CHAPTER XVI. A BOLD INTRUDER.
That evening Robert did not go down town to dinner, but stayed at home, by way of doing penance. He sat in his room, reading; suddenly he threw aside the paper and said:
“What nonsense to pretend to read in a home like this, I ought to give all my time to adoration of you; few men are so blessed.”
“How lovely of you to say that; you are the very best husband in all the world, I know you are.”
“And you, my wife, are just what I would have you be.”
She lifted her face and looked ardently into his:
“I am so happy; are you?”
“As happy as I ever wish to be in heaven,” he replied, with great earnestness.
“Oh, don’t say that, it is irreverent—sacrilegious——”
The sentence was cut short by the servant entering and announcing:
“Mr. Latham, Mr. Frost.”
Cherokee, in astonishment, asked:
“Surely it cannot be Willard Frost?”
“S—h—! he will hear you,” warned the husband.
“Then it is he.”
“I shouldn’t wonder, though I do not see what brings him here.”
“He must have been invited; brazen as he is, he never would have intruded here unasked,” she guessed.
“Now, since you speak of it, I did meet him at the Club last night, with Marrion.”
“And you invited him here?” Anger and sorrow were blended in the voice of Cherokee as she asked the question.
“I don’t think I did, though something was said about his calling. The fact is, I had been taking a little too much—too much——”
“Chloral. Yes I understand now, but how could you be friendly with him after the way he had treated me.”
There was reproach in her tones, that told more strongly than her words, of suppressed indignation. Robert noticed it and was visibly embarrassed.
“You forget he gave us a thousand dollar wedding present. He is really a good fellow when you come to know him thoroughly; besides, he is one of the most successful artists in New York, and can be of great service to me. I want to get to the front, you know.”
Cherokee had never told Robert of their meeting, nor that very amount he had so contemptuously returned to her in the guise of a gift—of the reception, and Willard’s boast that she would again receive him. She regretted that now; surely the knowledge on the part of the husband would have restrained him.
“You must go to them,” she said at length, “they will think strangely of the delay.”
“I must go; surely you will accompany me.”
“Don’t ask it, Robert; make some excuse; I can’t meet that man.”
“Nonsense! the embarrassment will be but momentary. You surely won’t stand in the way of my success; besides, Marrion is there, and I am sure you will enjoy knowing him better.”
“Do you really wish me to see this other man, Willard Frost?”
“I do; how can I expect him to be my friend if you fail to receive him?”
“You are everything to me, husband, and I will obey you, although I never expected to be called upon to make a sacrifice like this.”
In the meantime, the guests awaited in the library.
“Latham,” said Frost, “you are a first-rate fellow to arrange things so that I can again meet the lovely Mrs. Milburn.”
“‘Again meet her!’ then you know her already?”
“Know her?” the brief interrogatory, with the accompanying shrug of the shoulders and significant laugh, formed a decided affirmative answer.
A swift flush of indignation swept across Marrion Latham’s features. The manner of his companion annoyed him.
“Why have you never called here before?” he asked, coldly.
“We had a trifling misunderstanding some time ago. Report had it that she was somewhat interested in me, and that too, since my marriage to Frances Baxter.”
“And it was to gain admission here that you insisted on Robert’s drinking last night, even after I asked you not to do it?”
“Oh, no, I like Milburn and want to help him in his art. I was free to call without a special invitation, though I was not sorry when he insisted upon my coming.”
“Hush! here they are.”
The two men rose. Willard Frost’s gaze went straight to the tall, lithe figure that came forward to meet her guests.
Nature had made of her so rare a painting—her’s was a beauty so spirituelle—that it awed to something like reverence, those who greeted her. The flush of indignation had disappeared from her face, but the excitement, the agitation through which she had passed had heightened her color as well as her beauty.
The first thing that Marrion said, aside to Robert, was:
“How is that head?”
“That’s one on me, gentlemen. Have cigars, it’s my treat.”
“With your gracious permission,” remarked Marrion, bowing to the hostess.
“I am pleased to grant it, if you enjoy smoking,” and she handed them matches.
“It is some time since we have met, Mrs. Milburn,” said Frost, with cold courtesy, while the other men were talking together.
“Yes, it is quite a long time. Your wife is well, I trust.”
“I am sorry, but I really can’t enlighten you on that point.”
“Is she out of the city?”
“I am told so. The fact is, she has recently taken a decided liking to a young actor. I understand that she is going upon the stage.”
Cherokee was speechless. The coolness and impudence of that man had completely dumbfounded her.
