Part 27 (1/2)

”How are they different--better or worse?”

Fong pa.s.sed him, going to the drawing-room door. His hand on the k.n.o.b, he turned, his voice low, his slit eyes craftily knowing.

”Ally samey not so good. I take care Miss Lolly and Miss Clist--_I_ look out. _You_ all 'ight, _you_ come.” He threw open the door with a flourish and called in loud, glad tones, ”Miss Lolly, Miss Clist, one velly good fliend come--Mist Bullage.”

At the end of the long room Mark was aware of a small group whence issued a murmur of talk. At his name the sound ceased, there was a rising of graceful feminine forms which floated toward him, leaving a masculine figure in silhouette against the lighted background of the dining room.

He was confused as he made his greetings, touched and dropped Lorry's hand, tried to find an answer for Chrystie's challenging welcome. Then he switched off to Aunt Ellen in her rocker, groping at knitting that was sliding off her lap, and finally was introduced to the man who stood waiting, his hands on the back of his chair.

At the first glance, while Lorry's voice murmured their names, Mark disliked him. He would have done so even if he had not been a guest at the Alstons, complacently at home there, even if he had not been in evening dress, correct in every detail, even if the hands resting on the chair back had not shown manicured nails that made his own look coa.r.s.e and stubby. The face and each feature, the high-bridged, haughty nose, the eyes cold and indolent under their long lids, the thin, close line of the mouth--separately and in combination--struck him as objectionable and repellent. He bowed stiffly, not extending his hand, subst.i.tuting for the Westerner's ”Pleased to meet you,” a gruff ”How d'ye do, Mr. Mayer.”

Before the introduction, Mayer, watching Mark greeting the girls, knew he had seen him before but could not remember where. The young man in his neat, well fitting clothes, his country tan given place to the pallor of study and late hours, was a very different person from the boy in s.h.i.+rt sleeves and overalls of the ranch yard. But his voice increased Mayer's vague sense of former encounter and with it came a faint feeling of disquiet. Memory connected this fellow with something unpleasant. As Mark turned to him it grew into uneasiness. Where before had he met those eyes, dark blue, looking with an inquiring directness straight into his?

They sank into chairs, everyone except Aunt Ellen, seized by an inner discomfort which showed itself in a chilled constraint. Mayer, combing over his recollections, the teasing disquiet increasing with every moment, was too disturbed for speech. The sight of Lorry had paralyzed what little capacity for small talk Mark had. She looked changed, more unapproachable than ever in a new exquisiteness. It was only a more fas.h.i.+onable way of doing her hair and a becoming dress, but the young man saw it as a growing splendor, removing her to still remoter distances.

She herself was so nervous that she kept looking helplessly at Chrystie, hoping that that irrepressible being would burst into her old-time sprightliness. But Chrystie had her own reasons for being oppressed. The presence of Mayer, paying no more attention to her than he did to Aunt Ellen, and the memory of him making love to her on park benches, gave her a feeling of dishonesty that weighed like lead.

It looked as if it was going to be a repet.i.tion of one of those evenings in the past before they had ”known how to do things,” when Fong caused a diversion by appearing from the dining room bearing a tray.

To regale evening visitors with refreshments had been the fas.h.i.+on in Fong's youth, so in his old age the habit still persisted. He entered with his friendly grin and set the tray on a table beside Lorry. On it stood decanters of red and white wine, gla.s.ses, a pyramid of fruit and a cake covered with varicolored frosting.

n.o.body wanted anything to eat, but they turned to the tray with the eagerness of s.h.i.+pwrecked mariners to an oyster bed. Even Aunt Ellen became animated, and looking at Mark over her gla.s.ses said:

”Have you been away, Mr. Burrage?”

No, Mr. Burrage had been in town, very busy, and, the hungriest of all the mariners, he turned to the tray and helped Lorry pour out the wine.

The ladies would take none, so the filled gla.s.s was held out to Mayer.

”Claret!” he said, leaning forward to offer the gla.s.s.

As he did so he was aware of a slight, curious expression in the face he had disliked. The eyelids twitched, the upper lip drew down tight over the teeth, the nostrils widened. It was a sudden contraction and then flexing of the muscles, an involuntary grimace, gone almost as soon as it had come. With murmured thanks, Mayer stretched his hand and took the wine.

It had all come back with the offered gla.s.s. A glance shot round the little group showed him that no one had noticed; they were cutting and handing about the cake. He refused a piece and found his stiffened lips could smile, but he was afraid of his voice, and sipped slowly, forcing the wine down the contracted pa.s.sage of his throat. Then he stole a look at Mark, clumsily steering a way between the chairs to Aunt Ellen who wanted some grapes. The fellow hadn't guessed--hadn't the faintest suspicion--it was incredible that he should have. It was all right but--he raised his hand to his cravat, felt of it, then slipped a finger inside his collar and drew it away from his neck.

Through a blurred whirl of thought he could hear Aunt Ellen's voice.

”I've wanted to see you for a long time, Mr. Burrage. You come from that part of the country and I thought you'd know.”

Then Mark's voice:

”Know what, Mrs. Tisdale?”

”About that Knapp man's story. Didn't you tell us your ranch was up near the tules where those bandits buried the gold?”

Lorry explained.

”Aunt Ellen's been so excited about that story, she couldn't talk of anything else.”

”And why not?” said Aunt Ellen. ”It's a very unusual performance. Two sets of thieves, one stealing the money and burying it and another coming along and finding it.”

Chrystie, diverted from her private worries by this exciting subject, bounced round toward Mark with something of her old explosiveness.