With Edge Tools Part 16

She drew her hand away quickly and patted his cheek disapprovingly, as she might have patted a child's; then with a little, playful laugh, she said: "don't be silly, you know I don't like it."

Man of the world as he was, without scruples and usually reckless, he felt cowed. For a moment he sat moving his hands nervously; then he looked up and asked in a serious tone: "Why didn't you marry me?"

"Because I liked you too well."

"That is no answer."

"Because I wanted to keep your love."

"That is not true."

"Well, because marriage is a business partnership, which, to be successful, requires a person of experience and a person of money. You had too much experience and I had no money, _le voila_."

"You are a heartless flirt," Duncan said, slowly and earnestly.

"That's what a man always says of a woman when he fails to make her love him."

"You are a heartless flirt, I repeat," he answered. "You stole the best love in my heart; you crushed it and threw it aside like a flower which no longer pleased you."

"Nonsense, Duncan, such poetic similes are ridiculous. Better say that love, to a man, is an apple of Sodom, fair to behold; but when he has it in his grasp it crumbles to sickening ashes."

"You stole my love, Helen; a man never loves but once."

"And in revenge, to use your metaphor, you have plucked and trampled under foot every flower within your reach. I know you, Duncan. It is only because I was stronger than the rest that I still bloom fair in your eyes."

Duncan looked full into Helen's face with an injured expression in his eyes. "Helen," he said finally, "'tis women like you who make us men distrust your s.e.x; who make us what we are."

Helen returned his glance, and replied scornfully: "No; it is men like you who drag us down. We women must go through life armed, like travelers of old, against the attacks of you highwaymen. If we are weak, we are robbed of our best possessions, and left helpless by the way; if we are strong and ward off your attacks, you take your revenge on those who fall into your unscrupulous hands. But that is moralizing, and I am no moralist; I take the world as it is."

"Then why not take the pleasure in it?" said Duncan insinuatingly.

"Because it doesn't amuse me," she answered coldly. "I am not like other women, I suppose; at least, what you call pleasure disgusts me."

"Then why have you let me be your friend so long?"

"Because you amuse me," she replied carelessly. "I like to see you bl.u.s.ter and go away, and then come back to me. Other women pander to you, but I don't; other women love you, but I don't."

As Duncan listened to these words, a blush of anger came to his cheek.

He thought of how strong had been his influence over other women, and how weak he had always been in Helen's hands. "After all, love is a game of strength," he mused. He had been no better than a ball to be tossed about at pleasure, but he would throw off the spell of this woman, which had bound him so fast--he who thought he knew the world so well. An expression of firmness came into his face, and he said: "I loved you once, Helen, but I hate you now."

"I am glad," she answered; "now there is a chance that your pa.s.sion will be returned."

Duncan did not reply. He left his seat beside her and walked slowly into the next room. Helen's eyes followed him. "Silly boy," she thought, "I hope he will hate me; I might love him then."

Long after the lights in the smoking-room had gone out, long after the laughter had ceased, Duncan slowly paced his room. His hands were deep in his pockets and he held a briar pipe between his lips. Occasionally he would take a draw at the pipe, and then watch the blue smoke curl gently upward and fade away in long, thin streaks; but all the time he was thinking over the part Helen Osgood had played in his life. "She is right," he said, half aloud; "I do bl.u.s.ter and go away, and come back to her, and I will do it again. No, by Jove! I won't. A man can't forget that he has been played fast and loose with, and I would not be a man if I went back to that woman. I hate her. I hate her," he repeated. "She might have made a different man of me. I was young and might have taken life better, but she laughed me into the selfish brute I am. O, well,"

he sighed, as he thought of his past, "I suppose I am no worse than those around me. We all worry over what might have been, but we don't take the pleasure that comes to us. A man's an a.s.s to break his neck for any woman. There are others in the world, good looking ones, too, who will love for the asking." He returned his pipe to its case and closed it with a loud snap. "I have been in the garden before," he continued, "and I will go there again and pluck the flowers that come in my path. I will hold them for a minute; then I will crush them and cast them aside, and I will laugh, too."

