A Man's Hearth Part 21

"Dead? No. I'm the one who is dead, to borrow a bit of slang."

His laugh was bitter as qua.s.sia; he turned his head toward the sound of the automobile horn that summoned him.

"A dead one!" he repeated. "I have to go, Mrs. Adriance. But send Tony over, to-night."

The door closed on the last word. Elsie heard the high, rather strident voices of the women calling salute and impatience; then Masterson's reply set in a key of strained merriment. The motor roared under the chauffeur's hand. They were departing; evidently a means of inflating the tire had been found.

The peace of Elsie's day had departed with them. The alteration in Masterson frightened her; the strangeness of his manner and of his invitation filled her with anxiety. Something was wrong; something she could not guess or understand. Why should he have spoken so of Holly?

Why, too, did he want Anthony this night?

Was Mrs. Masterson to be one of the party at the restaurant? That idea came later. The mere possibility of such an event fixed Elsie's decision; she would not send Anthony to the meeting desired. She would let Masterson's accidental visit pa.s.s unnoticed.

But when evening came, and with it Adriance, ruddy with the March wind, boyishly hungry and gay; when he took his wife in his arms and kissed her with the deep tenderness that the morning had added to their first love, Elsie knew better. Better any misfortune than the barrier of deceit between them. And she remembered in time that it was not for her to deprive him of his right of decision and free-will.

She waited until supper was eaten and the blue-and-white dishes shining in their rack again beside the ten-cent-shop china.

"Shall we go on with our book?" Adriance proposed, when his pipe was lit. Now that the moment had come, it pleased him to dally with the surprise he held for her, to prolong his secret content. He stretched luxuriously in his arm-chair. "Lord, it's good to get home! Funny I never cared much about books until we took to reading aloud, isn't it?

Come over and settle down. I think we'll turn in early to-night, if you don't mind, girl. I want to do some extra work, to-morrow."

She came to him rather slowly.

"Mr. Masterson was here to-day," she said reluctantly. "He came by chance, to borrow something for his automobile. I think it was a tire-pump. Of course he was surprised to find me. And he left this for you."

Astonished, he took the card, pulling her down beside him; and they read the message together. It was very brief, yet somehow carried a force of compulsion. Masterson urged his friend to go that night to the ball-room of a certain restaurant known to every New Yorker, and there wait until he, Masterson, joined him.

There was a pause after the reading. Adriance stared at the card with the knitted brow of perplexity, while Elsie watched his face in tense suspense.

"It would be too late, now, anyway," she murmured, tentatively. "It is eight o'clock."

Adriance aroused himself and laughed.

"Oh, innocence! That ball-room does not open until eleven, fair outlander. But you had better get ready, for we have a quite respectable distance to go. Here vanishes our quiet evening!"

"We? You would take me?"

He regarded her curiously.

"Did you suppose I would go without you? We will have to go, because Fred means this; I know him well enough to tell. I'm afraid he is in some kind of trouble."

Elsie shut her eyes for a moment, mastering her pa.s.sionate relief. She opened them to a new thought.

"Anthony, I haven't any clothes, for such a place."

"Neither have I," he calmly dismissed the matter. "We will go in street costume. It doesn't matter, since we do not want to dance. By the way, can you dance?"

"Certainly."

"The new dances?"

"Some of them," a dimple disturbed her smooth cheek. "Not the very new one."

"Well, I'll teach you. But you will only dance with me," he stated with finality.

Absurdly happy in the jealous prohibition, she went to make ready.

Elsie Murray had possessed one dress that Elsie Adriance never had worn.

It was a year old, one brought from her distant home, but so simply made that its fashion would still pa.s.s. It was an afternoon, not evening gown; a clinging, black sheath of chiffon and net, covering her arms, but leaving bare the creamy pillar of her throat. The cloudy darkness echoed the dark softness of her hair and threw into relief her clear, health-tinted beauty of complexion. When she wore it into the room where her husband waited, he greeted her with a whistle of surprise and pleasure.

"Some lady!" he approved. "What did you mean--no clothes? Have I seen that before?"

"No. Do you like me this way?"

He put his hands on her shoulders, looking down into her eyes.

"Of course. But don't you know it doesn't matter what you wear or have?"

he asked. "We have got away beyond that, you and I."

