CHAPTER VGIVE AND TAKE
“Doeseverything look in order in the dining-room, Duncan?” inquired Mrs. Fordyce anxiously, on her son’s entrance, laying down the magazine she was reading.
“Of course it is, dear mother,” he replied, sitting down on the lounge beside her. “You can always trust Perkins to arrange the table decorations to the Queen’s taste. Why so anxious tonight?”
“It is our first dinner-party in Washington, and I want everything to go off well for Janet’s sake. First impressions count for so much.”
Duncan laughed outright. “You, mother, worrying about a simple dinner of sixteen? Your Beacon Street ancestors will disown you.”
“My dear, Beacon Street traditions and Washington etiquette have to assimilate slowly. The official and diplomatic life here presents many pitfalls for the unwary, and Janet is young....”
“But you have provided her with a chaperon.” Duncan yawned as he arranged his white tie.
“The chaperon isn’t any too old,” confessed Mrs. Fordyce. She had not taken her family entirely into her confidence in referring to Marjorie, contentingherself with mentioning the fact, two days before, that she had engaged a chaperon for Janet, a statement which raised a storm of protest on that young débutante’s part.
“Then why in the world did you engage her?” asked Duncan.
Mrs. Fordyce debated the question. “Mrs. McIntyre assured me she was altogether charming, and most popular. She said she knew Washington’s complex social system to a dot....”
“And we are to supply the dash?” Duncan shrugged his broad shoulders. “Apparently you have secured a domestic treasure; well, your plan may work out all right, but, mother, I don’t like the idea of your retiring so much from social life.”
“With my infirmity I cannot face strangers; don’t ask me, dear.”
“Mother! As if anyone ever thinks of that after they have once met you,” exclaimed Duncan, greatly touched by the unuttered grief in Mrs. Fordyce’s eyes, and he gave her an impulsive hug.
“Here, here, this will never do,” protested a hearty voice from the other end of the boudoir. “Duncan, my boy, do you realize there are young ‘buds’ downstairs waiting for your fond embraces?”
“Oh, get out!” retorted Duncan undutifully.
“Are our guests arriving, Calderon?” asked Mrs. Fordyce in some alarm. “And you are not in the drawing-room?”
“Perhaps they haven’t come just yet,” admittedher husband. “Don’t take me too literally, Flora. Where did you pick up the chaperon?”
“She came to me highly recommended,” said Mrs. Fordyce, her placid manner undisturbed. “You were not in town, Calderon——”
“As if that would have made any difference?” he chuckled. “My dearest, your wish is law in this house; if you want a dozen chaperons you shall have them. I predict, Duncan,” turning to his son who had risen and was lazily stretching himself, “that with Janet and her chaperon on deck, we shall have a lively winter.”
“Back to the wilds for me!” retorted Duncan. “Tell me, mother, did your chaperon pick out our guests tonight?”
“Oh, no; Janet selected the young girls and men who have already shown her attention, the invitations were sent out over ten days ago. You see, in place of giving a big reception to introduce Janet, I plan to have a series of weekly dinner-dances.”
“What is the name of your paragon?” asked Duncan.
“Marjorie Langdon, her mother was an old school friend of mine.”
“The name sounds familiar,” Duncan wrinkled his brow in puzzled thought.
“Go down and meet her and then you’ll be certain about it,” put in his father. “Now, Flora, will you give me your attention....”
Taking the hint Duncan strode to the door and vanished. As he reached the head of the staircasehe heard his name called, and turning around, saw Janet standing before the elevator shaft. He retraced his steps and joined her, and they entered the lift together.
“How do I look, Duncan?” she asked eagerly, turning slowly around for his inspection, as the automatic car shot downward.
“The gown’s all right; the worst piece is in the middle,” he teased, glancing admiringly at her blond prettiness. She was dressed in exquisite taste, and her suddenly acquired grown-up manner sat quaintly upon her. Her slightly offended expression caused him to add hastily: “I like your hair arranged that way.”
