her gayety, though I now knew for a certainty it was all a pretense. Con Archer nobly helped her out, and chatted lightly and gracefully. Barbara continued to sulk in silence, but all the rest rose to the occasion, and only appropriate dinner-table talk was heard.
Coffee was served in the drawing-room for the ladies, while the men remained at table.
Perhaps from a sense of duty, Archer made one more effort
“I say, Van Wyck,” he began, “I know it’s none of my business, but mayn’t I suggest as man to man, that you think this matter over a bit longer before making your decision? You know, to a disinterested observer, the gift you propose to make seems out of all proportion to its object; and I can’t help thinking that on second thoughts you would agree to this yourself.”
“Mr. Archer,” said Van Wyck coldly, “the only one of your remarks to which I agree is your first one: that it is none of your business.”
Condron Archer flushed, but as David Van Wyck’s guests were not unusued to his scathing speeches, this one was not openly resented; and Archer said nothing further.
And then, seemingly unable to control himself, Morland blurted out, “I say, Dad, you just can’t do it!”
“Can’t?” and the elder Van Wyck raised his eyebrows at his son.
“No, can’t!” Morland went on, blindly angry now. “It’s heathenish! It’s a crime against your wife and daughter, to say nothing of me. I tell you, you can’t!”
David Van Wyck’s clear, cutting tones fell like icicles: “If you will be present, Morland, at the meeting this evening, I shall take pleasure in showing you that I can.”
“You bet I’ll be there!” and Morland looked almost like a belligerent boy as he met the cold stare of his father’s eyes.
“I’m glad you accept my invitation; and now shall we join the ladies?” Rising from the table, we crossed the hall to the drawing-room; and perhaps four angrier men never wore the smiling mask of politeness.
Anne, seated in a carved, high-backed chair, made an exquisite picture, and she turned her beautiful, appealing eyes to her husband as he entered. David Van Wyck crossed the room straight to her. Placing his hands on the two carved griffins’ heads that formed the arms of the chair, he leaned over the beautiful face upturned to his, and whispered a few words in Anne’s ear. Then he lightly kissed her on the cheek, and, without a word to any one else, strolled out of the room toward the study.
What he said to her nobody knew, but Anne turned deathly white, and grasped the carved chair-arms as if in extremest agony.
I was uncertain whether to notice this and go to her assistance, or whether to keep up the farce of gay conversation in an endeavor to cover her agitation.
Morland gave his step-mother one glance, clenched his teeth, and, muttering, “Brute!” strode off after his father.
Without hesitation, Archer drew a chair to Anne’s side, and, sitting down, took her hand in his.
But he erred, for Anne drew away her hand with a freezing dignity, and, rising, came over and sat by Mrs. Stelton.
And then I was surprised by another of Anne’s absolutely inexplicable changes of mood. “What a heavenly brooch!” she said, smiling at Mrs. Stelton. “Florentine work, isn’t it? I perfectly adore those things! I have one something like it, but a more conventional design. Don’t you just love to buy things in Florence, or in Naples, or indeed any part of Italy? Italy is lovely, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Stelton stared at this flow of insane talk, and I suddenly wondered if Anne were hysterical. I saw Archer move as if to approach her and then turn on his heel again, doubtless fearing rebuff. So I dared to venture, myself. “Mrs. Van Wyck,” I said, “won’t you come with me for a little walk on the terrace? I’m sure the cool air will be refreshing.”
“Thank you,” said Anne simply, and she went with me at once, draping the long train of her gown over her arm as we passed through the hall.
“You are very good,” she said, a little wearily, as we stepped out onto the terrace. “How did you know I wanted to get away?”
I stifled an impulse to tell her that love helped me to read her thoughts, and said quietly, “I know you’re troubled about that plan of your husband’s, but let us hope for the best.”
“There is no longer room for hope,” she said dully. “Come, let us look in at the window.”
Of course I followed her along the terrace to the windows of the great study. We could easily look in, and the deep colors of the stained glass prevented our being seen by those inside. And, any way, there was surely no harm in it. We saw Mr. Van Wyck and Morland, and three other men, who doubtless represented the committee.
“Yes,” murmured Anne musingly; “there they are. Mr. Millar, Mr. Brandt, and Mr. Garson. I do not blame them. Of course, if David offers them this money, they’d be foolish not to take it. Mr. Brandt is the only one who has really over-urged in the matter. In fact, he suggested it to David first. Oh, Raymond, isn’t it too bad!”
It was the first time she had called me by my first name, and I felt a thrill that blotted out all thought of Van Wyck or his money.
“And you mustn’t think,” she went on, “that I’m selfish or ungenerous. If David were honestly a philanthropist, or if I weren’t so sure that he’d regret this later, as he does all his erratic impulses, I’d feel different about it. But you see how it is, don’t you, Raymond?”
“Yes, Anne, I see how it is.” And though I spoke quietly, my heart was in a tumult.
“Oh, look!” she cried. “Morland is getting angry! He is quarrelling with his father!”
“Don’t be alarmed,” I said. “Morland can never get the better of that man. His father will not mind anything he says.”
But it was evident that Morland had said something that his father did mind, for the elder man’s temper was roused, and the two were certainly in deadly earnest. We could hear no word that was spoken, but the three visitors looked appalled, and were evidently trying to pacify the combatants.
“Come away, Anne,” I said, sick at heart over the whole matter. “You can do nothing—why torture yourself by looking on? Let me tell you what I brought you for a gift.”
“What?” she asked, but without interest I led her back across the terrace, as I told her of a beautiful piece of Venetian glass that I had brought for her. It was a gem, rare and valuable, but I would not have lauded it as I did except in an endeavor to distract her mind from the sight she had just seen.
“Where is it?” she asked, at last, faintly interested.
“I gave it to a footman when I came,” I replied.
“Then he will have given it to my maid, and it will be in my room,” she said; then, hesitatingly, “Don’t think it strange, will you, if—if I don’t tell David that you gave it to me? He is—he is peculiar, you know.”
“Jealous, you mean,” I said, laughing. “That doesn’t surprise me, and, truly, I’m glad of the fact that I can make him jealous!”
But I’m not sure that Anne heard this, so preoccupied was she with her own thoughts. We returned to the drawing-room, but it was not long before we all went to our rooms.
Anne bade me good-night on the stair-landing. “David and Morland are still shut up with that committee,” she said; “and I am going at once in search of the gift you brought me. I know I shall love it ”
“For the sake of the giver,” I interrupted, with a gay foolery that sounded as if I didn’t mean it; but I did.
“Not at all,” said Anne saucily. “I shall love it only for its beauty and intrinsic worth. And if it’s Venetian glass, it must have both. I hope to goodness it isn’t