Читать книгу The Daughter of the House - Carolyn Wells - Страница 7

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ALEXANDER LANG WAS of a persistent nature. A puppy at a root was no more determined, no more persevering than Alex. And as every day found him more and more in love with the Castro siren, so every day, in every way, he was trying harder and harder to get the fortune he needed to bring about a mating.

He was in no wise cast down at the failure of Mary to persuade her father, nor was he unduly dismayed at the dressing down David Lang gave him for bringing Mary into the game. His elder brother had given him dressings down all his life, and Alex was of a nature like unto a duck’s back or an armadillo.

Any way, he was now planning his next move, and he concluded it must be done through Eleanor. If she couldn’t influence her devoted husband, she was a poor wife, and if she wouldn’t, she was a poor sister-in-law.

So to Mrs. Lang he went with his troubles, and being of a persuasive tongue he secured her interest and attention.

“You’re too absurd, Alex,” she said, stifling her amusement. “Do you think you can buy this woman?”

“I know I can,” he returned, looking at her solemnly, “you see, she loves me, that is, she is fond of me—but, well, Eleanor, you know yourself how women love pretties and softies. Where would you be without all these gilded furnishings and lace flumadiddles?” He glanced round the boudoir where they sat, and which was truly a bower of luxury.

“I know; but few women have all these expensive trinkets—”

“Certainly. But she aims to be one of the few. Why, if I had even a million, she’d drop in my lap like a ripe plum! And, as you can see for yourself, it can’t really make any difference to David whether he gives me my rightful inheritance now, or years later, when it’s too late to do me any good.”

Alex cupped his chin in his hands, his elbows on his knees, and he looked so wistful, so beseeching, that Eleanor, who doted on a romance, was won over to his side.

“Well,” she said, finally, “I’ll speak to David. That’s all I can promise. I doubt if I can persuade him, but I’ll do my best.”

“If he doesn’t come through, I’ll do something desperate—I vow I will. There is another way out—but I don’t want to be forced to it—”

“Don’t talk like that. You’ll do nothing desperate. If David refuses again, you’ll stay right along just as you are now.”

“Oh, Eleanor, she is so beautiful—so ravishing—don’t you admire her?”—

“Not quite as much as you do, Alex—but, she is attractive and I’d be truly glad to see you happily married.”

But the marital conference which took place that night between the two Langs did not put Alex one bit forrader in his precarious love affair.

David Lang listened in silence to his wife’s plea. She was eloquent in her appeal, for she didn’t see herself why Alex shouldn’t have his way, and it seemed to her a most logical and sensible procedure.

“Give him a million, Dave,” she urged. “You’ll never miss it and you can make his inheritance less if you choose. Poor chap, he deserves some happiness—”

“Why does he? What has he ever done to deserve anything? I have supported him in idleness—now shall I pamper him still further? I will not, Eleanor. It’s too ridiculous. If he really loves Mrs. Castro and she really cares for him, they can be happy in the Dell cottage with a sufficient if modest income to run it.”

“It isn’t that Dave, it’s that she won’t marry him unless he is rich—”

“Then she’s a wicked woman. To marry a man for his money is bad enough, but to refuse to marry unless the man has a fortune is far worse. I’ll be no party to such a union. I’ve made Alex my offer, he can take it or leave it.”

“He’ll have to leave it, then,” Eleanor sighed. “She won’t marry him on what you offer.”

“Then he’s better off without her. Let her find herself some millionaire, our Alex is well out of her clutches.”

“Oh, you don’t understand, David. I know Giulia—she’s not a fortune hunter, she’s only a truly feminine person, who wants all the little delights of life that make for comfort and pleasure. I should be miserable if I had to live without my lovely things, and my servants and cars and beautiful home.”

“Yes,” David looked about with a satisfied air. “I have given you pretty much all you want, haven’t I, dear? Those Nattier pictures just suit this room, and the Fragonard is a gem. Are you glad you have a husband who can provide for your aesthetic wants?”

“Yes—and can’t you appreciate that Alex wants—”

“I fully appreciate all that Alex wants, I know perfectly just what Alex wishes. You need tell me no more about it. I am fully conversant with the whole subject in all its lights and shades. And if you want to know, I will tell you once and for all, that no arguments, no pleas, no threats will change my ultimatum. I stand pat on the offer I made him and I shall make no other. I do not re peat or emphasize this, for it is not necessary. I have spoken.”

With a flourish of his hand in the air, David Lang sat back complacently and regarded his wife.

He felt no regret for his brother’s disappointment, he was secure in the logic and justice of his own attitude. He had his money, why should he give it to a man who had none? When he died, it would perforce pass into other hands. But that had no bearing on the present.

