XVIII THE ENEMY AND A FRIEND

It was a moment before Gallatin realized the full significance of the incident, but when he turned to look at Nina, he found her leaning against the wall convulsed with silent laughter.

“You knew, Nina?” he said struggling for his self-control. “You saw them—there?”

“Oh, yes, I saw them,” she replied easily. “I couldn’t help it very well.”

“You asked me to—to kiss you!” he stammered, his color rising.

“Yes, I did. You never had kissed me before, you know, Phil.”

“You—you wanted her to see,” he asserted.

“I didn’t mind her seeing—if that’s what you mean.”

“You had no right——”

She held up her hand with a mock gesture of command.

“Don’t speak! You’ll say something you’ll regret. It’s not often I ask a man to kiss me, and when I do I expect a display of softer emotions. But anger—dismay! I’m surprised at you. You’re really quite too rustic, or is it rusty? Besides, you know, I’ve done you the greatest of favors.”

“Favors!” he exclaimed.

“Precisely. In addition to accepting your—er—fraternal benediction, I’ve succeeded in creating a diversion in the ranks of the dear enemy. Jealousy is the vinegar of the salad of love, Phil. Jane is quite sure to love you madly now.”

[213]

“Come,” he said briefly, “let’s get out of this.”

“You mustn’t use that tone to me. It’s extremely annoying.”

“You’re mischievous,” he growled.

“Am I?” with derisive sweetness. “I hadn’t meant to be. Perhaps my infatuation has blinded me. I’m really very badly in love with you, Phil. And you must see that it’s extremely unpleasant for me to discover that you’re in love with somebody else. You know I can’t yield placidly. I’m not the placid kind. I may be in advance of my generation, but I’m sure if I had my way I’d abduct you to-night in the motor and fly to Hoboken.”

Gallatin laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was too absurd. And her mocking effrontery made it difficult for him to remember that a moment ago he had thought her serious.

“Fortunately, I am capable of moderating my emotions,” she went on. “My heart may be beating wildly, but behold me quietly submissive to your decision. All I ask is that you won’t offer to be a brother to me, Phil. I really couldn’t stand for that.”

“Nina, you’re the limit.”

“I know I am—I’m excited. It’s the outward and visible expression of inward and spiritual dissolution. What would you advise, Paris green or a leap from the Metropolitan Tower? One exit is plebeian, the other squashy; or had I better blow out the gas? Will you see that my headlines are not too sentimental? Not, ‘She Died for Love’; something like ‘Scorned—Social Success Suicides’ or ‘Her Last Cropper,’ are more in my line. Sorrowfully alliterative, if you like, but chastely simple. Aren’t you sorry for me, Phil?”

“Hardly. As the presentment of disappointed affection you’re not a success. Your martyrdom has all the[214] aspects of a frolic at my expense. Don’t you think you’ve made a fool of me long enough?”

“Yes, I think so. I have made a fool of you, haven’t I? I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to until I found that you had made a fool of me. I wanted company.”

Her humor changed as he turned away from her and she restrained him with a hand on his arm, her eyes seeking his.

“You’re my sort, Phil, not hers,” she whispered earnestly. “You’re a vagabond—a vagrant on life’s highway, as I am—a failure, as I am, only a worse one. You’ve tried to stem the tide against you, but you couldn’t. What have you to do with Jane Loring’s bourgeois respectability? Do you think you’ll be immune because of her? Do you think that she can cleanse you of the blood of your fathers and make you over on her own prim pattern? You’re run in a different mold. What Jane Loring wants is a stupid respectable Dodo, an impoverished patriarch with an exclusive visiting list. Let her buy one in the open market. The clubs are full of them.” She laughed aloud. “What does Jane Loring know of you? What chance have you——?”

“I think I’ve heard enough, Nina,” said Gallatin. He walked to the dining-room and stood, waiting for her to pass before him. She paused, shrugged her shoulders carelessly and, as she passed through the door, she leaned toward him and whispered.

“You’ll never marry her, Phil. Do you hear? Never!”

Gallatin inclined his head slightly and followed.

The dance was in full swing, and outside in the enclosed veranda a game of “Pussy Wants a Corner” had come to an end because Sam Purviance insisted upon standing in the middle of the floor and reciting tearfully the[215] tale of “Old Mother Hubbard and Her Dog.” Then they tried charades which failed because the actors insisted on disappearing into the wings and couldn’t be made to appear, and because the audience found personal problems more interesting. A game of “Follow My Leader,” led by Larry Kane upstairs and down, developed such amazing feats of gymnastics that Nellie Pennington rebelled.

