XVII
It was four days after the party that Isabel, walking over the low hillsamong her chickens, in deep converse with her Abraham, was informed byChuma that Mrs. Thomas Colton had driven out to call upon her. She foundAnabel not in the house but seated before the front door in a smart newbasket trap, and as smart herself in coat and hat and gloves uniformlydust-colored. She made a wry face at Isabel's overalls, but kissed heraffectionately.
"This is my birthday," she announced, "and this is a surprise fromTom--horse, harness, and all. I only had to give him three broad hints.I wanted to show it to you first, and besides there is something I musttalk to you about--very important!"
She assumed a matronly and mysterious air and dropped her voice. "Isuppose Mr. Gwynne does not call so early?"
"Rarely. Won't you get out and stay to lunch?"
"Tom would never forgive me. He is sure to bring me another surprise atnoon--it will arrive on the 11.30--a long chain made of every variety oftourmalines set in silver. But I couldn't wait any longer to have a talkwith you about Mr. Gwynne. Until I saw you two together the other nightI had all sorts of romantic plans in my head. It seemed just the rightthing--_you_ are so different from everybody else; and then having methim in England among all those old castles, and everything! I was surehe would have enough of California in a year and then I should visit youin England, and after a while you would marry Frances to a duke. But Isee that was all nonsense. You don't care a bit about each other and arenot in the least suited. I couldn't get up any sentiment for him myself;he is much too cold-blooded and, well--_English_. They never can be likeus, no matter how hard they try. But in a way I like him, and Tom sayshe is worth any ten men he ever met. I feel awfully sorry for him, outthere all alone--and it's a magnificent ranch--to say nothing of thefact that he must be worth a lot of money besides. It would be perfectlyshameful if some San Francisco girl snapped him up--_and you know whatthey are_. He belongs by right to us, and I for one shall see to it thatnone of those man-eaters in San Francisco gets him. Did you notice howattentive he was to Dolly the other night? Well, he actually called thenext day--she was out--and sent her flowers. Mrs. Haight saw him. Shesays he looked dreadfully disappointed as he rode off. I take that witha grain of salt, knowing Mrs. Haight; besides, he wouldn't break hisheart if a girl was out for good. But the fact remains that he did call,and he hasn't called on another girl in Rosewater, much less sent herflowers. Serena Wheaton and one or two others were at my houseyesterday. We are immensely excited over it. I am sure that if wemanaged them both properly there would be a wedding in the spring. Itwould be too delightful, for there hasn't been a bang-up wedding inRosewater since mine. And think of Dolly's trousseau! Every stitch wouldcome from New York. The San Francisco papers would be full of thatwedding, and St. Peter would be green with envy. And she would make himsuch a good wife; such a beauty she is and such a dear good girl--justthe kind that wouldn't mind a man being haughty and overbearing. You twowould murder each other--but Dolly! The more I think of it the moreenthusiastic I am. We formed a plot last night, but as in a way hebelongs to you, I maintained that you should be consulted. But tell mefirst--what do you think of it?"
"Of the match? I cannot imagine a better. What is your plan?"
"Last night Mrs. Colton had a bridge party, and I went over just as theywere finishing hissing at one another over a spoon that costseventy-five cents. After some of them had gone, the rest began to talkabout Dolly and Mr. Gwynne--I don't think the town has talked aboutanything else since your party--except those everlasting cards, ofcourse. Well, the upshot was that I suggested we should revive the oldweekly dancing club. Otherwise they might not meet again for months, nowthat Mr. Gwynne has settled down to his studies and hasn't been nearRosewater since Monday. They agreed, but of course no one would offerher house; they are all too mean, and mine is too small. But we can hirethe old hall, and all the men will be glad to subscribe--a few of us canmake up the deficit. Dolly always looks her best at night--she has theloveliest neck!--and she would be glad of an excuse to get more partydresses. Well--you see! You can always sleep at my house."
"What fun it will be to have a weekly dance! I am going out to Lumalitasthis afternoon, and I will demand Mr. Gwynne's subscription."
