Part 7

He stood bare-headed in the sunshine, watching the old wagonette disappear; then he put on his hat and walked haltingly and slowly toward the court-house. He was to address the jury in the afternoon, and in some way the sight of Virginia always helped him. He seemed to carry her smile, like sunshine, into the old dim court-room. He always spoke well afterward, so well that he was getting the name of an orator without being aware of it.

Plato had just served a light lunch for Colonel Denbigh on the lawn. The old man, sitting under his favorite horse-chestnut-tree, ate sparingly and drank one iced julep, made in the old Virginia style. He had finished, and Plato was holding the lighter for his cigar.

“Go to the concert the other night, Plato? Miss Virginia says you carried her bundles, and she thinks you heard it all.”

Plato held the lighter dexterously.

“Yessuh, I went ’long wid Miss Jinny. Didn’t pay no ’mission fee, jus’ walked righ’ in, same as Miz Payson an’ de quality. Yessuh, de music mighty fine, but I was lookin’ at young Miz Carter when she was dancin’. Dat’s what done took dis yere nigger!”

The colonel puffed at his cigar, a twinkle in his eye.

“Like it, Plato?”

“Yessuh! It was de mos’ circumspecklar dancin’ I ever see, suh, it sho was. I ain’t seen nuffin like it since de circus. But Mirandy Parsons, de collud girl dat works at Miz Carter’s, she says dere was terr’ble goings-on dere ’bout dis yere dance. She ’lowed Mist’ Carter mos’ throw a fit.”

Colonel Denbigh took off his hat and ran his fingers through his white hair.

“It was a great dance, Plato, a great dance.” He shook with silent laughter. “Some of the weaker brethren had to leave, though.”

“Dey sho did, suh! I met de Baptist minister comin’ out, an’ de ladies was wid him. Dey was sayin’ something ’bout dat dance in de Bible, an’ ’bout John de Baptist’s head on a charger. Seems like he took it hard--I don’t mean John de Baptist, but de minister. Done paid five dollahs fo’ his sittin’, an’ couldn’t set out no five dollahs’ worth. Dat’s what got him mad, suh, it sho was.”

The colonel shouted with laughter.

“He got more than five dollars’ worth out of that dance, Plato! There’s Miss Jinny now,” he added, glancing down the driveway. “You go and help her out with her packages.”

The old wagonette had entered the gateway, and Plato hurried off across the lawn; but the horses stopped short, and Virginia got out, meeting some one who had entered from the opposite direction. The colonel, well in the shade of his horse-chestnut, removed his cigar from his mouth. He was startled. The visitor was William Carter.

While Plato was taking a number of small packages from the wagonette, the pair greeted each other in the sunlit space of the old driveway. Something in their faces made the colonel rise silently and deftly beat a retreat. He passed behind the old box hedge and made his way back to the house.

“I reckon they’d like to have it out by themselves,” he thought.

Virginia, meanwhile, came across the lawn with William Carter. She stopped as she came near the horse-chestnut.

“Why, I thought grandfather was here!” she exclaimed, and then to William: “Won’t you sit down? I’ll call him.”

“But I didn’t come to see him,” said William quietly. “I came to see you, Virginia. I suppose I may sit down just the same?”

She blushed.

“Of course!” She took off her hat and laid it on the rustic table, and the sunshine seemed to caress the strands of gold in her soft hair. “We like to sit out here, you know, in summer. It seems so good to be out-of-doors. Do you notice what a view we have, since they cut that new street through?”

She was talking hurriedly, a little nervously, not looking at him. It was their first moment alone together since his return, and Virginia was not quite sure of herself. She pointed out the view.

William turned and looked at it absently.

“You can see a long way, can’t you?”

“Yes; and there’s such a glimpse now of blooming things. The old magnolia’s full of buds.”

“Fanchon doesn’t like these things,” said William moodily. “They bore her. She says she’d rather see one of those electric signs in New York, flashing Budweiser beer in and out, than sit here and count lightning-bugs!”

Virginia laughed, blushing again.

“What would we do if we all liked the same thing?” she asked lightly, and then, very sweetly: “William, I think your wife is beautiful. At first, one can’t decide, the face is so charming, so piquant; but when she smiles and those dark eyes of hers dwell on you--she’s beautiful!”

