Kitabı oku: «The Key Note», sayfa 12

CHAPTER XX
REUNION

There was one case of happiness without drawbacks on the island at this time. It was in the humble starved heart of Herbert Loring, Second. Each morning Mrs. Lowell came into his room after breakfast and made his bed, taught him how to take care of his belongings, and read with him from the books she loved. All traces of Nicholas Gayne's occupation having been removed, and every article the boy had used in the past dispensed with, his fresh new possessions were neatly arranged, and he waked each morning to a new and wonderful life. Mrs. Lowell encouraged his artistic work and allowed him to spend as much time upon it as he wished. All fear being removed, his appetite revived, and one could almost daily see the flesh return upon his bones. His good friend, finding that his sapped energies recoiled from muscular effort, did not urge him to swim or to row, but fed his mind and heart and awaited his rebuilding.

His story became known on the island, and from being ignored or contemptuously pitied, the good-looking boy in the simple, smart sports clothes was the object on all sides of a friendly curiosity, which he could not understand and frequently rebuffed through his very directness and inexperience. It was his weekly duty to write to Mr. Wrenn, and this was a dreaded task, but Mrs. Lowell explained to him that he had his grandfather's name, and that he must begin to learn to fill his place in the world; and his pitifully childish writing and misspelling had to be corrected under the eyes that were still sad at such times.

"I'm so ignorant, such a baby!" he exclaimed one morning when this trial was being undergone.

"But you needn't mind it, need you, since it isn't your fault?" returned Mrs. Lowell cheerfully. "So many good years are coming for you to study and learn in."

"What will happen when the summer is over?" asked the boy. "Are you going to take me with you? Will Mr. Lowell like me?"

"Indeed, he will. I am going to have you live near me."

"Not with you?"

"No, Bert, that wouldn't be best. I have been corresponding with a very nice young man whom I have known a long time, and he will be pleased to live with you and give you lessons."

"In drawing?" asked the boy.

"No, sir." Mrs. Lowell gave him the gay, smiling look he liked: it was so full of everything cheerful and kind. "No, sir, reading and writing and 'rithmetic."

"Oh," returned Bert, looking very serious.

"First you must give your time to study. Education is the foundation. Then, later, when you have gone through college – Oh, how proud I shall be when I go to see you graduate!"

"Shall you ever be proud of me?" asked the boy slowly.

"If you will let me," she answered. "It all remains with you."

"Then – then I'll try. I would rather stay with Mr. Blake when you go away, but if you want me to, I'll live with the young man."

"You will like him. He is only twenty years old, and he wants to go to college when he gets money enough. So he is glad to do tutoring now. That means helping a younger boy to learn."

"He will laugh at me," remarked Bert, looking off moodily. "I would rather stay with Mr. Blake and paint the snow on the evergreens."

"Oh, no, dear," said Mrs. Lowell. "That wouldn't please your grandfather. Besides, wouldn't you miss me?"

"I don't like Mr. Lowell," remarked the boy.

His friend laughed and took his hand between both her own. "We shall all love each other," she said, "and I shall hope to see you every day."

Bert thoughtfully visualized the boat carrying her away without him, and decided to be glad of the other horn of the dilemma. He had learned to smile, and he did so now, looking at her so trustfully that she patted his hand as she laid it down.

"That's a good boy," she said.

On the morning after the concert, Mrs. Wilbur regarded her child rather anxiously.

"Is it ever considered malarial here?" she asked.

"The opposite extreme," said Diana.

"Well, you look pale. You stayed out of doors too long. The night air anywhere – "

"Oh, but it has such a pleasant way of growing warmer here at evening. I wasn't cold, indeed, Mamma."

"And I heard that divine voice going back through the field singing Rubinstein," said Mrs. Wilbur. She sighed. "I am glad you are so matter-of-fact, Diana. He made me feel like a matinée girl, that man." Mrs. Wilbur was already planning her autumn musicale, and in fancy saw the air dark with automobiles parked in rows about the Wilbur residence in Pittsfield.

