Chapter XIX

"Well Marian, my play-time is over for the present," Thatcher remarked as he folded a cable he had just received and placed it in his pocket. "They need me at the office, so I'll sail on Monday. There's no reason for you to leave until later unless you wish to."

She looked up at him with an expression of such real disappointment that he felt the unspoken reproach.

"We have stayed a month longer than we intended, as it is," he explained, "and my going need not hasten your plans at all."

"I don't want you to return alone, Harry, and I loathe the thought of turning my back on this enchanting spot. Truly, each day makes it more difficult to leave it."

"Then if you don't go at once the problem may become serious," he laughed.

"You are so different down here, Harry, I hate to give you up to business again. That is a wife's real rival; I'm jealous of it."

"A rival which has made our pleasures possible, so you should be friends. Only a few years more of it, little woman, and then you may plan my days as well as yours. Then we'll have one long play-time together."

"You've been saying that for five years," she protested petulantly; "but we seem to come no nearer. Haven't we enough to do that now?"

"Who shall say what 'enough' really is?" he smiled, taking her hand in his and looking with affection into her deep eyes. "That isn't what holds me; it takes time to work out of the old interests without serious loss, Marian, and present conditions aren't helpful."

"I suppose not," she agreed unwillingly; "but do make the period of waiting as short as possible. Merry and Philip are grown now, and I'm hungry for another honeymoon, such as we have been having here."

"Some day, little woman, some day!"

"Don't say that, Harry!" she protested again, this time more vigorously. "There is no expression in the English language I detest so much as 'some day.' When I was a little girl I had an uncle who was forever going to take me somewhere or give me something 'some day'; and 'some day' never came! I've always looked upon those two words as a diabolical combination invented by older people as an aggravation to children. But I will be patient, Harry. Can't you start in now to take some medicine which will be sure to clear your blood of business by the time these things you speak of work themselves out?"

"If present conditions continue," he laughed, "they will accomplish what you wish better than anything so homeopathic as physic. We shall all be thrown out of business whether we like it or not. This cable I have just received," he continued more soberly, "is a case in point: the government is starting in to 'investigate' one of our pet interests, and the stock has begun to drop out of sight already. It is paternalism with a vengeance: protecting the infant industries to encourage their growth, and then spanking them when they respond!"

"Well," Marian sighed, "it's all Greek to me, but if you say it's wrong then I know it is. Now," she added, slipping her arm through his, "let's go over to the pool and see what is going on there."

Shouts of laughter and sounds of splashing greeted them as they reached the top of the tiled steps of the "Princess" pool, and they paused for a moment to see the finish of an exciting race.

"You're too fast for us, Miss Merry," Huntington acknowledged his defeat. Then he turned to Cosden who finished just behind him.

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself to let a girl beat you like that, Connie?" he demanded.

"How about yourself?" was the retort; "you always claimed to be some swimmer."

"You let me win!" Merry declared.

"Indeed I didn't," Huntington protested stoutly. "It is eminently unfit that woman should defeat man in any athletic contest; she has beaten us out in everything else, and we must reserve something. Perhaps Connie let you beat him,--did you, Connie?"

Cosden laughed consciously. "Did I ever let any one beat me in anything when I could prevent it?" he asked.

"There you are," Huntington waved his arms dramatically. "We admit ourselves temporarily defeated, but not disgraced. As for myself, I shall immediately go into strict training, in an endeavor to alter my lines from endurance to speed."

The Thatchers strolled along the edge of the pool and seated themselves on one of the benches at the farther end of the enclosure.

"Here come Edith and Philip Hamlen," Marian called her husband's attention to the new arrivals; "where do you suppose she found him?"

"Hello, people," Edith greeted them. "Mr. Hamlen has been waiting for you in the hotel, and I told him I thought we should find you here. This looks to me like a perfectly good party."

"Come sit with us," Thatcher urged, drawing up another bench. "We elderly folk will watch the children at play."

Edith suddenly caught sight of Cosden and she perceptibly stiffened. "Children!" she echoed, with an inflection of her voice and a toss of the head which attracted Marian's attention. "How is it that Mr. Cosden goes into the water? I should think he would be afraid of rust."

"I supposed it was by your orders, Edith," Marian said smiling. "Isn't he still acting under your instructions? But why 'rust'?"

"Certainly not by any orders of mine," she replied with emphasis. "What he needs as an adviser is a machinist to keep that wonderful business head of his in repair. Wouldn't you think it would rust if he got it wet?"

Edith's new attitude was more intelligible to Marian than to the men, but discretion suggested a change of subject.

"Harry is taking us home with him on Monday," she announced, suddenly turning to Hamlen and watching him narrowly as she spoke.

"On Monday?" Hamlen repeated after her. The color rushed into his usually pale face, and a tremor in his voice showed how much the news affected him. "You are going Monday?"

"The Thatcher family intact," Marian answered him; "I don't know about the others."

"Of course Ricky and I go when you do," Edith added. "I'm quite ready. The place is beginning to pall on me."

There was an injured look in Hamlen's face as he turned to her quickly. "Don't say that of my beautiful island!" he begged.

"Oh, the place is all right," Edith assured him; "it is simply some of the foreign element I don't like."

"Must you really go?" Hamlen asked Thatcher appealingly.

"It is my master's voice, and we slaves of the market dare not disregard the call."

Hamlen forced a smile. "I shall miss you," he said simply.

