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- Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
The White Alley by Carolyn Wells is a spellbinding mystery that will ensnare you with its twists and turns. When a wealthy socialite is found dead in the mysterious White Alley, the investigation reveals more than just a simple murder. As Detective Billie Bradley delves into the case, she uncovers a tangled web of deceit, hidden motives, and dark secrets. The alley, shrouded in mystery, seems to hold the key to the crime, but will Detective Bradley be able to piece together the clues before the killer strikes again? Prepare for a thrilling ride through a world of high society and intrigue where danger lurks around every corner.
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Table of Contents
The White Alley
Chapter I - White Birches
Chapter II - Wilful Dorothy
Chapter III - May And December
Chapter IV - With Dancing Steps
Chapter V - Scolding Is Barred
Chapter VI - On A Balcony
Chapter VII - Missing!
Chapter VIII - The Search
Chapter IX - Not Found
Chapter X - Dorothy's Promise
Chapter XI - Flirtation
Chapter XII - A Check Stub
Chapter XIII - The Detective
Chapter XIV - Found!
Chapter XV - The Scarlet Sage
Chapter XVI - The Coroner's Questions
Chapter XVII - The Weapon
Chapter XVIII - The Inquest
Chapter XIX - Dorothy's Disclosures
Chapter XX - Fleming Stone
Chapter XXI - The Key Of The Mystery
Chapter XXII - The White Alley
Chapter XXIII - Confession
Landmarks
Table of Contents
Cover
The White Alley
Chapter I - White Birches
Almost before the big motor-car stopped, the girl sprang out. Lap-robes flung aside, veils flying, gauntlets flapping, she was the incarnation of youth, gayety, and modernity.
"Oh, Justin," she cried, as she ran up the steps of the great portico, "we've had such a time! Two punctures and a blow-out! I thought we'd never get here!"
"There, there, Dorothy, don't be so—so precipitous. Let me greet your mother."
Dorothy Duncan pouted at the rebuke, but stood aside as Justin Arnold went forward to meet the older lady.
"Dear Mrs. Duncan," he said, "how do you do? Are you tired? Have you had a bothersome journey? Won't you sit here?"
Mrs. Duncan took the seat offered, and then Arnold turned to Dorothy. "Now it's your turn," he said, smiling at her. "I have to correct your manners when you insist on being so unobservant of the preferment due to your elders."
"Oh, Justin, don't use such long words! Are you glad to see me?"
Dorothy was unwinding yards of chiffon veiling from her head and neck, and was becoming hopelessly entangled in its coils; but her lovely, piquant face smiled out from the clouds of light blue gauze as from a summer sky.
Arnold observed her gravely. "Why do you jerk at that thing so?" he said. "You'll spoil the veil; and you're making no progress in removing it, if that's your purpose."
"Justin! You're so tiresome! Why don't you help me, instead of criticising? Oh, never mind, here's Mr. Chapin; he'll help me—won't you?" The azure-framed face turned appealingly to a man who had just come out of the house. No male human being could have refused that request, and perhaps Ernest Chapin was among those least inclined.
"Certainly," he said, and with a few deft and deferential touches he disentangled the fluttering folds, and was rewarded by a quick, lovely, flashing smile. Then the girl turned again to Arnold.
"Justin," she said, "why can't you learn to do such things? How can I go through life with a man who can't get my head out of a motor-veil?"
"Don't be foolish, Dorothy. I supposed you quite capable of adjusting your own toggery."
"And must I always do everything I am capable of doing? 'Deed I won't! By the way, Justin, you haven't kissed me yet."
She lifted her lovely, laughing face, and, a trifle awkwardly, Arnold bent and kissed the rose-leaf cheek.
