by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER XII
THE ALLIES
Seldom, if ever, has a more strangely assorted party met at dinnerthan that which gathered in the Hotel Kursaal under the social wing ofMrs. de la Vere. Her husband, while being coached in essentials, wasthe first to discover its incongruities.
"Where Miss Wynton is concerned, you are warned off," his wife toldhim dryly. "You must console yourself with Mrs. Badminton-Smythe. Shewill stand anything to cut out a younger and prettier woman."
"Where do you come in, Edie?" said he; for Mrs. de la Vere's delicatearistocratic beauty seemed to be the natural complement of hersporting style, and to-night there was a wistful charm in her facethat the lively Reginald had not seen there before.
She turned aside, busying herself with her toilet. "I don't come in.I went out five years ago," she cried, with a mocking laugh.
"Do you know," he muttered, "I often wonder why the deuce you an' Igot married."
"Because, sweet Reginald, we were made for each other by a wiseProvidence. What other woman of your acquaintance would tolerateyou--as a husband?"
"Oh, dash it all! if it comes to that----"
"For goodness' sake, don't fuss, or begin to think. Run away andinterview the head waiter. Then you are to buttonhole Bower and theAmerican. I am just sending a chit to the Badminton-Smythes."
"Who is my partner?"
"Lulu, of course."
De la Vere was puzzled, and looked it. "I suppose it is all right," hegrowled. "Still, I can't help thinking you've got something up yoursleeve, Edie."
She stamped a very pretty foot angrily. "Do as I tell you! Didn'tyou hear what Bower said? He will be everlastingly obliged to us forcoming to the rescue in this fashion. Next time you have a flutter inthe city, his friendship may be useful."
"By gad!" cried Reginald, beginning, as he fancied, to see light,"something seems to have bitten you this evening. Tell you what--Luluis a non-runner. Get Bower to put you on to a soft thing in Africans,an' you an' I will have a second honeymoon in Madeira next winter.Honor bright! I mean it."
She seized a silver mounted brush from the dressing table with theobvious intent of speeding his departure. He dodged out, and strolleddown the corridor.
"Never saw Edie in that sort of tantrum before," he said to himself."If she only knew how sick I was of all this jolly rot, p'r'aps we'drun better in double harness."
So it came to pass, when the company assembled in the great diningroom, that Bower sat on Mrs. de la Vere's left, and Spencer on herright. Beyond them, respectively, were Lulu Badminton-Smythe and herhusband, and between these latter were de la Vere and Helen. Thus, thegirl was separated from the two men whom her shrewd eyed hostess hadclassed as rivals, while the round table made possible a generalconversation.
The talk could hardly fail to turn on the day's adventures. Spencer,who had never before in his life thrust himself forward in a socialgathering, did so now with fixed purpose. He meant to eclipse Bower ina territory where that polished man of the world was accustomed toreign unchallenged. But he had the wisdom to wait. He guessed, notwithout good cause, that more than one late arrival would pause besidetheir table and make polite inquiries as to the climbers' well being.These interruptions were fatal to Bower's well balanced periods. Thejourney to the hut, therefore, was dealt with jerkily.
When Spencer took up the thread, he caught and held the attention ofhis hearers. In this he was helped considerably by his quaint idioms.To English ears, American expressions are always amusing. Spencer, ofcourse, could speak quite as correct English as anyone present; buthe realized that in this instance a certain amount of picturesqueexaggeration would lend itself to humor. His quick ear too had missednone of the queer mixture of prayers and objurgations with which Karland the two guides hailed every incident. His selections set them allin a roar. In fact, they were the liveliest party in the room. Many aneye was drawn by a merriment that offered such striking contrast tothe dramatic episode in the outer hall.
"The one person missing from that crowd is the stage lady," was MissGladys Wragg's caustic comment, when Badminton-Smythe evoked a freshoutburst by protesting that he forgot to eat his fish owing toSpencer's beastly funny yarn.
