The Madness of May Part 9

"You are wonderful--bewildering," Deering stammered.

The old gentleman was inveighing at Hood upon America's lack of mirth; the American people had utterly lost their capacity for laughter, the old man averred. Deering's fork beat a lively tattoo on his plate as he attacked his caviar.

And then another girl entered and walked to the remaining vacant place opposite him.

"Smeraldina," murmured the mistress of the house, glancing round the table, and calmly finishing a remark the girl's entrance had interrupted.

Deering's last hold upon sanity slowly relaxed. Unless his wits were entirely gone, he was facing his sister Constance. She wore a dark gown, with white collar and cuffs, and her manner was marked by the restraint of an upper servant of some sort who sits at the family table by sufferance. He was about to gasp out her name when she met his eyes with a glinty stare and a quick shake of the head. Then Pierrette addressed a remark to her--kindly meant to relieve her embarra.s.sment--referring to a walk over the hills they had taken together that afternoon.

"Ah, Smeraldina!" cried Pantaloon, "how is that last chapter? Columbine refuses to show me any more of the book until it is finished. I look to you to make a duplicate for my private perusal."

Here was light of a sort upon the strange household; its mistress was a writer of books; Constance was her secretary; but the effort to explain how his sister came to be masquerading in such a role left him doddering, and that she should refuse to recognize him--her own brother!

"If that new book is half as good as 'The Madness of May,'" Pantaloon was saying, "I shall not be disappointed."

"Oh, it's much better; infinitely better!" Constance declared warmly.

"Tuck, do you realize we are in the presence of greatness?" cried Hood.

Then, turning to Columbine: "The author will please accept my heartiest congratulations!"

"Thank you kindly," replied the hostess. "I'm fortunate in my secretary.

Smeraldina is my fifth, and the first who ever made a suggestion that was of the slightest use. The others had no imagination; they all objected to being called Smeraldina, and one of them was named Smith!"

"I'm afraid I'm the first who ever had the impertinence to suggest anything," Constance answered humbly.

This was not the sister Deering had known in his old life before he fell victim to the prevailing May madness. She was in servitude and evidently trying to make the best of it. She had been the jolliest, the most high-spirited of girls, and to find her now meekly acting as amanuensis to a lady whose very name he didn't know sent his imagination stumbling through the blindest of dark alleys.

Only the near presence of Pierrette and her perfect composure and good-nature checked his inclination to stand up and shout to relieve his feelings.

"I hope you don't mind my not turning up for breakfast," she remarked in her low, bell-like tones.

Deering's hopes rose. That breakfast at the bungalow seemed the one tangible incident of his twenty-four hours in Hood's company and, perhaps, if he let her take the lead, he might find himself on solid earth again.

"I'd been week-ending with Babette; she's an artist, you know, and I'm posing for another of mamma's heroines. Babette got me up at daylight to pose for the last picture and then--I skipped and left her to manage the breakfast."

Her laugh as she said this established her ident.i.ty beyond question. For a moment the thought of the packages of worthless wrapping-paper he had found in his suitcase chilled his happiness in finding her again; but it had not been her fault; the unbroken seals fully established her innocence.

"You understand, of course, that it's a dark secret that mother writes.

She had scribbled for her own amus.e.m.e.nt all her life, and published 'The Madness of May' just to see what the public would do to it."

"I understand that it's immensely amusing," remarked Deering, thrilling as she turned toward him.

"Oh, you haven't read it!" she cried. "Mamma, Mr. Tuck hasn't read your book."

"My young friend is just beginning his education," interposed Hood. "I unhesitatingly p.r.o.nounce 'The Madness of May' a cla.s.sic--something the tired world has been awaiting for years!"

"Right!" cried Pantaloon. "You are quite right, sir. 'The Madness of May'

isn't a novel, it's a text-book on happiness!"

"Truer words were never spoken!" exclaimed Hood with enthusiasm.

"Do you know," began Deering, when it was possible to address Pierrette directly again, "I don't believe I was built for this life. I find myself checking off the alphabet on my fingers every few minutes to see if I have gone plumb mad!"

She bent toward him with entreaty in her eyes. He observed that they were brown eyes! In the starlight he had been unable to judge of their color, and he was chagrined that he hadn't guessed at that first interview that she was a brown-eyed girl. Only a brown-eyed girl would have hung a moon in a tree! Brown eyes are immensely eloquent of all manner of pleasant things--such as mischief, mirth, and dreams. Moreover, brown eyes are so highly sensitized that they receive and transmit messages in the most secret of ciphers, and yet always with circ.u.mspection. He was perfectly satisfied with Pierrette's eyes and relieved that they were not blue, for blue eyes may be cold, and the finest of black eyes are sometimes dull.

