Bought and Paid For; From the Play of George Broadhurst Part 7

"What do you call real love?"

She opened her eyes wide, as if greatly astonished.

"Why--why," she stammered, "don't you think there is such a thing as real love?"

"Certainly I do," he laughed, amused at her ingenuousness. "But I don't think it's what the sentimental schoolgirl feels for the college football player. As for love at first sight, I consider that simply absurd. To my way of thinking, love isn't a spontaneous combustion.

It's a slow, steady growth and the soil in which it grows best is--respect."

"Perhaps you are right," she said hesitatingly.

"I know that I am," he replied positively.

There was a short silence, when suddenly Stafford said:

"Who is this man that your sister is marrying?"

Virginia laid down her cup of tea and burst out laughing.

"Oh, he's so funny! I'm sure he would amuse you. Such an original! His name is James Gillie."

He liked to encourage her to speak of herself and her family. It seemed to bring them closer together. Pleasantly he asked:

"What does he do, this Mr. Gillie--doctor--lawyer--business man?"

Amused at his curiosity, Virginia shook her head. Laughingly she said:

"Nothing so substantial, I a.s.sure you. He's only a s.h.i.+pping clerk--getting about $14 a week--"

Stafford stared in amazement. With an incredulous smile, he exclaimed:

"Only earning $14 a week and he has the impudence to ask your sister to marry him?"

Virginia nodded.

"Oh, but you don't know Mr. Gillie," she went on. "He's sure he's worth far more than that, and he has won sister over to the same opinion. I have some doubts myself, but they are both quite convinced that before long he will be a multi-millionaire. You see, he has ideas. He invents things. He told us about one of his inventions the other day. It was something that would help the railroads, and make them and him fabulously rich--"

"An inventor, eh?" exclaimed Stafford, his business instinct quickly aroused at the mention of railroads.

An idea suddenly occurred to him. Here, perhaps, was the opportunity he had been seeking, the excuse he had been looking for. Under pretence of wis.h.i.+ng to meet the inventor, he might be able to induce her to bring her prospective brother-in-law to the house, and since Mr. Gillie could hardly accept the invitation alone, she would, of course, be compelled to accompany him. He said nothing for a moment, and then, turning and looking at his companion intently, said with great earnestness:

"Miss Blaine, I wonder if you would do me a great favor."

Surprised at the request, and rather startled, Virginia looked up, wondering what favor she, poor little stenographer, could possibly render the millionaire. Quickly she replied:

"Certainly--anything in my power."

He bowed and went on:

"As you know, I am in the railroad business. As head of an important transcontinental system, it is part of my work to investigate and look into anything that may prove of value in improving our equipment. If this Mr. Gillie has invented something really valuable, I'd like to know what it is. If there is anything in it, I might be able to render him a good service in bringing his invention promptly to the attention of the right people. You can see yourself how important it is that I should meet Mr. Gillie--"

Virginia flushed with mingled pleasure and embarra.s.sment. She was delighted at the thought that she might be able to advance f.a.n.n.y's interests, but Jimmie was such an impossible person! How could she introduce him to a man of Mr. Stafford's polish and distinction? Yet for f.a.n.n.y's sake she ought not to let any opportunity slip by. Seeing her hesitate, Stafford went on:

"Why couldn't you and your sister come and dine with me at Riverside Drive next Sat.u.r.day evening at seven o'clock? And bring Mr. Gillie with you. I shall be delighted to meet your sister and her fiance. It will also be a good opportunity for you to look over some of my art treasures--quite an interesting collection, I a.s.sure you, picked up here and there, all over the world. Do come. Don't say no. I'll have Oku, my j.a.panese butler, prepare a little dinner. We'll be merry as crickets. Besides I think I can do your future brother-in-law a good turn. You will come, won't you?"

He leaned forward, his eyes ardently fixed on hers. There was something in his look, in his manner, which brought the color to her cheeks, yet it was nothing at which she could take offence. On the contrary, she had every reason to feel flattered and pleased. In her heart she knew that this sudden anxiety to meet Jimmie was but a pretext, and that it was she alone whom he really wanted to go and admire the works of art in his beautiful Riverside home. Something told her that this man loved her, and the very thought of it, with all the possibilities it conjured up, sent through her a thrill of mingled pleasure and alarm.

"Won't you?" he said again, in earnest, pleading tones.

There was a brief silence. Then, looking up, she said with a frank smile:

"It is very good of you. Yes--we shall be very pleased. Sat.u.r.day evening, at seven."

CHAPTER VI

No.--Riverside Drive, an imposing apartment house of Spanish style of architecture, situated in the most select and attractive section of that aristocratic thoroughfare, was justly renowned in the neighborhood for the size and magnificence of its suites and the ultra _chic_ quality of its exclusive, wealthy patrons. No one ever heard of rooms being vacant; people had been on the waiting list for years and they were still waiting. Tenants never dreamed of leaving, once they had been fortunate enough to secure a lease. It would be surprising if they did, for in all New York there were no apartments more desirable and comfortable.

