Well, we got her back to school finally, and Henry took her to the train. I remember mother's watching them as they got into the car together.
"That wouldn't be so bad for Madge," she said reflectively. "She is bound to marry badly anyhow, she's so impulsive, and Henry would be a good counterweight. He is very dependable."
"She would make him most unhappy," I said. "Probably Henry would be all right for Madge, but how about Madge for Henry?"
Mother looked at me and said nothing.
Russell proposed at the end of the next week, and I refused. He proposed in a movie. We'd had to give up the Art Gallery because Henry was al ways taking people through it. He took Toots one afternoon, and that finished us.
There was a little talk that Henry and Toots were getting rather thick. The army man's leave was up, and she had to have somebody. There was probably something to it. We saw them in the park one afternoon sitting on a bench, and I could have sworn she had her hand in his coat pocket!
Well, I refused Russell.
"Why?" he said. "You're crazy about me, and you know it."
"I'm not going to marry a past," I said. "You'd make me horribly unhappy."
"I'd never bore you, that's one thing."
"No, but you might find me dull."
"Dull! Darling girl, I've never had as interesting a month in my life."
I said nothing. After a minute:
"Do you remember the first night we really met?"
"In the pantry. Yes."
"Do you remember what you said about being cold? And I told you it was a question of the right man?"
I remembered.
"Well, I'm the man," he said triumphantly. "Don't fool yourself that little hand of yours slips into my coat pocket as if it belonged there. And it does."
He pulled it out and kissed it. Luckily the the atre was dark.
Two days later I consented to elope with him.
Mother was quite delirious when I told her. She came over and kissed my cheek.
"You've never disappointed me, Kit, never," she said. "If only Madge would do as well."
She sighed.
"Madge will probably marry for love, and be happy," I snapped. It was a silly speech. I haven't an idea why I made it.
"And shabby," said mother.
I turned on her sharply. The strain of the last month was over, and I dare say I went to pieces.
"It's all very well for you to be satisfied," I cried. "You're not going to marry Russell Hill, and have him call you 'girlie,' and see his hat move every time he raises his eyebrows. I am."
She went out very stiffly, and sent her maid in with hot tea.
I was out at a theatre party that night, and mother was in my room when I got back.
"I want to talk to you, Katherine," she said, "I've been uneasy all evening."
"If you mean about what I said this afternoon, please forget it, mother. I was tired and nervous. I didn't mean it."
"Not that. I don't want any mistake about this elopement. Now and then those things have a way of going wrong. Quite often there is trouble about a license or a minister."
"Send father ahead," I said flippantly.
"Not father. But some one really ought to look after things. Russell is not the sort to arrange any thing in advance. I thought perhaps Henry--"
"Henry!"
"He is reliable," said mother. "And he has your well-being at heart. He is more like a brother than a good many brothers I know."
I could scream my head off when I think of it now. For we fixed on Henry, and I telephoned him to come round to dinner. He seemed rather surprised when he heard my Voice.
"Honestly, Kit," he said, "do you want me?"
"I want you to do something for me."
"Then I'll come. That's all that's necessary."
But it wasn't as easy as it had promised after all. There's something so downright about Henry. He was standing in front of the library fire after dinner when I told him.
"Henry," I said, "I am going to be married."
He did not say anything at first. Then:
"Well?" he asked.
"Do you know to whom?"
"Yes."
"Aren't you going to say anything?"
"I don't know what I can say," he said very slowly and carefully. "If each of you cares a lot, that's all there is to it, isn't it? The point is, of course, why you are doing it. If it's to cut out some body else, or to get money or anything like that, I'm not going to wish you happiness, because you won't deserve it. If you're in love with him, that's dif ferent."
Did you ever try to tell a lie to a red-headed young man with blue eyes? It's extremely difficult.
"I'm not in love with him, Henry," I said. I was astounded to hear myself saying it.
"Then you're giving him a crooked deal."
"He's not in love with me either. So that's even."
"Then why--"
"Because he thinks he can't have me," I said. "I'm marrying him because he's the most marriage able man I know, and I have to marry money. I've been raised for that. And he's marrying me because I'm the only girl whose people didn't fling her at him."
"Then I wish you joy of each other!" he said hoarsely, and slammed out of the room and out of the house.
I haven't the faintest idea what came over me that night. I went upstairs and cried my eyes out.
A few days later, after a round of luncheons, din ners and dances until I was half dead, I had a free evening. The elopement had been set for Friday, and it was Wednesday. Mother and father were out, and I went downstairs for a book. I had got it and was just going out when I saw Henry's red head over the back of the leather chair by the fire.
I went over. He was not reading. He was just sitting, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
"Hello, Kit," he said calmly. "I knew this was an off night. Sit down."
I sat down, rather suspicious of his manner. Henry can't dissemble.
"About the other night," he said, "I was taken by surprise. Just forget it, Kit. Now, when are you going to pull this thing off?"
I told him, and where.
"Russell made any arrangements?"
"I haven't asked."
"Probably not. He'll expect to get out of the train and find a license and a preacher on the plat form. I'd better be best man, and go down there a day before to fix things."
