Captivating Mary Carstairs Part 31

Mrs. Marne, in a cushioned chair, was being markedly agreeable to her host.

"It's my _debut_ on a yacht," she was rattling away. "Is there any special etiquette? Coach me from time to time when you see me fumbling, won't you? And if there _is_ a code, there is one thing that I move shall go into it, here and now. Politics is--or are--_barred_ for the day! Will you make it a rule that whoever mentions it--or them--forfeits b.u.t.ter, Mr. Varney?"

Varney laughed. "A rank outsider myself," said he, "I'm absolutely willing. But I fear that in a division the nays would have it."

"You and I," she said, "against Mr. Maginnis and Pinky. A tie. Mary would have the deciding vote."

"Then you'd lose out," said her brother, whose social manner, it was developing, differed somewhat from that of his official moments.

"I know women," said Mrs. Marne. "I could lobby Mary over in exactly two minutes, Mr. Varney. Besides, she is absent at roll-call, you know."

"The point is well taken," said Varney, to whom the thought was anything but a novelty.

"There she is now," said Peter over their shoulders.

Varney turned and looked ash.o.r.e at the point where the gig was patiently waiting. There was no sign of anybody there.

"Upstream," added Peter, and the sudden honk of a motor-horn punctuated the observation like a full stop.

Two hundred yards above them, a narrow driveway circled down to the river to an ancient boat-house, and here the gaze of the little party turned. Where the road curved at the water's edge, there stood a great white touring-car, shining in the sun like a new pin. Upon the driver's seat sat a bare-headed young man with a brown face and light sunburned hair, brushed back. On the farther side of him, gloved hand holding to the seat back, stood a young girl in a blue linen dress and a rather conspicuously large hat, also of blue. Both of them were looking off toward the _Cypriani_. Now the horn tooted again in salutation; and the girl, catching their eyes, waved her hand and smiled, making a little gesture indicative of her lack of equipment to navigate the intervening stretch of water.

Mrs. Marne answered the salute in kind. Rea.s.suring gesticulations were duly wafted ash.o.r.e.

"Who's the new swain, Pinky?" demanded Mrs. Marne thoughtfully.

Pinky did not know. The sailing-master, at a word from Varney, hurled an order to the gig ash.o.r.e. Then he swept his megaphone upstream, pointing it straight at the motor:

"The gig is on the way to you now, Miss."

"That's an awfully sweet hat she's wearing," said Mrs. Marne. "I wonder where she found that shape."

Miss Carstairs nodded her thanks to the sailing-master. The bare-headed young man sprang down, a.s.sisted her to descend, waited with her at the water's edge, a.s.sisted her most thoroughly into the _Cypriani's_ gig. He was a handsome boy. He stood on the sh.o.r.e looking after the departing boat, laughing and calling out something.

"We wanted to have luncheon on deck," said Varney, abruptly, to Mrs.

Marne, "as the day is so uncommonly fine. But about noon there came up a little cloud no larger than a man's hand--it took a telescope to see it--and the steward, a p.r.o.nounced conservative, begged us not to trifle with our luck. It seems too bad to go indoors on such a glorious day."

"But if we were to stay outdoors," she laughed, "would it have been such a glorious day? These are the questions that make cynics of us all. I am unhappy, Mr. Varney, because I have to fly the moment luncheon is over.

The Married Women's Culture Club meets at four o'clock. Only fancy!--I am to read a paper on Immanuel Kant."

Peter, who had known no women in his life and was oppressed with the thought that Hare's sister was his personal responsibility for the day, was strolling moodily about the deck, hands thrust deep in his trousers pocket. Hare hung at the rail, his neat gla.s.ses turned upstream.

The gig came alongside and Miss Carstairs mounted the steps, the party gathered at the head of them to meet her. Peter, as it chanced, greeted her first. He had been introduced to her, in pa.s.sing, the night of the meeting, but now he was dimly conscious that he had rather underestimated her appearance.

"I am dreadfully sorry to be late," she said. "We went for the shortest little drive, and all at once it was two o'clock and we were three miles away."

"You must have done something to the speed-limit, madam," said Peter in his stiffest manner, "for you are in ample time."

