People Like That Part 21

Mrs. Mundy, who had been told of their coming, opened the door for them in dressing-gown and slippers, and piloted them up-stairs and into my sitting-room, where Madeleine, at sight of Selwyn, burst into tears and buried her face on my shoulder. But the ten minutes were not entirely lost which pa.s.sed before we understood why the venture had been decided upon at this particular time, and how hard luck had prevented its fulfilment. Tears are effective. Selwyn weakened as rapidly as I could have wished.

"I haven't seen Harrie for two weeks. Ever since I've been here he's been writing me he was sick." Madeleine's words came stumblingly, and the corners of her handkerchief were pulled with nervous movements in between the wiping of her pretty brown eyes. "The day after Christmas I wrote him, breaking our engagement. I've never heard from him since. I don't even know that he got my letter."

Questioningly she looked at Selwyn, and her face, already colored, crimsoned yet more deeply.

"Neither do I." Selwyn's voice was gentle. Indignation at his and my involvement in what was not an affair of ours seemed to have vanished. "I redirected a number of letters to his new address, but--"

"His new address?" Madeleine looked puzzled. "I didn't know he had a new address."

"He is not living at home just now." The flush in Selwyn's face deepened also. "I have not seen him since Christmas day. But go on.

I did not mean to interrupt you."

"Three days ago Madeleine told her mother she'd broken with Harrie and was going to marry me." Tom was no longer to be repressed.

"She's had the devil of a time ever since, and yesterday I told her she shouldn't stand it any longer, and neither would I. Harrie has hypnotized her mother. She thinks--"

"I'm unkind and unsympathetic and hard and cruel to give him up because he is not well. It isn't that. You know it isn't that--"

Madeleine's fingers twisted in appeal and again her eyes were on Selwyn. "You think it's dreadful in me not to marry your brother--"

"No, I don't. I think it would be much more dreadful in you if you did marry him." Selwyn's hands made gesture. "However, we'll leave that out. You say you told your mother you intended to marry Tom?"

Handkerchief to her lips, she nodded. "I told her, and Tom wrote her, asking her consent. She wouldn't give it, and said I was ungrateful and had no ambition, and that if she had a stroke I'd be the cause. She's never had a stroke and is very healthy, but--"

Bursting into fresh tears, Madeleine this time hid her face in her hands, and Tom, wanting much to comfort, miserably ignorant of how to do it, and consciously awkward and restrained in the presence of witnesses, stood by her side, his hand on her shoulder, and at sight of him I reached swift decision.

"I'm glad you told her. You've been open and square and asked her consent. One can't wait indefinitely for consent to do things." I got up and took Madeleine by the hand. "Come in my room and take off your hat and coat. When we come back we'll talk about what is best to do."

Five minutes later we were back and, eyes bathed and face powdered, Madeleine gave evidence of fresh injections of courage, and quickly we began to plan. The 4 A.M. train was the best to take, but for half an hour we talked of whether Shelby or Claxon was the better town to go to for the marriage ceremony, which at either place could be performed without the consent of parent or guardian, and irrespective of the age of the applicants for the same. Though preferring Shelby, Tom agreed to Claxon on my insisting on the latter place, which was the Mecca for runaway couples from our section of the state. If I were going with them--

"Going with them?" The inflection in Selwyn's voice was hardly polite. "You don't intend--"

"Yes, I do. They've made a mess of the first try and they'll be caught and brought back if somebody isn't there to keep them from being held up. I'm going with them."

"How do you expect to hold off--the holding up?" Selwyn was staring at me and anxiety concerning Harrie was for the time in abeyance. He needed something to distract him. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I don't know--don't have to know until to-morrow--I mean later to-day." I motioned toward the hall and, following me into it, he partly closed the door behind us. "We'll let those children have a chance to say good night, and then please go home. And don't look at me like that! I don't approve of runaway marriages any more than you do. I'd never be a party to one, because I wouldn't marry an angel-man before I was twenty-one. Afterward running away wouldn't be necessary. Tom and Madeleine are not entirely to blame."

"The blame for this will be put on you. Mrs. Swink will credit you with the instigation and carrying out of the whole affair. You mustn't go with them, Danny. It isn't necessary."

"Maybe it isn't, but I'm going. I can't let a girl of Madeleine's age leave the house alone at half past three in the morning, and certainly I cannot let Tom come here for her. We will get to Claxon at ten o'clock and by that time Mrs. Swink will have finished her swooning and be working the wires. They'll certainly be held up at Claxon."

"Then why go there? Why not go on to Shelby?"

I shook my head. "Claxon is the better place. I don't know how it's going to be managed, but if one couldn't outmanoeuver mother Swink--.

It doesn't matter about my being blamed for helping them. Long usage has accustomed me to large shares of blame." I held out my hand.

"I'll be back to-morrow night. Come Thursday. I think by then--"

"There are few things you will let me share with you, but the blame that will come from this I am going to share whether you let me or not. I've gotten you into it and we'll see it through together. If you are going with them, I am going also. Good night." He dropped the hand he was holding and turned away. "Tell Tom I'm waiting, will you?"

