Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
“I have nothing to be ashamed of. I was invited to a party and I came. I am only making myself agreeable.”
“If strangers choose to come here and bring outlandish habits from the Old World, we can’t prevent ’em, but we can refuse to take part in ’em.”
Again the doctor quoted Burns. “What does old Bobby say?” he declaimed. “He says: —
“The social, friendly, honest man,
Whate’er he be,
’Tis he fulfils great Nature’s plan,
And none but he.”
Elihu Busby turned from him to his eldest son.
“I’m sick at heart, Isaac,” he said, “to think that you would allow your sisters to take part in such a dissipated scene — hopping about like grasshoppers, half-naked and streaming with water.”
Lydia and her younger sister began to cry.
Young Isaac said — “Father, we meant no harm and you and Mother knew we were coming on a picnic.”
“Would you have behaved in this fashion if your mother and I had been here? This picnic will be the talk of the countryside if it gets out. So far we have been a moral community.”
Dr. Ramsey laid down the bottle and folded his arms. Again he quoted Burns.
“Morality, thou deadly bane,
Thy tens o’thousands thou hast slain!”
Elihu Busby ignored him. He said to his daughters: —
“Get into your clothes, girls. As for you, Kate, you are married now, and if your husband chooses to allow you to remain I can’t force you to leave but, if I had known what his tastes are, I might not so soon have forgiven you your marriage to him.”
Now Kate also began to cry.
“Really, sir,” said Brent, with his disarming smile, “this has been a most innocent affair. I only wish you had been here from the first to see for yourself. But, if Kate’s sister are leaving, she and I will leave too. Come, Kate, gather up your things.”
Weeping, Kate and her sisters fled to the shelter of the cedars.
With dignity and a little truculence, Philip came to Elihu Busby’s side.
“I take it hardly,” he said, “that you should come here and criticize my way of entertaining myself and my friends.” Busby liked Philip and admired him. With some softening in his manner he said: —
“I don’t contend, Captain Whiteoak, that anything disgraceful took place at this picnic. What I do say is that so much licence is not good. In time it will lead to disgraceful things. If you drink wine and dance about a fire like pagans, what will your grandchildren do when they set out to have a good time? They’ll probably get drunk on gin and dance naked. Manners and morals are never at a standstill. Either they rise or they decline. Like Empires.”
“Then your ambition is,” said Philip, smiling, “to have your grandchildren enjoy a picnic thus. The young ladies, after dipping a lily-white toe in the lake, will sit in a circle with their knitting while the most devil-may-care of the young men will read aloud from the works of Mr. Longfellow.”
Dr. Ramsey had overheard. He sprang up. “Yes,” he said, striking an angular attitude: —
“Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.”
So declaiming he planted a naked foot firmly on the moist sand. He then lifted it and carefully examined the imprint. “Picture the joy of the wanderer, ninety years hence, when he comes upon this! He’ll immediately set about making his life sublime also.” He stamped on the footprints. “Bah,” he exclaimed, “I wouldn’t give one line of old Bobby’s for everything Mr. Longfellow has written or ever will write!”
Elihu Busby turned to Philip.
“Is Dr. Ramsey drunk?” he asked.
“No, no, not in the least.”
“He waved that bottle about as though he were.”
“That bottle, Mr. Busby, contained nothing but mineral water.”
“All that is the matter with me,” said the doctor, “is that I am relaxing. I work too hard. There should be three doctors in this neighborhood instead of one. Yet can you say, Elihu Busby, that I have ever neglected a patient?”
“Indeed I cannot,” said Busby, heartily. “More than a few of us would be dead if it weren’t for your devotion.”
“Thank you,” said the doctor, only a little mollified.
The three sisters now appeared from the cedar thicket, fully dressed and carrying their bathing costumes in a basket. Kate had recovered her spirits and walked with the assurance of a married woman, to her husband’s side. He greeted her with a sly wink. Lydia, too, was now composed but her colour was high and her eyes downcast till she passed Dr. Ramsey. Then she raised them and a look was exchanged, so warm, so full of tenderness that each was surprised and bewildered. The youngest sister, Abigail, was still weeping. But she was only sixteen. Their brother joined them and their father, with a commanding gesture, marched them away. Exhortations to the horses came out of the darkness beyond the
willows. Then came the sound of wheels. Five of the party had departed. Nero, who had been exploring farther along the shore, had not become aware of Elihu Busby’s presence till he was leaving. To make up for this laxness he followed his buggy for some distance, uttering loud threatening barks. After this demonstration of his watchfulness he padded back across the beach and asked Adeline for something to eat. She went to where the hampers stood and proceeded to pile high a plate for him.
