The Forbidden Way

  *CHAPTER VII*

  *BRAEBANK*

  "I can't see, Curtis," said Mrs. Janney, in the smoking room, "why youchose to ask those vulgar Wrays to Braebank. It almost seems as if youwere carrying your business relationships too far. The woman is prettyenough, and I dare say her easy Western ways will be attractive to themasculine portion of your guests. But the man is impossible--absolutelyimpossible! He does not even use correct English, and hismanners--atrocious!"

  The palms of the good lady's hands, as she raised them in her righteouswrath, were very pink on the inside, like the petals of rosebuds. Theywere sheltered hands, very soft and plump, and their fingers bore manylarge and expensive jewels. Mrs. Janney was made up wholly of convexcurves, which neither art nor starvation could deflect. The roundnessof her face was further accented by concentric curves at brows, mouth,and chin, which gave the impression of a series of parentheses. Itwould not be stretching the figure too far to add that Mrs. Janney, inmost of their few affiliations, bore a somewhat parenthetical relationto her husband. Her life, as well as her conversation, was made up of"asides," to which Curtis Janney was not in the habit of paying theslightest attention. Her present remarks, however, seemed to merit areply.

  "My dear Amelia," he said, tolerantly, from his easy chair, "when wewere first married you used to say that all a man needed to make his wayin New York was a dress suit and a smile. Wray has both. Besides, itis quite necessary to be on good terms with him. As for his wife, Ihave rarely seen a girl who created such an agreeable impression.Cornelius Bent has taken them up. He has his reasons for doing so. Sohave I. I'll trouble you, therefore, to be civil."

  He got up and put down his cigar, and Mrs. Janney shrugged her shouldersinto a more pronounced convexity.

  "I won't question your motives, Curtis, though, of course, I know youhave them. But I don't think we can afford to jeopardize our standingby always taking up new people like the Wrays. The man is vulgar--thewoman, provincial."

  Mr. Janney by this time had taken up the telephone and was ordering thewagons to the station.

  "Why, Gretchen, dear! You're late. It's almost train time." MissJanney entered in riding clothes from the terrace, bringing traces ofthe fine November weather. She was a tall, slender girl of the athletictype, sinuous and strong, with a skin so firm and ruddy from the airthat it glowed crisply as though shot with mica.

  "Is it, mother? Cortland and I had _such_ a wonderful ride. He isreally quite the nicest man in the world. Aren't you, Cort?"

  "Of course I am," said Bent, laughing, as he entered, "anything Gretchensays. That's because I never made love to her, isn't it, Gretchen?"

  "Partly. Love is so silly. You know, daddy, I've given Cort his_conge_."

  Janney turned testily. "What nonsense you children talk!"

  "I mean it, though, daddy," she went on calmly. "I'm too fond of Cortever to think of marrying him. We settled that still more definitelyto-day. Since you were so inconsiderate, you two, as to neglect toprovide me with a brother, I've adopted Cort."

  "Really, Gretchen, you're getting more hopeless every day," sighed hermother. "What does Cortland say?"

  "I?" laughed Bent. "What is there left for me to say? We're hopelesslyfriendly, that's all. I'm afraid there's nothing left but to take todrink. May I?"

  He lifted the decanter of Scotch and poured himself a drink, but Janney,with a scowl in the direction of his daughter, left the room.

  "You mustn't speak so heartlessly, dear," said Mrs. Janney. "You knowit always makes your father angry. You must be patient with her,Cortland."

  "I am," said that gentleman, helping himself to a cigarette. "I'm thesoul of patience, Mrs. Janney. I've pleaded and begged. I've eventhreatened suicide, but all to no purpose. There's no satisfaction inshooting one's self on account of a girl who's going to laugh at yourfuneral."

  He threw himself hopelessly into a big English chair and sighedexuberantly, while Gretchen gave him a reproachful look over hermother's shoulder. "My poor boy, don't give her up," said the lady,genuinely. "All will come right in time, I'm sure. You must be sweeterto him, Gretchen. You really must."

