The Girl in the Mirror Part 14

"It's what Barbara and Mr. Warren would wish. And Mrs. Ordway, too, I think, though she would never suggest it."

"I'm sure it is."

Laurie hung up the receiver with a nervous hand. To a youth of twenty-four it is a somewhat overpowering experience to discover that destiny is especially busy over the affairs of two women for whom he has a.s.sumed a definite responsibility. As he turned from the instrument its bell again compelled his attention. He took up the receiver, and the voice of a girl came to his ear. A week or two ago he had rather liked that voice and its owner, a gay, irresponsible, good-hearted little creature who pranced in the front row of an up-town pony ballet. Now he listened to it with keen distaste.

"h.e.l.lo, Laurie," it twittered. "Is that you? This is Billie. Listen. I gotta plan. A bunch of us is goin' out to Gedney to supper to-night.

We're goin' to leave right after the show. Are you on?"

Laurie got rid of the fair Billie. He did it courteously but very firmly. A rather unusual degree of firmness was necessary, for Miss Billie was not used to having her invitations refused. She accepted the phenomenon with acute unwillingness and very lingeringly.

Bangs was not at home, to divert his chum's mind with his robust conversation. As he dressed for his call on Doris, the sharp contrasts of life struck Laurie with the peculiar force with which they hit the young and the inexperienced.

But were they really contrasts? On the one side were Louise, dying, and Doris, seemingly eager to die. On the other were Billie and her friends--foolish little b.u.t.terflies, enjoying their brief hour in the secret garden of life, eternally chattering about "good times," playing they were happy, perhaps even thinking they were happy, but infinitely more tragic figures than Louise and Doris. Yet a week ago he had thought they amused him!

Pondering on these and other large problems, he absently removed the bloom from three fresh white ties.

CHAPTER VII

GRIGGS GETS AN ORDER

At eight o'clock Laurie found Doris sitting under the shade of a reading-lamp in her studio, deep in the pages of a sophisticated French novel and radiating an almost oppressive atmosphere of well-being.

Subconsciously, he resented this. His mood was keyed to tragedy. But he returned her half-serious, half-mocking smile with one as enigmatic, shook hands with grave formality, and surveyed with mild interest a modest heap of bank-notes of small denominations that lay on the table, catching the room's high lights. Following his glance, Doris nodded complacently.

"I left them there for you to see," she remarked.

"Did the kind gentleman under the three b.a.l.l.s give you all that?"

"He did. Count it."

Laurie frowned.

"Don't be so arrogant about your wealth. It's fleeting. Any copy-book will tell you so."

She opened a small drawer in the table, swept the bills into it, and casually closed it. Laurie stared.

"Are you going to leave it there? Just like that?"

She looked patient.

"Why not?"

"I begin to understand why you are sometimes financially cramped."

He took the bills, smoothed them out flat, rolled back the rug to the edge of the table, laid the money under it, and carefully replaced the rug.

"That's the place to put it," he observed, with calm satisfaction. "No one connected with a studio ever lifts a rug. Bangs and I used to throw our money under the furniture, and pick it up as we needed it; but others sometimes reached it first. This way is better. How lovely you look!" he added. As he spoke he comfortably seated himself on the other side of the reading-lamp, and moved the lamp to a point where it would not obstruct his view of her.

She did look lovely. She had put on an evening gown, very simply made, but rich in the Oriental coloring she loved. She was like Louise in that. Laurie's thoughts swung to the latter's sick-room, and his brilliant young face grew somber. The girl lounging in the big chair observed the sudden change in his expression. She pushed a box of cigarettes toward him.

"Smoke if you like," she said, indifferently. "All my friends do."

He caught the phrase. Then she had friends!

"Including Herbert Ransome Shaw?" he asked, as he lit a match.

"Don't include him among my friends! But--he was here this afternoon."

"He was!" In his rising interest Laurie nearly let the match go out.

"What did he want?"

"To warn me to have nothing to do with you."

"I like his infernal cheek!"

Laurie lit the cigarette and puffed at it savagely. Then, rising, he drew his chair forward and sat down facing her.

"See here," he said quietly, "you'd better tell me the whole story. I can't help you much if I'm kept in the dark. But if you'll let me into things--And before I forget it," he interrupted himself to interject, "I want to bring a friend of mine to call on you. She will be a tower of strength. She's a Russian, and one of the best women I know."

She listened with a slight smile.

"What's her name?"

"Miss Orleneff, Sonya Orleneff, a great pal of my sister's and an all-round good sort. I'd like to bring her in to-morrow afternoon. Will five be convenient?"

"No." She spoke now with the curtness of the morning. "In no circ.u.mstances," she added, decisively.

"But--why?"

He was dazed. If ever a knight errant worked under greater difficulties than these, Laurie told himself, he'd like to know the poor chap's name.

"I have no wish to meet Miss Orleneff."

"But she's an ideal person for you to know, experienced, sympathetic, and understanding. She did a lot for my sister last year. I must tell you all about that sometime. She could do more for you--"

"Mr. Devon!" The finality of her tone brought him up short. "We must understand each other."

"I should like nothing better." He, too, was suddenly formal.

"This morning you projected yourself into my life."

"Literally," he cordially agreed.

"I am grateful to you for what you did and what you wish to do. But I will not meet any more strangers. I will not meet Miss Orleneff, or any one else. Is that clear?"