"How do you do, Mr. Hare?"

"Excellently well, thank you, Mary. It is supererogatory to ask you."

"Pinky," said Mrs. Marne, "have that word and I met? I don't seem to recognize it."

"Good-morning, Mr. Varney." Mary offered him her hand; but, greeting her, he had turned to pull a chair out of her way, and so missed seeing it.

"It is a great pleasure to welcome you aboard the yacht, Miss Carstairs."

"If I seem at all addicted to melancholia to-day," said Mary, "you won't be surprised, will you? My mother isn't well--really! When I left her an hour ago, you might have supposed that we were parting for a year. And then, besides I had an omen--a mysterious warning...."

Varney's gaze became fixed. "A warning?"

She laughed. "A rather queer and scary one! I'll tell you presently."

"My dear," said Mrs. Marne, when Varney had turned to explain the working of the boat-falls to Hare, "_who_ is he? He is simply cunning!"

Mary laughed. Hare, who was listening to boat matters with one ear only, thought it was rather a conscious laugh.

"Only John Richards. He came up in his car yesterday to spend a day with us. How do you like my hat?"

"It's a love," said Mrs. Marne. "A great big love."

"I trimmed it myself. You recognize the feather, of course?"

They went down to luncheon. The ladies cried out with pleasure at the prettiness of the little saloon.

The room was darkened, through half-drawn shades, to a pleasant dimness. The table was round, red, and bare. It was a splendid ma.s.s of flowers. In the center was a great blossoming thing in a silver basket-frame, so large and high that when they were seated, Hare, who was neither, could just see Mary over the top of it. About it were four tall vases of cut roses, two of white, two of red. b.u.t.ton-holes in white and red lay at three covers, gigantic American Beauties, red, with flowing white ribbons, at two. And napery, silver, iridescent gla.s.s, all the materialities, were well worthy of so pretty a floral setting.

In short, it was a most alluring bait that Uncle Elbert's yacht had flung out for Uncle Elbert's daughter.

"These roses," said Mary, raising hers to her lips, "were never grown in Hunston."

"I want to explain a rule that Mr. Varney and I adopted just now, Mr.

Maginnis," said Mrs. Marne. "Did you hear it? It concerns the two subjects of b.u.t.ter and politics."

Hare lifted a gla.s.s of the _Cypriani's_ excellent sherry and caught his host's eye. "Mr. Varney! By a pleasant coincidence, we happen to be gathered here within a day or two of the birthday of one member of our charming party. The little discrepancy of date is immaterial--am I right? Why may I not propose the health and great happiness of Miss Carstairs?"

"Standing!" cried Mrs. Marne, pushing back her chair. "Bravo!"

They stood, gla.s.ses raised, turned toward Miss Carstairs, bowing, saluting her according to their several kinds; and she sat, looking up at them, laughing, flushed, prettily pleased by the little rite. For Varney, conscious of the mockery of his felicitations, there had been no escape. But Hare, who noticed everything, observed that he did not touch his gla.s.s to his lips.

The luncheon progressed merrily. It was evident from the beginning that it was to be a p.r.o.nounced success. Only Peter was stiff and bored; and even he grew somewhat enlivened before the ceremonies ended. There was Scotch and soda for the gentlemen, and he did not spurn it when the decanters pa.s.sed. Varney, whose want of appet.i.te pained McTosh, was a conversational tower of strength. But his talk was false-faced talk, his mirth was lying mirth, his smile a painted smile. Uncle Elbert's daughter sat at his left, as befitted a guest of honor. Her eyes, when she looked at him, were kind and friendly, but it early became his habit not to meet them; for he always saw behind that--saw them changed as he was destined to see them within the hour....

"So you're quite alive and well to-day!" she said to him presently.

"Will you believe that I picked up the _Gazette_ this morning with fear and trembling?"

"Oh--thank you--yes! We eluded Mr. Hackley's well-meant attentions with marvelous dexterity and success."

"Ah, you still don't take it seriously, I see. I'm going to make one more effort to frighten you to-day--but I'm afraid you are one of these terribly reckless people who think being safe is too tame to be interesting. What do you think of our poor little city, Mr. Varney?"