Eve to the Rescue Part 16

So the week pa.s.sed. Once even Eveley pretended business, and Sally and Nolan had luncheon together, and a drive later in Eveley's car. But Timothy put a stop to that.

"She is my fiancee. And I may have to marry her after all. And if I do, hanged if I want everybody in town thinking she was Nolan's sweetheart to begin with."

So Eveley waived that part of her plan, and the parties were always of three, and sometimes, but infrequently, of four. That Sally accepted their arrangements so easily, and took so much pleasure in their entertainment, argued well. One night she said:

"Of course, men have to work, but I shouldn't like my husband to dig away like a servant, should you, Eveley?"

And Eveley felt the time was ripe. The next day she told Timothy he might take Sally out alone in the car for a drive, and ask her if they should not be married right away. Eveley was willing to wager that she would reject him. Timothy consented with alacrity, seeming to feel the burden of his semi-attached state.

That evening at six-thirty, when Nolan came up for dinner, Eveley met him on the roof garden over the sun parlor.

"Nolan, something has happened. They went at two o'clock, and they aren't home yet. What do you suppose is the matter? Maybe they had an accident.

Maybe she got mad and wouldn't ride home with him. He wouldn't put her out, would he? Shall we notify the police?"

"I should say not. Don't worry. Let's have our dinner. They can eat the leavings when they come. He has probably learned, as other and wiser men have learned, that a pretty and pleasant girl is not half bad company.

I'll bet he is having the time of his life. My, it is nice to have you alone again. She is very sweet, and it's been lots of fun, but after all I am used to you, and this is nicer."

Nolan's prediction proved far from wrong. At ten-thirty, a messenger boy shouted up from below, and Nolan ran down. When he came back he carried a small yellow slip addressed to Eveley, which he promptly opened. And as she peered over his shoulder, they read it aloud, together, in solemn chorus.

"Three cheers and a tiger. She has accepted me, and we were married at Oceanside this afternoon. On our way to Yosemite for honeymoon.

I am the happiest man on earth. Tell Nolan to go to the d.i.c.kens.

Love from Sally and Timothy Baldwin."

Nolan lit a cigar and blew reflective rings into the air. "When a man is bitten with the germ of duty," he began somberly.

For a moment Eveley was crushed. Then she rallied. "Just as I told you, Nolan. As long as it was a painful duty, marriage between them was impossible, and would have wrecked both their lives. But our campaign brought about the proper adjustment and tuned them to love again. So it was not duty, but love, and marriage is a joy. Now I hope you are convinced that I am right, and won't argue with me any more. And if I ever had any doubts about that one exception I make in regard to duty, they are all gone now. I am dead sure of my one exception."

But when Nolan pressed her for an explanation, she begged him to smoke again, and let her think.

CHAPTER XII

THE REVOLT OF THE SEVENTH STEP

The sharp tap on Eveley's window was followed by an impatient brushing aside of the curtains, and Miriam Landis swung gracefully over the sill in a cloud of chiffon and silk.

"Lem is waiting in the car," she began quickly, "but I came up to show you my new gown. Are you nearly ready? Lem is so impatient, you know."

Fumbling with the fasteners of her wide cape she drew it back and revealed a bewilderingly beautiful creation beneath.

Eveley went into instant and honest raptures.

"Do you like it, Eveley? Am I beautiful in it?" There was a curious wistfulness in her voice, and Eveley studied her closely.

"Of course you are beautiful in it. You are a dream. You are irresistibly heavenly."

"I wonder if Lem thinks so," said Miriam, half breathlessly.

"Why, you little goose," cried Eveley, forcing the laughter. "How could he think anything else? There, he is honking for us already. We must hurry--Why, Miriam, you silly, how could any one think you anything in the world but matchlessly wonderful in anything--especially in a dream like that?"

Miriam fastened her wrap again silently, and got carefully out through the window.

"Twelve steps," cautioned Eveley. "You'd better count them, it is so dark, or you may stumble at the bottom."

Miriam, clinging to the railing on one side, pa.s.sed slowly down. "One, two, three, four, five, six." Then she stopped and turned.

"Seven." Looking somberly up to Eveley, standing above her, her face showing pale and sorry in the dim light, she said, "I have been married five years, Eve. You do not know what it is to spend five years struggling to maintain your charm for your husband. And never knowing whether you have failed or won. Always wondering why he finds more attraction in other women less beautiful and less clever. Always wondering, always afraid, trying to cling to what ought to be yours without effort. It isn't funny, Eveley." She turned slowly, to go on down, but Eveley laid a restraining hand on her arm.

"Five years? That is a long time," she said in a tender voice. "It must almost be his turn now. Five years seems very long to me."

Miriam pa.s.sed on down the stairs, counting aloud, eight, nine, ten, and on to the last. At the last step she turned again.

"He is my husband, Eveley. One must do what is right."

"Yes? Yet five years of duty does not seem to have brought you much happiness. At least you should not be selfish. You ought not to deny him the pleasure of doing his by you for the next five." Then she added apologetically: "Forgive me, Miriam. You know I should never have mentioned this if you hadn't spoken."

Miriam clung to her hand as they felt their way carefully around the house, Lem in the machine still honking for them to hurry.

At the corner she paused again. "You are very clever, aren't you, Eveley?"

"Well, yes, I rather think I am," admitted Eveley.

"How would you go about it?"

"The way Lem does," came the quick retort, and Miriam laughed, suddenly and lightly.

She was very quiet as they drove down Fifth Street. Only once she spoke.

"It was the seventh step, wasn't it, Eveley?"

"Yes, the seventh."

"The Revolution of the Seventh Step," she said, laughing again.

This was nonsense to Lem Landis, but he did not ask questions. Women always talked such rot to each other. And he was wondering if Mrs. Cartle would surely be at the ball?

"The way Lem does."

The words were startlingly sufficient. From five years of painful experience, Mrs. Landis knew how Lem did it. And so on this evening, as she stood beside him in a corner of the ballroom after their first greetings, and looked as he did with eager speculative eyes about the wide room, seeking, seeking, she felt a curious sympathy and harmony between herself and her husband. She knew without turning her head when the sudden brightening in his eyes came; and then he slowly made his way to the dim corner where Mrs. Cartle sat waiting.

But Miriam was not so quickly satisfied. There was Dan O'Falley, but his was such fulsome effrontery. There was Clifford Eggleton, but he had been a sweetheart of Miriam's in the old days before Lem came, and that seemed hardly fair. There was Hal Jervis, but he was too utterly wax in woman's hands to give her any semblance of thrill. Then her eyes rested on a profile in another corner of the room--a dark sleek head, a dark thin face, and the clear outline of one merry eye. Miriam appraised the head speculatively. Who in the world could it be? That merry eye looked very enticing. Ah, now she could see better--he was talking to the Merediths.

Then the merry-eyed one was a stranger--so much the better, the uncertainty of him pleased her. She was very weary of those she knew so well. She moved happily that way, suddenly surprised to know that she was not at all concerned because her husband sat in the distant corner with Mrs. Cartle. She felt for him to-night only a whimsical comradeship.

Stopping many times on her way to exchange a word and a smile, she finally drew near the corner where the sleek dark head and the merry eye had drawn her. Mrs. Meredith, seeing her, came to meet her, and drew her forward impulsively.

"Oh, Miriam, you must meet our friend, Mr. Cameron. He has only just come here to be with my husband in business, and we are going to love him, I know." And so immediately Miriam found herself looking directly, and with great pleasure, full into the merry eyes. The gown was beautiful upon her, she knew it positively, whether Lem had been stirred by the vision or not.