He summarily dismissed the subject, and began to talk of other matters.

Eleanor knew she had lost out, but knew, too, there was not the least mite of use in keeping at it. When David was set, he was set. And that was all there was about it.

By way of a reward for her docility, David listened patiently, even with seeming interest to a rehearsal of her ailments and affections.

“I think it’s my heart,” she said, plaintively. “Don’t you think I look as if I had heart trouble? Organic, I mean.”

“I don’t know, dearie. I can’t diagnose. But I advise you to get Mason over tomorrow. He’ll know.”

“Oh, Doctor Mason! He doesn’t know anything!”

“Very well, get a specialist up from New York. You can find out who is the best man from some friend—if you don’t want to ask Mason.”

“Oh, I should think you’d find that out. Dear me, you take no more interest in your wife’s case than if it were a stranger’s!”

“Now, don’t talk like that, my dear. I’ll see to it. Perhaps Wyatt can find out who’s the best heart specialist, and we’ll get him up here—”

“No, no! I’m afraid to have him come! I’m afraid of what he’ll say—”

She broke into a series of stifled sobs, and David, rising strode nervously about the room.

“Oh, don’t cry, Eleanor. You’re not a hopeless case yet. Any good doctor ought to fix you up all right. Let’s get several—the best ones. I can afford it—”

“Money isn’t everything when it comes to illness. Oh, dear, what if I should die—”

“Heavens! You’re not going to die! Don’t be so silly—”

“Silly! I guess if you had the sharp, knife-like pains in your heart that I have, you wouldn’t think it silly!”

“Have you, dear? Have you sharp pains? You never told me that before. Maybe it is serious—”

“Of course it’s serious.” Eleanor decidedly brightened at his words. “If you insist, we’ll have some doctors up from the city.”

“All right, call all you want. Let me see ’em, though, when they’re here. I want to get their reports myself.”

The interview closed with mutual endearments, for the two were really affectionate and years of association had made them accustomed to one another’s peculiarities, and tolerant of weaknesses.

But again Alex had to get a dressing down for appointing a second ambassador to plead his cause.

Equally surely, again he reinflated himself, like a toy balloon, and cast about in his mind for another lead.

David’s dressings down were so short and curt that they didn’t last long, and, with Alex, their effects were even sooner over.

It was with renewed hopes, then, that he went to call on Giulia, and told her frankly of his latest failure to acquire the so necessary fortune.

The lady Castro appeared despairful.

“I wish I were not so mercenary,” she murmured, looking adorably penitent and wistful.

“You’re not,” Alex assured her, in accordance with her expectations. “You’re only a true woman, and you want the things that are the divine right of every true woman.”

“How sweetly you put it! But it is so. Only the truly feminine nature craves—even demands, delicate and beautiful belongings. I merely exist in this simple cottage. In a beautiful home of my own, I could blossom out into my true self, my regal, queenly self.”

A dramatic attitude, supposed to be indicative of royalty accompanied this speech and deeply affected her audience of one.

“You could! you could!” poor Alex groaned. “Oh, Giulia, my love, my queen, would I could crown you and put in your hand the sceptre that belongs to you! Empress of my heart, would that you might be queen of my home!”

“Is there no way?” Giulia ventured, sitting down beside him, and taking his hand in hers. “No way you can think of.”

“Yes—a wrong way—”

“Hush!” the slim fingers brushed his lips. “We want no evil in our life—”

“Then—then, yes, I have one more hope. One more legitimate hope—but if it fails—I shall not answer for my future proceedings.”

“Why, you look positively ferocious! However, I’ve no fear of your doing anything really wrong. My hero could never do that!”

He clasped her hands in fervor, but she would allow no further caress.

“No, no, bad man,” she said, playfully, “no kisses until we are really engaged.”

But the pleasant conversation that ensued was most enjoyable to Alex. He liked the wit and gayety of the captivating widow, he loved to watch the sparkle of her eyes and the play of her red lips. For himself he would have been more than content to live in the little cottage with her, on even less than David proposed to allow him.

But what could he do? No amount of persuasion would make her see things in that light, and apparently, no amount of persuasion would make David see them in any other.

And yet, there was another amount of persuasion that might be brought to bear on his pig-headed brother.

At least, it could be tried.

So Alex, the indefatigable, betook himself to Dane Wyatt.

To the assistant, who, he fondly hoped would assist him, Alex Lang stated his case.

He put it in a different light from that in which he had presented it to the two ladies who had tried to help him.

