"It don"t need to," said Jeff. "That"s a place where I"d like to live.
Everybody"s at home there. It"s a man"s house and his front yard, and I tell you they keep it clean. Paris is washed down every morning; scrubbed and mopped and rubbed dry. You couldn"t find any more dirt than you could in mother"s kitchen after she"s hung out her wash. That so, Mr. Westover?"
Westover confirmed in general Jeff"s report of the cleanliness of Paris.
"And beautiful! You don"t know what a good-looking town is till you strike Paris. And they"re proud of it, too. Every man acts as if he owned it. They"ve had the statue of Alsace in that Place de la Concorde of yours, Mr. Whitwell, where they had the guillotine all draped in black ever since the war with Germany; and they mean to have her back, some day."
"Great country, Jombateeste!" Whitwell shouted to the Canuck.
The little man roused himself from the muse in which he was listening and smoking. "Me, I"m Frantsh," he said.
"Yes, that"s what Jeff was sayin"," said Whitwell. "I meant France."
"Oh," answered Jombateeste, impatiently, "I thought you mean the Hunited State."
"Well, not this time," said Whitwell, amid the general laughter.
"Good for Jombateeste," said Jeff. "Stand up for Canada every time, John. It"s the livest country, in the world three months of the year, and the ice keeps it perfectly sweet the other nine."
Whitwell could not brook a diversion from the high and serious inquiry they had entered upon. "It must have made this country look pretty slim when you got back. How"d New York look, after Paris?"
"Like a pigpen," said Jeff. He left his chair and walked round the table toward a door opening into the adjoining room. For the first time Westover noticed a figure in white seated there, and apparently rapt in the talk which had been going on. At the approach of Jeff, and before he could have made himself seen at the doorway, a tremor seemed to pa.s.s over the figure; it fluttered to its feet, and then it vanished into the farther dark of the room. When Jeff disappeared within, there was a sound of rustling skirts and skurrying feet and the crash of a closing door, and then the free rise of laughing voices without. After a discreet interval, Westover said: "Mr. Whitwell, I must say good-night.
I"ve got another day"s work before me. It"s been a most interesting evening."
"You must try it again," said Whitwell, hospitably. "We ha"n"t got to the bottom of that broken shaft yet. You"ll see "t plantchette "ll have something more to say about it: Heigh, Jackson?" He rose to receive Westover"s goodnight; the others nodded to him.
As the painter climbed the hill to the hotel he saw two figures on the road below; the one in white drapery looked severed by a dark line slanting across it at the waist. In the country, he knew, such an appearance might mark the earliest stages of love-making, or mere youthful tenderness, in which there was nothing more implied or expected. But whatever the fact was, Westover felt a vague distaste for it, which, as it related itself to a more serious possibility, deepened to something like pain. It was probable that it should come to this between those two, but Westover rebelled against the event with a sense of its unfitness for which he could not give himself any valid reason; and in the end he accused himself of being a fool.
Two ladies sat on the veranda of the hotel and watched a cloud-wreath trying to lift itself from the summit of Lion"s Head. In the effort it thinned away to transparency in places; in others, it tore its frail texture asunder and let parts of the mountain show through; then the fragments knitted themselves loosely together, and the vapor lay again in dreamy quiescence.
The ladies were older and younger, and apparently mother and daughter.
The mother had kept her youth in face and figure so admirably that in another light she would have looked scarcely the elder. It was the candor of the morning which confessed the fine vertical lines running up and down to her lips, only a shade paler than the girl"s, and that showed her hair a trifle thinner in its coppery brown, her blue eyes a little dimmer. They were both very graceful, and they had soft, caressing voices; they now began to talk very politely to each other, as if they were strangers, or as if strangers were by. They talked of the landscape, and of the strange cloud effect before them. They said that they supposed they should see the Lion"s Head when the cloud lifted, and they were both sure they had never been quite so near a cloud before.
They agreed that this was because in Switzerland the mountains were so much higher and farther off. Then the daughter said, without changing the direction of her eyes or the tone of her voice, "The gentleman who came over from the station with us last night," and the mother was aware of Jeff Durgin advancing toward the corner of the veranda where they sat.
"I hope you have got rested," he said, with the jovial bluntness which was characteristic of him with women.
"Oh, yes indeed," said the elder lady. Jeff had spoken to her, but had looked chiefly at the younger. "I slept beautifully. So quiet here, and with this delicious air! Have you just tasted it?"
