AINSLEE'S VOL. XV. JUNE, 1905. No. 5. CONTENTS The Outgoing of Simeon Elizabeth Duer Concerning the Heart's Deep Pages Sewell Ford Song Charlotte Becker Synopsis of Chapters I--XIII of "The Deluge" Editorial The Deluge (Continued) David Graham Phillips The Window Theodosia Garrison Americans in London Lady Willshire The Blood of Blink Bonny Martha McCulloch-Williams Monotony Philip Gerry "Plug" Ivory and "Plug" Avery Holman F. Day Supper With Natica Robert E. MacAlarney By The Fountain Margaret Houston Bas Bleu Anna A. Rogers The Vagabond M. M. The Doing of the Lambs Susan Sayre Titsworth The Unattained William Hamilton Hayne The Flatterer George Hibbard The Miracle of Dawn Madison Cawein The Song of Broadway Robert Stewart Green Devils and Old Maids Emerson G. Taylor Two Sorrows Charles Hanson Towne Love and Mushrooms Frances Wilson Some Feminine Stars Alan Dale For Book Lovers Archibald Lowery Sessions THE OUTGOING OF SIMEON By ELIZABETH DUER Simeon Ponsonby--the professor of botany at Harmouth--had married whenover forty the eldest daughter of a distinguished though impecuniousfamily in his own college town. His mother, on her deathbed, foresawthat he would need a housekeeper and suggested the match. "Simeon, " she said, "it isn't for us to question the Lord's ways, butI am mortally sorry to leave you, my son; it is hard for a man toshift for himself. I was thinking now if you were to marry DeenaShelton you might go right along in the old house. The Sheltons wouldbe glad to have her off their hands, and she is used to plain living. She would know enough to keep her soup pot always simmering on theback of the range and make her preserves with half the regularquantity of sugar. I like her because she brushes her hair and partsit in the middle, and she has worn the same best dress for threeyears. " Soon after Mrs. Ponsonby died and Simeon married Deena. She didn't particularly want to marry him, but then, on the otherhand, she was not violently set against it. She saw romance throughher mother's eyes, and Mrs. Shelton said Professor Ponsonby was a manany girl might be proud to win. If his sympathies were as narrow ashis shoulders, his scientific reputation extended over the civilizedworld, and Harmouth was proud of the fact. Deena's attention was notcalled to his sympathies, and it was called to his reputation. He proposed to Miss Shelton in a few well-chosen words, placed hismother's old-fashioned diamond ring on her finger, and urged forwardthe preparations for the wedding with an impatience that bespoke anardent disposition. Later Deena learned that his one servant had grownreckless in joints after Mrs. Ponsonby's death, and the house billshad shocked Simeon into seeking immediate aid. At twenty Deena was able to accommodate herself to her new life withsomething more than resignation; a wider experience would have made itintolerable. She was flattered by his selection, proud to have a houseof her own, and not sorry to be freed from the burdens of her ownhome. There were no little Ponsonbys, and there had been five youngerSheltons, all clamoring for Deena's love and care, whereas Simeon madeno claims except that she should stay at home and care for the houseand not exceed her allowance. If she expected to see a great deal ofher own family she was mistaken, for, while no words passed on thesubject, she felt that visiting was to be discouraged and the power toinvite was vested in Simeon alone. Respect was the keynote of herattitude in regard to him, and he made little effort to bridge thechasm of years between them. He was a tall, spare man, slightly stooped, with a prominent forehead, insignificant nose, and eyes red and strained through too ardent a useof the microscope. He habitually wore gold-rimmed spectacles; indeed, he put them on in the morning before he tied his cravat, and took themoff at the corresponding moment of undressing at night. His mouth washis best feature, for, while the lips were pinched, they had a kind ofcold refinement. He was a just man but close, and the stipend he gave his wife fortheir monthly expenses barely kept them in comfort, but Deena had beenbrought up in the school of adversity, and had few personal needs. Herhouse absorbed all her interest, as well as stray pennies. The oldmahogany furniture was polished till it shone; the Ponsonby silver teaset looked as bright as if no battering years lay between it and itsmaker's hand a century ago; the curtains were always clean; theflowers seemed to grow by magic--and Deena still parted her wonderfulbronze hair and kept it sleek. At the end of two years, when she was twenty-two, a ripple ofexcitement came into her life; another Shelton girl married, andcaused even greater relief to her family than had Deena, for shemarried a Boston man with money. He had been a student at Harmouth andhad fallen in love with Polly Shelton's violet eyes and strangered-gold hair, that seemed the only gold fate had bestowed upon theSheltons. He took Polly to Boston, where, as young Mrs. BenjaminMinthrop, she became the belle of the season, and almost aprofessional beauty, though she couldn't hold a candle to Deena--Deenawhose adornment was "a meek and quiet spirit, " who obeyed Simeon withthe subjection St. Peter recommended--whose conversation was "chastecoupled with fear. " But one day all this admirable monotony came to an end quiteadventitiously, and events came treading on each other's heels. It wasa crisp October day, and an automobile ran tooting and snorting, andtrailing its vile smells, through Harmouth till it stopped atProfessor Ponsonby's gate and a lady got out and ran up the courtyardpath. Deena had been trying in vain to make quince jellystiffen--_jell_ was the word used in the receipt book of the late Mrs. Ponsonby--with the modicum of sugar prescribed, till in despair shehad resorted to a pinch of gelatine, and felt that the shade of hermother-in-law was ticking the word _incompetent_ from the clock in thehall--when suddenly the watchword was drowned in the stertorousbreathing of the machine at the gate, and Polly whisked in withoutringing and met Deena face to face. "We have come to take you for a spin in our new automobile, " Pollycried, gayly. "Where is Simeon? You think he would not care to go?Well, leave him for once, and come as far as Wolfshead, and we willlunch there and bring you back before sunset. " Deena's delicate complexion was reddened by the heat of the preservekettle, her sleeves were rolled above her elbows, and a checked apronwith a bib acted as overalls. Polly twitched her to the stairs. "What a fright you make of yourself, " she exclaimed; "and yet, Ideclare, you are pretty, in spite of it! Ben has to go down in thetown to get some more gasoline, and then he means to persuade StephenFrench to go with us, so rush upstairs and change your dress while Ireport to him that you will go, and he will come back for us in halfan hour. " Stephen French, who was to make the fourth in the automobile, wasHarmouth's young professor of zoölogy, a favorite alike with thestudents and the dons, with the social element in the town as well asthe academic. To Ben Minthrop he had been a saving grace during arather dissipated career at college, and now that that young gentlemanwas married, and his feet set in the path of commercialrespectability, the friendship was even more cemented. On Ben's partthere was admiration and gratitude, on Stephen's the genuine liking anolder man has for a youngster who has had the pluck to pull himselftogether. It was a bond between the Shelton sisters that theirhusbands shared one sentiment in common--namely, a romantic affectionfor Stephen French. Deena was standing in her petticoat when her sister joined her in herbed-room--not in a petticoat of lace and needlework, such as peepedfrom under the edge of Polly's smart frock as she threw herself into achair, but a skimpy black silk skirt with a prim ruffle, made from anold gown of Mrs. Ponsonby's. It was neat and fresh, however, and herneck and arms, exposed by her little tucked underwaist, were of abeauty to ravish a painter or a sculptor. Polly herself, boyish andangular in build, groaned to think of such perfection "born to blushunseen"; her one season in Boston had demonstrated to her the value ofbeauty as an asset in that strange, modern exchange we call society. She was evidently trying to say something that would not get itselfsaid, and her elder sister was too busy with her toilet to notice thesigns of perturbation. Finally the words came with a rush. "Deena, " she said, "when we were children in the nursery you once saidI was a 'coward _at_ you'--I remember your very words. Well, I believeI am still! You are so dignified and repressing that I am alwaysconsidering what you will think a liberty. I have taken a liberty now, but please don't be angry. It does seem so absurd to be afraid to makea present to one's own sister. " She opened the bedroom door, and dragged in a huge box, which sheproceeded to uncord, talking all the while. "I have brought you a dress, " she said; "a coat and skirt made for me byR----, but Ben cannot bear me in it because it's so womanish--pocketswhere no man would have them, and the sleeves all trimmed--and so, asI think it charming myself, I hoped, perhaps, you would accept it. " Both sisters blushed, Polly with shyness, Deena with genuine delight. She loved pretty things, although she rarely yielded to theirtemptations, and she kissed her sister in loving acknowledgment of thegift. It never occurred to her that Simeon could object. Polly, in high spirits at her success, next declared that she mustarrange Deena's hair, and she pushed her into a low chair in front ofthe dressing table, and fluffed the golden mane high above thetemples, and coiled and pinned it into waves and curls that caught thesunlight on their silken sheen and gave it back. A very beautifulyoung woman was reflected in old Mother Ponsonby's smalllooking-glass, a face of character and spirit, in spite of itsregularity. "There, admire yourself!" exclaimed Polly, thrusting a hand mirrorinto her sister's grasp. "I don't believe you ever look at yourprofile or the back of your head! You are so busy enacting the part ofyour own mother-in-law that I only wonder you don't insist uponwearing widow's caps. Oh! I beg your pardon--I forgot that could onlybe done by forfeiting Simeon! Where do you keep your shirt-waists?This one isn't half bad; let me help you into it. " She chose the least antiquated blouse in Deena's wardrobe, and pinnedit into place with the precision of experience; next she hooked thenew skirt round the waist and held the little coat for her sister toput on. "Where is your hat?" she demanded. Deena fetched a plain black straw, rusty from the sun and dust of twosummers, and shook her head as she tried to pinch the bows into shape. "I shall be like a peacock turned topsy-turvy, " she laughed--"ashamedof my head instead of my feet!" Polly took it out of her hand. "Of course, you cannot wear _that_ with your hair done in the newway--besides, it spoils your whole costume. I saw quite a decent hatin a shop window in the next street. I'll get it for you!" and she wasout of the room like a flash of lightning. Deena ran to the window and caught her mercurial sister issuing fromthe door below. "Stop, Polly!" she called. "I cannot afford a new hat, and I cannotaccept anything more--please come back. " Polly made a little grimace and walked steadily down the path; at thegate she condescended to remark: "Have all your last words said to your cook by the time I get back, for Ben will not want to wait. " In ten minutes she returned with a smart little hat, and in answer toDeena's remonstrances, she tossed the condemned one into the woodfire that was burning on the dining-room hearth; at the same instantthe automobile arrived at the gate. Deena, nearly in tears, pinned theunwelcome purchase on her head, and followed her sister to the street. The hat set lightly enough on her curls, but it weighed heavily on herconscience. After the manner of the amateur chauffeur, Ben was doubled up underthe front wheels of his motor, offering a stirrup-cup of machine oilto the god of the car, but Stephen French stood at the gate, his graveface lighted up with the fun of a stolen holiday. "You see a truant professor!" he exclaimed. "Simeon doesn't approve;we couldn't induce him to come. He said a day off meant a night on forhim--he is so wise, is Simeon--but I positively had to do something inthe way of sport; I am in a reckless mood to-day. " "I'll do the wrecking for you, if that's all you want, " came fromunder the auto's wheels. Stephen conveyed his thanks. "I dare say you will, with no effort on your part, " he said, openingthe back door of the great, puffing monster. "Get in here, Mrs. Ponsonby. Ben likes his wife beside him in front, he says, because sheunderstands how to run the machine when he blows his nose, but I thinkit is a clear case of belated honeymoon. " Here Ben scrambled to his feet, his broad, good-humored face crimsonfrom groveling. "Deena, good-day to you, " he cried. "How perfectly stunning you look!I declare I thought Polly was the pick of the Sheltons, but, by Jove!you are running her hard. What have you been doing to yourself?" Stephen French was delighted--he laughed his slow, reluctant laugh, and then he called to Ben: "Turn round and see whether you dropped them in the road. " "Dropped what?" asked Ben, his hand on the lever, making a blacksemicircle. "Your manners, " said Stephen, and chuckled again. "You go to thunder, " roared Ben, shooting ahead. "A poor, wretchedbachelor like you instructing a married man how to treat hissister-in-law, and just because once upon a time I sat in your lectureroom and let you bore me by the hour about protoplasms! Do you supposeI should dare admit to Polly that Deena is as handsome as she is? Why, man alive, a Russian warship off Port Arthur would be a place ofsafety compared to this automobile. " Deena, laughing though embarrassed, was trying to cover thecountenance that provoked the discussion with a veil, for her hatstrained at its pins and threatened to blow back to Harmouth beforethe knotty point was settled as to who should pay for it. They were flying between fields strewn with Michaelmas daisies andwooded banks gay with the first kiss of frost, and gradually Deenaforgot everything but the exhilaration of rushing through the air, andtheir attitude of holiday-making. She was thoroughly at her ease withFrench; he was Simeon's one intimate in the corps of professors, theonly creature who was ever welcome at the Ponsonby table, the onediscerning soul who found something to admire in Simeon's harshdealings with himself and the world. Their line of study naturallydrew them together, but Stephen admired the man as well as thescholar; the purity of his scientific ambition, the patience withwhich he bore his poverty--for poverty seemed a serious thing toFrench, who was a man of independent fortune, and whose connectionwith the university was a matter of predilection only. With Ponsonbyit was bread and butter, and yet he had ventured to marry with nothingbut his splendid brain between his wife and absolute want. Frenchstole a glance at Deena, who was looking more beautiful than he hadever seen her, and wondered whether she found her lot satisfactory;whether there were not times when Simeon's absence was precious toher. Without disloyalty to his friend, he hoped so, for he hadsomething to tell her before the day was over that might lead to atemporary separation, and he hated to think of those lovely eyesswimming in tears--all women were not Penelopes. "She can't care in _that way_, " he