Preface

Chapter Nine

At a quarter to four I received a note from Blakely saying it would be impossible for him to come in to tea as he had planned. It was the first time he had ever broken an engagement with me, and I was a wee bit unhappy over it, though I knew, of course, there must be some good reason why he couldn't come. Still, his absence rather put me out of humor with tea, so I sent Valentine for a box of chocolates. When she returned I sat down with them and a novel, prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon alone.

The novel wasn't half as silly as some I've read—the hero reminded me of Blakely—and the chocolates were unusually good; I was having a much better time than I had expected. Then some one knocked at the door.

"Bother!"I thought."It can't be anybody I wish to see; I'll not let them in."

The knock, was repeated. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe Blakely had changed his plans and had come for tea after all.

"Come in,"I called.

The door opened slowly, and there, standing on the threshold, was— Had I gone quite mad? I rose from my chair and stared unbelievingly—at Blakely's mother.

"May I come in?"she asked in her even, well-bred voice.

"Why—yes,"I faltered.

Closing the door behind her, she walked over to the fireplace.

"Won't you sit down?"I asked."No, I thank you. This is not an Afternoon call, Miss Middleton, it is—But of course you understand."

I didn't understand at all, and her manner of saying I did made me furious.

"Perhaps I am very stupid,"I said,"but I cannot imagine why you are here."

"Do you know where my son is?"

"I do not."

"You have no idea?"

"I have no idea where your son is, nor why you are here."

She eyed me intently. How cold and determined she looked and how handsome she was.

"If I thought you were telling the truth—"

"Mrs. Porter!"

She handed me a letter."Please read that,"she said.

"I will not read it,"I replied."I must beg that you leave me."

"The re, there, child, I did not mean to be rude."

"You are more than rude, you are insolent."

"I am distracted, child. Please read the letter."

"Very well,"I said,"I'll read it."

This was the letter:

"MY DEAR MOTHER: This will be handed to you at four o'clock. At that hour I shall be in Ventura, accompanied by the Grand Duke Alexander, and, as we are making the trip by automobile, it may be that we shall neither of us return in time for your dinner this evening."

"If, however, on reading this you will wire me at Ventura your full consent to my marriage with Miss Middleton, I think I can guarantee that your dinner party will be a success."

"I shall be in Ventura till half past four. Should I fail to hear from you by that time, we shall continue our journey toward Los Angeles as fast as our six-cylinders will take us."

"It grieves me more than I can tell you to employ this cavalier method against you, but my softer appeals have been in vain."

"While not a party to the plot, the duke, I find is something of a philosopher; I do not look for any resistance on his part. If he does resist, so much the worse for him."

"Your affectionate son, BLAKELY PORTER."

"P. S. Please do not think that Miss Middleton has any knowledge of this plan. She has not."

"P. S. Remember! We leave Ventura for Los Angeles at 4:50 p.m. sharp."

"Mrs. Porter,"I said when I had finished reading the letter,"I am deeply humiliated that Blakely should have done this."

"Still, I suppose you would marry him if I gave my consent."

"I would not,"I replied hotly."I might marry him without your consent, for I love him dearly; but I would never consider you had given your consent if it were forced from you by trickery."

"You wouldn't?"

"I would not."

"But if he doesn't bring the duke back my dinner will be ruined."

"I will telegraph him myself,"I said.

"Supposing he won't come?"

"Blakely will come if I ask him to."

"And you will do this for me?"

"No; I am not doing it for you."

"Then why—"

"Because I cannot bear to have Blakely act so ungenerously toward his mother."

"He has but used my own weapons against me,"she remarked thoughtfully.

"Your weapons are quite unworthy of him, Mrs. Porter.""The telegram must be dispatched at once,"she announced, glancing impatiently at her watch.

"If you will call the office and ask them to send up a boy with some forms, I will think over what I wish to say,"I said.

When the boy arrived I had decided upon my message. It was:

"BLAKELY PORTER, Ventura."

"If you do not return at once with your captive I shall consider that we have never met."

"ELIZABETH."

I wrote it out on a form and handed it to Mrs. Porter."Will that do?"I asked.

She read it at a glance."Yes,"she said,"it will do. Here, boy, see that this is rushed."

"I'm glad it was satisfactory,"I said."Good afternoon, Mrs. Porter."