Phil Gallatin followed Jane with his eyes, but she refused even to glance in his direction and he was very unhappy. There seemed no chance of getting a word with her, for when at the end of the dance he approached her, she snubbed him very prettily and went out with Van Duyn to sit among the palms at the end of the veranda. Gallatin felt very much like the fool Nina had said he was and wandered around from group to group joining half-heartedly in their conversations, his uneasiness apparent to any who chose to perceive. Several times Nina Jaffray passed him smiling wickedly, and once she stopped and whispered.

“Hadn’t you better go home in my car, Phil? I don’t believe there will be room for you in Jane’s.”

He laughed with an air of unconcern he was very far from feeling.

“Thanks, I’m afraid you’d take me to Hoboken.”

She went on to the dance and Gallatin watched her until she disappeared. He was alone in the dining-room. Through the door by which she had gone came the sound of the piano and the chatter of gay voices. Through the other door he could see a jovial group of his familiars sitting around a table in the center of which was a tall bottle bearing a familiar label, his Enemy enthroned as usual in this company. He was like a vessel in the chop of two tides, one of which would bring him to a safe port and the other to sea.

[216]

He looked away, hesitated, then walked hastily to the Colonial sideboard where he drew a cup of hot coffee and drank it quickly. Then he followed Nina into the dancing-room.

He waited impatiently until the dance was finished, and then, when Jane Loring was left for a moment alone, with more valor than discretion, went up to her.

“Jane,” he whispered, “you’ve got to give me a moment alone.”

She turned away, but he stood in front of her again.

“It’s all a mistake, if you’ll let me explain——”

“Let me pass, please.”

“No, not until you promise to listen to me—to-night. I’ll go in your machine, and then——”

“I’m sorry. There’s no room for you, Mr. Gallatin.”

“I must see you to-night.”

“No—not to-night,” and in lowered tones, “or any other night.”

“Jane, I——”

“Let me pass, please.”

The music began again and Percy Endicott at this moment came up, claiming her for a partner. Before Gallatin could speak again, Jane was in Endicott’s arms, and laughing gayly, was sweeping around the room to the measure of a two-step. Gallatin stared at her as though he had not been able to believe his own ears. He waited a moment and then slowly walked back toward the kitchen.

His appearance in the doorway was the signal for a shout from Egerton Savage who held a glass aloft and offered his health. His health! He swayed forward heavily. What did it matter? His blood surged. What would it matter—just once? Just once!

He lunged forward into the chair somebody pushed[217] toward him, took up the glass of champagne his host had poured for him, drained it, his eyes closed, and put it down on the table.

Just once! It was a beautiful wine—sent out for the occasion from Mr. Savage’s own collection in town, and it raced through Gallatin’s veins like quicksilver, tingling to his very finger ends. He looked up and laughed. Something had bothered him a moment ago. What was it? He had forgotten. Life was a riot of color and delight and here were his friends—his men friends—who were always glad to see a fellow, no matter what. It was good to have that kind of friends.

Somebody told a story. Gallatin had not heard the beginning of it, but he realized that he was laughing uproariously, more loudly than any one else at the table. The lights swam in a mist of tobacco smoke and the figures of the men around him were blurred. Egerton Savage had filled his glass again, and Gallatin was in the very act of reaching forward to take it when Bibby Worthington, who sat alongside, rose suddenly as though to get a match from the holder, and the sleeve of his laced coat somewhat obtrusively swept Gallatin’s glass off the table to the stone flagging.

“Beg pardon,” he said cheerfully. “There’s many a lip ’twixt the nip and the pip. Sorry, Phil.”

The crash of glass had startled Gallatin, who looked up into Worthington’s face for a possible meaning of the incident, for it was the clumsiest accident that could befall a sober man. But Bibby, his lighted match suspended in mid-air, returned his gaze with one quite calm and unwavering. Gallatin understood, and a dark flush rose under his skin. He was about to speak when Bibby broke in.

“Phil, I’m probably the most awkward person in the[218] world,” he said evenly. “The only thing about me that’s ever in the right place is my heart. Understand?”

If Gallatin had thought of replying, the words were unuttered, for he lowered his head and only muttered a word or two which could not be heard.

Bibby blew the strands of his tousled wig from his eyes and carefully brushed the liquor from his sleeve with his lace handkerchief.

“Sad thing, that,” he said gravely, “vintage, too.”

“Lucky there’s more of it,” said Savage, taking up the bottle. “Hand me one of those glasses on the side table there, Bibby.”

