sunthin’ seein’ her gran’father is buried there,” he said; then, turning to Craig, he asked, “Have you seen t’other one yet?”
Craig knew whom he meant, but wishing to hear what Uncle Zacheus would say, he asked with an air of some surprise, “Who is t’other one?”
“Why, you know. You’ve seen the one I call the daisy, though she’s more like them lilies she got with Jeff, who has never behaved so well in his life as sense he come up from the river with her. I mean the cousin,—the rich one. I seen her last night, and I tell you she’s a dandy. Shorter than the daisy,—plump as a partridge, and such eyes. Old as I am they gave me some such feelin’s as Dot’s used to when she talked to me over her father’s gate. She’s the one writ that nice letter I’ve got put away with Johnny’s blanket and the old sign.”
Neither of the young men could help laughing at Uncle Zach’s comparing Miss Tracy’s eyes with Dot’s, which, if they were ever bright, were faded now and expressionless.
“That is the kind of love God meant when He said a man shall cleave to his wife and they shall become one flesh,” Craig was thinking when Uncle Zach startled him by clutching his arm and whispering, “Wall, I’ll be dumbed. I didn’t tell you half. There she comes.”
Mark’s feet came down in a trice from the railing as he straightened himself up, while Craig hastily took his straw from his mouth and dropped it into the big tumbler. Around the corner nearest to Mark Helen came, gracefully holding the train of her dress with one hand and with the other affecting to brush something from the front of her skirt. Apparently she did not see either of the three men and nothing could have been more natural than her start of surprise and pretty blush when she at last looked up.
“Oh, I beg your pardon for intruding. My cousin told me it was cool here and so I came,” she said, dropping her train, and half turning to leave.
Instantly Craig and Mark were on their feet, while Uncle Zach, feeling it was incumbent on him to speak, said, “Don’t go. The piazzer is free. I’m glad to introduce you to Mark and Craig. Take a chair.”
Craig and Mark put their hands on the same chair in their efforts to serve her, and bowed so close together that their heads nearly touched each other. Helen took the offered chair and laughed as she said to Uncle Zach, “Please, Mr. Taylor, which is Mark and which is Craig? You didn’t tell me,” and her bright eyes met those of the young men who were laughing with her at Uncle Zach’s blunder.
“Well, I’ll be dumbed if I hain’t done a smart thing,” he said. “Dot would give me Hail Columby if she knew it, but I was so frustrated I didn’t know what I was about. This is Mr. Mason, and this is Mr. Hilton.”
Helen knew perfectly well which was which without an introduction, but Uncle Zach’s mistake put them at their ease at once. Helen was always at her ease, and seemed so unconscious of herself and so natural that Craig’s prejudice began to give way under the charm of her voice and the glance of her beautiful eyes. They were so bright and searching that he winced every time she looked at him, while Mark grew hot and cold with a feeling he could not understand. He saw his rose among the ribbons and wondered if she would keep it there if she knew where it came from, or that he had picked it for her. She was a little reserved toward him at first, for the bartender was in the ascendant, but at last she divided her smiles and blandishments pretty evenly between him and Craig, asking questions in the mostnaiveway concerning the town and the people. Uncle Zach answered most of these, and while she managed to bow assent in the right place and pretended to give him her undivided attention she was mentally sizing up Craig and Mark and weighing them by her standard. She had dropped the name ofHerculesfor Mark and substitutedApollo, which suited him better. He was the finest looking man she had ever met, she thought, and with the speech and manners of a gentleman. There was nothing about him but the fit of his clothes to indicate that he was not up to date. He might be a hotel clerk, and as such lower in the social scale than Craig Mason, but he was very fascinating, and would do to flirt with if she failed with the Sphinx, as she still designated Craig. That the latter was a gentleman in every respect she decided at once. He was rather too dignified and reserved and was evidently ignorant of small talk as she understood it. But she was sure she could make him unbend; he was unbending under the artillery of her eyes, which never did better executionthan they did now, while her rippling laugh at some things Uncle Zach was saying kept pace with them. He was certainly up to date in everything, and she noticed each item of his dress and saw his immaculate shirt front and collar and cuffs which Jeff had said were clean every day.
“I believe he is just as clean in his character as in his linen,” she thought, and a most unbounded respect for him and desire to stand well in his opinion began to take possession of her.
