Chapter XV
Mrs. Porter's Waterloo
Of the little band of revellers it would be hard to say which was themost taken aback at this invasion. The excitement of the moment hadkept them from hearing the sound of the automobile which Mrs. Porter,mistrusting the rough road that led to the shack, had stopped somedistance away.
Perhaps, on the whole, Kirk was more surprised than either of hiscompanions. Their guilty consciences had never been quite free from theidea of the possibility of pursuit; but Kirk, having gathered fromMamie that neither Ruth nor her aunt was aware of what had happened,had counted upon remaining undisturbed till the time for return came onthe morrow.
He stood staring at Ruth, who had followed Mrs. Porter into the room.
Mrs. Porter took charge of the situation. She was in her element. Shestood with one hand resting on the table as if she were about to makean after-dinner speech--as indeed she was.
Lora Delane Porter was not dissatisfied with the turn events had taken.On the whole, perhaps, it might be said that she was pleased. Sheintended, when she began to speak, to pulverize Kirk and the abandonedyoung woman whom he had selected as his partner in his shamefulescapade, but in this she was swayed almost entirely by a regard forabstract morality.
As concerned Ruth, she felt that the situation was, on the whole, thebest thing that could have happened. To her Napoleonic mind, which tooklittle account of the softer emotions, concerning itself entirely withthe future of the race, Kirk had played his part and was now laggingsuperfluous on the stage. His tendency, she felt, was to retard ratherthan to assist William Bannister's development. His influence, such asit was, clashed with hers. She did not forget that there had been atime when Ruth, having practically to choose between them, had chosento go Kirk's way and had abandoned herself to a life which could onlybe considered unhygienic and retrograde. Her defeat in the matter ofWhiskers, the microbe-harbouring dog from Ireland, still rankled.
It was true that in what might be called the return match she hadutterly routed Kirk; but until this moment she had always been aware ofhim as an opponent who might have to be reckoned with. She was quiteconvinced that it would be in the best interests of everybody,especially of William Bannister, if he could be eliminated. There weresigns of human weakness in Ruth which sometimes made her uneasy. Ruth,she told herself, might "bear the torch," but when it came to "notfaltering" she was less certain of her.
Ruth, it was true, had behaved admirably in the matter of theupbringing of William from the moment of her conversion till now,but might she not at any moment become a backslider and fill thewhite-tiled nursery with abominable long-haired dogs? Most certainlyshe might. In a woman who had once been a long-haired dogist there arealways possibilities of a relapse into long-haired dogism, just as in aconverted cannibal there are always possibilities of a return to thegods of wood and stone and the disposition to look on his fellow-manpurely in the light of breakfast-food.
For these reasons Mrs. Porter was determined to push home her presentadvantage, to wipe Kirk off the map as an influence in Ruth's life. Itwas her intention, having recovered William Bannister and bathed himfrom head to foot in a weak solution of boric acid, to stand over Ruthwhile she obtained a divorce. That done, she would be in a position todefy Kirk and all his antagonistic views on the subject of the hygienicupbringing of children.
She rapped the table and prepared to speak.
Even a Napoleon, however, may err from lack of sufficient information;and there was a flaw in her position of which she was unaware. From thebeginning of the drive to the end of it Ruth had hardly spoken a word,and Mrs. Porter, in consequence, was still in ignorance of what hadbeen happening that day in Wall Street and the effect of thesehappenings on her niece's outlook on life. Could she have known it, thesilent girl beside her had already suffered the relapse which she hadfeared as a remote possibility.
Ruth's mind during that drive had been in a confusion of regrets anddoubts and hopes. There were times when she refused absolutely tobelieve the story of Kirk's baseness which her aunt poured into her earduring the first miles of the journey. It was absurd and incredible.Yet, as they raced along the dark roads, doubt came to her and wouldnot be driven out.
A single unfortunate phrase of Kirk's, spoken in haste, but rememberedat leisure, formed the basis of this uncertainty. That afternoon whenhe had left her he had said that Mamie was the real mother of thechild. Could it be that Mamie's undeviating devotion to the boy had wonthe love which she had lost? It was possible. Considered in the lightof what Mrs. Porter had told her, it seemed, in her blackest moments,certain.
She knew how wrapped up in the boy Kirk had been. Was it not a logicaloutcome of his estrangement from herself that he should have turned forconsolation to the one person in sympathy with him in his great lovefor his child?
