The Forbidden Way

  *CHAPTER IX*

  *THE SHADOW*

  Mrs. Cheyne's farmhands and stablemen came running and took the horsesof those who dismounted; and Mrs. Cheyne, after examining herself to seethat no bones were broken, led the way, stiffly but without assistance,to the house. Camilla, still a little bewildered, saw Mackinaw led offto the stable for a rub-down. The Master of the Hounds was the first tocongratulate her.

  "Here is your Brush, Mrs. Wray. You've filled every woman's heart withenvy. To be in at the death of the old Chelten Fox is an achievement.You had a fall. Are you injured?"

  "I believe not," she said. "Mackinaw is a darling. I hope he's sound?"she inquired anxiously.

  "As a bell," he said generously. "He's got the heart of an ox. Youknow"--he laughed and whispered--"I bought him from Mrs. Cheyne, andto-day you've vindicated me."

  Others came up, men of the Hunt Club, and asked to be presented, andCamilla, enjoying her triumph, followed the party to the house.

  Mrs. Cheyne's house differed in character from that of the Janneys. Itwas snugly built in a pocket of the hills, facing to the south. Theoriginal building, square and massive, dated from the early eighteenthcentury, but two symmetrical wings at the sides had greatly increasedits original size. Large pillars and a portico gave the graceful lineswhich the addition demanded. The wide stair hall which ran from frontto back had not been altered, and the furniture and hangings rigidlypreserved the ancient atmosphere.

  The surprised butler and his assistant hurriedly prepared hot Scotchesand toddy, and the halls and large rooms on the lower floor were soonfilled with the swaggering company--all talking at once, each with histale of luck or misfortune.

  It was not until Camilla was gratefully enthroned in a big chair by theopen fireplace that Cortland Bent found a chance to speak to her.

  "What possessed you, Camilla? You rode like a demon. You've draggedpoor Rita's pride in the mire. Riding is her long suit. She's not usedto yielding her laurels as she did to-day. I fancy she's not at allhappy about it."

  "Why?" asked Camilla, wonderingly.

  "You don't know Rita as I do. She runs things out here pretty much inher own way." He chuckled quietly. "Good Lord, but you did put it overher."

  "I'm sorry if she feels badly about it," she put in mendaciously.

  "There's nothing to be sorry about. You won out against odds on a horseshe'd thrown into the discard. That doesn't make her feel any sweeter.She's a queer one. There's no telling how she'll take things. But shedoesn't like being the under dog, and she won't forget this soon."

  "Neither will I," said Camilla, smiling to herself. "She scored one onme yesterday, but I fancy our accounts are about even."

  "Yes, they are. I suppose there's no use warning you."

  "No, there isn't, Cort. I fancy I'll be able to look out for myself."

  He examined her keenly and realized that she was looking at Jeff, whostood with some men at the end of the room toasting their hostess. Heseemed to have forgotten Camilla's existence. In the field before theycame into the house Jeff had spoken to her, and when Janney had givenCamilla the Brush, Jeff had congratulated her noisily and with theheartiness and enthusiasm he always showed over things which reflectedcredit on himself. In their private life Jeff still stood a little inawe of Camilla. He realized that his many deficiencies put him at adisadvantage with a woman of her stamp, and, no matter what he felt, hehad never asked more of her in the way of companionship than she hadbeen willing to give him ungrudgingly; he was tolerant of her literarymoods, her music, her love of pictures, and the many things he could notunderstand. She was the only cultured woman he had ever known, and hismarriage had done little to change his way of thinking of her. Camillahad not meant to abide forever in the shrine in which Jeff had enthronedher.

