The Happy Man/Chapter 10
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A week later, the hour being still well short of noon, Cliquot, reclining on a blue satin cushion in the window of Mrs. Vernon's chamber, roused himself and looked into the garden. Then he scrambled to all four of his ridiculous pipestem legs and began to bark shrilly, hysterically. Cliquot's bark was so many sizes too large for his diminutive body that the recoil lifted his front feet from the ground, adding visibly to his extreme agitation.
Mrs. Vernon, robed in lace and pale blue ribbons, pleaded for silence, then commanded, and at length scolded. Cliquot, his protective instinct fully aroused, paid no heed to cajolery or threat, and presently his mistress laid aside her pen, arose with a sigh from the writing-table, and trailed to the window. After a moment, half turning toward an open door—
“Beryl,” she asked, “who are those men in the garden?”
“Mr. Shortland, Mamma, and Perkins. Also Dobbin,” replied a voice from the adjoining room.
“But what are they doing? And why didn't you tell me Mr. Shortland was here?”
“As to what they are doing, I haven't the slightest idea. They seem to be discussing the roses. And as Mr. Shortland has not asked for us, I presume he doesn't want to see us.”
“Well”—Mrs. Vernon stepped in front of the dressing-table and bent to see her reflection in the mirror, patting her hair deftly—“well, you had better go down, dear. I'll follow presently.”
“I don't see why,” demurred Beryl. “Evidently Mr. Shortland is not calling on us, but on Perkins.”
“How absurd!” murmured her mother, shedding her lace and ribbons. “Of course he wants to see us, Beryl.” Mrs. Vernon pressed a button, and a bell tinkled somewhere downstairs. “I do wonder why he and Perkins are tramping around the garden like that. Cliquot, will you be still a minute? He simply hates the sight of that dog of Mr. Shortland's, Beryl.”
“Well, he isn't a very beautiful dog, Mamma. They are coming back to the house now.” Without seeing, one would have known that Beryl was withdrawing from the proximity of the window as she spoke.
“Are you dressed to go down?” asked her mother.
“Dressed and in my right mind, dear; and my right mind tells me that a modest and proper young lady doesn't rush out into the garden to receive gentlemen.”
“Don't be so absurd, dear! Mr. Shortland isn't a stranger; he's—he's quite like one of the family. Besides, we certainly have a right to know what he is up to in our garden.”
“Very well, Mamma; I'll go down and stand on the steps. If he sees me and sees fit to speak, I will ask him. But you musn't expect me to rush down the street after him!”
“You are getting more absurd every day,” replied Mrs. Vernon abstractedly. “Come in! Jennie, get my—is it very hot to-day?”
“Yes, ma'am; Perkins says it's 'a scorcher.'”
“Then, the thinnest thing you can find, Jennie. Has any one called?”
“No, ma'am; at least, not properly called, ma'am.”
“Which means?”
“Mr. Shortland came around to the kitchen door a little while ago, and asked for Perkins, ma'am, and Perkins and he went off together somewhere”
“What ho, the house!” called a voice from below.
“That's him now,” giggled Jennie.
“Tell him we'll be down in a few minutes, Jennie. Aren't you nearly ready, Beryl?”
“Quite,” replied Beryl composedly, appearing at the doorway. She was dressed in a white skirt and a shirt-waist, and Mrs. Vernon viewed her dubiously.
“With all the nice morning gowns you have, dear,” she said in mild disapproval, “it seems to me”
Beryl laughed softly. “Mamma, you are perfectly ridiculous on the subject of Mr. Shortland! Perhaps you'd like me to put on an evening gown?”
“Nonsense! But one might as well look one's best, for Mr. Shortland or any one else. For goodness' sake, Jennie, you don't expect me to wear that thing, do you? Why, you know it's a perfect mess!”
“You said the thinnest thing you had,” murmured the maid, hurrying back to the closet.
Beryl laughed and disappeared. She found Allan leaning in the doorway. Dobbin, with hanging tongue, stood halfway down the path to the gate, silently begging his master to follow.
“Didn't Jennie ask you to come in, Mr. Shortland?”
“IT am giving my famous impersonation of a peri at the Gate of Paradise, Miss Vernon.”
“A peri was a naughty angel, wasn't he? You don't look much like an angel, even a naughty one.”
“But you do, a nice, cool, white angel, floating down the stairs to admit the poor, forlorn peri.”
“Will the peri please tell us what he has been doing in the garden?” she asked, leading the way across the library to the porch.
“Finding a location for a dove-cot,” he replied calmly.
“The dove-cot!”
“Yes, and I think we have the very place. Perkins and I went over the matter very carefully. Perkins doesn't quite know what a dove-cot is, but he was kind enough to approve of the location I proposed. Don't you think that in the center there, where the large bed of roses is, would be about right?”
