Harriet and the Piper | Page 3

return something of his feeling.
Indeed, to her own amazement, his fire kindled fire in return. When he
was not at Crownlands she could laugh at him, even though her
thoughts were full of him. But when he was there, life to her was more
radiant, more full, more glowing with colour and fragrance. The books
he touched, the chair he had at breakfast, his young, lithe body in its
golfing knickerbockers, or his sleek black head above the dull black of
evening wear, haunted her oddly. He troubled her, but she had neither
quite the power nor quite the desire to banish him.
She looked down at him now, content to be alone with her and at her
feet, and a hundred mixed emotions stirred her. His feeling for her was
not only pitiable and absurd in him, but it was rapidly reaching the
point when it would make her absurd and pitiable, too. Nina,
instinctively scenting the affair, had already expressed herself as
"hating that idiot"; Ward had scowled, of late, at the mere mention of
Tony's name. Even her husband, the patient Richard, seeing the youth
ensconce himself firmly beside her in the limousine, had had aside his
mild comment: "Is this young man a fixture in our family, dear?"
"You should be playing tennis, Tony," said Isabelle.
"Tennis!" He laughed; there was a slight movement of his broad
shoulders.
"I think Miss Betty Allen was a little disappointed," the woman
pursued. A look of distaste crossed Anthony's face.
"Please--CHERIE!" he begged.
There was a silence brimming with sweetness and colour. Tony laid his
hand against her knee, groped until her own warm, smooth fingers were
in his own.
"Does Mr. Carter play golf to-morrow?" he asked, presently.
"I suppose so!"

"And you--what do you do?"
"Oh, I have a full day! People to lunch, friends of Madame Carter- "
The boy laughed triumphantly.
"I knew you'd say that!" he said. "Now, I'll tell YOU about to- morrow.
You and I are going to slip away, at about one o'clock, and go off in the
gray car. We'll go up to--well, somewhere, and we'll have our lunch
under the trees. I'll have Hansen pack us something at the club. We'll be
back at about four, for the tea callers, and they may have you until I
come back for dinner. After dinner we'll walk on the terrace--as we did
two wonderful, wonderful nights ago, and perhaps--" His voice had
fallen to a rich and tender note, his eyes were rapt. "Perhaps," he said,
"just before we go in, at the end of the terrace, you'll look up at the
stars again--"
"Tony!" Isabelle interrupted, her face brilliant with colour. "My dear
boy--my dear boy, listen to me--"
"Well?" he asked, looking up, as she paused.
"My dear," she said, with difficulty, "think where this is going to end."
He jerked his head impatiently.
"Oh, if you are going to begin THAT again!"
"My dear, I have to begin that again! In all reason--in all REASON----"
"Isabelle, what in God's name has reason to do with it!" He knelt before
her, and caught her hands, and Isabelle had a terrified fear that Ward, or
Nina, or any one else, might start up or down the terrace steps and see
him. "The instant you realize what you and I are to each other, my
darling," he said, "you begin to talk of reason. Love isn't reason, Cherie.
It's the divinest unreason in the world! Cherie, there's never been
another woman for me; there never will be! It's nothing to me that there
are obstacles-- I love them--I glory in them! I can't live without you; I

don't want to! You're frightened now, you don't know how we can
manage it. But I'll find the way. The only thing that matters is that you
must belong to me--you SHALL belong to me--as I to you in every
fibre of my being--"
"Tony--for Heaven's sake--!" Isabelle was in an agony. Somebody was
approaching. He had gotten to his feet, and was gloomily staring at the
river, when Nina Carter, followed by a great white Russian hound,
came flying down the steps.
"Mother--" Nina, a tall, overgrown girl, with spectacles on her straight
nose, and straight, light-brown hair in thick braids, stopped short and
gave her mother's companion a look of withering distaste. "Mother,"
she began again, "aren't you coming up for tea? Granny's there, and the
others, from tennis, and Mrs. Bellamy telephoned that she's bringing
some people over, and there's nobody there but Granny and me!"
Nina was like her New England father, conscientious, serious, gravely
condemnatory of the lax and the unconventional.
"Ask Betty Allen to pour," said Mrs. Carter, regaining her composure
rapidly, and assuming the air of hostess at