reflected. "Ponsonby is tremendousin his own line, of course, but no woman could love him. " Perhaps he was mistaken--perhaps Mrs. Ponsonby loved her husband withall the fervor of passion, but she conveyed an impression ofemancipation to-day, and of powers of enjoyment hitherto suppressed, that made Stephen doubt. She was like a child bubbling over withhappiness, gay as a lark, as unlike her usual self in behavior as hermodish appearance was unlike that of Simeon Ponsonby's self-denyingwife. "Of course she won't mind; why should she?" he decided, and yetdetermined to put off making his announcement till after lunch. At Wolfshead they stopped at the little inn, found the one o'clockdinner smoking on the table, and sat down with the rest of the hungrycompany--employees of a branch railroad that had its terminus there;drummers in flashy shop-made clothes, and temporary residents in thelittle town. This jaunt had given them an appetite, and roast beef andapple tart disappeared at a rate that should have doubled their bill. After lunch they strolled down to the beach, Deena starting ahead withFrench, while Polly went with Ben to get cushions from the automobile. The present generation seems to consider comfort the first aim ofexistence, though the trouble they take to insure it more thancounterbalances the results in old-fashioned judgment. Stephen stopped to light his cigar behind the shelter of a tree, andthen came running after Deena, who was walking slowly toward the vastplain of blue water stretching to the east. She turned at the sound ofhis footsteps and waited for him, wondering what his classes wouldthink if they could see their professor bounding along with his hatunder his arm. There was something peculiarly charming in the lighterside of Stephen's nature; a simplicity and boyishness, which was thesecret of his popularity far more than his weightier qualities. Thewomen of Harmouth called him handsome, but he had small claims tobeauty. A well set-up figure rather above the medium height, dark hairgrizzled at the temples, eyes that seemed to laugh because of a slightcontraction of the muscles at the outer corners, and a nose decidedlytoo high and bony. The expression of the mouth was shrewd, almostsarcastic, and possibly a little coarse, but his smile redeemed it andillumined his face like sunshine. What dazzled the ladies of Harmouthwas really a certain easy luxury in dress and habits not common in thelittle town. It is always the exotic we prize in our conservatories. This summing up of French's outer man was not Deena's estimate, as shewatched his approach--she was too familiar with his appearance toreceive any especial impression. She accepted his apologies for hiscigar and for keeping her waiting with an indifferent air, and turnedonce more toward the sea. CHAPTER II. The beach at Wolfshead was pebbly, with rocks thrown untidily aboutand ridges of blackened seaweed marking the various encroachments ofthe tide. Stephen brushed the top of a low bowlder with hishandkerchief and invited Deena to sit down. "You would be more comfortable, " he said, "if Ben would come with thecushions. " "I am quite comfortable without them, " she answered, "though I cannotbut resent the Paul and Virginia attitude of the young Minthrops. Onewould think a year of married life would have satisfied their greedfor _tête-à-têtes_. I wonder whether they would continue sufficient toeach other if they really were stranded on a desert island. " "Could you be happy on such an island with the man of your heart, Mrs. Ponsonby?" asked Stephen. And Deena, feeling that Simeon was perforce the man of her heart, andthat he was quite unfitted to live on sea air and love, answered, smiling: "Not unless there were a perfectly new flora to keep him contented. " Stephen saw his opportunity to make his communication, and said, quickly: "I suspect you have been reading those articles of Simeon's in the_Scientist_ on the vegetation of Tierra del Fuego. They are very able. He ought to go there and verify all he has gleaned by his reading. Wefully appreciate we have a remarkable man at Harmouth in our professorof botany. " Deena colored with pleasure. "Poor Simeon, " she said; "his limited means have stood in the way ofsuch personal research, and then, also, the college holidays are tooshort for extended trips. " "Let him throw over his classes in the cause of science, " saidStephen, with excitement. "Why, such a book as Simeon would writeafter an exploration of--Fuegia, let us say--would place him among thescientists of the world. " The thought that raced across Deena's mind was what dull reading itwould be, but she recognized the impropriety of the reflection andsaid, simply: "It is too bad we haven't a little more money. " Stephen put his hand in his breast pocket and half drew out a letter, and then let it drop back, and then he walked a little apart fromDeena and looked at her thoughtfully, as if trying to readjust hisprevious ideas of her to the present coquetry of her appearance. Theway her thoughts had flown to Simeon when a desert island existencewas mooted seemed as if she did care, and Stephen hated to give pain, and yet the letter had to be answered, and the opportunity was notlikely to occur again. The thing he had always admired most in hisfriend's wife was her common sense--to that he trusted. "Mrs. Ponsonby, " he said, boldly, "if Simeon had a chance to do thisvery thing--free of expense--would you be unhappy at his desertion?Would you feel that the man who sent him to Patagonia was doing you anunkindness you could not forgive?" "I should rejoice at his good fortune, " she answered, calmly. "Thefact that I should miss him would not weigh with me for a moment. " French gave a sigh of relief, while his imagination pictured to him adissolving view of Polly under similar circumstances. "The Argentine Government is fitting up an expedition, " he went on, "to go through the Straits of Magellan and down the east coast ofFuegia with a view of finding out something more exact in regard tothe mineral and agricultural resources than has been known hitherto. Ihappen to have been in active correspondence for some time with theman who virtually set the thing going, and he has asked me to send hima botanist from here. Shall I offer the chance to your husband? Hemust go at once. It is already spring in that part of the world, andthe summer at Cape Horn is short. " Deena's face grew crimson and then paled. She felt an emotion shecould not believe--pure, unalloyed joy! But in a second she understoodbetter; it was joy, of course, but joy at Simeon's good luck. "Could he get leave of absence right in the beginning of the term?"she asked, breathlessly. And Stephen answered that he had never taken his Sabbatical year, andthat some one could be found to do his work, though it might meanforfeiting half his salary. Here they were joined by Polly and Ben, and as Deena made no referenceto the subject they had been discussing, the talk wandered to generaltopics. The sun was making long shadows and the hour to start was come. Thegayety of the morning deserted Deena as they sped back to Harmouth. Her brain was busy fitting her ideas to this possible change thatFrench had just foreshadowed, and though she was silent, her eyesshone with excitement and her color came and went in response to herunspoken thoughts. In her mind she saw Tierra del Fuego as it looked on the map at theend of the narrowing continent, and then she remembered a picture ofCape Horn that had been in her geography when she was a child--a bold, rocky promontory jutting into a restless sea, in which three whaleswere blowing fountains from the tops of their heads. She reflectedthat it was very far away, and that in going there Simeon mightencounter possible dangers and certain discomfort, and she tried tofeel sorry, and all the time a wild excitement blazed in her breast. She felt as if her youth had been atrophied, and that if Simeon wentit might revive, and then a great shame shook her to have allowed suchthoughts, and a tender pity for the lonely man she had marriedobliterated self. Stephen's voice broke in upon her reverie. "Have I depressed you, Mrs. Ponsonby?" "No, no, " she answered. "I am only considering ways and means. I wanthim to go. We might rent our house for the winter, and I could go hometo live. Count upon my doing everything in my power to make Simeon'sgoing easy, Mr. French. " "You are admirable, " said Stephen, with genuine satisfaction. He evenhalf put out his hand to give hers a grasp of approbation, but thoughtbetter of it. If she had had her hair parted in the middle, and hadbeen mending Ponsonby's stockings under the drop-light in her parlor, he might have done so, braving the needle's point; but, looking as shedid to-day, it seemed safer to refrain. It was six o'clock when the auto stopped at Deena's door. "I wish she had shown a little more emotion at his going, " wasStephen's reflection as he helped her out, forgetting how he haddreaded any evidence of distress; but he only said: "May I come back to tea, Mrs. Ponsonby? I should like to talk thisover with Simeon to-night. " She acquiesced with an inward misgiving; it was the first time, shehad ever given an invitation to her own table, but it was herhusband's friend, and she was still excited. As she exchanged good-byswith her sister and Ben, Polly suddenly remembered to tell hersomething quite unimportant. "Oh, Deena!" she whispered, bending over the side of the automobile, "when I came to pay for your hat today, I found I hadn't enough money, and I knew you wouldn't like me to explain the circumstances to Ben, so I told them to send the bill to you and we will settle it later. " "I'll settle it!" said Deena. She was a proud woman, and hated favorsthat savored of cash. "Good-night--I am afraid you will be late ingetting to Newbury Hill for your dinner. " "All aboard, French!" shouted Ben--and they were gone. Deena stood for a moment and watched the retreating machine before shefollowed the path to the front door. A great deal that was pleasantwas disappearing with its puffs--Ben's gay spirits and Polly's readysympathy, which, if superficial, was very soothing--and the moneypower that made them what they were, which, in fact, permitted theauto to exist for them at all. It had all come into Deena's life for afew brief hours, and was gone, but something remained--something thathad not been there when she got up that morning: the knowledge thatshe was a very beautiful woman, and more than a suspicion that acrisis was impending in her life. As she turned to face the house the remembrance of the unpaid hat billlaid a cold clutch on her heart. Until the first of next month she hadexactly ten dollars at her credit, and that was Simeon's--nothers--given to her for a specific purpose. She determined to throwherself upon his indulgence, confess her weakness and beg him to paythe bill for her. She had never before asked a personal favor of him, but was she justified in doubting his kindness, because of her ownshyness and pride in concealing her needs? She almost persuadedherself he would be gratified at her request. After all, Simeon wasnot an anchorite; he had his moods like other men, and there weretimes when a rough passion marked his dealings with his wife; perhapshe had not been very felicitous in his rôle of lover, but theremembrance that there was such a side to his nature gave a fillip toher courage. For the first time he would see her at her best; might not herprettiness--bah! the thought disgusted her! That she, a typical, housewifely, modest New England woman should be calculating on herbeauty to draw money from a man's pocket, even though that man wereher husband, seemed to her immoral. She would plainly and directly askhim to pay the money, and there was the end of it. She opened thefront door and went in. The Ponsonby house was two stories high, built of wood and set alittle back from the street, with flower beds bordering the path tothe gate and neat grass plots on either side. Within, a small parlorand dining room on the right of the hall, and to the left a spaciousstudy; behind that was the kitchen. The door of the study was half open, and Simeon sat at his deskreading proof; one of his many contributions to a scientificperiodical, and, judging by the pile of galley sheets, an importantarticle. He had a way of pursing his lips and glaring through hisspectacles when he read that gave him a look of preternatural wisdom. He was never what Deena's cook called "a pretty man. " Mrs. Ponsonby's slim figure slid through the opening without pushingthe door wide, and spoke with a kind of reckless gayety. "Good-evening, Simeon, " she said, making a little courtesy; "you see, I have returned safely, 'clothed and in my right mind. '" He made a marginal note of cabalistic import before he swung round inhis chair and looked at her over his spectacles. "Hardly in your right mind, I should think, " he said, coldly. "Don't you like me in my new clothes?" she asked, twirling slowlyround to give him the entire effect of her costume. He was apt to be irritable when disturbed at his work, and Deena hadnot attached much importance to his speech. "I think, " he said, curtly, "you look like a woman on a poster, andnot a reputable woman at that. " "That is hardly a nice thing to say of one's wife----" she began, whenhe interrupted her. "Look here, Deena, I have work to do before tea, and the discussion ofyour appearance is hardly important enough to keep publishers waiting. Oblige me by taking off that dress before I see you again. Where didyou get it--if I may ask?" "Polly gave it to me, " she answered, and was astonished to find a lumpin her throat, a sudden desire to burst into tears. "Then Polly was guilty of an impertinence you should have resentedinstead of accepting. Ben Minthrop's money may dress his own wife, butnot mine. Let it go for this time, but never again subject me to suchan indignity. " "But she didn't give me the hat, Simeon, " said poor Deena, who knew itwas now or never. "And who furnished you with the hat?" he asked, insultingly. "I meant to ask you to, " she said, and a tear escaped and splashed onthe lapel of her new coat, "but never mind, I will find some means topay for it myself. " And she moved toward the door, wounded prideexpressed in every line of her retreating figure. "Come back, if you please, " he called. "This is childish folly. Howcan you pay when you have no money except what I give you? I amresponsible for your debts, and as you have taken advantage of thatfact, I have no choice but to pay. This must never occur again. Howmuch is it?" "I--I don't know, " faltered Deena, struggling with her emotion. "You don't know? You buy without even asking the price?" he pursued. The enormity of the offense crushed his irritation; it struck at thevery foundations of his trust in Deena's judgment, at her whole futureusefulness to him; he almost felt as if his bank account were not inhis own keeping. She tried to answer, but no words would come; explanations were beyondher powers, and she left the room, shutting the door behind her. Apassion of tears would have made the situation bearable, but when youare the lady of the house and unexpected company is coming to tea, andyou have but one servant, you have to deny yourself such luxuries. Deena went for a moment into the open air while she steadied hernerves; she forced herself to think what she could add to the eveningmeal, and succeeded in burying her mortification in a dish of smokedbeef and eggs. Old Mrs. Ponsonby had never given in to late dinners, and Simeon'sdigestion was regulated to the more economical plan of a light supperor tea at seven