II
"AND SOME THERE BE WHO HAVE ADVENTURES THRUST UPON THEM"
The assumption seems not unwarrantable, that Mr. Calendar figurativelywashed his hands of Mr. Kirkwood. Unquestionably Mr. Kirkwood consideredhimself well rid of Mr. Calendar. When the latter had gone his way,Kirkwood, mindful of the fact that his boat-train would leave St. Pancrasat half-after eleven, set about his packing and dismissed from his thoughtsthe incident created by the fat _chevalier d'industrie_; and at sixo'clock, or thereabouts, let himself out of his room, dressed for theevening, a light rain-coat over one arm, in the other hand a cane,--thedrizzle having ceased.
A stolid British lift lifted him down to the ground floor of theestablishment in something short of five minutes. Pausing in the officelong enough to settle his bill and leave instructions to have his luggageconveyed to the boat-train, he received with entire equanimity the affablebenediction of the clerk, in whose eyes he still figured as that radiantcreature, an American millionaire; and passed on to the lobby, where hesurrendered hat, coat and stick to the cloak-room attendant, ere enteringthe dining-room.
The hour was a trifle early for a London dinner, the handsome room butmoderately filled with patrons. Kirkwood absorbed the fact unconsciouslyand without displeasure; the earlier, the better: he was determined toconsume his last civilized meal (as he chose to consider it) at his sereneleisure, to live fully his ebbing moments in the world to which he wasborn, to drink to its cloying dregs one ultimate draught of luxury.
A benignant waiter bowed him into a chair by a corner table injuxtaposition with an open window, through which, swaying imperceptibly theclosed hangings, were wafted gentle gusts of the London evening's sweet,damp breath.
Kirkwood settled himself with an inaudible sigh of pleasure. He was dining,for the last time in Heaven knew how long, in a first-class restaurant.
With a deferential flourish the waiter brought him the menu-card. He hadserved in his time many an "American, millionaire"; he had also served thisMr. Kirkwood, and respected him as one exalted above the run of his kind,in that he comprehended the art of dining.
Fifteen minutes later the waiter departed rejoicing, his order complete.
To distract a conscience whispering of extravagance, Kirkwood lighted acigarette.
The room was gradually filling with later arrivals; it was the most favoredrestaurant in London, and, despite the radiant costumes of the women, itsatmosphere remained sedate and restful.
A cab clattered down the side street on which the window opened.
At a near-by table a woman laughed, quietly happy. Incuriously Kirkwoodglanced her way. She was bending forward, smiling, flattering her escortwith the adoration of her eyes. They were lovers alone in the wilderness ofthe crowded restaurant. They seemed very happy.
Kirkwood was conscious of a strange pang of emotion. It took him some timeto comprehend that it was envy.
He was alone and lonely. For the first time he realized that no woman hadever looked upon him as the woman at the adjoining table looked upon herlover. He had found time to worship but one mistress--his art.
And he was renouncing her.
He was painfully conscious of what he had missed, had lost--or had not yetfound: the love of woman.
The sensation was curious--new, unique in his experience.
His cigarette burned down to his fingers as he sat pondering. Abstractedly,he ground its fire out in an ash-tray.
The waiter set before him a silver tureen, covered.
He sat up and began to consume his soup, scarce doing it justice. His dreamtroubled him--his dream of the love of woman.
From a little distance his waiter regarded him, with an air ofdisappointment. In the course of an hour and a half he awoke, to discoverthe attendant in the act of pouring very hot and black coffee from a brightsilver pot into a demi-tasse of fragile porcelain. Kirkwood slipped asingle lump of sugar into the cup, gave over his cigar-case to be filled,then leaned back, deliberately lighting a long and slender panetela as apreliminary to a last lingering appreciation of the scene of which he was apart.
He reviewed it through narrowed eyelids, lazily; yet with some slightsurprise, seeming to see it with new vision, with eyes from which scales ofignorance had dropped.
This long and brilliant dining-hall, with its quiet perfection ofproportion and appointment, had always gratified his love of the beautiful;to-night it pleased him to an unusual degree. Yet it was the same as ever;its walls tinted a deep rose, with their hangings of dull cloth-of-gold,its lights discriminatingly clustered and discreetly shaded, redoubled inhalf a hundred mirrors, its subdued shimmer of plate and glass, its soberlyfestive assemblage of circumspect men and women splendidly gowned, itsdecorously muted murmur of voices penetrated and interwoven by the strainsof a hidden string orchestra--caressed his senses as always, yet witha difference. To-night he saw it a room populous with lovers, loversinsensibly paired, man unto woman attentive, woman of man regardful.
He had never understood this before. This much he had missed in life.
It seemed hard to realize that one must forego it all for ever.
Presently he found himself acutely self-conscious. The sensation puzzledhim; and without appearing to do so, he traced it from effect to cause; andfound the cause in a woman--a girl, rather, seated at a table the thirdremoved from him, near the farther wall of the room.
Too considerate, and too embarrassed, to return her scrutiny openly, lookfor look, he yet felt sure that, however temporarily, he was become theobject of her intent interest.
