Barbara Ladd

The house of the Surveyor-General stood behind its trees far back from the road, on a series of terraces set with walks, parterres, trimmed hedges, statuary, and secret arbours. The house was a blaze of light. The terraces were lighted with a gay discretion, here shining, there enshadowed. As she drove up with her uncle in the coach, a little late, and heard the music and the musical babble of voices, Barbara thrilled deliciously, with a prescience that this was to be an eventful night. She was no longer dazzled, – only strung to the highest tension. She realised that all this was her birthright, to be used, played with, thrown aside when tired of, but meanwhile enjoyed to the topmost pitch of relish, – hers just as much as the buttercup fields, the thrush-sweet orchards, the ancient woods of Connecticut. She felt herself mistress of the situation.

"Oh, Uncle Bob," she whispered, drawing a quick breath of anticipation, as she gave him her hand and stepped daintily from the coach, her high-buckled, high-heeled white satin slippers and little white silken ankles glimmering for an instant to the ensnaring of the favoured eye, – "oh, Uncle Bob, isn't it lovely?"

"You are, my Barbe!" he answered, peering down with high content upon the small disastrous face half-hidden in the hood of her scarlet cardinal.

"Let me tell you, Uncle Bob, you look extremely nice yourself!" she responded, squeezing his hand hard. "I didn't see one other man at Mr. Van Griff's so handsome and distinguished-looking as you!"

"Dear me!" retorted Glenowen, musingly, "what is the baggage going to ask me for to-morrow? Whatever it be, she must have it!"

Barbara reached her hostess with difficulty, and was given small time for her greetings. All through her first dance she was so absorbed in looking for Robert that she paid scant attention to her partner's compliments, though she realised that they contained imcomprehensible veiled reference to something which she was supposed to know all about. To her partner, one Jerry Waite by name, her ignorance seemed assumed, and vastly well assumed; and presently with his growing admiration for her cleverness came a dread lest he should transgress, so he diplomatically shifted to new ground. But had she not been quite absorbed in her quest, Barbara's most lively curiosity would have been awakened by his meaning words.

At last she sat down by a curtained doorway and sent Mr. Waite to get her fan, that she might make up her mind as to the advisability of inquiring frankly about Robert. Her scheme was working too slowly for her impatient spirit; and, moreover, it was beginning to dawn upon her that Robert might not unnaturally feel aggrieved, and perhaps even prove difficult and exasperating, if she did not see him soon. She had about concluded to invoke the aid of Uncle Bob, – with whom she was by and by to dance the minuet, – when a word behind the curtain caught her ear.

"La! Mr. Gault!" cried a pretty, affected, high-pitched voice. "Who thought we should be so favoured as to see you here to-night! Not dancing, surely! But 'twere less cruel to us poor maids to stay away entirely, than to come and let us look and pine in vain. But you are very white, – sit down by me and tell me all about it. La, there's nothing I so love!"

It was Robert's voice that answered, – Robert's voice, but grown deeper, stronger, more assured, than as Barbara thought she remembered it.

"It was nothing at all, dear Miss Betty, – a mere scratch!" he answered. "'Tis but the loss of a little blood makes me paler than ordinary, I suppose. But the doctor said there was no reason in the world I should not look in on the gaieties for a minute or two, – and see what new wonder of a gown Miss Betty was wearing, – provided I gave my word not to dance."

Barbara was conscious of the rustle of Miss Betty's flirtatious fan.

"La, sir!" cried the pretty, high voice again, "you make light, of it; but they tell me it was very handsome done. And is it true that poor Carberry is in a bad way? Fie upon you, Mr. Gault, to spit an officer of the king and so strengthen the hands of the enemy."

Barbara's heart was beating very fast. So Robert had been fighting a duel, had he! And been wounded, – but slightly! And the quarrel with an officer of the king! This looked as if her anxieties were unfounded. But on the other hand, this loquacious girl – whom Barbara despised instantly and honestly – seemed to claim him as belonging to the king's party. Barbara trembled with excitement, and with fear lest her absent escort should come back too soon. He did come back, at that moment; but with a ravishing look that turned his brain she sent off again for an ice and a glass of punch. Meanwhile her alert ears had heard Robert replying cheerfully to Miss Betty.

