 | V Steadfast Falters |  |
5. V
It was an unusually silent party that gathered around the softly lighted table for dinner that evening, and the conversation, in spite of Mrs. Crosby's efforts to enliven it, dragged perceptibly. Dish after dish left the room practically untouched, each one being so bent on concealing his or her lack of appetite that the same condition of the others passed unnoticed. But of the frequency with which Norman's wine-glass was refilled his mother was more observant; and at last she indicated, with an imperious gesture that brought immediate compliance, that he had had enough.
It was with a distinct feeling of relief that, the meal being ended, Mrs. Crosby rose and, drawing Elizabeth's hand through her arm, led the girl to the veranda, which was lighted by the uncertain rays of a swinging lantern. Sinking back among the cushions of a wicker sofa, she drew her niece down beside her.
"I feel as if I hadn't half told you how happy it makes me to have you here with us," she murmured, pressing Betty's arm gently. "You're very dear to me, child!"
A rush of tenderness swept over Elizabeth. Her parched soul, craving love with the intense desire begot by long denial, reached out with an inarticulate cry for the first demonstration of affection she had received since her father's death.
"Dear aunty!" she whispered brokenly, her hand clinging to the older woman's arm. "You're very good to me. I can never thank you enough!"
"No, dear," remonstrated her aunt; "it is I who should be the grateful one. You are filling the place in my heart of the little daughter I have always longed for. Sons are very nice, Betty, but a mother's heart is always empty, and her life incomplete, until
"No one ever will, aunty," whispered the girl tremulously.
The ache in her heart was becoming more and more unendurable, and she grasped eagerly at the home that she had accepted so reluctantly a few weeks before.
Mrs. Crosby gave her arm a gentle pat and then released her.
"That's right!" she exclaimed warmly; then, as the men came through the doorway, she added: "Now let Norman take you on the rocks; the moonlight is gorgeous on the water to-night. Norman, fetch a wrap for Betty."
Norman threw a scarf over Betty's bare shoulders, rising white and smooth out of the filmy black of her gown. She reluctantly accompanied him to the water's edge and sank down on the rock over which he had spread a rug. He dropped down beside her, and for a while neither spoke.
Betty's eyes were fixed on the path of moonlight which wavered on the dark waters. Her mind, wandering off to the Hunnewells' home, pictured Trixie and Fairfax Cary strolling along the paths of the rose-scented garden, or watching this same moon from the pagoda, with its curtain of fragrant honeysuckle.
Norman, too, seemed content to sit in silence, and puffed away vigorously at the cigar which apparently absorbed his attention. At last he spoke.
"Betty," he began hesitatingly, " could you — love — a man you didn't — respect?"
"I don't know, I'm sure, Norman," replied Elizabeth uncertainly. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I was just wondering how a girl like you would feel about that sort of thing — marriage, I mean, with a man who hadn't always — kept straight."
"Marriage!" breathed Betty almost fiercely. "I'm never going to marry!"
Norman gave a little snort of incredulity.
"Ha! That's what almost all girls say — generally just before they announce their engagements!"
"Well, in this case it's true," insisted Betty finally. "I haven't the least intention of marrying — ever!"
"If you thought it would help some one — help him to keep out of trouble, and all that — wouldn't you?"
There was a wistful note in his voice. Betty turned her eyes, in which the hurt look still lingered, to the recumbent figure of the boy beside her, his flushed face dimly visible in the uncertain light.
"Why do you ask?" she questioned wonderingly.
Norman turned impulsively to her.
"Just this, Betty. I can't seem to be able to — keep straight. I've tried my best, and I just can't do it; and I thought perhaps, if you could bring yourself to take me on — you're so strong, I know — I could stand out against it all. I'm sure I could! Oh, Betty, don't you think you could bring yourself to marry me?"
The words came out in a torrent of desperation. Betty looked at him as if, in spite of the fact that she heard them, their meaning had passed her by.