Meantime the young men were summing her up and arriving at nearly the same conclusion. She might be a coquette, but she gave no sign of it, and was the loveliest piece of womanhood they had ever seen. She was charming; she was everything that was feminine and sweet. This was their verdict as they watched her, now leaning back in her chair in a languid kind of way like a child that is tired, now managing to show her white arms under the wide sleeves of her dress, and all the while keeping up a flow of talk as if she had known them always. She had a faculty of making every man in her presence appear at his best, and also of making him conscious if anything were wrong with him, and she exerted that power over Uncle Zach. His shirt sleeves had surprised her, reminding her of the farm hands at Rocky Point and she did not think it quite respectful to herself that he should continue to sit thus after she joined him. He, however, was oblivious to anything out of the way in his toilet until her eyes had travelled over him several times with questioning glances. Then suddenly, as if her thought had communicated itself to him, he started up, exclaiming, “I’ll be dumbed if I ain’t here in my shirt sleeves, with a lady, too, Mark. Why didn’t you tell me, and what would Dot say. Let me get my coat.”
He seemed so genuinely distressed that Helen’s feelings changed at once. He had recognized the respect due to her and she was satisfied.
“My dear good man,” she said. “Sit still and don’t mind me. I know you are more comfortable as you are.”
“Thank you,” Uncle Zach said, resuming his seat. “I had a notion that you thought I or’to put on my coat, and it’s so much cooler without it. Dot wouldn’t like it though. She tries to keep me a gentleman, but land o’ Goshen, what can you do with a tarvern keeper? I slipped it off because she’s gone over the river a huntin’ aigs. It’s time she was back, if she didn’t have to go clear to the town farm,—a long ride this hot mornin’.”
“Are there many pleasant drives in Ridgefield?” Helen asked, and Uncle Zach replied, “Hundreds of ’em,—round the ponds and over the hills and through stretches of woods half a mile long with saxifax and shoe-makes and blackb’ry bushes growin’ by the road.”
Helen shivered mentally and smelled thesaxifax, which she detested, and felt the scratch of the brier bushes which grew by the roadside in the long stretches of wood. But she made no sign, and when Craig said to her, “Are you fond of driving in the country?” she unhesitatingly answered, “Oh, very.”
“Then, I tell you what,” Uncle Zach began. “You shall have piles of ’em and cost you nothin’. There’s the open carryall, and there’s the bloods, Paul and Virginny, doin’ nothin’. Splendid critters, too. Have run on the race track, and beat. Mr. Mason, you haven’t been there; on the course, I mean. Suppose you and Mark and the girls take a ride this afternoon, when it gits cool. What do you say?”
He looked at Helen, who answered that it would bedelightful if Alice would go and the gentlemen were agreeable.
“Are the horses perfectly safe? I am sometimes a little timid,” she asked.
Craig laughed as he recalled the habits of the bloods and wished so much for his fleet Dido, standing idle in her stall in Auburndale, his mother’s country residence. He had not taken a sip of his lemonade since Helen joined them, but he did so now, and that diverted Uncle Zach’s thoughts into another channel.
“George of Uxbridge!” he said, “what are we thinkin’ about, not offerin’ Miss Tracy some lemonade. Mark, go this minit and make her a glass.”
It grated on Helen to have her Apollo ordered as a servant, and she made a faint protest, begging Mark not to trouble himself for her.
“Yes, he will, too; he’s made hundreds on ’em,—tiptop ones, too. No sticks in ’em, though. We are teetotalers here, we be,” Uncle Zach said.
There was nothing Helen enjoyed more than champagne and sherry, and she thought a fashionable dinner very tame without them, and that lemonade was improved with claret, but she was a Roman with the Romans and smiled on Uncle Zach as she said, “And you are quite right, too.”
Then she settled herself to wait for her lemonade which was longer in making than Craig’s had been. For her the ice was chopped fine, every seed and bit of pulp was removed and the mixture beaten until it had a creamy look on the top. Lemonade spoons had not been invented, but Mark put a fresh straw and teaspoon and napkin on the tray, which he took to the young lady, who declared she had never drank anything more delicious. As she talked some leaves from the rose in her ribbons fell into her lap.
“My poor rose, it’s fading, and it was so sweet, and I am so fond of roses. Sarah said you put it on the table for us. Are there more where this came from?”
