Barbara Ladd Part 22

Barbara faced him squarely, and he felt, though he could not see, the flood of tears pent up behind her s.h.i.+ning eyes.

"Uncle Bob!" she whispered, in a tense voice, "if you are going to criticise, take me home _right away_. I can't stand one thing more!"

Glenowen knew her better than any one else ever could, and his displeasure melted as he caught signal of a distress which he did not understand. Yet he knew better than to be too sympathetic, having more than once experienced the perilous relaxing powers of sympathy.

"Well, well, sweetheart," he laughed, lightly, "forgive me. I've no doubt it would seem all right if I knew. And what does it matter to me about Bobby Gault, anyhow, so long as my little girl is happy?"

"She isn't happy, Uncle Bob! But that isn't _your_ fault, you dear, not ever in the world!"

As they moved apart from the promenading throng, and paused at an open window overlooking the terraces, Barbara's ears, acute as those of the furtive kindred in Westings forest, again caught a word that was not intended for them. She saw two painted and tower-headed dames, sitting not far from the window, point her out to another who had just taken a seat beside them; and she heard the newcomer remark, behind her fan:

"That ugly little rebel! Insult an officer of the king's troops for her!"

Barbara's face flushed scarlet, and she looked at her uncle. But he had heard nothing,--and she remembered that her ears were keener than those of other people. The remark, however, puzzled her, and started a vague, troublesome misgiving. Thereafter she found it difficult to resume the spontaneous fervour of her gaiety. Fits of abstraction would take her unawares; but her courtiers thought them merely another touch of art, effective as they were unexpected. She was now looking forward to the dance with Jerry Waite, and the explanation which he had so rashly promised. She had intended to snub him severely, but when he came for her at last he found her altogether gracious.

"Would you mind very much if we sat somewhere and talked, instead of dancing?" she asked. And Waite, nothing loth, led her to a seat just beyond the long windows,--nearer to the terrace than any other man had succeeded in getting her to go. This filled him with elation, and he was glad, rather than otherwise, that she had refused to go out among the walks and arbours. Here his triumph was visible every moment to his disappointed rivals. He was, of course, like the rest, half infatuated with Barbara; but being a sane youth, with a sense of humour, he knew the difference between infatuation and half infatuation. He imagined there was more between Barbara and Robert than there really was; and he did not hold himself any match for Robert in a race for hearts. Therefore, he was capable of thinking of his own prestige. And to heighten that he had an inspiration. When, after waiting till she could wait no longer, for him to bring up the subject, Barbara asked him to give her the promised explanation of his remark, he fenced cleverly till the time was close at hand when he knew she would be claimed by another partner. He saw this prospective partner, Cary Patten, eyeing her hungrily, ready to swoop down and take possession at the first permissible moment. Then he said: "In very truth, fair mistress, the explanation necessitates a long story. To tell you a little would leave me in a worse light than I could endure you to behold me in. The story comes first,--and then the explanation follows with ease!"

"When will you explain? My curiosity has been most artistically aroused!" said Barbara, maintaining with an effort her tone of sprightly merriment.

"If I might have the honour of waiting upon you to-morrow, I am bold to hope I might succeed in interesting you!" suggested Waite.

"You may come in the morning," answered Barbara, promptly. "Say about eleven o'clock."

The delighted Jerry was ceremoniously bowing his grat.i.tude for this command, conscious that it would make him the envied of all the gallants of Manhattan, when Cary Patten came up and carried Barbara off with rather more eagerness than ceremony. He had been most hard hit of all her victims at the Van Griffs' ball, and had experienced deep dejection over the rumour which had that day a.s.sociated her name with Robert Gault's. Robert's early departure from the ball had somewhat cheered him, however; and now, with that simplicity, not unlike Barbara's own, born of secure family position and careless disregard of convention, he determined to find out if the field were open. He saw that Barbara was distinctly friendly to him,--whether for his own sake or for what Glenowen had told her of his sympathies,--and he trusted to his directness to disarm her possible resentment of his questioning.

"If you will pardon me, gracious lady," he began, after the customary interchange of compliment, "I am going to ask you something about our friend Gault. Carberry was accounted till to-day the best sword in the colony. Now he stands second best! It took uncommon high courage or uncommon deep interest in the quarrel, to cross swords with such a master,--but, of course--"

Barbara's face changed, and she interrupted him crisply. His first phrases had been interesting enough, but at the words "uncommon deep interest in the quarrel," the vision of that unknown woman floated up and laughed in her face.