"Isabel! You are a jewel! Mrs. Haight was nasty, but I told her she didnot know you the least little bit, that you were no dog in the manger.But, dear Isabel, do you think you ought to go out there alone? I don'tmind; you know that I never bother my head about other people's affairs,but Mrs. Haight is such a gossip, and she never did like you, and allsmall places are so gossipy. She has been telling everybody that Mr.Gwynne rides past her house quite late at night from duck-shooting, andof course she assumes that you shoot with him."
"I generally do. You may tell Mrs. Haight, with my compliments, to go tothe devil! Still, dear Anabel, if you think it improper for me to callalone on a bachelor cousin, I will pick up somebody on my way out."
"Do, that's a dear. And I shall tell Mrs. Haight that old Mac alwaysgoes shooting with you. I am sure that he does. Good-bye. I'll see aboutthe hall this afternoon."
She drove off with lifted reins and a little flourish of her whip, andIsabel went into the house and telephoned first to Gwynne, who hadinstalled a private wire between his house and hers, and then to MissBoutts. At two o'clock she drew rein before a large brown shingle houseon the highest point of Rosewater. Mr. Boutts had begun life in one ofthe little old peaked cottages down by the central square; later he hadbuilt an "artistic" cottage, and then a "residence"; symbolizing hisincrease not only by the more pretentious structures but by mounting thehill; the second cottage had been half-way up, the residence was on itsapex, and could be seen by the envious traveller on boat and train.There was nothing left before him now but San Francisco or a balloon;heaven being out of the question.
Miss Boutts awaited the buggy, in the tiny porch, and had obeyedIsabel's behest to look her prettiest. She wore a large red hat coveredwith feathers shading into pink, and a claret-colored frock that fittedher superb figure in a fashion that caused Isabel to draw her browstogether and suggest a dust-coat.
"It is too sweet of you," said Miss Boutts, as she sprang into thebuggy. "I feel so flattered when you take any notice of insignificantlittle me. Do tell me where we are going and why you told me to look myprettiest!"
"I must go out to Lumalitas to consult certain farmer's books in mycousin's library, and I thought it only fair to provide him withentertainment while I am busy. It seems the gossips do not approve of mygoing out there alone, and as I was obliged to go I did not think itworth while to make a martyr of Mr. Gwynne."
Miss Boutts blushed and tossed her head. "He called on me and sent meflowers," she said, in innocent triumph. "I was so sorry to miss him.All the girls are fearfully jealous."
"Do you like him?" asked Isabel, absently.
"Well--a little. He is new, and English, and different. There's not muchto choose from here, and I don't know any of the swells in SanFrancisco. I can't say he is my ideal--that has always been an immenselytall man with big blue eyes and a tawny moustache; and Mr. Gwynne isjust a sort of blond, no color in his hair at all, and I never did caremuch for gray eyes. He's tall enough, and the girls think him'distinguished,' but nobody could call him big. Besides, he doesn't knowhow to say sweet things one little bit. I went out on the veranda withhim at your party, and it was a heavenly night, and all he asked me wasif I wasn't afraid of catching cold, and then he wandered on aboutAmerican girls exposing themselves foolishly and wearing too thin shoesand eating too many sweets. Fancy a man talking like that to a girl atnight on a veranda! I never felt so flat."
Isabel glanced curiously at the beautiful empty creature. Her black eyeslooked like wells of sentiment, and her body a mould for a new race ofmen.
"Tell me," she exclaimed, impulsively. "What do you expect a man to dounder such circumstances--to--a--kiss you?" She brought out the lastwith some effort, her old-fashioned training suddenly s
uggesting thatshe could better understand the downfall of the girl she had befriendedin Paris than the vulgarities of the shallow.
Miss Boutts laughed amusedly. "Well, most men would have tried it. Inever was one to make myself common, but once in a while--well! Ihaven't much opinion of a man who wouldn't snatch a kiss from a girl headmired to death, when he got a chance." She turned upon Isabel, curiousin her turn. "Of course you are lots older than I am--twenty-five orsix, aren't you? And I am only just eighteen. But I always used to watchand wonder about you before you went away. I knew you were not the leastbit like the other girls. I wonder what it is like to be different fromother people. I always feel just like everybody else."
"So do I," said Isabel, encouragingly. "It was only circumstances thatmade me appear different."
