Part 9 (1/2)
Yes, I did like Chalmers Warriner very much, and he seemed to have a head on him.
Doctor Marcy also left us. His patient had continued to improve, and of course he had his other practice to look after.
It was a pleasanter dinner than that of the night before inasmuch as John Thaneford was at ”Thane Court,” while Miss Trevor pleaded a headache and had tea and toast served in her room. But there was my Cousin Betty Graeme to do the honors of my board--how strange it still seemed to use the possessive p.r.o.noun!--with all possible grace and dignity. Also I had the pleasure of welcoming a new addition to the household, a Mrs. Anthony, an old family friend and Betty's G.o.dmother to boot. Circ.u.mstances had prevented her attendance at the funeral, but she had reached the ”Hundred” at last, to Betty's infinite comfort and satisfaction. Mrs. Anthony was a delightful old person, with the figure of a young girl and the flas.h.i.+ng eyes and snowy bob curls of a French marquise. I did myself the honor of kissing the small hand extended to me, and was taken into favor at once.
Yes, we were an entirely congenial dinner party. We spoke of Francis Graeme several times, and without the least embarra.s.sment or restraint; quite as though he might return at any moment to resume his rightful place in the circle. And more and more I came to realize that I had lost a great deal in not knowing him sooner and better. A good and gallant gentleman! who was I that I should presume to stand in his shoes. Even now I am beginning to perceive that a great inheritance has its burdens as well as its privileges; I see that it is no small thing to become Hildebrand of the ”Hundred.”
The ladies retired early, and a few minutes after ten Warriner redeemed his promise by making a welcome appearance. I told him that I had some necessary letters to write, and that I should not make company of him; he was to consider himself entirely at home. He nodded acquiescently and spent some twenty minutes in wandering about the library; then he settled down with a book.
It really was imperative that I should acquaint certain people--my quasi-partner Anstruthers, the Mercers and others--with the great change that had taken place in my life and fortunes; my affairs in town would have to be wound up, and it might be a fortnight before I could get to Philadelphia. My correspondence proved more lengthy than I had antic.i.p.ated, and it was long after midnight when I had sealed and stamped the last enclosure. Warriner threw down his book, and I crossed the room and joined him. ”By way of resting our eyes,” I said, and thereupon I extinguished the only light in the room, an Argand-burner oil lamp. We exchanged half a dozen desultory sentences, and then relapsed into that intimate silence which is only possible between real friends. For perhaps half an hour we sat quietly thinking and smoking; then----
”There is nothing I can say or do; understand?”
I recognized the rough, forbidding quality of John Thaneford's voice, and instantly I was all attention. Of course he must be speaking to somebody; who could it be? Presently the answer came. But it was not in words; all I could make out were sounds of weeping and smothered sobs, unmistakably feminine in character.
Now I should have explained that Warriner and I had been sitting close to one of the side walls of the library; indeed our heads were almost in actual contact with the plaster. Thaneford and his companion were undoubtedly in the great hall whose circular walls probably formed a natural whispering gallery. How the sounds could be transmitted through the straight connecting pa.s.sage under the stairs, and then shunted upon the rectangular walls of the library, was a problem in applied acoustics that I did not attempt to solve. The conversation was being conducted under the breath, as we say, but every word fell with perfect distinctness upon my ears. Of course it was a private conversation, one to which I had no right to listen. I did make a motion to pull away from the wall, possibly with the vague idea of uttering a warning admonition to these indiscreet chatterers, but Warriner's ready hand pushed me back in my chair; he laid his finger upon my lips, and I had no option but to yield to his stronger will. This was war, war in which all is fair.
”You've made a mess of it, my girl,” went on Thaneford, ”and I can't stop to help clear it up. That's flat.”
”You mean that you won't keep your promise?” The words were low and thick with emotion; I could not seem to recognize the owners.h.i.+p of the voice.
”No, I don't say that at all. But I'm up to my neck at 'Thane Court,'
and I was counting upon the 'Hundred' to pull me out. Give me half a chance and I'll do the square thing--by you and everybody.”
”What more do you want of me?”
”Just keep your eyes and ears open. I saw Grimes to-day, and he thinks there is a fair possibility of breaking the will--_non compos_, you know. Why think of it! Francis Graeme never saw this Yankee Hildebrand but once in his life, and then for a couple of hours only. It stands to reason that a man in his right senses doesn't hand over a fortune as though it were nothing more than a Key West cigar. Grimes advises me to fight, and I'd like nothing better than to do it. But fighting costs a lot of money,” he concluded gloomily.
”You know that if I had it----”
”All I know is that you haven't got it,” he interrupted coldly. ”For heaven's sake! don't let us get sentimental again.”
There was a brief silence, and then came a badly suppressed yawn, coupled with a declaration that the speaker was dog-tired and ready to fall asleep standing up. We could hear retreating footsteps, and the occasional creaking of a loose board in the tread of the staircase; then all was quiet again.
”Eunice Trevor, of course,” announced Warriner meditatively.
”I should never have known her voice,” I protested.
”Exactly so. And for the very sufficient reason that she is accustomed to riding under double-wraps, as the hunting men say. A cold, calculating, iceberg sort of creature--that's the way you've thought of her.”
”Dare say you're right.”
”But deep in the heart of the iceberg there burns a flame, glowing and intense. Now and then it melts its way out, and for a few minutes there are gorgeous fireworks. That was the young woman's natural voice, and she was improving the infrequent opportunity of using it by letting herself go.”
”What do you think----” I began.
”I don't think at all,” he broke in. ”At least for to-night. In the morning my brain may begin to function again, but it refuses to be squeezed any further at present.”
”They've had their five minutes grace,” remarked Warriner, after another brief pause, ”and I'm off to bed. Good night.” Warriner seemed to melt away and become part of the surrounding darkness; after a minute or two I followed, and reached my room without further incident.