Part 26 (1/2)

I didn't, of course, though, gather at her first mention of his coming half that it meant to her. And she wouldn't, I might have known, with her regard for the _nuances_, have let it baldly appear. But I discovered afterward that she had made all sorts of overtures-done her utmost to divert him to Newfair. She didn't know him; had never set eyes on him; but her reputation, which was considerable even then, helped her a good deal. For she solicited news of him from her publishers; and she wrote Mrs. --, whatever her name was, finally, when she learned that that was the real right source to appeal to, a no doubt handsome letter, whence came the reply Miss Haviland had quoted to me, but which, as I also afterward found out, only asked very simply, ”in view of the uncertainty of Mr. Oaks's plans,” whether or not he could, in case he had to, ”spend the night there.”

Well, it eventuated, not strictly in accord with her wire-pulling, that Hurrell Oaks's route was changed so he could ”run through” in the late afternoon ”for a look at the college.” He was to be motoring to a place somewhere near, as it happened, and the Newfair detour would lengthen his schedule by only an hour or two. Word of it didn't come to her directly, either; that letter was addressed to the president. But it was humbly referred to Miss Haviland in the course of things, and she took the matter-what was left of it-into her own hands.

”No,” she answered, unyielding to the various suggestions that cropped up. ”But I'll tell you what I am willing to do: I will give up my own little flat. Living in London as he does, he will feel-quite at home there.”

Funny though it is, looking back over it, it had also, when all was said and done-particularly when all was done-its pathetic side. For Hurrell Oaks was the one sincere pa.s.sion of her life. He was religion and-and everything to her. The prospect of seeing him in the flesh, of hearing him _viva voce_, was more than she had ever piously believed could come to pa.s.s.

However much she imitated him-and remember, a large following bears witness to her skill-however she failed in his beauty and poetry and thoroughbredness, she must have had a deep, a discriminating love of his genius to have taken her thus far. No wonder she couldn't, with her precise sense of justice, _not_ be the chosen person at Newfair to receive him. But n.o.body dared question the justice of it, really. Wasn't she the _raison d'etre_ of his coming?-of his being anywhere at all, as some people thought?

Her very demeanor was mellowed by the prospect. She set about the task of preparation with an ardor as unprofessed as it was apparent. She doffed the need of impressing any one in her zeal to get ready to impress Hurrell Oaks.

Her tone became warm and affluent as she went about asking this person and that to lend things for the great day: Mrs. Edgerton's Monet, Mrs.

Braxton's brocades; a fur rug of Mrs. Green's she solicited one noon on the campus as if from a generous impulse to slight no one. And even when Mrs. Green suggested timidly that she would be glad ”to pay for having the invitations engraved,” Miss Haviland didn't correct her. But-

”No, dear,” she said. ”I think I won't let you do that much-_really_.

There aren't to be so many, and I shall be able to write them myself in no time.”

I can see her now, fingering her pearls and peering as hospitably as she could manage into Mrs. Green's commonplace eyes, and George Norton hurrying across the gra.s.s to catch a word with her without avail. He was the only person whom she was, during those perfervid preliminaries, one bit cruel to.

But him she overlooked entirely. She didn't seem to see him that day at all. She just peered obliquely beyond him, and, engrossed quite genuinely, no doubt, in Mrs. Green's fur rug, took her arm and strolled off. She had lost, for the time being, all use for him. He was left deserted and alone at the teas and gatherings, magnetized from one spot to another whither she moved forgetfully away.

I met him in the park and pitied his shy, inept efforts not to appear neglected.

”Well, I kind of think it may rain,” he essayed, half clasping his small hands behind him and looking sociably up around the sky for a cloud.

”But I don't know as it will, after all.” And then, ”Have you seen Miss Haviland lately?” he asked out in spite of himself.

”Not since yesterday's cla.s.s.”

”How's the improvements coming?”

”All right, I guess. The new stuff for the walls arrived, I heard. It hasn't been put on yet.”

”Oh-she's papering, is she?”

”And painting.”

He tried to sparkle appreciatively. ”Well, it takes time to do those things. You never know what you're in for. She's well?”

And he swayed back and forth on his heels, and teetered his head nervously. Poor thing! The gap he had tried so hard to bridge was filled to br.i.m.m.i.n.g now by the promised advent of Hurrell Oaks.

Miss Haviland called me on the telephone one afternoon as the day was approaching to ask if I would lend her my samovar; and she wanted I should bring it over presently, if possible, as she was slowly getting things right, and didn't like to leave any more than was necessary to the last moment. So I polished the copper up as best I could and went 'round that evening to the New Gainsborough to leave it.

The building looked very dismal to me, I recall. A forlorn place it seemed to receive the great guest. It had been a dormitory once, which had been given over, owing to the inconveniences of the location, to accommodate unmarried teachers. It was more like a refined factory than an apartment-house. The high stoop had no railing, and the pebbles which collected on the coa.r.s.e granite steps added to the general bleakness of the entrance. The inner halls were grim, with plain match-board wainscots and dingy paint, and narrow staircases that ascended steeply from meager landings. Miss Haviland's suite was three flights up.

But when I got inside it, I couldn't believe my eyes.

Her door was slightly ajar-it was the way Miss Haviland avoided the bother and the squalor of having to let people in-and at my knock she called out in a restrained, serene tone, ”Come!” And I stepped through the tiny vestibule into the study.

It was amazingly attractive-Hurrell Oaks himself would have remarked it, I'll wager. n.o.body except Marian Haviland could have wrought such a change.