"Oh, Carberry will be all right in a week or two," said he. "'Twould much hasten his recovery were one to send him word of Miss Betty's solicitude. A three weeks at most will take him off my conscience and the doctor's hands!"

Here another voice intervened.

"Traitress!" it exclaimed, "I have been seeking you this half-hour!"

"Let me talk to Mr. Gault one moment more, Jack!" pleaded Miss Betty. "He was just going to tell me all about it, – weren't you, Mr. Gault?"

"Not if I know Bob Gault," retorted the voice. "Nay, nay, dear lady, I will yield you not one minute more to Gault, on any pretext. Shall I court disaster by leaving the most fickle as the fairest of her sex to the wiles of this pale hero, this wounded champion of dames!"

"You're right, Jack!" cried Miss Betty. "I see he's dying with impatience to go and find her, and claim a champion's reward! She's here, Mr. Gault. I saw her but a moment back. Go wherever you see the men a-crowding fiercest!"

So Robert had fought for some woman, had he? He had a tie, then! Barbara felt a tightening about her heart, an impulse to rush from the room. Then she said to herself, "What more natural? What are we but the best of friends? And have I ever been really nice to him?" Promptly anger took the place of the unreasonable hurt; and the anger made her cool upon the surface, so that she had herself well gathered in hand when the curtain was pushed aside, and Robert came through – just at the same moment that her partner came up with the punch.

Robert sprang forward with face transfigured. But to Barbara's chagrin he did not seem at all surprised.

"I am glad to see you, Robert!" she said, gravely, holding out her hand.

Robert bent over it and kissed it in silence, unable, for the moment, to find his voice.

"Are you not glad to see me – to see an old friend out of the old days?" asked Barbara.

"I have no words to tell you how glad I am, my dear lady!" he answered, in a low voice, wishing that Jerry Waite would have sense enough to go away, instead of standing there in that idiotic fashion with the punch.

"But aren't you surprised to see me, Robert?" Barbara went on, forgetful of Mr. Waite and the punch.

"I suppose I ought to be surprised, my lady," answered Robert, with some bitterness in his tone, "surprised that you have condescended to see me at all, in view of the length of time you have been here without letting me know! I learned yesterday of your coming – after every one in town apparently knew of it!"

To Jerry Waite the scene was utterly incomprehensible. Oblivious to all good manners, he was staring open-mouthed. Barbara saw the astonishment in his face, quite naturally misunderstood it, and flushed angrily. The pain and wrath which she had by such an effort of will crushed down in her heart crept up again stealthily, and began to mingle unrecognised with this superficial annoyance.

"I had thought to surprise you, – a harmless little play, Robert, to see if you would recognise an old, old friend grown up!" she said, in a cool voice. "But since you are so dissatisfied, we had better not talk about it. You may call and see me some day soon, if you like. I am just around the corner, on State Street. Uncle Bob will give you the address. Will you take me back to my seat, Mr. Waite? Thank you so much for the punch."

Robert could not believe his ears. Was he dismissed for the evening? The blood began to beat fiercely in his head.

"But, Barbara," he exclaimed, "aren't you going to give me at least one dance? – Hold on, Waite, just a minute, will you! – You can't be engaged for all so early in the evening. I came at the very first, in hopes of catching you and getting several."

Barbara paused. By this time the thought of that other woman, for whom he had fought, – for whom he was wounded, – for whom he carried now this pallor, – for whom he had been too impatient to talk to Miss Betty behind the curtain, – the thought of that other woman was gnawing at her brain in a way to confuse her judgment. She was not exactly in love with Robert, but she was intensely interested, and in the course of the years a sense of proprietorship had grown up. The idea of another woman, with a prior claim, outraged her pride at the same time that it wrenched her heart with a sense of irremediable loss.

"You are not dancing, I understand, Robert," she said, looking coldly into his eyes.

Robert's heart gave an exultant leap. She knew about the duel, then!

"I had thought, my lady," said he, softly, "that you might, under the circumstances, consent to forego a dance or two, and talk with me about old times."

The circumstances, indeed! Barbara's eyes blazed in spite of all her efforts at self-control. This was insolence. Yet she could in no way show she recognised it. For a second or two she held her tongue.

