



Produced by D Alexander, Mary Meehan, The Internet Archive
(TIA) and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net









                                    THE WORKS OF
                                MARY ROBERTS RINEHART

                                     AFFINITIES
                                 AND OTHER STORIES


    THE REVIEW OF REVIEWS CORP.
    _Publishers_              NEW YORK

    PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY.

    _Copyright, 1920,
    By George H. Doran Company_

    _Copyright, 1909, 1913, 1914, 1915, by the Curtis Publishing
    Company_

    _Printed in the United States of America_




CONTENTS


        I AFFINITIES                                  9

       II THE FAMILY FRIEND                          55

      III CLARA'S LITTLE ESCAPADE                   103

       IV THE BORROWED HOUSE                        161

        V SAUCE FOR THE GANDER                      237




AFFINITIES


I

Somebody ought to know the truth about the Devil's Island affair and I
am going to tell it. The truth is generally either better or worse than
the stories that get about. In this case it is somewhat better, though I
am not proud of it.

It started with a discussion about married women having men friends. I
said I thought it was a positive duty--it kept them up to the mark with
their clothes and gave a sort of snap to things, without doing any harm.
There were six of us on the terrace at the Country Club at the time and
we all felt the same way--that it was fun to have somebody that
everybody expected to put by one at dinners, and to sit out dances with
and like the way one did one's hair, and to say nice things.

"And to slip out on the links for a moonlight chat with you," said
Annette, who is rather given to those little pastimes, the most
harmless in the world.

We were all awfully bored that Sunday afternoon. Most of the men were
golfing; and when you meet the same people all the time--day after day,
dinner after dinner, dance after dance--anything new is welcome. Really
the only variety we had was a new drink now and then. Some one would
come home from his vacation with a brand-new idea in beverages and order
one all round, and it was a real sensation.

That was all we had had all summer for excitement, except the time
Willie Anderson kissed Sybilla--she was his wife--on a wager. They had
been rather cool to each other for a month or so.

We would sit on the terrace and the conversation would be about like
this:

"There's the Jacksons' car."

"Why on earth does Ida Jackson wear green?"

"Hello, Ida! When d'you get back?"

"Yesterday. Bully time!"

Just in time to save us from utter boredom somebody would yawn and
remark:

"Here comes the Henderson car."

"Jane Henderson's put on weight. She's as big as a house! Hello, Jane!"

"Hello, everybody! My goodness! Why did I come back? Isn't it hot?"

More excitement for a minute and then more yawns. It was Ferd Jackson
who suggested the affinity party. He had heard about what I had said on
the terrace, and he came to me while Day was playing on the links. Day
is my husband.

"Had a nice afternoon?" he asked.

"Only fair. Day's been underfoot most of the time. Why?"

"How'd you like a picnic?"

"I would not!" I said decisively. "I hate cold food and motoring in a
procession until you choke with dust--and Day getting jealous and
disagreeable and wanting to get home early."

"Poor little girl!" said Ferd, and patted my hand in a friendly way.

Ferd was a good scout always; we got along together pretty well and sat
together at dinners whenever we could. He never made love to me or
anything like that, but he understood me thoroughly, which Day never
took the trouble to do. It is absurd, now that it's all over, to have
the others saying he was my affinity or anything of the sort. I never
cared for him.

"I didn't mean the usual sort of picnic," Ferd said. "How has it got its
pretty hair fixed to-day? Rather nice, lady-love; but why do you hide
your pretty ears?"

Lady-love was only a nickname.

"So I won't be able to hear Day bragging about his golf score. What sort
of a picnic?"

"It's a peach of an idea!" Ferd said. "It came to me out of a clear sky.
Every picnic we've ever had has been a failure--because why? Because
they were husband-and-wife picnics. There's no trouble about a picnic
where nobody's married, is there?"

"Humph! What's the peach of an idea? To get divorces?"

"Certainly not! Have husbands and wives--only somebody else's husband or
somebody else's wife. You and I--do you see?--and Annette and Tom; Jane
Henderson and Emerson Riley; Catherine Fredericks and that fellow who's
visiting the Moores. How about it?"

"Day would have a convulsion, Ferd."

"Good gracious, Fanny!" he said. "Haven't you any imagination? What has
Day got to do with it? You wouldn't tell him, of course!"

Well, that was different. I was rather scared when I got to thinking of
it, but it sounded amusing and different. One way and another I see such
a lot of Day. He's always around unless there's a golf tournament
somewhere else.

"It's moonlight," Ferd said. "The only thing, of course, is to get off.
I can stay over at the club or go on a motor trip. It's easy enough for
the fellows; but the girls will have to work out something."

So we sat and thought. Day came in from the links just then and stopped
by my chair.

"Great afternoon!" he said, mopping his face. "Y'ought to hear what I
did to Robson, Fan--I drove off my watch and never touched it. Then he
tried it with his. Couldn't even find the case!"

"Go away, Day," I said. "I'm thinking."

"Ferd doesn't seem to interfere with your thinking."

"He's negative and doesn't count," I explained. "You're positive."

That put him in a good humour again and he went off for a shower. I
turned to Ferd.

"I believe I've got it," I said--"I'll have a fight with Day the morning
of the picnic and I'll not be there when he gets home. I've done it
before. Then, when I do go home, he'll be so glad to see me he'll not
ask any questions. He'll think I've been off sulking."

"Good girl!" said Ferd.

"Only you must get home by ten o'clock--that's positive. By eleven he'd
be telephoning the police."

"Sure I will! We'll all have to get home at reasonable hours."

"And--I'm a wretch, Ferd. He's so fond of me!"

"That's no particular virtue in him. I'm fond of you--and that's mild,
Fan; but what's a virtue in Day is a weakness in me, I dare say."

