CHAPTER X
DRIVING HEAD-ON
It was mid-afternoon when they began to pass through that series ofsuburbs which the city has flung like a single tentacle northward fora hundred miles along the eastern banks of the Hudson.
A smooth road of bluestone with a surface like velvet, rarely brokenby badly paved or badly worn sections, ran straight south. Pastmansions standing amid spacious lawns all ablaze with late summer andearly autumn flowers they sped; past parks, long stretches of walls,high fences of wrought iron through which brief glimpses of woodlandsand splendid gardens caught Rue's eye. And, every now and then,slowing down to traverse some village square and emerging from thefurther limits, the great river flashed into view, sometimes glassystill under high headlands or along towering parapets of mountains,sometimes ruffled and silvery where it widened into bay or inland sea,with a glimmer of distant villages on the further shore.
Over the western bank a blinding sun hung in a sky without a cloud--asky of undiluted azure; but farther south, and as the sun declined,traces of vapours from the huge but still distant city stained theheavens. Gradually the increasing haze changed from palest lavenderand lemon-gold to violet and rose with smouldering undertones of fire.Beneath it the river caught the stains in deeper tones, flowing insombre washes of flame or spreading wide under pastel tints ofturquoise set with purple.
Now, as the sun hung lower, the smoke of every river boat, everylocomotive speeding along the shores below, lay almost motionlessabove the water, tinged with the delicate enchantment of decliningday.
And into this magic veil Rue was passing already through the calm of alate August afternoon, through tree-embowered villages and towns, thenames of which she did not know--swiftly, inexorably passing into theiris-grey obscurity where already the silvery points of arc-lightsstretched away into intricate geometrical designs--faint traceries asyet sparkling with subdued lustre under the sunset heavens.
Vast shadowy shapes towered up ahead--outlying public buildings,private institutions, industrial plants, bridges of iron and steel,the ponderous bowed spans of which crossed wildernesses of railroadtracks or craft-crowded waters.
Two enormous arched viaducts of granite stretched away throughsparkling semi-obscurity--High Bridge and Washington Bridge. Then itbecame an increasing confusion of phantom masses against a fadingsky--bridges, towers, skyscrapers, viaducts, boulevards, a wildernessof streets outlined by the growing brilliancy of electric lamps.
Brandes, deftly steering through the swarming maze of twilightavenues, turned east across the island, then swung south along thecurved parapets and spreading gardens of Riverside Drive.
Perhaps Brandes was tired; he had become uncommunicative, inclined tosilence. He did point out to her the squat, truncated mass where thegreat General slept; called her attention to the river below, wherethree grey battleships lay. A bugle call from the decks came faintlyto her ears.
If Rue was tired she did not know it as the car swept her steadilydeeper amid the city's wonders.
On her left, beyond the trees, the great dwellings and apartments ofthe Drive were already glimmering with light in every window; to theright, under the foliage of this endless necklace of parks andcircles, a summer-clad throng strolled and idled along the river wall;and past them moved an unbroken column of automobiles, taxicabs, andomnibuses.
At Seventy-second Street they turned to the east across the park, theninto Fifth Avenue south once more. She saw the name of the celebratedavenue on the street corner, turned to glance excitedly at Brandes;but his preoccupied face was expressionless, almost forbidding, so sheturned again in quest of other delightful discoveries. But there wasnothing to identify for her the houses, churches, hotels, shops, onthis endless and bewildering avenue of grey stone; as they swung westinto Forty-second Street, she caught sight of the great marble mass ofthe Library, but had no idea what it was.
Into this dusky canon, aflame with light, they rolled, where streetlamps, the lamps of vehicles, and electric signs dazzled herunaccustomed eyes so that she saw nothing except a fiery vista filledwith the rush and roar of traffic.
When they stopped, the chauffeur dropped from the rumble and camearound to where a tall head porter in blue and silver uniform wasopening the tonneau door.
Brandes said to his chauffeur:
"Here are the checks. Our trunks are at the Grand Central. Get themaboard, then come back here for us at ten o'clock."