"I hear you have been greatly distinguishing yourself, Robert," she answered, in a voice of somewhat artificial sweetness, "and have taken some hurt in the affair, and really should not be here at all!" She looked at her tablets with hypocritical care. "You should have found me earlier. I shall not be free to give you a dance for hours yet, – not till quite near the last. You will probably not be able to stay so long!"

Robert grew tenfold whiter than before, and his mouth set itself like iron. She knew, – it was clear she knew, – and yet she could act in this hopelessly light, cruel, merciless way. It was inhuman. Had she no spark of womanly tenderness? He would trouble her no more.

"No, I shall not stay," he said, quietly. "Good-night, Mistress Ladd! Good-night, Waite!" He took her outstretched hand so lightly that she saw rather than felt that he had taken it; bowed over it, so low that he seemed to kiss it, yet did not actually touch it with his lips; then nodded civilly to Waite, strode off down the side of the room, through the door, and was gone. Barbara little guessed the many eyes that had watched and wondered at the episode. She imagined that all were quite engrossed in the dancing.

"Now please take me to the other room, Mr. Waite!" she commanded. "I fear I was engaged for this very dance, and my partner will think me rude!"

Waite was in hopeless bewilderment. He particularly liked and admired Robert Gault. He was silent for a few moments, and then exclaimed with seeming irrelevance: "Women do beat me!"

Barbara looked up at him quickly, as she took her seat.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I beg your pardon, most fair and inexplicable Mistress Ladd," replied Waite, who had been puzzled almost out of his manners, "but, – if you will permit me to say it, – if this be the fate of your friends, what, oh, what must be the fate of your enemies!"

"I don't understand you!" said Barbara, haughtily. "Pray explain yourself!" But just then a young scarlet-coated officer, Nevil Paget, came up, claiming the hand of Mistress Ladd; and Jerry Waite, who had begun to realise that he was in deep water, hailed the rescue gladly.

"I shall have the honour to claim you again, gracious mistress," said he, "and I shall explain myself then, if you bid me. Meanwhile, I make way for those more fortunate than I."

And now, in her bitterness and disappointment, Barbara flung herself heart and soul into the folly. When the young Englishman started to speak of a duel, she shut him up so mercilessly that for five minutes he durst not open his mouth. But she proceeded to flirt and bedazzle him, half flouting, half flattering, till in five minutes more he was nigh ready to fling all the pedigree of all the Pagets at her small, light-dancing feet and beg her to dance upon it her whole life long. She danced everything, and between the dances held a court more crowded and more devoted than that which had paid her homage at the Van Griffs'. She was deaf to all attempts to lure her out upon the fairy terraces, because when she first saw them she had decided that Robert should take her out there to tell her what a wonderful surprise she had given him. But the men whom she refused were not driven away by her denial. She mixed bitter and sweet for them all so cunningly that none could tell in which of the twain lay the magic that held them thrall. And all the while her heart smouldered in her breast like a hot coal in the ash.

At length came her minuet with Glenowen; and after it her uncle, who thought he detected something feverish in her gaiety, and felt moved to cool it a little if he might without damage, asked her if she had seen Robert.

"For a moment or two," she answered, with an indifference beyond reason.

Glenowen had heard all the story of the duel, and wondered what had gone wrong.

"Why did he go home, sweetheart, so soon after our coming?" he inquired.

"Did he go home?" she queried, casually. "You know he was hardly fit to be out. Even heroes can't stand the loss of blood!"

"What did you do to him, child?" persisted Glenowen.

This questioning chafed on Barbara's raw and bleeding nerves.

"Robert made himself very disagreeable," she replied, crisply. "I showed that I was disappointed in him, and he seems to have got angry and gone home!"

"Disappointed in him!" exclaimed Glenowen. Then he hesitated, and went on: "Really, Barbara, are you quite human? Forgive me if I – "

Barbara faced him squarely, and he felt, though he could not see, the flood of tears pent up behind her shining eyes.

"Uncle Bob!" she whispered, in a tense voice, "if you are going to criticise, take me home right away. I can't stand one thing more!"

Glenowen knew her better than any one else ever could, and his displeasure melted as he caught signal of a distress which he did not understand. Yet he knew better than to be too sympathetic, having more than once experienced the perilous relaxing powers of sympathy.

