In Her Own Right, Page 2

  II

  GOOD-BYE

  The Cavendishes were of those who (to quote Macloud's words) "didbelong and, thank God, showed it." Henry Cavendish had marriedJosephine Marquand in the days before there were any idle-rich inNorthumberland, and when the only leisure class were in jail. Now, whenthe idea, that it was respectable not to work, was in the ascendency,he still went to his office with unfailing regularity--and the factthat the Tuscarora Trust Company paid sixty per cent. on its capitalstock, and sold in the market (when you could get it) at three thousanddollars a share, was due to his ability and shrewd financiering aspresident. It was because he refused to give up the active managementeven temporarily, that they had built their summer home on the Heights,where there was plenty of pure air, unmixed with the smoke of the millsand trains, and with the Club near enough to give them its life andgayety when they wished.

  The original Cavendish and the original Marquand had come toNorthumberland, as officers, with Colonel Harmer and his detachment ofRegulars, at the close of the Revolution, had seen the possibilities ofthe place, and, after a time, had resigned and settled down tobusiness. Having brought means with them from Philadelphia, theyquickly accumulated more, buying up vast tracts of Depreciation landsand numerous In-lots and Out-lots in the original plan of the town.These had never been sold, and hence it was, that, by the natural risein value from a straggling forest to a great and thriving city, theCavendish and the Marquand estates were enormously valuable. And hence,also, the fact that Elaine Cavendish's grandparents, on both sides ofthe house, were able to leave her a goodly fortune, absolutely, and yetnot disturb the natural descent of the bulk of their possessions.

  Having had wealth for generations, the Cavendishes were as natural andunaffected in their use of it, as the majority of their neighbors weretawdry and flashy. They did things because they wanted to do them, notbecause someone else did them. And they did not do things that othersdid, and never thought what the others might think.

  Because an iron-magnate, with only dollars for ballast, had fifteenbath pools of Sienna marble in his flaunting, gaudy "chateau," and wasimmediately aped by the rest of the rattle-brained, moved theCavendishes not at all. Because the same bounder gave a bathing-suitparty (with the ocean one hundred and fifty miles away), at whichprizes were bestowed on the man and woman who dared wear the leastclothes, while the others of the _nouveaux riches_ applauded andmarvelled at his audacity and originality, simply made the Cavendishesstay away. Because another mushroom millionaire bought books for hislibrary by the foot, had gold mangers and silver stalls for his horses,and adorned himself with diamonds like an Indian Rajah, were noincentives to the Cavendishes to do likewise. They pursued the eventenor of the well-bred way.

  Cavencliffe was a great, roomy country-house, in the Colonial style,furnished in chintz and cretonnes, light and airy, with wickerfurniture and bird's-eye maple throughout, save in the dining-room,where there was the slenderest of old Hepplewhite. Wide piazzas flankedthe house on every side, screened and awninged from the sun and windand rain. A winding driveway between privet hedges, led up from themain road half a mile away, through a maze of giant forest trees amidwhich the place was set.

  Croyden watched it, thoughtfully, as the car spun up the avenue. He sawthe group on the piazza, the waiting man-servant, the fling upward of ahand in greeting by a white robed figure. And he sighed.

  "My last welcome to Cavencliffe!" he muttered. "It's a bully place, anda bully girl--and, I think, I had a chance, if I hadn't been such afool."

  Elaine Cavendish came forward a little way to greet him. And Croydensighed, again, as--with the grace he had learned as a child from hisSouth Carolina mother, he bent for an instant over her hand. He hadnever known how handsome she was, until this visit--and he had come tosay good-bye!

  "You were good to come," she said.

  "It was good of you to ask me," he replied.

  The words were trite, but there was a note of intenseness in his tonesthat made her look sharply at him--then, away, as a trace of color camefaintly to her cheek.

  "You know the others," she said, perfunctorily.

  And Croyden smiled in answer, and greeted the rest of the guests.

  There were but six of them: Mrs. Chichester, a young matron, of lessthan thirty, whose husband was down in Panama explaining some contractto the Government Engineers; Nancy Wellesly, a rather petite blonde,who was beginning to care for her complexion and other people'sreputations, but was a square girl, just the same; and CharlotteBrundage, a pink and white beauty, but the crack tennis and golf playerof her sex at the Club and a thorough good sport, besides.

