*CHAPTER XV*
*INFATUATION*
The season was at its height. The Rumsen ball, the Warringtons'dinner-dance, and some of the subscription affairs had passed intosocial history, but a brilliant season of opera not yet half over and adozen large dances were still to follow. Camilla sat at her deskassorting and arranging the cards of her many visitors, recordingengagements and obligations. When Jeff had left for the West she hadplunged into the social whirlpool with a desperation born of a desire toforget, and, as she went out, there had come a bitter pleasure in theknowledge that, after all, she had been able to win her way in New Yorkagainst all odds. People sought her now, not because she was a protegeeof Mrs. Worthington Rumsen, or because she was the wife of the rich Mr.Wray, but because she was herself.
The dangers which threatened no longer caused her any dismay, forambition obsessed her. It was an appetite which had grown great withfeeding, and she let it take her where it would. There was not an hourof the day when she was not busy--in the mornings with her notes and hershopping, in the afternoons with luncheons, teas, and other smartfunctions, at night with dinners, the theatre, or the opera and thecalendared dances. There were few opportunities for her to be alone,and the thought of a reconciliation with her husband, which had at onetime seemed possible, had been relegated to her mental dust-bin incompany with an assorted lot of youthful ideals which she had found itnecessary to discard.
She could not remember the day when she had not been socially ambitious.Five months ago, before she and Jeff had quarreled, there had been atime when she had been willing to give up the world and go back withhim. She had been less ambitious at that moment than ever before in herlife. If he had taken her with him then, there might still have beentime to repair their damages and begin life on a basis of realunderstanding. For a brief time she had abhorred the new life he hadfound for her, had hated herself for the thing that she really was, asocial climber, a pariah--too good for her old acquaintances, not goodenough for her new ones--a creature with a mission of intrusion, a beingneither fish, flesh, nor good red herring, and yet perhaps something ofall three. But that period of mental probation had passed. She nolonger felt that she was climbing. There were many broken rungs belowher on the social ladder, but those above were sound, and her head wasamong clouds tinted with pink and amber.
Such was the magic of success. She lived in an atmosphere of softexcitements and pleasurable exhilarations, of compliments and offlattery, of violets and roses. Bridge lessons had improved her game,but she still discovered that the amounts she could lose in a week wererather appalling. Checks for large amounts came regularly from theWest, and she spent them a little recklessly, convinced that she wasobeying to the letter her husband's injunction to strengthen theirsocial position, no matter what the cost. She had written Jeff twice inthe first week after his departure asking if she could not follow him toMesa City. His replies had been brief and unnecessarily offensive--sothat, though his image loomed large at times, pride refused furtheradvances. Cortland Bent had been with her continually and of coursepeople were talking. She heard that from Mrs. Rumsen, who, in thecourse of a morning of casual "mothering," had spoken to Camilla withcharacteristic freedom.
"I know there's no harm in his attentions, child," she said, "at leastso far as you're concerned. You have always struck me as beingsingularly capable of looking after yourself--and of course Cort is oldenough to know what _he_ is about. But it never does any one any goodto be talked about--especially a woman who has her way to make in theworld. There is a simplicity almost rustic in the way you two youngpeople allow yourselves to be discovered in public places--which, to anancient philosopher like myself, carries complete conviction ofinnocence. But others may not be so discerning. If you were ugly ordeformed it wouldn't make the slightest difference what you did, but,being handsome, you are on trial; and every pretty woman in society ison the jury of a court which convicts on circumstantial evidence alone."
Camilla thanked her preceptor for the warning, aware of an unpleasantsense of shock at the revelation. She seemed to have reached a point inher mad infatuation with life where warnings made no impression uponher. She had not seen Cort Bent for several days now, and, while sheexperienced a vague sense of loss in his absence, which had not beenexplained, she was so busy that she had not even found time to analyzeit.
