CHAPTER II
Desboro arrived in town on a late train. It was raining, so he drove tohis rooms, exchanged his overcoat for a raincoat, and went out into thedownpour again, undisturbed, disdaining an umbrella.
In a quarter of an hour's vigorous walking he came to the celebratedantique shop of Louis Nevers, and entered, letting in a gust of wind andrain at his heels.
Everywhere in the semi-gloom of the place objects loomed mysteriously,their outlines lost in shadow except where, here and there, a gleam ofwintry daylight touched a jewel or fell across some gilded god,lotus-throned, brooding alone.
When Desboro's eyes became accustomed to the obscurity, he saw thatthere was armour there, complete suits, Spanish and Milanese, and an oddMorion or two; and there were jewels in old-time settings, tapestries,silver, ivories, Hispano-Moresque lustre, jades, crystals.
The subdued splendour of Chinese and Japanese armour, lacquered inturquoise, and scarlet and gold, glimmered on lay figures masked bygrotesque helmets; an Ispahan rug, softly luminous, trailed across atable beside him, and on it lay a dead Sultan's scimitar, curved likethe new moon, its slim blade inset with magic characters, the hiltwrought as delicately as the folded frond of a fern, graceful,exquisite, gem-incrusted.
There were a few people about the shop, customers and clerks, movingshapes in the dull light. Presently a little old salesman wearing askull cap approached him.
"Rainy weather for Christmas week, sir. Can I be of service?"
"Thanks," said Desboro. "I came here by appointment on a matter ofprivate business."
"Certainly, sir. I think Miss Nevers is not engaged. Kindly give me yourcard and I will find out."
"But I wish to see Mr. Nevers himself."
"Mr. Nevers is dead, sir."
"Oh! I didn't know----"
"Yes, sir. Mr. Nevers died two years ago." And, as Desboro remainedsilent and thoughtful: "Perhaps you might wish to see Miss Nevers? Shehas charge of everything now, including all our confidential affairs."
"No doubt," said Desboro pleasantly, "but this is an affair requiringpersonal judgment and expert advice----"
"I understand, sir. The gentlemen who came to see Mr. Nevers aboutmatters requiring expert opinions now consult Miss Nevers personally."
"Who is _Miss_ Nevers?"
"His daughter, sir." He added, with quaint pride: "The great jewelers ofFifth Avenue consult her; experts in our business often seek her advice.The Museum authorities have been pleased to speak highly of hermonograph on Hurtado de Mendoza."
Desboro hesitated for a moment, then gave his card to the old salesman,who trotted away with it down the unlighted vista of the shop.
The young man's pleasantly indifferent glance rested on one object afteranother, not unintelligently, but without particular interest. Yetthere were some very wonderful and very rare and beautiful things to beseen in the celebrated shop of the late Jean Louis Nevers.
So he stood, leaning on his walking stick, the upturned collar of hisraincoat framing a face which was too colourless and worn for a man ofhis age; and presently the little old salesman came trotting back, thetassel on his neat silk cap bobbing with every step.
"Miss Nevers will be very glad to see you in her private office. Thisway, if you please, sir."
Desboro followed to the rear of the long, dusky shop, turned to the leftthrough two more rooms full of shadowy objects dimly discerned, thentraversed a tiled passage to where electric lights burned over adoorway.
The old man opened the door; Desboro entered and found himself in asquare picture gallery, lighted from above, and hung all around withdark velvet curtains to protect the pictures on sale. As he closed thedoor behind him a woman at a distant desk turned her head, but remainedseated, pen poised, looking across the room at him as he advanced. Herblack gown blended so deceptively with the hangings that at first hecould distinguish only the white face and throat and hands against theshadows behind her.
"Will you kindly announce me to Miss Nevers?" he said, looking aroundfor a chair.
"I am Miss Nevers."
She closed the ledger in which she had been writing, laid aside her penand rose. As she came forward he found himself looking at a tall girl,slim to thinness, except for the rounded oval of her face under a loosecrown of yellow hair, from which a stray lock sagged untidily, curlingacross her cheek.
