The Hollow of Her Hand

  CHAPTER VII

  A FAITHFUL CRAYON-POINT

  Leslie Wrandall came out on the eleven-thirty. Hetty was atthe station with the motor, a sullen resentment in her heart, buta welcoming smile on her lips. The sun shone brightly. The Soundglared with the white of reflected skies.

  "I thought of catching the eight o'clock," he cried enthusiastically,as he dropped his bag beside the motor in order to reach over andshake hands with her. "That would have gotten me here hours earlier.The difficulty was that I didn't think of the eight o'clock untilI awoke at nine."

  "And then you had the additional task of thinking about breakfast,"said Hetty, but without a trace of sarcasm in her manner.

  "I never think of breakfast," said he amiably. "I merely eat it.Of course, it's a task to eat it sometimes, but--well, how are you?How do you like it out here?"

  He was beside her on the broad seat, his face beaming, his gaylittle moustache pointing upward at the ends like oblique brownexclamation points, so expansive was his smile.

  "I adore it," she replied, her own smile growing in response to his.It was impossible to resist the good nature of him. She could notdislike him, even though she dreaded him deep down in her heart. Herblood was hot and cold by turns when she was with him, as her mindopened and shut to thoughts pleasant and unpleasant with somethingof the regularity of a fish's gills in breathing.

  "I knew you would. It's great. You won't care much for our place,Miss Castleton. Sara's got the pick of the coast in that place ofhers. Trust old Sebastian Gooch to get the best of everything. Ifmy dad or my grand-dad had possessed a tenth of the brain that thatold chap had, we'd have our own tabernacle up there on the point,instead of sulking at his back gate. That's really where we'relocated, you know. His back gate opens smack in the face of ourfront one. I think he did it with malice aforethought, too. Hisback gate is two miles from the house. It wasn't really necessaryto go so far for a back gate as all that, was it? To make it worse,he put a big sign over it for us to read: 'NO TRESPASSING. THISMEANS YOU.' Sara took it down after the old boy died."

  "I suppose by that time the desire to trespass was gone," she said."One doesn't enjoy freedom of that sort."

  "I've come to believe that the only free things we really covetare passes to the theatre. We never get over that, I'm sure. I'drather have a pass to the theatre than a ten dollar bill any time.I say, it was nice of you to come down to meet me. It was more thanI--er--expected." He almost said "hoped for."

  "Sara was too busy about the house to come," she explained quickly."And I had a few errands to do in the village."

  "Don't spoil it!"

  "I am a horribly literal person," she said.

  "Better that than literally horrible," he retorted, rather proudof himself for it. "It's wonderful, the friendship between you twogirls--Sara's not much more than a girl, you see. You're so utterlyunlike in every way."

  "It isn't strange to me," said she simply, but without looking athim.

  "Of course, I can understand it," he went on. "I've always likedSara. She's bully. Much too good for my brother, God rest his soul.He never--"

  "Oh, don't utter a thing like that, even in jest," she cried,shocked by his glib remark.

  He flushed. "You didn't know Challis," he said almost surlily.

  She held her breath.

  After a moment, the points of his little moustache went up againin the habitual barometrical smile. Rather a priggish, supercilioussmile, she thought, taking a glance at his face.

  "I say I can understand it, but mother and Vivian will never beable to get it through those tough skulls of theirs. They reallydon't like Sara. Snobs, both of 'em--of the worst kind, too. Why,mother has always looked upon Sara as a--e---a sort of brigandess,the kind that steals children and holds them for ransom. Ofcourse, old man Gooch was as common as rags--utterly impossible,you know--but that shouldn't stand against Sara. By the way, herfather called her Sallie. Her mother was a very charming woman,they say. We never knew her. For that matter, we never knew theold man until he became prominent as a father-in-law."

  The girl was silent. He went on.

  "Mother likes you. She doesn't say it in so many words, but Ican see that she wonders how you can have anything in common withSara. She prides herself on being able to distinguish blue bloodat a glance. Silly notion she's got, but--"

  "Please don't go on, Mr. Wrandall," cried Hetty in distress.

  "I'm not saying she isn't friendly to Sara nowadays," he explained."She's changed a good deal in the last few months. I think she'sbroadening out a bit. Since that visit to Nice, she's been quitedifferent. As a matter of fact, she expects to see a good bit ofSara and you this summer. It's like a spring thaw, by Jove, it is."

