She recovered herself instantly—and took Pendleton's outstretched hand.
It was a lifeless hand she gave him, however. It said plainly to him that it was offered out of respect to the conventionalities and nothing more. And her smile was as purely formal as the handshake. There was no warmth in either.
"I did not mean to intrude," she remarked.
"Intrude!" marvelled Gladys.—"Why what an idea, Stephanie! Montague and I are not—now if I were someone else, it might be apropos. This tea is cold—let me order another pot."
Pendleton went over and pushed the bell.
"I don't care for any tea, thank you," said Stephanie.—"I'm going to town in a moment."
"I'll ride with you, if you wait a few minutes until I telephone," offered Gladys. "I may be able to hasten it if I call up at once. Excuse me a moment!" and she hurried into the house.
Pendleton repressed a smile and bowed.
"Won't you sit down, Mrs. Lorraine?" he suggested.
She shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly, and took the chair he offered her.
"This is an awkward situation, Mr. Pendleton," she observed, "but it will last but a moment—and ifyou will bear with me, I'll see that it doesn't happen again."
"Suppose I want it to happen again—many times," he said, leaning forward.
Another shrug of the shapely shoulders.
"You're asking me to believe impossibilities," she returned.
"I'll make them very real, if you will promise to try to believe them."
A third time the shoulders did duty.
"I suppose Miss Chamberlain has been made aware of the state of affairs and is trying to give you a chance to apologize," she remarked.
"And I take the chance.—I apologize, Stephanie! most sincerely and humbly apologize."
"For what?"
"For anything I did or said that I shouldn't."
"That you shouldn't," she repeated.—"Who is to be the judge of what youshouldn'thave done or said? That was just the point on which we split—you thought you should and I thought you shouldn't."
"I am willing to letyoube the judge," he replied.
"Then you confess that you went beyond all bounds?"
"I will."
"And were arbitrary and dictatorial?"
"I will."
"And unkind in your inferences and conclusions?"
"Even that I will confess.—You know that I hadno intention of being either unkind, nor arbitrary, nor dictatorial."
"I know only what you said at the time, Mr. Pendleton; from it there was no other conclusion to draw. However, it won't profit us to discuss it now—you've apologized; I accept the apology on the condition that you don't offend again."
"But I'm going to offend again. At least, I'm going to speak frankly about a matter, in the hope that you'll not be offended—but that if you are offended you'll be warned nevertheless—and heed the warning. Shall I proceed?"
"You may use your own judgment," she returned.
"First, I want to ask if you received my letter, written from Boston the day after our—quarrel?"
"I did not."
The servant came with the tea and toast, and placed them on the table.
"How many lumps, Mrs. Lorraine?" the man asked, sugar tongs poised.
"I'll serve it—you may go!" said Stephanie. Then she looked at Pendleton. "Did you write me a letter?"
"I most assuredly did!" he replied.
"Do you care to tell me what was in it?"
"It was mainly an apology for what had occurred the previous evening."
"What else was in it?"
He smiled—"Nothing much—just a word or two of—regard."
She poured the tea, and broke off a bit of toast.
"I think," she remarked, examining the toast critically, yet watching Pendleton the while furtively from under the long lashes, "I think that letter alters the proposition somewhat. You did the decent thing promptly—and I'm sorry I didn't know it. I too said things that I didn't mean—and if you'll forgiveme, Montague," holding out her hand to him, with a bewitching smile, "we will start afresh."
"If I'll forgive you, sweetheart!" he exclaimed.
She withdrew her hand and held up a warning finger—though the smile still lingered undimmed—then she nodded ever so slightly.
"My dear Stephanie, I'll forgiveyouanything when you look at me like that!" he breathed.
"I'm always ready to look at you like that, if you won't find fault with me when I've been abominable," she whispered.—"No, stay where you are—you forget we're on the Club-house piazza."
He made a motion of resignation and sank back in his chair.
"I should not have said it if we hadn't been there—and broad day besides," she observed.
He smiled his answer.
"Moreover, Montague, you know that all such little demonstrations are strictly forbidden," she warned.
"When will they be permitted?" he demanded, leaning close to her.
"Who knows?" she answered. "Who can read the future—such a future as mine, my friend."
"I will essay it," he replied.
She laughed softly.
"You, Montague!" she said.
"Yes—may I try it?"
She shook her head. "It wouldn't be wise. It might raise false hopes; and a football of fate hasn't any right to hopes—they are too expensive of disappointment."
"How do you know what I shall read?" he asked.
"You wouldn't venture to read anything that wasn't nice."
"I'll read what I see," said he;—"and the first thing I see is far from nice."
She regarded him a moment thoughtfully—and he waited.
"What is it?" she asked finally.
"It is—Porshinger!" he answered—and braced himself for the explosion.
And it came—though not in the way he had anticipated.
"Porshinger! Porshinger!" she cried tensely—her sensitive nostrils aquiver, her eyes flashing, her cheeks suddenly aflame. "I hate him!—I hate him! He's a beast, Montague, a beast!"
"There isn't a doubt of it, sweetheart," he said soothingly. "I rejoice that you have found him out at last."
"Ialwaysknew it—but I didn't think he would dare try his ways with me."
"What did he do, dear?" Pendleton asked—"was it at the Croydens' last night?"
"Yes—in the conservatory.—He—kissed me byforce—and repeated it at least half a dozen times before he released me.—I did nothing to tempt him, Montague—absolutely nothing!"
"Except to be nice to him," Pendleton added quietly—"whichheisn't able to understand."
"Isn't able to understand in Stephanie Lorraine—with her past!" she said bitterly.
"That is the bounder in him," he explained.
"He thought, because I went wrong with Amherst, that every man could be an Amherst—if he only had the opportunity!" she exclaimed.
"Did he saythat?"
"He laughed and said: 'Why struggle so—no one sees us?'"