Justin Arnold was one of those men whose keynote seemed to be restraint. Spontaneous motions were never his. Trifling, unmeant words he never spoke; and to imagine him jesting was impossible. Equally impossible to imagine him affectionate, or demonstrative. The kiss he gave his fiancée was formal but significant, like the seal on a legal document. It exasperated Dorothy, who was accustomed to have her very glances sought for, her words treasured and her smiles breathlessly awaited. To have a kiss almost ignored nearly took her off her feet!
"H'm," she said; "not very lover-like, but I suppose you're embarrassed at the audience." She flashed another smile at Ernest Chapin, and then said, "Come, Mother, let's go to our rooms and——Oh, there's Leila Duane! Hello, girlie!"
Another motor came purring up, and a tall, graceful girl stepped out and joined the party on the veranda. With a calm correctness of manner, she greeted her host, Justin Arnold, and acknowledged an introduction to his secretary, Ernest Chapin. Then, turning to Mrs. Duncan and Dorothy, she chatted gayly after the manner of reunited friends.
"How heavenly to be here for a house party! But I thought we'd never get in at those forbidding-looking gates. It's like a picnic in a Bastille or something! Don't you just love it!"
"I love it with a lot of people around," returned Dorothy, "but it is Bastille-ish,—in spots. However, as it's to be my life prison, I must get used to it."
"A prison, Dorothy," said Arnold, sternly, "you look on it like that?"
"Of course I do! But you will be a gentle jailer, won't you, Justin, and let me out once in a while to play by myself?"
"By yourself!" cried Leila; "imagine Dorothy Duncan playing by herself! You mean with half a dozen of your grovelling slaves!"
"Half a dozen or one, as the case may be," and Dorothy laughed carelessly; "I'm not sure I don't prefer one to a half dozen."
Arnold looked annoyed at the conversation, but only said, lightly, "Of course you do; and as I'm the one, I'll attend to the half dozen."
"You'll have your hands full," said Leila, laughing; "are you sure, Mr. Arnold, you can keep our Dorothy in bonds? You know she is a super-flirt."
"Was, you mean," corrected Arnold, calmly; "Dorothy's flirting days are over."
Dorothy glanced at him, about to make a gay and saucy retort, but something in his face deterred her, and she contented herself with a side glance and smile at Ernest Chapin, which revealed small evidence of her subscription to Arnold's statement.
"Where is Miss Wadsworth?" she asked; "such a dear, quaint thing, Leila. You'll adore her! She's Justin's cousin, and, incidentally, his model. He's enough like her to be his own cousin! Where is she, Just?"
"She will see you at tea-time," he replied. "She begs you will excuse her until then."
Miss Duane nodded to her maid, who stood waiting, and, leading the ladies into the great hall, Arnold left them in charge of the housekeeper, who showed them to their rooms.
White Birches was one of the finest old places in America, and took its name from the trees which covered a large part of its one-hundred-acre estate.
The house, built by the grandfather of its present owner, was old-fashioned without being antique, but it lent itself readily to modern additions and improvements, and was entirely comfortable, if not strictly harmonious in design. Its original over-ornateness had been somewhat softened by time, and its heavy architecture and huge proportions gave it a dignity of its own. Justin Arnold had added many ells and wings during his occupancy, and the great spreading pile now possessed a multitude of rooms and apartments furnished in the magnificent style which had always represented the Arnold taste.
North of New York City, on Washington Heights, it was scarcely near enough to the metropolis to be called a suburb; yet, easily accessible by steam, trolley, or motor-car. White Birches was a delightful home for its occupants, and most hospitable to the stranger within its gates.
"Within its gates" is an appropriate phrase, for the only entrance to White Birches was an immense stone archway provided with heavy iron gates. The entire estate was enclosed by a high stone wall, on top of which was further protection from intruders by means of broken glass bottles embedded in cement. This somewhat foreign feature gave a picturesque effect, and the old stone wall, built nearly a century before, was partly covered with trailing vines and tangled shrubbery. But it was intact and formed an effective barrier against burglars or other marauders. The great gates were locked every night with almost as much ceremony as the lord of an ancient castle would draw his portcullis, and though this excessive precaution was rather because of tradition than fear of present danger, Justin Arnold adhered wherever possible to the customs of his ancestors.
