CHAPTER IV
PICTURES
Richard Kendrick had been guest at a good many dinners in the course ofhis experience, dinners of all sorts and of varying degrees offormality. Club dinners, college-class dinners, "stag" dinners atimposing hotels and cafes, impromptu dinners hurriedly arranged by threeor four fellows in for a good time, dinners at which women were present,more at which they were not--these were everyday affairs with him. But,strange to say, the one sort of dinner with which he was not familiarwas that of the family type--the quiet gathering in the home of themembers of the household, plus one or two fortunate guests. He had neversat at such a table under his own roof, and when he was entertained inthe homes of his friends the occasion was invariably made one forsummoning many other guests, and for elaborate feasting and diversion ofall kinds.
It will be seen, therefore, that Richard looked forward to a totally newexperience, without in the least realizing that he did so. His principalthought concerning the invitation to the Grays' was that he should atlast have the chance to meet again the niece of his employer, in a waythat would show him considerably more of her as a woman than he had beenable to observe on the occasion when they had so hurriedly finished aluncheon together, and she had escaped from him as fast as possible inorder to set forth on a madcap adventure with her small brother.
On the day of which he expected to spend the evening with the Grays hefound it not a little difficult to keep his mind upon his work with theJudge, and that gentleman seemed to him extraordinarily particular, evenfussy, about having every fact brought to him painstakingly verifieddown to the smallest detail. When at last he was released, and he rushedhome in his car to dress, he discovered that his spirits were dancing ashe could not remember having felt them dance for a year. And all over asimple invitation to a family dinner!
As he dressed it might have been said of him that he also could beparticular, even fussy. When, at length, he was ready, he was ascarefully attired as ever he had been in his life--and this not only inbody but in mind. It was curious, to his own observation of himself, howdifferently he felt, in what different mood he was, than had ever beenthe case when he had left his room for the scene of some accustomedpleasure-making. He could not just define this difference to himself,though he was conscious of it; but there was in it a sense of wishingthe people he was to meet to think well of him, according to their ownstandards, and he was somehow rather acutely aware that their standardswere not likely to be those with which he was most intimate.
When he entered the now familiar door of the Gray homestead he wassurprised to hear sounds which seemed to indicate that the affair was,after all, much larger and more formal than he had been led to suppose.Strains of music fell upon his ears--music from a number of stringedinstruments remarkably well played--and this continued as he made hisentrance into the long drawing-room at the left of the hall, of whoseinterior he had as yet caught only tempting glimpses.
As he greeted his hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Gray, Judge Calvin Gray,Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Gray, wondering a little where the rest of thefamily could be, his eye fell upon the musicians, and the problem wassolved. Ruth, the sixteen-year-old, sat before a harp; Louis, the elderson, cherished a violin under his chin; Roberta--ah, there she was!wearing a dull-blue evening frock above which gleamed her white neck,her half-uncovered arms showing exquisite curves as she handled the bowwhich was drawing long, rich notes from the violoncello at her knee.
Not one of the trio looked up until the nocturne they were playing wasdone. Then they rose together, laying aside their instruments, and madethe guest welcome. He had a vivid impression of being done peculiarhonour by their recognition of him as a new friend, for so they receivedhim. As he looked from one to another of their faces he experiencedanother of those curious sensations which had from time to time assailedhim ever since he had first put his head inside the door of this house,the sensation of looking in upon a new world of which he had knownnothing, and of being strangely drawn by all he saw there. It was notalone the effect of meeting a more than ordinarily alluring girl, foreach member of the family had for him something of this drawing quality.As he studied them it was clear to him that they belonged together, thatthey loved each other, that the very walls of this old home wereeloquent of the life lived here.
He had of course seen and noted families before, noted them carelesslyenough: rich families, poor families, big families, little, newly begunfamilies; but of a certain sort of family of which this was theinteresting and inviting type he knew as little as the foreigner, newlylanded on American shores, knows of the depths of the great country'sinterior. And as he studied these people the desire grew and grew withinhim to know as much of them as they would let him know. The verygrouping of them, against the effective background of the fine olddrawing-room, made, it seemed to him, a remarkable picture, full of acertain richness of colour and harmony such as he had never observedanywhere.
The evening did not contain as much of gay encounter with Roberta ashe had anticipated--but, somehow, as he afterwards looked back upon it,he could not feel that there had been any lack. He had fancied himself,in prospect, sitting beside her at the table, exchanging that pleasant,half-foolish badinage with which young men are wont to entertaingirls who are their companions at dinners, both nearly oblivious ofthe rest of the company. But it turned out that his seat was betweenhis hostess and her younger daughter, Ruth, and though Roberta wasnearly opposite him at the table and he could look at her to his fullcontent--conservatively speaking--he was obliged to give himself toplaying the part of the deferential younger man where older and moredistinguished men are present.
