Part 40 (2/2)
Here spoke the spirit of the law, for technically Bennett was correct.
”Whatever the rigid interpretation”--Keith found himself uttering heresy--”I still feel it my duty to deal personally with whatever seems to me unjustly to interfere with, proper convictions.” Then he stopped, aghast at the tremendous step he had taken. For to a man trained as was Keith, in a time when all men were created for the law, and not the law for men, in a society where the lawyer was considered the greatest citizen, and subtle technicality paramount to justice or commonsense, this was a tremendous step. At that moment, and by that spontaneous and unconsidered statement, Keith, unknown to himself, pa.s.sed from one side to the other in the great social struggle that was impending.
”I wa'n you, suh,” Bennett was repeating, ”yo' course will not meet with the approval of the members of the bar.”
”I am sorry, Cal,” said Keith sadly.
Bennett rose, bowed stiffly, and turned to the door. But suddenly he whirled back, his face alight with feeling.
”Oh, see heah, Milt, be sensible!” he cried. ”I know just how yo're feelin' now. Yo're sore, and I don't blame you. You put ap a hard fight, and though you got licked, I don't mind tellin' you that the whole bar appreciates yo're brilliant work. You must remember you had to play a lone hand against pretty big men--the biggest we've got! We all appreciate the odds. Cora has lots of friends. You'll never convict him, Milt; but go in again for another trial, if it will do yo're feelin's any good, with our best wishes. Only don't let gettin' licked make you so sore! Don't go b.u.t.tin' yo're haid at yo're friends! Be a spo't!”
A half hour ago this appeal might have gained a response if not a practical effect, but the spiritual transformation in Keith was complete.
”I'm sorry,” he replied simply, ”but I must go ahead in my own way.”
Calhoun Bennett's face lost its glow, and his tall figure stiffened.
”I must wa'n you not to bring my name into this,” said he. ”I do not intend to have my reputation sacrificed to yo' strait-laced Yankee conscience. If my name is ever mentioned, I shall hold you responsible, _personally_ responsible. You understand, suh?”
He stood stiff and straight, staring at Keith. Keith did not stir.
After a moment Calhoun Bennett went out.
XLV
After this interview Keith experienced a marked and formal coldness from nearly all of his old a.s.sociates, Those with whom he came into direct personal contact showed him scrupulous politeness, but confined their conversation to the briefest necessary words, and quit him as soon as possible. He found himself very much alone, for at this period he had lost the confidence of one faction and had not yet gained that of the other.
His investigations encountered always increasing difficulties. In his own department he could obtain little a.s.sistance. A dead inertia opposed all his efforts. Nevertheless, he went ahead doggedly, using Krafft and some of Krafft's proteges to considerable effect.
But soon pressure was brought on him from a new direction: his opponents struck at him through his home.
For some days Nan had been aware of a changed atmosphere in the society she frequented and had heretofore led. The change was subtle, defied a.n.a.lysis, but was to the woman's sensitive instincts indubitable. At first she had been inclined to consider it subjective, to imagine that something wrong with herself must be projecting itself through her imagination; but finally she realized that the impression was well based. In people's att.i.tude there was nothing overt; it was rather a withdrawl of intimacy, a puzzling touch of formality. She seemed overnight to have lost in popularity.
Truth to tell, she paid little attention to this. By now she was experienced enough in human nature to understand and to be able to gauge the slight fluctuations, the ebbs and flows of esteem, the kaleidoscopic s.h.i.+ftings and realignments of the elements of frivolous and formal society. Mrs. Brown had hired away Mrs. Smith's best servant; for an hour they looked askance on Mrs. Brown; then, the episode forgotten, Mrs. Brown's cork bobbed to the surface company of all the other corks. It was very trivial. Besides, just at this moment, Nan was wholly occupied with preparations for her first ”afternoon” of the year. She intended as usual to give three of these formal affairs, and from them the season took its tone. The list was necessarily far from exclusive, but Nan made up for that by the care she gave her most original arrangements. She prided herself on doing things simply, but with a difference, calling heavily on her resources of correspondence, her memory, and her very good imagination for some novelty of food or entertainment. At the first of these receptions, too, she wore always for the first time some new and marvellous toilet straight from Paris, the style of which had not been shown to even her most intimate friends. This year, for example, she had done the most obvious and, therefore, the most unlikely thing: she had turned to the contemporaneous Spanish for her theme. n.o.body had thought of that. The Colonial, the Moorish, the German, the Russian, the Hungarian--all the rest of the individual or ”picturesque”--but n.o.body had thought to look next door. Nan had decorated the rooms with yellow and red, hung the walls with riatas, strings of red peppers and the like, obtained Spanish guitar players, and added enough fiery Mexican dishes to the more digestible refreshments to emphasize the Spanish flavour. She wore a dress of golden satin, a wreath of coral flowers about her hair, and morocco slippers matched in hue.
The afternoon was fine. People were slow in coming. A few of the nondescripts that must be invited on such occasions put in an appearance, responded hastily to their hostess's greeting, and wandered about furtively but interminably. Patricia Sherwood, who had come early, circulated n.o.bly, trying to break up the frozen little groups, but in vain. The time pa.s.sed. More non-descripts--and not a soul else!
As five o'clock neared, a cold fear clutched at Nan's heart. No one was coming!
She worked hard to cover with light graciousness the cold-hearted dismay that filled her breast as the party dragged its weary length away. All her elaborate preparations and decorations seemed to mock her. The Spanish orchestra tinkled away gayly until she felt she could throw something at them; the caterer's servants served solemnly the awed nondescripts. Nan's cheeks burned and her throat choked with unshed tears. She could not bear to look at Patsy Sherwood, who remained tactfully distant.
About five-thirty the door opened to admit a little group, at the sight of whom Nan uttered a short, hysterical chuckle. Then she glided to meet them, both hands outstretched in welcome, Mrs. Sherwood watched her with admiration. Nan was game.
There were three in the party: Mrs. Morrell, Sally Warner, and Mrs.
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