The Last Drive (24 page)

He snorted impatiently. Who spoke of folly? Could ever man be too old to feel the charm of innocence and beauty and health and youth, when all were combined in one rare adorable creature? To contemplate folly as a result of that charm was another matter. Canby did not contemplate it.

Presently he wandered back to the house; and later, hours later it seemed to him, his sister and her guests, having finished the novel, followed him. Canby, in the library, heard them in the hall; he heard talking of packing and their footsteps as they began to mount the stairs. In a moment he was at the door of the library calling up:

“Janet! Will you come down here a minute?”

When his sister entered the library a few minutes later he closed the door behind her; then suddenly forgot how he had decided to begin.

“They go back tomorrow?” he said finally, jerking his head in the direction of the stairs.

His sister replied that her guests were to take the nine-thirty train the following morning.

“Miss Somi also?”

“Of course.”

Canby cleared his throat. “I was wondering, Janie, if you hadn't noticed anything unusual about her.”

“About Nella Somi?”

“Yes.”

“I have.” The woman of experience, veteran of a dozen society campaigns and a thousand skirmishes, turned a quizzical eye on her bachelor brother. “Nella is an extraordinarily clever girl; one of the cleverest girls, in fact, that I have ever seen.”

“Oh, I don't mean that,” Canby returned impatiently. “Of course she's clever; that is, she's not a fool. I mean, don't you think she's unusual?”

“Cleverness is unusual.”

“But don't you think she's different, different from her cl— No, to the devil with class! But she strikes me as being intelligent and refined far beyond the ordinary girl, of any class whatever. Her outlook on life is sensible. Her mind is pure. She is attractive personally. She is neither impudent nor ignorant. She has the soul of an artist; she loves beautiful things without gushing over them. There's no silly sentiment about her. And she is brave; she's alone in the world, and she looks at life cheerfully.”

“Well,” replied Janet, seeing that he had finished, “granting that all you say is true, what of it?”

There was a silence, then Canby turned and spoke abruptly:

“Why don't you adopt her?”

It was plain that his sister had not expected this.

“Adopt her!” she repeated in astonishment.

“Yes. You're a widow, past forty, and you need someone; why not her? She'll give you a new interest in life. As for her, she deserves something better than to sort candy and marry an Italian laborer. She's too fine for that sort of thing. She would be a daughter to be proud of, with a little finishing. She would—”

He stopped short. His sister was laughing at him. There was real mirth in her laughter, too. He looked at her in amazement.

“What the deuce is so funny?” he demanded.

“Oh, my dear Fred!” The mirth subsided a little. “Men are really the stupidest creatures—that is, nice men like you. And yet, in this instance it is a little wonder.” She was suddenly serious. “Nella Somi is really an incredibly clever girl. She has taken you in, my dear. Don't worry about her marrying any Italian laborer; she wasn't made for that. You think her sweet and guileless and innocent. She may be innocent enough, but she certainly isn't guileless. To put it vulgarly, she has dangled her bait before you—oh, with consummate art!—and you have swallowed it, hook and all.”

“Bah!” exclaimed Canby. “You women—”

“Don't misunderstand me,” Janet put in quickly. “I'm not condemning her. Under different circumstances I might be her friend, and admire her. I don't say she's bad. I do admire her. With good birth and a fortune she would be a remarkable woman; a valuable friend and a dangerous enemy. But—I don't fancy her as a daughter. Perhaps I should apologize for not warning you, but it amused me so to watch her, and her moves were so perfectly executed, I hadn't the heart; and besides, I really didn't fear, for you're an exceptional man. Anyway, now you know.”

“But you don't really believe all that!” cried Canby. “Of Nella Somi?”

“My dear boy, it's true.”

“Pardon me, it's absurd. Why, Janet, she's nothing but a child! You women, with your intuition and perspicuity, make me tired. It's absurd! Why, I could tell you—”

“You needn't tell me anything, Fred; I've seen it all. I haven't anything against her. But to adopt her—hardly!”

And though Canby continued his protests, his sister was firm. Finally, permitting himself some acutely caustic remarks concerning suspicious women and the habit of judging others by one's self, he perforce accepted her decision.