  "I suppose I must," said Gretchen with an air of resignation. "I'll notbe any more cruel than I can help."

  When the good lady left the room they looked at each other for a moment,and then burst into shameless laughter.

  "Poor mother! She never had a sense of humor. I wouldn't laugh at yourfuneral, though, Cort. That was unkind. You know, I'm afraid father isvery much provoked."

  Bent's laughter died, and he gazed at the ash of his cigarette. "He'sreally quite serious about it, isn't he?"

  "Oh, yes. It's an awful nuisance, because, in his way, he has a will asstrong as mine."

  Bent smiled. "I'm glad I'm not in his boots. You're fearfully stubborn,Gretchen."

  "Because I insist on marrying whom I choose?"

  "Because you insist on not marrying me."

  Miss Janney sank in a chair by the table, fingering the pages of amagazine. She said nothing in reply, but in a few moments spokecarelessly.

  "Tell me something about Lawrence Berkely, will you?"

  "Larry? You've only met him once. Your curiosity is indecent."

  "You know he's coming here with the Wrays."

  "Not really? That's going a bit strong. I don't think I'll stand forthat."

  "Oh, yes, you will. He's quite as good as we are. He belongs to _the_Berkelys of Virginia. Mrs. Rumsen knows them."

  "That's convincing. Any one Aunt Caroline knows will need no card toSaint Peter. Oh, Larry's all right. But I warn you not to fall in lovewith him."

  "That's precisely what I've done," she asserted.

  He glanced at her amusedly, but she met his look coolly.

  "It's true, Cort. He's actually the only man I've met since I came outwho really isn't eligible. I'm so delighted. Of course, father wouldnever have permitted it if he'd only known that Mr. Berkely wasn't rich.He hasn't much use for poor people. Oh, he's well enough off, I suppose,as Mr. Wray's partner, but then he doesn't own any of that fabulous goldmine."

  "How do you know all these things?"

  "He told me. Besides, he's terribly good looking, and has had somethingthe matter with his lungs."

  "Well, of all the----"

  "That's why he's been living in the West. But he's quite well now.Isn't it splendid? I only hope he'll like me. Don't you think he haswonderful eyes?"

  "I'm sure I never noticed. See here, Gretchen, you're talking rot. I'mgoing to tell your father."

  "Oh, I don't care," airily. "But if you do, I'll tell Mr. Wray."

  "Wray?"

  "Yes--that you're in love with his wife."

  Miss Janney exploded this bombshell casually while she removed her hat,watching him carefully meanwhile in the mirror. If she had planned hercoup, she could not have been more fully rewarded, for Cortland startedup, clutching at the chair arms, his face aghast; but when his eyes methers in the mirror he sank back again, laughing uneasily.

  "What--who on earth put that silly idea into your head?"

  "You--yourself. I watched you at the Warringtons."

  "What nonsense! I've known Camilla a long time."

  "Not so long as you've known me. And you never looked at me like that."She laid her hat beside her crop on the table, then turned quickly andput her hand over his on the chair arm. "You may trust me, Cortland,dear. If I'm going to be your sister, I may as well begin at once.It's true, isn't it?"

  He remained silent a long while, his gaze fixed on the open fire beforehim. Then at last he turned his hand over so that his fingers claspedhers. "Yes," he whispered, "it's true, Gretchen. It's true."

  "I'm so sorry, Cort," she murmured. "I suspected from your letters. Iwish I might have helped you. I feel somehow that I am to blame--thatwe ever got engaged. Won't you tell me how it happened that she marriedhim--inste
ad of you?"

  "No, no," he said, rising and walking to the window. "She--she marriedWray--because--because she loved him, that's all. I wasn't the man."

  Gretchen watched him wistfully, still standing beside the chair he hadvacated, full of the first deep sympathy she had ever known. Slowly shewalked over and put her hand timidly on his shoulder.

