The Wayfarers Part 13

"How did he get away?" asked Dosia. She longed pitifully to take the boy's little hand and kiss it, and hold it against her cheek, although the hurt had been over so long ago.

"Oh, he lit out when he was about thirteen. He didn't tell me the whole of it. He sold papers in New York, and went to night-school; and next he went to college and rowed in the crew. He met up with some of his own people, too. Then he was war correspondent in Cuba-I guess some of the wounded know what he did for them. Later he went to South America on some government business; he's a personal friend of the President. He's young, too, not more'n twenty-eight. He's bound to get ahead at whatever he sets himself to. But he's got an awful tender heart; I saw him nearly kill a big Swede once that was wallopin' a sick horse. What you laughin'

at, Miss Dosia? I reckon we're all of us made two ways. Shucks! it isn't _that_ time, is it?" He turned with startled amaze to look behind him at the clock that was striking.

"I'm afraid it is," affirmed Lois.

"Then I've got to make tracks to catch that eleven-fifteen. 'Tisn't manners to eat and run, I know, but-" He had risen and was swiftly putting on his coat in the hall. "Thank you, Miss Dosia, I guess I can get into this best by myself; I know where to humor the sleeve-linin'.

Is that my hat? Mrs. Alexander, I think a mighty lot of your hospitality; I do _so_. I-" He was loping down the path already, his long legs making preternatural shadows on the snow in the moonlight.

Dosia called after him mischievously, "You'd better wait until the twelve-three," before she shut the door. The momentary rush of cold air was as invigorating, as wholesome and clear in the atmosphere of the lamp-lit, evening-heated room, as Mr. Cater's presence had been.

She went to her room, leaving Lois down-stairs clearing away the remains of the little supper, her offer of a.s.sistance having been refused. Lois wished to be there alone when her husband came in, experience having taught her that he was much more apt to be communicative at that time than at any other. Fresh from a social experience, and feeling still the interest of it, he would like to talk of it; by morning it would have relapsed so deeply into his inner consciousness that it would take a sort of conversational derrick on the part of his wife to bring up any reminiscence whatever.

He came in now, fresh, eager, and alert, pleased and surprised to find traces of a convivial evening, when he had expected to be late.

"Mr. Cater has been here," announced Lois, in explanation.

"Cater! I'm sorry to have missed him."

"He was very sorry you were not at home. He did not go until eleven, and I was sure you would be in before that."

"Well, I meant to be."

"Yes; he was telling us so many things. Justin,"-something prompted her against her will to say what had been rankling in her memory,-"he thinks Mr. Martin is like a crab, and that he takes people in between his claws and pinches them. I wish you'd be careful."

Steel seemed swiftly to incase her husband. "He will not pinch me, at all events," he said shortly. After a moment's pause he made an effort to return to his former manner, but with an altered tone:

"I'm sorry I was kept so late. I was some time consulting with Selden about the house; you can have the closet. After that we were all talking at Leverich's. He had a friend out there to-night, a fine young fellow, extraordinarily interesting; he was giving us points on the South American trade. He's going to be of great use to us, he goes down there again in the spring. He's a fine-looking fellow, by the way, tall and well set up; he reminds me of Brent, Lois-you remember him? The same kind of bright, resolute face; only this man's browner."

Conscious of a perverse irresponsiveness in his wife, Justin turned to Dosia, who had slipped back into the room to look under the table and chairs for a blue bow that had fallen from her hair. She stood now in the doorway with it in her hand.

"He came up from the South the same day you did last fall, Dosia, he was in that wreck. It must have been a horrible thing." Justin broke off at the retrospection of the narrative.

"Yes," said Dosia in a whisper. She leaned against the door for support.

"You were fortunate to get off so well." Absorbed in his own recital, Justin did not observe her. "He was going from one car to another when the train went off the trestle-I don't wonder you would never talk about it, Dosia. He was able to help some of the survivors. There was a poor young girl who was alone, like you-he didn't know what became of her; he was ill himself in the hospital for two weeks afterwards. His description of the whole thing was extraordinarily vivid." Justin was now bolting windows and putting out lights as he talked. "You two girls must go to bed at once; it's nearly twelve."

"What was his name?" asked Dosia.

"His name? Why, I thought I'd told you. His name's Girard-Bailey Girard."

CHAPTER TEN

"Reginald has the measles."

