The Silver Butterfly Page 10

  CHAPTER X

  "Quite right."

  Hayden regarded his calendar approvingly. The large red and gold lettersstared at him proclaiming arrogantly: "Every day is the best day of theyear." And was it not true? Yesterday had proved indeed a day of destiny.It had brought him the assurance of a hope, the confirmation of ahesitant belief that the owners of the lost Mariposa were within reachand, better still, were not entirely masters of the situation. Andyesterday, too, he had met Ydo; and, perhaps, Hayden's thoughts had beenas much occupied with her as with his discovered but not possessedEldorado.

  But Ydo herself was a sufficient excuse for that. And this was anotherday. A daring thought came to him. Why not assist Fate and make it thebest day in the year--a day that should be Marcia's. At this brilliantidea he looked at his watch and then rushed to the telephone. SurelyMarcia, even conscientious Marcia who worked painstakingly at her prettyLittle water-colors every day, would not have left for her studio. Hewould throw dice with Destiny again to-day and push his luck. With thisdetermination, he rang up the residence of Mrs. Oldham. There was amoment or two of delay, and then Marcia's voice answered. Haydenmentioned the beauty of the day--it was overcast--the charm of this softand mild weather--an east wind blew piercingly--and diffidently assumedthat after a day in her studio, she would as usual take the air bywalking home through the Park.

  Yes-s-s-s, she probably would.

  Then since he had hoped to call upon her mother that afternoon, might henot join her and walk up with her, and would she not be leaving herbrushes and canvases early, at half-after four, for instance.

  Yes-s-s, he said four o'clock, did he not? Fate again honored him, shewould be at the Plaza then calling on a friend.

  Hayden had won in his dice-throwing and Fate took defeat handsomely,granting him his desires and throwing a favor or two for lagnappe. Byfour o'clock the wind had veered, the clouds no longer betokened rain,broken spars of sunshine dazzled over the gold of the Sherman statue,sparkled in the harness of prancing horses, and brightened the whitenessof the great hotel. It was early in March, which, by the way, had decidedto enter like a meek little lamb this year instead of advancing with themien of an angry and roaring lion. The air was cool and fresh and yetheld all manner of soft, indescribable intimations of spring. The sky wasa sheet of pale gold, the trees were a purple mist against it.

  Hayden drew a long breath of happiness as Marcia's steps fell in withhis; the sense of contentment and well-being which her mere presencealways afforded him seemed the more soothing and potent this afternoonthan ever before. Since yesterday, there had run high in his veins thefever of acquisition, and Ydo's personality had disturbed and stimulateduntil she had wrought in him a sort of mental confusion. But Marcia athis side, smiling in the shadow of her plumed hat, the familiar violetsnestling in her dark furs, seemed the visible embodiment of all thesesoft, sweet intimations of spring. Not yet jocund, as spring come intoher own crowned with flowers and laughing through her silver rain; but awistful spring still held in the thraldom of winter.

  "What have you been doing that makes you look a little pale?" askedHayden tenderly.

  "Am I pale?" She smiled at him. "I dare say. I have been painting thegreater part of every day and going out a good deal in the evening."

  "What an idler I must seem to you who are always so occupied," he said.

  "Not at all. I, too, take vacations. But tell me how you have been idlinglately."

  "I idled, if you call it that," he said, "yesterday afternoon at thewonderful fortune-teller's."

  "Oh, you have seen Ydo?" Marcia lifted her head involuntarily, and thenmeeting his surprised gaze, the color flooded her cheeks. It kept onrolling up in waves.

  Seeing her embarrassment, he was at pains to suppress his astonishment.

  "Yes," he said as naturally as he possibly could under the circumstances."Yes, she gave me quite a long reading. Isn't that the professional wordfor it--reading?"

  "I--I believe so." She had not entirely recovered herself. "And are youquite convinced of her powers?"

