Chapter XX The Twins under a New Aspect
“Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful jollity.”
—Milton.
The fun was at its height. The most delightful waltz of the evening had just concluded and streams of gaily dressed forms poured in the direction of the balcony. It was mid-winter and the thermometer stood at five below: yet more than one couple strolled out on the balcony and stood, contracting lung trouble and pneumonia, while they gazed enraptured at the beautiful panorama which spread beneath them. The city was a mass of glittering lights, seen through the delicate pencilled branches of bare maples and willows; and seemed to the watchers as though lying hundreds of feet below Hadwell Heights. At the foot of the high hill on which the house was built lay Pine Avenue, thronged with couples arrayed in sporting garb and bent on their way to the toboggan slide at the back of the mountain. Less often a party of snowshoers would rush past on their ungainly footgear: an object of little amusement to the Canadians but one of never-failing interest to the Americans: and, less frequently still, a couple of men on skis. The twins, who never thought of colds or of precautions against them, spent most of their time between the dances in standing in the most exposed part of the balcony and watching the passers-by until the icy winds which whirled around drove them indoors, shivering but happy.
Bertie seemed to-night as though possessed of some demon of mischief and unrest. She confessed to a rather bad cold already, but it detracted nothing from her appearance though it affected her usually sweet voice, rendering it hoarse and strained. No entreaties could keep her from the icy balcony, though, and her partners soon stopped making them and devoted themselves to carrying on the flirtations which she seemed determined to push to the utmost limit. Never had any of her Canadian admirers seen her in such a mood; her usual gay, but rather reserved manner had given place to the one commonly attributed to the American girl in foreign fiction. Her partners were at first amazed, then flattered at her open and eager anxiety for their attentions; but some, including Donovan, her companion of the hockey match, who had come to like and admire the pretty Ohio girl, were rather repelled and disgusted at the change in her. Toward the end of the evening his disgust reached a climax. An extremely shy and painfully proper youth to whom Bertie had begged him to introduce her at the beginning of the evening, had just emerged from sitting out a dance with her and had asked Donovan to have a smoke with him in Mr. Hadwell’s “den,” which, for this night, was given over to the needs of the dancers. On Donovan’s assenting, Mr. Simcoe, the shy youth, had unfolded a tale of horror. He had come up for his dance with Miss Hadwell when she, without a word of apology, had piloted him in the direction of the stairs, murmuring, as she did so, “We don’t want to dance, do we? We can do better than that.” On his expressing his willingness to do as she wished she had squeezed his arm and informed him in an ecstatic whisper that he was a duck, a perfect duck, and that she was going to show him a nice little cubby hole behind some curtains at the end of the hall which she was sure Mrs. Hadwell must have fixed expressly for them. “Of course,” Mr. Simcoe had remarked, nervously, “of course I couldn’t refuse to go, Donovan.” Donovan, looking very grim, had agreed with him: of course he could not. So, it appeared, they had gone. Mr. Simcoe had seemed unwilling to divulge the secrets of his prison house but had gone so far as to hint that ladies who asked fellows to kiss them on so short an acquaintance were not in his line. Donovan had informed him here that gentlemen did not, as a rule, “kiss and tell”: and had refused to listen further, regardless of Mr. Simcoe’s anguished explanation. “But I didn’t, Donovan! hang it all, it was she who insisted, you know, and she can’t blame me for speaking of it.” Donovan had walked off in a furious rage, awakened, not so much by Mr. Simcoe’s lack of gallantry as by Miss Hadwell’s lack of common sense and good breeding.
If Miss Bertie’s conduct gave rise to comment, what shall be said of Mr. Bert’s? It is safe to say that never before in a Montreal drawing-room had any gentleman disported himself with such amazing freedom. Before many dances had transpired ominous whispers might have been heard among the young ladies who had been honoured with his partnership; and it was a matter of common observation that, toward the end of the evening, several of his companions flatly refused to “sit out” dances which he had engaged, earlier. The most amazing snub which he received came from Miss Reed, who, on his reminding her that she had promised him the eighteenth dance, had answered in tones of ice, “So sorry, Mr. Hadwell, but I never dance—except with gentlemen!” This was merely the climax of a series of unpleasant remarks which had been showered upon him; but, coming from Miss Reed, who was known to have absorbed all his time and attention until that evening, it was expected to have had a chilling effect upon him. This, however, was far from being the case. “I may not be exactly a gentleman, Miss Reed,” he had returned with the utmost sangfroid, “but”— At this moment he had caught sight of his sister’s eye, fixed on him with a look in which rage and consternation were strangely blended; and breaking off abruptly, he had left Erma’s side, his manly shoulders shaking visibly. Bertie had held a hasty and agitated conversation with him; and the twinly devotion which had so impressed the assembled company when the dance commenced was apparently conspicuous by its absence.