"Heisa beast!" Pendleton gritted.
"And when I did break from him, he caught me back again, saying: 'You didn't struggle so the other night with Pendleton,' and kissed me again and again, whispering:—'aren't mine just as sweet and worth as much as his?'"
"My God!" cried Pendleton.—"Did he see me that night at Criss-Cross?"
"I think so—at least the day after, when he came there to dine, he let me infer from what he said that he had seen—I never told you, because I might have been wrong—and I didn't want to worry you."
For a brief space Pendleton did not trust himself to answer, if indeed he had the power, so overcome was he by shame and anger, and the rush of hatred that well nigh choked him. Then it passed, and he was cool and calm—preternaturally so, indeed—thoughthe intensity of his feelings was betrayed by the flashing of his eyes. His first words were a confession of his own atrocious error.
"My poor Stephanie! I am shamed beyond words—to have brought this thing upon you by my folly."
"You are not responsible—it's myself," she said evenly. "Do you think that he would have dared it but for the Amherst affair?"
"I gave him courage—I am guilty too," he objected.
"You don't know the man. He thinks everything must bow before him—thinks he can buy anyone if he but have a chance—thinks every woman has her price—and that I am openly for sale. He can't understand that what a woman may do once, she would burn at the stake rather than do again. He's a beast! Montague, a beast!"
"A human beast unfortunately—whom one can't kill with impunity," Pendleton reflected. "Moreover, I doubt if it would be wise to kill him."
"Good Heavens! No!" she cried.
"Neither do I know just how the matter ought to be handled. Of course, you will ignore him in the future——"
"I shall neverseehim!" she declared.
"But if he sees you—forces himself upon you——"
"He would not dare."
"Hewoulddare! He is vile enough to dare anything—to do anything. He has no notion ofdecency nor of right when it crosses his purposes. He has neither conscience nor shame. He is what you styled him: a beast—a vicious beast, I should add."
"What wouldyoudo with a vicious beast of his kind who forces himself upon you?" she asked.
"I should take care to have some one always with me," he replied slowly—"and I should appeal instantly for protection, if he made the slightest attempt to intrude."
"And suffer him to circulate some horrible tale about me?"
"You have to chance that," Pendleton answered. "If he does, your friends will then be in a position to make such a protest as he will be apt to remember."
"Meanwhile, the harm will be done," she replied.
"If hecanharm you," he observed. "You're a trifle too sensitive of your position, dear. It is not what it was—when you returned. Surely your word is equal to Porshinger's."
"Many will be glad to believe his story—whatever it is," she protested. "You see, I was friendly with him—and my past is—not in my favor."
"Those who believe it, you won't any longer want to know; nor need you care for them—you will be well rid of them. And your past ispast; don't let it worry you, sweetheart. You're obsessed by it."
"I'm afraid I don't know just what obsessed means, Montague," she said, with a wan little smile.
"You attach undue importance to it; you've—got it on the brain, so to speak," he explained.
"I see," she said slowly. "Maybe I have it onthe brain—but it's very natural under all the circumstances—and when I'm trying to live down my past. It's dreadfully hard, Montague, dreadfully hard for a woman to live down her past. You men can never know how hard it is—you have no past."
"You make it harder than it is, Stephanie," he said, "though I think that no one knows it except me—you conceal your feelings marvellously well."
"Thank you, Montague—I have tried to hide them from this cold and heartless world we call Society. And Ihavebeen indiscreet, I know. Striving to appear indifferent, I overdid the part. Itwasfoolish of me to encourage Porshinger, even a little. I ought to have realized what a dangerous man he is—I ought to have been warned by you, instead of showing anger at your well meant and entirely justifiable protest. I have only myself to blame—which makes it all the harder."
"Nonsense! dear.—You did what you thought was right, and because you thought it was right—and because you feared lest Porshinger would injure me. Now we are going to stand together—and let Lorraine help you, if he will—without any obligation on your part," he added, as she made a vehement gesture of protest. "We shall see whether he has sufficient manhood to defend his wife if Porshinger starts his slanderous tales."
"Suppose his first tale is of—us—and what he saw on the Criss-Cross piazza?" she remarked.
"I will deny it."
"And what—shall I do?"
"You need do nothing—except preserve the dignity of silence."
"But if my husband hearkens to the story, and demands an explanation from us both?"
"Still the same course for us," Pendleton replied:—"You indignant silence—me denial."
"And have Society in general laugh knowingly and believe—and even our friends accept the denial hesitatingly."
"What other course can you suggest?" he asked.
"There is but one other course—tell the truth," she said.
"And raise a greater scandal—and put you in Porshinger's power?" he objected. "If you admit his tale as to me, won't you practically admit whatever he may choose to say regarding his own experience with you?"
"You may be right!" she said wearily. "I do not know—whatever you think best I shall do."
"I've got you into this miserable difficulty and I shall——"
"My dear Montague, dismiss that idea. I got myself in it by my own insane actions with Amherst."
"And I gave Porshinger the occasion he needed by the fight here and the kiss at Criss-Cross. I tell you I'm more to blame than are you." He leaned over close. "If Lorraine would only divorce you, dear—and you would marrymeyou wouldn't need care for Porshinger's tales. They would have lost their point, and no one worth while would ever give them a thought."
"Mydearfriend," she exclaimed, looking at him with a serious smile, "it is not for such as I to think of marriage. I have made too fearful a mess of the one that still binds me."
"That it stillbindsyou is the material point—nothing else matters to me."
She sighed and leaned back.
"What if Lorraine does not believe your denial?" she suggested.
"I think he will believe it," Pendleton replied. "He asked me at the Hospital—it was the day I returned from Criss-Cross—to look out for you—to protect you from yourself."
"You never told me," she interrupted.
"No—I never told you—and I proceeded almost immediately to quarrel with you like a little boy."
