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Chapter XIX Wherein Philip Ammon Gives a Ball in Honour of Edith Carr, and Hart Henderson Appears on the Scene EDITH CARR
stood in a vine-enclosed side veranda of the Lake Shore Club House waiting
while Philip Ammon gave some important orders. In a few days she would sail for
Paris to select a wonderful trousseau she had planned for her marriage in
October. To-night Philip was giving a club dance in her honour. He had spent
days in devising new and exquisite effects in decorations, entertainment, and
supper. Weeks before the favoured guests had been notified. Days before they
had received the invitations asking them to participate in this entertainment
by Philip Ammon in honour of Miss Carr. They spoke of it as "Phil's dance
for Edith!" She could
hear the rumble of carriages and the panting of automobiles as in a steady
stream they rolled to the front entrance. She could catch glimpses of floating
draperies of gauze and lace, the flash of jewels, and the passing of exquisite
colour. Every one was newly arrayed in her honour in the loveliest clothing,
and the most expensive jewels they could command. As she thought of it she
lifted her head a trifle higher and her eyes flashed proudly. She was
robed in a French creation suggested and designed by Philip. He had said to her:
"I know a competent judge who says the distinctive feature of June is her
exquisite big night moths. I want you to be the very essence of June that
night, as you will be the embodiment of love. Be a moth. The most beautiful of
them is either the pale-green Luna or the Yellow Imperialis. Be my moon lady,
or my gold Empress." He took her
to the museum and showed her the moths. She instantly decided on the yellow.
Because she knew the shades would make her more startlingly beautiful than any
other colour. To him she said: "A moon lady seems so far away and cold. I
would be of earth and very near on that night. I choose the Empress." So she
matched the colours exactly, wrote out the idea and forwarded the order to
Paquin. To-night when Philip Ammon came for her, he stood speechless a minute
and then silently kissed her hands. For she
stood tall, lithe, of grace inborn, her dark waving hair high piled and crossed
by gold bands studded with amethyst and at one side an enamelled lavender
orchid rimmed with diamonds, which flashed and sparkled. The soft yellow robe
of lightest weight velvet fitted her form perfectly, while from each shoulder
fell a great velvet wing lined with lavender, and flecked with embroidery of
that colour in imitation of the moth. Around her throat was a wonderful
necklace and on her arms were bracelets of gold set with amethyst and rimmed
with diamonds. Philip had said that her gloves, fan, and slippers must be
lavender, because the feet of the moth were that colour. These accessories had
been made to order and embroidered with gold. It had been arranged that her
mother, Philip's, and a few best friends should receive his guests. She was to
appear when she led the grand march with Philip Ammon. Miss Carr was positive
that she would be the most beautiful, and most exquisitely gowned woman
present. In her heart she thought of herself as "Imperialis Regalis,"
as the Yellow Empress. In a few moments she would stun her world into feeling
it as Philip Ammon had done, for she had taken pains that the history of her
costume should be whispered to a few who would give it circulation. She lifted
her head proudly and waited, for was not Philip planning something unusual and
unsurpassed in her honour? Then she smiled. But of all
the fragmentary thoughts crossing her brain the one that never came was that of
Philip Ammon as the Emperor. Philip the king of her heart; at least her equal
in all things. She was the Empress — yes, Philip was but a mere man, to devise
entertainments, to provide luxuries, to humour whims, to kiss hands! "Ah,
my luck!" cried a voice behind her. Edith Carr
turned and smiled. "I
thought you were on the ocean," she said. "I
only reached the dock," replied the man, "when I had a letter that
recalled me by the first limited." "Oh!
Important business?" "The
only business of any importance in all the world to me. I'm triumphant that I
came. Edith, you are the most superb woman in every respect that I have ever
seen. One glimpse is worth the whole journey." "You
like my dress?" She moved toward him and turned, lifting her arms.
