The Whirligig of Time Part 35

"She will if I have any influence with her," said James; "and I don't mind saying, between you and me and the gatepost, that I have a good deal! Only you must sing to us after dinner. You will, won't you?"

"My dear James, I don't suppose wild horses--"

"Oh, come now, you must!"

"I was going to say, wild horses couldn't stop me from singing, if I'm asked! Did you ever know me to refrain from singing, loudly and clearly, whenever I received the slightest encouragement?"

"I can't say--I haven't been here enough. I'm pretty sure, though, that there are no wild horses here to-night."

"I'm not so sure...." She took a rapid glance around the table. "Yes, there are at least two wild horses right here in this room. See if you can guess who they are."

"Oh, this is getting beyond me!"

"Guess!" said Madge, inexorably.

"Well ... Professor Dodd?"

"Right. Now the other."

"Oh--old George Harriman."

"No. You're on the wrong track; it isn't the unmusical people that keep me from singing; it's those who make me feel silly and _de trop_, somehow, when I'm doing it."

"I can't guess," said James after a pause.

"Well, it's Beatrice Carson!"

"No, not Beatrice! Why, she's very fond of music!"

"It's not that, as I tried to explain. She is such a wonderful, Olympian sort of person, so beautiful, so well-bred, so good, and tremendously wise and capable--you've heard about the work she's doing here in the Working Girls' League?"

"Something, yes."

"Well, it's perfectly extraordinary; they say she's been able to reach people no one else has ever been able to do anything with. Altogether, the thought of her listening to me makes me feel like a first-cla.s.s fool when I stand up and warble, and even more so when I think of the time and money I waste on learning to do a little bit better something that isn't worth doing at all!"

"But you teach school," objected James. "That's sound constructive work."

"That," replied Miss Elliston, "is not for eleemosynary reasons."

"But you do it very well."

"No, you're mistaken there, and beside, I hate teaching school; I simply _loathe_ it! Whereas ... let me tell you a secret. This singing business, this getting up in a drawing-room and opening my mouth and compelling people's attention, even for a moment--seeing people gradually stop talking and thinking about something else and wishing I'd stop, and at last just listening, listening with all their ears and minds to me, plain, stupid, vapid little ME--well, I just love it! It's meat and drink to me. Whenever I receive an invitation to dinner I want to write back, Yes, if you'll let me sing afterward!"

"Really," said James thoughtfully, "that's the way it is with you, is it?"

"I'm afraid so! You won't give me away though, will you, James?"

"Oh, no danger! And I'll promise you another thing--wild horses shan't have a chance when I'm around! Not one chance! Ever!"

He was flattered by her confidence, of course, as well as grateful for her tact. She had not only dragged him out of the water where he was floundering on to the dry land, but had gone so far as to haul him up an agreeable eminence before leaving him.

Conversation shifted again at that point and James turned again to Mrs.

Farnsworth. He got on very well with her from his eminence; so well that they remained conversationally united for the rest of dinner. In the course of their talk he thought of another thing that made him even happier; something he had not had a chance to realize before. Madge thought his momentary embarra.s.sment had been due to having broached the doubtful topic of the Carson family. She had no inkling of his feeling for Beatrice; the freedom of her references to Beatrice was proof positive of that. And if she did not suspect, probably no one else did!

His secret was as safe as it had ever been.

The full joy of this realization began to spread itself through him about the time when fingerbowls came into use and Aunt Selina was gathering eyes preparatory to starting an exodus. Just as they all rose he chanced to catch Madge's eye and, unable to withhold some expression of his relief, smiled and said softly: "Thank you, Madge!"

"What?" she asked, not understanding.

"Champagne," said James.

"Oh, nonsense!" As she started to walk doorward she turned her face directly toward his and gave him a deprecatory little smile of understanding, exactly like the one Beatrice had thrown him a short time ago.

The coincidence at first rather took him aback. He was conscious, as the men rearranged themselves for coffee and cigars, of a feeling of loss, almost of desecration; the sort of feeling one might experience on seeing somebody else wear one's mother's wedding gown. n.o.body but Beatrice had any real business to smile like that--to him, at least.

Then it occurred to him that that was all nonsense; either it was all on or all off between him and Beatrice. After all, Madge's smile was just about as good to look at as Beatrice's, if one made allowance against the latter's unusual beauty. Madge was not unattractive in her way, either....

Madge sang, of course. James enjoyed her singing very much, the more so for what she had told him at dinner. During her performance an inspiration came to him which he presently made an opportunity to impart to her.

"Look here," he asked; "have you ever sung for Beatrice's working girls?"

"No," answered she in some surprise. "Why?"

"Why not?"

"I've never been asked, for one thing!"

"Would you, if you were? I'd like to suggest it to Beatrice, at any rate."

"That's all very well for me, but what about the poor working girls?"

"I should say that any working girl that didn't want to hear you sing didn't deserve to be helped. I may suggest it to her, then?"

"Certainly, if you like. I don't really imagine that she'll have any use for it, though."

"We'll see." He dismissed the subject with a smile. It pleased him to be quite brief and businesslike. As the party broke up and the guests dispersed he was busy, in a half-conscious sort of way, constructing a vision of him and his whole future life on this scheme; irretrievably blighted in his own career he would devote himself to doing helpful little services for people he liked, without thought of other reward than the satisfaction of performing them.

Sustained by this vision he embarked quite fearlessly and efficiently on a _tete-a-tete_ with Beatrice before going to bed that night. He made the suggestion to her that he had told Madge he would make, and was pleased to find that Beatrice welcomed it warmly.

Once in bed, with the light turned out and absolute quiet reigning throughout the house, of course disturbing things did force their way into his brain. It was bound to be that way, of course; had it not been that way for the past ten months? Fears, pains, doubts, memories, regrets--all pa.s.sed in their accustomed procession before his mind's eye, gradually growing dimmer and fewer as drowsiness came on and at last dwindling to occasional mental pictures, as of a characteristic gesture, a look, a smile. A humorous little smile, for instance, suggestive of mutual understanding....

Jove, that was a funny thing! He sat up in bed, shaking off his sleepiness and subjecting his mental vision to the test of conscious reason. That was Madge's smile that he had just seen, not Beatrice's; it was all there, the different position, the eyes, the hair and everything; all complete and unmistakable. Well, it was strange what a heavy dinner could do to a man--that, and a gla.s.s of champagne!

CHAPTER V

A SCHoNE SEELE ON PISGAH