"No—no——," he said, his fine face flushing, his candid eyes faltering. "Not on your account. I know you'd release me. I'm tired of hustling round; and—I like the place, and I've a little leisure now."
Mr. Jardine hearkened to this in prophetic displeasure. His pride, his self-respect, had been cut down by the part he had played in the esclandre of the previous evening, and yet he could not reproach himself with precipitancy. He had vainly sought to evade, to shake off this dangerous, this derogatory association, since the incident of the Ferris Wheel. The crisis was forced when he had seen the woman he loved and admired and respected unsuspiciously promenading the moon-lit verandah in this showman's company. The fact that he proved to be the scion of a family of standing, and that he had been lifted from vagabondage to competence by the provisions of a will did not in any small degree annul the objections to his career and the suspicion, which Jardine felt was justified, of recent complicity with the moonshiners in their unlawful traffic. Jardine's inherent caution, however, was rendered more conservative by the circumstance that the fellow-traveller had proved to be a lawyer, rather than a Federal emissary, and was charged with a mission of honour and service to the object of his suspicion instead of espionage and arrest, as he had fancied, and he was devoutly thankful that this ludicrous mistake of identity was not definitely elicited in his impetuous and uncharacteristic outburst last night, when he had demanded an explanation. The sensational outcome with its elements of romance, so alluring to the average mind, had served to obliterate at the time Jardine's own extraordinary conduct, and although it had recurred to the memory of more than one of the group, since the excitements had subsided, they had hesitated to mention it. Jardine was not a drinking man, but intoxication only might serve to account with simplicity for the demonstration. His was a nature of almost austere reserve and his presence had always a certain distinction and dignity difficult to disregard. Most of those present after the breaking up of the party last night, lingering to finish out their cigars, had reconciled themselves to the ravages of their curiosity, and there was a sentiment of gratitude as to a public benefactor when the broker suddenly accosted Jardine.
"By the way, Mr. Jardine, you treated us to a fine sensation to-night. Were you acquainted with this lawyer and his lucky client, or whom did you suppose them to be?"
"A case of mistaken identity," said Jardine easily, but with the certain aloof composure that became him so well. "I beg you won't refer to it. I could not discuss it—very embarrassing. Good-night." And he turned away.
In the days that ensued Mr. Jardine's gloomy expectations seemed hardly likely to be justified. Mrs. Laniston had taken the helm with a strong hand, and the sway that she could maintain when she would was amply manifest. The two girls were continually under her wing, and the old routine of their occupations was re-established as before the outing to Colbury. Jardine once more found himself her partner at bridge against Lucia and Ruth, whiling away long hours of rainy weather, while Lloyd was smoking and chatting or playing billiards with some of the other gentlemen, with whom he had swiftly become cordial friends, or deep with his lawyer in business correspondence, or out exercising with the stalwart Frank. Mrs. Laniston was not so radical in her management of the situation as to attract attention, not even indeed from the persons most concerned. Now and again Lloyd, all unsuspicious of her effort at avoidance, entered into conversation with the two young ladies in the group by the office fire, and their chaperon had not a word or glance to check them. She even smilingly surveyed the scene when more than once he joined them in the procession of young people who, in wraps and rubbers, essayed a constitutional tramp, trudging up and down the wet and windy piazzas while the persistent rain steadily fell without and the rest of the world had vanished utterly in the clouds. But these occasional incidents occupied inconsiderable fractions of time, and counted but scantily against the long hours that Jardine spent in their society, at cards, or driving in the woods, or reading aloud to them, while they sat at their crochet-work in the bay-window, an improving book, of which Mrs. Laniston had expressed her desire that he should give them his views, in marginalia, so to speak, which were somewhat in contravention of the conclusions of the author. Mr. Jardine entertained a conviction not only that he read well, but that his thoughts did not suffer disparagement in contrast with the expositions of the text.
It was not altogether with a good grace, however, that Jardine fell into line under these tactics. Mentally he revolted at every concession, even slight and apparently obligatory, to evade an awkward discrimination against Lloyd. Jardine could tolerate no half measures, and the errors of this policy he deemed amply demonstrated one morning of brilliant sunshine when all the guests were assembled in the hotel office awaiting the arrival of the stage from Colbury.
When the stage came in with the mail, but with not a single passenger, there was a general diversion of the attention of the group around the fire. Letters were opened and read, the recipients now frowning over unwelcome information, now with hard-set teeth and firm jaw, as the eyes scanned the lines, in prophetic refusal of a proposition as yet hardly presented. Only once or twice was there a gleam of pleasure, so awry does the world go with most of us, so do anxiety and disillusionment, and actual disaster predominate. The composite expression of countenance of the group after opening the mail was a reluctant and grudging thanksgiving that matters were no worse. The columns of market prices and stock quotations in the newspapers came in for serious and silent study, and the politician, who had congressional aspirations, pondered long and deeply over the reports of the returns from certain local elections, of moment to a possible canvass.
Mr. Dalton and his young friend had retired to the bridge table in the bay-window, where the man of law explained and expatiated upon certain business interests of which his correspondence treated. Now and again Lloyd's eyes wandered to the verandah outside where Lucia and Ruth were rapidly walking to and fro in the sunshine, their sheer, crisp, white skirts waving in the speed of their motion and their chilly hands tucked under their elbows in the sleeves of their blue and red boleros. Jardine noticed that they smiled graciously upon the two gentlemen in the bay-window as they passed. They came in presently, all aglow, announcing their intention to make up a party for the bowling alley.
"Mamma says the ground is too damp for tennis," pouted Ruth, glancing at Jardine, expectant of partisanship and counsel.
He had been saying to himself bitterly that it was not his capacity for self-sacrifice in Lucia Laniston's interests that was limited, but the possibilities. Her aunt had been present throughout the scene of the disclosure of identity and otherwise knew as much of the man as he did, for his suspicions could not have been safely suggested, and he had no means of proving their truth. He was amazed to find that his anger against Lucia Laniston, his disapproval of her headstrong folly, had not diminished the strength of his attachment, for the qualities she had displayed throughout the Street Fair episode were precisely the traits with which he had least sympathy—unconventionality, girlish impetuosity, a lack of solid judgment, a flighty fun that no sane man could enjoy, a wild relish of fantastic novelty, and the evening of their return a flout at a friendly monition and a defiant persistence in her own course. He loved her, it was clear, and he had an infinite patience where she was concerned.