She left Diana now to go upstairs to make her list, and the girl went out of doors to gather sweet peas for the living-room. Pausing when her hands were full of the color and fragrance, she turned about to view the fresh morning landscape. As she did so she heard a gay whistling that grew louder as it neared.

 
"The owl and the pussy cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat – "
 

The thrill of delicious terror, which had come over her on waking from her short sleep that morning, constricted her heart now.

Philip approached. "Good-morrow, fair one; posing for a study of Aurora?"

Diana looked around at him with deliberation. "I was deciding what individuals of the fauna and flora here were most marked."

Philip ducked his face down into her bouquet. "You chose the sweet pea, of course."

"No, I decided on swallows and daisies. The swallows are ravishing: so fearless and so beautiful. Have you noticed how they dart past, nearly brushing our cheeks, and how the sun brings out glints of blue in their plumage? I often mistake them for bluebirds with that touch of color on their breasts."

"Daisies and swallows," said Philip musingly. "They do seem to belong especially. It makes me think of a song." He paused. "Did you hear that booming of a new whistle this morning? There's a stranger in the cove, a swell yacht. I thought you might like to come down and see it."

"Yes, I should. Let me put the flowers in water and I will be with you." She reappeared quickly, and they struck off across the field to the road.

"How could I know it was a strange whistle?" asked the girl.

"I suppose you wouldn't, but to us islanders every familiar whistle is like the voice of a friend. Kelly is waiting for us in his boat. We want to row out to the beauty."

"It was very kind of you to come 'way up here for me," said Diana.

There came walking toward them along the road a man in white trousers, dark-blue coat, and cap with a gold insignia.

"That must be some one from the yacht now," said Philip.

Diana looked up, looked again, and with a cry of delight, ran forward straight into the arms of the man.

"Daddy, Daddy!" she cried, "how good of you!"

The tall, handsome stranger, with silver threads in his brown mustache, glanced up at his daughter's escort while he kissed her.

"I had to look you up, you know," he said while she held him tight, her arms around his neck.

Loosing him, she half turned to Philip. "This is Mr. Barrison, Daddy. We were just going down to see who was the stranger in the cove."

Mr. Wilbur shook hands with the tanned, blond youth in a perfunctory manner, scarcely looking at him.

"Mamma is here. Did you know it?" cried Diana.

"No. You don't say so! Kill both my birds with one stone, eh?"

The girl held out her hand to Philip. "I shall have to go back, Mr. Barrison. Daddy, take your card and write an order for Mr. Barrison and his friend to go over the yacht. They were just going to row out to it, and I was going with them. How little I thought it was you, dearest." She kissed him again and fumbled at her father's buttons.

Philip thought there was some reluctance in the cool glance the yachtsman flung him again. "Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Wilbur. Another time, perhaps."

"No, this minute," said Diana. Mr. Wilbur got at an inside pocket. "Mr. Barrison will take you deep-sea fishing if you can stay a few days. You have often spoken of it."

"A fisherman, eh?" said Mr. Wilbur, as he took out his card and wrote upon it.

Diana laughed nervously. "Oh, no, Daddy, but he knows the ropes here." She handed the card to Philip. "The Idlewild is worth visiting," she said, "and you never can tell with these yachtsmen. They slip off sometimes in the middle of the night. A bird in the hand, you know." She smiled. "Au revoir."

Philip, holding his card, looked after them as they went on up the road. Diana was hanging on her father's arm. The young fellow's face flushed deeply under the tan, and his lips came together firmly.

"That girl is worth all the adoration a man can waste on her," he thought. "I don't know that he is such a fool at that."

"What a summer, Veronica!" exclaimed Miss Burridge when she found that Charles Wilbur was going to eat mackerel and sweet potatoes at her table that noon.

"Some do have greatness thrust upon them, Aunt Priscilla. First the arrival of Prince Herbert, then King Charles himself."

"Yes, my knees feel kind o' queer, Veronica, and I think we'd better have the lobster salad this noon instead of saving it for night."

