The Silent Battle

In the offices upstairs, Mr. Leuppold’s return was the signal for an immediate consultation of the entire firm, which would have flattered and encouraged Philip Gallatin had he been aware of it. Mr. Tyson and Mr. Whitehead discovered in Mr. Leuppold’s account of the interview undue cause for alarm. They were themselves adepts in the game Mr. Gallatin was evidently playing and could be depended upon at the proper moment to out-maneuver him. Mr. Leuppold disagreed and was forced to admit the weakness of Mr. Loring’s position, if, as he suspected, Mr. Gallatin had succeeded in fortifying himself with the proper evidence. The stock was, of course, not in Mr. Loring’s name, but a man of resource might have been able to find means to establish a legal connection of the mine with the railroad. Mr. Leuppold’s opinions usually bore weight, but just now he seemed to have no definite opinions.

The conference of the partners lasted until late in the afternoon, during which time messengers came and went between the firm’s offices and those of the Pequot Coal Company and that of the President of the L. and P. Henry K. Loring was out of town and would not return until the end of the week. A wire was sent to him to return to New York at once, and it was decided that no reply to Mr. Gallatin’s letter should be sent until Mr. Loring had been advised.

Phil Gallatin, in high good humor, lunched that morning with the senior partner at a fashionable restaurant uptown. His work on the Sanborn case was finished. He had been at it very hard for two months, and the two of them had planned to spend the afternoon and following day up at John Kenyon’s farm in Westchester, where they would do some riding, some walking and some resting, of which both were in need. The lunch was a preliminary luxury and they found a table in a corner on the Avenue and ordered.

There was no talk of office matters. John Kenyon had been thoroughly advised of Phil’s work and knew that there was nothing in the way of suggestion or advice that he could offer. He had noticed for some days the gaunt look in his young partner’s face. There were indications of his growing maturity and shadows of the struggle through which he had passed, but there were marks which John Kenyon knew belonged to a different kind of trouble. Gallatin had told him what had happened in the woods and Kenyon had learned something of Phil’s romance in New York. But Kenyon was not given to idle or curious questioning, and he knew that when Phil was ready to speak of private matters he would do so.

Their oysters had been served and their planked fish brought when a fashionable party entered and was conducted by the head waiter to an adjoining table which had been decorated for the occasion. Mrs. Pennington led the way, followed by Miss Ledyard, Mrs. Perrine and Miss Loring. Behind them followed Ogden Spencer, Bibby Worthington, Colonel Broadhurst and Coleman Van Duyn, who was, it appeared, the host.

Phil had hoped that his presence might pass unnoticed; but Nellie Pennington espied him and nodded gayly, so that he had to rise and greet her. This drew the eyes of others and when the party was seated he discovered that Miss Loring, on Van Duyn’s right, was seated facing him and that her eyes after one blank look in his direction were assiduously turned elsewhere. John Kenyon caught the change in Gallatin’s expression, but in a moment Phil had resumed their conversation upon the comparative merits of the Delaware River and Potomac River shad, and their luncheon went on to its conclusion. But the spirits of John Kenyon’s guest had fallen, and Kenyon’s most persuasive stories failed to find a response. In spite of himself Phil Gallatin found himself looking at Jane and thinking of Arcadia. It was three weeks now since that much to be remembered and regretted interview at the Loring house had taken place. The glance he stole at Jane assured him that if he had ever had a hope of reconciliation, the chances for it were now more remote than ever. She wore a huge hat which screened her effectually, and the glimpses he had of her face showed it dimpling in smiles for Coleman Van Duyn or Bibby Worthington, who sat on either side of her. When their eyes had first met he had thought her pale, but as the moments passed a warm color mounted her cheeks. It seemed to Gallatin that never before within his memory had she ever appeared so care-free. She was youth untrammeled, a sister to Euphrosyne, the spirit of joy. It seemed as if she realized that the grim specter which had stolen into her life for a while had been exorcised away, and that she had already forgotten it in the beckoning of the jocund hours. Phil Gallatin had come into her life and gone, leaving no trace in her mind or in her heart.