A belated cold season had set in--a season of snow and ice; andfashionable New Yorkers, in a brief interlude of unimportantengagements, flocked for the week-end to their country places to enjoy afew days of old-fashioned winter weather. The Billy Havilands' farm waswithin motoring distance of the town. It wasn't much of a place in themodern sense, merely a charming old shingled farmhouse which had beenremodeled and added to, set in a big lawn like a baroque pearl in greenenamel, surrounded by ancient trees which still protected it with theirbeneficent boughs. As Haviland and his wife preferred the city inwinter and went to their Newport cottage in summer, they only used TheCove for small house parties between seasons. It was kept open for justsuch occasions as the present one, and Camilla, who had joined thisparty at the last moment, was looking forward with enjoyment to aglimpse of winter life in a different sort of community.
Snow had fallen during the night, but the day was cold and clear--one ofthose dry, sparkling days like the winter ones in Colorado when theSaguache Peak was laid like a white paper-cutting against the turquoisesky, and the trees at timber line were visible in silhouette to thenaked eye. It was freezing hard, and Camilla's skin tingled sharplybeneath her motor veil, but she lay back in her warm furs beside DorothyHaviland in the tonneau, drinking deep breaths of delight as she watchedthe panorama of purple hills across the river. The snow was not toodeep for easy going, but in places it had drifted across the road waisthigh. Rejoicing in the chance to test the mettle of his high-poweredcar, Haviland took these drifts on the high gear, sending a cloud ofiridescent crystals over and about his guests, who pelted theunresponsive back of his head with snowballs. Farmers in sleighs andwagons on runners drew aside in alarm, to stare with open mouths at thepanting demon--which passed them by before their horses had time to befrightened. Every ride with "Billy" was a "joy" ride--he hadn't driventhis car in the Vanderbilt Cup race for nothing. Jack Perot clung to therobe rail, and alternately prayed and swore in Haviland's ear; theBaroness Charny punctuated his remarks with cunning foreign cries, andDorothy herself admonished him to be careful, but Camilla, whatever shefelt, sat quietly between the two women, her pulses going fast, a preyto the new excitement of speed.
Haviland had 'phoned his orders from the city to have the bobsled sentover to the Country Club--and when they drove through the entrancegates, the pond in the valley below the golf course was dotted withskaters. A blue thread of smoke trailed skyward from the cabin of theFishing and Skating Club--a part of the larger organization--from whichpeople came and glided forth by twos and threes over the glossy bluesurface of the pond.
A surprise awaited the party, for as the motor drew up at the steps ofthe Golf House it was greeted by a storm of soft snowballs from a crowdambushed in a snow fort on the lawn. The motor party got out hurriedly,laughing like children, while Billy Haviland, like a good general,marshaled his forces under the protecting bulk of the machine, whilethey threw off their heavy furs and made snowballs enough to sally forthvaliantly to the attack. The battle was short and furious, until JackPerot and Camilla by a dexterous flank-movement assailed the unprotectedwings and came to close quarters with the enemy, Larry, Gretchen,Cortland Bent, and Rita Cheyne. A well-aimed shot by Camilla caughtCortland on the nose, which disconcerted him for a moment, and Havilandimproved his opportunity by washing Rita's face in snow. A truce wasdeclared, however, but not before the besiegers had entered thebreastworks and given three cheers for their victory.
"I'll never forgive you, Billy," laughed Rita, brushing the snow fromher neck. "Never--I'm simply soaking."
/> "Spoils of victory! You're lucky I didn't kiss you."
"Yes, I am," she said with sudden demureness. "I'd rather have my facewashed."
The machine was sent on, and, chatting gaily, the party made its waydown to the cabin by the lakeside, a path to which had been clearedthrough the snow. Camilla glanced at Cortland Bent, who stood silentlyat her side.
"What's the matter, Cort? Aren't you going to speak to me?" she askedcarelessly.
He forced a laugh. "Oh, yes, of course."
"Where have you been? Do you realize that I haven't seen you for thelast two days?"
"Four," he corrected soberly. "I--I've been very busy."
"That's no explanation. You're angry?"
"No, not at all. I--thought I'd better not come."
She examined him curiously, and laid her fingers on his arm. "How funnyyou are? Has anything happened?"
He didn't reply at once, and kept his gaze away from her. "I came hereto-day," he said deliberately, "because I thought it would be the oneplace where you and I wouldn't meet."
"Oh!" and she turned away abruptly, her chin in the air, "I'm sorry. Weneedn't meet _now_," and she hurried her steps.
