An American Politician Part 16

"Yes?" said John, smiling faintly.

"Mr. Harrington--did you read that article about you, the day after the skating party?"

"Yes," said John. "It was not complimentary, if I remember."

"It was vile," said Joe, the angry color rising to her temples again. "It was abominable. It was written by Mr. Vancouver."

John started slightly.

"I think you must be mistaken," he said.

"No, I am not mistaken. There were things in it, word for word as he said them to me just after the speech. I am perfectly sure."

John looked very gravely at Joe, as though to be sure of her honesty.

There was no mistaking the look in her eyes.

"Miss Thorn," John said, "Vancouver may have said those very things to some one else, who wrote them and printed them. But in any case, I am exceedingly obliged to you for the information"--

"You are not angry?" Joe began, already repenting.

"No--how could I be? It may be important. The junior senator for Ma.s.sachusetts died this morning, and there may be an election at any moment. I have not told any one else, but it will be known everywhere in an hour's time. Good-by, and many thanks."

"You will be senator, of course?" said Joe, in great excitement.

"I cannot tell," John answered. "Are you going down the hill?"

"No--thanks--I am going home," said Joe. "Good-by."

CHAPTER X.

Joe had been mistaken in thinking that Ronald would be less well received than herself. There was of course the usual amount of gossip concerning him, but as he refrained from eccentricities of dress when asked to dinner, and did not bet that he would ride his horse into the smoking-room of the Somerset Club, the gossip soon lost ground against the list of his good qualities. Moreover, he was extremely good-looking, and his manner was modesty itself. He admired everything he saw, partly because it was new to him, and partly because there was a good deal to admire.

For a day or two after the final scene with Joe he had avoided seeing her.

He had not been able to resist the temptation to go back on the same day, and he had spent some hours in considering that human affairs are extremely mutable. But the scenes about him were too new, and very many of the faces he saw were too attractive, to allow of his brooding for long over his misfortune. His first impulse had been to go away again on the very evening of his arrival. He had gone to see Joe, arriving during luncheon, in the expectation of seeing her alone again. There would be a scene of solemn farewell, in which he would bid her be happy in her own way, in a tone of semi-paternal benevolence, after which he would give her his blessing, and bid farewell to the pomps and vanities of society. He would naturally retire gloomily from the gay world, and end his miserable existence in the approved Guy Livingstone fashion of life, between cavendish tobacco, deep drinking, and high play. Joe would then repent of the ruin she had caused, and that would be a great satisfaction. There was once a little boy in Boston whose hands were very cold as he went to school. But he blew on them savagely, saying, "I am glad of it! It serves my father right for not buying me my gloves." That was Ronald's state of mind. He had led the most sober of lives, and the wildest dissipation he remembered was the Lord Mayor's supper to the Oxford and Cambridge crews, when he himself had been one of the winners. But surely, for a disappointed lover there could be no course so proper as a speedy death by dissipation--which would serve Joe right. Therefore, on his return to his hotel, he ordered whiskey, in a sepulchral tone of voice. He tasted it, and thought it detestable.

On reflection, he would put off the commencement of his wild career until the evening after he had seen Joe again. The ravages of drink would not be perceptible so soon, after all. He changed his tie for one of a darker hue, ate sparingly of a beefsteak, and went back to bid Joe a last farewell.

Sybil Brandon and Miss Schenectady were elements in the solemn leave-taking which Ronald had not antic.i.p.ated. Sybil, moreover, made a great effort, for she was anxious to help Joe as much as possible in her difficulties. She talked to Ronald with a vivacity that was unusual, and Joe herself was astonished at the brilliance of her conversation. She had always thought Sybil very reserved, if not somewhat shy.

Perhaps Sybil pitied Ronald a little. He was very quiet in his manner, though after the first few minutes he found himself talking much as usual.

True, he often looked at Joe, and then was silent; but then again he looked at Sybil, and his tongue was unloosed. He was grateful after a time, and he was also flattered. Besides, he could not help noticing that his new acquaintance was extremely beautiful. His conscience smote him as he realized that he was thinking of her appearance, and he immediately quieted the qualm by saying that it was but natural admiration for an artistic object. Ronald did not know much about artists and that sort of people, but the expression formed itself conveniently in his mind.

