XIX LOVE ON CRUTCHES

Mrs. Pennington’s philosophy had taught her that it was better to be surprised than to be bored, and that even unpleasant surprises were slightly more desirable than no surprises at all. It was toward the end of January on her halting journey homeward from Aiken, one morning in Washington, that she saw in a local journal the announcement of an engagement between Miss Jane Loring and Mr. Coleman Van Duyn. To say that she was surprised puts the matter mildly, and it is doubtful whether the flight of her ennui compensated her for the sudden pang of dismay which came with the reading of this article. She had left New York the day after the affair at “The Pot and Kettle,” and so had only the memory of Jane’s confidences and Phil Gallatin’s happy face to controvert the news.

And when some days later she arrived in New York, she found that, though unconfirmed in authoritative quarters, the rumors still persisted among her own friends and Jane’s. Of Phil Gallatin she saw nothing and learned that he was out of town on an important legal matter and would not return for a week. When she called on the Lorings, Jane showed a disposition to avoid personal topics and at the mention of Philip Gallatin’s name skillfully turned the conversation into other channels.

To a woman of Mrs. Pennington’s experience the hint was enough and she departed from the Loring mausoleum aware that something serious had happened which threatened[226] Phil Gallatin’s happiness. But, in spite of the warmth of Jane’s greeting and the careless way in which she had discussed the gossip of the hour, Nellie Pennington was not deceived, and by the time she was in her own brougham had made one of those rapid deductions for which she was famous. Jane looked jaded. Therefore, she was unhappy; therefore, she still loved Phil Gallatin. Phil Gallatin was working hard. Therefore, Phil was keeping straight; there must be some other cause for Jane’s defection. What? Obviously—a woman. Who? Nina Jaffray.

Having reached this triumphant conclusion, Mrs. Pennington set about proving her several premises without the waste of a single moment of time. To this end she sought out Percy Endicott, who as she knew was better informed upon most people’s affairs than they were themselves, and from him learned the truth. Philip Gallatin had been discovered with Nina Jaffray in his arms on the kitchen stairs at the “Pot and Kettle.” Percy Endicott’s talent for the ornamentation of bare narrative was well known and before he had finished the story he had convinced himself, if not his listener, that this happy event had brought to a culmination a romance of many years’ standing and that Nina and Phil would soon be directing their steps, with all speed, to church.

Mrs. Pennington laughed, not because what Percy told amused her, but because this narrative showed her that however much she was still lacking in reliable details, her earliest deductions had been correct. She would not believe the story until it had been confirmed by “Bibby” Worthington to whom Coleman Van Duyn had related it as an eye-witness, and then herself supplied the grain of salt to make it palatable.

The grain of salt was her knowledge of Nina Jaffray’s[227] extraordinary personality, which must account for any differences she discovered between the Phil Gallatin who kissed upon the back stairs and the Phil Gallatin with whom she was familiar. Whatever his deficiencies in other respects, he had never been considered as available timber by the gay young married women of Mrs. Pennington’s own set who had given him up in the susceptive sense as a hopeless case; and if Phil had been addicted to the habit of promiscuous kissing, he had gone about the pursuit with a stealth which belied the record of his unsentimental but somewhat tempestuous history. She found herself wondering not so much about what had happened to Phil as about how Nina had managed what had happened. Nina’s remarkable confession a few days before Egerton Savage’s party recurred to her mind, and Nina’s clearly expressed intention to bring Phil to her chariot-wheel seemed somehow to have an intimate bearing upon the present situation. And yet, even admitting Nina’s direct methods of seeking results, she could not understand how a fellow as much in love with another girl as Phil was could have been made so ready a victim. Could it be? No. There was no talk of that. And if Phil had again been in trouble, Mrs. Pennington knew that the indefatigable Percy would have told her of it.

She thought about the matter awhile and finally gave it up, uncertain whether to be anxious or only amused. But as the week went by she was given tangible evidence that whatever feelings Jane Loring cherished in her heart for Phil Gallatin, the wings of victory, for the present at least, were perched upon the banneret of Mr. Coleman Van Duyn. Jane rode, walked, and danced with him, and within a few short weeks, from a state of ponderous misery Coleman Van Duyn had revived and now bore the definite outlines of a well-fed and happy cupid.

[228]

The rumors of an engagement persisted, and Mrs. Pennington was not the only person forced against her judgment or inclination to believe that the old Van Duyn mansion would once more have a mistress. Dirwell De Lancey, whose tenderness in Jane’s quarter had been remarked, went into retirement for a brief period, and only emerged when resignation had conquered surprise. Colonel Crosby Broadhurst sat in his corner at the Cosmos and wondered, as other people did, what the devil Jane Loring could see in Coley. Bibby Worthington still hovered amiably in Jane’s background and would not be dislodged. He had proposed in due form to Jane and had been refused, but the cheerful determination of his bearing and his taste in cravats advised all who chose to concern themselves that he was still undismayed.

