I
Rachel Levenstopped on the landing and laid both hands on the banister. She was experiencing a new and curious sensation of unreality, and her impulse to touch something solid was rather to assure herself that her own personality had survived unchanged, than from any physical need of support.
The contact of her sensitive fingers with the polished wood was almost a relief; it convinced her that her sensations, so vague that they were like a nebulous mist before her spiritual vision, were not actualities at all, but only a fleeting deflection from a commonplace mood, that the uneasiness she had felt all the evening was a mere figment of her imagination, a shadowy specter which had no place in this charmingmise-en-scène. For she was poignantly aware of the heavy perfume of flowers, of the vivid gleam of electric lights that hung, like huge, quivering dewdrops, in the midst of the tall fern fronds and giant palms of the conservatory; while through the vista of greenery, festooned with scarlet blooms of a climbing passion flower, she caught a glimpse of the flashing wings of Johnstone Astry's parrots.
Looking at this exotic scene, Rachel told herself that it was no wonder that her sensations were at once so varied and so unreal, since the very air she breathed was fevered and artificial. The conservatory, the imposing dining-room, the spacious hall, with its Doric columns, and the long, really beautiful drawing-rooms, that opened on the terrace, were all perfect in their way, yet none of them appealed to her but the last. The paved terrace, with its white balustrade and its wide and dignified prospect of the distant city and the classic, faintly bluish dome of the Capitol, brought her a feeling of pleasure, the freedom of space and the larger purposes of life; especially at sunset, when the white shaft of the Monument pierced the pink mist like the uplifted finger of a prostrate giant, admonishing the world.
But the luxury of the beautiful Georgian house, flagrantly extravagant and yet perfectly harmonious in detail, was precisely the setting for Rachel's sister, Eva Astry; some said—for rumor in Washington is pungent—that she had married the house with Johnstone Astry and the parrots thrown in. At least it interpreted her as houses seldom interpret their owners, though it did not even suggest Astry the student, the traveler, the millionaire. Yet the lavishness of the place, its aimless, beautiful extravagance, a country house just outside of Washington that was more costly than two town houses would have been, furnished Rachel with an explanation of her impressions. She argued to herself that it must be this very element of financial exuberance, this thoughtless expenditure of millions, that seemed so unreal to her; for the Levens had not been wealthy, only comfortably off, and Eva had amazed a limited but critical circle by her successful marriage. She had—to use the words of her paternal aunt, Drusilla Leven—landed a millionaire "as easily as old Josh Sterrit used to land carp." Rachel, more intimately acquainted with Eva's mental attitude at the time of hercoup d'état, had remained determinedly silent. Even now she did not admit to herself her own feeling in regard to her sister's marriage. From her vantage-ground on the landing, appraising the beauty and luxury of her surroundings, she was still keenly aware that the price would have been too heavy for her to pay. Shut in, as she was to-night, by the warm and perfumed atmosphere of the house, oppressed by the littleness of that curiously complex social world that made up her sister's life, Rachel felt more than her usual repugnance to her task of entertaining the Astrys' guests.
She had stolen up-stairs after dinner for a little respite, but not even a convenient headache furnished a plausible excuse for a continued absence. As she descended, therefore, she heard the continuous ripple of talk, like a shallow but persistent fountain, and knew that Mrs. Billop was still entertaining little Mrs. Van Citters. The two were seated on a sofa inconveniently near the table where their host, Johnstone Astry, was playing bridge with Dr. Macclesfield, young Mrs. Prynne, the new and pretty widow, and Paul Van Citters, who had inherited a Knickerbocker descent that was too long for his short body, and a social responsibility that rested heavily on his comfortable, commonplace soul.
