Round the Corner in Gay Street Part 38

"Do I look it?"

"My imagination fell a long way short. It's months since I 've seen you in this sort of thing."

He indicated her gauzy evening frock of pale rose-colour. A wreath of tiny rosebuds crowned her hair; a little silver basket of roses, ribbon-tied, lay in her lap, a dinner favour like those the others carried, but suiting her attire with special charm.

"Do you remember our first party?" asked Shirley, smiling at him.

"I certainly do," Peter a.s.sured her. "You had on a white dress and pink ribbons--pink slippers, too. You came up and slid your hand into mine, because you saw I was feeling lonely. You were jolly kind to me that night, and I never forgot it. I suppose I was a pitiful object, standing there looking on, all by myself."

"You did n't look pitiful at all, but rather superior, if I remember, like a big St. Bernard, condescending to watch the antics of a lot of frolicsome terriers."

Peter threw back his head and laughed low, with a gleam of white teeth.

Whatever there might have been that was odd about Peter's appearance at that first party, there could be no criticism of his looks to-night.

Olive, taking critical note of Shirley's companion, owned that she should feel no hesitation in presenting him to Mr. Arthur Crewe and his brother as a connection of the family. When that moment arrived, the American and the Englishmen appeared to take a frank liking to one another on the spot, for the Crewes both sat down to talk, and Peter, sitting up, met them half-way in a cordial effort to become acquainted in the brief time allotted them.

"Will you tell me what you think of him?" It was Olive, slipping for a moment toward the end of the evening into the chair by Peter's, he being temporarily left to himself.

"I think he's a man," said Peter, heartily, and to the point. "There 's nothing better I could say than that, is there?"

"I suppose not, being one yourself. A woman would think it necessary to add a number of complimentary things about his appearance and his manner and all that."

"I could do that, at a pinch," said Peter, smiling, "for my memory would tell me that they were all right, though I thought nothing about them at the time. I was looking to see what it was you were going to marry, and I found out--as far as a half-hour's talk would show it. I wish you great happiness, Olive--and I believe you 'll get it."

"Thank you," and Olive was gone again, being in constant demand, as the central figure of the occasion. She found time, however, to ask much the same question of Arthur Crewe concerning Peter Bell, and received so nearly the same sort of answer that she laughed, and told him of the similarity in the two estimates.

"I am flattered," said Crewe, "for I don't know when I 've met a young American I 've liked better. He 's both frank and reserved--a combination which appeals to me. It looks a bit as if you were going to have him in the family, I believe you told me? I sincerely hope you will--though, if you don't mind my saying it, now that I see your sister, I feel as if I 'd like to leave Geoffrey here for the summer, with deliberate intention. I fancy it's too late for that, though."

"I 'm glad you like Peter. It would be too unkind to the family to take more than one daughter to England."

"See how well Geoffrey appreciates his privileges?" whispered Crewe, indicating his brother, as that personable young man went by with Shirley, his manner suggesting concentration of attention upon the subject in hand. Then he looked in Peter's direction. "The chap in the chair isn't deserted, is he? I think each bridesmaid has taken a turn at him, and he seems equal to them all."

However this might have been, Peter found himself thoroughly weary at the end of the evening, and glad to be put into a wheeled chair and taken home, ignominious as that mode of departure seemed. Arthur Crewe insisted on walking at Peter's elbow, all the way round to the house in Gay Street and the two parted with friendly warmth of good-will on each side.

According to Nancy, who kept Peter informed, Geoffrey Crewe neglected none of the opportunities afforded him by his brief visit, and in one way and another Shirley was kept busy all the next day. The wedding was to take place in the evening, so Peter had plenty of time to rest and reflect on the advantages an able-bodied man has over a temporary cripple, as he caught glimpses, from time to time, of such sights as Shirley driving off in the trap with the younger Englishman, or sitting beside Brant Hille as he took a portion of the bridal party away for a spin in his big green car.

Olive had chosen to be married at home, so every effort at effective decoration had been expended upon the house and grounds in Worthington Square. For a hot night in July, it was expected that the outdoor arrangements would be most popular, and the great lawn, with its natural beauties of landscape-gardening enhanced by the devices of electricity and Chinese lanterns, flowers and bunting, was like a fairyland.

"If a fellow's will amounted to anything, a scene like this would make him get on his legs, if both of them were only just out of the repair-shop!" groaned Peter, as he was brought through the gates by Rufus at an early hour. He took note of the paths winding away through the grounds, made enticing to promenades by every witchery of art, and his imagination already pictured Shirley, in her maid-of-honour attire, floating away down one of them, devotedly attended by Brant Hille or Geoffrey Crewe.

"Cheer up. The wounded-hero role is awfully taking with the girls, you know," consoled Rufus, divining the tantalising effect of this stage setting upon his handicapped brother.

"Wounded hero be shot!" retorted Peter.

"It would be the most soothing thing that could happen to him. Would you like to change places with him, instead of being able to dash about in search of what you want?"

