In Her Own Right Part 47

A HANDKERCHIEF AND A GLOVE

Miss Cavendish was standing behind the curtains in the window of her room, when Croyden and Macloud came up the walk, at four o'clock.

She was waiting!--not another touch to be given to her attire. Her gown, of s.h.i.+mmering blue silk, clung to her figure with every movement, and fell to the floor in suggestively revealing folds. Her dark hair was arranged in simple fas.h.i.+on--the simplicity of exquisite taste--making the fair face below it, seem fairer even than it was. She was going to win this man.

She heard them enter the lower hall, and pa.s.s into the drawing-room.

She glided out to the stairway, and stood, peering down over the bal.u.s.trade. She heard Miss Carrington's greeting and theirs--heard Macloud's chuckle, and Croyden's quiet laugh. Then she heard Macloud say:

"Mr. Croyden is anxious to meet your guest--at least, we took her to be a guest you were driving with this morning."

"My guest is equally anxious to meet Mr. Croyden," Miss Carrington replied.

"Why does she tarry, then?" laughed Croyden.

"Did you ever know a woman to be ready?"

"You were."

"I am the hostess!" she explained.

"Mr. Croyden imagined there was something familiar about her," Macloud remarked.

"Do you mean you recognized her?" Miss Carrington asked.

(Elaine strained her ears to catch his answer.)

"She didn't let me have the chance to recognize her," said he--"she wouldn't let me see her face."

(Elaine gave a little sigh of relief.)

"Wouldn't?" Miss Carrington interrogated.

"At least, she didn't."

"She couldn't have covered it completely--she saw you."

"Don't raise his hopes too high!" Macloud interjected.

"She can't--I'm on the pinnacle of expectation, now."

"Humpty-Dumpty risks a great fall!" Macloud warned.

"Not at all!" said Croyden. "If the guest doesn't please me, I'm going to talk to Miss Carrington."

"You're growing blase," she warned.

"Is that an evidence of it?" he asked. "If it is, I know one who must be too blase even to move," with a meaning glance at Macloud.

A light foot-fall on the stairs, the soft swish of skirts in the hallway, Croyden turned, expectantly--and Miss Cavendish entered the room.

There was an instant's silence. Croyden's from astonishment; the others' with watching him.

Elaine's eyes were intent on Croyden's face--and what she saw there gave her great content: he might not be persuaded, but he loved her, and he would not misunderstand. Her face brightened with a fascinating smile.

"You are surprised to see me, messieurs?" she asked, curtsying low.

Croyden's eyes turned quickly to his friend, and back again.

"I'm not so sure as to Monsieur Macloud," he said.

"But for yourself?"

"Surprised is quite too light a word--stunned would but meekly express it."

"Did neither of you ever hear me mention Miss Carrington?--We were friends, almost chums, at Dobbs Ferry."

"If I did, it has escaped me?" Croyden smiled.

"Well, you're likely not to forget it again."

"Did you know that I--that we were here?"

"Certainly! I knew that you and Colin were both here," Elaine replied, imperturbably. "Do you think yourself so unimportant as not to be mentioned by Miss Carrington?"

"What will you have to drink, Mr. Croyden?" Davila inquired.

"A sour ball, by all means."

"Is that a reflection on my guest?" she asked--while Elaine and Macloud laughed.

"A reflection on your guest?" he inflected, puzzled.

"You said you would take a _sour_ ball."

Croyden held up his hands.

"I'm fussed!" he confessed. "I have nothing to plead. A man who mixes a high ball with a sour ball is either rattled or drunk, I am not the latter, therefore----"

"You mean that my coming has rattled you?" Elaine inquired.

"Yes--I'm rattled for very joy."

She put her hands before her face.

"Spare my blushes, Geoffrey!"

"You could spare a few--and not miss them!" he laughed.