Well, it wasn't flattering to see him so eager to get me married. There had been a time when I thought--However--
"Oh!" I said.
"Better do it right while you're about it," he said. "You might give me one of your rings, and I'll order a wedding ring. Platinum or gold?"
"Platinum," I said feebly.
"Anything inside?"
"The the date, I suppose."
"No initials or anything like that?"
I roused from a sort of stupor of astonishment.
"I like a very narrow ring," I said. "There won't be room for much inside. The date will do. But I'm sure that Russell--"
"All right if he does. Perhaps I'd better not put in the date. Then, if he takes one along, I can return this and have it credited to him."
"You're very thoughtful."
"Not at all," he said with the first atom of feeling he'd shown. "I don't approve of anything about this business; but if it's going to happen, it's going to happen right!"
He got up and stood in front of the fire.
"The thing to be sure of, Kit," he said soberly, "is that you don't love any one else. It's bad enough as it is, but that would be worse."
"I wouldn't dare to be in love with any one who wasn't eligible," I said, not looking at him. "I've been raised for just what I'm doing. I'm fulfilling my destiny."
"There's nobody else, then?"
"Who could there be?"
"That's twice I've asked you a perfectly simple question, Kit, and you have evaded it. The plain truth, of course, is that you are in love, absolutely single-heartedly in love, but not with Rus
sell."
"Then who?" I demanded sharply. "With yourself," he said, and picked up his hat and went out.
IV
Russell and I eloped on a Friday morning. Mother and I packed my dressing case and a bag, and I gave her an itemized list of what was to be sent on in my trunk when I wired for it. She was greatly relieved to know that Henry was looking after things, especially the ring.
"I do hope he gets a narrow one," she said. "Wedding rings are nonsense at any time. You can never wear other rings with them. But if it is platinum you can have it set with diamonds later on."
I think she was disappointed when I refused to leave a note on my dressing table for her.
"That's out of date, mother," I said. "You needn't know anything until you get my wire that it's over. Then you can call up the newspapers and deny it. That's the best way to let them know."
Then she went out, per agreement, after kissing me good-by, and I called a taxicab and eloped.
Did you ever have a day when things went wrong with you and when you knew that the fault was somewhere in you? Well, that was that sort of day.
The minute I was in the taxicab I was uncomfor table. All at once I didn't want to be married. I hoped Russell would miss the train^ and I could go back home and be a spinster lady and be on com mittees.
But he did not miss the train. He was there, waiting. He had on a very ugly necktie and an English ulster that made his chest dish in, although he has a good figure.
"Hello, girlie," he said. "Stuff all here? Any excitement at home? No? Nice work."
My lips felt stiff.
"Train's waiting," he said. "What do you think of Henry? Big lift, that is. I've never been mar ried before. I'm fairly twittering."
We got into the train. There was no Pullman. Not that it mattered, but it helped to upset me. I hated eloping in a day coach. And a woman with a market basket sat across the aisle, and the legs of a chicken stuck out.
Russell squeezed into the seat beside me.
"Jove, this is great!" he said. "Aren't you going to put your hand in my coat pocket, honey?"
Quite suddenly I said:
"I don't want to."
He drew away a trifle.
"You're nervous," he said. "So am I, for that matter. D'you mind if I go and smoke?"
I didn't mind. I thought if I had to see that ulster dishing in and that tie another minute I'd go crazy.
I grew calmer when he had gone. Here was the thing I had worked so hard for, mine at last. I thought of Toots, and her face when she saw the papers. I thought of Ellie Clavering and Bessie Willing and Margaret North and the others, with their earrings and the imitation of Toots and all the rest of it. I felt rather better. When Russell came back I could even smile at him.
"I wish I could have a cigarette," I said.
He turned and put a hand over mine.
"You're going to cut that out, you know, girlie," he said. "I can't have my wife smoking."
Yes, that's what he said. For ten years he'd sent girls cigarettes and offered them cigarettes and sat with them in corners while they smoked cigarettes. But he didn't want his wife smoking. Wasn't it typical?
Oh, well, I didn't care. I'd do as I liked once we were married. Then about half way, without the slightest warning, I knew I couldn't marry him. Marry him! Why, I didn't even like him. And the way he made me sit with my hand in his coat pocket was sickening.
"I don't think I'll marry you after all," I said.
"Eh? What?"
"I said I've changed my mind. I won't do it."
"I haven't changed mine."
"I'm not really in love with you."
"You're nervous," he said calmly. "Go ahead and talk. It's the new psychology. Never bury your worries. Talk 'em out and get rid of 'em."
"I was never forbidden to see you."
"All right," he said contentedly. "I knew that all along. What else?'
"Even my hand in your coat pocket is a trick."
"Sure it is, but it's a nice trick. What else?'
"I'm not going to marry you."
"Oh, yes, you are. You can't very well go back, can you? Mother's probably called up the papers already."
Then he sat up and looked at me--
"Now, look here, young lady," he said. "I'm no idiot. I knew before you were born some of the stunts you pulled. I've never been fooled for a minute about them. But you're going to marry me. Why? Because I'm crazy about you. That's why. And that's enough."