He was deeply annoyed, not so much by Janet's refusal to act—she had a right to do as she chose—as by her stubborn injustice. Had he not studied Nella Somi for two weeks—her simplicity of thought, her disinterestedness, her girlish friendship, her absolute avoidance of the sort of feminine wiles he had grown to detest? He told himself that he understood his sister well enough; she had lived so long in the atmosphere of artificiality, that she was unable to recognize natural and divine charm, direct and unadorned, when she saw it. So much the worse for her, he reflected scornfully. But what of his generous intentions for Nella's future, thus so unexpectedly balked?

He went out and sat on the piazza with his feet on the rail—an attitude which Janet detested. He hoped she would see him. For more than two hours he sat there, and when Rose and Nella came downstairs, having finished their packing, and were later joined by Mildred­ and their hostess, he merely nodded without turning his head. About ten minutes before dinnertime he suddenly leaped to his feet, and, without paying attention to the others' inquiring glances, he went to the garage, jumped into his roadster and was off. He covered the fifteen miles to Greenhedge in a few seconds less than a quarter of an hour, dined with his friend Linwood, and had an extended talk with his housekeeper.

By eight o'clock he was back again at Roselawn. They were surprised to see him, and Janet had something to say about his running off at dinnertime. All the reply her brother vouchsafed her was a meaningless and rather impolite grunt. Without preamble, he asked Nella Somi if she would go out on the river with him. The girl turned to her hostess with a look of inquiry.

Janet glanced at her brother with an expression of mingled amusement and disapproval, then turned to the girl and said drily:

“By all means go, my dear, if you wish.”

It was a starry, moonless night, and the river was smooth as glass, with no tide or wind to disturb its surface. In silence Canby and Nella had walked side by side through the park, and neither spoke as, reaching the boathouse, the skiff was untied and they shoved off. Instead of pulling for midstream Canby allowed the craft to float idly down with the current, now and then swinging her out a little to clear some obstruction near the bank. The stars gave just sufficient light for him to make out Nella's features as she sat motionless on the seat near the stern with a dark mantle around her shoulders, bareheaded.

“I suppose you're all packed ready to go,” said Canby at last, breaking a long silence.

Nella nodded her head, then, reflecting that he might not see her in the darkness, pronounced the word, “Yes.”

“The two weeks have gone swiftly,” Canby resumed after a moment; “that is, swiftly for me. I have thought sometimes that you and Rose and Mildred found it rather tiresome with no young people around.”

There was a short silence; then he was somewhat surprised to hear a gay little silvery laugh from her.

“Now you're looking for a compliment, Mr. Canby,” she declared, with the laugh still in her voice. “All right, I don't mind. We haven't found it tiresome one minute, because you've been so good to us. We like old people.”

“But you're glad to go back?”

“My goodness, no!” He had the impression of a flash from the blue eyes, though he could not have seen it in the darkness. “I guess you don't know much about girls, Mr. Canby, if you think there is anyone who would be glad to leave all this—” she waved her hand toward Roselawn—“for a—for down there. That wouldn't be natural. But—well, I don't cry about it. I've got to go, and I go, and I'll make the best of it. I believe Rose and Mildred mind it more than I do.
Ma petite, sois philosophe.
That's what my mother used to say. You see, I am.”

A silence. Ahead there was a protuberance on the bank, and Canby pulled sharply on the starboard oar to clear it. They floated past.

“Would you like to stay?” asked Canby suddenly.

“Stay here?”

“Yes. Not at Roselawn. But I—For several days I've had an idea … Of course, you know I like you, Nella. In these two weeks I've grown fond of you; so, really, what I have to propose is more selfish than it is generous, but I think of you too. You deserve something better than the life you have been forced into by circumstances. I wanted my sister to adopt you, but she had made plans that rendered it impossible. So I thought—I wonder if you'd care to come and live with me?”

