The Flower Brides (97 page)

“But Jeff,
darling
!” She spoke the word in a tone that always used to move him deeply, and he marveled that it no longer stirred him in the least. There were sobs in her voice now and unmistakable tears. He frowned in the darkness and drew a deep breath of annoyance.

“Suppose—Jeff—” sobbed the voice softly, “that I’ve found I’ve—made—a terrible—mistake!”

“Then I would think that would be entirely up to
you
!” he answered crisply. “I certainly haven’t anything to do with it.”

“Yes—you have, Jeff!” went on the pleading voice. “Have you forgotten—Jeff, I know you haven’t—that you asked me—to—
marry
you once? Jeff, I’ve seen my mistake—and—I want to tell you—b-b-before it’s forever—too late! Jeff, it’s
you
I love. And I’ll marry you, Jeff darling, tonight, if you’ll take me! I could be ready in half an hour. There’s an airplane out on the field. I’ve chartered it, and we could go on that. And then all my troubles would be over! I should be ecstatically happy! Oh, Jeff—darling—will you go tonight? You are such a comforting person—”

“Nothing doing!” said Jeffrey. “That was all off the night of your dinner. You chose then between me and that low-life villain, Meredith Myles. And if I had needed anything else, tonight would have been the finishing touch. You’ll have to go elsewhere for comfort, Stephanie. I’m going to sleep, and I don’t wish to discuss this matter any further, either now or at any future time. Good night!” And Jeffrey Wainwright hung up the receiver and turned over in his bed.

But he did not go back to sleep. He held a court and judged himself. He had learned while out on that camping trip that if we would judge ourselves we should not have to be disciplined by God. So then and there he held court and found himself guilty. He looked back over his young manhood and saw himself a selfish time-waster, a chaser of every new fancy, a lazy spendthrift and good-for-nothing, and a spoiled child of luxury, playing with every toy that came his way. Of course, he had had certain standards and adhered to them fairly well, but within limits he had been determined to have whatever his fancy chose. And Stephanie had been one of those things.

That she had been dangerous he had known from the start. That she had been full of deception he had often suspected. That she could do about what she chose with him, at one time he had rather enjoyed. He had always known that she was not the kind of woman to bring into his family. That she would have to change before his mother, whom he was fond of, would ever accept her as a daughter, and before his father, whom he greatly revered and loved, would honor her. But he had blindly gone ahead, determined that she should somehow be made to conform to the Wainwright standards, convinced that when she was his, and he flung his love around her and enthroned her in his home, she would be everything that he would ask her to be.

He had known for a long time now that he was a fool to believe any such thing. The first time he saw Camilla he knew that the look in her eyes was the one he had been so long hoping to see in Stephanie’s eyes. The night he dared to lay his lips to Camilla’s in that precious kiss he knew that this was something rare and fine in love that he had never found in his infatuation for Stephanie. Tonight down on the hotel patio, the last shred and vestige of respect for Stephanie had vanished.

He lay a long time considering his present situation. Suddenly he snapped on the light and looked at his watch. Then he hunted a number in the telephone book and called it.

“Is that you, John? Are you still up studying? I hoped so. Well, this is Jeff. May I come out to your place tomorrow morning early and help you spray orange trees or whatever it is that you went home to do to them? I don’t know how, but I’ll learn, and I’ve got a few questions I need to ask you.”

“That’s great news, Jeff,” came back the voice over the wire. “Bring on your questions! Wear your old clothes, and be prepared to sleep in a hammock. I’ll be waiting to welcome you at the head of the lane with open arms.”

Jeff wrote a note to his mother.

Then he turned out the light and went to sleep again.

Quite early the next morning before any stray damsels were abroad, Jeff arose and went on his way to see John Saxon.

M
iss York duly moved in, bag and baggage, as soon as the last big snow of the season was melted and gone, and though she was still engaged on a case and was able to be there very little, it gave a comfortable family feeling to have the extra room furnished and ready for use whenever she should be able to get off for a night.

She turned up the very night after Camilla had cried on her mother’s shoulder, and she announced that she had come to stay over the weekend.

