CHAPTER V
The Benton mansion fairly blazed with lights. Everywhere there was suppressed excitement. Even from under the dignity of speckless uniforms and brightly shining buttons, there was evidence that something unusual was in the air. Hurrying back and forth servants inspected minor details. Liveried attendants stationed at the door beside his majesty, the butler, were in readiness to announce the army of guests expected to celebrate the début of the young daughter of the house—Miss Elinor Benton.
Sixteen years had passed since Marjorie and Hugh had come to New York to live—years that had brought vaster changes to them both than either would have believed possible.
Awaiting the arrival of his guests, Hugh, proud father and man of the world, stood in the center of his elaborately-decorated ballroom and gazed about with satisfaction. The years had dealt more than kindly with Hugh Benton. His appearance told nothing of his forty-four years. There was no trace of gray in his thick dark hair. His love of athletics, and the splendid ministrations of his valet had kept his figure in excellent condition. Now his handsome face wore an expression of self-satisfaction. He might have been taken for his own son’s brother as he stood there waiting.
He did not at first see the movement of the trailing vines and flowers that formed curtains to one of the room’s great entrances. Nor, until she spoke and came whirling into the room to drop a deep curtsey before him did he see the girl who had parted those curtains—a girl of such flower-like beauty that she might have been sister to one of the blossoms through which she made her way. She looked at him with eyes that sparkled above delicately flushed cheeks. And Hugh Benton gazed on his débutante daughter with a joy that was greater by far than he had ever contemplated any of his wealth of possessions.
“Well, dad!” Elinor Benton exclaimed breathlessly. “How do I look for my first formal introduction into society?”
For a moment the father did not speak as he looked at her. He was trying to realize that this gloriously beautiful girl of eighteen, bubbling over with the exuberance and enthusiasm of youth was his daughter. Her hair was the same that Marjorie’s had been when he had married her. It was a mass of spun gold with the sun glittering upon it. Features, complexion, figure—all were flawless, and Hugh’s eyes beamed with pride as he answered tenderly, truly; “You’re as beautiful as an angel, dear.”
“Oh, how dear of you to think so, dad!” was her answer, then her manner changed to an impishness as she added: “It’s certainly fine to have such a verdict to fall back on first, because there’s going to be a cataclysm hereabouts in a few minutes about my angelic appearance. Mother’s going to have a spasm or two when she sees my dress.” Her eyes were full of mischief as she placed her hand on her father’s arm wheedlingly. “But you’ll stand by me, won’t you—there’s a good dad?”
Hugh was surprised.
“Why, what’s wrong, little one?” he asked. “Looks to me like a very wonderful little gown,” and his eyes, trained to admire feminine adornment, took in with admiration the details of his daughter’s dainty creation of cream lace with its garlands of pink rosebuds.
“Oh, there’s nothing the matter with the dress, butlookat my neck and arms,” Elinor hastened to explain as she held out the discussed members for inspection. “Don’t you see they’re actuallybare. Oh, what a crime!” She shook her finger admonishingly at her roundly-molded young arm. Then her mocking turned to more of seriousness as she went on: “I can tell you things, dad, and you’ll understand, so you might just as well be told before the explosion how naughty-naughty your little girl is. The facts are these: When we went to Madame Felice’s for my last fitting, the dress was just as you see it now, but mother wouldn’t have it at all. She said it was positively indecent for a girl of eighteen to expose her neck and arms, and she ordered Madame to fill in the neck with lace and add sleeves to reach the elbows. Madame declared that it would ruin the entire charm of the gown, but mother was as firm as a rock and she couldn’t sway her an inch. Well, when we reached home, I decided to take the matter into my own hands, so I called up Felice and told her mother had changed her mind and she was to leave the gown as it was—well—and here it is!”
Hugh’s half humorous expression was still entirely admiring as he looked over the troublesome garment. He laughed as his shoulders shrugged in dismissal of something not understood. “Well, child,” he added, as he took her hand and patted it, “as far as I’m concerned, I am still of the same opinion—both you and you gown are beautiful. Your neck and arms are perfect, and I don’t see why you should have to hide them—I do wish,” and there was a hint of impatience in his voice, “that your mother would get over some of her old-fashioned ideas.”