She turned to Mark with a look which, had he been Jeff, would have sent him on to his head at once. As it was he merely lost it and stammered out that he didn’t know,—he’d inquire, and get her more, if possible.
By the time she finished the lemonade so many leaves had fallen that she removed the rose and laid it on the tray which Mark took from her, carefully gathering every leaf which had dropped upon her dress, and then, foolish man that he was, putting them away in his pocketbook. Mark was in love. Hopelessly, of course, and though nothing could ever come of it he made no effort to smother it. He could, at least, enjoy the crumbs and leave the full table to Craig, who was not so far gone as himself, but whose prejudices were rapidly giving way. It was scarcely possible that so much naturalness and graciousness of manner were consummate acting. Public opinion had been mistaken and had vilified the beautiful girl who sat there, so unconscious of herself, and the admiring glances he gave her from time to time. Mr. Taylor had been called away by Dotty, who had returned with her eggs, and as Mark did not come back Craig was alone with Helen.
This was what she had looked forward to. Uncle Zach was a garrulous, amusing old man, who at times was better out of the way. Mark interested her more than she would have thought it possible, and had he been the equal of Craig, as the world defines equality, she would have given him her attention and left Craig alone. She had never flirted with a hotel clerk,—a bartender,—and she scolded herself for thinking so much about him, and contrasting him with Craig, who was inclined to be silentat first. Evidently she must lead the conversation, and she began by asking if he found it at all dull in the country.
“I shall like it for a while,” she said. “It is so different from the places we are in the habit of visiting, Saratoga, for instance. We were there last summer. I suppose you have been there?”
She looked at him as innocently as if she did not know that her question would pique him a little. Craig Mason and his horse, Dido, had been nearly as conspicuous at the Clarendon as Helen Tracy had been at the United States, and that she should not have heard of him was, to say the least, rather humiliating to his pride. He didn’t know that she was paying him for his slight and that she felt quite repaid when she saw his look of chagrin, which he covered with a laugh as he replied, “Oh, yes, I was there last summer, but did not have the pleasure of meeting you. I heard of you, though. Indeed, everybody did that. How could they help it?”
He was complimenting her rather stiffly and blushing like a girl as he did it, but Helen knew she was gaining ground, and thanked him with her eyes which were always as expressive as words. After that they grew very social, and at last, although she tried to stave it off, the conversation turned upon books. It was in vain that Helen brought forward Tennyson as a most charming author. Craig brushed him aside for Browning, his favorite, and hers, too, she finally said, suggesting that she believed he was too obscure for most people to enjoy thoroughly without a teacher.
“Yes, that’s true,” Craig admitted, “but I like him, though I confess it is rather tiresome reading him alone. I have taken up Sordello, and your cousin was kind enough to say that she thought you might like a short reading some afternoon. My mother, I know, will joinus; possibly your mother and Mr. Hilton, when he can. He is a very intelligent man,—far above the average. Do you think you would like it?”
“I shall be delighted,” Helen answered promptly, wondering which she should find the pleasanter, driving over dusty, stony roads, with sassafras and brier bushes growing beside them, or listening to Sordello, of which she had not the most remote idea.
But she had committed herself, and Craig was pleased, and believed he had found a bright disciple of Browning, and told her he expected much from her opinion and quick appreciation of what was to most people abstruse and dry. Helen thought of the Potted Sprats in Mrs. Opie’s White Lies, and concluded she was eating a tremendous one.
“What shall I do if Alice doesn’t get me the book?” she asked herself, deciding that a sick headache, whenever Browning was on the carpet would be the only alternative.
As if in answer to her thought Alice appeared at that moment, and in response to an interrogatory glance from Helen nodded an affirmative. She had unquestionably found the book and Helen’s fears were given to the winds. With her ready memory she could, if she tried, commit pages of Sordello, or anything else, and her face glowed with satisfaction and confidence. Craig had scarcely given Alice a thought in his absorption with Helen, but when she appeared a reaction came and he wondered why he should suddenly feel so cool and restful. It was because she looked so restful and cool, he concluded, and yet she declared herself very warm, and, declining the chair he offered her, sat down upon the steps and fanned herself with her hat, while Helen, relieved from all anxiety, began what Alice called an outrageous flirtation of jokes and brilliant sallies which poor Craigno more understood than she did Browning, and which so confused and bewildered him that he was glad when at last he saw his stately mother coming toward him with a showily-dressed woman whom he recognized as Mrs. Tracy.
