Part 8 (1/2)
Neglect any friends of his--and such jolly friends? Rather not! But as soon as Daphne had seen Elsie Maddison, and he had begged an afternoon to go on an expedition with them, Daphne had become intolerable. She had shown her English friend and his acquaintances a manner so insulting and provocative, that the young man's blood had boiled.
If he were in love with her--well and good! She might no doubt have tamed him by these stripes. But she was no G.o.ddess to him; no golden cloud enveloped her; he saw her under a common daylight. At the same time she attracted him; he was vain of what had seemed his conquest, and uneasily exultant in the thought of her immense fortune. ”I'll make her an excellent husband if she marries me,” he said to himself stubbornly; ”I can, and I will.”
But meanwhile how was this first stage to end? At the White House that night Daphne had treated him with contumely, and before spectators. He must either go or bring her to the point.
He withdrew suddenly from the window, flinging out the end of his cigarette. ”I'll propose to her to-morrow--and she may either take me or leave me!”
He paced up and down his room, conscious of relief and fresh energy. As he did so his eyes were drawn to a letter from Herbert French lying on the table. He took it up and read it again--smiling over it broadly, in a boyish and kindly amus.e.m.e.nt. ”By Jove! he's happy.”
Then as he put it down his face darkened. There was something in the letter, in its manliness and humour, its unconscious revelation of ideals wholly independent of dollars, that made Roger for the moment loathe his own position. But he pulled himself together.
”I shall make her a good husband,” he repeated, frowning. ”She'll have nothing to complain of.”
On the following day a picnic among the woods of the Upper Potomac brought together most of the personages in this history. The day was beautiful, the woods fragrant with spring leaf and blossom, and the stream, swollen with rain, ran seaward in a turbid, rejoicing strength.
The General, having secured his pa.s.sage home, was in good spirits as far as his own affairs were concerned, though still irritable on the score of his nephew's. Since the abortive attempt on his confidence of the night before, Roger had avoided all private conversation with his uncle; and for once the old had to learn patience from the young.
The party was given by the wife of one of the staff of the French Emba.s.sy--a young Frenchwoman, as gay and frank as her babies, and possessed, none the less, of all the social arts of her nation. She had taken a shrewd interest in the matter of Daphne Floyd and the Englishman. Daphne, according to her, should be promptly married and her millions taken care of, and the handsome, broad-shouldered fellow impressed the little Frenchwoman's imagination as a proper and capable watchdog. She had indeed become aware that something was wrong, but her acuteness entirely refused to believe that it had any vital connection with the advent of pretty Elsie Maddison. Meanwhile, to please Daphne, whom she liked, while conscious of a strong and frequent desire to smite her, Madame de Fronsac had invited Mrs. Verrier, treating her with a cold and punctilious courtesy that, as applied to any other guest, would have seemed an affront.
In vain, however, did the hostess, in vain did other kindly bystanders, endeavour to play the game of Daphne Floyd. In the first place Daphne herself, though piped unto, refused to dance. She avoided the society of Roger Barnes in a pointed and public way, bright colour on her cheeks and a wild light in her eyes; the Under-Secretary escorted her and carried her wrap. Was.h.i.+ngton did not know what to think. For owing to this conduct of Daphne's, the charming Boston girl, the other _ingenue_ of the party, fell constantly to the care of young Barnes; and to see them stepping along the green ways together, matched almost in height, and clearly of the same English ancestry and race, pleased while it puzzled the spectators.
The party lunched in a little inn beside the river, and then scattered again along woodland paths. Daphne and the Under-Secretary wandered on ahead and were some distance from the rest of the party when that gentleman suddenly looked at his watch in dismay. An appointment had to be kept with the President at a certain hour, and the Under-Secretary's wits had been wandering. There was nothing for it but to take a short cut through the woods to a local station and make at once for Was.h.i.+ngton.
Daphne quickened his uneasiness and hastened his departure. She a.s.sured him that the others were close behind, and that nothing could suit her better than to rest on a mossy stone that happily presented itself till they arrived.
The Under-Secretary, transformed into the anxious and ambitious politician, abruptly left her.
Daphne, as soon as he was gone, allowed herself the natural att.i.tude that fitted her thoughts. She was furiously in love and torn with jealousy; and that love and jealousy could smart so, and cling so, was a strange revelation to one accustomed to make a world entirely to her liking. Her dark eyes were hollow, her small mouth had lost its colour, and she showed that touch of something wasting and withering that Theocritan shepherds knew in old Sicilian days. It was as though she had defied a G.o.d--and the G.o.d had avenged himself.
Suddenly he appeared--the teasing divinity--in human shape. There was a rustling among the brushwood fringing the river. Roger Barnes emerged and made his way up towards her.
”I've been stalking you all this time,” he said, breathless, as he reached her, ”and now at last--I've caught you!”
Daphne rose furiously. ”What right have you to stalk me, as you call it--to follow me--to speak to me even? I wish to avoid you--and I have shown it!”
Roger looked at her. He had thrown down his hat, and she saw him against the background of sunny wood, as the magnificent embodiment of its youth and force. ”And why have you shown it?” There was a warning tremor of excitement in his voice. ”What have I done? I haven't deserved it! You treat me like--like a friend!--and then you drop me like a hot coal.
You've been awfully unkind to me!”
”I won't discuss it with you,” she cried pa.s.sionately. ”You are in my way, Mr. Barnes. Let me go back to the others!” And stretching out a small hand, she tried to put him aside.
Roger hesitated, but only for a moment. He caught the hand, he gathered its owner into a pair of strong arms, and bending over her, he kissed her. Daphne, suffocated with anger and emotion, broke from him--tottering. Then sinking on the ground beneath a tree, she burst into sobbing. Roger, scarlet, with sparkling eyes, dropped on one knee beside her.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”He caught the hand, he gathered its owner into a pair of strong arms, and bending over her, he kissed her”]
”Daphne, I'm a ruffian! forgive me! you must, Daphne! Look here, I want you to marry me. I've nothing to offer you, of course; I'm a poor man, and you've all this horrible money! But I--I love you!--and I'll make you a good husband, Daphne, that I'll swear. If you'll take me, you shall never be sorry for it.”