Part 4 (1/2)
For the time being the music in the drawing-room had stopped and David and Caroline were deep in an animated conversation.
”The trouble about it is that I am about to have my light put out,” David was complaining as he sat on the piano-stool, glaring at a vase of unoffending roses on a table. ”Being a ray of suns.h.i.+ne around the house for a sick poet is no job for a runabout child like me.”
”But he's so much better now, David, that I should think you would be perfectly happy. Though of course you are still a little uneasy about him.” As Caroline Darrah spoke she swayed the long-stemmed rose she held in her hand and tipped it against one of its mates in the vase.
”Uneasy, nothing! There's not a thing in the world the matter with him; ribs are all in commission and his collar-bone hitched on again. It's just a case of moonie sulks with him. He never was the real glad boy, but now he runs entirely to poetry and gloom. He won't go anywhere but over here to chew book-rags with the major or to read goo to Phoebe, which she pa.s.ses on to you. Wish I'd let him die in the swamps; chasing away to Panama for him was my mistake, I see.” And David ruffled a young rose that drooped confidingly over toward him.
”Why did he ever go to Panama? Why does he build bridges and things?
Other people like you and me can do that sort of thing; but he--,” and Caroline Darrah raised her eyes full of naive questioning.
”Heavens, woman, poetry never in the world would grub-stake six feet of husky man! But that's just like you and Phoebe and all the other women.
You would like to feed me to the alligators, but the poet must sit in the shade and chew eggs and grape juice. You trample on my feelings, child,”
and David sighed plaintively.
Caroline eyed him a moment across the rose she held to her lips, then laughed delightedly.
”Indeed, indeed, I couldn't stand losing you, David, nor could Phoebe.
Don't imagine it!” And Caroline confessed her affection for him with the navete with which a child offers a flower.
The absolute entente cordiale which had existed between her and Phoebe from the moment Mrs. Buchanan had presented them to each other in the dusk-shadowed library, had been extended to include David Kildare. He was duly appreciative of her almost appealing friends.h.i.+p, chaffed her about the three governors, depended upon her to further his tumultuous suit, admired her beauty, insisted upon it in season and out, and initiated her into the social intricacies of his gay set with the greatest glee.
”I don't trust you one little bit, Caroline Darrah Brown,” David broke in on her moment's silent appreciation of him and his friendliness. ”You look at him kinder partial-like, too.”
”Oh, one _must_ admire him, his poems are so lovely! I have watched for them from the first one years ago. Do you remember the one where he--”
”Don't remember a single line of a single one, and don't want to!
Phoebe's always quoting them at me. She's got a book of 'em. See if I don't smash him up some day if I have to listen to much more of it.”
David's face was a study in the contradictions of a tormented grin.
Caroline eyed him again for a moment across the rose and then they both laughed delightedly. But David was for the pressing of his point just the same.
”Dear Daughter of the Three,” he pleaded, ”can't you help me out?
Mollycoddle him a bit. Do, now, that's a good child! Keep him 'interested', as _she_ calls it! You are quite as good to look at as Phoebe and are enough more--more,”--and David paused for a word that would compare Caroline's appeal and Phoebe's brisk challenge.
”Yes, I understand. I really am _more_ so; but how can I help you out if he never even sees me when I'm there?” And Caroline raised eyes to him that held a hint of wistfulness in their banter.
”The old mole-eyed grump never sees anybody nor anything. But let's plot a scheme. This three-handed game doesn't suit me; promise to be good and sit in. I haven't had Phoebe to myself for the long time. He needs a heart interest of his own--I'm tired of lending him mine. You're not busy--that's a sweet girl! Don't make me feel I inherited you for nothing,” said David in a most beguiling voice as he moved a shade nearer to her.
”I promise, I promise! If you take that tone with me, I'm afraid not to: but I feel you mistake my powers,” and Caroline laid the rose across her knee and dropped her long lashes over her eyes. ”I think I'll fail with your poet; something tells me it is a vain task. Let's put it in the hands of the G.o.ds. It may interest them.”
”No, I'm going to shoo him in here right now,” answered David, bent upon the immediate accomplishment of his scheme for the relief of his very independent lady-love from her friendly durance. ”You just wait and get a line of moon-talk ready for him. Keep that rose in your hand and handle your eyes carefully.”
”Oh, but it's impossible!” exclaimed Caroline with real alarm in her voice. She rose and the flower fell shattered at her feet. ”I'm going to have a little business talk with the major before Captain Cantrell and the other gentlemen come. I have an appointment with him. Won't you leave it to the G.o.ds?”
”No, for the G.o.ds might not know Phoebe. She'd hunt a hot brick for a sick kitten if I was freezing to death, and besides I need her in my business at this very moment.”
”Caroline, my dear,” said the major from the door into the library, ”from the strenuosity in the tones of David Kildare I judge he is discussing his usual topic. Phoebe and Andrew have just gone and left their good-bys for you both.”