Books: Old Rose and Silver

M >> Myrtle Reed >> Old Rose and Silver

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Afterward it seemed continually to happen that she was alone with
Allison when the time came to say good-night and drive home, or walk,
escorted by Colonel Kent or the Doctor. By common consent, they seemed
to make excuses to leave the room as the hour of departure approached,
and she always found it easier when someone was there.

Again, when she had made her adieux and had reached the door leading
into the hall, Allison called her back.

"Yes?" "Couldn't you--just once, you know--for good-night?" he asked,
with difficulty.

His face made his meaning clear. Rose bent, kissed him tenderly upon the
forehead, and quickly left the room. Her heart was beating so hard that
she did not know she stumbled upon the threshold, nor did she hear his
low: "Thank you--dear."

That night she could not sleep. "I can't," she said to herself,
miserably; "I can't possibly go on, if--Oh, why should he make it so
hard for me!"

If the future was to be possible on the lines already laid down, he,
too, must keep the impersonal attitude. Yet, none the less, she was
conscious of an uplifting joy that would not be put aside, but
insistently demanded its right of expression.

She did not dare trust herself to see Allison again, and yet she must.
She could not fail him now, when he needed her so much, nor could she
ask the others to see that they were not left alone. One day might be
gained for respite by the plea of a headache, which is woman's friend as
often as it is her enemy.

And, after that one day, what then? What other excuse could she make
that would not seem heartless and cold?

It was an old saying of Aunt Francesca's that "when you can't see
straight ahead, it's because you're about to turn a corner." She
tormented herself throughout the night with futile speculations that led
to nothing except the headache which she had planned to offer as an
excuse.

A brief note gave her the day to herself, and also brought flowers from
Allison, with a friendly note in his own hand. Doctor Jack was the
messenger and took occasion to offer his services in the conquest of the
headache, but Rose declined with thanks, sending down word that she
preferred to sleep it off.

Though breakfast might be a movable feast at Madame's, it was always
consistently late. It was nearly nine o'clock in the morning when the
telephone wakened Madame from a dreamless sleep. She listened until it
became annoying, but no one answered it. Finally she got up, rather
impatiently, and went to it herself, anticipating Rose by only a minute.

Tremulous with suspense, Rose waited, scarcely daring to breathe until
Madame turned with a cry of joy, the receiver falling from her nerveless
hand. "Rose! Rose! he's saved! Our boy is saved! He's saved, do you
understand?"

"Truly? Is it sure?"

"Blessedly sure! Oh, Rose, he's saved!"

The little old lady was sobbing in an ecstasy of relief.

Rose led her to a couch and waited quietly until she was almost calm,
then went back to her own room. Once more her world was changed, as long
ago she had seen how it must be with her should the one thing happen.
She, with the others, had hoped and prayed for it; her dearest dream had
come true at last, and left her desolate.

She was unselfishly glad for Allison, for the Colonel, Aunt Francesca,
Doctor Jack, the sorrowing twins, and, in a way, for herself. It had
been given her to serve him, and she had not hoped for more. It made
things easier now, though she had not thought the corner would be turned
in just this way.

Having made up her mind and completed her plans, she went to Madame as
soon as she was dressed. She had hidden her paleness with so little
rouge that even Madame's keen eyes could not suspect it.

"Aunt Francesca," she began, without preliminary, "I've got to go away."

"Why, dear, and where? For how long?"

"Because I'm so tired. Things have been hard for me--over there, lately
--and I don't care where I go."

"I see," returned Madame, tenderly. "You want to go away for a rest.
You've needed it for a long time."

"Yes," Rose nodded, swinging easily into the lie that did not deceive
either. "Oh, Aunt Francesca, can I go to-day?"

"Surely--at any hour you choose."

"And you'll--make it right?"

"Indeed I will. I'll just say that you've been obliged to go away on
business--to look after some investments for both of us, and I hope
you'll stay away long enough to get the rest and change you've needed
for almost a year."

"Oh, Aunt Francesca, how good you are! But where? Where shall I go?"

Madame had been thinking of that. She knew the one place where Rose
could go, and attain her balance in solitude, untroubled by needless
questions or explanations. With the feeling of the mother who gives her
dead baby's dainty garments to a living child sorely in need, she spoke.

"To my house up in the woods--the little house where love lived, so long
ago."

Rose's pale lips quivered for an instant. "What have I to do with love?"

"Go to the house where he lived once, and perhaps you may find out."

