VI. DOROTHY GARRISON
Quentin was driving with Lady Saxondale to the home of MissGarrison's hostess. Phil's fair, calculating companion said toherself that she had never seen a handsomer fellow than thisstalwart American. There was about him that clean, strong, sweetlook of the absolutely healthy man, the man who has buffeted theworld and not been buffeted by the world. He was frank, bright,straightforward, and there was that always-to-be-feared yetever-to-be-desired gleam of mastery in his eye. It may have beensometimes a wicked mastery, and more than one woman who admired himbecause she could not help herself had said, "There is a devil inhis eyes."
They found Lady Marnham's reception hall full of guests, few of whomQuentin had seen before. He was relieved to find that the prince wasnot present, and he made his way to Dorothy's side, with LadyFrances, coolly dropping into the chair which a young captain hadmomentarily abandoned. Lady Frances sat beside Miss Garrison on thedivan.
"I am so glad you kept your promise, Phil, and came. It seems goodto see you after all these years. You bring back the dear days athome," said Dorothy, delight in her voice.
"From that I judge you sometimes long for them," he said, simply. ToLady Frances it sounded daring.
"Often, oh, so very often. I have not been in New York for years.Lady Saxondale goes back so often that she doesn't have the chanceto grow homesick."
"I hear you are going over this fall," said Quentin, with a fairshow of interest.
"Who--who told you so?" she asked, in some surprise. He could notdetect confusion.
"Prince Ravorelli. At least, he said he expected to make the tripthis fall. Am I wrong in suspecting that he is not going alone?"
"We mean to spend much of the winter in the United States, chieflyin Florida. I shall depend on you, Phil, to be nice to him in NewYork. You can do so much to make it pleasant for him. He has neverbeen in New York, you know."
"It may depend on what he will consider pleasant. I don't believe hewill enjoy all the things I like. But I'll try. I'll get DickeySavage to give a dinner for him, and if he can survive that, he'scapable of having a good time anywhere. Dickey's dinners are thereal test, you know. Americans stand them because they are ruggedand accustomed to danger."
"You will find Prince Ugo rugged," she said, flushing slightly, andhe imagined he could distinguish a softness in her tone.
"I am told he is an athlete, a great horseman, a marvelousswordsman," said Lady Frances.
"I am glad you have heard something about him that is true," saidDorothy, a trifle quickly. "Usually they say that princes are allthat is detestable and unmanly. I am sure you will like him, Phil."
Mrs. Garrison came up at this moment with Lady Marnham, and Quentinarose to greet the former as warmly as he could under the smoothveil of hypocrisy. Again, just before Lady Frances signaled to himthat it was time for them to leave, he found himself inconversation, over the teacups, with Dorothy Garrison. This timethey were quite alone.
"It doesn't seem possible that you are the same Dorothy Garrison Iused to know," he said, reflectively.
"Have I changed so much?" she asked, and there was in her manner anicy barrier that would have checked a less confident man than PhilipQuentin.
"In every way. You were charming in those days."
"And not charming now, I infer."
"You are more than charming now. That is hardly a change, however,is it? Then, you were very pretty, now you are beautiful. Then, youwere--"
"I don't like flattery, Phil," she said, hurt by what she felt to bean indifferent effort on his part to please her vanity.
"I am quite sure you remember me well enough to know that I neversaid nice things unless I meant them. But, now that I think of it,it is the height of impropriety to speak so plainly even to an oldfriend, and an old--er--chum."
"Won't you have a cup of tea?" she asked, as calmly as if he werethe merest stranger and had never seen her till this hour.
"A dozen, if it pleases you," he said, laughingly, looking straightinto the dark eyes she was striving so hard to keep cold andunfriendly.
"Then you must come another day," she answered, brightly.
"I cannot come to-morrow," he said.
"I did not say 'to-morrow.'"
"But I'll come on Friday," he went on, decisively. She lookedconcerned for an instant and then smiled.
"Lady Marnham will give you tea on Friday. I shall not be at home,"she said.