In the midst of the dance Mrs. Hadwell was seen to leave the room, hastily, in response to a whispered message from a housemaid. When she returned her eyes were sparkling mischievously and her whole demeanour was charged with importance. Presently she beckoned confidentially to Mrs. Langham-Greene, who stood, resplendent in pale green draperies and water lilies, a most pleasing and graceful Undine. Undine approached and Titania linked her arm in hers. “My dear,” she cooed, “you haven’t an idea—oh, how shall I begin? You know my housekeeper, don’t you? Wasn’t she an old school friend of yours?”
“Not a friend, exactly,” answered the elegant Undine, rather deprecatingly. “An acquaintance, rather. Such an ugly little thing and so lacking in any sort of brightness and attractiveness”—
“To us yes!” purred Titania. “But only think of a man like General Shaftan having cared so much for her that he was unable to die without seeing her and imploring her for the last time to become his wife”— She paused and viewed the crimsoning Undine with a countenance absolutely devoid of guile.
“General Shaftan?” inquired her guest, turning from crimson to scarlet. “General Shaftan? Why, my dear Mrs. Hadwell”—
“I know,” murmured Titania, sympathetically, casting a demure glance at the infuriated water nymph, “I know! we all thought it was you—and, no doubt, he made you think so as well! men are such dreadful deceivers—but he sent for Mrs. Waite on his death-bed and wanted to marry her.”
Undine found her breath.
“My dear Mrs. Hadwell,” she laughed, lightly. “Does it sound a probable story?”
“No; and if the poor woman, herself, had told me about it, I regret to say that I should have doubted her. But the General told his nurse and trusted her with the secret contents of his will. It was drawn up three hours before he sent for Mrs. Waite and, in it, he says that he leaves all of which he dies possessed to Amy Marion Waite in the belief that that lady will, in the next few hours, become his wife, as he hopes and intends she shall.”
Mrs. Langham-Greene said nothing, but turned white and twisted the fan which she held in her long, snake-like fingers feverishly. Titania, looking at her, felt a sudden twinge of compassion and compunction. She left her with some hurried excuse.
“So,” she said, slowly to herself, “so even that unscrupulous, wheedling serpent is capable of caring for somebody: and caring for him all those years, too. Am I the only woman living who—who”——
Something wet and glistening fell on her chiffon dress. She hastily wiped it away and stared in amazement.
“Getting sentimental at my age?” she inquired in stupefaction. “Here, Estelle Hadwell, don’t be a fool! You’ve got everything you ever wanted and you’re ten times happier than anyone else you know. Think of your dresses and your jewelry and your friends and your—n-n-no, I don’t know that you need think of him—not just now, at all events! But think of”—
She looked up, up the long, broad stairway, up to the big, quiet nursery. Then she smiled and tossed her head.
“I have everything, practically everything,” she said, defiantly. “Everything but a sentimental experience which disappears, anyway, after six months of married life. I’m a fool, that’s what I am! a discontented, ungrateful fool. The trouble with me is that I’ve got too much. If only—if only one of them doesn’t”——
A spasm of agony crossed her face at the unwelcome thought; then she resolutely crossed the hall and opened an animated conversation with one of her numerous admirers. Lack of self-control was not one of the pretty Titania’s failings.
Presently Lynn Thayer joined her, looking grave and perplexed. “May I have Mrs. Hadwell to myself for a few moments?” she asked, smiling in a rather forced way: then, putting her hand on Mrs. Hadwell’s arm, she drew her aside.
“Del,” she said in a low voice, “you know I am no prude and I don’t make a fuss, unnecessarily, about anything; but I tell you plainly that you must speak to those young connections of yours.”
“Why, what have the poor things been doing?” asked Mrs. Hadwell in amazement. “I noticed that they were awfully lively but, surely, at their age”—
“My dear Del, their conduct is outrageous. Particularly Bertie’s. After all, if a boy of twenty chooses to act like a fool he simply gets severely snubbed and, in time, comes to his senses and is forgiven. But when a girl of the same age, a girl who has had every advantage, starts to act in her uncle’s house like an extremely fast barmaid, why, you know as well as I do that it won’t be forgotten in a hurry. What has got into them to-night I don’t know; but the whole room is talking of their actions. Imagine Bertie asking that shy little recluse of a Simcoe to kiss her and pretending to weep when he hesitated”——
“Lynn!”
“My dear, that isn’t the worst of it. She has taken about half her partners to that little alcove in the second floor hall, which is curtained off, and has treated them to a course of hoydenish flirtation which is, to say the least of it, in the poorest taste. Silly little Simcoe was bad enough, but, when it comes to Parham, one of the fastest men in the city”——
“Surely not!”
“She has been sitting up there with him for the last two dances; and she is evidently taken with him, for, when she showed me her programme and I remarked on her having promised him three dances in succession, she giggled in the most affected manner and said, ‘Oh, I simply adore those sad-eyed, soft-voiced men with reputations yards long!’ and danced off before I had a chance to suggest that”——
“Why, Lynn, what can I have been thinking about to allow it? Oh, the silly child! If she must act like a goose, why couldn’t she do it a little more privately? Don’t laugh, Lynn: you know what I mean. And you tell me that Bert?”——
“Has been acting like a perfect fool. He even wanted to kiss me.”
