§ 17
Sylvia, as you know, had been taught to discuss the affairs of her heart in the language of military science. Continuing the custom, the fortress of her coquetry had withstood an onslaught which had brought dismay to the garrison, who had never before known what it was to be in real danger. In the hope of restoring confidence to the troops there was now undertaken a raid into the territory of perfectly innocent and defenseless neighbors.
The first victim was Charlie Peyton. He had implored one last opportunity to prove his devotion—being unable to imagine how his devotion could be of no interest to Sylvia. So the guests of the house party were treated to the amazing spectacle of this dignified and self-conscious youth standing for two hours in the crotch of an apple-tree. Meanwhile Sylvia went off for a walk with Malcolm McCallum; and when at last Charlie’s time was up, and he set out in search of her, he found his rival occupied in crawling on his knees the length of a splintery dock which ran out into the lake. Sylvia sat by, absorbed in a book, and when Charlie questioned her as to the meaning of this strange phenomenon, she replied that Mr. McCallum (known to us previously as “the Louisville dandy”) was probably experimenting with the creases in his trousers.
Dressing for luncheon and the trip home, Sylvia had a consultation with her friend Harriet. “Do you suppose I’m really in love?” was her question.
“With whom?” asked Harriet.
But Sylvia paid no heed to this feeble wit. “I don’t think he approves of me, Harriet. He thinks I’m shallow and vain—a trifler with hearts.”
“What would you have him think?” persisted the other.
“He isn’t like other men, Harriet. He makes me ashamed of myself. I think I ought to treat him differently.”
Whereat her friend became suddenly serious. “Look here, Sunny, don’t you lose your nerve! You stick to your game!”
“But suppose he won’t stand it?”
“Make him stand it! Take my advice, now, and don’t go trying experiments. You’ve learned one way, and you’re a wonder at it—don’t get yourself mixed up at the critical moment.”
Sylvia was gazing at herself in the mirror, wondering at the look on her own face. “I don’t know what to do next!” she cried.
“The Lord takes care of children and fools,” said Harriet. “I hope He’s on His job!” Then the luncheon gong sounded, and they went downstairs.
There was a new man, who had arrived the night before. He was named Pendleton, and Sylvia found herself placed next to him. She suspected that he had arranged this, and was bored by the prospect, and purposely talked with Charlie Peyton on her other side. Towards the end of the meal a servant came in and whispered to the hostess, who rose suddenly with the exclamation, “Frank Shirley is here!” Amid the general silence that fell Sylvia began suddenly to eat with assiduity.
The hostess went out, and returned after a minute or so with Frank at her heels. “Do sit down,” she was saying. “At least have some of this sherbet.”
“I’ve had my luncheon,” he replied; “I supposed you’d have finished.” But he seated himself at the table, as requested. There was a general pause, everybody expecting some explanation; but he volunteered none.
Opposite to Sylvia was Belle Johnston, an insipid young person who had a reputation for wit, for which she made other people pay. “Did you think it looked like rain, Mr. Shirley?” she inquired. Sylvia could have destroyed her.
“The weather is very pleasant,” said Frank. No one could be sure whether he was imperturbable, or had missed the jest altogether.
Harriet, seeing her friend’s alarming appetite and discomfort, stepped in now to save the situation. “I hope you brought me a message from your sister,” she remarked. “I am expecting one.”
But Frank would have none of any such devices. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I haven’t brought it.”
Sylvia was furious. Had he no tact, no social sense at all—not even any common gratitude? He ought to have waited outside, where he would have been less conspicuous; instead of sitting there, dumb as an oyster, looking at her and obviously waiting for her! Sooner or later everyone must notice.
With a sudden impulse she turned to the man at her side. “I am sorry you came so late,” she said.
“I am more than sorry,” he replied, brightening instantly.
“I really must go home this afternoon,” she said.
He was encouraged by her tone of regret. “I think I will tell you something,” he said.
“Well?”
“I came here on purpose to meet you. I was visiting my friends, the Allens, at Thanksgiving, and all the men there were talking of you.”
This, of course, was ancient history to Sylvia. “What were they saying?” she asked—and stole a glance at Frank.
“They said you’d never let a man go without hurting him. At least, not if you thought him worth while.”
“Dear me!” she exclaimed, astonished and flattered. “I wonder that you weren’t afraid to meet me!”
“I was amused,” answered the other. “I thought to myself, I’d like to see her hurt me.”
Sylvia lifted her delicate eyebrows and gave him a slow, quiet stare, four-fifths scorn and one-fifth challenge.
“Gad!” he exclaimed. “You are interesting for a fact! When you look like that!”
“Not otherwise?” she inquired, now wholly scornful.
“Oh, you’re not the most beautiful woman I ever saw! Nor the cleverest!”
“Do not challenge me like that.”
“Why not?” he laughed.
“You might regret it.”
“It would be a good adventure—I’d be willing to pay the price to see the game. I admire a woman who knows her business.”
So the banter continued; the man displaying his cleverness and Sylvia casting upon him glances of mockery, of contempt, half veiling curiosity and interest. He, of course, being secretly convinced of his own irresistibility, was noting these glances and speculating about them, thrilled by them without realizing it, persuading himself that the girl was really coming to admire him. This was a kind of encounter which had occurred, not once, but a hundred times in Sylvia’s career, and usually it meant nothing in particular to her. But now it brought a reckless joy, because of the shock it was giving to that other man—the terrible man who sat across the way, his eyes boring into her very soul!