The Terms of Surrender

If he thought at all about the matter, the cabman might well have imagined that no young lady in Newport that night had used words less charged with explosive properties; yet no giant cannon on the warships swinging to their moorings in the bay could have rivaled the uproar those few simple sentences might create. Moreover, he heard the gentleman address the butler by name, and witnessed the transference of a tip, accompanied by the plain statement that the giver was leaving Newport early next day. Indeed, once he had deposited his fare at the Ocean House, the man probably gave no further heed to one or other of the pair who had some foolish liking for a prolonged stroll on the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic, nor, to his knowledge, did he ever again see them, or even hear their names spoken of.

Power was crossing the veranda with his alert, uneven strides when a voice came out of the gloom:

“Hullo, Power, that you? Come and join me in a parting drink.”

It was Dacre, the one person in the hotel from whom such an invitation was not an insufferable nuisance at the moment.

“I’m in a bit of a hurry,” said Power, “as I am off tomorrow morning; but I’m glad to find you here. You’ve received my note?”

“Yes. Sit down. I’m just going to light a cigar, and the match will help you to mix your own poison. Had a pleasant evening?”

It was a natural though curiously pertinent question; but Power was at no loss for an answer.

“I have really been arranging certain details as a preliminary to my departure,” he said.

“Where are you bound for, New York?”

“After some days, or weeks, perhaps. I hardly know yet.”

“You’ve changed your plans, it seems?”

Power remembered then that he had invited the Englishman to visit Colorado. It was practically settled that Dacre should come West within three weeks or a month.

“By Jove!” he cried, “you must accept my apologies. Of course, I would have recalled our fixture in good time, and have written postponing your trip to Bison. Circumstances beyond my control will prevent my return home for an indefinite period. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“Same here,” said the other, with John Bull directness.

“But neither of us is likely to shuffle off the map yet awhile,” continued Power. “You have my address, both in Colorado and at my New York bank, and I have yours. Keep me posted as to your movements, and we shall come together again later in the year.”

He was eager to dissipate a certain starchiness, not wholly unjustifiable, which he thought he could detect in his companion’s manner; but the discovery of its true cause disconcerted him more than he cared to acknowledge, even to himself. Enlightenment was not long delayed. Dacre’s evident lack of ease arose from circumstances vastly more important than the disruption of his own plans; he hesitated only because he was searching for the right way to express himself.

“You and I have cultivated quite a friendship since we forgathered here nearly three weeks ago,” he began, after a pause which Power again interpreted mistakenly.

“Yes, indeed. Won’t you let me explain – ”

“Not just yet. You are on the wrong tack, Power. You believe I’m rather cut up about the postponement of your invitation. Not a bit of it. This little globe cannot hold two men like you and me, and keep us apart during the remainder of our naturals. No, mine is a different sort of grouch. Now, I’m a good deal older than you. You won’t take amiss anything I tell you, providing I make it clear that I mean well?”

“I can guarantee that, at any rate.”

Power’s reply was straightforward enough; but his tone was cold and guarded. The chill of premonition had fallen on him. A man whom he liked and respected was about to fire the first shot on behalf of unctuous rectitude and the conventions.

“I may as well open with a broadside,” said Dacre, unwittingly adopting the simile of social warfare which had occurred to his hearer. “I was out with a yachting party this afternoon, and we were becalmed. Three of us came away from the New York Yacht Club’s boathouse about half-past eight, and took a street-car in preference to one of those rickety old cabs. Luckily, by the accident of position, I was the only one of the three who saw a lady and gentleman come out of an Italian restaurant. The presence of two such people in that locality was unusual, to say the least; but, as the man was a friend of mine, and the lady one whom I admire and respect, I said nothing to the other fellows.”

“That was thoughtful of you,” broke in Power, half in sarcasm; for he was vastly irritated that he had not contrived affairs more discreetly, and half in genuine recognition of Dacre’s tact.

“The thinking came later,” said the Englishman slowly. “When all is said and done, a little dinner à l’Italienne might pass by way of a joke – a harmless escapade at the best, or worst. But, when I reach my hotel and find a note announcing that the man is leaving Newport unexpectedly, and when I hear at the Casino that the woman also is arranging to meet her father in New York, with equal unexpectedness, I am inclined to ask the man, he being something more than a mere acquaintance, if there is not a very reasonable probability that he is making a damned fool of himself. Now, are we going to discuss this thing rationally, or do you want to hit me with a heavy siphon? If the latter, kindly change your mind, and let’s talk about the next race for the America’s Cup.”

Here no solemn diapason of wave and shingle relieved an unnerving silence. Not even the distant rumble of a vehicle broke the tension. The hour was late for ordinary traffic, early for diners and dancers. A deep hush lay on the hotel and its garden. It was so dark that the street lamps, twinkling few and far between the trees, appeared to diffuse no larger area of light than so many fireflies.

“Are we alone here?” said Power, speaking only when an uneasy movement on Dacre’s part bestirred him.

“Yes. I saw to that when I heard your cab. I timed you to a nicety.”

“You must be experienced in these matters.”

“I have been most sorts of an idiot in my time.”

“You are quite sure we are not overheard?”

“As sure as a man can be of anything.”

“Then I recognize your right to question me. Tonight you, tomorrow all Newport, will know what has happened – ”

“Pardon an interruption. Women are invariably careful of the hour, howsoever heedless they may be of next week. Newport knows nothing, will know nothing, except that a popular lady is meeting her father in New York, the said father having written to say he is coming East. His letter is Exhibit A, yours to me Exhibit B, or it would be if it weren’t burnt.”