“Not any more than I do, dad. Why for years mother has been writing me that after I graduated she and I would be real chums, and now that I am home we do nothing but argue all day long. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been on the verge of quarreling with her. We haven’t a single taste in common, and we positively clash on every subject. Why, I’ve found out mother is simply years behind the times and I—well, you know, dad, that none of the girls I’ve been to school with are that, to say the least. I don’t think mother has any conception of modern girls—and I can’t help it if I’m one, can I?”
Hugh shook his head. “You suit me, dear,” he answered consolingly. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised, either, if there isn’t a good deal in your argument. But I expect you’ll have to do what I have for a long time, and make the best of it. Your mother is too set in her opinions to attempt to change her now—so you’ll have to be content with me and your girl friends for chums.”
Neither of them saw Marjorie Benton as she came slowly down the wide flower-banked stairway and drooped across the hall to the door leading to her ballroom. With one hand holding aside the blossom curtain, she stopped and gazed wide-eyed at what she saw, as though she could hardly believe what the glittering chandelier lights revealed. It was a picture that some might have called appealing and beautiful—that fairy-like girl of eighteen with her neck and arms of marble whiteness and smoothness nestling in her handsome father’s arms. To Marjorie Benton, however, the beauty of the picture was lost. It was something else she saw that brought a stern light into eyes faded by years of unrequited yearning, and hardened the features with which time had not dealt so lightly as it had with her husband. As she stood there for the moment unseen, ready for her daughter’s debut, Marjorie Benton could not by any stretch of the imagination have been placed in the picture class herself. Sixteen years of loneliness and weary waiting had wrought havoc with her delicate beauty, and where now, at forty, she should have been at the full blush of womanly beauty, she might have been a woman of sixty-five. Golden her hair was still—but it had lost its sheen and taken on instead the dull luster of carelessly-kept gold and silver. There was as much silver as gold at forty, too. The corners of her mouth drooped pathetically—all the starlight had long since departed from her eyes that bore an expression merely of weariness. Now, too, her gown of amethyst velvet with lace of the same shade, cut in severely plain lines, would have been most appropriate for a woman of sixty-five.
Hugh and Elinor turned with a start, the girl to take on an expression of defiance as the mother’s voice came low, tense, compelling, from the doorway: “Elinor! Your dress!”
“Well,” was the pert retort. “Don’t you like it? Dad does. Don’t you, dad?”
But Marjorie was not to be placated.
“I suppose I’m not to believe this is your fault, my daughter,” added the mother as though unaware of the interruption. “I take it that Madame Felice has ignored my orders. To-morrow I shall ’phone her and withdraw my patronage from her establishment.”
Hugh had made no move or word as he calmly looked his wife over. But there was now distaste in the closing of his eyes as though to shut out the vision in the doorway, and veil the disappointment he feared he could not hide.
Gaining confidence in her father’s presence, Elinor Benton answered her mother calmly, but with little show of due respect.
“Now, mother,” she implored, “don’t get so excited—this isn’t a tragedy, and don’t you go and ’phone Felice—because it wasn’t her fault. I called her up and told her to leave the dress as it was.”
“Of course, you’re aware she had no right to take orders from you contrary to mine,” Marjorie persisted, with lifted eyebrows.
“Oh, I just told her the orders came from you—that you had changed your mind.”
“You dared!” Marjorie fairly gasped. “You are admitting you lied about it. I wouldn’t have believed my daughter capable of such a thing.”
Hugh believed the time had come for his promised interference.
“Now, now,” he soothed, “I fail to see what all this fuss is about. If the child wants to display her pretty neck and arms, I can’t see where the harm is—and as for her telephoning to Madame Felice, I can readily understand her doing that in order to evade an unnecessary argument.”
Marjorie Benton looked her husband over as though he were an interfering stranger.
“There have been many things which does not surprise me at your attitude,” she said icily. “However, that is aside from the point. Come, Elinor, we will go upstairs and see what Marie can do in arranging some sort of scarf about you.”
“We will do nothing of the kind. I won’t! I won’t!” Elinor stamped her foot angrily. “Once and for all, mother, you’ll have to understand that I’m not a baby, and I refuse to be ordered about in that manner. I’ll wear this dress as it is to-night, or I’ll lock myself in my room and you’ll be obliged to give my debut party without me.”
Hugh walked over to his wife and placed his hand appealingly on her lace-covered arm. “She means it, I’m afraid,” he whispered. “Hadn’t you better permit her to have her way this time? Remember, we have two hundred guests coming.”
