The Younger Set is a Webnovel created by Robert W. Chambers.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
The lane presently disclosed itself as an avenue, now doubly lined with tall trees; this avenue he continued to follow, pa.s.sing through a grove of locusts, and came out before a house on the low crest of a hill.
There were clumps of evergreens about, tall cedars, a bit of bushy foreland, and a stretch of snow. And across this open s.p.a.ce of snow a young girl was moving, followed by a white wolf-hound. Once she paused, hesitated, looked cautiously around her. Ruthven, hiding behind a bush, saw her thrust her arm into a low evergreen shrub and draw out a shining object that glittered like gla.s.s. Then she started toward the house again.
At first Ruthven thought she was his wife, then he was not sure, and he cast his cigar away and followed, slinking forward among the evergreens.
But the youthful fur-clad figure kept straight on to the veranda of the house, and Ruthven, curious and determined to find out whether it was Alixe or not, left the semi-shelter of the evergreens and crossed the open s.p.a.ce just as the woman’s figure disappeared around an angle of the veranda.
Vexed, determined not to return without some definite discovery, Ruthven stepped upon the veranda. Just around the angle of the porch he heard a door opening, and he hurried forward impatient and absolutely unafraid, anxious to get one good look at his wife and be off.
But when he turned the angle of the porch there was no one there; only an open door confronted him, with a big, mild-eyed wolf-hound standing in the doorway, looking steadily up at him.
Ruthven glanced somewhat dubiously at the dog, then, as the animal made no offensive movement, he craned his fleshy neck, striving to see inside the house.
He did see–nothing very much–only the same young girl, still in her furs, emerging from an inner room, her arms full of dolls.
In his eagerness to see more, Ruthven pushed past the great white dog, who withdrew his head disdainfully from the unceremonious contact, but quietly followed Ruthven into the house, standing beside him, watching him out of great limpid, deerlike eyes.
But Ruthven no longer heeded the dog. His amused and slightly sneering gaze was fastened on the girl in furs who had entered what appeared to be a living room to the right, and now, down on her knees beside a couch, smiling and talking confidentially and quite happily to herself, was placing her dolls in a row against the wall.
The dolls were of various sorts, some plainly enough home-made, some very waxy and gay in sash and lace, some with polished smiling features of porcelain. One doll, however, was different–a bit of ragged red flannel and something protruding to represent the head, something that glittered. And the girl in the fur jacket had this curious doll in her hands when Ruthven, to make sure of her ident.i.ty, took a quick impulsive step forward.
[Ill.u.s.tration: “With the acrid smell of smoke choking her.”]
Then the great white dog growled, very low, and the girl in the fur jacket looked around and up quickly.
Alixe! He realised it as she caught his pale eyes fixed on her; and she stared, sprang to her feet still staring. Then into her eyes leaped terror, the living horror of recognition distorting her face. And, as she saw he meant to speak she recoiled, shrinking away, turning in her fright like a hunted thing. The strange doll in her hand glittered; it was a revolver wrapped in a red rag.
“W-what’s the matter?” he stammered, stepping forward, fearful of the weapon she clutched.
But at the sound of his voice she screamed, crept back closer against the wall, screamed again, pushing the shining muzzle of the weapon deep into her fur jacket above her breast.
“F-for G.o.d’s sake!” he gasped, “don’t fire!–don’t–“
She closed both eyes and pulled the trigger; something knocked her flat against the wall, but she heard no sound of a report, and she pulled the trigger again and felt another blow.
The second blow must have knocked her down, for she found herself rising to her knees, reaching for the table to aid her. But her hand was all red and slippery; she looked at it stupidly, fell forward, rose again, with the acrid smell of smoke choking her, and her pretty fur jacket all soaked with the warm wet stuff which now stained both hands.
Then she got to her knees once more, groped in the rushing darkness, and swayed forward, falling loosely and flat. And this time she did not try to rise.
It was her way; it had always been her way out of trouble; the quickest, easiest escape from what she did not choose to endure. And even when in her mind the light of reason had gone out for ever, she had not lost that instinct for escape; and, wittingly or not, she had taken the old way out of trouble–the shortest, quickest way. And where it leads–she knew at last, lying there on her face, her fur jacket and her little hands so soiled and red.
As for the man, they finally contrived to drag the dog from him, and lift him to the couch, where he lay twitching among the dolls for a while; then stopped twitching.
Later in the night men came with lanterns who carried him away. A doctor said that there was the usual chance for partial recovery. But it was the last excitement he could ever venture to indulge in. His own doctors had warned him often enough. Now he had learned something, but not as much as Alixe had already learned. And perhaps he never would; but no man knows such things with the authority to speak of them.
ARS AMORIS
Nine days is the period of time allotted the human mind in which to wonder at anything. In New York the limit is much less; no tragedy can hold the boards as long as that where the bill must be renewed three times u day to hold even the pa.s.sing attention of those who themselves are eternal understudies in the continuous metropolitan performance. It is very expensive for the newspapers, but fortunately for them there is always plenty of trouble in the five boroughs, and an occasional catastrophe elsewhere to help out.