After this their eyes met but once. He was looking at her, thinking of these things, oblivious of what John Kenyon was saying, unaware of the intentness of his gaze, which at last compelled her to look in his direction. It was a startled glance that she gave him, wide-eyed, almost fearful, as though he had challenged her to this silent combat. Then her lids lowered insolently, her chin lifted and she turned aside.

Their coffee had been served. Phil gulped his down hastily. “Come, Uncle John,” he said hoarsely. “Let’s get out of this, will you?”

John Kenyon paid the check and they rose. Unfortunately the only path to the door lay by Mr. Van Duyn’s table, and as Gallatin passed, nodding to his acquaintances, Mrs. Pennington got up and stood in front of him.

“I do so want to see you for a moment, Phil. Will you excuse me, Coley?” she said, and led the way into a room where she found an unoccupied corner. John Kenyon went elsewhere to smoke his cigar.

“Oh, Phil!” she whispered. “Why wouldn’t you come to see me? I’ve had so much to talk to you about.”

“I—I’ve been very busy, Nellie. I haven’t been anywhere.”

“My house isn’t ‘anywhere.’ I want to talk to you—you know what I mean.”

“It won’t do any good, Nellie,” he muttered. “There isn’t anything more to be said.”

“Perhaps not—but I want to say it just the same. I want you to promise–”

“I can’t,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t ask me to come and talk to you—about that.”

“Well, then, come and talk to me about other things.”

“I can’t. If I come I must talk about what you remind me of.”

She hesitated, looking at him critically.

“Phil, you’re an idiot,” she said at last.

“Thanks,” he replied, “I’m aware of it.”

“Are you going to give up?”

“I’ve given up.”

Nellie Pennington shrugged. “For good? You’re going to let—Oh, I’ve no patience with you.”

“I’m sorry. You did what you could and I’m thankful. Don’t think I’m ungrateful. I’m not. One of these days I’ll prove it. You did a lot. I’m awake, Nellie. You woke me and I’m not going to sleep again.”

“I’m proud of you, Phil, but you’re not awake—not really awake or you couldn’t sit by and see the girl you love forced into an engagement with a man she doesn’t care for.”

Gallatin flushed.

“Is that—” he asked slowly, “is that what this—this luncheon means?”

“Judge for yourself. He is with her always. And they’ve even rebelled against my chaperonage. Their relations are talked of freely in Jane’s presence and she laughs acquiescence. Imagine it!”

Gallatin turned away.

“I—I have no further interest in—in Miss Loring,” he said quietly.

“Well, I have. And I’m not going to let her make a fool of herself if I can help it.”

“Miss Loring will probably not agree with you.”

“I hardly expect her to.” She hesitated. “Phil,” she asked at last.

“What, Nellie?”

“Will you answer a question?”

“What?”

“Was this story they’re telling about you and Nina mentioned?”

“Yes, it was.”

“I thought so,” triumphantly. “Phil we must talk this thing out.”

“It can do no good–”

“And no harm. There’s been a mistake somewhere—something neither you nor I understand.” She stopped and tapped her forehead with her index finger. “I can’t tell what—but I sense it—here. Something has gone wrong—what, I don’t know. I’ve got to think about it.”

“Yes—it’s gone wrong—and it can’t be righted.”

“Perhaps not,” she said rising. “But I do want you to come to see me. Won’t you?”

“You’re very persistent, aren’t you? Very well, I’ll come.”

“I must go now. Coley will be furious. I hope so, at any rate.”

She smiled at him again and went back to her luncheon party while Gallatin found John Kenyon and drove to the Grand Central station.

XXIV
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND

It was the middle of March, and fashionable New York, having been at least twice through its winter wardrobe, had gone southward for a change of speed. Aiken, Jekyl Island and Palm Beach had all done their share in the midwinter rejuvenation, but the particular set of people with which this story concerns itself were spending the last days of the Lenten season at the Dorsey-Martin’s place in Virginia.

