CHAPTER X
TONY DANCES INTO A DISCOVERY
Tony was dressing for dinner on her first evening at Crest House. Carlotta was perched on the arm of a chair near by, catching up on mutual gossip as to events that had transpired since they parted a month before at Northampton.
"I have a brand new young man for you, Tony. Alan Massey—the artist. At least he calls himself an artist, though he hasn't done a thing but philander and travel two or three times around the globe, so near as I can make out, since somebody died and left him a disgusting big fortune. Aunt Lottie hints that he is very improper, but anyway he is amusing and different and a dream of a dancer. It is funny, but he makes me think a little bit once in a while of somebody we both know. I won't tell you who, and see if the same thing strikes you."
A little later Tony met the "new young man." She was standing with her friend in the big living room waiting for the signal for dinner when she felt suddenly conscious of a new presence. She turned quickly and saw a stranger standing on the threshold regarding her with a rather disconcertingly intent gaze. He was very tall and foreign-looking, "different," as Carlotta had said, with thick, waving blue-black hair, a clear, olive skin and deep-set, gray-green eyes. There was nothing about him that suggested any resemblance to anyone she knew. Indeed she had a feeling that there was nobody at all like him anywhere in the world.
The newcomer walked toward her, their glances crossing. Tony stood very still, but she had an unaccountable sensation of going to meet him, as if he had drawn her to him, magnet-wise, by his strange, sweeping look. They were introduced. He bowed low in courtly old world fashion over the girl's hand.
"I am enchanted to know Miss Holiday," he said. His voice was as unusual as the rest of him, deep-throated, musical, vibrant—an unforgettable voice it seemed to Tony who for a moment seemed to have lost her own.
"I shall sit beside Miss Tony to-night, Carla," he added. It was not a question, not a plea. It was clear assertion.
"Not to-night, Alan. You are between Aunt Lottie and Mary Frances Day. You liked Mary Frances yesterday. You flirted with her outrageously last night."
He shrugged.
"Ah, but that was last night, my dear. And this is to-night. And I have seen your Miss Tony. That alters everything, even your seating arrangements. Change me, Carlotta."
Carlotta laughed and capitulated. Alan's highhanded tactics always amused her.
"Not that you deserve it," she said. "Don't be too nice to him, Tony. He is not a nice person at all."
So it happened that Tony found herself at dinner between Ted's friend, and her own, Hal Underwood, and this strange, impossible, arbitrary, new personage who had hypnotized her into unwonted silence at their first meeting.
She had recovered her usual poise by this time, however, and was quite prepared to keep Alan Massey in due subjection if necessary. She did not like masterful men. They always roused her own none too dormant willfulness.
As they sat down he bent over to her.
"You are glad I made Carlotta put us together," he said, and this, too, was no question, but an assertion.
Tony was in arms in a flash.
"On the contrary, I am exceedingly sorry she gave in to you. You seem to be altogether too accustomed to having your own way as it is." And rather pointedly she turned her pretty shoulder on her too presuming neighbor and proceeded to devote her undivided attention for two entire courses to Hal Underwood.
But, with the fish, Hal's partner on the other side, a slim young person in a glittering green sequined gown, suggesting a fish herself, or, at politest, a mermaid, challenged his notice and Tony returned perforce to her left-hand companion who had not spoken a single word since she had snubbed him as Tony was well aware, though she had seemed so entirely absorbed in her own conversation with Hal.
His gray-green eyes smiled imperturbably into hers.
"Am I pardoned? Surely I have been punished enough for my sins, whatever they may have been."
"I hope so," said Tony. "Are you always so disagreeable?"
"I am never disagreeable when I am having my own way. I am always good when I am happy. At this moment I am very, very good."
"It hardly seems possible," said Tony. "Carlotta said you were not good at all."
He shrugged, a favorite mannerism, it seemed.
"Goodness is relative and a very dull topic in any case. Let us talk, instead, of the most interesting subject in the universe—love. You know, of course, I am madly in love with you."
"Indeed, no. I didn't suspect it," parried Tony. "You fall in love easily."
"Scarcely easily, in this case. I should say rather upon tremendous provocation. I suppose you know how beautiful you are."