But he lengthened his stride and kept pace with her.
"You don't understand----"
"I don't care to understand. You don't want to see me--that'senough----"
"Camilla, please----"
"I'm not in the habit of pursuing the men of my acquaintance, Cort.I'll save you the trouble of avoiding me." And with that she broke awayfrom him and ran down the path, joining the others at the door of thehouse. His attitude annoyed her more because she couldn't understand itthan because of any other reason. What had come over him? They hadparted as friends with the definite assurance that they were to meet thenext day. She had been busy writing letters then, but she rememberednow that he had not called. There was an unaccountable difference inhis manner, and he had spoken with a cold precision which chilled her.She felt it in all the sensitive antennae which a woman projects toguard the approaches to her heart. All that was feminine and cruel inher was up in arms at once against him. He needed a lesson. She mustgive it to him.
On the ice they met a merry party, and Billy Haviland pointed them allout to Camilla--Molly Bracknell and her diminutive husband, known inclubdom as the "comic supplement"; Jack Archer, the famous surgeon, andhis fiancee, who had lost her appendix and her heart at the same time.Stephen Gillis, the lawyer, who was in love with his pretty client, Mrs.Cheyne, and didn't care who knew it.
"Is he really in love with Mrs. Cheyne?" asked Camilla.
"Oh, yes--threw over a girl he was engaged to. He's got it bad--worsethan most of 'em."
"What a pity!"
"Rita's in good form this winter."
"She has a charm for men."
"Dolly says she's a _de luxe_ binding of a French novel on a copy of'Handley Cross.' I guess it's true. But I've always been afraid ofRita."
"Why?"
"She's too infernally clever. She don't like my sort. She likes brainychaps with serious purposes. They're the kind that always take to her.I think she knows I'm 'wise.'"
They crossed hands, and Camilla resolutely gave herself over to thepleasure of motion. She skated rather badly--a fact to be bewailed,since Rita Cheyne was doing "figure eights" and "corkscrews," but withHaviland's help she managed to make three or four turns without mishap.But she refused to "crack the whip," and skated alone until CortlandBent joined her. He offered her his hand, but she refused his help.
"Won't you go away please, Cort?"
"I've got to see you to-night, Camilla," he said suddenly. "Where willyou be?"
As she wouldn't reply, he took her hand and skated backward facing her."You've got to see me, Camilla----"
"I can't--I won't."
"I'm going away to-morrow."
"We've gotten along for four days without meeting," she said airily. "Ithink I'll survive."
"You're heartless----"
"I know it. Please get out of my way."
"No--not until you promise to let me see you."
"You're seeing me now."
He took her firmly by the elbows. "Listen, Camilla! I'm leaving NewYork to-morrow for a long while--perhaps for good----"
For the first time she realized the importance of what he was saying andlooked up into his eyes, discovering something in their shadows she hadnot seen before.
"Is it true? Why are you going?"
"That's what I wanted to tell you. May I see you to-night?"
She considered a moment before she replied indifferently.
"Yes, if you like. I am at the Havilands'."
As they stopped before the cabin, Jack Perot joined them, offering totake Camilla for a turn, but she said she was cold, and the three ofthem went inside to the burning log. Larry and Gretchen on the benchput a space between them rather suddenly.
"Don't move on _our_ account, Larry," said Perot mischievously; "yoursilhouettes through the window were wonderful--quite touching--in fact."
"Jack!" said Gretchen, her face flaming, "you couldn't _see_----"
"No, as a matter of fact, we couldn't--because the shades aredrawn"--the painter laughed immoderately--"but you know we _might_have."
"You're a very disagreeable person, and I don't like you at all," saidMiss Janney. "I'll never let you do my portrait--_never_!"
"Ha! ha!" he cried in accents of Bowery melodrama. "At last, Geraldine,I have you in me cul-lutches. I'm desprit and starving! Next week Ipaint your portrait--or tell your father! Cha-oose, beautiful one!"
In the laugh which followed Larry joined good-naturedly. Indeed, therewas nothing left to do--unless it was to wring the painter's neck.Instead of which, he wrung his hand and whispered, "I wish you would,Perot. It'll save me the trouble."
