Blakely was awfully angry. He said: "Look here, I don't know whatyou've been used to, but in this country, where a man wishes to meeta young lady, he asks to be presented to her. Not only that, but hedoesn't take it for granted that she'll be honored by the request.Miss Middleton is my fiancee. I don't know whether she cares to meetyou or not. If she does, I'll let you know." The duke was terriblymortified. He apologized beautifully.
Then Blakely apologized for getting angry, and they became betterfriends than ever, with the result that the duke was presented to methat very afternoon.
The Grand Duke Alexander was short and fat and fair, with a yellowmustache of the Kaiser Wilhelm variety. It was rather a shock to me,for I had expected a dashing black-haired person with flashing eyesand a commanding presence. No, he wasn't at all my idea of what agrand duke should look like; he looked much more like a littlebrother to the ox (a well-bred, well-dressed, bath-loving littlebrother, of course) than a member of an imperial family. Not that hedidn't have his points: he had nice hands and nice feet, and hissmile was charming.
You should have seen his face light up when he found I spoke French.The poor fellow wasn't a bit at home in the English language and theeagerness with which he plunged into French was really pathetic.Luckily, Blakely spoke French, too--not very well, but he understoodit lots better than he spoke it--so we three spent a pleasant hourtogether on the veranda. Of course, in a way, it was a littletriumph for me; the women whom Blakely's mother had snubbed enjoyedthe sight immensely, and when she appeared, accompanied by Mrs.Sanderson-Spear and some of the "Choicest Flowers," and saw what washappening to her duke, she was too angry for words. Heavens, howthat woman did hate me that afternoon!
The next morning six more "Choicest Flowers" arrived from SanFrancisco (rare orchids whose grandfathers had come over fromIreland in the steerage). The third son of an English baronet whoowned a chicken-ranch near Los Angeles and a German count who soldRhine wines to the best families also appeared; for that nightBlakely's mother was to give such a dinner as had never before beengiven in Santa Barbara.
Under the heading:
SANTA BARBARA NOW THE MOST COSMOPOLITAN CITY IN AMERICA
an enterprising Los Angeles newspaper devoted a whole page to thecoming event. Adjective was piled on adjective, split infinitive onsplit infinitive. The dinner was to be given in the ballroom of thehotel.... The bank accounts of the assembled guests would total$400,000,000.... The terrapin had been specially imported fromBaltimore.... The decorations were to be magnificent beyond thewildest dream.... The duke was to sit on the right of hishostess.... Mr. Sanderson-Spear, the Pierpont Morgan ofPennsylvania, who would arrive that morning from Pittsburg in hisprivate car, would sit on her left.... Count Boris Beljaski,intimate friend and traveling companion of the grand duke, wouldappear in the uniform of the imperial guard.... The BaronessReinstadt was hurrying from San Diego, in her automobile.... As awinter resort, Santa Barbara was, as usual, eclipsing Florida,etc., ... Blakely and I read the paper together; we laughed over ittill we cried.
"It would be lots funnier if it wasn't my mother who was making sucha holy show of herself," Blakely said. "Do you know, my dear--"
He was silent for a moment. When he did speak, there was a wickedgleam in his eyes. "By Jove," he cried, "I'll do it!"
"Do what?" I asked.
"Oh, nothing much. I'll tell you all about it later--if there'sanything to tell. Now I must run away. Good-by, dear."
Chapter Nine
At a quarter to four I received a note from Blakely saying it wouldbe impossible for him to come in to tea as he had planned. It wasthe first time he had ever broken an engagement with me, and I was awee bit unhappy over it, though I knew, of course, there must besome good reason why he couldn't come. Still, his absence rather putme out of humor with tea, so I sent Valentine for a box ofchocolates. When she returned I sat down with them and a novel,prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon alone.
The novel wasn't half as silly as some I've read--the hero remindedme of Blakely--and the chocolates were unusually good; I was havinga much better time than I had expected. Then some one knocked at thedoor.
"Bother!" I thought. "It can't be anybody I wish to see; I'll notlet them in."