"Marry you?" she repeated vaguely.
"Yes, Betty — darling, I love you!"
He roused himself from his reclining position and, putting his arm around her, bent his head down to hers. His breath, heavy with wine and the smell of the cigar, sickened her, and she pushed him away almost violently.
"Don't, Norman, don't!"
Norman took away his arm and, leaning his elbows on his drawn-up knees, stared gloomily before him.
"Well, I can't say I blame you," he remarked morosely.
Something in the boy's humility turned Betty's feeling of resentment into one of contrition.
"But, Norman," she exclaimed, "it isn't that! Oh, please believe me! I'd do anything in the world to help you, but I couldn't marry any one I didn't love. Norman dear, you know I'm fond of you — really fond of you, but it isn't the same!"
"Do you think if I gave up drinking, and kept away from trouble generally, you could ever — "
But Betty shook her head emphatically.
"No, dear; it isn't the kind of feeling which, no matter how strong it grew, could ever turn into the love I must have for the man I'm going to marry."
For a moment neither spoke; then Norman said curiously:
"Have you ever known a man you could love like that?"
Betty did not reply, and nothing but the splash of the waves as they dashed impotently against the rocks at their feet broke the silence.
"Who was it, Betty?" asked Norman at last. "Was it Fairfax Cary?"
Betty started violently.
"Fairfax Cary?" she repeated in a startled voice. "Oh, no!"
"I'll bet it was!" declared Norman.
He's just the sort of guy who would get a girl like you. Well, I wish you joy of him! Awful prig, but he wouldn't keep you up nights worrying!" He got up and stretched himself lazily. "Well, me for bed! How about it, fair coz?"
Betty rose quickly to her feet and put her hand on Norman's shoulder.
"You're all wrong about my loving Mr. Cary, Norman," she said emphatically. "It's absolutely untrue. I don't care for him at all, except as a friend; but he isn't a prig, Norman. He's the finest — "
"All right!" agreed Norman indifferently, stooping to pick up the rug. "But don't get so stewed about it! I didn't say he wasn't."
They turned toward the house.
"It's no use, mater," he announced sullenly to his mother, after Betty had bid them good night. "Just as I thought, she's in love with that Cary chap."
"Did she tell you so?" asked his mother sharply.
"Not in so many words, but she showed it pretty plainly. He's just the kind of man she would fall for — always gassing about ideals and uplift and all that hot air. Any one could see — "
"Well," ruminated his mother, half to herself, "perhaps when Elizabeth learns that her father did not leave behind him the savory reputation she sets such store by, she will realize that his daughter may not hold the same attraction as she did for a man of Cary's stamp."
"What do you mean?" asked the boy fearfully.
"Never mind what I mean, Normie. Go to bed! I think before long your pretty cousin will be thankful to marry you!"
But it was well past midnight before Mrs. Crosby followed the advice she gave her son, and even then it was not to sleep. Hour after hour she lay staring at the moonlight filtering in through the filmy curtains, and causing the familiar objects in the room to assume grotesque and, to Mrs. Crosby's tortured mind, vindictive shapes.
Enraged at finding herself entangled in a net which wrapped itself tighter and tighter about her, threatening her very existence, she groped about blindly, feverishly, to find the means of escape which she insisted must exist. It couldn't be that she, Maude Crosby, after all these years of comparative immunity — due to skilful manipulation on her part, she reminded herself — should come to grief because a girl, a mere child, opposed her will!
Keyed to its highest pitch, her mind reviewed the conditions that confronted her. Plan after plan formulated itself, only to crumble away at the fancied touch of the girl's hand. But at last a course of action presented itself which she thought would solve her difficulties, and she dropped off into a fitful doze.
The broad sunlight was streaming in through the open windows when she awoke and found her French maid standing by her bedside, a dainty tray containing Mrs. Crosby's breakfast in the girl's hands.
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