had been invited and accepted, so why should not she? Bailey had not
replied to this, it was at this point of the proceedings that the
Tiffany motive had been introduced, but he had not forgotten it. He
thought it over, and decided to call upon Ruth. He did so.
It was unfortunate that the nervous strain of being the Napoleon of
Wall Street had had the effect of increasing to a marked extent the
portentousness of Bailey's always portentous manner. Ruth rebelled
against it. There was an insufferable suggestion of ripe old age and
fatherliness in his attitude which she found irritating in the extreme.
All her life she had chafed at authority, and now, when Bailey set
himself up as one possessing it, she showed the worst side of herself
to him.
He struck this unfortunate note from the very beginning.
"Ruth," he said, "I wish to speak seriously to you."
Ruth looked at him with hostile eyes, but did not speak. He did not
know it, poor man, but he had selected an exceedingly bad moment for
his lecture. It so happened that, only half an hour before, she and
Kirk had come nearer to open warfare than they had ever come.
It had come about in this way. Kirk had slept badly the night before,
and, as he lay awake in the small hours, his conscience had troubled
him.
Had he done all that it was in him to do to bridge the gap between Ruth
and himself? That was what his conscience had wanted to know. The
answer was in the negative. On the following day, just before Bailey's
call, he accordingly sought Ruth out, and, rather nervously, for Ruth
made him feel nervous nowadays, suggested that he and she and William
Bannister should take the air in each other's company and go and feed
the squirrels in the park.
Ruth declined. It is possible that she declined somewhat curtly. The
day was close and oppressive, and she had a headache and a general
feeling of ill-will toward her species. Also, in her heart, she
considered that the scheme proposed smacked too much of Sunday
afternoon domesticity in Brooklyn. The idea of papa, mamma, and baby
sporting together in a public park offended her sense of the social
proprieties.
She did not reveal these thoughts to Kirk because she was more than a
little ashamed of them. A year ago, she knew, she would not have
objected to the idea. A year ago such an expedition would have been a
daily occurrence with her. Now she felt if William Bannister wished to
feed squirrels, Mamie was his proper companion.
She could not put all this baldly to Kirk, so she placed the burden of
her refusal on the adequate shoulders of Lora Delane Porter. Aunt Lora,
she said, would never hear of William Bannister wandering at large in
such an unhygienic fashion. Upon which Kirk, whose patience was not so
robust as it had been, and who, like Ruth, found the day oppressive and
making for irritability, had cursed Aunt Lora heartily, given it as his
opinion that between them she and Ruth were turning the child from a
human being into a sort of spineless, effeminate exhibit in a museum,
and had taken himself off to the studio muttering disjointed things.
Ruth was still quivering with the indignation of a woman who has been
cheated of the last word when Bailey appeared and announced that he
wished to speak seriously to her.
Bailey saw the hostility in her eyes and winced a little before it. He
was not feeling altogether at his ease. He had had experience of Ruth
in this mood, and she had taught him to respect it.
But he was not going to shirk his duty. He resumed:
"I am only speaking for your own good," he said. "I know that it
is nothing but thoughtlessness on your part, but I am naturally
anxious......"
"Bailey," interrupted Ruth, "get to the point."
Bailey drew a long breath.
"Well, then," he said, baulked of his preamble, and rushing on his
fate, "I think you see too much of Basil Milbank."
Ruth raised her eyebrows.
"Oh?"
The mildness of her tone deceived Bailey.
"I do not like to speak of these things," he went on more happily; "but
I feel that I must. It is my duty. Basil Milbank has not a good
reputation. He is not the sort of man who, ah, who, in fact, he has not
a good reputation."
"Oh?"
"I understand that he has invited you to form one of his yacht party."
"How did you know?"
"Sybil told me. He invited her. I refused to allow her to accept the
invitation."
"And what did Sybil say?"
"She was naturally a little disappointed, of course, but she did as I
requested."
"I wonder she didn't pack her things and go straight off."
"My dear Ruth!"
"That is what I should have done."
"You don't know what you are saying."
"Oh? Do you think I should let Kirk dictate to me like that?"
"He is certain to disapprove of your going when he hears of the
invitation. What will you do?"
Ruth's eyes opened. For a moment she looked almost ugly.
"What shall I do? Why, go, of course."
She clenched her teeth. A woman's mind can work curiously, and she was
associating Kirk with Bailey in what she considered an unwarrantable
intrusion into her private affairs. It was as if Kirk, and not Bailey,
were standing there, demanding that she should not associate with Basil
Milbank.
"I shall make it my business," said Bailey, "to warn Kirk that this man
is not a desirable companion for you."
The discussion of this miserable yacht affair had brought back to
Bailey all the jealousy which he had felt when Sybil had first told him
of it. All the vague stories he had ever heard about Basil were surging
in his mind like waves of some corrosive acid. He had become a leading
member of the extreme wing of the anti-Milbank party. He regarded Basil
with the aversion which a dignified pigeon might feel for a circling
hawk; and he was now looking on this yacht party as a deadly peril from
which Ruth must be saved at any cost.
"I shall speak to him very strongly," he added.
Ruth's suppressed anger blazed up in the sudden way which before now
had disconcerted her brother.
"Bailey, what do you mean by coming here and saying this sort of thing?
You're becoming a perfect old woman. You spend your whole time prying
into other people's affairs. I'm sorry for Sybil."
Bailey cast one reproachable look at her and left the room with pained
dignity. Something seemed to tell him that no good could come to him
from a prolongation of the interview. Ruth, in this mood, always had
been too much for him, and always would be. Well, he had done his duty
as far as he was concerned. It now remained to do the same by Kirk.
He hailed a taxi and drove to the studio.
Kirk was busy and not anxious for conversation, least of all with
Bailey. He had not forgotten their last tete-a-tete.
Bailey, however, was regarding him with a feeling almost of
friendliness. They were bound together by a common grievance against
Basil Milbank.
"I came here, Winfield," he said, after a few moments of awkward
conversation on neutral topics, "because I understand that this man
Milbank has invited Ruth to join his yacht party."
"What yacht party?"
"This man Milbank is taking a party for a cruise shortly in his yacht."
"Who is Milbank?"
"Surely you have met him? Yes, he was at my house one night when you
and Ruth dined there shortly after your return."
"I don't remember him. However, it doesn't matter. But why does the
fact that he has asked Ruth on his yacht excite you? Are you nervous