As Rachel entered, her brother-in-law glanced up from his cards, nodding to her with the casual manner of their relationship, while the others remained apparently absorbed in the fact that the stakes were five a point. Mrs. Billop went on giving Mrs. Van Citters classic advice about the latter's sixteen-months' baby, but Rachel, avoiding the eddies of this conversation, went over to the fire. For, although it was spring and the blackberries in blossom, a sudden chill in the night air had made a few logs desirable in the great fireplace. Rachel stood with one foot on the low fender, observing the players, her soft gown enfolding her slender figure as closely as the calyx of a flower; for she had that indefinable gift that is called "style" and, without great beauty, possessed an elusive and subtle charm. She stretched out one slender hand toward the blaze, her face slightly averted, and the shadowed beauty of her gray eyes eclipsed by their own thick-set, dark lashes.
Astry, with his head bent over his cards, was secretly irritated; he knew that the scene diverted Rachel, that her attitude was distinctly that of a spectator, and he played with sudden indifference.
"Diamonds!" said Van Citters disgustedly. "Astry, why the deuce didn't you make it hearts?"
Astry rose. "Rachel, come here and take my hand; Van Citters wants my blood. I never make hearts trumps," he added, with his cool smile; "I'm superstitious."
"Nonsense!" said Van Citters, "we might have got four tricks with our eyes shut. Miss Leven, I'm a beastly player when I'm nervous, and Astry's on my nerves."
"My dear Paul," retorted Astry, "you've no more nerves than a Dutch clock; all you want is winding up and you'll tick till midnight. I'll send in some whiskey and soda. Feel his pulse, Macclesfield."
The old doctor, who was sorting his cards, looked over his spectacles. "Put out your tongue, Paul," he said dryly.
"Is Paul in trouble again?" asked Mrs. Van Citters, suddenly catching the drift of the talk.
"He's lost fifty dollars, Pamela," laughed Astry.
"We'll go to the poorhouse," she lamented.
"What was it you said about my long suit, Paul?" asked Mrs. Prynne sweetly, suddenly regarding him with her softest smile.
"He didn't advise you to tell everybody what you had in your hand," snapped Dr. Macclesfield; "it's Rachel's lead."
"I'll tell you all about that long suit when Dr. Macclesfield's gone to bed, Lottie," said Van Citters coolly; "go on, Rachel."
Dr. Macclesfield grunted, looking over his spectacles at Rachel's lead.
She put down the card mechanically, her eyes unconsciously following Astry's lean and striking figure as he moved deliberately down the long rooms and passed out into the hall, where he stood a moment speaking to Craggs, his confidential valet. Rachel could not see his face, but she had a curious feeling that he was conscious of her presence at the card-table. Her perceptions were as delicate and feeler-like as the tendrils of some air-plant and they made her aware of a subtle undercurrent, and she recalled that moment on the staircase when she had been glad to feel the solid banister under her hands.
The game went on, Mrs. Prynne losing prettily and appealing to Van Citters, Dr. Macclesfield irritable and exacting, as a good player is under such conditions, while Rachel tried to give her undivided attention to the hand, her seriousness almost adjusting the balance of the pretty widow's frivolity. The four players began to be more silent, yet, at the most critical moments, Mrs. Billop's voice broke in with maternal advice to Pamela.
"When Sidney was teething, I gave him catnip tea," she said, with a finality that disposed of the young mother's faintly suggested remedies.
Mrs. Prynne, having led the wrong card, was plunged into misery by Dr. Macclesfield's scowl, while Rachel, who was now playing dummy, laid her cards down on the table, but scarcely saw them. She was beginning to wonder where Eva was, and she was aware that Dr. Macclesfield was looking over her shoulder into the conservatory. The old man's shaggy brows were bent and he was playing skilfully, scorning Mrs. Prynne. Rachel stirred uneasily in her chair and glanced down unconsciously at her own capable white hands as they lay idle in her lap. She felt a keen and entirely impossible longing to look behind her and she heard distinctly the distant click of billiard balls.
"Never use pins, sew them on," broke in Mrs. Billop's voice impressively; "pins are dangerous. When Sidney was only two months old—"
"Good Lord, why didn't he die?" murmured Dr. Macclesfield, with feeling.
