Chapter VII

_The Whispering Gallery_

The long afternoon went by, but we had accomplished nothing more than

the consumption of an unlimited amount of tobacco.

"Certainly not convincing evidence," said Warriner with a final shrug of

his shoulders. "Still my yellow rose is worth preserving along with the

moth cocoon," and he put the pathetic dead flower carefully away in his

empty cigarette case. For a minute or two the silence remained unbroken.

"I wonder if you would mind spending a few days here at the 'Hundred?'"

I blurted out; suddenly I was aware that I had taken a strong liking to

Chalmers Warriner.

"I've no end of things on hand," he answered, smiling cordially, "but

I'll see what I can do. Suppose I run into Calverton, look over my mail,

and return here around ten o'clock."

"It would be a great kindness," I said heartily. We shook hands, and he

jumped into his perfectly appointed cross-country car and drove away.

Yes, I did like Chalmers Warriner very much, and he seemed to have a

head on him.

Doctor Marcy also left us. His patient had continued to improve, and of

course he had his other practice to look after.

It was a pleasanter dinner than that of the night before inasmuch as

John Thaneford was at "Thane Court," while Miss Trevor pleaded a

headache and had tea and toast served in her room. But there was my

Cousin Betty Graeme to do the honors of my board--how strange it still

seemed to use the possessive pronoun!--with all possible grace and

dignity. Also I had the pleasure of welcoming a new addition to the

household, a Mrs. Anthony, an old family friend and Betty's godmother to

boot. Circumstances had prevented her attendance at the funeral, but she

had reached the "Hundred" at last, to Betty's infinite comfort and

satisfaction. Mrs. Anthony was a delightful old person, with the figure

of a young girl and the flashing eyes and snowy bob curls of a French

marquise. I did myself the honor of kissing the small hand extended to

me, and was taken into favor at once.

Yes, we were an entirely congenial dinner party. We spoke of Francis

Graeme several times, and without the least embarrassment or restraint;

quite as though he might return at any moment to resume his rightful

place in the circle. And more and more I came to realize that I had lost

a great deal in not knowing him sooner and better. A good and gallant

gentleman! who was I that I should presume to stand in his shoes. Even

now I am beginning to perceive that a great inheritance has its burdens

as well as its privileges; I see that it is no small thing to become

Hildebrand of the "Hundred."

The ladies retired early, and a few minutes after ten Warriner redeemed

his promise by making a welcome appearance. I told him that I had some

necessary letters to write, and that I should not make company of him;

he was to consider himself entirely at home. He nodded acquiescently and

spent some twenty minutes in wandering about the library; then he

settled down with a book.

It really was imperative that I should acquaint certain people--my

quasi-partner Anstruthers, the Mercers and others--with the great change

that had taken place in my life and fortunes; my affairs in town would

have to be wound up, and it might be a fortnight before I could get to

Philadelphia. My correspondence proved more lengthy than I had

anticipated, and it was long after midnight when I had sealed and

stamped the last enclosure. Warriner threw down his book, and I crossed

the room and joined him. "By way of resting our eyes," I said, and

thereupon I extinguished the only light in the room, an Argand-burner

oil lamp. We exchanged half a dozen desultory sentences, and then

relapsed into that intimate silence which is only possible between real

friends. For perhaps half an hour we sat quietly thinking and smoking;

then----

"There is nothing I can say or do; understand?"

I recognized the rough, forbidding quality of John Thaneford's voice,

and instantly I was all attention. Of course he must be speaking to

somebody; who could it be? Presently the answer came. But it was not in

words; all I could make out were sounds of weeping and smothered sobs,

unmistakably feminine in character.

Now I should have explained that Warriner and I had been sitting close

to one of the side walls of the library; indeed our heads were almost in

actual contact with the plaster. Thaneford and his companion were

undoubtedly in the great hall whose circular walls probably formed a

natural whispering gallery. How the sounds could be transmitted through

the straight connecting passage under the stairs, and then shunted upon

the rectangular walls of the library, was a problem in applied acoustics

that I did not attempt to solve. The conversation was being conducted

under the breath, as we say, but every word fell with perfect

distinctness upon my ears. Of course it was a private conversation, one

to which I had no right to listen. I did make a motion to pull away from

the wall, possibly with the vague idea of uttering a warning admonition

to these indiscreet chatterers, but Warriner's ready hand pushed me back

in my chair; he laid his finger upon my lips, and I had no option but to

yield to his stronger will. This was war, war in which all is fair.

"You've made a mess of it, my girl," went on Thaneford, "and I can't

stop to help clear it up. That's flat."

"You mean that you won't keep your promise?" The words were low and

thick with emotion; I could not seem to recognize the ownership of the

voice.

"No, I don't say that at all. But I'm up to my neck at 'Thane Court,'

and I was counting upon the 'Hundred' to pull me out. Give me half a

chance and I'll do the square thing--by you and everybody."

"What more do you want of me?"

"Just keep your eyes and ears open. I saw Grimes to-day, and he thinks

there is a fair possibility of breaking the will--_non compos_, you

know. Why think of it! Francis Graeme never saw this Yankee Hildebrand

but once in his life, and then for a couple of hours only. It stands to

reason that a man in his right senses doesn't hand over a fortune as

though it were nothing more than a Key West cigar. Grimes advises me to

fight, and I'd like nothing better than to do it. But fighting costs a

lot of money," he concluded gloomily.

"You know that if I had it----"

"All I know is that you haven't got it," he interrupted coldly. "For

heaven's sake! don't let us get sentimental again."

There was a brief silence, and then came a badly suppressed yawn,

coupled with a declaration that the speaker was dog-tired and ready to

fall asleep standing up. We could hear retreating footsteps, and the

occasional creaking of a loose board in the tread of the staircase; then

all was quiet again.

"Eunice Trevor, of course," announced Warriner meditatively.

"I should never have known her voice," I protested.

"Exactly so. And for the very sufficient reason that she is accustomed

to riding under double-wraps, as the hunting men say. A cold,

calculating, iceberg sort of creature--that's the way you've thought of

her."

"Dare say you're right."

"But deep in the heart of the iceberg there burns a flame, glowing and

intense. Now and then it melts its way out, and for a few minutes there

are gorgeous fireworks. That was the young woman's natural voice, and

she was improving the infrequent opportunity of using it by letting

herself go."

"What do you think----" I began.

"I don't think at all," he broke in. "At least for to-night. In the

morning my brain may begin to function again, but it refuses to be

squeezed any further at present."

"They've had their five minutes grace," remarked Warriner, after another

brief pause, "and I'm off to bed. Good night." Warriner seemed to melt

away and become part of the surrounding darkness; after a minute or two

I followed, and reached my room without further incident.

Again my night's rest was a troubled one.