Sholto raised his young voice loudly. “Who was the old gaffer?” he asked.
“The Busby girls’ father, you ass,” returned his brother.
“We should have ducked him in the lake for a spoil-sport.”
“Hold your tongue,” said Philip, laconically, “or I shall duck you.”
“I wish you would duck me, Philip,” cried Mary. “I’m longing for another dip.”
The words had scarcely been spoken when Conway and Sholto seized her and carried her into the lake. With their pale hair flying in the moonlight the three resembled a mermaid captured by two mermen, and being carried off by them to their ocean cave. So thought Wilmott and he said so to Dr. Ramsey. They had separated themselves from the others in a new-found congeniality and were strolling along the beach.
“The lady whose appearance most struck me,” said the doctor, “was Lydia Busby. To tell you the truth, I am pretty badly smitten. And this with a girl whom I have known for years and scarcely noticed, except for her healthy good looks. It is quite extraordinary what propinquity and a moonlit night will suddenly discover.”
“Yes, yes,” agreed Wilmott absently, his eyes on their two shadows on the beach. “Miss Lydia is a lovely girl.”
“I admire her more than I admire Mrs. Whiteoak,” went on Dr. Ramsey. “Certainly Mrs. Whiteoak has a very arresting face — ” he fell silent a moment in thought, then continued, after a deep breath — “but she isn’t the sort of woman I should care to marry — even if I had the chance.” He laughed.
“Of course not. You would require quite a different sort of companion.… Do you know, I was surprised to hear you quote poetry this evening. I had not guessed that you have literary tastes.”
The doctor laughed. “Oh, I don’t show my real self on all occasions. I am a reserved man. But I read a good deal when I can find the time.”
“You have an excellent memory.”
“It’s a pernicious memory. I never forget anything.”
“I, on the contrary, find great pleasure in forgetting. I’m piling up new experience. And — at the same time —” he looked out across the still lake and spoke softly — “at the same time, I’m writing a book.”
Dr. Ramsey looked impressed. “Now that is just what I should expect of you!” he exclaimed.
Wilmott was pleased. “Is it?”
“Yes. And I make a guess that it is a work of the imagination.”
“You are right.”
“Are you getting on well with it?”
“I have the first five chapters written.”
“Can you tell me something about it?”
Wilmott launched forth. They strode on. A lovely freshness was rising from the lake. Dew was falling on the shore. Whippoorwills called and called again from the near-by woods. A loon uttered its wild laugh.
Robert Vaughan felt himself to be unwanted by Daisy and Philip who talked in a low tone. He was angry at Daisy, ashamed of what he considered her shameless overtures to Philip. Himself she ignored. He would have liked to order her home but instead sprang up and left them. Adeline was still among the willows with Nero. Robert felt alone, unwanted by anyone — not by the three disporting themselves in the lake, not by the two striding in the opposite direction, not by Philip and Daisy, in the intimacy of the firelight, not by Adeline, feeding her dog among the willows.
There was just moonlight enough for her to see what was in the hamper. She heaped a dish with slices of ham and pieces of bread but instead of setting this before Nero she fed him from her fingers. This suited him well because he already had had a good deal to eat and food tasted better when Adeline fed him. He loved her with a deep, warm, dark devotion. She was barely conscious that his lips touched her fingers. Her eyes were fixed on Daisy with an expression so cold, so hard, so almost blank that an observer might well have wondered if they could be the luminous and changeful eyes with which she generally looked out on the world.
Philip sat in the glow of the fire, motionless but with an enigmatic smile. His shirt open at the neck revealed his white chest, his uprolled sleeves his rounded yet muscular arms. Daisy sat close to him, almost leaning against him. She thought Adeline had gone along the beach with Wilmott and the doctor. Daisy, with her narrow slant eyes, her short face, her turn-up nose, had a kind of savage primitive beauty. Her mouth was upthrust toward Philip as though in preparation for a kiss.
