behind it was the dining-room, and back of that a short cross hall and a butler's pantry,—the kitchen being still farther back.
The large library was on the second floor, and was in many ways the most attractive room in the house. There were bedrooms on both the second and third floors, so that Maxwell Chimneys was well adapted for generous hospitality.
A broad veranda ran all around three sides of the house both on the ground floor and second story, and on it, from most of the rooms, opened long French windows.
After watching the dancers for awhile Miss Miranda urged that I join them, and though I would have quite willingly remained with her, I did as she bade me.
"And, Miss Miranda," I said, as I left her, "don't worry about Philip's affairs. I hope—I'm sure you exaggerate to yourself his despondency, and I can't help thinking that soon matters will be brighter for him."
Chapter V.
The Tragedy
I was fortunate in finding Miss Gardiner free to give me a dance, and in a moment we were circling the polished floor.
She said little or nothing during the dance, and when it was over I took her for a stroll on the upper balcony, where, standing at the front railing we looked out on the beautiful country spread before us in the moonlight.
Irene Gardiner puzzled while she attracted me. I never could feel quite sure whether or not she was as frank as she seemed.
Perhaps it was only the natural effect of her dark, almost Oriental beauty, but she somehow seemed capable of diplomacy or intrigue.
To-night, however, she was simply charming, and whether assumed or not, her attitude was sincere and confidential.
We traversed the three long sides of the house on the upper balcony and then, turning, retraced our steps. Frequently we met or passed other couples or groups of young people, and exchanged merry, bantering words.
At last Irene paused at the southeast end of the balcony, and we sat down on a wicker settee.
"Mr. King," she said, almost abruptly, "don't you think it's a shame, the way Mildred treats Mr. Maxwell?"
I was surprised at the question, but had no intention of committing myself to this mystifying young woman.
"Who can criticize the ways of such an enchanting fairy as Miss Leslie?" I replied lightly.
"Do you think her so fascinating?"
The question was wistful and very earnestly asked.
"She is both beautiful and charming, and she has completely bewitched Philip," I said.
"Yet she does not really care for him," cried Irene, passionately. "She adores Gilbert Crane, but she leads Philip on, and is breaking his noble, splendid heart, merely for her own amusement."
My eyes were opened.
"Oho, my lady," I thought to myself. "So you are in love with the handsome Philip. Sits the wind in that quarter?" But I only said, "Gilbert Crane! do you really think so? Why I thought she was lavishing all her favors on our titled guest."
"Oh, he's only an incident. Milly sees that it teases Philip for her to flirt with the Earl, and she does so openly. But her liking for Mr. Crane is another matter. You men are so blind! can't you see that just because she doesn't flirt openly with Gilbert Crane, it proves that she's really interested in him?"
"She is only a child after all," I said, "and we must forgive her a great deal."
"On account of her youth and beauty!" said Miss Gardiner, in a tone that was positively bitter; "that's always the way! A baby face and golden hair and big blue eyes will excuse any amount of fickleness and treachery and deceit!"
"Those are strong words, Miss Gardiner," I said, amazed at her unkindness; "are you sure they are deserved by our little friend?"
"Yes; I know Mildred Leslie as she is! You men only know her as she chooses to appear to you!"
"I don't think I can agree with you, Miss Gardiner. If Mildred Leslie were of a deeper nature, I might think you are right. But she is as open as the day; a superficial, butterfly sort of girl, who cares only for the pleasure of the passing moment. I mean no disparagement, but I think that the lightheartedness of her nature is her best defense against your charges. And truly, in her heart I think she cares for Phil. Who could help preferring that splendid fellow to young Crane?"
"I know it seems so," went on Irene, "but she does like Mr. Crane better. She told me so herself, only to-day. She said Philip is egotistical and purse-proud, and that Mr. Crane has a true poet-soul."
"Perhaps she didn't mean her confidences for me, Miss Gardiner," I said a little stiffly, for I was of no mind to discuss these things.
"I don't care," cried Irene, her eyes blazing, "I'm telling you because I want you to know how matters really stand, and then I want you to warn Mr. Maxwell against such a fickle, shallow little thing as Mildred is."
"I can't consent to do that," I answered. "Philip is old enough to know what he is about. If Miss Leslie prefers Gilbert Crane, Phil will certainly find it out for himself, and soon. But I think he will convince her that she has only a passing fancy for Crane, and that he himself is really her destined fate."
I tried to speak gaily, for I did not wish to take the subject seriously. But in a low, tense voice Irene exclaimed:
"It shall never be! Philip Maxwell shall not throw himself away on a heartless little coquette who doesn't know how to value him! Since you refuse to help me, I will take matters into my own hands!"
I was amazed at her intensity of speech, but still trying to treat it all lightly, I said:
"That is your privilege, fair lady. Come, let us return to the dancing-room,—sha'n't we?"
"You go down, please, Mr. King," she said, and her voice was quieter. "Leave me here for a little, and I will rejoin you soon." As she seemed to be very much in earnest, I did her bidding, and sauntering around, I entered the house by the long French window into the front hall. As I passed through the hall, I met Miss Miranda just going to her own room.
"Leaving us?" I inquired, smiling at her.
"Yes," she said. "I am very weary to-night, and I have excused myself. Mrs. Whiting will look after you young folks, and I am sure she will ably represent me."
She looked not only tired, but worried, and I felt sure Miss Leslie's behavior was grieving her dear old heart.
"Don't worry, dear lady," I said, earnestly; "you know we must allow a certain latitude to frivolous, butterfly-minded little girls."
"Yes, I know it," and she smiled, slightly;
"And I hope there is a true womanly heart under that mischievous nature."
"I'm sure there is,—and I'm sure it is devoted to our Philip. Don't take it too seriously; remember that Philip is not a weak sort of a man, and he is able to control his own affairs."
"But he is simply wax in Mildred's hands; she can do anything she likes with him. She can send him into the seventh heaven of joy or into the depths of despair by her smile or frown."
"I know it; but that has been lovely woman's privilege through all the world's history. We can't expect our Phil to escape the common fate. So cheer up, and let us hope that he will yet capture the pretty little rogue, and that they will live happy ever after."
"Thank you, Peter; you have cheered me up, as you always do; and I shall sleep better for your words of hope. Good night."
"Good night," I said gently, "and I trust you will rise to-morrow morning refreshed and happy."
"I hope so," she said. "Good night, Peter." As I turned to go down-stairs, I heard voices in