So they were grateful enough that the Edgewater tragedy lasted them forty-eight hours, and on the forty-ninth they forgot it.
In society it was about the same. Ruthven was evidently done for; that the spark of mere vitality might linger for years in the exterior sh.e.l.l of him familiar to his world, concerned that world no more. Interest in him was laid aside with the perfunctory finality with which the memory of Alixe was laid away.
As for Selwyn, a few people noticed his presence at the services; but even that episode was forgotten before he left the city, six hours later, under an invitation from Washington which admitted of no delay on the score of private business or of personal perplexity. For the summons was peremptory, and his obedience so immediate that a telegram to Austin comprised and concluded the entire ceremony of his leave-taking.
Later he wrote a great many letters to Eileen Erroll–not one of which he ever sent. But the formality of his silence was no mystery to her; and her response was silence as profound as the stillness in her soul.
But deep into her young heart something new had been born, faint fire, latent, unstirred; and her delicate lips rested one on the other in the sensitive curve of suspense; and her white fingers, often now interlinked, seemed tremulously instinct with the exquisite tension hushing body and soul in breathless accord as they waited in unison.
Toward the end of March the special service battleship squadron of the North Atlantic fleet commenced testing Chaosite in the vicinity of the Southern rendezvous. Both main and secondary batteries were employed.
Selwyn had been aboard the flag-ship for nearly a month.
In April the armoured ships left the Southern drill ground and began to move northward. A destroyer took Selwyn across to the great fortress inside the Virginia Capes and left him there. During his stay there was almost constant firing; later he continued northward as far as Washington; but it was not until June that he telegraphed Austin:
“Government satisfied. Appropriation certain next session. Am on my way to New York.”
Austin, in his house, which was now dismantled for the summer, telephoned Nina at Silverside that he had been detained and might not be able to grace the festivities which were to consist of a neighbourhood dinner to the younger set in honour of Mrs. Gerald. But he said nothing about Selwyn, and Nina did not suspect that her brother’s arrival in New York had anything to do with Austin’s detention.
There was in Austin a curious substreak of sentiment which seldom came to the surface except where his immediate family was involved. In his dealings with others he avoided it; even with Gerald and Eileen there had been little of this sentiment apparent. But where Selwyn was concerned, from the very first days of their friendship, he had always felt in his heart very close to the man whose sister he had married, and was always almost automatically on his guard to avoid any expression of that affection. Once he had done so, or attempted to, when Selwyn first arrived from the Philippines, and it made them both uncomfortable to the verge of profanity, but remained as a shy source of solace to them both.
And now as Selwyn came leisurely up the front steps, Austin, awaiting him feverishly, hastened to smooth the florid jocose mask over his features, and walked into the room, big hand extended, large bantering voice undisturbed by the tremor of a welcome which filled his heart and came near filling his eyes:
“So you’ve stuck the poor old Government at last, have you? Took ’em all in–forts, fleet, and the marine cavalry?”
“Sure thing,” said Selwyn, laughing in the crushing grasp of the big fist. “How are you, Austin? Everybody’s in the country, I suppose,”
glancing around at the linen-shrouded furniture. “How is Nina? And the kids? … Good business! … And Eileen?”
“She’s all right,” said Austin; “gad! she’s really a superb specimen this summer… . You know she rather eased off last winter–got white around the gills and blue under the eyes… . Some heart trouble–we all thought it was you. Young girls have such notions sometimes, and I told Nina, but she sat on me… . Where’s your luggage? Oh, is it all here?–enough, I mean, for us to catch a train for Silverside this afternoon.”
“Has Nina any room for me?” asked Selwyn.
“Room! Certainly. I didn’t tell her you were coming, because if you hadn’t, the kids would have been horribly disappointed. She and Eileen are giving a shindy for Gladys–that’s Gerald’s new acquisition, you know. So if you don’t mind b.u.t.ting into a baby-show we’ll run down. It’s only the younger bunch from Hitherwood House and Brookminster. What do you say, Phil?”
Selwyn said that he would go–hesitating before consenting. A curious feeling of age and grayness had suddenly come over him–a hint of fatigue, of consciousness that much of life lay behind him.
Yet in his face and in his bearing he could not have shown much of it, though at his deeply sun-burned temples the thick, close-cut hair was silvery; for Austin said with amused and at the same time fretful emphasis: “How the devil you keep the youth” in your face and figure I don’t understand! I’m only forty-five–that’s scarcely eight years older than you are! And look at my waistcoat! And look at my hair–I mean where the confounded ebb has left the tide-mark! Gad, I’d scarcely blame Eileen for thinking you qualified for a cradle-s.n.a.t.c.her… . And, by the way, that Gladys girl is more of a woman than you’d believe. I observe that Gerald wears that peculiarly speak-easy-please expression which is a healthy sign that he’s being managed right from the beginning.”
“I had an idea she was all right,” said Selwyn, smiling.
“Well, she is. People will probably say that she ‘made’ Gerald.
However,” added Austin modestly, “I shall never deny it–though you know what part I’ve had in the making and breaking of him, don’t you?”