"Well, well, sweetheart," he laughed, lightly, "forgive me. I've no doubt it would seem all right if I knew. And what does it matter to me about Bobby Gault, anyhow, so long as my little girl is happy?"

"She isn't happy, Uncle Bob! But that isn't your fault, you dear, not ever in the world!"

As they moved apart from the promenading throng, and paused at an open window overlooking the terraces, Barbara's ears, acute as those of the furtive kindred in Westings forest, again caught a word that was not intended for them. She saw two painted and tower-headed dames, sitting not far from the window, point her out to another who had just taken a seat beside them; and she heard the newcomer remark, behind her fan:

"That ugly little rebel! Insult an officer of the king's troops for her!"

Barbara's face flushed scarlet, and she looked at her uncle. But he had heard nothing, – and she remembered that her ears were keener than those of other people. The remark, however, puzzled her, and started a vague, troublesome misgiving. Thereafter she found it difficult to resume the spontaneous fervour of her gaiety. Fits of abstraction would take her unawares; but her courtiers thought them merely another touch of art, effective as they were unexpected. She was now looking forward to the dance with Jerry Waite, and the explanation which he had so rashly promised. She had intended to snub him severely, but when he came for her at last he found her altogether gracious.

"Would you mind very much if we sat somewhere and talked, instead of dancing?" she asked. And Waite, nothing loth, led her to a seat just beyond the long windows, – nearer to the terrace than any other man had succeeded in getting her to go. This filled him with elation, and he was glad, rather than otherwise, that she had refused to go out among the walks and arbours. Here his triumph was visible every moment to his disappointed rivals. He was, of course, like the rest, half infatuated with Barbara; but being a sane youth, with a sense of humour, he knew the difference between infatuation and half infatuation. He imagined there was more between Barbara and Robert than there really was; and he did not hold himself any match for Robert in a race for hearts. Therefore, he was capable of thinking of his own prestige. And to heighten that he had an inspiration. When, after waiting till she could wait no longer, for him to bring up the subject, Barbara asked him to give her the promised explanation of his remark, he fenced cleverly till the time was close at hand when he knew she would be claimed by another partner. He saw this prospective partner, Cary Patten, eyeing her hungrily, ready to swoop down and take possession at the first permissible moment. Then he said: "In very truth, fair mistress, the explanation necessitates a long story. To tell you a little would leave me in a worse light than I could endure you to behold me in. The story comes first, – and then the explanation follows with ease!"

"When will you explain? My curiosity has been most artistically aroused!" said Barbara, maintaining with an effort her tone of sprightly merriment.

"If I might have the honour of waiting upon you to-morrow, I am bold to hope I might succeed in interesting you!" suggested Waite.

"You may come in the morning," answered Barbara, promptly. "Say about eleven o'clock."

The delighted Jerry was ceremoniously bowing his gratitude for this command, conscious that it would make him the envied of all the gallants of Manhattan, when Cary Patten came up and carried Barbara off with rather more eagerness than ceremony. He had been most hard hit of all her victims at the Van Griffs' ball, and had experienced deep dejection over the rumour which had that day associated her name with Robert Gault's. Robert's early departure from the ball had somewhat cheered him, however; and now, with that simplicity, not unlike Barbara's own, born of secure family position and careless disregard of convention, he determined to find out if the field were open. He saw that Barbara was distinctly friendly to him, – whether for his own sake or for what Glenowen had told her of his sympathies, – and he trusted to his directness to disarm her possible resentment of his questioning.

"If you will pardon me, gracious lady," he began, after the customary interchange of compliment, "I am going to ask you something about our friend Gault. Carberry was accounted till to-day the best sword in the colony. Now he stands second best! It took uncommon high courage or uncommon deep interest in the quarrel, to cross swords with such a master, – but, of course – "

Barbara's face changed, and she interrupted him crisply. His first phrases had been interesting enough, but at the words "uncommon deep interest in the quarrel," the vision of that unknown woman floated up and laughed in her face.

"I am weary of the subject, Captain Patten. It seems to me it should be possible to talk of something else. If not, let us listen to the music, please!"