  He gave a short laugh. "Oh, quite. More than convinced. I never shouldquestion them. Mine is the fate of the scoffer. The most rabid persecutoris merely the reverse side of the bigoted proselyter. Upon me rests notthe curse that follows the tolerant. They get nowhere. 'Because thou artneither hot nor cold I spew thee from my mouth.'"

  "Really!" It was plain she was a little puzzled, and took refuge in theconveniently inexpressive "really." "Did she tell you a good fortune?"

  "How can I say? Fortune is always in the future."

  "You are teasing me and telling me nothing," she declared, "and you arelaughing, laughing, too, as if over some secret and mysterious joke."

  "I am laughing," he said, suddenly serious, "but not over any of therevelations of Mademoiselle Mariposa, I can assure you; and to show youmy faith in her prophecies, I am going to tell you something." He wasgrave enough now. "And yet, I wonder--perhaps--"

  "Perhaps what?"

  "Perhaps you will find no interest in what I want to say."

  She looked up at him quickly, surprise in her glance. "How absurd! I donot see why you say such things. Why should you fancy that I would not beinterested in anything you have to tell me?"

  They had turned down a narrow lane of trees, and the skies, a deeper andmore luminous gold, were in a net of bare, black twigs. The wind bore thefragrance of Marcia's violets past Hayden's nostrils.

  "But you may not feel so when I tell you that I love you, Marcia." Hisvoice low and unsteady thrilled her heart. "I realize the rashness of thewhole thing; but I do love you, Marcia."

  There was a moment's silence, a silence when Hayden's heart-beats soundedlouder than the patter of their feet on the concrete pavement or thedistant and mighty roar of the city--and then Marcia lifted her eyes tohis.

  In a moment the miracle had happened. Above them stretched the same goldsky in its intricate and broken nets, the wind blew softly; but they twohad stepped across the boundaries of commonplace days straight intoArcady. Flowers bloomed, birds sang, and the soul of the spring was intheir hearts. But, curiously enough, though they were in Arcady, theywere also in the Park. Hayden looked up the little lane; north and southmarched an unending line of people. They were in Arcady, but deprived ofits ancient privilege of sylvan and umbrageous solitude.

  She was the first to speak. "Why is it absurd?" And her clear voicetrembled a little.

  "How can it be, as things stand, anything but absurd?" he answeredbitterly. "I am simply an engineer on my vacation, who when that is overwill return to the wilds. Oh, Marcia, how can I in common decency ask youto marry me? I can not yet, but I do ask you to let me love you, toforgive me for telling you of my feeling for you, and believe me when Itell you that I would not have had the courage to mention the subject ifI did not feel almost sure of a change of fortune. I don't want to tellyou just yet. I'm trying not to tell you; but dearest, loveliest Marcia,I believe I'm on the eve of success. I can almost close my fingers aroundit, and then you will let me tell you I love you, won't you, dearest?Yes, laugh at me, I don't mind."

  "But suppose, just suppose this wonderful fortune never doesmaterialize," she said half-teasingly but still tremulously, a smile onher lips and a tear in her eye. "What then?"

  "Never suppose it. It can't help it," he cried confidently. "Why even nowI can see particles of gold in the air. To-morrow, next day, the dayafterward, we shall have our cake. Will you eat it with me, Marcia, ifit's a nice, brown, plum-y cake?"

  "You make too many conditions," she said demurely. "I don't care for veryrich cake myself. Suppose the cake should not turn out particularly wellin the baking? Wouldn't you offer me a piece anyway--Bobby?"

  Again he looked up the path and down the path; people still hastening toand fro. Arcady was infested with toilers hurrying home to supper.

  "I'd try not to," he said manfully, keeping his eyes resolutely away fromhers. "Oh, Marcia, I can't be certain, I'd try not to. I couldn't b
earto see you eating underdone cake. It would only mean misery to you. Yourmanner of life--"

  "My manner of life!" she interrupted him scornfully. "Ah, what is mymanner of life! Do you fancy that I am deaf as a post and blind as a bat?Do you think that I do not know some of the things that are spoken of me,by Mrs. Ames, for instance, or Horace Penfield, or even Edith Symmes? Doyou fancy any word of that tittle-tattle escapes me? Sometimes it isrepeated, or hinted in malice; sometimes as from Bea or Kitty in fright,as a warning, almost a prayer. I know that I lay myself open to gossip;but I can not help it, at least at present. It is impossible for me toalter things just now."

