Outside Inn Part 10

d.i.c.k and his Rolls-Royce had a.s.sisted at a hymeneal celebration or two, where a successful rush had been made for the temporary altars of this beneficent town with the most felicitous results, and he knew the procedure. When he and Billy organized an afternoon excursion into Connecticut, they tacitly avoided all mention of the consummation they hoped to bring about, but they both understood the nature and significance of the expedition. d.i.c.k,--who was used to the easy accomplishment of his designs and purposes, for most obstacles gave way before his magnetic onslaught,--had only sketchily outlined his scheme of proceedings, but he trusted to the magic of that inspiration that seldom or never failed him. He was the sort of young man that the last century novelists always referred to as "fortune's favorite," and his luck so rarely betrayed him that he had almost come to believe it to be invincible.

His general idea was to get Nancy and Caroline to drive into the country, through the cool rush of the freer purer air of the suburbs, give them lunch at some smart road-house, soothingly restful and dim, where the temperature was artificially lowered, and they could powder their noses at will; and from thence go on until they were within the radius of the charmed circle where modern miracles were performed while the expectant bridegroom waited.

"Nancy, my dear, we are going to be married,"--that he had formulated, "we're going to be done with all this nonsense of waiting and doubting the evidence of our own senses and our own hearts. We're going to put an end to the folly of trying to do without each other,--your folly of trying to feed all itinerant New York; my folly of standing by and letting you do it, or any other fool thing that your fancy happens to dictate. You're mine and I'm yours, and I'm going to take you--take you to-day and prove it to you." This was to be timed to be delivered at just about the moment when they drew up in front of the office of the justice of the peace, who was d.i.c.k's friend of old. "Hold up your head, my dear, and put your hat on straight; we're going into that building to be made man and wife, and we're not coming out of it until the deed has been done." In some such fas.h.i.+on, he meant to carry it through. Many a time in the years gone by he had steered Nancy through some high-handed escapade that she would only have consented to on the spur of the moment. She was one of these women who responded automatically to the voice of a master. He had failed in mastery this last year or so. That was the secret of his failure with her, but the days of that failure were numbered now. He was going to succeed.

On the back seat of the big car he expected Billy and Caroline to be going through much the same sort of scene.

"We've come to a show-down now, Caroline,--either I sit in this game, or get out." He could imagine Billy bringing Caroline bluntly to terms with comparatively little effort. That was what she needed--Caroline--a strong hand. Billy's problem was simple.

Caroline had already signified her preference for him. She wore his ring. Billy had only to pick her up, kicking and screaming if need be, and bear her to the altar. She would marry him if he insisted.

That was clear to the most superficial of observers,--but Nancy was different.

The day was hot, and grew steadily hotter. By the time Nancy and Caroline were actually in the car, after an almost superhuman effort to a.s.semble them and their various accessories of veils and wraps, and to dispose of the a.s.sortment of errands and messages that both girls seemed to be committed to despatch before they could pa.s.s the boundaries of Greater New York, the two men were very nearly exhausted. It was only when the chauffeur let the car out to a speed greatly in excess of the limitations on some clear stretch of road, that the breath of the country brought them any relief whatsoever.

d.i.c.k looked over his shoulder at the two in the back seat, and noted Caroline's pallor, and the fact that she was allowing a listless hand to linger in Billy's; but when he turned back to Nancy he discovered no such encouraging symptoms. She was sitting lightly relaxed at his side, but there was nothing even negatively responsive in her att.i.tude. Her color was high; her breath coming evenly from between her slightly parted lips. She looked like a child oblivious to everything but some innocent daydream.

"You look as if you were dreaming of candy and kisses, Nancy,--are you?" he asked presently.

"No, I'm just glad to be free. It's been a long time since I've played hooky."

"I know it." The "dear" constrained him, and he did not add it: "You've been working most unholy hard. I--I hate to have you."

"But I was never so happy in my life."

"That's good." His voice hoa.r.s.ened with the effort to keep it steady and casual. "Is everything going all right?"

"Fine."

"Is--is the money end of it all right?"

"Yes, that is, I am not worrying about money."

"You're not making money?"

"No."

"You are not losing any?"

"I am--a little. That was to be expected, don't you think so?"

"How much are you losing?"

"I don't know exactly."

"You ought to know. Are you keeping your own books?"

"Betty helps me."

"Are you losing a hundred a month?"

"Yes."

"Five hundred?"

"I suppose so."

"A thousand?"

"I don't really know."

"A thousand?" he insisted.

"Yes," Nancy answered recklessly, "the way I run it."

"It doesn't make any difference, of course;" d.i.c.k said, "you've got all my money behind you."

"I haven't anybody's money behind me except my own."

"You had fifteen thousand dollars. Do you mean to say that you have any of that left to draw on?"

"No, I don't."

"Do you mind telling me how you are managing?"

"Billy borrowed some money for me."

"On what security?"

"I don't know."

"Why didn't he come to me?"

"I told him not to."

"Nancy, do you realize that you're the most exasperating woman that ever walked the face of this earth?" the unhappy lover asked.

Nancy managed to convey the fact that d.i.c.k's a.s.severation both surprised and pained her, without resorting to the use of words.

"I wish you wouldn't spoil this lovely party," she said to him a few seconds later. "I'm extremely tired, and I should like to get my mind off my business instead of going over these tiresome details with anybody."

"You look very innocent and kind and loving," d.i.c.k said desperately, "but at heart you're a little fraud, Nancy."

She interrupted him to point out two children laden with wild flowers, trudging along the roadside.

"See how adorably dirty and happy they are," she cried. "That little fellow has his shoestrings untied, and keeps tripping on them, he's so tired, but he's so crazy about the posies that he doesn't care. I wonder if he's taking them home to his mother."

"You're devoted to children, Nancy, aren't you?" d.i.c.k's voice softened.

"Yes, I am, and some day I'm going to adopt a whole orphan asylum,"--her voice altered in a way that d.i.c.k did not in the least understand. "I could if I wanted to," she laughed. "Maybe I will want to some day. So many of my ideas are being changed and modified by experience."