"I am weary of the subject, Captain Patten. It seems to me it should be possible to talk of something else. If not, let us listen to the music, please!"

Never before had Cary Patten been so snubbed. The experience was novel to him, and he did not like it. But he found more than ample compensation in the thought that Barbara's words showed no impa.s.sioned interest in Robert Gault! If such a fight, and in such a cause, left her indifferent, then surely he need have no great fear of Robert as a rival. To be sure, he thought Barbara's indifference a little cruel, a little heartless,--but so much the greater the reward if he could awaken heart in this flas.h.i.+ng, audacious, irresistible little witch.

Cary Patten had small knowledge of the feminine heart, being much absorbed in his boyish ambitions, his dreams of splendid daring; and he had a healthy, well-founded faith in his own powers. His bright, handsome face looked glum for a moment or two; then he laughed frankly and cried:

"Served me just right, for being so bold, sweet mistress. I implore you forgive me, and be friends! On bended knee I sue--to speak figuratively. I dare not do it in fact, you know, else all the men in the room would be on their knees about you, which would look singular!"

Yes, he was a nice boy, and Barbara not only forgave him, but tried to resume her old gaiety for his pleasure. So far as his pleasure was concerned, she succeeded; though older and keener eyes than Cary Patten's would have seen that her mirth was forced. He left her feeling that he had made no small progress; and he trod on air in his elation because she had promised him no less than three dances at the very next ball at which they should meet. His succeeding partners found him tender but absent-minded,--a combination which they interpreted to their advantage or otherwise, according to their knowledge of men's hearts.

But as for Barbara's heart, it was now yielding to the strain, and she felt that she could keep up the play no longer. Her anger had given out before the need of it, as a stimulant to flirtation, was past.

Only pain, humiliation, disappointment, remained to her, and she felt that if she did not get away at once something would happen. With all the obstinate force of her will she kept a hold upon her imperious vivacity, and would hear no appeals when her next partner was bidden to fetch her uncle and call her coach.

"Take me home, _please_, Uncle Bob!" she pleaded; and he, after a glance into her eyes, yielded comprehendingly. Her reason for going, indeed, he did not comprehend; but her need of going he comprehended instantly. Till the very last moment she kept herself at pitch, laughing, sweetly jibing, taunting, provoking, inviting, so that the men who insisted on helping Glenowen escort her to her coach felt that the glitter had gone from the dance with her departure. But once safe inside the coach, and beyond the lights, she flung herself upon Uncle Bob's neck and broke into a storm of sobbing. She vouchsafed no explanation, and the sagacious Glenowen asked no questions; and she wept, intermittently, all the way to the high-stooped old Dutch house on State Street. To such a bitter end had come the evening, the wondrous evening, of which she had hoped, expected, claimed so much!

CHAPTER XXVI.

Barbara slept little, but lay late, and Glenowen was away about business ere she appeared. By the time her caller arrived she was fairly herself, only subdued in spirit, sorrowful, and homesick. She had taken pains, however, that her morning toilet should be becoming; and Jerry Waite thought her pallor, the shadows about her great grave eyes, the wistfulness of her scarlet mouth, even more enchanting than her radiance and sparkle of the night before.

"This is most gracious of you, fair lady, to let me come so soon!" he murmured ecstatically, over the rosy brown tips of her slim fingers.

"Did the other men but know of it, I should have feared for my life to come without a guard!"

Barbara smiled faintly, willing to appreciate his flatteries, but in no mood for badinage and quip.

"Nay, sir!" she answered, "do not lay it to my graciousness, which is scant to even so charming a gentleman as Mr. Waite, but to my curiosity, which I acknowledge to be great and insistent. Tell me this wonderful thing you promised to tell me!"

Jerry Waite a.s.sumed an air of mock supplication.

"I implore you, dear lady, suffer me for one moment to delude myself with the ravis.h.i.+ng dream that 'twas for my company, no less than for my story, that you permitted me to come.-- What, no, not for one moment the sweet delusion?"

Barbara shook her head resolutely.

"No, first deserve favour, before you presume to claim it, sir!" she retorted. "Earn my grace by a story as interesting as you have led me to expect. Then, perhaps, I may like you well enough to let you stay awhile, for the sake of your company!"