  "When does she come to the country?" asked Hetty, bent on breakinghis train of confidence.

  "In three or four weeks. But, as I was saying, the mater has takena great fancy to you. She--"

  "It's very nice of her."

  "She prides herself, as I said before, but she always makes sureby asking questions."

  "Questions?"

  "Yes. Although she could see through you as if you were plate glass,she made it a point to ask Sara all the questions she could thinkof. Over in Nice, you know. Of course Sara told her everything,and now she's quite sure she can't be mistaken in people. Really,Miss Castleton, she's very amusing sometimes, mother is."

  Hetty was looking straight ahead, her face set.

  "What did Sara tell her about me?"

  "Oh, all that was necessary to prove to mother that she was right.As if it really made any difference, you know."

  "Please explain."

  "What is there to explain? She merely gave your pedigree, as we'dsay at the dog show, begging your pardon, ma'am. Pedigrees are asort of hobby with the mater. She collects 'em wherever she goes."

  He gave his moustache a little twist.

  "Then my references are satisfactory, so to speak," said she, witha wry little smile.

  "Perfectly," said he, with conviction; "if we are to put anydependence in the intelligence office."

  "Doesn't it stagger Mrs. Wrandall somewhat to reconcile my pedigreeto the position I occupy in Sara's household--that of companion,so to say?" asked Hetty, a slight curl to her lip.

  He looked rather blank. "I don't believe she looks at you in justthat light," said he uncomfortably.

  "I fancy you'd better enlighten her."

  "Let well enough alone," quoted he glibly.

  "But I AM a companion," insisted Hetty, a little spot of red ineach cheek.

  "In a sense, I suppose," said he affably. "Of course, Sara putsyou down as a friend."

  "I think you'd better understand my real position, Mr. Wrandall,"said she firmly.

  "I do," said he. "You are Sara's friend. That's enough for me.The fact that your father was or is a distinguished English armyofficer, and some sort of a cousin to a lord, and that you havethe entre to fashionable London drawing-rooms, is quite enough formother. That qualifies you to be companion to anybody, she'd say.And there's the end to it."

  She was looking at him in amazement. Her lips were slightly partedand her eyes were wide. For a moment she was puzzled. Then a swiftsmile illumined her face. She understood.

  "Of course, in London, it really isn't anything to boast about,getting into drawing-rooms," she said, vastly amused.

  "Well, it is over here," said he promptly.

  "And it isn't always open sesame to be related to a peer."

  "I suppose not."

  "Nevertheless, I am glad that your mother and Miss Vivian takeme for what I am. Do you, by any chance, go in for pedigree, Mr.Wrandall?"

  The shaft of irony sped over his head.

  "Only in dogs and horses," he replied promptly. "It means a lotwhen it comes to buying a dog or a horse."

  "How do you feel when you've been sold?"

  "I take my medicine."

  "As a good sportsman should."

  "I dare say you think I'm a deuce of a
prig for saying the things--"

  "On the contrary, I appreciate your candour."

  "Don't hesitate to say it. I'm used to being called a prig. Mybrother Challis always considered me one. I think he meant snob.But that was because our ideals weren't the same. By the way, youought to like Vivian."

  "That depends."

  "On Vivian, I suppose?"

  "Not precisely. I should say it depends on your sister's attitudetoward Sara."

  "Oh, she likes Sara well enough. Viv's not particularly narrow,Miss Castleton."

  Hetty bestowed a smile upon him.

  "That's comforting, Mr. Wrandall," she said, and he was silent fora moment, reflecting.

  "Do you know," said he, as if a light had suddenly burst in uponhim, "you've got more poise than any girl I've ever seen?"

  "It's my bringing up, sir," she said mockingly.

  "Ancestral habit," he explained, with a polite bow.

  "Pedigreeable manners, perhaps."

  "I wish the mater could have heard you say that." admiringly.

  "Don't you adore the country at this time of the year?"

  "When I get to heaven I mean to have a place in the country theyear round," he said conclusively.

  "And if you don't get to heaven?"

  "I suppose I'll take a furnished flat somewhere."

  Sara was waiting for them at the bottom of the terrace as theydrove up. He leaped out and kissed her hand.

  "Much obliged," he murmured, with a slight twist of his head inthe direction of Hetty, who was giving orders to the chauffeur.

  "You're quite welcome," said Sara, with a smile of understanding."She's lovely, isn't she?"

  "Enchanting!" said he, almost too loudly.