And Miss Wragg's criticism was justified. It only needed Millicent'spresence to add a wizard's touch to the amazement with which Mrs.Vavasour and others of her kind regarded the defection of the de laVeres and the Badminton-Smythes. But Millicent was dining in her ownroom. The last thing she dreamed of was that Helen would face theother residents in the hotel after the ordeal she had gone through anhour earlier. She half expected that Bower would endeavor to meet herprivately while dinner was being served. She was ready for him. Sheprepared a number of sarcastic little speeches, each with a subtlevenom of its own, and even rehearsed a pose or two with a view towardscenic effect. But she had neither taken Bower's measure nor countedon Mrs. de la Vere's superior strategy. All that happened was that sheate a lukewarm meal, and was left to wonder at her one-time admirer'sboldness in accepting a situation that many a daring man would havestriven to evade.
After dinner it was the custom of the habitues to break up into smallgroups and arrange the night's amusement. Dancing claimed the youngerelement, while card games had their devotees. Mrs. de la Vere dancedinvariably; but to-night she devoted herself to Helen. She was underno illusions. Bower and Spencer were engaged in a quiet duel, and thevictor meant to monopolize the girl for the remainder of the evening.That was preventable. They could fight their battle on some otheroccasion. At present there was one thing of vital importance,--theunpleasant impression created by the actress's bitter attack must bedissipated, and Mrs. de la Vere, secretly marveling at her ownenthusiasm, aimed at the achievement.
"Don't be drawn away from me on any pretext," she whispered, linkingher arm through Helen's as they passed out into the foyer. "And begracious to everybody, even to those who have been most cattish."
Helen was far too excited and grateful to harbor animosity. Moreover,she dreaded the chance of being left alone with Bower. As he hadalready declared his intentions publicly, she was sure he would seizethe first opportunity to ask her to marry him. And what would be heranswer? She hardly knew. She must have time to think. She must searchher own heart. She almost flinched from the succeeding thought,--wasit that her soul had found another mate? If that was so, she mustrefuse Bower, though the man she was learning to love might pass outof her life and leave her desolate.
She liked Bower, even respected him. Never for an instant had thenotion intruded that he had followed her to Switzerland with anunworthy motive. To her mind, nothing could be more straightforwardthan their acquaintance. The more she reflected on Millicent Jaques'sextraordinary conduct, the more she was astounded by its utterbaselessness. And Bower was admirable in many ways. He stood high inthe opinion of the world. He was rich, cultured, and seemingly verydeeply enamored of her undeserving self. What better husband could anygirl desire? He would give her everything that made life worth living.Indeed, if the truth must be told, she was phenomenally lucky.
Thus did she strive to silence misgivings, to quell doubt, to orderand regulate a blurred medley of subconscious thought. While laughing,and talking, and making the most successful efforts to be at easewith the dozens of people who came and spoke to Mrs. de la Vere andherself, she felt like some frail vessel dancing blithely in a swift,smooth current, yet hastening ever to the verge of a cataract.
Once Bower approached, skillfully piloting Mrs. Badminton-Smythe; forReginald, tiring of the role thrust on him by his wife, had gone toplay bridge. It was his clear intent to take Helen from her chaperon.
"It is still snowing, though not so heavily," he said. "Come on theveranda, and look at the landscape. The lake is a pool of ink in themiddle of a white table cloth."
"The snow will be far more visible in the morning, and we have a lotof ice to melt here," interposed Mrs. de la Vere quickly.
The man and woman, both well versed in the ways of society, lookedeach
other squarely in the eye. Though disappointed, the manunderstood, was even appreciative.
"Miss Wynton is fortunate in her friends," he said, and straightwaywent to the writing room. He felt that Helen was safe with thisunexpected ally. He could afford to bide his time. Nothing could nowundo the effect of his open declaration while flouting MillicentJaques. If he gave that wayward young person a passing thought, it wasone of gladness that she had precipitated matters. There remained onlyan unpleasant meeting with Stampa in the morning. He shuddered at therecollection that he had nearly done a foolish thing while crossingthe crevasse. What sinister influence could have so weakened hisnerve as to make him think of murder? Crime was the last resource ofimpaired intellect. He was able to laugh now at the stupid memory ofit.