The chauffeur lifted his hand to his cap, and looked stealthilybetween his fingers at Brandes.
"Ten o'clock," he repeated; "very good, sir."
Rue instinctively sought Brandes' arm as they entered the crowdedlobby, then remembered, blushed, and withdrew her hand.
Brandes had started toward the desk with the intention of registeringand securing a room for the few hours before going aboard the steamer;but something halted him--some instinct of caution. No, he would notregister. He sent their luggage to the parcels room, found a maid whotook Rue away, then went on through into the bar, where he took astiff whisky and soda, a thing he seldom did.
In the toilet he washed and had himself brushed. Then, emerging, hetook another drink _en passant_, conscious of an odd, dull sense ofapprehension for which he could not account.
At the desk they told him there was no telephone message for him. Hesauntered over to the news stand, stared at the display ofperiodicals, but had not sufficient interest to buy even an eveningpaper.
So he idled about the marble-columned lobby, now crowded with atypical early-autumn throng in quest of dinner and the variousnocturnal amusements which the city offers at all times to thefrequenters of its thousand temples.
Rue came out of the ladies' dressing room, and he went to her andguided her into the dining-room on the left, where an orchestra wasplaying. In her blue, provincial travelling gown the slender girllooked oddly out of place amid lace and jewels and the delicate tintsof frail evening gowns, but her cheeks were bright with colour and hergrey eyes brilliant, and the lights touched her thick chestnut hairwith a ruddy glory, so that more than one man turned to watch herpass, and the idly contemptuous indifference of more than one womanended at her neck and chin.
What Rue ate she never afterward remembered. It was all merely asuccession of delicious sensations for the palate, for the eye, forthe ear when the excellent orchestra was playing some gay overturefrom one of the newer musical comedies or comic operas.
Brandes at times seemed to shake off a growing depression and rousehimself to talk to her, even jest with her. He smoked cigarettesoccasionally during dinner, a thing he seldom did, and, when coffeewas served, he lighted one of his large cigars.
Rue, excited under an almost childishly timid manner, leaned on thetable with both elbows and linked fingers, listening, watchingeverything with an almost breathless intelligence which strove tocomprehend.
People left; others arrived; the music continued. Several times peoplepassing caught Brandes' eye, and bowed and smiled. He eitheracknowledged such salutes with a slight and almost surly nod, orignored them altogether.
One of his short, heavy arms lay carelessly along the back of hischair, where he was sitting sideways looking at the people in thelobby--watching with that same odd sensation of foreboding of which hehad been conscious from the first moment he had entered the cityline.
What reason for apprehension he had he could not understand. Only anhour lay between him and the seclusion of the big liner; a few hoursand he and this girl beside him would be at sea.
Once he excused himself, went out to the desk, and made an inquiry.But there was no telephone or telegraph message for him; and he cameback chewing his cigar.
Finally his uneasiness drew him to his feet again:
"Rue," he said, "I'm going out to telephone to Mr. Stull. It may takesome little time. You don't mind waiting, do you?"
"No," she said.
"Don't you want another ice or something?"
She confessed that she did.
So
he ordered it and went away.
As she sat leisurely tasting her ice and watching with unflagginginterest the people around her, she noticed that the dining-room wasalready three-quarters empty. People were leaving for cafe, theatre,or dance; few remained.
Of these few, two young men in evening dress now arose and walkedtoward the lobby, one ahead of the other. One went out; the other, inthe act of going, glanced casually at her as he passed, hesitated,halted, then, half smiling, half inquiringly, came toward her.
"Jim Neeland!" she exclaimed impulsively. "--I mean _Mr._ Neeland----"a riot of colour flooding her face. But her eager hand remainedoutstretched. He took it, pressed it lightly, ceremoniously, and,still standing, continued to smile down at her.
Amid all this strange, infernal glitter; amid a city of six millionstrangers, suddenly to encounter a familiar face--to seesomebody--anybody--from Gayfield--seemed a miracle too delightful tobe true.
"You are Rue Carew," he said. "I was not certain for a moment. Youknow we met only once before."
