Come and sit by me, Duane."
Two or three girls extended their hands to him--Sylvia Quest, shy and quiet; Muriel Wye, white-skinned, black-haired, red-lipped, red-cheeked, with eyes like melted sapphires and the expression of a reckless saint; and his blond sister, Nada, who had arrived that afternoon from the Tappans" at Iron Hill, across the mountain.
Delancy Grandcourt, uncouth and highly coloured, stood up to shake hands; Bunbury Gray, a wiry, bronzed little polo-playing squadron man, hailed Duane with enthusiasm.
"Awfully glad to see you, Bunny," said Duane, who liked him immensely--"oh, how are you?" offering his hand to Reginald Wye, a hard-riding, hard-drinking, straight-shooting young man, who knew nothing on earth except what concerned sport and the drama. He and his sister of the sapphire eyes and brilliant cheeks were popularly known as the Pink "uns.
Jack Dysart arrived presently, graceful, supple, always smilingly, elaborate of manner, apparently unconscious that he was not cordially admired by the men who returned his greeting. Later, Rosalie, came, enchantingly demure in her Greuze-like beauty. Chardin might have made her; possibly Fragonard. She did not resemble the Creator"s technique.
Dresden teacups tinkled, ice clattered in tall gla.s.ses, the two fountains splashed away bravely, prettily modulated voices made agreeable harmony on the terrace, blending with the murmur of leaves overhead as the wind stirred them to gossip. Over all spread a calm evening sky.
"Tea, dear?" asked Geraldine, glancing up at Mrs. Dysart. Rosalie shook her head with a smile.
Lang, the second man, was flitting about, busy with a decanter of Scotch. A moment later Rosalie signified her preference for it with a slight nod. Geraldine, who sat watching indifferently the filling of Mrs. Dysart"s gla.s.s, suddenly leaned back and turned her head sharply, as though the aroma from gla.s.s and decanter were distasteful to her. In a few minutes she rose, walked over to the parapet, and stood leaning against the coping, apparently absorbed in the landscape.
The sun hung low over the flat little tree-clad mountains, which the lake, now inlaid with pink and gold, reflected. A few fallow deer moved quietly down there, ruddy spots against the turf.
Duane, carrying his gla.s.s with him, rose and stepped across the strip of gra.s.s to her side, and, glancing askance at her, was on the point of speaking when he discovered that her eyes were shut and her face colourless and rigid.
"What is it?" he asked surprised. "Are you feeling faint, Geraldine?"
She opened her eyes, velvet dark and troubled, but did not turn around.
"It"s nothing," she answered calmly. "I was thinking of several things."
"You look so white----"
"I am perfectly well. Bend over the parapet with me, Duane. Look at those rocks down there. What a tumble! What a death!"
He placed his gla.s.s between them on the coping, and leaned over. She did not notice the gla.s.s for a moment. Suddenly she wheeled, as though he had spoken, and her eyes fell on the gla.s.s.
"What _is_ the matter?" he demanded, as she turned on her heel and moved away.
"I"m a trifle nervous, I believe. If you want to see the big trout breaking on Hurryon, you"d better come with me."
She was walking swiftly down the drive to the south of the house. He overtook her and fell into slower step beside her.
The sun had almost disappeared behind the mountains; bluish haze veiled the valley; a horizon of dazzling yellow flecked with violet faded upward to palest turquoise. High overhead a feathered cloud hung, tinged with rose.
The south drive was bordered deep in syringas, all over snowy bloom; and as they pa.s.sed they inhaled the full fragrance of the flowers with every breath.
"It"s like heaven," said Duane; "and you are not incongruous in the landscape, either."
She looked around at him; the smile that curved her mouth had the faintest suspicion of tenderness about it.
She said slowly:
"Do you realise that I am genuinely glad to see you? I"ve been horrid to you. I don"t yet really believe in you, Duane. I detest some of the things you are and say and do; but, after all, I"ve missed you.
Incredible as it sounds, I"ve been a little lonely without you."
He said gaily: "When a woman becomes accustomed to chasing the family cat out of the parlour with the broom, she misses the sport when the cat migrates permanently."
"Have you migrated--permanently? O Duane! I thought you _did_ care for me--in your own careless fashion----"
"I do. But I"m not hopelessly enamoured of your broom-stick!"
Her laugh was a little less spontaneous, as she answered:
"I know I have been rather free with my broom. I"m sorry."
"You _have_ made some sweeping charges on that cat!" he said, laughing.
"I know I have. That was two months ago. I don"t think I am the morally self-satisfied prig I was two months ago.... I"d be easier on anything now, even a cat. But don"t think I mean more than I do mean, Duane," she added hastily. "I"ve missed you a little. I want you to be nice to me.... After all, you"re the oldest friend I have except Kathleen."
"I"ll be as nice as you"ll let me," he said. They turned from the driveway and entered a broad wood road. "As nice as you"ll let me," he repeated.
"I won"t let you be sentimental, if that"s what you mean," she observed.
"Why?"
"Because you are you."
"In a derogatory sense?"
"Somewhat. I might be like you if I were a man, and had your easy, airy, inconsequential way with women. But I won"t let you have it with me, my casual friend. Don"t hope for it."
"What have I ever done----"
"Exactly what you"re doing now to Rosalie--what you did to a dozen women this winter--what you did to me"--she turned and looked at him--"the first time I ever set eyes on you since we were children together. I know you are not to be taken seriously; almost everybody knows that! And all the same, Duane, I"ve thought about you a lot in these two months up here, and--I"m happy that you"ve come at last.... You won"t mistake me and try to be sentimental with me, will you?"
She laid her slim, sun-tanned hand on his arm; they walked on together through the woodland where green bramble sprays glimmered through cl.u.s.tering tree trunks and the fading light turned foliage and undergrowth to that vivid emerald which heralds dusk.
"Duane," she said, "I"m dreadfully restless and I cannot account for it.... Perhaps motherless girls are never quite normal; I don"t know.
But, lately, the world has seemed very big and threatening around me....
Scott is nice to me, usually; Kathleen adorable.... I--I don"t know what I want, what it is I miss."
Her hand still rested lightly on his arm as they walked forward. She was speaking at intervals almost as though talking in an undertone to herself:
"I"m in--perplexity. I"ve been troubled. Perhaps that is what makes me tolerant of you; perhaps that"s why I"m glad to see you.... Trouble is a new thing to me. I thought I had troubles--perhaps I had as a child. But this is deeper, different, disquieting."
"Are you in love?" he asked.
"No."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Then what----"