Part 23 (1/2)

”Anne,” said Mrs. Wellington, as she came in from her drive a few minutes later, ”your chauffeur drives too fast. The car pa.s.sed me, cutting through Brenton Road a while ago, at a perfectly insane pace.

Some one--how do you do, Sara, I 'm delighted to have you with us--was in the tonneau, whom I took to be Koltsoff, although there was such a blur I was n't certain. Was it he?”

”Yes, mother,” Anne glanced at Sara. ”Isn't it maddening! Some urgent summons, he said, made it necessary for him to go; and he may be away all night. Of course that punctured the party at Freebody.”

”It is maddening,” Sara hastened to observe.

Mrs. Wellington compressed her lips.

”I had told him your father would arrive this evening. But of course he must have failed to remember that. Fortunately, he will not come on from New York until to-morrow--I 've had a wire. Have you any idea the Prince will be with us to-morrow? Sir Arthur Baddeley will be down from Bar Harbor for the week; Bob Marie is coming with your father, and two or three of the Tuxedo crowd, Sallie and Blanche Turnure and Willie Whipple will be here by Wednesday for the ball, certainly.”

”I don't know, really,” said Anne, ”but I imagine so, of course.”

Sara gazed at Mrs. Wellington curiously. It was true the woman was outwardly unperturbed, characteristically so, but Sara had never before been able to read in that mask-like face so many indications of inward irritation. Anne's sly glance told her that she, too, had been able to enjoy a rare opportunity of penetrating beneath the surface.

Mrs. Wellington toyed with her lorgnette for a moment.

”Anne, if Koltsoff returns and I don't see him, let me know the very first minute, will you, please?” She glanced at the girl with an expression best described as detached. ”If it interests you any, my daughter, you succeeded in making a sensation this afternoon--you and Koltsoff. I gather that everything was done but placarding him; and I have heard of at least eight persons you cut in the Casino.”

”Oh--mother, by the way, if I am not too inquisitive,” said Anne, hastening to change the trend of thought, ”I read, or heard, somewhere that father was interested in getting hold of a Russian issue of railroad bonds, or something of the sort. Is Prince Koltsoff concerned?”

”Your father has no business dealings with him. Dismiss that thought.

Railroad bonds--I believe he was looking into them. I don't know the details, or rather do not recall them. I do remember, though, his saying that he had relinquished the opportunity to the French with great pleasure.”

”Oh,” said Anne, ”I imagined his visit here was a mingling of business with pleasure.”

”I don't know what it is a mingling of, I 'm quite sure,” said Mrs.

Wellington. She turned to go. ”I 'm dining out to-night, at the Cunningham-Jones'. I shouldn't have accepted, but you were to be at Berger's with your theatre party. You won't mind, Sara?”

”Not at all, Mrs. Wellington, don't bother about me. I hope I 'm not company.”

Mrs. Wellington smiled. She was very partial to the young widow.

”The boys are at Ochre Point for the night. You might call up people if you want company for dinner, Anne.”

”To think,” cried Anne, as her mother left the room, ”how events have shaped themselves for us! Of course we shan't dine at home; I 'll have Emilia tell Mrs. Stetson after we have gone. Now, Sara, what can we do exciting?” Her eyes flashed with animation as she gazed at her friend.

”Shall it be shop girl disguises with dinner on Thames Street, or what?”

”I know,” cried Sara. ”We 'll put on s.h.i.+rt-waist suits and plain hats, muss our hair a bit, and take a trip on a sight-seeing barge.”

”Lovely. Mc--Mr. Armitage can take us to the starting place at Easton's Beach and then pick us up there when we get back. After that--”

”Hoop-la,” laughed Sara, and the two young women--nothing but school girls now--fell into each other's arms, hugging joyously.

When Armitage appeared again at the _porte cochere_ a few minutes before five o'clock, two very changed, but merry young women awaited him. Anne flashed her eyes at Armitage.

”To Easton's Beach, McCall,” she said sweetly.

Easton's Beach was at the height of the day's exodus of excursionists to Providence, Fall River, Taunton and elsewhere, as Armitage drew alongside the sun-baked board walk in front of the main bathing pavilion. Trolley cars, which had rolled empty down the long hill by the ocean side, were now ascending laden to the guards, and the ocean, relieved of its bathers, whose suits of multifarious cuts and colors had grievously marred the blue waters, had recovered its beautiful serenity.