Just for a moment Marjorie was silent, fighting what she knew was a losing battle. How bitter it was that she should have to battle with these two she loved so dearly. She turned away her face that they might not witness her struggle. When she spoke it was in her usual cool, expressionless voice—not the voice of the Marjorie Benton of Atwood, but one which the years between had evolved.
“Very well,” was her surrender, but neither Elinor who was daintily whirling about the polished floor in exuberance over her triumph over the mother she was coming to think an oppressor, nor Hugh Benton who was looking at his watch with a slight show of impatience, saw the tears in the mother’s eyes which she was heroically forcing back.
Elinor stopped suddenly in the middle of a pirouette to cock her head daintily to one side listening.
“There they come, Dad,” she cried eagerly, “Miss Elinor Benton is about to be introduced to society. I wish Howard would hurry. He promised not to be late for anything.”
Hugh Benton’s face wore an annoyed frown.
“I can’t understand what’s keeping him,” he complained. “He should have been here at five o’clock.”
“Professor Anderson positively promised to grant him a leave of absence for to-night, didn’t he?” Elinor asked. “I know he said Howard was not deserving of any favor, but I will certainly be happy when my big brother finishes sowing his wild oats.”
“Reckon we all will be, little girl,” her father laughed. “But we must have a little patience. ’Spose he’s just got to sew a little crop or two.”
Marjorie’s level eyes looked deeply into her husband’s as she asked him calmly, meaningly: “You mean to say you believe it absolutely necessary for a boy to sow ‘wild oats’ as you call them? I don’t remember ever having heard of your doing so.”
Hugh shrugged.
“Different with me,” he answered. “I didn’t go to college— I didn’t mingle with a set of boys such as Howard is thrown in contact with, and I hadn’t a father who could afford my indulging in any escapades.”
“I’m afraid there will be an escapade too many one of these days.”
“You’re such a confirmed pessimist, my dear! The boy’s all right—leave him alone.” And Hugh turned aside indicating he had said his last word. “He’ll turn up any minute, so don’t think any more about it.”
The arrival of the first guests ended further discussion, and shortly the reception hall, drawing room and ballroom were thronged with the merry assemblage.
Promptly at 9:30, the first strains of music floated out from a balcony screened with ferns and roses. The dance was on.
To say that Elinor was having a glorious time would be putting it mildly. She fairly reveled in it all. She felt that she had attained the heights as the center of attraction, with a bevy of young men surrounding her, politely fighting for the privilege of a dance.
She exulted in the thought that this was only the beginning of wonderful days and nights that lay before her. Surely she possessed everything to make her happy—Youth, beauty and riches. Life was so wonderful seen through the rosiest of glasses.
Eleven o’clock! Still no Howard. Elinor took a few moments to cast some resentful thoughts Howard-ward, but the fun was too fast and absorbing for her to worry more than that few moments over her brother’s dereliction.
In spite of her husband’s admonishing, Marjorie was acquiring a worry that momentarily gave evidence of becoming panic-stricken as she watched the doors with eager eyes for the boy who did not come. She felt she could not stand it any longer. She must know—must do something. With a hesitancy that would have been most strange in the Atwood days, she approached Hugh where he stood talking and laughing in a care-free manner with a group of his guests. He excused himself to speak to her as she laid her hand on his arm to ask for a word.
“Hugh, dear,” she begged, “don’t you think we had better call up Professor Anderson and find out about Howard—when he left, and——”
“And get him in bad, I suppose,” Hugh blustered, but there was worry in his own handsome face as he once more glanced at his watch and then at the entrances. “No—he’s probably loitering, and——”
Griggs, his valet, touched him on the arm. He turned to hear the few hurried whispered words.
“Important ’phone call, my dear,” he explained. “Make my excuses. Back in a minute——”
But Marjorie’s sharp ears had caught the word “sick.” Griggs must have been talking about Howard. Oh, where was he—her boy! She could not stand it! She had to find out.
Careless of guests, of hospitality, of everything, she hurried after her husband, but already he was out of sight. He must be at one of the private telephones, she thought, as she stumbled blindly along the passage.
But her way would have been still more blind had she seen her husband with her son at that moment.
At a side entrance two men were trying to persuade Howard to leave a taxi. In a maudlin state of intoxication, he refused to budge an inch, muttering to himself something about “a date with a lil’ blonde.”
Ordering the passageway clear, Hugh and Griggs managed between them to convey the indignantly-protesting Howard upstairs to his room.
