The Silent Barrier Part 26

"He sat on that young woman from the Wellington Theater very severely, I a.s.sure you. From her manner we all imagined she had some sort of claim on him; but if she was laboring under any such delusion he cured her. He said--Are you really strong enough to stand a shock?"

"Twenty shocks. I can't think how I could have been so silly----"

"Nerves, my dear. We all have 'em. Sometimes, if I didn't smoke I should scream. No woman really likes to see her husband flirting openly with her friends. I'm no saint; but my wickedness is defensive.

Now, are you ready?"

"Quite ready."

"Mr. Bower told us, _tout le monde_, you know, that he meant to marry you."

"Oh!" said Helen.

During an appreciable pause neither woman spoke. Helen was not sure whether she wanted to laugh or be angry. Mrs. de la Vere eyed her curiously. The girl's face was yet white and drawn. It was impossible to guess how the great news affected her. The de la Veres were poor on two thousand a year. What did it feel like to be the prospective bride of a millionaire, especially when you were--what was it?--secretary to a man who collected beetles!

"Did Mr. Bower a.s.sign any reason for making that remarkable statement?" said Helen at last.

"He explained that the fact--I suppose it is a fact--would safeguard you from the malice of an ex-coryphee. Indeed, he put it more brutally. He spoke of the 'slanderous malice of an ex-chorus girl.'

The English term sounds a trifle harsher than the French, don't you think?"

It began to dawn on Helen that Mrs. de la Vere's friendliness might have a somewhat sordid foundation. Was she tending her merely to secure the freshest details of an affair that must be causing many tongues to wag?

"I am acquiring new theories of life since I came to Maloja," she said slowly. "One would have thought that I might be the first person to be made aware of Mr. Bower's intentions."

"Oh, this is really too funny. May I light a cigarette?"

"Please do. And now it is my turn to ask you to point out the exquisite humor of the situation."

"Don't be vexed with me, child. You needn't say another word if you don't wish it; but surely you are not annoyed because I have given you the tip as to what took place in the hall?"

"You have been exceedingly good----"

"No. I haven't. I was just as nasty as the others, and I sneered like the rest when Bower showed up a fortnight since. I was wrong, and I apologize for it. Regard me as in sackcloth and ashes. But my heart went out to you when you dropped like a log among all those staring people. I've--I've done it myself, and my case was worse than yours.

Once in my life I loved a man, and I came home one day from the hunting field to read a telegram from the War Office. He was 'missing,' it said--missing--in a rear-guard action in Tirah. Do you know what that means?"

A cloud of smoke hid her face; but it could not stifle the sob in her voice. There was a knock at the door.

"Are you there, Edith?" demanded Reginald de la Vere.

"Yes. Go away! I'm busy."

"But----"

"Go away, I tell you!"

Then she jerked a scornful hand toward the door. "Six months later I was married--men who are missed among the Afridis don't come back,"

she said.

"I'm more sorry than I can put into words!" murmured Helen.

"For goodness' sake don't let us grow sentimental. Shall we return to our sheep? Don't be afraid that I shall pasture the goats in the hall on your confidences. Hasn't Bower asked you?"

"No."

"Then his action was all the more generous. He meant to squelch that friend of yours--is she your friend?"

"She used to be," said Helen sadly.

"And what do you mean to do about it? You will marry Bower, of course?"

Helen's heart fluttered. Her color rose in a sudden wave. "I--I don't think so," she breathed.

"Don't you? Well, I like you the better for saying so. I can picture myself putting the same questions to one of the Wragg girls--to both of 'em, in fact. I am older than you, and very much wiser in some of the world's ways, and my advice is, Don't marry any man unless you are sure you love him. If you do love him, you may keep him, for men are patient creatures. But that is for you to decide. I can't help you there. I am mainly concerned, for the moment, in helping you over the ice during the next day or two--if you will let me, that is. Probably you have determined not to appear in public to-night. That will be a mistake. Wear your prettiest frock, and dine with Reggie and me. We shall invite Mr. Bower to join us, and two other people--some man and woman I can depend on to keep things going. If we laugh and kick up no end of a noise, it will not only worry the remainder of the crowd, but you score heavily off the theatrical lady. See?"

"I can see that you are acting the part of the good Samaritan," cried Helen.

"Oh, dear, no--nothing so antiquated. Look at your future position--the avowed wife of a millionaire. Eh, what? as Georgie says."

"But I am not anything of the kind. Mr. Bower----"

"Mr. Bower is all right. He has the recognized history of the man who makes a good husband, and you can't help liking him, unless--unless there is another man."

"There, at least, I am----" Helen hesitated. Something gripped her heart and checked the modest protestation of her freedom.

Mrs. de la Vere laughed. "If you are not sure, you are safe," she said, with a hard ring in her utterance that belied her easygoing philosophy. "Really, you bring me back a lost decade. Now, Helen--may I call you Helen?"

"Yes, indeed."

"Well, then, don't forget that my name is Edith. You have just half an hour to dress. I need every second of the time; so off you run to your room. As I hear Reggie flinging his boots around next door, I shall hurry him and arrange about the table. Call for me. We must go to the foyer together. Now kiss me, there's a dear."

Helen was wrestling with her refractory tresses--for the coiffure that suits glaciers and Tam o'Shanters is not permissible in evening dress--when a servant brought her a note.

"DEAR MISS WYNTON," it ran,--"If you are able to come down to dinner, why not dine with me? Sincerely,

"CHARLES K. SPENCER."

She blushed and laughed a little. "I am in demand," she thought, flas.h.i.+ng a pardonable glance at her own face in the mirror. She read the brief invitation again. Spencer had a trick of printing the K in his signature. It caught her fancy. It suggested strength, trustworthiness. She did not know then that one of the shrewdest scoundrels in the Western States had already commented on certain qualities betokened by that letter in Spencer's name.

"I cannot refuse," she murmured. "To be candid, I don't want to refuse. What shall I do?"

Bidding the servant wait, she twisted her hair into a coil, threw a wrap round her shoulders, and tapped on Mrs. de la Vere's door.

"_Entrez!_" cried that lady.

"I am in a bit of difficulty," said Helen. "Mr. Spencer wishes me to dine with him. Would you----"

"Certainly. I'll ask him to join us. Reggie will see him too. Really, Helen, this is amusing. I am beginning to suspect you."

So Spencer received a surprising answer. He read it without any sign of the amus.e.m.e.nt Mrs. de la Vere extracted from the situation, for Helen took care to recite the whole arrangement.