Sylvia's Marriage Part 33

"We were waiting for you to cut," said Julia, graciously; and Sylvia's fury helped to restore her self-posession. She cut the cards; and fate was kind, sparing both her and Frank the task of dealing.

But then a new difficulty arose. Julia dealt, and thirteen cards lay in front of Frank s.h.i.+rley; but he did not seem to know that he ought to pick them up. And when the opposing lady called him to time, in what seemed an unnecessarily penetrating voice, he found that he was physically unable to get the cards from the table. And when with his fumbling efforts he got them into a bunch, he could not straighten them out--to say nothing of the labour of sorting them according to suit, which all whist-players know to be an indispensable preliminary to the game. When the opposing lady prodded him again, Frank's face changed from vivid scarlet to a dark and alarming purple.

Miss Julia led the tray of clubs; and Frank, whose turn came next, spilled three cards upon the table, and finally selected from them the king of hearts to play--hearts being trumps. "But you have a club there, Mr. s.h.i.+rley," said his opponent; something that was pardonable, inasmuch as the nine of clubs lay face up where he had shoved it aside.

"Oh--I beg pardon," he stammered, and took back his king, and reached into his hand and pulled out the six of clubs, and a diamond with it.

It was evident that this could not go on. Sylvia might be equal to the emergency, but Frank was not. He was too much of a human being and too little of a social automaton. Something must be done.

"Don't they play whist out West, Mr. s.h.i.+rley," asked Julia, still smiling benevolently.

And Sylvia lowered her cards. "Surely, my dear, you must understand,"

she said, gently. "Mr. s.h.i.+rley is too much embarra.s.sed to think about cards."

"Oh!" said the other, taken aback. (_L'audace, touljours l'audace!_ runs the formula!)

"You see," continued Sylvia, "this is the first time that Frank has seen me in more than three years. And when two people have been as much in love as he and I were, they are naturally disturbed when they meet, and cannot put their minds upon a game of cards."

Julia was speechless. And Sylvia let her glance wander casually about the room. She saw her hostess and her daughters standing watching; and near the wall at the other side of the room stood the head-devil, who had planned this torment.

"Mrs. Armistead," Sylvia called, "aren't you going to play to-night?" Of course everybody in the room heard this; and after it, anyone could have heard a pin drop.

"I'm to keep score," said Mrs. Armistead.

"But it doesn't need four to keep score," objected Sylvia--and looked at the three Witherspoon ladies.

"Dolly and Emma are staying out," said Mrs. Witherspoon. "Two of our guests did not come."

"Well," Sylvia exclaimed, "that just makes it right! Please let them take the place of Mr. s.h.i.+rley and myself. You see, we haven't seen each other for three or four years, and it's hard for us to get interested into a game of cards."

The whole room caught its breath at once; and here and there one heard a little squeak of hysteria, cut short by some one who was not sure whether it was a joke or a scandal. "Why--Sylvia!" stammered Mrs.

Witherspoon, completely staggered.

Then Sylvia perceived that she was mistress of the scene. There came the old rapture of conquest, that made her social genius. "We have so much that we want to talk about," she said, in her most winning voice. "Let Dolly and Emma take our places, and we will sit on the sofa in the other room and chat. You and Mrs. Armistead come and chaperone us. Won't you do that, please?"

"Why--why----" gasped the bewildered lady.

"I'm sure that you will both be interested to hear what we have to say to each other; and you can tell everybody about it afterwards--and that will be so much better than having the card-game delayed any more."

And with this side-swipe Sylvia arose. She stood and waited, to make sure that her ex-fiance was not too paralysed to follow. She led him out through the tangle of card-tables; and in the door-way she stopped and waited for Mrs. Armistead and Mrs. Witherspoon, and literally forced these two ladies to come with her out of the room.

23. Do you care to hear the details of the punishment which Sylvia administered to the two conspirators? She took them to the sofa, and made Frank draw up chairs for them, and when she had got comfortably seated, she proceeded to talk to Frank just as gently and sincerely and touchingly as she would have talked if there had been n.o.body present.

She asked about all that had befallen him, and when she discovered that he was still not able to chat, she told him about herself, about her baby, who was beautiful and dear, even if she was blind, and about all the interesting things she had seen in Europe. When presently the old ladies showed signs of growing restless, she put hand cuffs on them and chained them to their chairs.

