and I well know I shall never want anybody but Anne.
THE WHITE ALLEY
Chapter I.
White Birches
Almost before the big motor-car stopped, the girl sprang out. Lap-robes flung aside, veils flying, gauntlets flapping, she was the incarnation of youth, gayety, and modernity.
"Oh, Justin," she cried, as she ran up the steps of the great portico, "we've had such a time! Two punctures and a blow-out! I thought we'd never get here!"
"There, there, Dorothy, don't be so—so precipitous. Let me greet your mother."
Dorothy Duncan pouted at the rebuke, but stood aside as Justin Arnold went forward to meet the older lady.
"Dear Mrs. Duncan," he said, "how do you do? Are you tired? Have you had a bothersome journey? Won't you sit here?"
Mrs. Duncan took the seat offered, and then Arnold turned to Dorothy. "Now it's your turn," he said, smiling at her. "I have to correct your manners when you insist on being so unobservant of the preferment due to your elders."
"Oh, Justin, don't use such long words! Are you glad to see me?"
Dorothy was unwinding yards of chiffon veiling from her head and neck, and was becoming hopelessly entangled in its coils; but her lovely, piquant face smiled out from the clouds of light blue gauze as from a summer sky.
Arnold observed her gravely. "Why do you jerk at that thing so?" he said. "You'll spoil the veil; and you're making no progress in removing it, if that's your purpose."
"Justin! You're so tiresome! Why don't you help me, instead of criticising? Oh, never mind, here's Mr. Chapin; he'll help me—won't you?" The azure-framed face turned appealingly to a man who had just come out of the house. No male human being could have refused that request, and perhaps Ernest Chapin was among those least inclined.
"Certainly," he said, and with a few deft and deferential touches he disentangled the fluttering folds, and was rewarded by a quick, lovely, flashing smile. Then the girl turned again to Arnold.
"Justin," she said, "why can't you learn to do such things? How can I go through life with a man who can't get my head out of a motor-veil?"
"Don't be foolish, Dorothy. I supposed you quite capable of adjusting your own toggery."
"And must I always do everything I am capable of doing? 'Deed I won't! By the way, Justin, you haven't kissed me yet."
She lifted her lovely, laughing face, and, a trifle awkwardly, Arnold bent and kissed the rose-leaf cheek.
Justin Arnold was one of those men whose keynote seemed to be restraint. Spontaneous motions were never his. Trifling, unmeant words he never spoke; and to imagine him jesting was impossible. Equally impossible to imagine him affectionate, or demonstrative. The kiss he gave his fiancée was formal but significant, like the seal on a legal document. It exasperated Dorothy, who was accustomed to have her very glances sought for, her words treasured and her smiles breathlessly awaited. To have a kiss almost ignored nearly took her off her feet!
"H'm," she said; "not very lover-like, but I suppose you're embarrassed at the audience." She flashed another smile at Ernest Chapin, and then said, "Come, Mother, let's go to our rooms and——Oh, there's Leila Duane! Hello, girlie!"
Another motor came purring up, and a tall, graceful girl stepped out and joined the party on the veranda. With a calm correctness of manner, she greeted her host, Justin Arnold, and acknowledged an introduction to his secretary, Ernest Chapin. Then, turning to Mrs. Duncan and Dorothy, she chatted gayly after the manner of reunited friends.
"How heavenly to be here for a house party! But I thought we'd never get in at those forbidding-looking gates. It's like a picnic in a Bastille or something! Don't you just love it!"
"I love it with a lot of people around," returned Dorothy, "but it is Bastille-ish,—in spots. However, as it's to be my life prison, I must get used to it."
"A prison, Dorothy," said Arnold, sternly, "you look on it like that?"
"Of course I do! But you will be a gentle jailer, won't you, Justin, and let me out once in a while to play by myself?"
"By yourself!" cried Leila; "imagine Dorothy Duncan playing by herself! You mean with half a dozen of your grovelling slaves!"
"Half a dozen or one, as the case may be," and Dorothy laughed carelessly; "I'm not sure I don't prefer one to a half dozen."
Arnold looked annoyed at the conversation, but only said, lightly, "Of course you do; and as I'm