Part 11 (1/2)
”Yes.” She laughed at his description. ”The Romany strain again, you see.”
”One moment,” he insisted. ”How did you know my traveler's tale? Was it Penfield?”
”Never mind. It is sufficient that I know it. Good-by.” She held out her hand. ”You can't say I haven't told you a good fortune, can you?”
As Hayden pa.s.sed through the narrow hall he saw sitting in the reception-room the next client--the gray-haired man with whom Marcia had dined that evening at the Gildersleeve. But a further surprise awaited him; for just as he reached the door leading from the apartment the rosy and smiling little maid was admitting Wilfred Ames. Hayden almost ran into him, and Ames, with a stare, muttered a surly recognition and pa.s.sed on in.
CHAPTER X
”Quite right.”
Hayden regarded his calendar approvingly. The large red and gold letters stared at him proclaiming arrogantly: ”Every day is the best day of the year.” And was it not true? Yesterday had proved indeed a day of destiny.
It had brought him the a.s.surance of a hope, the confirmation of a hesitant belief that the owners of the lost Mariposa were within reach and, better still, were not entirely masters of the situation. And yesterday, too, he had met Ydo; and, perhaps, Hayden's thoughts had been as much occupied with her as with his discovered but not possessed Eldorado.
But Ydo herself was a sufficient excuse for that. And this was another day. A daring thought came to him. Why not a.s.sist Fate and make it the best day in the year--a day that should be Marcia's. At this brilliant idea he looked at his watch and then rushed to the telephone. Surely Marcia, even conscientious Marcia who worked painstakingly at her pretty Little water-colors every day, would not have left for her studio. He would throw dice with Destiny again to-day and push his luck. With this determination, he rang up the residence of Mrs. Oldham. There was a moment or two of delay, and then Marcia's voice answered. Hayden mentioned the beauty of the day--it was overcast--the charm of this soft and mild weather--an east wind blew piercingly--and diffidently a.s.sumed that after a day in her studio, she would as usual take the air by walking home through the Park.
Yes-s-s-s, she probably would.
Then since he had hoped to call upon her mother that afternoon, might he not join her and walk up with her, and would she not be leaving her brushes and canvases early, at half-after four, for instance.
Yes-s-s, he said four o'clock, did he not? Fate again honored him, she would be at the Plaza then calling on a friend.
Hayden had won in his dice-throwing and Fate took defeat handsomely, granting him his desires and throwing a favor or two for lagnappe. By four o'clock the wind had veered, the clouds no longer betokened rain, broken spars of suns.h.i.+ne dazzled over the gold of the Sherman statue, sparkled in the harness of prancing horses, and brightened the whiteness of the great hotel. It was early in March, which, by the way, had decided to enter like a meek little lamb this year instead of advancing with the mien of an angry and roaring lion. The air was cool and fresh and yet held all manner of soft, indescribable intimations of spring. The sky was a sheet of pale gold, the trees were a purple mist against it.
Hayden drew a long breath of happiness as Marcia's steps fell in with his; the sense of contentment and well-being which her mere presence always afforded him seemed the more soothing and potent this afternoon than ever before. Since yesterday, there had run high in his veins the fever of acquisition, and Ydo's personality had disturbed and stimulated until she had wrought in him a sort of mental confusion. But Marcia at his side, smiling in the shadow of her plumed hat, the familiar violets nestling in her dark furs, seemed the visible embodiment of all these soft, sweet intimations of spring. Not yet jocund, as spring come into her own crowned with flowers and laughing through her silver rain; but a wistful spring still held in the thraldom of winter.
”What have you been doing that makes you look a little pale?” asked Hayden tenderly.
”Am I pale?” She smiled at him. ”I dare say. I have been painting the greater part of every day and going out a good deal in the evening.”
”What an idler I must seem to you who are always so occupied,” he said.
”Not at all. I, too, take vacations. But tell me how you have been idling lately.”
”I idled, if you call it that,” he said, ”yesterday afternoon at the wonderful fortune-teller's.”
”Oh, you have seen Ydo?” Marcia lifted her head involuntarily, and then meeting his surprised gaze, the color flooded her cheeks. It kept on rolling up in waves.
Seeing her embarra.s.sment, he was at pains to suppress his astonishment.
”Yes,” he said as naturally as he possibly could under the circ.u.mstances.
”Yes, she gave me quite a long reading. Isn't that the professional word for it--reading?”
”I--I believe so.” She had not entirely recovered herself. ”And are you quite convinced of her powers?”
He gave a short laugh. ”Oh, quite. More than convinced. I never should question them. Mine is the fate of the scoffer. The most rabid persecutor is merely the reverse side of the bigoted proselyter. Upon me rests not the curse that follows the tolerant. They get nowhere. 'Because thou art neither hot nor cold I spew thee from my mouth.'”
”Really!” It was plain she was a little puzzled, and took refuge in the conveniently inexpressive ”really.” ”Did she tell you a good fortune?”