They had a cheery little supper together and were anticipating a real home evening, leisurely laughing and talking as they did the dishes and suggesting how the furniture could be arranged in Miss York’s room to best advantage.

And then right in the middle of it Whitlock arrived.

He had been away in New York and had attended a large political meeting and met some interesting people. He wanted to tell about it. He enjoyed telling things and liked an attentive audience.

Camilla felt a disappointment as she opened the door and saw him standing there. She had supposed he would be gone over Sunday. She was wearing a plain little old dress, expecting to help Miss York put up her curtains.

She invited him in, a constraint upon her because of what her mother had said the night before, but Whitlock was full of his experiences and did not notice her silence.

“Well,” he said, taking off his overcoat and hat and hanging them on the hall rack as if he belonged there, “it is good to get back. Where’s your mother? Aren’t the dishes done yet?”

It was characteristic of Whitlock that he had never attempted to go into the kitchen and help, though he had several times been a guest to a meal.

“Why yes,” said Camilla, “the dishes are done. Mother, here’s Mr. Whitlock. Miss York, won’t you come in and meet my employer?”

Camilla was a little startled at herself for calling him that. She had of late avoided calling him anything. He had told her once that his name was Ralph, but he hadn’t made a point of it, and somehow she had hesitated, as if the use of it committed her to something intangible for which she was not quite ready.

“Miss York?” said Whitlock, with an annoyed frown. “Who is she? What’s she doing here?”

“Why, she’s a member of our family, that is, when she is not out on her job,” said Camilla, with heightened color. “I guess you haven’t happened to meet her before, have you? She has her room here and comes when she is not on a case.”

She looked up, and there stood Miss York in the doorway, with Mrs. Chrystie just behind her. “Mr. Whitlock, this is our dear friend, Miss York!”

Miss York stood for an instant, looking at Whitlock with a sudden startled gleam in her eye as the man rose and faced her with a puzzled frown. Then the nurse spoke.

“Good evening, Mr. Whitlock. We’ve met before, haven’t we? I’ve heard Camilla speak of her employer, but I hadn’t an idea it was the same Mr. Whitlock.”

Miss York was entirely at her ease and spoke with assurance. But Whitlock looked at her blankly.

“Miss—York, did you say? Your—ah—face does seem somewhat familiar, but I’m afraid I—I can’t place you. I see so many people, of course, in the day’s work.”

“Yes, I suppose you do,” said Miss York pleasantly, “but you’ll remember me when you know who I am. I’m the nurse that took care of your wife when your baby was born. A little girl, wasn’t it, and a very pretty baby if I remember rightly. I know its mother said it was the image of you, and you were as pleased as could be!”

Mrs. Chrystie gave a soft little exclamation and looked at Whitlock, and Camilla in the shadow of the hall doorway gave a startled glance at her mother and then turned to watch Whitlock, her own face still in shadow.

Over Whitlock’s face had come a strange and subtle change. Every vestige of color had drained away, leaving him severely gray and tired-looking, yes, and old. Camilla was startled at the change. He seemed fairly haggard. He faced them all with miserable, cold eyes.

“Yes?” he said in his most official voice. “It seems to me I do recall a nurse. One doesn’t always register faces at a time of crisis.” His voice did not encourage further conversation, but Nurse York seemed not to notice. She gushed on pleasantly.

“No, I suppose not,” she said. “One wouldn’t be expected to remember a mere nurse at such a time. But do tell me how your wife is. She was such a sweet, dear little woman. I really fell in love with her, and that baby was one of the sweetest I ever saw. Dorothy, wasn’t that her name? Dorothy Rose Whitlock. I remember thinking how well the names went together. I suppose she has grown to be quite a girl by this time, hasn’t she? Is she as pretty as she promised to be? I thought her hair was going to curl.”

Mr. Whitlock fixed Miss York with a haughty stare and answered in tones so cold it was a wonder that they did not freeze into icicles.

“Miss York, I have not seen my wife for over five years now. We are separated! And I do not know anything about the child. She is with her mother!”

