Читать книгу The Maxwell Mystery - Carolyn Wells - Страница 6

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"I'm so glad we're going to have a dance tonight," said Edith Whiting at luncheon next day.

"Oh, so am I," declared Mildred, "I'd rather dance than eat; and we haven't had a real party dance since we've been here."

"Give me four two-steps, won't you, Miss Leslie?" said I.

"Why don't you ask for eight steps; can't you multiply? Indeed I won't give you four two-steps, Mr. King."

"Oh, I so hoped you would!" I responded, in mock dejection.

"Why, how can you expect it?" she exclaimed. "There'll be a lot of strange men here from all the country round, and I'm going to give them all my dances. I can dance any day with you men who are staying in the house."

"Do you mean that, Miss Leslie?" exclaimed Clarendon, in such apparent consternation that everybody laughed.

"On second thoughts, I'll give you one apiece, all round," said Mildred gaily.

Philip sat next her at the table.

"You'll give me more than that," he said in a low tone, "or else you needn't give me any."

"Very well," said Mildred airily, "you needn't have any. Lord Clarendon, if you care for two dances to-night, I have an extra one that has just been returned with thanks, which you may have."

"I accept it gladly, fair lady, but don't let it be one of your American two-steps, for I have not yet mastered their intricacies."

"They shall be any ones you choose," said Mildred, with a glance at the Earl, that was deliberately intended to delight him and to anger Philip, and succeeded perfectly in both cases.

"Mildred," said Tom Whiting, under his breath, as they left the table, "you are playing with fire."

"Perhaps I wish to get burnt," she retorted saucily, and ran laughing away.

That afternoon Philip and I chanced to find ourselves alone for a time. I was glad, for I hadn't had an opportunity to talk much with him.

We sat in a shady corner of the veranda and he looked moody and glum. Finally he threw his cigar away, and said, frankly, "What would you do with her, Peter?"

"Do you want me to answer you seriously," I said, "or flippantly?"

"Seriously, please."

"Then I think you'll have to teach her a lesson. You let her go too far, Philip; and you may find, when you try to curb her, you can't do it."

"I know I can't, King; she's reached that point already."

"Then begin as soon as possible. Tell her that she must either be engaged to you or not. And if she is engaged to you, she must stop flirting with the Earl."

"Good Heavens, Peter! it isn't the Earl that bothers me. It's someone quite different."

"Who?" I asked in astonishment, but just then we were interrupted, and I had no answer to my question. But it bothered me for a time; and I couldn't help wondering if by any possibility Philip could be jealous of me! It seemed absurd, for though of course I admired Milly Leslie, as everybody did, yet I wouldn't for the world have intruded upon Philip's rights. I could get no opportunity to speak to Philip again on the matter until that evening after dinner. The ladies had all gone away to dress for the dance, and Philip and I chose to stroll and smoke in the rose garden. But again my intention came to nought, for Earl Clarence joined us. Philip seemed in better spirits than in the afternoon, and he chaffed the Earl gaily, in an unusually merry mood.

It was after dark, but by the faint light of a moon which had not yet risen, we saw what seemed almost like a fairy being coming toward us. It was Mildred, and she was wrapped in a voluminous cloak of pale blue, beneath which showed a pair of dainty white dancing slippers.

"Oh," she exclaimed, drawing back as she recognized us, "I thought you were the gardener!"

"To which one of us did you pay that compliment?" inquired Philip, laughing.

"Oh, I won't be partial, I thought you were all gardeners," said Mildred drawing her cloak around her and seeming about to leave us,—though I felt sure she had no such intention, and was coquetting as usual.

"Do you want a gardener?" said I; "won't I do for one?"

"Well," and Mildred hesitated, "I was just dressing for the dance you know, and I found I must have,—simply must have some of those tiny yellow roses, that grow over there. I would have sent the maid for them, but I know she wouldn't select the very tiniest ones, and those are the ones I must have. So I thought I'd just run down and get them myself,—I never dreamed I'd meet anybody!" Though the big blue eyes looked babyishly innocent above the closely held blue wrap, I felt a secret conviction that those same eyes had seen the group of men in the rose garden, and did not mistake us for a group of gardeners.

"I knew everybody was dressing for the dance," she went on, "so I thought I couldn't possibly meet anybody." She pouted a little, as if we were to blame for interfering with her plan.

"It doesn't matter that you have met us, dear," said Philip, gently; "I'll cut some roses for you,—which ones do you want?"

Milly was a tease, there was no doubt about it. She smiled at Philip, and then turning deliberately to the Earl, said, "You're nearest to the yellow rose tree,—won't you cut me some, please?"

Philip spoke no word, but stood for a moment looking at the girl he loved. Then, in a tense, unnatural voice, he said, "Clarendon, will you look after Miss Leslie?" and, turning on his heel, walked rapidly away.