o'clock. Deena gave the necessary orders and went upstairs to her own room. Oneblessing was hers--a bedroom to herself. Simeon had given her hismother's room and retained his own, which was directly in the rear. She shut the communicating door, and was glad she had done so when sheheard his step in the passage and knew he had come to make the brieftoilet he thought necessary for tea. She tore off her finery--hung thepretty costume in her closet, and, as she laid her hat on the shelf, registered a vow that no power on earth should induce her to pay forit with Ponsonby money. Though the clock pointed to ten minutes toseven, she shook down her hair and parted it in the severe style thathad won its way to her mother-in-law's heart. At this point Simeon'sdoor opened, and Deena remembered, with regret, that she had omittedto tell him that French was coming to tea. He was already halfwaydownstairs, but she came out into the passageway and called him. Hestopped, gave a weary sigh, and came back. "I forgot to tell you Mr. French is coming to tea, " she said, quite inher usual tone. "Who asked him?" demanded Simeon, and Deena, too proud to put theresponsibility on French, where it belonged, said: "I did. " Simeon was not an ill-tempered man, but he had had an exasperatingday, and his wife's conduct had offended his prejudices; he was not ina company frame of mind, and was at small pains to conceal hisfeelings; he hardly looked at her as he said: "I do not question your right to ask people to the house, but I shouldbe glad to be consulted. My time is often precious beyond what you canappreciate, and I happen to be exceptionally busy to-night--evenFrench will be an unwelcome interruption. " "I shall remember your wish, " Deena said, quietly, and returned to herroom. A moment later she heard Stephen arrive, and the study door shutbehind him. Her toilet was soon made. She knew every idiosyncrasy of the hooks andbuttons of her well-worn afternoon frock. It was dark blue, of someclinging material that fell naturally into graceful lines, and wasrelieved at the throat and wrists by embroidered bands alwaysimmaculate. The damp sea breeze had ruffled her hair into rebellionagainst the sleekness Simeon approved, so that, in spite of herefforts, some effects of the holiday still lingered. Suppressed tearshad made violet shadows under her eyes, and her mouth--sweet andsensitive like a child's--drooped a little in recollection of herannoyances, but, all the same, she was a very beautiful young woman, whether sad or merry. The study door was still shut as she passed downstairs and into thelittle parlor. Her workbasket was standing by her chair, piled highwith mending that she had neglected for her pleasuring. It wasSaturday night, and no good housewife should let the duties of oneweek overlap the next. Simeon's aphorism, "A day off means a nighton, " seemed likely to be her experience with darning needle andpatches, but it was a quarter past seven, and she deferred beginningher task till after tea. The servant announced the meal, and by Deena's orders knocked at thestudy door, but got no response; indeed, the _pièce de résistance_--thesmoked beef and eggs--had almost hardened into a solid cake before thefriends emerged, arm in arm, and followed Deena to the table. Frenchdrew out her chair with that slight exaggeration of courtesy that lenta charm to all he did, and with his hands still on the bar he bentover her and said--smiling the while at Simeon: "I have been telling your husband of what I hinted to you thisafternoon, Mrs. Ponsonby; the expedition to Patagonia and his chanceto join it. " Simeon's brow contracted. It was disagreeable to him to have momentousaffairs like his own discussed by anticipation with Deena--Deena, whowas only a woman, and he now feared a silly one at that. "It is no secret, then!" said Simeon, contemptuously, and added, turning to his wife: "Be good enough not to speak of this before theservant; I should be sorry to have the faculty hear of such a thingfrom anyone but me. " She grew scarlet, but managed to murmur a word of acquiescence. Stephen looked amazed; he thought he must be mistaken in the rudenessof his friend's manner, and then began making imaginary excuses forhim. Of course, the tea table was not the place for confidences, and, naturally, a man would prefer telling such things privately to hiswife, and the rebuke was meant for him, not for Mrs. Ponsonby. Howlovely she looked--even prettier than in those smart clothes she hadworn in the morning. He wondered whether Ponsonby knew how absolutelyperfect she was. The servant was much in the room, and the talk turned on theprogressive spirit of Argentina, its railroads, its great naturalresources, its vast agricultural development. It was a dialoguebetween the men, for Simeon addressed himself exclusively toFrench--what could a woman know of what goes to make the wealth ofnations!--and, as for Stephen, he was still uncomfortable from thefailure of his first effort to bring her into the discussion. When tea was over Simeon pushed back his chair and was about to stalkfrom the room, when he remembered that French was his guest, andhalted to let him go out first, but when French waited beside him tolet Deena pass, an expression of impatience crossed her husband'sface, as if the precious half seconds he could so ill spare from hiswork, in order to reach conclusions, were being sacrificed to dancingmaster ceremonials. Deena sat sewing till Stephen came to bid her good-night. "I think it is all arranged, " he said, but without the joyousness ofhis first announcement. He had, perhaps, lost a little of his interestin his friend, Ponsonby, since the incident at the tea table. Deena, with a woman's instinct, guessed at his feelings, and made noeffort to detain him. She was tired and discouraged, and would gladlyhave gone to bed when their guest departed, except for a suspicionthat Simeon would want to talk things over with her, in spite of hisseeming indifference. She was not mistaken. In ten minutes he cameinto the parlor and threw himself wearily on the sofa. "Deena, " he said, and his tone was kind, "if I should go away for sixmonths, do you think you could manage without me?" "I am sure I could, " she answered, cheerfully, "and I want to say toyou, now that you have opened the subject, that you must not let myexpenses stand in your way. I know, of course, if you give up yourcollege work, part of your salary would naturally pass to the personwho, for the time, undertakes your duties, and I have been thinkingthat a simple plan would be to rent this house. " The idea was not quite agreeable to Simeon--the old house was part ofhimself; he had been born there; his love for his mother overflowedinto every rickety chair; but the common-sense commercial value of thescheme made him regard Deena with revived respect. "It is hardly practicable, " he said. "In the first place, it is tooold-fashioned to attract, and, in the second, there is no market forfurnished houses at Harmouth. " "Mrs. Barnes would take it, I fancy, " said Deena. "She is the motherof the student who was hurt last week in the football match. She istrying everywhere to find a furnished house so that she can take careof him and yet let him stay on here. I think we could rent it, Simeon, and I should need so little--so very little to keep me while you aregone. " He took off his spectacles and sat up. "It isn't a bad idea, " he said, almost gayly. "The rent would pay thetaxes and give you a small income besides, and leave me practicallyfree. You have relieved my mind of a serious worry. Thank you, Deena. " "You will see the president to-morrow?" she asked. He hesitated before admitting that such was his intention; it was onething for his wife to meet his difficulties with practicalsuggestions, and quite another for her to put intrusive questions. "You shall be informed when things take a definite shape, " he said, pompously. "Good-night, my dear; I shall be at work on my galley prooftill daylight. " "Good-night, Simeon, " she said, gently. "I am sorry I displeased youtoday. " He mumbled something about young people having to make mistakes, buthis mumble was pleasant, and then he crossed to her side, and kissedher forehead. She felt the pucker of his lips like wrinkled leather, but she toldherself it was kind in Simeon to kiss her. As she laid her head on her pillow, she thought: "He never had the curiosity to ask what I proposed to do with myselfwhen my home and husband were taken from me, " and the tears came atlast, unchecked. CHAPTER III. Simeon was gone--gone with his clothes packed in the sole leathertrunk that his father had used before him, but with an equipment forbotanizing as modern and extended as his personal arrangements weremeager. The house was rented to Mrs. Barnes, the mother of the too ardentchampion of the football field--but as her son was too suffering to bemoved for several weeks to come, Deena had leisure to get the house inorder and habituate herself to the idea of being homeless. Simeon behaved liberally in money matters; that is, he arranged thatthe rent should be paid to his wife, and he gave her a power ofattorney which was to make her free of his bank account shouldanything delay his return beyond her resources. At the same time theinjunctions against spending were so solemn that she understood shewas to regard her control of his money as a mere formality--aperadventure--made as one makes his will, anticipating the unlikely. The faculty made no objection to Simeon's going; indeed, hisresearches were thought likely to redound to the high scientificreputation that Harmouth particularly cherished, and Stephen Frenchhad taken care to foster this impression. The day he left was sharp for October; a wood fire crackled on thehearth in the dining room, and Deena, pale and calm, sat behind thebreakfast service and made his coffee for the last time in manymonths. He ate and drank, and filled in the moments with the Harmouth_Morning Herald_, and his wife's natural courtesy forbade herinterrupting him. Without a word he stretched his arm across the tablewith his cup to have it refilled, and Deena, feeling herinsignificance as compared with the morning news, still dared notspeak. When finally he pushed back his chair, the little carryall wasat the door waiting to take him and his luggage to the train. "You will write from New York, Simeon, and again by the pilot, " sheurged, following him into the hall. "And where is your firstport--Rio? Then from Rio, and as often as you can. " He was stuffing the pockets of his overcoat with papers and pamphlets, but he nodded assent. She came a step nearer and laid her hand on his arm. "Be sure _I_ shall try to do as you would wish, " she half whispered, and there were tears in her eyes. "To be sure, to be sure, " said Simeon, with a kind of embarrassment. "Oh, yes, _I_ shall write frequently--if not to you, to French, whowill keep you informed. Don't forget to make your weekly contributionto your mother's housekeeping. _I_ cannot allow you to be a burden onthem during my absence; and consult Stephen whenever you are in doubt. Good-by, Deena--I am sorry to leave you. " He puckered his lips into the hard wrinkles that made his kisses sodiscreet, and gave her a parting embrace. She stood at the open doorwatching the distribution of his luggage, which he superintended withanxious care, and then he stepped into the one free seat reserved forhim, and the driver squeezed himself between a trunk and roll of rugs, and they were off. Simeon waved his hand, and even leaned far out from the carriagewindow and smiled pleasantly, and Deena wiped her eyes, and began theawful work of making an old house, bristling with the characteristicaccumulations of several generations, impersonal enough to rent. Shehad plenty to do to keep her loneliness in abeyance, but in the backof her consciousness there was a feeling that she had no abidingplace. Her family had urged her to marry Simeon, and he was nowthrowing her back upon her family, and her dignity was hurt. At sunset Stephen came to see how she was getting on, and they had acup of tea beside the dining-room fire, and talked about the voyageand the ports Simeon would touch at; and Stephen, who had the power ofvisualizing the descriptions he met with in his reading, made her seehis word-painted pictures so clearly that she exclaimed: "When were you in South America, Mr. French?" and he laughed anddeclared himself a fraud. They talked on till the firelight alone challenged the darkness, andthen French remembered he was dining out, and left her with animagination aglow with all the wonders Simeon was to see. Lest sheshould be lonely, he undid a roll of papers, and took out several newmagazines which he said would keep her amused till bedtime, andsomehow he put new courage into her heart. Presently she went into the study and lit the Welsbach over the table, and curled herself up in Simeon's great chair to enjoy herperiodicals, and then her eye fell upon a parcel of proof, directedbut not sent, and she read the address, weighed and stamped thepackage, and rang the bell for the servant to post it. As she took upher magazine once more, she noticed on the outside cover the same nameof street and building as on Simeon's direction, and she wonderedwhether the same publishers lent themselves to fact and fancy. Her servant brought her something to eat on a tray--women left tothemselves always find economy in discomfort--and she nibbled herchicken and read her stories till she felt surfeited with both, andfell to pondering on what made a story effective. Her eye lit upon ashort poem at the end of a page; it seemed to her poor tobanality--did it please the public or the editor? Her own verses werea thousand times better. She sat up suddenly with a heightened color and shining eyes, andlaughed out loud. She had an inspiration. She, too, would become acontributor to that great publishing output; she would try her luck atmaking her brains pay her bills. The name "Mrs. Simeon Ponsonby" wouldcarry weight with the magazine she selected, but, while disclosing heridentity to the editor, she determined to choose a pen name, fearingher husband's disapproval. From childhood Deena had loved to express herself in rhyme, and oflate years she had found her rhyming--so she modestly called it--asafety valve to a whole set of repressed feelings which she was toosimple to recognize as starved affections, and which she thought wasnature calling to her from without. It was nature, but calling fromwithin, thrilling her with the beauty of things sensuous and drivingher for sympathy to pen and ink. Tossing down her book, she ran to her own room, unlocked a drawer, took out an old portfolio and returned to the study. There were, perhaps, twenty poems she had thought worth preserving, and her eyetraveled over page after page as she weighed the merits and defects ofeach before making her choice. A sensitive ear had given her admirableimitative powers in versification, and her father, before dissipationhad dulled his intellect, had been a man of rare cultivation andliterary taste. Deena, among all his children, was the only one whoseeducation he had personally superintended, and she brought to herpassion for poetry some critical acumen. She finally selected a song of the Gloucester fishermen she hadwritten two years before--a song of toil and death--but with a refrainthat effaced the terror with the dance of summer seas. She wrote aformal note to the editor, saying the price was fifteen dollars, thatif accepted the signature was to be Gerald Shelton, and the check tobe made to her, and she signed her own name. Simeon should know assoon