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Old Rose And Silver

<h1 id="id02265" style="margin-top: 6em">XXII</h1> <h5 id="id02266">A BIRTHDAY PARTY</h5> Allison received the note from Rose at the time he was expecting Rose herself, and was keenly disappointed. "She might at least have stopped long enough to say good-bye," he said to his father. "Don't be selfish, lad," laughed the Colonel. "We owe her now a debt that we can never hope to pay." The young man's face softened. "What a brick she has been!" Then, to himself, he added: "if she had loved me, she couldn't have done more." Life seemed very good to them both that crisp September morning. Just after breakfast Doctor Jack had announced, definitely, that the crushed hand was saved, unless there should be some unlooked-for complication "But mind you," he insisted, "I don't promise any violin-playing, and there'll be scars, but we'll make it look as well as we can. Anyhow, you'll not be helpless." Allison smiled happily. "Why can't I play, if it heals up all right?" "There may be a nerve or two that won't work just right, or a twisted muscle, or something. However we'll keep hoping." The heavy weight that had lain so long upon Allison's heart was slow in lifting. At first he could not believe the good news, greatly to Doctor Jack's disgust. "You don't seem to care much," he remarked. "I supposed you'd turn at least one somersault. The Colonel is more pleased than you are." "Dear old dad," said Allison, gratefully. "I owe him everything." "Everything?" repeated the Doctor, with lifted brows. "And where does Jonathan Ebenezer Middlekauffer come in, to say nothing of the future Mrs. Kent?" Allison's face clouded for an instant. "I'll never forget what you've done for me, but there isn't any future Mrs. Kent." "No? Why I thought—" "So did I, but she's thrown me over and gone away. This morning she sent me a note of congratulation and farewell." "Upon my word! What have you done to her?" "Nothing. She says I don't need her any more now, so she's going away." Doctor Jack paced back and forth on the veranda with his hands in his pockets. "The darkly mysterious ways of the ever-feminine are wonderful beyond the power of words to portray. Apparently you've had to choose between your hand and hers." "I'm not sure," returned Allison, thoughtfully, "that I wouldn't rather have hers than mine." "Brace up, old man. Get well and go after her. The world isn't big enough to keep a man away from the woman he wants." "But," answered Allison, dejectedly, "she doesn't care for me. It was only womanly pity, and now that I don't need that, I've lost her." "She doesn't care for you!" repeated the Doctor. "Why, man, how can you sit there and tell a lie like that? Of course she cares!" Allison turned to look at him in astonishment. "It isn't possible!" "Isn't it? Then I don't know anything about human nature, though I must confess I'm not up much on the feminine part of it. How long—" "Just since the accident. The girl I was going to marry let me release her. She didn't want a cripple, you know." "And Miss Bernard did, and you've disappointed her?" "Something like that." "You seem to have had fierce luck with girls. One gives you up because you've only got one hand, and the other because you've got two. There's no pleasing women. Hello—here comes another note. Maybe she's changed her mind." For a breathless instant Allison thought so, too, but Doctor Jack was opening it. "Mine," he said. "It's an invitation to Crosby's. It seems that they come of age day after to-morrow, and I'm invited out to supper to help celebrate. I won't go, or anything, will I? Oh, no, of course not! I haven't seen 'em for a week. Are presents expected?" "Your presence seems to be expected," remarked Allison. "I'm glad you've got that out of your system," the Doctor retorted, with a scornful smile. "You ought to improve right along now." "Is it a party?" "They don't say so. I hope it isn't." However, when Doctor Jack strolled up the dusty road, a carriage that must have come from Crosby's passed him. He stopped short, wildly considering an impulse of flight. Then he went on bravely, smiling at the thought that any entertainment given by the twins could be by any possibility, a formal affair. The other guest was Isabel, whom Doctor Jack had not met and of whom he knew nothing. She observed him narrowly when opportunity offered, for she knew who he was, and wondered what he had heard of her. Soon she became certain that her name carried no meaning to him, for he talked freely of Allison and the Colonel and frankly shared the joy of the twins at the welcome news. "Oh," cried Juliet, clapping her hands in glee. "It's the very best birthday present we could have, isn't it, Romie?" "I should say," replied that young man, with an expansive smile. "Say," he added to Doctor Jack, "you must be a brick." "I've only done my best," he responded, modestly. Isabel could say nothing for some little time. She was furiously angry with Aunt Francesca because she had not told her. The day that Rose went away, everyone in the house had been very glad about something, even to the servants, but she had asked no questions and received no information, except that Rose had been obliged to go away very suddenly upon business of immediate importance. "You must be awful glad," said Juliet, to Isabel. "Of course," answered Isabel, coldly, clearing her throat. "He must feel pretty good," Romeo observed. "Yes," returned Doctor Jack, "except that he's lost his girl." Isabel flushed and nervously turned on her finger the diamond ring that she still wore. "He's had fierce luck with girls," resumed the Doctor, unthinkingly. "One passed him up because he was hurt, and