Mr. Robert Stafford lived on the eighth floor, his rooms facing the Hudson and commanding a superb view of the stately river below, which, broad and turbulent, rushed by on its way to the sea, its surface dotted with all kinds of steam and sailing craft. To the north, away past Grant's Tomb, were the highlands of New Jersey and the precipitous cliffs of the historic Palisades, which, as far as the eye could reach, stretched away in a mist of purplish haze.

The decorations and appointments of the apartment would have brought joy into the gloomy heart of the most blase connoisseur. Entering a s.p.a.cious foyer with a lofty, elaborately decorated ceiling and walls of white marble hung all round with tapestries, trophies and oil paintings, the visitor pa.s.sed through a number of wide halls, treading on thick Oriental rugs until he reached the salon, a magnificent room decorated in blue and gold with heavy gilt furniture to match, which, in turn, opened on to the dining room, both looking on the Avenue and commanding a fine view of the river. At the far end of the salon was a large fireplace with a splendid mantel of beautifully carved marble, a rare piece of decorative art from the north of Italy. The dining room, panelled with rare woods, and hung with red, with panelled ceiling, was separated from the salon by a folding door. The walls of both rooms were covered with paintings, water colors and engravings, while all about was a picturesque confusion of _objets d'art_ of every description--j.a.panese ivories, rare porcelains, old English china, Indian bronzes, antique watches, snuff boxes and bonbonnieres, curiously wrought bra.s.s and iron work, Peach Blow vases, Mexican pottery, Satsuma ware, richly mounted weapons of the middle ages, j.a.panese armor, long daggers from Toledo, delicate lattice work from Venice, Florentine carvings, valuable Gobelins tapestries from Paris, etc., etc.--a collection such as an Oriental potentate might envy.

The fame of the Stafford collection had gone far and wide, and the railroad promoter had been criticized more than once because he did not open his house more frequently for society's enjoyment. Ambitious mothers saw in the wealthy bachelor a great catch for their daughters, but it was in vain that they baited their matrimonial nets. Stafford declined all invitations and lived himself the life of a hermit. He was very seldom at home, the blinds were nearly always drawn, and the place looked deserted. The only sign of life was an occasional glimpse of faithful Oku, the j.a.panese butler, who, with downcast eyes and stealthy tread, sometimes made a _sortie_ in search of food or other household necessity.

A pure-blooded subject of the Mikado, Oku had come to America years ago to make his fortunes; but, falling into the hands of the Philistines directly he landed, found himself stranded in San Francisco. Stafford had run across him there, took a fancy to him and attached him to his person as a body servant. He had never regretted it. Oku was one of those ideal retainers who, once they have found an attachment, would rather die than betray their trust. His command of the vernacular was only limited, but he was the very soul of courtesy and politeness, and when not otherwise able to make himself understood, would content himself by a number of low salaams, accompanied by most apologetic exclamations of: "Excuse, please--excuse, please," which original form of salutation, together with his Far-Eastern air, was well in harmony with the oriental, exotic surroundings of the place.

But this evening things were astir in the Stafford abode. Lights were burning recklessly in every room and Oku had been running excitedly about since early dawn. Had not his lord and master told him that visitors were coming and to prepare dinner for five? Ah, now Oku was indeed in his element! Instantly spurred to action, he had run here and there, in and out of the shops, in search of the most toothsome dainties. He had bought the choicest meats, the finest birds, big mushrooms just picked, asparagus such as might make a king's mouth water. Then there was the wine. The champagne must go on ice early.

His master liked it very cold--almost frozen. Then there were the c.o.c.ktails to get ready, and the cigars and the floral decorations, with bouquets for the ladies and _boutonnieres_ for the men.

Altogether, Oku had a busy day.

But he was repaid when at half past six that evening he stood in the salon and cast a last glance over the banquet table to make sure that nothing had been forgotten. Viewed through the folding doors and literally groaning under the load of handsome silver, fine crystal, snowy linen, and cut flowers, the table presented a picture calculated to fill the heart of any host with pride.

Oku glanced anxiously at the clock. He devoutly prayed that his dear master would soon come. It was a terrible responsibility for him to bear alone. Another half hour and the company would arrive, and his master had still to dress! The minutes sped by and no sign of Mr.

Stafford. Where could he be? The butler was beginning to worry in earnest when the telephone bell suddenly rang. The butler feverishly picked up the receiver just in time to hear his master say:

"Is that you, Oku?"

"Yes--Sir--Excuse--please--Sir!"

"Oku," came Stafford's voice, "I've been held downtown at my club. I'm just starting for home. If Miss Blaine and her friends come, make them comfortable until I arrive. Understand?"

"Yes--Sir--Excuse--please--Sir!"

The speaker rang off and Oku, more nervous and excited than ever now that he was called upon to act as host as well as caterer, danced about the apartment like a man possessed. Seven o'clock struck and the echoes of the last stroke had barely died away when there came a discreet ring at the front door bell. Quickly Oku pulled himself together and summoning up his most dignified manner, threw the door wide open. On the threshold stood Mr. James Gillie, accompanied by Virginia and f.a.n.n.y.

"Is this Mr. Stafford's apartment?" inquired Jimmie in his grandest manner.