The grain of salt was her knowledge of Nina Jaffray’s extraordinary personality, which must account for any differences she discovered between the Phil Gallatin who kissed upon the back stairs and the Phil Gallatin with whom she was familiar. Whatever his deficiencies in other respects, he had never been considered as available timber by the gay young married women of Mrs. Pennington’s own set who had given him up in the susceptive sense as a hopeless case; and if Phil had been addicted to the habit of promiscuous kissing, he had gone about the pursuit with a stealth which belied the record of his unsentimental but somewhat tempestuous history. She found herself wondering not so much about what had happened to Phil as about how Nina had managed what had happened. Nina’s remarkable confession a few days before Egerton Savage’s party recurred to her mind, and Nina’s clearly expressed intention to bring Phil to her chariot-wheel seemed somehow to have an intimate bearing upon the present situation. And yet, even admitting Nina’s direct methods of seeking results, she could not understand how a fellow as much in love with another girl as Phil was could have been made so ready a victim. Could it be? No. There was no talk of that. And if Phil had again been in trouble, Mrs. Pennington knew that the indefatigable Percy would have told her of it.
She thought about the matter awhile and finally gave it up, uncertain whether to be anxious or only amused. But as the week went by she was given tangible evidence that whatever feelings Jane Loring cherished in her heart for Phil Gallatin, the wings of victory, for the present at least, were perched upon the banneret of Mr. Coleman Van Duyn. Jane rode, walked, and danced with him, and within a few short weeks, from a state of ponderous misery Coleman Van Duyn had revived and now bore the definite outlines of a well-fed and happy cupid.
The rumors of an engagement persisted, and Mrs. Pennington was not the only person forced against her judgment or inclination to believe that the old Van Duyn mansion would once more have a mistress. Dirwell De Lancey, whose tenderness in Jane’s quarter had been remarked, went into retirement for a brief period, and only emerged when resignation had conquered surprise. Colonel Crosby Broadhurst sat in his corner at the Cosmos and wondered, as other people did, what the devil Jane Loring could see in Coley. Bibby Worthington still hovered amiably in Jane’s background and would not be dislodged. He had proposed in due form to Jane and had been refused, but the cheerful determination of his bearing and his taste in cravats advised all who chose to concern themselves that he was still undismayed.
After Mrs. Pennington, who thought that she saw a light, perhaps the person most surprised at Jane’s sudden attachment for Coleman Van Duyn was Mrs. Loring. She had listened with incredulity to Jane’s first confession of her relations with Philip Gallatin and had waited with resignation a resumption of the conversation. But as the days passed and her daughter said nothing, she thought it time to take the matter into her own hands and told Jane of her intention to speak of it to her husband.
“I’ll save you the trouble, Mother,” said Jane, kissing her gravely on the forehead. “There is nothing between Mr. Gallatin and myself.”
Mrs. Loring concealed her delight with difficulty.
“Jane, dear, something has happened.”
“Nothing—nothing at all,” said Jane. “I’ve changed my mind—that’s all.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Loring. This much imparted, Jane would say no more; the matter was dropped, and to Mrs. Loring it seemed that in so far as Jane was concerned, Mr. Gallatin had simply ceased to exist.