CHAPTER XI.

UNDER THE WILLOWS.

The bell of the Fairville Presbyterian Church was slowly tolling the hour of morning service, and its tones, clanging out through the bright green shutters of the belfry on the peaceful Sabbath air, summoned the congregation to worship. The sun shone brightly upon the little white church, with its peaked roof and its tall, weather-vaned steeple, and its rays glanced hotly down upon the dusty roadway and wooden sidewalks of the long, village street. Two rows of white frame houses, fronted by little green patches, each enclosed by a picket fence and a swinging gate, extended away in the distance. Two lines of stately elms cast their shadows partially over the dusty street, while above them stretched the blue vault of the June sky.

The tolling of the bell was the only sound that disturbed the perfect quiet of the day, for even the birds seemed to have ceased their chirping in deference to the Sabbath. Soon, however, in answer to the call to prayer, the little picket gates swung open, and far down the street a slender line of people began to walk, with the measured tread of conscious righteousness, toward the little church which gleamed so white in the sunshine at the end of the street. The board walk creaked under the squeaking tread of Sunday shoes, and solemn lips spoke in subdued Sunday tones, as elders and laity slowly wended along under the shade of the stately elms. White lawn dresses, leghorn bonnets and blue shawls, folded cross-wise, and lisle-thread gloves, were interspersed among flopping broadcloth coats and straight brimmed hats in the throng which pa.s.sed along the street and through the doors of the church. Once, just after the last tone of the bell had died away, the stillness was broken by the rumble of wheels, and a single carriage rolled through the dust up to the church door. It was a modest equipage, plain in its appointments, but some of the congregation frowned disapprovingly as the door opened and Florence Moreland and her father descended. Without heeding these glances of disapprobation, they walked quietly into the church and pa.s.sed down the long aisle to the family pew. The movement of numerous fans ceased and many heads were turned to see the Judge and his daughter take their seats, while several pairs of young and envious eyes were directed toward the last production of a city milliner. After the fans had begun to move again, the cadaverous minister rose from his seat and in harsh, nasal tones announced the hymn. There was a hemming and coughing in the choir's gallery, the organ bellows wheezed, hymn-books rustled, and then, as the first strains of the organ sounded, the old familiar lines beginning, "All people that on earth do dwell," swelled forth in zealous tones.

Just as the last notes of the tune floated away and the congregation were taking their seats, a man stole quietly down the aisle and entered the pew behind Florence Moreland. His well-made clothes attracted curious eyes, and during the seemingly interminable prayer for the exorcism of every evil and the granting of all known blessings, many covert glances were sent in his direction. It seemed to those who looked, that during the prayer and the long didactic discourse upon Solomon and Sheba's queen, which followed, his eyes were kept continuously fixed upon the back of a gold-braided jacket in front of him. The doctor's daughter next him glanced over his book during the last hymn and saw that it was not open at the right place, while the elder who pa.s.sed the plate looked wonderingly at the young Croesus who placed a greenback among the coppers and silver; but during the entire service his eyes were not removed from the form in front of him. The last roll of the organ died away and the minister p.r.o.nounced his benedictory prayer. During the conventional moment of silence which followed, the sun streamed through the stained gla.s.s windows and danced in colored shadows on the backs of the white lawn gowns; then the frocks rustled as the congregation slowly filed out, and the solemn, Sunday faces were relaxed into smiles of friendly greeting.

Florence Moreland waited until most of the people had pa.s.sed out, then she placed her hand upon the pew door, and was about to open it, when she was startled by the sight of a familiar face behind her. "Harold,"

she said, when she had recovered from her surprise. "What brought you to Fairville?"

"I came as the bearer of a message for you," Harold Wainwright replied, as he opened the pew door for her.

"For me! From whom?" asked Florence in astonishment.

"If I may walk home with you I will tell you; otherwise you must wait."