"Milly," said the Earl, eagerly stepping toward her.

It was the first time he had ever addressed her so, but Mildred had no intention of precipitating matters in this unconventional situation, and, too, she was troubled at the remembrance of Phil's disapproving glance.

"Lord Clarendon," she said coldly, "will you be so very kind as to pick me a few yellow roses, and let me hasten back to the house?"

"There is plenty of time," he said quietly; "please give me a few moments."

"No," said Mildred, stamping her foot impatiently, "I wish to return at once."

"Very well," said Clarendon gently, "I will not detain you. Will you have this spray?"

He selected a charming cluster of roses, and taking his penknife from his pocket cut them for her, and stood trimming off the thorns.

"I wish I might have given you flowers to wear this evening," he said.

His manner was gentle and deferential, and I was sure Mildred felt perhaps she had been too brusque, as she said kindly, "I wish so, too; but how could you have bought any flowers 'way off here in the country?"

"I could have sent to town for them, or gone myself for them."

"But I oughtn't to accept real hothouse flowers from you—"

"Why not? Because it would mean a special favor on your part? But that is just what I want it to mean, dear little girl—"

"Oh, Lord Clarendon, please don't! Please give me my flowers and let me go."

"Will you consider them a gift from me, as I can't get any others now? And will you let them mean—"

"Oh no, they don't mean anything—not anything at all—yet."

He had taken her hands and placed the spray of roses between them, and still held the two little hands, roses and all, close clasped in his own. Her long cloak, released, fell away, and the vision in the pale silken robe seemed to the noble Englishman quite the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He caught his breath, as he looked at the baby face, with its troubled, beseeching eyes.

"Please let me go, Lord Clarendon—please!" Then she gently disengaged her hands from his, and gathering up the folds of her blue cloak, prepared to run away.

But he detained her a moment. "Miss Leslie," he said, and his choking voice betrayed his passion, "I won't keep you now—but to-night you will give me an opportunity, won't you, to tell you—"

"To-night, my lord, you are to have one dance with me, you know."

"One? You promised me two!"

"Oh, I never keep dance promises. I'm not at all sure I shall give you one."

"But I'm sure you will, you tantalizing baby!"

"Now which shall be the first one that I may call mine?"

"Choose for yourself, my lord," said Mildred, in her most demure way.

"Seven is a lucky number, may I have number seven?"

"Yes, I'll save that for you," and, with a laughing glance over her shoulder, she ran away.

"What a little witch she is, to be sure, eh?" and Earl Clarence gave a short laugh.

"I beg your pardon if I offend," I said, a little stiffly; "but I think you,—that is we,—ought to remember that she is pledged to Philip."

"Ah, I did not know it was announced."

"Nor is it, officially. But in this country, we accept such a situation, without words,—if we are friendly with the people concerned."

"Indeed!" was the cool response; "but the men of my country have their own code of honor, and it is not to be impugned."

This was a fine opening for a quarrel, but as I had no intention of indulging in a dispute with our titled visitor, I said only, "I have no criticism to make of the English code of honor,—I'm sure!" and turning on my heel, I left his lordship among the yellow roses.

Soon after, standing in the lower hall, I watched Mildred Leslie come dancing down the stairs. She wore a short dancing gown of palest yellow chiffon, and in her shining curls nestled the tiny yellow roses. It was an unusual color for a pronounced blonde to wear, but it suited her dainty beauty, and she looked like a spring daffodil.

Of course she was immediately surrounded by would-be partners, but Philip Maxwell was not among them.

"Sulky," said naughty Mildred, as I asked her where he was. "Well, it will do him good to worry a little."

As was usually the case, pretty Mildred was the belle of the ball.

She halved most of her dances, and changed her mind so frequently about her partners that she soon tore up her program, declaring it bothered her, and she should accept invitations only as each dance began.

She finished the sixth dance with me, and as we sauntered about after the music ceased, we met Philip apparently looking for her.

"The next dance is ours," he said looking at her in an unsmiling way.

"Indeed it isn't!" declared Mildred, who had by no means forgotten to whom she had promised the seventh dance.

"It is," said Philip sternly, "come!"

"Better go," I whispered in Mildred's ear; "he's in an awful huff!"

Meekly she allowed herself to be led away, and Philip took her out on the veranda.

"Now," he said, as they passed out of hearing, "with whom are you going to dance this next dance, with me or with that confounded foreigner?"

"With him, Philip," said Mildred, very quietly. "I promised it to him before the party began."

I was thoroughly angry at the little coquette, and I turned away and strolled idly through the rooms. I did not feel like dancing, for the moment; and seeing Miss Maxwell, sitting alone in a corner of the drawing-room, I went and sat by her for a few moments' chat.

