Part 61 (1/2)

x.x.xII

The next morning, a sweet one of warmth and gently drifting leaves, Esther went to call on Lydia, and Madame Beattie, with a satirical grin, looked after her from the window. Madame Beattie's understanding of the human mind had given her a dramatic hold on the world when the world loved her, and it was mechanically serving her now in these little deeds that were only of a mean importance, though, from the force of habit, she played the game so hard. Esther was very fresh and pretty in her white dress with an artful parasol that cast a freshening glow. She had the right expression, too, the calmness of one who makes a commonplace morning call.

And it was not Lydia who saw her coming. It was Jeff, in his working blouse and shabby trousers, standing on a cool corner of the veranda and finis.h.i.+ng his morning smoke before he went out to picking early apples.

Esther knew at precisely what instant he caught sight of her, and saw him knock out his pipe into the garden bed below the veranda and lay it on the rail. Then he waited for her, and she was almost amusedly prepared for his large-eyed wonder and the set of the jaw which betrayed his certainty of having something difficult to meet. It was not thus he had been used to greet her on sweet October mornings in those other days. Suddenly he turned with a quick gesture of the hand as if he were warning some one back, and Esther, almost at the steps, understood that he had heard Lydia coming and had tried to stop her. Lydia evidently had not understood and ran innocently out on some errand of her own.

Seeing Esther, she halted an appreciable instant. Then something as quickly settled itself in her mind, and she advanced and stood at the side of Jeff. Esther furled her parasol and came up the steps, and her face did not for an instant change in its sweet seriousness. She looked at Lydia with a faint, almost, it might seem, a pitying smile.

”I thought,” said she, ”after what I said, I ought to come, to rea.s.sure you.”

Neither Jeff nor Lydia seemed likely to move, and Esther stood there looking from one to the other with her concerned air of having something to do for them. It was only a moment, yet it seemed to Lydia as if they had been communing a long time, in some hidden fas.h.i.+on, and learning amazingly to understand each other. That is, she was understanding Esther, and the outcome terrified her. Esther seemed more dangerous than ever, bearing gifts. But Lydia could almost always do the sensible thing in an emergency and keep emotion to be quelled in solitude.

”Come in,” said she, ”and sit down. Jeff, won't you move the chairs into the shady corner? We'd better not go into the library. Farvie's there.”

Jeff awoke from his tranced surprise and the two women followed him to the seclusion of the vines. There Esther took the chair he set for her, and looked gravely at Lydia, as she said:

”I was very hasty. I told him--” She indicated Jeff with a little gesture. It seemed she found some significance in the informality of the p.r.o.noun--”I told him I had found out who took the necklace. I knew of course he would tell you. And I came to keep you from being troubled.”

”Lydia,” said Jeff, with the effect of stepping quickly in between them, ”go into the house. This is something that doesn't concern you in the least.”

Lydia, very pale now, was looking at Esther, in a fixed antagonism. Her hands were tightly clasped. She looked like a creature braced against a blow. But Esther seemed of all imaginable persons the least likely to deliver a blow of any sort. She was gracefully relaxed in her chair, one delicate hand holding the parasol and the other resting, with the fingers upcurled like lily petals, on her knee.

”No,” said Lydia, not looking at Jeff, though she answered him, ”I sha'n't go in. It does concern me. That's what she came for. She's told you so. To accuse me of taking it.”

With the last words, a little scorn ran into her voice. It was a scorn of what Esther might do, and it warmed her and made her suddenly feel equal to the moment.

”No,” said Esther, in her softest tone, a sympathetic tone, full of a grave concern. ”It was only to confess I ought not to have said it.

Whatever I knew, I ought to have kept it to myself. For there was the necklace. You had sent it back. You had done wrong, but what better could you do than send it back? And I understand--” she glowed a little now, turning to Jeff--”I understand how wonderful it was of you to take it on yourself.”

Jeff was frowning, and though facing her, looking no further than the lily-petalled hand. Esther was quite sure he was dwelling on the hand with inevitable appreciation. She had a feeling that he was frowning because it distracted him from his task of pleasing Lydia and at the same time meeting her own sympathetic tribute. But he was not. Esther knew a great many things about men, but she was navely unconscious of their complete detachment from feminine allurements when they are summoned to affairs.

”Esther,” said Jeff, before Lydia could speak, ”just why are you here?”

”I told you,” said Esther, with a pretty air of pained surprise. ”To tell Lydia she mustn't be unhappy.”

Then Lydia found her tongue.

”I'm not unhappy,” she said, with a brutality of incisiveness which offers the bare fact with no concern for its effect. ”I took the necklace. But I don't know,” said Lydia, with one of her happy convictions that she really had a legal mind and might well follow its inspirations, ”I don't know whether it is stealing to take a thing away from a person who has stolen it herself.”

”Lydia!” said Jeff warningly.

He hardly knew why he was stopping her. Certainly not in compa.s.sion for Esther; she, at this moment, was merely an irritating cause of a spoiled morning. But Lydia, he felt, like a careering force that had slipped control, must be checked before she did serious harm.

”You know,” said Lydia, now looking Esther calmly in the eye, ”you know you were the first to steal the necklace. You stole it years ago, from Madame Beattie. No, I don't know whether it's stealing to take it from you when you'd no business to have it anyway. I must ask some one.”

Lydia was no longer pale with apprehension. The rose was on her cheek.

Her eyes glowed with mischief and the l.u.s.t of battle. Once she darted a little smiling look at Jeff. ”Come on,” it seemed to say. ”I can't be worse off than I am. Let's put her through her paces and get something out of it--fun, at least.”

Esther looked back at her in that pained forbearance which clothed her like a transfiguring atmosphere. Then she drew a sharp breath.