The last became more difficult every hour, as her charm completely enveloped and permeated him. There was always a new gesture, a new expression, a new tone, to be watched for; of all the interests that he had ever had in life she became the strongest. He had many an argument with himself, but they ended always in the same decision: wait and see; which of course was no decision at all, and that was not like Fred Canby.
Linwood, sour widower of two-and-fifty, at first ignored the new member of the household more or less completely, contenting himself with courtesy; at length, however, he gave way before her gay good nature and the buoyant charm of her.
“By immortal time,” he declared one evening to his host, “since you won’t marry her, Canby, I’ll swear I’m tempted myself!” He even went so far as to invite her to Wanakahnda for a day on the links and an initiation into the mysteries of the ancient game; but the look of thankful relief that appeared on his face when she declined sent her into peals of laughter.
Thus weeks passed.
One day Mrs. Wheeler, the housekeeper, came to Canby and asked when he was going to New York.
“I don’t know, perhaps next week,” he replied vaguely. “Why?”
“It ought to be soon,” returned Mrs. Wheeler with emphasis. “It ain’t my business, and she don’t seem to mind, but I don’t see how the poor dear does it. When I asked her she said she come up here expecting to stay only two weeks, and she didn’t have any too much for that. Don’t you tell her I said anything, but I’m sure I don’t want to see the poor dear naked, and that’s what—”
Canby stopped her.
“What in the world are you talking about?”
Mrs. Wheeler became suddenly brief:
“I’m talkin’ about clothes.”
“Good Lord!”
Canby leaped to his feet and started in search of Nella. In the past week he had begun to notice that she was wearing the same things rather often; but, never having been concerned in the condition of any woman’s wardrobe, it simply hadn’t occurred to him that he had any responsibility in the matter. Now he reproached himself; also, he should before this have arranged for his appointment as her legal guardian. There would be no difficulty about that; she was absolutely alone in the world, without any ties whatever.
Early the following morning they started for New York in the roadster. It was the last day of August, and the pulse of summer was beginning to wane; on the foliage were the first faint signs of the season’s death; the air, though hot, was not oppressive, and when they got to the Albany road they found the breeze from the river cool and brisk. Nella was at the wheel; in the past two weeks she had become expert.
Canby took advantage of the occasion to tell her certain things that he thought she ought to know.
“I’m going to make application today for appointment as your legal guardian,” he informed her as they rolled along at thirty miles an hour. “That means that I will be responsible for you just as a father would be. Before you agree to that you ought to know definitely what to expect. I have an income of something over twenty thousand a year. I own Greenhedge. There is no one else in the world dependent on me, and another thing I will do today is make you the sole beneficiary in my will — that is, you’ll get everything when I die. I’m not a wealthy man as New York goes nowadays, but I have enough.”
When they arrived in New York he explained his plans for the day; and in accordance with them, at Forty-second Street he transferred Nella to a taxi-cab and handed her a well-filled purse. He had sufficient confidence in her taste to feel no anxiety for the propriety of her purchases; and besides, any advice from him on the subject would be worse than useless. So he left her, after appointing a rendezvous with her at one o’clock.
Downtown, in the brokerage office in which he had an interest, on Cedar Street just off Broadway, his sudden appearance caused a degree of surprise. Matters of business kept him there for over an hour, after which he departed to keep an appointment arranged over the telephone with his attorney. More surprise here, profound and sustained, at his abrupt announcement of the acquisition of a ward; it ended with the lawyer’s assurance that the legal phase of the transaction would present no difficulties whatever; he would enter the application that day, and in a week or so the thing would be done. Then the alteration of the will was attended to, and it was half an hour after noon when Canby found himself again on the street.
He crossed the sidewalk to the curb, opened the door of the roadster and was getting in when he heard his name called from behind:
“Mr. Canby! It’s a wonder you wouldn’t look at a fellow! When’d you come in?”
It was Tom Linwood, smiling as always, resplendent as to attire and assured as to countenance. They talked a little, the young man asking with mock solicitude concerning the state of his uncle’s golf score.
“You see,” he explained, “I’m naturally interested, because if he ever gets a seventy-nine he’ll die of joy and I’ll be a rich man... By the way, how is Miss Somi?”
Canby replied that Miss Somi was very well, and thoughtlessly added that she was at the moment uptown shopping.
“No! Is she really?” Young Linwood’s face brightened. “You don’t happen to know just where she is, do you? Perhaps she’d take luncheon with me.”
“I’m on my way to take her to lunch now,” replied the guileless Canby.
“Yes? By Jove, that’s fine! You don’t mind if I come along?”
And almost before Canby knew how it happened they were seated side by side in the roadster on their way uptown.
They were at Sherry’s a few minutes before one, and a little later Nella entered. Her face was flushed and her eyes were beaming with the unprecedented joy of the morning’s experience; in three hours she had bought a thousand dollars’ worth of clothes. Ineffable delight!
She came forward to greet Canby with so pervasive an air of happiness that for a moment he feared one of her demonstrations of fond gratitude there in the restaurant lobby. Then she caught sight of his companion.
“Oh! Mr. Linwood!” she said prettily.
The luncheon that Canby had looked forward to with so much pleasure proved rather an uncomfortable affair for him. In the first place, they had barely finished the clams when he began to reflect that Tom Linwood was an uncommonly handsome young man, and the trouble was that Nella seemed to have noticed it too; the Lord knows, she kept her eyes on him enough. And Tom, with incredible cunning, having discovered that Nella was under the spell of her first shopping orgy, began to describe in detail the frocks he had seen at Newport that summer. Fine masculine subject for conversation! But what really caused Canby discomfort was the sight of the youth in the brown eyes calling to that in the blue.
They had nearly finished when Canby, hearing a woman’s voice pronounce his name, turned to find Mrs. Ponsonby-Atkins approaching with her daughter Marie. She stopped to talk and inquire about his sister, while Marie chatted with Tom Linwood; there was absolutely no help for it, and he finally introduced “Miss Somi, my ward.” Good breeding held fast; Mrs. Ponsonby-Atkins never blinked an eyelash; but, as she moved away, her back seemed somehow to be saying in her own picturesque manner: “Fred Canby with a beautiful Latin princess for a ward! Where the devil did he get her?” Not that he was ashamed of Nella — far from it — but the encounter was inopportune and undesired.
And finally, out on the sidewalk, young Linwood calmly invited himself to Greenhedge for the coming week-end. He would arrive early Saturday afternoon, he declared, if it would be no inconvenience; and Canby, perforce, assured him it would not.