Never before had Cary Patten been so snubbed. The experience was novel to him, and he did not like it. But he found more than ample compensation in the thought that Barbara's words showed no impassioned interest in Robert Gault! If such a fight, and in such a cause, left her indifferent, then surely he need have no great fear of Robert as a rival. To be sure, he thought Barbara's indifference a little cruel, a little heartless, – but so much the greater the reward if he could awaken heart in this flashing, audacious, irresistible little witch. Cary Patten had small knowledge of the feminine heart, being much absorbed in his boyish ambitions, his dreams of splendid daring; and he had a healthy, well-founded faith in his own powers. His bright, handsome face looked glum for a moment or two; then he laughed frankly and cried:

"Served me just right, for being so bold, sweet mistress. I implore you forgive me, and be friends! On bended knee I sue – to speak figuratively. I dare not do it in fact, you know, else all the men in the room would be on their knees about you, which would look singular!"

Yes, he was a nice boy, and Barbara not only forgave him, but tried to resume her old gaiety for his pleasure. So far as his pleasure was concerned, she succeeded; though older and keener eyes than Cary Patten's would have seen that her mirth was forced. He left her feeling that he had made no small progress; and he trod on air in his elation because she had promised him no less than three dances at the very next ball at which they should meet. His succeeding partners found him tender but absent-minded, – a combination which they interpreted to their advantage or otherwise, according to their knowledge of men's hearts.

But as for Barbara's heart, it was now yielding to the strain, and she felt that she could keep up the play no longer. Her anger had given out before the need of it, as a stimulant to flirtation, was past. Only pain, humiliation, disappointment, remained to her, and she felt that if she did not get away at once something would happen. With all the obstinate force of her will she kept a hold upon her imperious vivacity, and would hear no appeals when her next partner was bidden to fetch her uncle and call her coach.

"Take me home, please, Uncle Bob!" she pleaded; and he, after a glance into her eyes, yielded comprehendingly. Her reason for going, indeed, he did not comprehend; but her need of going he comprehended instantly. Till the very last moment she kept herself at pitch, laughing, sweetly jibing, taunting, provoking, inviting, so that the men who insisted on helping Glenowen escort her to her coach felt that the glitter had gone from the dance with her departure. But once safe inside the coach, and beyond the lights, she flung herself upon Uncle Bob's neck and broke into a storm of sobbing. She vouchsafed no explanation, and the sagacious Glenowen asked no questions; and she wept, intermittently, all the way to the high-stooped old Dutch house on State Street. To such a bitter end had come the evening, the wondrous evening, of which she had hoped, expected, claimed so much!

CHAPTER XXVI

Barbara slept little, but lay late, and Glenowen was away about business ere she appeared. By the time her caller arrived she was fairly herself, only subdued in spirit, sorrowful, and homesick. She had taken pains, however, that her morning toilet should be becoming; and Jerry Waite thought her pallor, the shadows about her great grave eyes, the wistfulness of her scarlet mouth, even more enchanting than her radiance and sparkle of the night before.

"This is most gracious of you, fair lady, to let me come so soon!" he murmured ecstatically, over the rosy brown tips of her slim fingers. "Did the other men but know of it, I should have feared for my life to come without a guard!"

Barbara smiled faintly, willing to appreciate his flatteries, but in no mood for badinage and quip.

"Nay, sir!" she answered, "do not lay it to my graciousness, which is scant to even so charming a gentleman as Mr. Waite, but to my curiosity, which I acknowledge to be great and insistent. Tell me this wonderful thing you promised to tell me!"

Jerry Waite assumed an air of mock supplication.

"I implore you, dear lady, suffer me for one moment to delude myself with the ravishing dream that 'twas for my company, no less than for my story, that you permitted me to come. – What, no, not for one moment the sweet delusion?"

Barbara shook her head resolutely.

"No, first deserve favour, before you presume to claim it, sir!" she retorted. "Earn my grace by a story as interesting as you have led me to expect. Then, perhaps, I may like you well enough to let you stay awhile, for the sake of your company!"

"So be it, if so the queen decrees!" said Waite. "My little story is about a duel, of which, as I gathered last night, the fairest but – pardon me – not always the most gracious of her sex knows a little, but not the most interesting details!"