True, the American----
By the way, what did Millicent mean by her shrewish cry that Spencerwas paying for Helen's holiday? So engrossed was he in otherdirections that his early doubts with regard to "The Firefly's"unprecedented enterprise in sending a representative to thisout-of-the-way Swiss valley had been lulled to sleep. Of course, hehad caused certain inquiries to be made--that was his method. One ofthe telegrams he dispatched from Zurich after Helen's train bustledoff to Coire started the investigation. Thus far, a trusted clerkcould only ascertain that the newspaper had undoubtedly commissionedthe girl on the lines indicated. Still, the point demanded attention.He resolved to telegraph further instructions in the morning, withSpencer's name added as a clew, though, to be sure, he was not donewith Millicent yet. He would reckon with her also on the morrow.Perhaps, if he annoyed her sufficiently, she might explain thatcryptic taunt.
Could he have seen a letter that was brought to Spencer's room beforedinner, the telegram would not have been written. Mackenzie, ratherincoherent with indignation, sent a hurried scrawl.
"DEAR MR. SPENCER," it ran,--"A devil of a thing has happened. To-day," the date being three days old, "I went out to lunch, leaving a thick headed subeditor in charge. I had not been gone ten minutes when a stage fairy, all frills and flounces, whisked into the office and asked for Miss Wynton's address. My assistant succumbed instantly. He was nearly asphyxiated with joy at being permitted to entertain, not unawares, that angel of musical comedy, Miss Millicent Jaques. His maundering excuse is that you yourself seemed to acknowledge Miss Jaques's right to be acquainted with her friend's whereabouts. I have good reason to believe that the frail youth not only spoke of Maloja, but supplied such details as were known to him of your kindness in the matter. I have cursed him extensively; but that can make no amends. At any rate, I feel that you should be told, and it only remains for me to express my lasting regret that the incident should have occurred."
This letter, joined to certain lurid statements made by Stampa, hadinduced Spencer to accept Mrs. de la Vere's invitation. Little as hecared to dine in Bower's company, it was due to Helen that he shouldnot refuse. He was entangled neck and heels in a net of his owncontriving. For very shame's sake, he could not wriggle out, leavingHelen in the toils.
Surely there never was a day more crammed with contrarieties. Hewitnessed his adversary's rebuff, and put it down to its rightfulcause. No sooner had he discovered Mrs. de la Vere's apparent motivein keeping the girl by her side, than he was buttonholed by the Rev.Philip Hare.
"You know I am not an ardent admirer of Bower," said the cleric; "butI must admit that it was very manly of him to make that outspokenstatement about Miss Wynton."
"What statement?" asked Spencer.
"Ah, I had forgotten. You were not present, of course. He made theother woman's hysterical outburst supremely ridiculous by saying, ineffect, that he meant to marry Miss Wynton."
"He said that, eh?"
"Yes. He was quite emphatic. I rebuked Miss Jaques myself, and hethanked me."
"Everything was nicely cut and dried in my absence, it seems."
"Well--er----"
"The crowd evidently lost sight of the fact that I had carried off theprospective bride."
"N-no. Miss Jaques called attention to it."
"Guess her head is screwed on straight, _padre_. She made a bad breakin attacking Miss Wynton; but when she set about Bower she was runningon a strong scent. Sit tight, Mr. Hare. Don't take sides, or whoop upthe wrong spout, and you'll see heaps of fun before you're mucholder."
Mightily incensed, the younger man turned away. The vicar produced hishandkerchief and trumpeted into it loudly.
"God bless my soul!" he said, and repeated the pious wish, for he feltthat it did him good, "how does one whoop up the wrong spout? And whathappens if one does? And how remarkably touchy everybody seems tobe. Next time I apply to the C.M.S. for an Alpine station, I shallstipulate for a low altitude. I am sure this rarefied air is bad forthe nerves."
