The Nest Builder Part 33

Smiling, she poured out his third cup of tea, and was just pa.s.sing it when there was a knock, and McEwan entered the hall.

"h.e.l.lo, Byrd," he called, his broad shoulders blocking the sitting room door as he came in; "down among the Rubes again? Madam Mary, I accept in advance your offer of tea. Well, how goes the counterfeit presentment of our friend Twinkle-Toes?"

Stefan's eyebrows went up. "Do you mean Miss Berber?"

"Yes," said McEwan, with an aggravating smile, as he devoured a slice of cake. "We're all expecting another ten-strike. Are you depicting her as a toe-shaker or a sartorial artist?"

"Really, Wallace," protested Mary, who had grown quite intimate with McEwan, "you are utterly incorrigible in your Yankee vein--you respect no one."

"I respect the President of these United States," said he solemnly, raising an imaginary hat.

"That's more than I do," snorted Stefan; "a pompous Puritan!"

"For goodness' sake, don't start him on politics, Wallace," said Mary; "he has a contempt for every public man in America except Roosevelt and Bill Heywood."

"So I have," replied Stefan; "they are the only two with a spark of the picturesque, or one iota of originality."

"You ought to paint their pictures arm in arm, with Taft floating on a cloud crowning them with a sombrero and a sandbag, Bryan pouring grape-juice libations, and Wilson watchfully waiting in the background.

Label it 'Morituri salutamus'--I bet it would sell," said McEwan hopefully.

Mary laughed heartily, but Stefan did not conceal his boredom. "Why don't you go into vaudeville, McEwan?" he frowned.

"Solely out of consideration for the existing stars," McEwan sighed, putting down his cup and rising. "Well, chin music hath charms, but I must toddle to the house, or I shall get in bad with Jamie. My love to Elliston, Mary. Byrd, I warn you that my well-known critical faculty needs stimulation; I mean to drop in at the studio ere long to slam the latest masterpiece. So long," and he grinned himself out before Stefan's rising irritation had a chance to explode.

"Why do you let that great tomfool call you by your first name, Mary?"

he demanded, almost before the front door was shut.

"Wallace is one of the kindest men alive, and I'm quite devoted to him.

I admit, though, that he seems to enjoy teasing you."

"Teasing me!" Stefan scoffed; "it's like an elephant teasing a fly. He obliterates me."

"Well, don't be an old crosspatch," she smiled, determined now they were alone again to make the most of him.

"You are a good sort, Mary," he said, smiling in reply; "it's restful to be with you. Sing to me, won't you?" He stretched luxuriously on the sofa.

She obeyed, glad enough of the now rare opportunity of pleasing him.

Farraday had brought her some Norse ballads not long before; their sad elfin cadences had charmed her. She sang these now, touching the piano lightly for fear of waking the sleeping baby overhead. Turning to Stefan at the end, she found him sound asleep, one arm drooping over the sofa, the nervous lines of his face smoothed like a tired child's. For some reason she felt strangely pitiful toward him. "He must be very tired, poor boy," she thought.

Crossing to the kitchen, she warned Lily not to enter the sitting room, and herself slipped upstairs to the baby. Stefan slept till dinner time, and for the rest of the evening was unusually kind and quiet.

As they went up to bed Mary turned wistfully to him.

"Wouldn't you like to look at Elliston? You haven't seen him for a long time."

"Bless me, I suppose I haven't--let's take a peep at him."

Together they bent over the cradle. "Why, he's looking quite human. I think he must have grown!" his father whispered, apparently surprised.

"Does he make much noise at night nowadays, Mary?"

"No, hardly any. He just whimpers at about two o'clock, and I get up and nurse him. Then he sleeps till after six."

"If you don't mind, then," said Stefan, "I think I will sleep with you to-night. I feel as if it would rest me."

"Of course, dearest." She felt herself blus.h.i.+ng. Was she really going to be loved again? She smiled happily at him.

When they were in bed Stefan curled up childishly, and putting one arm about her, fell asleep almost instantly, his head upon her shoulder.

Mary lay, too happy for sleep, listening to his quiet breathing, until her shoulder ached and throbbed under his head. She would not move for fear of waking him, and remained wide-eyed and motionless until her baby's voice called to her.

Then, with infinite care, she slipped away, her arm and shoulder numb, but her heart lighter than it had been for many weeks.

She had forgotten to put out her dressing gown, and would not open the closet door, because it creaked. Little Elliston was leisurely over his repast, and she was stiff with cold when at last she stole back into bed. Stefan lay upon his side. She crept close, and in her turn put an arm about him. He was here again, her man, and her child was close at hand, warm and comforted from her breast. Love was all about her, and to-night she was not mocked. Warm again from his touch, she, too, fell at last, with all the dreaming house, asleep.

III

Stefan stayed at home for several days, sleeping long hours, and seemingly unusually subdued. He would lie reading on the sofa while Mary wrote, and often she turned from her ma.n.u.script to find him dozing. They took a few walks together, during which he rarely spoke, but seemed glad of her silent company. Once he called with her on Mrs. Farraday, and actually held an enormous skein of wool for the old lady while she, busily winding, told them anecdotes of her son James, and of her long dead husband. He made no effort to talk, seeming content to sit receptive under the soothing flow of her reminiscences.

"Thee is a good boy," said the little lady, patting his hand kindly as the last shred of wool was wound.

"I'm afraid not, ma'am," said he, dropping quaintly into the address of his childhood. "I'm just a rudderless boat staggering under topheavy sails."

"Thee has a sure harbor, son," she answered, turning her gentle eyes on Mary.

He seemed about to say more, but checked himself. Instead he rose and kissed the little lady's hand.

"You are one of those who never lose their harbor, Mrs. Farraday. We're all glad to lower sail in yours."

On the way home Mary linked her arm in his.

"You were so sweet to her, dear," she said.

"You're wondering why I can't always be like that, eh, Mary!"

She laughed and nodded, pressing his arm.

"Well, I can't, worse luck," he answered, frowning.

That evening, while they sat in the dining room over their dessert, the telephone bell rang. Stefan jumped hastily to answer it, as if he felt sure it was for him, and he proved right.

"Yes, this is I," he replied, after his first "h.e.l.lo," in what seemed to Mary an artificial voice.

There was a pause; then she heard him say, "You can?" delightedly, followed by "To-morrow morning at ten? Hurrah! No more wasted time; we shall really get on now." Another pause, then, "Oh, what does it matter about the store?" impatiently--and at last "Well, to-morrow, anyway.

Yes. Good-bye." The receiver clicked into place, and Stefan came skipping back into the room radiant, his languor of the last few days completely gone.