The Tryst (Annotated) (Grace Livingston Hill Book) (8 page)

Treeves marked the obsequiousness of the servants as the old man’s chair rolled through the hall and into the lift like a chariot of state. He saw a look pass into the faces of all who served from the least bellboy to the highest in the house, that look of deference to riches, and his soul rebelled within him as he noted the slight reflection of glory that fell even to his own share because of being in the company of this little old selfish dried-up soul of a man in a withered shell of a body. Again the old wrath boiled within him, and he was almost at the point of turning away from the situation and bolting in disgust. Yet after all there was something pathetic in the smirk of satisfaction that sat upon the waxen lips. This was all the man had, this human adulation. And not for himself, either; the deference was for his riches! What a life to have lived so long, and to have nothing but this at the end I Self incarcerated in that withered old body, shortly to be driven forth into an unknown country where riches of earth count not and deference for such reasons is unknown! 

Down in the bright world of the hotel dining-room such thoughts quickly fled. Treeves was searching everywhere for a face. He paid little heed to the gaiety about him, and acknowledged the introductions his uncle gave with indifference. He did not expect to meet these people again. They were out of his sphere. They were interesting merely as specimens from another world. His eyes idly appraised a florid mother, her well-groomed head set off by a black velvet band with jeweled slides above her broad expanse of pink enameled chest. Her pallid daughter, with limpid eyes and an anaemic droop, stood beside her. He wondered why she cared to show so much of a long skinny back, and then his eyes hurried through the group of faces just beyond and Adele Quatrain realized that she had not made a hit with the stunning young nephew of the millionaire. 

“He's got the Treeves manner all right!” said the uncle to himself as he watched the young man with satisfaction. "He won't fall for the first little fool that angles for him, that's certain. He takes the first entrance into his own as if he had been here always. It's not going to be difficult at all to train him. That distant air suits him well. No one would guess he was not to the manner born. His mother couldn't have been so bad after all, and I suppose I shall have to say so to him, for he seems to be quite set on her. After all, she's dead and can't make us any more trouble, so what's the difference. And blood will tell. His father was a Treeves all through, if he did marry a poor country parson's daughter. It isn't as if she hadn't had some education of course. This certainly is going to be a good move. I shall enjoy myself! But what is the young cuss looking at? He hasn't taken his eyes off the main entrance! I swear it's almost as if he was watching for someone! He can't have found any friends here surely! I must keep my eye on him. I won't have him making any undesirable acquaintances!” 

But although John Treeves watched the main entrance to the great dining-room most carefully, and searched with eager eyes the faces of those seated about the tables, he could not find Patty Merrill nor her double. 

The dining-room was long and built of glass, opening on three sides to the mountain scenery. The sun, like a great red ball of fire-opal, slid down in majestic display behind pines and juniper and fir, sending long purple and gold bars through the interstices and left a gorgeous sky behind to linger and glow and die slowly into the deep purples and blues of night The brilliant lights of the dining-hall began to be felt with the dessert and coffee. 

“Doggone his fool hide! He isn't impressed at all!” mused his uncle, gulping his black coffee and eying his nephew savagely. “Where in thunder did he get that cool manner? One would think he had been a millionaire all his life! If he wasn't my nephew I'd call him an upstart! And he is! Of course he is! An upstart! But I like him and I'm going to keep him! That manner will go all right, only he mustn't work it on me/ I won't have it! I'll teach him he can't go that way with me! He's got to knuckle down and do as I say or I won't have anything to do with him! I'll teach him!” 

Meantime, Patty Merrill, in a pleasant suite of rooms on the third floor of the hotels stood at a window watching the sunset and trying to calm her excited heart and think what had really happened. 

She had unpacked Miss Cole's bags, hung up her belongings, and spread out her toilet articles with unaccustomed but intelligent Angers, and a kind of childish pleasure. It was like playing dolls or taking a part in a bit of comedy, this posing as a lady's maid and companion. It really amused her. Miss Cole did not seem a hard woman to please, and so far their relations had been entirely amicable. Now and then during the journey she had lifted her eyes to find those of the older woman upon her in a frank questioning stare. A stare that would have seemed almost impertinent if it had not been kindly. She felt too much alone in this great experiment she had launched herself upon, to resent a pleasant look, so she had answered it by a flush and a smile which somehow seemed always to turn the look, and once or twice had brought an answering smile. 