William said nothing for a moment. He was sitting in the colonel’s chair, his hat on his knees, and Virginia could see new haggard lines in his face. He did not look at her, but away toward a distant spire that appeared above the thick foliage, like a finger pointing upward.

“Yes, she’s beautiful,” he admitted at last, almost with reluctance.

Virginia, aware that he was thinking of days long ago, when he had taken her to church and carried her books home from school, felt her breath coming short. She was trying hard, but if he would not meet her half-way, how could she patch it up?

She averted her face, toying with her grandfather’s empty glass. The ice still jingled in it a little, and William started. He remembered jingling the ice in the glasses on the inn table, and Fanchon’s eyes seemed to mock him. He drew a long sigh.

“I hope you don’t mind my sitting here, Virginia,” he said gravely. “It’s--it’s so homelike. I can’t bear to go. I suppose lost spirits hang around sometimes outside the gates of paradise.”

Virginia caught her breath this time. She dared not look at him. She had taken a ring out of her pocket and held it out in the palm of her hand; but now, looking at his set profile, she hardly dared to speak of it. Her hand trembled; he was unhappy, and he had come to her! Something like fear showed in her eyes, but she forced herself to speak.

“I wish you’d come in and see grandfather. He’d be glad, I know. We meant to come to see your wife again--some evening when you would be at home.”

William lifted his head slowly and looked at her.

“Virginia, I got the letters you sent me,” he said in a low voice. “The reason I didn’t return yours was--I burned them one night in Paris just before--”

He stopped, unable to go on, red in the face; but she was quite calm. His very embarrassment steadied her.

“That’s all right,” she said. “I’m glad you spoke, because I wanted to give you this.” She held out her hand with the ring in her palm. “I know it belonged to your grandmother. I was afraid to trust it to the mails. Here it is, William.”

He held out his hand stiffly, without looking at her, and Virginia had to put the ring into it.

“Thank you,” he said in a low voice.

Then he looked in a dazed way at the ring lying in his hand. The color slowly receded from his flushed face and left it pale. He remembered the day he had put it on her finger!

So did she; but Virginia was a brave woman. She could not help seeing his face, and, being a woman, she knew. She could shape the whole story easily now. She had heard rumors of Mr. Carter’s wrath at Fanchon’s dance, and she knew what William must have felt. The talk must have reached him. This was the recoil. She loved him, and she understood. It would have tempted another woman; it frightened Virginia. She tried to think of something to say, but she could not.

They sat silently, the shade of the horse-chestnut stretching over them. Beyond them the sun shone on the old lawns and flower-beds. They were so motionless that a robin, searching for worms, came almost up to their feet.

“Do you mind my sitting around here?” he asked again in a low voice. “It’s the most restful place I’ve found.”

She steadied her voice.

“It is a restful place. Once we thought we’d have to give it up, but some stocks paid in, and we saved it. I’m so glad!”

William straightened himself.

“I didn’t know that.”

She was startled. She had not thought that he would take it in this way. Everything led them into the shoals, it seemed. She smiled, but her lips shook.

“I don’t think any one knew it but Dan,” she replied gently. “Dan helped us save it.”

“Dan?” He turned and looked at her, plainly startled, too, by another thought. “Dan?”

She met his look steadily this time.

“Yes, Dan. He’s so good to us. I think he’s very noble.”

William stared at her, paling again. A kind of fury came into his look, and she saw it. He was jealous of Dan! She understood now. That poor girl, his wife, had been a wild fancy, an episode, no more, and he was waking up.

She rose slowly to her feet.

“Come,” she said. “I’m going in. Grandpa is there, and you must come in and see him.”

She turned as she spoke, and William got to his feet, still white and haggard, his eyes following her. But Virginia stopped abruptly. Before them on the lawn, unheard and unseen in her approach, stood a small, white-clad figure in a daring scarlet hat, pale and piquant.

“I don’t think you heard me,” said Fanchon softly, her dark eyes flashing from one to the other. “You weren’t listening!” And she laughed shrilly.

William crimsoned, but Virginia was calm.

“No, we didn’t,” she replied simply; “but I’m glad to see you. We were just going into the house--will you come, too?”

Fanchon lifted her fawn-like eyes slowly to the other girl’s face. There was something noble in it, too noble for the retort that was on the end of her sharp tongue. She colored angrily.