Dorsey-Martin was rich beyond the dreams of Alnaschar, but unlike the unfortunate brother of the barber, had not smashed the glassware in his basket until he had sold it to somebody else, when he was enabled to buy it in again at a much reduced rate. His particular specialty was not glassware, but railroads which, while equally fragile, could be put together again and be made (to all appearances) as good as new.

The fruits of this fortunate talent were in evidence in his well-appointed house in New York with its collection of old English portraits, his palace at Newport just finished, and in his “shooting place” in Virginia.

The Dorsey-Martins had “arrived.” They had been ten years in transit, and their ways had been devious, but their present welcome more than compensated for the pains and money which had been spent in the pilgrimage. The Virginia place, “Clovelly” adjoined that of the Ledyards, and consisted of a thousand acres of preserved woodland and dale, within a night’s journey of New York. Autumn, of course, was the season when “Clovelly” was most in use, but spring frequently found it the scene of gay gatherings such as the present one, for in addition to the squash courts and swimming pool there was court tennis, with a marker constantly in attendance, a good stable, and hospitable neighbors.

It was Nellie Pennington who had prevailed upon Phil Gallatin to accept Mrs. Dorsey-Martin’s invitation, for she knew that Jane Loring was staying at “Mobjack,” the Ledyards’ place, and she hoped that she might yet be the means of bringing the two together. Her interview with Phil had been barren of results, except to confirm her in the suspicion that Nina Jaffray held the key to the puzzle. Nina, who had been one of the early arrivals at “Clovelly,” had so far eluded all her snares; and Nellie Pennington was now convinced that here was a foeman worthy of her subtlest metal. She enjoyed the game hugely, as, apparently, did Nina, and their passages at arms were as skillful (and as ineffectual) as those of two perfectly matched maîtres d’escrime. Nina knew that Nellie Pennington suspected her of mischief, but she also knew that it was unlikely that any one would ever know, unless from Jane, just what that mischief had been.

The arrival of Phil Gallatin, while it gave Nina happiness, made her keep a narrower guard against the verbal thrusts of her playful adversary.

Phil Gallatin had regained his poise and reached “Clovelly” in a jubilant frame of mind. Two days ago Henry K. Loring had agreed to a conference.

Mr. Leuppold, more suave, more benign, more patronizing than ever, had called and told Gallatin of this noteworthy act of condescension on the part of his client. Nothing, of course, need be expected from such a meeting in the way of concessions, but men of the world like Mr. Leuppold and Mr. Gallatin knew that co-operation was, after all, the soul of business, and that one caught many more flies with treacle than with vinegar.

He continued for half an hour in this vein, platitudinizing and begging the question at issue while Gallatin listened and assented politely, without giving any further intimation of a course of action for Kenyon, Hood and Gallatin. But when the great lawyer had departed, Gallatin went to the window and surveyed the steel gray waters of the Hudson with a gleaming eye, and his face wore a smile which would not depart. Sanborn’s case would never go to court.

The vestiges of this good humor still remained upon his face and in his demeanor all the morning, which had been spent in a run with the Warrenton pack. It was so long since he had ridden to hounds that he had almost forgotten the joy of it, but he was well mounted and finished creditably. Nina Jaffray showed the field her heels for most of the way and Gallatin pounded after her, his muscles aching, determined not to be outridden by a woman.

In the first check, she drew her horse alongside of his and smiled at him.

“Ready to let me announce it yet, Phil?” she asked.

Gallatin just then was wondering whether his leg grip would last out the day.

“Announce what, Nina?” he asked.

“Our engagement,” she returned with a smile. “It’s almost time, you know.”

“Oh, go as far as you like.”

“Don’t laugh!”

“I’ve got to—you make me so happy.”

“Oh, you can joke if you like now, but you’ll have to marry me some day.”

“Oh, will I? Why?”

“Because you like me. Friendship subdues even Time, Phil. I’m willing to wait.”