"My dear girl....."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Porter."

Still she did not go. I realized her predicament, and was childish enough to enjoy it, for Blakely's mother could not bear to accept a favor from a social inferior. Had I been a child, she would have patted me on the head and presented me with a sugar plum. As matters stood she was quite at sea; she wished to do something gracious—she didn't know how.

To make her position more impossible, who should come stalking into the room but Dad,—dear, unsuspecting Dad. When he saw Mrs. Porter he immediately jumped at a whole row of conclusions.

"We ll, well well!"he said."This is a sight that does me good. I'm very glad indeed to see you, Mrs. Porter. Your son has had an idea that you were opposed to meeting Elizabeth; but I knew he couldn't be right. And here you are; calling on her? We ll, well, well! Elizabeth, haven't you any tea to offer Blakely's mother!"

"Mrs. Porter was just leaving,"I managed to say."She has been here some time."

Dad beamed on us both.

"I told Blakely, Elizabeth couldn't marry him until you consented,"he blundered on,"but now I suppose it is all arranged. The se children of ours are wonderfully impatient. I'm as fond of Blakely as if he were my own son, and you'll feel the same about Elizabeth when you've known her longer."

"Don't let Dad keep you, Mrs. Porter,"I said."I'm sure you have many things to attend to."

Blakely's mother who had been standing like one in a dream, now woke up.

"Yes,"she said,"I must be going. I called informally on Elizabeth to beg you both to come to my dinner to-night."

"I told her we couldn't possibly come,"I began."Nonsense! Of course we can come,"Dad declared."It will quite upset Blakely if you don't come, and I shall be so disappointed."

"The re, there,"said Dad,"you're not going to disappoint Blakely's mother by refusing."

"No,"I replied."If Mrs. Porter really wants us we shall be delighted to come."

"If either of you fails me it will make me most unhappy,"she said, and there was a note of sincerity, in her voice that was unmistakable.

"Thank you,"I murmured."We shall not fail you."

Chapter Ten

When Blakely returned with the grand duke, he came straight to me. What he expected was an explanation; what he actually received was the worst scolding of his life. But the poor boy was so apologetic and so humble, I finally relented, and kissed him, and told him all about his mother's call, and its surprising consequences.

"I suppose I should be grateful,"I said,"but the idea of going to the ducal dinner fills me with rage."

"Let's be ill, and dine together."

"I can't, I've given my word. And then there's Dad; he feels now that all the prophecies he has uttered in regard to your mother have at last come true. It's only my wicked pride that's talking, dear. Please don't pay any attention to it."

And then Blakely said one of the sweetest things he ever said to me. Of course, it wasn't true but it made me so happy."Dearest,"he said"everything I should love best to be, you are."

Before dressing for dinner, Dad came to my room"to talk things over,"as he put it. He was so superbly satisfied with himself and the world, I could hardly forbear a smile.

"Naturally, I should be the last person to say'I told you so', Elizabeth, but you see what patience has done. It is always best to be patient, my child."

"Yes, Dad.""Blakely's mother has acted very handsomely toward us, considering—"

"Very handsomely, CONSIDERING,"I agreed.

"And we must try to meet her half way.""Yes, Dad."

"No doubt she had her reasons for behaving as she did."

"I'm sure of it."

"You see, my dear, I've understood the situation from the very first."

"You sweet old simpleton, of course you have! But here it is half past seven, and you haven't begun to dress. Be off with you."

Although, at first, I had felt it would be all but impossible for me to attend Mrs. Porter's dinner, my talk with Blakely had so raised my spirits that now I was able to face the ordeal with something very like serenity. What did it matter? What did anything matter, so long as Blakely loved me? Then, too, I knew I was looking my very best; my white lace gown was a dream; Valentine had never done my hair so becomingly.

When Blakely called at our rooms for Dad and me, I was not at all unhappy. And the dear boy was so relieved to see it! I will confess, however, to one moment of real terror as we approached the drawing room where we were to join our hostess. But her greeting was most cordial and reassuring. And when she begged me to stand up with her, and help her receive her guests, I almost felt at home, for I knew it meant her surrender was unconditional.