The consequence was that he accepted an invitation to drive with the two girls after luncheon, and when they left him at his hotel, a proceeding against which he vehemently protested on the score of propriety, he reluctantly acknowledged to himself that he had enjoyed the afternoon very much.

"Come and see us after five o'clock," said Sybil. "I will present you to Mrs. Wyndham. Nine hundred and thirty-six, Beacon Street," she added, laughing.

"With great pleasure--thanks," said Ronald.

"Good-by, Ronald dear," said Joe pleasantly.

"Good-by," he answered in a doubtful tone of voice, as he raised his hat; and the two girls drove away.

Sybil was apparently in very good spirits.

"Do not be frightened, Joe dearest," she said. "We will manage it very well. He is not hurt in the least."

"Really, I do not believe he is--so very much, you know," Joe answered.

But she was thoughtful, and did not speak again for some time.

It was on the morning after this that Joe read the article on John's speech, and met him by the Common. Ronald did not call during the day, and in the evening Joe went to her party as she had intended; but neither Sybil nor John Harrington were there. Sybil did not go to parties, and John probably had too much to do. But at supper Joe chanced to be standing near Mrs. Sam Wyndham.

"Oh, I so much wanted to see you, Miss Thorn," said the latter. "I wanted to tell you how much we like your cousin, Mr. Surbiton. He came today, and I have asked him to dinner to-morrow."

"Yes?" said Joe, turning a shade paler. "I am so glad you like him. He is a very nice boy."

"He is perfectly lovely," said Mrs. Sam, enthusiastically. "And he is so natural, you would not know he was English at all."

"Really?" said Joe, raising her eyebrows a little, but laughing at the same time.

"Oh my dear," said Mrs. Wyndham, "I always forget you are not one of us.

Besides, you are, you see."

Mrs. Wyndham rarely said a tactless thing, but this evening she was in such good spirits that she said what came uppermost in her thoughts. Joe was not offended; she was only bored.

"Will you not come and dine too, to-morrow night?" asked Mrs. Wyndham, who was anxious to atone.

"Thanks, awfully," said Joe, "but I have to dine with the Aitchisons."

Poc.o.c.k Vancouver, pale and exquisite as ever, came up to the two ladies.

"Can I get you anything, Mrs. Wyndham?" he inquired, after a double bow.

"No, thank you. Johnny Hannibal is taking care of me," answered Mrs. Sam, coldly.

"Miss Thorn, what can I get you?" he asked, turning to Joe.

"Nothing, thanks," said Joe, "Mr. Biggielow is getting me something." She did not look at Vancouver as she answered, and the angry color began to rise to her temples. Vancouver, who was not used to repulses such as these, and was too old a soldier to give up a situation so easily, stood a moment playing with his coat tails. A sudden thought pa.s.sed through Joe's mind. It struck her that, considering the situation of affairs, it would be unwise to break off her acquaintance with Vancouver at the present time. Her first honest impulse was to cut him and never speak to him again. But it was better to act with more deliberation. In the first place, there might be more to be learnt which might be of service to John; secondly, people would talk about it if she cut him, and would invent some story to the effect that he had proposed to marry her, or that she had proposed to marry him. It was contrary to her nature to pretend anything she did not feel, but it would nevertheless be a mistake to quarrel openly with Vancouver.

"On second thoughts--if you would get me a gla.s.s of water"--she said, speaking to him. He instantly disappeared; but even in the moment before he departed to execute her command he had time to express by his look a sense of injury forgiven, which did not escape Joe.

"What a hypocrite the man is!" she thought.

Vancouver on his part could form no conception of the cause of the coldness the two ladies had shown him. He could not know that Joe had discovered in him the writer of the article, still less could he have guessed that Joe had told John, and that John had told Mrs. Sam. He could only suppose that the two had been talking of something, and were annoyed at being interrupted.