Gray eyes alone--misty, fathomless gray eyes--share imagination with brown ones. But neither a blue-eyed nor a black-eyed nor a gray-eyed Pierrette was to be thought of. Pierrette's eyes were brown, as he should have known, and what she was saying to him was just what he should have expected once the color of her eyes had been determined.

"Please don't! You must never try to _understand_ things like this! You see grandpa and mamma love larking, and this is a lark. We're always larking, you know."

Hood's voice rose commandingly:

"Once when I was in jail in Utica----"

Deering regretted his shortness of leg that made it impossible to kick his erratic companion under the table. But a chorus of approval greeted this promising opening, and Hood continued relating with much detail the manner in which he had once been incarcerated in company with a pickpocket whose accomplishments and engaging personality he described with gusto. There was no denying that Hood talked well, and the strict attention he was receiving evoked his best efforts.

Deering, covertly glancing at his sister, found that she too hung upon Hood's words. Her presence in the house still presented an enigma with which his imagination struggled futilely, but no opportunity seemed likely to offer for an exchange of confidences.

Constance was a thoroughbred and played her part flawlessly. Her treatment by her employer left nothing to be desired; the amusing little grandfather appealed to her now and then with unmistakable liking, and the smiles that pa.s.sed between her and Pierrette were evidence of the friendliest relationship.

The dinner was served in a leisurely fashion that encouraged talk, and Deering availed himself of every chance for a tete-a-tete with Pierrette. She graciously came down out of the clouds and conversed of things that were within his comprehension--of golf and polo for example--and then pa.s.sed into the unknown again. But in no way did she so much as hint at her ident.i.ty. When she referred to her mother or grandfather she employed the pseudonyms by which he already knew them.

While they were on the subject of polo he asked her if she had witnessed a certain match.

"Oh, yes, I was there!" she replied. "And, of course, I saw you; you were the star performer. At tea afterward I saw you again, surrounded by admirers." She laughed at his befuddlement. "But it's against all the rules to try to unmask me! Of course, I know you, but maybe you will never know me!"

"I don't believe you are cruel enough to prolong my agony forever! I can't stand this much longer!"

"Perhaps some day," she answered quietly and meeting his eager gaze steadily, "we shall meet just as the people of the world meet, and then maybe you won't like me at all!"

"After this the world will never be the same planet again. Hereafter my business will be to follow you----"

She broke in laughingly, "even to the Little Dipper?"

"Even to the farthest star!" he answered.

After coffee had been served in the drawing-room, Hood, again dominating the company (much to Deering's disgust), suggested music. Pierrette contributed a flashing, golden Chopin waltz and Pantaloon Schubert's "Serenade," which he played atrociously, whereupon Hood announced that he would sing a Scotch ballad, which he proceeded to do surprisingly well.

The evening could not last forever, and Deering chafed at his inability to detach Pierrette from the piano; but she was most provokingly submissive to Hood's demand that the music continue. Deering had protested that he didn't sing; he hated himself for not singing!

He fidgeted awhile; then, finding the others fully preoccupied with their musical experiments, quietly left the drawing-room. It had occurred to him that Constance, who had disappeared when they left the table, might be seeking a chance to speak to him and he strolled through the library (a large room with books crowding to the ceiling) to a gla.s.s door opening into a conservatory, which was dark save for the light from the library.

He was about to turn away when an outer door opened furtively and Ca.s.sowary stepped in from the grounds. The chauffeur glanced about nervously as though anxious to avoid detection.

As Deering watched him a shadow darted by, and his sister--unmistakably Constance in the dark gown with its white collar and cuffs that she had worn at dinner--moved swiftly toward the chauffeur. She gave him both hands; he kissed her eagerly; then they began talking earnestly. For several minutes Deering heard the blurred murmur of rapid question and reply; then, evidently disturbed by an outburst of merriment from the drawing-room, the two parted with another hand-clasp and kiss, and Ca.s.sowary darted through the outer door.

Constance waited a moment, as though to compose herself, and then began retracing her steps down the conservatory aisle. As she pa.s.sed his hiding-place Deering stepped out and seized her arm.

"So this is what's in the wind, is it?" he demanded roughly. "I suppose you don't know that that man's a bad lot, a worthless fellow Hood picked up in the hope of reforming him! For all I know he may be the chauffeur he pretends to be!"

She freed herself and her eyes flashed angrily.

"You don't know what you're saying! That man is a gentleman, and if he went to pieces for a while it was my fault. I met him at the Drakes' last year when you were away hunting in Canada. He came to our house afterward, but for some reason father took one of his strong dislikes to him, and forbade my seeing him again. I knew he was with this man Hood, and when I left the table awhile ago I met him outside the servants'