He thought: "A blue-stocking prodigy of learning, with her hair in amess, and painted at that." But he said politely, yet with that hint ofidle amusement in his voice which often sounded through his speech withwomen:
"Are you the Miss Nevers who has taken over this antique business, andwho writes monographs on Hurtado de Mendoza?"
"Yes."
"You appear to be very young to succeed such a distinguished authorityas your father, Miss Nevers."
His observation did not seem to disturb her, nor did the faintest hintof mockery in his pleasant voice. She waited quietly for him to statehis business.
He said: "I came here to ask somebody's advice about engaging an expertto appraise and catalogue my collection."
And even while he was speaking he was conscious that never before had heseen such a white skin and such red lips--if they were natural. And hebegan to think that they might be.
He said, noticing the bright lock astray on her cheek once more:
"I suppose that I may speak to you in confidence--just as I would havespoken to your father."
She was still looking at him with the charm of youthful inquiry in hereyes.
"Certainly," she said.
She glanced down at his card which still lay on her blotter, stood amoment with her hand resting on the desk, then indicated a chair at herelbow and seated herself.
He took the chair.
"I wrote you that I'd drop in sometime this week. The note was directedto your father. I did not know he was not living."
"You are the Mr. Desboro who owns the collection of armour?" she asked.
"I am that James Philip Desboro who lives at Silverwood," he said."Evidently you have heard of the Desboro collection of arms and armour."
"Everybody has, I think."
He said, carelessly: "Museums, amateur collectors, and students know it,and I suppose most dealers in antiques have heard of it."
"Yes, all of them, I believe."
"My house," he went on, "Silverwood, is in darkest Westchester, and myrecent grandfather, who made the collection, built a wing to contain it.It's there as he left it. My father made no additions to it. Nor," headded, "have I. Now I want to ask you whether a lot of those things havenot increased in value since my grandfather's day?"
"No doubt."
"And the collection is valuable?"
"I think it must be--very."
"And to determine its value I ought to have an expert go there andcatalogue it and appraise it?"
"Certainly."
"Who? That's what I've come here to find out."
"Perhaps you might wish us to do it."
"Is that still part of your business?"
"It is."
"Well," he said, after a moment's thought, "I am going to sell theDesboro collection."
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, under her breath; and looked up to findhim surprised and beginning to be amused again.
"Your attitude is not very professional--for a dealer in antiques," hesaid quizzically.
"I am something else, too, Mr. Desboro." She had flushed a little, notresponding to his lighter tone.
"I am very sure you are," he said. "Those who really know about and carefor such collections must feel sorry to see them dispersed."
"I had hoped that the Museum might have the Desboro collection someday," she said, in a low voice.
He said: "I am sorry it is not to be so," and had the grace to redden atrifle.
She played with her pen, waiting for him to continue; and she was soyoung, and fresh, and pretty that he was in no hurry to finish. Besides,there was something about her face that had been int
eresting him--anexpression which made him think sometimes that she was smiling, or onthe verge of it. But the slightly upcurled corners of her mouth had beenfashioned so by her Maker, or perhaps had become so from some inborngaiety of heart, leaving a faint, sweet imprint on her lips.
To watch her was becoming a pleasure. He wondered what her smile mightbe like--all the while pretending an absent-minded air which cloaked hisidle curiosity.
She waited, undisturbed, for him to come to some conclusion. And all thewhile he was thinking that her lips were perhaps just a trifle toofull--that there was more of Aphrodite in her face than of any saint heremembered; but her figure was thin enough for any saint. Perhaps acourse of banquets--perhaps a regime under a diet list warranted toimprove----
"Did you ever see the Desboro collection, Miss Nevers?" he askedvaguely.
"No."
"What expert will you send to catalogue and appraise it?"
"_I_ could go."
"You!" he said, surprised and smiling.
"That is my profession."
"I knew, of course, that it was your father's. But I never supposed thatyou----"
"Did you wish to have an appraisement made, Mr. Desboro?" sheinterrupted dryly.
"Why, yes, I suppose so. Otherwise, I wouldn't know what to ask foranything."