"Come with us," Marian urged in a low voice. "That would make our visit here complete."

The man made no response, yet she could see no signs of weakening. The color left his face and it was now more ashen than before. The lips were tightly compressed as if he feared to trust them, and his hands clenched the walking-stick he held in front of him with a grip of iron. He mastered himself at last, and the pathetic smile which wrung Marian's heart whenever she saw it returned to his face. It was too clearly the reflection of a wound which pride alone concealed from sight.

"You are too generous," he said at length, feeling the necessity of making some response,--"far too generous; but it is like you, Marian. Huntington is generous too, but you both are mistaken in your kindness. There are some exotic growths which can't be transplanted; I am one of those."

He paused for a moment; then he continued: "I must ask one more favor before you go--come to me to-morrow afternoon and let us have a final celebration in honor of our reunion. Come to my villa, all of you, and in the midst of the family I have created--my flowers, my trees--let me dedicate my home anew to the dear friends who have brought life back to me, even though they too will soon join the memories amongst which I must continue to live. Give me this last experience to remain with me after you are gone."

"Of course we will, Philip,--we would love to come," Marian replied, affected by his words and the depth of emotion which his voice expressed. "It will be the one remembrance we would most rejoice to take back with us if we can't take you. For these days, Philip," she added in a voice so low that he alone could hear,--"these days have not been vital ones for you alone, dear friend. Our meeting has brought back much to me which I shall always cherish, and beyond all I wish I might be the means of giving you back that happiness you lost through me."

"No, no! You mustn't say that, Marian!"

"Oh, but I feel the burden of it, Philip! You give me no chance to make restitution. If you would only come--"

A tremor ran through his frame but he quickly controlled himself. "No, Marian," he said firmly; "you must come to me!"

While the little group were conversing together the bathers had left the pool, and now one by one appeared from the bath-houses, radiant from their invigorating exercise, and looking for new worlds to conquer. Cosden was first, and he seated himself on the bench beside Edith.

"Am I forgiven?" he asked in a low tone, but with a smile which expressed confidence in the answer.

"I never talk shop outside of business hours," was the chilling response, as she drew herself slightly away from him and looked straight ahead.

Merry was not far behind, and her appearance prevented Edith's hauteur from becoming too apparent.

"Mr. Huntington and I are going to have another race to-morrow morning," she announced. "I'm sure he let me beat him this time just to humiliate me the more when he shows what he can really do."

"I'd back you against the field if I could find any takers," Cosden insisted. "That shows what I think of his chances."

"It's great fun, anyway. Isn't this a fine old world, Momsie?" she cried impulsively, throwing her arms around her mother's neck and kissing her.

"'Here comes the bride,'" chanted Cosden as Huntington finally walked toward them with his dignified stride. "If I took as much time to prink as you do I believe I could fuss myself up to look like something."

"You'd need a file!" Edith ejaculated spitefully.

"I beg your pardon?" Cosden interrogated, but no explanation was vouchsafed.

"This looks to me like a council of war," Huntington remarked.

"Call it rather a demobilization," Thatcher corrected. "I have made myself everlastingly unpopular by deciding to return to New York on Monday. Marian insists on leaving when I do, and the Stevenses are equally considerate of my pleasure. So I've spoiled everything."

"I have only been waiting for some one stronger than I to determine my own departure, so I include myself among the refugees. And Hamlen will go with me, won't you, my friend?"

Hamlen held up his hand deprecatingly. "I must complete my sentence of exile," he said with finality.

"Have you heard anything from New York?" Cosden inquired. "I left orders not to cable."

"The market is bad, and liable to become worse."

"Then my vacation is over, too. How about the trolley project?"

"Another postponement. I'll give you the details later."

"Mr. Hamlen has invited us to have tea with him to-morrow afternoon as a farewell celebration, and I have accepted for all."

"Not a farewell, Mrs. Thatcher," Huntington corrected, looking across at Hamlen. "There are some souls to whom we never say farewell. If he won't come with us now it simply means a brief postponement. This friend of mine cannot come into my life as he has done these weeks and then go out of it again. He and I have already lost too many years of the companionship which should have been ours; now together we must make up for lost time."

Hamlen looked at him gratefully but did not answer. In single file the little party walked along the narrow edge of the pool, down the steps and back to the hotel. Cosden manoeuvered so that he had a word with Edith before they separated.

"I sha'n't let you be cross with me," he said.

"I'm not cross; 'disgusted' is the word if you really want to know."

"But suppose my speaking was more sudden than my decision?"

"I would rather not discuss it, if you please."

"I've seen a great deal more of you than I have of Merry--"

"But when you make up your mind, Mr. Cosden--" Edith recalled his own words.

"I never change it without reason," he replied. "And more than that, it is very unprofessional to desert a client just when he needs you most."

"When a client disregards his counsel's advice it is time to change counsel," she retorted with decision.

"Oh, dear, no!" Cosden replied in so conciliatory a tone that she was partly mollified. The words rang with greater sincerity than she had believed him to possess. "That isn't the way real counsels do at all, especially when the client is so contrite."

"What is their custom?" Edith asked, amused in spite of herself.

"They charge it up on the bill and make him pay handsomely for his presumption."

"Oh!" she said, weakening a little in the caustic attitude she had assumed. "If it comes down to a matter of bookkeeping perhaps we can effect a compromise."

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