From the telephone, the boy’s mother hastened to his room. They must have brought him home and told her nothing about it. Inside she heard voices. She knocked softly, and was about to enter, when it was opened and Hugh stood before her, quickly closing the door behind him.
“My boy?” she asked breathlessly. “What has happened? Is he here? Is he ill?”
Hugh was uncomfortable—flustered. “Ill?—No—yes—that is, he is ill—but he will soon be all right.”
“I will go to him at once,” and Marjorie started to brush by Hugh.
“You will do nothing of the kind,” he answered sternly. “You will return to your guests, and act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I will join you as soon as possible—we can’t both remain away.”
“What do I care about my guests, or anyone, if my boy is ill. My place is at his side, and I’m going——”
From behind the guarded door, came a volley of oaths, flung at the faithful Griggs, followed by the incoherent singing of a popular song.
“Oh—Oh!” Marjorie shuddered, and covered her burning cheeks with her hands. “So that is what his illness—I can’t believe it—My son intoxicated— What shall we do? I can’t bear it.”
“There, there, Marjorie,” Hugh patted her shoulder consolingly. “You must control yourself, and not create a scene. I’m sorry if any of this has leaked out among our guests, but I’m afraid it has. Now we must save the situation by making as light of it as possible. It really isn’t anything so terrible. He will be himself in the morning, and then I’ll lecture him good. It seems he met a crowd of the boys when he came in from college and they persuaded him to go to dinner with them. This is the result. He is only a boy after all, you must remember, and is easily led.”
“That’s just it,” Marjorie answered tragically. “He is only a boy, and can be easily led—God only knows where to.”
“Come, now, it isn’t as bad as that. You’re making a mountain out of a mole hill as usual, but I must go back to him,” as disturbing sounds again issued forth. “Go downstairs and brave it out. Youmust—if not for your own sake—for the sake of the boy himself.”
“For his sake I’ll do the best I can.” She dried her eyes and turned toward the stairs. “But, oh, Hugh, how can you view this so lightly? How you’ve changed!”
Marjorie never remembered how she managed to get through the rest of the evening, going about among her guests with a smiling face and an aching heart. When Hugh joined her, he whispered to her that Howard was sleeping soundly, and would probably not awaken until late the next afternoon.
Eventually everything, pleasant or unpleasant, has its ending, and at 3a.m.the last guest had departed, and the servants were extinguishing the lights.
“Wasn’t it splendid?” Elinor enthused. “I had a wonderful time—I didn’t have nearly enough dances to go around. All the boys were wild about me and I know the girls all envied me. Wasn’t I a great success?”
“You certainly were, you little egotist,” Hugh laughed.
“What ever in the world happened to Howard? I heard a couple of the boys talking, and from what I gathered, he came home soused.”
“Elinor!” Marjorie was shocked. “Where did you ever acquire such slang? Surely you didn’t learn it at Miss Grayson’s? I can’t understand half of the things you say, but I do know that they sound shockingly vulgar.”
“No, mother of mine,” Elinor laughed lightly. Nothing—not even her mother’s disapproval could worry her after her evening’s triumph. “I didn’t learn any slang from Miss Grayson, but you must remember that I knew lots of girls there. Most of them thought it modern and up to date to use slang. Oh, but I can’t explain it to you, you’re so old-fashioned.”
As Hugh closed his eyes, his thoughts were of his beautiful daughter and the brilliant match she was sure to make. But Marjorie—poor little mother—all night she lay alone, in her darkened room, her hands pressed to her throbbing temples, the hot tears scorching her cheeks. Two thoughts ran riot through her mind—one was that her son, her boy, was lying a few rooms down the corridor in a drunken stupor. The other was, that Elinor, her baby, had gone to bed without even attempting to kiss her good-night.
CHAPTER VI
Elinor Benton’s social success was all that she had seen envisioned on the night of her début. In the months that followed whirls of teas, luncheons, dinners, dances all but dizzied her sophisticated little head as she dashed madly from one to the other. Vague hints in the society columns linked her name with eligibles who were the despair of the mothers of other girls in her set. But blonde young Elinor took it as her meed and due, and laughed to her dimpled face in the mirror when she told herself how far wrong they were. She had no intention of entering the ranks of young matrons yet. Life was too full; too sweet. Homage was too dear to her, and the sway she held in one man’s heart, her father’s, too complete to think of exchanging him for any other man; her own wonderful home for that of another.