as he came home, but she thought he could have no objection toGeraldine Ponsonby accepting a check for the supposititious GeraldShelton. Before all this was accomplished, her servant had gone to bed andDeena, afraid to be left alone downstairs in a house so prone tospooky noises, followed her example, but alas! not to sleep. Shetossed on her bed, sacred for many years to the ponderous weight ofold Mrs. Ponsonby, till suddenly all she had suffered from the maximsand example of her mother-in-law took form, and she wove a story halfhumorous, half pathetic, that she longed to commit to paper; but herdelicacy forbade. She was even ashamed to have found a passingamusement at the expense of Simeon's mother, and she tried to make hermind a blank and go to sleep. Toward morning she must have lostconsciousness, for she dreamed--or thought she dreamed--that old Mrs. Ponsonby sat in her hard wooden rocking-chair by the window--the chairwith the patchwork cushion fastened by three tape bows to the ribs ofits back; the chair Simeon had often told her was "mother's favorite. "The old lady rocked slowly, and her large head and heavy figure weresilhouetted against the transparent window shade. A sound of wheelscame from the street, and she raised the shade and looked out, leaningback, in order to follow the disappearing object till it was out ofrange, and then she buried her face in her hands and sobbed the low, hopeless sobs of old-age. Deena found herself sitting up in bed, the early daylight making "thecasement slowly grow a glimmering square. " The impression of her dreamwas so vivid that the depression weighed upon her like somethingphysical. It was impossible to sleep, and at seven o'clock she got upto dress, having heard the servant go downstairs. On her way to herbath she passed the rocking-chair, and lying directly in her path wasa little card, yellow with age. Deena picked it up and read: "FromMother to Simeon. " The coincidence worked so on her imagination thatshe sank into the nearest chair trembling from head to foot, and thenshe reflected that she must have pulled the card out of the tabledrawer when she went to fetch the portfolio the night before, and shecalled herself a superstitious _silly_, and made her bath a littlecolder than usual, as a tonic to her nerves. Cold water and hot foodwork wonders, and after breakfast young Mrs. Ponsonby forgot she hadever had a predecessor. Her family paid her flying visits during the day, with a freedomunknown in Simeon's reign, and she worked hard at her preparations forrenting, but in the evening, when the house was quiet, she settledherself at the study table and made her first attempt at storywriting, this time steering clear of the personal note that hadbrought such swift reprisal the night before. The occupation wasabsorbing; she neither desired nor missed companionship. She was notthe first person to find life's stage amply filled by the puppets ofher own imagination. At the end of the week two things had happened. _The Illuminator_ hadaccepted her poem, and her story was finished. She determined tosubmit it to Stephen, and yet when he looked in at five o'clock, shewas ashamed to ask him; what she had thought so well of the nightbefore, in the excitement of work, suddenly seemed to her beneathcontempt. He lingered later than usual, for he mistook her preoccupation forunhappiness, and hated to leave her alone. "When do you move to your mother's?" he asked, for he thought anythingbetter than her present desolation; the genteel poverty brought aboutby Mr. Shelton's habits, the worldliness of Mrs. Shelton, and thedemands upon time and temper made by the younger brothers and sisters, were only the old conditions under which she had grown up. "Next week, " she said, sadly. "I shall be sorry to leave here. " "You are not lonely, then, poor little lady?" he said, kindly, whilehe searched her face to see whether she told the whole truth. His eyes were so merry, his smile so encouraging, that Deena blurtedout her request. "I haven't felt lonely, " she said, "because I have been writing afoolish story, and my characters have been my companions. I am sure itis no good, and yet my head is a little turned at having expressedmyself on paper. Like Dr. Johnson's simile of the dog walking on itshind legs, the wonder isn't to find it ill done, but done at all. I amtrying to screw my courage to the point of asking you----" "To be sure I will, " he interrupted, eagerly, "and what is a greatdeal stronger proof of friendship, I'll tell you what I think, even ifmy opinion is nihilistic. " He followed her into the study, and she laid her manuscript on thetable and left him without a word. The story was the usual magazine length, about five thousand words, and Deena's handwriting was as clear and direct as her character. Atthe end of half an hour she heard his voice calling her name, and shejoined him. "It is very creditable, " he said. "It fairly glows with vitality. Without minute description, you have conveyed your story in pictureswhich lodge in the imagination; but in construction it is poor--yourpresentment of the plot is amateurish, and you have missed making yourpoints tell by too uniform a value to each. " "I understand you, " said Deena, looking puzzled, "and yet, somehow, fail to apply what you say to what I have written. " He drew a chair for her beside his own, and began making a rapidsynopsis of her story, to which he applied his criticism, showing herwhat should be accentuated, what only hinted, what descriptions werevaluable, what clogged the narrative. She was discouraged butgrateful. "You advise me to destroy it?" she asked. "I advise you to rewrite it, " he answered. Then, after a pause, heasked: "Why do you want to write?" "For money, " she answered. "But Simeon told me, " French remonstrated, "that he had left you therent of this house as well as part of his salary, and a power ofattorney that makes you free of all he possesses. Why add this kind oflabor to a life that is sober enough already? Amuse yourself; look theway you did that day at Wolfshead; be young!" "Simeon is very generous, " she said, loyally, silent as to therestrictions put upon his provisions for her maintenance, as well asthe fact that his salary only covered the letter of credit he tookwith him for such expenses as he might incur outside the expedition. "In spite of his kindness, can't you understand that I am proud to bea worker? Have you lived so long in the companionship of New Englandwomen without appreciating their reserves of energy? I have to makeuse of mine!" "Then use it in having 'a good time. ' I conjure you, in the name, aswell as the language, of young America. " Deena shook her head, and French stood hesitating near the door, wondering what he could do to reawaken the spirit of enjoyment thathad danced in her eyes the day at Wolfshead. "Will you dine with me to-morrow if I can get Mrs. McLean to chaperonus?" he asked. The phrase "chaperon us" was pleasant to him; it implied they had acommon interest in being together, and her companionship meant much tohim. He smiled persuasively--waiting, hat in hand, for her answer. Deena felt an almost irresistible desire to say yes--to follow thesuggestions of this overmastering delightful companion who seemed tomake her happiness his care, but she managed to refuse. "Thank you very much, " she murmured, "it is quite impossible. " It was not at all impossible, as Stephen knew, and he turned away witha short good-night. He wondered whether his friend's wife were aprude. Undoubtedly the refusal was prudent, whether Mrs. Ponsonby were aprude or no, but it had its rise in quite a different cause. She hadno dress she considered suitable for such an occasion. Her weddingdress still hung in ghostly splendor in a closet all by itself, butthat was too grand, and the others of her trousseau had been few innumber and plain in make, and would now have been consigned to the ragbag had she seen any means of supplying their place. They werecertainly too shabby to grace one of Stephen's beautiful littledinners, which were the pride of Harmouth. Deena's ideas of French in his own _entourage_ as opposed to him inhers were amusing. Viewed in the light of Simeon's friend, voluntarilyseeking their companionship and sharing their modest hospitality, theymet on terms of perfect equality; but when associated with his ownsurroundings he seemed transformed into a person of fashion, haughtyand aloof. It was quite absurd. Stephen was as simple andstraightforward in one relation as the other, but perhaps the truthwas that Deena was afraid of his servants. The house was the most attractive in the town, and stood in the midstof well-kept grounds with smooth lawns and conservatories, and Deenafelt oppressed by so much prosperity. On the few occasions when Simeonhad taken her there to lunch on Sunday--the only dissipation heallowed himself---she had thought the butler supercilious, and themaid who came to help her off with her wraps, snippy. She hadsuspected the woman of turning her little coat inside out after it wasconfided to her care, and sneering at its common lining. Deena was too superior a woman not to be ashamed of such thoughts, butthe repression of her married life had developed a morbid sensitiveness, and she was always trying to adjust the unadjustable--Simeon's smalleconomies to her own ideas of personal dignity; she hardly realizedhow much the desire to live fittingly in their position had to do withher wish to earn an income. While Stephen's criticisms were still fresh in her mind she rewroteher story, and when she read it again--which was not till several dayshad passed--she felt she had made large strides in the art she socoveted. CHAPTER IV. When affairs of a family once begin to stir, they seem unable tosettle till a flurry takes place quite bewildering to the stagnantideas of the easy-going. The fact that Deena was coming back to herold quarters in the third story was the first event to excite aflutter of interest in the Shelton home circle; with Mr. Shelton, because she was his favorite child; with Mrs. Shelton, because Deenawould both pay and help; with the children, because they could countupon her kindness no matter how outrageous their demands. The nextthing that happened, while it hastened her coming, entirely eclipsedit. Fortunately it was delayed until the day before the Ponsonby housewas to be handed over to its new tenant, Mrs. Barnes. Mrs. Shelton was busy clearing a closet for her daughter's use whenshe heard her husband calling to her from below. "Mary, " he said, "here is a telegram. " They were not of everyday occurrence, and Mrs. Shelton's fears werefor Polly, her one absent child, as she joined her husband andstretched out her hand for the yellow envelope. The magnetic heart of a mother is almost as invariably set to theprosperous daughter as to the good-for-nothing son; there is a subtlephilosophy in it, but quite aside from the interest of this story. The telegram said: Mrs. Thomas Beck's funeral will take place on Thursday at 11 A. M. It was dated Chicago, and signed "Herbert Beck. " "Who is Mrs. Beck?" asked Mr. Shelton, crossly; the morning was nothis happiest time. "She is my first cousin, once removed, " Mrs. Shelton answered, withpainstaking accuracy. "You must remember her, John. She was mybridesmaid, and we corresponded for years after she married and movedto Chicago until"--here Mrs. Shelton's pale face flushed---"I onceasked her to lend me some money, and told her how badly things weregoing with us, and she refused--very unkindly, I thought at the time;but perhaps it was just as well--we might never have paid it back. " It was Mr. Shelton's turn to flush, but he only said, irritably: "And why the devil should they think you want to go to her funeral?" Mrs. Shelton professed herself unable to guess, unless the fact thatthe family was nearly extinct had led her cousin to remember her onher deathbed. "Well, they might have saved themselves the expense of the telegram, "Mr. Shelton grumbled, adding, sarcastically, "unless they would liketo pay our expenses to Chicago, and entertain us when we get there!" It appeared later that was exactly what they hoped to do. A registeredletter, written at Mrs. Beck's request, when her death wasapproaching, arrived within an hour. She begged her cousin'sforgiveness for past unkindness, told her that she had left her thesavings of her lifetime--though the main part of the estate passed toMr. Beck's nephew--and besought Mrs. Shelton, as her only relation, tofollow her to her grave. Young Mr. Beck, the said nephew, who wrotethe letter, added that the house should be kept up for Mrs. Shelton'sconvenience till after her visit, and that his aunt had expressed awish that her clothes and jewels should be given to Mrs. Shelton. "We'll go, Mary!" said Mr. Shelton, blithe as a lark--several thingshad raised his spirits!--and Mrs. Shelton, with a burst of her oldenergy, borrowed some mourning, packed her trunk, summoned Deena andcaught the train, with five minutes to spare. And so it happened that when Mr. French called, as was his dailycustom, to take his last cup of tea with Mrs. Ponsonby before herflitting, he found the house in the temporary charge of the servantand Master Dicky Shelton, a shrimpish boy of thirteen, whose red hairand absurd profile bore just enough likeness to his sister's beauty tomake one feel the caricature an intentional impertinence. French had got into the drawing room before he understood what theservant was saying. Deena had gone, leaving no message for him! Hisfirst feeling of surprise was succeeded by one of chagrin; theseafternoon chats by her fireside had become so much to him, so much apart of his daily life, that he hated to think they had nocorresponding value to her. He was recalled from these sentimentalregrets by the irate voice of Master Shelton in dispute with Bridget. "She--_said_--there--was cake! Mrs. Ponsonby--_said_--there--was--cake--and--that I--could--have some!"each word very emphatic, judicial and accusative. Then followed arattling tail to the sentence: "And if you have eaten it all, it washorridly greedy in you, and I hope it will disagree with you--so Ido!" Bridget now came forward and addressed French. "There ain't so much as a cheese-paring left in the house, Mr. French. Mrs. Ponsonby's gone off at a moment's notice, and I'm off myselfto-morrow; and there sits that boy asking for cake! He's been here nowthe better part of an hour, trackin' mud over the clean carpets tillI'm a'most ready to cry. " Dick seized his hat and moved sulkily to the door, hurling backthreats as he walked. "Just you wait! We'll see--you think I won't tell, but I will!" French perceived that the case was to be carried to the Supreme Courtfor Deena's decision, and to save her annoyance at a time when he feltsure she was both tired and busy, he made a proposition to the heir ofthe Sheltons that established his everlasting popularity with thatyoung person. "Come home with me, Dicky, " he said, "and if my people haven't anycake, I can at least give you all the hothouse grapes you can eat, andsome to carry home. How does that strike you?" "Done!" cried Dicky, slipping his hand under Stephen's arm, and, afterone horrid grimace at Bridget, he allowed himself to be led away. The sun had nearly disappeared when they reached French's house, whichwas a little outside of the town, and he reflected that he mustquickly redeem his promise, and dispatch his young companion homebefore the darkness should make his absence a cause of alarm. He rangthe bell by way of summoning a servant, and then, opening the doorwith his latchkey, he invited Dicky to enter. It was a most cheerful