“I’m making it a business matter with you,” he told Wyatt, after he had explained in full. “If you can get my brother to do what I want, I will give you ten thousand dollars. That’s not poor pay for a few moments’ conversation.”

“Indeed, it isn’t,” Dane agreed. “And on those terms I accept your mission. Of course, I merely engage to ask Mr. Lang to do what you want, and I am in no way responsible for the results.”

“You may be fired,” said Alex, conscientiously.

“I think not. You see, I reserve the right to put the matter to him in my own way, and I think I know him well enough not to offend him beyond pardon.”

“All right, Dane, go to it. I hope to Heaven you will succeed—for I am really desperate. Think, man! A prize like that, just within your grasp and—”

“And no bait for your line! Well, you have my promise. I’ll have to wait my chance, of course, but I’ll report as soon as may be.”

His chance did not come at once, for an interruption of the daily routine was caused by an influx of doctors.

Eleanor Lang had taken her husband at his word, and had summoned a series of specialists, whose consecutive appearances made appalling havoc in the household. Their various visits and returns, examinations and consultations, took up the better part of a fortnight, and so elated was Eleanor at the excitement she was creating that she almost got well.

Not quite, however, for not all of the doctors were frank enough to declare that she had nothing the matter with her whatever.

Some of them hemmed and hawed, and referred to a run down condition and incipient nervous troubles, while some went so far as to hint possible organic disturbances.

But the majority agreed that rest and care were imperative and advised a capable resident nurse.

Eleanor’s thoughts flew to Nurse Brace, and as her name was known to two of the doctors and their recommendation was hearty and emphatic, a letter was despatched at once.

The bout with the doctors had raised Eleanor’s spirits materially, but by the time Nurse Brace arrived she had drooped back to her dull apathy.

“She wants coddling,” Brace said to David Lang, who asked her opinion. “I don’t think there’s much the matter with her—but I don’t know. Any way I’ll look after her, and I’ll soon know just where we stand.”

The woman was a tower of strength in herself, and Lang felt relieved to know there was somebody who could watch over his wife and ordain as to further doctoring or treatment.

And then, these things settled, Dane Wyatt prepared to make his great effort.

He chose a time when his employer was in good humor and comparatively idle.

“I say, Mr. Lang,” he began, “I’ve a chance to make ten thousand dollars if you’ll help me.”

“Fine,” Lang returned. “Give us the proposition.”

“Well, sir, as you know, your will leaves’—”

Here he was interrupted.

“Leaves about one-third of my fortune to my brother Alex,” he said, fixing Wyatt with a twinkling eye. “And you, I take it, are to get a bonus of ten thousand dollars, if you succeed in persuading me—”

“That’s enough, Mr. Lang. I see you know the formula, and unless you propose to help me earn my money, there’s no use in prolonging this conversation.”

“Not an atom—not a molecule—not an ion of use,” stated David Lang, calmly. “Good Lord, I wonder if my brother has any more agents up his sleeve!”

“But you know, Mr. Lang, it wouldn’t make one bit of difference to you, and it would be a boon to Mr. Alex—and, incidentally to me.”

Wyatt dared this because of the twinkling eye.

“I’m not giving out boons,” said the other, shortly now. “For your own sake, Dane, consider this incident closed.”

And closed it was.

When Wyatt reported this to Alex, the disappointed swain received it with a mere shake of his head.

“I knew it,” he exclaimed, pessimistically, “I knew it. Well—there’s a way out.”

His suddenly gripped hands and set jaws startled Wyatt, who cried, “Not desperate, are you?”

“Desperate is what I ain’t nothin’ else but,” returned Alex, who had his own notions of humorous repartee.

He walked away in dejection rather than in a belligerent mood, and Wyatt with a sigh for his lost ten thousand, returned to his work.

The advent of Nurse Brace affected the whole household as well as its mistress. There was something about Brace that made for peace and quiet. Mrs. Lang was far less restless, the servants, though not nominally under Brace’s control, behaved better, and even Mary was less pettish and wilful.

She confided in Hester, her lifelong friend, and not infrequently followed her wise advice.

She told her all about Forrester Carr and his teasing and Hester Brace laughed.

“Why, Mary, child,” she said, “the more you mind that, the more he’ll, cut up with that woman. Just ignore it—pretend not to notice it. Better still, pretend to like it, to approve of it—and mark my words, he’ll soon stop it.”

“Like it! Approve of it!” cried Mary, aghast. “Why, I couldn’t!”

“Yes, you can. Just try it once.”

So, that very afternoon, Mary decided to try it once.