It was terrible. And there was no way out, none. The train rumbled on. There was a tunnel and he kissed me. It was a short tunnel.
Somebody behind chuckled.
And then at last it was over, and we were there, and I was being led like a sheep to the altar, and Henry was on the platform with ring and license and all the implements of sacrifice.
"Behold," said Russell from the train platform, "the family friend is on hand. Whose idea was Henry, anyhow? His or yours or mother's?"
Henry came up. He looked cheerful enough, although I fancied he was pale. I liked his necktie. I always liked Henry's ties.
"Hello," he said. "Everything here? Where's your luggage?"
"Baggage car," said Russell. "Look after Kit, Henry, will you? I'll see to it."
He hadn't taken two steps before Henry had clutched my arm.
"I knew you wouldn't," he said. "I can see it in your face."
"Henry!" I gasped. "What am I to do?"
"You're to marry me," he said in a sort of fierce whisper. "Don't stop to argue. I've always meant to marry you. Quick, into the taxi!"
That's all I remember just then, except hearing him say he had the license and the ring, and an uproar from where we'd left Russell and all his money on the platform.
"Wha-what sort of license?" I asked, with my teeth chattering from pure fright. "If it's in Russell's name it's not good, is it?"
"It's in my name," said Henry, grimly.
"But the ring that's Russell's."
"Not at all," said Henry, still without an atom of tenderness. "I bought it and paid for it. It's got From H. to K.' inside of it. Very small," he added hastily. "It's quite narrow, as you requested."
"Henry," I said, sitting up stiffly, "what would I have done if you hadn't been round?"
"You needn't worry about that. After this I'll always be round. I don't intend to be underfoot," he volunteered, "but I'll be within call. As a matter of fact," he added, "I've been within call practically all of the last month. It's taken a lot of time."
If only he had said something agreeable or yielding, or looked anything but grim and efficient, I could have stood it. But, there we were, on our way to be married, and he looked as sentimental as a piano tuner.
All at once it came over me that it was Henry, it always had been Henry, it always would be Henry. And he looked calm and altruistic and rather hollow round his eyes.
"If you're only doing this to save me," I said, "you needn't, you know. I can go home, even if the papers have got it."
"Don't make me any more nervous than I am, Kit," he said. "I'm about evenly divided as to beating you up or kissing you. Any extra strain, and it's one or the other."
"Don't beat me, Henry."
"I'm damnably poor, Kit," he said.
For reply I slid my hand into his coat pocket. He melted quite suddenly after that, and put his arms round me. I knew I was being a fool but I was idiotically happy.
"Henry," I said, "do you know that verse in the Bible, that as a partridge sits on eggs and fails to hatch them, so too the person who gets riches with out deserving them?"
He held me off and looked at me as if he sus pected my sanity. Then he kissed me.
Mother has never really forgiven me. It put her in so awfully wrong, of course. For she called up the newspapers, and said that if they received a report that I had eloped with Mr. Russell Hill, they were please to deny it.
Of course they sent reporters everywhere at once. And they traced me to the station. About the
time mother was reading the headlines "Society Bud and Well-Known Clubman Elope," and wiring Madge, she got Henry's telegram.
She thinks I threw away the chance of a lifetime.
But since the day before yesterday I've been wondering. I was going over Henry's old suits, getting them ready to be cleaned and pressed. We have to be very economical. And in a pocket I came across this letter:
"DEAR BOY: We have decided on the eleven-o'clock train. For the love of Mike don't miss meeting it! And after thinking it over carefully, you're right. When I go to see after the luggage will be the best time. Yours,
"RUSSELL."
CLARA'S LITTLE ESCAPADE
"THE plain truth is," said Carrie Smith, "that, no matter how happy two people may be to gether, the time comes when they are bored to death with each other."
Nobody said anything. It was true and we knew it. Ida Elliott put down the scarf she was knitting for the Belgians and looked down over the hill to where a lot of husbands were playing in the swim ming pool.
"It isn't just a matter of being bored, you know, Carrie," she said. "A good many of us have made mistakes." Then she sighed. Ida is not really un happy, but she likes to think she is.
None of the rest made any comment. But one or two of the other girls put down their knitting and looked out over the hills.
"I hope you don't mind my saying it, Clara," Carrie said, turning to me; "but it's a mistake to have a week-end party like this. Last night when I played pool with your Bill after the rest of you had gone upstairs, Wallie refused to speak to me when I went to bed. He's still sulking."
I am not sensitive; but when they everyone turned on me and said it was a beautiful party, but why, in heaven's name, had I asked only husbands and not one extra man, it made me a trifle hot.
"As most of us see our husbands only during week ends," I said tartly, "I should think this sort of fam ily reunion would be good for us."
Carrie sniffed.
"See them!" she snapped. "They've been a part of the landscape since we came, and that's all. Either they're in the pool, or playing clock golf, or making caricatures of themselves on the tennis court. A good photograph would be as comfprting, and wouldn't sulk."
The Best of Mary Roberts Rinehart Page 405