The rest of the crowd appeared after a while, and the steward broughthot Scotches, which detracted nothing from the gayety of the occasion.
"God made the country--man made the town," sighed Billy sententiously,holding the amber liquid to the firelight. "The simple pleasures--thehealthy sports of our ancestors! Eh, Rita?"
"Oh, yes," with fine scorn, "quilting parties! No bridge, golf ortennis. Imagine a confirmed night owl like _you_, Billy, tucked safelyin bed at nine."
"I'm often in bed by nine."
"Nine in the morning," laughed Perot. "That's safe enough."
"Don't believe 'em, Camilla. I'm an ideal husband, aren't I, Dolly?"
"I hadn't noticed it."
"Oh, what's the use?" sniffed Mrs. Cheyne. "There's only one IdealHusband."
"Who?" asked a voice, solicitous and feminine.
"Oh, some other woman's, of course."
"How silly of you, Rita," said Gretchen indignantly. "It's gotten to thepoint where nobody believes the slightest thing you say."
"That's just what she wants," laughed Cortland. "Don't gratify her,Gretchen."
Mrs. Cheyne shrugged her shoulders, and, with a glance at Camilla, "Nowthe Ideal Wife, Cort----"
"Would be my own," he interrupted quickly, his face flushing. "Iwouldn't marry any other kind."
"That's why you _haven't_ married, Cortland dear," said Ritaacidulously.
Camilla listened with every outward mark of composure--her gaze in thefire--conscious of the growing animosity in Mrs. Cheyne. They had metonly twice since Jeff's departure, and on those occasions each hadoutdone the other in social amenities, each aware of the other'shypocrisy. In their polite interchange of compliments Wray's name hadby mutual consent been avoided, and neither of them could be said tohave the slightest tactical advantage. But Camilla felt rather thanknew that an understanding of some sort existed between Mrs. Cheyne andJeff--a more complete understanding than Camilla and her husband hadever had. She could not understand it, for two persons more dissimilarhad never been created. Mrs. Cheyne was the last expression of adecadent dynasty--Jeff, the dawning hope of a new one. She had taken himup
as the season's novelty, a masculine curiosity which she had added toher cabinet of eligible amusements. Camilla's intuition had long sincetold her of Jeff's danger, and it had been in her heart the night theyseparated to warn him against his dainty enemy. Even now it might nothave been too late--if he would have listened to her, if he wouldbelieve that her motive was a part of their ancient friendship, if hewould meet her in a spirit of compromise, if he were not already toodeeply enmeshed in Rita Cheyne's silken net. There were too many "ifs,"and the last one seemed to suggest that any further effort in the way ofa reconciliation would be both futile and demeaning.
Camilla was now aware that Mrs. Cheyne was going out of her way to makeher relations with Cort conspicuous--permissible humor, had the twowomen been friendly. Under present conditions it was merelyimpertinence.
"Mrs. Cheyne means," said Camilla distinctly, "that the ideal husbandsare the ones one can't get." And then, pointedly, "Don't you, Mrs.Cheyne?"
Rita glanced at Camilla swiftly and smiled her acknowledgment of thethrust.
"They wouldn't be ideal," she laughed, "if we ever got them, Mrs. Wray."
"Touchee," whispered Billy Haviland to Larry Berkely, delightedly.
Outside there was a merry jingle of sleighbells, and Mrs. Haviland rose."Come, children," she said, "that's for us. I wish we had more room atThe Cove. You'll come, though, Cort, won't you? We need another man."
"Do you mind if I stay out, Rita?" Cortland appealed.
"Oh, not at all, I'm so used to being deserted for Mrs. Wray that I'mactually uncomfortable without the sensation."
So the party was arranged. A long bobsled hitched to a pair of horseswas at the door, and the women got on, while Gretchen pelted snowballsat Perot, and only succeeded in hitting the horses, so that Camilla andthe Baroness were spilled out into the snow and the man had a hard timebringing the team to a stop. A pitched battle ensued while the threewomen scrambled into their places, Cortland and Billy covering theretreat. At last they all got on, and, amid a shower of snowballs whichthe sledders couldn't return, the horses galloped up the hill and outinto the turnpike which led to the Haviland farm.