True to his word, Hugh Benton had made himself a real chum to her. It was to him she took her petty worries; her secrets. Though not often referred to, they had one thing in common not usual between father and daughter—their disapproval of the mother and wife, their intolerance of what they chose to call her old-fashioned ways, of her Puritanism, her love of the good and upstanding orthodoxy.
Busy at his desk one morning, Hugh frowned at the soft opening and closing of his door. He did not like even his confidential employees to disturb him when he was answering personal letters. But he knew it was no employee when he felt two soft arms about his neck, felt the softness only less so of rich furs against his cheeks and caught the subtle perfume he had come to associate with his daughter.
“Guess who!” whispered Elinor’s voice. Then she answered her own question with a kiss. Aloud she added with a pretended pout: “Aren’t you glad to see me—and surprised——”
Hugh laughed as he pulled her to his knees.
“Yes, a little—to that last part,” he said, hastening to add gallantly: “But delighted, nevertheless. What brings you into town at this time? You must have had an early start.”
“Oh, a lot. First, there’s a luncheon engagement at the Biltmore with some of the girls, and then we’re going to the matinée. But those are small matters. The principal thing was to see you all alone—I have a lot to talk to you about that I decided would be much better to say here at your office instead of at home, so I came in an hour ahead of time.” And Elinor, settling herself in a comfortable easy chair, sat facing her father with an air of being ready to spend the hour.
Hugh Benton, his keen eyes taking in every detail of her appearance, thought he had never seen his daughter more beautiful. Her taffeta gown of navy blue, her drooping picture hat with its one touch of color, her graceful squirrel scarf, all went so naturally into the making of the picture. As had become usual with him when in the presence of this daughter the man before whom kings of finance bowed, glowed inwardly with the pride of possession.
“Well, baby girl, how much?” He smiled as his hand went towards his check-book.
“No, Dad dear, it isn’t money this time.” Elinor’s face dimpled deliciously as she shook her head, “strange as it may seem to you,” she added. Then seriousness chased the dimples away. “No, dear, it’s something uncomfortably serious. It’s—it’s about mother!”
“Your mother!” Hugh’s face, too, became serious. “Not ill, I hope.”
“No, she is perfectly well,” the girl answered, as a dull red crept into her cheeks. “Oh, dad, I’m so ashamed of myself to sneak to you in this way, but dear, you might as well know the truth. It is utterly impossible for me to get along with mother. There! It’s out! Do you think I’m so dreadful?” anxiously.
Hugh was solemn as he listened. Then he nodded.
“I believe I do know your difficulty, dear,” he answered, as if uncertain just what to say in this moment he had been in a way prepared for. “And,” he added, “of course, I don’t think you’re dreadful——”
Without waiting for him to conclude, Elinor burst out passionately:
“Oh, Dad, surely you can see I simply cannot be the old-fashioned, namby-pamby bread-and-butter school-girl that mother wishes me to be. Why, everything I do meets with her disapproval—we can’t agree in a single instance. Really, Dad, it is unbearable, and I’m just sick about it!”
Tears which had been valiantly withheld began to trickle down her cheeks. From his pocket Hugh took his handkerchief and wiped them tenderly away. “There, dear, you mustn’t cry and spoil your pretty eyes,” he soothed. “Remember your luncheon and matinée—I’m sure your misunderstanding with your mother can easily be straightened out. Calm down and tell me about it. What do you do that she objects to?”
“Oh, just everything.” Elinor’s sigh was one of resignation as she completed restoring, with a small dab of lace and linen, the ravages to her complexion her father had begun. “For instance,” she went on, “mother looks upon my playing bridge for money as a dreadful calamity. My drinking a cocktail is an utter degradation, and if I attempt to light a cigarette in her presence, she nearly collapses.”
“Do all the other girls in your set do these things?” Hugh asked. His brows met in a slight frown.
“Why, of course, Dad. All modern girls believe in having a good time. We never go to extremes in anything; but if you want to be thoroughly up to date you simply can’t be a prude.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he admitted slowly, “but just the same, when I was a young man——”
“When youwerea young man!” Elinor interrupted indignantly. “You’re as young as a boy now, and you’re the handsomest man in New York, Dad.”
Her father, flushed, pleased as he always was, at this compliment. “Little flatterer,” he joked, pinching her cheeks. “You can’t lead me astray by paying me compliments. The things that you now call modern and up to date, in my day, would have been considered—fast.”
