On the Lightship Part 23

I a.s.sure you, nothing less than a serious injury could prevent my availing myself of your charming invitation for Wednesday evening....

"Oh, Maude, you can't think what a relief this is!"

"But----" began Mrs. Penfield and paused, while Clara, folding the note, tore it deliberately in twain.

"I don't believe he has been seriously hurt at all," she said on second thought. "He simply did not want to come. Fancy a man who invents such an excuse!"

"But----" began Mrs. Penfield once more, when Mrs. Fessenden interposed.

"I shall hope never to hear his wretched name again," she said. "Maude, dear, you won't forget to-morrow night?"

"Not unless Butler forgets me," said Mrs. Penfield, whereat both ladies laughed the laugh that rounds a pleasant visit.

"Jack," whispered Clara, "please count and see if everyone is here; there should be twenty."

It was Wednesday evening, and the Fessenden's Colonial drawing-room housed an a.s.sembly to make the snowy breast of any hostess glow with satisfaction, especially a hostess possessing one inch less of waist and one inch more of husband than any lady present.

"Exactly twenty," Jack announced; "that is, if we count the Envoy and the Countess each as only one, which don't seem quite respectful."

"Please don't try to be silly," said his wife, suspecting stimulant unjustly.

To her the function was a serious achievement, nicely proportioned, complete in all its parts; from Mrs. Ballington's tiara--a constellation never known to s.h.i.+ne in hazy social atmospheres--to the Envoy Extraordinary's extraordinary foreign boots. Even the Countess, who wore what was in effect a solferino tea-gown with high-bred unconcern, was not a jarring note. Everybody knew how the Countess's twenty priceless trunks had gone to Capetown by mistake, and her presence made the pretty drawing-room a _salon_, just as the Envoy's presence made the occasion cosmopolitan. When the mandolin club in the hall struck up a spirited fandango, no pointed chin in all the town took on a prouder tilt than Clara Fessenden's.

The Envoy Extraordinary had just let fall no less a diplomatic secret than that, in his opinion, a certain war would end in peace eventually, when Mrs. Penfield, who happened to be near, inquired:

"Oh, Clara, have you heard anything more of that Mr. Hopworthy?"

"Don't speak to me of him!" retorted Clara, clouding over. "When Jack called at his hotel to leave a card, he had the effrontery to be out.

Just fancy, and we had almost sent him grapes!"

"But----" began Mrs. Penfield.

Pierre was at the door; one hand behind him held the orchestra in check.

"Madame is served," he formed his lips to say, but having reached "Madame," he found himself effaced by someone entering hurriedly--a tall young man with too abundant hair and teeth, but otherwise permissible.

The new arrival paused, took soundings, as it were, divined the hostess, and advanced upon her with extended hand. Evidently it was one of those amusing little incidents called "contretemps," which often happen where front doors are much alike, and the people on the left have odd acquaintances.

"I trust I am not late," the blunderer began at once. "It was so kind of you to think of me; so altogether charming, so delightful." His eyes were dark and keen, his broad, unsheltered mouth, which seemed less to utter than to manufacture words, gave the impression of astonis.h.i.+ng productive power, and Clara, though sorry for a fellow-creature doomed to rude enlightenment, was glad he was not to be an element in her well-ordered little dinner. But as her guests were waiting she gave a slight impatient flutter to her fan. The other went on un.o.bservant.

"One can say so little of one's pleasure in a hurried note, but I a.s.sure you, my dear Mrs. Fessenden, nothing short of a serious accident----"

Where had she met this formula before?

"Oh, Mr. Hopworthy!" she responded with a smile, an automatic smile, self-regulating and self-adjusting, like the phrase that followed, "I am so glad you were able to come." And turning to her husband, she announced, too sweetly to leave her state of mind in doubt:

"Jack, here is Mr. Hopworthy, your aunt's old friend."

With her eyes she added:

"Fiend, behold your work!"

