CHAPTER XVI
A SERIOUS LETTER
"This is my idea of the work I'd like to do for my living," said Mrs.Harlan with a yawn, as she tilted her sun-shade a little forward andsettled herself deeper in the soft sand. "All I need now to beperfectly happy is to have one of you read to me until I fall asleep."
"Lola looks as though she could sleep without that," said Bob,glancing at her lazily. "You went to bed early enough last night;couldn't you get any rest?"
"I do feel a little tired," answered Lola. "I slept some, of course,but not for hours."
"That's queer," exclaimed Dick. "I knocked on your door when I wentupstairs about eleven, and you didn't answer. If you were awake youmust have heard me. You didn't leave your room again, did you?"
"Why should I?" She sat up rather flushed, and turned to him angrily."Where would I have gone? What are you talking about? Why do youalways say such absurd things?"
"Come now, Lola," broke in Mrs. Harlan soothingly. "Dick hasn't saidanything dreadful. Don't be cross, please, and spoil a day like this."
"No, don't, for pity sake don't let's have any rows," said Bobearnestly; "nothing in the world so bad for my digestion."
"Anyone would think you had something to hide, by the way you arejumping on me," complained Dick resentfully. "I don't see any crime inasking you if you had stepped out of your room for a minute."
"I have told you that I did not."
"You might have run in to see Madge."
"No! No! No!" She spoke almost in a scream. "How many times do I haveto repeat it? No! No! No!"
"Come on, Madge; that's the three-alarm signal," exclaimed Bob, as hegot to his feet heavily. "Great God, Lola," he looked down at her, hisfat, good-natured face expressing his deep disgust, "why can't youlearn to keep your disposition in the ice chest? You're all right whenyou are all right, but you're a wonder at kicking up a row."
"I guess Bob's playing safe," agreed Mrs. Harlan, as she took hisproffered hand and got to her feet. "We'll leave you two alone, asusual, to fight it out. Come on, Bob; I may not be as great a sociallight as Lola is getting lately, but I'm perfectly willing to sit inthe sand and let you go to sleep."
Lola made no effort to stop them, and they walked on up the beach insearch of peace and quiet, Mrs. Harlan angry and disgusted, Bob deeplydiscouraged.
"There," exclaimed Dick. "You've driven them away again!"
"What of it?" Lola looked at him coldly. "Go with them if you wantto!"
"I don't, but Bob's getting tired of this sort of thing, and he's toogood a fellow to be made uncomfortable all the time."
"He's a fool--a perfect fool; you know he is, Dick Fenway. The onlything in the world that would really please him would be to eat a gooddinner in a deaf and dumb asylum. I'm tired to death of him and ofyour Mrs. Harlan, too. She's coarse, and low, and vulgar, and if youhad any respect for me at all you wouldn't force me to be with such aperson!"
"But, my dear girl, you know I can't help it!"
"Well, you ought to help it," she replied cruelly. "It puts me in afalse position, to be seen with a woman of that sort. Everyone noticesit. Mr. Bradley practically said as much to me this morning."
"And took time enough saying it, too," said Dick resentfully. "Ithought the old man had tied himself to your skirts for the day. Youkept me waiting a good half hour. What are you trying to jolly himfor; we don't want any of his money."
She made no reply to this, but threw herself back on the sand and,shading her face with her parasol, deliberately closed her eyes.
"I say, Lola," Dick remarked after a moment's pause; "if you don'tcare to make any more of an effort than this to be sociable, I thinkI'll leave you here while I go back to the hotel; the mail is in bynow, and I'm almost sure to get some news from Cleveland."
"A very good idea," she answered calmly. "I'll wait right here untilyou return. You are so cross to-day that I don't think you would bevery good company."
He made no reply. "What was the use of starting another battle?" hesaid to himself bitterly; "all that I can do is to go away and comeback when she isn't so cranky."
They parted like this, as men and women have parted since first theycame into the world. She, perfectly serene, as sure of his return asshe was of her own unreasonableness. He, puzzled as to just what hisfault had been and not quite sure whether to be angry with her or withhimself. A man is always very sorry for the thing he is quite innocentof having done; it is only when he has really been at fault that heremains calmly indifferent.
Lola was very comfortable; it was a warm day, but there was a breezefrom the water, and she lay there, every muscle relaxed, shading herface with her parasol, which she had dropped on the sand, lookingdreamily out to where a long line of black smoke on the horizon markedthe passing of some great steamer.