  Hetty walked up the long ascent ahead of them. She did not haveto look back to know that they were watching her with unfalteringinterest. She could feel their gaze.

  "Absolutely adorable," he added, enlarging his estimate withoutreally being aware that he voiced it.

  Sara shot a look at his rapt face, and turned her own away to hidethe queer little smile that flickered briefly and died away.

  Hetty, pleading a sudden headache, declined to accompany them lateron in the day when they set forth in the car to "pick up" BrandonBooth at the inn. They were to bring him over, bag and baggage, tostay till Tuesday.

  "He will be wild to paint her," declared Leslie when they wereout of sight around the bend in the road. He had waved his hat toHetty just before the trees shut off their view of her. She wasstanding at the top of the steps beside one of the tall Italianvases.

  Sara did not respond.

  "By the way, Sara, is she the niece or the grand-daughter of oldLord Murgatroyd? I'm a bit mixed."

  "Her father is Colonel Castleton, of the Indian Army, and he is theeldest son of a second son, if you don't find that too difficultto solve. The second son aforesaid mentioned, so to speak, was thebrother of Lord Murgatroyd. That would make Colonel Castleton hisLordship's nephew, but utterly without prospects of coming into atitle, as there are several healthy British obstacles in the way.I suppose one would call Hetty a grand-niece."

  "Mother wasn't quite certain whether you said niece or grand-daughter,"explained Leslie. "Her mother's dead, I take it. Who was she?"

  "Why are you so curious?"

  "Isn't it quite natural?"

  "Her mother was a Glynn. You have heard of the Glynns, of course?"She trusted to his vanity and was rewarded. The question was a sortof reproach.

  "Certainly," he replied, without hesitation. The mere fact that shespoke of them as "THE Glynns" was sufficient. It was proof enoughthat they were people one ought to know, by name at least, if onewere to profess intelligence regarding the British aristocracy. Asa matter of fact, he had not heard of the Glynns, but that didn'tmatter. "The Irish Glynns, you mean?" he ventured, taking a chanceat hitting the mark. He had a faint recollection of hearing hersay that Hetty was part Irish.

  "You have only to look into her eyes to know she's Irish," she saiddiplomatically.

  "I've never seen such eyes," he exclaimed.

  "She's a darling," said Sara and changed the subject, knowing fullwell that he would come back to it before long. "Is it true thatVivian and Mr. Booth are interested in each other?"

  "Yes and no," he replied, with a profound sigh. "That is to say,she's interested in him and he isn't interested in her--in the wayI take you to mean it. I suspect it's an easy matter for a girl tofall in love with Brandy. He's a corking fine chap."

  "Then it would be very nice for Vivian, eh?"

  "Oh, quite so--quite so. His forbears came over with Noah, accordingto mother. You know mother, Sara."

  "Indeed I do," said she with conviction.

  He laughed without restraint. "Mother can rattle off the bestfamilies in the Bible without missing a name, beginning with theHonourable Adam. Of course, she knows the Glynns and the Castletonsand the Murgatroyds, although I dare say they haven't had much todo with the Bible. Come to think of it, she did go to the troubleof looking up the Castleton family in the Debrett."

  "She did?" exclaimed Sara, with a slight narrowing of the eyes.

  "Yes. She established the connection all right enough. She's keenfor Miss Castleton."

  "Oh," said she, relieved. After a moment: "And you?"

  "I'm mad about her," he said simply, and then, for some unaccountablereason, gave over being loquacious and lapsed into a state of almostlugubrious quiet.

  She glanced at his face, furtively at first, as if uncertain ofhis mood, then with a prolonged stare that was frankly curious andamused.

  "Don't lose your head, Leslie," she said softly, almost purringly.

  He started. "Oh, I say, Sara, I'm not likely to--"

  "Stranger things have happened," she interrupted, with a shake ofher head. "I can't afford to have you making love to her and gettingtired of the game, as you always do, dear boy, just as soon as youfind she's in love with you. She is too dear to be hurt in thatway. You mustn't--"

  "Good Lord!" he cried; "what a bounder you must take me for! Why,if I thought she'd--But nonsense! Let's talk about something else.Yourself, for instance."

  She leaned back with a smile on her lips, but not in her eyes; anddrew a long, deep breath. He was hard hit. That was what she wantedto know.