She seemed preoccupied, and after some perfunctory answers to my trivial remarks, she said:

"Peter"—she always called me by my first name, and somehow her soft, sweet voice gave the ugly word a pleasant sound—"there is something wrong with Philip. I can't imagine what it is, but for a week or more he has been so different. It began all at once.

"One day last week he came to luncheon looking so harassed and worried that my heart ached for him. I said nothing about it—we are not confidential as a family, you know—I only tried to be especially gentle and tender toward him. But he didn't get over it. He spoke sharply to his uncle, he failed to show his usual deferential courtesy to me, and he behaved altogether like a man stunned and bewildered by some sudden misfortune.

"I talked to his uncle about it when we were alone, and he, too, had noticed it, but could not account for it in any way. He though perhaps it might be money difficulties of some sort, and he offered to increase Philip's allowance. But Philip refused to accept an increase, and said he had no debts and plenty of spending money. So we are at our wits' end to understand it."

"Could it have anything to do with Miss Leslie?" I asked.

"I think so," replied Miss Miranda, looking about to make sure we were not overheard. "He is very much in love with her, and I think she cares for him, but she is such a coquettish little rogue that one cannot be sure of her. Besides, this trouble of Philip's began before he planned this house party, and before he thought of inviting Miss Leslie and her sister down here."

"Does he talk frankly to you about Mildred?"

"Oh, yes, he hopes to win her—indeed, he says he feels confident of succeeding. But I think he tries to persuade himself that he will succeed, while really she is breaking his heart over her flirtation with Gilbert Crane."

"Gilbert Crane!" I exclaimed, greatly surprised. "Why, I thought she was flirting so desperately with the Earl."

"Nonsense! Mildred is just teasing Philip with him. When she flirts so openly, there is no danger. But she conceals her liking for Gilbert Crane. He's here to-night, and I'm sure I don't know what will happen."

"But Gilbert Crane! why he's a friend of Philip's."

"Yes, our fellow townsman, and one of Philip's best friends."

"But he can't hold a candle to Philip."

"I know it. Philip is rich, or will be, and Philip is handsome and talented, while Gilbert is none of these. But somehow he has a queer sort of fascination over Mildred, and she is certainly very gracious to him."

"Philip and Gilbert are as good friends as ever, aren't they?"

"Yes, I think so. At least they were until lately. But Mildred's evident preference for Gilbert's society has wounded Philip, and though he treats Gilbert as kindly as ever, I've seen him look at him as if he wondered how he could play such an unfriendly part."

"You think, then, to put it plainly, that Gilbert is trying to win Mildred away from Philip?"

"I do, and I think Philip is as much hurt by Gilbert's treachery as by Mildred's fickleness. But I cannot think that it is this affair that worried Philip so last week. For then, Mildred hadn't come, and Gilbert was right here all the time, and he and Philip were inseparable. No, it's something else, and I can't imagine what."

"Phil seems about as usual to me," I said.

"Yes, he is much brighter since you young people came. More like his old self. But when he's alone, even now, he drops into an attitude of absolute despair. I've seen him, and it is something very dreadful that has come to my boy. Oh, Peter, can't you find out what it is, and then I'm sure we can help him."

I assured Miss Miranda that I would try in every possible way to do all I could to help, but I felt convinced that no one could help Philip at the present time, except Mildred Leslie herself.

Then Mr. Maxwell came in and joined us, and the tenor of our conversation changed.

I should have been glad to talk with him about Philip, but owing to his deafness I couldn't carry on such a conversation in the drawing-room. But notwithstanding his affliction, Mr. Maxwell had a fine ear for music, and greatly enjoyed it. A piano, violin and harp furnished the music on this occasion, and as it was of exceedingly good quality, Mr. Maxwell sat and listened, tapping his foot gently in time with the rhythm. I saw him glance at Philip several times, and, if the boy was smiling, the old gentleman's anxiety seemed relieved, but if Phil was over-quiet or sober-looking, Mr. Maxwell sighed and glanced away again.

The drawing-room was the front room on the left, as one entered the great hall that ran through the centre of the house. Back of it was the billiard-room; back of that, Mr. Maxwell's study and behind that a well-filled conservatory.

On the right of the wide hall, the front room was the music-room; behind it was the dining-room, and back of that a short cross hall and a butler's pantry,—the kitchen being still farther back.

The large library was on the second floor, and was in many ways the most attractive room in the house. There were bedrooms on both the second and third floors, so that Maxwell Chimneys was well adapted for generous hospitality.

A broad veranda ran all around three sides of the house both on the ground floor and second story, and on it, from most of the rooms, opened long French windows.

After watching the dancers for awhile Miss Miranda urged that I join them, and though I would have quite willingly remained with her, I did as she bade me.

"And, Miss Miranda," I said, as I left her, "don't worry about Philip's affairs. I hope—I'm sure you exaggerate to yourself his despondency, and I can't help thinking that soon matters will be brighter for him."