Somehow the thought of a ship at sea brought Dr. Crossett to her mind.She often thought of him, more often than of her father or of John.The Doctor had loved her; she knew that; not as a father loves,through instinct, or as a lover, from desire, but because he had puther in the place of the one woman who had represented the idea of lovein his life. He was a rich man, Dr. Crossett; what fun they could havetogether in Paris! If anything ever went wrong with her, she was goingto him; she had quite made up her mind to that, but, after all, whatcould go wrong? Dick would always give her what she wanted, and if notDick, there were plenty of others. The only trouble was that if theyhad money they were either stupid, like poor Dick or old, like Mr.Bradley; if they were strong and handsome, like that splendid younglife-guard, they were hopelessly poor. On the whole, however, she wassatisfied with life. She had done well enough so far, and she verystrongly intended to do better. She was very tired, very sleepy; thelittle waves breaking over the smooth sand soothed her; the wind sweptsoftly over her like a caress; she laughed happily to herself as shethought of Dick's anger. How silly he was. What would he do if he knewwhere she had really been, as he stood outside her door, the nightbefore. How had she dared to do it? She blushed red at the thoughtsthat came crowding into her head, and thrilling, trembling with a newknowledge of life, she fell asleep.
She stirred uneasily after a time, and sitting up suddenly, consciousas one sometimes is of being the object of another's thoughts, she metthe eyes of Mr. Miller, the old gentleman of the night before, fixedearnestly upon her. "How long had he stood there, looking at her?" shethought angrily to herself. "How dared he smile at her like that, asthough his wise old eyes could read her mind."
"I beg your pardon, Miss Barnhelm." He spoke in the gentle, kindlyvoice she had so resented the night before. "I am afraid that I havedisturbed you."
"Why were you looking at me?" she demanded bluntly.
"It was very rude, very unfair," he admitted, "but you looked socomfortable and, if I may say so, so absurdly young, that it did notat the time seem a serious offence."
"You were studying me," she exclaimed hotly, "trying to read my mind,as I lay here asleep. Using me for a subject to dissect for one ofyour stupid books. Well--what have you discovered?"
"Nothing! You are so frank with me that I will be honest in my turn.It is my habit to study those about me. I am sorry; I hope you arefully aware that in my interest there was nothing that could in anyway offend you."
"You mean, I suppose, that you would have looked just as closely at atoad or a potato-bug! I am quite aware of that. I am not even angryany more, only curious. What can you tell me about myself?"
"Nothing, my dear young lady, only that you have, in common with therest of the world, two natures, warring against one another, in yourheart. I will confess that in your case I thought I saw a flash ofsomething deeper, more tragic, than one usually finds in the face of ayoung girl, just a bad dream perhaps, or perhaps a real trouble. Ifthe last, I would gladly do my best to help you."
"Why?"
"Because I have worked very hard for fifty years, and sometimes I amdiscouraged at the little real good my knowledge has ever done. I havemore than my sha
re of money, and time, and influence; any or all ofthese are at your disposal."
"You were a Professor, they told me, and a writer of books?"
"Yes. I am, if I am anything, a Psychologist."
"My father was that," remarked Lola a trifle bitterly, "although to meit was never anything but a name."
"It is merely a name for a very simple thing: the art of keeping one'seyes open. Psychology is the study of mental phenomena; I believe thatis as good a definition as it is possible to give, and it means onlythe study of our fellow creatures, in the hope that in the end thepsychologist may do for the mind what the physician now does for thebody."
"And to do this, to learn this new trade of yours, you hesitate nomore about robbing me of my mind and dissecting it than a countrymedical student would hesitate to rob a grave."
"Not any more certainly," he replied, evidently still much amused ather indignation, "but as I have perceived nothing but a well-deservedrebuke, perhaps you will forgive me. I am on duty to-day, as you see;after many years of careful study I am considered worthy of a verysacred trust. I am granted the privilege of playing nurse to a childand a dog."
He pointed along the beach to where his granddaughter was playing withher absurd little poodle, and as his eyes rested upon them his smilelost its queer, impersonal look and became very commonplace indeed,just the smile of a good man, whose heart goes out in thankfulness toGod for the joy of seeing a little child of his own blood safe andwell.