The knock, was repeated. It suddenly occurred to me that maybeBlakely had changed his plans and had come for tea after all.
"Come in," I called.
The door opened slowly, and there, standing on the threshold,was-- Had I gone quite mad? I rose from my chair and staredunbelievingly--at Blakely's mother.
"May I come in?" she asked in her even, well-bred voice.
"Why--yes," I faltered.
Closing the door behind her, she walked over to the fireplace.
"Won't you sit down?" I asked. "No, I thank you. This is not anafternoon call, Miss Middleton, it is--But of course youunderstand."
I didn't understand at all, and her manner of saying I did made mefurious.
"Perhaps I am very stupid," I said, "but I cannot imagine why youare here."
"Do you know where my son is?"
"I do not."
"You have no idea?"
"I have no idea where your son is, nor why you are here."
She eyed me intently. How cold and determined she looked and howhandsome she was.
"If I thought you were telling the truth--"
"Mrs. Porter!"
She handed me a letter. "Please read that," she said.
"I will not read it," I replied. "I must beg that you leave me."
"There, there, child, I did not mean to be rude."
"You are more than rude, you are insolent."
"I am distracted, child. Please read the letter."
"Very well," I said, "I'll read it."
This was the letter:
"MY DEAR MOTHER: This will be handed to you at four o'clock. Atthat hour I shall be in Ventura, accompanied by the Grand DukeAlexander, and, as we are making the trip by automobile, it may bethat we shall neither of us return in time for your dinner thisevening."
"If, however, on reading this you will wire me at Ventura your fullconsent to my marriage with Miss Middleton, I think I can guaranteethat your dinner party will be a success."
"I shall be in Ventura till half past four. Should I fail to hearfrom you by that time, we shall continue our journey toward LosAngeles as fast as our six-cylinders will take us."
"It grieves me more than I can tell you to employ this cavaliermethod against you, but my softer appeals have been in vain."
"While not a party to the plot, the duke, I find is something of aphilosopher; I do not look for any resistance on his part. If hedoes resist, so much the worse for him."
"Your affectionate son, BLAKELY PORTER."
"P. S. Please do not think that Miss Middleton has any knowledge ofthis plan. She has not."
"P. S. Remember! We leave Ventura for Los Angeles at 4:50 p.m.sharp."
"Mrs. Porter," I said when I had finished reading the letter, "I amdeeply humiliated that Blakely should have done this."
"Still, I suppose you would marry him if I gave my consent."
"I would not," I replied hotly. "I might marry him without yourconsent, for I love him dearly; but I would never consider you hadgiven your consent if it were forced from you by trickery."
"You wouldn't?"
"I would not."
"But if he doesn't bring the duke back my dinner will be ruined."
"I will telegraph him myself," I said.
"Supposing he won't come?"
"Blakely will come if I ask him to."
"And you will do this for me?"
"No; I am not doing it for you."
"Then why--"
"Because I cannot bear to have Blakely act so ungenerously towardhis mother."
"He has but used my own weapons against me," she remarkedthoughtfully.
"Your weapons are quite unworthy of him, Mrs. Porter." "The telegrammust be dispatched at once," she announced, glancing impatie
ntly ather watch.
"If you will call the office and ask them to send up a boy with someforms, I will think over what I wish to say," I said.
When the boy arrived I had decided upon my message. It was:
"BLAKELY PORTER, Ventura."
"If you do not return at once with your captive I shall considerthat we have never met."
"ELIZABETH."
I wrote it out on a form and handed it to Mrs. Porter. "Will thatdo?" I asked.
She read it at a glance. "Yes," she said, "it will do. Here, boy,see that this is rushed."
"I'm glad it was satisfactory," I said. "Good afternoon, Mrs.Porter."
"My dear girl....."
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Porter."
Still she did not go. I realized her predicament, and was childishenough to enjoy it, for Blakely's mother could not bear to accept afavor from a social inferior. Had I been a child, she would havepatted me on the head and presented me with a sugar plum. As mattersstood she was quite at sea; she wished to do something gracious--shedidn't know how.