"I will--I'll be glad to go. If I could make the next train, could you
arrange to have a trunk follow me?"

"Of course. Go on, dear. I know how it happens sometimes, that one can't
stay in one place any longer. I suffered from wanderlust until I was
almost seventy, and it's a long time since you've been away."

"And you'll promise not to tell anybody?"

"I promise."

While Rose was packing a suit-case, Madame brought her a rusty, old-
fashioned key, and a card on which she had written directions for the
journey. "I've ordered the carriage," she said, "and I'll drive down
with you to see you safely off."

After the packing was completed and while there was still nearly an hour
to wait before the carriage would come, Rose locked her door, and, after
many failures, achieved her note:

"MY DEAR ALLISON:

"You don't know how glad I am for you and how glad I shall be all the
rest of my life. I've hoped and dreamed and prayed from the very
beginning that it might be so, and I believe that, in time, you'll have
back everything you have lost.

"Now that you no longer need me, I am going away to attend to some
necessary business for Aunt Francesca and myself, and perhaps to rest a
little while in some new place before I go back to my work.

"Of course our make-believe engagement expires automatically now, and I
hope you'll soon find the one woman meant to make you happy. I am glad
to think that I've helped you a little when you came to a hard place,
for the most that any one of us may do for another is to smooth the
road.

"Remember me to the others, say good-bye for me, and believe me, with
all good wishes,

"Your friend always,

"ROSE."

When she sealed and addressed it, she had a queer sense of closing the
door, with her own hands, upon all the joy Life might have in store for
her in years to come. Yet the past few weeks were secure, beyond the
power of change or loss, and her pride was saved.

No one could keep her from loving him, and the thought brought a certain
comfort to her sore heart. Wherever he might be and whatever might
happen to him, she could still love him from afar, and have, for her
very own, the woman's joy of utmost giving.

When the carriage came, she went down, and, without a word put her note
into Aunt Francesca's faithful hands. Isabel had not appeared,
fortunately, and it was not necessary to leave any message--Aunt
Francesca would make it right, as she always had with everybody.

When the little old lady lifted her face, saying: "Good-bye, dear, come
back to me soon," Rose's heart misgave her. "I'll stay," she said,
brokenly; "I won't leave you."

But Madame only smiled, and nodded toward the waiting train. She stood
on the platform, waving her little lace-bordered handkerchief, until the
last car rounded the curve and the fluttering bit of white that was
waved in answer had vanished.

Then Madame sighed, wiped her eyes, and drove home.

XXII

A BIRTHDAY PARTY

Allison received the note from Rose at the time he was expecting Rose
herself, and was keenly disappointed. "She might at least have stopped
long enough to say good-bye," he said to his father.

"Don't be selfish, lad," laughed the Colonel. "We owe her now a debt
that we can never hope to pay."

The young man's face softened. "What a brick she has been!" Then, to
himself, he added: "if she had loved me, she couldn't have done more."

Life seemed very good to them both that crisp September morning. Just
after breakfast Doctor Jack had announced, definitely, that the crushed
hand was saved, unless there should be some unlooked-for complication
"But mind you," he insisted, "I don't promise any violin-playing, and
there'll be scars, but we'll make it look as well as we can. Anyhow,
you'll not be helpless."

Allison smiled happily. "Why can't I play, if it heals up all right?"

"There may be a nerve or two that won't work just right, or a twisted
muscle, or something. However we'll keep hoping."

The heavy weight that had lain so long upon Allison's heart was slow in
lifting. At first he could not believe the good news, greatly to Doctor
Jack's disgust.

"You don't seem to care much," he remarked. "I supposed you'd turn at
least one somersault. The Colonel is more pleased than you are."

"Dear old dad," said Allison, gratefully. "I owe him everything."

"Everything?" repeated the Doctor, with lifted brows. "And where does
Jonathan Ebenezer Middlekauffer come in, to say nothing of the future
Mrs. Kent?"

Allison's face clouded for an instant. "I'll never forget what you've
done for me, but there isn't any future Mrs. Kent."

"No? Why I thought--"

"So did I, but she's thrown me over and gone away. This morning she sent
me a note of congratulation and farewell."

"Upon my word! What have you done to her?"

"Nothing. She says I don't need her any more now, so she's going away."

Doctor Jack paced back and forth on the veranda with his hands in his
pockets. "The darkly mysterious ways of the ever-feminine are wonderful
beyond the power of words to portray. Apparently you've had to choose
between your hand and hers."

