Part 32 (1/2)
_Voila_!
”By the way, I saw Mrs. Gerard's pretty ward at the theatre last night--Miss Erroll. She certainly is stunning--”
Selwyn flattened out the letter and deliberately tore out the last paragraph. Then he set it afire with a match.
”At least,” he said with an ugly look, ”I can keep _her_ out of this”; and he dropped the brittle blackened paper and set his heel on it. Then he resumed his perusal of the mutilated letter, reread it, and finally destroyed it.
”Alixe,” he wrote in reply, ”we had better stop this letter-writing before somebody stops us. Anybody desiring to make mischief might very easily misinterpret what we are doing. I, of course, could not close the correspondence, so I ask you to do so without any fear that you will fail to understand why I ask it. Will you?”
To which she replied:
”Yes, Phil. Good-bye.
”ALIXE.”
A box of roses left her his debtor; she was too intelligent to acknowledge them. Besides, matters were going better with her.
And that was all for a while.
Meanwhile Lent had gone, and with it the last soiled snow of winter. It was an unusually early spring; tulips in Union Square appeared coincident with crocus and snow-drop; high above the city's haze wavering wedges of wild-fowl drifted toward the Canadas; a golden perfumed bloom clotted the naked branches of the park shrubs; j.a.panese quince burst into crimson splendour; tender chestnut leaves unfolded; the willows along the Fifty-ninth Street wall waved banners of gilded green; and through the suns.h.i.+ne battered b.u.t.terflies floated, and the wild bees reappeared, scrambling frantically, powdered to the thighs in the pollen of a million dandelions.
”Spring, with that nameless fragrance in the air Which breathes of all things fair,”
sang a young girl riding in the Park. And she smiled to herself as she guided her mare through the flowering labyrinths. Other notes of the Southern poet's haunting song stole soundless from her lips; for it was only her heart that was singing there in the sun, while her silent, smiling mouth mocked the rus.h.i.+ng melody of the birds.
Behind her, powerfully mounted, ambled the belted groom; she was riding alone in the golden weather because her good friend Selwyn was very busy in his office downtown, and Gerald, who now rode with her occasionally, was downtown also, and there remained n.o.body else to ride with. Also the horses were to be sent to Silverside soon, and she wanted to use them as much as possible while the Park was at its loveliest.
She, therefore, galloped conscientiously every morning, sometimes with Nina, but usually alone. And every afternoon she and Nina drove there, drinking the freshness of the young year--the most beautiful year of her life, she told herself, in all the exquisite maturity of her adolescence.
So she rode on, straight before her, head high, the sun striking face and firm, white throat; and in her heart laughed spring eternal, whose voiceless melody parted her lips.
Breezes blowing from beds of iris quickened her breath with their perfume; she saw the tufted lilacs sway in the wind, and the streamers of mauve-tinted wistaria swinging, all a-glisten with golden bees; she saw a crimson cardinal winging through the foliage, and amorous tanagers flas.h.i.+ng like scarlet flames athwart the pines.
From rock and bridge and mouldy archway tender tendrils of living green fluttered, brus.h.i.+ng her cheeks. Beneath the thickets the under-wood world was very busy, where squirrels squatted or prowled and cunning fox-sparrows avoided the starlings and blackbirds; and the big cinnamon-tinted, speckle-breasted thrashers scuffled among last year's leaves or, balanced on some leafy spray, carolled ecstatically of this earthly paradise.
It was near Eighty-sixth Street that a girl, splendidly mounted, saluted her, and wheeling, joined her--a blond, cool-skinned, rosy-tinted, smoothly groomed girl, almost too perfectly seated, almost too flawless and supple in the perfect symmetry of face and figure.
”Upon my word,” she said gaily, ”you are certainly spring incarnate, Miss Erroll--the living embodiment of all this!” She swung her riding-crop in a circle and laughed, showing her perfect teeth. ”But where is that faithful attendant cavalier of yours this morning? Is he so grossly material that he prefers Wall Street, as does my good lord and master?”
”Do you mean Gerald?” asked Eileen innocently, ”or Captain Selwyn?”
”Oh, either,” returned Rosamund airily; ”a girl should have something masculine to talk to on a morning like this. Failing that she should have some pleasant memories of indiscretions past and others to come, D.V.; at least one little souvenir to repent--smilingly. Oh, la! Oh, me!
All these wretched birds a-courting and I b.u.mping along on Dobbin, lacking even my own Gilpin! Shall we gallop?”
Eileen nodded.
When at length they pulled up along the reservoir, Eileen's hair had rebelled as usual and one bright strand eurled like a circle of ruddy light across her cheek; but Rosamund drew bridle as immaculate as ever and coolly inspected her companion.
”What gorgeous hair,” she said, staring. ”It's worth a coronet, you know--if you ever desire one.”