But no! He remembered the haloed face, the lovely unpainted smile. He would never think that! She might not be for him, but she was what she seemed. She could not be otherwise.
“Yes,” he said, with a tinge of bitterness in his voice, “something for you to laugh about afterward! A country hick come to town to make a fool of himself, putting a girl in an embarrassing position in public!”
“No!” she said sharply. “Don’t say that! You didn’t! I wasn’t embarrassed! I liked it! I really did! I felt … honored!”
And suddenly one of the little white hands stole out of the darkness and crept into his hand with a gentle reassurance, and—it was ungloved!
He folded his hand about hers, marveling at its delicacy, its softness, the way it lay relaxed within his own strong hand. It was then he remembered the ring under the glove.
“But—you are already engaged!” he reminded himself aloud sternly. And then he felt for the ring again. This was the same left hand that had lain upon his arm as they went down the aisle together—galloped down!
Then he sat up sharply, felt the little hand all over, and reached over to the other hand that lay in her lap. It still wore a glove!
He sat back again and drew a breath of relief.
“Where is that ring?” he said.
“Here, in my handbag,” she said, sweetly offering him a tiny scrap made of white beads and gilt. “Did you want it?”
“Was it a joke you were playing?” he accused sternly.
“Oh, no,” she answered lightly. “I told you it wasn’t at all final. I’ve had that ring several days, and I just thought I’d try it out tonight and see if I cared to keep it.”
He hesitated a moment, still holding the little ungloved hand that lay so yielded in his own.
“Then … there is no reason why I may not tell you of my love!”
“Well, I would have to consider that,” said Mary Elizabeth gravely. “It was rather unexpected, you know. But here we are at the hotel. Don’t you think perhaps we’d better get out now?”
John helped her out, thrilling with the thought of touching even the hem of her garment, guarding her flowers, picking up her glove from the cushion, touching her belovedly, his heart pounding away with an embarrassment and trepidation that was quite new to him. John was usually at his ease anywhere, and he had been in the world enough not to feel strange. But he felt like a fool when he thought of what he had been saying, and recalled the keen, bright retaliations.
They hurried through the hall and up the elevator to the big room set aside for the wedding reception, and John blessed the fate that gave him even this silent bit of time more before they had to face the others. He looked down upon her, in her lovely halo hat, and she looked up and smiled, and there was no scorn in her smile as he had feared. Yet she had in no way put herself in his debt. She had held her own. His eyes drank in her delicate beauty hungrily against a time of famine he feared might be swiftly coming. He would never forget her nearness, the soft fragrance that came from her garments, the natural loveliness of her. He tried to summon her name from his memory, where it hovered on the edge of things and evaded him. Was it Helen? But that was not the type of name for such a girl as this.
Then the elevator door clanged back and they stepped into the big room smothered in ferns and palms and flowers, and there in a distant arbor that seemed almost like an orchid-hung hammock in one of his own Florida forests, the bride and groom were taking their places, Camilla smiling up at Jeff so joyously that John’s heart gave another leap. Would such joy ever come to him?
He looked down at the girl by his side, and their eyes met and something flashed from one to the other, a gleam that thrilled them both.
Chapter 2
Come,” said the girl, with a certain possessiveness in her voice, “we must go over and stand by them, you know.” She put her still ungloved hand on his and led him across the room. Behind them the elevator clanged again and opened its doors to let the green-clad bridesmaids surge in with the ushers, and the reception was upon them in full blast. But somehow John didn’t mind. His heart was leaping in new rhythm, and a song was in his heart.
“Hold this for me, please, while I put on my glove,” said Mary Elizabeth, handing over her little pearl purse as if she had been used to having him all her life for an escort.
He took the purse shyly in his bronzed hands. He was not accustomed to holding such trinkets for ladies. Not that he didn’t know plenty of ladies, but he had always shied out of paying them much attention. And yet, he liked the feel of her purse in his hand, and while he watched her putting on the glove so expertly, he grew bold enough to gently prod the purse till he had located the ring, a great ox of a stone, he told himself as he carefully appraised its value. He could never get her a ring like that, he thought to himself dismally in one of the intervals of the passing throng of guests. Even if he succeeded beyond his hopes he couldn’t. That ring had been bestowed by some millionaire of course, and she had been weighing its worth, and perhaps its owner. He frowned so hard that Uncle Warren Wainwright asked his wife afterward if that best man wasn’t a rather stern-looking fellow. But his wife said no, she thought he was splendid looking, so nice and tanned and well built, so he said he guessed he must have been mistaken. Uncle Warren was like that, always ready to concede to his wife’s opinion. He had made his money in spite of doing that.
The long procession of gushing or shy friends had surged by at last and the bridal party was seated around the bride’s table at the “throne end” as Jeffrey called it, of the banquet hall.
“There,” said Mary Elizabeth as John seated her, “isn’t this nice and cozy? You didn’t know we were going to sit together, did you?” John sat down beside her, feeling like a prisoner on parole.