“Lynn! the boy must have taken leave of his senses.”
“I was afraid myself that he was drunk. In fact I took the liberty of asking him if he was. He was quite angry for a moment. ‘What do you mean by saying that I am drunk?’ he asked. ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I didn’t say that you were drunk: on the contrary I said I hoped you weren’t.’ ‘But why should you think I was?’ persisted my gentleman. So I told him that when people tried to make love to me I always thought they must be drunk. He shouted at that and explained that he was in good spirits—animal, not vegetable—and wanted to enjoy himself. I treated him to a piece of my mind, but it didn’t seem to do much good.”
“Isn’t it extraordinary? With all their high spirits and love of fun I thought those twins were as well-bred a pair as you would want to meet. Well! I must do my duty, I suppose. Where are the miscreants, Lynn?”
“Bert is in the ballroom, trying to pacify his partners, most of whom are not pleased with him for reasons best known to themselves. Bertie, as I told you, is sitting behind a fairly thick curtain with a man who shouldn’t be admitted into any respectable house.”
“My dear child, don’t start to lecture about that! I have enough on my hands.”
She mounted the stairs with a determined but bored expression and presently descended, followed by the unrepentant Bertie who winked joyously at the stony and disapproving visage of her aunt’s friend. Behind them strolled the redoubtable Parham, apparently highly amused.
Mrs. Hadwell entered the ballroom and looked about for Bert. He was presently discovered in the act of fanning an indignant-looking lady who pretended to ignore his efforts at small talk. Mrs. Hadwell beckoned and he sprang to his feet with alacrity.
“Bert!” said his aunt by marriage, sternly, “there are limits to my forbearance. I am sorry to say that you have transgressed those limits. I am still sorrier that you have no better taste than to take pleasure in showing impertinence to my guests.”
Bert’s face worked for a moment: he said something in an aside to his sister, then spoke.
“Aunt Del,” he said, humbly but with an irrepressible twinkle in his black eyes, “we have acted like a couple of demons, I must admit, but, if you’ll only forgive us this once, I swear we’ll straighten things out. Every one is going to supper, now; well, Bertie and I are going in together and, just as soon as the people are seated, you will see what will happen.”
“I will not,” was Mrs. Hadwell’s unexpected rejoinder. “I have had quite enough nonsense, Bert. It must end, here.”
Bert consulted his sister with his eyes; then, catching his diminutive aunt by the waist, he whirled her down the room and whispered something in her ear. She gasped, then suddenly laughed and looked relieved; and Bertie approached and entered into an animated conversation with her.
Five minutes later, when the assembled company was seated at supper, the unruly and ostracized pair walked solemnly in and stood for a moment at the head of the room. Then Bert raised his crimson-decked arm with a mute request for silence. A hush of surprise fell on the revellers. He spoke.
“My dear friends,” he said, gravely, “my sister and I have acted so badly to-night and have laid ourselves open to so much well-deserved censure that we think the least we can do is to apologize, and we do it—thus!”
He deliberately laid hold of his companion’s snowy locks and, with a vigorous pull, exposed a close cropped head. Then he doffed his crimson headgear and a dark tress fell athwart his nose.
When the prolonged shrieks of amazement and laughter had died into silence Bert—the real Bert—spoke.
“My sister says that if all the girls whom she has kissed will forgive her she will never do it, again,” he said. “And, as for me,” he paused and cast a glance of pure delight in the direction of Messrs. Simcoe and Parham, “as for me, while I must confess that I am a horrible flirt”—
He could get no further.
An hour later Undine, looking paler than her wont, sat whispering behind a large fan to two or three other women. One of them, a pleasant-faced middle-aged woman, looked distinctly sad and uncomfortable.
“The poor girl!” she said.
“Such people should be exposed,” returned Undine, coldly. “The idea of her being here at all. Mrs. Hadwell cannot associate with fast women and expect to keep her own character. Personally I never think there is any real harm in Mrs. Hadwell, though”— She paused tentatively while a venomous gleam lit her large, pale eyes.
“Oh, no, no!” cried the others in horrified unison; and Mrs. Langham-Greene saw that it would be dangerous to venture further. She bade an affectionate farewell to her hostess and ordered a closed sleigh.
“My dress is so thin,” she explained, smiling.
As the sleigh drove away she crouched among the fur rugs and bit her naked arms and writhed.
“I’ll pay them for this,” she whispered, catching her breath in torture. “He sent for her—for her! and that little cat dared to tell me to my face—oh, I can’t reach her, not yet; but I can hurt her through her friend, anyway. She really cares for the Thayer girl; it’ll make trouble with her pompous old husband when she insists on supporting her—oh, I’ll do what I can! it may help me to forget.” She groaned. “Oh, I can’t bear it: I didn’t mind his death as I mind this! it’s like losing him all over again—I’ll pay her for what she’s made me suffer to-night! I’ll pay her!”