"Have you really decided to sell that superb collection?" she demanded.
"What else can I do?" he inquired gayly. "I suppose the Museum ought tohave it, but I can't afford to give it away or to keep it. In otherwords--and brutal ones--I need money."
She said gravely: "I am sorry."
And he knew she didn't mean that she was sorry because he needed money,but because the Museum was not to have the arms, armour, jades, andivories. Yet, somehow, her "I am sorry" sounded rather sweet to him.
For a while he sat silent, one knee crossed over the other, twisting thesilver crook of his stick. From moment to moment she raised her eyesfrom the blotter to let them rest inquiringly on him, then went ontracing arabesques over her blotter with an inkless pen. One slenderhand was bracketed on her hip, and he noticed the fingers, smooth androunded as a child's. Nor could he keep his eyes from her profile, withits delicate, short nose, ever so slightly arched, and its lips, just atrifle too sensuous--and that soft lock astray again against her cheek.No, her hair was not dyed, either. And it was as though she divined histhought, for she looked up suddenly from her blotter and he instantlygazed elsewhere, feeling guilty and impertinent--sentiments not oftenexperienced by that young man.
"I'll tell you what I'll do, Miss Nevers," he concluded, "I'll write youa letter to my housekeeper, Mrs. Quant. Shall I? And you'll go up andlook over the collection and let me know what you think of it!"
"Do you not expect to be there?"
"Ought I to be?"
"I really can't answer you, but it seems to me rather important that theowner of a collection should be present when the appraiser begins work."
"The fact is," he said, "I'm booked for a silly shooting trip. I'msupposed to start to-morrow."
"Then perhaps you had better write the letter. My full name isJacqueline Nevers--if you require it. You may use my desk."
She rose; he thanked her, seated himself, and began a letter to Mrs.Quant, charging her to admit, entertain, and otherwise particularlycherish one Miss Jacqueline Nevers, and give her the keys to thearmoury.
While he was busy, Jacqueline Nevers paced the room backward andforward, her pretty head thoughtfully bent, hands clasped behind her,moving leisurely, absorbed in her cogitations.
Desboro ended his letter and sat for a moment watching her until,happening to glance at him, she discovered his idleness.
"Have you finished?" she asked.
A trifle out of countenance he rose and explained that he had, and laidthe letter on her blotter. Realising that she was expecting him to takehis leave, he also realised that he didn't want to. And he began to sparwith Destiny for time.
"I suppose this matter will require several visits from you," heinquired.
"Yes, several."
"It takes some time to catalogue and appraise such a collection, doesn'tit?"
"Yes."
She answered him very sweetly but impersonally, and there seemed to bein her brief replies no encouragement for him to linger. So he startedto pick up his hat, thinking as fast as he could all the while; and hisfacile wits saved him at the last moment.
"Well, upon my word!" he exclaimed. "Do you know that you and I have notyet discussed terms?"
"We make our usual charges," she said.
"And what are those?"
She explained briefly.
"That is for cataloguing and appraising only?"
"Yes."
"And if you sell the collection?"
"We take our usual commission."
"And you think you _can_ sell it for me?"
"I'll have to--won't I?"
He laughed. "But _can_ you?"
"Yes."
As the curt affirmative fell from her lips, suddenly, under all herdelicate, youthful charm, Desboro divined the note of hidden strength,the self-confidence of capability--oddly at variance with her allure oflovely immaturity. Yet he might have surmised it, for though her figurewas that of a girl, her face, for all its soft, fresh beauty, was awoman's, and already firmly moulded in noble lines which even thescarlet fulness of the lips could not deny. For if she had the mouth ofAphrodite, she had her brow, also.
He had not been able to make her smile, although the upcurled corners ofher mouth seemed always to promise something. He wondered what herexpression might be like when animated--even annoyed. And his idlecuriosity led him on to the edges of impertinence.
"May I say something that I have in mind and not offend you?" he asked.
"Yes--if you wish." She lifted her eyes.