  "I know," he murmured tenderly. "I am sure of it. I have realizedsomething of this from the first moment that I met you. But always sincethat moment I could stake my life on this, that any--any mystery thatmight seem to exist was not of your making or choosing. And I want toassure you of something, to make you believe it if necessary; and thatis, dear, dear Marcia, if you never choose to unravel the tangle I shallstill be content."

  She looked at him a moment in absolute, speechless wonder, and thentears, happy tears brimmed in her eyes. "Oh, how glad I shall be tounravel it!" She breathed deeply. "How glad! Wait a little--a week, afortnight. Ah!" She caught herself up hastily. "Come, see how late! It isgrowing dark and the lights are beginning to twinkle out, and they tellme, even if you will not, that it is time I ran home and got dressed. I'mto dine at Bea Habersham's to-night. You must come in with me when wereach home and let mother give you a cup of tea. You are a tremendousfavorite of hers; she says you are wonderfully witty. And then you candrive as far as Bea's with me, and I will have the chauffeur take you onhome. Will you?"

  "Will I? Will I? Thank you very much, Miss Oldham, for your amiability inSuggesting such a thing; but I could not possibly take advantage of yourkindness." If the wit of this sally may be judged by the manner in whichit was received Hayden had just uttered one of the great bon-mots of theages.

  "I hope," said Marcia presently, a touch of apprehension in her tone,"that some one has been to see mother this afternoon. Poor dear! Shealways feels a little aggrieved if no one comes."

  "Let us appease any possible disappointment she may have suffered bytaking her a present," suggested Hayden, fired by inspiration. "Women,children, every one likes presents, do they not? Come, let us findshops."

  "What an adventurer you are!" laughed Marcia, letting him lead her acrossthe street, a confusion crowded with swiftly moving vehicles and cars,for they had now left the twilight shadows and comparative seclusion ofthe Park and were walking down the noisy thoroughfare.

  "You will have to make a quick decision," she added as they came upon aregion of many brilliant shops and sidewalks crowded with people. "Whatwill you take her, fruit or flowers?"

  But Hayden was too happy to consider any topic with gravity. "We willtake her a swanboat, or one of the Hesperidian apples, or the GoldenFleece."

  And although Marcia spent herself in urging him to stick to theconservative fruit and flowers, he insisted on following his own vagrantfancy, and at last decided upon an elaborate French basket of pale-bluesatin covered with shirrings of fine tulle. The lid was a mass ofartificial flowers, violets and delicate pink roses, and within thesatin-lined depths was a bunch of Hamburg grapes.

  This, when finally and carefully wrapped, made a huge package; but Haydeninsisted on carrying it, assuring Marcia that every one they met would besure that he was carrying home the turkey for their Sunday dinner. Hebore it ostentatiously, and took particular glee in any passing attentionthey excited.

  "You act as if you were twenty, instead of well--let me guess your age,"looking at him with keen scrutiny. "About thirty-five," said Marciacruelly.

  He stopped short to gaze at her with pained reproach. "I am Youth!Incarnate Youth, just eighteen. No doubt to your dulled materialisticvision I appear to wear a coat and hat. Is that true?" with polite,tolerant patience.

  "It certainly appears that way to me," she replied. "What do you imagineyourself to be wearing?"

  "And I dare say," he continued still patiently, "that you also fancy youand I are strolling about in one of the shopping districts of New York?"

  "Yes," nodding affirmatively. "Where else?"

  "Wretched, purblind girl! Thirty-five indeed! Why, I am eighteen, andclad in the hide of a leopard with a wreath of roses on my brow, and you,sweet Oenone, are wandering with me on the slopes of Ida--and we aretaking your mother, not one, but a peck of golden apples."