There was comparative privacy where they were, amid the cheerful laughter and talk of the rest of the wedding party. The wedding roses, the tall candles, all made it a fairyland, and they carried on their little private conversation there between themselves, the girl continually ready with her sparkle and smiles. And nobody wondered that the attractive best man was absorbed in the lovely maid of honor.
Quite suddenly, it seemed, the wedding supper was over. John found his heart sinking. Soon the beautiful links would be broken, and when would he ever see her again? He tried to make some plans, say something to her about it, but the glamour of her presence somehow dazed him. He ought to tell her that he was a poor man. That it would be some time before he could claim her. He ought to let her know about his one year more of graduate work in medical school. She ought to know that his wedding could never be the grand affair that this was. He was not a Wainwright. There were things he ought to say to arrange what they should do in the future, but to save his life he could not say them, could not put them into the words that ought to frame them. Not with all these good, kindly people around them, shouting pleasant nothings across the table, mixing together for that one night, strangers, but with a common interest in the bride and groom. His tongue was tied! And perhaps there would be no other time!
“And I don’t even know your address,” he wailed, as suddenly the bride arose and everybody got up with her.
“I’ll write it for you and give it to you before you leave,” she assured him with a smile. “Where is my little bag? I have a pencil and card in it.”
He handed it forth reluctantly. It seemed he was giving up one of the slender links that bound them.
“I’ll have it ready for you when you come down.” Her smile was bright. “You have to go upstairs with Jeff, don’t you? Well, I’ll be waiting over there by the alcove, and—you know I’m driving you to the station afterward, so don’t go and order a taxi or anything. That’s the business of the maid of honor after her duties for the bride are done. She has to look after the best man, you know. That is, when he needs looking after.”
She slipped away up the stairs with one of her sparking glances, and looking after her he had to own to himself that he act
ually wasn’t sure yet whether she was only playing a game with him or had taken his words seriously. Nevertheless, he went to Jeff’s room with something singing down in his heart.
So while the guests were waiting below to play the usual bridal tricks on the departing couple, with a sentinel stationed at every hotel exit, Camilla, with the help of her mother and Miss York, their friend, got out of her bridal array and into the lovely, simple going-away outfit. She calmly kissed the women good-bye, including Mary Elizabeth, who had slipped in a minute before and now stood holding the precious orchids.
“But what are you going to do with your bouquet, Camilla?” she asked. “You can’t go away without the time-honored ceremony of throwing your flowers for the bridesmaids to catch.”
“You’ll have to do it for me, new cousin,” said Camilla, smiling. “Or perhaps you’ll prefer to keep them yourself. If they bring any good luck, I’d rather you’d have them, Mary Elizabeth, dear! I’m going to love you a lot.”
Then Camilla put on a stiff, white, starched nurse’s smock and a tricky little cap, tucking her own soft hat under the big blue nurse’s cape. She stepped to a door connecting with another suite of rooms, unlocked it, and stood a moment looking at them all with happy eyes.
“Good night!” she said, sweeping them a courtesy.
“But, Camilla, where are your bags?” said Mary Elizabeth.
“Safe in our car and waiting for us in a little village three miles from town. Jeff saw to all that. Good-bye, and it’s up to you, Mary Elizabeth, to go down and announce that I’ve fled and you’ve found nothing but my bouquet, and therefore it’s yours, because you found it first.”
And with another smile and a kiss blown at them all, she turned and went into the other room, closing the door behind her. Nurse York swiftly locked it after her, and the three conspirators hurried downstairs by devious ways, looking most innocent.
No one noticed a nurse with a tray of dishes slip out of the end room and hurry down the servants’ stairs.
Down at the back of the building, the caterer’s car was drawn up for hampers of silver and dishes to be stowed away, and two young men in chef’s linen coats and aprons stole through the basement kitchens with the nurse behind them. They slipped into the back of the caterer’s car; that is, one young chef and the nurse slipped in, and one chef stayed behind. And not even the careful watchers in the yard had a suspicion. The back door of the car was slammed, and a driver got into the front seat and put his foot on the starter.
“Oh, by the way,” said John Saxon, slipping up again to the little window at the back of the car, “I liked your Miss Foster a lot. Thanks for helping me to meet her!”
“But you didn’t meet her,” giggled the young woman in the nurse’s uniform.
“Oh, but I did,” said John heartily. “We didn’t mind a little thing like that. We introduced ourselves!”
“Oh, but you didn’t,” cried the soft voice again. “She wasn’t there at all!”
But the driver had put his foot on the starter and the car clattered away, and John was none the wiser for that last sentence.
He stole back through the servants’ corridors, rid himself of his disguise, and mingled again with the guests unobtrusively.
“Oh, hello!” said someone presently. “Here’s the best man! Where are they, Mr. Saxon? Which way are they coming down?”
“Why, there isn’t any way but the elevator, is there?” said John innocently. “Jeff was all ready when I left him.”
There was excited gathering of guests in little groups, then the appearance of the bride’s mother, smiling and a bit teary about the lashes, brought about a state of eager intensity. The elevator came and went, and there was a dead silence every time it opened its noisy doors to let out some guest of the house. They all stood in the big entrance hall clutching their handfuls of paper rose leaves and rice and confetti. Outside the door stood a big car belonging to Mr. Warren Wainwright, understood to be the going-away car, well decorated in white satin ribbons and old shoes and appropriate sentiments, but time went on and nothing happened!