The other boarders eliminated themselves, so that the Wilbur family could occupy the piazza after dinner. Mr. Wilbur had praised the cooking and Veronica had carried the good report to the kitchen. He sat now with his wife and daughter, one on each side of him, and, as he smoked his cigar, looked off on the glory that is Casco Bay.

"You're pretty nearly on a boat here, aren't you?" he said.

"It is the most wonderful place in the world," said Diana fervently.

He turned to her and pinched her chin. The excited color that had risen in her happy surprise had faded. "You're not a good advertisement for it," he said. "You didn't eat anything at dinner and you look as if you had been up all night."

"I do think Diana feels the effect of all the excitement she went through in Boston," said Mrs. Wilbur; and forthwith she proceeded to tell the story of the grandson of her husband's old friend, and Diana's part in it. He had met the boy at table and he listened with absorbed interest.

"Well, little girl, well," he said kindly, "that was some experience. You'll have to brace up now."

"Oh, I'm going to, Daddy, and I want to purchase some of this island. I love it here. It inspires me."

"Better hold on," was the quiet response. "Why not take this place next summer? Engage Miss Burridge as cook and housekeeper, then bring some guests and run up here for a week or so, off and on, when you feel like it."

"That might be pleasant," returned Diana.

Her father smiled and patted her. "You are not always going to be a tired schoolgirl. Home may hold out more attractions next summer than you think."

"You don't know the rocks and the walks here yet, Daddy," said Diana wistfully.

"How many walks shall I have to take before you are ready to go back with me?"

"Of course we're going back with Daddy," said Mrs. Wilbur warningly.

"You like the yacht, don't you, Diana?" he asked.

"Indeed, I do. It was only that you were going to have such gay people this summer, and I couldn't be gay."

"I understand, dear. I've ditched the gay people now, and we will have a family party only, going back."

"That will be delightful," replied Diana.

"We haven't told you the most wonderful thing yet," said Mrs. Wilbur. "There is a most charming singer on the island. He gave a recital last night. Nothing commonplace. A very unusual voice. I'm engaging him for Pittsfield, Charles. He thinks he can come for a recital. He is young and little known yet, and so will be a novelty. I want you to hear him. You'll be wild, too."

"I promise not to be," responded her husband.

"But you can't help it, dear. Diana, why shouldn't we have a little dinner on the yacht and Mr. Barrison would probably sing afterward, and your father could hear him. Let me see now. Who would we have?"

"I don't care," put in Mr. Wilbur, "so long as you have that sparkling person who sat beside the boy at dinner."

"Mrs. Lowell," said Diana. "I'm so glad you appreciate Mrs. Lowell, Daddy."

"I'm not blind in one eye and I can see out of the other. I have my hearing, too, and her voice is as fresh as a robin's."

"But, oh, speaking of voices!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilbur, rolling up her eyes. "Well, then, Diana, supposing we have just Mr. Barrison and Mr. Kelly and Mrs. Lowell."

"And Veronica," said Diana.

"The young person who waits on the table," explained Mrs. Wilbur. "She and her aunt, Miss Burridge, are very worthy people."

"Veronica and Mr. Kelly are such good friends," said Diana. "It would be too bad not to ask her."

"Mr. Kelly is Mr. Barrison's accompanist," put in Mrs. Wilbur.

"Barrison?" repeated Mr. Wilbur. "Isn't that the name of the husky I met on the road just now?" The speaker removed his cigar to ask his daughter the question.

"Yes, Mamma, Mr. Barrison came up to take me down to row out in Mr. Kelly's boat to see the stranger in the cove. So when we encountered Daddy on the road, I persuaded him to give them an order to go over the yacht."

In spite of herself, the missing color came back into the girl's cheeks while she related this, and Charles Wilbur, whom no circumstance connected with his daughter ever escaped, observed it.

When next he was alone with his wife, he asked a few questions as to Diana's regard for the singer.