Yet--to his surprise, it must be admitted--he found himself not bored bythat table-talk. It was such table-talk, by the way, as is not to be hadunder ordinary roofs. He now recognized that he had only partiallyappreciated the qualities of mind possessed by Judge Gray--certainly nothis capacity for brilliant conversation. Mr. Robert Gray was quite hiselder brother's match, however, and more than once Kendrick caught LouisGray's eye meeting his own with the glance which means delighted pridein the contest of wits which is taking place. All three young menenjoyed it to the full, and even Ted listened with eyes full of eagerdesire to comprehend that which he understood to be worth trying hardfor.
"They enjoy these encounters keenly," said Mrs. Gray, beside Richard, asa telling story by Mr. Robert Gray, in illustration of a point he hadmade, came to a conclusion amid a burst of appreciative laughter. "Theyrelish them quite as much, we think, as if they often succeeded inconvincing each other, which they seldom do."
"Are they always in such form?" asked Richard, looking into the fresh,attractive face of the lady who was the mistress of this home, andcontinuing to watch her with eyes as deferential as they were admiring.She, too, represented a type of woman and mother with which he wasunfamiliar. Grace and charm in women who presided at dinner-tables hehad often met, but he could not remember when before he had sat at theright hand of a woman who had made him begin, for almost the first timein his life, to wonder what his own mother had been like.
"Nearly always, at night, I think," said she, her eyes resting upon herhusband's face. Richard, observing, saw her smile, and guessed, withoutlooking, that there had been an exchange of glances. He knew, because hehad twice before noted the exchange, as if there existed a peculiarlystrong sympathy between husband and wife. This inference, too, possesseda curious new interest for the young man--he had not been accustomed tosee anything of that sort between married people of long standing--notin the world he knew so well. He seemed to be learning strange newpossibilities of existence at every step, since he had discovered theGrays--he who at twenty-eight had not thought there was very much leftin human experience to be discovered.
"Is it different in the morning?" Richard inquired.
"Quite different. They are rather apt to take things more seriously inthe morning. The day's work is just before them and they are inclined todiscuss grave questions and dispose of them. B
ut at night, when thelights are burning and every one comes home with a sense of duty done,it is natural to throw off the weights and be merry over the samematters which, perhaps, it seemed must be argued over in the morning. Weall look forward to the dinner-table."
"I should think you might," agreed Richard, looking about him once moreat the faces which surrounded him. He caught Roberta's eye, as he didso--much to his satisfaction--and she gave him a straightforward, steadylook, as if she were taking his measure for the first time. Then, quitesuddenly, she smiled at him and turned away to speak to Ted, who sat byher side.
Richard continued to watch, and saw that immediately Ted looked his wayand also smiled. He wanted so much to know what this meant, that, assoon as dinner was over and they were all leaving the room, he fell inwith the boy and, putting his hand through Ted's arm, whispered withartful intent: "Was my tie under my left ear?"
Ted stared up at him. "Your tie's all right, Mr. Kendrick."
"Then it wasn't that. Perhaps my coat collar was turned up?"
"Why, no," the boy laughed. "You look as right as anything. What madeyou think--"
"I saw you and your sister laughing at me and it worried me. I thought Imust be looking the guy some way."
Ted considered. "Oh, no!" he said. "She asked me if I thought you wereenjoying the dinner as well as you would have liked the corn-popping."
"And what did you decide?"
"I said I couldn't tell, because I never saw you at a corn-popping. Iasked her that day we went to walk why she wouldn't ask you to it, butshe just said you were too busy to come. I didn't think you acted toobusy to come," he said naively, glancing up into Richard's down-bentface.
"Didn't I? Haven't I looked very busy whenever you have seen me in youruncle's library?"
Ted shook his head. "I don't think you have--not the way Louis looksbusy in father's office, nor the way father does."
Richard laughed, but somehow the frank comment stung him a little, as hewould not have imagined the comment of an eleven-year-old boy could havedone. "See here, Ted," he urged, "tell me why you say that. I thinkmyself I've done a lot of work since I've been here, and I can't see whyI haven't looked it."
But Ted shook his head. "I don't think it would be polite to tell you,"he said, which naturally did not help matters much.
Still holding the lad's arm, Richard walked over to Roberta, who hadgone to the piano and was arranging some sheets of music there.
"Miss Gray," he said, "have you accomplished a great deal to-day?"
She looked up, puzzled. "A great deal of what?" she asked.