“No doubt they would have been too—just that,” was the girl’s composed retort, “but you know that we’re living in a progressive world, and no one needs to tell you how rapidly things have changed since your days.”
“Guess you’re right, baby,” Hugh replied. “I must admit that my own ideas of life have greatly changed since we came to New York sixteen years ago. I know one thing—all your friends come from the best of families, so if you do as they do, I can’t see where objection should arise.”
“Bravo, Dad!” Elinor clapped her hands in glee. “I knew you would see things in the right light. You’re so broad-minded about everything—and you’ll speak to mother?”
“Yes, dear, I’ll speak to your mother to-night, and try to reason with her a little——”
“Just a minute, Dad. I almost forgot the most important thing that I want you to try to make mother be reasonable about, and that is—Geraldine.”
“Geraldine?”
“Yes, Geraldine DeLacy. She’s a distant relative of the Thurstons, and she is visiting them at present. We girls are all crazy about her—she’s an adorable young widow, just twenty-six, and she makes the most wonderful chaperone imaginable. That’s the very thing mother so strenuously objects to.”
“I can’t see why,” Hugh seemed surprised. “The Thurstons are most desirable and surely, any relative of theirs must be an aristocrat.”
Elinor threw out her hands in a gesture of despair.
“Haven’t I wasted hours and hours trying to make mother realize that very thing,” she exclaimed, “and with no success whatever! For some unaccountable reason, she has taken an aversion to Geraldine. She objects to her age—says she’s too young to be a chaperone—she calls her frivolous for permitting the girls to address her by her Christian name and all in all there isn’t a thing the poor woman does that meets with mother’s approval.”
Hugh considered deeply. “I fail to see anything objectionable in what you have told me,” he said finally. “The only thing I can do is to judge for myself when I have the pleasure of meeting your perfect chaperone. In the meantime, precious, don’t you worry—your old Dad will always stand by you. Run along now, and have a good time.”
He extracted a bill from his wallet, and reaching for Elinor’s mesh bag tucked it in.
“Thank you so much, Dad dear, you’re so wonderful to me.” Elinor looked at him with grateful affectionate eyes. “The Thurstons are giving a dance for Nell on the 17th—mother received the invitation for it this morning—she says she is going to decline, but you must arrange to take me, and then you’ll meet Geraldine. I know you’ll agree with me and admit that she is adorable.”
“Splendid—you may count upon me to act as your gallant escort to the Thurston dance,” and Hugh kissed his daughter affectionately, as they walked to the door.
Late as usual, Elinor reached the Biltmore to find Nell Thurston, Rosebud Greely, and Josephine Wyeth, three of the season’s débutantes, patiently awaiting her. They were in especially fine humor and willing even to forgive Elinor since their beloved Mrs. DeLacy was chaperone. Pretty, happy, light-hearted girls were these friends of Elinor Benton’s, with but three aims in life—a good time, endeavoring to spend some of their parents’ too great wealth and to make at last “a brilliant batch.”
Mrs. DeLacy, the youthful widow, was remarkable principally because of her knack of mentioning her late dear husband at the right times, deftly to manage to secure sympathy and admiration. It had been remarked, too, that this was most generously forthcoming from men.
She was prepossessing—there was no denying that—and with a strange fascination that made her singularly attractive.
The luncheon was a jolly little affair, the girls were permitted to indulge in as many cigarettes as they wished, and relate stories worthy of a demi-monde.
It was no wonder her charges considered Mrs. DeLacy a wonderful chaperone. She placed no restraint whatsoever upon any of their actions, coincided with all their plans and arrangements, and managed to make herself thoroughly agreeable at all times. The mere fact that she wasMrs.DeLacy sufficed to make her a perfectly proper and legitimate chaperone in the eyes of the world.
The curtain was rising as they were ushered to a stage-box. The play, a modern society drama, in its eighth week, playing to capacity at every performance, was featuring the popular matinée idol, Templeton Druid, in the stellar rôle.
During the intermission, between the first and second acts, as the girls discussed the play and the star with animated enthusiasm, Mrs. DeLacy exploded a bombshell in their midst when she calmly remarked:
“You children seem so fascinated by Mr. Druid—would you like to meet him?”
“Do you know him, Geraldine?” The question was chorused eagerly.