"So be it, if so the queen decrees!" said Waite. "My little story is about a duel, of which, as I gathered last night, the fairest but--pardon me--not always the most gracious of her s.e.x knows a little, but not the most interesting details!"

"I have heard too much already of this duel!" interrupted Barbara. "I do not understand how it concerns me!"

"Oh, lady, this impatience of yours!" said Waite, watching her keenly.

"How can you expect to understand the manner in which it concerns you, if you will not let any one tell you the story? I stand pledged to make the story interesting on pain of forfeiting your good will!"

"Well," agreed Barbara, with seeming reluctance. In very truth she was trembling with eagerness for him to go on. "But, I pray you, be as brief as is consistent with justice to your claim as a narrator!"

"I will be most brief!" said Waite. "For the merit lies in the story itself, not in the fas.h.i.+on of the telling. Yesterday, a little after the noon hour, some half-score gentlemen were gathered by chance in Pym's Ordinary, where many of us frequent for the latest bit of gossip.

There was talk of this, that, and the other, but most of the charms of a lady whom we know and reverence--"

"Who was she?" asked Barbara.

But Waite, intent upon his story, paid no heed.

"The praises, the compliments, the eulogiums," he went on, "that were heaped upon this magical name seemed to show that every man was at her feet. All but Carberry. Captain Carberry is a chill-souled, carping, sarcastical fellow, and arrogant withal, by reason of the unmatched agility of his blade. It had pleased him to be displeased by certain sweet, if a trifle pungent, sprightlinesses of the lady in question; and now his comments ran sharply counter to those of the rest of the company. He did not admire her at all,--which was, of course, within his undoubted rights, however it discredited his taste. But presently his criticisms became a trifle harsher than was fitting; and there was a moment of uneasy silence. Then, clear upon the silence, Gault spoke,--Gault, who had hitherto been listening without a word.

"'Carberry,' said he, quietly, 'you have said just enough. One word more will be too much!'

"Every one held his breath. There was an ugly look about Gault's mouth, and we trembled for him. He is liked, you know; while Carberry, a man ten years older, is feared. Carberry looked Bob over, with a supercilious smile, which meant mischief, as we knew, and then drawled slowly:

"'I shall say whatever it may please me to say about that d.a.m.ned little--' But no one was to hear the sentence finished. We can never have our curiosity certainly satisfied as to that word, which just then got smashed beyond recognition behind Carberry's teeth. It was probably not so very bad a word, if the truth were known. Bob was taking no risks on that score. His blow was straight as a bullet; and Carberry went sprawling over two chairs and a table.

"When he picked himself up he was quite cool,--collected and businesslike. That we knew to be his deadly way, and we trembled for Bob. Bob, however, seemed as easy in his mind as Carberry. The two of them, indeed, were so deuced civil you might have thought they were arranging to marry each other's sisters. There was no time lost, you may be sure. Seconds were chosen, terms agreed upon, a doctor sent for, and we promptly made up a little pleasure party to the woods.

"As for the fight, dear lady, I spare your gentle soul the details. It lacked just one element of interest to the connoisseur,--both combatants fought in one fas.h.i.+on. There was no contrast, such as one might have expected between a boy of twenty-three and a veteran of thirty-six. At the very first Carberry had attacked with fury,--but when he felt the quality of Bob's wrist he saw it was not a case for bl.u.s.ter, and settled down to business. Both fought smiling, alike cool, wary, dangerous, sure of the result. Where and when Bob learned it, we none of us knew. He is a queer, reticent chap in some ways.

But learned it he had,--and I, who like to study faces, saw the tinge of surprise in Carberry's face pa.s.s to admiration. His rage was forgotten in the exhilaration of his favourite game. I never again expect to see two blades so nicely matched. The excitement to us watchers grew intense, till our knees felt weak. But they two seemed as fresh as when they started.

"At last--'a touch!" said Carberry,--and then, by the slight hissing of the words between his teeth I realised the strain.

"'Not at all!' answered Robert,--and his words, too, came hissingly, for all the easy smile upon his lips. Then both grew white. And for a few minutes there was no change. And it seemed to us that our eyes could follow the blades no longer. And then--for the life of me I could not see how it happened--a red stain came on the shoulder of Bob's s.h.i.+rt; and in the next second Carberry, letting his sword fall, dropped in a heap.