Daphne Deane

  So Daphne told it all, how wide and high the rooms had seemed, how the light swept down the lovely old staircase from the great arched window on the landing above, what joy it had been to look at the fine old paintings and recognize the characteristics of some of the old masters. How she had loved playing on the sweet-toned piano and getting a glimpse of the beautiful furniture. How interesting it had been to see the playroom with its fireplace where she had often seen toys on the floor, and a child playing, when she was small. But she didn't mention the little boy kneeling at his mother's knee. That seemed something she had no right to mention even to so dear a friend of the Morrells as Miss Lynd.

  Then she told about the garden and how the vines and plants had made a lovely entanglement everywhere, but how the children were starting to weed and trim, and it would soon be in order. Then she pointed out the bright blossoms that she had picked there this morning among those she had brought.

  When at last Daphne had to go, the invalid lay thinking about her. A sweet child she was, so unspoiled, so fine of mind and spirit. Oh, why couldn't Keith have fancied her? Why hadn't he been friends with Daphne in school instead of that Evelyn Avery where he had gone to dinner the night he called upon her? Why hadn't his mother fostered a friendship between him and Daphne?

  But then she remembered the days when Daphne's mother was so ill, and she had been much at home. Of course, it was all explainable. Only she felt so sure that Keith's mother would love this girl, if she were here today. And yet, what of Keith? How had he developed? Was he worthy to be the friend of this wonderful girl? Well, it wasn't for her to try to plan for God in such matters. She loved them both, but she mustn't meddle with romances even in thought. That was dangerous business. God had his plans for both of them. She might only pray that they be guided aright to do His will in the days of earthly life that were before them.

  And then she turned back to that question about the light in the old house. If it came again she must surely call the police and put it in their hands. She couldn't lie awake every night and get sick over it. It was not her responsibility anyway, except to report and let the police investigate.

  Then she picked up her binoculars and studied the view from her window carefully, trying to locate the exact spot where that light had shone. It seemed to her that it had come from behind where the coal trucks stopped to deliver coal. Would it be possible that there was a window on the other side of the cellar opposite the coal chute where the light from the back street could shine through?

  But no, for then it would shine every night, and she would have noticed it before. Also, this light was not visible till late at night. Well, it was very strange, that was all.

  Meantime, rumor was hard at work spreading more tales.

  "Yes," explained Evelyn Avery eagerly to an inquiring friend, "it's true. I happen to know. Keith Morrell is selling the old house. He told me so himself. He was here to dinner the other night. I happened to come on him just as he landed in town to sign the papers or something for the sale, and he told me about it. We had a grand time talking over old times."

  "Well, I suppose he won't ever come back, then," said the friend disappointedly. "I always liked Keith Morrell. Of course, he was rather studious and all that, but I imagine he's over that by this time, as much as he's been abroad. Did he say anything about coming back to live? But of course he wouldn't if he is selling that lovely old house."

  "I'm not so sure," said Evelyn lightly. "He might. He feels, you know, that a house on that side of the town is quite impossible in these days. Everybody worthwhile has moved over to the hill. He might build. He spoke of Winding Way or Latches Lane. It's so exclusive up there, you know, and he naturally would want to be with the best people, and near the Country Club, after his years abroad. It seems to me I remember he was a great golfer even when he was young."

  "Oh, you don't mean it! Latches Lane! Wouldn't that be wonderful! I suppose of course he inherited all his parents' estate. And weren't they fabulously wealthy? I always supposed so, leaving a nice home like that and living in Europe so long."

  "Oh, of course!" said Evelyn, who didn't really know a thing about it. "But wouldn't it be wonderful if he should come back to live?"

  "Is he engaged? He'd be quite a catch!"

  "Well, some say he is, and some say he isn't," said Evelyn quickly with downcast eyes. "I wouldn't want to say what I know. He might not want it talked about. But being engaged isn't being married, you know," and she giggled significantly.

  "Well, I'm sure I hope he doesn't bring any impossible foreign bride here for us to have to swallow. I think he ought to be loyal to his native town and come back and take one of his old girls."

  "One of his old girls!" said Evelyn with asperity. "And who were they, I ask you? His mother never gave him a chance to have any girls. She was terribly snooty. A girl had to walk a chalk line or she wasn't worthy of her precious son."

  "Well, she's out of the way, anyway, thank goodness, and I imagine he's changed all that by this time. I always thought he was terribly good looking, didn't you?"

  And presently the girl went out to spread forth the news of the coming new Morrell estate on Latches Lane, with a possible bride-to-be in the future. So the story spread until one day it reached Mrs. Gassner, who shook her head ruefully and exclaimed: "Well, I think somebody ought to warn that bride before it's too late, him running around holding hands in gardens with that sly little Daphne Deane who pretends to be so religious. Why, you know, they say she doesn't even go to the movies, and yet what did I see with my own eyes, right out my second-story back window!"

  Chapter 12

  Keith Morrell seated at the elegantly appointed table across from Anne Casper could not understand the changed atmosphere, the unusual cordiality on the part of Anne's father, the genial friendly attitude. What did it mean?