"I look in the mirror occasionally," admitted Tony with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "Carlotta told me you were a philanderer. Forewarned is forearmed, Mr. Massey."
"Ah, but this isn't philandery. It is truth." Suddenly the mockery had died out of his voice and his eyes. "Carissima, I have waited a very long time for you—too long. Life has been an arid waste without you, but, Allah be praised, you are here at last. You are going to love me—ah, my Tony—how you are going to love me!" The last words were spoken very low for the girl's ears alone, though more than one person at the table seeing him bend over her, understood, that Alan Massey, that professional master-lover was "off" again.
"Don't, Mr. Massey. I don't care for that kind of jest."
"Jest! Good God! Tony Holiday, don't you know that I mean it, that this, is the real thing at last for me—and for you? Don't fight it, Mademoiselle Beautiful. It will do no good. I love you and you are going to love me—divinely."
"I don't even like you," denied Tony hotly.
"What of that? What do I care for your liking? That is for others. But your loving—that shall be mine—all mine. You will see."
"I am afraid you are very much mistaken if you do mean all you are saying. Please talk to Miss Irvine now. You haven't said a word to her since you sat down. I hate rudeness."
Again Tony turned a cold shoulder upon her amazing dinner companion but she did not do it so easily or so calmly this time. She was not unused to the strange ways of men. Not for nothing had she spent so much of her life at army posts where love-making is as familiar as brass buttons. Sudden gusts of passion were no novelty to her, nor was it a new thing to hear that a man thought he loved her. But Alan Massey was different. She disliked him intensely, she resented the arrogance of his assumptions with all her might, but he interested her amazingly. And, incredible as it might seem and not to be admitted out loud, he was speaking the truth, just now. He did love her. In her heart Tony knew that she had felt his love before he had ever spoken a word to her when their eyes had met as he stood on the threshold and she knew too instinctively, that his love—if it was that—was not a thing to be treated like the little summer day loves of the others. It was big, rather fearful, not to be flouted or played with. One did not play with a meteor when it crossed one's path. One fled from it or stayed and let it destroy one if it would.
She roused herself to think of other people, to forget Alan Massey and his wonderful voice which had said such perturbing things. Over across the table, Carlotta was talking vivaciously to a pasty-visaged, narrow-chested, stoop-shouldered youth who scarcely opened his mouth except to consume food, but whose eyes drank in every movement of Carlotta's. One saw at a glance he was another of that spoiled little coquette's many victims. Tony asked Hal who he was. He seemed scarcely worth so many of Carlotta's sparkles, she thought.
"Herb Lathrop—father is the big tea and coffee man—all rolled up in millions. Carlotta's people are putting all the bets on him, apparently, though for the life of me I can't see why. Don't see why people with money are always expected to match up with somebody with a whole caboodle of the same junk. Ought to be evened up I think, and a bit of eugenics slipped in, instead of so much cash, for good measure. You can see what a poor fish he is. In my opinion she had much better marry your neighbor up there on the Hill. He is worth a gross of Herb Lathrops and she knows it. Carlotta is no fool."
"You mean Phil Lambert?" Tony was surprised.
Hal nodded.
"That's the chap. Only man I ever knew that could keep Carlotta in order."
"But Carlotta hasn't the slightest idea of marrying Phil," objected Tony.
"Maybe not. I only say he is the man she ought to marry. I say, Tony, does she seem happy to you?"
"Carlotta! Why, yes. I hadn't thought. She seems gayer than usual, if anything." Tony's eyes sought her friend's face. Was there something a little forced about that gaiety of hers? For the first time it struck her that there was a restlessness in the lovely violet eyes which was unfamiliar. Was Carlotta unhappy? Evidently Hal thought so. "You have sharp eyes, Hal," she commented. "I hadn't noticed."
"Oh, I'm one of the singed moths you know. I know Carlotta pretty well and I know she is fighting some kind of a fight—maybe with herself. I rather think it is. Tell Phil Lambert to come down here and marry her out of hand. I tell you Lambert's the man."
"You think Carlotta loves Phil?"