Without giving her time to reply he went on hastily:

“I mean, of course, as my ward. I could be appointed your legal guardian. Later, if we thought it advisable, I could adopt you and give you my name—that is, I don't know if bachelors can have adopted daughters, though I don't see why not. I assure you I'm not a difficult fellow to get along with. . . .”

“But, Mr. Canby! Why do you want to do this for me?”

“I said I was fond of you,” he returned gruffly.

‘But I—I don't know what to say.” She was sitting up very straight on the seat, rigid. “It is so—it's like a dream! A beautiful dream! You really like me so well? I'm not always a good girl, you know. Often I am—I am—
méchante.
And you want me to come and live with you always, and have nice things. Oh! I … I . . .”

“Well, what do you say?” His voice lacked a little of being steady.

For a moment there was no reply. Then all at once the boat rolled crazily to one side as she jumped from her seat and bounded amidships to where he sat at the oars; and before Canby quite knew what she was about she had dropped on her knees before him and put her hands on his shoulders, drawing him forward, and planted a vigorous kiss on his cheek.

“There!” she cried like a delighted child, and kissed the other cheek too.

III

Not counting Nella Somi, there were two people who met with surprises that night that made it memorable for them.

The first was Mrs. Janet Morton Haskins. Telling herself that she knew men, when she had seen her middle-aged brother attracted by the girl from the East Side Vacation Club she refrained from interfering by a single word or gesture; it would have only added fuel to his ardor; and when he had returned after dinner for a
tête-à-tête
row on the river her thoughts were cynical. Even good old Fred, it seemed, was capable of things.

Thus far her reflections. Imagine, then, her stupefied indignation when good old Fred returned at ten o'clock with the girl, helped her into his roadster, went upstairs for her luggage and put that in also, and then announced calmly:

“I'm taking Nella home with me. You wouldn't adopt her, so I will!”

Janet almost shrieked. She did, in fact, raise her voice; but, by the time intelligible words came to her lips, the roadster had disappeared down the driveway, so suddenly that for a full hour she succeeded in persuading herself that it was only a bad dream. Out of justice to her it should be added that when she awoke to the reality of it she didn't even take the trouble to go to the telephone and call him up. Perhaps she did know something about men, after all.

The second surprised individual was Mr. Garrett Linwood. Having temporarily given up gin fizzes for fear of their effect on his golf score, he had taken a pitcher of lemonade and an interesting book to the billiard room at Greenhedge, and had reached chapter XIV a little before eleven o'clock, when he heard his host's automobile outside. Chapter XIV being mostly description of scenery, which he detested, he threw down the novel and strolled idly down the hall to the door, and, arrived there, stopped short and opened and closed his eyes two or three times as if to wake himself up. For this thing that he saw surely could not be: Fred Canby crossing the threshold with a dark-haired, blue-eyed girl by his side! Or was it a witch, or a fairy? Linwood blinked harder, and he heard his friend address someone as Nella and tell her that this was Mr. Linwood, his guest.

Linwood bowed mechanically, still wondering when he would wake up, and stood by in stupor while he heard Canby send for his housekeeper and say to her:

“This is Miss Somi, Mrs. Wheeler, the young lady I spoke about this evening. She is going to live with us. I suppose her room is ready? Then you will show her, please. I'll take you over your new home tomorrow, Nella. Bedtime now. I'll send your things up immediately. Good night.”

Later, in the library, Linwood sat and listened to his friend's wondrous tale; and though he was a fairly skeptical man he did not smile overmuch during the recital. When it was over he said calmly:

“Canby, you're a fool!”

“I wasn't aware I had asked for your opinion,” the other retorted.

“True enough; you didn't. But remember I'm as much beyond fifty as you are beyond forty, and besides, having had a wife of my own for a total of twenty-one years—bless her memory!—I've studied the creature on its native soil. Nothing against Miss—What's her name? Thanks!—Nothing against Miss Somi; I don't know her at all, and I don't intend to offer any advice or begin any argument. I merely make the observation: Canby, you're a fool; but the thing's done. You have sworn that you have no personal intentions in the matter, matrimonial or otherwise, and you're a sincere and honest man. May you never have any regrets; and that sentiment should be sanctified in burgundy.”