To make her position more impossible, who should come stalking intothe room but Dad,--dear, unsuspecting Dad. When he saw Mrs. Porterhe immediately jumped at a whole row of conclusions.
"Well, well well!" he said. "This is a sight that does me good. I'mvery glad indeed to see you, Mrs. Porter. Your son has had an ideathat you were opposed to meeting Elizabeth; but I knew he couldn'tbe right. And here you are; calling on her? Well, well, well!Elizabeth, haven't you any tea to offer Blakely's mother!"
"Mrs. Porter was just leaving," I managed to say. "She has been heresome time."
Dad beamed on us both.
"I told Blakely, Elizabeth couldn't marry him until you consented,"he blundered on, "but now I suppose it is all arranged. Thesechildren of ours are wonderfully impatient. I'm as fond of Blakelyas if he were my own son, and you'll feel the same about Elizabethwhen you've known her longer."
"Don't let Dad keep you, Mrs. Porter," I said. "I'm sure you havemany things to attend to."
Blakely's mother who had been standing like one in a dream, now wokeup.
"Yes," she said, "I must be going. I called informally on Elizabethto beg you both to come to my dinner to-night."
"I told her we couldn't possibly come," I began. "Nonsense! Ofcourse we can come," Dad declared. "It will quite upset Blakely ifyou don't come, and I shall be so disappointed."
"There, there," said Dad, "you're not going to disappoint Blakely'smother by refusing."
"No," I replied. "If Mrs. Porter really wants us we shall bedelighted to come."
"If either of you fails me it will make me most unhappy," she said,and there was a note of sincerity, in her voice that wasunmistakable.
"Thank you," I murmured. "We shall not fail you."
Chapter Ten
When Blakely returned with the grand duke, he came straight to me.What he expected was an explanation; what he actually received wasthe worst scolding of his life. But the poor boy was so apologeticand so humble, I finally relented, and kissed him, and told him allabout his mother's call, and its surprising consequences.
"I suppose I should be grateful," I said, "but the idea of going tothe ducal dinner fills me with rage."
"Let's be ill, and dine together."
"I can't, I've given my word. And then there's Dad; he feels nowthat all the prophecies he has uttered in regard to your mother haveat last come true. It's only my wicked pride that's talking, dear.Please don't pay any attention to it."
And then Blakely said one of the sweetest things he ever said to me.Of course, it wasn't true but it made me so happy. "Dearest," hesaid "everything I should love best to be, you are."
Before dressing for dinner, Dad came to my room "to talk thingsover," as he put it. He was so superbly satisfied with himself andthe world, I could hardly forbear a smile.
"Naturally, I should be the last person to say 'I told you so',Elizabeth, but you see what patience has done. It is always best tobe patient, my child."
"Yes, Dad." "Blakely's mother has acted very handsomely toward us,considering--"
"Very handsomely, CONSIDERING," I agreed.
"And we must try to meet her half way." "Yes, Dad."
"No doubt she had her reasons for behaving as she did."
"I'm sure of it."
"You see, my dear, I've understood the situation from the veryfirst."
"You sweet old simpleton, of course you have! But here it is halfpast seven, and you haven't begun to dress. Be off with you."
Although, at first, I had felt it would be all but impossible for meto attend Mrs. Porter's dinner, my talk with Blakely had so raisedmy spirits that now I was able to face the ordeal with somethingvery like serenity. What did it matter? What did anything matter, solong as Blakely loved me? Then, too, I knew I was looking my verybest; my white lace gown was a dream; Valentine had never done myhair so becomingly.
When Blakely called at our rooms for Dad and me, I was not at allunhappy. And the dear boy was so relieved to see it! I will confess,however, to one moment of real terror as we approached the drawingroom where we were to join our hostess. But her greeting was mostcordial and reassuring. And when she begged me to stand up with her,and help her receive her guests, I almost felt at home, for I knewit meant her surrender was unconditional.
