Eleanor, in fresh white, bareheaded under her parasol, was approaching between two young men. The slighter of the two men moved a little apart; the heavier, in whom Mrs. Tiffany recognized with some apprehension the new protegé, Mr. Bertram Chester, walked very close up. He was peering under the parasol, which Eleanor dropped in his direction from time to time without visibly effecting his removal. It seemed from his wide gestures, from the smile which became apparent as he drew nearer, that he was talking ardently.
In the other man, Mrs. Tiffany recognized that Mr. Heath who had the boy friendship with Bertram Chester. He was putting in a word now and then, it appeared. When he spoke, Eleanor turned polite attention upon him; and then resumed her guarded attitude toward that dynamo buzzing at her left. Insensible of the company on the lawn, they passed behind the grape arbor which fringed the gate and which hid them temporarily 29 from view; and the one-sided conversation became audible.
“It wasn’t a patch on fights I’ve had with ’em. Down home, I used to fight steers right along. That’s nothing to a nigger who used to work for us in Tulare. He’d jump on their backs and reach over and bite their noses till they hollered quits. Sure thing he did!” It died out as they turned in at the gate and faced the group about the trees.
Mrs. Goodyear made a gesture of an imaginary lorgnette toward her high-bridged nose. Mrs. Tiffany gathered herself and ran over to the gate. It was Mr. Heath—she noticed as she advanced—who was blushing. Bertram Chester stood square on his two feet smiling genially. As for Eleanor, she maintained that sweet inscrutability of face which became, as years and trouble came on, her great and unappreciated personal asset.
Young Chester spoke first:
“I knew Miss Gray was coming down this afternoon—so I laid for her on the road—didn’t I, Miss Gray?”
“Very nice of you, I’m sure,” murmured Mrs. Tiffany, though she bit her lip before 30 she spoke—“won’t you come over to meet our friends?” Eleanor had darted ahead, to the pats of the women and the adoring hugs of Teresa Morse.
Mrs. Tiffany saw with relief that her disgraced protegé managed his end of the introduction very well, although he did make a slight advance to shake hands with the critical Mrs. Goodyear. He gave no sign to show that he perceived the men over on the piazza. Mr. Heath, his Fidus Achates, cast a slight glance in their direction; then, seeing Bertram settle himself down in an arm-chair and begin at once to address Mrs. Goodyear, he sat down likewise, suffused with an air of young embarrassment. Mrs. Ruggles, seated next to him, began with visible tact the effort to put him at his ease.
Mr. Chester, as he talked to Mrs. Goodyear, looked always toward Eleanor. She, helping Mrs. Tiffany with the tea things, turning a caressing word now and then toward Teresa Morse, might not have noticed, for all her expression showed.
The men came over for tea, were introduced. Mrs. Tiffany, in her foolish anxiety for the manners and appearance of her 31 protegé, noted that he was at home with men, at least.