Idly employed with his cigar, he sipped his coffee. In time aware that shehad turned her attention elsewhere, he looked up.
At first he was conscious of an effect of disappointment. She was nobodythat he knew, even by reputation. She was simply a young girl, barely outof her teens--if as old as that phrase would signify. He wondered what shehad found in him to make her think him worth so long a study; and lookedagain, more keenly curious.
With this second glance, appreciation stirred the artistic side of hisnature, that was already grown impatient of his fretted mood. The slenderand girlish figure, posed with such absolute lack of intrusion against ascreen of rose and gilt, moved him to critical admiration. The tinted glowof shaded candles caught glistening on the spun gold of her fair hair,and enhanced the fine pallor of her young shoulders. He saw promise, andsomething more than promise, in her face, its oval something dimmed by warmshadows that unavailingly sought to blend youth and beauty alike into thedull, rich background.
In the sheer youth of her (he realized) more than in aught else, lay herchiefest charm. She could be little more than a child, indeed, if he wereto judge her by the purity of her shadowed eyes and the absence of emotionin the calm and direct look which presently she turned upon him who satwondering at the level, penciled darkness of her brows.
At length aware that she had surprised his interest, Kirkwood glancedaside--coolly deliberate, lest she should detect in his attitude anythingmore than impersonal approval.
A slow color burned his cheeks. In his temples there rose a curiouspulsing.
After a while she drew his gaze again, imperiously--herself all unaware ofthe havoc she was wreaking on his temperament.
He could have fancied her distraught, cloaking an unhappy heart with placidbrow and gracious demeanor; but such a conception matched strangely herglowing youth and spirit. What had she to do with Care? What concern hadBlack Care, whose gaunt shape in sable shrouds had lurked at his shoulderall the evening, despite his rigid preoccupation, with a being ascharmingly flushed with budding womanhood as this girl?
"Eighteen?" he hazarded. "Eighteen, or possibly nineteen, dining at thePless in a ravishing dinner-gown, and--unhappy? Oh, hardly--not she!"
Yet the impression haunted him, and ere long he was fain to seekconfirmation or denial of it in the manner of her escort.
The latter sat with back to Kirkwood, cutting a figure as negative as hissnug evening clothes. One could sur
mise little from a fleshy thick neck,a round, glazed bald spot, a fringe of grizzled hair, and two bright redears.
Calendar?
Somehow the fellow did suggest Kirkwood's caller of the afternoon. Theyoung man could not have said precisely how, for he was unfamiliar with theaspect of that gentleman's back. None the less the suggestion persisted.
By now, a few of the guests, theater-bound, for the most part, wereleaving. Here and there a table stood vacant, that had been filled, clothtarnished, chairs disarranged: in another moment to be transformed into itspristine brilliance under the deft attentions of the servitors.
Down an aisle, past the table at which the girl was sitting, came two,making toward the lobby; the man, a slight and meager young personality, inthe lead. Their party had attracted Kirkwood's notice as they entered; why,he did not remember; but it was in his mind that then they had been three.Instinctively he looked at the table they had left--one placed at somedistance from the girl, and hidden from her by an angle in the wall. Itappeared that the third member had chosen to dally a few moments over histobacco and a liqueur-brandy. Kirkwood could see him plainly, lounging inhis chair and fumbling the stem of a glass: a heavy man, of somber habit,his black and sullen brows lowering and thoughtful above a face boldlyhandsome.
The woman of the trio was worthy of closer attention. Some paces in thewake of her lack-luster esquire, she was making a leisurely progress,trailing the skirts of a gown magnificent beyond dispute, half concealedthough it was by the opera cloak whose soft folds draped her shoulders.Slowly, carrying her head high, she approached, insolent eyes reviewingthe room from beneath their heavy lids; a metallic and mature type of darkbeauty, supremely self-confident and self-possessed.
Men turned involuntarily to look after her, not altogether in undilutedadmiration.
In the act of passing behind the putative Calendar, she paused momentarily,bending as if to gather up her train. Presumably the action disturbed herbalance; she swayed a little, and in the effort to recover, rested the tipsof her gloved fingers upon the edge of the table. Simultaneously (Kirkwoodcould have sworn) a single word left her lips, a word evidently pitchedfor the ear of the hypothetical Calendar alone. Then she swept on,imperturbable, assured.
To the perplexed observer it was indubitably evident that somecommunication had passed from the woman to the man. Kirkwood saw the fatshoulders of the girl's companion stiffen suddenly as the woman's handrested at his elbow; as she moved away, a little rippling shiver wasplainly visible in the muscles of his back, beneath his coat--mute tokenof relaxing tension. An instant later one plump and mottled hand wascarelessly placed where the woman's had been; and was at once removed withfingers closed.
To the girl, watching her face covertly, Kirkwood turned for clue to theincident. He made no doubt that she had observed the passage; proof of thatone found in her sudden startling pallor (of indignation?) and in her eyes,briefly alight with some inscrutable emotion, though quickly veiled bylowered lashes. Slowly enough she regained color and composure, while her_vis-a-vis_ sat motionless, head inclined as if in thought.
