Madcap Part 55

"It doesn't matter about me, Mrs. Hammond," he said quietly.

"But I think it does," she insisted. "Do you mean that you can't understand?"

"Understand what, Mrs. Hammond?"

"How that poor child has suffered. Do you mean that you don't know why it is that she has ignored you and fled to Trevelyan Morehouse?"

He made no reply.

"Then I can't help you. There is nothing in the world denser than a lover. The object of his affections is large in his eyes, so large that the focus is blurred. He can't see her--that's all. Hermia was terror-stricken and you were not aware of it. She knew that she was clean and that you were, and the dirt that threatened her threatened her idyl, too."

She stopped abruptly and looked past him.

"I'm afraid I've said too much, Mr. Markham. That is because I see how foolish you have been--both of you in this affair. It's none of my business."

She fingered the clipping on the table and went on vigorously.

"As to this infamous story that they are telling, I shall find means to stop it. How, I don't know just yet. This paper shall print a retraction. I'll manage that. Olga Tcherny--"

"I beg of you--"

"Olga Tcherny's career in New York is ended. She shall never enter my house, or the house of any of my friends. That play was a lie, written with a motive. She has used me shamefully--shamefully--made me an accomplice, and placed me in the undesirable position of sponsor for her villainies."

She rose, walked to the window and looked out upon the Avenue, her lips taking firmer lines of resolution. He watched her in silence, and when she spoke her tones were short and decisive.

"With your permission, Mr. Markham," she said at last, "as Hermia's friend and yours, I shall deny this story in every detail. You must provide me with an alibi."

She turned back into the room and faced him.

"You were not in Normandy last summer--that is positive."

He smiled.

"I am in your hands," he said.

"Where were you?"

"In Holland, if you like. I've tramped there."

"And Hermia?"

"In Switzerland. She went there after leaving me. There was a party.

Morehouse was with her. It's easily proved."

"Good. We must lose that week somewhere. It must be wiped from the calendar. If Hermia only hadn't run away!"

"Mrs. Westfield is still here, I believe," he ventured.

She deliberated a moment.

"Excellent. I shall see her at once. Together we will manage it. You are to leave things to me. I'm not without influence here in New York, Mr. Markham. We shall see. All I ask is that you avoid seeing Olga or taking the matter into your own hands. That would only make a noise--an unpleasant noise. Will you promise me?"

He was silent. She examined him curiously.

"You think you know who told this story?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You think it was not Olga?"

"Yes. She gave me her word she would say nothing. I believed her."

"Was it--" she paused.

"The man we met upon the road in Normandy was Monsieur de Folligny, Mrs. Hammond."

"Oh! I see." She fingered the sugar tongs a moment. "And you want to question him?" she asked then.

"Er--I would like to find out if it was he who told."

"And then thrash him? You want the papers full of the whole affair, with portraits of the princ.i.p.als, and a description of your romantic--"

"G.o.d forbid!"

"How like a man! To get a girl talked about and then of course to want to thrash somebody! I've no patience with you. You must promise to behave yourself or I'll wash my hands of the whole affair."

He smiled down at his clasped hands. "I suppose you are right," he muttered.

"Right! Of course I am. This is a case which will require the most careful handling--a case for the subtlest diplomacy. If I am going to risk my reputation for veracity--and jeopardize my hopes of Heaven by the fibs that I must tell in your behalf, I don't propose to have my efforts spoiled by senseless bungling. Will you give me your promise?"

He shrugged. "I suppose there is nothing left for me to do."

She leaned forward toward the tea table with a laugh.

"I'm so glad that you are sensible. Now we shall have our tea. I owe you apologies. My business seemed more urgent than my hospitality."

They sat and chatted for a while, Markham sipping his tea and wondering why he was imparting to this stout and very amiable old lady all his life's secrets. A half hour later, when he rose to go, he realized that he had told her all about his week in Vagabondia, including its sudden termination. She surprised him at intervals by the sympathy of her appreciation, and at others equally serious by an unseemly mirth or an impatience which they had not merited. But when he got up to go she followed him to the door and gave him both of her hands again.

"I like you, John Markham. You're quaint--a relic of a less flippant age. I'm sorry you won't accept any of my invitations--but I'll forgive you, if you'll promise to do as I bid you."

"I'm deeply grateful to you, Mrs. Hammond. Of course, I shall be obedient. I will do whatever you ask of me."

She released him and gave him a gentle push toward the door.

"Then go--and find Hermia!"

"I, Mrs. Hammond?"

"Yes, you. At once."