“Is the girl mad or just a fool?” thought Adeline. “She might be sure someone would see her. Why doesn’t that brute, Philip, push her away? By heaven, if he kisses her I will kill him!”
Suddenly, as though in uncontrolled passion, Daisy threw herself across Philip’s thighs and, twining her arms about him, drew his head down to hers. Adeline could hear her speaking but not what she said.
Philip took hold of Daisy and lifted her upright but he kept his hands on her. Now he was speaking. The fire was between them and the lake. The bathers could be heard splashing and romping toward the shore. Daisy sat tense, turning a look of hate on them. They ran toward the fire. Mary huddled up to it.
“Oh, how cold it has got!” she cried.
“Cold!” laughed Conway. “It is just heavenly cool.”
“Well, I am cold.”
Sholto peered into Daisy’s face.
“How odd you look, Miss Vaughan! Are you angry?”
“Angry!” she repeated, in a high voice. “I never was happier in all my life. I’m in the seventh heaven of content. Please stop staring at me.”
“Oh, how cold it has got!” cried Mary, spreading her hands to the fire.
“Have a drink of lemonade,” said Conway, callously.
“What have you been saying to my brother-in-law, Miss Vaughan?” asked Sholto, still peering into Daisy’s face.
She struck at him. “You are an odious boy,” she said.
Dr. Ramsey and Wilmott now returned from their ramble. They had been happy in each other’s company but, when the doctor saw Mary shivering by the fire, he came to her frowning.
“I warned you, Mrs. Court,” he said sternly. “Yet you have bathed three times. Now, I am afraid, you have really taken a chill.” He laid his fingers on her pulse.
Mary looked ready to sink.
“She could not have taken a chill,” exclaimed Conway. “She only wants to be fussed over!”
“See this long mane of wet hair down her back,” said the doctor, collecting it in his hand like seaweed.
Conway brought a cloak and threw it carelessly about her shoulders.
“Where is Adeline?” he asked.
She came out from among the willows followed by Nero. She looked calm yet brilliant. Her white teeth flashed in her face as she came smiling toward the others.
“Where have you been?” asked Philip, suspiciously.
“Among the willows,” she returned gaily, “feeding Nero. Ah, what a day it’s been! What a success! Don’t you all agree? But the moon is sinking. I think we ought to collect our things and return home or we shall be lost on the way.”
All agreed that this was so and, with a sense of haste and yet regret, they collected their belongings and smothered the fire. With its dying, the bathing party was over. They had a time
of it to capture the horses in the near-by field who had broken from their tether and were grazing at will. Out of the darkness appeared Tite. He had been waiting a long while with Wilmott’s horse. Wilmott had only lately acquired it, was proud yet half-apologetic for it.
“What do you think of my mare?” he asked of the doctor.
Dr. Ramsey screwed up his eyes to examine its dark bulk. He broke into a laugh.
“What a back!” he exclaimed. “Certainly you can’t fall out of that hollow!”
“She answers my purpose very well,” answered Wilmott stiffly.
“I’m sure she does. I’ve known her for years. She’s perfectly reliable. You did well to acquire her.”
But Wilmott was offended. He climbed into the saddle. His feelings were hurt for his mare. He had pictured himself as cutting rather a fine figure on her.
“Good night!” he called out to the others and, without waiting for their company, rode away.
Tite trotted along the soft, sandy soil of the road beside him.
“You need not have brought the mare, Tite,” said Wilmott. “I could very well have returned with the party to Jalna and from there walked home.”
“I wanted to come, Boss,” said Tite. “I wanted to see what a bathing party was like.”
“And what did you think of it, Tite?”
“Well, Boss, I only wash to be clean and, when I see folks wash themselves again and again, I am surprised. I am surprised to see white folks do a war dance round the fire like Indian folks did in the old time. It made me want to do a war whoop.”
“It is well for you that you restrained yourself, Tite.”
“Boss,” went on Tite, “it surprised me to see the ladies undressing among trees.”
“Gad,” exclaimed Wilmott, “you came early to the party!”