Mrs. Freeman Tracy was a faded, washed-out woman who had been very pretty in her girlhood and who thought with the aid of dress and cosmetics to retain a remnant at least of her former youth and beauty. Celine, who understood make-ups to perfection, always did her best with her older mistress, and Worth and New York modistes did the rest. On this occasion her dress would have been suitable for Narraganset or Saratoga, though even there it would have been noticed for its elaborate elegance, but in plain Ridgefield it looked, with its sweeping train and flounces and ribbons, as if designed for a ballroom rather than a country tavern. But no such idea troubled her. She was vainer of her looks, if possible, than her daughter, and a great deal more shallow. She was proud of being Mrs. Freeman Tracy and the granddaughter of the tallest monument in Ridgefield cemetery; proud of being the mother of the most beautiful girl in New York, or any other city she had ever visited, and very proud of the famous Tracy diamonds.
They had been brought from India by her husband’s uncle on his mother’s side and given to her on her wedding day, with the understanding that they were to go to her daughter, if she had one, on her bridal day. Therewas a cross, with pin and ear-rings,—the whole representing a fortune in itself. The ear-rings especially were of great value and once seen could readily be identified. They were pear shaped, very large, white and clear, and always attracted attention and excited comment when she wore them. The care of these costly gems was the bane of Mrs. Tracy’s life, and numberless and curious were their hiding places when not in a downtown safe at her banker’s where she kept them during Lent and at such times as she did not wear them. Helen had urged her leaving them there when coming to Ridgefield, but she had refused to do so. The bank might be robbed, or duplicates might be made of them in Paris where the banker went every few months. She had heard of such things, and when she was not in the city and liable to call for them every few days there was no knowing what might be done. She should take them with her, putting the boxes in a strong linen bag which Celine carried, with instructions never to let it out of her possession a moment. At the Prospect House it would be rather awkward for the girl to be walking around with a bag hung on her arm, and during the night it had reposed under Mrs. Tracy’s mattress and been forgotten until Sarah, when making the bed, found it and took it to Mrs. Tracy. Evidently some place where the jewels could stay must be found for them.
“I wonder if there is a safe in the house,” Mrs. Tracy thought, as she opened one of the boxes and feasted her eyes upon her treasures. Then she wondered where Helen and Alice were, and why everybody was out of the way when she wanted them.
“Miss Tracy is on the north piazza talking with Mr. Mason,” Celine said, “and Miss Alice most likely has gone on some errand for her. I saw her going up the street.”
Mrs. Tracy nodded, and after a time decided to go herself to the north piazza, or office, and inquire for a safe. She had not met Mrs. Mason and felt rather anxious to do so. Nothing could be bluer or purer in her estimation than the Tracy and Allen blood mixed, but the Mason blood was nearly as blue, and she had a great desire to be allied with it through a marriage of Helen with Craig. Consequently she was prepared to be very gracious to the mother. The gown she wore was selected with some reference to Mrs. Mason, who had been abroad and would recognize Paris workmanship. As she was passing the foot of the stairs she heard the sound of a footstep and saw a tall lady descending whom she knew must be Mrs. Mason from her air of good breeding and the dignity with which she bore herself.
“Good morning,” Mrs. Mason said. “We need not stand on ceremony here. I know you are Mrs. Tracy, and I am Mrs. Mason.”
Craig, who knew his mother’s opinion of fashionable women like Mrs. Tracy, would have been astonished at her cordiality, but Mrs. Mason was a lady, and as such she would treat Mrs. Tracy when associated with her in the same house. Mrs. Tracy was delighted and met her advance effusively and told her where she was going.
“I think we shall find our young people there. Yes, here they are,” she said, with a meaning smile as she turned the corner and saw them; Craig in his usual place; Helen, who, on the pretext of getting out of the glare of the noonday light, had moved her seat, sitting near him, and Alice on the steps.
In a moment Craig arose and bowed to Mrs. Tracy, whom his mother presented to him, and who sank into a chair, as if exertion of any kind were too much for her delicate frame.