Lois made the announcement breathlessly, as she stood outside of the drawing-room, addressing the visitors who sat on the sofa, talking to Dosia.

"The doctor has just gone, and he says it is the measles. I don't suppose I had better come in the room." There was a tone of resentment in her voice which seemed to originate in the idea of being excluded; in reality, it was caused by the bitter thought that she had known for a couple of days that Redge was not well, and that his father had been exacting with him. "I really suppose I had better not come in."

"Oh, don't mind me!" Mrs. Leverich, gorgeous in velvet and furs, spoke rea.s.suringly. "There are no children at our house, and I've had the measles."

"Of course, it's not scarlet fever," continued Lois, dropping into a chair, "or diphtheria. I suppose Zaidee will get it, and we have to be quarantined. I don't know what to do about you, Dosia." She was feeling the fell blow of a contagious disease, which upsets every previously stable condition.

"I've had the measles," said the girl, but she added with quick anxiety: "There are my lessons; do you suppose it will make any difference about them? I don't see how I can lose them now, and there's that concert Sat.u.r.day."

"If we're quarantined, you're quarantined," said Lois tersely. "If there was _any_ place where you could go and stay--"

"Mrs. Alexander, let her come to me," said Mrs. Leverich warmly. "I'd love to have her; I _really_ would. She can keep up with her lessons and engagements just the same then. You know, I'm always so happy when I can have a young girl in the house; and as for Mr. Leverich, nothing pleases him better. Go and pack your trunk at once, my dear, and we'll take it on the carriage as we go back."

Dosia looked hesitatingly at Lois.

"Why-I do not know," said Lois, surprised, yet considering.

"But _I_ do." Mrs. Leverich spoke with a cordial authority that, after a little more conversation, settled the matter.

Dosia packed up her belongings, with the sweet, wise little help of Zaidee, who brought shoes and slippers from the closet and toilet articles from the dressing-table, and in her efforts dropped the red ribbon from her hair into the trunk, to her own great glee, amid fond, swift huggings from Dosia. The latter arranged herself for this transmigration with quick, excited fingers, yet there was something on her mind. As she heard Lois on the floor below, she ran down to speak to her, half dressed: "Lois, I hate to leave you here alone; I don't mind being kept from things, really and truly. Let me stay and help you with dear little Redge." For once her sympathy made her natural.

"No, you had better go," said Lois. She had but one desire-to be left at liberty at last with her own. She added, to avoid further pleading:

"I would rather be alone."

"Oh!" exclaimed Dosia, shrinking. But conscience had unexpectedly claimed her, and she went on, hesitantly, with a painful timidity, her color coming and going:

"I wanted to ask-do you think I ought to go to Mrs. Leverich's, after what you said? Won't Mr. Barr be there?"

In the whole realm of the mother's mind there was no room for anything at present but her measles-smitten household. She looked at Dosia as if making an effort to understand. "Why, yes, I suppose he will be there.

Just don't have anything to do with him if you don't want to. You will not need to; he is out of the house most of the time, anyway."

"Oh, very well," a.s.sented Dosia, chilled and yet relieved. The blood of youth was already running riot at the delightful prospect of another change. But she slipped into the nursery to kiss poor little feverish Redge good-by, and leaned out of the carriage that was driving her away to wave her hand again and again to Zaidee, whose red cheeks and little snub-nose were pressed close to the window-pane.

