Love in a Cloud: A Comedy in Filigree

"Extraordinary beggar," observed Jack, when they had departed.

"Yes," answered the other absently. "Jack, of course you didn't write 'Love in a Cloud'?"

"Of course not. What an idiotic idea!"

"Fairfield said Barnstable had been accusing you of it, but I knew it couldn't be anything but his crazy nonsense. Of course the Count didn't write it either?"

Jack eyed his companion inquiringly.

"Look here, Tom," he said, "What are you driving at? Of course the Count didn't write it. You are about as crazy as Barnstable."

"Oh, I never thought he was the man; but who the deuce is it?"

"Why should you care?"

Harbinger leaned forward to the grate, and began to pound the coal with the poker in a way that bespoke embarrassment. Suddenly he turned, and broke out explosively.

"I should think I ought to care to know what man my wife is writing letters to! You heard her say she wrote that letter to Christopher Calumus."

Jack gave a snort of mingled contempt and amusement.

"You old mutton-head," he said. "Your wife didn't write that letter. I know all about it, and I got it back from the Count."

"You did?" questioned Harbinger with animation. "Then why did Letty say she wrote it?"

"She wanted to shield somebody else. Now that's all I shall tell you. See here, are you coming the Othello dodge?"

Tom gave a vicious whack at a big lump which split into a dozen pieces, all of which guzzled and sputtered after the unpleasant fashion of soft coal.

"There's something here I don't understand," he persisted.

Jack regarded him curiously a moment. Then he lighted a fresh cigarette, and lay back in his chair, stretching out his legs luxuriously.

"It's really too bad that your wife's gone back on you," he observed dispassionately.

"What?" cried Tom, turning violently.

"Such a nice little woman as Letty always was too," went on Jack mercilessly. "I wouldn't have believed it."

"What in the deuce do you mean?" Tom demanded furiously, grasping the poker as if he were about to strike with it. "Do you dare to insinuate – "

Jack sat up suddenly and looked at him, his sunny face full of earnestness.

"What the deuce do you mean?" he echoed. "What can a man mean when he begins to distrust his wife? Heavens! I'm beastly ashamed of you, Tom Harbinger! To think of your coming to the club and talking to a man about that little trump of a woman! You ought to be kicked! There, old man," he went on with a complete change of manner, "I beg your pardon. I only wanted to show you how you might look to an unfriendly eye. You know you can't be seriously jealous of Letty."

The other changed color, and looked shame-facedly into the coals.

"No, of course not, Jack," he answered slowly. "I'm as big an idiot as Barnstable. I do hate to see men dangling about her, though. I can't help my disposition, can I?"

"You've got to help it if it makes a fool of you."

"And that infernal Count with his slimy manners," Tom went on. "If he isn't a rascal there never was one. I'm not really jealous, I'm only – only – "

"Only an idiot," concluded Jack. "If I were Letty I'd really flirt with somebody just to teach you the difference between these fool ideas of yours and the real thing."

"Don't, Jack," Tom said; "the very thought of it knocks me all out."

XIX

THE CRUELTY OF LOVE

What might be the result of such a match as that of May Calthorpe and Jack Neligage must inevitably depend largely upon the feelings of one or the other to another love. If either were constant to a former flame, only disaster could come of the mariage de convenance which Mrs. Neligage had adroitly patched up. If both left behind forgotten the foolish flares of youthful passion, the married pair might arrange their feelings upon a basis of mutual liking comfortable if not inspiring. What happened to Jack in regard to Alice and to May's silly attraction toward the unknown Christopher Calumus was therefore of much importance in influencing the future.

Since Alice Endicott knew of the engagement of May and Jack it was not to be supposed that the malicious fates would fail to bring her face to face with her former lover. The meeting happened a couple of days after. Jack was walking down Beacon street, and Alice came out of May's just in front of him. He quickened his steps and overtook her.

"Good-morning," he said; "you've been in to May's, I see. How is she to-day?"

The tone was careless and full of good-nature, and his face as sunny as the bright sky overhead. Alice did not look up at him, but kept her eyes fixed on the distance. To one given to minute observation it might have occurred that as she did not glance at him when he spoke she must have been aware of his approach, and must have seen him when she came out from the house. That she had not shown her knowledge of his nearness was to be looked upon as an indication of something which was not indifference.

"Good-morning," she answered. "May didn't seem to be in particularly good spirits."

"Didn't she? I must try to find time to run in and cheer her up. I'm not used to being engaged, you see, and I'm not up in my part."

He spoke with a sort of swagger which was obviously intended to tease her, and the heightened color in her cheeks told that it had not missed the mark.

"I have no doubt that you will soon learn it," she returned. "You were always so good in amateur theatricals."

He laughed boisterously, perhaps a little nervously.

"'Praise from Sir Hubert,'" he quoted. "And speaking of engagements, is it proper to offer congratulations on yours?"

She turned to him with a look of indignant severity.

"You know I am not engaged, and that I don't mean to be."

"Oh, that's nothing. I didn't mean to be the other day."

"I am not in the market," she said cuttingly.

"Neither am I any more," Jack retorted coolly. "I've sold myself. That's what they mean, I suppose, by saying a girl has made her market."

Alice had grown more and more stern in her carriage as this talk proceeded. Jack's tone was as flippant as ever, and he carried his handsome head as jauntily as if they were talking of the merriest themes. His brown eyes were full of a saucy light, and he switched his walking-stick as if he were light-heartedly snapping off the heads of daisies in a country lane. The more severe Alice became the more his spirits seemed to rise.

As they halted at a corner to let a carriage pass Alice turned and looked at her companion, the hot blood flushing into her smooth cheek.

"There is nothing in the world more despicable than a fortune-hunter!" she declared with emphasis.

"Oh, quite so," Jack returned, apparently full of inward laughter. "Theoretically I agree with you entirely. Practically of course there are allowances to be made. The Count has been brought up so, and you mustn't be too hard on him."