“Ar’n’t you going to introduce me to your mother?” Helen asked, as she saw Craig resuming his seat.
“I beg your pardon for my thoughtlessness,” he said. “I must have lost my head. Mother, this is Miss Helen Tracy.”
Mrs. Mason bowed to her a little stiffly, but Helen was not be ignored, and talked on in a familiar, chatty way, until she saw from her mother’s face that she was growing restless and anxious for a chance to speak.
“What is it, mamma?” she said at last. “Do you want anything?”
“Yes,” her mother replied. “I wish to see Mr. Taylor, or some responsible person with regard to my diamonds. Do you know if he is in the office?”
She looked at Craig, who arose at once and said he would inquire. Returning in a moment he brought Mark with him, saying Mr. Taylor was not in, but Mr. Hilton would perhaps do as well, if she were thinking of the safe. Mrs. Tracy’s face showed that she would rather deal with the proprietor, and she finally said so. She had opened the boxes and put them upon the table where the jewels shone and flashed in a bit of sunlight which fell across them.
“Jeff said you wanted me. Here I be,” came at that moment from Uncle Zach, who was followed by his wife with her big kitchen apron on, her sleeves above her elbows and a patch of flour on her face. “Wall, I’ll be dumbed,” he began, when he saw the diamonds. “These must be the stones I’ve hearn tell on,” he said, taking one of the ear-rings from its satin bed and turning it in the sun until a hundred sparks of light danced on the wall and on the floor. “I reckon these cost money,—hundreds, maybe.”
“Hundreds!” Mrs. Tracy repeated scornfully, “Thousands are nearer the truth.”
“You don’t say so,” and Uncle Zach gasped as he looked at the stones and wondered where the money was in them.
Holding the jewel up to his wife’s ear he asked how she would like to wear it.
“Don’t be a fool,” she said, “and put the ear-ring back before you drop it and break it and have it to pay for.”
At this everyone laughed except Mrs. Tracy, who was too intent upon business to think of the absurdity of breaking her diamond.
“They are in a way heirlooms,” she said, “brought from India and given to me on my wedding day. They are to be my daughter’s when she marries.”
She was looking at Craig who did not seem as much impressed as Mark. To him there was a fascination about those diamonds, which seemed like so many eyes confronting him, and he was glad when Mrs. Tracy closed the box and shut them from his sight.
“You want to put ’em in the safe, do you?” Uncle Zacheus said, “Wall, there ain’t no better one in the state than mine. Burglar proof unless they blow it up, and Mark would hear ’em before they got very far at that.”
“Does he sleep in the office?” Mrs. Tracy asked, and Uncle Zach replied, “No, ma’am; but in the room j’inin’. That linter you may have noticed is his bedroom.”
“How many know the combination?” was Mrs. Tracy’s next question, and Uncle Zach replied, “Nobody but Mark and me, and—yes, one more,—Dot. She had to know, but land sakes, she can no more unlock it than a child. I have tough work at it myself. Mark is your man.”
Mark had a feeling that Mrs. Tracy distrusted him, andhe suggested that she might feel safer if her diamonds were in the vault of the bank.
“No,” she answered quickly. “I prefer to have them where I can assure myself of their safety any moment.”
“Forty times a day if you want to. Mark will unlock it for you,” Uncle Zach suggested. “Won’t you, Mark?”
The young man did not answer. He was standing with his arms folded and a somber look in his eyes, until they rested upon Helen, who was close to him, and who, with a shrug of her shoulders, said in a low tone, “Don’t mind mamma. She is so fussy about her diamonds that she will scarcely trust them with any firm in New York.Ishould let them lie around loose.”
Wrapping the boxes in several folds of tissue paper Mrs. Tracy handed them to Mark, saying “I hold you responsible for them.” She saw them placed in the safe, and decided that if she dared she would some day ask the high and mighty clerk to show her how to unlock it herself. She had taken a dislike to Mark for no reason at all except that he was made too much of, and as a hotel clerk had no business to be so gentlemanly and fine looking and hold himself in so dignified a manner towards her as if he felt himself to be her equal. The dislike was mutual, for Mark had decided that she was a proud, exacting, frivolous woman, whom it would be hard to please.
“Mamma, I think you were very uncivil to Mr. Hilton, and acted as if you were afraid to trust your diamonds with him,” Helen said when they were alone in their room.
