The Happy Man/Chapter 15
XV
“I heard such a queer thing about Mr. Shortland this afternoon,” observed Mrs. Vernon at dinner. She spoke carelessly, with only a fleeting glance at the face across the table. “Mr. Smith says he is to be married?”
“Mr. Smith or Mr. Shortland?” asked Beryl uninterestedly.
“Mr. Shortland. Do you suppose it can be so?”
“I don't see why not, Mamma. Possibly he has tired of roaming around and wants to settle down.”
“But it seems strange that we have never heard of it,” puzzled her mother.
“Perhaps he thought it was none of our business, dear.”
“Well” Mrs. Vernon found an opportunity to study Beryl's countenance, but learned little. “Nevertheless, I think he has been sailing under false colors,” she declared severely.
“Still, Mamma, if Mr. Smith knew it”
“Yes, and he says all the men at the club knew it. I think it is very strange that no one mentioned it. Men are so annoyingly close-mouthed at times.”
“After all,” replied Beryl, calmly, “I don't think we need to worry ourselves about Mr. Shortland's affairs, Mamma. If he wants to get married, I presume he has a perfect right to. I don't suppose he thought it necessary to consult us before taking the plunge.”
“It would have been fairer, however, to have made it known, Beryl.”
“It sounds, dear, as though he had been trifling with your affections,” said Beryl gayly. “After all, even if he were free, there is still Papa, you know!”
Mrs. Vernon viewed her daughter puzzledly, sighed, and relapsed into silence. Perhaps, she thought, she had been mistaken after all.
Beryl's rôle of indifference was not an easy one to persist in, and after another day or two Mrs. Vernon knew that she had not been mistaken. Beryl's attitude toward Allan, at first no different from what it had been, soon altered in spite of her efforts to guard against it. Her manner became cold, and more than once she was guilty of speech scarcely less than rude. Allan was perplexed, but he kept the fact to himself. Even Mrs. Vernon, he noticed, was different. The difference was hard to define, but it was there. She seemed glad to see him when they met, but the heartiness of her welcome had gone. In some way, he knew, he had offended. But Mrs. Vernon's attitude troubled him very much less than Beryl's. At the end of three days the latter had become so antagonistic that Allan's philosophy was disturbed, and he sought an explanation. The opportunity came at Mrs. Prescott's, whither Alderbury had resorted at the end of a warm afternoon to drink tea. Allan, watching his chance, finally found Beryl for a moment alone at an end of the long veranda. The smile with which she acknowledged his approach was palpably artificial.
“How have I offended?” he asked gravely.
Beryl's brows went up, and her violet eyes opened very wide. “Offended?” she echoed. “Offended whom, pray, Mr. Shortland?”
“You principally, Miss Vernon, Your mother as well, I judge.”
“You have not offended me, Mr. Shortland. I'm afraid you are the victim of a guilty conscience. Isn't there a story about a murderer who”
“I'm sure there is, Miss Vernon. But won't you tell me? I thought that we had agreed to start over, but something has happened. Wouldn't it be fair to tell me what it is?”
“How ridiculous!” Beryl laughed faintly, dropping her eyes before the grave concern of his gaze. “Nothing has happened that I am aware of, Mr. Shortland.”
“Then, your treatment of me is merely a whim?” he asked, with a slight hardening of his voice.
“My treatment?” she asked carelessly. “I'm afraid I don't understand, Mr. Shortland.”
“I think you do. It is I who don't understand. For the last few days you have shown me very plainly that I am not welcome, Miss Vernon. I hoped that if I had unconsciously offended, you would be frank enough to tell me.”
“Your conscience, then, is quite clear?” she asked, with a flash of her eyes.
“Quite.”
“A convenient one, Mr. Shortland, to have.”
“I don't understand,” he said perplexedly.
“Or don't wish to,” she replied, with a sarcastic laugh.
“On the contrary,” he answered patiently, “I have every wish to.”
A very cruel light gleamed in the violet eyes as she said, “I can forgive anything, Mr. Shortland, but hypocrisy.”
He drew back with a sudden stiffening of his body. “A most detestable quality, Miss Vernon,” he answered coldly. “Injustice is another, I think.” He lifted his hat and walked away.
He came very seldom to “Solana” after that. He did not absent himself altogether, however, but his occasional visits were timed when Beryl was away or when, as he knew, he would find other visitors present. Beryl told herself that she was glad, and tried very hard to feel so. Mrs. Vernon, who was incapable of remembering an injury for any length of time, soon took him back into her good graces, and complained plaintively once or twice that he had deserted them. She did not, however, press the charge, for she realized that to Beryl he was no longer welcome. Jerry Forbes, who had grown discouraged, took heart again, and became assidious in his attentions. And Beryl was very kind to him, and Alderbury looked on enjoyingly.
Jerry, who, even when Allan had crowded him out of Beryl's society, had remained a whole-hearted admirer of the older man, came nearer to a correct interpretation of affairs than others. “That yarn of Shortland's about being engaged was all rot,” he decided. “He's too decent a chap to make love to Beryl Vernon if he wasn't free. He proposed and she turned him down. That's all there is to it. Darned if I see why she didn't take him, but she didn't, and I'm not pretending I'm sorry!” Nevertheless, for all his assurance that Allan was out of the running, he confided an item of news about that gentleman one morning with some uneasiness. He and Beryl were in his car on their way to Lincoln Falls, where Alderbury's golfers were to play in a tournament.