She tried to read his face as he stood looking at her now, but shecould find no hope in it. The eyes that met hers were cold andexpressionless.
Mrs. Porter rapped the table a second time.
"Mr. Winfield," she said in the metallic voice with which she was wontto cow publishers insufficiently equipped with dash and enterprise inthe matter of advertising treatises on the future of the race, "I haveno doubt you are surprised to see us. You appear to be looking yourwife in the face. It speaks well for your courage but badly for yoursense of shame. If you had the remnants of decent feeling in you, youwould be physically incapable of the feat. If you would care to knowhow your conduct strikes an unprejudiced spectator, I may tell you thatI consider you a scoundrel of the worst type and unfit to associatewith any but the low company in which I find you."
Steve, who had been listening with interest, and indeed, a certainrelish while Kirk was, as he put it to himself, "getting his" in thisspirited fashion, started at the concluding words of the address,which, in his opinion, seemed slightly personal. He had long ago madeup his mind that Lora Delane Porter, though an entertaining woman and,on the whole, more worth while than a moving-picture show, was quitemad; but, he felt, even lunatics ought to realize that there is a limitto what they may say.
He moaned protestingly, and rashly, for he drew the speaker's attentionupon himself.
"This person," went on Mrs. Porter, indicating Steve with a wave of herhand which caused him to sidestep swiftly and throw up an arm, as hadbeen his habit in the ring when Battling Dick or Fighting Jackendeavoured to blot him out with a right swing, "who, I observe,retains the tattered relics of a conscience, seeing that he winces, youemployed to do the only dangerous part of your dirty work. I hope hewill see that he gets his money. In his place I should be feelinguneasy."
"Ma'am!" protested Steve.
Mrs. Porter silenced him with a gesture.
"Be quiet!" she said.
Steve was quiet.
Mrs. Porter returned to Kirk.
Of all her burning words, Kirk had not heard one. His eyes had neverleft Ruth's. Like her, he was trying to read a message from a face thatseemed only cold. In this crisis of their two lives he had no thoughtfor anybody but her. He had a sense of great issues, of being on theverge of the tremendous; but his brain felt numbed and heavy. He couldnot think. He could see nothing except her eyes.
His inattention seemed to communicate itself to Mrs. Porter. She rappedimperatively upon the table for the third time. The report galvanizedSteve, as, earlier in the day, a similar report had galvanized Mr.Penway; but Kirk did not move.
"Mr. Winfield!"
Still Kirk made no sign that he had heard her. It was discouraging, butLora Delane Porter was not made of the stuff that yields readily todiscouragement. She resumed:
"As for this wretched girl"--she indicated the silent Mamie with a waveof her hand--"this abandoned creature whom you have led astray, thisshameless partner of your----"
"Say!"
The exclamation came from Steve, and it stopped Mrs. Porter like abullet. To her this interruption from one whom she had fallen upon andwiped out resembled a voice from the tomb
. She was not accustomed tohaving her victims rise up and cut sharply, even peremptorily, into theflow of her speech. Macbeth, confronted by the ghost of Banquo, mayhave been a little more taken aback, but not much.
She endeavoured to quell Steve with a glance, but it was instantlyapparent that he was immune for the time being to quelling glances. Hisbrown eyes were fixed upon her in a cold stare which she foundarresting and charged with menace. His chin protruded and his upper lipwas entirely concealed behind its fellow in a most uncomfortablemanner.
She had never had the privilege of seeing Steve in the active exerciseof his late profession, or she would have recognized the look. It wasthe one which proclaims the state of mind commonly known as "beingfighting mad," and in other days had usually heralded a knock-out forsome too persistent opponent.
"Say, ma'am, you want to cut that out. That line of talk don't go."
Great is the magic of love that can restore a man in an instant of timefrom being an obsequious wreck to a thing of fire and resolution. Amoment before Steve's only immediate object in life had been to stayquiet and keep out of the way as much as possible. He had never been aman of ready speech in the presence of an angry woman; wordsintimidated him as blows never did, especially the whirl of words whichwere at Lora Delane Porter's command in moments of emotion.
But this sudden onslaught upon Mamie, innocent Mamie who had donenothing to anybody, scattered his embarrassment and filled him withmuch the same spirit which sent bantam-weight knights up againstheavy-weight dragons in the Middle Ages. He felt inspired.
"Nix on the 'abandoned creature,'" he said with dignity. "You're on thewrong wire! This here lady is my affianced wife!"