"Because of his request?" she smiled.
"Forgetful of his request," he said contritely. "I've been a poor sort of friend to you, Stephanie. I never was Lorraine's friend and I think he knew it; I fancy that was why he asked me to look out for you—but I've done it atrociously. I'm a miserable——"
"You are the best friend I have, Montague!" she exclaimed, leaning forward and putting her hand on his arm,—"the best friend a woman ever had—you believe in me still, after I've done everything to forfeit your trust."
"I do—I'm only too glad to believe in you, sweetheart."
"You mustn't call me sweetheart, dear—I mean,"with a rush of color to her cheeks, "I mean, you must notnow.—It is unwise—and some one may overhear."
"And when we're where no one canoverhear?" he whispered.
The entrancing smile flashed for an instant across her face.
"Wait until then," she answered. "We have more serious matters confronting us. What shall we do in event of Porshinger effecting anything against me, directly or by his tales? I'm fearfully afraid, Montague, fearfully afraid!"
"Don't be afraid, Stephanie, don't be afraid!" he counselled. "Let us do as I suggested—it is the best plan.—Here comes Gladys; does she know about Porshinger?"
"No—I've not told her yet," she said hastily.—"Yes, it was a very gorgeous affair—we're discussing the Croyden Ball, my dear"—as Miss Chamberlain came up, "but then all their affairs are gorgeous and in exquisite taste."
"They are, indeed," assented Gladys; "but I thought that last night they surpassed themselves. I never saw anything so charming as the conservatory. You know how huge it is, and there wasn't a light visible, yet the illumination was so subtly subdued that you seemed to see all about you, and yet you didn't—you know what I mean, Montague. I'm a bit vague——"
"Precisely!" said Pendleton. "You couldn't trust yourself to believe anything that you thought you saw"—and he shot a glance at Stephanie.
"You have it exactly, just the idea I intended to convey!" she laughed. "You are a very satisfactory man—isn't he, Stephanie?"
"I'm not committing myself by any rash admissions," Stephanie smiled—and Gladys knew that the quarrel was ended.
Just then a motor car, driven at reckless speed, dashed over the hill and up to the Club-house—and Harry Lorraine sprang out.
Gladys glanced swiftly at Stephanie and around to Pendleton.
"I see him," said Stephanie quietly.
"He seems to be in a bit of a hurry," Pendleton remarked, as Lorraine hastily crossed the piazza and said a word to the doorman.
The latter saluted and replied.
Lorraine turned quickly in their direction—then hurried over.
"He is coming here!" said Gladys wonderingly; while Stephanie frowned slightly, and Pendleton began to drum lightly on one knee.
"I hope you will pardon me if I'm intruding," Lorraine apologized as he came up, "but I've a matter that won't bear delay—at least it won't bear delay according to my view.—May I sit down?"
He looked at Stephanie, and she, with a glance at the others, answered indifferently.
"If you wish."
"I telephoned to your house, Stephanie," Lorraine went on, "and they said you were here, so I came straight back—and I'm fortunate to find Gladys andPendleton with you, for they are your friends and they will stand by you, I know."
He was greatly agitated; his tones were high-pitched, his words bitten off short, and his hands trembled with nervousness or with the tension of his feelings.
"We will stand by Stephanie you may be sure," said Pendleton—"as we have stood by her in the past."
"And as I haven't!" Lorraine exclaimed. "You're right, I haven't—but I'm trying to stand by her now. Do you know what I overheard Billy Dolittle telling old Baringdale this morning?—It was this—he said that in the conservatory at the Croydens' last night he saw my wife in that cad Porshinger's arms. I knocked him down with my stick—drove the end of it straight into his stomach—it is an old fencing trick, you know, Pendleton. When he got up I gave him another in the same place. It put him out. Then I went on the hunt of Stephanie—to know how she's going to meet the slander. It can't be the truth—at least, not thewayhe told it—Porshingermusthave used violence. Didn't he?" he demanded.
"He did," Stephanie answered instantly. "He kissed me by force."
"I knew it!—I knew it!" Lorraine cried. "Well, I'll fix him—Porshinger, I mean. There is only one way to handle such as he—I'll prosecute him."
"You will what!" Stephanie exclaimed.
"I'll prosecute him—for assault and battery onmy wife. I'll show the dirty scoundrel something he wasn't looking for."
"You're wild, Lorraine!" interposed Pendleton quietly. "You won't help Stephanie by any such proceeding—making her testify in a magistrate's office and then in court before a gaping crowd—subjecting her to all the shame of publicity. Why don't you—" he leaned a bit forward and spoke persuasively, "why don't you try the end of your cane on Porshinger also?—It would be a lot more satisfaction to you—and so much quicker."
"It wouldn't accomplish the same result—it wouldn't put him in jail," Lorraine objected.
"It will put him in a hospital if you thrust hard enough," said Pendleton. "That ought to satisfy you."
"And put me in jail, if he prosecute."
"He will not prosecute, never fear."
Lorraine shook his head.
"It won't do!" he declared. "Stephanie has nothing to lose and everything to gain by my prosecuting him. The tale is going—what Dolittle knows will be public property in a day. The way to meet it is to have Porshinger arrested at once. Show that Stephanie is not afraid to face the issue. If she remain quiet under the story she tacitly admits its truth."
"But my dear Lorraine,"—Pendleton began.
"I'm not to be deterred, Montague—I didn't protect my wife from Amherst, but I will protect her this time." He arose. "You'll hear of Porshinger'sarrest before night.—It will take him a little by surprise, I imagine," he flung over his shoulder as he strode away.
Pendleton sprang up and overtook him.