“I do think it’s becoming,” admitted Janet, twisting about in the lift so as to catch a better glimpse of herself in the tiny mirror. “Marjorie Langdon dressed it for me. Do you know, Duncan, I believe I’m going to like her.”
He was saved from comment by the stopping of the lift, and Janet, her dignity flying to the four winds, scampered over to the drawing-room. Duncan followed her more slowly, and paused abruptly at the threshold of the room on perceiving a tall girl arranging roses in a vase, on one of the empire tables.
Marjorie Langdon belonged to a type which appears to greater advantage in evening dress than in street costume, and with half-cynical, wholly critical eyes Duncan studied the girl, who, unaware of his presence, stood with her profile turned toward him. In her shimmering white gown, which suited her perfectly, and her color heightened by the excitementof her first official appearance in the Fordyce house, she was well worth a second look.
“Lord! she needs a chaperon herself,” Duncan muttered under his breath, then stepped toward her as Marjorie looked in his direction. “I shall have to present myself, Miss Langdon—Duncan Fordyce,” he said pleasantly. “My sister Janet is too much excited to remember the formalities.”
“I beg your pardon,” broke in Janet from the window seat. “I thought you two had met.”
Successfully concealing her surprise under a friendly smile, Marjorie shook his hand cordially; until that moment she had not known of Duncan Fordyce’s existence. “When did you come to Washington?” she inquired.
“Three days ago——” the arrival of his father and several other men interrupted his speech.
Ten minutes later the last guest had arrived, and Duncan, keeping up a detached conversation with a nervous débutante, watched Marjorie with increasing interest. Her youth might be against her as a chaperon, but her poise and good breeding left nothing to be desired. No sign of awkwardness was discernible in her manner as she stood by Janet’s side assisting her in receiving the guests, and Calderon Fordyce, stopping beside his son, whispered a vehement: “She’ll do.” His attention distracted, Duncan failed to see one guest’s quickly concealed astonishment on beholding Marjorie standing beside Janet.
“You here!” exclaimed Chichester Barnard. “How—how—delightful!”
“Thank you,” replied Marjorie gently. “I think, Chichester, you are to take out our hostess, Miss Fordyce,” as the butler and footman parted the portières. “Ah, Baron von Valkenberg, am I your fate? Suppose we wait until the others have gone out,” and she stepped back, the diplomat at her side.
After the arrival of the ices, Marjorie permitted herself a second’s relaxation, and sat back in her chair. Both her neighbors were busily engaged in conversation with the young girls sitting on the other side of them, and glad of the respite, she glanced about the table. She had been talking incessantly since the commencement of dinner and her vocal chords actually ached. Everyone seemed to be having a gay time, there was no lull in the conversation. Marjorie took in the handsome silver and glass table appointments, and the beautiful flower centerpiece with secret satisfaction; the dinner and the service had been irreproachable. In fact, the ease and quiet elegance of the dinner recalled her own mother’s delightful hospitality before they lost their money. Marjorie sighed involuntarily; then her lips stiffened resolutely. She had, on thinking over Mrs. Fordyce’s proposal, decided to back out of her engagement, but Madame Yvonett, delighted with the plan, refused to permit her to withdraw her acceptance, and bag and baggage she had arrived at the Fordyce residence at five o’clock that afternoon.
“Aren’t you going to give me a word?” inquiredDuncan, her left-hand neighbor, turning abruptly to her. “All I’ve seen of you is a pink ear. Baron von Valkenberg has monopolized you outrageously.”
“He is a stranger,” replied Marjorie laughing. “He has only been in this country five weeks; I’ve been trying to make him feel at home.”
“A very laudable object; but I’m a stranger, too,” protested Duncan. “You might be nice to me.”
“But youareat home,” Marjorie’s smile was one of her greatest charms, and Duncan, all unconscious, fell under its spell. “Is this your first visit to Washington?”