the other because he was going to get well." The tense silence that ensued indicated that he had made a mistake of some sort. It had not occurred to him that the twins did not know of Allison's engagement to Rose, nor did he suspect Isabel's identity. Juliet was staring at Isabel in pained surprise. "Did you?" she asked, slowly, "throw him over because he got hurt?" "He offered to release me," said Isabel, in a small, cold voice, "and I accepted. I did not know until just now that Cousin Rose had taken my leavings." The older woman's mysterious departure presented itself to her now in a new light. "Suffering Cyrus," said Doctor Jack, aloud, "but I have put my foot into it. Look here, kind friends, I never was meant for a parlour, and I always make mistakes when I stray into one. My place is in a hospital ward or at the bedside of those who have been given up to die. The complex social arena is not where I shine to my best advantage. There are too many rings to keep track of at once, and my mind gets cross- eyed." "Come on up to the attic," suggested Juliet, with a swift change of subject, "and we'll do stunts on the trapeze." Isabel and Doctor Jack sat side by side on a battered old trunk in stony silence while the twins were donning their gymnasium costumes. Fortunately, it did not take long and the sight of Juliet hanging by her feet furnished the needed topic of conversation. The lithe little body seemed to be made of steel fibres. She swayed back and forth, catching Romeo as he made a flying leap from the other trapeze, as easily as another girl would have wielded a tennis racquet. At length Doctor Jack interposed a friendly word of warning. "Look here, kid," he said, "you're made of flesh and blood, you know, just like the rest of us. Better cut out that trapeze business." "I don't know why," returned Juliet, resentfully, as she slipped gracefully to the floor, right side up. "I'm as strong as Romie is, or almost as strong." "Girls do it in the circus," Romeo observed, wiping his flushed face. "Ever heard of any of 'em living to celebrate their hundredth birthday?" queried Doctor Jack, significantly. The twins admitted that they had not. "I don't care," cried Juliet, "I'd rather live ten years and keep going, than live to be a hundred and have to sit still all the time." "No danger of your sitting still too long," returned Doctor Jack, good- humouredly. "It's hot up here, isn't it?" "Rather warm," Romeo agreed. "You folks can go downstairs until we get on our other clothes, if you like." They had reached the head of the stairs when Isabel changed her mind. "I believe I'll wait for Juliet," she said, turning back. So the Doctor went down alone, inwardly reviling himself for his unlucky speech, and glad of an opportunity to contemplate the characteristic residence of the twins. The whole house was, frankly, a place where people did as they chose, and the furniture bore marks of having been used not wisely, but too well. Everything was clean, though not aggressively so. He ascribed the absence of lace curtains to Romeo and the Cloisonne vase to Juliet. The fishing rods in one corner were probably due to both. When the others came down, Juliet tied a big blue gingham apron over her white muslin gown and excused herself. She had been cooking for the better part of two days and took a housewifely pride in doing everything herself. They had chosen the things they liked the most, so the dinner was unusual, as dinners go. Isabel, eating daintily, made no effort to conceal her disdain, but Doctor Jack ate heartily, praised everything, and brought the blush of pleasure to Juliet's rosy cheeks. Romeo, at the head of the table, radiated the hospitality of the true host, yet a close observer would have noted how often he cast admiring glances at Isabel. She was so dainty, so beautifully gowned and elaborately coiffured, that Romeo compared her with his sister greatly to the disadvantage of the latter. Juliet's hair was unruly and broke into curls all around her face; Isabel's was in perfect order, with every wave mathematically exact. Juliet's face was tanned and rosy; Isabel's pale and cool. Juliet's hands were rough and her finger-tips square; Isabel's were white and tapering, with perfectly manicured nails. And their gowns—there was no possible comparison there. Both were in white, but Romeo discovered that there might be a vast difference in white gowns. Afterward, the guests were taken out into the yard, and led to the comprehensive grave of the nineteen dogs. Minerva kept at a safe distance, but the five puppies gambolled and frolicked, even to the verge of the sepulchre. Romeo desired to send a dog to Allison, and generously offered Isabel her choice, but she refused. "I'll take the pup," said the Doctor. "It might amuse him, and anyhow, he'd like to know that you thought of him." Isabel had strolled down toward the barn. Juliet hesitated, duty bidding her follow Isabel and inclination holding her back. Presently Isabel returned, and her face was surprisingly animated. "Is that our car in the barn?" she asked. Her manner betrayed great excitement. "Why, it's Allison Kent's car, isn't it?" inquired Romeo. "I thought it was mine. Colonel Kent gave it to me for a wedding present." "I thought you couldn't keep the wedding presents unless the wedding came off," Juliet observed, practically. "I've still got my ring," said Isabel. "Allison said he wanted me to keep it, and he gave me his violin, too. I should think they'd want me to keep the car." "Better make sure," suggested Doctor Jack, politely. "People don't scatter automobiles around carelessly among their friends, as a general rule," observed Juliet. "I wish I could get it up to Kent's," Romeo