But it was not without some difficulty that Jane convinced herself that this was the case. The day after the “Pot and Kettle” affair, Phil Gallatin wrote, ’phoned, wired and called. His note Jane consigned to the fire, his telephone was answered by Hastings, his wire followed his note, and to his visit she was out. This, she thought, should have concluded their relations, but the following morning brought another letter—a long one. She hesitated before deciding whether to open it or to return it, but at last she broke the seal and read it through, her lips compressed, her brows tangled angrily. It was a plea for forgiveness, and that was all. There were many regrets, many protestations of love, but not one word of explanation! He had even gone so far as to call the incident a trifle (a trifle, indeed!) and to call her to account for an intolerance which he had the temerity to say was unworthy of the great love that he had given her.
The impudence of him! What did he mean? Was the man mad? Or was this the New York idea? She realized now that he was an animal that she had met in an unfamiliar habitat, and that perhaps the things to be expected of him here were those dictated by the inconsiderable ideals of the day. It dismayed her to think that after all here in New York, she had only known him a little more than a week. His vision appeared—and was banished, and his letter, torn again and again into small pieces was consigned to the flames of her open fire. She made no reply.
Another letter came on the morrow, was read like the other, but likewise destroyed. His persistence was amazing. Would he not take a hint and save her the unpleasant duty of sending his letters back to him unopened? Apparently not! And with the letters came baskets of flowers which, like those from Mr. Van Duyn, filled her room with pleasant odors.
She was willing to believe now that a word of explanation, a clue to his extraordinary behavior might have paved the way to reconciliation, and she found herself wondering in a material way what was becoming of him and worrying, in spite of herself, as to his future, of which, as she had once fondly believed, she was the guardian. What was he doing with himself in the evenings?
This thought sent the blood rushing to her cheeks and hardened her heart against him. He was with Nina Jaffray, of course. In his last letter he had written that he must go away on business and for two mornings no letter arrived. She missed these letters and was furious with herself that it was so. But the energy of her anger was conserved in the form of further favors for Coley Van Duyn who radiated it in rapturous good-will toward all the world. When the letters were resumed, she locked them in her desk unread, determining upon his return to town to make them into a package and send them back in bulk. Many times she unlocked her desk and scrutinized the envelopes, but it was always to thrust them into their drawer which she shut and locked each time with quite unnecessary violence.
Another matter which caused some inquietude was Nellie Pennington’s return to town, for Mrs. Pennington was the only person, besides Mr. Gallatin and her mother, in actual possession of her secret, the only person besides Mr. Gallatin whom it was necessary to convince as to the definiteness of her recantation. At their first meeting Jane had carried off the situation with a carelessness which she felt had rather overshot the mark. Her visitor had accepted the hints with a disconcerting readiness and composure, and Jane had a feeling after Mrs. Pennington left the house that her efforts had been singularly ineffective; for she was conscious that her visitor had scrutinized her keenly and that anything she had said had been carefully sifted, weighed and subjected to that kind of cunning alchemy which clever women use to transmute the baser metals of sophistry into gold.
Mrs. Pennington had now taken an initiative in the friendship and refused to be disconcerted. Jane’s engagements with Coleman Van Duyn provided no effectual hindrance to Mrs. Pennington’s enthusiastic fellowship, and she frequently helped to make a party in which, to Mr. Van Duyn at least, three was a crowd. Mrs. Pennington accepted his presence without surprise, without annoyance or other emotion; and somehow succeeded in conveying the impression that she was conferring a favor upon them both, a favor for which, in her own heart at least, Jane was grateful.
It was not surprising to Jane, therefore, when one morning Nellie Pennington called up on the ’phone and made an engagement for the afternoon at five, at the Loring house, urging a need of Jane’s advice upon an important matter. She entered the library, where Jane had been reading, with a radiance which did much to dispel the gloom of the day which had been execrable; and when her hostess suggested that they go upstairs to her own dressing-room, where they might be undisturbed, Nellie Pennington threw off her furs.
“No, thanks, darling,” she said. “I can’t stay long. And you know when one reaches my mature years, each stair has a separate menace.”
“There’s the lift,” Jane laughed.