Nevertheless, Hare's startling communication was the one thing neededto clear away the doubts that beset Spencer at the dinner table. Hehad seen Mrs. de la Vere enter Helen's bedroom when he left the girlin charge of a gesticulating maid; but an act of womanly solicitudedid not explain the friendship that sprang so suddenly into existence.Now he understood, or thought he understood, which is a man's way whenhe seeks to interpret a woman's mind. Mrs. de la Vere, like the rest,was dazzled by Bower's wealth. After ignoring Helen during the pastfortnight, she was prepared to toady to her instantly in her new guiseas the chosen bride of a millionaire. The belief added fuel to thefire already raging in his breast.
There never was man more loyal to woman in his secret meditations thanSpencer; but his gorge rose at the sight of Helen's winsome gratitudeto one so unworthy of it. With him, now as ever, to think was to act.
Watching his chance, he waylaid Helen when her vigilant chaperon wasmomentarily absorbed in a suggestion that private theatricals and therehearsal of a minuet would relieve the general tedium while the snowheld.
"Spare me five minutes, Miss Wynton," he said. "I want to tell yousomething."
Mrs. de la Vere pirouetted round on him before the girl could answer.
"Miss Wynton is just going to bed," she informed him graciously. "Youknow how tired she is, Mr. Spencer. You must wait till the morning."
"I don't feel like waiting; but I promise to cut down my remarks toone minute--by the clock." He answered Mrs. de la Vere, but looked atHelen.
Her color rose and fell almost with each beat of her heart. She sawthe steadfast purpose in his eyes, and shrank from the decision shewould be called upon to make. Hardly realizing what form the wordstook, she gave faint utterance to the first lucid idea that presenteditself. "I think--I must really--go to my room," she murmured. "Youwouldn't--like me--to faint twice in one evening--Mr. Spencer?"
It was an astonishing thing to say, the worst thing possible. Itbetrayed an exact knowledge of his purpose in seeking this interview.His eyes blazed with a quick light. It seemed that he was answeredbefore he spoke.
"Not one second. Go away, do!" broke in Mrs. de la Vere, whiskingHelen toward the elevator without further parley. But she shot aglance at Spencer over her shoulder that he could not fail tointerpret as a silent message of encouragement. Forthwith he viewedher behavior from a more favorable standpoint.
"Guess the feminine make-up is more complex than I counted on," hecommuned, as he bent over a table to find a match, that being acommonplace sort of action calculated to disarm suspicion, lest othersmight be observing him, and wondering why the women retired sopromptly.
"I like your American, my dear," said Mrs. de la Vere sympathetically,in the solitude of the corridor.
Helen was silent.
"If you want to cry, don't mind me," went on the kindly cynic. "I'mcoming in with you. I'll light up while you weep, and then you musttell me all about it. That will do you a world of good."
"There's n-n-nothing to tell!" bleated Helen.
"Oh yes, there is. You silly child, to-morrow you will have to choosebetween those two men. Which shall it be? I said before dinner that Icouldn't
help you to decide. Perhaps I was mistaken. Anyhow, I'lltry."
* * * * *
At midnight the snow storm ceased, the wind died away, and the stillair deposited its vapor on hills and valley in a hoar frost. The sunrose with a magnificent disregard for yesterday's riot.
Spencer's room faced the southeast. When the valet drew his blind inthe morning the cold room was filled with a balmy warmth. A glancethrough the window, however, dispelled a germ of hope that Helen andhe might start on the promised walk to Vicosoprano. The snow lay deepin the pass, and probably extended a mile or two down into the Valeof Bregaglia. The rapid thaw that would set in during the forenoonmight clear the roads before sunset. Next day, walking would bepracticable; to-day it meant wading.
He looked through the Orlegna gorge, and caught the silvery sheen ofthe Cima di Rosso's snow capped summit. Hardly a rock was visible. Thegale had clothed each crag with a white shroud. All day long the upperreaches of the glacier would be pelted by avalanches. It struck himthat an early stroll to the highest point of the path beyond Cavlocciomight be rewarded with a distant view of several falls. In any case,it provided an excellent pretext for securing Helen's company, and hewould have cheerfully suggested a trip in a balloon to attain the sameobject.
