Barbara Ladd Part 21

Barbara was conscious of the rustle of Miss Betty's flirtatious fan.

"La, sir!" cried the pretty, high voice again, "you make light, of it; but they tell me it was very handsome done. And is it true that poor Carberry is in a bad way? Fie upon you, Mr. Gault, to spit an officer of the king and so strengthen the hands of the enemy."

Barbara's heart was beating very fast. So Robert had been fighting a duel, had he! And been wounded,--but slightly! And the quarrel with an officer of the king! This looked as if her anxieties were unfounded. But on the other hand, this loquacious girl--whom Barbara despised instantly and honestly--seemed to claim him as belonging to the king's party. Barbara trembled with excitement, and with fear lest her absent escort should come back too soon. He did come back, at that moment; but with a ravis.h.i.+ng look that turned his brain she sent off again for an ice and a gla.s.s of punch. Meanwhile her alert ears had heard Robert replying cheerfully to Miss Betty.

"Oh, Carberry will be all right in a week or two," said he. "'Twould much hasten his recovery were one to send him word of Miss Betty's solicitude. A three weeks at most will take him off my conscience and the doctor's hands!"

Here another voice intervened.

"Traitress!" it exclaimed, "I have been seeking you this half-hour!"

"Let me talk to Mr. Gault one moment more, Jack!" pleaded Miss Betty.

"He was just going to tell me all about it,--weren't you, Mr. Gault?"

"Not if I know Bob Gault," retorted the voice. "Nay, nay, dear lady, I will yield you not one minute more to Gault, on any pretext. Shall I court disaster by leaving the most fickle as the fairest of her s.e.x to the wiles of this pale hero, this wounded champion of dames!"

"You're right, Jack!" cried Miss Betty. "I see he's dying with impatience to go and find her, and claim a champion's reward! She's here, Mr. Gault. I saw her but a moment back. Go wherever you see the men a-crowding fiercest!"

So Robert had fought for some woman, had he? He had a tie, then!

Barbara felt a tightening about her heart, an impulse to rush from the room. Then she said to herself, "What more natural? What are we but the best of friends? And have I ever been really nice to him?"

Promptly anger took the place of the unreasonable hurt; and the anger made her cool upon the surface, so that she had herself well gathered in hand when the curtain was pushed aside, and Robert came through--just at the same moment that her partner came up with the punch.

Robert sprang forward with face transfigured. But to Barbara's chagrin he did not seem at all surprised.

"I am glad to see you, Robert!" she said, gravely, holding out her hand.

Robert bent over it and kissed it in silence, unable, for the moment, to find his voice.

"Are you not glad to see me--to see an old friend out of the old days?"

asked Barbara.

"I have no words to tell you how glad I am, my dear lady!" he answered, in a low voice, wis.h.i.+ng that Jerry Waite would have sense enough to go away, instead of standing there in that idiotic fas.h.i.+on with the punch.

"But aren't you _surprised_ to see me, Robert?" Barbara went on, forgetful of Mr. Waite and the punch.

"I suppose I ought to be surprised, my lady," answered Robert, with some bitterness in his tone, "surprised that you have condescended to see me at all, in view of the length of time you have been here without letting me know! I learned yesterday of your coming--after every one in town apparently knew of it!"

To Jerry Waite the scene was utterly incomprehensible. Oblivious to all good manners, he was staring open-mouthed. Barbara saw the astonishment in his face, quite naturally misunderstood it, and flushed angrily. The pain and wrath which she had by such an effort of will crushed down in her heart crept up again stealthily, and began to mingle unrecognised with this superficial annoyance.

"I had thought to surprise you,--a harmless little play, Robert, to see if you would recognise an old, old friend grown up!" she said, in a cool voice. "But since you are so dissatisfied, we had better not talk about it. You may call and see me some day soon, if you like. I am just around the corner, on State Street. Uncle Bob will give you the address. Will you take me back to my seat, Mr. Waite? Thank you so much for the punch."

Robert could not believe his ears. Was he dismissed for the evening?

The blood began to beat fiercely in his head.

"But, Barbara," he exclaimed, "aren't you going to give me at least _one_ dance?-- Hold on, Waite, just a minute, will you!-- You can't be engaged for all so early in the evening. I came at the very first, in hopes of catching you and getting several."

Barbara paused. By this time the thought of that other woman, for whom he had fought,--for whom he was wounded,--for whom he carried now this pallor,--for whom he had been too impatient to talk to Miss Betty behind the curtain,--the thought of that other woman was gnawing at her brain in a way to confuse her judgment. She was not exactly in love with Robert, but she was intensely interested, and in the course of the years a sense of proprietors.h.i.+p had grown up. The idea of another woman, with a prior claim, outraged her pride at the same time that it wrenched her heart with a sense of irremediable loss.