“No. When at Yale I used to spend my vacations here with Mrs. McIntyre. That was ten years ago. Do you know, at the two entertainments I’ve been to already, I saw some of the people I met here then, and they knew me.”
“I’m not surprised; Washington is a place where one is never missed and never forgotten. Where have you been since leaving Yale?”
“Knocking about the world,” carelessly. “I’ve just come up from Panama. Who’s the good-looking man sitting on my sister’s right?”
“Chichester Barnard.”
“Oh!” The name struck a chord of memory, and the scene at the Turkish bath three days before flashed before Duncan and he frowned. Some telepathy seemed to tell Barnard that he was under discussion, and catching Marjorie’s eye across the table, he raised his champagne glass in gay challenge. She lifted hers to her lips inresponse, and set it down untasted. “He’s remarkably fine looking,” reiterated Duncan. “Something Byronic about him.”
“Yes,” agreed Marjorie; then turned abruptly to Baron von Valkenberg, who, having refused the sweets, had been for the past five minutes reaching under the table in a manner which suggested the loss of his napkin. “What’s the matter, Baron?”
The young diplomat straightened up suddenly, and gravely replied: “I sink it is a flea.”
For a moment gravity was at a discount, then Marjorie, catching Janet’s eye, rose, and the guests and their hostess trooped back into the drawing-room.
The men wasted but a short time over their cigars and liqueur, and soon the dancing in the ballroom was in full swing. It was after midnight when Chichester Barnard approached Marjorie and asked for a dance. There was a barely perceptible pause, then, with a word of thanks to her former partner, she laid her hand on Barnard’s arm, and they floated out on the floor. They were two of the best dancers in Washington, and Duncan, dancing with Janet, watched them with an odd feeling of unrest. They had circled the room but twice when Barnard stopped near the entrance to the library.
“I must talk to you, Madge,” he whispered hurriedly. “Come in here,” and he led the way to a comfortable leather-covered divan. They had the room to themselves. “Why didn’t you consult me before coming here as chaperon.”
“Because I did not think my affairs interested you further.”
“Madge!” The soft, caressing voice held a note of keen reproach. “How can you so misjudge me?”
But she refused to be placated. “It’s some days since I have seen you,” she replied wearily. “How is your aunt, Mrs. Lawrence?”
“About the same, I believe,” shortly. “Tell me, how did you come to give up your secretary work there?”
“You ask me that?” A sparkle of anger darkened Marjorie’s eyes, and he glanced uncomfortably at the mantel clock. “You are better informed as to what transpires in the Lawrence home than I am.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he complained. “Admiral Lawrence has a grudge against me, witness his advising my aunt to cut me out of her will; and now I believe he has influenced you to turn against me. Madge, it’s not like you to go back on a pal,” he added bitterly.
“I am not the one who has ‘gone back,’” she retorted with spirit. “And I think it’s best, all things considered, to return you this”—taking a heavy gold signet ring out of a fold of her bodice and placing it in his hand.
He looked at it in stupefied silence for a moment, then threw it contemptuously on the large library table.
“Do you think by returning that ring that you can break the tie that binds me to you, my darling?”he cried, real feeling in voice and gesture. “That bit of gold is but a symbol of my love—as long as life lasts, my heart, my homage, are yours.” Her pulse quickened under the ardor in his eyes. “God! why am I poor!” He struck one fist impotently in his other palm. “Cannot you understand, my darling, that it hurts me cruelly to see you living here as a paid chaperon when you should reign as queen.”
“Miss Langdon,” called Janet from the doorway. “Our guests are waiting to say good-bye.”
Marjorie, dragged once more to earth, started guiltily for the door, without a glance at her companion. A chaperon had small right to sit in corners with attractive men.
After the last guest had departed Marjorie, leaving Janet and her father and brother discussing the events of the evening, slipped back into the library. But her search of the table and other pieces of furniture was fruitless.
“In spite of his protests, he pocketed the ring,” she muttered, and a queer smile crossed her lips.