  In the earlier days of their married life she had been willing to sitenshrined because it had been the easiest way to conceal the actualstate of her own mind; because it had come to be a habit with her--andwith him to behold her there. Their pilgrimage to New York had made adifference. It was not easy for Camilla to define it just yet. He was alittle easier in his ways with her, regarded her inaccessibility alittle less seriously, and questioned by his demeanor rather than by anyspoken words matters which had long been taken for granted by them both.He had made no overt declaration of independence and, in his way, gaveher opinions the same respect he had always given them. The difference,if anything, had been in the different way in which they viewed from thevery same angle the great world of affairs. Men, as Jeff had alwaysknown, were much the same all the world over, but, curiously enough, hehad never seen fit to apply any rule to its women. It was flattery,indeed, for him to have believed for so long that, because Camilla wascultured, all cultured women must be like Camilla. His wife realizedthat Jeff's discovery of Mrs. Cheyne was requiring a readjustment of allhis early ideas. And so, while she spoke lightly of Mrs. Cheyne toCortland Bent, in her heart she was aware that if the lady took it intoher pretty head to use Jeff as a weapon she might herself be put uponthe defensive.

  It seemed as though Cortland had an intuition of what was passing in hermind.

  "If there's any way in which I can be of service," he ventured.

  "Oh, yes, Cort," she laughed. "I'll call on you. The only thing I askof you now is--not to fall in love with Mrs. Cheyne."

  "Rita? I'd as soon think of falling in love with a kaleidoscope.Besides----"

  But she laid restraining fingers on his arm.

  "Tell me about Gretchen," she interrupted quickly.

  "There's nothing to tell, except," he said with a sigh, "that she'squite gone on Larry."

  "You can't mean it?"

  "Really--she told me so."

  Camilla glanced toward the hall where the two young people were sittingin the big haircloth sofa engaged in a harmless investigation of thescience of palmistry.

  Camilla laughed. "It really looks so, doesn't it? I am sorry, though.I had begun to look on Miss Janney as one of the solutions of ourdifficulty."

  "There isn't any solution of it--not that way--you must take my word forit. Gretchen and I understand each other perfectly. If I can doanything to help Lawrence Berkely with her, I'll do it."

  "Oh, you're quite hopeless, Cort," she sighed, "and I have no patiencewith Larry. I can't see why he doesn't mind his own business."

  Bent glanced at the young couple in the hall. "He seems to me to bedoing _that_ tolerably well." He leaned forward so that his tone,though lowered, could be heard distinctly.

  "There is another solution. Perhaps you had not thought of it." Sheturned her head quickly and searched his face for a meaning. For replyhe coolly turned his gaze in the direction of Jeff and Mrs. Cheyne, whohad withdrawn into an embrasure of one of the windows.

  "A solution----" she stammered.

  "Yes, a way out--for both of us."

  "You mean Jeff--and Mrs. Cheyne?" she whispered.

  "I do."

  The poison of his suggestion flowed slowly through her mind, like a drugwhich stimulates and stupefies at the same time.

  "You mean that I should allow Jeff--that I should connive in his----"She stopped, horror-stricken. "Oh, Cort, that was unworthy of you," shewhispered.

  "I mean it. They're well met--those two," he finished viciously.

  Camilla held up her fingers pleadingly. "Don't speak. I forbid you."And, rising, she took up her gloves and crop from the table. "Besides,"she said more lightly, "I have a suspicion that you are trying to stirup a tempest in a teapot."

  "Do you mean you haven't noticed?" he insisted. "At my father's? At theWarringtons'? Last night at the Janneys'?"

  "No," she replied carelessly, "I hadn't noticed."

  Curtis Janney, who had been moving fussily from one group to another,came forward as he saw Camilla rise.

  "I was hoping we might still get another short run, but I suppose you'retoo tired, M
rs. Wray?"

  "A little--but don't let me interfere. I think I can find my way back."

  He looked at his watch. "Hello! It's time we were off anyway. Theother guests will be eating all our breakfast. Come, Cort, Gretchen,Mrs. Cheyne--you know you're my guest still," strolling from group togroup and ruthlessly breaking up the tete-a-tetes so successfully thatRita Cheyne rebelled.

  "You're a very disagreeable person, Mr. Janney--Ivywild resents it.You're trying to form the hospitality of the county into one of thosehorrid trusts. Every time accident throws the hunt my way you insist ondragging it off to Braebank. It isn't fair. Of course, if youinsist----"

  And then, crossing to Camilla, "_Dear_ Mrs. Wray, I'm borrowing yourhusband for a while. I feel a little tired, so he promised to lunchwith me here and go on to Braebank later. You don't mind, do you?"