And when he looked at her, at loss for a reply, the hounds gave tongue again and they were off at a full gallop. He couldn’t help admiring her this morning. The easy unconventionality of her speech, her attitude of good fellowship, were a part of the setting. This was the scene in which she always appeared to the best advantage and she took the center of the stage with an assurance which showed how well she knew her lines.

It was Nina’s brush, of course, for she had brought down her own best hunter for the occasion and was in at the death with the Huntsman and Master of the Hounds, while Gallatin trailed in with the Field. And in the ride homeward Phil found himself jogging along comfortably at Nina’s side.

“Phil,” she said again, when the others had ridden on ahead. “I hope you won’t laugh at me any more. It’s indecent. I never laugh at you.”

“Oh, don’t you? You’re never doing anything else.”

“It seems so, doesn’t it? That’s my pose, Phil. I’m really very much in earnest about things. I don’t suppose I ever could learn to love anybody—the faculty is lacking, somehow; but I think you know that, even if I didn’t love you, I’d never love any one else, whatever happened, and I’d be true as Death.”

“Yes, I know that. But–”

“But—?” she repeated.

“But—I’m not going to marry,” he laughed.

She shrugged.

“Oh, yes, you will—some day.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because men of your type always do.”

“My type?”

“Yes, they usually marry late and beneath them. I’m trying to save you from that mistake.”

He smiled at her saucy profile.

“Marrying one’s equal doesn’t always mean equality.”

“You were always a dreamer, Phil.”

“I think I’ll always dream then, Nina,” he broke in abruptly. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that you’ve got to marry somebody—anybody—just because you’ve reached the marriageable age. That’s the trap that catches most of us. Marry for love, Nina. You’ve got that much capital to begin on. Love doesn’t die a sudden death.”

“Not unless it’s killed. That happens, you know.”

“You can’t kill it easily. You may scoff at it, deny it, wound it, but it doesn’t die, Nina.”

She turned and examined him narrowly, then shifted her bridle to the other hand and ran her crop along her horse’s neck.

“You know, Jane Loring is going to marry Coley.”

“What has that to do with what we’re talking about?” he said quickly.

“Oh, nothing. Only I thought you’d like to know it. You’ll have a chance to congratulate them to-night.”

“To-night? Where?”

“They’re at the Ledyards’, but they’re dining at ‘Clovelly.’”

“Oh!”

“So, if you’re going to put them asunder, you’d better do it to-night or forever hold your peace.”

He smiled around at her calmly.

“Nothing doing, Nina. You missed it that time. The only things I’m putting asunder are a railroad and an omnivorous coal company. That takes about all my energy.”

“Phil,” she put in thoughtfully after a moment.

“What?”

“What’s the use of waiting? You’re going to marry me in the end, you know.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes. You can’t afford to refuse. I’ve got the money, position, and father has influence. That means power for a man of your ability. You’re getting ambitious. I can tell that by the way you’re sticking at things. There’s no telling what you mightn’t accomplish with the help I can bring you. Oh, you could get along alone, of course. But you’d waste a lot of time. You’d better think about it seriously.”

“I have thought about it. I’m really beginning to believe you mean it.”

“Yes, I do mean it. I’ve decided to marry you. And you know I’ve never yet failed at anything I’ve undertaken.”

She was quite in earnest and he looked at her amusedly.

“Then I suppose I’d better surrender at discretion.”

“Yes, I’m sure you had.”

“Isn’t there a loophole?”

“None, whatever. I’m your super-man, Phil. You might just as well go at once and order your wedding garments and the ring. It will save us endless discussions—and you know I hate discussions. They’re really very wearing. Besides, O Phil!”—She laid the end of her crop on his arm—“just think what a lot of fun you’ll get out of letting Jane know how little you care!”

Gallatin didn’t reply and in a moment they had reached the stables of “Clovelly” where the others were dismounting.

