Читать книгу The Automobile Girls at Palm Beach: or, Proving Their Mettle Under Southern Skies - Crane Laura Dent - Страница 2

By half past two that afternoon Mr. Warren’s launch with its party of pleasure seekers was well under way.

The “Automobile Girls” had gathered in one end, and were enthusiastically commenting on the beauty of the scenery. Miss Sallie had been conscientiously trying to cultivate Maud Warren, and rather than antagonize her in the beginning had exerted herself to be agreeable to the De Lancey Smythes. Mrs. De Lancey Smythe, however, had other views afoot than the cultivation of Miss Sallie, and had immediately engaged in conversation with Mr. Stuart. Hardly had the launch put out from shore, before she beckoned him to one side of the little deck, and complacently kept him there until Ruth, far from pleased with this turn of affairs, called to her father to join them. But Mrs. De Lancey Smythe proved equal to the occasion, for rising gracefully, she calmly strolled by Mr. Stuart’s side to the end of the launch where the four girls were seated. Here they were joined by Miss Sallie, who had been watching the manœuvres of the other woman with well-veiled contempt, and the conversation became general.

“Do you know many people here, Mrs. Smythe?” asked Miss Sallie, turning to the other woman.

“Only a few,” replied Mrs. De Lancey Smythe indifferently. “Most of the people I know have been abroad all winter. Many of my dearest friends are among the peerage. Two people I know well, arrived to-day, however. The young Count de Sonde and his friend, Monsieur Duval.”

She pronounced the two names with a faultless accent that was not lost upon the practised ears of Ruth, who had spoken French fluently since she was a child and had had a French nursery governess for years. Whatever were her shortcomings, Mrs. De Lancey Smythe could at least speak French.

“A real count!” exclaimed Mollie. “How interesting!”

“Oh, we know lots of titled people,” Marian interposed. “There were two countesses and a marquis at our hotel in Newport last summer.”

“Isn’t all this lovely?” cried Barbara. She was not interested in counts and titles. She was keenly alive to the beauty of the scenery about them. “I can’t decide which out-blues the other, the lake or the sky.”

“But aren’t there a great many clouds in the sky?” questioned Ruth. “See how they have piled up over there? Do you suppose, by any chance, that we shall have rain? We were told that it never rained down here. It simply isn’t tolerated.”

The launch was now running far out from the shore, which was lined with pretty villas, set here and there in the midst of cocoanut palms and oleander trees. Following the boat’s path of rippling waves came another launch much smaller than Mr. Warren’s. It was manned by two men who had apparently not observed them. The men were deep in earnest conversation.

“Oh, Marian, there is the Count de Sonde with his friend!” exclaimed her mother. “How fortunate that we should run across them, just now.”

“Which one is the count?” asked Maud Warren. She had taken very little interest in anything before. “I hope he is not the older man.”

“No; he is the slender, dark-haired one,” returned Mrs. Smythe. “He is dressed in white.”

In the meantime Mr. Stuart had changed his seat. He had come to Palm Beach to enjoy his four “Automobile Girls.” No fascinating widow should swerve him from his original plans. Like most hard-working successful men he loved a holiday like a schoolboy and resented deeply any interference with his pleasure.

“Are my girls having a good time?” he queried, smiling into four charming faces.

“Yes, indeed!” exclaimed four voices in chorus.

“We thought the scenery beautiful in the Berkshires and along the Hudson river, Mr. Stuart. But this is the most beautiful of all!” cried Mollie, clasping her small hands ecstatically.

“Do you suppose people ever really work here?” inquired Grace. “It is like fairy land. Everything happens by magic.”

“You are right, Grace. This is a land of pleasure,” returned Mr. Stuart. “The only people who work are the employés in the hotels and the servants in the cottages.”

“Palm Beach is dedicated to pleasure,” explained Ruth, “because it was by accident that it came to be here at all. So it can just as well be spared for an earthly paradise.”

“Why is Palm Beach an accident?” queried Mollie.

“Years ago this was just a wild, desolate coast,” Ruth went on. “Even now the wilderness is only a mile away. There was a wreck out there, somewhere, on the other side of the peninsula,” she pointed toward the ocean. “A ship was loaded with cocoanuts, which were washed ashore. By and by the cocoanuts sprouted and grew into tall palm trees. So this barren shore was transformed into one of the most beautiful palm groves in the world.”

Mr. Stuart pinched his daughter’s cheek. “You’ve been stealing a march on us, Mistress Ruth,” he said. “You have been reading a guide book.”

Just then a shadow clouded the brilliant sunshine. The engineer of the launch glanced up uneasily.

“You don’t think it is going to rain, do you?” asked Mr. Warren.

“It would be a very unusual thing if it did, sir,” replied the man, without committing himself.

A fresh wind had come up, bearing with it the fragrance of many flowers. It seemed to have blown over miles of lily beds and orange groves. Barbara closed her eyes as she breathed in the warm, scented air. “How easy to forget all responsibilities, in an enchanted place like this!” she thought. “How easy just to drift along.”

“Papa, do tell the man to turn back,” said Maud in a voice that broke unpleasantly into Bab’s reflections. “It’s getting a little chilly. And besides, we must have tea this afternoon in the cocoanut grove.”

“Very well, my dear,” replied her father, turning to give his order to the engineer.

The launch swung around. Immediately the whole party spied another boat bobbing helplessly on the water. One of the men in it was leaning over examining the machinery of the frail craft. The other one, in white, stood at the side of the boat, scanning the water.