"You are," said Lola gravely, "the very queerest person I have evermet. If you are anxious to study mental phenomena you might buyyourself a looking-glass. I must confess that I can't understand youat all."
"Since we seem to have met upon a rather unusual attitude offrankness," he responded mildly, "I am going to return the compliment.Our impressions seem to have been identical." He turned as if toleave, but after a slight hesitation he faced her, and said in a moreserious tone, "My offer of assistance was sincere; should you be inneed of anything that is in my power to grant you, surely my ageshould make it easy for you to come to me." He bowed rather stiffly,like a man to whom social conventions are a habit rather than apleasure, and left her there, sitting on the sand, looking after him alittle anxiously. "He was a queer old man," she thought; "there couldbe no doubt of that," and she wondered just what he had meant when heconfessed that he could not understand her. She watched him as hejoined the child, and until they and the little dog disappearedtogether around a rocky point she sat there, thinking of the strangelook of speculation she had seen on his face.
"Miss Barnhelm!" She looked up quickly at the sound of the voice andsaw the young life-guard standing beside her.
"Why did you follow me?" she demanded angrily. "I might have known Icouldn't trust you."
"I saw that you were alone," he stammered, very much upset by hertone. "I--I had to see you."
"Why?"
"Why!" He looked at her amazed. "Why? Do you think a man canforget--just in a few hours--forget you? I never knew that there werewomen like you in the world. I--I wouldn't have dared to raise my eyesto you--but--but you came to me--yourself!"
"The woman tempted me, and I did fall," she sneered. "I suppose thatis what you mean?"
"I mean, Miss Barnhelm, that I love you! I am not fool enough to dreamthat you could care enough for a man like me to let me make anydifference in your life, but I can't let you go away from me likethis!"
"My poor boy," she spoke kindly, and looked at him with something verylike sadness in her eyes, "you are making a mistake. We met yesterdayin your boat. We walked together for a moment in the evening; that isall."
"And--and last night?"
"Was a dream."
"No!"
"Just a dream, and dreams don't last. You must go now, quickly,please, because I see Mr. Fenway coming."
"Go and leave you to him!"
"Yes."
He did not answer, but he had not the least idea of going; she sawthat in the same glance that showed her that Dick had seen themtogether and had quickened his pace. She must not let these two menmeet; there was danger in that; this young man must be made to go, andin less than a minute. She looked up at him, flashing one lookstraight into his eyes.
"Go now," she said, almost in a whisper, "and wait for me--to-night."
"I will." As he spoke he turned and walked on up the beach. She sighedas her eyes followed his free, powerful movements and noticed hiseasy, graceful figure and broad shoulders; then she turned to meetDick.
"That was that Blake, the life-guard," Dick spluttered, his sallowface whiter than ever now with anger. "You must think I'm a damnedfool to stand for a thing like this!"
"I think that you are forgetting, Dick, that you are not speaking toone of your chorus-girl friends."
"Do you? Well, let me tell you something; even one of what you arepleased to call my chorus-girl friends would have the decency to playthe game straight while she played it at all. There's another name fora woman who takes one man's money and when his back is turned letsanother fellow----"
"You would be wise to stop right there!" She sprang up and faced him,white with rage, and with a look that, angry as he was, he dared notface. "I have taken your money; yes, this is not the first time youhave chosen to remind me of it, but it is the very last. You won'thave another chance! I won't take another dollar from you until we aremarried; after that, if you ever dare to repeat a thing like that, Iwill leave you! Now you go, get that divorce you talk so much aboutbefore you let me see your face again, and get it soon, if you expectme to wait for you!"
"Lola, forgive me. I--I was wrong, but I am worried sick, or Iwouldn't have made such a fool of myself! Don't be hard, Lola; I'vetroubles enough without that. I--I'm in a devil of a mess."
"What mess?" she questioned quickly. "More trouble with your father?"
"Yes, another letter. He's sore because I've been away from New Yorkso long, neglecting my business, he says, and spending too much money.He will come around all right; he always does, but to tell you thetruth he refused to send me the check I asked for."
"He never did that before, did he?"
"No, but it's sure to be all right. I sent him a 'day letter,' andhe'll come around, but it rattled me, and my lawyers wrote that myconfounded wife sticks out for fifty thousand!"
"Well?"
"I wired them to offer forty cash. I know the old man will pay that.He's tired of having her around Cleveland, calling herself Mrs.Fenway. Forty thousand is an awful hold-up, but I can't wait. Thewhole thing may be settled to-day."