“Of course! I came to call,” she said lightly. “William got ahead of me, I see.”

Virginia did not reply to this. She was already at the piazza steps.

“Please come this way,” she said lightly.

But Fanchon did not answer her. She had approached her husband, her large eyes mocking him, her lips parted. A strange look, half elfish, half fond, was on her face.

“You needn’t be in such a hurry to hide that ring,” she said below her breath. “I know about it. There was one letter you forgot to burn, _mon ami_!”

He turned from red to white. His only comfort was Virginia’s noble, unconscious look as she led the way into the house.

XI

COLONEL DENBIGH accompanied his guests to the door, and, after the farewells were sufficiently prolonged to suit his old-fashioned ways, he stood on the piazza and watched them to the gate. Fanchon turned there, a small, graceful creature, and kissed her hand to him. The colonel waved. William raised his hat, and the two figures turned off into the street.

As they grew smaller in the distance, Virginia came out and stood beside her grandfather.

“A pretty creature,” said the colonel thoughtfully. “Claws in velvet! What do you think of her, Jinny?”

“I don’t know,” Virginia replied honestly. “She’s pretty--but there’s something I can’t describe. She’s like a wild bird just put in a gilt cage. It’s a terribly trite simile, but it fits her. She’s beating her wings.”

“That’s poetry, Jinny,” said the colonel, chuckling. “It’s because she’s young and pretty. If she’d been a man, with that kind of an eye, we would have said something about beating his hoofs--I mean cloven ones. She sings like a bird, dances like a fairy, and behaves--well, I remember that Mrs. Payson called her something in French. What was it, eh? Maybe it takes French to express her.”

Virginia flushed.

“She called her a little _étourdie_. Of course she does queer things; she’s not well-bred, and she seems like a bundle of impulsive whims, but she’s rather captivating in all of them, and fascinating in some.”

“Humph!” The colonel pulled his mustache thoughtfully. “I see you’re determined to like her, Jinny.”

“I want to--yes.”

“You can’t,” said the colonel gently, laying his hand on her shoulder. “It’s a case of sugar and salt, you can’t mix ’em. Don’t try too hard, Jinny. Leave her alone.”

Something in his tone made Virginia look up quickly.

“Why, sir?”

Colonel Denbigh hesitated; then he blushed like a girl.

“I don’t talk scandal, Jinny, you know that, but I hear some. Let her alone.”

“Oh, that dance--”

He shook his head.

“No, not the dance. That only unloosed tongues. You spoke of that man, Caraffi’s manager--what was his name?”

“Corwin. A horrid creature,” said Virginia, suddenly recalling Fanchon’s face when she saw him in the waiting-room of the hall.

The colonel nodded.

“Corwin--that’s the name. Well, William’s wife knows him, she’s been seen walking with him. There’s talk about it. It may be all false, but I’d rather you kept away.”

Virginia had grown very thoughtful.

“I remember now, grandfather. She seemed afraid of him, poor girl. He’s a terrible creature, I’m sure--I wonder if he isn’t doing it on purpose? Starting the talk, I mean.”

“Very likely,” said the colonel dryly; “but he’d have to have something to start on. When there’s so much smoke, there’s some fire. I don’t like her, and yet”--he smiled--“what a pretty creature!”

“She’s not twenty, I’m sure. I think it’s wicked to talk so about her.” Virginia flushed generously. “Why are people so cruel?”

The colonel smiled.

“Jinny,” he said gently, “that little woman wouldn’t raise her finger to save you from the gallows.”

Virginia’s blush deepened.

“That doesn’t matter, grandfather!”

The old man looked at her proudly. She was standing beside him, her tall young head nearly level with his own, and her charming profile toward him. She had a look that was better in his eyes than mere beauty--a look of noble purity. He had never known her, even in childhood, to tell a falsehood. He patted her shoulder.

“I leave it to you, Jinny. I reckon I can trust you. But there’s one thing I want to say.” He hesitated, then he finished firmly: “That boy, William, disappoints me. He’s lost his grip. He’s been keeping gay company, I reckon, and he looks as if he’d been drinking. If it wasn’t for his lameness, Daniel’s twice the man!”

Virginia said nothing. She couldn’t; her heart was beating in her throat. She remembered William’s face when she returned the ring.