After Mrs. Pennington, who thought that she saw a light, perhaps the person most surprised at Jane’s sudden attachment for Coleman Van Duyn was Mrs. Loring. She had listened with incredulity to Jane’s first confession of her relations with Philip Gallatin and had waited with resignation a resumption of the conversation. But as the days passed and her daughter said nothing, she thought it time to take the matter into her own hands and told Jane of her intention to speak of it to her husband.

“I’ll save you the trouble, Mother,” said Jane, kissing her gravely on the forehead. “There is nothing between Mr. Gallatin and myself.”

Mrs. Loring concealed her delight with difficulty.

“Jane, dear, something has happened.”

“Nothing—nothing at all,” said Jane. “I’ve changed my mind—that’s all.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Loring. This much imparted, Jane would say no more; the matter was dropped, and to Mrs.[229] Loring it seemed that in so far as Jane was concerned, Mr. Gallatin had simply ceased to exist.

But it was not without some difficulty that Jane convinced herself that this was the case. The day after the “Pot and Kettle” affair, Phil Gallatin wrote, ’phoned, wired and called. His note Jane consigned to the fire, his telephone was answered by Hastings, his wire followed his note, and to his visit she was out. This, she thought, should have concluded their relations, but the following morning brought another letter—a long one. She hesitated before deciding whether to open it or to return it, but at last she broke the seal and read it through, her lips compressed, her brows tangled angrily. It was a plea for forgiveness, and that was all. There were many regrets, many protestations of love, but not one word of explanation! He had even gone so far as to call the incident a trifle (a trifle, indeed!) and to call her to account for an intolerance which he had the temerity to say was unworthy of the great love that he had given her.

The impudence of him! What did he mean? Was the man mad? Or was this the New York idea? She realized now that he was an animal that she had met in an unfamiliar habitat, and that perhaps the things to be expected of him here were those dictated by the inconsiderable ideals of the day. It dismayed her to think that after all here in New York, she had only known him a little more than a week. His vision appeared—and was banished, and his letter, torn again and again into small pieces was consigned to the flames of her open fire. She made no reply.

Another letter came on the morrow, was read like the other, but likewise destroyed. His persistence was amazing. Would he not take a hint and save her the unpleasant[230] duty of sending his letters back to him unopened? Apparently not! And with the letters came baskets of flowers which, like those from Mr. Van Duyn, filled her room with pleasant odors.

She was willing to believe now that a word of explanation, a clue to his extraordinary behavior might have paved the way to reconciliation, and she found herself wondering in a material way what was becoming of him and worrying, in spite of herself, as to his future, of which, as she had once fondly believed, she was the guardian. What was he doing with himself in the evenings?

This thought sent the blood rushing to her cheeks and hardened her heart against him. He was with Nina Jaffray, of course. In his last letter he had written that he must go away on business and for two mornings no letter arrived. She missed these letters and was furious with herself that it was so. But the energy of her anger was conserved in the form of further favors for Coley Van Duyn who radiated it in rapturous good-will toward all the world. When the letters were resumed, she locked them in her desk unread, determining upon his return to town to make them into a package and send them back in bulk. Many times she unlocked her desk and scrutinized the envelopes, but it was always to thrust them into their drawer which she shut and locked each time with quite unnecessary violence.

Another matter which caused some inquietude was Nellie Pennington’s return to town, for Mrs. Pennington was the only person, besides Mr. Gallatin and her mother, in actual possession of her secret, the only person besides Mr. Gallatin whom it was necessary to convince as to the definiteness of her recantation. At their first meeting Jane had carried off the situation with a carelessness[231] which she felt had rather overshot the mark. Her visitor had accepted the hints with a disconcerting readiness and composure, and Jane had a feeling after Mrs. Pennington left the house that her efforts had been singularly ineffective; for she was conscious that her visitor had scrutinized her keenly and that anything she had said had been carefully sifted, weighed and subjected to that kind of cunning alchemy which clever women use to transmute the baser metals of sophistry into gold.

Mrs. Pennington had now taken an initiative in the friendship and refused to be disconcerted. Jane’s engagements with Coleman Van Duyn provided no effectual hindrance to Mrs. Pennington’s enthusiastic fellowship, and she frequently helped to make a party in which, to Mr. Van Duyn at least, three was a crowd. Mrs. Pennington accepted his presence without surprise, without annoyance or other emotion; and somehow succeeded in conveying the impression that she was conferring a favor upon them both, a favor for which, in her own heart at least, Jane was grateful.

It was not surprising to Jane, therefore, when one morning Nellie Pennington called up on the ’phone and made an engagement for the afternoon at five, at the Loring house, urging a need of Jane’s advice upon an important matter. She entered the library, where Jane had been reading, with a radiance which did much to dispel the gloom of the day which had been execrable; and when her hostess suggested that they go upstairs to her own dressing-room, where they might be undisturbed, Nellie Pennington threw off her furs.

“No, thanks, darling,” she said. “I can’t stay long. And you know when one reaches my mature years, each stair has a separate menace.”

“There’s the lift,” Jane laughed.

[232]

“Oh, never! That would be a public confession. I’ll stay here if you don’t mind,” and she sank into an armchair by the fire.