His grandfather, perhaps because of the other manners of his times, had an almost abnormal fear of burglars. His somewhat crude burglar-alarm had been replaced in later years by Justin's father, and this in turn by Justin himself, so that at present White Birches was fitted out with the most elaborate and efficacious burglar-alarm that had yet been invented. Every door and window, every cellar bulkhead and every opening of any sort, was protected by the tentacles of this far-reaching contrivance. The upper half of every window was further protected by a heavy wire screen or grating, which permitted the upper sash to be raised or lowered for ventilation without setting off the alarm.
But when the alarm was set on, and this Justin Arnold attended to himself every night, no external door or window, with the exception noted, could be opened without the alarm being sounded all through the house, in the stables and the garage, where several men-servants slept, and in the gatekeeper's lodge. The great iron gates were also connected with the alarm, and although the precaution seemed out of all proportion to the possible danger, it was a tradition in the house of Arnold, and was scrupulously observed.
Also there was a night watchman, who must needs punch his time-clocks at various stations in the grounds every half-hour.
There were telegraph and telephone wires, all laid in underground conduits, to prevent their being cut, and these gave quick communication to the police or the fire department in case of need. But though all this sounds complicated and ponderous, yet so complete and perfectly adjusted was the alarm, that the master of the house could turn it on in a moment just before retiring at night, and the butler could turn it off in the morning, and thus it troubled nobody.
White Birches could scarcely be called a cheerful place, for the grounds were densely wooded, the gardens broken up by ravines and rocky gorges, and the tangle of undergrowth in many parts so thick and dark that the whole effect was lacking in sunlight and cheer. But Dorothy Duncan had firmly made up her mind that when she was mistress there, as she would be soon, there would be a general clearing out on many of the acres. In determining this, she reckoned without her host and future husband; but Dorothy's was a sanguine nature, and she fully expected to wind Justin Arnold around her dainty little finger—although as yet the winding had made no progress.
As the guests followed Mrs. Garson, the housekeeper, upstairs, Dorothy paused and detained Arnold a moment.
"It's lovely of you," she said, smiling and dimpling at him, "to make this party for me. And I'm so glad I'm here first. I like to be first part of a party."
"You're the party of the first part," said Arnold, smiling at his own rather heavy attempt at wit.
"Oh, don't say that! It sounds so legal."
"Well, you don't want it to be illegal, do you?"
"Heavens, Justin! I didn't know you could even pronounce the word illegal! You are the ultra-quintessence of legality! There! isn't that a pretty speech?"
"No, it isn't, Dorothy, and you know it isn't. Why do you always make fun of me?"
The big, soft, dark eyes opened wide. "Why, Jus-tin Ar-nold! Make fun of you! I couldn't if I wanted to! Nobody could, not even Mark Twain, or Mr. Dooley, or—or a Roof Garden Man! You're not the stuff that fun is made on! You're a—a—"
"A what, Dorothy?"
But Dorothy Duncan knew and recognized that note in the man's voice that warned her she had gone far enough. "A dear," she whispered softly, and ran away upstairs.
Arnold brushed his hand across his forehead, as if to smooth off any perturbation that the interview might have left, and returned to the verandah to welcome other arriving guests.
The man was part and parcel of the old home. His fathers before him had stood on the porch, as coaches rolled up the long drive from the gate, and so he stood, to await the motors or station cabs that brought his house-party guests.
It was early fall. October, in merry mood, was gaily pelting the flying year with her red and gold leaves; showering them like confetti on a bride. White Birches was looking its best, or one of its bests, for the white of winter and the green of spring gave it different but no less beautiful coloring.