"Look here, Lorraine!" he said, curtly. "Don't be a fool—you think that Porshinger will bear the brunt of this, but you're grievously in error—it will be Stephanie who catches all the recoil. Be sensible," he urged, his hands itching to shake Lorraine. "Think of the defence that Porshinger will make if he is disposed to fight—and if youarresthim he is sure to fight—that is the cad in him."
"What will he say?" Lorraine demanded.
"That what he did was with Stephanie's permission."
Lorraine laughed shortly. "Just so—and a jury won't hesitate long when it's a question of veracity between a pretty woman and a mere man. Silence might be the wiser course,if no one knew, but that is not the case—everyone knows it now, or will by night. You know Dolittle quite as well as I—don'tyoubelieve Stephanie?" he suddenly demanded.
"Of course I believe her," Pendleton answered impatiently. "She told me about Porshinger's conduct just before you came up, and we were discussing what to do——"
"But you didn't know that it had been overseen?" Lorraine interrupted.
"No—we——"
"Exactly!—And Dolittle's story puts another aspect on it. We've got to fight, and fight at once."He signalled his motor with his stick, and it rolled up to the doorway. "I'll telephone you as soon as the warrant is issued," he said, and flashed away.
Pendleton looked thoughtfully after the receding car, then he came slowly back to his place.
"I don't know that the fool isn't right," he muttered.—"But why the devil didn't he act as promptly in the Amherst affair?... I couldn't stop him," he said, in answer to Stephanie's inquiring look. "He has gone to have Porshinger arrested."
"It doesn't much signify!" Stephanie shrugged. "Since Billy Dolittle saw it, the tale will be spread broadcast. He doesn't like me, you know, so that will be an additional animus—and Harry's stick didn't make him feel any the more lenient!" She laughed shortly. "I think I should like to have seen those thrusts—they're about all the satisfaction I can get out of the miserable affair. However, I'm pretty well hardened by this time—one more nasty story won't matter."
"And it all comes back to me," said Gladys.—"If I had not invited Porshinger to Criss-Cross, this wouldn't have happened."
"Nonsense!" Stephanie interrupted—"you're not to blame."
"No—I'mthe guilty party," interrupted Pendleton. "I started the trouble when I had the dispute with Porshinger over the cut of his coat."
"But you wouldn't have had that dispute if Porshinger hadn't spoken slightingly of Stephanie," Gladys remarked.
"And Porshinger would not have had occasion to speak slightingly of me if I hadn't gone off with Amherst," Stephanie concluded. "So the primary guilt is mine—together with the further humiliation of having misjudged Porshinger. On the whole, I've succeeded in making about as complete a muddle of things as can well be imagined."
"I confess that I'm puzzled what to do," Pendleton reflected—"whether to block Lorraine or to let him go on—and we must act quickly if we're to block him. It resolves itself, of course, into which will occasion the less talk—and I'm free to admit I don't know. It looks to me like a case of 'you'll be damned if you do and you'll be damned if you don't.' What do you think, Gladys?"
"I think there isn't much choice. We're in a split stick. One way we face Porshinger's story and meet it with a passive denial, the other way we take the bull by the horns—that is, Lorraine forces us to—and tell the truth in court. As there can't be any question of blackmail, the lattermaybe the better—it has the merit of sincerity, of faith in the facts. On the whole, I think that it will damn less than the passive denial of Dolittle's story."
"I agree with Gladys:—we haven't much choice in the matter," remarked Stephanie hopelessly. "Lorraine is forcing the issue.—We simply have to meet it. I'm smirched anyway, but I shall be smirched less, it seems to me, by assuming the offensive."
Just then Porshinger drove up in his car. The hour was early and the east piazza was as yet occupied only by Mrs. Lorraine, Miss Chamberlain and Pendleton. He sighted them at once—stood a moment as though undecided, then came slowly toward them.
"Can it be possible he will dare to join us!" Gladys exclaimed.
"Anything is possible withhim," Stephanie answered contemptuously—and turned her back.
"Surely he won't have the effrontery!" Gladys insisted and looked away.
"I can't think that evenheis cad enough for that," Pendleton remarked, busying himself with his cigarette.
That no one glanced up at Porshinger's approach did not faze him an instant. It was one of the secrets of his success in life that, having come to a decision, he always saw it through. He knew his own mind—which is more than the average man does.
"How-de-do, everybody!" he greeted. "May I sit down?" suiting the action to the word. "Miss Chamberlain, I salute you! also Mrs. Lorraine—and Mr. Pendleton. Bully day for golf—what do you say to a foursome?"
Stephanie arose, looked straight at Porshingerwith a deliberately ignoring stare, and turned to Miss Chamberlain.
"Will you come into the house with me, Gladys?" she asked. "Excuse me, Montague, please."
Pendleton had instantly found his feet—Porshinger was a trifle slower. Gladys bowed perfunctorily to the latter, and followed Stephanie. Pendleton resumed his seat and slowly lit another cigarette.
Porshinger laughed, a chuckling sort of laugh.
"I'm squelched, did you notice it?" he remarked.
"I noticed the intention, but not the desired result," Pendleton answered very coldly.
Porshinger's small eyes flashed a keen look at him—had Stephanie been telling them the truth—or only part of it? He had felt certain she would tell nothing—simply let it be inferred that they had had a disagreement; but there was something in the atmosphere that suggested——
"A slight disagreement last night at the Croydens' over a trifling matter," he laughed easily. "It's funny how a woman can make a man pay up for a little thing. You might imagine from the way she acted that I had done Mrs. Lorraine a grievous wrong."
Pendleton smoked and was silent.
In truth, he could not quite determine just how to meet the matter, knowing the facts and of Lorraine's contemplated action—whether to show he was aware of anything more than the actual incident of the moment, or to tell Porshinger his opinion of him. The latter, however, would entail the possibility ofviolence if Porshinger elected to become offensive in his statements as to Stephanie. Hewantedto smash Porshinger's face into a nothingness—yet that would be only a temporary personal satisfaction, and would complicate the matter still more without accomplishing anything.