"No, no, my dear," she returned scornfully. "You don't know Diana. We have an extraordinary daughter, there is no mistake about that, but she was telling me the other day of her ideal for a husband. He is a fright, I can assure you, but full of charm and all that. She doesn't want to marry any man who is attractive to women."

"Wants to fool the vamps, eh?" was the laughing reply.

"Why doesn't she look at her daddy?" was the affectionate response. "The most attractive being on earth and one who never gave me a heartache?"

Charles Wilbur slipped his arm around his wife and kissed her. They were the best of friends.

"Don't you know, my dear, that a girl's father is always unique? He isn't a man."

"Oh," exclaimed Mrs. Wilbur, harking back to her find. "But, Charlie, you don't know how delighted I am to have such a prize for Pittsfield. I must show you my list."

She produced it and Mr. Wilbur, frowning patiently, looked it over. He hated lists.

CHAPTER XXI
GOOD-BYES

But before the dinner party came off, Philip Barrison did take the steel man deep-sea fishing. Barney Kelly was so overwhelmed by the luxury of the yacht that he refrained from saying a word against the nocturnal expedition. He happened to meet Veronica down at the post-office and gave her his reasons.

"I say it's only fair that Mr. Wilbur should be racked and tortured," he said. "Any man so deep in the lap of luxury should learn a little of how the other half lives. That yacht is the slickest thing I ever saw. The deep-cushioned armchairs on the deck are upholstered in a light-green leather that you would think a drop of water would deface, and the salt spray doesn't faze it in the least. Then the master's room with its twin beds is divided from the bathroom by a sliding door which is a huge mirror, and the dining-saloon is in mahogany with the exquisite china and glass all enameled with the yacht's flag."

Veronica's mouth always grew very small when she was deeply interested and her eyes very wide, and they looked so now as she listened.

"Just think," she said, "I am going to see it."

"Good work. I wanted you to."

"I'm going to eat off those dishes and sit in the easy-chairs."

"What's happening?"

"A dinner party, and you are in it. Miss Diana told me."

"I shall be careful to eat nothing between now and then," declared Barney, "for I suspect that chef of being an artist. Let us not count on it too much, though, Veronica. Barrison takes Mr. Wilbur on that unspeakable expedition to-morrow morning. We all may be thrown out of that dinner party by the violence of his feelings."

As it turned out, however, Kelly's apprehensions were not realized. Mr. Wilbur's wife and daughter were on the yacht to greet him when he returned from his novel experience at nearly noon of the next day. He had changed his clothing at "Grammy's" and was full of praise of that old gentlewoman.

"Nice people as ever lived, those folks," he said as he stretched himself out in a chaise longue on the deck under the awning, and was served with iced drinks.

"Mamma hasn't met Mr. Barrison's grandmother," said Diana as she placed the cigars beside her father.

"Oh, he comes of superior people, you can see that," said Mrs. Wilbur. "Charlie, I'm going to invite Mrs. Coolidge."

"All right. I guess she can stand it."

"Stand it!" echoed Mrs. Wilbur. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"He is still thinking about the fishing, Mamma," put in Diana.

"Yes, and young Barrison," said Mr. Wilbur. "He's a tonic, that chap. The way he went over that boat, regular Douglas Fairbanks stunts he did. He's a hundred-per-cent man, whether he can sing or not." The speaker regarded his daughter out of the tail of his eye as he talked, and he saw the slight compression of her lips and the glow in her eyes.

"I offered him a cigar, but he shook his head: 'My voice is my fortune, sir,' he said."

"Sensible," said Mrs. Wilbur, not looking up from the silk she was knitting.

"When are you giving your dinner party?"

"To-morrow night."

"That is good, for we must be on our way," said Mr. Wilbur. He yawned. "I'm dead to the world. I must go to sleep."

"Daddy," said Diana, "are we really going away at once?"

He took her hand, and it was cold. "Yes, I think we shall have to be off." He regarded her with affectionate thoughtfulness. "I want to go somewhere and find some roses for you."

The roses suddenly bloomed in the girl's face under his searching eyes.

