CHAPTER XI
THINGS THAT WERE NOT ALL ON THE CARD
After that first night in the garden Alan Massey did not try to make openlove to Tony again, but his eyes, following her wherever she moved, madeno secret of his adoration. He was nearly always by her side, driving offother devotees when he chose with a cool high-handedness which sometimesamused, sometimes infuriated Tony. She found the man a baffling andfascinating combination of qualities, all petty selfishness and colossalegotisms one minute, abounding in endless charms and graces and smallendearing chivalries the next; outrageously outspoken at times, at othertimes, reticent to the point of secretiveness; now reaching the mostextravagant pitch of high spirits, and then, almost without warning,submerged in moods of Stygian gloom from which nothing could rouse him.
Tony came to know something of his romantic and rather mottled careerfrom Carlotta and others, even from Alan himself. She knew perfectly wellhe was not the kind of man Larry or her uncle would approve or tolerate.She disapproved of him rather heartily herself in many ways. At times shedisliked him passionately, made up her mind she would have no more to dowith him. At other times she was all but in love with him, and suspectedshe would have found the world an intolerably dull place with Alan Masseysuddenly removed from it. When they danced together she was dangerouslynear being what he had claimed she was or would be--all his. She knewthis, was afraid of it, yet she kept on dancing with him night afternight. It seemed as if she had to, as if she would have danced with himeven if she knew the next moment would send them both hurtling throughspace, like Lucifer, down to damnation.
It was not until Dick Carson came down for a week end, some time later,that Tony discovered the resemblance in Alan to some one she knew ofwhich Carlotta had spoken. Incredibly and inexplicably Dick and Alanpossessed a shadowy sort of similarity. In most respects they were asdifferent in appearance as they were in personality. Dick's hair wasbrown and straight; Alan's, black and wavy. Dick's eyes were steadygray-blue; Alan's, shifty gray-green. Yet the resemblance was there,elusive, though it was. Perhaps it lay in the curve of the sensitivenostrils, perhaps in the firm contour of chin, perhaps in the arch of thebrow. Perhaps it was nothing so tangible, just a fleeting trick ofexpression. Tony did not know, but she caught the thing just as Carlottahad and it puzzled and interested her.
She spoke of it to Alan the next morning after Dick's arrival, as theyidled together, stretched out on the sand, waiting for the others to comeout of the surf.
To her surprise he was instantly highly annoyed and resentful.
"For Heaven's sake, Tony, don't get the resemblance mania. It's adisgusting habit. I knew a woman once who was always chasing likenessesin people and prattling about them--got her in trouble once and servedher right. She told a young lieutenant that he looked extraordinarilylike a certain famous general of her acquaintance. It proved later thatthe young man had been born at the post where the general was stationedwhile the presumptive father was absent on a year's cruise. It had beenquite a prominent scandal at the time."
"That isn't a nice story, Alan. Moreover it is entirely irrelevant. Butyou and Dick do look alike. I am not the only or the first person who sawit, either."
Alan started and frowned.
"Good Lord! Who else?" he demanded.
"Carlotta!"
"The devil she did!" Alan's eyes were vindictive. Then he laughed."Commend me to a girl's imagination! This Dick chap seems to be head overheels in love with you," he added.
"What nonsense!" denied Tony crisply, fashioning a miniature sandmountain as she spoke.
"No nonsense at all, my dear. Perfectly obvious fact. Don't you suppose Iknow how a man looks when he is in love? I ought to. I've been in loveoften enough."
Tony demolished her mountain with a wrathful sweep of her hand.
"And registered all the appropriate emotions before the mirror, Isuppose. You make me sick, Alan. You are all pose. I don't believe thereis a single sincere thing about you."
"Oh, yes, there is--are--two."
"What are they?"
"One is my sincere devotion to yourself, my beautiful. The other--anequally sincere devotion to--_myself_."
"I grant you the second, at least."
"Don't pose, yourself, my darling. You know I love you. You pretend youdon't believe it, but you do. And way down deep in your heart you love mylove. It makes your heart beat fast just to think of it. See! Did I nottell you?" He had suddenly put out his hand and laid it over her heart.
"Poor little wild bird! How its wings flutter!"
Tony got up swiftly from the sand, her face scarlet. She was indignant,self-conscious, betrayed. For her heart had been beating at a fearfulclip and she knew it.