interior. The staircase, wide andold-fashioned, faced you at the far end of the hall, and on the firstlanding a high-arched window was glowing with the level rays of thesetting sun. A wood fire blazed on the hearth, and on the walls theportraits of all the Frenches, who for two hundred years had made apoint of recording their individualities in oil, looked down towelcome each arrival. Dicky, who wore no overcoat, presented his nether boy to the fire, while he gazed at the portraits with a frown. He thought themextremely plain. A servant came from some hidden door, took his master's coat and hatand received an order in which such inspiring words as "cakes, orchocolates, or dessert of any kind, " gave the earnest of things hopedfor. "And, Charles, " Mr. French concluded, "tell Marble to bring the thingsas quickly as he can to the library, with a good supply of grapes. " Dicky smiled a slow smile. He could even allow his mind to wander toother things, now that his refreshment was drawing nigh. "I say, Mr. French, who is that old cove over the door, with a frillon his shirt and a ribbon to his eyeglass? He is nearly as ugly asbrother Simeon. " Stephen felt genuine alarm; he was unused to children. "That, " he said, "is my great-grandfather. I don't think he is muchlike your brother-in-law, I must confess. " "He doesn't look quite so musty, " said Dicky, reflectively. "Did itever seem strange to you, Mr. French, that a pretty girl like Deenacould marry Mr. Ponsonby?" "He is a very distinguished man, " Stephen replied, in an agony ofembarrassment. "You ought to appreciate what an honor it is to beconnected by marriage with Professor Ponsonby. " "We ain't intimate, " said Dicky, lightly, and his tone betrayed howmuch Simeon was the loser by a restricted intercourse. "One of these days when you are a little older you will be very proudof his reputation, " Stephen protested. Dicky walked to the end of the great Persian rug on the bluepattern--it was evidently a point of honor to avoid the red--before heanswered: "Well, I'm blamed glad he's gone away, anyhow. " And then, to French'srelief, Marble came and announced in his unctuous voice: "The tray is in the library, sir, " and all thought of Simeon wasabandoned. That feast at Stephen's lived in Dicky's memory for years. Itsupported him through the disappointments of many a dessertlessdinner--in the hopeless fancy engendered by seeing sweets pressed tothe lips of others; it won for him an easy victory in times ofgustatory boasting when at school. He could affirm, with truth, thatfor once he had had his fill of the very best. With Stephen also the experience was a revelation. The capacity of hisguest caused him amazement mingled with fear. And still he gazed And still the wonder grew That one small boy Could hold all he could chew. The chiming of the clock reminded French that it was already dark andhigh time Dicky was dispatched home. "Do you want to take these grapes home with you, " asked Stephen, "orshall I send you a basket of them tomorrow?" Dicky looked coy. "If you don't mind, " he said, "I guess I'll take the chocolates, andyou can send the grapes to-morrow. " He pulled a very dirty handkerchief from his pocket, in order toprovide a wrapping for the chocolates, and, as he spread it on thetable, a letter dropped out. He turned his eyes upon French with anexpression of sincere regret. "I say!" he began. "Now, isn't that too bad! And Deena so particularthat you should get the note before tea time. I'm awfully sorry, Mr. French--it's all Bridget's fault. Deena said if I got that note to youbefore five o'clock I should have a piece of cake, and when Bridgetwouldn't give it to me it made me so mad I forgot everything. I wantedto kill her. " "I know just how you felt, " said Stephen, with irony. Dicky was tying his chocolates into a hard ball, but with thefinishing grimy knot he tossed responsibility to the winds. "Oh, well, " he said, soothingly, "you've got it now, at any rate, sothere's no occasion for saying just _when_ I gave it to you, unlessyou want to get a fellow into trouble. " Stephen looked grave; he did want Mrs. Ponsonby to know why he hadfailed to follow her suggestion of taking tea with her at her mother'shouse--and also he hated evasion. "As it happens, that is the exact point I wish your sister to know. Ishall not tell her, but I expect you, as a gentleman, to tell ofyourself. " "All right, " said Dicky, mournfully. "Good-night, Mr. French. " CHAPTER V. Deena had ample time to get accustomed to the old home life before herparents returned, for she had already been in charge for two weeks andstill they tarried. It was evident that young Mr. Beck wished to carry out his aunt'sbequests in the spirit as well as the letter of her instructions, fortrunks of linen and silver began to arrive from Chicago which gavesome idea of the loot obtained from the dismantling of Mrs. Beck'sfine house. The young Sheltons took the keenest interest in unpackingthese treasures. Children are naturally communistic. They enjoypossessions held in common almost as much as their individualacquisitions--only in a different way. There is more glorification inthe general good luck, but not such far-reaching privilege. In the midst of these excitements Deena received a letter thepossession of which no one seemed inclined to dispute with her. It wasfrom Simeon, posted at Montevideo, and containing the first news ofhis voyage. His wife read it in the retirement of her own room, butshe might have proclaimed it from the rostrum, so impersonal was itsnature. He had made an attempt, however, to meet what he conceived tobe feminine requirements in a correspondent, for the handwriting wasneat, and the facts he recorded of an unscientific nature. Hedescribed his cabin in the vessel, also his fellow passengers; nothumorously, but with an appreciation of their peculiarities Deena hadnot anticipated; he introduced her to flying fish, and then to therenowned albatross, and he conducted her up the river Platte toMontevideo, which he described with the ponderous minuteness of aguide book. At the end he made a confidence--namely, that even hissummer flannels had proved oppressive in that climate--but theintimacy of his letter went no further, and he omitted to mention anypersonal feelings in regard to their separation. It was an admirable family letter, instructive and kind, and ratherpleasanter and lighter in tone than his conversation. Deena was gladthat no exhortations to economy made it too private to show to Frenchwhen he called that afternoon. She but anticipated his object incoming. He also had a letter which he had brought for her to read, andthey sat on opposite sides of the fire, enjoying their exchangedcorrespondence. But what a difference there was in the letters; Deena's had threepages of pretty handwriting; Stephen's six of closely written scrawl. In Deena's the ideas barely flowed to the ink; in Stephen's theyflowed so fast they couldn't get themselves written down--he usedcontractions, he left out whole words; he showed the interest he feltin the work he left behind in endless questions in regard to hisdepartment; he thanked Stephen more heartily than he had ever done byword of mouth for suggesting him for the appointment, and finally hegave such an account of his voyage as one intelligent man givesanother. Deena recognized her place in her husband's estimation when shefinished his letter to Stephen, and said, with pardonable sarcasm: "Simeon saves the strong meat of observation for masculine digestion, and I get only the _hors-d'oeuvres_; perhaps he has discriminatedwisely. " The mere fact of being able to exchange letters with Deena was arevelation to French, and as he walked home from their interview hisfancy was busy putting himself in Simeon's place. The paths that leadthrough another man's kingdom are never very safe for the wanderingfeet of imagination. It is an old refrain, "If I were king, " the songof a usurper, if only in thought. If he were king of Deena Ponsonby's life, Stephen thought, would hewrite letters that another chap might read? Would he dwell upon theshape of an albatross, when there must be memories--beautiful, glowingmemories--between them to recall? Pen and ink was a wretched mediumfor love, but the heart of the world has throbbed to its inspirationbefore now. Why, if a woman like Mrs. Ponsonby shared his hearth, hewould let Tierra del Fuego, with its flora and its fauna, sink intothe sea and be damned to it, before he'd put the hall door betweenhimself and her. His own front door had suggested the idea, and heshut it with a bang. He picked up the letters he found waiting on the hall table, and wentdirectly to his library, passing through a room that would have been adrawing-room had a lady presided there, but to the master served onlyas a defense against intrusion into the privacy of his sanctum. The postman had left a pile of bills and advertisements, but there wasone letter in Ben Minthrop's familiar writing, and Stephen turned uphis light and settled himself to read it. Ben wrote: DEAR FRENCH: When I asked you to spend Christmas with us in Boston I had no idea that, like the Prophet Habbacuc, I, with my dinner pail, was to be lifted by the hair of my head, and transported to Babylon--in other words, New York. But so it is! If you know your Apocrypha, this figurative language will seem apt, but in case you should like my end of it explained I will leave the mystifications of Bel and the Dragon and come down to plain speech. My father has conceived the idea that I am one of the dawning lights in the financial world, and he has decided to open a branch office of our business in New York and to put me at its head. I must confess that the whole thing is very pleasant and flattering, and it has stirred all the decent ambitions I have--that I have any I owe to you, old fellow--and I am rather keen to be off. We have taken a house not far from the park in East Sixty-fifth Street, where a welcome will always be yours, and where Polly and I hope you will eat your Christmas dinner. Perhaps you may reflect that it is a serious thing to befriend straying men and dogs; they are apt to regard past kindness as a guarantee of future interest in their welfare. I do not believe, however, that I am making too large a demand upon your friendship in asking for your good wishes in this pleasant turn to my future affairs. Of course I want one more favor. If you have any influence with Deena Ponsonby, will you urge her to spend the winter with us? Polly is writing to her by this same mail, but I know the New England conscience will suggest to Deena that anything amusing is wrong, and so you might explain that I am nervous about Polly's health, and that I look to her to help me get settled without overstrain to my wife--in short, administer a dose of duty, and she may see her way to coming. Ever, my dear French, Sincerely yours, BENJAMIN MINTHROP. Anger gives to the natural man a pedal impulse--in plain language, hewants to kick something. Rage flows from the toes as freely asgunpowder ran out of the great Panjandrum's boots when he played"Catch who catch can" on the immortal occasion of the gardener's wifemarrying the barber. Now, Stephen French was a man of habitualself-restraint, and yet upon reading Ben Minthrop's letter he got upand--ignoring the poker and tongs--kicked the fire with a savagerythat showed how little the best of us has softened by civilization. And yet the letter was distinctly friendly, even modest andgrateful--without one kick-inspiring sentence. Stephen began pacinghis library floor, hurling his thoughts broadcast, since there was noone to listen to his words. Why were people never content to let well enough alone? he demanded. There was old Minthrop, with enough money to spoil his son, layingplans for Ben to muddle away a few millions in New York in the hope ofmaking more; or even if, by some wild chance, the boy were successfuland doubled it--still one would think the place for an only son was inthe same town with his parents. Of course it was their business, butwhen it came to dragging Mrs. Ponsonby into their schemes it was adifferent matter. Simeon would disapprove, he knew, and as her adviserin Simeon's absence, he felt it his duty to tell her to stay at homewith _her_ parents till her husband returned. And then common sense asserted itself, and he asked himself what Deenaowed to her parents; and why Harmouth was a better place for her thanNew York; and what possible difference it could make to Simeon? Theanswer came in plain, bold, horrid words, and he shrank from them. Thecurse of Nathan was upon him; like David, he had condemned his friendto absence and danger, and had then promptly fallen in love with hiswife. But not willingly, he pleaded, in extenuation; it had crept uponhim unawares. It was his own secret, he had never betrayed himself, and so help his God, he would trample it down till he gained themastery. Not for one moment would he tolerate disloyalty to hisfriend, even in his thoughts. Ben's suggestion was a happy solution ofthe situation as far as he was concerned; he would urge Deena to gobefore his folly could be suspected. To have any sentiments for awoman like Mrs. Ponsonby except a chivalrous reverence was an offenseagainst his manhood. French was a man who had been brought up to respect ceremonial indaily living, and he dressed as scrupulously for his lonely dinner asif a wife presided and expected the courtesy to her toilet. Somebodyhas wisely said that unconsciously we lay aside our smaller worrieswith our morning clothes, and come down to dinner refreshed in mind aswell as body by the interval of dressing. If Stephen did not exactlyhang up his anxiety with his coat, he at least took a more reasonableview of his attachment to his neighbor's wife. He began to think hehad exaggerated an extreme admiration into love--that he was anhonorable man and a gentleman, and could keep his secret as manyanother had done before him; and that if Deena went away for thewinter it removed the only danger, which was in daily meeting underterms of established intimacy. There was to be a lecture at the Athenæum that evening on theengineering difficulties incident to building the Panama Canal, andStephen, who was interested in the subject, made up his mind to startearly and stop for a moment at the Sheltons' to carry out Ben'srequest. He took glory to himself for choosing an hour when Mrs. Ponsonby was likely to be surrounded by a bevy of brothers andsisters; he would never again try to see her alone. His very footfall sounded heroic when he ran up the steps and rang thebell. As he stood within the shelter of the storm door waiting to belet in, the voices of the young Sheltons reached him, all talking atonce in voluble excitement, and then a hand was laid on the insideknob and advice offered in a shrill treble. "You had better run, Deena, if you don't want to be caught, " and thenmore giggling, and a quick rush across the hall. Dicky threw open the hall door, and French, glancing up the stairs, caught sight of a velvet train disappearing round the turn of thefirst landing. He took the chances of making a blunder and called: "Come down, Mrs. Ponsonby. It is I--Stephen French--and I havesomething to say to you. " This was first received in silence, and then in piercing whispers, thelittle sisters tried to inspire courage: "Go down, Deena; you don't look a bit _funny_--really. " "'Funny'--ye gods!" thought French, as Deena turned and came slowlydown the stairs. He only wished she did look _funny_, or anything, except the intoxicating, maddening contrast to her usual sober selfthat was descending to him. She was dressed in