"Work--endeavour--strenuous endeavour."
"The usual amount. Lessons--and lessons--and one more lesson. I havereally more pupils than I can do justice to, but I am promised anassistant if the work grows too heavy," she answered. "Why, please?"
"I've been wondering if the motto of the Gray family might be 'Let us,then, be up and doing.' Ted gives me that notion."
Roberta glanced at Ted, whose face had grown quite grave. "Can you tellhim what the motto is, Ted?"
"Of course I can," responded Ted proudly. "It's _Hoc age_."
Richard hastily summoned his Latin, but the verb bothered him for aminute. "_This do_," he presently evolved. "Well, I should say I camepretty near it."
"What's yours?" the boy now inquired.
"My family motto? I believe it is _Crux mihi ancora_; but that doesn'tjust suit me, so I've adopted one of my own"--he looked straight atRoberta--"_Dum vivimus, vivamus_. Isn't that a pleasanter one in thisworkaday world?"
Ted was struggling hard, but his two months' experience with therudiments of Latin would not serve him. "What do they mean?" he askedeagerly.
"The second one means," said Roberta, with her arm about the slim youngshoulders, "'While we live, let us live--well.'" Her eyes met Richard'swith a shade of defiance in them.
"Thank you," said he. "Do you expect me to adopt the amendment?"
"Why not?"
"Even you--take cross-country runs."
She nodded. "And am all the better teacher for them next day."
He laughed. "I should like to take one with you some time," said he. Hesaw Judge Gray coming toward them. "I wonder if I'm likely ever to havethe chance," he added hurriedly.
"_You_ take a cross-country run when you could have a sixty-mile spin inthat motor-car of yours instead?"
"I couldn't go cross-country in that. You see I've been by the beatentrack so much I should like to try exploring something new."
He was eager to say more, but Judge Gray, coming up to them, laid anaffectionate hand on his niece's shoulder.
"She doesn't look the part she plays by day, does she?" he said toRichard. "Curious, how times have changed. In my day a teacher looked ateacher every minute of her time. One stood in awe of her--orhim--particularly of her. A prim, stuff gown, hair parted in the middleand drawn smoothly away"--his glance wandered from Roberta's ivory neckto the dusky masses of her hair--"spectacles, more than likely--withsteel bows. And a manner--ye gods--the manner! How we were impressed byit! Well, well! Fine women they were and true to their profession. Thesemodern girls who look younger than their pupils--" He shook his headwith an air of being quite in despair about them.
"Uncle Calvin," said Roberta, demurely, with her hand upon his arm, "dotell Mr. Kendrick about your teaching school 'across the river' when youwere only sixteen years old."
And, of course, that settled the chance of Richard's hearing anythingabout Roberta's teaching, for, though Judge Gray was called out of theroom in the midst of his story, Stephen and Louis came up and joined thegroup and switched the talk a thousand miles away from schools andschool-teaching.
Presently there was music again, and this time Richard found himselfsitting beside young Mrs. Stephen Gray. Between numbers he foundquestions to ask, which she answered with evident pleasure.
"These three must have been playing together a good many years?"
"Dear me, yes--ever since they were born, I think. They do make realharmony, don't they?"
"They do--in more ways than one. Is that colour scheme intentional, doyou think?"
Mrs. Stephen's glance followed his as it dwelt upon the group. "I hadn'tnoticed," she admitted, "but I see it now; it's perfect. And I've nodoubt Ruth thought it out. She's quite a wonderful eye for colour, andshe worships Rob and likes to dress so as to offset her--always givingRob the advantage--though of course she would have that, anyway, byvirtue of her own colouring."
"Blue and corn-colour--should you call it?--and gold. Dull tints in thebackground, and the candle-light on Miss Ruth's hair and her sister'scheek. It makes the prettiest picture yet in my new collection of familygroups."
Mrs. Stephen looked at him curiously. "Are you making a collection offamily groups?" she inquired. "Beginning away back with your firstmemories?"
"My first memories are not of family groups--only of nurses and tutors,with occasional portraits of my grandfather making inquiries as to how Iwas getting on. And my later memories are all of school andcollege--then of travel. Not a home scene among them."
"You poor boy!" There was something maternal in Mrs. Stephen's tone,though she looked considerably younger than the object of her pity. "Butyou must have looked at plenty of other family groups, if you had noneof your own."
"That's exactly what I haven't done."
"But you've lived--in the world," she cried under her breath, puzzled.