"If your father, who has refused you ten thousand, agrees to give youfifty, and if this woman, who has stood out for fifty thousand, agreesto take forty, if all this happens you will be a free man, but thesethings have not happened yet, and if they do you will have to prove tome that there will be no more of this talk about the money you havespent on me, and the obligation I am supposed to be under to you,before I will agree to tie myself to you. Favors! Look at me! If I amnot worth the few thousand I have cost you, go back to Broadway; youcan buy more for your money there!"
"Don't, Lola. Don't talk that way! I never thought a thing like that.I don't deserve to have to hear you say it. When have I denied youanything, when have I asked anything in return, but just that youwould care for me? I was wrong to lose my head, of course; you can'thelp it if that cad of a life-guard has the nerve to hang around you.Can't you let it go at that? Can't you see that I am worried enough,without your turning against me?"
"I see," she answered coldly, "that Bob and Mrs. Harlan are coming,and it is hardly necessary to take them into our confidence. Mrs.Harlan has quite enough knowledge of our affairs; I think it is abouttime we saw the last of her. If you had less to do with women of thatclass, you might be able to remember that you can't talk to me asthough I were one of them."
Mrs. Harlan, as they all walked back to the hotel together, could notmake up her mind as to just how matters stood. Dick was nervous, thatwas plain enough, but Lola's mood
puzzled her; she was very quiet,very thoughtful, and from time to time, when she looked at Dick, sheseemed to be trying to make up her mind.
"I don't like it," Mrs. Harlan confided to Bob as they followed theothers up the beach. "She's up to something, or I miss my guess. She'sdangerous enough when she's in one of her tantrums, but when she'squiet, like she is now--look out. What do you suppose is the matterwith her now?"
"I don't know," replied Bob thoughtfully, "unless she's hungry."
This could hardly have been the explanation, however, for she refusedto go in to lunch with the others, and sat at the far end of theveranda, still seemingly in deep thought, until, hearing some oneapproaching, she looked up and saw Mr. Bradley.
Her smile, as she welcomed him, however, had no trace of anything butgirlish pleasure, and shrewd as he was, he could not but be flatteredby the soft blush on her cheek, and the gladness in her eyes, as sherose to meet him.
"Miss Barnhelm," he began quickly, "I am anxious to speak with you, inconfidence, before your friends or my daughter come from thedining-room."
"Yes, Mr. Bradley."
"I have a letter here." As he spoke he drew the letter from hispocket. "I have decided to let you read it, although, as you will see,it is a breach of confidence on my part to do so. It is fromCleveland, from Dick Fenway's father; it may perhaps offend you, butit may be a big help for you to know just how things stand. Here itis."
Lola took the letter calmly enough, and read it through without aword. It was dated from Cleveland two days before, and read asfollows:
"MY DEAR BRADLEY:
"My son Dick has wired me to address him at the Hotel where you and Alice are staying. I am worried about the boy and want you to do me a favor. He has always been a great trouble to me, as you know, but he is all I have, and I am fool enough to love him. Will you have a talk with him, and tell him for me that he has come to the end of his rope. He has a wife whom I am willing to buy off on one condition. He is to return to New York at once and go to work, and he is to convince you, as my agent, that from now on he gives up, absolutely and forever, any connection or acquaintance with a girl by the name of Lola Barnhelm, with whom he has been travelling for the last six weeks. Tell him that my information as to this young woman is complete. I have had them followed, and am in receipt of a daily report as to their movements. The efforts he has been making to secure a speedy divorce seem to point to an intention on his part to marry this person. If he does, please make it plain to him that he will support her himself, without help from me. Try to make him understand that I am not quite the fool he thinks me. I don't like what I have heard about this Barnhelm girl, and I am serious when I say that if he marries her he will not support her on the money I have earned by hard work. You may be able to make him see his real position. Thank you in advance, old friend, for the help I know you will not refuse me. Give my love to your daughter. What a happy man I would be if my boy had brains enough to love a girl like her, and character enough to be worthy of her love.
"Yours always, "RICHARD FENWAY."
Lola finished the letter and, folding it carefully, handed it back tohim.
"Well?" she inquired calmly.
"I--I thought," he answered, very much embarrassed, "that you wouldwant to know how you stood."
"Yes, I am very much obliged, but I am afraid I don't. Are you actingnow as Mr. Fenway's agent, or as my friend?"
