Infatuation
meant. "I'll sit very close, and make dachshund eyes at him, and
encourage him to talk about himself. That's the secret of woman's charm
when you analyze it. See how it caught you!"
It was too bad, though, that Rolls Reece should have chosen the Sunday
that Adair ran over from Philadelphia, where _The Upstarts_ was booked
for a week. The pair had been separated for nearly four weeks, and
Phyllis wanted her husband all to herself. Rolls Reece, Andrew Hexham,
even _The Firebrand_ itself, were very secondary things when weighed
against the rapture of Adair's return. She pleaded with Rolls Reece to
postpone the meeting until Monday afternoon, but the dramatist with
unexpected obstinacy stood out for Sunday evening. Hints were lost on
him, and even some pink-cheeked, shy, half-murmured things merely made
him laugh instead of relenting.--Sunday night it had to be.
But to do him justice, the dramatist tempered severity with his usual
generosity. He sent a prodigal amount of flowers, as well as a case of
champagne, and would have contributed his colored butler had he been
allowed--which he wasn't. Phyllis said that the Pest Person (as all
that day she hotly called Mr. Hexham)--the Pest Person had to take them
as they were, and if there was one thing worse than a hired butler, it
was a borrowed one. If the Pest Person didn't like the way he was
treated--if he were the sort of Pest Person who judged people by striped
nigger-trousers and gilt chandeliers, why, he could just go to the
devil.--Which went to show, incidentally, how good that four weeks' rest
had been for Phyllis, and how fast she was getting back her former
spirit.
At nine that evening Adair and Phyllis were both waiting for their
visitors. True to her promise to Rolls Reece the latter had dressed
herself with unusual care; and Adair, who was allowed to see but not
touch, swore she had never looked more ravishing. Her fresh young
womanhood entranced him; she was so slender, so graceful, so girlish,
and the red rose in her hair was not more exquisite. What a beauty she
was! How altogether perfect from the top of her dark head to her trim
little feet!--And the saucy mouth that was always ready to part on the
dazzling teeth; the low, sweet, eager voice; the bubbling, caressing
laugh--after four weeks of loneliness, of dismal, dreary separation, it
was as though he had never really appreciated them before; and it was
intolerable to be stuck to a chair and forbidden to move when everything
in him bade him seize her in his arms, and assert his master's right.
Worst still, Rolls Reece and the Pest Person were late. The minutes
ticked away--five past, ten past, a quarter past, twenty past--and yet
there was neither dramatist nor Pest.--Ah, there they were at last!
Phyllis ran to admit them, fumbling at the latch of the door in her
excitement. She opened it on the dimly-lighted landing, and held out
both hands in welcome to Rolls Reece, who stood before her. His friend
was hidden in the shadow, but as she glanced towards him recognition
suddenly pierced her heart. It was her father!
All he said was her name, and that so humbly, and with an intonation so
affecting that she flung her arms about him in a paroxysm of tenderness,
unmindful of everything save the love that suddenly flooded her whole
being. Misunderstanding, self-justification, the rights or wrongs of
their unhappy estrangement--all were forgotten, all were swept away.
Clinging to him she guided him along the passageway and into the
sitting-room, where Adair, bewildered and astonished, was waiting to
receive them. Even in the throes of that tumultuous moment Phyllis,
trying to see with her father's eyes, took in Adair with a welling
pride. Never had he appeared to her more manly, more distinguished or
noble; and when she said: "My husband, Daddy," it was with a little air
that told of her own content with the man of her choice.
"I am here in the character of a repentant father, with ashes on his
head," said Mr. Ladd; and going up to Adair, held out his hand. "Will
you not forgive me?" he asked, "and may we not be friends?"
Rolls Reece had looked forward to being present at this evening of
reconciliation; of being patted on the back for the big part he had
taken in it; of drinking his own champagne amid the ensuing festivity
and joy. But as he saw the two men's hands meet and grasp; as he saw
Phyllis press between them, her eyes suffusing, and sobs choking her
utterance, he realized that he was gazing at a scene too sacred for him
to share. He silently effaced himself, shut the door without noise, and
tiptoed down the stairs.
"It's a good world," he murmured to himself, "yes, a damned good world;
and in spite of what people say, things often work out right."
THE END