  "You'll forgive me, won't you, Cort? I wouldn't have spoken if I hadknown how deeply you felt." She turned aside with a bitter littlelaugh. "Isn't it queer that life should be so full of complications?Everybody expects you and me to marry each other--at least, everybodybut ourselves, and we won't because--why is it that we won't? Chieflybecause everybody expects us to--and because it's so easy. I'm sure ifthere was any reason why we shouldn't marry, I'd love you quite madly.Instead of which, you're in love with a married woman, and I--I'minterested in a youth with sad romantic eyes and an impaired breathingapparatus."

  "Gretchen, don't be silly," he said, smiling in spite of himself.

  "I'm really serious--you'll see." She stopped and clutched Bent's arm."Tell me, Cort. He's not married already, is he?"

  "You silly child. Not that I know of. Berkely is a conscientious sortof a bird--he wouldn't have let you make love to him----"

  "I _didn't_," with dignity, "we talked about the weather mostly."

  "That must have been romantic."

  "Cort, I'll not speak to you again." She rushed past him to the window,her head erect. Outside was the whirr of an arriving motor. "Howtiresome. Here come the Billy Havilands," she said, "and they'll want tobe playing 'Auction' at once. They always do. As if there was nothingbut 'Bridge' in the world!" She sniffed. "I wish we were going to befewer in number. Just you and I and----"

  "And Larry?"

  "Yes--and Mrs. Wray," she put in viciously.

  Curtis Janney was already in the big stair hall to welcome the arrivals.

  "Billy--Dorothy--welcome! Of course you had to bring your buzz-wagon.I suppose I'll be driven to build a garage some day--but it will be welldown by the East Lodge. Do you expect to follow in that thing? Rita!Awfully glad. Your hunter came over last night. He looks fit as afiddle. Aren't you cold? Gretchen, dear, ring for tea."

  Noiseless maids and men-servants appeared, appropriated wraps and handbaggage, and departed.

  "We timed it nicely," said Haviland, looking at his watch. "Forty-sevenfrom the ferry. We passed your wagons a moment ago. Gretchen, who'sthe red-haired girl with the Rumsens?"

  "_Et tu, Brute_? That's Mrs. Wray. None of us has a chance when she'saround. Here they are now."

  The two station wagons drew up at the terrace, and the guestsdismounted. Mr. and Mrs. Rumsen with the Wrays in the station wagon,and the Baroness Charny, the Warringtons, Jack Perot, and LawrenceBerkely in the 'bus.

  "Well, Worthy! Got here after all! Caroline, Mrs. Wray, would you liketo go right up or will you wait for tea? Wray, there's somethingstronger just inside. Show him, won't you, Billy?"

  Wray entered the big hall with a renewed appreciation of the utility ofwealth. The houses in New York which he had seen were, of course, builtupon a more moderate scale. He had still to discover that the men ofwealth were learning to make their week-ends out of town longer, andthat the real home-life of many of them had been transferred to thecountry, where broad acres and limitless means enabled them to gratifytheir tastes in developing great estates which would hand down theirnames in the architectural history of the country when their city housesshould be overwhelmed and lost in the march of commerce. Curtis Janney,for all his great responsibilities, was an open-air man, and he took areal delight in his great Tudor house and stables. The wide entrancehall which so impressed Jeff was designed in the ripe Palladian mannerwhich distinguished the later work of the great Inigo Jones. This loftyroom was the keynote of the building--a double cube in shape, thestaircase which led from the centre opposite the door ornate in acharacter purely classic--the doorways to the other rooms on the samefloor masterful in structural arrangement and elegant in their grace andsimplicity. It almost seemed as though the room had been designed as aframework for the two wonderful Van Dykes which were placed at each sideof the stairway.

  Jeff smiled as he walked into the smoking room--the smile of possession.He realized, as never before, that taste, elegance, style, were thingswhich could be bought with money, as one would buy stock or a piece ofreal estate. The only difference between Curtis Janney and himself wasthat his host had an ancestor or two--while Jeff had none.