"As your friend," he replied earnestly.
"Do you believe the insinuations this man has dared to make? That I amnot a proper wife for his son?"
"Well, I--I--only want you to know that if you marry the boy, hisfather will not give him another dollar."
"Do you believe what he believes of me?"
"I think that you are too pretty to----"
"Do you believe these things?"
"What were you doing out of the hotel until three o'clock thismorning?"
"I--I----"
"I could not sleep, because I was thinking of you! I was at my window,and I saw you when you returned, and I saw the young fellow who leftyou at the steps."
"Oh!" She looked at him for a moment; then a slow smile formed itselfon her lips. "Then you, I suppose, do not care to count yourself anylonger as my friend?"
"Why not?" He looked at her with a new boldness. "I am a man of theworld. Dick can't do anything more for you, but is there any reasonwhy you and I should not be good friends?"
"I think you are making a mistake," she answered quietly. "Dick fullyintends to marry me. I am not the sort of girl you seem to think."
"And last night?"
"Was my own affair."
"Very well," he rose reluctantly, "I suppose there isn't anything moreto say. So you will marry Dick?"
"Yes."
"And starve with him?"
"Perhaps."
"I can't figure this out." He looked at her, doing his best to readher real intentions in her face. "You can't love him, or why thisother fellow? I suppose you count on his father's forgiveness, butthat, if it comes at all, won't come for years. You can't wait years;don't you see that? Your youth is your capital; you would be a fool tosquander it, and you don't look to me like a fool."
"No, I am not a fool," she said quietly. "I have certain plans,certain intentions, that mean everything to me. Dick, nor his father,nor you can't come between me and the life I want. You might help me,any one of you, but you can't hold me back. I should like to tell youjust what it is I do want, but not here, not now. Are you afraid totrust yourself alone with me?"
"Are you laughing at me?"
"Perhaps."
"What is it that you want me to do?"
"Meet me in half an hour on the shore road, just above the place wherewe met yesterday; do you remember?"
"Yes."
"Get out of your head, before you meet me, the thought that I am thesort of woman who can be bought by any man. Until last night no man,in all my life, ever had the right to say that he had been anything tome. Do you believe that?"
"Yes. I can't doubt it, when you look at me as you look now."
"And you will be there, in half an hour?"
"Yes. Your friends are coming. I will go now; I will be waiting foryou."
He passed Dick, and Bob, and Mrs. Harlan, and as he was about todescend the steps to the road, his daughter's voice stopped him.
"Father." Alice stepped out of the house with a letter in her hand."Look! Here is a letter from Aunt Helen; she is coming on the latetrain to-night."
"That's fine," he answered heartily. "I am delighted! Good-bye, dear;I'm off for a little walk. I won't be long."
"Take care of yourself," she called after him gayly, "and don't belate." She turned away, joining Mr. Miller and Molly, and they allwalked along the veranda, followed by the little dog, until theystopped at the group that now were gathered about Lola. Mr. Millernoticed, as he took the chair one of the young men offered him, thatLola was not making more than a half-hearted effort to join in thegeneral conversation, and he was watching the unmistakable signs ofrepressed emotion on her sensitive face, when she looked up and sawhim. He expected to see a blaze of anger in her eyes, but for somereason she seemed anxious to avoid his scrutiny, and bent over, ratherobviously to escape his glance, and patted the little dog, who wassitting sedately beside his mistress, only a foot or two away. At thefirst touch of her hand the tiny creature gave a snarl and, turning,buried his little teeth in her wrist. Molly cried out and sprangforward, but Lola threw her aside and, catching up a tennis racquetfrom the arm of one of the chairs, struck the dog with all herstrength. Molly screamed as she saw the little figure fall backmotionless, and all the others rose quickly and stepped forward withcries of indignation, but Lola did not hear them; again and again shestruck, although her first blow had done its work; and as she struckshe screamed, like the snar
ling scream of an angry wolf; for a momentno one moved, but at last Bob threw her aside as he would have throwna man, and Molly dropped down, sobbing bitterly by the side of herlittle friend. No one spoke; Lola shuddered and, turning her head,looked about her from one to another. No eyes met hers; they all stoodthere, sick with horror. After a moment of silence, broken only by thesobbing of the child, she gave a short, contemptuous laugh and,dropping the blood-stained racquet, walked down the veranda to thedoor.