  "Not in the least, my _dear_ Mrs. Cheyne. I'm _so_ sorry you feelbadly." And then to her husband, "Remember, Jeff, Mr. Janney expectsyou later." Each spoke effusively, the tips of their fingers justtouching. Then Mrs. Cheyne followed her visitors to the door.

  Outside a coach-horn was blowing, and, as they emerged upon the porchthe Janney brake arrived, tooled by the coachman and bearing aloft Mrs.Rumsen, General Bent, and Gladys, who had arrived from town on themorning train. But they would not get down, and the cavalcade soonwound its way along the drive, leaving Jeff and Mrs. Cheyne waving thema good-by from the steps.

  Camilla took the road thoughtfully. It was the first time in theirbrief social career that Jeff had not consulted her before he made hisown plans. She did not blame him altogether, for she knew that Jeff'sinexperience made him singularly vulnerable to the arts of a woman ofthe type of Mrs. Cheyne, who, for want of any better occupation in life,had come to consider all men her lawful prey. Camilla knew that mildflirtations were the rule rather than the exception in this gay worldwhere idle people caught at anything which put to flight the insistentdemon of weariness and boredom. And she discovered that it was a partof the diversion of the younger married couples to loan husbands andwives to satisfy the light fancy of the hour. All this was a part of thefabric in which she and Jeff were living and endangered society onlywhen the women were weak and the men vicious. But Jeff somehow didn'tseem to fit into the picture. His personality she had learned toassociate with significant achievements. His faults, as well as hisvirtues, were big, and he had a habit of scorning lesser sins. Thepleasure of a mild flirtation such as his brothers of the city mightindulge in for the mere delight of the society of a woman would offernothing to Jeff, who was not in the habit of doing anything mildly or byhalves. Camilla knew him better than Mrs. Cheyne did.

  Of course, no one thought anything of his new interest in Mrs. Cheyne.All of the younger men were interested in Mrs. Cheyne at one time oranother, and it was doubtful if people had even noticed his attentions.Cortland had, but there was a reason for that. Anything that coulddiscredit Jeff in her eyes was meat and drink to him. But it was cruelof Cortland to take advantage of her isolation, but how could she cutherself off from Cort, when her husband, by the nature of the situation,had thrown her so completely on his mercies? It seemed as though allthe world was conspiring to throw her with the one man whose image shehad promised her conscience she would wipe from her heart. He rodebeside her now remorselessly, proving by his silence more eloquently themeasure of his appreciation of the situation. She felt that he, too, wasentering the Valley of Indecision, with the surer step of a dawningHope, while she faltered on the brink of the Slough of Despond.

  They had fallen well behind the others, and followed a quiet lanebordered by a row of birch trees which still clung tenaciously to theremnants of their autumn finery. At one side gushed a stream, fed bythe early snows, which sang musically of the secrets of earth and sky.There was no indecision here. Every twig, every painted stone, the skyand breeze, spoke a message of blithe optimism. All was right with theworld, and if doubt crept into the hearts of men it was because theywere deaf to the messages of Nature. The spell of its beauty fell onCamilla, too, and she found herself smiling up at Cortland Bent. Therewere many things to be thankful for.

  "Are you happy?" he asked.

  "One can't be anything else on a day like this."

  "You don't care then?"

  "For what? Oh, yes. I have a natural interest in the welfare of myhusband. But I think Mrs. Cheyne is wasting her time."

  "I think perhaps you underrate her," he muttered.

  "I'd rather underrate Mrs. Cheyne than underrate myself," proudly.

  He was silent for a moment, flicking at the weeds with his riding-crop.