Carr appeared soon after luncheon. His home was also on the outskirts of New Salem, but over on the other side of the town. He was much at Langdene, for his business hours, in a bank, were short.

Moreover, the wedding day was now less than two months away.

While it had not been officially set, it was tacitly accepted that it should occur on Mary’s birthday, and Eleanor Lang was reviving now sufficiently to take an interest in planning the trousseau.

Hester Brace was of great help, not in selection, Eleanor did all that herself, but in engaging work people, and managing dates and appointments.

Mary was not greatly concerned about her clothes. Her mother had always bought them, and the girl paid little attention to their choice.

Her interests were out-doorsy and she preferred golf or tennis or riding to any or all indoor occupations or amusements.

She met Carr with a smile and a kiss, and astounded him by proposing that they go and get Giulia and then ask Dane Wyatt to make up a tennis game.

Forry agreed, and was surprised further as they walked along to hear Mary eulogize the widow as she had never done before.

“Oh, I really like her,” the girl said, in answer to his look, “but sometimes I’m contrary. Shall you mind dear, if I’m contrary sometimes, after we’re married?”

“No, Mary, darling, I sha’n’t mind what you are, if you’re my wife.”

“And you won’t tease me?”

“That I can’t promise. I’m a natural born tease, you know, and if I have to vow to cut that out—”

“No, you needn’t,” Mary laughed. “I shouldn’t know you without that trait in your make-up.”

As they neared Willow Dell, they saw no one about. The cottage looked deserted.

“She must be out,” Mary opined, and then she gave a stifled scream, and grasped Carr’s arm.

“What is the matter?” he exclaimed, staring at her horrified look.

“Oh, Forry! I saw a face at that upper window! A terrible, dreadful face!”

“Nonsense! If you saw a face at all, it must be one of the servants. The dreadfulness of it, you imagined.”

“I didn’t! I didn’t! It was frightful! I just had a glimpse and then it disappeared. Who could it have been?”—

“Don’t be a silly, Mary. Who could it have been but one of Mrs. Castro’s people. Perhaps she has an Italian servant that we’ve never seen.”

“He looked Italian—it was a man—but oh, Forry, you can’t imagine how awful—”

“Awful, how?”

“Oh, I don’t know—like an ogre or—a ghoul—”

“Hush, Mary, you’re talking nonsense. But to quiet your nerves, I’ll ask Mrs. Castro who it could have been.”

“No, don’t—don’t speak of it—” Mary whispered, for they were nearly at the porch now, and Giulia had appeared in the doorway.

“Goody!” she cried, gaily. “I’m so glad you’ve come. I was lonesome as I could be! Come along in.”

“We want you to come out and play tennis,” said Mary, her best smile showing itself. “If you will, we’ll get Dane.”

“Of course I will. But sit still a few moments and rest, while I get into tennis togs.”

She disappeared and Mary repeated her injunction to Carr not to mention the face she had seen.

“You didn’t see any,” Carr, said laughing. “That’s why you’re so keen I shouldn’t ask her about it. You’re imaginative, dear, and you know it.”

“Of course I am, and I’m glad of it, but this wasn’t imagination.” She shook her head persistently, and Carr gave up the argument.

To punish her for such silliness, he devoted himself to Giulia, on her return.

Very young and attractive the widow looked, in her becoming sports clothes with short sleeves and short skirt.

She wore no hat, and her lithe arms swung her racket above her head in glee.

“I feel just like playing,” she declared. “Shall we trounce them, Forry?”

“You bet!” he cried, his eyes dancing, and Mary true to her promise to Hester said, blithely:

“Good! Dane is a better player, and I’ve been wanting to beat Forry!”

Giulia opened her eyes, and Carr gave Mary a quick glance. This was a new bit of contrariness. Wyatt was easily collected, and the game began. Notwithstanding the exigencies and demands of a brisk game of tennis there are many stray moments when partners have chance for a word or two of conversation, while the other side pick up balls or get ready to serve, or change courts.

These opportunities were not neglected by Carr and Giulia for a succession of laughing whispers.

Whereupon Miss Mary proceeded to give Dane Wyatt one blissful experience over which he doted and dreamed for many an hour afterward.

She chaffed him, she flirted with him, she whispered secrets to him, until he was bewitched and Carr was furious.

The latter saw through it all, however, and soon let up on his nonsense with Mrs. Castro.

That astute lady also saw through it, and so, all in all, the honors rested with the mischievous Mary, who had been so ably advised by the unromantic looking nurse.

“Your game,” said Carr, as they finished, looking deep into Mary’s eyes.

As a matter of fact Mary’s side had lost in tennis, but she knew what he meant.