“To tell you the truth I was,” Mrs. Tracy replied. “I really don’t know why, but I have a queer feeling with regard to him. Mr. Taylor makes quite too much of him. I trust you will teach him his place if he tries tostep out of it. I saw him looking at you with those queer eyes of his in a way I didn’t like. They have a singular trick of moving round, and you can’t help following them.”
“Oh, mamma, a cat may look upon a king, and Mr. Hilton may surely look at me,” Helen said, knowing perfectly well what her mother meant by Mark’s eyes, which compelled you to meet them, whether you would or not.
She had met them readily,—in fact had rather challenged them to look at her, and then had sent back a glance which made Mark’s blood tingle. No woman had ever affected him as she did and after he knew dinner was over in the salon he found himself constantly watching for a sight of her, or the sound of her voice. Two or three times he went round to the north piazza hoping to find her there, but Craig sat alone poring over Browning and listening occasionally for the trail of a skirt round the corner. He still had upon the table the lily Alice had given him, but it was shrivelled and faded and he scarcely knew it was there. The rose had overshadowed the lily and Alice was forgotten.
At precisely four o’clock Jeff drove the hotel carriage up to the door with a flourish and a feint as if it were hard to hold the horses, who looked like anything but runaways and would have dropped their heads if they had not been checked so high. Jeff had spent two hours in scrubbing the carriage, polishing the harness and rubbingdown the horses. His divinity, Miss Alice, was going to drive, and there was nothing too good for her. Helen had not impressed him as favorably as her cousin. “She don’t look as real as my girl,” he had thought when he first saw her, and he never had cause to change his opinion. At intervals Uncle Zach had superintended the washing and polishing and rubbing of the turnout which he said couldn’t be beaten outside of Worcester, and he waited with a good deal of pride for the effect it would have upon the young ladies.
Alice was the first to appear, looking very cool and fresh and pretty in her dark blue serge made over from a last year’s dress, and adapted as nearly as possible to the prevailing style. She was a natural dressmaker and had given her costume a few touches of her own ideas. Like Uncle Zach Jeff thought her a daisy, and although Craig and Mark were both there, the former fastening his gloves and the latter holding the reins by the horses’ heads, he gallantly helped her to the back seat and smoothed down her dress with the air of a much older person. Then they waited five minutes and ten minutes until the young men began to get impatient. They did not know that Helen was seldom on time. She had taken her after dinner nap and bath and had dawdled in her dressing, notwithstanding Celine’s efforts to hurry her. When at last she did appear she was like a picture stepping out of a fashion plate. Her tailor made dress and jacket were without a flaw in style and fit, her gloves harmonized perfectly with her dress, and the soft light veil twisted around her sailor hat and tied in a big bow under her chin was very becoming. In the morning she had worn Mark’s rose; this afternoon she had a great clump of thefleurs-de-lis, Craig’s color, fastened to her dress.
“Have I kept you waiting long? I am very sorry,” she said, with such an air of penitence that both Craig and Mark forgave her, assuring her that it was of no consequence. “Alice, I know, thinks me delinquent,” she said. “She is always on time; always doing the right thing.”
“That’s so,” came from Jeff, who emphasized his words with a sudden whopover on the grass.
They all laughed, Helen the most of all.
“You see you have an admiring champion,” she said to Alice; then to Mark, “You are to drive, I conclude.”
“Yes, I go in the capacity of driver and guide, as I know all the points of interest,” he replied, and Helen continued, “I suppose you and Mr. Mason should sit on the front seat, and Alice and I on the back, but I want to drive part of the time, and if you do not mind I will sit with you.”
“I shall be delighted,” Mark said, and in his delight he dropped the reins and almost lifted Helen to her place in front.
“Take care there! take care!” Uncle Zach exclaimed, hopping about like a grasshopper and seizing one of the horses by the bit. “You didn’t or’to be so rash droppin’ them lines. There’s no knowin’ what the horses will take it into their heads to do. Virginny is frothin’ at her mouth now. She’ll be pawin’ next.”
“I think it’s the high check. It makes her neck ache. Won’t you please lower it?” Alice said.