They walked to the ferry; two miles through the cold darkness. But they found the journey a pleasure, not a hardship. Elsie had taught Anthony her art of extracting amus.e.m.e.nt from each experience. On the ferryboat, they had sole possession of the deck. "Mollycoddles," Elsie called the pa.s.sengers who huddled into the cabins. The wind painted her cheeks and lips scarlet, as she leaned over the rail to hear the crunch of drift ice under the boat's sides. The two evoked quite a sense of arctic voyage, between them. Anthony gravely insisted he had seen a polar bear on one tossing floe. They were happy enough to relish nonsense; and more excited by the coming meeting and place of meeting than either would have admitted.

CHAPTER XIV

THE CABARET DANCER

It was eleven o'clock when they entered the revolving door of the restaurant appointed, and faced a group of lounging attendants in the lobby; cynical-eyed servitors, all. Tony Adriance was recognized by these with a vivifying promptness; at once he was surrounded, addressed by name, had officious service pressed upon him. It was strange to the girl to see him so familiar in this place where she never had been; strange, and a little disquieting. But her grave poise was undisturbed.

She left her simple hat and coat with a maid, aware of their unsuitability for the place and hour.

They did not enter the crowded room to their right, where an orchestra was overwhelming all other and lesser din with a crashing one-step.

Instead, Anthony turned up a shining marble stair with a plush-cushioned bal.u.s.trade and too much gilding. Elsie viewed herself beside him in mirrors set in the wall at regular intervals.

The stairs ended at an arcaded hall, beyond which lay a long, brilliant room, comfortably filled with people at supper. Filled, that is, according to its arrangement: the entire central s.p.a.ce of gleaming, ice-smooth floor was empty, the tables were ranged around the four walls. The guests here wore evening dress, for the most part, so that the room glowed with color, delicate, vivid or glaring, as the taste of the owner dictated. Here there was comparative quiet; the voices and laughter were lower in pitch than down-stairs.

"Is Mr. Masterson here?" Anthony questioned the head waiter, who hastened to meet the arriving couple.

"Not yet, Mr. Adriance," the man answered deferentially. "At twelve, he comes. May I show you a table, sir?"

"Yes. Not too near the music--Mrs. Adriance and I want to hear each other speak."

"Certainly, sir. The drum _will_ be loud, sir; but the dancers like it."

Elsie caught the man's side glance of respectful curiosity and interest directed toward herself, and understood why Anthony deliberately had fixed her ident.i.ty as his wife. Pride warmed her, and love of his consideration for her; suddenly she was able to enjoy the scene around her. She felt no self-consciousness, even when the elaborately gowned and coifed women glanced over her appraisingly as she pa.s.sed by their tables. She looked back at them, serenely sure of herself. She was not at all aware that many of the men stared at her with startled admiration of a visitor alien to this atmosphere. Adriance saw well enough, however. Elsie had an innocent dignity of carriage that, joined with her gravely candid gaze, was not a little imposing. Moreover her pure, bright color and clear eyes were disconcertingly natural beside the artificial beauties. Pride of possession tingled agreeably through him; he had not thought of this or expected the emotion.

When the two were seated opposite one another, the regard they exchanged was of glowing content. Adriance ordered supper with the interest of appet.i.te and with a fine knowledge of her tastes and his own. Then, at ease, they smiled at each other. The extravagance of the feast was of no moment. The utter simplicity of their daily life made Anthony's salary more than sufficient; they already possessed the resource of a bank account.

So far, there had been no music, except faint echoes from the room below. Now a tinkle of strings sounded delicately, swelling from a single note into a full, minor waltz melody. Turning, Elsie saw the musicians. They were negroes; not a band or an orchestra, merely a pianist, two men with mandolins and as many with banjoes, and one who handled with amazing dexterity a whole set of sound producers; a drum, cymbals, bells, a gong, even an automobile horn. From one to another instrument, as the character of the piece demanded, this performer's hands and feet flew with accuracy and ludicrous speed. But the music was more than good, it was unique, inspired; it snared the feet and the senses. All round sounded the sc.r.a.ping of chairs pushed back, as men and women rose to answer the call. In one short moment the place changed from a restaurant to a ball-room.