The temperature of his bath water induced doubts as to the imminenceof the thaw. Indeed, the air was bitterly cold as yet. The snow layclosely on roads and meadow land. It had the texture of fine powder.Passing traffic left shallow, well defined marks. A couple ofstablemen swung their arms to restore circulation. The breath ofhorses and cattle showed in dense clouds.
For once in his life the color of a tie and the style of his clothesbecame matters of serious import. At first, he was blind to the humorof it. He hesitated between the spruce tightness of a suit fashionedby a New York tailor and the more loosely designed garments he hadpurchased in London. Then he laughed and reddened. Flinging bothaside, he chose the climber's garb worn the previous day, and began todress hurriedly. Therein he was well advised. Nothing could betterbecome his athletic figure. He was that type of man who looks thinnerwhen fully clothed. He had never spared himself when asking others towork hard, and he received his guerdon now in a frame of iron andsinews of pliant steel.
Helen usually came down to breakfast at half-past eight. She had thehealthy British habit of beginning the day with a good meal, andSpencer indulged in the conceit that he might be favored with atete-a-tete before they started for the projected walk. Neither Bowernor Mrs. de la Vere ever put in an appearance at that hour. ThoughAmericans incline to the Continental manner of living, this trueWesterner found himself a sudden convert to English methods. In aword, he was in love, and his lady could not err. To please her he wasprepared to abjure iced water--even to drink tea.
But, as often happens, his cheery mood was destined to end indisappointment. He lingered a whole hour in the _salle a manger_,but Helen came not. Then he rose in a panic. What if she hadbreakfasted in her room, and was already basking in the sunlitveranda--perhaps listening to Bower's eloquence? He rushed out sosuddenly that his waiter was amazed. Really, these Americans wereincomprehensible--weird as the English. The two races dwelt farapart, but they moved in the same erratic orbit. To the stolid Germanmind they were human comets, whose comings and goings were not to begaged by any reasonable standard.
No, the veranda was empty--to him. Plenty of people greeted him; butthere was no Helen. Ultimately he reflected that their appointment wasfor ten o'clock. He calmed down, and a pipe became obvious. He wasenjoying that supremest delight of the smoker--the first soothingwhiffs of the day's tobacco--when a servant brought him a note. Thehandwriting was strange to his eyes; but a premonition told him thatit was Helen's. Somehow, he expected that she would write in a clear,strong, legible way. He was not mistaken. She sent a friendly littlemessage that she was devoting the morning to work. The weather made itimpossible to go to Vicosoprano, and in any event she did not feelequal to a long walk. "Yesterday's events," she explained, "took moreout of me than I imagined."
Well, she had been thinking of him, and that counted. He was staringat the snow covered tennis courts, and wondering how soon the valleywould regain its summer aspect, when Stampa limped into sight roundthe corner of the hotel. He stood at the foot of the broad flight ofsteps, as though waiting for someone. Spencer was about to join himfor a chat, when he recollected that Bower and the guide had anarrangement to meet in the morning.
With the memory came a queer jumble of impressions. Stampa's story,told overnight, was a sad one; but the American was too fair minded toaffect a moral detestation of Bower because of a piece of folly thatwrecked a girl's life sixteen years ago. If the sins of a man's youthwere to shadow his whole life, then charity and regeneration must becast out of the scheme of things. Moreover, Bower's version of theincident might put a new face on it. There was no knowing how he toohad been tempted and suffered. That he raged against the resurrectionof a bygone misdeed was shown by his mad impulse to kill Stampa on theglacier. That such a man, strong in the power of his wealth and socialposition, should even dream of blotting out the past by a crime,offered the clearest proof of the frenzy that possessed him as soon ashe recognized Etta Stampa's father.
Not one word of his personal belief crossed Spencer's lips during thetalk with the guide. Rather did he impress on his angry and vengefulhearer that a forgotten scandal should be left in its tomb. He tookthis line, not that he posed as a moralist, but because he hated toacknowledge, even to himself, that he was helped in his wooing byHelen's horror of his rival's lapse from the standard every pureminded woman sets up in her ideal lover. Ethically, he might be wrong;in his conscience he was justified. He had suffered too grievouslyfrom every species of intrigue and calumny during his own career notto be ultra-sensitive in regard to the use of such agents.
