it was not mrs. vanderlyn's fault if, after her arrival, herpalace seemed to belong any less to the lansings.
she arrived in a mood of such general benevolence that it wasimpossible for susy, when they finally found themselves alone,to make her view even her own recent conduct in any but the mostbenevolent light.
"i knew you'd be the veriest angel about it all, darling,because i knew you'd understand me-- especially now," shedeclared, her slim hands in susy's, her big eyes (so likeclarissa's) resplendent with past pleasures and future plans.
the expression of her confidence was unexpectedly distasteful tosusy lansing, who had never lent so cold an ear to such warmavowals. she had always imagined that being happy one's selfmade one--as mrs. vanderlyn appeared to assume --more tolerantof the happiness of others, of however doubtful elementscomposed; and she was almost ashamed of responding so languidlyto her friend's outpourings. but she herself had no desire toconfide her bliss to ellie; and why should not ellie observe asimilar reticence?
"it was all so perfect--you see, dearest, i was meant to behappy," that lady continued, as if the possession of so unusuala characteristic singled her out for special privileges.
susy, with a certain sharpness, responded that she had alwayssupposed we all were.
"oh, no, dearest: not governesses and mothers-in-law andcompanions, and that sort of people. they wouldn't know how ifthey tried. but you and i, darling--""oh, i don't consider myself in any way exceptional," susyintervened. she longed to add: "not in your way, at anyrate--" but a few minutes earlier mrs. vanderlyn had told herthat the palace was at her disposal for the rest of the summer,and that she herself was only going to perch there--if they'dlet her!--long enough to gather up her things and start for st.
moritz. the memory of this announcement had the effect ofcurbing susy's irony, and of making her shift the conversationto the safer if scarcely less absorbing topic of the number ofday and evening dresses required for a season at st. moritz.
as she listened to mrs. vanderlyn--no less eloquent on thistheme than on the other--susy began to measure the gulf betweenher past and present. "this is the life i used to lead; theseare the things i used to live for," she thought, as she stoodbefore the outspread glories of mrs. vanderlyn's wardrobe. notthat she did not still care: she could not look at ellie'slaces and silks and furs without picturing herself in them, andwondering by what new miracle of management she could giveherself the air of being dressed by the same consummate artists.
but these had become minor interests: the past few months hadgiven her a new perspective, and the thing that most puzzled anddisconcerted her about ellie was the fact that love and fineryand bridge and dining-out were seemingly all on the same planeto her.
the inspection of the dresses lasted a long time, and was markedby many fluctuations of mood on the part of mrs. vanderlyn, whopassed from comparative hopefulness to despair at the totalinadequacy of her wardrobe. it wouldn't do to go to st. moritzlooking like a frump, and yet there was no time to get anythingsent from paris, and, whatever she did, she wasn't going to showherself in any dowdy re-arrangements done at home. but suddenlylight broke on her, and she clasped her hands for joy. "why,nelson'll bring them--i'd forgotten all about nelson! there'llbe just time if i wire to him at once.""is nelson going to join you at st. moritz?" susy asked,surprised.
"heavens, no! he's coming here to pick up clarissa and take herto some stuffy cure in austria with his mother. it's too lucky:
there's just time to telegraph him to bring my things. i didn'tmean to wait for him; but it won't delay me more than day ortwo."susy's heart sank. she was not much afraid of ellie alone, butellie and nelson together formed an incalculable menace. no onecould tell what spark of truth might dash from their collision.
susy felt that she could deal with the two dangers separatelyand successively, but not together and simultaneously.
"but, ellie, why should you wait for nelson? i'm certain tofind someone here who's going to st. moritz and will take yourthings if he brings them. it's a pity to risk losing yourrooms."this argument appealed for a moment to mrs. vanderlyn. "that'strue; they say all the hotels are jammed. you dear, you'realways so practical!" she clasped susy to her scented bosom.
"and you know, darling, i'm sure you'll be glad to get rid ofme--you and nick! oh, don't be hypocritical and say 'nonsense!'
you see, i understand ... i used to think of you so often, youtwo ... during those blessed weeks when we two were alone...."the sudden tears, brimming over ellie's lovely eyes, andthreatening to make the blue circles below them run into theadjoining carmine, filled susy with compunction.
"poor thing--oh, poor thing!" she thought; and hearing herselfcalled by nick, who was waiting to take her out for their usualsunset on the lagoon, she felt a wave of pity for the deludedcreature who would never taste that highest of imaginable joys.
"but all the same," susy reflected, as she hurried down to herhusband, "i'm glad i persuaded her not to wait for nelson."some days had elapsed since susy and nick had had a sunset tothemselves, and in the interval susy had once again learned thesuperior quality of the sympathy that held them together. shenow viewed all the rest of life as no more than a show: a jollyshow which it would have been a thousand pities to miss, butwhich, if the need arose, they could get up and leave at anymoment--provided that they left it together.
in the dusk, while their prow slid over inverted palaces, andthrough the scent of hidden gardens, she leaned against him andmurmured, her mind returning to the recent scene with ellie:
"nick, should you hate me dreadfully if i had no clothes?"her husband was kindling a cigarette, and the match lit up thegrin with which he answered: "but, my dear, have i ever shownthe slightest symptom--?""oh, rubbish! when a woman says: 'no clothes,' she means:
'not the right clothes.'"he took a meditative puff. "ah, you've been going over ellie'sfinery with her.""yes: all those trunks and trunks full. and she finds she'sgot nothing for st. moritz!""of course," he murmured, drowsy with content, and manifestingbut a languid interest in the subject of mrs. vanderlyn'swardrobe.
