The Oldest Flame Read Free Page B

was an invitation. Rose gave a quick glance over her shoulder
toward her mother, then slipped out through the open window and
went toward the edge of the terrace.
    Mrs. Meade looked over at Miss Parrish, whose
face had settled once more into that set look of disapproval.
Perhaps her glance asked a question, but at any rate Miss Parrish
felt called upon to speak.
    “It is difficult for me to understand why a
self-centered child should be such an attractive thing to so many
people,” she said.
    “Rose may be a little flighty,” admitted Mrs.
Meade. “But I do believe she has good sense at heart. Most young
girls go through a time when they particularly relish what may seem
like frivolity to us.”
    There was a slight emphasis on the “us” that
would have made most women flinch a little under the gentle irony,
for a greater difference than the one between the elegant younger
woman and mild, middle-aged Mrs. Meade could hardly be found. But
Miss Parrish did not seem to notice.
    “That is something which experience will cure
her of soon enough,” she said, looking out of the window.
    She said nothing more, and so they sat
silently again for a few moments until the sound of footsteps and
voices in the hall betokened the approach of the men.
    It was Mark who opened the door and came into
the room a few steps in advance of the others, his eyes already
going from one person to another in search of the one. It took him
only seconds to see that Rose was not there. His eyes fell upon the
open window. A look of comprehension and resentment overspread his
face, and he turned abruptly away into a corner of the room.
    Mr. Lansbury had entered closely followed by
Mr. Grey, but their bearing and brisk pace indicated they had come
for some specific purpose rather than to join the party. Lansbury
went directly over to his wife and took her hand. “My dear, I hope
you won’t mind if we abandon you for a day or two,” he said. “I’ve
just had a telegram from Thornton in Denver, and I’ve decided I
ought to go there and see him about it. George is going to
accompany me.”
    “It’s nothing serious, I hope?” said Mrs.
Lansbury, looking up at him with subtle questioning in her eyes
that seemed to ask more than she would say before all the room.
    Lansbury shook his head. Mrs. Meade thought
he looked rather tired and harried, as though whatever business he
had in hand at the moment was weighing on him more than he liked.
“No. I just feel I can be more persuasive about this investment
business in person than I can by telegraph. There’s no sense in
letting him turn me down just because I didn’t make an opportunity
to speak to him.”
    “I see. How long will you be gone?”
    “Not more than a few days, if all goes well.
We could possibly be back by the day after tomorrow.”
    Mark, in the corner, was leaning against the
bookcase with a restive air, casting uneasy glances toward the
French window as if he was trying to make up his mind to do
something. Mrs. Meade knew it was only a matter of time before he
followed Rose. With this thought, she stood up. It would be
regrettable for the already uncomfortable evening to end with some
sort of scene, which was a distinct possibility if Mark were to go
out by himself and join the two in the garden while in this mood.
So Mrs. Meade essayed a spiking of guns.
    “Will you walk outside with me, Mark?” she
said. “I would very much like to go round the garden again, and see
it in the evening.”
    A bit reluctantly, she thought, but evidently
knowing there was no way to refuse without her knowing why, Mark
came forward and opened the window the rest of the way for Mrs.
Meade to pass through. They went out and down the few shallow steps
from the terrace, and Mrs. Meade took Mark’s arm as they turned to
walk along the level lawn to the right. It was an unspoken
agreement that they should go that way.
    It was a beautiful evening. The setting sun
cast streams of gold light over the smooth