“Oh,” chirruped Miss York blithely, “what a pity! I’m sorry I spoke of it.”

He turned from her abruptly, addressing Camilla quite formally.

“I came out to see if you would mind letting me run you in to the office for a few minutes. There are a couple of letters that ought to get off tonight. I’m sorry to bother you, but they ought to be typed, and, if you’re willing, why, you can go that much earlier tomorrow, you know.” He tried to finish with a light laugh, but his voice sounded harsh and shaken.

“Why, of course I’ll be glad to do the letters,” she said heartily, “but you needn’t take the trouble to drive me in to the office. I have my own typewriter here, you know, and it just happens that I brought several extra sheets of the letterhead paper out with me the other night when I brought home some other work to type.”

Camilla wheeled out the little table containing her machine, drew up her stool that fitted under it so nicely, and was ready for work.

She could see that Whitlock was not much pleased with the arrangement, but there wasn’t anything he could gracefully do about it, so he dropped into a chair and began to dictate in his most impersonal office voice. Miss York and Mrs. Chrystie drifted back into the kitchen, talking cheerily and moving about putting away things.

The letters proved to be very commonplace affairs, and Camilla suspected that they were a mere excuse to get her away from the house. It wasn’t, of course, especially pleasant for him to be around Miss York after what had been said, but she typed away rapidly and soon had both letters written, addressed, and sealed.

“There!” she said brightly. “That was a great deal easier than going away downtown and opening up the office for just those few minutes, wasn’t it?” And she smiled a bright, tense little smile. The very air seemed charged with electricity, but something had been lifted from her heart that made it lighter. She didn’t stop then to question what it was; she only knew that a great relief had come upon her.

“Yes, that’s very nice,” said Whitlock in a dry tone that did not sound at all as if he thought it nice.

He took the letters and held them a moment, looking at them. Then, with a glance toward the kitchen where cheerful voices were still to be heard, he lowered his voice and said, “You wouldn’t like to come out for a little drive, would you, Camilla?”

Camilla’s breath came quickly, but she managed a bright smile.

“I couldn’t, tonight, really Mr. Whitlock. Miss York can only be here for a short time, and I promised to help her put up her curtains this evening.”

He stood, looking at her thoughtfully for a moment, his brows drawn in a frown. Then he lowered his voice and stepped nearer to her.

“Camilla, I want to talk to you. I have something very important to tell you. I really came over partly to tell you tonight.”

“Why, of course,” said Camilla, feeling her heart suddenly coming up in her throat but trying to seem brightly sympathetic. “We can sit right here and talk. Nobody will bother us. They are busy getting Miss York’s room fixed up. Won’t you take this big chair?” Camilla indicated the most comfortable chair in the room, well in the far corner in the shadow, and dropped into a small straight chair opposite.

Whitlock’s lips were set in an unpleasant line, but he accepted the chair and sat down rigidly on its edge. He did not speak at once.

Camilla was holding herself firmly in hand. She found a tendency in her hands to tremble, but she would not let it show.

“It’s about Marietta, I suppose,” she said, breaking the silence. “Poor Marietta! I had hoped you felt she was doing better. But I suppose it is hard to put up with her.” She felt that she must put off embarrassing topics, if possible.

“No, it’s not about Marietta,” said the man brusquely. “She’s doing very well, far better than I supposed possible. It’s all due to you, of course, and so long as you are willing to keep her on as a pupil, I’m willing to put up with her. It must be hard on you, but you are most unselfish. Camilla, you are the most unselfish person I know. That is why I have been so attracted to you.”

“Oh no, I’m not unselfish,” said Camilla quickly. “I’m just sorry for Marietta.” She laughed lightly, hoping to avert further confidences.

But Whitlock sat gloomily across from her and looked at her, saying brusquely, “Well, it’s not of Marietta I was about to speak. I was going to say that I should have told you long ago of my wife, perhaps. But I was hoping to delay until—something decisive had been done—something in the way of—divorce proceedings. Of course, it is all a very painful topic to me!”