"Do you think you are old enough and experienced enough to catalogue andappraise such an important collection as this one? I thought perhaps youmight prefer not to take such a responsibility upon yourself, but wouldrather choose to employ some veteran expert."
She was silent.
"Have I offended you?"
She walked slowly to the end of the room, turned, and, passing him athird time, looked up at him and laughed--a most enchanting littlelaugh--a revelation as delightful as it was unexpected.
"I believe you really _want_ to do it yourself!" he exclaimed.
"_Want_ to? I'm dying to! I don't think there is anything in the world Ihad rather try!" she said, with a sudden flush and sparkle ofrecklessness that transfigured her. "Do you suppose anybody in mybusiness would willingly miss the chance of personally handling such atransaction? Of _course_ I want to. Not only because it would be a mostcreditable transaction for this house--not only because it would be aprofitable business undertaking, but"--and the swift, engaging smileparted her lips once more--"in a way I feel as though my own ability hadbeen questioned----"
"By me?" he protested. "Did I actually dare question your ability?"
"Something very like it. So, naturally, I would seize an opportunity tovindicate myself--if you offer it----"
"I do offer it," he said.
"I accept."
There was a moment's indecisive silence. He picked up his hat and stick,lingering still; then:
"Good-bye, Miss Nevers. When are you going up to Silverwood?"
"To-morrow, if it is quite convenient."
"Entirely. I may be there. Perhaps I can fix it--put off that shootingparty for a day or two."
"I hope so."
"I hope so, too."
He walked reluctantly toward the door, turned and came all the way back.
"Perhaps you had rather I remained away from Silverwood."
"Why?"
"But, of course," he said, "there is a nice old housekeeper there, and alot of servants----"
She laughed. "Thank you very much, Mr. Desboro. It is very nice of you,but I had not considered that at all. Business women must disregard suchconve
ntions, if they're to compete with men. I'd like you to be there,because I may have questions to ask."
"Certainly--it's very good of you. I--I'll try to be there----"
"Because I might have some very important questions to ask you," sherepeated.
"Of course. I've got to be there. Haven't I?"
"It might be better for your interests."
"Then I'll be there. Well, good-bye, Miss Nevers."
"Good-bye, Mr. Desboro."
"And thank you for undertaking it," he said cordially.
"Thank _you_ for asking me."
"Oh, I'm--I'm really delighted. It's most kind of _you_. _Good_-bye,Miss Nevers."
"_Good_-bye, Mr. Desboro."
He had to go that time; and he went still retaining a confused vision ofblue eyes and vivid lips, and of a single lock of hair astray once moreacross a smooth, white cheek.
When he had gone, Jacqueline seated herself at her desk and picked upher pen. She remained so for a while, then emerged abruptly from a fitof abstraction and sorted some papers unnecessarily. When she hadarranged them to her fancy, she rearranged them. Then the little LouisXVI desk interested her, and she examined the inset placques of floweredSevres in detail, as though the little desk of tulip, satinwood andwalnut had not stood there since she was a child.
Later she noticed his card on her blotter; and, face framed in herhands, she studied it so long that the card became a glimmering whitepatch and vanished; and before her remote gaze his phantom grew out ofspace, seated there in the empty chair beside her--the loosened collarof his raincoat revealing to her the most attractive face of any man shehad ever looked upon in her twenty-two years of life.
Toward evening the electric lamps were lighted in the shop; rain fellmore heavily outside; few people entered. She was busy with ledgers andfiles of old catalogues recording auction sales, the name of thepurchaser and the prices pencilled on the margins in her father'scurious handwriting. Also her card index aided her. Under the head of"Desboro" she was able to note what objects of interest or of art herfather had bought for her recent visitor's grandfather, and the pricespaid--little, indeed, in those days, compared with what the same objectswould now bring. And, continuing her search, she finally came upon anuncompleted catalogue of the Desboro collection. It was inmanuscript--her father's peculiar French chirography--neat and accurateas far as it went.