“A legal jargon is not out of place. When the lady in question has secured a divorce she will become my wife. Now you have the true explanation of my seeming discourtesy. When I am married, I shall entertain you at Bison if I have to escort you from Tokio, or even from Sing Sing.”

“But – ”

“There are no ‘buts.’ She was stolen from me, decoyed away by the tricks of the pickpocket and the forger. I am merely regaining possession of my own. It was not I who cleared up the theft. That was her doing. There can be no shirking the consequences. If my mother, whom I love and venerate, implored me on her bended knees to draw back now from the course I have mapped out, I would stop my ears to her pleading, because I could not yield to it.”

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?”

“Just like that.”

Dacre struck another match, and relighted the cigar which he had allowed to go out after the first whiff or two. Power noticed that the flare of the match was not used as an excuse for scrutinizing him, because his friend’s eyes were studiously averted. Then came the quiet, cultured voice from the darkness:

“If that’s the position, old man, I wish you every sort of good luck, and a speedy end to your worries, and I’ll come at your call to that ranch of yours, from the other end of the earth, if need be.”

Again a little pause. Then Power spoke:

“You ring like true metal all the time, Dacre. May I ask you one thing – are you married?”

“No, nor ever likely to be. I – I lost her, not by fraud, but by my own folly. But she understood – before she died. That is my only consolation. It must suffice. It has sufficed.”

“I’m sorry. I touched that chord unthinkingly. I merely wanted to have your full comprehension – and sympathy.”

“You had both already. I would not have dared to intrude if I did not realize that a man talking to another man can raise points which are lost sight of when a woman —the woman – is the other party to the debate.”

“Would you care to hear a brief record of my life during the last few years?”

“Go right ahead! I’m not a gossip. If I know something of the truth, I may be able to stop a rill of scandal one of these days. There’s bound to be chatter, even though old Mr. Willard comes East.”

“You know the name, then?”

“Certainly. Mrs. Van Ralten was speaking about him tonight – not very favorably, either. Said she couldn’t understand how such a man could have such a daughter.”

“Mrs. Van Ralten is a remarkably intelligent woman,” said Power dryly. “I never saw Nancy’s mother; but I imagine that this is a case of exclusive heredity, because there never were two more diverse natures than Nancy’s and her father’s. She is the soul of honor, and would give her life for a principle; while he bartered his own daughter for a few thousand dollars. If I were not convinced of that, do you believe I would besmirch her good name and my own by so much as tonight’s mild adventure in an Italian café?”

“I can give you easy assurance on that head. I have seldom been so surprised as when I saw the pair of you leaving the place and entering a cab.”

“That was a mere episode, a first meek onslaught on the proprieties, so to speak. You will understand fully when I have told you the whole story.”

They talked, or rather Power talked and Dacre listened, till a clock struck twelve somewhere. Carriages began to roll along the neighboring avenues, and lamps occasionally flitted past the hotel. Two or three vivacious groups crossed the veranda, and a porter turned on a lamp. Then Power found that his English friend had placed their chairs in a sort of alcove formed by a disused doorway flanked on each hand by a huge palm growing in a wooden tub which held a ton of earth, or more; so they were well screened.

“You meant to force me to confess,” he said, smiling.

“Yes. It might have been merely folly on your part.”

“But now?”

“Now it is Fate’s own contriving. You don’t want to escape; but you couldn’t if you did. Or, that is awkwardly put. What I mean is – ”

Dacre’s meaning was clear enough; but he never completed the sentence. A cab, laden with luggage, drove up, and a slightly built, elderly man alighted.

“This the Ocean House?” he inquired, when a porter hurried forward.

“Yes, sir,” and the man took a portmanteau from the driver.

“Hold on, there! I’m not sure I shall want a room. How far is ‘The Breakers’ from here, Mrs. Marten’s house?”

“Quite a ways,” said the cabman. “Two miles an’ a bit.”

The new arrival seemed to consider the distance and the lateness of the hour.

“Is Mrs. Marten in Newport, do you know?” he asked.

“Yep. I tuk her downtown this evenin’.”

“Alone?”

“Guess that’s so.”

“Where was she going?”

“Wall, ye see, I was on the box, an’ de lady was inside; so we didn’t git anyways sociable.”

The stranger evidently bethought himself, and turned to the porter again. He could not know that a Harvard man was merely speaking in the vernacular. “Have you a Mr. Power staying here?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Is he here now?”

“If he isn’t in the hotel, he’ll be at the Casino. Shall I ring up his room, sir?”

“No, no. I’ll see him in the morning. It’s too late to go any farther tonight, and I’m rather tired and shaken up. My train was derailed, and we are hours behind time. Give me a decent room. I suppose I can have breakfast at eight o’clock?”

“Any time you like, sir.”

The cab went off, and the inquisitive visitor entered the building. The two men seated behind the palms had not uttered a syllable while the foregoing conclave was in progress.

“Mr. Francis Willard, I presume?” murmured Dacre, when the retreating footsteps had died away.

“Yes,” said Power.

“Three days ahead of the time stated in his letter, I presume further.”

“That must be so.”

“Foxy. He fits your description. What are you going to do now?”

“Finish my yarn, if I am not wearying you, and leave Newport at seven A.M. instead of nine-ten. The fox broke cover just a little too soon.”

“By gad, yes! I think I’ll recognize that cabman again. If I come across him, I’ll tip him for you. He deserves it… The swine! To start pumping the townsfolk before he was ten seconds in the place, and about his own daughter, too! Dash his eyes – wait till someone refers him to me for news of you! I’ll head him into the open country quick enough – trust me!”

Dacre’s comments might sound rather incoherent; but it was painfully evident that Nancy’s father had created a bad first impression, and he was one of those unhappy mortals who could not afford to do that, because he never survived it.