  They found Booth at the inn. He was sitting on the old-fashionedporch, surrounded by bags and boys. As he climbed into the car afterthe bags, the boys grinned and jingled the coins in their pocketsand ventured, almost in unison, the intelligence that they wouldall be there if he ever came back again. Big and little, they hadtransported his easel and canvases from place to place for threeweeks or more and his departure was to be regarded as a financialcalamity.

  "I could go to ten circuses this summer if that many of 'em wasto come to town," said one small citizen as Croesus rode away ina cloud of village dust.

  "Gee, I wish to goodness he'd come back," was the soulful cry ofanother.

  "I don't like them pictures he paints, though, do you?" observedanother, more critical than avaricious.

  "Naw!" was the scornful reply, also in unison.

  From which it may be gathered that Mr. Brandon Booth was notcherished for art's sake alone, but for its relation to Mammon.

  The object of their comments was making himself agreeable tothe lady who was to be his hostess for the next few days. Leslie,perhaps in the desire to be alone with his reflections, sat forwardwith the chauffeur, and paid little or no heed to that unhappy person'scomments on the vile condition of ALL village thorough-fares, NewYork City included.

  "By the way, Sara," he said, suddenly breaking in on the conversationthat went on at his back, and thereby betraying a secret wish thatwas taking shape in his mind, "what have you done with the littlered runabout you had a year or two ago?"

  She started. "You mean--"

  As she hesitated, he went on. "It would come in very handy fortwosome tours."

  "I disposed of it some time ago, Leslie," sai
d she. "I thoughtyou'd remember."

  "Oh,--er--by Jove!" he stammered in confusion.

  He remembered that she had GIVEN it away a day or two after thatawful night in March, and he recalled her reason for doing so. Hetwisted the tiny end of his moustache with unnecessary vigour--Imight say fury. It was a most unhappy FAUX PAS.

  "Softening of the brain," he muttered, in dismal apology to himself.

  "And you painted those wretched little boys instead of the beautifulthings that Nature provides for us out here, Mr. Booth?" Sara wassaying to the artist beside her.

  "Of course, I managed to get in a bit of Nature, even at that,"said he, with a smile. "Boys are pretty close to earth, you know.To be perfectly honest, I did it in order to get away from theeminently beautiful but unnatural things I'm required to paint athome."

  "Your subjects wouldn't care for that," she warned him, in someamusement.

  "Oh, as to that, the comments of the boys on the things I did uphere weren't altogether flattering to me, so I'm chastened. Theywere more than frank about them. We live to learn."

  "Where are the canvases?"

  "I immortalised them, one and all, by destroying them by fire andsword, only the sword happened to be a penknife. They made a mostexcellent bonfire."

  "And so, you've nothing to show for your fortnight?"

  "Oh, yes. A most desirable invitation to forget my failures at yourexpense."

  "Poof!"

  "I don't blame you. It WAS inane. Still, I can't help saying, Mrs.Wrandall, that it is a desirable invitation. You won't say 'poof'to that, because I won't listen to it."

  "On the other hand, it's very good of you to come."

  "It seems to me I'm always in debt to Leslie, with slim prospectof ever squaring accounts," said he whimsically. "But for him, Icouldn't have come."

  "I suppose we will see you at the Wrandall place this summer."

  "I'm coming out to paint Leslie's sister in June, I believe. Andthat reminds me, I came upon an uncommonly pretty girl not far fromyour place the other day--and yesterday, as well--some one I'vemet before, unless I'm vastly mistaken. I wonder if you know yourneighbours well enough--by sight, at least--to venture a good guessas to who I mean."

  She appeared thoughtful.

  "Oh, there are dozens of pretty girls in the neighbourhood. Can'tyou remember where you met--" She stopped suddenly, a swift lookof apprehension in her eyes.

  He failed to note the look or the broken sentence. He was searchingin his coat pocket for something. Selecting a letter from the middleof a small pocket, he held it out to her.

  "I sketched this from memory. She posed all too briefly for me,"he said.

  On the back of the envelope was a remarkably good likeness of HettyCastleton, done broadly, sketchily with a crayon point, evidentlydrawn with haste while the impression was fresh, but long aftershe had passed out of range of his vision.

  "I know her," said Sara quietly. "It's very clever, Mr. Booth."

  "There is something hauntingly familiar about it," he went on,looking at the sketch with a frown of perplexity. "I've seen hersomewhere, but for the life of me I can't place her. Perhaps in acrowded street, or the theatre, or a railway train--just a fleetingglimpse, you know. But in any event, I got a lasting impression.Queer things like that happen, don't you think so?"