Jack grasped the stranger's hand and wrung it warmly.

"I'm glad you're out again," he said. "Now tell my wife just how you left Aunt Bates." And so saying he backed toward the door, for he could be resourceful on occasion. Two minutes later when he reappeared his face was wreathed in smiles.

"It's all serene," he whispered to his wife. "They have crowded in another place at your end. We'll make the best of it."

Perhaps it occurred to Clara that things to be made the best of were oftenest crowded in at her end, but she had no time to say so, for Pierre had come into his own again--Madame was served.

Jack led, of course, with scintillescent Mrs. Ballington, he having flatly refused to take in the Countess. Jack's point of view was always masculine, and often elementary.

The Countess followed with a Mr. Walker, who collected eggs, and was believed to have been born at sea, which made him interesting in a way.

Then came Maude Penfield, preceding Lena Livingston, according to the tonnage of their husbands' yachts. In truth, the whole procession gave in every rank new evidence of Clara's kindly forethought. For herself, she had not only the Extraordinary, but, by perverse fate, another.

"Mr. Hopworthy," she explained, bringing both dimples into play, "a very charming girl has disappointed us. I hope you don't mind walking three abreast."

Clara's untruths were never compromises. When they should be told, she told them, scorning to keep her score immaculate by subterfuge. "Though the Recording Angel may be strict," she often said with child-like faith, "I am convinced he is well-bred."

The pleasant flutter over dinner cards ended as it should in each guest being next the persons most desired--each guest, but not the hostess.

For Jack's resourcefulness having accomplished the additional place, stopped short, and his readjustment of the cards, which had been by chance, had brought the Envoy upon Clara's left and given to Mr.

Hopworthy the seat of honor.

For a moment Clara hesitated, hoping against hope for someone to be taken ill, for almost anything that might create an opportunity for a change of cards. But while she stood in doubt the diplomat most diplomatically sat down. Beyond him the Countess was already drawing off her gloves as though they had been stockings, and further on the gentleman born at sea seemed pleased to find his dinner roll so like an egg.

It was one of those unrecorded tragedies known only to woman. The failures of a man leave ruins to bear testimony to endeavor; a woman's edifice of cobweb falls without commotion, whatever pains its building may have cost.

"I gave you that seat," said Clara to the diplomat in dimpled confidence, "because the window on the other side lets in a perfect gale of draught."

"A most kind draught to blow me nearer my hostess's heart," he answered, much too neatly not to have said something of the sort before.

Fortunately both the Envoy and the Countess appreciated oysters, and before the soup came, Clara, outwardly herself again, could turn a smiling face to her unwelcome guest. But Mr. Hopworthy was bending toward Maude, who seemed very much amused. So was the man between them, and so were several others.

Already he had begun to make himself conspicuous. People with broad mouths always make themselves conspicuous. She felt that Maude was gloating over her discomfiture. She detected this in every note of Maude's well-modulated laugh, and could an interchange of beakers with the stranger have been sure of Florentine results, Clara would have faced a terrible temptation. As it was, she asked the Envoy if he had seen the Automobile Show.

He had, and by good luck machinery was his favorite topic, a safe one, leaving little ground for argument. From machinery one proceeds by certain steps to things thereby created, silk and shoes and books, and comes at length, as Clara did, to silverware and jewels, pearls and emeralds. And here the Countess, who mistrusted terrapin, broke in.

She had known an emerald larger than an egg--Mr. Walker looked up hopefully. It had been laid by Royalty at the feet of Beauty--Mr.

Walker, who had been about to speak, resumed his research, and the Countess held the floor.

She wore a bracelet given her by a potentate, whose t.i.tle suggested snuff, as a reward for great devotion to his cause, and its exhibition occupied a course.

Meanwhile the hostess, as with astral ears, heard s.n.a.t.c.hes of the conversation all about her.

"And do you think so really, Mr. Hopworthy?"