"How dare you touch me like that, Alan Massey? I detest you. I don't seewhy I ever listen to you at all, or let you come near me."
Alan Massey, still lounging at her feet, looked up at her as she stoodabove him, slim, supple, softly rounded, adorably pretty and feminine inher black satin bathing suit and vivid, emerald hued cap.
"I know why," he said and rose, too, slowly, with the indolent grace of aleopard. "So do you, my Tony," he added. "We both know. Will you dancewith me a great deal to-night?"
"No."
"How many times?"
"Not at all."
"Indeed! And does his Dick Highmightiness object to your dancing withme?"
"Dick! Of course not. He hasn't anything to do with it. I am not going todance with you because you are behaving abominably to-day, and you didyesterday and the day before that. I think you are nearly alwaysabominable, in fact."
"Still, I am one of the best dancers in the world. It is a temptation, isit not, my own?"
He smiled his slow, tantalizing smile and, in spite of herself, Tonysmiled back.
"It is," she admitted. "You are a heavenly dancer, Alan. There is nodenying it. If you were Mephisto himself I think I would dance withyou--occasionally."
"And to-night?"
"Once," relented Tony. "There come the others at last." And she ran offdown the yellow sands like a modern Atalanta.
"My, but Tony is pretty to-night!" murmured Carlotta to Alan, whochanced to be standing near her as her friend fluttered by with Dick."She looks like a regular flame in that scarlet chiffon. It is awfullydaring, but she is wonderful in it."
"She is always wonderful," muttered Alan moodily, watching the slender,graceful figure whirl and trip and flash down the floor like a gay poppypetal caught in the wind.
Carlotta turned. Something in Alan's tone arrested her attention.
"Alan, I believe, it is real with you at last," she said. Up to thatmoment she had considered his affair with Tony as merely another of hismany adventures in romance, albeit possibly a slightly more extravagantone than usual.
"Of course it is real--real as Hell," he retorted. "I'm mad over her,Carla. I am going to marry her if I have to kill every man in the path toget to her," savagely.
"I am sorry, Alan. You must see Tony is not for the like of you. Youcan't get to her. I wish you wouldn't try."
Dick and Tony passed close to them again. Tony was smiling up at herpartner and he was looking down at her with a gaze that betrayed hiscaring. Neither saw Alan and Carlotta. The savage light gleamed brighterin Alan's green eyes.
"Carlotta, is there anything between them?" he demanded fiercely.
"Nothing definite. He adores her, of course, and she is very fond of him.She feels as if he sort of belonged to her, I think. You know the story?"
"Tell me."
Briefly Carlotta outlined the tale of how Dick had taken refuge in theHoliday barn when he had run away from the circus, and how Tony had foundhim, sick and exhausted from fatigue, hunger and abuse; how the Holidayshad taken him in and set him on his feet, and Tony had given him her ownmiddle name of Carson since he had none of his own.
Alan listened intently.
"Did he ever get any clue as to his identity?" he asked asCarlotta paused.
"Never.
"
"Has he asked Tony to marry him?"
"I don't think so. I doubt if he ever does, so long as he doesn't knowwho he is. He is very proud and sensitive, and has an almostsuperstitious veneration for the Holiday tradition. Being a Holiday inNew England is a little like being of royal blood, you know. I don'tbelieve you will ever have to make a corpse of poor Dick, Alan."
"I don't mind making corpses. I rather think I should enjoy making one ofhim. I detest the long, lean animal."
Had Alan known it, Dick had taken quite as thorough a dislike to hismagnificent self. At that very moment indeed, as he and Tony strolled inthe garden, Dick had remarked that he wished Tony wouldn't dance with"that Massey."
"And why not?" she demanded, always quick to resent dictatorial airs.
"Because he makes you--well--conspicuous. He hasn't any business to dancewith you the way he does. You aren't a professional but he makes you looklike one."
"Thanks. A left-hand compliment but still a compliment!"
"It wasn't meant for one," said Dick soberly. "I hate it. Of course youdance wonderfully yourself. It isn't just dancing with you. It is poetry,stuff of dreams and all the rest of it. I can see that, and I know itmust be a temptation to have a chance at a partner like that. Lord! Tony!No man in every day life has a right to dance the way he can. Heout-classes Castle. I hate that kind of a man--half woman."
