Jimmie, equally bound by the oath of celibacy, 117 but not equally constrained by it apparently, was at the very moment when Beulah was so successfully repulsing the familiarity of the high cheek-boned young man in the black and white striped tie, occupied in encouraging a familiarity of a like nature. That is, he was holding the hand of a young woman in the darkened corner of a drawing-room which had been entirely unfamiliar to him ten days before, and was about to impress a caress on lips that seemed to be ready to meet his with a certain degree of accustomed responsiveness. That this was not a peculiarly significant incident in Jimmie’s career might have been difficult to explain, at least to the feminine portion of the group of friends he cared most for.
Margaret, dressed for an academic dinner party, in white net with a girdle of pale pink and lavender ribbons, had flung herself face downward on her bed in reckless disregard of her finery; and because it was hot and she was homesick for green fields and the cool stretches of dim wooded country, had transported herself in fancy and still in her recumbent attitude to the floor of a canoe that was drifting down-stream between lush banks of meadow grass studded with marsh lilies. After 118 some interval—and shift of position—the way was arched overhead with whispering trees, the stars came out one by one, showing faintly between waving branches; and she perceived dimly that a figure that was vaguely compounded of David and Peter and the handsomest of all the young kings of Spain, had quietly taken its place in the bow and had busied itself with the paddles,—whereupon she was summoned to dinner, where the ten Hutchinsons and their guests were awaiting her.
David, the only member of the group whose summer vacation had actually begun, was sitting on the broad veranda of an exclusive country club several hundreds of miles away from New York and looking soberly into the eyes of a blue ribbon bull dog, whose heavy jowl rested on his knees. His mother, in one of the most fashionable versions of the season’s foulards, sleekly corseted and coifed, was sitting less than a hundred yards away from him, fanning herself with three inches of hand woven fan and contemplating David. In the dressing-room above, just alighted from a limousine de luxe, was a raven-haired, crafty-eyed ingénue (whose presence David did not suspect or he would have recollected a sudden pressing 119 engagement out of her vicinity), preening herself for conquest. David’s mind, unlike the minds of the “other gifted members of the We Are Seven Club,” to quote Jimmie’s most frequent way of referring to them, was to all intents and purposes a total blank. He answered monosyllabically his mother’s questions, patted the dog’s beetling forehead and thought of nothing at all for practically forty-five minutes. Then he rose, and offering his arm to his mother led her gravely to the table reserved for him in the dining-room.
Gertrude, in her studio at the top of the house in Fifty-sixth Street where she lived with her parents, was putting the finishing touches on a faun’s head; and a little because she had unconsciously used Jimmie’s head for her model, and a little because of her conscious realization at this moment that the roughly indicated curls over the brow were like nobody’s in the world but Jimmie’s, she was thinking of him seriously. She was thinking also of the dinner on a tray that would presently be brought up to her, since her mother and father were out of town, and of her coming two months with Eleanor and her recent inspiration concerning them. 120
In Colhassett, Cape Cod, Massachusetts, the dinner hour and even the supper hour were long past. In the commodious kitchen of Eleanor’s former home two old people were sitting in calico valanced rockers, one by either window. The house was a pleasant old colonial structure, now badly run down but still marked with that distinction that only the instincts of aristocracy can bestow upon a decaying habitation.
A fattish child made her way up the walk, toeing out unnecessarily, and let herself in by the back door without knocking.
“Hello, Mis’ Chase and Mr. Amos,” she said, seating herself in a straight backed, yellow chair, and swinging her crossed foot nonchalantly, “I thought I would come in to inquire about Eleanor. Ma said that she heard that she was coming home to live again. Is she, Mr. Amos?”
Albertina was not a peculiar favorite of Eleanor’s grandfather. Amos Chase had ideas of his own about the proper bringing up of children, and the respect due from them to their elders. Also Albertina’s father had come from “poor stock.” There was a strain of bad blood in her. The women of the Weston families hadn’t always 121 “behaved themselves.” He therefore answered this representative of the youngest generation rather shortly.
“I don’t know nothing about it,” he said.
“Why, father,” the querulous old voice of Grandmother Chase protested, “you know she’s comin’ home somewhere ’bout the end of July, she and one of her new aunties and a hired girl they’re bringing along to do the work. I don’t see why you can’t answer the child’s question.”