black velvet of a fashion evidently copied from apicture, for the waist was prolonged over the hips in Van Dykes, andfrom the shoulders and sleeves Venetian point turned back, displayingthe lovely neck and arms that Polly had so envied. Her hair wasloosely knotted at the back, and on her forehead were straying curlswhich were seldom tolerated in the severity of her usual neatness. Shewore a collar of pearls, and her bodice was ornamented with twosunbursts and a star. French, who had never seen her in evening dress, was amazed. He seemedto forget that he had asked speech with her, and stood gazing as ifshe were an animated portrait whose exceeding merit left him dumb. Hewas recalled alike to his senses and his manners by Dicky, who turneda handspring over his sister's long train and then addressed Stephen, when he found himself right-end up. "I say, Mr. French, mustn't she have been sort of loony to wear adress like that, and she sixty-five?" "Who?" asked French, completely mystified. "Why, mother's cousin, Mrs. Beck. Didn't you know she had died andleft us things?" said Dicky, proudly. "A trunk full of clothes anddiamond ornaments came to-day, and mother wrote to Deena to unpack it, and we persuaded her to dress up in this. Don't she look queer? ThatMrs. Beck must have been a dressy old girl. " Deena ignored the explanation. She appeared to treat her costume as ausual and prosaic affair, and said to Stephen, almost coldly: "You have something to tell me?" He wondered whether his eyes had offended her, whether the stupidityof his admiration had hurt her self-respect. She didn't look at himsquarely and openly, as usual, but kept her head half turned so thatthe perfect line of her throat and chin was emphasized, and the tinycurls at the back of her neck set off the creamy whiteness of herskin. To tell the truth, Deena had never before worn a low-neckeddress. Prior to her early marriage a simple white muslin, a littlecurtailed in the sleeves and transparent over the neck, had beensufficient for any college dance she went to, and after Simeon hadassumed command, even the white muslin was superfluous, for she neversaw company either at home or abroad. Her present costume wassufficiently discreet in sleeves--they came almost to the elbow, butthe bodice allowed so liberal a view of neck and shoulders as to coverthe wearer with confusion. She felt exactly as you feel in a dreamwhen you flit down the aisle of a crowded car in your night clothes, or inadvertently remove most of your garments in a pew in church, andwith Deena self-consciousness always took the form of dignity. Stephen pulled himself together. "I have had a letter from Ben, " he said, "who seems to think an appealhe has made for your company in New York this winter will be more aptto win a favorable answer if backed up by your _Temporary Adviser_. That describes the position Simeon indicated for me; doesn't it, Mrs. Ponsonby?" She sank back in her chair and, forgetting herself for a moment, allowed her eyes to meet his with a merry smile. "This seems to be like a conspiracy to make a hungry man eat!" sheanswered. "No urging is necessary to persuade me to go to NewYork--why should you and Ben suppose I do not like to do pleasantthings? I shall delight in being with Polly--I shall like theexcitement and the fun--I am perfectly mad to go!" If it had not been for the exaggeration of the last sentence Frenchwould have been sure of the genuineness of her wishes, but the forceof the expression was so foreign to her usual moderation that he askedhimself whether Deena might not also find a separation desirable. Thethought sent the blood bounding through his veins. If she cared forhim ever so little, it would be easier to let her go--easier if heknew she suffered too! Then he called himself a coxcomb and aself-deceiver, and made a grasp at the good resolutions that hadalmost escaped him. "I always knew you possessed that adorable quality, common sense, " heremarked. "Ben and I might have guessed you would do the wise thing. When men rush hot-footed into the affairs of women, they are apt toplay the fool. " "Is there any reason why I shouldn't go?" she demanded, anxiously. "On the contrary, every reason why you should; but I feared somemistaken idea about expense or Simeon's approbation might interferewith your taking a holiday, which you will enjoy as much as he enjoysdigging up roots in Patagonia. " Deena considered the two points of his answer--expense and Simeon'sapprobation--and replied thoughtfully: "My husband would recognize so simple a duty, and, as far as expensegoes, I am a perfectly independent woman. Didn't you know _our_story--the one you made me rewrite--sold at once, and, besides that, Ihave placed a number of fugitive poems? So I snap my fingers atexpenses till the bank breaks, " and she tapped her forehead toindicate from whence the supply flowed. "Then make the most of the sensation while it lasts, " he said, withgood-natured cynicism, "for expenses have a way of sizing youup--cleaning out your pockets--and going you one better! If you arestill snapping your fingers when you come back from New York, then, indeed, you may boast. " A troubled look came into her face. "Simeon would like me to go to Polly when she is out of health andneeds me, " she said, in a tone she meant to be assertive, but whichwas only appealing, "and if we are careful about spending, it isbecause we are proud and do not wish to incur obligations. " The _we_ was a masterpiece of loyalty, and French was suitablyimpressed by it. "Dear Mrs. Ponsonby, " he said, "you speak as if _I_ were likely tomisjudge Simeon, whereas my object in coming here was to prevent_your_ misjudging him by allowing your sensitive conscience to forbidpleasures he would be the first to suggest. " The speech was genuine; in Stephen's estimation his friend had noblequalities, and in bearing testimony to them he was beginning hischapter of self-discipline. In this interview, at least, he hadpreserved a conscience void of offense, and he hastened to saygoodnight before any temptation should assail his discretion. Perhaps, also--for he was but mortal--the reflection in the parlor mirror ofwhat was passing in the hall may have accelerated his departure. For the benefit of an admiring gallery at the head of the stairs, Master Shelton was performing jugglers' tricks with their visitor'sbest silk hat. Twice it had turned a somersault in the air, and twicesafely alighted well down over Dicky's ears, but a third time it mightmiss even such a conspicuous mark and be smashed out of symmetry onthe hard floor. French beat a hasty retreat, but he was no match forDicky in change of tactics; as he came into the hall that younggentleman stood stiffly and solemnly waiting to hand him his hat andopen the front door with an air he had copied precisely from Stephen'sown servant the day of the memorable feast. His presumption carriedhim a little too far, however, for as he closed the door on Stephen hefavored his sister with a comment that promptly brought itspunishment. "If I were an old bag of bones like brother Simeon, " he said, grinning, "I shouldn't care to have good-lookin' fellows like Mr. French running after you twice in the same day, Deena!" Deena had always been the tenderest of elder sisters, but at thisapparently innocent remark, she first got red as fire, and then, paling with anger, she rushed at her brother and pulled his ruddylocks till he cried for mercy, while she burst into tears. "Stop it!" roared Dicky, burrowing his head in a sofa cushion. "I tellyou, you're hurting me! And I'd like to know what the mischief_you're_ crying for, anyhow?" Deena left the room, her face buried in her handkerchief, but shemanaged to answer brokenly: "I will--not--allow--you--to call--my husband--'a bag of bones'!" CHAPTER VI. The house the young Minthrops had taken was of a contracted luxurythat oppressed Deena, accustomed as she was to space and sunshine atHarmouth. She told Ben that fortunes in New York could be gauged bythe amount of light the individual could afford--billionaires hadhouses standing free, with light on four sides; millionaires hadcorner houses with light on three sides; while ordinary mortals livedin tunnels more or less magnificent where electric light had often todo duty for the sun. Ben declared that his income only admitted lightfore and aft, but that with skillful decoration they could at leasttravesty the sunshine, and so they tried to reproduce its effects bywall hangings of faint yellow and pale green, by chintz-coveredbedrooms that seemed to blossom with roses, and living rooms sweetwith fresh flowers. There was no solemn mahogany--no light-absorbingcolor on door or window; all was delicately bright and gay as thetinting of the spring. Deena worked hard to get the house ready for Polly, who was still inBoston with her mother-in-law, and seemed quite content to leave thearranging of her new quarters to her sister and husband, who precededher by several weeks; indeed, she was becoming so accustomed to beingwaited upon that she considered herself in a fair way of beingspoiled. An heir was expected, and an heir seemed a very importantthing to the elder Minthrops. They treated Polly as a queen bee, andthe rest of the world as slaves to wait upon her. She was behaving ina way to satisfy their requirements in a daughter-in-law, and life wasto be smoothed accordingly. Every day brought a fresh suggestion covered by a check. Ben wasinvited to select a high-stepping gray horse--a pair of cobs--a tinybrougham--a victoria--a piano--a pianola. Deena shopped till shealmost sank exhausted, and yet the requests kept coming. If dear Mrs. Ponsonby didn't mind the trouble, perhaps Polly might be warmer withsable rugs--perhaps an extra sofa in her room might induce her to liedown oftener--perhaps a few of those charming lace and linentablecloths might make her feel like giving little dinners at homeinstead of fatiguing herself by going out to find her amusements. Deena would have been more than mortal if the image of old Mrs. Ponsonby had not risen before her eyes in forbidding contrast to somuch indulgence. She realized that the genus mother-in-law has widelydiffering species, and yet in her heart she doubted whether Mrs. Minthrop, with money to anticipate every wish of her only son, lovedhim a whit more than frugal, self-denying Mother Ponsonby had lovedher Simeon. Lavishness or thrift, alike they proved a mother'saffection. Deena executed all the commissions without a shadow of covetousnessand rejoiced in her sister's good fortune; it was reserved for Pollyand Ben, when they took up their life in New York, to show her thedepths of her own loneliness by the fullness of their comradeship, andher yearning needs by their mutual devotion. Polly arrived one bleak December day, the week before Christmas, escorted by Mrs. Minthrop and two maids, and was met at the GrandCentral by her husband in a state of boyish excitement. His delight inhaving his wife with him once more was so genuine that Deena forgavehim an amount of fussiness she never before suspected in hiseasy-going nature. He altered his orders half a dozen times as towhich carriage should bring her from the train to the house, andfinally ordered both; he repeated half a dozen times the hour at whichthe Boston express was due, in order that Deena might make no mistakeabout having tea served to the minute, and when he had shut the frontdoor, on his way to the Grand Central, he came tearing back to ask themenu for dinner, as Polly was apt to be fanciful about her food. Deenaremembered the time--not two years ago--when it was quantity ratherthan quality that balked Polly's appetite, and nearly laughed in hisface, but she loved her big brother-in-law for his forethought. The curtains were drawn and the lights turned up before the bustle ofarrival drew Deena to the stairs. First old Mrs. Minthrop came, stopping to commend the house at every step, and then Polly, with herarm linked in her husband's, chattering volubly at the delighteverything gave her; and Deena, wedged between the elder lady and thewall in cordial greeting, could not help hearing Ben welcome his wifeto her own home with a sentiment she never suspected in him before. Polly flew to her sister and kissed and thanked her for all she haddone, and lavished her praises broadcast, and then she insisted uponpouring out the tea at her own fireside, and Ben perched on the arm ofher chair; and once, when Deena turned suddenly from handing the toastto Mrs. Minthrop, she saw him kiss Polly's hair. Her thoughts sped back to her parting with Simeon, with its prosaicformality---the feel of his puckered lips brushing her forehead. Whata lack of imagination marked all his dealings with her! She feltrebellious and sad; not that she wanted any of the luxury thatsurrounded Polly, but she was hungry for love. She saw suddenly whatmarriage ought to be, and the realization frightened her. How was itshe had committed this crime against her own nature? Was it her sin orher parents' that she had been so blind? Not Simeon's--she exoneratedhim, she knew he had given her as much of himself as he had to spare, and that his conduct was uniform; what it had been at the beginningwas now and for all time, and if she had suddenly become a connoisseurin husbands she was not the first woman to whom knowledge broughtmisery. It was not Simeon's fault that he remained stationary whileher views expanded. Fortunately for Deena's peace of mind, it was Benwho figured in these reflections as the exponent of what a husbandshould be, and she had no suspicion that it was Stephen French who hadwaked her from her domestic coma. Poor sleeping beauty, her conscience had long ago been pricked by hermother-in-law's spindle, and her whole moral sense infected with thebelief that to keep house wisely was the end and aim of wifely duty. She reverenced Simeon for his learning and dignity, and felt proudthat so simple a person as herself should have been chosen in marriageby a professor of Harmouth. On that she had existed for two years, andnow she was waking up to new needs that stirred her like the prince'skiss. Life in the young Minthrops' dovecote soon settled down into aglorified routine. The elder Mrs. Minthrop returned to Boston, leavingDeena as her lieutenant, and perplexing her with the multiplicity ofher charges; apparently Mrs. Ponsonby was to be Providence to hersister, with health and happiness under her control. The situation wasparadoxical. Polly was to be denied nothing, but not allowed to haveher own way too freely; she was to be kept amused, but most amusementswere strictly prohibited--she was not to be encouraged to thinkherself an invalid, and at the same time her usual occupations weretaken from her. Deena was wise enough to listen and make no promises, and when she assumed command she contented herself with trying tostand between her sister and domestic worries. Christmas came and went without the visit from Stephen, which Ben hadhoped for, and invitations were pouring in for the plethora of socialfunctions that mark the season's height. Deena came in for her share, but she felt too much of a stranger to venture alone into the vortex. Polly entertained in a modest way at home--a few people at dinner, afriend or two at lunch--and this Deena greatly enjoyed, and had begunto make herself favorably known to a small circle when a stop was putto this mild dissipation. The great doctor, who had been charged byMrs. Minthrop never to forget her daughter-in-law's inexperience, issued orders that Polly was to stay in her room. This enforced quietfound an outlet in a desire to send Deena everywhere. She drove herforth to dinners