Miss Cole was lying on the couch in the sitting-room of the apartment, a steamer rug over her feet, and her head upon a linen pillow that always accompanied her on her journeys. She had closed her eyes and said she would rest until dinner was brought up; and Patty, feeling herself dismissed for the time being, drifted over to the window and dropped down upon the broad window-seat Looking into the heart of the valley where the shadows among the pines were deepest and smokiest she began to feel sad and full of vague fears and uneasiness. Was that really John Treeves that she had seen downstairs, or was it only her imagination? How would he be here? And if it were really her old comrade, what ought she to do about it? 

Since leaving New York her situation had been so entirely novel and amusing that she had had very little leisure to think it over or become depressed. Now, however, the full force of her exile came upon her. She was a fugitive, and must remain unknown. It would not do to be recognized by this young man who knew her family, whose mother had been a dear intimate of her mother in their childhood days, and who would undoubtedly think it his duly to persuade her to return home if he knew she was here under an assumed name; would very likely consider it his duly to let her family know of her whereabouts. Not that he would be disloyal to her wishes if he knew all, she was sure, for he had been a wonderful friend, but how could she possibly explain the unloving attitude of her mother and sister that had made it impossible for her to remain at home? No, for the sake of her father, and the honor of the family she must remain hidden, much as she might desire to renew the acquaintance of the beautiful summer which seemed now so long ago. She drew a deep sigh and her eyes grew dreamy over memories of walks and rides and picnics, and. John Treeves's home, the little white cottage at the end of the village street, which would always seem to her the personification of the word Home; the strong, sweet, womanly, merry mother who had taken her into her arms and kissed her for the sake of her own mother. That kiss and the gentle loving tones that had told her of Mrs. Treevee's childish friendship for Patricia's girl-mother, had served to soften many a harsh word and cold action during the years, because she could always remember little beautiful loving things that Mrs. Treeves had told her about her mother as a child, and somehow she had succeeded in putting the halo of that childhood about the haughty head of the mother who had never shown her the deep love she had always craved. 

The sun had slipped out of sight now into the deep blue heart of the pines, and the crimson streak was fading from the ether above. Patty drew another soft little sobbing sigh, scarcely audible, and a tear unbidden slipped out the fringes and dashed silently down her cheek. Then startlingly grim from out the shadows of the room where she had supposed her patient to be peacefully sleeping, came a voice, very much awake indeed: 

“How long have you known that young man?” 

Patty, with a gasp, emerged hastily from her retrospection and dashed away the tears from her hot cheeks. 

“I -- I beg your pardon?” she tried to say briskly, trying not to seem in a panic, “I thought you were asleep, Miss Cole – Madam!” 

“Don't MADAM me!” was the sharp retort. “I asked you how long you had known that young man. I know you thought I was asleep. You thought I didn't see down there in the office, too, but I’m not blind if I am rheumatic, and I've been young once if I am an old maid. I want to know how long you have known him." 

“Why -- I --” began Patty with her heart going like a trip-hammer playing trills, “I'm not sure that I know him at all. He looked a little like someone I met five years ago when I was visiting friends in New York state, but I wasn't sure.” She was breathing more freely now. This sounded perfectly reasonable, and was entirely true. 

“Well, he's the same one, and you know him, and he knows you, all right. I tell you I'm not blind. But what I want to know is how long and how well you know him!” 

There was a touch of dictatorial sharpness in the voice that put Patricia a bit on her dignity. 

"His mother and my mother were school friends. We played around together one summer when we were growing up. That is all," said Patty, coolly. 

“There, there! Now child, don't you go to getting uppish about it. You think it's none of my business, but you must remember that you were an utter stranger to me until yesterday, and that you're young and pretty; and whether you think I have the right or not, it's my moral responsibility to keep an eye on you, and you mustn't resent it.” 

“I know, Miss Cole,” said Patty quietly yet with a tiny bit of aloofness in her tone,” but you saw that I turned away without recognizing that young man. Wasn't that sufficient?” 