"There isn't anything of a woman about Alan, Dick. He is the mostvirulently male man I ever knew."
Dick fell silent at that. Presently he began again.
"Tony, please don't be offended at what I am going to say. I know it isnone of my business, but I wish you wouldn't keep on with this affairwith Massey."
"Why not?" There was an aggressive sparkle in Tony's eyes.
"People are talking. I heard them last night when you were dancing withhim. It hurts. Alan Massey isn't the kind of a man for a girl like you toflirt with."
"Stuff and nonsense, Dicky! Any kind of a man is the kind for a girl toflirt with, if she keeps her head."
"But Tony, honestly, this Massey hasn't a good reputation."
"How do you know?"
"Newspaper men know a great deal. They have to. Besides, Alan Massey is acelebrity. He is written up in our files."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that if he should die to-morrow all we would have to do wouldbe to put in the last flip. The biographical data is all on the cardready to shoot."
"Dear me. That's rather gruesome, isn't it?" shivered Tony. "I'm glad I'mnot a celebrity. I'd hate to be stuck down on your old flies. Will I geton Alan's card if I keep on flirting with him?"
"Good Lord! I should hope not."
"I suppose I wouldn't be in very good company. I don't mean Alan. Imean--his ladies."
"Tony! Then you know?"
"About Alan's ladies? Oh, yes. He told me himself."
Dick looked blank. What was a man to do in a case like this, finding hisbig bugaboo no bugaboo at all?
"I know a whole lot about Alan Massey, maybe more than is on your oldcard. I know his mother was Lucia Vannini, so beautiful and so giftedthat she danced in every court in Europe and was loved by a prince. Iknow how Cyril Massey, an American artist, painted her portrait andloved her and married her. I know how she worshiped him and wasabsolutely faithful to him to the day he died, when the very light oflife went out for her."
"She managed to live rather cheerfully afterward, even without light, ifall the stories about her are true," observed Dick, with, for him,unusual cynicism.
"You don't understand. She had to live."
"There are other ways of living than those she chose."
"Not for her. She knew only two things--love and dancing. She was thrownfrom a horse the next year after her husband died. Dancing was over forher. There was only--her beauty left. Her husband's people wouldn't haveanything to do with her because she had been a dancer and because of theprince. Old John Massey, Cyril's uncle, turned her and her baby from hisdoor, and his cousin John and his wife refused even to see her. She saidshe would make them hear of her before she died. She did."
"They heard all right. She, and her son too, must have been a thorn inthe flesh of the Masseys. They were all rigid Puritans I understand,especially old John."
"Serve him right," sniffed Tony. "They were rolling in wealth. They mighthave helped her kept her from the other thing they condemned so. Shewanted money only for Alan, especially after he began to show that he hadmore than his father's gifts. She earned it in the only way she knew. Idon't blame her."
"Tony!"
"I can't help it if I am shocking you, Dick. I can understand why she didit. She didn't care anything about the lovers. She never cared for anyoneafter Cyril died. She gave herself for Alan. Can't you see that there wassomething rather fine about it? I can."
Dick grunted. He remembered hearing something about a woman whose sinswere forgiven her because she loved much. But he couldn't reconcilehimself to hearing such stories from Tony Holiday's lips. They wereremote from the clean, sweet, wholesome atmosphere in which she belonged.
"Anyway, Alan was a wonderful success. He studied in Paris and he hadpictures on exhibition in salons over there before he was twenty. He wasfeted and courted and flattered and--loved, until he thought the worldwas his and everything in it--including the ladies." Tony made a littleface at this. She did not care very-much for that part of Alan's story,herself. "His mother was afraid he was going to have his head completelyturned and would lose all she had gained so hard for him, so she made himcome back to America and settle down. He did. He made a great name forhimself before he was twenty-five as a portrait painter and he and hismother lived so happily together. She didn't need any more lovers then.Alan was all she needed. And then she died, and he went nearly crazy withgrief, went all to pieces, every way. I suppose that part of his careeris what makes you say he isn't fit for me to flirt with."
Dick nodded miserably.