Rue, conscious of the startled intimacy of her first greeting, blushedwith the memory. But Neeland was a tactful young man; he said easily,with his very engaging smile:
"It was nice of you to remember me so frankly and warmly. You have noidea how pleasant it was to hear a Gayfield voice greet me as 'Jim.'"
"I--didn't intend to----"
"Please intend it in future, Rue. You don't mind, do you?"
"No."
"And will you ever forget that magnificent winter night when we droveto Brookhollow after the party?"
"I have--remembered it."
"So have I.... Are you waiting for somebody? Of course you are," headded, laughing. "But may I sit down for a moment?"
"Yes, I wish you would."
So he seated himself, lighted a cigarette, glanced up at her andsmiled.
"When did you come to New York?" he asked.
"Tonight."
"Well, isn't that a bit of luck to run into you like this! Have youcome here to study art?"
"No.... Yes, I think, later, I am to study art here."
"At the League?"
"I don't know."
"Better go to the League," he said. "Begin there anyway. Do you knowwhere it is?"
"No," she said.
He called a waiter, borrowed pencil and pad, and wrote down theaddress of the Art Students' League. He had begun to fold the paperwhen a second thought seemed to strike him, and he added his ownaddress.
"In case I can do anything for you in any way," he explained.
Rue thanked him, opened her reticule, and placed the folded paperthere beside her purse.
"I do hope I shall see you soon again," he said, looking gaily, almostmischievously into her grey eyes. "This certainly resembles fate.Don't you think so, Rue--this reunion of ours?"
"Fate?" she repeated.
"Yes. I should even call it romantic. Don't you think our meeting thisway resembles something very much like romance?"
She felt herself flushing, tried to smile:
"It couldn't resemble anything," she explained with quaint honesty,"because I am sailing for Europe tomorrow morning; I am going on boardin less than an hour. And also--also, I----"
"Also?"--he prompted her, amused, yet oddly touched by her childishlyliteral reply.
"I am--married."
"Good Lord!" he said.
"This morning," she added, tasting her ice.
"And you're sailing for Europe on your honeymoon!" he exclaimed."Well, upon my word! And what is your ship?"
"The _Lusitania_."
"Really! I have a friend who is sailing on her--a most charming woman.I sent flowers to her only an hour ago."
"Did you?" asked Rue, interested.
"Yes. She is a widow--the Princess Mistchenka--a delightful and prettywoman. I am going to send a note to the steamer tonight sayingthat--that my very _particular_ friend, Ruhannah Carew, is on board,and won't she ask you to tea. You'd love her, Rue. She's a regularwoman."
"But--oh, dear!--a Princess!"
"You won't even notice it," he said reassuringly. "She's a corker;she's an artist, too. I couldn't begin to tell you how nice she hasbeen to me. By the way, Rue, whom did you marry?"
"Mr. Brandes."
"Brandes? I don't remember--was he from up-state?"
"No; New York--I think----"
As she bent forward to taste her ice again he noticed for the firsttime the childlike loveliness of her throat and profile; looked at herwith increasing interest, realising that she had grown into a mostengaging creature since he had seen her.
Looking up, and beyond him toward the door, she said:
"I think your friend is waiting for you. Had you forgotten him?"
"Oh, that's so!" he exclaimed. Then rising and offering his hand: "Iwish you happiness, Rue. You have my address. When you return, won'tyou let me know where you are? Won't you let me know your husband?"
"Yes."
"Please do. You see you and I have a common bond in art, another inour birthplace. Gayfield folk are your own people and mine. Don'tforget me, Rue."
"No, I won't."
So he took his leave gracefully and went away through the enthralling,glittering unreality of it all leaving a young girl thrilled,excited, and deeply impressed with his ease and bearing amidawe-inspiring scenes in which she, too, desired most ardently to findherself at ease.
Also she thought of his friend, the Princess Mistchenka. And again, asbefore, the name seemed to evoke within her mind a recollection ofhaving heard it before, very long ago.
She wondered whether Neeland would remember to write, and if he didshe wondered whether a real princess would actually condescend toinvite her to take tea.
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