She was a lover of animals of all kinds and could not bear to see them needlessly pained. The high checks were Jeff’s idea, but if Alice wanted them lowered they should be, and he at once let them out, evidently to the satisfaction of the horses, who shook their heads as if relieved from some disagreeable restraint. Mrs. Tracy,who had slept longer than usual, now came down the walk, with a frown on her face as she saw where her daughter was sitting.
“Helen,” she said, “Won’t you be more comfortable with Alice? You will get all the wind and sun and dust where you are, and burn your face. Mr. Mason will change with you.”
“I don’t want him to change. I like where I am. There isn’t any wind, and I neither freckle nor burn; besides that I am going to drive,” Helen replied.
There was no use arguing with her, and Mrs. Tracy could only look her disapproval, while Uncle Zach, still hopping about and very proud for this fine equipage to be seen before his door by the passers by, said in some alarm, “Better not let her drive till the horses have had some of the wind taken out of their sails. They’ve et two quarts of oats extra, and may take it into their heads to run away and upset the kerridge.”
“Oh, please go on, or we shall not get started till dark,” Helen said, and with a chirrup to the horses the carriage started, Uncle Zach taking off his hat to it, and Jeff indulging in two or three summersaults as it went rapidly up the street and past the houses from which many eyes looked curiously at the young ladies of whom every one had heard, although they had not been twenty-four hours in town.
When the carriage disappeared Mrs. Tracy, who evidently had something on her mind, followed Uncle Zacheus into the office and said in her most insinuating, amiable voice, “Dear Mr. Taylor, I don’t want to be troublesome, but would you mind opening the safe for me? I mean would you mind showing me how to open it; then when I feel nervous about the diamonds I can see for myself that they are there, and need not troubleany one. I could ask your hired man to show me if he would, but I’d rather you should do it.”
“My hired man! Great guns! How does Joel Otis know anything about the safe?” Uncle Zach exclaimed, thinking of his man of all work.
Mrs. Tracy saw her mistake and hastened to explain: “I mean your clerk, Mr. what’s his name? He is hired, isn’t he?”
“Why, yes; and I pay him a good round sum. He’s worth it, too, and runs everything. I never think of callin’ him my hired man, and I dunno’s he’d like me to show you how to open the safe.”
“Surely you are the master here, aren’t you?” Mrs. Tracy asked, in a tone which at once piqued the man’s pride.
“Of course I am. This is my house. What did you say you wanted?”
“I want to know how to unlock the safe, so I can see my diamonds whenever I choose,” Mrs. Tracy replied.
Uncle Zach thought a minute, standing first on one foot, then on the other, and rubbing his bald head and wishing Dot were there. But Dot was at a neighbor’s, gossiping about her city boarders and their elegant clothes, even their night dresses trimmed with real Valenciennes and nothing but silk stockings for every day. Dot could not help him. He must act alone, and it would not do to disoblige Mrs. Tracy, so he finally said, “Wall, seein’ it’s you, I don’t care if I do, though I mistrust Mark won’t like it.”
“I don’t see what business it is of Mark’s. The safe is yours,” Mrs. Tracy replied.
“That’s so,” Uncle Zach rejoined, and in a minute he was explaining to the lady the intricacies of the lock.
“The word is ‘John,’” he said. “That’s our little boywho died and is down in the cemetry. For J you give four turnsso; for O three turnsso; for H two turnsso; for N a final jerk, and here you be. No you ain’t neither! What ails the pesky thing?” he exclaimed, as with all his right and left turns and twists and yanks the safe resisted his efforts to open it.
He tried again with no better result; then yielded his place to Mrs. Tracy, to whom he gave the most minute directions. She, too, failed and after two or three trials called to Celine, whom she heard on the piazza.
“It’s strength we need, and Celine has it,” she said, explaining to the girl what was wanted and crouching down by her as she tried her skill on the obdurate lock.
Uncle Zach had lost his wits entirely, and went down on his knees to assist with advice and orders.
“Whew!” came through the window in a tone of surprise, and the next moment Jeff came in like a whirlwind, and made the fourth in the group by the safe. “What are you up to?” he asked, and at sight of him Mrs. Tracy, remembering what Alice had told her, rose to her feet.
Celine, however, had no such prejudice, and she explained the matter very volubly.
“Pshaw!” Jeff said contemptuously. “Is that all? I’ll bet I can pick the lock, give me time. Any way, I can open it. I’ve seen Mark do it a hundred times. Get out of the way.”
