The Younger Set Part 3

"Take the children away!" said Mrs. Gerard. But she bent over, kissing each culprit as the file pa.s.sed out, convoyed by the amply revenged nurses. "No marmalade, remember; and mother has a great mind _not_ to come up at bedtime and lean over you. Mother has no desire to lean over her babies to-night."

To "lean over" the children was always expected of this mother; the direst punishment on the rather brief list was to omit this intimate evening ceremony.

"M-mother," stammered the Master of Fox Hounds, "you _will_ lean over us, won't you?"

"Mother hasn't decided--"

"Oh, muvver!" wailed Josie; and a howl of grief and dismay rose from Winthrop, modified to a gurgle by the forbidden finger.

"You _will_, won't you?" begged Drina. "We've been pretty bad, but not bad enough for that!"

"I--Oh, yes, I will. Stop that noise, Winthrop! Josie, I'm going to lean over you--and you, too, Clemence, baby. Katie, take those dogs away immediately; and remember about the marmalade."

Rea.s.sured, smiling through tears, the children trooped off, it being the bathing hour; and Mrs. Gerard threw her fur stole over one shoulder and linked her slender arm in her brother's.

"You see, I'm not much of a mother," she said; "if I was I'd stay here all day and every day, week in and year out, and try to make these poor infants happy. I have no business to leave them for one second!"

"Wouldn't they get too much of you?" suggested Selwyn.

"Thanks. I suppose that even a mother had better practise an artistic absence occasionally. Are they not sweet? _What_ do you think of them?

You never before saw the three youngest; you saw Drina when you went east--and Billy was a few months old--what do you think of them?

Honestly, Phil?"

"All to the good, Ninette; very ornamental. Drina--and that Josephine kid are real beauties. I--er--take to Billy tremendously. He told me that he'd locked up his nurses. I ought to have interfered. It was really my fault, you see."

"And you didn't make him let them out? You are not going to be very good morally for my young. Tell me, Phil, have you seen Austin?"

"I went to the Trust Company, but he was attending a directors' confab.

How is he? He's prosperous anyhow, I observe," with a humorous glance around the elaborate hallway which they were traversing.

"Don't dare laugh at us!" smiled his sister. "I wish we were back in Tenth Street. But so many children came--Billy, Josephine, Winthrop, and Tina--and the Tenth Street house wasn't half big enough; and a dreadful speculative builder built this house and persuaded Austin to buy it. Oh, dear, and here we are among the rich and great; and the steel kings and copper kings and oil kings and their heirs and dauphins. _Do_ you like the house?"

"It's--ah--roomy," he said cheerfully.

"Oh! It isn't so bad from the outside. And we have just had it redecorated inside. Mizner did it. Look, dear, isn't that a cunning bedroom?" drawing him toward a partly open door. "Don't be so horridly critical. Austin is becoming used to it now, so don't stir him up and make fun of things. Anyway you're going to stay here."

"No, I'm at the Holland."

"Of _course_ you're to live with us. You've resigned from the service, haven't you?"

He looked at her sharply, but did not reply.

A curious flash of telepathy pa.s.sed between them; she hesitated, then:

"You once promised Austin and me that you would stay with us."

"But, Nina--"

"No, no, no! Wait," pressing an electric b.u.t.ton; "Watson, Captain Selwyn's luggage is to be brought here immediately from the Holland!

Immediately!" And to Selwyn: "Austin will not be at home before half-past six. Come up with me now and see your quarters--a perfectly charming place for you, with your own smoking-room and dressing-closet and bath. Wait, we'll take the elevator--as long as we have one."

Smilingly protesting, yet touched by the undisguised sincerity of his welcome, he suffered himself to be led into the elevator--a dainty white and rose rococo affair. His sister adjusted a tiny lever; the car moved smoothly upward and, presently stopped; and they emerged upon a wide landing.

"Here," said Nina, throwing open a door. "Isn't this comfortable? Is there anything you don't fancy about it? If there is, tell me frankly."

"Little sister," he said, imprisoning both her hands, "it is a paradise--but I don't intend to come here and squat on my relatives, and I won't!"

"Philip! You are common!"

"Oh, I know you and Austin _think_ you want me."

"Phil!"

"All right, dear. I'll--it's awfully generous of you--so I'll pay you a visit--for a little while."

"You'll live here, that's what you'll do--though I suppose you are dreaming and scheming to have all sorts of secret caves and queer places to yourself--horrid, grimy, smoky bachelor quarters where you can behave _sans-facon_."

"I've had enough of _sans-facon_" he said grimly. "After shacks and bungalows and gun-boats and troopships, do you suppose this doesn't look rather heavenly?"

"Dear fellow!" she said, looking tenderly at him; and then under her breath: "What a ghastly life you have led!"

But he knew she did not refer to the military portion of his life.

He threw back his coat, dug both hands into his pockets, and began to wander about the rooms, halting sometimes to examine nondescript articles of ornament or bits of furniture as though politely interested. But she knew his thoughts were steadily elsewhere.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'There is no reason,' she said, 'why you should not call this house home.'"]

Sauntering about, aware at moments that her troubled eyes were following him, he came back, presently, to where she sat perched upon his bed.

"It all looks most inviting, Nina," he said cheerfully, seating himself beside her. "I--well, you can scarcely be expected to understand how this idea of a home takes hold of a man who has none."

"Yes, I do," she said.

"All this--" he paused, leisurely, to select his words--"all this--you--the children--that jolly nursery--" he stopped again, looking out of the window; and his sister looked at him through eyes grown misty.

"There is no reason," she said, "why you should not call this house home."

"N-no reason. Thank you. I will--for a few days."

"_No_ reason, dear," she insisted. "We are your own people; we are all you have, Phil!--the children adore you already; Austin--you know what he thinks of you; and--and I--"

"You are very kind, Ninette." He sat partly turned from her, staring at the sunny window. Presently he slid his hand back along the bed-covers until it touched and tightened over hers. And in silence she raised it to her lips.

They remained so for a while, he still partly turned from her, his perplexed and narrowing gaze fixed on the window, she pressing his clenched hand to her lips, thoughtful and silent.

"Before Austin comes," he said at length, "let's get the thing over--and buried--as long as it will stay buried."

"Yes, dear."