"It isn't very pleasant for me to think of, either," admitted Tony. "Idon't like it any better than you do. But he isn't like that any more.When old John Massey died without leaving any will Alan got all themoney, because his cousin John and his stuck-up wife had died, too, andthere was nobody else. Alan pulled up stakes and traveled all over theworld, was gone two years and, when he came back, he wasn't dissipatedany more. I don't say he is a saint now. He isn't, I know. But he gotabsolutely out of the pit he was in after his mother's death."
"Lucky for him they never found the baby John Massey, who was stolen,"Dick remarked. "He would have been the heir if he could have appeared toclaim the money instead of Alan Massey, who was only a grand nephew."
Tony stared.
"There wasn't any baby," she exclaimed.
"Oh yes, there was. John Massey, Junior, had a son John who was kidnappedwhen he was asleep in the park and deserted by his nurse who had gone toflirt with a policeman. There was a great fuss made about it at the time.The Masseys offered fabulous sums of money for the return of the child,but he never turned up. I had to dig up the story a few years ago whenold John died, which is why I know so much about it."
"I don't believe Alan knew about the baby. He didn't tell me anythingabout it."
"I'll wager he knew, all right. It would be mighty unpleasant for him ifthe other Massey turned up now."
"Dick, I believe you would be glad if Alan lost the money,"reproached Tony.
"Why no, Tony. It's nothing to me, but I've always been sorry for thatother Massey kid, though he doesn't know what he missed and is probably ajail-bird or a janitor by this time, not knowing he is heir to one ofthe biggest properties in America."
"Sorry to disturb your theories, Mr.--er Carson," remarked Alan Massey,suddenly appearing on the scene. "My cousin John happens to be neither ajail-bird nor a janitor, but merely comfortably dead. Lucky John!"
"But Dick said he wasn't dead--at least that nobody knew whether he wasor not," objected Tony.
"Unfortunately your frie
nd is in error. John Massey is entirely dead, Iassure you. And now, if he is quite through with me and my affairs,perhaps Mr. Carson will excuse you. Come, dear."
Alan laid a hand on Tony's arm with a proprietorial air which made Dickwrithe far more than his insulting manner to himself had done. Tonylooked quickly from one to the other. She hated the way Alan wasbehaving, but she did not want to precipitate a scene and yielded,leaving Dick, with a deprecatory glance, to go with Alan.
"I don't like your manner," she told the latter. "You were abominablyrude just now."
"Forgive me, sweetheart. I apologize. That young man of yours sets myteeth on edge. I can't abide a predestined parson. I'll wager anything hehas been preaching at you." He smiled ironically as he saw the girlflush. "So he did preach,--and against me, I suppose."
"He did, and quite right, too. You are not at all a proper person for meto flirt with, just as he said. Even Miss Lottie told me that and whenMiss Lottie objects to a man it means--"
"That she has failed to hold him herself," said Alan cynically. "Stop,Tony. I want to say something to you before we go in. I am not a properperson. I told you that myself. There have been other women in my life--agood many of them. I told you that, too. But that has absolutely nothingto do with you and me. I love you. You are the only woman I ever haveloved in the big sense, at least the only one I have ever wanted tomarry. I am like my mother. She had many lesser loves. She had only onegreat one. She married him. And I shall marry you."
"Alan, don't. It is foolish--worse than foolish to talk like that. Mypeople would never let me marry you, even if I wanted to. Dick wasspeaking for them just now when he warned me against you."
"He was speaking for himself. Damn him!"
"Alan!"
"I beg your pardon, Tony. I'm a brute to-night. I am sorry. I won'ttrouble you any more. I won't even keep you to your promise to dance oncewith me if you wish to be let off."
The music floated out to them, called insistently to Tony's rhythm-madfeet and warm young blood.
"Ah, but I do want to dance with you," she sighed. "I don't want to belet off. Come."
He bent over her, a flash of triumph in his eyes.
"My own!" he exulted. "You are my own. Kiss me, belovedest."
But Tony pulled away from him and he followed her. A moment later thescarlet flame was in his arms whirling down the hall to the music of theviolins, and Dick, standing apart by the window watching, tasted thedregs of the bitterest brew life had yet offered him. Better, far betterthan Tony Holiday he knew where the scarlet flame was blowing.
His dance with Tony over, Alan retired to the library where he used thetelephone to transmit a wire to Boston, a message addressed to one JamesRoberts, a retired circus performer.
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