by George Gibbs
*CHAPTER XXVIII*
*HOUSEHOLD GODS--AND GODDESSES*
The years which followed seemed very short ones to Camilla--a time ofquiet delight, of restitution, and fulfillment. General Bent had wantedthem to come and live with him in the old house down in Madison Avenue,and Jeff, in his whole-hearted way, had given him the promise, but itwas Camilla who had thought it wisest for them to have an establishmentof their own. The house was just off the avenue near the Park, a rentedplace, for Camilla had not yet arrived at the state of mind to considerNew York their home. But most of Jeff's time was now spent in NewYork--seven months of the year at least--and she was beginning to learnwith reluctance that before long only their summers could be spent at"Glen Irwin." On certain afternoons Camilla sat in the librarydownstairs with her embroidery frame (she always seemed to be sewingnow), her lap covered with thin, flimsy fabrics, the borders of whichshe was embellishing. They were very tiny pieces of material, apparentlyshapeless, but from time to time she held them at arm's length beforeher, her head on one side, and smiled approval of her own handiwork. Itwas here that Jeff liked to find her--thus occupied. He had not evencontracted the habit of stopping at a club on the way uptown, and unlesshe was detained on important matters she knew when she would hear thesound of his key in the latch outside.
Mrs. Wray had made it known that she was not at home except to thechosen few. The General came on certain days for his "toddy," Gladys onthe way home from "teaing it," Mrs. Rumsen, Dolly Haviland, and RitaCheyne, each for a peep behind the curtain.
Rita Cheyne came oftenest and stayed longest. She had no socialresponsibilities, she claimed, except that of seeing the small garmentsin Camilla's lap made successfully. She was hopelessly bored, moredemurely cheerful, more buoyantly pessimistic than ever.
"What a joy it must be," she sighed, "to have an object in life. Myobjects are all subjective. I have a dreadful fear that I'm getting tobe a philosopher."
Camilla bit off her thread and smiled.
"Platonic?" she asked.
"I'm afraid so. I used to take such desperate fancies to people. Iused to want to make people like me whether they wanted to or not. NowI'm really indifferent. I actually don't care whether my hat is onstraight or not. It's such a pity. I used to like to be _svelte_,fluffy, and smartly groomed. I didn't mind suffering the tortures ofthe rack if I knew I was effective. Now--I'm positively dowdy. I don'tcare what I wear so long as I'm comfortable--and I'm actually getting_fat_, Camilla! The horror of it!"
Camilla looked up at the exquisite afternoon frock, which fitted herslender figure as only one made by Patrain could, and smiled.
"Yes, Rita, positively corpulent. It's a pity. You really had a goodfigure once."
"The worst of it is that I don't seem to care," she went on, oblivious."I used to love to dress for moods--for my moods and for other people's.I thought that Art could solve every problem that came to me. Art!" shesniffed contemptuously. "Art in a woman is merely a confession ofinefficiency. I used to think that Art was immortal. Now I find thatonly Nature is."
Camilla lifted the tiny sacque with its absurd blue silk cuffs andexamined it with a satisfied air. When she had finished she leaned overto Rita and whispered with the air of an oracle:
"Nature _is_--immortal."
"It is. You're right," she sighed. "But it's my nature to be merelymortal--and I'm going to die very hard. I must continue to hide myinefficiencies--by Art."
"You're not inefficient," Camilla corrected. "You're merelyfeminine--extravagantly feminine----"
"Yes, feminine--but not womanly. Oh, I know what I am!" she concludedfiercely.
"You're a darling!" said Camilla softly. "You're very much more womanlythan you want people to think you are. Why should you take such adelight in _these_?" Camilla laid a hand on the wicker basket besideher.
Rita took up one of the tiny garments and examined it with minuteinterest.
"It's very pretty, isn't it? But quite silly. Imagine anything so tiny!What a lot of trouble you take. And you've made them all yourself.They're really exquisite."
"They're Art's tribute to Nature, Rita," said Camilla with an air offinality.
Mrs. Cheyne sighed.
"My mission in life is ended, Camilla. I'm quite sure of it now.You've convinced me. I'm actually envious of a woman who sits by thefire and sews baby-clothes. Your industry is a reproach--your smile areproof and your happiness a condemnation. I know you're right. You'vereally solved the problem, and I haven't. I never will. I'm past thatnow. I'm going to grow old ungracefully, yielding the smallest fractionof an inch at a time to the inevitable. I'm going to be stout, I knowit--and probably dumpy. I could weep, Camilla."
"Who's talking of weeping here?" said a voice. And General Bent, withhis stick, came thumping in. "Oh--you, Rita?" he laughed. "Women nevercry unless there's something to be gained by it." Rita offered him hercheek, and Camilla rang for tea. In a moment Mrs. Rumsen came in.
"I knew you were here, Rita," she said, bending her tall figure for acaress.
"How?"
"Teddy Wetherby's machine--at the corner--and Teddy."
"Is he waiting still? Such a nice boy--but absolutely oblivious of thepassage of time."
"I thought you'd given up your kindergarten, Rita," put in Camilla,laughing.
"I have. But Teddy is my prize pupil. He's taking a post-graduatecourse." And, when they all laughed at her, she turned on themseverely. "I won't have you laughing at Teddy. He's really an angel."
"I'm going to tell his mother," said Mrs. Rumsen.
