CHAPTER XIX
RECONCILIATIONS
LATER that evening the four girls and Ruth were dressed and waiting in their sitting room for Jim Colter to come to them, when Frank Kent's card was sent up to their room. By accident the man at the door gave it first to Jack. The girl's face flooded with color, but she turned at once to Ruth.
"Frank Kent has come to see us," she explained, "and I want very much to see him by myself for a few minutes. If you don't mind, I will go down to meet him."
And as Ruth nodded, Jack disappeared.
Before she got near enough to speak to him, Frank realized that some change had taken place in his former friend since their last meeting in Rome.
For one thing, Jack looked younger and happier. Then she had on some thin white girlish dress, and was coming forward with a smile to greet him.
"I have been perfectly horrid to you, Frank, and I apologize with all my heart," she began immediately. "Yet you knew I had a bad disposition years ago, and still managed to like me a little. Please try again. Our dear Jim Colter is here from the ranch and has made me see things in the right light. But don't let's talk about my mistakes. We are having a dinner and a theater party tonight. Do join us. Olive and Ruth and everybody will be so glad."
In the elevator on the way upstairs to their apartment, Jack looked at Frank critically for a moment. Not until now had she been willing to make a fair estimate of the changes the two years had wrought in him.
In the first place she could see that Frank had grown a great deal better looking. He had lost the former delicacy which had sent him to the west, and seemed in splendid physical condition. He was six feet tall and had the clear, bright color peculiar to young Englishmen. Frank's expression had always been more serious than most young fellows', and this had been lately increased by his wearing glasses. Tonight, however, his clever brown eyes positively shone with relief. And though he could hardly dare express himself so openly or so eloquently as Jim Colter, Jack appreciated that he was unfeignedly happy over her escape.
Possibly the Rainbow Ranch party and their two men friends had never had a more delightful evening in their lives. They were in such blissfully good spirits. Indeed, each one of the seven felt as though an individual load had been lifted. And particularly because Jack appeared to be the gayest of them all. And Jack was happy in feeling herself released from an obligation which lately had begun to weigh upon her like a recurrent nightmare. Moreover, she was particularly anxious not to have her family regard her as broken-hearted.
She whispered to Jean and Frieda before starting for the theater that they were to leave Ruth and Jim and Frank and Olive together as much as possible, for in so large a party it was necessary to make divisions.
Olive and Frank did sit next one another at the play, but the three girls were not so successful with Jim Colter and Ruth. For there was no doubt but that Jim avoided being alone with Ruth whenever it was possible. He had always been perfectly polite to her, but not once since the night of their parting had he ever voluntarily spent an hour in her society, unless one of the Ranch girls happened to be present.
Of course Ruth was aware of this. What girl or woman can ever fail to be? Nevertheless on their way back to the hotel Ruth turned to Jim.
"Would you mind, Mr. Colter, staying in the sitting room with me for a little while after the girls have gone to bed. I am so anxious to talk to you?" And there was a gentleness and a hesitation in her manner that made it impossible for the man to refuse. Also, he understood what it was she wished to discuss.
Although Jim's manner was gay enough as he told the four girls good-night, Ruth saw with regret that it altered as soon as the last one of them had disappeared. He did not even sit down, but waited by the door, awkwardly fingering his hat like an embarrassed boy who wished to run away but did not quite dare.
Ruth did not ask him to have a chair. She, too, was standing by the open fire, with one foot resting on the fender and her head half turned to gaze at him. She looked a little unlike herself tonight, or else like her best self. For the Ranch girls had seriously objected to their chaperon's nun-like costumes, which she had had made in Vermont, and insisted on getting her some new clothes in Paris, while they were making their own purchases. Ruth had objected but Olive had solved the problem. Each one of the four girls had presented Ruth with a toilet shortly before leaving Paris. And so much care and affection had each donor put into her gift that she had not had the heart to decline.
Tonight she was wearing Jean's offering, which had been voted the prettiest of the lot. Over an underdress of flame-colored silk there were what Jim considered floating clouds of pale gray chiffon. And at her waist, with a background of the chiffon, was a single flame-colored flower.
Ruth had lost a good deal of her Puritan look; somehow the man thought she seemed more human, more alive. She had a vivid color, and her hair, which Jean had insisted upon dressing, was looser about her face. Jim remembered the moonlight ride they had had together when a lock of her hair had blown across his cheek. Then he brought himself sharply to task.
Ruth had already begun speaking.
"Mr. Colter," she said, "there are so many, many things I want to say to you I hardly know where to begin. I know how you must feel toward me, how you must feel that I have utterly failed in my duty toward Jack, and how nearly I have come to allowing her to wreck her life. There is nothing that you can think about me that I do not about myself. Of course, you know, I erred through ignorance, and yet ignorance is no excuse. A woman with so little knowledge, so little tact—" Ruth's face was crimsoning all over and she had to put her handkerchief to her eyes to wipe away her tears.
Jim had stepped forward and stood towering above her so that he had to bend his handsome head to see into her face.
"Miss Drew, you are not to go calling yourself bad names and then declare that I feel as you say I do. Honest Injun, Miss Ruth, I haven't had a single one of those feelings about you. Since I have known about this tragedy that poor Jack has nearly gotten us all into, I have been plumb sorry for you with all my heart. How could a little New England girl like you know anything about an accomplished rascal like this fellow Madden? Yet I guessed if Jack wouldn't give in (and she is usually a hard-headed customer), why you'd be blaming yourself for a thing you couldn't prevent until the end of your days. I tell you, Miss Ruth, that thought, besides my love for Jack, kept me hot on that man's trail. And it even helped me break the news to Jack today, which was the hardest part."
Ruth looked up into the deeply blue eyes above hers.
"Jim Colter," she announced quietly, "I believe you are the very best man in the world."
But instead of being pleased, Jim drew back as though his feelings had been deeply hurt. "Don't say that, Miss Ruth," he begged. "And don't you go and believe because I don't mention it that I have forgotten that sin I committed a way back in my youth and the way it made you feel about me. You have been awfully good treating me so kind and polite whenever you have to meet me around with the girls. I've done my best not to worry you any more'n I could help."
"Oh, Mr. Colter, oh Jim," Ruth faltered, "please don't say a cruel thing like that to me. Haven't you forgiven me after almost three years? You must have known that in a few months, as soon as I got away from the ranch, I realized how narrow and foolish and blind I had been. You are a good man; you are the bravest, kindest, most forgiving in the whole world. And I don't care, I know you have forgotten about me long ago, but I want you to know I love you. It seems to me sometimes a woman must have the right to say this just to prove she can be as generous as a man. But I don't care whether I have the right or not. I am just saying it because it is true."
"For heaven's sake, stop, Ruth," the big man implored.
But the little New England school teacher, who had hardly ever dared show her real feelings before in her life, would not be silenced.
"Don't worry, Jim, I shall never regret what I have said, though I shall never speak of it again—and perhaps never see you after you sail for America."
Jim swept the little woman off her feet and held her for a moment to his heart.
"Don't you dare say a thing like that to me, child," he threatened. "And don't you believe you are going to lose sight of me more than a few hours at a time while both of us are living in this world. Why, you little white, New England snow-maiden. The very idea of your having the nerve to stand up right before my face and say you love a big, good-for-nothing, sinful fellow like me. But I kind of wish you'd wake Jack and the other three girls up and tell them we are going to get married tomorrow."