"You see," she said, "it would never do for Mr. s.h.i.+rley and myself to talk without a chaperon. You got me into this situation, you know, and papa and mamma would never forgive you."

"You are mistaken, Sylvia!" cried Mrs. Witherspoon. "Mr. s.h.i.+rley so seldom goes out, and he had said he didn't think he would come!"

"I am willing to accept that explanation," said Sylvia, politely, "but you must help me out now that the embarra.s.sing accident has happened."

Nor did it avail Mrs. Witherspoon to plead her guests and their score.

"You may be sure they don't care about the score," said Sylvia. "They'd much prefer you stayed here, so that you can tell them how Frank and I behaved."

And then, while Mrs. Witherspoon was getting herself together, Sylvia turned upon the other conspirator. "We will now hold one of my eugenics cla.s.ses," she said, and added, to Frank, "Mrs. Armistead told me that you wanted to join my cla.s.s."

"I don't understand," replied Frank, at a loss.

"I will explain," said Sylvia. "It is not a very refined joke they have in the town. Mrs. Armistead meant to say that she credits a disgraceful story that was circulated about you when we were engaged, and which my people made use of to make me break our engagement. I am glad to have a chance to tell you that I have investigated and satisfied myself that the story was not true. I want to apologise to you for ever having believed it; and I am sure that Mrs. Armistead may be glad of this opportunity to apologise for having said that she believed it."

"I never said that I believed it!" cried Sallie Ann.

"No, you didn't, Mrs. Armistead--you would not be so crude as to say it directly. You merely dropped a hint, which would lead everybody to understand that you believed it."

Sylvia paused, just long enough to let the wicked lady suffer, but not long enough to let her find a reply. "When you tell your friends about this scene," she continued, "please make clear that I did not drop hints about anything, but said exactly what I meant--that the story is false, so far as it implies any evil done by Mr. s.h.i.+rley, and that I am deeply ashamed of myself for having ever believed it. It is all in the past now, of course--we are both of us married, and we shall probably never meet again. But it will be a help to us in future to have had this little talk--will it not, Frank?"

There was a pause, while Sallie Ann Armistead recovered from her dismay, and got back a little of her fighting power. Suddenly she rose: "Virginia," she said, firmly, "you are neglecting your guests."

"I don't think you ought to go until Frank has got himself together,"

said Sylvia. "Frank, can you sort your cards now?"

"Virginia!" commanded Sallie Ann, imperiously. "Come!"

Mrs. Witherspoon rose, and so did Sylvia. "We can't stay here alone,"

said she. "Frank, will you take Mrs. Witherspoon in?" And she gently but firmly took Mrs. Armistead's arm, and so they marched back into the drawing-room.

Dolly and Emma had progressed to separate tables, it developed, so that the ordeal of Frank and Sylvia was over. Through the remainder of the evening Sylvia chatted and played, and later partook of refreshments with Malcolm McCallum, and mildly teased that inconsolable bachelor, quite as in the old days. Now and then she stole a glance at Frank s.h.i.+rley, and saw that he was holding up his end; but he kept away from her, and she never even caught his eye.

At last the company broke up, and Sylvia thanked her hostess for a most enjoyable evening. She stepped into the motor with Celeste, and sat with compressed lips, answering in monosyllables her "little sister's" flood of excited questions--"Oh, Sylvia, didn't you feel perfectly _terrible?_ Oh, sister, I felt _thrills_ running up and down my back! Sister, what _did_ you say to him? Sister, do you know old Mr. Perkins kept leaning over me and asking what was happening; and how could I shout into his deaf ear that everybody was stopping to hear what you were saying to Frank s.h.i.+rley?"

At the end of the ride, there was Aunt Varina waiting up as usual--to renew her own youth in the story of the evening, what this person had worn and what that person had said. But Sylvia left her sister to tell the story, and fled to her room and locked the door, and flung herself upon the bed and gave way to a torrent of weeping.

Half an hour later Celeste went up, and finding that the door between her room and Sylvia's was unlocked, opened it softly, and stood listening. Finally she stole to her sister's side and put her arm about her. "Never mind, sister dear," she whispered, solemnly, "I know how it is! We women all have to suffer!"