A curious expression came into the young man's face. "That's exactlywhat I have done," he said quietly. "In the world, not in the home. I'venot even _seen_ homes--like this one. The sight of brother and sistersplaying violin and harp and 'cello together, with the father and motherand brother and uncle looking on, is absolutely so new to me that it hasa fascination I can't explain. I find myself continually watching youall--if you'll forgive me--in your relations to each other. It's a newinterest," he admitted, smiling, "and I can't tell you what it means tome."
She shook her head. "
It sounds like a strange tale to me," said she,"but I suppose it must be true. How much you have missed!"
"I'm just beginning to realize it. I never knew it till I began to comehere. I thought I was well enough off--it seems I'm pretty poor."
It was rather a strange speech for a young man of his class to make.Possibly it indicated the existence of those "brains" with which hisgrandfather had credited him.
"Well, Rob, do you think he had as dull a time as you said he wouldhave?"
The inquirer was Ruth. She stood, still in the corn-coloured frock, inthe doorway of her sister's room, from which her own opened. "Pleaseunhook me," she requested, approaching Roberta and turning her backinvitingly.
Roberta, already out of the blue-silk gown, released her young sisterfrom the imprisonment of her hooks and eyes.
"His manners are naturally too good to make it clear whether he had adull time or not," was Roberta's non-committal reply.
"I don't believe his manners are too good to cover up his being bored,if he was bored," Ruth went on. "He certainly wasn't bored _all_ thetime, anybody could tell that. He's very good-looking, isn't he?"
"If you care for that sort of good looks--yes."
"What sort?"
"The kind that doesn't express anything--except having had a good timeevery minute of one's life."
"Why, Rob, what's the matter with you? Anybody would think you hadsomething against poor Mr. Kendrick."
"If he were 'poor Mr. Kendrick' there might be a chance of liking him,for he would have had to _do_ something."
Roberta was pulling out hairpins with energy, and now let the whole darkmass tumble about her shoulders. The half-curling locks were very thickand soft, and as she shook them away from her face she reminded Ruth ofa certain wild little Arabian pony of her own.
"You throw back your head just like Sheik when he's going to bolt," Ruthcried, laughing. "I wish my hair were like that. It looks perfectly dearwhatever you do with it, and mine's only pretty when it's been put justright."
"It certainly was put just right to-night then," said a third voice, andRosamond, Stephen's wife, appeared in Roberta's half-open door. "May Icome in? Steve hasn't come up yet, and I'm so comfortable in this loosething I want to sit up a while and enjoy it."
Rosamond looked hardly older than Roberta; there were times when shelooked younger, being small and fair. Ruth considered her quite as muchof a girl as either herself or Roberta, and welcomed her eagerly to thediscussion in which she herself was so much interested.
"Rosy," was her first question, "did _you_ think our guest was boredto-night?"
"Bored?" exclaimed Mrs. Stephen in surprise. "Why should he be? Hedidn't look it whenever I observed him. And if you had seen him when thetrio was playing you wouldn't have thought so. By the way, he has an eyefor colour. He noticed how your frock and Rob's went together in thecandle-light, with the harp to give a touch of gold."
"Did he say so?" cried Ruth in delight.
"He asked if the colour scheme was intentional. I said I thought itprobably was--on your part. Rob never thinks of colour schemes."
"Neither does any _man_," murmured Roberta from the depths of the hairshe was brushing with an energetic arm. "Unless it happens to be hisbusiness," she amended.
"Rob doesn't like him," declared Ruth, "just because he has money andgood looks and doesn't work for his living, and likes pretty colourschemes. He probably gets that from having seen so much wonderful art inhis travels. Aren't painters just as good as bridge-builders? Robdoesn't think so. She wants every man to get his hands grubby."
Roberta turned about, laughing. "This one isn't even a painter. Go tobed, you foolish, analytical child. And don't dream of the beautifulguest who admired your corn-coloured frock."
"He only liked it because it set off your blue one," Ruth shot back.
"He said nothing whatever about my lovely new white gown," Rosamondcalled after her.
Roberta came up to her sister-in-law from behind and put both arms abouther. "Stephen came and whispered in my ear to-night," said she, "andwanted to know if I had ever seen Rosy look sweeter. I said I had--anhour before. He asked what you had on, and I said, 'A gray kimono--andthe baby on her arm.' He smiled and nodded--and I saw the look in hiseyes."
"Rob, you're the dearest sister a girl ever had given to her," Rosamondanswered, returning the embrace.
"And yet you two say I don't care for colour schemes," Roberta remindedher as she returned to her hair-brushing. "I care enough for them towant them made up of colours that will wash--warranted not to fade--thatwill stand sun and rain and only grow the more beautiful!"
"What _are_ you talking about now, dear?" laughed Rosamond happily,still thinking of what Stephen had said to Roberta.