The Man in Lonely Land Part 4

VII

AN AFTERNOON CALL

"How do you do? Oh, how do you do, too, Miss Keith?" Miss Robin French held out a hand first to Mrs. Channing Warrick and then to her guest and shook their hands with vigor.

"Did you ever know such weather at this season of the year? Even heat and cold are no longer like they used to be. Everything is intensified. Indeed I will have some tea! No lemon, and one lump.

One. That's a sick-looking fire, Hope. Good gracious! I just did catch that vase of flowers! Such a stupid fancy, putting flowers everywhere for people to knock over. Well, Miss Keith, have you gotten your breath since you reached New York? Something of a town, isn't it?"

A gulp of hot tea, taken standing by Miss French, gave pause for a moment, and Claudia Keith instinctively drew her feet up under her chair behind the tea-table. To duck her head, as one would dodge an on-coming deluge, was an impulse, but only with her feet could effort be made for self-preservation, and as she refilled the cup held out to her by the breezy visitor she blessed the table which served as a breastwork of defense. With a hasty movement she put in the one lump and handed the cup back. "I breathe here very well," she said, and smiled into the scrutinizing eyes. "New York is very wonderful."

"And very disagreeable eight months out of the twelve." Miss French put her cup on the table, threw her fur coat on the chair behind her, sat down, and, taking the cup again, drank its entire contents.

"Pretty good tea, Hope; at most places it's undrinkable." Again she handed the cup to Claudia. "One more and that's all. I'm cutting out tea a bit--only twelve cups a day now."

"Twelve!" The exclamation was beyond recall. Claudia's hand stopped in its pouring. "Twelve!"

"That's what I said. Have taken thirty many times, but the doctor thought I was getting nerves and called me down. Nerves!" Miss French's nose went up. "Nerves and nonsense are twin sisters, and I've no opinion of either. How did you like the opera last night?"

The question being addressed apparently to the cigarette Miss French took out of a little silver case, lighted, and began to smoke, neither Mrs. Warrick nor Miss Keith answered, each waiting for the other; but it did not matter, Miss French was looking at a photograph in front of her. With lorgnette to her eyes, she examined it critically.

"Rather a good picture of your brother, Hope. Didn't know he'd do anything so human as have a picture taken." She took it up.

"Winthrop would hardly take prizes at a beauty show, but he's certainly all there for something better. When did you get this?"

"A month ago, I guess." Mrs. Warrick took a log from the basket on the hearth and put it on the andirons. "The editors of the Review made him send his picture when that article of his came out on 'Tax Terrors and Tax Traditions.' Channing says it's the best thing that's been written on taxation for years, and in banking circles--"

"He's earned his pedestal." Miss French put down her cigarette and handed the case to Claudia.

"Smoke?"

Claudia shook her head. "Thanks. I don't--"

"Pity. You've lots to learn yet. Most of you Southerners have, but when you catch up you speed all right. I'll give you this for nothing--don't toboggan all at once. Have you seen this picture of Hope's crank of a brother? You needn't expect to meet him. He comes of good Vermont stock, and its granite is no firmer than his principles; but he has no manners. I've known him fifteen years and am qualified to speak."

"He has got manners!" Mrs. Warrick turned indignantly toward Miss French. "Claudia only got here Thursday night, and Winthrop has been too busy--"

"Busy! You're dippy about Winthrop, Hope. He's the most indifferent human being to other human beings that walks this earth, and has more friends--men friends--than any man I know. He's rotten spoiled; that's what's the matter with him. He's been chased, I admit. What uncaught man of means isn't? I've no patience with Winthrop. It's natural young girls should bore him, but that's no reason why he should live so entirely to himself."

"Perhaps"--Claudia took up a letter from the table in front of her and with it tapped her lips absently--"perhaps he prefers to live that way. I wonder, Miss French, if you can tell me where Kroonstater's is? No one here seems to know, and every day I get further commissions from my county which can only be filled there.

Years ago some one from Brooke Bank bought wonderful and marvelous Christmas things from Kroonstater's, and ever since it's been the one store in New York for many of our people. I must find it."

"Kroonstater's?" Miss French again put up her lorgnette. "Never heard of it."

Claudia laughed. "I see you, too, have something to learn. You don't know the joy of shopping if you don't know a store of that kind. I suppose I'll have to find it by myself."

"For goodness' sake don't, Claudia." Mrs. Warrick got up; some one at the telephone wanted her. "I pa.s.sed one of those downtown stores once, and the crowd in it was something awful. You never know what kind of disease you might catch, and the people are so pushy. All the nice stores have Christmas things."

"I don't doubt it." Claudia smiled. "But Brooke Bank people have ideas of their own. Their demands are many, and their dollars few.

And, then, I love to see the crowd. Their pennies are as important as our pounds, and to watch their spending is the best kind of a play."