In his room, to which he had gone in search of his pipe, Gallatin paused at the window, looking out over the winter landscape, thinking. Why not? Why shouldn’t he marry her? It would be a cold-blooded business, of course, but he called to mind a dozen marriages of reason that had turned out satisfactorily, and as many marriages for love which had ended in the ditch. This life was a pleasant kind of poison, the luxury and ease, the careless gayety of these pleasant people who moved along the line of least resistance, taking from life only what suited their moods, living only for the moment, sure that the future was amply provided for. He had turned his back on this world for a while, and had lived in another, a sterner world, with which this one had little in common. A place like this might be his, with its broad acres and stables, horses and motor cars, a life like this for the asking. A marriage of reason! With Nina Jaffray at the helm of his destiny and hers. God forbid!

He had laid his own course now, but he had weathered the rocks and shoals and the rough water in sight did not dismay him. Marriage! He wanted none of it with Nina or any other. This kind of life was not for him unless he won it for himself, for only then would he be fit to live it. And while he found it good to be away from his rooms in the house in – Street, good to be away from the office for a while, the atmosphere of “Clovelly” was redolent of his early days of indolence and undesire and he suddenly found himself less tolerant of the failings of these people than he had ever been before. He hadn’t realized what his work had meant until he had this idleness to compare it with.

Jane! He had been able to think less of Jane Loring in the fever of work, but here at “Clovelly,” among the people they both knew, where her name was frequently mentioned, he found it less easy to forget her, and the imminence of the hour when he must see her again gave him a qualm.

He lighted his pipe and started downstairs toward the gunroom, where the guests were recounting the adventures of the morning over tobacco and high-balls. Nellie Pennington, who had an instinct for the psychological moment, met him and led him to a lounge at the end of the hall.

“Well,” she said, “are you prepared to give a full account of yourself?”

“An empty account, dear Mother Confessor. I’m neither sinful nor virtuous.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“About which?”

“About either. You’re unpleasantly self-righteous and criminally unamiable.”

“Oh, Nellie, to whom?”

“To me. Also, you’re stupid!”

“Thanks. That’s my misfortune. What else?”

“That’s enough to begin on. I could pull your ears in chagrin. You’ve treated my advice with the scantest ceremony, made ducks and drakes of the opportunities I’ve provided, and lastly you’ve gone and gotten Nina Jaffray talked about–”

“Nellie! Please! I can’t permit–”

“Oh, fudge, Phil. Nina is well able to look after herself. It isn’t of Nina I’m thinking.”

“Who then?”

“You! You silly goose. There isn’t any spectacle in the world half so ludicrous as a chivalrous man defending the fame of a woman who doesn’t care whether she’s defended or not.”

“I don’t see–”

“I know you don’t. That’s why I’m telling you.”

“But Nina, does care.”

“Yes, but not precisely in the way that you suppose. Fortune gave her some excellent cards—and she played them.”

“Please be more explicit.”

“Very well, then. Girls of Nina’s type would rather have their name coupled unpleasantly with that of the man they care for than not coupled with it at all.”

“Nonsense, Nina doesn’t care–”

“Oh, yes, she does. She wants to marry you. She has told you so, hasn’t she?”

Phil Gallatin looked at her quickly with eyes agog. Such powers of divination were uncanny.

“She has proposed to you once—twice—how many times, Phil?”

“None—not at all,” he stammered, while she smiled and shrugged her incredulity.

“If I didn’t know already, I need only a glance at your face to be convinced of it.”

“How did you know?”

“How does a woman know anything? By virtue, my friend, of those invisible spiritual fibers which she thrusts in all directions and upon which she receives impressions. That’s how she knows.”

“You guessed?”

“Call it that, if you like. I guessed. I guessed this, also: that Nina wanted Jane to believe this story to be true. It didn’t need much to convince her. That little Nina was willing to provide.”

“What?”

“Nina admitted that the story was true,” she repeated.

Gallatin rose to his feet and stared at his companion like one possessed.

“Nina admitted it! You’re dreaming.”