ONE day in June, Vane sat in his office with two notes open on the desk before him. One was from Mrs. Levison Gower, inviting him to make one of a moonlight picnic party. They were to be conveyed up the Hudson in Mr. Gower’s steam-launch, land just above Yonkers, take possession of a grove, and have dinner there for no other reason than that they might dine with much more convenience and propriety on the deck of the yacht. The other note before Vane was from Dr. Kérouec, in Brittany, announcing a serious change in the condition of his mother.
He had already decided to take the next steamer for Havre. He had been making his preparations all the day; but for some reason had postponed answering Mrs. Gower’s note. And now he was face to face with a strong desire to see Miss Thomas once more before he went away. And, after all, why should he not go? His mother had been ill for so many years, and he felt that she would still be ill for so many years more; and Mrs. Gower’s party was to be the day before the departure of his steamer. He knew that Miss Thomas would be there. He had quite decided not to call at her house again; he had not called there for the last two months; but he longed for a glimpse of her face to take away with him. It might be so long before he came back, and so many things might happen while he was gone.
Miss Thomas was the first person Vane saw, standing by the entrance, as he went on board the yacht. She was evidently looking for some one; but when she saw Vane, she turned away. Vane kept up a rapid conversation with his hostess until a lady arrived whom he knew, when he walked with her to the other side of the yacht. Meantime he could see that Miss Thomas was covertly watching his movements, and talking with no one. Her eyes seemed to follow him wherever he went; but he was careful not to get within speaking distance.
After many delays, caused by languid guests, late hampers, and the vacillations of Mrs. Gower herself, the little steamer cast off and proceeded up the river. Mrs. Gower took command in the yacht, extending her jurisdiction, as Vane observed, quite to the limit of the pilot’s politeness. At first, owing to the smells of the manufacturing establishments which lined the river, and divers distasteful sights about the wharves, but little attention was paid to the scenery; but when the city was left behind, and the western shore grew bolder, Nature was rewarded with all the adjectives of feminine enthusiasm. Vane heard less of this, however, as conversation grew more general. When due appreciation of the Hudson’s beauties had been shown, the company broke up into groups of two or three camp-stools, and every little clump fell to discussing its neighbors. Here and there was a group of two—a male and female—oblivious of neighbors and discussing each other. The Palisades looked on in silence. It seemed to Vane that the occasion was only saved from insignificance by the presence of Miss Thomas.
When they touched shore at the grove appointed for the picnic, most of the ladies and gentlemen, eager to land as if it had been an ocean voyage, crowded to the gangway. Mrs. Gower felt it her duty to show the way, and skilfully forced a passage through her guests, Vane, who was at that moment busied with the duty of protecting her, following in her wake. Her rapid motion caused a sort of eddy in which Vane moved behind her without much effort; so that, looking about him, he saw Miss Thomas beside him. Her companion was a young man with an eye-glass, looking like a student in college, the consciousness of his own merits continually at war with the world’s estimate of them; so that the unceasing struggle of a proper self-assertion left him little breath for words. In one of the pauses of his conversation, Miss Thomas turned rapidly to Vane.
“Are you never going to speak to me again?”
“Have you forgiven me yet?”
This little interchange of questions was so quick that it hardly could have been noticed by any one. Miss Thomas turned back to her companion before he had even time to miss her attention; and indeed his mind was fully occupied in grappling for his next remark; while Vane was incontinently swept over the gang-plank in the vortex of Mrs. Gower.
She certainly looked very pretty that day, thought Vane, as he walked up the hill with the latter lady; but he was sure now that he had no mind to be refused by her. Better even the present than that. She had on another soft, clinging dress, of ivory white, which only lent an added charm to her skin of whiter ivory, the dead black hair, and those wonderful violet—“Ah—oh, yes,” said Vane to Mrs. Gower; and then, seeing this lady laugh, “Yes, very funny—hah!”
“I was telling you of Mrs. Grayling’s sad experience in Rome,” said Mrs. Gower, demurely; “but I fear you were not thinking of her.”
Vane vowed to keep a tighter rein on his thoughts thereafter; and they came to a little glade in the wood, where the servants were laying table-cloths on the turf. The dinner was very gay. Some ladies screamed when a daddy-longlegs ran into the lobster salad, but an occasional pine-needle, falling into a glass of champagne, seemed but to add to its flavor. It was considered de rigueur to sit upon the grass; but most of the men found it very awkward to assume attitudes of any decorative value, and the college student in particular was heard to wonder audibly how the deuce the Romans did it. After the feast, the company divided itself into couples and scattered in the woods. Miss Thomas did not leave the table; and Mrs. Gower felt obliged to wait for the last. Wemyss stayed with her. As Vane passed behind Miss Thomas, she called him to her.
“I have something to tell you to-day.”
“Will not some other time do?” said Vane, “I am getting a glass of wine for Mrs. Gower.” The girl looked at him, but did not seem to take offence.
“I may never tell you, if I do not tell you to-day,” she answered, seriously, in a low voice. Vane looked at her surprised; she bore his gaze for half a second, and then let her own eyes drop. The student was looking on with parted lips. “Oh, Mr. Bronson,” said she, immediately, “I wish you would get me a glass of champagne—and seltzer, too!” She said the “too” with an inflection that made it sound like do.
The youth departed on his errand; and Vane also left, saying that he would be back in a moment; but he was saved a double journey by observing that some one else had brought Mrs. Gower her wine and had taken his seat beside her. Vane returned to Miss Thomas, passing rapidly over in his mind what had happened in the four months since he had asked her that fatal question, and trying to decide upon a course of action for himself. She had made no effort to have him speak to her before to-day. But by her presence the picnic was quite saved from insignificance.
“I have come back, Miss Thomas,” he said, seriously. “What can you have to tell me?”
Miss Thomas looked at the tent, before which Bronson was standing—waiting for her seltzer. Most of the guests had left the place, and the servants were clearing away the dinner. The moon was just rising.
“Will you not come for a walk?” said Vane. Miss Thomas gave him her hand, and he helped her to her feet. “I am forgetting your wine,” he said, afterwards. He was ill at ease and nervous.
“You know that I never drink wine at parties,” she answered; and just as Bronson came back to the place where she had been sitting, they disappeared in the forest. Bronson had a long neck supported by a very stiff standing collar, and when his dignity was compromised he had a way of throwing back his head and resting his chin upon the points of his collar. He did this now, and the Adam’s apple in his throat worked prominently. Then, after looking gravely a moment at the seat which had been Miss Thomas’s, as if to be satisfied that she had really gone, he drank the champagne himself and went back to the tent, where he found a male acquaintance, to whom he proposed a smoke. “It is such a relief to get away for a minute from the women,” he murmured, as he threw himself on the grass and rolled a cigarette. “By the way, did you see that little girl I was with? Nice dress, you know—quiet little thing. Well, by gad, sir, I believe there’s something up between her and that fellow Vane.”