"Do you know what it is intended to represent?" "Yes,
Polly Ammon told me. I knew when I heard about it how you would look, so I
started a sleuth hunt, to get the first peep. Edith, I can become intoxicated
merely with looking at you to-night." He half-closed
his eyes and smilingly stared straight at her. He was taller than she, a lean
man, with close-cropped light hair, steel-gray eyes, a square chin and "man
of the world" written all over him. Edith Carr
flushed. "I thought you realized when you went away that you were to stop
that, Hart Henderson," she cried. "I
did, but this letter of which I tell you called me back to start it all over
again." She came a
step closer. "Who wrote that letter, and what did it contain concerning
me?" she demanded. "One
of your most intimate chums wrote it. It contained the hazard that possibly I
had given up too soon. It said that in a fit of petulance you had broken your
engagement with Ammon twice this winter, and he had come back because he knew
you did not really mean it. I thought deeply there on the dock when I read
that, and my boat sailed without me. I argued that anything so weak as an
engagement twice broken and patched up again was a mighty frail affair indeed,
and likely to smash completely at any time, so I came on the run. I said once I
would not see you marry any other man. Because I could not bear it, I planned
to go into exile of any sort to escape that. I have changed my mind. I have
come back to haunt you until the ceremony is over. Then I go, not before. I was
insane!" The girl
laughed merrily. "Not half so insane as you are now, Hart!" she cried
gaily. "You know that Philip Ammon has been devoted to me all my life. Now
I'll tell you something else, because this looks serious for you. I love him
with all my heart. Not while he lives shall he know it, and I will laugh at him
if you tell him, but the fact remains: I intend to marry him, but no doubt I
shall tease him constantly. It's good for a man to be uncertain. If you could
see Philip's face at the quarterly return of his ring, you would understand the
fun of it. You had better have taken your boat." "Possibly,"
said Henderson calmly. "But you are the only woman in the world for me,
and while you are free, as I now see my light, I remain near you. You know the
old adage." "But
I'm not 'free!'" cried Edith Carr. "I'm telling you I am not. This
night is my public acknowledgment that Phil and I are promised, as our world
has surmised since we were children. That promise is an actual fact, because of
what I just have told you. My little fits of temper don't count with Phil. He's
been reared on them. In fact, I often invent one in a perfect calm to see him
perform. He is the most amusing spectacle. But, please, please, do understand
that I love him, and always shall, and that we shall be married." "Just
the same, I'll wait and see it an accomplished fact," said Henderson.
"And Edith, because I love you, with the sort of love it is worth a
woman's while to inspire, I want your happiness before my own. So I am going to
say this to you, for I never dreamed you were capable of the feeling you have
displayed for Phil. If you do love him, and have loved him always, a
disappointment would cut you deeper than you know. Go careful from now on!
Don't strain that patched engagement of yours any further. I've known Philip
all my life. I've known him through boyhood, in college, and since. All men
respect him. Where the rest of us confess our sins, he stands clean. You can go
to his arms with nothing to forgive. Mark this thing! I have heard him say,
'Edith is my slogan,' and I have seen him march home strong in the strength of
his love for you, in the face of temptations before which every other man of us
fell. Before the gods! that ought to be worth something to a girl, if she
really is the delicate, sensitive, refined thing she would have man believe. It
would take a woman with the organism of an ostrich to endure some of the men
here to-night, if she knew them as I do; but Phil is sound to the core. So this
is what I would say to you: first, your instincts are right in loving him, why
not let him feel it in the ways a woman knows? Second, don't break your
engagement again. As men know the man, any of us would be afraid to the soul.
He loves you, yes! He is long-suffering for you, yes! But men know he has a
limit. When the limit is reached, he will stand fast, and all the powers can't
move him. You don't seem to think it, but you can go too far!" "Is
that all?" laughed Edith Carr sarcastically. "No,
there is one thing more," said Henderson. "Here or here-after, now
and so long as I breathe, I am your slave. You can do anything you choose and
know that I will kneel before you again. So carry this in the depths of your
heart; now or at any time, in any place or condition, merely lift your hand,
and I will come. Anything you want of me, that thing will I do. I am going to
wait; if you need me, it is not necessary to speak; only give me the faintest
sign. All your life I will be somewhere near you waiting for it." "Idjit!