"But I am going back to New York next week," he said, confidently.
"Next week? Are you so busy?"
"I am not anxious to return, but my man Turk says he hates London.He says he'll leave me if I stay here a month. I can't afford tolose Turk."
"And he can't afford to lose you. Stay, Phil; the Saxondales aresuch jolly people."
"How about the tea on Friday?"
"Oh, that is no consideration."
"But it is, you know. You used to give me tea every day in theweek." He saw at once that he had gone beyond the lines, and drewback wisely. "Let me come on Friday, and we'll have a good, sensiblechat."
"On that one condition," she said, earnestly.
"Thank you. Good-bye. I see Lady Frances is ready to go. Evidently Ihave monopolized you to a somewhat thoughtless extent. Everybody islooking daggers at me, including the prince, who came in ten minutesago."
He arose and held her hand for a moment at parting. Her swift,abashed glance toward Prince Ugo, whose presence she had notobserved, did not escape his eyes. She looked up and saw thepeculiar smile on Quentin's lips, and there was deep meaning in hernext remark to him:
"You will meet the prince here on Friday. I shall ask him to comeearly, that he may learn to know you better."
"Thank you. I'd like to know him better. At what hour is he tocome?"
"By 3:30, at least," she said, pointedly. "Too early to be correct,you suspect?"
"I think not. You may expect me before three. I am not a sticklerfor form."
"We shall not serve tea until four o'clock," she said, coldly.
"That's my hour for tea--just my hour," he said, blithely. She couldnot repress the smile that his old willfulness brought to her lipsand eyes. "Thank you, for the smile. It was worth struggling for."
He was gone before she could respond, but the smile lingered as hereyes followed his tall figure across the room. She saw him pause andspeak to Prince Ugo, and then pass out with Lady Saxondale. OnlyLady Saxondale observed the dark gleam in the Italian's eyes as heresponded to the big American's unconventional greeting. On the wayhome she found herself wondering if Dorothy had ever spoken to theprince of Philip Quentin and those tender, foolish days of girlhood.
"Has she lost any of the charm?" she asked.
"I am not quite sure. I'm to find out on Friday."
"Are you going back on Friday?" in surprise.
"To drink tea, you know."
"Did she ask you to come?"
"Can't remember, but I think I suggested it."
"Be careful, Phil; I don't want you to turn Dorothy Garrison'shead."
"You compliment me by even suspecting that I could. Her head is set;it can't be turned. It is set for that beautiful, bejewelled thingthey call a coronet. Besides, I don't want to turn it."
"I think the prince could become very jealous," she went on,earnestly.
"Which would mean stilettos for two, I presume." After a moment'scontemplative silence he said: "By Jove! she is beautiful, though."
Quentin was always the man to rush headlong into the very thickestof whatever won his interest, whether it was the tender encounter ofthe drawing-room or the dangerous conflict of the field.
When he left Lady Marnham's house late on Friday afternoon he wasmore delighted than ever with the girl he had once loved. He waswith her for nearly an hour before the prince arrived, and he hadboldly dashed into the (he called them ridiculous) days when she hadbeen his little sweetheart, the days when both had sworn with youngfervor to be true till death. She did not take kindly at first to
these references to that early, mistaken affection, but hispersistence won. Before the prince arrived, the American had learnedhow she met him, how he had wooed and won, and how she had inspiredjealousy in his hot Italian heart by speaking of the "big, handsomeboy" over in New York.
He secured her permission to join her in the Row on Tuesday. Therewas resistance on her part at first, but he laughed it off.
"You should ask me to your wedding," he said, as the prince came in.
"But you will not be here."
"I've changed my mind," he said, calmly, and then smiled into herpuzzled eyes. "Brussels, isn't it?"
"Yes; the middle of September," she said, dreamily.
"You'll ask me to come?"
"I should have asked you, anyway."
The two men shook hands. "Sorry I can't stay for tea, Dorothy, but Ipromised Lord Saxondale I'd meet him at four o'clock." He did agenuinely American thing as he walked up the street. He whistled alively air.