She looked at him dubiously. No, there was no laughter in his eyes; he was perfectly serious.

They walked the horses over a small hill, then mounted. It was a very pleasant morning for Warrington. It had been years since he had talked to a young woman who was witty and unworldly. He had to readjust himself. He had written down that all witty women were worldly, but that all worldly women were not witty. But to be witty and unsophisticated was altogether out of his calculations.

At the Country Club they stabled the horses and wandered about the golf links. Luncheon was served on the veranda; and presently Warrington found himself confiding in this young girl as if he had known her intimately all his life. The girl felt a thrill of exultation. It flattered her young vanity to hear this celebrity telling her about his ambitions.

"Everything becomes monotonous after a while," he said. "And I have just begun to grow weary of living alone. Day after day, the same faces, the same places, the same arguments, the same work. I've grown tired. I want to live like other human beings. Monotony leads very quickly into folly, and I confess to many acts of folly. And no folly is absolutely harmless." He stirred his tea and stared into the cup.

"Why, I should think you ought to be the most contented of men," she cried. "You are famous, wealthy, courted. And when you return to Herculaneum, every girl in town will set her cap for you. I warn you of this, because I've taken a friendly interest in you."

"It is very good of you. Come," he said, draining his cup; "surely you tell fortunes in tea-cups; tell mine."

"Four-leaf clovers and tea-grounds," she mused. "You strike me as being a very superst.i.tious young man."

"I am."

She pa.s.sed the cup back to him. "Pour a little fresh tea in, spill it gently, turn the cup against the saucer and twirl it three times.

That's the incantation."

He followed the directions carefully, and she extended her hand for the cup.

"There is always a woman in a man's tea-cup," she began. "There are two in this one."

"Good gracious!"

"Yes. Do you see that?" pointing to a cl.u.s.ter of leaves.

"Looks like a camel. Am I going to be thirsty?"

"That always indicates scandal," she declared soberly.

"Scandal?" He smiled skeptically.

"Scandal and disappointment. But happily these do not appear as having permanency."

"Thanks," piously. "Disappointment? I can readily believe that.

Disappointment has always been my portion. But scandal has never lifted her ugly head."

"We are all far-sighted when scandal is in our immediate vicinity.

This cup says scandal. There is plenty of money about you. See that?

That means an enemy, strong, implacable. Disappointment and scandal are in his zone, which means he will probably be the cause of all your trouble. Have you an enemy?"

"None that I know of, save myself. But don't you think something is the matter with the tea? It seems impossible that those harmless grounds ... Why, I shan't sleep o' nights after this."

"You are laughing. Yet, this man is there. And here is a lie, too.

It's a very bad cup, Mr. Warrington. I'm sorry."

"So am I," gaily. "By the way, when do you and your mother start for New York?"

"We leave to-night."

"Good. Do you mind if I take the same train down?"

"Mother and I'll be glad to have you with us."

The servant cleared the table, and Warrington lighted a cigar. A trolley-car rolled up in front of the club, and several golf enthusiasts alighted. They knew Patty, and bowed; they weren't quite certain who her escort was.

At two o'clock they began the journey home. There wasn't much loitering by the way. Patty had a tea; she must have time to rest and dress. All told, it was an enjoyable day for Warrington. More than ever he set his face against the great city and looked with satisfaction on the hills of his childhood. It would be a pleasant pastime to sit on Patty's veranda and talk, become, and act like one of the young people. He was growing old; his youth must be renewed soon, or he would lose it utterly. This young man had been surfeited with noise and light, with the sham and glitter of hotels, clubs and restaurants. He was not to the manner born; thus he could easily see how palpably false life is in a great city. To those who have lived in the abnormal glamour of city life, absolute quiet is a kind of new excitement.

Warrington found that he was a bit stiff from the long ride.

Patty, however, rode nearly every day; so she was but slightly fatigued. Nevertheless, she was conscious of not wanting to dress for the tea. But there was a very good reason why she must attend the function (as applied by the society reporter); they would naturally discuss her brother's coming marriage, but if she was present, the discussion would not rise above whispers. She wanted to meet the old busybodies in the open; she wasn't afraid. As she dressed, she caught herself doing aimless things, such as approaching the window and watching the clouds, or thoughtfully studying her face in the mirror, or patting the rug impatiently, or sighing. She shook herself vehemently, and went resolutely about the intricate business known as toilet.

"I simply can't believe it. I know he isn't that kind of man. This can't be such a wicked world. But if she dares to make John unhappy, I shall hate her. Why must we hear these things that make us doubt and ponder and hesitate?"

At the tea the ladies greeted her sympathetically. Sympathy!

Hypocrites! Heads came together; she could see them from the corner of her eyes. She saw Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, like a vast ship of the line, manoeuvering toward her. There were several escapes, but Patty stood her ground.

"You are looking charming, my dear," said Mrs. Haldene.

"Thank you."

"You go to the wedding, of course."

"Yes; mother and I leave to-night for New York. I am so excited over it. To think of John's being married to a celebrity!"

Patty was excited, but this excitement did not find its origin in anything exultant. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Mrs.

Franklyn-Haldene to mind her own business. There was something primitive in Patty. Her second thoughts were due to cultivation, and not from any inherent caution.

Mrs. Haldene smiled and went on. It was a wonderful smile; it never changed; it served for all emotions, anger, hate, love, envy and malice. Mrs. Haldene never flew into pa.s.sions or ecstasies. She was indeed preserved; and from the puckering taste she left in her wake, it might be suspected that she was pickled.

Before Patty arrived, two things had been fully discussed: the Bennington wedding and the report that Warrington was coming home to live. Shrugs, knowing glances, hypocritical resignation. Too bad, too bad! Warrington was coming home to live; young Mrs. Bennington would live across the street. When two and two make four, what more need be said?

But Patty had her friends, and they stood by her loyally.

New York. Clamor, clamor; noise, noise; the calling of cabmen, the clanging of street-cars, the rumbling of the elevated, the roaring of the drays, the rattling of the carts; shouting, pushing, hurrying, rushing, digging, streaming, pell-mell; the smell of coal-gas, of food cooking, of good and bad tobacco, of wet pavements, of plaster; riches and poverty jostling; romance and reality at war; monoliths of stone and iron; shops, shops; signs, signs; hotels; the tower of Babel; all the nations of the world shouldering one another; Jews and Gentiles, Christians and Turks; jumble, jumble. This is New York. There is nothing American about it; there is nothing English, French, German, Latin or Oriental about it. It is cosmopolitan; that is to say, it represents everything and nothing.

Warrington, Patty and her mother alighted from the train in the gloomy, smoky cavern called the Grand Central Station and walked toward the gates. There was sunshine outside, but it was scarcely noticeable through the blackened canopy overhead.

"There's John!" cried Patty, seizing her mother's arm. "And Miss Challoner, too!"

A moment later the son was holding his mother in a fond embrace. Mrs.

Bennington gave the actress her hand, who ignored it, put her arms around the mother and kissed her. There was not the slightest affectation in the act; it was done naturally and sweetly. Mrs.

Bennington was well pleased. But Patty, Miss Challoner hugged Patty and whispered: "My sister!" If Patty had any doubts, they disappeared like summer mists in sunshine.

"I'm a rank outsider," Warrington grumbled.

"Surely you did not expect to be kissed!" Patty retorted.