You rave!" laughed Edith Carr. "How you would frighten me! What a
bugbear you would raise! Be sensible and go find what keeps Phil. I was waiting
patiently, but my patience is going. I won't look nearly so well as I do now
when it is gone." At that instant
Philip Ammon entered. He was in full evening dress and exceptionally handsome.
"Everything is ready," he said; "they are waiting for us to lead
the march. It is formed." Edith Carr
smiled entrancingly. "Do you think I am ready?" Philip
looked what he thought, and offered his arm. Edith Carr nodded carelessly to
Hart Henderson, and moved away. Attendants parted the curtains and the Yellow
Empress bowing right and left, swept the length of the ballroom and took her
place at the head of the formed procession. The large open dancing pavilion was
draped with yellow silk caught up with lilac flowers. Every corner was filled
with bloom of those colours. The music was played by harpers dressed in yellow
and violet, so the ball opened. The
midnight supper was served with the same colours and the last half of the
programme was being danced. Never had girl been more complimented and petted in
the same length of time than Edith Carr. Every minute she seemed to grow more
worthy of praise. A partners' dance was called and the floor was filled with
couples waiting for the music. Philip stood whispering delightful things to
Edith facing him. From out of the night, in at the wide front entrance to the
pavilion, there swept in slow wavering flight a large yellow moth and fluttered
toward the centre cluster of glaring electric lights. Philip Ammon and Edith
Carr saw it at the same instant. "Why,
isn't that —?" she began excitedly. "It's
a Yellow Emperor! This is fate!" cried Philip. "The last one Elnora
needs for her collection. I must have it! Excuse me!" He ran
toward the light. "Hats! Handkerchiefs! Fans! Anything!" he panted.
"Every one hold up something and stop that! It's a moth; I've got to catch
it!" "It's
yellow! He wants it for Edith!" ran in a murmur around the hall. The
girl's face flushed, while she bit her lips in vexation. Instantly
every one began holding up something to keep the moth from flying back into the
night. One fan held straight before it served, and the moth gently settled on
it. "Hold
steady!" cried Philip. "Don't move for your life!" He rushed
toward the moth, made a quick sweep and held it up between his fingers.
"All right!" he called. "Thanks, every one! Excuse me a
minute." He ran to
the office. "An
ounce of gasolene, quick!" he ordered. "A cigar box, a cork, and the
glue bottle." He poured
some glue into the bottom of the box, set the cork in it firmly, dashed the
gasolene over the moth repeatedly, pinned it to the cork, poured the remainder
of the liquid over it, closed the box, and fastened it. Then he laid a bill on
the counter. "Pack
that box with cork around it, in one twice its size, tie securely and express
to this address at once." He
scribbled on a sheet of paper and shoved it over. "On
your honour, will you do that faithfully as I say?" he asked the clerk. "Certainly,"
was the reply. "Then
keep the change," called Philip as he ran back to the pavilion. Edith Carr
stood where he left her, thinking rapidly. She heard the murmur that arose when
Philip started to capture the exquisite golden creature she was impersonating.
She saw the flash of surprise that went over unrestrained faces when he ran
from the room, without even showing it to her. "The last one Elnora
needs," rang in her ears. He had told her that he helped collect moths the
previous summer, but she had understood that the Bird Woman, with whose work
Miss Carr was familiar, wanted them to put in a book. He had
spoken of a country girl he had met who played the violin wonderfully, and at
times, he had shown a disposition to exalt her as a standard of womanhood. Miss
Carr had ignored what he said, and talked of something else. But that girl's
name had been Elnora. It was she who was collecting moths! No doubt she was the
competent judge who was responsible for the yellow costume Philip had devised.