  Miss Janney had quietly and cleverly appropriated Lawrence Berkely andwas already on her way to the conservatory. Jack Perot, who painted theportraits of fashionable ladies, had taken the Baroness to the LongRoom, where the English pictures were hung. Camilla, after a few politecomments on the dignity of the house, sat a little aside in silence.Cortland Bent, after a glance toward the door through which Miss Janneyhad vanished, dropped into the vacant chair beside her.

  "I'm so glad to see you," she said genuinely. "You know the magnificenceis rather bewildering." She paused and lowered her voice. "It seems asif I hadn't seen you for ages."

  "Yes," he murmured. "I'm expecting wings any day now. I'm almost toogood to be true."

  "You're an angel," she smiled. "I want you to be good, and I'm sure Iwant you to be true. And yet"--she paused--"this seems the only case inthe world where to be true is to be bad."

  "You can't make the sun stop shining."

  "I don't think I want it to stop shining altogether. You see, I'mselfish. I want it under a cloud, that's all."

  There was a pause--significant to them both.

  "I am trying, Camilla. I am doing my best. You appreciate that?"

  "Yes, but it shouldn't be so hard. I don't think it would be hard forme in your place!"

  His eyes questioned.

  "Miss Janney--she is adorable." She looked over the rim of her cup athim as she finished her tea. "My dear Cort," she laughed, as she handedit to him, "the best I can say for you is that you have the worst tastein the world. I'm really in love with her myself. I can't see what youcould have been thinking of----"

  "Any more than _I_ can see what _you_ were thinking of."

  There was a refuge from the danger toward which she felt herselfdrifting, and she took it, addressing her nearest neighbor.

  "Mrs. Cheyne, don't you think men have abominable taste?"

  "Oh, yes, abominable," laughed the lady. "Ugh! I hate mustaches, too,don't you?"

  Camilla turned a shade rosier, but her discomfiture was lost in thelaughter of those who remembered that Cheyne had worn a beard.

  "You know I didn't mean just that," explained Camilla. "I meant theirappreciation of women--their sense of the esthetic----"

  "Anesthetic, Mrs. Wray. That's the only word for a man's perceptions.A French frock, a smart hat, a little deft color, and the plainest of usis a match for the gayest Lothario. They're only bipeds, instincts onlegs----"

  "Oh, I say now, Rita," laughed Bent.

  "We can't stand for that, Mrs. Cheyne," put in their host. "I supposeyou'd think me ungallant if I asked you what kind of instincts womenwere."

  "Instincts with wings," she purred, "angels by intuition, rhapsodists byoccupation, and sirens by inheritance. We're not in the least afraid ofyou, Mr. Janney."

  "I should think not. For my part, if I knew that one of you was campingon my trail, I'd give in at once."

  "I'm so glad. It's a pet theory of mine that when a woman really setsher cap for a man he had better give up at once, for she will winhim--fortune favoring--in the end. Don't you agree, Mrs. Wray?"

  "I've never thought about it, Mrs. Cheyne," said Camilla slowly. "Byfortune you mean propinquity?"

  "Oh, yes--and other things----" laughingly. "For instance, if I hadfallen in love with a man I shouldn't stop to consider. If he wasanother woman's husband--say _your_ husband, Mrs. Wray--that would onlyadd a new element of interest. The more difficult an underta
king, thegreater satisfaction in the achievement."

  Camilla looked at her steadily for a moment. "I've never thought thatany man ought to be dignified by such extraordinary effort. A husband soeasily won away is not worth keeping."

  The two women had only met once before. They both smiled, sweetlytolerant, their weapons politely sheathed. Only Cortland Bent, who knewthe hearts of both, sensed the difference between them.

  "You're very flattering, Rita," he broke in, "especially to the bipeds.You've carefully deprived us of every attribute but legs. But we stillhave those--and can run."