“H'm! That was just the trouble. He looked to me like a perfectly good young man, and why didn't you recognize him?”

Patty stiffened and was glad that it was dark in the room. There was something in the arrogant old woman's voice that made her want to both laugh and cry. 

“I am not in a position to recognize anybody at present," said Patty. 

"Position fiddlesticks!" said the old lady. "That young man would only honor you the more if he thought you were earning your living! I can't be mistaken in a face like that!" 

Patty laughed outright. 

“Oh, indeed, you misunderstand me,” she said, “I wasn't worried about my position as earning my own living. But I told you in the beginning that there were reasons why it had become necessary for me, and none of my friends know the circumstances. It is very necessary for the comfort of those I love most that nobody should know anything about it at present. I do not wish to be recognized nor to have any of my friends find out where I am.” 

“H'm!”said the old lady speculatively. “You didn't run away, did you? Not that I care, but I'd like to know. It might make matters simpler.”

“Why, yes, I think I did," said Patty thoughtfully, “but I had a perfectly good reason for doing so, and I'm not going back even if you try to make me, for I'm sure I did right.”

“Well, I'm reasonably sure you did, too, if you say so,” responded the astonishing old lady, “and I'm not going to try. But there's something I want distinctly understood. You're not here in any menial position. I never travel with a maid, and I won't have a companion. I hate 'em! You are a distant relative of mine taking a trip with me. Understand? 

“But, Miss Cole, I couldn't put myself in a false position --” 

“Nothing false about it. It's perfectly true. You are a distant relative of mine. Dates back to Adam. You can like it or not, but you can't deny it. And that’s what I hired you for, to be a young relative taking a trip with me. See? You can call me Aunt or Cousin, or whatever you like, but I'm a relative, and as long as you stay with me that's what you are to be! I like the fun of taking a pretty young girl around and playing with her. I'd take Marjorie if she'd let me, but she's too much of a high-flyer to be tied to an old woman's apron strings, and besides, she's a too-near relation. So, if you're agreeable I'll be Aunt Sylvia, or Cousin Sylvia, after this, or just plain Miss Sylvia, if you like that better.” 

“You're very kind -- Miss -- Miss Sylvia --” said Patty slowly, "and I'll do my very best to be the nicest relative I know how and play around with you. But only, you'll please not expect me to hunt up any of my former acquaintances. I want to be -- just Edith Fisher now. I must, you know. 

If s necessary!”

Her cool young voice was quite determined and there was an extended silence in the room while the older woman thought it over. Then came her voice like an electric spark: 

“Be what you like!" she said snappily. " Only don't be a fool! Some people aren't worth sacrifices!”

“Mine is,” said Patty firmly. 

There was an impatient stir from the bed: 

“Don't tell me you've fallen in love with some other young man when this one was around!”

Patty laughed out happily. 

“Oh, dear no! Nothing like that! It's only a very dear relative. I haven't thought about falling in love yet!”

“H'm!” said Miss Cole unbelievingly. “Well, ring for dinner -- unless you'd like to go down. I'm feeling perfectly rested.”

“Oh, no, please!” said Patty hurrying to the bell. “I’d much rather stay up here tonight; it’s so cosy!”

So they had their dinner served upstairs, and Patty, with rosy cheeks and eyes that shone like stars, exerted herself to be as bright and entertaining as possible, while the old lady watched her grimly and with a kind of satisfaction that the girl would not have understood. After all, Miss Cole found great joy in a girl who could be entertaining to an old woman when there was a perfectly good and perfectly willing young man downstairs with whom she might have companied if she had tried. 

Patty, as she lay in her bed in the little room just off from Miss Cole's bedroom after the evening was over, thought about it all, and her cheeks grew warm in the darkness once more over the questions her inquisitor had put. How was she to conduct herself the next day, and the next, and all the days, supposing John Treeves were to remain in the hotel? It was not thinkable that she could entirely escape meeting him, although she meant to try her very best to do so. And she could not bring herself to tell him her trouble and expose her mother to his criticism. Father would not like that. Father would expect her to keep the honor of the family. Only so could she explain her action to him on his return.