  "Mrs. Cheyne and you have nothing in common, Camilla," he said. "I'mafraid it isn't in you to understand this crowd. The set in which sheand I were brought up is a little world in itself. The things whichhappen outside of it are none of its concern. It doesn't care. It hasits own rules and its own code of decency to which it makes its memberssubscribe. It is New York in miniature, the essence, the cream of itsvices, its virtues, and its follies. It lives like that poison-ivyalong the fence, stretching out its tendrils luxuriously in thedirection of the sun, moving along the line of least resistance. Itdoes not care what newer growth it stunts, what blossom learns to growbeneath its shade, to fade and droop, perhaps to wither for lack of airand sunlight----"

  "And yet--there's Gretchen," she said, "and you."

  He smiled almost gaily. "Yes, there are many Gretchens, thank God.Girls with the clean, sound vision of their sturdy forbears, whosemothers were young when the city still felt the impress of its earlyausterities."

  "And you?" she repeated.

  His brow darkened and he looked straight before him.

  "What I am doesn't matter. I was born and bred in this atmosphere.Isn't that enough?"

  "It's enough that you survived--that you, too, have a clean vision."

  "No, that is not true," he said sharply. "I can't see clearly--I'm notsure that I want to see clearly--not now."

  "I won't believe that, Cort. Back there at _her_ house you saidsomething that was unworthy of you, that showed me another side of yournature, the dark side, like the shadowy places under the ivy. I want youto forget that you ever said them--that you ever thought them even."

  "I can't," he muttered savagely. "I _want_ some one to come betweenyou--to make him suffer what I am suffering--to place a distance betweenyou which nothing can ever repair."

  "Some one has already come between us," she said, gently. "The one Ihave in mind is the Cort Bent of Mesa City, who used to help me gathercolumbines; who rode with me far up the trail to get the last ray of thesunset when the valley below was already asleep in the shadow; whoshouted my name in the gorge because he said it was sweet to hear themountains send back its echoes all silvered over with the mystery of theInfinite; who told me of palaces and gardens in lands which I had neverseen, and of the talented men and women who had lived in them; who sangto me in the moonlight and taught me to dream----"

  "Don't, Camilla----"

  "That was a boy I remember, who lived years and years ago when I wasrich--rich in innocent visions which he did nothing to destroy. It washe who gave me an idea that there were men who differed from those I hadknown before--men in whose hearts was tenderness and in whose minds onemight find a mirror for one's harmless aspirations toward a life thatwasn't all material and commonplace. He was my knight, that boy,thoughtful, considerate, and gentle. He was foolish sometimes, but Iloved him because his ideals had not been destroyed."

  "I lied to you. Life is a cinder."

  She shook her head. "No, you did not lie to me--not then. Later youdid when you asked me to come to New York. Oh, I know. I can see moreclearly now. Suppose that even now I chose what you call your solutionof the tangle we've made of things. You'd like to see Jeff desert mefor Rita Cheyne so that you could have your own way with me now."

  "Camilla! I was mad then. I thought you understood. Gretchen andI----"

&nbs
p; "I understand many things better than I did," she interrupted. "Youwere no more mad then than you are now. I think I have always beenwilling to forgive you for that. I wanted to forgive you because Ithought perhaps you didn't know what you were saying. But you make itharder for me now. The boy I knew in the West is dead, Cortland. Inhis place rides a man I do not know, a man with a shadow in his eyes, aman of the gay world, which moves along the line of least resistance,with little room in his heart for the troubles of the woman he onceoffered to protect with his life."

  "I would still protect you--that is what I am offering."

  "How? By making me a woman like Rita Cheyne, who changes her husbandsas though they were fashions in parasols. You offer me protection fromJeff. I refuse it." And then she added a little haughtily, "I'm notsure that I need any protection."

  He glowered toward her, searching her face sullenly.

  "You love him?" he muttered.

  She smiled a little proudly. "I can't love you both. Jeff is myhusband."

  "You love him?" he repeated. "Answer me!"

  "Not when you take that tone. I'll answer you nothing. Come, we hadbetter ride forward." And, before he could restrain her, she had urgedher horse into a canter.

  "Camilla!" he called.

  But before he could reach her she had joined the others, outside thegates of Braebank.