The Red Seal [19]
- regarding him critically -" she's young enough to be your daughter!"
"Go to your room!" There was nothing wheedling about McIntyre at that instant; he was thoroughly incensed.
As Barbara sped out happy in having gained her way, she announced, as a parting shot, "If you can be nasty to Helen; father, I can be nasty, too."
Colonel McIntyre brought his fist down on a smoking table with such force that he scattered its contents over the floor. When he rose from picking up the debris, he found Mrs. Brewster at his elbow.
"Can I help?" she asked.
"No, thanks, everything is back in place." He pulled forward a chair for her. "If agreeable to you I will telephone Ben Clymer that we will stop for him and take him with us to the Caf St. Marks; or would you prefer some other man?"
"Oh, no." She threw her evening wrap across the sofa and sat down. "Are the girls ready?"
"They - they are indisposed, and won't be able to go to-night."
"What! Both girls?"
"Yes, both" - firmly, not, however, meeting her eyes.
"Hadn't I better stay with them?" she asked. "Have you telephoned or Dr. Stone?"
"There is no necessity for giving up our little spree," he declared cheerily. "The girls don't need a physician. They" - with meaning, "need a mother's care." He picked up her coronation scarf from the floor where it had slipped and laid it across her bare shoulders; the action was almost a caress. She made a lovely picture as she sat in the high-backed carved chair in her chic evening gown, and as her soft dark eyes met his ardent look, McIntyre felt the hot blood surge to his temples, and with quickened pulse he went to the telephone stand and gave Central a number.
Back in her chair Mrs. Brewster sat thoughtfully watching him. She had been an unobserved witness of the scene with Barbara, having entered the library in time to hear the girl's last remarks. It was not the first inkling that she had had of their disapproval of Colonel McIntyre's attentions to her, but it had hurt.
The widow had become acquainted with the twins when, traveling in Europe just before the outbreak of the World War, and had made the hasty trip back to this country in their company. Colonel McIntyre had planned to bring the twins, then at school in Paris, home himself, but business had kept him in the West and he had cabled to a spinster cousin to chaperon them on the trip across the Atlantic Ocean. Nor had he reached New York in time to see them disembark, and thus had missed meeting Mrs. Brewster, then in her first year of widowhood.
The friendship between the twins and Mrs. Brewster had been kept up through much correspondence, and the widow had finally promised, to come to Washington for their debut, visiting her cousins, Dr. and Mrs. Stone. The meeting had but cemented the friendship between them, and at the twins' urgent request, seconded with warmth by Colonel McIntyre, she had promised to spend the month of April at the McIntyre home.
The visit was nearly over. Mrs. Brewster sighed faintly. There were two courses open to her, immediate departure, or to continue to ignore the twins' strangely antagonistic behavior - the first course did not suit Mrs. Brewster's plans.
Barbara, who had left the library through one of its seven doors, had failed to see Mrs. Brewster by the slightest margin; she was intent only on being with Helen. The affection between the twins was very close; but while their facial resemblance was remarkable, their natures were totally dissimilar. Helen, the elder by twenty minutes, was studious, shy, and too much given to introspection; Barbara, on the contrary, was whimsical and practical by turns, with a great capacity for enjoyment. The twins had made their debut jointly on their eighteenth birthday, and while both were popular, Barbara had received the greater amount of attention.
Barbara tip-toed into the suite of rooms which the girls occupied over the library, expecting to find Helen lying on the lounge; instead, she found her writing busily at her desk. She tossed down her pen as
"Go to your room!" There was nothing wheedling about McIntyre at that instant; he was thoroughly incensed.
As Barbara sped out happy in having gained her way, she announced, as a parting shot, "If you can be nasty to Helen; father, I can be nasty, too."
Colonel McIntyre brought his fist down on a smoking table with such force that he scattered its contents over the floor. When he rose from picking up the debris, he found Mrs. Brewster at his elbow.
"Can I help?" she asked.
"No, thanks, everything is back in place." He pulled forward a chair for her. "If agreeable to you I will telephone Ben Clymer that we will stop for him and take him with us to the Caf St. Marks; or would you prefer some other man?"
"Oh, no." She threw her evening wrap across the sofa and sat down. "Are the girls ready?"
"They - they are indisposed, and won't be able to go to-night."
"What! Both girls?"
"Yes, both" - firmly, not, however, meeting her eyes.
"Hadn't I better stay with them?" she asked. "Have you telephoned or Dr. Stone?"
"There is no necessity for giving up our little spree," he declared cheerily. "The girls don't need a physician. They" - with meaning, "need a mother's care." He picked up her coronation scarf from the floor where it had slipped and laid it across her bare shoulders; the action was almost a caress. She made a lovely picture as she sat in the high-backed carved chair in her chic evening gown, and as her soft dark eyes met his ardent look, McIntyre felt the hot blood surge to his temples, and with quickened pulse he went to the telephone stand and gave Central a number.
Back in her chair Mrs. Brewster sat thoughtfully watching him. She had been an unobserved witness of the scene with Barbara, having entered the library in time to hear the girl's last remarks. It was not the first inkling that she had had of their disapproval of Colonel McIntyre's attentions to her, but it had hurt.
The widow had become acquainted with the twins when, traveling in Europe just before the outbreak of the World War, and had made the hasty trip back to this country in their company. Colonel McIntyre had planned to bring the twins, then at school in Paris, home himself, but business had kept him in the West and he had cabled to a spinster cousin to chaperon them on the trip across the Atlantic Ocean. Nor had he reached New York in time to see them disembark, and thus had missed meeting Mrs. Brewster, then in her first year of widowhood.
The friendship between the twins and Mrs. Brewster had been kept up through much correspondence, and the widow had finally promised, to come to Washington for their debut, visiting her cousins, Dr. and Mrs. Stone. The meeting had but cemented the friendship between them, and at the twins' urgent request, seconded with warmth by Colonel McIntyre, she had promised to spend the month of April at the McIntyre home.
The visit was nearly over. Mrs. Brewster sighed faintly. There were two courses open to her, immediate departure, or to continue to ignore the twins' strangely antagonistic behavior - the first course did not suit Mrs. Brewster's plans.
Barbara, who had left the library through one of its seven doors, had failed to see Mrs. Brewster by the slightest margin; she was intent only on being with Helen. The affection between the twins was very close; but while their facial resemblance was remarkable, their natures were totally dissimilar. Helen, the elder by twenty minutes, was studious, shy, and too much given to introspection; Barbara, on the contrary, was whimsical and practical by turns, with a great capacity for enjoyment. The twins had made their debut jointly on their eighteenth birthday, and while both were popular, Barbara had received the greater amount of attention.
Barbara tip-toed into the suite of rooms which the girls occupied over the library, expecting to find Helen lying on the lounge; instead, she found her writing busily at her desk. She tossed down her pen as