Rita took her tea cup and sank back in her chair absently. "Oh,well--perhaps you'd better," she said. "I'm going in for square-toedshoes and settlement meetings."
The General grunted and sipped his Scotch, but when Jeff and Cortlandcame in the women were still laughing at Mrs. Cheyne. Jeff walkedacross the room to his wife and kissed her.
"Father--Aunt Caroline--Hello! Rita."
"Well, sir--" from Camilla, "please give an account of yourself."
"You'll have to speak to Cort. We stopped in at the Club for a minute.Cheyne was there and Hal Dulaney, Perot, Steve Gillis, DouglasWarrington, and two or three others. They wanted us to stay for dinner.But we didn't."
"Of course not," said Camilla so decisively that Rita Cheyne laughed.
"There!" she said pityingly. "Oh, Jeff! a subject and a slave as well!Aren't you really going to let him go, Camilla?"
Camilla looked up into Jeff's face with a heavenly smile.
"Of course--if he _wants_ to."
"But I _don't_ want to," said Jeff, sinking into a chair with acomfortable sigh. "This is good enough for me. Besides," he addedmischievously, "it looked like a meeting."
"What kind of a meeting?"
"Of the Rita Cheyne Protective Association."
"Jeff, you're horrid!" said Rita, but she laughed.
"I'm not," he said calmly. "They have my full sympathy and support. Itold 'em so."
"Your sins are finding you out, my dear cousin," chuckled the General."They always do in the end."
"Oh, you're hopeless--_all_ of you," sighed the culprit, setting downher tea cup.
Cortland finished his drink in leisurely fashion and dropped into thevacant chair beside his father. "Well, we put it over," he saidquietly.
"The bond issue?"
"Yes, sir--we had a fight in the board, but we got McIntyre's vote atlast and jammed it through--that was all we needed."
"I didn't think it was possible," the old man exclaimed.
"It wasn't easy, but Jeff managed it."
"I didn't sir," Jeff interposed. "Cort did the whole thing. We've madehim president. We made it unanimous in the end."
"By George, Cort, I'm proud of you. I always knew you had the stuff inyou if we ever woke you up."
"Oh, I guess I'm awake all right. A fellow has to be down there." Heleaned forward
and picked up an article on the work basket.
"Where's His Majesty?" he asked of Mrs. Wray.
Camilla glanced at the clock.
"Asleep, I hope. He's been very dissipated lately. He was up yesterdayuntil seven."
"Takes after his father," said Mrs. Cheyne scornfully.
At that moment a small cry was heard upstairs, and Camilla flew. "Thelamb!" she cried, and from the hall they heard her telling the trainednurse to bring the infant down. At the bottom of the steps she met themand bore him triumphantly in. He was a very small person with largeround blue eyes that stared like Jeff's. They looked at nobody inparticular, and yet they were filled with the wisdom of the ages.
"What a little owl he is!" said Rita, but when she jangled her goldpurse before his eyes he seized it with both hands and gurgledexultantly.
"He knows a good thing when he sees it," laughed Cort. "Got the goldfever, too."
"What a shame!" said Camilla indignantly. "He hasn't any kind of afever, have you, Cornelius?"
The child said, "Da!"
"Didn't I tell you? He knows."
"He has such fuzzy pink hair!" said Cort, rubbing it the wrong way. "Doyou think it will stay pink?"
"You sha'n't be godfather to my son if you say another word, Cortland.Here, nurse, take him. They sha'n't abuse him any longer." She pressedher lips rapturously against his rosy cheek and released him. Mrs.Rumsen gazed through her lorgnon, while the infant, with a cry ofdelight, pulled the glasses from the General's nose.
"No respect for age! None at all!" said Mrs. Rumsen.
After a while they all went away--Rita Cheyne to her post-graduatepupil, Mrs. Rumsen to her brougham, and Cort and his father to the walkdowntown, leaving Camilla and Jeff sitting at the fireside alone. Onearmchair was big enough for them both. She sat on his knees and leanedback against him, close in the shelter of his arms.
"You didn't want to stay out to dinner, did you, Jeff?" she asked.
"Oh, yes," he said, "of course I did. I'm very fond of dining out."
She laughed contentedly. They had dined out only once this winter, andthat was at his father's house. There was a long silence.
"Poor Rita," she sighed at last, "what's to become of her? She's notreally happy, Jeff. I sometimes think----" she paused.
"What?"
"That she still thinks of you."
Jeff laughed. "I hope she does. Why, silly?"
"Simply because she never gives me the slightest reason to think thatshe does."
Jeff rubbed his nose thoughtfully.
"That's one too many for me."
"Don't you know that a woman always judges another woman by the thoughtsshe suppresses?"
"That's nonsense."
"No, it isn't. I won't have you say that what I think is nonsense."
She turned her head toward him and looked down into his eyes.
"Are you sure you never cared for Rita? Not a little?"
"Sure."
"It was the Forbidden Way, Jeff. Do you like this way--_our_way--better?"
He held her closer in his arms and that reply seemed adequate. Sheasked him no more questions until some moments later, and she asked himthat one because she always liked the way he answered it.
A sudden loud rasping of the dining-room hangings on their brass rod,and Camilla sprang up hurriedly. She even had time to go to the mantelmirror and rearrange the disorder of her hair before the butler came into announce dinner.
He was a well-trained servant.
THE END
* * * * * * * *
*STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY*
*GENE STRATTON-PORTER*
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