Abruptly the man turned in his chair to summon a waiter, and exposed hisprofile. Kirkwood was in no wise amazed to recognize Calendar--a badlyfrightened Calendar now, however, and hardly to be identified with thesleek, glib fellow who had interviewed Kirkwood in the afternoon. Hisflabby cheeks were ashen and trembling, and upon the back of his chairthe fat white fingers were drumming incessantly an inaudible tattoo ofshattered nerves.
"Scared silly!" commented Kirkwood. "Why?" Having spoken to his waiter,Calendar for some seconds raked the room with quick glances, as if seekingan acquaintance. Presumably disappointed, he swung back to face thegirl, bending forward to reach her ears with accents low-pitched andconfidential. She, on her part, fell at once attentive, grave andresponsive. Perhaps a dozen sentences passed between them. At the outsether brows contracted and she shook her head in gentle dissent; whereuponCalendar's manner became more imperative. Gradually, unwillingly, sheseemed to yield consent. Once she caught her breath sharply, and, infectedby her companion's agitation, sat back, color fading again in the roundyoung cheeks.
Kirkwood's waiter put in an inopportune appearance with the bill. The youngman paid it. When he looked up again Calendar had swung squarely aboutin his chair. His eye encountered Kirkwood's. He nodded pleasantly.Temporarily confused, Kirkwood returned the nod.
In a twinkling he had repented; Calendar had left his chair and was wendinghis way through the tables toward Kirkwood's. Reaching it, he paused,offering the hand of genial fellowship. Kirkwood accepted it half-heartedly(what else was he to do?) remarking at the same time that Calendar hadrecovered much of his composure. There was now a normal coloring in theheavily jowled countenance, with less glint of fear in the quick, darkeyes; and Calendar's hand, even if moist and cold, no longer trembled.Furthermore it was immediately demonstrated that his impudence had notdeserted him.
"Why, Kirkwood, my dear fellow!" he crowed--not so loudly as to attractattention, but in a tone assumed to divert suspicion, should he beoverheard. "This is great luck, you know--to find you here."
"Is it?" returned Kirkwood coolly. He disengaged his fingers.
The pink plump face was contorted in a furtive grimace of deprecation.Without waiting for permission Calendar dropped into the vacant chair.
"My dear sir," he proceeded, unabashed, "I throw myself upon your mercy."
"The devil you do!"
"I must. I'm in the deuce of a hole, and there's no one I know here besidesyourself. I--I--"
Kirkwood saw fit to lead him on; partly because, out of the corner of hiseye, he was aware of the girl's unconcealed suspense. "Go on, please, Mr.Calendar. You throw yourself on a total stranger's mercy because you're inthe deuce of a hole; and--?"
"It's this way; I'm called away on urgent business imperative business.I must go at once. My daughter is with me. My daughter! Think of myembarrassment; I can not leave her here, alone, nor can I permit her to gohome unprotected."
Calendar paused in anxiety.
"That's easily remedied, then," suggested Kirkwood.
"How?"
"Put her in a cab at the door."
"I ... No. The devil! I couldn't think of it. You won't understand. I--"
"I do not understand,--" amended the younger man politely.
Calendar compressed his lips nervously. It was plain that the man wasquivering with impatience and half-mad with excitement. He held quiet onlylong enough to regain his self-control and take counsel with his prudence.
"It is impossible, Mr. Kirkwood. I must ask you to be generous and believeme."
"Very well; for the sake of the argument, I do believe you, Mr. Calendar."
"Hell!" exploded the elder man in an undertone. Then swiftly, stammeringin his haste: "I can't let Dorothy accompany me to the door," he declared."She--I--I throw myself upon your mercy!"
"What--again?"
"The truth--the truth is, if you will have it, that I am in danger ofarrest the moment I leave here. If my daughter is with me, she will have toendure the shame and humiliation--"
"Then why place her in such a position?" Kirkwood demanded sharply.
Calendar's eyes burned, incandescent with resentment. Offended, he offeredto rise and go, but changed his mind and sat tight in hope.
"I beg of you, sir--"
"One moment, Mr. Calendar."
Abruptly Kirkwood's weathercock humor shifted--amusement yielding tointrigued interest. After all, why not oblige the fellow? What did anythingmatter, now? What harm could visit him if he yielded to this corpulentadventurer's insistence? Both from experience and observation he knew thisfor a world plentifully peopled by soldiers of fortune, contrivers ofsnares and pitfalls for the feet of the unwary. On the other hand, it isaxiomatic that a penniless man is perfectly safe anywhere. Besides, therewas the girl to be considered.
Kirkwood considered her, forthwith. In the process thereof, his eyes soughther, perturbed. Thei
r glances clashed. She looked away hastily, crimson toher temples.
Instantly the conflict between curiosity and caution, inclination anddistrust, was at an end. With sudden compliance, the young man rose.
"I shall be most happy to be of service to your daughter, Mr. Calendar,"he said, placing the emphasis with becoming gravity. And then, the fatadventurer leading the way, Kirkwood strode across the room--wonderingsomewhat at himself, if the whole truth is to be disclosed.