He spoke to Celine, but Mr. Taylor and Mrs. Tracy both stepped back with Celine, leaving Jeff a fair field. It did not take him long to open the door, and with an “I told you I could,” he disappeared, leaving Mrs. Tracy no better off than she was before. She could not open the door after it was shut, for she tried it until she was tired, and scorning to ask Jeff to teach her, gave it up,saying she supposed she was foolish in wishing to look at her diamonds whenever she chose without calling on any one to assist her, but something made her very nervous about them.
“Dot gets nervous spells, too, about nothin’. It’s the way of wimmen,” Uncle Zacheus said. “I guess we better not let Mark know we tinkered with his safe. He’d be awful mad.”
“I think you defer too much to the opinion of an employee. It spoils them,” Mrs. Tracy suggested, and Uncle Zach replied, “Can’t spile Mark,—the best feller ever born. I’d trust him with my life.”
Meanwhile Mark was feeling that he was as near Paradise as he would ever be until he reached its gates. It was a good deal to be sitting side by side with the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and it was still more to have the beautiful girl as friendly and gracious as she was, treating him as if she had known him for years, and seldom looking back to speak to Craig, whom she left entirely to Alice. She professed to be enchanted with everything, and her face glowed with excitement. The spirit, which in one of her confidences with Alice she had ascribed to his satanic majesty whom she called theold gentlemanwas upon her, and she could no more help flirting with Mark Hilton than she could have helped breathing. Craig’s reserve had piqued her, but while ignoring him she didn’t forget him at all, or lose a word he was saying to Alice. He was the fish she meant to draw into her net eventually, but she was very happy watching Mark getting more and more entangled in her meshes.
It was a lovely summer afternoon and owing to the heavy rain of the previous night the road was neither dusty nor rough, and for a time Paul and Virginia didcredit to Uncle Zach’s praise of them and trotted on without a sign of lagging. Mark still held the lines, but when they had crossed the river and the causeway and were out among the hills Helen said to him, “Don’t you believe the bloods have digested that two quarts of oats by this time and had the wind taken out of their sails sufficiently for me to drive.”
She held out her hands for the lines which Mark gave to her, asking if she had ever driven much.
“No,” she said, “but I want to learn, and I like to drive fast and feel the wind on my face. Touch them, please, with the whip.”
Mark touched Paul, while woman-like Helen jerked the reins and told them to go on, which they did at a rapid rate, until a long, steep hill was reached, or rather a succession of short hills, with level spaces like plateaus between. Up two of these hills the bloods pulled steadily, but stopped at the third, while Paul looked back expectantly and Virginia laid her head against his neck in a caressing kind of way.
“What have they stopped for? Get up! Get up!” Helen said, but her get ups were unavailing.
Paul still looked back and Virginia finally joined him while Mark and Craig laughed aloud. Craig had been up that hill, which was known as the mile hill and was rough and stony, but had at its summit one of the finest views in the surrounding country. He knew the habits of the horses and wondered that they had not stopped sooner and signified their wish for the load to be lightened, especially as it was more than double now with four people and the carryall to what it had been with himself and Uncle Zach and a light buggy.
“What are they stopping for?” Helen asked again, and Craig replied, “Stopping for us to get out and walk.Have you never heard that the horses in Norway are brought up to do that? I fancy the bloods may have come from that region.”
Alice sprang out in a moment and began to pat Virginia, whose eyes were beginning to have in them a dangerous gleam as she felt the weight of the load behind her and saw the long steep hill in front, with still another and another beyond. Craig alighted, too, and so did Mark, and tried to coax the horses to move on. At first Paul seemed inclined to do so, and turned half way towards Virginia, who, true to her sex, stood her ground and would not budge. She knew there was still one occupant in the carriage and until all were out she would stay where she was.
“Make them go. Give them the whip. I’m not going to walk up that mountain to please any brute,” Helen said, beginning to grow impatient.
Mark knew better than to use the whip, much as he wished to do so. Paul might not resent it, but Virginia was of a different make and knew how to use her heels if thwarted in having her way.
“How long do you think she will stand here if I don’t get out?” Helen asked, and Mark replied, “All night, I dare say. She is gentle enough except about the hills, which she abominates. She was born on a western ranche. Hadn’t you better give in?”