But this season the leaves had chosen to turn superbly. No dead, rusty brown, but the whole range of the latter half of the spectrum, from gold to crimson and from orange to scarlet, rioted everywhere against the vivid blue sky. The great surrounding wall had all its prison-like grimness hidden by a blanket whose gorgeousness outrivalled a Navajo. Above it towered the tall old trees, that waved their branches with dignity rather than grace, as befitted the trees of the Arnold estate.
And as its present master stood, looking with proud content at the majesty of his domain, he wondered for a moment if he had done wisely in choosing a wife to whom dignity and majesty were as nothing. To whom a gay chat, dance, or,—yes,—or flirtation summed up all that was worth living for.
And then Dorothy's last words returned to his mind. "A dear,"—she had called him a dear,—and the thought thrilled Justin Arnold's not very susceptible pulses. After all, had his ancestors' wives been more beautiful, more adorable than the witch girl he had chosen? And, too, there returned his firm resolution that he had made before he had asked the girl to marry him,—he was going to make her over. Yes, his strong, firm, yet wise guidance would transform the witch girl into a calm, gracious woman, such as he remembered his mother and grandmother, and knew to-day in his Cousin Abby.
Miss Abby Wadsworth, a cousin of Justin Arnold's, was nominally the head of the house. Although a capable housekeeper and a complete corps of well-trained servants relieved her of all household cares, Miss Abby felt and enjoyed the responsibility of her position.
Of course she would soon have to abdicate in favor of Dorothy Duncan, but she was really glad that Justin was to be married at last. He was a man of forty years, and had grown so confirmed in his bachelorhood that Miss Abby had feared he would never succumb to any feminine charms. And then he had met Dorothy Duncan, lovely, bewitching, coquettish Dorothy, and he had immediately decided to marry her. He had no doubt as to her willingness, for was he not the wealthy Justin Arnold, master of White Birches, and scion of an aristocratic name and lineage? Nor had Miss Duncan hesitated. Slightly dazzled by the wonderful good fortune that had come to her, she had answered yes to his question, and now the wedding day was only a few weeks hence.
Dorothy was twenty-two and intensely romantic; but if it ever seemed to her that there was a discrepancy between her own age and that of her lover, or if she ever felt that Justin was a little lacking in his demonstrations of affection, she never shared her thoughts with any one, and even her own mother had no reason to believe otherwise than that Dorothy was supremely happy.
But Miss Abby Wadsworth wondered. Not to Justin; it was not the habit of their family for the women to question or criticise the men's decisions. But it was an uncertain outlook. Dorothy Duncan was too new, too modern, for the old-fashioned setting. Not so much the house, that had been remodelled and readjusted to suit other brides, but the customs and traditions had always been handed down as intact and as untarnished as the family plate or portraits. Ah, portraits! Dorothy would hold her own with those fair women in the picture gallery. Whatever Justin's bride might prove, she was a worthy chatelaine as to looks. And so Miss Abby's ponderings usually wound up with the reflection that Dorothy was a beauty, and, if she lacked dignity, she would surely acquire that as Justin's wife. However, Miss Abby knew the girl but slightly, and welcomed this house-party occasion to learn more of her.
Chapter II - Wilful Dorothy
The week-end party at White Birches was partly by way of an announcement, and partly because Dorothy had requested it. The girl loved social gayety, and to be the central figure of this merry occasion, yet without being the actual hostess of White Birches, appealed to her.
In the stately apartment assigned her, she was making a bewildering toilette, to do honor to her new position and also for sheer love of seeing herself in pretty clothes.
She had decided on a soft satin, whose quivering draperies of deep orange were veiled by a browner, thinner fabric, and whose velvet girdle was gathered into a buckle of tawny gold. From the half-low, rounded neck, her girl-throat rose in dimpled loveliness, and from the soft curves of her exquisite chin to the lightly waved mass of her dusky hair, her face was a sparkle of witching, tantalizing beauty.
