A Soldier of the Legion Read online

  CHAPTER I

  THE TELEGRAM

  It was the great ball of the season at Fort Ellsworth. For a specialreason it had begun unusually late; but, though the eighth dance was on,the great event of the evening had not happened yet. Until that shouldhappen, the rest, charming though it might be, was a mere curtain-raiserto keep men amused before the first act of the play.

  The band of the --th was playing the "Merry Widow" waltz, still afavourite at the fort, and only one of the officers was not dancing. Allthe others--young, middle-aged, and even elderly--were gliding more orless gracefully, more or less happily, over the waxed floor of the big,white-walled, flag-draped hall where Fort Ellsworth had its concerts,theatricals, small hops, and big balls. Encircled by their uniformedarms were the wives and sisters of brother officers, ladies whom theysaw every day, or girls from the adjacent town of Omallaha, whom theycould see nearly every day if they took the trouble. Some of the girlswere pretty and pleasant. They all danced well, and wore their newestfrocks from Chicago, New York, and even, in certain brilliant cases,from Paris. But--there was a heart-breaking "but". Each army woman,each visiting girl from Omallaha knew that at any minute her star mightbe eclipsed, put out, as the stars at dawn are extinguished by therising sun. Each one knew, too, that the sun must be at the brink of thehorizon, because it was half-past eleven, and it took more than twentyminutes to motor to Ellsworth from Omallaha. Besides, Max Doran, whoused to love the "Merry Widow" waltz, was not dancing. He stood near thedoor pretending to talk to an old man who had chaperoned a daughter fromtown to the ball; but in reality he was lying in wait, ready to pounce.

  It was a wonder that he hadn't gone to meet her; but perhaps she hadrefused his escort. A more effective entrance might be made by adazzling vision alone (the "stage aunt" did not count) than with a man,even the show young man of the garrison.

  The show young man talked jerkily about the weather, with his eyes onthe door. They were laughing eyes of a brilliant blue, and accounted fora good deal where girls were concerned; but not all. There were otherthings--other advantages he had, which made it seem quite remarkablethat a rather dull Western fort like Ellsworth should possess him. Hisfamily was high up in the "Four Hundred" in New York. He had as muchmoney as, with all his boyish extravagances and wild generosity, he knewwhat to do with. He was exceedingly good to look at, in the dark, thin,curiously Latin style to which he seemed to have no right. He was arather popular hero in the --th, for his polo, a sport which he hadintroduced and made possible at Fort Ellsworth, and for his boxing, hisfencing, and his marksmanship. He had been graduated fourth in hisclass at West Point three years before, so that he might have chosen theengineers or artillery; but the cavalry was what he preferred; and herehe was at old Fort Ellsworth, enjoying life hugely and so well helpingothers to enjoy life that every one liked him, no one was jealous orgrudged him what he had.

  There he stood, this "show young man," well-groomed and smart in hisfull-dress uniform of second lieutenant of cavalry, the stripes andsplashes of yellow suiting his dark skin: a slim, erect figure, not verytall, but a soldier every inch of him, though the wide-apart blue eyesgave the square-chinned face a boyish air of wistfulness, even when hesmiled his delightfully childlike, charming smile. Girls glanced at himas they swung past in their partners' arms, noticing how tense was thelook on the brown face, and how the straight eyebrows--even blacker thanthe smooth dark hair--were drawn together in expectant concentration.

  Suddenly the door opened. The curtain-raiser was over. The drama of theevening was about to begin.

  It seemed wonderful that the band could keep presence of mind to go onplaying the "Merry Widow," instead of stopping short with a gasp andcrash of instruments, to start again with the "Tango Trance," _her_dance in "Girls' Love."

  She flashed into the ballroom like a dazzling fairy thing, all white andgold and glitter. Because she knew that--so to speak--the curtain wouldring up for her entrance, and not an instant before, in the fondness ofher heart for young officers she had not even delayed long enough tochange the dress she wore as the Contessa Gaeta in the third act of"Girls' Love." The musical comedy had been written for her. In it shehad made her first almost startling success two years ago in London,where, according to the newspapers, all young men worth their salt, fromdukes down to draymen, had fallen in love with her. She had captured NewYork, too, and now she and her company were rousing enthusiasm andcoining money on their tour of the larger Western cities.

  The Gaeta dress looked as if it were made of a million dewdrops turnedto diamonds and sprinkled over a lacy spider-web; the web swathing thetall and wandlike figure of Miss Billie Brookton in a way to show thatshe had all the delicate perfections of a Tanagra statuette.

  Despite the distraction of her entrance, followed by that of the littlegray lady engaged as her aunt, the musicians had the self-control to goon with their "Merry Widowing," irrelevant as it now seemed. The dancerswent on dancing, also, though the dreaded dimness of extinction hadfallen upon even the brightest, prettiest girls, who tried to lookparticularly rapturous in order to prove that nothing had happened. Theyfelt their partners' interest suddenly withdrawn from them and focussedupon the radiance at the door. No use ignoring that Radiance, even ifone had in self-defence to pretend that it didn't matter much, andwasn't so marvellously dazzling after all!

