Part 25 (1/2)
”Neither bond nor free,” Harold said, pursing his lips and lifting his brows. ”A little pagan at home and a puritan abroad. How are we going to emanc.i.p.ate her, Ran?”
”You needn't worry,” said Mrs. Ranny, lazily lighting her cigarette.
”Eleanor is a lot more subtle than any one thinks; she'll emanc.i.p.ate herself before long.”
Eleanor was grateful to Aunt Flo. She was tired of being considered an ingenue. She wanted to be treated with the dignity her twenty years demanded.
”I have a plan for her,” said Harold, with a proprietary air. ”Who knows but this time next year she will be playing in 'Phantom Love'?”
Eleanor's wandering thoughts came to instant attention.
”Is there a part I could play?” she asked eagerly, leaning across the table with her chin on her clasped hands.
Harold watched her with an amused smile. ”What would you say if I told you I had written a role especially for you? Would you dare to take it?”
Eleanor closed her eyes and drew a breath of rapture.
”_Would_ I? There isn't anything in heaven or earth that could prevent me!”
”Mrs. Bartlett,” said the trim maid, ”there's a young man at the front door.”
The conversation hung suspended while Mrs. Ranny inquired concerning his mission.
”It's the young man that brings messages from the office, ma'am.”
”Oh, it must be Quin,” said Mr. Ranny, rising and going into the hall.
”Did you want to see me about something?”
Eleanor held her breath to listen. Was it possible that that absurd boy had actually followed her up to the Bartletts' with the intention of going with them on their expedition? Hadn't it been enough for him to come to her party in that idiotic coat, with his s.h.i.+rt-front bulging and his face swollen? Of course she liked him--she liked him immensely; but he had no right to impose upon her kindness, to make a pretext of his interest in Papa Claude to force himself in where he was not invited. Now that he had got into the sc.r.a.pe, he would have to get out of it as best he could. She was resolved not to lift a finger to help him.
”Oh! I didn't understand”--Mr. Ranny's voice could be heard from the hall, with a cordial emphasis evidently intended to cover a blunder.
”Come right in the dining-room; we are just having coffee. You know these ladies, of course, and this is Captain Phipps, Mr. Graham.”
Quin came into the room awkwardly, half extended his hand, then withdrew it hastily as Harold, without rising from the table, gave him a curt nod and said condescendingly:
”How do you do, Graham?”
Eleanor's quick understanding glance swept from the erect, embarra.s.sed, boyish figure in the badly fitting cheap suit and obviously new tan shoes, to the perfectly groomed officer lounging with nonchalant grace with his crossed arms on the table. A curious idea occurred to her: Suppose they should change places, and Harold should stand there in those dreadful clothes Quin wore, and receive a snub from an ex-officer--would he be able to take it with such simple dignity and give no sign of his chagrin except by the slow color that mounted to his neck and brow? She, who a moment before had been ready to annihilate the intruder, rose impulsively and held out a friendly hand.
”Mr. Graham and I are old friends,” she said lightly. ”We knew each other out at the hospital even before he came to stay at grandmother's.”
The next instant she was sorry she had spoken: for the self-control for which she had commended him suddenly departed, and his eyelids, which should have been discreetly lowered, were lifted instead, and such an ardent look of grat.i.tude poured forth that she was filled with confusion.
For half an hour four uncomfortable people sat in the little gilded cage of a drawing-room, and everybody wondered why somebody didn't do something to relieve the situation. Mr. and Mrs. Ranny made heroic efforts to entertain their unwelcome guest; Harold Phipps moved about the room with ill-concealed impatience; and Eleanor sat erect, with tightly clasped hands, as angry with Harold as she was with Quin.
”Mr. Graham,” said Mrs. Ranny at length, when Harold had looked at his watch for the fourth time, ”I am afraid we shall have to ask you to excuse us. You see, this is our wedding anniversary, and we always celebrate it by a sentimental pilgrimage in search of wild flowers. I am afraid it's about time we were starting.”
Eleanor felt Quin's eyes seek hers confidently, but she refused to meet them. There was a painful silence; then he spoke up hopefully:
”I know where there are wild flowers to burn: I was at a place yesterday where you could hardly walk for them; I counted seven different kinds in a s.p.a.ce about as big as this room.”