"I'm not sure," returned Allison, thoughtfully, "that I wouldn't rather
have hers than mine."

"Brace up, old man. Get well and go after her. The world isn't big
enough to keep a man away from the woman he wants."

"But," answered Allison, dejectedly, "she doesn't care for me. It was
only womanly pity, and now that I don't need that, I've lost her."

"She doesn't care for you!" repeated the Doctor. "Why, man, how can you
sit there and tell a lie like that? Of course she cares!"

Allison turned to look at him in astonishment. "It isn't possible!"

"Isn't it? Then I don't know anything about human nature, though I must
confess I'm not up much on the feminine part of it. How long--"

"Just since the accident. The girl I was going to marry let me release
her. She didn't want a cripple, you know."

"And Miss Bernard did, and you've disappointed her?"

"Something like that."

"You seem to have had fierce luck with girls. One gives you up because
you've only got one hand, and the other because you've got two. There's
no pleasing women. Hello--here comes another note. Maybe she's changed
her mind."

For a breathless instant Allison thought so, too, but Doctor Jack was
opening it. "Mine," he said. "It's an invitation to Crosby's. It seems
that they come of age day after to-morrow, and I'm invited out to supper
to help celebrate. I won't go, or anything, will I? Oh, no, of course
not! I haven't seen 'em for a week. Are presents expected?"

"Your presence seems to be expected," remarked Allison.

"I'm glad you've got that out of your system," the Doctor retorted, with
a scornful smile. "You ought to improve right along now."

"Is it a party?"

"They don't say so. I hope it isn't."

However, when Doctor Jack strolled up the dusty road, a carriage that
must have come from Crosby's passed him. He stopped short, wildly
considering an impulse of flight. Then he went on bravely, smiling at
the thought that any entertainment given by the twins could be by any
possibility, a formal affair.

The other guest was Isabel, whom Doctor Jack had not met and of whom he
knew nothing. She observed him narrowly when opportunity offered, for
she knew who he was, and wondered what he had heard of her. Soon she
became certain that her name carried no meaning to him, for he talked
freely of Allison and the Colonel and frankly shared the joy of the
twins at the welcome news.

"Oh," cried Juliet, clapping her hands in glee. "It's the very best
birthday present we could have, isn't it, Romie?"

"I should say," replied that young man, with an expansive smile. "Say,"
he added to Doctor Jack, "you must be a brick."

"I've only done my best," he responded, modestly.

Isabel could say nothing for some little time. She was furiously angry
with Aunt Francesca because she had not told her. The day that Rose went
away, everyone in the house had been very glad about something, even to
the servants, but she had asked no questions and received no
information, except that Rose had been obliged to go away very suddenly
upon business of immediate importance.

"You must be awful glad," said Juliet, to Isabel.

"Of course," answered Isabel, coldly, clearing her throat.

"He must feel pretty good," Romeo observed.

"Yes," returned Doctor Jack, "except that he's lost his girl."

Isabel flushed and nervously turned on her finger the diamond ring that
she still wore.

"He's had fierce luck with girls," resumed the Doctor, unthinkingly.
"One passed him up because he was hurt, and the other because he was
going to get well."

The tense silence that ensued indicated that he had made a mistake of
some sort. It had not occurred to him that the twins did not know of
Allison's engagement to Rose, nor did he suspect Isabel's identity.

Juliet was staring at Isabel in pained surprise. "Did you?" she asked,
slowly, "throw him over because he got hurt?"

"He offered to release me," said Isabel, in a small, cold voice, "and I
accepted. I did not know until just now that Cousin Rose had taken my
leavings." The older woman's mysterious departure presented itself to
her now in a new light.

"Suffering Cyrus," said Doctor Jack, aloud, "but I have put my foot into
it. Look here, kind friends, I never was meant for a parlour, and I
always make mistakes when I stray into one. My place is in a hospital
ward or at the bedside of those who have been given up to die. The
complex social arena is not where I shine to my best advantage. There
are too many rings to keep track of at once, and my mind gets cross-
eyed."

"Come on up to the attic," suggested Juliet, with a swift change of
subject, "and we'll do stunts on the trapeze."

Isabel and Doctor Jack sat side by side on a battered old trunk in stony
silence while the twins were donning their gymnasium costumes.
Fortunately, it did not take long and the sight of Juliet hanging by her
feet furnished the needed topic of conversation. The lithe little body
seemed to be made of steel fibres. She swayed back and forth, catching
Romeo as he made a flying leap from the other trapeze, as easily as
another girl would have wielded a tennis racquet.