“But—but I didn't know—there was to be a dove-cot!”
“Oh, yes, and a very nice one, too! Mr. Haley is making it, and the post will be along in a day or two, and after that there is only the paint to put on. Mr. Haley, I find, had set his heart on having it blue—or was it red?—but I decided in favor of pure, immaculate white. Don't you agree with me?”
“Quite,” responded Beryl.
Allan looked greatly relieved. “I thought perhaps Mrs. Vernon would like to know the position we had decided on,” he went on amiably.
“She might,” agreed. Beryl gravely. “After all, it is her garden, in a way.”
“That's what I said to Perkins. So I thought I'd step in a minute and see her.”
“She will be right down, Mr. Shortland. You will find magazines on the table there, and I can find you a cigar if you like. Or perhaps you prefer your pipe?”
“Oh! Are you going to leave me?”
“Certainly! You have just said you stepped in to see Mamma, and as I have letters to write”
“Oh, but I especially wanted you to be present at the interview, Miss Vernon. I had set my heart on that. You see, the location of a dove-cot is no light matter”
“But it appears to be all settled.”
“Pending your approval.”
“We-ell, but I really have some letters to write, Mr. Shortland; most important ones. Mamma will be down in just a minute.”
But she didn't go beyond the library door. Perhaps, after all, the letters were not awfully important, or perhaps the expression of disappointment on his countenance moved her, or perhaps she didn't really want to go herself. At all events, with one small white pump on the sill she paused, and Allan, realizing that heroic measures were necessary if he was to detain her, announced:
“I had a letter from Kenneth Leeds yesterday, Miss Vernon.”
“Oh!” The foot came back from the sill, and the violet eyes dilated a little. “Indeed?”
“Yes, it was written nearly a month ago and has been chasing me around. He announced his engagement and asked me to be one of his ushers. It seems that the wedding is to take place on this side, in New York, in September—the fifteenth, I think. The lady's name is Miss Cecile Schomann, and he assures me that she is charming.”
“Really? And do you know who they are, Mr. Shortland?”
She had seated herself on the arm of a chair, and Allan breathed more easily.
“The Schomanns? No, I don't recall the name. But that means nothing. They may be quite prominent, for I am not well acquainted in Pittsburgh. I understand, however, that the city is so full of millionaires that the traffic is impeded on fine days. Doubtless the Schomanns are—er—impediments.”
“Shall you—accept?”
“I hardly know. September is a long way off. It is hard to know where one may be two months from now, although I hope” He stopped and smiled, and Beryl smiled back at him, for no reason save that it was difficult not to.
“What do you hope, Mr. Shortland?” she asked.
“So many things,” he answered lightly, after a moment. Then, with sudden gravity, “I hope, for one thing,” he said, “that I have not blundered in speaking of Leeds, Miss Vernon.”
“Blundered?” She raised her brows questioningly. “I'm afraid I don't understand, Mr. Shortland.”
“Which means 'Mind your own business, sir!'” he returned with a smile. She dropped her gaze. After a moment—“If you think—that,” she asked, “why did you—do it?”
“Do you want the real truth, Miss Vernon?” “Why—of course “Because I wanted to find out whether—the incident was really closed.”
“Really, Mr. Shortland! Your interest is flattering, but”
“Also impertinent?” he asked. “If you think that, I am sorry. I make you my best apology, Miss Vernon. I even humble myself in the dust. I can afford to grovel since I have discovered what I wanted.”
“Indeed? And what is the discovery, Mr. Shortland?”
“That you don't care a button any more, Miss Vernon. I wonder if you ever did—really, you know?”
“I think, if you don't mind,” she returned coldly, “we will not discuss my sentiments toward Mr. Leeds, past or present.”
“Bless you, I don't want to! I am fond of Leeds, and I'm glad I can keep on being fond of him. I think—yes, I think I'll cable him to count on me at the wedding.”
“It will probably be a great load off his mind,” said Beryl, with elaborate sarcasm.
“Allan laughed, and his brown eyes twinkled merrily. “Do you know, Miss Vernon, I positively love the chap this morning?”
“Really? I'm afraid, however, that doesn't interest me, Mr. Shortland. I'll see what is keeping Mamma.”
“I'd rather you stayed,” he begged.
“Thank you, but” she regarded him frowningly. “Do you know, Mr. Shortland, that you are exceedingly tiresome this morning?”
“I'm sorry, really,” he answered contritely. “But if it is only this morning, I am relieved. I feared it might be chronic.”
Beryl almost sniffed. “There seems to be danger of that, Mr. Shortland.” She smiled cooly, nodded, and went. She did not return. Mrs. Vernon approved of the site.