It was then that Eva Astry came through the conservatory with Belhaven and they appeared quietly at the threshold of the drawing-room. Eva, who was really lovely, small, dimpled, and blond, was gowned in black lace, and she had broken off a spray of scarlet passion flowers, which she held trailing against her black draperies. The whiteness of her brow and neck was almost dazzling, and her eyes were deeply violet with a caressing expression that won many hearts. This expression was the very acme of achievement; art, not emotion, had crystallized it, until people always found in it precisely what they were looking for, which is the secret of much personal success.
She walked across the room and put one arm around Rachel's neck, for she was fond of contrasting her intensely blond beauty with Rachel's ivory tints and shadowy brown hair.
"Where's Johnstone?" she asked carelessly, interrupting the game without a twinge of conscience.
"I took his hand," Rachel replied quietly; "he went into the conservatory."
She was conscious that the soft arm on her shoulder stirred a little as she spoke, but her sister's laugh came readily.
"We thought it was the parrot, Jim."
Belhaven nodded, watching Macclesfield play, and Rachel noticed how worn the man looked. In the last month he had aged perceptibly; he had seemed peculiarly boyish, but there was nothing boyish now in the pale cheek and haggard eyes. Rachel frowned; why did Eva play with men as a cat plays with mice? She had apparently no deep feeling; she could skim safely on the surface and even dip into dangerous shallows without so much as moistening her delicate finger-tips, yet she could produce a commotion in the pool quite out of proportion with her endeavors.
Rachel rose. "Won't you take my hand?" she said to Belhaven, "I'm tired."
Dr. Macclesfield gave her a keen professional glance.
"Oh, no one can play any more," interposed Eva lightly. "I've sent for refreshments and we're going to have conversation. Where are Sidney and Count Massena and Colonel Sedley?" she added, going toward the billiard-room.
As she pushed aside the portières and looked into the long narrow room, she smiled a little at the picture that the three men made, for Colonel Sedley was playing with the youngChargé d'Affairesof the Italian Embassy, while Sidney Billop stood looking on with that vacant expression that Astry called his "frog stare." Count Massena, graceful, olive-tinted, and astute, used his cue with an easy grace and finish that might have been called diplomatic, while Sedley, red and obviously short of breath, plunged at his ball with more zeal than accuracy. Their hostess regarded them a moment unperceived and then she allowed her presence to interrupt the game at precisely the moment when they would all be most likely to observe the beauty of her delicate, black-robed figure against the crimson draperies of the door.
However, at that very moment, there was the stir of rising from the card-table and Dr. Macclesfield inadvertently stepped on Mrs. Prynne's skirt. She sweetly accepted his apologies, looking at him with a confiding smile that seemed to wreathe her mutilated gown in the roses of poetical oblivion, although it was a recent arrival from Paris.
Mrs. Billop raised her lorgnon and studied Mrs. Prynne's porcelain beauty with an impartial stare. Then she bent confidentially toward Rachel.
"My dear," she whispered, "have you heard? She's engaged to John Charter."
Rachel turned slowly toward her. "Who's engaged to—Mr. Charter?"
"Lottie Prynne; it isn't to be announced until his return from the Philippines; she told me so herself."
A footman was placing the silver-collared decanters on the table by the fire, while Van Citters had drawn up a chair and was telling Mrs. Prynne's fortune with cards. She was dressed in pale blue and her pretty face was bloomingly childlike; she rested one white elbow on the table and nestled her round chin in her upturned, pink palm, her hair showing exquisite blond tints except where it grew out dark at the roots. She looked so pretty and neat in her blue gown that she reminded you of those dear little, shallow, blue and white saucepans that are so useful to mix sweeties in, only she would have described herself as the "sweetie," had she been asked to interpret the analogy. Van Citters thought her "jolly pretty" and he rather liked to flirt with her when Pamela had been trying; not that this diversion made Pamela more amiable, but it was a counter-irritant.