  And what was the matter with him? Why, if this had happened two weeks before when he had gone away from this girl for what he thought was the last time, prepared to eat his heart out for love of her, to consider his life ruined, his rosy future a blank, how happy he would have been if he could have known that in a short time he would be back in her good graces, dining with her and her father as if nothing had ever come between their friendship! And now he didn't seem to feel so happy. Somehow his heart was anxious, uneasy. Did he really love this girl after all?

  Oh, she was lovely, there was no doubt about that, brilliant, gifted, desirable, and yet somehow he couldn't thrill at the sight of her as he used to do before they had their difference. Yet she was lovelier in her present garb than ever he had seen her before, and there seemed to be a gentleness upon her that he had never associated with her before, of which he had never thought her capable.

  What had happened to him during the interval? What power had awakened him to look beneath the surface, to doubt her, to wonder if, after all, even though she gave in to his convictions and went his way, she was desirable--for him? He hated himself for these thoughts. It did not seem loyal, stable, honorable, to accept them in his heart. He didn't like to think of himself as changeable.

  He was looking across at Anne as she talked, her eyes wide and beautiful, the diamond in the hollow of her throat catching the light and flinging it over him in a dazzling point, bringing out the beauty of the girl who wore it. Yet it all seemed unreal. It was a picture that was being held out to him, and he was waiting there to see what it all meant.

  He would have been surprised if he could have known that Anne herself had much the same feeling, as if she were seeing him actually for the first time. There was a gravity about him, a dignity that he had never shown to her before. He had been a charming courteous gentleman, a little bit too fastidiously formal, perhaps, in his manners, but now he seemed to have taken on an awesome maturity in these few days since they had been separated. He seemed like a man upon whom responsibility sat, and to whom life meant more than just a continuous round of amusement. She wasn't sure whether she liked it or not. It fright
ened her just a little. That set of his jaw, that firmness about his lips, that look of a man whose mind could no more be made up for him. She gave a swift furtive glance toward her father, wondering how he would cope with this. Would he be able to move a man who stood on his own and was not cringing to success as represented by her father's large income? Or would he lose his temper, which was so uncertain toward any who did not fall in with his plans at once? Would he fling down an ultimatum as she had done, and expect to conquer that way, and get--nowhere with Keith Morrell?

  But--did she like Keith all the more for this quality? Perhaps--if she could conquer in the end. If he was to be hers she would like him to be unconquerable, except by herself.

  But see how she had got nowhere by her own independence! For she could read in his manner that he had not given in one inch. He had taken things up just where she had laid them down two weeks ago, and was not counting on any truce, even though she herself had ignored everything and was ready to forget and begin all over again. To her surprise this quality in him seemed only to intrigue her the more. Perhaps she was one of those women who could only love a man who could conquer her!

  The talk at the table was pleasant, interesting. Keith found himself relaxing a little and actually enjoying his dinner. They spoke of his travels and theirs, places they had both visited, people they had met abroad, told incidents of the way, finding mutual experiences and acquaintances. Keith began to forget that there was a situation here that he would inevitably have to face before the evening was over. He talked well. Mr. Casper, watching him closely, noted that his manner was easy, his smile engaging. And of course since this was what his daughter seemed to fancy for the moment, he was out to get it for her. He always got anything for her she wanted. Money would get it. Money would get anything if you bid high enough. This young man would be no exception. He might simply need a little careful handling because he was high spirited. That was not a bad thing in business. It might even prove a great asset. One needed to carry things with a high hand and be ready to take risks. He judged that young Morrell had taken risks for his own opinion, setting his will up against Anne's. A man who did that was usually a winner if he was handled right.

  So Anne Casper's father set out to "handle" Keith Morrell.

  Adroitly he questioned him concerning his early life, his parents, his fortune, his hopes, and listened respectfully, if somewhat amusedly, when Keith told of his interest in his chosen profession.

  "Yes. Well, architecture is a good line of course, if you're willing to plod along and waste a lot of years in good hard labor--"

  "I am," said Keith quietly.

  "Now, look here, young man, that's all very well, and I admire your spirit, of course, but why waste the years? Why not take an easier way and let your money work for you? Then you could dabble in architecture on the side, do what you want to do instead of being forever at the beck and call of others, carrying out their whims that do not coincide with your ideas of beauty and utility. For instance, you say you have some property of your own, even if it is only a small amount to start with. I could let you in on a proposition that I have on hand now that would net you--almost at once--" and he named what seemed to Keith Morrell a fabulous percentage to come from a small start.

  Mr. Casper smiled benevolently.

  "You see," he said, "it's this way." And he went on to give a few astonishing facts--at least he said they were facts--and to draw conclusions and lay bare clever methods that seemed to Keith nothing short of rank dishonesty. Keith sat there with stern eyes watching the other man, not showing by the flicker of an eyelash his rising wrath.