Yet, watching the bent and crippled old man waiting there in the snow,a sense of pity and mourning chilled his heart with ice cold touch.
"If I were Stampa's son, if that dead girl were my sister, how would_I_ settle with Bower?" he asked, clenching his pipe firmly betweenhis teeth. "Well, I could only ask God to be merciful both to him andto me."
"Good gracious, Mr. Spencer! why that fierce gaze at our delightfulvalley?" came the voice of Mrs. de la Vere. "I am glad none of us cangive you the address of the Swiss clerk of the weather--or you wouldsurely slay him."
He turned. Convention demanded a smile and a polite greeting; butSpencer was not conventional. "You are a thought reader, Mrs. de laVere," he said.
"'One of my many attractions,' you should have added."
"I find this limpid light too critical."
"Oh, what a horrid thing to tell any woman, especially in the earlymorning!"
"I have a wretched habit of putting the second part of a sentencefirst. I really intended to say--but it is too late."
"It is rather like swallowing the sugar coating after the pill; butI'll try."
"Well, then, this crystal atmosphere does not lend itself to theobvious. If we were in London, I should catalogue your bewitchmentslest you imagined I was blind to them."
"That sounds nice, but----"
"It demands analysis, so I have failed doubly."
"I don't feel up to talking like a character in one of Henry James'snovels. And you were much more amusing last night. Have you seen MissJaques this morning?"
"No. That is, I don't think so."
"Do you know her?"
"No."
"It would be a kind thing if someone told her that there are otherplaces in Switzerland where she will command the general admirationshe deserves."
"I am inclined to believe that there is a man in the hotel who can putthat notion before her delicately."
Spencer possessed the unchanging gravity of expression that the wholeAmerican race seems to have borrowed from the Red Indian. Mrs. de laVere's eyes twinkled as she gazed at him.
"You didn't hear what was said last night," she murmured.
"WhereMillicent Jaques is concerned, delicacy is absent from Mr. Bower'smake-up--is that good New York?"
"It would be understood."
This time he smiled. Mrs. de la Vere wished to be a friend to Helen.Whatsoever her motive, the wish was excellent.
"You are severe," she pouted. "Of course I ought not to mimic you----"
"Pray do. I had no idea I spoke so nicely."
"Thank you. But I am serious. I have espoused Miss Wynton's cause, andthere will be nothing but unhappiness for her while that other girlremains here."
"I hope you are mistaken," he said slowly, meeting her quizzing glancewithout flinching.
"That is precisely where a woman's point of view differs from aman's," she countered. "In our lives we are swayed by things that mendespise. We are conscious of sidelong looks and whisperings. We dreadthe finger of scorn. When you have a wife, Mr. Spencer, you will beginto realize the limitations of the feminine horizon."
"Are you asking me to take this demonstrative young lady in hand?"
"I believe you would succeed."
Spencer smiled again. He had not credited Mrs. de la Vere with suchfine perceptiveness. If her words meant anything, they implied analliance, offensive and defensive, for Helen's benefit and his own.
"Guess we'll leave it right there till I've had a few words with MissWynton," he said, dropping suddenly into colloquial phrase.
"A heart to heart talk, in fact." She laughed pleasantly, and openedher cigarette case.
"Tell you what, Mrs. de la Vere," he said, "if ever you come toColorado I shall hail you as a real cousin!"
Then a silence fell between them. Bower was walking out of the hotel.He passed close in front of the glass partition, and might have seenthem if his eyes were not as preoccupied as his mind. But he waslooking at Stampa, and frowning in deep thought. The guide heard hisslow, heavy tread, and turned. The two met. They exchanged no word,but went away together, the lame peasant hobbling along by the side ofthe tall, well dressed plutocrat.
"How odd!" said Mrs. de la Vere. "How exceedingly odd!"