  "All things considered," said Marcia significantly, "I am glad we havereached our own door."

  They found Mrs. Oldham in good spirits in consequence of having seen anumber of people who had sufficient tact duly to admire her new costumeworn for the first time that afternoon. She had given much considerationto all the effects of the picture she wished to create, and now sat in anespecial chair in an especial part of the room, a vision in pale gray andorchid tints most skilfully mingled. Her feet, in orchid silk stockings,and slippers adorned with great choux of gray chiffon, looked on theirfootstool as if they were a part of the decorations of the room and hadnever served the utilitarian purpose of conveyance.

  "Oh, I am glad to see you!" she cried, peering past Marcia to Hayden whofollowed, almost obscured by his great package. She stretched out a handfor him to take, not disarranging her pose by rising and thus spoilingthe composition. "Marcia, you're dreadfully late, as usual," a touch offretfulness in her voice.

  "I know," replied her daughter; "and now, I'm going to leave Mr. Haydento you. Give him some tea, won't you? I'm dining at the Habershams, youknow, and he will drive down with me after a while."

  "Of course I'll give Mr. Hayden some tea. Send in some hot water,Marcia." She leaned forward, still careful not to move her feet andfussed with the tea things on the table by her side. "I am very glad tosee you," she murmured again. "Ah, Mr. Hayden, if it were not for myfriends I should be a very lonely woman. You understand, of course, thatI do not complain. Marcia is the dearest girl that ever was, so lovelyand attractive. Oh, dear, yes. But," with an upward glance ofresignation, "quite young people are apt to be thoughtless, you know, andMarcia's social life is so much to her, and indeed, I am selfish enoughto be truly glad that it is so; it really is a great bond between dearWilfred and herself; but of course it leaves me much alone; and it is notgood for me to be thrown back on myself and my own sad thoughts so much.Mr. Oldham always recognized that fact. 'Change, constant diversion is anAbsolute necessity to one of your sensitive, high-strung nature,' hewould so often say, but," with a long-drawn sigh, "no one thinks enoughabout me to feel that way now."

  "Don't say that," said Hayden cheerfully. "I may not be any one, but I'vebeen thinking about you. Look! I carried this enormous bundle through thestreets just for you. Be careful. It's heavy."

  She flushed with pleasure through her delicately applied rouge, andstretching out her hands for her gift began eagerly to unwind the varioustissue-papers which concealed it. The last of these discarded, she placedthe basket in the middle of the table and spent herself in ecstaticphrases, melting from pose to pose of graceful admiration.

  "Ah, Mr. Hayden," with one of her archest glances, "you remind me so muchof Mr. Oldham." Hayden had a swift, mental picture of that grim oldpirate of finance, as represented by his portraits and photographs, hisshrewd, rugged old face surrounded by Horace Greeley whiskers. "He nevercame home without bringing me something. Sometimes it was just a flower,or some fruit, and again it was a jewel. You can't fancy, Mr. Hayden, nowords of mine can express to you his constant thought and care for me.You take lemon in your tea, do you not? I thought so. I always rememberthose little things about my friends. And he had such faith in mybusiness judgment, too. He would often discuss business with me and askmy opinion on this or that matter; and he always, without exception,acted on my advice. He used to say--so foolish of him--that he could notunderstand why he should have been so favored as to have found acombination of beauty and brains in one woman
."

  "It is rare, but as I understand now, not impossible." Hayden took hiscue nobly.

  "Oh, Mr. Hayden!" A reproving finger was shaken at him with the archestcoquetry. "If you talk that way I shan't give you another cup of tea, nomatter how hard you beg. But where was I? Oh, yes, I was telling you thatMr. Oldham so often discussed business matters with me."

  "And did they interest you?" asked Hayden vaguely, wondering how soon hecould possibly expect Marcia to return.

  "Oh, yes, I found it more thrilling than the printed page."

  "Most men do," he replied dryly. "I didn't know that women felt thatway."