  "But you don't," laughed Mrs. Cheyne. "That's just the point. You likethe game--all of you. Even your legs aren't proof against flattery."

  "Stop, Rita," put in Betty Haviland. "You're letting out all thesecrets of the craft."

  "Come, Camilla," said Cortland, rising, "wouldn't you like to see thehorses and dogs? It's not nearly dark yet."

  "Oh, yes," she cried gladly. And then to her host, "What am I toexpect, Mr. Janney, silver feed troughs and sterilized water?"

  "Oh, no," said their host, "not yet. But they're worth it."

  The pair made their way through the library and a small corridor whichled to the south portico.

  "How do you like my cousin Rita?" Bent asked when they were aloneoutside.

  "Is she your cousin?"

  "Through my mother--the Davidges. Quite wonderful, eh?"

  "I don't like her. You don't mind my saying so, do you?"

  "Not in the least. She's not your sort, Camilla. But then nobody evertakes Rita seriously. She doesn't want them to. She's a spoileddarling. Everybody pets her. That bored kind of cleverness iseffective--but everybody knows she doesn't mean half she says."

  "I'd be sorry to think she meant anything she says," severely.

  Bent laughed. "I'm afraid you're too sincere for my crowd, Camilla."

  "Who is Mr. Cheyne?" she asked suddenly.

  "A perfectly amiable person with a bald head and a passion fordomesticity and music, both of which Rita affects to despise."

  "Why did she marry him then?"

  "Nobody knows. It was one of the marriages that weren't made in Heaven,that's all."

  "Few marriages are, but they're none the less binding because of that."

  "Yes, I know," he said soberly.

  She recognized the minor note and turned the subject quickly.

  "What a heavenly spot! These are the stables, of course. And thebuildings beyond?"

  "The kennels. Mr. Janney has his own pack--corking hounds. They'vebeen breeding this strain a long while in England. I suppose they're asgood as any in the world."

  "I'm wild to see them."

  The head groom met them at the door of the carriage house and showedthem through. The much despised touring car of the Havilands occupied anegligible part of the great floor. The coach, brake, carryall, stationwagons, victoria, runabouts, and brake-carts--all in royal blue withprimrose running-gear--looked down with an old-fashioned dignity anddisapprobation on this product of a new civilization. The paneled wallsof the room were covered with sporting prints, and the trophy room, withits cabinets of cups and ribbons, bore eloquent testimony to CurtisJanney's success at horse shows in every large city of the country. Inthe stables Camilla lost all sense of restraint. A stable had nevermeant anything like this. The cement floors were spotless, and the longline of stalls of polished wood with brass newels and fittings shonelike the silver in the drawing room. The mats and blankets were ofblue, and each bore the monogram of the owner in yellow.

  "These are the coach and carriage horses, Camilla," Bent explained.

  "Yes, ma'am," put in the groom. "The hunters are here," and he led theway to the box stalls.

  "Where is Mackinaw? Mr. Janney promised him to me for to-morrow."

  "Oh, Mackinaw is right here, ma'am. And a fine bit of flesh he is." Hewent in and threw off the blanket, while Camilla followed. "Not ablemish. He'll take his four rails like they was two. Just give him hishead, and you won't be far off when they kill."

  "Oh, what a darling! I'm wild to get on him. Is he gentle?"

  She patted him on the neck, and he nosed her pocket for sugar. One byone she saw them all, and they reached the kennels in time for theevening meal.

  "Oh, well," she sighed as they turned back toward the house, "I'm almostreconciled to riches. One could live in a place like this and forgetthere was anything else in the world."

  "Yes, perhaps some people might," he said significantly. "I couldn't,even if I wanted to. The only real joy in life is the memory ofSaguache Peak at sunset."

  "Sunsets pass--they're symbols of the brevity of things beautiful----"

  "But the night is long," he murmured. "So long, and so dark."