"I shouldn't mind, if my crippled condition seemed to have the hypnotic effect yours did last evening. According to Nancy, the bride-elect was n't in it with you at posing as an interesting figure. She said the bridesmaids were four deep around you."

"Kind-hearted things--they were nearly the finish of me. When I become a society man please notify my family. I shall not have the brains, myself."

"I will. Where will you be placed for the ceremony?"

"Behind a screen of palms, if possible," requested Peter. He did not get his wish literally, but by grace of a special plea to one of the ushers, he was put in an inconspicuous place of great advantage, where he could not only view the entire scene, but could watch the bridal party during its whole course, from stair-landing to improvised altar beneath a vine-covered canopy at one end of the long drawing-room.

Olive made a strikingly beautiful bride, as her friends had known she would, and her bridesmaids were nearly all more than ordinarily fair--or seemed so in their picturesque garb. But to Peter, in all the bridal party there was only one face and figure worth more than a moment's glance. And when the maid-of-honour finally turned away from the altar to take her position by the side of the best man for the ceremonies of reception and congratulation which followed upon the conclusion of the marriage service, the one onlooker who could not get up and take his place in the gay company forming in line to greet the bridal party, was feeling more than ever like a stranded ca.n.a.l-boat in the company of a fleet of racing yachts.

They came to him, however, when they were free--Olive Crewe and her husband, Shirley and Mr. Geoffrey Crewe, several of the bridesmaids, and even Brant Hille, and Peter said all the things that were expected of him, and said them well. He might be no "society man," as he had said, but he possessed the self-command and quickness of wit which take the place of familiarity with such situations. Arthur Crewe liked him better than ever as the two shook hands, and Peter spoke his quiet but earnest words of felicitation and prophecy for the future.

"I 'm sorry I can't be here to see you when you get about again," said Crewe, at parting. "I can quite fancy the energy and enthusiasm you put into your work."

"I don't need to see you at yours to be sure you 're a steam-engine both at project and performance," responded Peter, smiling.

"We 'd work jolly well together, I venture to say," said the Englishman.

"Perhaps we'll have the chance some day."

"I wish we might," and Peter gave the friendly hand a hearty grip.

"Good-bye--good-bye. The best of luck."

Peter sat alone upon the Townsend porch, waiting for someone to come and take him home. Everything was over; the bridal pair had gone; the last lingerers along the lantern-lighted paths among the shrubbery had straggled in and reluctantly taken their departure. The big marquee in the centre of the lawn, where supper had been served, was empty except for scurrying caterer's men. The string orchestra stationed in the summer-house had at last stopped playing, mopped their perspiring heads, and packed up their instruments. Mrs. Townsend had betaken herself to her room in a state of collapse, requiring the attendance of her husband and Jane; and Murray paced up and down the upper hall, thinking to himself that he had never before realised what unpleasant things weddings were when they occurred in one's own family.

As for Shirley, no one had laid eyes upon her since the moment when the Townsend landau had driven away, with everybody throwing confetti, and Olive, leaning out, had flung her bouquet straight at her sister's feet.

Everybody had laughed as Shirley picked it up, but the girl had run away with the white bridal roses crushed close against her breast, her lips set tight and her eyes brilliant with unshed tears. She and Olive had been more to each other during this last year than ever before--and England, as a place of permanent residence, seemed a very, very long way off.

It was odd that at the last everybody seemed to have forgotten Peter.

Ross, laughing with a pretty girl, had walked directly past him and gone home, unmindful. Peter had supposed he would come back, but he did not.

The servants were busy, the quiet of the deserted porch restful, and Peter leaned his head against one of the tall white pillars, thinking less of the evening that was past than of the future that was, coming--so soon as he could walk st.u.r.dily about once more.

Up through the narrowest and least conspicuous path of all, one which few of the wedding revelers had noticed because its entrance was designedly unlighted, came a slim white figure with bent head. Peter, gazing dreamily out over the lawn, saw it at once, and recognised it with a start of gladness.

Shirley came on across the velvety gra.s.s without looking up, and slowly ascended the porch steps with her eyes still cast down. Reaching the top, she turned about and stood leaning against the pillar, on the other side of which was Peter's chair, without noticing his presence, staring off at the rainbow-tinted lights, and seeing a little misty halo about each one.

When she had stood motionless there for some time, Peter spoke, so quietly that he hardly startled her. She turned about with a little choking breath, said, "Oh, is it you?" in a tone of relief, and resumed her former position.

"I wish I could help make it easier," said Peter, very gently. "You 've made things easier for me so many times, first and last."

"You do," said Shirley, in a half-whisper.

"Do I? I'm glad. But how?"

"Just by being there."

Peter's face lighted up. This was a most unusual tribute from his independent little friend. He got slowly to his crutches, and with a greater effort than he had yet made, came stumping round to her side of the pillar, and stood near her, leaning against a great green tub which held a towering palm. He felt somehow as if he must be literally upon his feet in order to stand by her in this crisis.

Both were silent again for some minutes, until suddenly Shirley looked round at him, and exclaimed, "Why, I mustn't let you stand like this!

Please sit down again."

"Not unless you do."