At length Doctor Jack interposed a friendly word of warning. "Look here,
kid," he said, "you're made of flesh and blood, you know, just like the
rest of us. Better cut out that trapeze business."

"I don't know why," returned Juliet, resentfully, as she slipped
gracefully to the floor, right side up. "I'm as strong as Romie is, or
almost as strong."

"Girls do it in the circus," Romeo observed, wiping his flushed face.

"Ever heard of any of 'em living to celebrate their hundredth birthday?"
queried Doctor Jack, significantly.

The twins admitted that they had not. "I don't care," cried Juliet, "I'd
rather live ten years and keep going, than live to be a hundred and have
to sit still all the time."

"No danger of your sitting still too long," returned Doctor Jack, good-
humouredly. "It's hot up here, isn't it?"

"Rather warm," Romeo agreed. "You folks can go downstairs until we get
on our other clothes, if you like."

They had reached the head of the stairs when Isabel changed her mind. "I
believe I'll wait for Juliet," she said, turning back.

So the Doctor went down alone, inwardly reviling himself for his unlucky
speech, and glad of an opportunity to contemplate the characteristic
residence of the twins.

The whole house was, frankly, a place where people did as they chose,
and the furniture bore marks of having been used not wisely, but too
well. Everything was clean, though not aggressively so. He ascribed the
absence of lace curtains to Romeo and the Cloisonne vase to Juliet. The
fishing rods in one corner were probably due to both.

When the others came down, Juliet tied a big blue gingham apron over her
white muslin gown and excused herself. She had been cooking for the
better part of two days and took a housewifely pride in doing everything
herself. They had chosen the things they liked the most, so the dinner
was unusual, as dinners go.

Isabel, eating daintily, made no effort to conceal her disdain, but
Doctor Jack ate heartily, praised everything, and brought the blush of
pleasure to Juliet's rosy cheeks.

Romeo, at the head of the table, radiated the hospitality of the true
host, yet a close observer would have noted how often he cast admiring
glances at Isabel. She was so dainty, so beautifully gowned and
elaborately coiffured, that Romeo compared her with his sister greatly
to the disadvantage of the latter.

Juliet's hair was unruly and broke into curls all around her face;
Isabel's was in perfect order, with every wave mathematically exact.
Juliet's face was tanned and rosy; Isabel's pale and cool. Juliet's
hands were rough and her finger-tips square; Isabel's were white and
tapering, with perfectly manicured nails. And their gowns--there was no
possible comparison there. Both were in white, but Romeo discovered that
there might be a vast difference in white gowns.

Afterward, the guests were taken out into the yard, and led to the
comprehensive grave of the nineteen dogs. Minerva kept at a safe
distance, but the five puppies gambolled and frolicked, even to the
verge of the sepulchre. Romeo desired to send a dog to Allison, and
generously offered Isabel her choice, but she refused.

"I'll take the pup," said the Doctor. "It might amuse him, and anyhow,
he'd like to know that you thought of him."

Isabel had strolled down toward the barn. Juliet hesitated, duty bidding
her follow Isabel and inclination holding her back. Presently Isabel
returned, and her face was surprisingly animated.

"Is that our car in the barn?" she asked. Her manner betrayed great
excitement.

"Why, it's Allison Kent's car, isn't it?" inquired Romeo.

"I thought it was mine. Colonel Kent gave it to me for a wedding
present."

"I thought you couldn't keep the wedding presents unless the wedding
came off," Juliet observed, practically.

"I've still got my ring," said Isabel. "Allison said he wanted me to
keep it, and he gave me his violin, too. I should think they'd want me
to keep the car."

"Better make sure," suggested Doctor Jack, politely.

"People don't scatter automobiles around carelessly among their friends,
as a general rule," observed Juliet.

"I wish I could get it up to Kent's," Romeo said, thoughtfully. "It
always reminds me--here."

"I'd just as soon drive it back," the Doctor answered. "It's more of a
trot out here than I supposed it was."

"Why, yes," cried Juliet. "You can drive it back to-night and take
Isabel home!"

"Charmed," lied the Doctor, with an awkward bow.

So it happened that Isabel once more climbed into the red car and went
back over the fateful road. The machine ran well, but it seemed to
require the driver's entire attention, for his conversation consisted of
brief remarks to which answers even more brief were vouchsafed.