“She preferred histrionic art to my poor calling,” he continued; “I have instructed my attorneys to take the necessary legal steps to leave her free to follow it.”
Here Robert and Marrion joined them, and the conversation became general.
“By the way,” said Latham, when they got up to leave, “I had almost forgotten my special mission; I came to invite you to a box party next Wednesday evening.”
“We shall be most charmed to go,” replied Cherokee, who had resolved to make herself agreeable. “What is the play?”
“It is my latest.”
“We shall be well entertained, if it is one of yours,” cried Robert enthusiastically.
“And the name of your play, Mr. Latham?”
“When Men Should Blush.”
“An odd title, but he is famous for thinking of things that no one else ever thought of,” put in Frost.
“Yes, I occasionally think of you,” added Latham, good-naturedly.
“You forget that thoughts and dreams sometimes assume the form of nightmares; you had better leave me out—I might be an unpleasant incubus to encounter.”
Latham smiled, and there was the least tinge of a sneer in his smile.
When Cherokee closed her eyes to sleep that night, she could only see Willard Frost—the one man in all the world whom she loathed; the coldest, most unsympathetic creature that ever got into a man’s skin instead of a snake’s.
True, he was handsome, but for the red lips that seemed to indicate sensuality, and the square, resolute jaw that showed firmness of purpose.
* * * * * *
On Wednesday evening all kept their engagement. Lounging in handsome indifference, surrounded by his invited guests, Marrion saw the curtain rise at —— Theater.
His box was the center of attraction. Wild, fervid, impassioned was the play—this youngest creation of his brain. The shifting scenes were gracefully sudden, the denouement clever, and, as the curtain went down on the admirable drama, he had shown the audience that there was something new under the sun.
With some, to write is not a vague desire, but an imperious destiny. This was true of Marrion Latham; to this man of only eight and twenty years, heaven had entrusted its solemn agencies of genius. What a vast experience he must have had, for few people become great writers without tasting all these fierce emotions and passionate struggles. It is said that we must measure our road to wisdom by the sorrows we have known. Whatever grief he had borne had been in silence, and his laugh was as joyous as when a boy.
He was of high lineage, and Southern born; he came of a stock whose word was as good as their oath, and his success did not make him cut his actors on the street, as some dramatists have been known to do.
He had arranged a little supper after the play. Cherokee, pleased with the fine mind of her host, and having determined not to stand in the way of her husband’s advancement, was the life of the table. She did not put herself forward or seek to lead; much of the charm of her words and manner rose from utter unconsciousness of self.
She was both too proud and too pure hearted for vanity, spoke well, and to the purpose. If but a few words, they were never meaningless; and pervading all she said there was that aroma of culture which is so different from mere education. Should she have had no charm of face, her gifted mind alone would have made her attractive beyond most women.
During the supper the talk drifted on woman’s influence. Frost asserted that no woman ever reformed a man if his own mind was not strong enough to make him brace up; he would keep on to the end, an erring, stumbling wretch.
“You are mistaken,” returned Marrion, “many a good woman, mother, wife, has borne the cross to where she could lay it aside and take a crown. Take the drink habit, for instance; once an excessive, always one. Now, I can drink or let it alone.”
“I detest a drunkard,” said Frost, laconically.
“But somebody’s father, brother, or husband, might be strong in all other points and weak in that one,” Cherokee spoke, just a trifle severely.
“And woman has the brunt of it to bear,” said Marrion.
“I hold that we are nearer true happiness when we demand too little from men than when we expect too much,” was Frost’s retort.
Here Robert turned to Marrion:
“I see, from your play, that you believe in an equal standard of morals. You propose to be as lenient with women as with men.”
“Say, rather, I am in favor of justice,” was the manly reply.
“This doctrine of yours is quite dangerous,” Frost interrupted, to which Marrion answered:
“It is the doctrine of Him who teaches forgiveness of sins.”
“Ah, Latham, you have taken a stupendous task upon yourself, if you mean to reform men,” laughed Frost.
“Some men and beasts you can improve, but other natures—like wild hyenas—once wild, wild forever,” was Marrion’s bright rejoinder.
“I am not looking for them,” was the answer.
“Come to the office with me for a moment,” Willard Frost turned to Robert, when the suggestion for returning home had been made. “There is a fine painting in there that I want you to see.”
They were nearly half an hour absent, but, engaged in pleasant conversation, Cherokee and Marrion did not notice the lapse of time. When the men came back, the quick eye of Marrion noticed that Robert had been drinking, and that near the border line of excess.