"No; I"ve been up ever since daylight, driving round," said Jeff. "I"m glad you like the air," he said, after a certain hesitation. "We always want to have people do that at Lion"s Head. There"s no air like it, though perhaps I shouldn"t say so."
"Shouldn"t?" the lady repeated.
"Yes; we own the air here--this part of it." Jeff smiled easily down at the lady"s puzzled face.
"Oh! Then you are--are you a son of the house?"
"Son of the hotel, yes," said Jeff, with increasing ease. The lady continued her question in a look, and he went on: "I"ve been scouring the country for b.u.t.ter and eggs this morning. We shall get all our supplies from Boston next year, I hope, but we depend on the neighbors a little yet."
"How very interesting!" said the lady. "You must have a great many queer adventures," she suggested in a provisional tone.
"Well, nothing"s queer to me in the hill country. But you see some characters here." He nodded over his shoulder to where Whitwell stood by the flag-staff, waiting the morning impulse of the ladies. "There"s one of the greatest of them now."
The lady put up a lorgnette and inspected Whitwell. "What are those strange things he has got in his hatband?"
"The flowers and the fungi of the season," said Jeff. "He takes parties of the ladies walking, and that collection is what he calls his almanac."
"Really?" cried the girl. "That"s charming!"
"Delightful!" said the mother, moved by the same impulse, apparently.
"Yes," said Jeff. "You ought to hear him talk. I"ll introduce him to you after breakfast, if you like."
"Oh, we should only be too happy," said the mother, and her daughter, from her inflection, knew that she would be willing to defer her happiness.
But Jeff did not. "Mr. Whitwell!" he called out, and Whitwell came across the gra.s.s to the edge of the veranda. "I want to introduce you to Mrs. Vostrand--and Miss Vostrand."
Whitwell took their slim hands successively into his broad, flat palm, and made Mrs. Vostrand repeat her name to him. "Strangers at Lion"s Head, I presume?" Mrs. Vostrand owned as much; and he added: "Well, I guess you won"t find a much sightlier place anywhere; though, accordin"
to Jeff"s say, here, they"ve got bigger mountains on the other side.
Ever been in Europe?"
"Why, yes," said Mrs. Vostrand, with a little mouth of deprecation. "In fact, we"ve just come home. We"ve been living there."
"That so?" returned Whitwell, in humorous toleration. "Glad to get back, I presume?"
"Oh yes--yes," said Mrs. Vostrand, in a sort of willowy concession, as if the character before her were not to be crossed or gainsaid.
"Well, it "ll do you good here," said Whitwell. ""N" the young lady, too. A few tramps over these hills "ll make you look like another woman." He added, as if he had perhaps made his remarks too personal to the girl, "Both of you."
"Oh yes," the mother a.s.sented, fervently. "We shall count upon your showing us all their-mysteries."
Whitwell looked pleased. "I"ll do my best-whenever you"re ready." He went on: "Why, Jeff, here, has just got back, too. Jeff, what was the name of that French boat you said you crossed on? I want to see if I can"t make out what plantchette meant by that broken shaft. She must have meant something, and if I could find out the name of the ship--Tell the ladies about it?" Jeff laughed, with a shake of the head, and Whitwell continued, "Why, it was like this," and he possessed the ladies of a fact which they professed to find extremely interesting. At the end of their polite expressions he asked Jeff again: "What did you say the name was?"
"Aquitaine," said Jeff, briefly.
"Why, we came on the Aquitaine!" said Mrs. Vostrand, with a smile for Jeff. "But how did we happen not to see one another?"
"Oh, I came second-cabin," said Jeff. "I worked my way over on a cattle-ship to London, and, when I decided not to work my way back, I found I hadn"t enough money for a first-cabin pa.s.sage. I was in a hurry to get back in time to get settled at Harvard, and so I came second-cabin. It wasn"t bad. I used to see you across the rail."
"Well!" said Whitwell.
"How very--amusing!" said Mrs. Vostrand. "What a small world it is!"
With these words she fell into a vagary; her daughter recalled her from it with a slight movement. "Breakfast? How impatient you are, Genevieve!
Well!" She smiled the sweetest parting to Whitwell, and suffered herself to be led away by Jeff.
"And you"re at Harvard? I"m so interested! My own boy will be going there soon."
"Well, there"s no place like Harvard," said Jeff. "I"m in my Soph.o.m.ore year now."
"Oh, a Soph.o.m.ore! Fancy!" cried Mrs. Vostrand, as if nothing could give her more pleasure. "My son is going to prepare at St. Mark"s. Did you prepare there?"