Meanwhile Johnstone Astry came back with Colonel Sedley, whom Eva had previously rescued from Sidney Billop. The colonel was a fresh-faced man of fifty, whose increasing girth had ruined a dapper figure. He liked the open-air life in the country, but could not afford to keep horses and hounds as Astry did, so he visited Astry. Sidney Billop had transferred his attentions to Eva, and Eva, regretting her generosity to Sedley, was painfully aware that his pale hair was parted crooked and his pale eyes were more watery than usual. His head was so big and round and he tapered so abruptly toward the feet that in early life he had been called, by a small but appreciative circle of friends, "the Tadpole." Sidney was the only son of a fond and admiring mother, and Dr. Macclesfield had once remarked that a merciful Providence had withheld a duplicate. Sidney was the amazing result of an anxious maternal supervision that had engulfed him, like a poultice, from his cradle to his final exit from college, where he had been a kind of mental and moral sponge, absorbing only bad habits and small beer. He kept laughing incessantly now, with a succulent gurgle, at the interruptions of Count Massena, who had come over to help Eva out of her dilemma. But this triangular scene was completely disrupted by Mrs. Van Citters. She had been nibbling a piece of cake when a sudden thought diverted her from her peaceful occupation.
"Does any one know what became of the boy who was hurt so seriously by Eva's motor the other day?" she asked abruptly.
She had struck a discordant note and there was a slight awkward pause, of the kind which usually occurs when some one drops a piece of bread butter-side down.
"Rachel sent him to the hospital," replied Astry, with a smiling glance at his sister-in-law. "Rachel is a society for regulating the universe at her own expense."
Rachel looked up quickly. "I believe you paid half, Johnstone."
Eva laughed. "If Rachel asked Johnstone for my head on a charger she'd get it," she mocked. "I never worry about details; Rachel settles us all."
"But I thought you were in the motor," persisted Pamela.
"I was," said Eva, with a shudder, "but do you suppose I want to remember it? I couldn't help it; it was abominable. I hate pain, I hate to see suffering! Rachel loves to take care of sick people; isn't it fortunate?"
"It is," said Dr. Macclesfield. "I reckon the Levite hated to see suffering too," he added to himself, pouring a little more wine into his glass.
The desultory talk went on and Rachel kept her place, wondering a little why she joined in so easily, but she looked up at the clock more than once, convinced that it must be wrong, that the hands crawled toward the ensuing hour to-night at a snail's pace. For she had been trying to collect her thoughts, to force herself to accept the naked fact that seemed now, at the first shock, to be too amazing for belief. All through the trivialities of the discussion going on around her, Mrs. Billop's extraordinary assertion that Charter was to marry Mrs. Prynne ran like a strong, black thread in a gossamer woof, and that previous moment of unreality, when she had snatched at a material object for reassurance seemed about to repeat itself, only her feeling now was even more confused. She had received a blow that had affected her as keenly as the stab of a rapier, and the only clear perception which survived was the necessity to conceal the wound.
It cost her almost a physical effort to go across the room and lift one of the decanters to pour out a little wine, and she was shocked to find her hand so unsteady that she spilt a few drops on the table without pouring any into the glass.
Belhaven, who was standing near, turned and came to her aid. As he took the decanter, their fingers touched and she looked up into his eyes with an involuntary start of surprise.
"What is it?" she exclaimed, in a low tone.
A slight color went up to his hair. "Is anything the matter? Were you listening to Astry's parrot? It's screaming like a banshee."
She took the glass mechanically, shaking her head with a smile, and at that moment the parrot began to shriek in the conservatory.
"Eva, Eva!" it called.
The voice was so human and so shrill that the group about the card-table looked up startled.
"By godfrey, I thought it was fire!" said Dr. Macclesfield.
Young Mrs. Astry rose from her chair. "I hate parrots," she said, so abruptly that Sidney Billop dropped his glass.
Astry smiled. "I like them," he retorted. "Sidney, you'll step on the glass if you wobble so."
"Eva," shrieked the parrot, coming nearer and then, with discordant laughter: "you're a liar!"
Eva looked over her shoulder. "Merci du compliment," she mocked. "How charming! Johnstone, do get another parrot."