From a huge bowlful in her room she selected a spray of golden-rod, and thrust it in her sash. Then, with an approving nod at herself in the long mirror, she went sedately downstairs.
Dorothy was nothing if not dramatic. She had waited to make her appearance until all were gathered on the West Terrace for afternoon tea. Partially enclosed with glass, yet with wide-open casements framing the autumn landscapes, it was a most attractive setting for the gay groups gathered round the tea-tables.
Crossing the big living-room, Dorothy paused and stood in the open window-doors that gave on the terrace. Pensive, rather than smiling, she looked at the group a moment, and Arnold, seeing her, went toward her as a courtier to a queen.
Her hand in his, she stepped through the casement, and then, laughing, she dropped her dignified air, and ran to take her place in a large wooden swing, comfortably surrounded with scarlet cushions.
One dainty, slippered foot touched the floor now and then as she kept the swing swaying, and, in gay mood, bandied repartee with the other young people.
Leila Duane, the only other young girl present, was a complete foil for Dorothy. Leila's fair beauty, her golden hair and blue eyes and her pale blue crepe gown, set off vividly Dorothy's glowing type, her dark hair, her flashing brown eyes and rosy cheeks.
Two young men, Emory Gale and Campbell Crosby, partners of a law firm, and inseparable chums, sat near the girls and alternately teased and complimented them.
Ernest Chapin, Arnold's secretary, was also in the group. Chapin was looked upon quite as one of the family. He took care of Justin Arnold's financial interests, planned and advised concerning additions or improvements to the place, looked after the correspondence, and, moreover, was often of help to Miss Wadsworth in her social duties and responsibilities. Chapin was a clean-cut, good-looking young fellow, though without the dash and fashionable nonchalance that characterized Gale and Crosby.
These two men lived in Philadelphia, and conducted their law business there. Incidentally, they were Justin Arnold's lawyers, and though he had little legal business to be attended to, it was a convenient pretext for them occasionally to visit White Birches.
Emory Gale was of a waggish type. He "jollied" everybody, he said impertinent things under the guise of innocent candor, and he was invariably good-natured and kind-hearted. But beneath his careless manner was a shrewd aptitude for business, and as the senior member of the firm he attended to the more important matters, letting Crosby do the routine work.
Campbell Crosby was a cousin of Justin Arnold. Indeed, the two men were the only ones left of the main branch of the family, and, though several years younger, Crosby had always been intimate with his cousin, and the two had always been warm friends. As children, they had been much together, and Crosby had spent many happy summers at White Birches, admiring and adoring Arnold, as a small boy often does admire an older one.
The other guests were Mr. and Mrs. Fred Crane, he a naturalist devoted to his cause, and his wife a pretty little woman with sharp eyes and a sharp tongue, but whose brightness and vivacity made her an attractive guest. She was a distant cousin of Justin Arnold, and the Cranes were frequent visitors at White Birches.
But though all present were interesting or charming in their several ways, all were dominated by the presence of that most important personage, Miss Abby Wadsworth.
There are some women who possess the power of making their presence felt, and that without any apparent effort. Miss Wadsworth was one of these. She had only to sit in her accustomed easy-chair, and her very presence demanded and received recognition and respect. She was perhaps sixty years old, a cousin of Justin Arnold's father, and her manner gave the impression that to be a Wadsworth was far more important than to be an Arnold, or indeed any other name in any social register.
She did not wear the traditional black silk of the elderly cousin, but wore modern and fashionable gowns of becoming color and of modish though not extreme cut.
Everybody liked Miss Abby, and though occasionally she pronounced blunt truths, yet she had a good sense of humor, and was easy enough to get along with if allowed to dictate in all matters, whether they concerned her or not.
"You two men are inseparable," said Dorothy to Mr. Gale and Mr. Crosby. "I think I have never seen one of you without the other."
"You will, though," said Campbell Crosby. "Just for that, I'm going to take you for a long walk around the grounds; and we may get lost in a wildwood tangle and never come back!"