"You want to go with your old dad, don't you?" he added affectionately.

"Of course I do, dearest," she answered, and he forgave her the lie because she looked so pretty in her embarrassment. "But I have packing to do, you know. I can't go without any warning."

He continued to gaze at her and to hold her cold hand.

"That young Caruso of yours is quite a boy," he said irrelevantly. "No lugs, honest, substantial."

"He is more than that, Daddy. He is a self-made man."

"Did a good job, too; physically at least."

"No; more than that; he has been a hero to get where he is in his art."

"Told you so, eh?"

"No, indeed." The roses bloomed brighter. The hand twitched in his. "He gratified my curiosity one day by telling me his experiences. He thinks they were entirely commonplace. He was very poor and with no influence, but his persistence and determination won."

"That's the stuff," returned Charles Wilbur quietly. "I like the way he treats his grandmother, too."

"And, Charlie," said his wife, looking up from her work, "I believe I'll invite some people from Lenox. I'll have a house party."

"Very well, my dear." Her husband smiled toward her preoccupied face, and released his daughter's hand.

"Now, you run along up to the Inn, Diana," said Mrs. Wilbur, "and pack. Then have Mr. Blake bring the trunk and our bags aboard this afternoon."

"Not go back to the Inn at all, afterward, then?" asked Diana.

"No. There won't be any necessity. I told that perfectly crazy Léonie to have my things and hers ready and bring them aboard before dinner. She looked at me as if I had struck her down."

"Poor Léonie," breathed Diana.

Mrs. Wilbur shrugged her shoulders. "I shall be lucky if she doesn't tell me she has decided to marry Bill Lindsay and stay here." The lady laughed and looked at her husband. "I should have to invite them to take their wedding trip on the yacht, for I can't let her go until she has shown some one else how to do my hair."

"Let her teach me, immediately, to-day," said Diana quickly.

Her mother stared at her. "You don't want her to marry Bill Lindsay, I hope!"

"I do not care whom she marries," returned Diana with amazing spirit. "The important, colossally important thing is that she should marry whom she pleases, when she pleases."

Mrs. Wilbur continued to stare while her husband's closed eyes opened and he also regarded Diana as she stood up, her hands clenched.

"That was Helen Loring's creed," said Mrs. Wilbur dryly. "There is a better one. Don't forget that."

The girl's head drooped and the roses faded.

Ten minutes later she went down the awning-guarded steps at the yacht's side, and entered the waiting boat with its shining brasses and natty, white-uniformed sailors, to go ashore.

Miss Burridge was quite touched by the feeling displayed by her star boarder at their parting.

"I do not remember any period of my life which has been so happy as the last six weeks," said the girl, her lip quivering. "Would you take care of me if I should take the Inn for next summer and come here with friends a part of the season?"

"Take the Inn, Miss Wilbur?"

"Yes. My father said that might be more sensible than for me to build here. I would make satisfactory arrangements with you. Perhaps Veronica would come with you, then you wouldn't mind if you had the place to yourselves much of the season."

"Of course, I should like an easy berth like that, Miss Wilbur." Miss Burridge laughed with a suspicion of moisture around her lashes at the pressure of Diana's hands, and the seriousness of her plaintive eyes.

"I must say good-bye to Bertie. I wonder where he is."

"Up in his room, I think. He came in a few minutes ago."

There Diana found him. He looked up from the stretcher over which he was working and was surprised to see his friend in her street clothes.

"Are you going to Boston again?" he asked.

"I am leaving permanently," she answered, and she took his hand and drew him down to a seat beside her. He looked at her as she bit her lip while she smiled on him, and he thought she was going to cry. "We shall be here a couple more nights, but I shall be on the yacht. Have you seen it, Bertie? Would you like to come down with me now and go over it?"

"I'd like to make a sketch of it." The boy looked interested.

"Very well, you shall. Bill is coming for us in a few minutes. You drive down with us; but I want to tell you, before we go, how happy I am for you."

"You don't look happy at all, Miss Diana. You look sad. Are you sad?"