CHAPTER XXIV

Telling Madeleine not to unpack her bags, I gave her one of my kimonos and ordered her to lie down while I slipped down-stairs for a few words with Mrs. Mundy. There was time for only a hurried talk, but during it I told her what I wanted her to do, what she must get Mr. Crimm to do, and also, if inquiry was made for me during the coming day she was to say I was out and she did not know just when I would be in. As Mrs. Swink was unaware that her daughter had made frequent visits to Scarborough Square at the same time Mr. Thomas Cressy happened to be there, she was hardly apt to a.s.sociate me with their departure from the city; still, with less justice I have been held responsible for things with which I had nothing to do, and, that Mrs. Mundy be prepared for possible questions, I gave her a few instructions concerning them.

She recalled clearly the conversation of which I had heard a few words, but the girl talking to her had not mentioned the name of the girl of whom she talked, or of that of the man who was being nursed by her.

"She spoke of her as a friend who was a fool to care for a man as she cared." Mrs. Mundy put her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. "She said--"

I got up. It was too late for details. "Find the girl who came to see you, and if the friend of whom she is speaking is Etta Blake, get her address and go to see her, if you can. If not, send Mr. Crimm.

Tell the latter he must find Harrie. He may be somewhere under an a.s.sumed name. So may Etta Blake. Do you suppose it is possible they--can be together somewhere?"

"Anything is possible." Mrs. Mundy blinked her eyes bravely to prevent my seeing the overpowering sleep in them, and quickly I went to the door.

"It's a shame you have to go to the train with us. You can come right back, however, and sleep as late as you want. The cab will be here at three-thirty. Take a nap until then, and don't look so worried. I'm not committing a crime. I'm helping to keep some one else from committing one. Good night." I kissed the dear soul and, leaving her, hurried up-stairs.

Madeleine was lying down when I came back in the room, and, wanting much to talk, she began to do so, but unfeelingly I made her stop.

Getting out the oldest and shabbiest dress I possessed, with a hat to correspond, I took off my party dress and slipped into a warm and worn wrapper. After putting a few things in a bag, without further undressing, I stretched out on the couch near the foot of the bed and in the dark called to Madeleine.

"You won't be a beautiful bride if you don't get some sleep. Shut your eyes." Mine were shut. I wasn't going to be married. I was only a very tired maiden-lady about to do something she had no business doing, and shamelessly I went to sleep and left Madeleine awake.

Seemingly I had slept but a few minutes when, opening my eyes, I saw Madeleine standing, fully dressed, by the side of my couch, and looking down at me. "It's ten minutes past three," she said. "I hate to wake you, but--"

Springing up, I threw off my wrapper and reached down for my shoes.

"If you'd waked me before you put on your dress you wouldn't have to take it off. You're going to wear that dress." I pointed to the one on the chair behind her. "I'm sorry your wedding garments can't be more festive, and that I'll have to wear your good clothes, but we mustn't run risks merely for pride. Take your dress off quickly and give it to me. Don't look at me, but hurry."

Madeleine's mind does not work as quickly as some people's, and a little time was lost in explaining that any description to which she would answer would have to apply to me, not her. In consequence the cab was at the door before she was fully garmented in my plainest clothes and I arrayed in her beautiful ones, and regretfully she looked at me. I am taller and slenderer than Madeleine, but fashion was in my favor, and the absence of fit and shortness of skirt gave emphasis of adherence to its requirements. I looked the part. She didn't.

At the station Tom and Selwyn were waiting and their puzzled incomprehension was even greater than Madeleine's had been.

Explanations included a few suggestions as to the wisdom of our separating and, the men agreeing, Selwyn and I went in the Pullman, and poor little rich Madeleine and Tom to a day-coach, where crying babies and peanut-hulls and close air and torn papers would have made them wretchedly unhappy had they not been happily unconscious of them. I was sorry for them, but marriage involves much. As the train pulled out I waved from the window to Mrs. Mundy, who, on the platform, waved back with one hand and with the other wiped her eyes.

Mrs. Mundy loves me, but she, too, does not always approve of me.

Travel evidently was light. The sleeper in which we found ourselves had barely two-thirds of the berths made up, and, the rest of the seats being empty, we took ours in a corner where in an undertone we could talk and not disturb others. Taking off Madeleine's handsome fur coat and newest hat I put the latter in its paper bag and gave the former to Selwyn to hang on a hook. Gloves and other things being disposed of, I again sat down and suggested that he, also, make himself comfortable, and at the same time change his expression.

"Later you can smoke, but at present you will have to be in here where I'm compelled to look at you. The photographic injunction to look pleasant oughtn't to apply only to the taking of pictures. For the love of Heaven, sit down, Selwyn, and behave yourself!"

Selwyn hung up his hat and coat and took the seat opposite mine.

From him came radiation of endurance, and, objecting to being endured, I spoke impatiently. I did not care to be traveling at four o'clock in the morning any more than he did, but much in life has to be done that isn't preferable. He had invited himself to take the trip. His desire to share any criticism coming to me for my part in it was sincere, but rather than shielding it might subject me to an increased amount. For the first time such a possibility came to me, and, looking up, I saw his eyes were gravely watching me.

"I thought I was behaving. I'm willing to play the part properly if I know the part, but I don't know it. Your intimations have been indefinite."

"There's been no time for any other sort. When Mrs. Swink learns that Madeleine and Tom have run away she will begin to ask where, and somebody will certainly suggest Claxon."

"Then why go to Claxon?"

"They're not going to Claxon. We are going there. Just this side is a little station at which they can take a local for Shelby. They will change at this station and go to Shelby while we keep on to Claxon and get off there."

"But last night you insisted on their going to Claxon." Selwyn's voice implied that a woman's methods of management were beyond a man's understanding.