  "I did." Mrs. Oldham nodded her head in modest acceptation of the factthat she was the exceptional woman. "I found it not only thrilling, butoften _so_ romantic. I do not see why people will speak of 'the drydetails of business.' I think it is full of romance."

  Hayden stared at her with the amazement her mental processes alwaysaroused in him.

  "It never seemed exactly within the range of romantic subjects to me," hesaid dubiously; "but perhaps that's the way I've been looking at it."

  "Certainly it is," she affirmed triumphantly. "Now I'll prove it to you.As I often say to young people, Mr. Hayden: 'Never make an assertionunless you can prove it.' Now, I distinctly remember Mr. Oldham tellingme of a most romantic business matter. A lost mine of almost unthinkablevalue which was on an old estate somewhere in Brazil, or no, Peru. Why,what is the matter, Mr. Hayden? Your eyes are almost popping out of yourhead. You look as if you had seen a ghost."

  Hayden caught himself together. "It is only that it is so interesting. Dogo on and let me hear the rest of it."

  Mrs. Oldham smiled, well pleased at the tribute to her powers as araconteuse. "Well, there isn't much to tell. I've forgotten the details,and they were so romantic, too; but Mr. Oldham seriously consideredbuying it."

  "And did he buy it?" Hayden's hands were trembling in spite of himself."This is so intensely interesting, one would like to hear the conclusionof the story."

  But Mrs. Oldham only shook her head. "I don't know," she said vaguely. "Ithink he did; but I can't be sure."

  She began another long story, but Hayden, after listening to enough of itto assure himself that it had no bearing on The Veiled Mariposa, gavehimself up to the confused conjectures, the hopes, the dreams thatthronged his brain.

  Was it a possibility that Marcia, Marcia, might be the heiress of thegreat Mariposa estate? The owner, or one of the owners of it? He feltovercome by the bare mental suggestion. But was it a possibility, even adim and remote one? Accepting this as a temporary hypothesis, was it notborne out by certain facts? The butterflies, for instance. Did not thosejeweled ornaments symbolize in some delicate, fanciful way, Marcia'sway, her ownership of The Veiled Mariposa? And would not that ownershipalso account for the much-questioned source of her wealth? He stoppedwith a jerk up against a dead wall. The Mariposa mine had not been workedfor years; the ranches were cultivated only by the Spaniard inpossession. These facts were like a dash of cold water, extinguishing theflame of his hopes. And yet, and yet, the butterflies! But that, he wasforced to admit, might be the merest coincidence.

  On that chain of evidence he would find it necessary to regard hiscousin, Kitty Hampton, Mrs. Habersham, the London actress, a score ofwomen, as possible owners of his Golconda. Nevertheless, in spite ofreason, he could not escape the conviction, unfounded but persistent,that those butterflies were in some way connected with the ownership ofthat distant lost mine. And this purely intuitive belief was suddenlystrengthened by the remembrance of Marcia's embarrassment in the Park, anhour or two before, when she had involuntarily and inadvertently spokenof Mademoiselle Mariposa familiarly as Ydo.

  "Yes, Mrs. Oldham, I quite agree with you. As you say: 'One can not betoo careful.' Oh, no, I never was more interested in my life."

  Ydo! Ydo! He took up the thread of his absorbing reflections again asMrs. Oldham's voice purled on reciting with infinite detail all the dataof one of her Helen-like conquests. Ydo! What bond could exist betweenthe reserved, even haughty Marcia in spite of all her gentleness, and thecapricious, wayward, challenging Ydo? A bond sufficiently strong topermit the affectionate familiarity of first names? He had from thebeginning believed that Ydo had some interest in the property, althoughhe had never been able satisfactorily to guess the nature of it. ButMarcia! The mere possibility of her being interested in what Ydo merrilycalled his Eldorado had never struck him before, and his brain wasbewildered by the thousand new trains of conjecture it started.