"I am a little bit – leaving here, and all the friends. Do you know that we are related in some far-off way, Bertie? You might call me Cousin Diana. You mustn't forget me."

"No, I won't forget you," replied the boy, noticing that her lip quivered. "Mrs. Lowell will write to you."

"Yes, I'm sure she will," said Diana, touching her eyes quickly with her handkerchief, "and Mrs. Lowell is a wonderful friend. She has told me of her arrangements for you, told me about the fine, strapping young fellow, Mr. Lawrence, who is going to be your companion and tutor. I expect when I see you next that you will stand up, straight as a young soldier – "

"Straight as – as Mr. Barrison," said Bert, pulling his slender shoulders back hopefully.

"Yes, as – as he is, and I know you will like this young Mr. Lawrence, and do every thing just as Mrs. Lowell desires to have you. I am glad you can stay on longer here, for it is – it is a place to be happy, isn't it, Bertie?"

Diana's lips quivered again dangerously. "There, I hear the motor. Bring your sketch-book, and come."

They descended to where Léonie was standing beside the bags in her trim street clothes. Matt Blake's wagon was waiting, too, and he carried Diana's trunk, and the various and sundry suitcases and bags which represented the Wilbur party, out to his wagon.

Miss Burridge and Veronica saw them off. Mrs. Lowell was away in the woods with her bird-glasses, and the other boarders were fortunately absent. Diana left her good-byes for them, and then with a lump in her throat got into the car. Léonie sat in front with her cavalier, and all the way down the road, her head was popping out and a stream of "adieux" pouring forth upon animate and inanimate objects alike.

Herbert Loring sat beside his friend and, feeling wonderingly her need for comfort, slipped his hand into hers, and she held it tightly.

Diana had many good-byes to say at the float, while her baggage was being lifted into the yacht's boat, waiting with its picturesque crew. At last they were off, and Bertie's eyes were greedily fixed on the lines of the handsome white yacht.

After the trunks were placed on the yacht, she let Bert look about, but he was eager to get his sketch. So she allowed him to descend again into the small boat and put him in command of it. So he was taken to the point he indicated and remained there until he was satisfied with his sketch. Then the flashing oars fell into position and he was rowed back to the shore. Diana waved him a last good-bye. Her father was taking his much-needed forty winks, her mother was downstairs somewhere, and Léonie stood near her, straining her eyes toward the float and waving to a waiting figure thereon.

"Adieu, charmante, belle île," she murmured, sniffing audibly. "Mademoiselle, c'est comme si je quittais chez moi."

"Oui, Léonie. Nous reviendrons quelque jour."

There was a difference in their situations. Léonie had no hope of entertaining Bill Lindsay at dinner.

That function came off the next evening. Mr. Wilbur had spent much of the afternoon with Philip Barrison. The latter had taken him out to the pound and he had watched the drawing of the nets, and had had long confabs with the fishermen, listening to their stories, scattering cigars like hail, and enjoying himself thoroughly.

He returned to the yacht in high good humor and made ready for the farewell festivity.

"That's a regular fellow, Barrison," he said to his wife, as he was making his toilet.

"Oh, you wait," she replied.

"I don't care a darn how he sings," remarked Mr. Wilbur, "but in his case a man's a man for a' that. I don't wonder – " he stopped.

"What don't you wonder, dear?"

"Oh – at his popularity. My dear, dear Laura," he added after a pause, smiling at his reflection in the glass as he used his military brushes, "you're a wonderful woman."

"Why, thank you, Charlie. What have I done now?" As he did not reply, but continued to smile into his own eyes, she gave his arm a little squeeze as she passed him. "I won you, anyway," she said triumphantly, "and I need a compliment or two, for I never knew Diana to be so strange and changeable as she has been to-day. The dear girl can't be well, and I don't think I have realized quite the awfulness of her experience with Herbert Loring. She was actually in danger for a time of being accused of hastening his death. Why, it was dreadful."

"Poor Diana, poor little girl," returned Charles Wilbur ruminatively.