Had Edith Carr been in her room, she would have torn off the dress at the
thought. Being in a
circle of her best friends, which to her meant her keenest rivals and harshest
critics, she grew rigid with anger. Her breath hurt her paining chest. No one
thought to speak to the musicians, and seeing the floor filled, they began the
waltz. Only part of the guests could see what had happened, and at once the
others formed and commenced to dance. Gay couples came whirling past her. Edith Carr
grew very white as she stood alone. Her lips turned pale, while her dark eyes
flamed with anger. She stood perfectly still where Philip had left her, and the
approaching men guided their partners around her, while the girls, looking back,
could be seen making exclamations of surprise. The
idolized only daughter of the Carr family hoped that she would drop dead from
mortification, but nothing happened. She was too perverse to step aside and say
that she was waiting for Philip. Then came Tom Levering dancing with Polly
Ammon. Being in the scales with the Ammon family, Tom scented trouble from
afar, so he whispered to Polly: "Edith is standing in the middle of the
floor, and she's awful mad about something." "That
won't hurt her," laughed Polly. "It's an old pose of hers. She knows
she looks superb when she is angry, so she keeps herself furious half the time
on purpose." "She
looks like the mischief!" answered Tom. "Hadn't we better steer over
and wait with her? She's the ugliest sight I ever saw!" "Why,
Tom!" cried Polly. "Stop, quickly!" They
hurried to Edith. "Come
dear," said Polly. "We are going to wait with you until Phil returns.
Let's go after a drink. I am so thirsty!" "Yes,
do!" begged Tom, offering his arm. "Let's get out of here until Phil
comes." There was
the opportunity to laugh and walk away, but Edith Carr would not accept it. "My
betrothed left me here," she said. "Here I shall remain until he
returns for me, and then — he will be my betrothed no longer!" Polly grasped
Edith's arm. "Oh,
Edith!" she implored. "Don't make a scene here, and to-night. Edith,
this has been the loveliest dance ever given at the club house. Every one is
saying so. Edith! Darling, do come! Phil will be back in a second. He can
explain! It's only a breath since I saw him go out. I thought he had
returned." As Polly
panted these disjointed ejaculations, Tom Levering began to grow angry on her
account. "He
has been gone just long enough to show every one of his guests that he will
leave me standing alone, like a neglected fool, for any passing whim of his.
Explain! His explanation would sound well! Do you know for whom he caught that
moth? It is being sent to a girl he flirted with all last summer. It has just
occurred to me that the dress I am wearing is her suggestion. Let him try to
explain!" Speech
unloosed the fountain. She stripped off her gloves to free her hands. At that
instant the dancers parted to admit Philip. Instinctively they stopped as they
approached and with wondering faces walled in Edith and Philip, Polly and Tom. "Mighty
good of you to wait!" cried Philip, his face showing his delight over his
success in capturing the Yellow Emperor. "I thought when I heard the music
you were going on." "How
did you think I was going on?" demanded Edith Carr in frigid tones. "I
thought you would step aside and wait a few seconds for me, or dance with
Henderson. It was most important to have that moth. It completes a valuable
collection for a person who needs the money. Come!" He held out
his arms. "I
'step aside' for no one!" stormed Edith Carr. "I await no other
girl's pleasure! You may 'complete the collection' with that!" She drew
her engagement ring from her finger and reached to place it on one of Philip's
outstretched hands. He saw and drew back. Instantly Edith dropped the ring. As
it fell, almost instinctively Philip caught it in air. With amazed face he
looked closely at Edith Carr. Her distorted features were scarcely
recognizable. He held the ring toward her. "Edith,
for the love of mercy, wait until I can explain," he begged. "Put on
your ring and let me tell you how it is."
"I
know perfectly 'how it is,'" she answered. "I never shall wear that
ring again." "You
won't even hear what I have to say? You won't take back your ring?" he cried.
"Never!