No other launches were in sight. The many pleasure boats which had dotted the lake with flecks of white, only a few minutes before, had now put in to shore. A black cloud had spread itself over the whole sky, casting a dark and ominous shadow over the lake.

As all the world knows – at least the part of the world which lives on pleasure waters – a strict etiquette prevails among these small boats. One boat always helps another in distress.

The engineer of Mr. Warren’s launch did not wait for orders. He turned at once toward the drifting craft.

“Is your engine broken?” he asked, as the boats touched sides.

The young man in white was the Count de Sonde himself. He looked decidedly relieved at the appearance of the rescuers. He removed his Panama hat with a flourish and bowed low to the women. The other man answered the boatman.

“We are quite helpless, you see,” the count ejaculated, shrugging his shoulders and raising his eyebrows at the same time. “My friend can do nothing.”

In the meantime the friend had arisen from the engine. He was examining the boatload of people with guarded interest.

“How do you do, Count? How are you, Monsieur Duval?” called Mrs. De Lancey Smythe.

It was not a time for conventional introductions. The boatman made a line fast from the small craft to the larger one. He meant to tow the smaller launch toward home.

But Mrs. De Lancey Smythe persisted. Mr. Warren and his friends must meet the Count de Sonde and Monsieur Duval.

Suddenly the heavens were shaken by a terrific clap of thunder.

Mrs. Smythe gave a little scream. “I am always frightened during a storm,” she averred. “Mr. Stuart, would it be too much to ask you to assist me into the cabin?”

Miss Sallie glanced rather contemptuously at the other woman, and wondered if her fright were real. Mr. Stuart rose and courteously assisted Mrs. De Lancey Smythe into the tiny cabin, just as a driving sheet of rain bore down upon them.

The “Automobile Girls” crouched in the centre of the boat. Maud and Marian followed Mrs. Smythe.

“Make for the nearest boathouse!” called Mr. Warren to his engineer. “We can’t get back to the hotel in such a storm as this.”

The storm now burst in all its West Indian fury. The waters were churned into foam. The wind whistled and roared. The two small boats tossed about on the water like chips.

“We are just in time!” exclaimed Mr. Warren, as they at last reached the boathouse. “In another five minutes I believe we should have been swamped.” He helped the women from the boat to the pier.

“What an escape!” gasped Mrs. Smythe. “Marian, my darling, are you all right?”

“Perfectly, Mama,” replied her daughter rather scornfully. It was plain to the four “Automobile Girls” that Marian did not entirely approve of her mother’s display of fear, and the tone in which she had answered told its own story.

The little company sought the shelter of the boathouse. The two foreigners went with them. In one of the men, Bab recognized the stranger she had noticed that morning on the hotel piazza. Mrs. De Lancey Smythe introduced him as Monsieur Duval.

“We were very lucky to have met you, sir,” Mr. Duval said to Mr. Stuart. Bab noticed that he spoke very good English, with only a slight foreign accent. “I am afraid our boat would have sunk if you had not come to our rescue.”

Mr. Stuart bowed politely, but coldly. He was wondering if his girls and Miss Sallie would have bad colds from their wetting. They were standing apart from the others, laughing at their plight.

The young Count de Sonde had joined Marian and her mother, as soon as he entered the boathouse, but Maud was with them. It was upon Maud that the count immediately bestowed his attention. He smiled upon her, until Maud’s foolish head began to flutter. Just think of capturing the attentions of a real count so quickly! Mr. Warren saw his daughter’s delight and frowned slightly. Maud must not get any foolish ideas about foreigners in her head. He would put an end to that nonsense. He was about to stride over and take charge of affairs when a man servant in plain livery appeared on the path near the boathouse door. He had come from the pretty villa, which was only a hundred yards back from the boathouse, set in a thick grove of palms. The man carried a large bundle of wraps and umbrellas. He paused respectfully when he reached the steps leading to the pavilion.

“My lady would be glad if you would seek shelter from the storm in her house,” he said in broken English to Mr. Warren.

It was great fun to scamper through the pouring rain to the pretty villa. The foreign coats and capes kept everyone dry. Now that they were on land Mr. Warren’s boat party had begun to regard their adventure somewhat lightly.

Once on the porch of the villa they were ushered into a large, low-ceilinged room at one end of which a fire of pine knots was burning brightly. The room was empty. The newcomers clustered about the blaze to dry their soaked shoes.

The room held very little furniture. Yet it appeared to Bab as one of the most beautiful rooms she had ever seen. A grand piano stood at one end, and a few graceful wicker chairs were scattered about the apartment. The room had an indescribable look of elegance. Was it the bare highly polished floor, with only the Persian rug to break its shining surface? Or was it the enormous bunch of daffodils in a cut glass bowl on the table that lent the place its charm? Bab did not know. On the mantelpiece between two tall brass candle-sticks stood a beautiful marble bust. Barbara afterwards learned that it was known as “The Head of an Unknown Lady.”

A handsome leather writing-case lay open on the table. It displayed on the inner side a large crest picked out in dull gold. The firelight shone on the gold outlines and threw them into dull relief.

Bab saw the Frenchman, Monsieur Duval, walk over to this table. He examined the crest intently for a moment, then turned away.

At this instant two women came in through the open door. The one, who was quite old, supported herself with a gold-headed mahogany cane. The other was young and very beautiful.

The older woman was rather terrifying in aspect. She had a hooked nose and her bright, beady little eyes regarded the company with a look of amused tolerance.

The younger woman came forward to meet her unknown guests without the slightest embarrassment or affectation. The “Automobile Girls” held their breath. Surely she was the most exquisite creature they had ever beheld.