Everything bearing upon the Desboro collection she bundled together andstrapped with rubber bands; then, one by one, the clerks and salesmencame to report to her before closing up. She locked the safe, shut herdesk, and went out to the shop, where she remained until the shutterswere clamped and the last salesman had bade her a cheery good night.Then, bolting the door and double-locking it, she went back along thepassage and up the stairs, where she had the two upper floors toherself, and a cook and chambermaid to keep house for her.
In the gaslight of the upper apartment she seemed even more slender thanby daylight--her eyes bluer, her lips more scarlet. She glanced into themirror of her dresser as she passed, pausing to twist up the unruly lockthat had defied her since childhood.
Everywhere in the room Christmas was still in evidence--a tiny tree,with frivolous, glittering things still twisted and suspended among thebranches, calendars, sachets, handkerchiefs still gaily tied in ribbons,flowering shrubs swathed in tissue and bows of tulle--these from hersalesmen, and she had carefully but pleasantly maintained the line ofdemarcation by presenting each with a gold piece.
But there were other gifts--gloves and stockings, and bon-bons, andbooks, from the friends who were girls when she too was a child atschool; and a set of volumes from Cary Clydesdale whose collection ofjades she was cataloguing. The volumes were very beautiful andexpensive. The gift had surprised her.
Among her childhood friends was her social niche; the circumference oftheir circle the limits of her social environment. They came to her andshe went to them; their pastimes and pleasures were hers; and if therewas not, perhaps, among them her intellectual equal, she had not yetfelt the need of such companionship, but had been satisfied to have themhold her as a good companion who otherwise possessed much strange andperhaps useless knowledge quite beyond their compass. And she was shylycontent with her intellectual isolation.
So, amid these people, she had found a place prepared for her when sheemerged from childhood. What lay outside of this circle she surmisedwith the intermittent curiosity of ignorance, or of a bystander whowatches a pageant for a moment and hastens on, preoccupied with mattersmore familiar.
All young girls think of pleasures; she had thought of them always whenthe day's task was ended, and she had sought them with all the ardour ofyouth, with a desire unwearied, and a thirst unquenched.
In her, mental and physical pleasure were wholesomely balanced; the keendelight of intellectual experience, the happiness of research andattainment, went hand in hand with a rather fastidious appetite forhaving the best time that circumstances permitted.
She danced when she had a chance, went to theatres and restaurants withher friends, bathed at Manhattan in summer, when gay parties wereorganised, and did the thousand innocent things that thousands of youngbusiness girls do whose lines are cast in the metropolis.
Since her father's death she had been intensely lonely; only a desperateand steady application to business had pulled her through the first yearwithout a breakdown.
The second year she rejoined her friends and went about again with them.Now, the third year since her father's death was already dawning; andher last prayer as the old year died had been that the new one wouldbring her friends and happiness.
Seated before the wood fire in her bedroom, leisurely undressing, shethought of Desboro and the business that concerned him. He was so verygood looking--in the out-world manner--the manner of those who dweltoutside her orbit.
She had not been very friendly with him at first. She had wanted to be;instinct counselled reserve, and she had listened--until the very last.He had a way of laughing at her in every word--in even an ordinarybusiness conversation. She had been conscious all the while of hishalf-listless interest in her, of an idle curiosity, which, before ithad grown offensive, had become friendly and at times almost boyish inits naive self-disclosure. And it made her smile to remember how verylong it took him to take his leave.
But--a man of that kind--a man of the out-world--with the _something_ inhis face that betrays shadows which she had never seen cast--and neverwould see--_he_ was no boy. For in his face was the faint imprint ofthat pallid wisdom which warned. Women in his own world might ignore thewarning; perhaps it did not menace them. But instinct told her that itmight be different outside that world.
She nestled into her fire-warmed bath-robe and sat pensively fitting andrefitting her bare feet into her slippers.
Men were odd; alike and unalike. Since her father's death, she had hadto be careful. Wealthy gentlemen, old and young, amateurs of armour,ivories, porcelains, jewels, all clients of her father, had sometimessent for her too many times on too many pretexts; and sometimes theirpaternal manner toward her had made her uncomfortable. Desboro was ofthat same caste. Perhaps he was not like them otherwise.