  The men were: Harold Hungerford, who was harmlessly negative andinoffensively polite; Roderick Colloden, who, after Macloud, was themost popular man in the set, a tall, red haired chap, who always seemedgenuinely glad to meet anyone in any place, and whose handshake gaveemphasis to it. He had not a particularly good memory for faces, andthe story is still current in the Club of how, when he had beenpresented to a newcomer four times in one week, and had always told himhow glad he was to meet him, the man lost patience and blurted out,that he was damn glad to know it, but, if Colloden would recognize himthe next time they met, he would be more apt to believe it. Theremaining member of the party was Montecute Mattison. He was a smallman, with peevishly pinched features, that wore an incipient smirk whenin repose, and a hyena snarl when in action. He had no friends and nointimates. He was the sort who played dirty golf in a match:deliberately moving on the green, casting his shadow across the hole,talking when his opponent was about to drive, and anything else todisconcert. In fact, he was a dirty player in any game--because it wasnatural. He would not have been tolerated a moment, even at theHeights, if he had not been Warwick Mattison's son, and the heir to hismillions. He never made an honest dollar in his life, and could not, ifhe tried, but he was Assistant-Treasurer of his father's company, didan hour's work every day signing the checks, and drew fifteen thousanda year for it. A man's constant inclination was to smash him in theface--and the only reason he escaped was because it would have beenlike beating a child. One man had, when Mattison was more thanordinarily offensive, laid him across his knee, and, in full sight ofthe Club-house, administered a good old-fashioned spanking with a golfclub. Him Montecute thereafter let alone. The others did not take thetrouble, however. They simply shrugged their shoulders, and swore athim freely and to his face.

  At present, he was playing the devoted to Miss Brundage and hence hisinclusion in the party. She cared nothing for him, but his money was athing to be considered--having very little of her own--and she wasdoing her best to overcome her repugnance sufficiently to place himamong the eligibles.

  Mattison got through the dinner without any exhibition of ill nature,but, when the women retired, it came promptly to the fore.

  The talk had turned on the subject of the Club Horse Show. It wasscheduled for the following month, and was quite the event of theAutumn, in both a social and an equine sense. The women showed theirgowns and hosiery, the men their horses and equipment, and howappropriately they could rig themselves out--while the general herdstood around the ring gaping and envious.

  Presently, there came a momentary lull in the conversation and Mattisonremarked:

  "I see Royster & Axtell went up to-day. I reckon," with an insinuatinglaugh, "there will be some entries withdrawn."

  "Men or horses?" asked Hungerford.

  "Both--and men who haven't horses, as well," with a sneering glance atCroyden.

  "Why, bless me! he's looking at you, Geoffrey!" Hungerford exclaimed.

  "I am not responsible for the direction of Mr. Mattison's eyes,"Croyden answered with assumed good nature.

  Mattison smiled, maliciously.

  "Is it so bad as that?" he queried. "I knew, of course, you were hit,but I hoped it was only for a small amount."

  "Shut up, Mattison!" exclaimed Colloden. "If you haven't anyappreciation of propriety, you can at least keep quiet."

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p; "Oh, I don't know----"

  "Don't you?" said Colloden, quietly, reaching across and grasping himby the collar. "Think again,--_and think quickly_!"

  A sickly grin, half of surprise and half of anger, overspreadMattison's face.

  "Can't you take a little pleasantry?" he asked.

  "We don't like your pleasantries any more than we like you, and that isnot at all. Take my advice and mend your tongue." He shook him, much asa terrier does a rat, and jammed him back into his chair. "Now, eitherbe good or go home," he admonished.

  Mattison was weak with anger--so angry, indeed, that he was helplesseither to stir or to make a sound. The others ignored him--and, when hewas a little recovered, he got up and went slowly from the room.

  "It wasn't a particularly well bred thing to do," observed Colloden,"but just the same it was mighty pleasant. If it were not for the law,I'd have broken his neck."

  "He isn't worth the exertion, Roderick," Croyden remarked. "But I'mobliged, old man. I enjoyed it."

  When they rejoined the ladies on the piazza, a little later, Mattisonhad gone.

  After a while, the others went off in their motors, leaving Croydenalone with Miss Cavendish. Hungerford had offered to drop him at theClub, but he had declined. He would enjoy himself a littlelonger--would give himself the satisfaction of another hour with her,before he passed into outer darkness.

  He had gone along in his easy, bachelor way, without a serious thoughtfor any woman, until six months ago. Then, Elaine Cavendish came home,after three years spent in out-of-the-way corners of the globe, and,straightway, bound him to her chariot wheels.

