The Road to Understanding Part 30

"Yes, I think I do, Mrs. Thayer; and I will try--so hard!" She hesitated, then asked abruptly, "Who is Mr. Donald Estey, please?"

There was an odd something in Mrs. Thayer's laugh as she answered.

"And why, pray, do you single him out?"

"Because of something--different in your voice, when you said his name."

Mrs. Thayer laughed again.

"That's more cleverly put than you know, child," she shrugged. "I never thought of it before, but I fancy we all do say Mr. Donald Estey's name--with a difference."

"Is he so very important, then?"

"In his own estimation--yes! There! I was wrong to say that, Helen, and you must forget it. Mr. Donald Estey is a very wealthy, very capable, very delightful and brilliant young bachelor. He is a little spoiled, perhaps; but that's our fault and not his, I suspect, for he's petted and made of enough to turn any man's head. He's very entertaining. He knows something about everything. He can talk Egyptian scarabs with my brother, and Irish crochet with me, and then turn around and discuss politics with my husband, and quote poetry to Phillis Drew in the next breath. All this, of course, makes him a very popular man."

"But he's a--a real gentleman, the kind that my husband would like?"

"Why, of--of course!" Mrs. Thayer frowned slightly; then, suddenly, she laughed. "To tell the truth he's very like your husband, in some ways, I've heard my brother say--tastes, temperament, and so forth."

An odd something leaped to Helen Denby's eyes.

"You mean, what _he_ likes, Burke likes?" she questioned.

"Why, y-yes; you might put it that way, I suppose. But never mind.

You'll see for yourself when you see him."

"Yes, I'll see--when I see him." Helen Denby nodded and relaxed in her seat. The odd something was still smouldering in her eyes.

"Then it's all settled, remember," smiled Mrs. Thayer. "You're not to run and hide now when somebody comes. You're to learn to meet people.

That's your next lesson."

"My next lesson--my next lesson," repeated Helen Denby, half under her breath. "Oh, I hope I'll learn so much--in this next lesson! I won't run and hide now, indeed, I won't, Mrs. Thayer!"

And at the glorified earnestness of her face, Mrs. Thayer, watching, felt suddenly her own throat tighten convulsively.

In spite of her valiant promise, Helen Denby, a week later, did almost run and hide when the Gillespies, the first of Mrs. Thayer's guests, arrived. Held, however, by a stern something within her, she bravely stood her ground and forced herself to meet Mr. and Mrs. Gillespie and their daughters, Miss Alice and Miss Maud. It was not so difficult the next week when Mrs. Reynolds came, perhaps because of the pretty little Gladys, so near her own Betty's age.

Fully alive to her own shortcomings, however, embarra.s.sed, and distrustful of herself, Helen was careful never to push herself forward, never to take the initiative. And because she was so quiet and un.o.btrusive, her intense watchfulness, and slavish imitation of what she saw, pa.s.sed unnoticed. Gradually, as the days came and went, the tenseness of her concentration relaxed, and she began to move and speak with less studied caution. It was at this juncture that Mr. Donald Estey arrived. Instantly into her bearing sprang an entirely new, alert eagerness. But this, too, pa.s.sed unnoticed, for the change was not in herself alone. The entire household had made instant response to the presence of Mr. Donald Estey. The men sharpened their wits, and the women freshened their furbelows. Breakfast was served on the minute with never a vacant chair; and even the steps of the maids in the kitchen quickened.

Because Mr. Donald Estey was always surrounded by an admiring group, the fact that "that quiet little Mrs. Darling" was almost invariably one of the group did not attract attention. It was Mr. Donald Estey himself, in fact, who first noticed it; and the reason that he noticed it was because once, when she was not there, he found himself looking for her eager face. He realized then that for some time he had been in the habit of finding his chief inspiration in a certain pair of wondrously beautiful blue eyes bent full upon himself.

Not that the encountering of admiring feminine eyes bent full upon him was a new experience to Mr. Donald Estey; but that these eyes were different. There was something strangely fascinating and compelling in their earnest gaze. It was on the day that he first missed them that he suddenly decided to cultivate their owner.

He began by asking casual questions of his fellow guests, but he could find out very little concerning the lady. She was a Mrs. Darling, a friend of their hostess (which he knew already). She was a widow, they believed, though they had never heard her husband mentioned. She was pleasant enough--but so shy and retiring! Charming face she had, though, and beautiful eyes. But did he not think she was--well, a little peculiar?

Mr. Donald Estey did not answer this, directly. He became, indeed, always very evasive when his fellow guests turned about and began to question him. Very soon, too, he ceased his own questioning. But that he had not lost his interest in Mrs. Darling was most unmistakably shown at once, for openly and systematically he began to seek her society--to the varying opinions (but unvarying interest) of the rest of the house party.

If Mr. Donald Estey had expected Mrs. Darling to be shy and coy at his advances, he found himself entirely mistaken. She welcomed him with a frank delight that was most flattering, at the same time most puzzling, owing to a certain elusive quality that he could not name.