* * * * *
When she had bathed and dressed, she dined alone, not having anyinvitation for the evening. After dinner she talked on the telephone toher little friend, Cynthia Lessler, whose late father's business hadbeen to set jewels and repair antique watches and clocks. Incidentally,he drank and chased his daughter about with a hatchet until she fled forgood one evening, which afforded him an opportunity to drink himselfvery comfortably to death in six months.
"Hello, Cynthia!" called Jacqueline, softly.
"Hello! Is it you, Jacqueline, dear?"
"Yes. Don't you want to come over and eat chocolates and gossip?"
"Can't do it. I'm just starting for the hall."
"I thought you'd finished rehearsing."
"I've got to be on hand all the same. How are yo
u, sweetness, anyway?"
"Blooming, my dear. I'm crazy to tell you about my good luck. I have asplendid commission with which to begin the new year."
"Good for you! What is it?"
"I can't tell you yet"--laughingly--"it's confidential business----"
"Oh, I know. Some old, fat man wants you to catalogue his collection."
"No! He isn't fat, either. You _are_ the limit, Cynthia!"
"All the same, look out for him," retorted Cynthia. "_I_ know man andhis kind. Office experience is a liberal education; the theatre apost-graduate course. Are you coming to the dance to-morrow night?"
"Yes. I suppose the usual people will be there?"
"Some new ones. There's an awfully good-looking newspaper man fromYonkers. He has a car in town, too."
Something--some new and unaccustomed impatience--she did not understandexactly what--prompted Jacqueline to say scornfully:
"His name is Eddie, isn't it?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
A sudden vision of Desboro, laughing at her under every word of anunsmiling and commonplace conversation, annoyed her.
"Oh, Cynthia, dear, every good-looking man we meet is usually named Edand comes from places like Yonkers."
Cynthia, slightly perplexed, said slangily that she didn't "get" her;and Jacqueline admitted that she herself didn't know what she had meant.
They gossiped for a while, then Cynthia ended:
"I'll see you to-morrow night, won't I? And listen, you little whitemouse, I get what you mean by 'Eddie'."
"Do you?"
"Yes. Shall I see you at the dance?"
"Yes, and 'Eddie,' too. Good-bye."
Jacqueline laughed again, then shivered slightly and hung up thereceiver.
Back before her bedroom fire once more, Grenville's volume on ancientarmour across her knees, she turned the illuminated pages absently, andgazed into the flames. What she saw among them apparently did not amuseher, for after a while she frowned, shrugged her shoulders, and resumedher reading.
But the XV century knights, in their gilded or silvered harness, hadDesboro's lithe figure, and the lifted vizors of their helmets alwaysdisclosed his face. Shields emblazoned with quarterings, plumed armets,the golden morions, banner, pennon, embroidered surtout, and thebrilliant trappings of battle horse and palfry, became only a confusedblur of colour under her eyes, framing a face that looked back at herout of youthful eyes, marred by the shadow of a wisdom she knewabout--alas--but did not know.
* * * * *
The man of whom she was thinking had walked back to the club through adriving rain, still under the fascination of the interview, stillexcited by its novelty and by her unusual beauty. He could not quiteaccount for his exhilaration either, because, in New York, beauty isanything but unusual among the hundreds of thousands of young women whowork for a living--for that is one of the seven wonders of the city--andit is the rule rather than the exception that, in this new race which isevolving itself out of an unknown amalgam, there is scarcely a youngface in which some trace of it is not apparent at a glance.
Which is why, perhaps, he regarded his present exhilaration humorously,or meant to; perhaps why he chose to think of her as "Stray Lock,"instead of Miss Nevers, and why he repeated confidently to himself:"She's thin as a Virgin by the 'Master of the Death of Mary'." And yetthat haunting expression of her face--the sweetness of the lips upcurledat the corners--the surprising and lovely revelation of herlaughter--these impressions persisted as he swung on through the rain,through the hurrying throngs just released from shops and greatdepartment stores, and onward up the wet and glimmering avenue to hisdestination, which was the Olympian Club.