"only fancy--she very nearly decided to stop over for nelson'sarrival next week, so that he might bring her two or three moretrunkfuls from paris. but mercifully i've managed to persuadeher that it would be foolish to wait."susy felt a hardly perceptible shifting of her husband'slounging body, and was aware, through all her watchfultentacles, of a widening of his half-closed lids.
"you 'managed'--?" she fancied he paused on the wordironically. "but why?""why--what?""why on earth should you try to prevent ellie's waiting fornelson, if for once in her life she wants to?"susy, conscious of reddening suddenly, drew back as though theleap of her tell-tale heart might have penetrated the blueflannel shoulder against which she leaned.
"really, dearest--!" she murmured; but with a sudden doggednesshe renewed his "why?""because she's in such a fever to get to st. moritz--and in sucha funk lest the hotel shouldn't keep her rooms," susy somewhatbreathlessly produced.
"ah--i see." nick paused again. "you're a devoted friend,aren't you!""what an odd question! there's hardly anyone i've reason to bemore devoted to than ellie," his wife answered; and she felt hiscontrite clasp on her hand.
"darling! no; nor i--. or more grateful to for leaving usalone in this heaven."dimness had fallen on the waters, and her lifted lips met hisbending ones.
trailing late into dinner that evening, ellie announced that,after all, she had decided it was safest to wait for nelson.
"i should simply worry myself ill if i weren't sure of gettingmy things," she said, in the tone of tender solicitude withwhich she always discussed her own difficulties. "after all,people who deny themselves everything do get warped and bitter,don't they?" she argued plaintively, her lovely eyes wanderingfrom one to the other of her assembled friends.
strefford remarked gravely that it was the complaint which hadfatally undermined his own health; and in the laugh thatfollowed the party drifted into the great vaulted dining-room.
"oh, i don't mind your laughing at me, streffy darling," hishostess retorted, pressing his arm against her own; and susy,receiving the shock of their rapidly exchanged glance, said toherself, with a sharp twinge of apprehension: "of coursestreffy knows everything; he showed no surprise at finding ellieaway when he arrived. and if he knows, what's to preventnelson's finding out?" for strefford, in a mood of mischief,was no more to be trusted than a malicious child.
susy instantly resolved to risk speaking to him, if need be evenbetraying to him the secret of the letters. only by revealingthe depth of her own danger could she hope to secure hissilence.
on the balcony, late in the evening, while the others werelistening indoors to the low modulations of a young composer whohad embroidered his fancies on browning's "toccata," susy foundher chance. strefford, unsummoned, had followed her out, andstood silently smoking at her side.
"you see, streff--oh, why should you and i make mysteries toeach other?" she suddenly began.
"why, indeed: but do we?"susy glanced back at the group around the piano. "about ellie,i mean--and nelson.""lord! ellie and nelson? you call that a mystery? i should assoon apply the term to one of the million candle-poweradvertisements that adorn your native thoroughfares.""well, yes. but--" she stopped again. had she not tacitlypromised ellie not to speak?
"my susan, what's wrong?" strefford asked.
"i don't know....""well, i do, then: you're afraid that, if ellie and nelson meethere, she'll blurt out something--injudicious.""oh, she won't!" susy cried with conviction.
"well, then--who will! i trust that superhuman child not to.
and you and i and nick--""oh," she gasped, interrupting him, "that's just it. nickdoesn't know ... doesn't even suspect. and if he did...."strefford flung away his cigar and turned to scrutinize her. "idon't see--hanged if i do. what business is it of any of us,after all?"that, of course, was the old view that cloaked connivance in anair of decency. but to susy it no longer carried conviction,and she hesitated.
"if nick should find out that i know....""good lord--doesn't he know that you know? after all, i supposeit's not the first time--"she remained silent.
"the first time you've received confidences--from marriedfriends. does nick suppose you've lived even to your tender agewithout ... hang it, what's come over you, child?"what had, indeed, that she could make clear to him? and yetmore than ever she felt the need of having him securely on herside. once his word was pledged, he was safe: otherwise therewas no limit to his capacity for wilful harmfulness.
"look here, streff, you and i know that ellie hasn't been awayfor a cure; and that if poor clarissa was sworn to secrecy itwas not because it 'worries father' to think that mother needsto take care of her health." she paused, hating herself for theironic note she had tried to sound.
"well--?" he questioned, from the depths of the chair into whichhe had sunk.
"well, nick doesn't ... doesn't dream of it. if he knew that weowed our summer here to ... to my knowing...."strefford sat silent: she felt his astonished stare through thedarkness. "jove!" he said at last, with a low whistle susy bentover the balustrade, her heart thumping against the stone rail.
"what was left of soul, i wonder--?" the young composer's voiceshrilled through the open windows.
strefford sank into another silence, from which he rousedhimself only as susy turned back toward the lighted threshold.
"well, my dear, we'll see it through between us; you and i-andclarissa," he said with his rasping laugh, rising to follow her.
he caught her hand and gave it a short pressure as they re-entered the drawing-room, where ellie was saying plaintively tofred gillow: "i can never hear that thing sung without wantingto cry like a baby."