"It's an indiscretion," I said, and got up. Enough is a sufficiency, as
somebody said one day, and I did not allow even Ferd to go too far.

Annette and Jane and Catherine were all crazy about it. Annette was the
luckiest, because Charles was going for a fishing trip, and her time was
her own. And Ferd's idea turned out to be perfectly bully when the eight
of us got together that evening and talked it over while the husbands
were shooting crap in the grill room.

"There's an island up the river," he explained, "where the men from our
mill have been camping; and, though the tents are down, they built a
wooden pavilion at the edge of the water for a dining hall--and, of
course, that's still there. We can leave town at, say, four o'clock and
motor up there--you and Tom, Annette and----"

"I've been thinking it over, Ferd," I put in, "and I won't motor. If the
car goes into a ditch or turns over you always get in the papers and
there's talk. Isn't there a street car?"

"There's a street car; but, for heaven's sake, Fanny----"

"Street car it is," I said with decision. "With a street car we'll know
we're going to get back to town. It won't be sitting on its tail lamp
in a gully; and we won't be hiding the license plates under a stone and
walking home, either."

There was a lot of demur and at first Annette said she wouldn't go that
way; but she came round at last.

"I'll send a basket up late in the afternoon," Ferd said, "with
something to eat in it. And you girls had better put on sensible things
and cut out the high heels and fancy clothes. If you are going in a
street car you'd better be inconspicuous."

That was the way we arranged it finally--the men to take one car and the
girls another and meet opposite the island on the river bank. We should
have to row across and Ferd was to arrange about boats. We set Thursday
as the day.

Some sort of premonition made me nervous--and I was sorry about Day too;
for though the picnic was only a lark and no harm at all, of course he
would have been furious had he known. And he was very nice to me all the
week. He sent flowers home twice and on Wednesday he said I might have a
new runabout. That made it rather difficult to quarrel with him
Thursday, as I had arranged.

I lay awake half the night trying to think of something to quarrel
about. I could not find anything that really answered until nearly dawn,
when I decided to give him some bills I had been holding back. I fell
asleep like a child then and did not waken until eleven o'clock. There
was a box of roses by the bed and a note in Day's writing.

     "Honey lamb!" he wrote: "Inclosed is a telegram from Waite calling
     me to Newburyport to the tournament. I'll hardly get back before
     to-morrow night. I came to tell you, but you looked so beautiful
     and so sound asleep I did not have the heart to waken you. Be a
     good girl! DAY."

Somehow the note startled me. Could he have had any suspicion? I felt
queer and uneasy all the time I was dressing; but after I had had a cup
of tea I felt better. There is nothing underhanded about Day. He has no
reserves. And if he had learned about the picnic he would have been
bleating all over the place.

The weather was splendid--a late summer day, not too warm, with a
September haze over everything. We met at the hairdresser's and Jane
Henderson was frightfully nervous.

"Of course I'm game," she said, while the man pinned on her net; "but my
hands are like ice."

Catherine, however, was fairly radiant.

"There's a sort of thrill about doing something clandestine," she
observed, "that isn't like anything else in the world. I feel like
eloping with Mr. Lee. You'll all be mad about him. He's the nicest
thing!"

Mr. Lee was the Moores' guest.

I had got into the spirit of the thing by that time and I drew a long
breath. Day was safely out of the way, the weather was fine, and I had
my hair over my ears the way Ferd liked it.


II

Everything went wonderfully--up to a certain point. Have you ever known
it to fail? Everything swims along and all is lovely--and the thing,
whatever it may be, is being so successful that it is almost a
culmination; and then suddenly, out of a clear sky, there is a slip-up
somewhere and you want to crawl off into a corner and die.

Ferd had got there early and had a boat ready, all scrubbed out and
lined with old carpets. He was just as excited as any of us.

"The trouble with us," he said, as we rowed over to the island, "is that
we are all in a rut. We do the same things over and over, at the same
places, with the same people. The _hoi polloi_ never make that mistake
and they get a lot more out of life. Every now and then the puddlers
from the mill come over here and have a great time."

There were two islands, one just above the other, with about a hundred
feet of water between them. The upper island was much the nicer and it
was there that Ferd had planned the party.

He does things awfully well, really. He had had a decorator out there
early in the day and the pavilion was fixed up with plants and vines
which looked as if they grew on it. He had the table fixed too, with a
mound of roses and the most interesting place cards. Mine had a little
jewelled dagger thrust through it, and the card said:

    _That's as much as to say, they are fools that marry._

He said the quotation was from Shakespeare and the dagger was for Day.

Annette's card said:

    _She was married, charming, chaste, and twenty-three,_

which delighted Annette, she being more than twenty-three.

Ferd's own card said:

    _Another woman now and then
    Is relished by the best of men._

I have forgotten the others. The dagger was a pin, and each card had
something pretty fastened to it.

We sat and gossiped while we waited for the others and then we wandered
round. The island was not very pretty--flat and weedy mostly, with a
good many cans the campers had left, and a muddy shore where a broken
dock, consisting of two planks on poles, was the boat landing. But it
was only later that I hated it, really. That afternoon we said it was
idyllic, and the very place for a picnic.

The other men arrived soon after, and it was really barrels of fun. We
made a rule first. No one was to mention an absent husband or wife; and
the person who did had to tell a story or sing a song as a forfeit. I
was more than proud of Ferd. He had even had a phonograph sent up, with
a lot of new music. We danced the rest of the afternoon and the Lee man
danced like an angel. I never had a better time. Jane voiced my feelings
perfectly.

"It's not that I'm tired of Bill," she said. "I dote on him, of course;
but