In the cloak room there were men he knew, being divested of wet hats andcoats; in reading room, card room, lounge, billiard hall, squash court,and gymnasium, men greeted him with that friendly punctiliousness whichindicates popularity; from the splashed edge of the great swimming poolmen hailed him; clerks and club servants saluted him smilingly as hesauntered about through the place, still driven into motion by aninexplicable and unaccustomed restlessness. Cairns discovered him comingout of the billiard room:
"Have a snifter?" he suggested affably. "I'll find Ledyard and play you'nigger' or 'rabbit' afterward, if you like."
Desboro laid a hand on his friend's shoulder:
"Jack, I've a business engagement at Silverwood to-morrow, and I believeI'd better go home to-night."
"Heavens! You've just been there! And what about the shooting trip?"
"I can join you day after to-morrow."
"Oh, come, Jim, are you going to spoil our card quartette on the train?Reggie Ledyard will kill you."
"He might, at that," said Desboro pleasantly. "But I've got to be atSilverwood to-morrow. It's a matter of business, Jack."
"_You_ and business! Lord! The amazing alliance! What are you going todo--sell a few superannuated Westchester hens at auction? By heck!You're a fake farmer and a pitiable piker, that's what _you_ are. AndStuyve Van Alstyne had a wire to-night that the ducks and geese arecoming in to the guns by millions----"
"Go ahead and shoot 'em, then! I'll probably be along in time to pick upthe game for you."
"You won't go with us?"
"Not to-morrow. A man can't neglect his own business _every_ day in theyear."
"Then you won't be in Baltimore for the Assembly, and you won't go toGeorgia, and you won't do a thing that you expected to. Oh, you're thegay, quick-change artist! And don't tell me it's business, either," headded suspiciously.
"I _do_ tell you exactly that."
"You mean to say that nothing except sheer, dry business keeps youhere?"
The colour slowly settled under Desboro's cheek bones:
"It's a matter with enough serious business in it to keep me busyto-morrow----"
"Selecting pearls? In which show and which row does she cavort, dearfriend--speaking in an exquisitely colloquial metaphor!"
Desboro shrugged: "I'll play you a dozen games of rabbit before we dressfor dinner. Come on, you suspicious sport!"
"Which show?" repeated Cairns obstinately. He did not mean it literally,footlight affairs being unfashionable. But Desboro's easy popularitywith women originated continual gossip, friendly and otherwise; and hisname was often connected harmlessly with that of some attractive womanin his own class--like Mrs. Clydesdale, for instance--and sometimes withsome pretty unknown in some class not specified. But the surmise wasidle, and the gossip vague, and neither the one nor the other disturbedDesboro, who continued to saunter through life keeping his personalaffairs pleasantly to himself.
He linked his arm in Cairns's and guided him toward the billiard room.But there were no tables vacant for rabbit, which absurd game, beinghard on the cloth, was limited to two decrepit pool tables.
So Cairns again suggested his celebrated "snifter," and then the youngmen separated, Desboro to go across the street to his elaborate roomsand dress, already a little less interested in his business trip toSilverwood, already regretting the gay party bound South for two weeksof pleasure.
And when he had emerged from a cold shower which, with the exception ofsleep, is the wisest counsellor in the world, now that he stood in freshlinen and evening dress on the threshold of another night, he began towonder at his late exhilaration.
To him the approach of every night was always fraught with mysteriouspossibilities, and with a belief in Chance forever new. Adventure dawnedwith the electric lights; opportunity awoke with the evening whistleswarning all labourers to rest. Opportunity for what? He did not know; hehad not even surmised; but perhaps it was that _something_, that subtle,evanescent, volatile _something_ for which the world itself waitsinstinctively, and has been waiting since the first day dawned. Maybe itis happiness for which the world has waited with patient instinctuneradicated; maybe it is death; and after all, the two may beinseparable.
* * * * *
Desboro, looking int
o the coals of a dying fire, heard the clockstriking the hour. The night was before him--those strange hours inwhich anything could happen before another sun gilded the sky pinnaclesof the earth.
Another hour sounded and found him listless, absent-eyed, still gazinginto a dying fire.