  At this point his reflections were broken in upon by the entrance ofMarcia herself. She was all in white with the big, ruby-eyed butterfly onher bosom, and the chain of butterflies about her throat. She looked moreradiant than he had ever seen her as she stood before them drawing on herlong gloves. Her eyes, no longer sad with all regret, were like deep bluestars, and her smile was full of a soft and girlish happiness.

  "You look very well, Marcia," said her mother critically. "A new gown, ofcourse. How differently they are cutting the skirts!"

  "It's a lovely gown," affirmed Hayden, smiling down into Marcia's eyes."After all, a simple white frock is the prettiest thing a woman canwear."

  "Simple!" Mrs. Oldham's mirth was high and satiric. "Isn't that like aman? Simple is the last word to be applied to Marcia's frocks, Mr.Hayden. It's a good thing, as I often tell her, that her father left usso well provided for."

  The lovely happiness vanished from Marcia's eyes. She looked quickly ather mother with an almost frightened expression, and then, with eyelasheslowered on her cheek, went silently on drawing on her gloves, two orthree tense little lines showing about her mouth.

  "I think Miss Oldham is very unkind," said Hayden, with some idea ofbridging the situation gracefully, "never to have shown me any of herpictures. She paints, paints all day long, and yet will not give one aglimpse of the results. Kitty Hampton has been promising to show me someof the water-colors she has, but she has not yet done so."

  "Have you been talking much to Mr. Hayden of your pictures, Marcia?"asked her mother suavely.

  The tone was pleasant, even casual, and yet, Hayden, sensitive,intuitive, had a quick, shocked sense of having blundered egregiously;and worse, he had a further sense of Mrs. Oldham's words being fraughtwith some ugly and hidden meaning. In her voice there had been manifestan unsuspected quality which had revealed her for the moment as not allfrivolous fool or spoiled and empty-headed doll; but a tyrant andoppressor, crueller and more menacing because infinitely weak andunstable.

  Marcia did not reply at all to her mother's question, but with her lashesstill downcast, continued to button her gloves; and Hayden stood,miserably uncomfortable for a moment, and then was forced to doubt thecorrectness of his swift, unpleasant impression; for Mrs. Oldham observedin her usual petulant, inconsequent tones:

  "I don't know that I like that necklace with that frock, Marcia. Yourturquoises would look better. I do get so tired of always seeing you withsome kind of a butterfly ornament. You never showed the slightestinterest in butterflies before your father died, and you don't, in theleast, suggest a butterfly. I can not understand it."

  "Don't try, mother dear," said Marcia. "Good-by." She kissed the orchidand gray lady lightly on the top of the head. "Have a good time with yourHamburg grapes and your last new novel."

  She slipped her arms through the long white coat Hayden held for her and,followed by him, left the room.

  "Marcia, dear, sweet Marcia," he coaxed, as they whirled through thestreets in her electric brougham. "I'm sure, almost dead sure, it's goingto be a nice, well-baked, plum-y cake. If it is won't you promise to eatit with me? You know you didn't definitely promise this afternoon, and Inever could stand uncertainty."

  "No," she said positively, drawing her hand away from his, "I will not. Iwill never give you a definite answer until you offer me a share in thecake, no matter how it turns out in the baking."

  "How can I?" he groaned. "You do not know what
sort of a life it wouldbe, the hardships, the deprivations, the necessarily long separationswhen I would have to be in some place utterly impossible for you, formonths at a time. It's the very abomination of desolation. And fancy yourtrying to adapt yourself to it! You, used to this!" rapping the electric."And this, and this!" touching lightly the ermine on her cloak and thejewels at her throat. "No." He shook his head doggedly. "I won't. I knowwhat it means and you do not. Lovely butterfly"--the tenderness of hisvoice stirred her heart-strings--"do you think that I could bear to seeyou beaten to earth, your bright wings torn and faded by the cruelstorms? Never. But," with one of his quick, mercurial changes of mood,"it's an alternative that we do not have to face. For it's coming out allright in the baking--that cake. The most beautiful cake you ever saw,Marcia, with a rich, brown crust, and more plums than you ever dreamed ofin a cake before."