  "Then," said the rich man, leaning back and tapping the arm of his chair with his eyeglasses, "with a capital of that amount you would be in a position to build your first house and build it the way you want it, build it for yourself to live in! And meantime, you could be perfecting the plans and having them all ready for the time when you would begin to build. Of course, you could amuse yourself later designing other buildings, too, and keep your hand in for the really bigger things you would do. Why, man!" he said, waxing eloquent. "Think of the hospital buildings and churches and orphanages you could be designing with all the latest ideas, and building them to donate to some worthy organization. There are so many needy causes in the world," he beamed philanthropically. "Wouldn't that be better than worrying along for years before you had an adequate income to live in the style suited to a man of your talents? Well, what do you say, Morrell, shall I enter you in the lists and put you in on the ground floor? You would not need to start with much if your funds were not immediately available. In fact, I could lend you enough to start with. What do you say?"

  Keith's voice was almost brusque as he answered: "Thank you for your interest, Mr. Casper, but I should not care to get my money in that way."

  There was a hardening in the elder man's face and a quick glitter of anger in his eyes.

  "Are you presuming to criticize my methods of business, young man?" There was coldness in the voice and an utter withdrawal of cordiality.

  "No," said Keith bravely. "It is not for me to criticize you. I only know that this would not be according to my standards."

  "Why not?" The question was like a sharp knife with an icy edge.

  Keith's eyes were down, but they came up in a moment and met his antagonist steadily.

  "It would not seem honest to me," he said quietly. "I couldn't get my money from bleeding others. I want to work for it."

  "And so you are presuming to call me dishonest!" rasped the older man, rage gathering in his eyes and voice.

  Keith was silent for an instant, and then he spoke quietly.

  "There was a verse in the Bible I learned long ago when I was a child. It seems to me a good answer. 'To his own master he standeth or falleth.' I guess that's the only answer. I've no business to call your actions and standards in question. I'm only responsible for my own."

  Anne Casper sat staring in amazement at this astonishing turn of affairs, wondering over the young man who suddenly seemed to have become a stranger. He had never been like this before. How did he dare to talk to her father this way, and what would her father say next? She could see he was very angry.

  "And who, pray, may your master be?" he asked after a significant pause, his voice hard and cold and biting.

  Keith was quiet for a moment, looking down thoughtfully, and then with a deep quick breath he looked up, and there was almost a whimsical glance in his eyes.

  "I guess that would be God!" he said, but there was awe in his own voice as he spoke the last word. Then, as if his words had taken even himself by surprise, he added: "Perhaps that may surprise you. I don't suppose I've been paying much attention to Him lately, but when you come down to it I suppose I would own Him as my Master."

  There was sudden humility in the young man's voice that astonished the girl. She sat petrified, till suddenly her father's voice broke furiously into the silence that followed Keith's most extraordinary statement.

  "And I suppose, young man, you would say that the devil is my master, would you?"

  There was scorn and fury in the words, but Keith lifted his eyes gravely, almost haughtily.

  "That would not be for me to question," he said steadily.

  There had been wine served at the table, and cocktails in the living room beforehand, but Keith had not drunk. Neither had Anne, though Keith knew that she usually did. He wondered about that. But her father had made up for them both, emptying his glass several times as the conversation grew more strenuous, and now he filled his glass to the brim and tossed it down.

  "Well, young man," he said, his voice raising wrathfully, his face red with anger, "this conversation is not very profitable. I asked you here to offer you a favor and help you on your way. I know many worthy young men who would give all they have to be able to get in where I was ready to put you. But you have not chosen to accept my favors. I've only one question to ask, and then I'm done. How in the world, with those
fanatical ideas, would you ever expect to get on in the world and support a wife and family? How could you possibly expect to support a girl--say a girl brought up as my daughter has been brought up--on a mere architect's salary? Would you expect to live on her private fortune? Or would you expect her father to do the dirty work and support you while you played around drawing pictures?"

  Keith Morrell's eyes grew dark with anger. This was an insult. For an instant he longed to take the old vagabond by the throat and shake the breath out of him, but he managed to keep his lips closed until his senses came back to him, though his face was deadly white.

  "Sir!" he said, standing up and lifting his chin haughtily. "That remark is beneath your dignity. I think you know that I would never marry a girl and live on her private fortune. In fact, private fortunes in connection with any girls I knew have never entered my mind. I know that there are girls, and always have been girls, who are willing to begin at the basement or cellar with a man they love and work shoulder to shoulder on up. I don't imagine life with any other kind of girl would be very tolerable."

  Suddenly Anne Casper jumped up, her face almost frightened, as she gave an imploring look at her father!

  "Now, Dad, you've said enough! You've been drinking too much and you don't realize what you've done. We're stopping right here and Keith and I are going out to walk on the beach!"

  She slid her hand within Keith's arm and drew him toward the door, and hesitating, with a lingering look at his antagonist, Keith allowed himself to be led away.

  They did not speak as they walked arm in arm down the marble steps and out to the silver beach where the light of the full moon was beating down and touching the sea with brilliant quiver across its wide, wonderful expanse.

  Down the beach they walked straight into the full light of the moon, close down by the water where little licking waves were lapping along the rim and almost kissing Anne Casper's silver shoes, and neither of them said a word. Anne had great faith that the moon could do things to people, and she was letting it work.