"I don't think. 'Tisn't my business prying into a girl's fancies. I'm simply telling you Phil Lambert is the man that ought to marry her, and if he doesn't get on to the job almighty quick that pop-eyed simpleton over there will be prancing down the aisle to Lohengrin with Carlotta before Christmas, and the jig will be up. You tell him what I say. And study the thing a bit yourself while you are here, Tony. See if you can get to the bottom of it. I hate to have her mess things up for herself that way."
Whereupon Hal once more proceeded to do his duty to the mermaid, leaving
Tony to her other partner.
"Well," the latter murmured, seeing her free. "I have done the heavy polite act, discussed D'Annunzio, polo and psycho-analysis and finished all three subjects neatly. Do I get my reward?"
"What do you ask?"
"The first dance and then the garden and the moon and you—all to myself."
Tony shook her head. She was on guard.
"I shall want more than one dance and more than one partner. I am afraid
I shan't have time for the moon and the garden to-night. I adore dancing.
I never stop until the music does."
A flash of exultancy leaped into his eyes.
"So? I might have known you would adore dancing. You shall have your fill. You shall have many dances, but only one partner. I shall suffice. I am one of the best dancers in the world."
"And evidently one of the vainest men," coolly.
"What of it? Vanity is good when it is not misplaced. But I was not boasting. I am one of the best dancers in the world. Why should I not be? My mother was Lucia Vannini. She danced before princes." He might have added, "She was a prince's mistress." It had been the truth.
"Oh!" cried Tony. She had heard of Lucia Vannini—a famous Italian beauty and dancer of three decades ago. So Alan Massey was her son. No wonder he was foreign, different, in ways and looks. One could forgive his extravagances when one knew.
"Ah, you like that, my beauty? You will like it even better when you have danced with me. It is then that you will know what it is to dance. We shall dance and dance and—love. I shall make you mine dancing, Toinetta mia."
Tony shrank back from his ardent eyes and his veiled threat. She was a passionate devotee of her own freedom. She did not want to be made his or any man's—certainly not his. She decided not to dance with him at all. But later, when the violins began to play and Alan Massey came and stood before her, uttering no word but commanding her to him with his eyes and his out-stretched, nervous, slender, strong, artist hands, she yielded—could scarcely have refused if she had wanted to. But she did not want to, though she told herself it was with Lucia Vannini's son rather than with Alan Massey that she desired to dance.
After that she thought not at all, gave herself up to the very ecstasy of emotion. She had danced all her life, but, even as he had predicted, she learned for the first time in this man's arms what dancing really was. It was like nothing she had ever even dreamed of—pure poetry of motion, a curious, rather alarming weaving into one of two vividly alive persons in a kind of pagan harmony, a rhythmic rapture so intense it almost hurt. It seemed as if she could have gone on thus forever.
But suddenly she perceived that she and her partner had the floor alone, the others had stopped to watch, though the musicians still played on frenziedly, faster and faster. Flushed, embarrassed at finding herself thus conspicuous, she drew herself away from Alan Massey.
"We must stop," she murmured. "They are all looking at us."
"What of it?" He bent over her, his passionate eyes a caress. "Did I not tell you, carissima Was it not very heaven?"
Tony shook her head.
"I am afraid there was nothing heavenly about it. But it was wonderful. I forgive you your boasting. You are the best dancer in the world. I am sure of it."
"And you will dance with me again and again, my wonder-girl. You must.
You want to."
"I want to," admitted Tony. "But I am not going to—at least not again to-night. Take me to a seat."
He did so and she sank down with a fluttering sigh beside Miss Lottie Cressy, Carlotta's aunt. The latter stared at her, a little oddly she thought, and then looked up at Alan Massey.
"You don't change, do you, Alan?" observed Miss Cressy.
"Oh yes, I change a great deal. I have been very different ever since I met Miss Tony." His eyes fell on the girl, made no secret of his emotions concerning her and her beauty.
Miss Cressy laughed a little sardonically.
"No doubt. You were always different after each new sweetheart, I recall.
So were they—some of them."
"You do me too much honor," he retorted suavely. "Shall we not go out,
Miss Holiday? The garden is very beautiful by moonlight."