"Like the babes in the wood," said Leila Duane. "If you don't return soon, Mr. Gale and I will go out and cover you with autumn leaves."
"But you may not find us," said Crosby. "We may fall into a deep, dank tarn. I've no idea what a deep, dank tarn is, but I know there is one on the place. I remember I used to play around it when I was a boy."
"Well, I'd like to see it," said Dorothy, jumping out of her swing. "Come on, Mr. Crosby, and show it to me."
"Dorothy," interposed Justin Arnold, "stay where you are. Do you suppose I will let you go walking with another man?"
"Do you suppose," retorted Dorothy, "that I will ask your permission, if I choose to go?"
The lovely, laughing face was so merry that it took away all petulant spirit from the question, and Dorothy's dark eyes flashed with fun as she slowly went toward Crosby.
"If you want to see any part of the grounds of White Birches, I will escort you myself," went on Arnold.
"Oh, come, now, Justin," said Crosby, "don't begrudge me a little stroll with your girl. I'll bring her back safely."
"Let her go, Justin," dictated Cousin Abby. "She'll enjoy a walk with Campbell, and goodness knows she'll see enough of you all the rest of her life! It's only a few weeks to the wedding day, and after that she can't go gadding about with young men. Run along, Dorothy, and flirt with Campbell all you've a mind to."
"Yes, do," said Crosby, but whether it was the too eager look in his eyes, or whether Dorothy suddenly decided to humor Justin, she refused to go.
"All right," said Crosby gayly; "but don't think I don't know why you refused. You just do it to pique me, and make me more crazy about you than ever!"
As all present were accustomed to Crosby's outspoken remarks, they paid little heed to this speech, but he murmured low in Dorothy's ear, "And that's really true, and you know it And you'll take that walk with me, see if you don't!"
"Hold there, Campbell!" cried Justin. "Stop whispering to my girl! I declare, old man, if you don't let her alone, you and I will have to revive the good old fashion of duelling!"
"Oh, I wish you would!" exclaimed Dorothy, clapping her hands. "Leila, wouldn't you just love to see a real live duel?"
"Yes, if they all stayed alive afterward. But I shouldn't want any fatal effects; they're so troublesome and unpleasant."
"Take me away, Mr. Crosby," cried Dorothy; "I won't stay where people talk of such awful subjects!"
"Come along, then, and we'll look up that deep, dank tarn."
Dorothy rose from the swaying swing seat, and cast a slightly apprehensive glance at Arnold. But he chanced to have his back turned and did not see her. So with a beckoning smile at Crosby, she ran down the steps and out on to the lawn. Gaily she ran across the wide greensward and, rounding a clump of blue spruce trees, was lost to view of those on the terrace.
Crosby, following, found her there on a stone garden seat.
"You'll catch it!" he said, looking down at the laughing face.
"Why?" innocently; "can't I stroll round my own grounds, if I like? At least, they soon will be mine."
"Do you covet them so much, then?"
"Covet isn't a pretty word. Of course, I love White Birches. Though I never would stay here in winter. And of course I should want to go away in summer. But Justin says I may do whatever I wish."
"What portion of the year, then, will you spend in this old place you love so well?"
Campbell Crosby was talking at random, merely for the pleasure of looking down into the lovely face and watching the dimples come and go as the red lips parted. And he had his wish, for a slow, sweet smile curved the scarlet mouth as Dorothy answered:
"Only red and gold days in October; golden days—like—this."
Her voice was low and almost caressing in its sweetness, her glance flashed to meet his, and then, with a divine blush, turned slowly away toward the fading sunset.
"Is this a golden day? Is it—now?"
The thrill went out of Dorothy's voice, the faint blush disappeared, but her dimples came into play, as, with a soft naturalness, she said, "Yes, indeed! Did you ever see one more so? The golden trees, the golden sunset, the very atmosphere is golden!"
