The Governors Part 3

Virginia was a little shy. She was not quite sure whether she ought to talk to her cousin. Nevertheless, she obeyed the stronger personality.

"Of course I know," Stella said, spreading herself out on a sofa, and smiling in amus.e.m.e.nt at the other's slight embarra.s.sment, "that I am in disgrace with my beloved parent, and that you are half afraid to talk to me. Still, you must remember that you owe me a little consideration, for you have taken my place, and turned me out into the cold world."

"You must not talk like that, please," Virginia said quietly. "You know very well that I have done nothing of the sort. When my uncle sent for me, I had no idea that you were not still living with him."

"I lived with him for three years," Stella said, "after I had come back from Europe. I call that a very wonderful record. I give you about three months."

"I don't know why you should say this," Virginia answered. "I find my uncle very easy to get on with so long as he is obeyed."

Stella smiled.

"Ah, well!" she said, "I don't want to dishearten you, only you seem rather a nice little thing, and I am afraid you don't quite understand the sort of man my father is. However, you'll find out, and until you do I should have as good a time as I could if I were you. How do you like New York?"

"How could I help liking it?" Virginia answered. "I came here from a little wooden farmhouse in a desolate part of the country. I did not know what luxury was. Here I have a maid, a suite of rooms, an automobile, and all manner of wonderful things, all of my own."

"Will you be willing," Stella asked calmly, "to pay the price when the time comes?"

Virginia looked at her wonderingly.

"The price?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

Stella laughed a little hardly.

"Little girl," she said, "you are very young. Let me tell you this. My father never did a kind action in his life for its own sake. He never befriended any one for any other motive than that some day or other he meant to exact some return for it. Your time hasn't come yet, but there will be something some day which will help you to understand."

Virginia sat upright in her seat. A very becoming touch of colour had stolen into her cheeks, and her eyes were bright.

"I like to talk to you, Stella," she said, "because you are my cousin, and none of these other people are even my friends yet, but I cannot listen to you if you talk like this of the man who has been so kind to me, especially," she added, "as he is your father and my uncle."

Stella leaned over and patted her hand patronizingly.

"Silly little girl!" she said. "Never mind, we shall be friends some day, I dare say. You daren't come and see me, I suppose?"

Virginia shook her head.

"Not without my uncle's permission," she said.

"Quite right," Stella agreed. "Don't run any risks. We shall come across one another now and then, especially since my father seems determined to throw open his doors once more to the usual mob. By the by, does he ever say anything about me?"

"Nothing," Virginia answered, "except that you deceived him. He has told me that."

"Any particulars?" Stella asked.

"I am not sure," Virginia said, "that I ought to repeat them."

Stella sat quite still for a moment, and a slight frown was on her forehead.

"He has told you, then, why he sent me away?" she asked.

"Yes!" Virginia answered.

Stella shrugged her shoulders and rose.

"Well," she said, "I mustn't monopolize you any longer, or I shall be in disgrace."

She walked away with a little nod, leaving behind her a faint but uncomfortable impression. Virginia, an hour or so later, thought it best to tell her uncle of this meeting. They were standing together in one of the reception rooms, waiting for some guests who were coming to dine, and were alone except for a couple of footmen, who were lighting a huge candelabrum of wax candles.

"Uncle," Virginia said, "I met Stella this afternoon, and she came and spoke to me."

He looked at her without change of countenance.

"Well?" he said.

"I thought I ought to tell you," Virginia continued. "I was not sure how you felt about it."

"I have no objection," he said, resting his hand for a moment upon her shoulder, "to your talking to her whenever you may happen to meet. Only remember one thing! She must not enter this house. You must never ask her here. You must never suffer her to come. You understand that?"

"I understand," Virginia answered.

"And this man Vine, Mr. Norris Vine, have you met him?" he asked.

Virginia shook her head.

"No!" she said, "I have never seen him since that night at the restaurant."

"The same thing," Phineas Duge said, "applies to him. Neither of them must cross the threshold of this house. It is a hard thing to say of one's own daughter, but those two are in league against me, if their combination is worth speaking of seriously."

Virginia looked hopelessly puzzled. Phineas Duge hesitated for a moment, and then continued--

"There are phases of our life here," he said, "which you could not hope to understand, even if you had been born in this city. But you can perhaps understand as much as this. In the higher regions of finance there is very much scheming and diplomacy required. One carries always secrets which must not be known, and one does things which it is necessary to conceal for the good of others, as well as for one's own benefit. I have been for some years engaged in operations whose success depends entirely upon the secrecy with which they are conducted.

Naturally, there is an opposing side, there always must be. There are buyers and sellers. If one succeeds, the other must fail, so you can understand that one has enemies always."

"It sounds," she murmured, "almost romantic, like diplomacy or politics."

He smiled.

"The secret history of the lives and operations of some of us, who have made names in this country during the last few years," he said, "would make the modern romance seem stale. Even odd sc.r.a.ps of news or surmises are fought for by the Press. The journalists know well enough where to come for their sensation. Our guests at last, I believe. Don't forget what I have been saying to you, Virginia."

CHAPTER IV

A MEETING OF GIANTS

Phineas Duge, if his manners preserved still that sense of restraint which seemed part of the man himself, still made an excellent host. He sat at the head of his table, a distinguished, almost handsome personality, his grey hair accurately parted, every detail of his toilette in exact accordance with the fas.h.i.+ons of the moment, his eyes everywhere, his tongue seldom silent.

Virginia watched him more than once from her seat, in half-unwilling admiration. She was ashamed to admit that her personal enthusiasm for him had in any way abated, and yet she was becoming conscious of that absolute lack of any real cordiality, of any evidence of affection in his demeanour towards her and every one else with whom he was brought into contact. She knew very well what the world's account of him was, for in the old days they had read sketches of his career up in the little farmhouse amongst the mountains. They had read of his indomitable will, of his absolute heartlessness, the stern, persistent individuality which climbs and climbs, heedless of those who must fall by the way.

Perhaps he was really like this. Perhaps her first impressions had been wrong. Then, with a sudden wave of shame, she remembered the joyous, affectionate letters which every post brought her from the home, which notwithstanding all her sufferings, she had loved so dearly. She looked down at the pearls which hung from her neck. She saw herself in her spotless muslin gown. She felt the touch of laces and silk, all the nameless effect of this environment of luxury thrilled in her blood. It was better, she decided, that she did not think of the future at all. It was better that she should nurse the grat.i.tude which she most a.s.suredly felt.