Porshinger, on his part, had sunk his desire for vengeance into his desire for Stephanie. He could not understand a woman with her flagrant past except on one hypothesis—and he was willing to forget Pendleton's recent attack if he could supplant him in her affections. He had no possible doubt that Pendleton had taken Amherst's place—and he aimed to displace Pendleton. That a woman could make one bad step and then right herself beyond even the possibility of making another was, to his mind, utterly absurd. And the last few weeks had but confirmed him—she was playing him, to be sure, but coming closer every day, until he had only to put out his hand and take her. He had put out his hand last night at Croydens', but something had gone wrong. He had been a trifle premature—possibly because he did not quite understand these society women's ways. However, it was only a question of a little time. He would pluck the fruit eventually, of that he had no doubt. Stephanie was not really angry—only piqued at his awkwardness and want of appreciation of the proper situation. He would show her that he did not mind a temporary rebuff, would, in fact, disregard it entirely. If she was inclined to punish him a trifle, she should have her way. Money was king in the end—and money would win. Her present conduct—this leaving him without a word, but with an ignoring look, was somewhat disconcerting and altogether unexpected. However, he assumed it was simply another exhibition of a society woman's seeming reluctance to yield, and the desire to make her conquest worth while. Yes, itwasa trifle disconcerting. He was at a loss what to say, because he did not know how much, if anything, Stephanie had told of their quarrel.
He glanced covertly at Pendleton—Pendleton was smoking and looking dreamily up at the sky.
"My idea of a foursome didn't seem to take well with the ladies," he adventured.
"No, didn't seem to," Pendleton answered dryly.
"Do you think Mrs. Lorraine and Miss Chamberlain are coming back?"
Pendleton's patience was fast slipping its moorings.
"Judging from Mrs. Lorraine's manner, I should sayshewas not——so long as you are here," he replied.
Porshinger refused to take offence.
"I thought so myself!" he chuckled. "Have a drink, Pendleton?"
"No, thank you!" Pendleton declined sharply.
"Do you mind if I have one?"
"Not in the least."
"Do you mind if I stay here?"
Pendleton blew smoke rings and made no reply.
"From which I might infer—a number of things," Porshinger laughed. "But I won't. I had onequarrel with a pretty woman over nothing last evening; I'm not going to have another quarrel with a good fellow this afternoon."
It was evident to Pendleton that Porshinger never suspected that Stephanie had told more than the simple fact of their quarrel, or else he was trying to draw him out so as to know what story he had to meet and overcome.
Just then Dolittle's voice came around the corner.
"Have you heard the latest scandal?" it enquired.
"No—what is it?" said another voice, which Pendleton recognized as Emerson's.
There was a moving of chairs and the two men sat down.
Pendleton took a long draw on his cigarette. He saw what was coming. Porshinger, however, did not see, and like the majority of his class, he craned his ears to overhear.
"It's pretty hot stuff!" laughed Dolittle. "Were you at the Croydens' last night?"
Pendleton glanced at Porshinger. The latter's face was suddenly creased by a frown.
"No—but Marcia was," Emerson answered, with the parvenu parent's pride in the daughter who has been included.
"She didn't tell you, I fancy?"
"I've not seen her.—She takes her breakfast in bed, you know."
"No—I didn't know," said Dolittle airily—then hastened to add:—"but most women do so, I understand."
"I don't know about most women," Emerson returned bluntly.
"Of course, you don't," Dolittle interjected pleasantly. "An old married man isn't supposed to know about such things. Hey!" and he laughed. "But to return—have you ever been in Croyden's country-house? It's down the valley."
"Sure, I have," said Emerson.
"Then you know how spacious it is, particularly the conservatory, and how the lights are arranged so that you seem to see all about you but you don't—the palms and the other big plants are concealers."
Porshinger stirred uneasily and whipped a glance at Pendleton—who had gone back to surveying the clouds and pushing smoke rings toward them.
"Yes," said Emerson; "I remember the conservatory perfectly. It's a beautiful room, a beautiful room!"
"Well be that as it may," Dolittle went on: "it was just before the Cotillon, and I was in the conservatory with—never mind her name—when Stephanie Lorraine came in with the fellow Porshinger——"
Porshinger half arose; then sank back and his eyes sought Pendleton—who was still occupied with the clouds and the smoke and his reverie.
"It's amazing how such an infernal bounder can get intimate with a woman like Mrs. Lorraine, even if he has more money than brains—and even if she has a bit unsavory past," Dolittle continued. "There are plenty in her own circle who have sufficient money tooccupy her attention. However, as I was saying, she and Porshinger entered and took a sheltered little nook, which apparently was concealed by the verdure——"
"Where were you?" asked Emerson.
"I was just a little way off, and could see through the leaves. Presently I happened to glance over and saw—what do you think I saw?"
"Give it up," said matter-of-fact Emerson.
"I saw—Mrs. Lorraine in Porshinger's arms!"
"You don't say!" exclaimed Emerson.
"Yes—and he was kissing her well, I can tell you."
"Hum!" reflected Emerson. "Did your—companion see it, too?"
"Sure, she did."
And Pendleton knew from his tones that Dolittle lied.
"Hum!" muttered Emerson again. "Is she discreet?"
"Do you mean, will she tell? Certainly she'll tell. Do you fancy a woman would let such an opportunity slip?"
"Or some men either!" Emerson remarked quietly.
"What do you intend to imply by that?" Dolittle bristled.
"It's not particularly hard to understand," the other answered.
"You mean you questionmytelling it?"
"I think it would have been kinder to Mrs.Lorraine if you had cautioned your companion not to tell—and followed your advice yourself."
"Well, I'm damned!" Dolittle sneered. "Learning propriety from a bar-tender."