He went to Mamie and, putting his arm round her waist, pressed her tohim. He was conscious, as he did so, of a sensation of wonderment athimself. This was the attitude he had dreamed of a thousand times andhad been afraid to assume. For the last three years he had beenpicturing himself in precisely this position, and daily had cursed thelack of nerve which had held him back. Yet here he was, and it had allhappened in a moment. A funny thing, life.
"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Porter.
"Sure thing," said Steve. His coolness, the ease with which he foundwords astonished him as much as his rapidity of action.
"I stole the kid," he said, "and it was my idea at that. Kirk didn'tknow anything about it. I wired to him to-day what I had done and thathe was to come right along. And," added Steve in a burst ofinspiration, "I said bring along Mamie, too, as the kid's used to herand there ought to be a woman around. And she could be here, all right,and no harm, she being my affianced wife." He liked that phrase. He hadread it in a book somewhere, and it was the goods.
He eyed Mrs. Porter jauntily. Mrs. Porter's gaze wavered. She was notfeeling comfortable. Hers was a nature that did not lend itself easilyto apologies, yet apologies were obviously what the situation demanded.The thought of all the eloquence which she had expended to no end addedto her discomfort. For the first time she was pleased that Kirk had somanifestly not been listening to a word of it.
"Oh!" she said.
She paused.
"That puts a different complexion on this affair."
"Betcha life!"
She paused once more. It was some moments before she could bringherself to speak. She managed it at last.
"I beg your pardon," she said.
"Mine, ma'am?" said Steve grandly. Five minutes before, the idea thathe could ever speak grandly to Lora Delane Porter would have seemedridiculous to him; but he was surprised at nothing now.
"And the young wom---- And the future Mrs. Dingle's," said Mrs. Porterwith an effort.
"Thank you, ma'am," said Steve, and released Mamie, who forthwithbolted from the room like a scared rabbit.
Steve had started to follow her when Mrs. Porter, magnificent woman,snatching what was left from defeat, stopped him.
"Wait!" she said. "What you have said alters the matter in one respect;but there is another point. On your own confession you have been guiltyof the extremely serious offence, the penal offence of kidnapping achild who--"
"Drop me a line about it, ma'am," said Steve. "Me time's rather fulljust now."
He disappeared into the outer darkness after Mamie.
* * * * *
In the room they had left, Kirk and Ruth faced each other in silence.Lora Delane Porter eyed them grimly. It was the hour of her defeat, andshe knew it. Forces too strong for her were at work. Her grand attack,the bringing of these two together that Ruth might confront Kirk in hisguilt, had recoiled upon her. The Old Guard had made their charge upthe hill, and it had failed. Victory had become a rout. With one speechSteve had destroyed her whole plan of campaign.
She knew it was all over, that in another moment if she remained, shewould be compelled to witness the humiliating spectacle of Ruth inKirk's arms, stammering the words which intuition told her were evennow trembling on her lips. She knew Ruth. She could read her like aprimer. And her knowledge told her that she was about to capitulate,that all her pride and resentment had been swept away, that she hadgone over to the enemy.
Elemental passions were warring against Lora Delane Porter, and shebowed before them.
"Mr. Winfield," she said sharply, her voice cutting the silence like aknife, "I beg your pardon. I seem to have made a mistake. Good night."
Kirk did not answer.
"Good night, Ruth."
Ruth made no sign that she had heard.
Mrs. Porter, grand in defeat, moved slowly to the door.
But even in the greatest women there is that germ of feminine curiositywhich cannot be wholly eliminated, that little grain of dust thatasserts itself and clogs the machinery. It had been Mrs. Porter'sintention to leave the room without a glance, her back defiantly towardthe foe. But, as she reached the door, there came from behind her asound of movement, a stifled cry, a little sound whose meaning she knewtoo well.
She hesitated. She stood still, fighting herself. But the grain of dusthad done its work. For an instant she ceased to be a smoothly workingmachine and became a woman subject to the dictates of impulse.
She turned.
Intuition had not deceived her. Ruth had gone over to the enemy. Shewas in Kirk's arms, holding him to her, her face hidden against hisshoulder, for all the world as if Lora Delane Porter, her guidingforce, had ceased to exist.
Mrs. Porter closed the door and walked stiffly through the scentednight to where the headlights of her automobile cleft the darkness.Birds, asleep in the trees, fluttered uneasily at the sudden throbbingof the engine.