“I’m going up to see what has happened!” announced Mary Elizabeth, when excitement grew to white heat and suspicion began to grow into a low rumble of anxiety.
She stepped into the elevator and disappeared, and a breath of relief went up from the guests.
Then Mary Elizabeth descended again with the great bouquet of white orchids in her hand! The bouquet that every one of those four bridesmaids had so longed to be able to catch for herself!
And when they saw the orchids, it did not need Mary Elizabeth’s dramatic announcement—“She’s gone! And I’ve got the orchids!”—to tell what had happened.
A howl went up from the disappointed tricksters, and if it had been anybody else but Mary Elizabeth with her bright, friendly smile, she might have been mobbed.
But Mary Elizabeth had disappeared in the excitement and slipped up to her room, and by the time the guests had begun to drift away, she appeared with a long dark wrap over her arm, jingling her key ring placidly, with no offending orchids in sight. When John came back after seeing Camilla’s mother to her room as he had promised Jeff he would do, there she was sitting demurely in the alcove, the long satin cloak covering her delicate dress, and her eyes like two stars, waiting for him.
It thrilled him anew to see her there and meet her welcoming smile, just as if they had been belonging to each other for a long time. Even in the brief interval of his absence he had been doubting that it could be true that he had found a girl like that. Surely the glamour would have faded when he got back to her.
But there she was, a real flesh-and-blood girl, as lovely in the simple lines of the soft black satin cloak as she had been in the radiant rosy chiffons.
She had taken off her gloves, and he thrilled again to draw her hand within his arm as they went out to the car.
The doorman put his bags in the back of the car, and Mary Elizabeth drove away from the blaze of light that enveloped the whole front of the hotel. They were alone. Really alone for the first time since he had seen her! And suddenly he was tongue-tied!
He wanted to take her in his arms, but a great shyness had come upon him. He wanted to tell her what was in his heart for her, but there were no words adequate. Each one, as he selected it and cast it aside as unfit, seemed presumptuous.
John Saxon had a deep reverence for womanhood. He had acquired that from the teaching of his little plain, quiet mother. He had a deep scorn for modern progressive girls with bloody-looking lips, plucked eyebrows, and applied eyelashes. Girls who acquired men as so many scalps to hang at their belts, who smoked insolently and strutted around in trousers, long or short. He turned away from such in disgust. He hated their cocksure ways, their arrogance, their assumption of rights, their insolence against all things sacred. He had had a great doubt in his mind about even Camilla until he had seen her, watched her, talked with her, proved her to be utterly unspoiled in spite of her wonderful golden head and her smartly plain attire.
And now to find another girl with beauty and brightness and culture, who assumed none of the manners he hated, almost brought back his faith in true womanhood. Certainly he reverenced this girl beside him as if God had just handed her to him fresh out of heaven.
“Well,” said Mary Elizabeth presently as she whirled the car around a corner and glided down a wide street overarched with elm trees, “aren’t you wasting a great deal of time? Where are all those things you were going to say and didn’t have time for while we walked down that aisle?”
“Forgive me,” he said. “It seemed enough just to be sitting by your side. I was trying to make it seem real. I wasn’t quite sure but I might be in a dream. Because you see, I was never sure whether my dream of you through the years would be like this when I found you—if I found you!”
“That’s one of the nicest things anybody ever said to me,” said Mary Elizabeth softly, guiding her car slowly under the shadow of the elms.
r /> “I suppose scores of men have said nice things to you,” John remarked dismally.
“Yes,” said the girl thoughtfully, “a great many. But I’m not sure they were always sincere. Their words didn’t always please me. Yours do. You know it’s rather wonderful to find someone that doesn’t have to be chattered to in order to feel the pleasant comfort of companionship. Even if I never see you again, we’ve had a lovely evening, haven’t we? I would never forget you.”
John started forward and closer to her, looking in her face.
“Is that all it means to you?” he said searchingly.
“I didn’t say it was,” said Mary Elizabeth with a dancing in her eyes that gleamed naughtily even in the dark as she turned toward him. “I shouldn’t prevent your seeing me again, of course, if you want to. I only said, even if I never saw you again, I wouldn’t forget that we’ve had a most unique and wonderful evening. You must remember that I have no data by which to judge you, except that presumably you are one of Jeff’s friends. Remember I’ve just arrived on the scene this morning, and not a blessed soul had time enough to gossip about you!”
“They wouldn’t,” said John ruefully. “There isn’t enough to say. But I was presumptuous, of course, to dare say what I did right out of the blue. I’m only a plain man, and you may be bound irrevocably to someone else.”
“I told you it was not final!” said Mary Elizabeth, driving smoothly up to the station and stopping the car.
“Yes,” said John, giving a quick startled look out at the station. “Yes, you said it was not final, but you gave me no hope that you would listen to me.”
“But I listened to you!”
“But you didn’t give me an answer.”
“Did you expect an answer?”
“I don’t know,” said John in a low tone. “I wanted one.”