  At least, so the women said--who make it their particular business toobserve--and they never make mistakes. They can tell when one ispreparing to fall in love, long before he knows himself. Indeed, therehave been many men drawn into matrimony, against their own expressinclination, merely by the accumulation of initiative engendered byimpertinent meddlers. They want none of it, they even fight desperatelyagainst it, but, in the end, they succumb.

  And Geoffrey Croyden would have eventually succumbed, of his owndesires, however, had Elaine Cavendish been less wealthy, and had hisaffairs been more at ease. Now, he thanked high Heaven he had notoffered himself. She might have accepted him; and think of all theheart-burnings and pain that would now ensue, before he went out of herlife!

  "What were you men doing to Montecute Mattison?" she asked presently."He appeared perfectly furious when he came out, and he went offwithout a word to anyone--even Charlotte Brundage was ignored."

  "He and Colloden had a little difficulty--and Mattison left us,"Croyden answered. "Didn't he stop to say good-night?"

  She shook her head. "He called something as he drove off--but I thinkhe was swearing at his man."

  "He needed something to swear at, I fancy!" Croyden laughed.

  "What did Roderick do?" she asked.

  "Took him by the collar and shook him--and told him either to go homeor be quiet."

  "And he went home--I see."

  "Yes--when he had recovered himself sufficiently. I thought, at first,his anger was going to choke him."

  "Imagine big, good-natured Roderick stirred sufficiently to lay handson any one!" she laughed.

  "But imagine him _when_ stirred," he said.

  "I hadn't thought of him in that way," she said, slowly--"Ough!" with alittle shiver, "it must have been terrifying--what had Mattison done tohim?"

  "Nothing--Mattison is too much of a coward ever to _do_ anything."

  "What had he said, then?"

  "Oh, some brutality about one of Colloden's friends, I think," Croydenevaded. "I didn't quite hear it--and we didn't discuss it afterward."

  "I'm told he is a scurrilous little beast, with the men," shecommented; "but, I must say, he is always polite to me, and reasonablycharitable. Indeed, to-night is the only deliberately bad manners hehas ever exhibited."

  "He knows the men won't hurt him," said Croyden, "whereas the women, ifhe showed his ill nature to them, would promptly ostracize him. He isa canny bounder, all right." He made a gesture of repugnance. "We have hadenough of Mattison--let us find something more interesting--yourself, forinstance."

  "Or yourself!" she smiled. "Or, better still, neither. Which remindsme--Miss Southard is coming to-morrow; you will be over, of course?"

  "I'm going East to-morrow night," he said. "I'm sorry."

  "But she is to stay two weeks--you will be back before she leaves,won't you?"

  "I fear not--I may go on to London."

  "Before you return here?"

  "Yes--before I return here."

  "Isn't this London idea rather sudden?" she asked.

  "I've been anticipating it for some time," sending a cloud of cigarettesmoke before his face. "But it grew imminent only to-day."

  When the smoke faded, her eyes were looking questioningly into his.There was something in his words that did not ring quite true. It wastoo sudden to be genuine, too unexpected. It struck her as vague andinsincere. Yet there was no occasion to mistrust--it was common enoughfor men to be called suddenly to England on business.----

  "When do you expect to return?" she asked.

  "I do not know," he said, reading something that was in her mind. "If Imust go, the business which takes me will also fix my return."

  A servant approached.

  "What is it, Hudson?" she asked.

  "The telephone, Miss Cavendish. Pride's Crossing wishes to talk withyou."

  Croyden arose--it was better to make the farewell brief--andaccompanied her to the doorway.

  "Good-bye," he said, simply.

  "You must go?" she asked.

  "Yes--there are some things that must be done to-night."

  She gave him another look.

  "Good-bye, then--and _bon voyage_," she said, extending her hand.

  He took it--hesitated just an instant--lifted it to his lips--and,then, without a word, swung around and went out into the night.

  * * * * *

  The next day--at noon--when, her breakfast finished, she came downstairs, a scare headline in the morning's paper, lying in the hall, mether eyes.

  SUICIDE!

  Royster Found Dead in His Bath-room! The Penalty of Bankruptcy!

  ROYSTER & AXTELL FAIL!

  Many Prominent Persons Among the Creditors.

  She seized the paper, and nervously ran her eyes down the columns untilthey reached the list of those involved.----

  Yes! Croyden's name was among them! That was what had taken him away!

  And Croyden read it, too, as he sped Eastward toward the unknown life.