Worthington turned slowly away, looked down at Gallatin and a glance passed between the two men. As Bibby moved off Gallatin took out his case and hastily lit a cigarette.

“Never mind, Bibby,” he found himself saying. “No, thanks, Egerton, I’m—er—on the wagon.” He lit his cigarette, rose, opened the door, and looked out into the winter night, drinking in deep draughts of the keen air. His evil moment had passed.

“Howling success, this party, Egerton,” somebody was saying. “Listen to those infants on the veranda.”

“Hello,” cried Bibby. “It’s Bobby Shafto, by George. I’ll have to go in and make my bow. Come along, Phil. They’ll be calling for you presently. What the devil are you anyway?”

Phil Gallatin took his arm and walked out on the terrace.

“I—I’m a d—— fool, Bibby, pretty poorly masked,” he muttered heavily.

“You are, my boy. But it takes a wise man to admit he is a fool. Glad you know it. Awfully glad. Not sore, are you?”

[219]

“No,” said Gallatin slowly. “Not in the least.”

“Nothing like the crash of glass—to awake a fellow. Feel all right?”

“Yes, I—I think so.”

“I had a lot of nerve to do a thing like that, Phil, but you see——”

“I’m glad you did. I—I won’t forget it, Bibby.”

The two men clasped hands in the darkness in a new bond of friendship.

They entered the house from another door and passed through the closed veranda. Upon the floor of the living room, in a large circle facing the center, the infants sat, tailor fashion, singing lustily, and greeted Bobby Shafto’s appearance with shouts of glee. They made him get into their midst and dance, which he did with all the grace of a jackdaw, while Betty Tremaine played the accompaniment on the piano.
Bobby Shafto’s gone to sea Silver buckles on his knee He’ll come back and marry me Darling Bobby Shafto.

“But who is he going to marry?” maliciously chortled one of the débutantes, in the ensuing pause.

“You, my angel, if you’ll have me?” and leaning over he quickly kissed her.

There was a laugh at the girl’s expense and Bibby retired in triumph.

One by one the characters were summoned and noisily greeted: Old King Cole, who was Yates Rowland; Old Mother Hubbard, who was Percy Endicott (“Aptly taken, by Jove!” was Spencer’s comment) and Simple Simon, who was Dirwell De Lancey (and looked the part). But the hit of the occasion was the dance which followed[220] between Jill and the Infant Bacchus. It was clear that no nursery music would be suitable here. So Betty Tremaine’s fingers hurried into the presto of Anitra’s Dance from the “Peer Gynt” music, which caught the requirements of the occasion. The dancers were well-matched and the audience upon the floor, which had at first begun to clap its hands to the gay lilt, slowly drew back to give more room, and then finding itself in danger from the flying heels dispersed and looked on from adjacent doorways. The dance was everything and it was nothing—redowa, tarantella, cosaque, fandango, and only ended when the dancers and pianist were exhausted.

The party broke up amidst wild applause and led by Mrs. Pennington the guests were already on their way to the dressing-rooms, when Nina Jaffray, still breathless from her exertions stepped before Gallatin and whispered amusedly:

“It almost seems as if you might go with me after all, doesn’t it, Phil?” she laughed. “It’s too late for a train and all the machines but mine are crowded——”

“You’re very kind, but I think I’ll walk. It’s only twenty miles.”

“Don’t be disagreeable, Phil. Larry Kane wanted to go with me, but I’ve sent him along with Ogden Spencer—just because I wanted to apologize to you.”

“Apology!” he laughed. “Why dwell on that? Besides you’re a little too prompt to be quite sincere.”

“Haven’t you any sense of humor, Phil?”

“No.”

“What a situation! You kiss me and I apologize for it! Laugh, Phil, laugh! Mrs. Grundy is shrieking with delight. O boy! What a silly thing you look!”

“Good night, Nina.”

“No, au revoir,” she corrected. “You know, Phil,[221] you mustn’t insult me—not publicly, that is. You see you couldn’t force yourself into somebody else’s machine, when I’m going home alone in an empty one. Besides, it’s all arranged with Egerton.”

Gallatin smiled and shrugged. “Oh, of course,” he said, “you seem to have me at your mercy.”

“I’ll be very good though, Phil,” she said, moving toward the stairway, “and if you’re afraid of me, I’ll ask Egerton to be chaperon.” She laughed at him over her shoulder, and he had to confess that this was the humor which suited her best.