"It doesn't make a heap of difference where you learn it, so long as you do learn it," said Emerson good-naturedly. "The only trouble with you is you never can learn it—you're too all-fired conceited and satisfied with yourself, my young friend."
Pendleton came suddenly to life.
"Do you hear what they are saying, Porshinger?" he demanded curtly.
His tone angered Porshinger, who had been at loss what he should do.
"Your conversation wasn't likely to drown it!" he retorted.
"And do you propose to sit calmly by and hear a woman maligned, withyounamed as the guilty party?"
"What if she wasn't maligned?" sneered Porshinger.—"What if it's true?"
"You miserable cur!" said Pendleton.
"Oh, you needn't think that you're the only one!" Porshinger laughed.
The next instant, Pendleton had him by the throat—then he released him and flung him in the chair.
"You're too contemptible for a man to touch, even in fight," said he.
It was no use for Porshinger to struggle physically against Pendleton, and he was well aware of it, one experience had already proved it beyond thepossibility of doubt. So he sat back and carefully straightened his tie.
"The Board of Governors shall have a report of this affair," said he. "I overlooked your previous assault; but you'll have to pardon me if I decline to overlook this one."
"Report and be damned!" Pendleton exclaimed. "I'll be delighted if you do."
"And meanwhile, there are other ways of reaching you, my friend," Porshinger added. "I've already reached you through the lady we both admire, so you may have my leavings if you wish them. They're not so bad—as you doubtless can vouch for."
Again Pendleton sprang forward; Porshinger instantly cringed deeper into his chair.
With his cane raised to strike, Pendleton recovered himself.
"You are not worth even a broken stick," he declared—and turned away.
The noise of the scuffle had distracted Dolittle and Emerson from their own quarrel, and they had come around the corner and were staring in amazement at the other two.
"I'll break you, you snob," Porshinger sputtered. "I'll take every dollar you have, if it costs me a million to do it."
Pendleton shrugged his shoulders indifferently and continued straight over to the other two men.
"Mr. Emerson," he said, "I want to compliment you on what you have said to this cad Dolittle. Yours was the conduct of a gentleman." Then he turned toDolittle. "As for you, you miserable retailer of scurrilous gossip, I'm going to give you an opportunity to finish your tale."
His right hand shot out and seized Dolittle by the top of the waistcoat; at the same time his left hand grasped the other's left wrist. In a twinkle Dolittle's arm lay extended palm upwards across Pendleton's right arm, and Pendleton was standing close beside him.
It was all done in an instant—and before Dolittle realized what was happening he was absolutely helpless. Pendleton had but to press down and the arm would snap like a pipe-stem.
Dolittle's first struggle was also his last. His right arm was free, and with it he swung heavily at Pendleton's head—only to be lifted off his feet by a slight downward pressure on his left wrist. The pain was so excruciating he cried out.—The blow was wasted on the air.
"It's no use, Dolittle," said Pendleton. "You can't touch me and you can't break my hold—though I can break your arm as readily as I can break a commandment—and what is more, I'll do it unless you finish your tale!"
"It was finished," Dolittle answered, balanced uncomfortably on one foot and perfectly helpless.
"Not at all!" said Pendleton easily. "You have forgotten the most important part—please listen, Mr. Emerson—the most important part, I say. Let me remind you what it is."
"It isn't anything, I tell you!" Dolittle exclaimed.
"Think again!" Pendleton admonished, accompanied by the faintest pressure—which instantly brought a spasm of pain to the other's face. "You will, I'm sure.—Now this is what you omitted to relate. You told Mr. Emerson that you saw Mrs. Lorraine being kissed by Porshinger last evening in the Croyden conservatory, but you forgot to add that he kissed her by force and despite her struggles.—Repeat it, please."
Dolittle was sullenly silent.
"Do you hear?" asked Pendleton, beginning to apply the pressure.
Dolittle stood the agony for an instant—then he wilted.
"I neglected to add, Mr. Emerson," he gasped, "that Porshinger kissed Mrs. Lorraine by force and despite her struggles."
"I thought you could be depended upon to tell the whole truth," Pendleton remarked, easing up a trifle on his grip so that the other stood at ease.
"Then if you want the whole truth, why was it that the lady went back to the ballroomwithPorshinger?" Dolittle sneered.
"I'm coming to that," said Pendleton, tightening his hold again. "Repeat, please—and immediately Mrs. Lorraine was free and out of Porshinger's grasp, she ordered him to take her back to the ballroom, so as to avoid the comment that might be provoked by her returning alone."
With a scowl of fury, Dolittle repeated the words.
"Thank you," said Pendleton. "And one thingmore—if I hear of your telling this story any other way than with these truthful additions—and if you don't amend, before this day is over, the tales you've already told, I shall cane you within an inch of your life—understand. I don't think the woman with you saw—but if she did, better warn her also—though I don't doubt, if she did see it, she will tell the truth. Now, go!"—and he flung him away in contempt.
"You damn bully!" Dolittle choked.
"As you wish!" Pendleton laughed. "I've found my muscular development of much use for such abominations as you.—Mr. Emerson, will you do me the honor of joining me in a drink?"
"That I will, sir!" exclaimed Emerson. "With pleasure, sir, with pleasure! Where shall it be, Mr. Pendleton?"
"Here, if it please you. This is preferable to indoors on such a fine day." He touched a bell. "Take Mr. Emerson's order," he said to the boy.
"My dear sir, it was great—great!" Emerson exploded. "You deserve a vote of thanks from every man who has a wife or daughter. You're a credit, sir, a credit to your class and to the Club—by God, sir, you are!"
"It was a difficult situation to handle," said Pendleton—"and I'm not so sure I handled it properly; however, it was the best I could think of on the spur of the moment. Moreover, it was the simple truth that I forced Dolittle to tell."