"But you know so much!" sighed Miss Boutts. "You speak a lot oflanguages, and you took all the honors at the High School--and then allthose years in Europe! I wonder Mr. Gwynne will even look at any ofus."
"Men like your sort much better," said Isabel, dryly. "Do be nice to himto-day, and entertain him in your own style while I dig through thosetiresome books. I sha'n't be long."
Gwynne looked more than hospitable as he ran down the veranda steps toassist his guests out of the high buggy. When they had taken off theirdust-cloaks and stood side by side he reflected that he had seldom seentwo such handsome girls together. Isabel was far more simply dressedthan Miss Boutts, but her little black jacket fitted perfectly, andthere was a touch of pale blue at the neck, and in the lining of herlarge black hat, that deepened the blue of her eyes under their heavyblack brows and lashes. Gwynne had never seen her look so girlish andingenuous. She kept her profile from him and he saw only her smilingeyes and red half-opened mouth.
"I had to telephone to make sure you would be at home," she said. "Theysay I mustn't come out here alone, and I didn't want Miss Boutts to bebored while I was at work. I'll leave you two here on the porch. Thatwill be quite proper."
As she nodded and went into the living-room she saw Gwynne turn to thelovely glowing girl left on his hands, with more intensity than she hadseen him display since Mrs. Kaye took her black eyes and fine bust outof his life. As she made herself comfortable in his deepest chair sheheard the girlish shallow voice launch out into a eulogy of the scenery.Gwynne responded with some enthusiasm; for a time there was a brokenduet, and then the feminine voice settled down to a steady monologue.Miss Boutts knew that it was an American girl's business to be animated,entertaining, amusing, especially with Englishmen, who hated effort.Occasionally there was a masculine rumble, with a growing accent ofdesperation, and the indulgent little bursts of laughter diminished infrequence and spontaneity. Isabel lifted down volume after volume of thebooks on farming her uncle had collected, letting one fall, rattlingleaves when leaves would rattle. An hour passed. She appropriatedGwynne's writing materials and took what appeared to be copious notes.The host suddenly excused himself and came within.
"Won't you have tea?" he demanded. "It is rather early, but after thatdrive--"
"Much too early," said Isabel, absently. Her chin was on her hand, hereyes were on a spotted page. "Mariana is sure to be asleep. Do go backto Dolly. She is one of those girls that can't bear to be left alone. Ididn't bring her out here to be bored."
"Didn't you? What on earth do you want of all those notes? Are you goingto write a treatise?"
"Of course not. Do go back."
Gwynne returned to the veranda. For more than another hour that sweetnasal monotonous voice trilled on. Then it began to flag. Then a silenceensued, broken at first by sporadic and staccato remarks, then becomingas dense as the silences of the night. Again Gwynne invaded hisliving-room.
"Isabel!" he said, in a low tense tone.
Isabel looked up dreamily and encountered a haggard face and a pair ofblazing eyes. "I'll never forgive you!" he whispered.
"For what?"
"For what! Do you want to drive me mad? Take her home!"
"Do you mean to say that you have not been enjoying yourself?"
"Enjoying myself! I have been on the rack."
"You are the rudest--most unsatisfactory--I thought I knew your taste."
"Oh, _please_!"
"What do you mean?"
They confronted each other, Gwynne flushed and angry, Isabel coldlyinterrogative. Gwynne, who had been on the verge of an explosion, feltsuddenly helpless. It was assuming a great deal to tell a woman that hesaw through her plot to disenchant him with a rival. He could hear thedescending whip of Isabel's scorn. Besides, it would mean a quarrel, andmuch as he resented her interference in his destinies, especially thislast and most notable success, he had no desire to break up the evensurface of their relation. So he merely shrugged his shoulders and said,with what calmness he could muster:
"Be kind enough to take her home. I will return the entire library ifyou need it."
"Oh, I have finished. I am sorry you have been bored." And she carefullygathered up her papers and went to the rescue of the weary Miss Boutts,while Gwynne ordered the buggy. During the drive towards the paternalroof Miss Boutts remarked casually that she didn't care aboutEnglishmen, but otherwise had little to say.
So ended the social regeneration of Rosewater.
Ancestors: A Novel Page 36