"You are very dictatorial," she replied, "but when a woman's curiosity is aroused, she is easily managed. If father will drive home alone, I consent to your terms. Father," she continued, turning around and interrupting a conversation which Judge Moreland was holding with an elder, "here is Harold Wainwright."

"Glad to see you, Harold," said the Judge, taking Wainwright's hand and giving it the hearty shake of unaffected cordiality. "Glad to see the son of the best friend I ever had. You must bring your grip up to the house. What brought you to Fairville?"

Harold was about to reply to these numerous and disconnected remarks, but he was interrupted by Florence. "Harold brings news I must hear; he won't tell me unless I promise to let him walk home with me. Do you mind, father?"

"Certainly not. I'll take Elder Jones home--if I can persuade him to ride on Sunday," the Judge added in a whisper.

"Very well, then. Good-by, father," said Florence, moving toward the door.

"Good-by, children. It's a hot day, so don't hurry. If you want to stop under the willows to rest, I sha'n't mind, and I'll wait lunch for you.

Don't forget to move up to the house, Harold."

"Thank you, Judge," said Harold, "but as I leave in the morning, I don't believe I had better bother you."

"Nonsense, my boy," called the Judge. "I'll send down for your traps this afternoon."

When Florence and Harold reached the street, the congregation had mostly dispersed. Instead of following the villagers along under the shady elms into the heart of the village, they turned to the left, and tramped in the hot sun toward the sh.o.r.e of the little lake which lay at the end of the town. Judge Moreland's place was on the opposite bank, and although the grey tower on the north wing of the house, rising above the surrounding oak trees, seemed quite near, they were obliged to follow the road for a mile and a half along the lake sh.o.r.e. About half way was a clump of willow trees growing by the water, under whose shade they had often stopped to rest. Florence and Harold both loved this little lake, sunk like a gem amid the rough setting of the mountain crags, and they both felt, instinctively, that they did not care to talk much until they reached their old haunt under the willows. Even Florence forgot her curiosity, and as she walked beside Harold over the road they had so often tramped together, she seemed to forget that he had been away, and that at their last meeting in distant Chicago so much that was unpleasant had occurred. Here in the New Hampshire mountains all seemed so different; she felt freed from the tainted atmosphere of the city which had made her restless and uncertain in mind. Florence had not forgotten her last words with Harold in Chicago; indeed she had thought of them over and over again, during the long months that had pa.s.sed since that interview; the unpleasant episode at the Renaissance Club was also seldom absent from her mind; but to-day it all seemed to have faded quietly from her heart. Harold had come into church so silently, and it seemed so natural to be walking by his side, that she was carried back to the years before she went to Europe, when, still a child, she used to romp and play with him over these same New Hampshire hills.

They reached the willows, and Florence sat down on the green turf and leaned her back against a tree. She took off her hat and let the breeze cool her temples, while Harold, stretched out on the bank beside her, lay for a while resting upon his elbow, and carelessly watching the pebbles, he threw from time to time, skip lightly from ripple to ripple and finally sink from sight. The sunlight danced on the gently ruffled surface of the water; in the distance the bold side of a mountain rose abruptly above the lake, its rough outlines standing out sharply in relief against the clear blue of the sky; and the little white farmhouses, perched here and there high up on its slopes, glistened in the sunshine.

They sat there enjoying the scene, until Florence seemed to awaken, as from a pleasant dream, and feel all her troubled thoughts come rudely back to her. She remembered that Harold had come from the distant city in the West and had not yet told her the meaning of his unexpected visit. "We must not dream on forever, Harold," she said, as he lazily sent another pebble skipping from wave to wave; "you have not yet told me the nature of the message you have brought."

Harold slightly shifted his position and, resting his head on his hand, looked up into her face with a surprised expression, as though he, too, had forgotten the present and was startled at being called back to it.

"I brought a command for you to return to Chicago," he said, smiling.

"A command from whom?" she asked in astonishment.