"I haven't a doubt of it," Emerson declared. "And what is more, Dolittle knows that it is the truth,if he actually didn't see it. He's a pup, sure enough."
"You slander the pup, Mr. Emerson!" smiled Pendleton.
"I do, indeed. I beg the pup's pardon. He's a—what is he?"
"He is the same as Porshinger—an abomination."
"That expresses it exactly—an abomination," Emerson agreed. He glanced quietly around. "He has joined Porshinger—they are scheming trouble for you, I'm afraid."
Pendleton smiled indifferently, and lit a cigarette.
"I wish I had your nerve," said Emerson admiringly. "To flout both Porshinger and Dolittle—make them both your vindictive enemies, and not to seem to care a damn. That's what you fellows callnoblesse oblige, isn't it?"
"Most people would call it rank idiocy, I fear!" Pendleton laughed.
"Then me for the rank idiots. Here's to more of them, Mr. Pendleton, here's to more of them!" He put down his glass. "Who's this burning up the speed regulations? Gee! he certainly is hitting it up some."
"It looks like Mr. Lorraine's machine," Pendleton replied.
The car dashed up and made a spectacular stop—to the injury of the tires and the machinery—and Lorraine jumped out, followed by a man in a shabby uniform with a shield on the front of his waistcoat.
"What's this?" said Emerson—"a plain clothesman in disguise—or," as Lorraine and the man drew near, "a constable in regalia?"
Pendleton smiled slightly but did not reply.
Lorraine, his eyes on Porshinger, made his way directly across to him—giving Pendleton a preoccupied nod as he passed.
"There is Porshinger—the man with his back to the railing!" said Lorraine. "Serve your warrant, Officer Burke."
The two were near enough for Porshinger to hear what Lorraine said, and his eyes suddenly narrowed like a snake's and took on a look as venomous.
"Is this Mr. Porshinger—Charles J. Porshinger?" the constable inquired, with an important air, that was at the same time slightly apologetic.
"Yes!" said Porshinger. The word was fairly bitten off.
"I've a warrant here for you, sir," the constable continued.
"For me!" Porshinger exclaimed. "What do you mean, fellow—do you know who I am?"
"It don't make no difference to me who you are, sir. I'm doin' my duty, in the name of the law, and I'm arrestin' you because I've a warrant here what orders it."
"Arresting me for what?" Porshinger demanded.
"For assault and battery."
"At whose instance?"
Burke passed the warrant across.
"This gentleman here is the prosecutor, I believe," he said. "Now come with me and see the magistrate. He'll fix the amount of bail."
Porshinger took the warrant and read it.
"So!" he sneered. "What do you think to gain by this business, Lorraine?"
Lorraine ignored him.
"The prisoner is in your hands, constable," he remarked. "I suggest you would better take him along—the magistrate is waiting. If he doesn't want to enter bail, take him to jail."
"Take me to jail!—me to jail!" cried Porshinger.
"That's where I'll have to take you unless you enter bail, or arrange with the magistrate. I've got nothin' to do but to take you, Mr. Porshinger," said Burke firmly.
"Won't you take my word that I'll appear there before six o'clock and enter bail?" Porshinger demanded.
"I'll take nothin' but you, sir. I must obey my warrant, and you've got to obey it too."
"Do you know who I am?" said Porshinger again.
"I know who you are, all right, but that don't make no difference to me, as I said before. I don't know nothin' about the merits of the case; whether you're guilty or innocent is none of my business. I'm executin' my warrant, and I'm a goin' to do it—so come along."
"I suppose you'll at least let me telephone to my lawyer?" said Porshinger.
"Sure, sir; if you do it at once, with me along with you."
"Oh, certainly. I wouldn't lose the pleasure of your company!" mocked Porshinger. "And then you'll let me ride with you in my car to the magistrate's office?"
"No, I won't," Burke smiled. "We'll go in Mr.Lorraine's car. You might forget to tell your buzz man where to stop."
"My dear officer, do you know you're piling up a lot of trouble for yourself in the future?"
"I don't know nothin' at present but my warrant, Mr. Porshinger—so come along and do your telephonin', and then let's be off. It's four o'clock now, and if the magistrate's office is closed, it's you to the jail in default of bail—understand?"
"What!" cried Porshinger.
"That's it," replied Burke.
"Then let us be going, by all means," said Porshinger sourly. He crossed to where Lorraine was sitting. "It's a new rôle for you, Mr. Complaisant Husband—to defend your wife!" he sneered. "You would better have stirred yourself after Amherst—it might have been to more purpose. Now—you're brave enough to drag her name through the mire of a court—and wash all your dirty linen, including hers. I don't want to tell all I know regarding Mrs. Lorraine, but I'll tell enough to show that there was noassault. Ididkiss her—a number of times. She's a very kissable lady—but it wasn't by force.Oh, no!"
Lorraine gripped his chair arms until his knuckles were white, but he controlled himself. Then he arose.
"It was because I knew you were such a poltroon that I prosecuted you rather than horse-whipped you," he replied; "and I am careful to abstain from physical violence. You would be only too ready to prosecute me, and so muddy the water. You're too despicable,Porshinger, even to talk to," and he turned his back and walked away.
"You might as well start another prosecution, since you seem to be strong on them at present," Porshinger went on. "Why don't you prosecute the new Amherst?" with a look at Pendleton.
"The new Amherst!" cried Lorraine, whirling around—"The new Amherst!—What do you mean?"
"You poor, blind cuckold!" was the mocking retort. "You've horns growing all over you. You never see anything until it is too late. You're an easy mark, sure enough. Oh, it isn't I—I'm not in the Amherst class, thank God!—but your dear friend Pendletonis," raising his voice so that Pendleton could hear.
A contemptuously amused look came over Lorraine's face, and he broke into a derisive laugh.
"I'm obliged for the information!" he replied.