  "There goes Mr. Doran to welcome her--of course!" said an Omallaha girllately back from New York. "I wonder if they really are engaged?"

  "Why shouldn't they be?" her partner generously wanted to know. (He wasmarried.)

  "Well, for one thing, she doesn't seem the sort of woman who'd care togive up her career. She's so self-conscious that she must be selfish,and then--she's older than he is."

  "Good heavens, no! She doesn't look nineteen!"

  "On the stage."

  "Or off, either."

  "Anyhow, some people in New York who know her awfully well told me thatshe'd never see twenty-nine again. An actress of twenty-nine who can'tlook nineteen had better go into a convent! Though, when you notice, hermouth and eyes are hard, aren't they? What _would_ Max Doran's wonderfulmother say if her son married Billie Brookton?"

  "Miss Brookton's father was a clergyman in Virginia. She told me soherself," said the married partner.

  "She _would_---- Oh, I don't mean to be catty. But she must have abackground that's a contrast--like that aunt of hers. I don't believeshe'd want to marry for years yet--a man who'd make her leave the stage.She has the air of expecting the limelight to follow her everywherethrough life, and I'm sure Max Doran's gorgeous mother wouldn't let herdaughter-in-law go on acting, even if Max didn't mind."

  "Max would mind. He'd never stand it," Max's brother officer informedthe girl who had been to New York. "Though he's so simple in his manner,he's proud, I guess. But whether she's nineteen or twenty-nine, I don'tsee how Billie could do better than take Max Doran, unless she couldsnap up an English duke. And they say there aren't any unmarried onesgoing at present. She'd be an addition to this post as a bride, wouldn'tshe?"

  "Ye-es," answered the girl, giving wonderful dramatic value to herpause.

  Just then the reign of the "Merry Widow" came to an end, and as soonafter as could be, the "Tango Trance" began. The band had practised itin Miss Brookton's honour; and it had been ordered as the first danceafter her arrival. The aunt sat down, and Billie Brookton began"tangoing" with Max Doran. They were a beautiful couple to watch; but ofcourse people had to keep up the farce of dancing, too. This was not,after all, a theatre. One was supposed to have come for something elsethan to stare at Billie Brookton without paying for a place.

  "Your pearls," she whispered, as she and Doran danced the tangotogether, taking graceful steps which she had taught him during thefortnight they had known each other. "How do they look?"

  "Glorious on _you_!" he answered. "And the ring has come. I telegraphed,you know. It's what you wanted. I was able to get it, I'm happy to say.Oh, Billie, can it be possible that I shall
have you for mine--all mine?It seems too wonderful to be true."

  "I've promised, haven't I?" She laughed half under her breath, a pretty,tinkling laugh. "Honour bright, Max dear, you're the first man I eversaid 'yes' to. I hope I shan't be sorry!"

  "I won't let you be sorry," whispered Max. "I'll do everything to makeyou so happy you'll forget the theatre."

  "If anything or anybody could make me do that, it would be you," sheanswered, under cover of the music. "I believe you must be veryfascinating, or else I--but never mind---- Now let's stop dancing andyou'll show me the ring. I'm engaged for the next--and I can't wait tillyou and I have another together."

  Max took her to sit down at an end of the room uninfested by chaperons.No one at all was there. He had the ring in some pocket, and, by dint ofsitting with his "back to the audience," hoped to go through the sacredceremony without being spied upon. The ring Billie had asked for was afamous blue diamond, of almost as deep a violet as a star-sapphire, andfull of strange, rainbow gleams. It had belonged to a celebrated actresswho had married an Englishman of title, and on her death it had beenadvertised for sale. Billie Brookton, who "adored" jewels, and whosebirthstone conveniently was the diamond, had been "dying for it." "Shewas not superstitious," she said, "about dead people's things." Now theblue diamond, with a square emerald on either side, and set in a band ofplatinum, was hers. She took it between thumb and finger to watch thesparks that came and went, deep under the sea-like surface of blue. Asshe looked at the ring, Doran looked at her eyelashes.

  Never, he thought, could any other woman since the world began have hadsuch eyelashes. They were extraordinarily long and thick, golden brown,and black at the tips. The Omallaha girl who had been to New Yorkthought that Billie Brookton herself had had more to do than heaven inthe painting of those curled-up tips. But such a suggestion would havebeen received with contempt by Max Doran, who at the threshold oftwenty-five considered himself a judge of eyelashes. (He was not; nor ofa woman's complexion; but believing in himself and in Billie, he washappy.) Miss Brookton had a complexion nearly as white, and it seemed tohim--more luminous, more ethereal, than the string of pearls he hadgiven her a month in advance of her birthday. She said it would be hertwenty-third, and Max had been incredulous in the nicest way. He wouldhave supposed her to be nineteen at the most, if she had not been sofrank.

  "Now, if you've looked at the ring enough _off_ your finger, will youlet me put it on?" he begged. "I'll make a wish--a good wish: that youshall never grow tired of your bargain. For it _is_ a bargain, isn't it?From the minute this ring is on your finger you're engaged to me."

  "What will your beautiful mother say?" asked Billie, hanging backdaintily, and doing charming things with her eyelashes.