“Coley isn’t coming?” she inquired.

“No,” said Jane. “I had a headache.”

Nellie Pennington sighed gratefully.

“You know, Jane, Coley is a nice fellow, but he’s just about as plastic as the Pyramid of Cheops. You’ve done wonders with him, of course, and he is really quite bearable now, but it must have been wearing, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, no,” Jane smiled. “He’s quite obedient.”

“I sometimes wonder whether men are worth the pains we women waste on them.” Mrs. Pennington went on reflectively. “When we are single they adore us for our defects; married, we have a real difficulty in making them love us for our virtues. But love abhors the word obedience. It knows no arbitrary laws. An obedient husband is like an egg without salt and far more indigestible. You’re not going to marry Coley, are you, Jane?” she finished abruptly.

Jane paled and her head tilted the fraction of an inch. It was the first time Nellie Pennington had approached the subject so directly, and Jane had not decided whether to silence her questioner at once or to laugh her off when she broke in again.

“Oh, don’t reply if you don’t want to. I’m sure nothing I could say would have the slightest influence on your decision. It doesn’t matter in the least whom one marries anyway, because whatever the lover is, the husband is always sure to be something quite different. If Coley is obedient now, married he’ll be a Tartar.”

“I—I didn’t say I was going to marry Mr. Van Duyn.”

“You didn’t say you weren’t.”

[233]

“Why should I? Must a girl marry, because she receives the attentions——”

“Exclusive attentions,” put in Mrs. Pennington quickly. “Jane, you’re rather overdoing it,” she finished frankly.

“I like Mr. Van Duyn very much,” said Jane, her head lowered.

“But you don’t love him. Oh, Jane,” she whispered earnestly, “play the scene in your own way if you like, but don’t try to hide the real drama from me.”

“There is no drama,” put in Jane. “It was a farce——”

“It’s a drama in Phil Gallatin’s heart. Can you be blind to his struggle?”

“I care nothing for Mr. Gallatin’s struggles,” said Jane, her head high.

“You do. Love like yours comes only once in a woman’s eyes. I saw it——”

“You’re mistaken.”

“No. And it isn’t quenched with laughter——”

“Don’t, Nellie.”

“I must. You’re trying to kill something in you that will not die.”

“It’s dead now.”

“No—nor even sleeping. Don’t you suppose I read you, silly child, your false gayety, the mockery of your smiles, and the way you’ve thrown Coley Van Duyn into the breach to soothe your pride—even let an engagement be undenied so that Phil could think how little you cared? You once let me behind the scenes; no matter how much you regret it, I’m still there.”

“Mr. Gallatin is nothing to me.”

Mrs. Pennington leaned back in her chair and smiled.

“You told me that your faith in Phil was unending.[234] Your eternity, my dear, lasted precisely one week.”

Jane flashed around at her passionately, aroused at last, as Nellie Pennington intended that she should be.

“Oh, why couldn’t he have explained?”

“Explain! At the expense of another girl? Phil is a gentleman.”

Mrs. Pennington had had that reply ready. She had considered it carefully for some days.

Jane paused, and her eyes, scarcely credulous, sought the face of her visitor. Nellie Pennington met her look eagerly.

“Nina Jaffray’s,” she went on. “Could Phil tell why it happened? Obviously not.”

“But he kissed her——”

Mrs. Pennington shrugged her pretty shoulders.

“As to that, Nina, of course, had reasons of her own.”

“Nina—Miss Jaffray—reasons?”

“She probably asked him to——”

“Impossible!”

“She did.”

“Do you know that?”

“No, but I know Nina.”

“I can’t see that that alters anything.”

“But it does—amazingly—if you’ll only think about it.”

“I saw it all.”

“Oh! Did you? I’m glad.”

“Glad! Oh, Nellie!”

“Of course. Think how much worse it might have seemed if you hadn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If some one else had told you, you might have believed anything.”

[235]

“I saw enough to believe——”

“What did you see?”

“He—he—he just kissed her.”

“Oh, Jane, think! What did you see? Why should Phil kiss a girl he doesn’t love? Aren’t there any kisses in the world but lovers kisses? Think. You must. Phil’s whole life and yours depend upon it.”

Jane rose and walked quickly to the window.

“This conversation—is impossible.”

Nellie Pennington watched her narrowly. She had created a diversion upon the flank, which, if it did nothing else, had temporarily driven Jane’s forces back in confusion. She looked anxiously toward the door of the drawing-room and then smiled, for a figure had entered and was coming forward without hesitation.

With one eye on Jane, who was still looking out of the window, Nellie Pennington rose and greeted the newcomer.

“Hello, Phil. I had almost given you up. You don’t mind, do you, Jane. I had to see Mr. Gallatin and asked if he wouldn’t stop for me here.”

At the sound of his name Jane had twisted around and now faced them, breathless. Mrs. Pennington was smiling carelessly, but Phil Gallatin, hat in hand, stood with bowed head before her. At the door into the hallway, the butler, somewhat uncertainly, hovered.

“Thank you, Hastings,” Jane summoned her tongue to say. “That will be all.”