said, thoughtfully. "It always reminds me—here." "I'd just as soon drive it back," the Doctor answered. "It's more of a trot out here than I supposed it was." "Why, yes," cried Juliet. "You can drive it back to-night and take Isabel home!" "Charmed," lied the Doctor, with an awkward bow. So it happened that Isabel once more climbed into the red car and went back over the fateful road. The machine ran well, but it seemed to require the driver's entire attention, for his conversation consisted of brief remarks to which answers even more brief were vouchsafed. When he turned, on the wide road in front of Madame Bernard's, after leaving Isabel at the gate, she lingered in the shadow, watching, until he was out of sight. The throb of the engine became fainter and fainter, then died away altogether. Isabel sighed and went in, wondering if Allison, after giving her the ring and the violin, would not also want her to have the car. Or, if that seemed too much, and she should send back the violin—she pondered over it until almost dawn, then went to sleep. The following afternoon, while Madame Bernard slept, Isabel sat idly in the living-room, looking out of the window, though, as she told herself fretfully, there was not much use of looking out of the window when nobody ever went by. But no sooner had she phrased the thought than she heard the faint chug-chug of an approaching motor. She moved back, into the shelter of the curtain, and presently saw the big red automobile whizz by. Doctor Jack, hatless and laughing, was at the wheel. Beside him was Colonel Kent. Had they gone out and left Allison alone? Surely, since there was no one else. Fortune favoured her if she wished to see him. But did she dare? Isabel was nothing if not courageous. Arming herself with an excuse in the shape of the violin, she sallied forth and made her way to Kent's, meeting no one upon the well-worn path. As it happened, Allison was on the lower veranda, walking back and forth, persistently accompanied by the Crosby pup. Assisted by the Colonel and Doctor Jack, he had come down without accident, and had promised to go out in the car with them a little later. When he saw Isabel coming up the walk, he stopped in astonishment. He did not go to meet her, but offered her a chair and said, with formal politeness: "How do you do? This is an unexpected pleasure." "I brought this," began Isabel, offering him the violin. He took it with a smile. "Thank you. I don't know that I shall ever use it again, but I am glad to have it." There was a pause and Isabel moved restlessly in her chair. Then she slipped the ring from her finger. "Do you want this now?" she asked. Her face was a shade paler. Allison laughed. "Indeed I don't. Whom could I give it to?" "Rose," suggested Isabel, maliciously. Allison sighed and turned his face away. "She wouldn't take it," he said, sadly. Isabel slipped it back on her finger, evidently relieved. "I'm glad you're better," she went on, clearing her throat. "Thank you. So am I." "I saw your father, out in the car. The Doctor was with him." "Yes. They're coming back for me in a little while." "It's a lovely car. The Doctor brought me home in it last night, from Crosby's." "So he told me." Allison did not see fit to say just how much Doctor Jack had told him. He smiled a little at the recollection of the young man's remorseful confession. "I told them," continued Isabel, "that I thought it was mine—that your father had given it to me, but it seems I was mistaken." "It seems so," Allison agreed. "Dad gave it to the Doctor this morning." Isabel repressed a bitter cry of astonishment. "For keeps?" "Yes, for keeps. It's little enough to give him after all he's done for me. We both wanted him to have it." "You could get another, couldn't you?" "I suppose so, if I wanted it. People can usually get things they want, if they are intangible." "I wanted to tell you," resumed Isabel, "that I was sorry I acted the way I did the last time I was here." "Don't think of it," replied Allison, kindly. "It was very natural." "It was all a great shock to me, and I was lame, and—and—I wish everything could be as it was before," she concluded, with a faint flush creeping into her face. "That is the great tragedy of life, Isabel—that things can never be as they were before. Sometimes they're worse, sometimes better, but the world is never the same." "Of course," she answered, without grasping his meaning, "but you're going to be all right again now, and—that's the same." Allison shrugged his shoulders and bit his lips to conceal a smile. "It may be the same for me, but it couldn't be for you. I couldn't give you any guarantee that it wouldn't happen again, you know. I might be run over by a railroad train or a trolley car, or any one of a thousand things might happen to me. There's always a risk." Tears filled Isabel's eyes. "I don't believe you ever cared very much for me," she said, her lips quivering. "I did, Isabel," he answered, kindly, "but it's gone now. Even at that, it lasted longer than you cared for me. Come, let's be friends." He offered his hand. She put hers into it for a moment, then quickly took it away. He noted that it was very cold. "I must be going," she said, keeping her self-control with difficulty, "Aunt Francesca will miss me." "Thank you for coming—and for bringing the violin." "You're welcome. Good-bye." "Good-bye, Silver Girl. I hope you'll be happy." Isabel did not answer, nor turn back. She went out of the gate and out of his life, pride keeping her head high until she had turned the corner. Then, very sorry for herself, she sat down and wept. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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