and balls, and the high-stepping gray horse wasalways at her service, and so the beautiful Mrs. Ponsonby became thefashion. New York does not ask too many questions in these days aboutthe husbands of handsome married women who appear as grass widows inits midst; indeed, the suspicion of a latent romance or scandal givesa flavor to the interest, and Deena suffered not a whit from the rumorthat she was a deserted wife, with money. "Oh, yes, there is a husband, " the great Mrs. Star admitted. "Shemarried him for his money, and he has a hobby--fossils, I think itis--and he has gone to collect them at Cape Horn. She bears hisabsence surprisingly well, doesn't she? Old Mrs. Minthrop's sonmarried the sister, and she begged me to be civil to them. I forgetwho she said they were, but _Mayflower_ people, you know. " In this way Deena was passed on, stamped with the hall-mark of the_Mayflower_. Mrs. Shelton had contributed very generously to herdaughter's outfit for the season in New York. The black velvet picturedress was only one of several found suitable for her use in the trunkof finery belonging to the Chicago cousin, and the jewels that hadcome into the Shelton family from the same source were worthy ofDeena's beauty. Her clothes were good, and she wore them like aprincess. One evening late in January, Deena and Ben were dining with a gayyoung matron, who, without any especial personal charm herself, hadthe faculty of drawing to her house the best element society had tooffer. The engagement had been made for them by Polly, much againsther husband's wishes, and his anxiety at leaving her alone couldhardly be concealed during dinner. As soon as the ladies left thetable he excused himself to his host, and, following the littlehostess into the drawing room, he whispered a few words in her ear, nodded to Deena and disappeared. "Your brother-in-law has gone home to his wife, Mrs. Ponsonby, " saidthe hostess. "I have never seen such devotion. " She laughed a trifleenviously; her own infelicities were the talk of the town. Deena started forward in alarm. "Was he sent for? Is my sister ill?" she inquired, nervously, and thensank back in her chair, smiling, when she found it was only a phase ofyoung Minthropism. While her own daylight hours were given to her sister, she was alwayspleased to be out of the way in the evening--it left the lovers tothemselves--though she could not quite free herself from a sense ofresponsibility to the elder Mrs. Minthrop. Mrs. Star, who was beside Deena, gave a sniff--if so fine a lady couldbe suspected of such a plebeian way of marking her disapprobation. "My dear, " she said, "why should your charming sister be treated as aprisoner over whom somebody must perpetually keep watch? I have hadsix children--they were all healthy and had their full complement oflegs and arms--except Bob, who lost an arm in the Spanish war, butthat doesn't count--and I never was shut up in my room before I had tobe--nor put on a milk diet--nor forbidden reasonable exercise--and Ithink the modern doctors are full of fads and greed. Their bills! Idon't know who is rich enough to be ill nowadays!" Here she shut hereyes and trembled to think of the portion of her own great fortunethat might have transferred itself to the doctor's pockets if hernursery had not antedated the present school. "It may not seem veryexpensive to young Mrs. Minthrop to lie on her sofa and drinkmilk--but just wait till she comes to pay for it!" "I don't believe anyone will care about the bill, Mrs. Star, " saidDeena, "so long as Polly keeps well. " "It is bad enough to have food and exercise taken away from the youngmothers, " continued Mrs. Star, who was evidently mounted on a hobby, "but when helpless infants are deprived of their natural sustenanceand fed from bottles filled in a laboratory and stuffed with cotton, it is time for the Gerry Society to interfere. Cruelty to children ispracticed far more by the rich than by the poor, in my opinion, and ifyou want to see cases of inanition and feeble spines, I'll show youwhere to look for them, and it won't be in the tenements!" Deena wanted to laugh, but didn't dare to; the old lady proclaimed herfierce sentiments with such earnest gravity. She managed, however, tosay politely: "You think that science has not improved upon nature in rearing therace, but you must remember that it finds the higher classes existingunder unnatural conditions. " "The conditions would do very well if we could banish the doctors, "said the old lady, testily. "I am out of patience with theirincubators and their weighing machines and their charts and theirthermometers--yes, and their baby nurses! What do you suppose I hearda mother say to her own servant the other day: 'Please, nurse, may Itake the baby up? He is crying fearfully, ' and the nurse, who hadreluctantly put down the morning paper, said: 'No, m'am, when he criesin that angry way, he must learn that it is useless!' _His age was sixweeks. _" Deena burst into a hearty laugh. "My dear Mrs. Star, " she said, "I am a convert. " Mrs. Star wagged her head in approbation. "Just tell your sister what I have said, will you?" she pursued, afraid that so much wisdom might be lost. "And, my dear, since yourbrother-in-law has gone home, suppose you come along to the opera withme. I sent some tickets to a few stray men, and I must look in beforethe last act. " At this point they were joined by the gentlemen, and as soon asdecency would permit, Mrs. Star made her adieux, followed by Deena. The Minthrop brougham was dismissed, and the ladies whirled away inMrs. Star's electric carriage. She at once took up her parable, butthis time the topic was not the care of infants. "I think a great deal of the scenic effect of an opera box, " she said. "I always dress with respect to the hangings, and I never take adiscordant color beside me if I can help it. You happen to please mevery much this evening; I like the simplicity of the white dress. Still, it wouldn't be anything if you didn't have such a neck--itgives an air to any low gown. " "It was my wedding dress, " said Deena, frankly, "and my sister's maidrearranged it for me. I am glad you like it. " "Your wedding dress, " said Mrs. Star, reflectively. "I think I heardyou had married a naturalist--prehistoric bones, is it not? Veryinteresting subject--so inspiring. Milliken"--to the footman, whoopened the door on their arrival at the opera house--"you may keep thecarriage here. I shall not be more than half an hour. " Half an hour for the enjoyment of a pleasure that cost her, yearly, amoderate fortune! On their way through the foyer to the box, Deena ventured to disclaimfor her husband a peculiar interest in fossils. "My husband is a botanist, " she began, and then desisted when she sawher companion's attention was barely held by a desire to be civil. "Ah, indeed!" Mrs. Star vaguely responded. "Delightful topic. I wentinto it myself quite extensively when I was a girl. " Deena was not often malicious, but she couldn't help wishing Simeoncould have stood by to hear this announcement of a girlish mastery ofhis life's work. She tried to think in what dry words he would haverebuked the levity, but before she could arrange a phrase quite incharacter, they were in the front of the box, and in the obscuritysome one took her hand, and Stephen French's voice murmured: "What a piece of luck that I should see you to-night! I have only beenin town a few hours, and obeyed my aunt's summons to the opera as ameans of keeping myself from Ben's house till the morning. You can'tthink how eager I have been to see you again, Mrs. Ponsonby. " There was a strange break in his voice, as if he were trying torestrain the rush of happiness. All the six mighty artists who made the opera the marvel it was werecombining their voices in the closing sextet of the fourth act, andDeena, thrilled by the loveliness of the music and, perhaps, by thesurprise of French's presence, felt she was trembling with excitement. "Fancy meeting you here!" she kept repeating, the stupid phraseconcealing the great joy that was puzzling her conscience. "What is so wonderful in my being in my aunt's opera box?" Stephendemanded. "Cannot a professor of zoology like music, or do you objectto a bachelor owning an aunt?" How pleasant it was to hear his kind voice, with its good-naturedraillery! But that was sub-conscious pleasure--her immediate attentionwas busy with the first part of his speech about his aunt's opera box;she never supposed he had any relations. "Who is your aunt?" she asked, abruptly. "Mrs. Star, " he answered. "Don't you see the family likeness?" And oddly enough, in the half light, there was a distinct resemblancein the profile of the bewigged old lady to her handsome youngkinsman's. Deena regretted both the likeness and the relationship; itmade her uncomfortable to know that Stephen was the nephew of thisworldly-minded old lady, with her fictitious standards and herenormous riches; it seemed to place a barrier between them and to lifthim out of the simplicity of his college setting. "Have I become a snob in this Relentless City'?" she exclaimed. "_I_find my whole idea of you changed by this announcement. It depressesme! You seem to me a different person here, with these affiliations offashion and grandeur, than when I thought of you simply as Simeon'sfriend. " "Don't think of me simply as Simeon's friend, " he pleaded, half infun, half in sinful earnest. "I never shall again, " she said, sadly. "Your greatest charm iseclipsed by this luxury--I want you to belong to Harmouth only. " Stephen's lips were twitching with suppressed amusement. "There is a proverb, my dear lady, " he said, "of the pot and thekettle, that you may recall. I am not sure but what I may find a wordto say to you upon the cruelty of disturbing associations. " "To me!" she said, turning to him with the gentle dignity that was hercrowning charm. "Surely there are no surprises in me. " Stephen shook his head in mock disapproval as he allowed his eyes tosweep from the topmost curl of her head to her slipper points, andthen he said: "Go home, Mrs. Ponsonby, and take off that white lace evening dress, and perhaps the wreath of holly might come, too--and that diamond staron your bodice; and put on, instead--let me see--the dark blue frockyou wore the evening I told Simeon about the Patagonian expedition, and then you will be in a position to reproach me for any relapse fromthe simplicity of Harmouth. If you disapprove of me as the nephew ofmy aunt, how do you suppose I feel about you? And oh! my stars! whatwould Simeon say?" "Simeon, " she said, faintly. "You are right; Simeon might notunderstand----" and before French had time to protest that he had onlybeen teasing her, the curtain went down, strange men came flockinginto the box, Mrs. Star was introducing a Russian grand duke, andStephen, surrendering his chair, withdrew to the other side of hisaunt. Deena could not but admire the old lady's admirable manner. She keptup an easy chatter, sometimes in French, sometimes in English, withthe Russian and with a Spanish artist; she never allowed Deena to feelout of touch with the conversation, and in the midst of it all shemanaged to welcome her nephew. "You are stopping _at_ my house, of course, Stephen? No--at the Savoy?That is uncharitable to a lonely old woman. Where did you know thatpretty creature, Mrs. Ponsonby?" she asked, seeing that the twoforeigners were absorbing the attention of her beautiful protégée. "You should learn to guard the expression of your face, my dear boy. Ibegin to understand why you cling so obstinately to Harmouth. I seethe place has advantages outside the work of the college. " Here she wagged her head in self-congratulation at her own astuteness, and Stephen flushed angrily. "Hush!" he said. "She will hear you. You have little knowledge of Mrs. Ponsonby if you think she would permit the attentions of any man. Sheis not in the least that kind of person. She is one of the mostdignified, self-respecting, high-minded women I ever knew. " Mrs. Star cut him short with a wave of her fan. "Spare me the rhapsodies, " she laughed. "You merely mark the stage ofthe disease you have arrived at. The object of your love sitsenthroned! If the husband is wise he will throw his fossils into thesea and come back to look after this pretty possession. Flesh andblood is worth more than dry bones. " "Ponsonby is a botanist, " Stephen corrected, grimly, while his inwardthought was that the dry bones were Simeon's own; and then, ashamed ofthe disloyal--though unspoken--sneer, he went back to Deena and begantalking volubly of his last letter from her husband. They had both had letters from Simeon, now safely arrived in theStraits of Magellan. He had written to Deena when they first castanchor off the Fuegian shore. He described to her the visits of theIndians in their great canoes, containing their entire families andpossessions, and the never-dying fire of hemlock on a clay hearth inthe middle of the boat; how they would sell their only garment--a furcloak---for tobacco and rum, and how friendly they seemed to be, inspite of all the stories of cannibalism told by early voyagers. In the midst of this earnest conversation, Mrs. Star rose to go, escorted by the grand duke, and Stephen, following with Deena, wasable to let his enthusiasm rise above a whisper when they gained thecorridor. "Didn't he tell you that they were all going guanaco hunting?" "_Simeon!_" in a tone of incredulity. "Greatest fun in the world, I am told, " pursued French; "somethinglike stag hunting, only more exciting--done with the bolas. You whirlit round your head and let it fly, and it wraps itself round a beast'slegs and bowls him over before he knows what hit him. " "Does it kill him?" asked Deena, shrinking from the miseries of thehunted. "Only knocks him over, " explained Stephen. "You finish him with yourknife. " "Sport is a cruel thing, " she said, shuddering. "I am glad Simeoncannot even ride. " "Can't ride!" repeated Stephen. "Indeed, I can tell you he means to. He says the Indians have offered him the best mount they have. Theyconsidered him a medicine man, on account of his root-diggingpropensities, and treated him as the high cockalorum of the wholeship's company. " "Surely he is joking, " she said. "Simeon is making game of you. " "Simeon!" he echoed, mimicking her incredulous tone. "A joke would be no stranger to him than a horse, " she said, smiling. They had reached the entrance, and Deena stood shaking with suppressedlaughter. "Fancy! Simeon!" she repeated. "And why not Simeon, pray?" asked Stephen, slightly nettled. A vision of Simeon with his gold-rimmed spectacles and stooped figuremounted on horseback in the midst of a party of Indians, whirling hisbolas over his head and shouting, presented itself to Deena'simagination. The carriage was waiting, and, obeying Mrs. Star's motionto get in first, Simeon Ponsonby's wife fell back on the seat andlaughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. Outside, Stephen was entreating to be allowed to visit her the nextmorning. "I haven't half finished my story, Mrs. Ponsonby, " he protested. And Deena managed to steady her voice and invite him to lunch the nextday. CHAPTER VII. French's visit to New York was not the result of any weakeningresolution in regard to his neighbor's wife; the object was business. His property was chiefly in real estate, and the distinguished lawfirm who managed his affairs had summoned him to confer with a tenantwho was desirous of becoming a purchaser. Being in the same town withDeena, he decided that he could not well avoid visiting her, to saynothing of Ben. It was his misfortune that every meeting made hisself-discipline harder, for, if they lived, he had got to see herunder still more trying circumstances--reunited with a husband whomisunderstood her. These thoughts passed through his mind the morning after theirencounter at the opera, as he finished his breakfast at the Savoy. Hehad an appointment at his lawyers' at ten o'clock, and at theMinthrops' for luncheon at half-past one. The first, if properlyconducted, might result in a largely increased income; the second inself-repression and a heartache; and yet his one idea was to dispatchthe business, so that no precious moments of Deena's society should belost to him. He was hurrying out of the hotel to go downtown, when a telegram wasput into his hand. For the detached bachelor such messages have littleinterest. Stephen opened this one as casually as most people open anadvertisement--may the foul fiend fly away with those curses of ourdaily mail!