Katrine: A Novel
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XXII
FRANK AND KATRINE MEET AT THE VAN RENSSELAER'S
In the three months which followed Katrine's great success, Frank heardof her constantly, always with a curious self-belittling and a reviewingof his own conduct, fine in its self-depreciation. He had betrayed thegreat unspoken trust of the finest human being he had ever known, andafterward dallied, for fear of rebuff to his vanity, from squaring theaccount as well as he could by giving her a chance to refuse him openly.He felt that he could never again be to her what he had been. Threeyears of such work as she had done would change her ideals much.
He reflected, too, upon the changes in himself, one of the greatestbeing his recognition of the sound virtues of Dermott McDermott. Therehad been times when circumvention by this son of Erin had been somasterly, so deft, so unexpected that Frank had felt like extending acongratulating hand. Once he had actually laughed aloud, at a boardmeeting, over an election which McDermott had dictated. But these thingsassumed a new importance when he thought of Dermott's love for Katrine,for the queer Celtic genius was singularly unattuned to failure inanything, and never, in any matter save that of the railroad, couldFrank claim a complete victory. And those who believed the railroadissue still unsettled were not wanting.
Soon after the Paris visit, Frank heard, through Anne Lennox, of thedeath of Madame de Nemours. The letter reiterated, as well, that Katrinehad sung to England's good old Queen. Before this confirmation Frank haddoubted this statement as one of the outputs of Dermott's orientalimagination.
In August, having had no letter from Katrine or his mother for over amonth, he accepted Nick van Rensselaer's invitation to Waring-on-the-Sea,with no knowledge whatever as to the other members of the party. As hewas driven up the carriageway, under great New England pines, and sawthe shining sea and the far-off Magnolia hills, he thought, for thefirst time, of other guests who would probably be there, and recalledwith annoyance how one meets the same people everywhere. After he haddressed for dinner, he stood looking from the balcony of his room intothe twilight thinking of Katrine, and wondering why her monthly letterhad not arrived.
At the foot of the stairs he encountered Sally Porter, whom he had notmet since she had been his mother's guest at Ravenel, three yearsbefore.
"Why, Frank Ravenel!" she cried, at sight of him. "I thought you werein--where did we hear he was, mother?"
"Several places, my dear," her mother responded, placidly.
"Java, Japan, or Jupiter," Nick van Rensselaer broke in, coming forwardwith outstretched hand. "How are you, old man!"
As Frank returned the grip he looked over Nick's shoulder to a merrygroup which stood near the entrance to the music-room, and his amazedeyes rested upon Katrine Dulany. A new Katrine, yet still the old. Shewore white lace. Her black hair was parted and rippled over the earsinto a low coil. There was even more the look of an August peach to herthan he remembered: dusky pink with decided yellow in the curve of herchin, as he had once laughingly asserted. But the softness and upliftedexpression of the misty blue eyes were the same, and added to all wasthe repose of manner which comes only from the consciousness of power orof sorrows lived beyond.
For a moment he seemed unable to make any effort to go to her, and thencame to him an intense consciousness of himself, of her, and theirmutual past. As their eyes met, however, he discovered that whateverembarrassment existed was his own, for Katrine saw him, seemed to makesure that her eyes did not deceive her, and with a glad smile stretchedboth hands toward him.
"Why, it's Mr. Ravenel!" she cried.
Her eyes rested in his as she spoke. "It has been three, oh, so manyyears, since we have met," she began, with a smile.
"Don't," he answered, holding her hands. "It was only yesterday."
"Three yesterdays," she said, with the old "make-believe" look in hereyes. "Half a week. Somehow it seems longer, doesn't it?"
"I was sorry to miss seeing you in Paris last May," Frank said. "Iwanted so much to congratulate you; but congratulations would have beenan old story even at that time."
"Everything was in such a ferment the night you called," she explained."Josef was quite beside himself, and I was rushing off somewhere, Iremember, and I didn't get the card until afterward," again theperfectly frank, sweet look, "but I recall that it gave me pleasure toknow you came."
At dinner Francis found, with some annoyance, that he was placed betweenMrs. Dysart and Miss Porter, at the remote end of the table fromKatrine, whom he could see at Nick van Rensselaer's right, showing herdimples and the flash of white teeth and scarlet lips as she told somestory of her own.
He noted how easily she was first, so sure of herself and her power, butwith a marked deference to the women as well as to the men who courtedher attention so openly. "Such considered conduct!" he commented tohimself, approvingly.
No chance came to him to talk to Katrine again that night, but,analytical as he was of woman, he could discern no smallest sign that itwas by any design of hers, nor that she noted his presence more thanthat of another. She neither avoided nor sought his glance, and it wasnot until midnight that he had even a word alone with her.
"I am going to sing," she said, turning with a pretty smile toward agroup in which he was standing.
In a minute he came forward and led her to the piano. "The Serenade," hesaid.
Her eyes gleamed through the long lashes as she looked away from him.
"Ah," she answered, "I seem to have outgrown it!"