"This hour is golden!" whispered Crosby; "you were good to give it to me!"
"I didn't give it to you! You stole it! Stole it from Justin, and he'll make you pay!"
"Suppose I make him pay? Pay ransom to get you back. I wonder at how much he'd value you."
"He wouldn't need to ransom me. I'd go back of my own accord."
"Not if I won't let you! Come, let us find the tarn, and then,—I don't know—I may throw you in."
"What is a tarn, really?" and Dorothy rose and walked with Crosby toward the ravines.
Only about an acre of White Birches was lawn. Once off that, the grounds became almost like woodland. There were brooks, tiny falls, hillocks, and sometimes deep undergrowth. Much had been made by clever landscape gardeners, but, wherever possible, the old natural beauties were there. Dorothy had seen little of it all. One brief, previous visit had shown her only the gardens and lawns near the house.
She said as much to Crosby, and he replied: "Then old Just will give it to me, for sure!"
"Let's go back," said Dorothy, frightened as they found themselves farther and farther from the house.
But Crosby walked slowly on, and answered her earlier remark.
"Don't you know what a tarn is? Don't you remember Tennyson's line, 'a glen, gray bowlder and black tarn'?"
"No, but it sounds like Hallowe'en! Is it?"
Crosby laughed out. "You kiddy! Is that what that line makes you think of? By Jove I wish it were Hallowe'en! Maybe I wouldn't try my fate with you!"
"You couldn't; my fate is settled. But I'm going to make Justin let me have a Hallowe'en party! Won't it be fun! Now, show me the tarn."
"That's it,—before you."
"Why, that's only a pool of water! Not clear water, at that."
"But that's all a tarn is,—a pool of water. But if it's deep and black and generally shuddery-looking, it can be called a tarn."
"Well, I don't think much of your old tarn. Come on, let's go back."
"I know why. Because the sun has almost set, and the air is cool and this place is gloomy, and so,—it makes you begin to think of how Justin will scold you!"
Crosby's voice was almost triumphant, and Dorothy looked at him in surprise.
"Why, one would think you were glad I'm to be scolded!"
"I am."
"You are! Why?"
"Because you are to be scolded for having run away with me. With me!" Crosby added, exultantly. "I'd be glad to have you often scolded for that!"
Dorothy turned and flashed her dark eyes at him. "Do you suppose for a minute that Justin will really scold me? Indeed, he won't! Nobody scolds me unless I choose to be scolded! If he tries; it, I shall smile at him. You can't scold a smiling person, can you?"
Apparently Justin Arnold couldn't, for within five minutes of the runaways' return, Dorothy was nestled into a cushioned settee, and her fiancé was striving to please her somewhat capricious appetite for "icy cakes,—the creamy-inside kind."
Chapter III - May And December
"I wish I were three people!" exclaimed Leila Duane; "I want to walk and motor and play golf all at once."
It was after luncheon the next day, and the house-party congregated for a moment on the terrace, before breaking up into smaller groups. The air was full of that October warmth, so much more life-giving and blood-stirring than even the early days of spring.
"It's utterly absurd, Dorothy," said Mabel Crane, "for you to think of getting married! You look about fourteen to-day!"
Dorothy was in walking rig of greenish tweeds. She wore a white silk blouse with a scarlet tie and a soft green felt hat with scarlet quill. Her skirt was ankle length and her low russet shoes showed a glimpse of scarlet stockings.
"I'm going to be fourteen as long as I can," she returned, smiling; "soon enough I shall have to become Justin's age,—what is it, Just? Sixty?"
"No, he's only forty," put in Miss Abby, seriously; "and you mustn't tease him about it, Dorothy."