Mr. Donald Estey thought that he knew women well. It pleased his fancy to think that he had his feminine friends nicely pigeonholed and labeled, and that he had but to pa.s.s an hour or two of intimate talk with any woman to be able at once to ticket her accurately. His first hour of intimate talk with Mrs. Darling, however, left him confused and baffled--but mightily interested: in the course of that one hour he had shelved her in almost every one of his pigeonholes, only to find at the end of it that she was still free and uncatalogued.

She was a flirt; she was not a flirt. She was sincere; she was hypocritical. She was brilliantly subtle; she was incredibly stupid. She was charming; she was commonplace. She was as clear as crystal; she was as inscrutable as a sphinx--and she was all these things in that one short first hour. At the end of it, Mr. Donald Estey, with a long breath and a frown, but with a quickened pulse, decided that he would have another hour with her as soon as possible.

He had no difficulty in obtaining it. Mrs. Darling, indeed, seemed quite as desirous of his society as he was of hers; yet there was still the elusive something in her manner that robbed it of all offensive eagerness. Again to-day, after the hour's intimate talk, Estey found himself confused and baffled, with the lady still outside his pigeonholes. Nor did he find the situation changed the next day, or the next. Then suddenly he awoke to a new element in the case--the extraordinary deference that was being paid his lightest wish or preference on the part of Mrs. Darling.

At first, doubting the accuracy of his suspicions, he systematically put her to the test, choosing purposely the most obvious and unmistakable.

Blue was his favorite color, he said: she appeared in blue the next day.

Browning was his best-loved poet, he declared: in less than an hour he found her poring over "Pippa Pa.s.ses" in the library. A woman who could talk, and talk well, on current events won his sincere admiration every time, he told her: he wondered the next morning how late she must have sat up the night before, studying the merits and demerits of the four presidential candidates.

Mr. Donald Estey was flattered, amused, and curiously interested. Not that what looked to be a determined a.s.sault upon his heart was exactly a new experience for him; but that the circ.u.mstances in this case were so out of the ordinary, and that he was still trying to "place" this young woman. He was not sure even, always, that she was trying to make a bid for his affections. He was not sure, either, of his own mind regarding her. In spite of his interest, he was conscious, sometimes, of a distinct feeling of aversion toward her. She was not always, to his mind, quite--the lady, though she was improving in that respect. (Even in his thoughts the word gave him a shock: he could hardly imagine a candidate for the position of Mrs. Donald Estey in need of--improvement!) But she was beautiful, and there was something wonderfully alluring in her eager way of listening to his every word.

She was, indeed, not a little refres.h.i.+ng after the languid conservatism of some of the sophisticated young women one usually found at these country houses. Besides, was she, after all, really in love with him?

Very likely she was not. At all events, it could do no harm--this mild flirtation--if flirtation it were! He would not worry about it. Plenty of time yet to--to withdraw. He had but to receive (apparently) a summoning message, and he could go at once. That would, of course, end the affair. Meanwhile-- But just exactly what type of woman was she, anyway?

Still amused, interested, and contentedly secure, therefore, Mr. Donald Estey pursued for another week his pleasant pastime of finding just the proper pigeonhole for this tantalizing will-o'-the-wisp of femininity; then, sharply, he received a jolt that left him figuratively--almost literally--breathless and gasping.

They were talking of marriage.

"But you yourself have never married," she said.

"No, I have never married."

"I wonder why."

Mr. Donald Estey frowned and stirred restlessly--there were times when Mrs. Darling's unconventionality was not "refres.h.i.+ng."

"Perhaps--the right girl has never found me," he shrugged.

"Oh, Mr. Estey, please, what sort of a girl would be the right one--for you?"

"Well, really--er--" He stopped and stirred again uneasily--there was an almost frenzied earnestness in her face and manner that was somewhat disconcerting.

"That might be hard telling," he evaded banteringly.

"But you _could_ tell me, Mr. Estey. I know you could. And, oh, won't you, please?"

"Why, er--Mrs. Darling!" He gave an embarra.s.sed laugh as he sought for just the right word to say. "You seem--er--extraordinarily interested."

He laughed again--to hide the fact that he knew that he had said just the _wrong_ thing.

"I am interested. Indeed, Mr. Estey, it would mean--you cannot know what it would mean--if you'd tell me."

"Why--er--really--"

"Yes, yes, I know. I hadn't ought to talk like this. Ladies don't. I can see it in your face. But it's because I want to _know_ so--because I must know. Please, won't you tell me?"

With a quick lifting of his head Mr. Donald Estey pulled himself sharply together. Flattering as it was to be thus deferred to, this flirtation--if flirtation it were--had gone quite far enough. He laughed again lightly and sprang to his feet.

"Couldn't think of it, Mrs. Darling. Really, I couldn't, you know!"