She bowed assent, and together they passed out of the room through the French window. Miss Cressy stared after them, the bitter little smile still lingering on her lips.
"Youth for Alan always," she said to herself. "Ah, well, I was young, too, those days in Paris. I must tell Carlotta to warn Tony. It would be a pity for the child to be tarnished so soon by touching his kind too close. She is so young and so lovely."
Alan and Tony strayed to a remote corner of the spacious gardens and came to a pause beside the fountain which leaped and splashed and caught the moonlight in its falling splendor. For a moment neither spoke. Tony bent to dip her fingers in the cool water. She had an odd feeling of needing lustration from something. The man's eyes were upon her. She was very young, very lovely, as Miss Cressy had said. There was something strangely moving to Alan Massey about her virginal freshness, her moonshine beauty. He was unaccustomed to compunction, but for a fleeting second, as he studied Tony Holiday standing there with bowed head, laving her hands in the sparkling purity of the water, he had an impulse to go away and leave her, lest he cast a shadow upon her by his lingering near her.
It was only for a moment. He was far too selfish to follow the brief urge to renunciation. The girl stirred his passion too deeply, roused his will to conquer too irresistibly to permit him to forego the privilege of the place and hour.
She looked up at him and he smiled down at her, once more the master-lover.
"I was right, was I not, Toinetta mia? I did make you a little bit mine, did I not? Be honest. Tell me." He laid a hand on each of her bare white shoulders, looked deep, deep into her brown eyes as if he would read secret things in their depths.
Tony drew away from his hands, dropped her gaze once more to the rippling white of the water, which was less disconcerting than Alan Massey's too ardent green eyes.
"You danced with me divinely. I shall also make you love me divinely even as I promised. You know it dear one. You cannot deny it," the magically beautiful voice which pulled so oddly at her heart strings went on softly, almost in a sort of chant. "You love me already, my white moonshine girl," he whispered. "Tell me you do."
"Ah but I don't," denied Tony. "I—I won't. I don't want to love anybody."
"You cannot help it, dear heart. Nature made you for loving and being loved. And it is I that you are going to love. Mine that you shall be. Tell me, did you ever feel before as you felt in there when we were dancing?"
"No," said Tony, her eyes still downcast.
"I knew it. You are mine, belovedest. I knew it the moment I saw you. It is Kismet. Kiss me."
"No." The girl pulled herself away from him, her face aflame.
"No? Then so." He drew her back to him, and lifted her face gently with his two hands. He bent over her, his lips close to hers.
"If you kiss me I'll never dance with you again as long as I live!" she flashed.
He laughed a little mockingly, but he lowered his hands, made no effort to gainsay her will.
"What a horrible threat, you cruel little moonbeam! But you wouldn't keep it. You couldn't. You love to dance with me too well."
"I would," she protested, the more sharply because she suspected he was right, that she would dance with him again, no matter what he did. "Any way I shall not dance with you again to-night. And I shall not stay out here with you any longer." She turned to flee, but he put out his hand and held her back.
"Not so fast, my Tony. They have eyes and ears in there. If you run away from me and go back with those glorious fires lit in your cheeks and in your eyes they will believe I did kiss you-."
"Oh!" gasped Tony, indignant but lingering, recognizing the probable truth of his prediction.
"We shall go together after a minute with sedateness, as if we had been studying the stars. I am wise, my Tony. Trust me."
"Very well," assented Tony. "How many stars are there in the Pleiades, anyway?" she asked with sudden imps of mirth in her eyes.
Again she felt on safe ground, sure that she had conquered and put a too presuming male in his place. She had no idea that the laurels had been chiefly not hers at all but Alan Massey's, who was quite as wise as he boasted.
But she kept her word and danced no more with Alan Massey that night. She did not dare. She hated Alan Massey, disapproved of him heartily and knew it would be the easiest thing in the world to fall in love with him, especially if she let herself dance often with him as they had danced to-night.
And so, her very first night at Crest House, Antoinette Holiday discovered that, there was such a thing as love after all, and that it had to be reckoned with whether you desired or not to welcome it at your door.