Your conduct is infamous!" "Come
to think of it," said Philip deliberately, "it is 'infamous' to cut a
girl, who has danced all her life, out of a few measures of a waltz. As for
asking forgiveness for so black a sin as picking up a moth, and starting it to
a friend who lives by collecting them, I don't see how I could! I have not been
gone three minutes by the clock, Edith. Put on your ring and finish the dance
like a dear girl." He thrust
the glittering ruby into her fingers and again held out his arms. She dropped
the ring, and it rolled some distance from them. Hart Henderson followed its
shining course, and caught it before it was lost. "You
really mean it?" demanded Philip in a voice as cold as hers ever had been.
"You
know I mean it!" cried Edith Carr. "I
accept your decision in the presence of these witnesses," said Philip
Ammon. "Where is my father?" The elder Ammon with a distressed face
hurried to him. "Father, take my place," said Philip. "Excuse me
to my guests. Ask all my friends to forgive me. I am going away for
awhile." He turned
and walked from the pavilion. As he went Hart Henderson rushed to Edith Carr
and forced the ring into her fingers. "Edith, quick. Come, quick!" he
implored. "There's just time to catch him. If you let him go that way, he
never will return in this world. Remember what I told you." "Great
prophet! aren't you, Hart?" she sneered. "Who wants him to return? If
that ring is thrust upon me again I shall fling it into the lake. Signal the
musicians to begin, and dance with me." Henderson
put the ring into his pocket, and began the dance. He could feel the muscular
spasms of the girl in his arms, her face was cold and hard, but her breath
burned with the scorch of fever. She finished the dance and all others, taking
Phil's numbers with Henderson, who had arrived too late to arrange a programme.
She left with the others, merely inclining her head as she passed Ammon's
father taking his place, and entered the big touring car for which Henderson had
telephoned. She sank limply into a seat and moaned softly. "Shall
I drive awhile in the night air?" asked Henderson. She nodded.
He instructed the chauffeur. She raised
her head in a few seconds. "Hart, I'm going to pieces," she said.
"Won't you put your arm around me a little while?" Henderson
gathered her into his arms and her head fell on his shoulder.
"Closer!" she cried. Henderson
held her until his arms were numb, but he did not know it. The tricks of fate
are cruel enough, but there scarcely could have been a worse one than that: To
care for a woman as he loved Edith Carr and have her given into his arms
because she was so numb with misery over her trouble with another man that she
did not know or care what she did. Dawn was streaking the east when he spoke to
her. "Edith,
it is growing light." "Take
me home," she said. Henderson
helped her up the steps and rang the bell. "Miss
Carr is ill," he said to the footman. "Arouse her maid instantly, and
have her prepare something hot as quickly as possible." "Edith,"
he cried, "just a word. I have been thinking. It isn't too late yet. Take
your ring and put it on. I will go find Phil at once and tell him you have,
that you are expecting him, and he will come." "Think
what he said!" she cried. "He accepted my decision as final, 'in the
presence of witnesses,' as if it were court. He can return it to me, if I ever
wear it again." "You
think that now, but in a few days you will find that you feel very differently.
Living a life of heartache is no joke, and no job for a woman. Put on your ring
and send me to tell him to come." "No."
"Edith,
there was not a soul who saw that, but sympathized with Phil. It was ridiculous
for you to get so angry over a thing which was never intended for the slightest
offence, and by no logical reasoning could have been so considered." "Do
you think that?" she demanded. "I do!"
said Henderson. "If you had laughed and stepped aside an instant, or
laughed and stayed where you were, Phil would have been back; or, if he needed
punishment in your eyes, to have found me having one of his dances would have
been enough. I was waiting. You could have called me with one look. But to
publicly do and say what you did, my lady — I know Phil, and I know you went
too far. Put on that ring, and send him word you are sorry, before it is too
late." "I will
not! He shall come to me." "Then
God help you!" said Henderson, "for you are plunging into misery
whose depth you do not dream. Edith, I beg of you —" She swayed
where she stood. Her maid opened the door and caught her. Henderson went down
the hall and out to his car. |