  "Oh, she'll be surprised at first," Max had to admit. "You see, she's soyoung herself and such a great beauty, it must be hard for her torealize she's got a son who has grown up to be a man. I used to thinkshe was the most exquisite creature on earth, but now----"

  His words broke off, and he looked up from the gleaming line ofgold-and-black lashes. An orderly had come quickly and almostnoiselessly to him. "For you, Lieutenant," the man announced with asalute, holding out a telegram.

  "May I?" murmured Doran, and perfunctorily opened the envelope.

  Billie went on gazing at the ring. She was faintly annoyed at the delay,for she was anxious to see how the blue diamond would look on herfinger, and Max had asked to wish it on. The lights in the stone were sofascinating, however, that for an instant she forgot the interruption.Then, sensitive to all that was dramatic, something in the quality ofMax Doran's silence struck her. She felt suddenly surrounded by achilling atmosphere which seemed to shut her and Max away from thedancers, away from music and life, as if a thick glass case had been letdown over them both. She glanced up quickly. No wonder she had felt socold. Doran's face looked frozen. His eyes were still fixed on thetelegram, though there had been time for him to read it over and overagain. He was so lost in the news it had brought that he had forgotteneven her--forgotten her in the moment when she had been consenting to aformal engagement, she, the illusive, the vainly desired one, run afterjust to the foot of her unclimbable mountain by the nimblest, therichest, everywhere!

  Her small soul was stirred to resentment. She wanted to punish Max Doranfor daring to neglect her at such a time, even for a few seconds; but ahalf-angry, half-frightened study of the dark, absorbed face changed hermood. No man could look like that unless something awful had happened.

  What, that was awful, could happen to Max Doran? Why, he could lose allhis money!

  Billie's heart leaped, and then seemed to fall back heavily in thelovely bosom sheathed like a lily with a film of sparkling dew. Would heever speak? She could not wait. Besides, it was right to be sympathetic."Max, what is it--_dear_ Max?" she whispered in the honey-sweet voice ofGaeta in "Girls' Love."

  He started, and waked up. "It's my mother. She's been hurt," he said."My God, I must go at once!"

  Almost, Billie sighed out her intense relief in words; but she had justpresence of mind and self-control enough to hold them back. Gently shetook the telegram from him, and he let her do it. Meanwhile, however,she had slipped the ring on to her own finger--but not the engagedfinger. Evidently this was no time for an announcement, orcongratulations and sensations. But it was just as well to have the bluediamond safe on one's hand, even if it were the right hand instead ofthe left.

  * * * * *

  "'Your mother dangerously injured in motor accident,'" she read."'Asking to see you. Come without delay. Reeves.'"

  * * * * *

  "Oh, how very sad!" breathed Billie. "How awful if she should be_disfigured_! But I do hope not."

  Doran did not remember to thank his love for her solicitude. He got up,not frozen now, but a little dazed. It occurred to Billie that he hadnever looked so handsome, so much a man. She felt that he was gatheringhimself together. "I'll telephone to Omallaha for a special train toconnect with the limited at Chicago," he said. "By the time I can seethe Colonel and get off it ought to be ready. Yes, I ought to catch thelimited that way. It's awful to leave you like this, but I must. I'lltake you to your aunt, and--who's got the next dance with you?"

  "Major Naylor," she answered, slightly injured, for not ten minutes agohe had been looking at her card. He ought to have remembered every nameon it and in the right order.

  "Well, he'll come to you in a minute. Trust him not to lose a second!And--you'll write to me?"

  "Of course; you'll wire as soon as you can, how your mother is--andeverything? On Monday I shall be back in Chicago."

  "I'll wire the moment I can," Max assured her. "You know the address inNew York?"

  "Oh, yes, everybody knows the beautiful Mrs. Doran's address. I'll writeor telegraph _every_ day. My heart will be with you."

  He squeezed her hand so desperately that she could have screamed withpain from the pressure of the blue diamond. But with touchingself-control she only smiled a strained, sympathetic little smile. AndMax had forgotten all about the ring!

  "Thank you, my beautiful one, my angel," he said. And Billie's largebrown eyes (so effective with her delicate dark brows and ripplingyellow hair) gave him a lovely look. She had been called many things bymany adoring men, but perhaps never before an "angel." Max Doran wasvery young, in some ways even younger than his years. "Good-bye," shemurmured. "But no--not 'good-bye.' That's a terrible word. _Au revoir._You'll come to me when you can, I know. I shall be in Chicago afortnight. But if you can't leave Mrs. Doran, why, in six weeks I shallbe in New York."

  "Don't speak of six weeks!" he exclaimed. "It's like six years. I _must_see you before that. But--my mother is before everything just now."

  They bade each other farewell with their eyes. Then he took her to Mrs.Liddell, the small gray aunt, and hardly was Billie seated when MajorNaylor dashed up to claim her for Gaeta's waltz in the first act of"Girls' Love."

  After
that, things happened quickly with Max Doran. He seemed to dreamthem, and was still in the dream, tearing toward Chicago in a specialtrain whose wheels rushed through the night in tune with that first-actmusic from "Girls' Love."