“Shortland's off again,” he announced very casually.
“Off?” she asked, after a slight instant of hesitation.
“He's leaving to-morrow.” He managed a quick glance at her which told him nothing. She was looking ahead quite untroubledly. “Going up to the mountains, I think he said.”
“Indeed? From what one hears about Mr. Shortland, he has remained here quite an unprecedented length of time, hasn't he?”
“By Jove, yes! Rather a compliment to—to us, eh?”
“Decidedly.” Silence held while the car shot down a long smooth hill. Then, “I believe Mr. Shortland is to be married, is he not?” she said, in the tone of one making conversation.
“Married? Why”—Jerry faltered—“I didn't suppose so!”
“Really? I'm sure I heard some one say so, Mr. Forbes.”
“Well, but—did he say anything to you” Then Jerry stopped and colored.
“To me?” she asked in surprise. “Mr. Shortland doesn't confide in me to that extent, Mr. Forbes. I merely heard—I believe Mr. Smith mentioned it—that he had announced the fact that he was to be married one day at the club.”
“Yes, he did,” muttered Jerry. “Just the same—I didn't believe it.”
“How funny!” she laughed. “Why not?”
“Well, because” But Jerry couldn't give his real reason.
“That sounds like a woman, Mr. Forbes.”
“Shortland's such a queer chap,” he murmured. “It—might have been one of his jokes.”
“Do you think so?” she asked idly. “Whose place is that over there on the hill?”
Well, she had taken it all right, he told himself, but it was funny that she had not known whether Shortland was to be married or not! This puzzled him so that he lost sight of the fact that for the rest of the journey she was unusually silent.
Alderbury met the pick of Lincoln Falls talent and won. It was a very jolly occasion, and the luncheon in the clubhouse went off with much merriment. If Beryl was a little distrait, no one, not even Jerry, noticed it. The match was finished by five, and after tea at one of the cottages Alderbury motored triumphantly home. Jerry, who had won his match handily, was in great spirits, and did most of the talking on the way back, while Beryl, a bit tired, as it appeared, smiled and listened—or seemed to listen—most appreciatively. Jerry was not yet so deeply in love as to be troubled by any sense of unworthiness. Self-abnegation is not a failing of twenty-two. A mile or so short of Alderbury, the car overtook a man and a white dog walking along the side of the road, and Jerry slowed down and stopped as he drew abreast.
“Hello, Shortland! Jump in, you and the bloodhound, and we'll give you a lift.”
Allan, who had raised his cap to Beryl, smiled and shook his head.
“Dobbin objects to motors,” he replied. “Besides, we both of us need the exercise.”
“We did 'em up,” said Jerry. “You ought to have been along, old man, Fine sport and a rattling good luncheon. Wasn't it, Miss Vernon?”
Beryl smiled and nodded. “Splendid,” she agreed. “You should have gone, Mr. Shortland.”
“Thank you, I'd have liked it.”
“Well”—Jerry put his hand to the lever—“if you won't jump in”
“Mr. Forbes says you are leaving us soon,” said Beryl.
“In the morning, Miss Vernon.”
“Really? How unkind! Don't you like our society any more?”
“Oh, yes,” he answered gravely. “It's Dobbin. He is a victim of hay fever, and I have to take him to the mountains, Miss Vernon.”
“What a shame!” she said.
Jerry laughed. “Where are you going to take him?” he asked. “To the Presidential Mange?”
“Horrible!” said Beryl, with a shudder. “Well, I suppose I shan't see you again, Mr. Shortland, if you are leaving so soon.” She reached a white-gloved hand across in front of Jerry, and Allan took it for an instant.
“I made my adieus to Mrs. Vernon,” he said, “and, now that I've seen you here, I won't bother you again. Good-by, Miss Vernon. I'll see you at the club this evening, Forbes.”
“Good-by, Mr. Shortland,” said Beryl brightly, “and—congratulations!”
“Congratulations?” he questioned.
“Why, yes. Isn't it true that you are to be married? Don't tell me that I've blundered on a secret, Mr. Shortland!”
Allan's answer was so long in coming that Jerry, whose gaze had been fixed on the foot that was idly pressing and releasing the clutch-pedal, looked up in surprise. He was more surprised when he saw the expression in Allan's eyes—surprised and a little disturbed.
“It is true, Miss Vernon,” said Allan at last, a strange emphasis in his tone. Beryl, in turn disturbed by his look, laughed a trifle uncertainly.
“Then—then, I may congratulate you, of course.”
“Thank you. You may indeed, Miss Vernon.”
“Me too, Shortland,” said Jerry, impatient of a tension he couldn't understand. “I don't know the lady, old man, but I wish you luck.”
“Thanks,” replied Allan. He raised his cap again, Jerry waved a hand and pulled back a lever, and the car slid away. Beryl, her hands clasped very tightly in her lap, looked straight ahead at the onrushing road. Behind, a man and a dog followed slowly. The man whistled. The dog wagged his tail.