When he turned, on the wide road in front of Madame Bernard's, after
leaving Isabel at the gate, she lingered in the shadow, watching, until
he was out of sight. The throb of the engine became fainter and fainter,
then died away altogether. Isabel sighed and went in, wondering if
Allison, after giving her the ring and the violin, would not also want
her to have the car. Or, if that seemed too much, and she should send
back the violin--she pondered over it until almost dawn, then went to
sleep.

The following afternoon, while Madame Bernard slept, Isabel sat idly in
the living-room, looking out of the window, though, as she told herself
fretfully, there was not much use of looking out of the window when
nobody ever went by. But no sooner had she phrased the thought than she
heard the faint chug-chug of an approaching motor.

She moved back, into the shelter of the curtain, and presently saw the
big red automobile whizz by. Doctor Jack, hatless and laughing, was at
the wheel. Beside him was Colonel Kent.

Had they gone out and left Allison alone? Surely, since there was no one
else. Fortune favoured her if she wished to see him. But did she dare?

Isabel was nothing if not courageous. Arming herself with an excuse in
the shape of the violin, she sallied forth and made her way to Kent's,
meeting no one upon the well-worn path.

As it happened, Allison was on the lower veranda, walking back and
forth, persistently accompanied by the Crosby pup. Assisted by the
Colonel and Doctor Jack, he had come down without accident, and had
promised to go out in the car with them a little later.

When he saw Isabel coming up the walk, he stopped in astonishment. He
did not go to meet her, but offered her a chair and said, with formal
politeness: "How do you do? This is an unexpected pleasure."

"I brought this," began Isabel, offering him the violin.

He took it with a smile. "Thank you. I don't know that I shall ever use
it again, but I am glad to have it."

There was a pause and Isabel moved restlessly in her chair. Then she
slipped the ring from her finger. "Do you want this now?" she asked. Her
face was a shade paler.

Allison laughed. "Indeed I don't. Whom could I give it to?"

"Rose," suggested Isabel, maliciously.

Allison sighed and turned his face away. "She wouldn't take it," he
said, sadly.

Isabel slipped it back on her finger, evidently relieved. "I'm glad
you're better," she went on, clearing her throat.

"Thank you. So am I."

"I saw your father, out in the car. The Doctor was with him."

"Yes. They're coming back for me in a little while."

"It's a lovely car. The Doctor brought me home in it last night, from
Crosby's."

"So he told me." Allison did not see fit to say just how much Doctor
Jack had told him. He smiled a little at the recollection of the young
man's remorseful confession.

"I told them," continued Isabel, "that I thought it was mine--that your
father had given it to me, but it seems I was mistaken."

"It seems so," Allison agreed. "Dad gave it to the Doctor this morning."

Isabel repressed a bitter cry of astonishment. "For keeps?"

"Yes, for keeps. It's little enough to give him after all he's done for
me. We both wanted him to have it."

"You could get another, couldn't you?"

"I suppose so, if I wanted it. People can usually get things they want,
if they are intangible."

"I wanted to tell you," resumed Isabel, "that I was sorry I acted the
way I did the last time I was here."

"Don't think of it," replied Allison, kindly. "It was very natural."

"It was all a great shock to me, and I was lame, and--and--I wish
everything could be as it was before," she concluded, with a faint flush
creeping into her face.

"That is the great tragedy of life, Isabel--that things can never be as
they were before. Sometimes they're worse, sometimes better, but the
world is never the same."

"Of course," she answered, without grasping his meaning, "but you're
going to be all right again now, and--that's the same."

Allison shrugged his shoulders and bit his lips to conceal a smile. "It
may be the same for me, but it couldn't be for you. I couldn't give you
any guarantee that it wouldn't happen again, you know. I might be run
over by a railroad train or a trolley car, or any one of a thousand
things might happen to me. There's always a risk."

Tears filled Isabel's eyes. "I don't believe you ever cared very much
for me," she said, her lips quivering.

"I did, Isabel," he answered, kindly, "but it's gone now. Even at that,
it lasted longer than you cared for me. Come, let's be friends."

He offered his hand. She put hers into it for a moment, then quickly
took it away. He noted that it was very cold.

"I must be going," she said, keeping her self-control with difficulty,
"Aunt Francesca will miss me."

"Thank you for coming--and for bringing the violin."

"You're welcome. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Silver Girl. I hope you'll be happy."

Isabel did not answer, nor turn back. She went out of the gate and out
of his life, pride keeping her head high until she had turned the
corner. Then, very sorry for herself, she sat down and wept.

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