The colonel kept his hand on her shoulder, and they stood together, looking out across the close-cut lawn. Lucas, having put up the horses, was running a lawn-mower near the gate. It was that hour when the shadows begin to lengthen and one perceives the fragrance of the honeysuckle. It seemed to penetrate the late, warm afternoon, and to gather bees.

“Jinny, who’s that man--the fat man with a bald head?” the colonel asked presently. “He’s either a real-estate man or a lunatic. He wants to buy the place, I reckon. See him?”

Virginia, who had been in a trance, roused herself. Her eyes fell on a stout figure advancing toward the piazza, hat in hand.

“He wants to tune the piano, grandpa, or to varnish the mahogany tables.” She laughed softly, and fled lightly toward the door. “I’m going. You can send him away. I refuse to be varnished!”

The colonel heard her flight to the stairs; but he stood his ground and waited, a twinkle in his eye. The stout man approached steadily, with an expression of genial politeness. He had an air of feeling his own importance, but being willing to condescend. He wore a finely-tailored suit, a sport necktie with a diamond pin, and in the sunshine, his bald head looked like a piece of polished pink coral set in Florida moss.

“Colonel Denbigh, I believe?” he said suavely.

The colonel bowed politely.

“That’s my name, sir.”

Mr. Bernstein presented his card.

“I’d like a word with you, colonel. Strictly business--important, confidential business.”

The colonel regarded him a moment with the same twinkle in his eyes; then he descended the piazza steps.

“Come this way, Mr. Bernstein. I like to sit out of doors. Have a cigar?”

Mr. Bernstein accepted. They had reached the back of the house now, and he stopped short.

“Gee, what a view! Ain’t that about three thousand feet out there? Finest three-reel picture I ever got in a bird’s-eye view! Only wants a little life in it, colonel--a cow and a rough-rider, and maybe a couple of bandits. It’s just the set--with them mountains behind.”

The colonel, who had reached his favorite seat under the horse-chestnut, looked startled.

“I reckon you’re a movie man, aren’t you?” he inquired mildly.

“Had ’em before?” Mr. Bernstein looked anxious.

“One or two. This place seems to appeal to them. Sit down, Mr. Bernstein, you’ll find that seat comfortable. I always take this one--I’m getting old and set in my ways. I suppose it’s the place you’re interested in?”

Mr. Bernstein edged his chair closer to the wicker table and leaned across it.

“Say,” he began with a glow of enthusiasm, “this place and that servant and you! It would be great. I says to Greenfield--he’s my best director--I says to him before I came up here, ‘Now what we want is one of them old-time, sort of before-the-war Southern aristocrats.’ When I saw you, colonel, I--gee, sir, I says to myself: ‘Sammy Bernstein, there’s your man!’ It ain’t your clothes, colonel, it’s the way you look. Say, I’ve got a fellow at the studio--dress him up in a silk hat and white tie and patent-leather pumps, and he looks like a duke. But you put that guy into his every-days, and, bless your soul, you wouldn’t know him from a tin-peddler! Now, it ain’t so with you. You’d look the part in your shirt-sleeves. When I saw you, I says to myself: ‘Sam Bernstein, there’s the real article--ain’t any near-seal about that, either!’”

“Mr. Bernstein, say no more,” said the colonel. “I’m a modest man!”

Bernstein expanded, smiling.

“Sir, I’ll make it two thousand dollars for this place, that old negro, and you in one five-reeler. Two thousand dollars down! Isn’t any work in it. You just stand and look natural.”

This time the colonel’s eyes did more than twinkle; he laughed heartily.

“Mr. Bernstein, I never looked natural before a camera in my life. I’m afraid we can’t come to an agreement. I’m too old for the movies, sir. I’ll have to decline.”

Bernstein’s face fell.

“You don’t mean it, colonel; you can’t mean that!”

The colonel nodded, then he pulled a moment at his cigar.

“I’m afraid I do mean it. Perhaps Plato--that’s my man--might be interested. I’ll ask him.”

Bernstein held up his hands.

“Not without you, colonel!” He sat and stared for a moment at the old man opposite, a look of hopeless commiseration on his face. “Say,” he groaned at last, “you people down here haven’t got any enterprise! This is my second experience. I’m surprised, colonel; I’m pained. This town--it’s perfect, sir, for the part, it’s kind of dead-and-alive and shady, and there’s the pickaninnies. You could do any amount of close-ups and cut-backs on ’em. Gee, it’s too bad!” He shook his head regretfully.