  Mrs. Wrandall leaned forward and spoke to Leslie. As he turned,she handed him the envelope, without comment.

  "Great Scott!" he exclaimed.

  "Mr. Booth is a mind reader," she explained. "He has been readingyour thoughts, dear boy."

  Booth understood, and grinned.

  "You don't mean to say--" began the dumfounded Leslie, still staringat the sketch. "Upon my word, it's a wonderful likeness, old chap.I didn't know you'd ever met her."

  "Met her?" cried Booth, an amiable conspirator. "I've never mether."

  "See here, don't try anything like that on me. How could you dothis if you've never seen--"

  "He IS a mind reader," cried Sara.

  "Haven't you been thinking of her steadily for--well, we'll sayten minutes?" demanded Booth.

  Leslie reddened. "Nonsense!"

  "That's a mental telepathy sketch," said the artist, complacently.

  "When did you do it?"

  "This instant, you might say. See! Here is the crayon point. Ialways carry one around with me for just such--"

  "All right," said Leslie blandly, at the same time putting theenvelope in his own pocket; "we'll let it go at that. If you're soclever at mind pictures, you can go to work and make another foryourself. I mean to keep this one."

  "I say," began Booth, dismayed.

  "One's thoughts are his own," said the happy possessor of thesketch. He turned his back on them.

  Sara was contrite. "He will never give it up," she lamented.

  "Is he really hard hit?" asked Booth in surprise.

  "I wonder," mused Sara.

  "Of course, he's welcome to the sketch, confound him."

  "Would you like to paint her?"

  "Is this a commission?"

  "Hardly. I know her, that's all. She is a very dear friend."

  "My heart is set on painting some one else, Mrs. Wrandall."

  "Oh!"

  "When I know you better, I'll tell you who she is."

  "Could you make a sketch of this other one from memory?" she askedlightly.

  "I think so. I'll show you one this evening. I have my trusty crayonabout me always, as I said before."

  Later in the afternoon Booth came face to face with Hetty. He wasdescending the stairs and met her coming up. The sun streamed inthrough the tall windows at the turn in the stairs, shining fullin her uplifted face as she approached him from below. He couldnot repress the start of amazement. She was carrying a box of rosesin her arms--red roses whose stems protruded far beyond the end ofthe pasteboard box and reeked of a fragrant dampness.

  She gave him a shy, startled smile as she passed. He had stoppedto make room for her on the turn. Somewhat dazed he continued onhis way down the steps, to suddenly remember with a twinge of dismaythat he had not returned her polite smile, but had stared at herwith most unblinking fervour. In no little shame and embarrassment,he sent a swift glance over his shoulder. She was walking close tothe banister rail on the floor above. As he glanced up their eyesmet, for she too had turned to peer.

  Leslie Wrandall was standing near the foot of the stairs. Therewas an eager, exalted look in his face that slowly gave way towell-assumed unconcern as his friend came upon him and grasped hisarm.

  "I say, Leslie, is--is she staying here?" cried Booth, loweringhis voice to an excited half-whisper.

  "Who?" demanded Wrandall vacantly. His mind appeared to be elsewhere.

  "Why, that's the girl I saw on the road--Wake up! The one on theenvelope, you ass. Is she the one you were telling me about in theclub--the Miss What's-Her-Name who--"

  "Oh, you mean Miss Castleton. She's just gone upstairs. You musthave met her on the steps."

  "You know I did. So THAT is Miss Castleton."

  "Ripping, isn't she? Didn't I tell you so?"

  "She's beautiful. She IS a type, just as you said, old man,--areally wonderful type. I saw her yesterday--and the day before."

  "I've been wondering how you managed to get a likeness of her onthe back of an envelope," said Leslie sarcastically. "Must have hada good long look at her, my boy. It isn't a snap-shot, you know."

  Booth flushed. "It is an impression, that's all. I drew it frommemory, 'pon my soul."

  "She'll be immensely gratified, I'm sure."

  "For heaven's sake, Les, don't be such a fool as to show her thething," cried Booth in consternation. "She'd never understand."

  "Oh, you needn't worry. She has a fine sense of humour."

  Booth didn't know whether to laugh or scowl. He compromised withhimself by slipping his arm through that of his friend and sayingheartily:

  "I wish you the best of luck, old boy."

  "Thanks," said L
eslie drily.