"No doubt you are. If you doubt it, you might ask what your wife and Pendleton were doing on the Criss-Cross piazza, one night about five weeks ago. That was what first put me wise as to Mrs. Lorraine's—possibilities—also capabilities."
"You damn coward!" cried Lorraine, springing toward the other.—Then he stopped. "No—you don't lure me to offer you violence," he said.
"Time's passing, Mr. Porshinger," said Burke's voice behind him. "If the magistrate's gone, don't blame me."
"Ah! thank you for reminding me," Porshinger answered. "Come, we'll go to the telephone," andwith a sneering smile at Lorraine, and another at Pendleton as he passed him, he went into the Club-house—Burke following just behind.
Porshinger got Dalton, his personal counsel, on the wire. He was just leaving for the day, he remarked when he recognized Porshinger's voice.
"I wish you would send some one around to Magistrate Swinton's office at once," Porshinger directed. "I've been arrested—yes, that's what I said—I've been arrested for assault and battery, and the officer is going to lock me up if I haven't bail ready. I'm out at the Otranto Club now—but we're coming right in, and I'll meet your man there. You telephone the magistrate we're coming, will you?—What?—Yes, they know who I am, but it don't influence the fellow with the warrant—he says he has to take me—which is correct, I reckon.... Yes, some one will suffer, you're damn right!... What is it about?—the assault?—I'll tell you when I see you. Some people have got themselves into a hell of a mess.... Yes.... Very well. Good-bye.—Now, my man, I'm at your service."
Side by side they crossed the piazza and entered Lorraine's car.
"Tell my machine to follow," said Porshinger, to the servant who opened the door.
During the drive, Porshinger did not speak, and Burke was discreetly quiet. When they drew up at the magistrate's office, Burke hopped out and offered his hand to the other, who ignored it. Lorraine's car immediately drove off, and Porshinger's took its place.
"Ah! Dalton, you came yourself, did you? I'm glad to see you," said Porshinger. "There wasn't any need, I suppose, one of your young men would have been able to handle this matter."
"I thought it best to come myself," Dalton replied. "No trouble, I assure you—just simply a case of bail. Everything is arranged. All you have to do is to sign your name. Then we'll waive a hearing, and let the matter come up in court, if you want it to come up," with a sharp glance at his client's face. "Otherwise, we'll have the district attorney's office pigeon-hole it."
"I'm not sure what I want," said Porshinger.
"Well we'll waive the hearing anyway, and you can take your time to consider."
"I'm not sure I want it waived," Porshinger answered. "I'm inclined to fight."
"Don't do it before the magistrate," the lawyer advised. "He is sure to hold you, and it will only make the matter more prominent. You're playing into Lorraine's hands by doing it. For some reason, he seems to want the facts aired. So it's your policy to suppress them—no matter if you're as innocent as to-morrow. Awomanis involved—and you must submit to a few adverse inferences for the general good of your cause. Society will forgive much in such a case,if you're quiet—it will never forgive you if you make a fight."
"That is your advice?"
"On general principles, yes," Dalton replied.
"There is force in your argument," Porshinger admitted. "However, I don't know—let the magistrate fix the hearing—we can waive it any time before, I suppose?"
"You will have to come around here and renew your bail," said Dalton.
"Why is that?"
"If you waive the hearing you give bail for court; if you don't waive the hearing your bail will be to appear before the magistrate at a time fixed."
"Hell!" exclaimed Porshinger, "I don't want to come here again, if I concludednotto go to a hearing.—Well, waive the hearing. We can give the Lorraines all they want in court—and something more."
They entered the rear office where the magistrate was awaiting them. Porshinger was introduced, he waived the hearing; the bail was quickly arranged—one thousand dollars for appearance at the next term of court; Dalton and he signed it; and they went out.
"A lawyer isn't supposed to go bail, but I fixed it up with the squire," Dalton remarked. "It's a mere form in your case—and I thought it well not to mention the matter to anyone. Moreover, I hadn't time to get another bondsman. I knew you didn't care to be kept waiting."
Porshinger nodded.
"Have the Lorraines become reconciled?" Dalton inquired.
"Lorraine has become reconciled, the ninny—but Mrs. Lorraine hasn't, I hear. Problem, isn't it?"
"Social problem!" laughed the lawyer.—"The unforgiving offender."
Porshinger smiled. "It may be that way—I can't quite comprehend it, however. Why should Lorraine prosecute me if his wife's not reconciled to him?—and she plainly isn't, or wasn't last evening."
"Which nevertheless is not material to the issue," Dalton replied. "It is: did you commit an assault and battery on Mrs. Lorraine last night?"
"I kissed her in the Croyden conservatory," said Porshinger bluntly.
"Hum—did she know it—I mean, was the kissing with her consent?"
"Sure it was," he lied.
"But she told?"
"No—we were overseen by Dolittle—and he told."
"Most unfortunate!" smiled Dalton. "It's perfectly plain now. To defend herself, Mrs. Lorraine tells Lorraine that you kissed her by force—and Lorraine rushes off and prosecutes you. It's a pretty mess. Everybody knows it, and everybody will be talking, and everyone concerned will be more or less smudged. I'm sorry for you, Porshinger."
"Why sorry?" Porshinger demanded. "Since when has it become a crime to kiss a pretty woman?"
"It hasn't. Your crime wasn't in kissing her but in kissing her so bunglingly as to be overseen. Society never quite forgives one, particularly a new-comer, that sort of clumsiness. It is always remembered against him."
"Not if he can buy forgetfulness," said Porshinger easily.
Dalton's glance flashed an instant over the other's face.
"Perhaps—it's sometimes done, though not often. You may be an exception, Porshinger. I trust so."
"You can do anything if you're willing to pay for it—and keep out of jail," was the complacent answer. "I'll supply the money; it will be up to you to keep me out of jail—understand?"