After, that, it was like a beautiful dream. Except that some of the"Choicest Flowers" of San Francisco society were fearfully andfashionably late, nothing occurred to disturb the social atmosphere.And when, on entering the dining room, I saw how the guests wereplaced, I could have hugged Blakely's mother. For where do yousuppose she had put Dad? On her left! Of course the duke, as guestof honor, was on her right; and I sat next to the duke, and Blakelysat next to me.
By placing us so, Mrs. Porter had supplied the balance of the tablewith a topic of conversation, always a desirable addition to adinner party; I noted with amusement the lifted eyebrows, theexpressions of wonder and resentment on the faces of some of theguests. Nor did it seem to add to their pleasure that their hostessdevoted herself to Dad, while the duke and Blakely developed aspirited, though friendly, rivalry as to which should monopolizelittle Mimi.
But the real sensation was to occur when the champagne was poured.(I could hardly believe my eyes, of my ears, either). For who shouldrise in his place but Dad! Yes, there he stood, the old darling, abrimming champagne glass in his hand, a beatific expression on hisface. And this is what he was saying:
"Our hostess has asked me to do something, which is to announce theengagement of my daughter and her son. Let us drink to theirhappiness."
"Bravo!" cried the Duke. "I give the American three cheers: Rah,rah, rah!" "How delightfully boyish the dear Duke is," observed Mrs.Sanderson-Spear, beaming at him from across the table.
"So ingenious, I mean so ingenuous," assented a languid lady fromSan Francisco. "But we must stand up; toute le monde is standing up,my dear."
And so it was, standing up to drink our healths, Blakely's and mine,while Blakely held my hand under the table.
"Bravo!" cried the Duke. "It ees delightful. I cannot make thespeech, mais, mademoiselle, monsieur--I drink your health." Hedrained his glass, then flung it, with a magnificent gesture, overhis shoulder. "It ees so we drink to royalty," he said.
Such a noble example naturally had its effect; there followed aperfect shower of glasses. Indeed, I think every one at tableindulged in this pretty piece of extravagance except the third sonof an English baronet, who was too busy explaining how it was doneat home: "Purely a British custom, you understand--the wardroom of aman-of-war, d'ye see.--They were officers of a Scotch regiment, andthey drank it standing on their chairs, with one foot on the table.And, by gad, I didn't care for it!"--No doubt I should have learnedmore concerning this purely British custom if the Pierpont Morgan ofPennsylvania hadn't called on Blakely for a speech, just then. PoorBlakely! He didn't know at all how to make a speech. Thought I mustsay I was rather glad of it; the most tiresome thing abo
ut Americansis their eternal speechmaking, I think.
Blakely having faltered his few words of thanks, some one proposedthe duke's health; but that had to wait till new glasses werebrought in and filled. Altogether, then, instead of being a solemn,dignified affair, such as one might have expected, it was atremendously jolly dinner--a little rowdy, perhaps, but delightfullyfriendly. If I had entered the dining room as Old Tom Middleton'sdaughter, "who actually used to live over a livery stable, my dear,"it was not so I left it; for the nimbus of the sacred name of Porterhad already begun to shed its beautiful light on my many graces andsocial accomplishments. Indeed, when I retired with my hostess tothe drawing room, it was to hold a sort of reception; Mrs. TudorCarstairs vied with Mrs. Sanderson-Spear in assurances of regard,"Choicest Flowers" expressed approval, the German baroness, blessher, conferred the distinction of a motherly kiss. And Blakely'smother was so gracious, so kind and considerate, it was hard tobelieve we had faced each other, five hours before, with somethingvery like hatred in our eyes.
When Blakely and Dad, and the other men joined us, I was so happy Icould have kicked both my slippers to the ceiling. I might havedisgraced myself doing it, too, if the third son of the Englishbaronet hadn't come up just then to felicitate me. He would havedone it charmingly if he hadn't felt constrained to add thatAmericans always say "dook" instead of "duke," that nobody presentseemed to realize the proper way to address a nephew of the Czar wasto call him Monseigneur, that the Olympic games in London had beenconducted admirably, arid that he didn't believe in marriage,anyway.
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