He started off himself with a splendid voice, and even a lame singer found it easy to follow. They all had good voices, and, while no one felt exactly like singing after a big dinner, they nevertheless stumbled along bravely, and before the second verse was reached were making quite a gallant chorus.
Before they had sung three songs they were quite in the spirit of the thing; and Harry and Louise, emerging from a last delicious dish of water-ice, joined in heartily, lending their young voices vigorously. Clytie proved to have a tolerable voice. It was a bit louder than was necessary, with a nasal twang now and then; but it blended well with the other voices, and was not too obvious. Even Mr. Copley seemed to have forgotten the unpleasant happening of a few moments before, and was singing as lustily as when he was a young man.
Only Cornelia felt the tense strain of it all. They could not sing always. Sometime it would have to stop, and what would happen then? The wonderful stranger could not always be expected to step in and pilot the little ship of the evening safely past all rocks. He had done wonders, and she would never cease to be grateful to him, but, oh, if he would go home at once as soon as they stopped singing, and not be there to witness further vulgarities! Grace Kendall, too. But then Grace understood somewhat. Grace was a minister’s daughter. What, oh, what could they do next to suppress that awful girl?
Cornelia’s head throbbed, and her face grew white and anxious. She cast an occasional glance at Carey who was singing away vigorously out of the same book with Grace Kendall, and wished she might weave a spell and waft all the rest of the guests away, leaving her brother to the influence of this sweet, natural girl. How could she manage to obviate another embarrassing situation? But it seemed as if the brain that had brought out so many lovely changes in a dismal old house, that had planned so carefully every detail of this evening and looked far ahead to results in the lives of her dear ones, had utterly refused to act any longer. Her nerve was shaken, and she could scarcely keep the tears back. Oh, if there were some one to help her! Then her heart took up its newly acquired habit, and cried out to God: “O God, send me help. What shall I do next?”
As if young Maxwell read her thoughts, he turned at the close of the song, and, addressing them all promiscuously, said: “I guess we’re about sung out for a while, aren’t we? I’m hoarse as a fog-horn. Miss Dodd, why don’t you teach me how to play this game? I’ve been looking at it for quite a while, and it fascinates me. I believe I could beat you at it. Suppose we try.”
Clytie giggled, quite flattered. It was a feather in her cap to have this handsome stranger paying her marked attention. His car was even finer than Brand Barlock’s. Not so sporty, perhaps, but much sweller. And the man was older, besides. It was something wonderful to have made a hit with him. She preened herself, still giggling, and sat down at the table, eying with indulgent curiosity the little board with its colored squares and bright carved men.
“I d’no’z I know m’self,” she vouchsafed, glinting her beringed fingers among the bits of colored wood. “Whaddaya do, anyhow?”
Cornelia, with a flush of gratitude in her face, gave a brief clew to the object of the game; and they were soon deep in the attempt to get their men each into the other’s territory first.
Clytie was clever and soon got the idea of the game. She might have grown restive under it and petulant if she had been playing with some people, but Maxwell could be interesting when he chose to exert himself; and he was choosing just now, studying the calibre of the girl before him and leading her in spite of herself to take a real interest in what she was doing. To tell the truth, Clytie was interested in a man of almost any kind, especially if he was good-looking, but this particular man was a specimen different from any that had ever come into her path in a friendly way before. She had met such men as this only in a business way when she was ordered curtly to write a business letter over again or told she could not hold her position in an office unless she stopped chewing gum and talking so much to the other stenographers. Never had a man of this sort stepped down from his height to be really nice to her; and she was not only astonished, but pleased at it. There was nothing of the personal about his manner, just a nice, pleasant, friendly way of taking it for granted that she liked being talked to, and was as good as anybody; and it gave her a new feeling of self-respect that she would never forget, even if she never met the man again.
Cornelia, watching furtively and thankfully from her corner where she was showing Brand Barlock a book of college photographs and explaining some of the college jokes inscribed beneath them, marvelled at his patience and skill. She had not known him long, only two hours; but he was so obviously of another world from this girl, and yet was making her feel so entirely comfortable and happy, that she felt humiliated and ashamed that she had not been able to do the same for the girl. She had invited her with a real feeling that she might be able to help her somehow; at least, that was what she thought she had for one of her objects; but now she began to suspect that perhaps she had in reality desired to humiliate the girl and put her into such a position that Carey would not want to go with her any longer. The girl had shown that she was unhappy and out of her element, and Cornelia had not helped her to find any possible basis for understanding with those about her. It was all wrong, and she ought to have gone further into things and planned to uplift that girl, even if she didn’t want to lift her up to the social plane of her own brother. There might be senses in which Carey wasn’t so very much higher than the girl, too. He needed uplifting a lot. Of course that girl wouldn’t help lift him nor he her as things were; but Cornelia had had no right whatever to humble her for the sake of saving her brother.