“I reckon you could get the pickaninnies all right,” remarked the colonel comfortingly. “Tried it?”

Mr. Bernstein shook his head.

“No, sir! I’ve been after Mrs. William Carter. Know her?”

The colonel, a little startled, took the cigar from between his teeth.

“I have that honor, sir.”

The motion-picture manager turned his head slowly and gave him a cryptic look. Then he knocked the ashes from his cigar, stuck it in the other corner of his mouth, and resumed sadly:

“It was that dance of hers. That’s what took me! At the church sociable, colonel. Believe me, I was never so thrilled in my life. I was doin’ the town, looking for a place”--Mr. Bernstein waved his hand with a melancholy air--“for this place, sir. Well, I was goin’ down Main Street, an’ I see them headlights. ‘Something doing here,’ thinks I, ‘an’ I’ll have a look.’ Didn’t expect anything; but somehow I went in, an’ the very first thing I see is that dance. Gee whiz! I says to myself: ‘Sammy Bernstein, this is your lucky day; this is a find!’”

Colonel Denbigh laid down the stump of his cigar and pulled his mustache.

“I suppose you’ve asked her?”

“I did. And I’ll say right now that I don’t think--what’s his name?--Mr. William Henry Carter’s got any horse-sense. He took on as if I’d insulted him when I was offerin’ his wife five hundred dollars a week. That’s what I offered, Colonel Denbigh--five hundred dollars a week, good money.”

The colonel looked reflective.

“I’m afraid we’re behind the times down here, Mr. Bernstein. I reckon Mr. Carter doesn’t like publicity. We’re quiet, backwoods people, sir,” he added with a twinkle. “I know the lady. She’s mighty pretty, and I agree with you she’d make a mighty fine picture. Just the style you want, too.”

“No, sir, not my style. The public--well, it’s this way. They like ’em small, an’ this lady’s just the pattern--a cute, dark little thing. Personally”--Mr. Bernstein sighed--“I like ’em large. Now there’s Rosamond Silvertree--you know her, of course, colonel?”

Again the colonel smoothed his mustache thoughtfully.

“Can’t say that I do, sir,” he replied gently. “Pretty name, though?”

“Don’t know Rosamond Silvertree?” Mr. Bernstein struck the table with the palm of his hand. “Sir, you’re behind your times! She’s a motion-picture star, sir! She’s my ideal woman, Colonel Denbigh. She’s five feet eleven inches, and she weighs one hundred and eighty-seven pounds. She’s a peach, sir! Got those blue eyes that go to the heart, and her hair’s the color of butter--makes you think of good butter in spring-time! I have her on the screen all the time. The poor girl’s nearly worn out. The only trouble is you can’t always get men to play opposite to her. Greenfield comes up one day last month. ‘Sammy,’ says he, ‘I can’t put Rosy in “The Dream of the Harem.”’ ‘What in thunder d’you mean by that?’ says I. ‘Can’t do it,’ says he. ‘Jack Pickling’--that’s our leading man--‘Jack Pickling looks like a shrimp beside of her!’ What d’you think I did, Colonel Denbigh?”

The colonel shook his head gravely.

“I’ve no idea, sir. Put her on a diet?”

“Diet? Rosy? No, sir! I fired Jack Pickling!”

Bernstein lay back in his chair and smiled. He felt that he had reached the climax, but the climax was lost on Colonel Denbigh.

“If your leading lady is so fine, I shouldn’t think you’d need Mrs. Carter,” he observed mildly.

Mr. Bernstein smiled with a superior air.

“That’s just why I do need her! You see, Rosy won’t do for these little teeny-weeny ingénue parts. She’s too grand! Mrs. Carter’s the kid for those. That’s what I want her for. But this Aristide Corwin”--Mr. Bernstein leaned over the table and touched the colonel’s sleeve with his fat forefinger--“Aristide ain’t behaving like a gentleman, Colonel Denbigh. He knew the lady in France, and he’s got some kind of a pull. I guess he wants her in vaudeville again. She’s been there once, I know. He’s using his methods--they ain’t mine, sir! He’s talkin’ bad, he--”