“I have known him all my life,” was the reply. “We were neighbors in Richmond, raised together as children, attended the same high-school, and graduated from the same class.”
“Well, why in the world didn’t you say so before?” Rosebud Greely pouted as though she had been personally injured, as she pulled her skirts higher for more comfort for her crossed legs with their bare knees visible above her rolled-down silk stockings. “Pigging it, I’d call it—wanted him all to yourself, I suppose. And you knew what play we were coming to see, and who was starring in it?”
Geraldine DeLacy smiled tolerantly.
“Don’t fly off so quickly, dear,” she advised. “I didn’t know myself till just now, for how could I imagine that Thomas Temple, a boy from my home town, whom I haven’t seen in years, was this Templeton Druid, popular Broadway star. I knew he always had a soaring ambition to become an actor, but I could never dream of his going this far in so short a time.”
“Isn’t it wonderfully interesting and romantic?” Nell Thurston, her eyes aglow with excitement, wanted to know more.
“You asked about our caring to meet him. Can you manage it, Geraldine?” Elinor Benton was all eagerness.
“Easily enough,” Geraldine shrugged her handsome shoulders as she replied. “I’ll send back a note asking him to join us at the Waldorf for tea after the matinée. He’ll be there—” There was a worldly meaning in her last words that even her sophisticated charges failed to get.
“How positively thrilling!” Rosebud giggled. “Do you know I’ve never talked to a real actor in my life?”
With the prospect of meeting the star, interest in the play increased ten-fold. Romantic revelries ran riot through four foolish little heads. Geraldine sat back and smiled cynically. “Young idiots,” she thought contemptuously, as her roving glance settled upon Elinor Benton. With tightly compressed lips and eyes aflame with envy, she stared at the girl. Only for a fleeting instance, however, did she permit her expression to betray her chaotic emotion. She leaned forward in her chair apparently absorbed in the people on the stage.
As she had expected, Templeton Druid’s reply to her invitation was a delightfully affable little billet expressing his pleasure at the hope of seeing Mrs. DeLacy and meeting her friends. He promised to arrive at the Waldorf as expeditiously as possible after the matinée.
After their drive to the Waldorf in the Thurston limousine, it was Geraldine who maneuvered to walk behind with Elinor, as they strolled leisurely through the hotel lobby. Young as she was, Elinor Benton could not help but notice that something was disturbing her chaperone as Mrs. DeLacy glanced nervously from side to side.
“What is it, Geraldine?” she asked in concern. “Is anything wrong?”
Mrs. DeLacy shook her head half-heartedly, then her fine eyes came to rest appealingly on Elinor’s.
“No—no,” she began, then hurried on with nervous suddenness. “No—er—well, yes, there is, Elinor dearest. I hate so to tell you, but—but—well,” she lowered her voice to a whisper: “I’m afraid, dear, you’ll have to come to my rescue. Here I have invited you all to tea and asked Mr. Druid to join us, and I have just discovered that I lack the necessary funds——”
“Not another word, please, Geraldine,” Elinor interrupted hastily. “It’s a pleasure to be of any service to you, dear.” And opening her bag, she extracted the fifty-dollar bill her father had placed there, and pressed it into Geraldine’s hands.
“Thank you so much,” beamed the chaperone, glancing hurriedly at the bill before she thrust it into her purse. “I’ll return it at the earliest opportunity.”
If anyone had dared assert that Geraldine DeLacy was a social parasite, Elinor would have defended her with emphatic loyalty.
Nevertheless, that was an appellation Mrs. DeLacy justly deserved. It was no great secret how she subsisted luxuriously upon the generosity of friends and acquaintances. Habitual borrowing had become her source of income, and she was well known to mention her inadequate memory as extenuation for failing to repay her obligations.
At their table for six in one of the tea rooms, it was again Geraldine who adroitly managed to leave the vacant seat for the actor between Elinor and herself. They had barely fluttered into place before Templeton Druid entered pompously as was his wont. His appearance caused the mild sensation he always hoped for. Heads turned in his direction; there were whispered comments. To the unbiased onlooker, it was clear as light the actor was not displeased.
“This is indeed an unexpected pleasure,” he told Geraldine as he reached her table and bowed low over her hand. “I would have known you anywhere. If there is a change it is that you are more beautiful than ever, if that is possible.”
“And you, I find, still retain your aptitude for pretty speeches,” Geraldine answered laughingly but not ill pleased herself. “Let me present you to my friends.”