"You are not dancing, I understand, Robert," she said, looking coldly into his eyes.

Robert's heart gave an exultant leap. She knew about the duel, then!

"I had thought, my lady," said he, softly, "that you might, under the circ.u.mstances, consent to forego a dance or two, and talk with me about old times."

The circ.u.mstances, indeed! Barbara's eyes blazed in spite of all her efforts at self-control. This was insolence. Yet she could in no way show she recognised it. For a second or two she held her tongue.

"I hear you have been greatly distinguis.h.i.+ng yourself, Robert," she answered, in a voice of somewhat artificial sweetness, "and have taken some hurt in the affair, and really should not be here at all!" She looked at her tablets with hypocritical care. "You should have found me earlier. I shall not be free to give you a dance for _hours_ yet,--not till quite near the last. You will probably not be able to stay so long!"

Robert grew tenfold whiter than before, and his mouth set itself like iron. She knew,--it was clear she knew,--and yet she could act in this hopelessly light, cruel, merciless way. It was inhuman. Had she no spark of womanly tenderness? He would trouble her no more.

"No, I shall not stay," he said, quietly. "Good-night, Mistress Ladd!

Good-night, Waite!" He took her outstretched hand so lightly that she saw rather than felt that he had taken it; bowed over it, so low that he seemed to kiss it, yet did not actually touch it with his lips; then nodded civilly to Waite, strode off down the side of the room, through the door, and was gone. Barbara little guessed the many eyes that had watched and wondered at the episode. She imagined that all were quite engrossed in the dancing.

"Now please take me to the other room, Mr. Waite!" she commanded. "I fear I was engaged for this very dance, and my partner will think me rude!"

Waite was in hopeless bewilderment. He particularly liked and admired Robert Gault. He was silent for a few moments, and then exclaimed with seeming irrelevance: "Women do beat me!"

Barbara looked up at him quickly, as she took her seat.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I beg your pardon, most fair and inexplicable Mistress Ladd," replied Waite, who had been puzzled almost out of his manners, "but,--if you will permit me to say it,--if this be the fate of your friends, what, oh, what must be the fate of your enemies!"

"I don't understand you!" said Barbara, haughtily. "Pray explain yourself!" But just then a young scarlet-coated officer, Nevil Paget, came up, claiming the hand of Mistress Ladd; and Jerry Waite, who had begun to realise that he was in deep water, hailed the rescue gladly.

"I shall have the honour to claim you again, gracious mistress," said he, "and I shall explain myself then, if you bid me. Meanwhile, I make way for those more fortunate than I."

And now, in her bitterness and disappointment, Barbara flung herself heart and soul into the folly. When the young Englishman started to speak of a duel, she shut him up so mercilessly that for five minutes he durst not open his mouth. But she proceeded to flirt and bedazzle him, half flouting, half flattering, till in five minutes more he was nigh ready to fling all the pedigree of all the Pagets at her small, light-dancing feet and beg her to dance upon it her whole life long.

She danced everything, and between the dances held a court more crowded and more devoted than that which had paid her homage at the Van Griffs'. She was deaf to all attempts to lure her out upon the fairy terraces, because when she first saw them she had decided that Robert should take her out there to tell her what a wonderful surprise she had given him. But the men whom she refused were not driven away by her denial. She mixed bitter and sweet for them all so cunningly that none could tell in which of the twain lay the magic that held them thrall.

And all the while her heart smouldered in her breast like a hot coal in the ash.

At length came her minuet with Glenowen; and after it her uncle, who thought he detected something feverish in her gaiety, and felt moved to cool it a little if he might without damage, asked her if she had seen Robert.

"For a moment or two," she answered, with an indifference beyond reason.

Glenowen had heard all the story of the duel, and wondered what had gone wrong.

"Why did he go home, sweetheart, so soon after our coming?" he inquired.

"Did he go home?" she queried, casually. "You know he was hardly fit to be out. Even heroes can't stand the loss of blood!"

"What did you do to him, child?" persisted Glenowen.

This questioning chafed on Barbara's raw and bleeding nerves.

"Robert made himself very disagreeable," she replied, crisply. "I showed that I was disappointed in him, and he seems to have got angry and gone home!"

"Disappointed in him!" exclaimed Glenowen. Then he hesitated, and went on: "Really, Barbara, are you quite human? Forgive me if I--"