Gallatin went slowly toward his dressing-room, his lips compressed, his head bent, a prey to a terrible depression made up of fervid self-condemnation. He had been on the very verge of—that which he most dreaded. In his heart, too, was a dull resentment at Jane’s intolerance—an attitude he was forced to admit when he could think more clearly that he had now amply justified, not because Jane had been a witness of the incident upon the kitchen stairway, but because of the other thing. Slowly he began to realize that to a woman a kiss is a kiss, whether coolly implanted near the left ear, as his had been, or upon a more appropriate spot; and the distinction which, at the time of the occurrence, had been so clear to his mind, seemed now to be less impressive. Jane’s position was unreasonable, but quite tenable, and he now discovered that unless he threw Nina’s confidences into the breach, a defense hardly possible under the circumstances, the matter would be difficult to explain. And yet the act had been so harmless, his intention so innocent, that, weighed in the balance with his love for Jane, the incident seemed to him the merest triviality, with reference to which Jane should not have condemned him unheard. He heard her laugh as she went down the[222] stairs, and the carelessness of that mirth cut him to the marrow. What right had she to be gay when she knew that he must be suffering?

He entered Nina’s limousine, very much sobered, with a wish somewhere hidden in his heart that for this night at least Nina had been in Jericho. If the lady in the machine divined his thought she gave not the least sign of it; for when they had left the Club, some time after the others, and were on their way to the city, she carelessly resumed.

“I didn’t ask Egerton to come, Phil. You’re not really alarmed, are you?”

“Not in the least,” he smiled. “In fact, I was hoping we’d be alone.”

“Phil, you’re improving. Why?”

“So that we may continue our interesting conversation at the point where we left off.”

“Where did we leave off? Oh, yes, you kissed me, didn’t you? Shall we begin there?”

“I suppose that’s what you asked me here for, isn’t it?” he said brutally.

“Oh, Phil, you don’t believe—that!”

She deserved this punishment, she knew, but the carelessness of his tone shocked her and she moved away into her corner of the vehicle and sat rigidly as though turned to stone, her eyes gazing steadily before her at the white circle of light beyond the formless back of the chauffeur. In the reflected light Gallatin saw her face and the jest that was on his lips was silenced before the look he found there. And when she spoke her voice was low and constrained.

“I’m sorry you said that.”

“Are you? You weren’t sorry earlier in the evening.”

“I’m sorry now.”

[223]

“It’s a little late to be sorry.”

She didn’t reply. She was looking out into the light again with peering eyes. Objects in the landscape emerged, shadowless, in pale outline, brightened and disappeared.

“It isn’t like you—not in the least like you,” she murmured. “You’ve rather upset me, Phil.”

“What did you expect?” he asked. “You’ve made a fool of me. You’ve been flirting with me abominably.”

“And you repay me——”

“In your own coin,” he put in.

“Don’t, Phil.” She covered her face with her hands a moment. “You’ve paid me well. Oh, that you could have said that! I meant what I said, Phil, back there. You’ve got to believe it now—you’ve shamed me so. You’ve got to know it—to believe it. I wasn’t flirting with you. I was serious with you when I said I—I loved you. It’s the truth, the ghastly truth, and you’ve got to believe it, whatever happens. No, don’t touch me. I don’t want you to think I’m that kind of a girl. I’m not. I’ve never been kissed before to-night, believe it or not. It’s true, and now——”

She stopped and clutched him by the arm. “Tell me you believe it, Phil,” she said almost fiercely, “that I—that I’m not that kind of a girl.”

“Of course, you’ve said so——”

“No—not because I’ve said so, but because you think enough of me to believe it whether I’ve said so or not.”

“I had never thought you that sort of a girl,” he said slowly. “I’ve known you to flirt with other fellows, but I didn’t think you really cared enough about men to bother, least of all about me. That’s why I was a little surprised——”

“I couldn’t flirt with you—I didn’t feel that way.[224] I don’t know why. I think because there was a dignity in our friendship—” she stopped again with a sharp sigh. “Oh, what’s the use? I’m not like other girls—that’s all. I can’t make you understand.”

“I hope I—understand——”

“I’m sorry, Phil, about what happened to-night.”

She stopped, leaned back in her corner and, with one of her curious transitions, began laughing softly.

“It was such a wonderful opportunity—and you were so blissfully ignorant! Oh, Phil, and you did look such a fool!”

“Oh, did I?”

“I’m sorry. But I’d probably do it again—if I might—to-morrow. Jane Loring is so prim, so self-satisfied——”

The motor had been moving more slowly and the man in front after testing various mechanisms, brought the machine to a stop and climbed out. They heard him tinkering here and there and after a moment he opened the door and announced.

“Sorry, Miss Jaffray, but there’s come a leak in the tank, and we’ve run out of gasoline.”