Love in a Cloud: A Comedy in Filigree

"Being a 'she,'" he retorted mockingly.

"Oh, it was only Alice," May explained, "and of course she can be trusted."

It was his turn to become serious, and in the cloud on his sunny face there was not a little vexation.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "Of all the women in Boston why must you pick out the one that I was most particular shouldn't know! You girls have an instinct for mischief."

"But I wrote to her as soon as your note came; besides, she has promised not to say anything. She won't tell."

"No; she won't tell," he echoed moodily. "What did she say?"

May cast down her eyes in evident embarrassment.

"Oh, it's no matter," Jack went on. "She wouldn't say half as hard things as she must think. However, it's all one in the end. Good-night."

With this abrupt farewell he left his betrothed, and went hastily out into the spring night, with its velvety darkness and abundant stars. The mention of Alice Endicott had robbed him of the gay spirits in which he had carried on his odd interview with May. The teasing jollity of manner was gone as he walked thoughtfully back to his chambers.

He found Fairfield in their common parlor.

"Dick," he said without preface, "congratulate me. I'm engaged."

"Engaged!" exclaimed the other, jumping up and extending his hand. "Congratulations, old fellow. Of course it's Alice Endicott."

"No," his friend responded coolly; "it's May Calthorpe."

"What!" cried Fairfield, starting back and dropping his hand before Neligage had time to take it. "Miss Calthorpe? What do you mean?"

"Just as I say, my boy. The engagement is a secret at present, you understand. I thought you'd like to know it, though; and by the way, it'll show that I've perfect confidence in you if I turn over to you the letter that May wrote to you before we were engaged. That one to Christopher Calumus, you know."

"But," stammered his chum, apparently trying to collect his wits, scattered by the unexpected news and this strange proposition, "how can you tell what's in it?"

"Tell what's in it, my boy? It isn't any of my business. That has to do with a part of her life that doesn't belong to me, you know. It's enough for me that she wrote the letter for you to have, and so here it is."

He put the envelope into the hands of Dick, who received it as if he were a post-box on the corner, having no choice but to take any missive thrust at him.

"Good-night," Jack said. "I'm played out, and mean to turn in. Thanks for your good wishes."

And he ended that eventful day, so far as the world of men could have cognizance, by retiring to his own room.

XVIII

THE MISCHIEF OF MEN

Barnstable seemed bound to behave like a bee in a bottle, which goes bumping its idiotic head without reason or cessation. On Monday morning after the polo game he was ushered into the chambers of Jack and Dick, both of whom were at home. He looked more excited than on the previous day, and moved with more alacrity. The alteration was not entirely to his advantage, for Mr. Barnstable was one of those unfortunates who appear worse with every possible change of manner.

"Good-morning, Mr. Fairfield," was the visitor's greeting. "Damme if I'll say good-morning to you, Mr. Neligage."

Jack regarded him with languid astonishment.

"Well," he said, "that relieves me of the trouble of saying it to you."

Barnstable puffed and swelled with anger.

"Damme, sir," he cried, "you may try to carry it off that way, but – "

"Good heavens, Mr. Barnstable," interrupted Fairfield, "what in the world do you mean?"

"Is it your general custom," drawled Jack, between puffs of his cigarette, "to give a Wild West show at every house you go into?"

Dick flashed a smile at his chum, but shook his head.

"Come, Mr. Barnstable," he said soothingly, "you can't go about making scenes in this way. Sit down, and if you've anything to say, say it quietly."

Mr. Barnstable, however, was not to be beguiled with words. He had evidently been brooding over wrongs, real or fancied, until his temper had got beyond control.

"Anything to say?" he repeated angrily, – "I've this to say: that he has insulted my wife. I'll sue you for libel, damme! I've a great mind to thrash you!"

Jack grinned down on the truculent Barnstable from his superior height. Barnstable stood with his short legs well apart, as if he had to brace them to bear up the enormous weight of his anger; Jack, careless, laughing, and elegant, leaned his elbow on the mantle and smoked.

"There, Mr. Barnstable," Fairfield said, coming to him and taking him by the arm; "you evidently don't know what you're saying. Of course there's some mistake. Mr. Neligage never insulted a lady."

"But he has done it," persisted Barnstable. "He has done it, Mr. Fairfield. Have you read 'Love in a Cloud'?"

"'Love in a Cloud'?" repeated Dick in manifest astonishment.

"You must know the book, Dick," put in Jack wickedly. "It's that rubbishy anonymous novel that's made so much talk lately. It's about a woman whose husband's temper was incompatible."

"It's about my wife!" cried Barnstable. "What right had you to put my wife in a book?"

"Pardon me," Neligage asked with the utmost suavity, "but is it proper to ask if it was your temper that was incompatible?"

"Shut up, Jack," said Dick hastily. "You are entirely off the track, Mr. Barnstable. Neligage didn't write 'Love in a Cloud.'"

"Didn't write it?" stammered the visitor.

"I give you my word he didn't."

Barnstable looked about with an air of helplessness which was as funny as his anger had been.

"Then who did?" he demanded.

"If Mr. Barnstable had only mentioned sooner that he wished me to write it," Jack observed graciously, "I'd have been glad to do my best."

"Shut up, Jack," commanded Dick once more. "Really, Mr. Barnstable, it does seem a little remarkable that you should go rushing about in this extraordinary way without knowing what you are doing. You'll get into some most unpleasant mess if you keep on."

"Or bring up in a lunatic asylum," suggested Jack with the most unblushing candor.

Barnstable looked from one to the other with a bewildered expression as if he were just recovering his senses. He walked to the table and took up a glass of water, looked around as if for permission, and swallowed it by uncouth gulps.