CHAPTER VI
Dorothy's parents remained only a few days at Aircastle Point, as their visit was no more than a stop-off en route to Europe. While it was not in the nature of things that they should remain entirely ignorant of Armstrong's business trouble, they were far from comprehending its scope or gravity. Armstrong himself defined it to Deming as "a general shake-up," and no more was said on the subject.
On the last evening of their stay, Mrs. Deming confided a secretly cherished ambition to Dorothy. This was at the dinner table.
"You know, dear, when your father and I used to come to New York, we always went to the Waldorf. I'd like to go there again—couldn't we take luncheon there to-morrow?"
Dorothy turned eagerly to her father. He smiled and shook his head.
"I'm lunching with Reese and a friend of his to-morrow; sorry! We go aboard at four, you know. Can we change it, Reese?"
"Not very well," said Armstrong. "Judge Holcomb wants us at the Phi Gam club—it's a birthday luncheon in his honor. Suppose we get away early and meet you at the Waldorf? You can lunch there, and we'll spend an hour with you looking over old ground and reviving honeymoon recollections. That right, J. Fortescue?"
"Honeymoon is correct." Deming laughed. "Mother has a positive affection for the Waldorf—eh, my dear? Will the program suit you?"
Thus it happened, on the following day, that Dorothy and Mrs. Deming entered the Waldorf together about one o'clock. Scarcely were they inside, when a pleasurably astonished voice greeted them with eager delight.
"Why—Mrs. Deming! Dorothy! This is a joyful encounter sure enough!"
It was Pete Slosson.
"You-all must lunch with me—please!" he went on quickly. "I'm lonely; don't know a soul around here—and then you turn up! Will you befriend a stranger? Please!"
Mrs. Deming, who had always rather liked Slosson, was quick to accept, and Dorothy had no reason to decline. True, Slosson was associated in business with Ried Williams, and since that country club dance she had felt detestation and even hatred for Williams; but, in her eyes, Slosson had ever been no more than an impulsive boy, too abundantly endowed with youth and vitality for his own good.
Slosson secured a window table. Dorothy sat with her back to the room, before her all the passing pomp and glitter of the Avenue, while Mrs. Deming chose to enjoy the dining-room itself. Their host was obviously on his best behavior. Usually there was in Slosson's bearing a good deal of self-consciousness; he liked to pose a little. To-day, the meeting was so unexpected that he revealed himself sincerely enough.
Dorothy was rather glad of the meeting. She had known Pete Slosson all her life. In the way of women, she saw him not as men saw the real Pete Slosson. She saw only the better part of him, lying far underneath the surface—the man of dreams and might-have been.
Once she had even fancied herself in love with him. Dorothy could not forget this; she did not have it to forgive, since Slosson had never known it. Because he had been genuinely in love with her, she held him in some measure of friendship and sympathetic regard.
"I'm glad you're doing so well in Indianapolis, Pete," she said frankly. "Are you often in New York?"
"No, unless something special comes up. I got in last night, and am leaving again to-night—I've no time for frivolity any more. When I come, it's on business that demands quick action."
"You're certainly looking in fine shape!" Dorothy regarded him with a smile. "You seem a lot more human, Pete!"
Slosson colored a little. "Well, I've come more in contact with people, for a fact," he said awkwardly. "It's hard to explain—"
"No, it isn't!" she countered. "You're in constructive business, Pete. Happiness always comes to the builder, don't you think? Only a positive and constructive person can perceive the real good in things and people—"
She checked herself abruptly, conscious that some one had come to a stop almost behind her chair. She saw Slosson glance up and change countenance. Then a genially maudlin voice broke in upon her—a voice whose liquor-tinged accents sent a shiver through her whole body.
"Hullo, Slosson! In town and throwing a party, eh? By gad, old man—"
Dorothy turned her head. Her inquiring gaze met the eyes of Macgowan. His words died out, and for an instance there was dead silence.
Macgowan was sobered by his incredible and ghastly error. For once his glib tongue was daunted; under Dorothy's gaze, a slow, deep flush crept into his cheeks. Sweat started upon his brow. Dorothy regarded him calmly, without apparent recognition.
"Why, it's Mr. Macgowan!" exclaimed Mrs. Deming.
"Yes," echoed Dorothy, still gazing at him. "Yes, it's Mr. Macgowan, the liar and traitor, the Judas who betrayed his friend. He seems to have been celebrating his treachery, to judge from his voice. I suppose we should diagnose his ailment as spiritual leprosy. Be careful you're not infected, Pete! I'd be sorry to think of you as being in the same class with this man."
She calmly turned her back on Macgowan. The effect of her impersonal arraignment was frightful. A mortal pallor in his face, Macgowan managed a slight, stiff bow, turned, and went his way. Under the circumstances, that bow was more than a parting gesture; it was an achievement.
Mrs. Deming was staring at her daughter with horrified eyes.
"My dear! You simply can't realize what you're saying—"
"Nonsense, mother. This man Macgowan has tried his best to ruin and disgrace Reese, betraying all the trust that was placed in him. He can't do it, but he has made trouble. Now, don't worry! I know what I'm saying, and I'm glad I had the chance to say it to his face. After this, he won't be quite so free and easy when he sees his friends dining in public. He made a mistake to-day that he'll remember—drunk or sober!"
"See here, Dot!" exclaimed Slosson hurriedly, almost too hurriedly. "Don't call him a friend of mine! I hardly know the man; haven't seen him since your wedding!"'
Dorothy, instantly contrite, reached out and quickly patted his hand.
"I didn't mean to be catty, Pete; honest! If I had thought you and he were friends, I'd not be sitting here with you, be sure of that! And mother, please stop looking so disconcerted! Macgowan has passed out of our lives, that's all."'