"Oh, is he sensitive?" and Dorothy pretended to be embarrassed. "Why, I'm sure you look quite youthful, dear." And going to Arnold's side, she laid her hand on his shoulder, and scrutinized his face. The contrast was marked. Though a fairly handsome man, Justin Arnold looked his full age, and his stern, set face looked old indeed, beside Dorothy's laughing dimples and shining eyes. "And any way, when we're married, I think I won't become Justin's age,—but make him become mine. How'd you like to be twenty-two, Justy?"
"I'll be in my second childhood, if you say so," returned Arnold, and Dorothy rewarded him for this pretty speech with a little tweak of his graying hair.
"You seem to know how to manage him, all right," laughed Mrs. Crane, "so I suppose you are old enough to be married, after all. What are you going to wear at your wedding? A short skirt and Tam O'Shanter?"
"White, I suppose; but I do think it's awfully hackneyed! I wish I could wear some bright color."
"Why, Dorothy, how you talk," exclaimed her mother, who was always shocked at the slightest unconventionality.
"She's right," said Emory Gale; "one does get awfully tired of a white-robed bride. Now a lot of gay colors,—Scotch plaid for choice,—would be awfully fetching."
"How foolish men are," said Mrs. Crane, with an air of saying something new; "of course your gown'll be white, Dorothy; ivory satin, I suppose, with an embroidered train, and a priceless lace veil."
"I suppose so," said Dorothy, with a resigned air. "I say, Justin, if I've got to have that wedding dress, and so soon, can't I run away and play with Campbell just a little while? He has asked me to."
"Yes, go," said Arnold, frowning; "go and stay as long as you like! What do I care?"
"Come on, then," said Dorothy, tucking her hand through Crosby's arm.
But now, perhaps because of his cousin's frown, Crosby did not seem so anxious for the walk. "I was only fooling," he said.
"But I wasn't," persisted Dorothy; "well, if you won't go, who will accompany me for a little stroll?"
Three men started toward her at once. Arnold himself was the first one; Emory Gale stepped forward, smiling; and with a slightly hesitating step, Ernest Chapin came toward Dorothy and bowed gravely.
"Why, Mr. Chapin," cried the little coquette, "I'd rather stroll with you than anybody. Come on."
The two walked away, and Arnold's brow cleared. He was quite willing Dorothy should walk with his quiet-mannered and rather dull secretary, but he did not want her to go frisking about with gay young men of her own set.
"She's a case," said Mrs. Crane to Miss Wadsworth, as they watched the pair depart.
"A very sweet dear little case," returned Miss Abby, fairly bristling in defence of Dorothy. "She's so pretty and attractive, she can't help being a little coquettish; but she really does it to tease old Justin, and it does him good, too. He's forty years old and she's only twenty-two. That's too much difference altogether; but Dorothy knows what she's about and she'll make that man younger by many years with her pretty frivolities."
"I think it a little dangerous," said Mrs. Crane, who rarely hesitated to say what she thought.
"Dangerous? How do you mean?" said Dorothy's mother, and the gleam that came into her eye was markedly dangerous of itself.
Mrs. Crane quailed before it. "I didn't mean anything much," she said, "but eighteen years is a big difference in age between husband and wife. But I'm sure I hope they'll be happy."
"Of course they'll be happy," said Mrs. Duncan. "Mr. Arnold is of a kind and lovable disposition. He's a true gentleman, and he is generous and wise."
"He's a crank, that's what he is," said Miss Wadsworth, with an air of settling the question; "a man can't be a bachelor of forty, without having cranky ways, and as I know him pretty well, I know he isn't very easy to get along with. But Dorothy can tame him, if anybody can, and she's going about it just the right way. A patient Griselda couldn't do anything with Justin, but a little witch like Dorothy can rule him with a flash of her bright eye."
"Yes," said Mrs. Duncan, complacently, "that's what I think."
"But does she love him?" persisted Mrs. Crane, who never knew when to stop asking questions.
"My daughter wouldn't marry a man she didn't love," and Mrs. Duncan put on a superior air that silenced though it didn't convince Mabel Crane.