Mrs. Leverich was a woman who was somewhat below par in birth and education, devoid of certain finer instincts, and used to an overflow of luxury in her daily living that amounted sometimes to vulgar display. To balance this, she was still handsome, if somewhat too stout, and hospitable to a superlative degree. "Staying company" was a necessity to her happiness. She had an absolute pa.s.sion for making other people comfortable, and surrounded her guests with a kindness and forethought so enveloping that it almost spoiled them for contact afterwards with a rude world. She really possessed in this regard an unselfish good-heartedness, mingled with a sort of vanity that was pleased with applause at its manipulations; her own comfort was indifferent to her beside the subtler and warmer pleasure of being the source of good to others. It is no figure of speech to say that she was willing to do anything to promote the welfare of her guests; it was no hardship to give up her own way in their interests, or to do any act, however tiring and distasteful, that gave pleasure to anyone. She hated cards, yet she would play long, tedious games with beaming incompetence, to make up a hand; she disliked the smell of tobacco, but was never satisfied until every man around her was happily supplied with cigars or pipes. Music was a jangle to her, and any book above the caliber of the fiction which displays a low-necked auth.o.r.ess upon the cover a weariness indeed; but she would labor unceasingly to place both music and literature within the reach of her guests. She had windows opened when she herself was chilly, and fires lighted when she was suffering with the heat; she took long drives in the hot sun when she would have much preferred a nap; she chaperoned girls uncomplainingly until five o'clock in the morning. The least wish of a guest, spoken or divined, was gratified if within her power. It is true that she had a retinue of servants at her command, but, if necessary, she would have served her guests with her own hands, and had been known to do so. There was only one drawback to her hospitality-she welcomed, but did not speed the parting guest. It was difficult indeed to leave without a pitched battle, and the effort of temporary disunion was so great as sometimes to result in a permanent rupture of friendship. Her "I see-you don't want to stay with us any longer" voiced that injured feeling which blasts whatever it comes in contact with, and which disclaimers serve only to heighten. Once away from her, her interest in the former guest ceased almost entirely, no matter how close the a.s.sociation had been under her roof; outside of it everyone was lost in a haze which called for a distinct and wearying effort, seldom undertaken, to penetrate.

In appearance she was on the Oriental type of her half-brother, Lawson Barr, but with a softness, both of expression and contour, which he did not possess. She was ten years older than he. Her motions and the tone of her voice were languid. Her husband-who enjoyed the benefits of being the chief and permanent guest in this household-was extremely fond of her, and proud of her beauty and popularity. Leverich was one of those coa.r.s.e-seeming and coa.r.s.e-acting men who, nevertheless, come of a race of gentlefolk, and who have innately, and no matter how much they may choose to overlay the fact, certain traditions. He had been known to say, in reb.u.t.tal of some criticism on his wife's breeding, what was quite true-that she was good enough for _him_; but he had, underneath, a little contempt for her because she was. It was one of the traditions that a man should find a quality in his wife to revere.

Leverich liked to surround his wife with luxuries, to give her everything that money could buy and that her gently sensuous temperament craved. Her attachment was riveted to him by gifts of clothing and jewelry and bric-a-brac as well as money-such things being to her the only tangible evidences of affection. Dosia had hitherto seen the house only as a caller. She was impressed now by the richness of the furnishings above, as she was led up to her room, a large, many-windowed apartment on the second floor. It was all a gleam of polished mahogany, and bra.s.s and mirrors and silver toilet articles, blended with rose-silk draperies; the alcoved bed was spread with a flowered silk counterpane, the floors covered with rich Eastern rugs; easy-chairs and low tables spread with books dotted the room; a couch piled high with down cushions stood at a seductive angle. A maid glided forward to take Dosia's hat and cloak, while another knelt at the hearth to light the logs upon the bra.s.s andirons, and Mrs. Leverich came in and out in an overflow of solicitude.

"I really think you had better rest. You _must_ be tired. No, of course"-at Dosia's laughing remonstrance-"the drive was nothing, but the shock-a shock like that tells on you before you know it. Here comes your trunk; have you the key? Elizabeth, unpack Miss Dosia's trunk, and get out a dressing-gown for her. I'm going to insist on your lying down on the lounge for a while. Now, don't do that, Elizabeth will take off your shoes for you. And, Amelia,"-this to the maid at the hearth,-"bring up some tea and biscuits. No, you don't care for tea?

Well, a gla.s.s of sherry, then, and some hothouse grapes. My dear Dosia,-you'll let me call you Dosia, won't you?-you may not feel the need of it now, but it will do you good. I'm not going to stay with you, I'll just move this little table with the magazines on it near you, and leave you to rest; but first I want to show you this." She opened the door of a smaller, hexagonal apartment adjoining. "I'm going to turn it into a music-room for you."

"Oh, Mrs. Leverich!" protested Dosia, in amazement.

"I've been thinking of it all the way home in the carriage. Of course, you won't want to practice down-stairs, where people are coming in and out all the time; it would be very annoying to you. This has been used as an extra dressing-room. I shall have those thick hangings taken down and the furniture moved out, and put in light chairs and a cottage piano, and a few palms over by the window. You'll see!"

"But, Mrs. Leverich--"

"Now, don't say a _word_; it's all settled. Elizabeth will come to you when it's time to dress, so you need give yourself no anxiety about that. Just let me draw this coverlet over you and tuck your feet in.