Slosson drew a quick breath, gazed at her admiringly.
"By the lord, Dot, you sure handed it to him! And the look on his face when he saw you! Well, I don't know the circumstances, but I should say that no matter what he did to Reese, you've repaid a good share of it to-day!"
Dorothy smiled. "I tried to. Mother, please don't say anything about this to Reese."
Mrs. Deming sighed and assented, her eyes troubled.
"Very well, dear. I'm dreadfully sorry to learn about this. I can realize, too, how you and Reese must feel. Your poor father felt the same way when he found Food Products wrecked and lost to him."
Dorothy turned pale. Slosson fumbled with his cigarette case. Mrs. Deming, quite unconscious of the effect produced by her perfectly casual words, sipped her tea.
"What do you mean, mother?" asked Dorothy in a strained voice. "You don't mean that—that any one was to blame for father's losing the company? Why, I thought he was so delighted over the way Reese handled it!"
Mrs. Deming quickly assented.
"So he was, child, of course! No, no one was to blame—and your father never let anybody dream that he was hurt. But I could see how he felt it. Now, we must not talk about such things any more. Let's everybody be bright and pleasant! This is our last day in the United States—and I'm sure we'll be miserable enough in Europe without borrowing trouble here. I just know the house will be in dreadful shape when we get home!"
Dorothy glanced at Slosson, who was lighting a cigarette. For a moment his eyes met hers, and in them she read a startled uneasiness. It frightened her. So did his words, despite the smile upon his lips.
"That's right, Mrs. Deming—never mind what's past and gone! Let the dead bury their dead, eh? Only stirs up trouble and does no good, to rake over the past."
Dorothy glance at her watch. "Mercy! We must meet father and Reese—come along, Pete! They'll be delighted to see you. We're to meet them in the parlors—"
"For a moment only." Slosson rose. "I'm overdue now for an appointment, Dot. I'll come along and shake hands, then duck."
It did not occur to Dorothy to ask with whom he had an appointment. And Slosson certainly had no intention of volunteering that it was with Lawrence Macgowan.
As a matter of fact, Dorothy could think only of one thing—those words, so terrible because so innocent, which her mother had uttered. With this, the air and speech of Slosson, as though he too knew some dread secret in regard to Food Products and the manner in which it had changed hands.
She had seized the opportunity afforded her by Macgowan with an avid, fierce exultancy. Now this was all fled. Upon her spirit settled the old haunting terror, with the clear-cut vividness of some horrible dream. Was the thing possible, after all? Could there have been any truth in those malicious words of Macgowan, the day of the wedding?
Here at last she had definite knowledge of how her father had regarded his practical expulsion from Food Products. Now, as she met her father and Armstrong, as Slosson made his greetings and farewells, she was scarcely conscious of what passed; her eyes went from her father to her husband, searching and probing. What was it that Slosson knew? What was there that she did not know, about that change of management?
Or was it all imagination? Now, as that night in Evansville, she found herself fighting doubt with doubt, distrust with distrust. Here in the hotel, on the way to the steamer, in the stateroom itself—again and again she was impelled to speak out, to utter everything, to force a complete understanding. Yet she dared not. What had she to utter? Suspicion. Suspicion—of her husband! It was unthinkable. Each time the temptation came, pride and love—love most of all—exorcised the thought. In her father's face she read the lines of hidden hurt; or was it all her own fancy? Tormented, doubtful of herself, she held her peace.
And now that other fear returned upon her, the fear upspringing from knowledge of the life beneath her heart. Was it possible that she was allowing some unnatural obsession to prey on her mind? She dreaded this possibility, dreaded it unspeakably! And now, as before, she struggled against it all, fought desperately with heart and soul and mind against it.
When she and Reese had waved the last adieu and were being driven back through the city, Armstrong talked of things that had occurred that morning. He was enthused, beaming, radiating energy and confidence.
"Your Stockholders' Protective Association is now a fact, lady!" he declared happily. "Judge Holcomb is to head the committee of three; we've written President Bruton of Baliol and I'm to run up there to-morrow and see him, and if possible secure him for second place. And for the third man, whom do you think we've secured? Rupert Sessions!"
"What!" Dorothy was startled out of her troubled train of thought. "Sessions—the lecturer and novelist? The man who wrote all those business novels? Why, he lectured in Evansville just before we were married!"
"The same!" Armstrong laughed in delight. "Some one found that he was a stockholder and lived just outside town. We had him up at the office this morning, laid everything before him; he's with us. And to-morrow we file suit on behalf of the Association—suit for one million dollars against Macgowan and Findlater, on the grounds of conspiracy, and demand their removal. Things are looking up, I tell you!"
Dorothy stared through the car window, her brain riotous. With such men as Rupert Sessions, Dorns, Holcomb, Bruton, behind this husband of hers, nationally known figures, backing him with their faith and high repute and money—was she to entertain such vague and shadowy doubts, such petty and base doubts, of him?
"It's a wonderful thing, lady!" His voice reached her, now more restrained and thoughtful. "The Association is the only thing now between Macgowan and his loot; it's not me they're behind, however. We're not fighting for ourselves, at heart—though we're not prating about our altruism, naturally. It's for the sixteen thousand investors, the people scattered up and down the country—the fishes in Macgowan's net!"
"Ah!" said Dorothy suddenly. "But it's a fight of sixteen thousand and one, Reese—with the one man at the head of it who's worth it all!"
This thought dominated her, filled her with ecstasy, banished her shadows. And so, with wonder and love and admiration for the man she called husband, to aid her, she won her fight for faith.
Yet this fight had been harder to win than the first battle, back in Evansville.