Part 23 (1/2)

”I thought,” said my mother, when we approached her, ”that you had disobeyed orders, and run away!”

”We were afraid to,” said John Flint. ”We knew you'd make us go to bed without supper.”

”Did you know,” said my mother, hurriedly, for Clelie was making signs to her, ”that George Inglesby is here? The invitation was merely perfunctory, just sent along with Mr. Hunter's. I never dreamed the man would accept it. You can't imagine how astonished I was when he presented himself!”

A few moments later, the b.u.t.terfly Man said in a low voice: ”Look yonder!” And turning, I saw Hunter. He was for the moment alone, and stood with his head bent slightly forward, his bright cold glance intent upon the two persons approaching--Mary Virginia and George Inglesby. His white teeth showed in a smile. I remembered, disagreeably, Flint's ”I don't like the expression of his teeth: he looks like he'd bite.”

Until that afternoon I had not seen the secretary for some time, for he had been kept unusually busy. Those eminently sensible talks to the mill workers had been well received, and were to be followed by others along the same line. He had done even more: he had induced the owners to recognize the men's Union, and all future complaints and demands were to be submitted to arbitration. Inglesby had undoubtedly gained ground enormously by that move. Hunter had done well. And yet--catching that sharp-toothed smile, I felt my faith in him for the first time shaken by one of those unaccountable uprushes of intuition which perplex and disturb.

I knew, too, that Laurence had had several long and serious conferences with Eustis, and I could well imagine the arguments he had brought to bear, the rousing of a sense of duty, and of state pride.

Eustis was obstinate. He had many interests. He was a very, very busy man. He didn't want to be a Senator; he wanted to be let alone to attend to his own business in his own way. But, insisted Laurence, when a thing must be done, and you can do it in a manner which benefits all and injures none; when your own people ask you to do it for them, isn't _that_ your business?

A cold d.a.m.ning resume of Inglesby's entire career made Eustis hesitate. A vivid picture of what the state might expect at Inglesby's hands roused him to just anger. Such as this fellow represent Carolina? Never! When Inglesby's name should be put up, Eustis unwillingly agreed to oppose him.

And here was Inglesby, in my garden, making himself agreeable to Eustis's daughter! He was so plainly desirous to please her, that it troubled me, although it made his secretary smile.

The Mary Virginia walking beside Inglesby was not the Mary Virginia _we_ knew: this was the regal one, the great beauty. Her whole manner was subtly charged with a sort of arrogant hauteur; her fairness itself changed, tinged with pride as with an inward fire, until she glowed with a cold, jewel-like brightness, hard and clear. Her very skirts rustled pridefully. Her glance at the man beside her was insulting in its disdainful indifference.

What would have saddened a n.o.bler spirit enchanted Inglesby. He was dazzled by her. Her interest in what he was saying was coolly impersonal, the fixed habit of trained politeness. He could even surmise that she was mentally yawning behind her hand. When she looked at him her eyes under her level brows held a certain scornfulness. And this, too, delighted him. He groveled to it. His red face glowed with pleasure; he swelled with a pride very different from Mary Virginia's.

I thought he had an upholstered look in his glossy clothes, reminding me unpleasantly of horsehair furniture.

”He looks like a day coach in July,” growled the b.u.t.terfly Man in my ear, disgustedly.

Inglesby at this moment perceived Hunter and beamed upon him, as well he might! Who but this priceless secretary had pulled the strings which set him beside this glorious creature, in the Parish House garden? He turned to the girl, with heavy jauntiness:

”My good right hand, Miss Eustis, I a.s.sure you!” he beamed. ”But I am sure you two need no dissertations upon each other's merits!”

”None whatever,” said Miss Eustis, and looked over Mr. Hunter's head.

”Oh, Miss Eustis and I are really old acquaintances!” smiled the secretary. ”We know each other very well indeed.”

Mary Virginia made no reply. Instead, she looked about her, indifferently enough, until her glance encountered the b.u.t.terfly Man's. What he saw in her's I do not know. But he instantly moved toward her, and swept me with him.

”Father De Rance and I,” said he, easily, ”haven't had chance to speak to you all afternoon, Miss Eustis.” He acknowledged Hunter's friendly greeting pleasantly enough.

”And I've been looking for you both.” The hauteur faded from the young face. Our own Mary Virginia appeared, changed in the twinkling of an eye.

Inglesby favored me with condescending effusiveness. Flint got off with a smirking stare.

”And this,” said Inglesby in the sort of voice some people use in addressing strange children to whom they desire to be patronizingly nice and don't know how, ”this is the b.u.t.terfly Man!” Out came the jovial smile in its full deadliness. The b.u.t.terfly Man's lips drew back from his teeth and his eyes narrowed to gimlet points behind his gla.s.ses. ”I have heard of you from Mr. Hunter. And so you collect b.u.t.terflies! Very interesting and active occupation for any one that--ahem! likes that sort of thing. Very.”

”He collects obituaries, too,” said Hunter, immensely amused. ”You mustn't overlook the obituaries, Mr. Inglesby.”

Mr. Inglesby favored the collector of b.u.t.terflies _and_ obituaries with another speculative, piglike stare. You could see the thought behind it: ”Trifling sort of fellow! Idiotic! Very.” Aloud he merely mumbled:

”Singular taste. Very. Collecting obituaries, eh?”

”Fascinating things to collect. Very,” said the b.u.t.terfly Man, sweetly. ”Not to be laughed at. I might add yours to 'em, too, you know, some of these fine days!”