The three strings

by Natalie Sumner Lincoln

“Bless my soul, Burnham,” he exclaimed impulsively. “Why didn’t you tell me Evelyn was with you? We could have waited dinner for her and Mrs. Van Ness. Here—” beckoning to their waiter—“tell those ladies——”

“Wait,” broke in Burnham. “We’ve finished, Palmer; suppose we go over and sit at their table, but there’s no hurry, man.”

Burnham’s tone was so petulant that Palmer, curbing his impatience to be with Evelyn, subsided in his seat and gazed at him in speculative silence. What had come over easy-going, absent-minded Peter Burnham? Six weeks had passed since his visit to Burnham Lodge at Chelsea, and that the six weeks had not agreed with Burnham was plain to be seen; his cheeks were a bad color and he seemed to Palmer’s appraising eye to have shrunk in his clothes. A certain nervous tremor in the hand holding his cigar also was noticeable, and Palmer wracked his brain to recall some incident of his stay at Burnham Lodge which might give him the key to Burnham’s altered demeanor. But to the best of his recollection all had been harmonious, and he had been rather a captious guest, for his prediction that the marriage would not turn out a happy one had put him on the alert for matrimonial discords.

Palmer had not been alone in predicting a disastrous ending to the marriage, for all Washington had heard first with incredulity and then laughter of the engagement of the wealthy widow, Lillian Preston, to Peter Burnham, a man considerably her junior, who had been uniformly unfortunate in every business venture he had undertaken. Peter had his good points, his friends contended, and as one of them remarked at the wedding which had followed swiftly upon the announcement of the engagement, his wife could keep him in the style he had been accustomed to before his final financial venture had landed him in bankruptcy.

That Mrs. Burnham was honestly devoted to her husband and admired him, Palmer had come to believe. She was not a woman given to concealing her thoughts, her habit of plain speech frequently landing her in hot water. Peter Burnham was well read, polished in manner, a born raconteur, and a devoted chess player; he cared very little for out-door sports and his greatest hardship was being dragged to horseshows of which his wife was inordinately fond, having inherited her love for horses from her Kentucky ancestors.

Society had speculated as to how Mrs. Burnham’s young daughter and only child would take her mother’s second marriage, but as Evelyn was then away at boarding school, society found little to build gossip upon. Evelyn’s début the winter before had revived interest in the subject, and when she left Washington early in the spring for an indefinite visit in the West, tongues had wagged without, however, getting any satisfaction from Mr. and Mrs. Burnham who went placidly on their way, being entertained and entertaining in their hospitable home in the fashionable Northwest.

The situation had decidedly piqued Palmer’s interest, for as intimate as was his footing in the Burnham home he had never been able to decide Evelyn’s status in the family circle; she was frequently and pleasantly alluded to in conversation, but that was all. He had made no secret of his desire to marry Evelyn, and that both husband and wife favored his courtship he had ample reason to believe, though neither to his knowledge had outwardly espoused his cause to Evelyn.

When called on the telephone about six o’clock that afternoon Burnham had given Palmer to understand that he was alone in Washington; and yet his young step-daughter was also in the city. It was of course possible that Evelyn was visiting Marian Van Ness. Palmer frowned; he disliked few people, but he most heartily disliked brilliant Marian Van Ness; their natures were too utterly foreign for them ever to be congenial.

Palmer transferred his attention from Burnham to the latter’s step-daughter and her companion, both of whom were busily engaged in discussing the menu. Marian Van Ness’ dark beauty was an effectual foil for Evelyn’s curly yellow hair and blue eyes. The entrance of both girls, for Marian appeared little more, in their smart summer costumes had attracted admiring low voiced comment from the other diners in their vicinity, and several friends and acquaintances had looked up to bow or wave their hands to them, for Marian was extremely popular in society. When financial reverses had obliged her to find employment upon her return to her native city after her divorce, she had acted as social secretary for several Cabinet officers’ wives and through their influence had received an appointment in the State Department five years before.

Suddenly Palmer stirred in his chair. “I hardly think Mrs. Van Ness is a staid enough chaperon for Evelyn,” he remarked. “Suppose we join them,” and leaving Burnham no option in the matter he pushed back his chair and rose.