After, that, it was like a beautiful dream. Except that some of the"Choicest Flowers"of San Francisco society were fearfully and fashionably late, nothing occurred to disturb the social atmosphere. And when, on entering the dining room, I saw how the guests were placed, I could have hugged Blakely's mother. For where do you suppose she had put Dad? On her left! Of course the duke, as guest of honor, was on her right; and I sat next to the duke, and Blakely sat next to me.

By placing us so, Mrs. Porter had supplied the balance of the table with a topic of conversation, always a desirable addition to a dinner party; I noted with amusement the lifted eyebrows, the expressions of wonder and resentment on the faces of some of the guests. Nor did it seem to add to their pleasure that their hostess devoted herself to Dad, while the duke and Blakely developed a spirited, though friendly, rivalry as to which should monopolize little Mimi.

But the real sensation was to occur when the champagne was poured. (I could hardly believe my eyes, of my ears, either). For who should rise in his place but Dad! Yes, there he stood, the old darling, a brimming champagne glass in his hand, a beatific expression on his face. And this is what he was saying:

"Our hostess has asked me to do something, which is to announce the engagement of my daughter and her son. Let us drink to their happiness."

"Bravo!"cried the Duke."I give the American three cheers: Rah, rah, rah!""How delightfully boyish the dear Duke is,"observed Mrs. Sanderson-Spear, beaming at him from across the table.

"So ingenious, I mean so ingenuous,"assented a languid lady from San Francisco."But we must stand up; toute le monde is standing up, my dear."

And so it was, standing up to drink our healths, Blakely's and mine, while Blakely held my hand under the table.

"Bravo!"cried the Duke."It ees delightful. I cannot make the speech, mais, mademoiselle, monsieur—I drink your health."He drained his glass, then flung it, with a magnificent gesture, over his shoulder."It ees so we drink to royalty,"he said.

Such a noble example naturally had its effect; there followed a perfect shower of glasses. Indeed, I think every one at table indulged in this pretty piece of extravagance except the third son of an English baronet, who was too busy explaining how it was done at home:"Purely a British custom, you understand—the wardroom of a man-of-war, d'ye see.—They were officers of a Scotch regiment, and they drank it standing on their chairs, with one foot on the table. And, by gad, I didn't care for it!"—No doubt I should have learned more concerning this purely British custom if the Pierpont Morgan of Pennsylvania hadn't called on Blakely for a speech, just then. Poor Blakely! He didn't know at all how to make a speech. Thought I must say I was rather glad of it; the most tiresome thing about Americans is their eternal speechmaking, I think.

Blakely having faltered his few words of thanks, some one proposed the duke's health; but that had to wait till new glasses were brought in and filled. Altogether, then, instead of being a solemn, dignified affair, such as one might have expected, it was a tremendously jolly dinner—a little rowdy, perhaps, but delightfully friendly. If I had entered the dining room as Old Tom Middleton's daughter,"who actually used to live over a livery stable, my dear,"it was not so I left it; for the nimbus of the sacred name of Porter had already begun to shed its beautiful light on my many graces and social accomplishments. Indeed, when I retired with my hostess to the drawing room, it was to hold a sort of reception; Mrs. Tudor Carstairs vied with Mrs. Sanderson-Spear in assurances of regard,"Choicest Flowers"expressed approval, the German baroness, bless her, conferred the distinction of a motherly kiss. And Blakely's mother was so gracious, so kind and considerate, it was hard to believe we had faced each other, five hours before, with something very like hatred in our eyes.

When Blakely and Dad, and the other men joined us, I was so happy I could have kicked both my slippers to the ceiling. I might have disgraced myself doing it, too, if the third son of the English baronet hadn't come up just then to felicitate me. He would have done it charmingly if he hadn't felt constrained to add that Americans always say"dook"instead of"duke,"that nobody present seemed to realize the proper way to address a nephew of the Czar was to call him Monseigneur, that the Olympic games in London had been conducted admirably, arid that he didn't believe in marriage, anyway.

But the sweetest thing to me of all that wonderful evening was to see the love and gratitude in Blakely's eyes when he looked at his mother; for a man who doesn't love his mother misses much, and I love Blakely so tenderly, I couldn't bear to have him miss the last then that makes for contentment and happiness.

Chapter Eleven

When I awoke, late next morning, it was to find myself, if not famous, at least conspicuous; in the Los Angeles newspaper Valentine brought me with my coffee, much space was devoted to the ducal dinner.