"Where did you say you came from?" Miss French surveyed the girl in front of her with sudden interest. Something new under the sun was ever the quest of her inquiries and pursuits, and as if she had possibly found it she looked closer at her friend's guest. Not the youth, not the fair skin now flushed with color that came and went, nor the long dark lashes, nor perfect teeth, nor anything that could be named made the girl distinctive, but something well-defined and penetrating. Again she asked the question. "Where did you say you were from?"

"From Virginia. Have you ever been there?"

Miss French shook her head.

Claudia sat up. In her eyes no longer laughter, and incredulity that was genuine. "You mean you _never_ have been to Virginia?"

"Never."

Elbows on the table and chin in the palms of her hands, Claudia looked at Miss French as intently as Miss French looked at Claudia.

"Then you've never heard, I suppose, of the Northern Neck, or Westmoreland County, or Ess.e.x, or Lancaster, or King George, or--"

"Never. Quite English, aren't they? Is that where you live?"

"I live in Ess.e.x. We're on the Rappahannock. There isn't a railroad in the county. We have to take the boat for Fredericksburg or Norfolk to get anywhere, unless we cross the river into Westmoreland County and drive over to the Potomac side and make the boat to Was.h.i.+ngton. Have you ever been to Was.h.i.+ngton?"

"Of course. I've been pretty well over the world."

"And left out its best part!" Claudia laughed and got up to turn the logs which were smoking. "You mustn't die before seeing it. There isn't so much to see, perhaps, but a good deal to feel. Do you like fox-hunting?"

"Never tried it." Again Miss French looked at the girl now standing in front of her. She was certainly not a plate of fas.h.i.+on--that is, not a French plate--but she was graceful, and her clothes were really very good. Her unconsciousness of self was rather astounding in a country girl.

"I think you'd like a fox-hunt. I will miss the big one this year--Thanksgiving comes so late, and Christmas there's no time."

"Christmas in the country must be very stupid."

"Stupid!" Claudia's hands, which had been clasped behind her back, opened and came together on her breast. "Of course"--her eyes were raised to Miss French's--"it's a point of view, I suppose. We don't think it's stupid. We love it."

Miss French got up, put her cigarette-case in her velvet hand-bag, slipped on her coat, fastened her veil, picked up her m.u.f.f, shook it, and looked toward the door, between whose curtains Mrs. Warrick was standing.

"I thought you'd gone for good, Hope. You must have been telling all you knew, and more. Miss Keith was just saying she loved Christmas in the country. I can't imagine anything worse, unless it's Christmas in town. I hate Christmas! If I could go to sleep a week before, and not wake up until a week after, I'd surely do it. Why, Winthrop Laine!"

On her way to the door Miss Robin French stood still and looked at the man coming in; and over her ruddy face swept color, almost purple in its deepness. She was a handsome woman, stubbornly resisting the work of time. In her eyes was restless seeking, in her movements an energy that could not be exercised in the limits of her little world; and Claudia, watching her, felt sudden whimsical sympathy. She was so big, so lordly, so hungrily unhappy.

She held out her hand. "How do you do?" she said. "I am just going home, as your sister hasn't asked me to dinner. I suppose you will stay--"

"If there's to be any dinner. Hope has a way of cutting it out every now and then." He turned to his sister. "Are you going out to-night?"

"I certainly am not, and I'm so glad you've come! I've lots to tell you and ask you. Won't you stay, Robin?" The question was put feebly. "Do stay. Oh, I beg your pardon, Claudia, you were so far off! You haven't met my brother. Winthrop, this is Channing's cousin, Miss Keith. Please give him some tea, Claudia. I know he's frozen. Can't you stay, Robin--really?"

"Really nothing! Good-bye." Miss French waved her m.u.f.f to the man who, over the teacups, was shaking hands with the girl on the opposite side of the table, and shook her head as he started toward her. "Don't come, Jenkins is out there with the car. I'd stay to dinner, but Hope doesn't enjoy hers if there's a high-neck dress at the table. Good-bye, Miss Keith; see you to-morrow night, I suppose." And, like a good strong draught that pa.s.ses, she was gone.

"I'm glad she had sense enough not to stay." Mrs. Warrick came toward the tea-table. "I'm fond of Robin, but of late she's been even more energetic and emphatic than usual, and I feel like I'm being battledored and shuttlec.o.c.ked whenever I see her. Why don't you drink your tea, Winthrop?"

"I don't believe I put any sugar in it. I beg your pardon!" Claudia took up the sugarbowl. "It was Miss French, I guess. She's such a--such a gusty person. I love to hear her talk. How many, Mr.

Laine?"

"Three, please, and no comments, Hope. If a man must drink tea he ought to have all the sugar he wants. That last lump was so very little I think you might put in another, Miss Keith. Thank you.

Perhaps this is sweet enough." "Winthrop just takes tea to have the sugar, He's as bad as Dorothea about sweet things." Mrs. Warrick turned to her brother. "Are you really going to stay to dinner?

Please do. This is the only evening we're to be home for a week, and Charming is anxious to see you on some business."