Laura to the very life, to every little trick of carriage and manner was the high-born gentlewoman visiting the home of a dependent.Nothing could have been more dignified, more gracious, more gracefully condescending than her poise.She dramatised not only her role, but the whole of her surroundings.The interior of the little cottage seemed to define itself with almost visible distinctness the moment she set foot upon the scene.
Gerardy tiptoed from group to group, whispering:
"Eh? Very fine, our duchess.She would do well professionally."But Mrs.Wessels was not altogether convinced.Her eyes following her niece, she said to Corthell:
"It's Laura's 'grand manner.' My word, I know her in _that_ part.That's the way she is when she comes down to the parlor of an evening, and Page introduces her to one of her young men.""I nearly die," protested Page, beginning to laugh.
"Of course it's very natural I should want my friends to like my sister.And Laura comes in as though she were walking on eggs, and gets their names wrong, as though it didn't much matter, and calls them Pinky when their name is Pinckney, and don't listen to what they say, till I want to sink right through the floor with mortification."In haphazard fashion the rehearsal wore to a close.
Monsieur Gerardy stormed and fretted and insisted upon repeating certain scenes over and over again.By ten o'clock the actors were quite worn out.A little supper was served, and very soon afterward Laura made a move toward departing.She was wondering who would see her home, Landry, Jadwin, or Sheldon Corthell.
The day had been sunshiny, warm even, but since nine o'clock the weather had changed for the worse, and by now a heavy rain was falling.Mrs.Cressler begged the two sisters and Mrs.Wessels to stay at her house over night, but Laura refused.Jadwin was suggesting to Cressler the appropriateness of having the coupe brought around to take the sisters home, when Corthell came up to Laura.
"I sent for a couple of hansoms long since," he said.
"They are waiting outside now." And that seemed to settle the question.
For all Jadwin's perseverance, the artist seemed--for this time at least--to have the better of the situation.
As the good-bys were being said at the front door Page remarked to Landry:
"You had better go with us as far as the house, so that you can take one of our umbrellas.You can get in with Aunt Wess' and me.There's plenty of room.You can't go home in this storm without an umbrella."Landry at first refused, haughtily.He might be too poor to parade a lot of hansom cabs around, but he was too proud, to say the least, to ride in 'em when some one else paid.
Page scolded him roundly.What next? The idea.He was not to be so completely silly.She didn't propose to have the responsibility of his catching pneumonia just for the sake of a quibble.
"Some people," she declared, "never seemed to be able to find out that they are grown up.""Very well," he announced, "I'll go if I can tip the driver a dollar."Page compressed her lips.
"The man that can afford dollar tips," she said, "can afford to hire the cab in the first place.""Seventy-five cents, then," he declared resolutely.
"Not a cent less.I should feel humiliated with any less.""Will you please take me down to the cab, Landry Court?" she cried.And without further comment Landry obeyed.
"Now, Miss Dearborn, if you are ready," exclaimed Corthell, as he came up.He held the umbrella over her head, allowing his shoulders to get the drippings.
They cried good-by again all around, and the artist guided her down the slippery steps.He handed her carefully into the hansom, and following, drew down the glasses.
Laura settled herself comfortably far back in her corner, adjusting her skirts and murmuring:
"Such a wet night.Who would have thought it was going to rain? I was afraid you were not coming at first,"she added."At dinner Mrs.Cressler said you had an important committee meeting--something to do with the Art Institute, the award of prizes; was that it?""Oh, yes," he answered, indifferently, "something of the sort was on.I suppose it was important--for the Institute.But for me there is only one thing of importance nowadays," he spoke with a studied carelessness, as though announcing a fact that Laura must know already, "and that is, to be near you.It is astonishing.You have no idea of it, how I have ordered my whole life according to that idea.""As though you expected me to believe that," she answered.
In her other lovers she knew her words would have provoked vehement protestation.But for her it was part of the charm of Corthell's attitude that he never did or said the expected, the ordinary.Just now he seemed more interested in the effect of his love for Laura upon himself than in the manner of her reception of it.
"It is curious," he continued."I am no longer a boy.
I have no enthusiasms.I have known many women, and Ihave seen enough of what the crowd calls love to know how futile it is, how empty, a vanity of vanities.Ihad imagined that the poets were wrong, were idealists, seeing the things that should be rather than the things that were.And then," suddenly he drew a deep breath:
"_this_ happiness; and to _me._ And the miracle, the wonderful is there--all at once--in my heart, in my very hand, like a mysterious, beautiful exotic.The poets _are_ wrong," he added."They have not been idealists enough.I wish--ah, well, never mind.""What is it that you wish?" she asked, as he broke off suddenly.Laura knew even before she spoke that it would have been better not to have prompted him to continue.Intuitively she had something more than a suspicion that he had led her on to say these very words.And in admitting that she cared to have the conversation proceed upon this footing, she realised that she was sheering towards unequivocal coquetry.