He acknowledged each introduction with studied gallantry, retaining possession of each little hand a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
With the tea, toasted muffins, and marmalade Mr. Druid talked, but regardless of what angle his conversation started from, it invariably reverted to the one subject uppermost in his consciousness—Templeton Druid! He spoke of his managers, his contracts, his popularity, of the requests he received daily for autographed photos, of success, fame, showered upon him.
To his young auditors, so sophisticated in many ways, so little in others, all this was something to be eagerly devoured, to be remembered. To them he was a figure of fame, of romanticism. But as she listened, Geraldine DeLacy turned her head that they might not see the smile of cynicism she could not suppress. For to her, as he would so obviously have been to any worldly person, Templeton Druid bore no romantic glamour. He stood out through his own words for what he was—a figure of unvarnished petty egotism. It was during a lull in his lecture on the subject of Templeton Druid that the owner of the name bent over Elinor Benton as he replenished her plate with marmalade.
“Haven’t I met you before, Miss Benton?” he asked, his deep romantic eyes apparently filled with perplexity. “Your name is so familiar——”
Before Elinor could voice a regretful negative, Geraldine DeLacy interposed hurriedly.
“Aren’t you thinking of her father, possibly?” she inquired. “Miss Benton is the daughter of Hugh Benton, the Wall Street magnate, you know, whose successes have earned him many a column in your favorite literature—the newspapers.”
“Indeed!” Templeton’s tone assumed a note of deference. “Of course, I know of your father, Miss Benton. He is a recognized celebrity in the financial world.”
Across the room, three women seated at a table, were bowing and endeavoring to attract the attention of Geraldine’s party. Nell Thurston was the first to see them.
“Do any of you know any of them?” she asked. “They seem to know someone at this table.”
“Why yes, I do,” Josephine Wyeth answered quickly. “They are friends of mine from Baltimore. I know you will pardon me if I go over to their table for a few moments. Come with me, Rosebud, won’t you? Don’t you remember meeting Mrs. Powell, the time you motored to Baltimore with us?”
“I’ll say I do,” was Rosebud’s slangy reply. Slang for this one débutante was a favorite medium. “I’m keen for saying ‘hello’ to her. She sure is a bully little sport.”
Geraldine moved over next to Nell Thurston.
“You two keep on talking and forbear with us for a few moments,” she advised Elinor and Templeton. “I am anxious to discuss my idea for a new evening frock with Nell.”
As though the change had been prearranged between them, Templeton Druid threw a grateful glance at his old-time friend. She must have her own reasons for giving him this opportunity with the wealthy débutante, and he would make the most of it. He threw all the magnetism he possessed into his voice as he said:
“This is more than I had hoped for, Miss Benton—one little word with you. The gods must have heard my prayer. From the minute I first saw you, there was something I knew I must ask you. May I not hope to see you again?”
Elinor flushed, as she looked shyly up from the diagrams she was drawing on the table cloth with her fork. It was not the girl the others knew who only stammered, for once at a loss: “Why, I—I—oh I should so like to have you call, Mr. Druid, but I am just out, and my mother is—is—rather——”
“Please—” Templeton Druid looked just properly pained, and oh, such an unjustly misunderstood man,—“I understand perfectly. Your mother naturally would be particular with so charming a daughter, and a man in my profession——”
“No, no, it isn’t that,” Elinor hastened to interrupt. She felt apologetic, too. “My mother’s ideas are rather peculiar. She’s a dear, but she is old-fashioned and——”
“I wonder,” he said slowly, placing his hand over hers as if quite by accident and allowing it to remain there, “if we couldn’t manage to meet in spite of—mother’s precaution. I have a perfect little speed marvel of a roadster. Can’t I take you for a drive?—Say Tuesday afternoon?”
Elinor’s heart thumped madly, and struggle as she would, she could not control the trembling of her hands beneath his. But she replied with seeming carelessness, after what might have been due deliberation. “Well—er—possibly. I know I should enjoy it immensely—still——”
Templeton Druid half suppressed a sigh as of deep joy and delight.
“Then that’s settled,” he breathed, “and I’ll be at the 57th Street entrance to the park at two o’clock—Ah, kind—so kind!”
And his eyes, as Geraldine DeLacy caught a quick glimpse of them from across the table and smiled, said unutterable things as he gazed into the misty blue orbs of Elinor Benton.