--and read: BUENOS AYRES, Jan. 30. PEDRO LOPEZ to the HON'BLE PROFESSOR FRENCH, Harmouth University. _Tintoretto_ on its way home. Ponsonby missing. Stephen read the dispatch several times before he quite understood itssignificance. Pedro Lopez was his South American friend, who had seton foot the Fuegian expedition and applied to Harmouth for a botanist;the _Tintoretto_ was the vessel furnished by the Argentine Government. The cable message had gone to Harmouth and been repeated to New York, probably by Stephen's butler. The first effect of evil tidings is apt to be superficial. We receivea mental impression rather than a shock to the heart. We are for themoment spectators of our own misfortunes, as if the blow had produceda paralysis to the feelings, leaving the intellect clear. Stephen went back to his own room conscious of no emotion exceptintense curiosity as to what had become of Simeon, though, perhaps, far back in his mind anxiety was settling down to its work of torture. He flung himself into a chair near the window which overlooked theentrance to the park and let his eyes gaze blankly at the busy scene. It had snowed during the night, and sleighs were dashing in and outunder the leafless arches of the trees. Bells were tinkling, gayplumes of horsehair floating from the front of the Russian sleighs andthe turrets of the horses' harness, men and women wrapped in costlyfurs were being whirled along, laughing and chatting, through thecrisp morning air. Stephen didn't know he was receiving an impression--he thought hismind was at a standstill, but whenever in the future that terrible daycame back to his memory, he always saw a picture, as it were, of thebrilliant procession dashing into the city's playground, while SaintGaudens' statue of Sherman stood watching, grim and cold, with thesnow on his mantle and his Victory in a winding sheet. It was not very long before French was able to pull himself togetherand to face the situation. What did it mean? Had Simeon lost himselfin the Patagonian wilds or was he drowned? French felt that hecouldn't carry such an uncertain report to Deena, the strain upon herwould be too great. It was horrible to have to tell her at all, but hemust try to make the news definite--not vague. Gradually he thoughtout a course of action; he would telegraph to Lopez to send him adetailed account, cabling the answer at his expense, and until thisreply came he thought himself justified in concealing the news. Lopezwas in constant communication with the expedition, and the letterwhich had announced Ponsonby's disappearance must have gone intoparticulars. After dispatching this cable he kept his appointment in Wall Street, transacting the business with the dull precision of a person in ahypnotic sleep, and then presented himself at the Minthrops' a fewminutes before the lunch hour. He had not been prepared to find Deenainstalled as hostess, and her manner of greeting him and presiding atthe lunch table was so assured, so different from the timidhospitality she was wont to offer under Simeon's roof, that her wholepersonality seemed changed. She more than ever satisfied his admiringaffection, but she was so unlike the Mrs. Ponsonby of Harmouth that hefelt like confiding to this gracious, sympathetic woman the tragedythat threatened her other self. Early in the day, before that woeful message came, he had counted theminutes he could spend with her, and now he was timing his visit so asto curtail it to the least possible duration, and taxing his ingenuityas to how best to avoid seeing her alone. It was Saturday, and hetrusted to the half holiday for the protection of Ben's presence; hisdepression of spirits would be less noticeable in generalconversation. He arrived on the stroke of the hour set for lunch, and to his chagrinwas shown to the library, where Deena was sitting alone. His troubledeepened, for, after motioning him to a chair beside her, she resumedher embroidery and said, with a quizzical expression: "You were in the midst of Simeon's last letter when we parted lastevening, Mr. French; please go on with it. You may remember you leftmy unfortunate husband pledged to become a horseman. " Stephen could not respond to her merry mood; his anxiety was to steerthe conversation away from Simeon, and he had run against a snag atthe start. "At all events, I left him safely surrounded by friends, " hesaid--more in answer to his own feelings than her banter. In thinking over any disaster, the mind loves to dwell on the peacefulmoments that preceded it. Stephen found comfort in recalling the gaytone of Simeon's letter, his delight in his coming adventure, and thegood feeling that evidently existed between him and the ship'scompany. Deena took exception to his remark. "You have strange ideas of safety!" she laughed. "Not content withmounting a confirmed pedestrian on a wild horse of the Pampas, youmust needs turn him loose among a horde of savages. The hunt had nottaken place when he wrote, had it? It is a pity, for I should likeSimeon safely back on shipboard without the loss of spectacles ordignity. " She would like Simeon back! What wouldn't French give to know herhusband was still alive! The butler announced lunch, and Ben came dashing downstairs, delightedto see Stephen and full of excuses at having lingered in his wife'sroom. He said Polly was feeling rather poorly, and Stephen was glad tosee a look of anxiety cross Deena's face; he rightly judged herthoughts had been diverted from Patagonia to Polly's sofa, and hebreathed once more. What a pleasant luncheon it was, in spite of the lurking dread. Deenawas wearing the old blue dress he had recommended to her the nightbefore. It could not be from coquetry--she was above coquetry--butperhaps she had put it on to recall associations; to remind him of theclose bonds of friendship that existed between them in those pleasantautumn days that followed Simeon's departure. Stephen was not verylearned in the make of women's frocks, but he understood color andcould appreciate how that steely-blue made her complexion glow warm asivory and her hair like copper. They were pretending to quarrel over a dish of salted almonds; Deenadeclared that French was getting the lion's share, and finally coveredthe little silver basket that held them with her hand. On the thirdfinger flashed old Mrs. Ponsonby's diamond in its antiquated silversetting, and below it was her wedding ring, the narrow band thatsymbolized her bondage to Simeon. For the first time since French hadreceived the cable, its possible significance to him took possessionof his mind, and he flushed a dull red and fell into a reverie. In all probability there was no longer any barrier between him and thewoman he loved; nothing to prevent his striving to win her, but theperiod of her mourning--the respect she owed to the memory of ahusband who was the palest shadow of a lover, and not even the ghostof a companion. He wondered whether she had ever guessed hisfeelings--feelings which he had subdued and held under with all thestrength of his nature, partly through fear of forfeiting herfriendship and partly because her charm was in the simplicity of hergoodness. If love had once been named between them, Deena would havebeen other than herself. Her voice roused him. She was excusing herself in order to go to hersister, and leave him and Ben to smoke. He held the door open for herto pass with a profound sense of relief--no suspicion of his awfulsecret had been betrayed. But oh! the comfort of talking it over withBen, of sharing the burden with another! They discussed the meagerannouncement till they had exhausted every probability and foundnothing to hope and everything to fear. "I hope to Heaven he is dead!" cried Ben. "Imagine a man physicallyweak, like Ponsonby, enduring slow starvation in the damp and chill ofthe Patagonian seacoast. It will be a positive relief if we hear hefell overboard. " "Anything is better than uncertainty, " said Stephen, and the speechmust have been from the new point of view, the hope of Deena'sfreedom, for the next moment he was conscious of a wave of shame. "I ought to get an answer from Lopez before night, " he added, risingto go; "and as soon as I hear I will return and let you know. " Ben followed him to the front door, whispering like a conspirator andglancing furtively up the stairs. There was a childish streak in theboy's nature that gloried in a confidence; the joy of the secretnearly made up for the sorrow of the fact. But secrets and sorrowswere soon put out of his head, for a crucial moment had come to theyoung Minthrops--one we anticipate and are never quite prepared for. As he ran upstairs, after seeing Stephen off, he met Deena, evidentlylooking for him. "Oh, Ben, " she said, "Polly is ill, and I have telephoned for----" But she got no further, for her big brother-in-law turned white as afrightened girl, and when he tried to speak no sound came from hislips. "Goose!" said Deena, laying an affectionate hand on his shoulder. "Shall I get a glass of brandy? Do you suppose no one has ever metwith this experience before?" Ben recovered himself with a fit of irritation, which seems thecorollary to being frightened. "Brandy!" he repeated. "Why in thunder should I want brandy? Really, Deena, for a sensible woman, you are given at times to saying the mostfoolish things I ever heard. " * * * * * In the meanwhile, as the afternoon was still early, French was anxiousto find some occupation that might distract his thoughts. He decidedto visit his aunt, whose conversation was usually startling enough tohold the attention of her hearers in any stress of agitation, and thenwhen he was halfway up her steps repented the intention, on the groundthat he needed soothing rather than stimulating; but his retreat wascut off by the good lady coming out of her door and discovering him, and, as she was about to walk round the block for exercise beforetaking her afternoon drive, she promptly claimed his company for bothoccasions. The wind blew her dress up to her ankles as she reached thesidewalk, displaying a pair of pointed-toed, high-heeled boots thatperforce made walking--even round the block--a torturing task. ButMrs. Star was a brave woman, and walking a matter of conscience, soshe tottered along beside her nephew, occasionally laying a hand onhis arm when a bit of icy pavement made her footing more than usuallyuncertain. "How I hate the late winter in New York!" she exclaimed, when a fewminutes later they were seated in her sleigh on their way to the park. "Here we are at the threshold of February, when any self-respectingclimate would be making for spring, and we must count on two monthsmore of solid discomfort. Ah, well, this year I do not mean to faceit. I have had the yacht put in commission, and she sails next weekfor the Mediterranean, where I shall overtake her by one of the Germanboats, and do a little cruising along the African coast. Come with me, Stephen, " she said, coaxingly. "Let this silly school-teaching go. Youare a rich man--why under the sun do you want to work? If you areholding on to Harmouth on account of that pretty Mrs. Ponsonby, itcan't do you much good when she is in New York. Besides, " she added, quite as an afterthought, "it is bad morality, and you ought to beashamed of yourself. " He was about to turn and rend her for what he considered anunpardonable meddling with his affairs, when he saw her eyes fixed onhim with tenderest affection and his anger melted. "Dear Stevie, " she said, "be good-natured and bear an old womancompany--you know you are as dear as my own sons. " She used to call him Stevie when he was a lonely little boy, and shemade her house his home; when all he knew of family life was suppliedby that good-natured, worldly household--the name touched a chord ofmemory that softened his irritation. "I wish I could, Aunt Adelaide, " he answered, "but I have managed totie myself to my work in a way you cannot understand. You will have totake Bob as a companion. " Bob was her only unmarried child, wedded only to his clubs and amateursoldiering, and even less available than Stephen for a cruise. "Bob!" she said, contemptuously. "He never voluntarily went to aforeign country except Cuba, and I don't believe he knows on whichside of the Mediterranean Africa lies! I shall find some one who willbe glad to go with me--perhaps your charming friend, Mrs. Ponsonby, might go. She looks as if she would be a pleasant travelingcompanion. " French's heart tightened as he thought of the horror that stoodbetween Deena and pleasure, and was even debating in his mind whetherit would not be better to tell his aunt the truth, when conversationwas rendered impossible for the moment by the puffing and tooting of agreat automobile advancing toward them down the west drive of thepark--its wheels slipping in a crazy manner, that made the coachman ofMrs. Star's sleigh give it a wide berth. Just as it got abreast ofthem, it became perfectly unmanageable--slewed to the left, made asemicircle which turned it round, and, catching the back of the sleighon its low front, turned the light vehicle over as easily as if it hadbeen made of pasteboard. Mrs. Star allowed herself a shrill shriek as the sleigh went over andthen lay quite still in a heap by the side of the road, with Stephenacross her feet. The automobile seemed to have recovered its serenity, for it now stood still like any well-behaved machine, quiet save forits noisy breathing, while the sleigh was being bumped, on its side, far up the road, at the heels of the outraged horses. French scrambled to his feet and endeavored to help his aunt, who hadraised herself to a sitting posture and was looking white anddisheveled, while she cast furious glances at the motor and its owner. She took her nephew's hands and attempted to rise, but fell back, declaring she had broken her knee, as it hurt her excruciatingly whenshe tried to move it. The owner of the auto now came forward in great contrition to offerhelp and apologies. He was a physician, he explained, hastening to acase of great urgency, and he had taken his automobile as the quickestmeans of covering the distance, though he had known it at times tobehave badly on slippery and snowy roads. The admission was a mistake--it put him in the wrong, and Mrs. Star, who distrusted all modern doctors, felt a consuming rage against thisone in particular. "You must have a strange estimate of a physician's duty if you feeljustified in risking many lives to save one!" she said, haughtily. "Not that you are much worse than the fire engines and ambulances. Weought to add a petition to the litany for safety against oursafeguards, for they kill more than they rescue. " The gentleman bore her sarcasms with becoming humility, and begged tobe allowed to take her home, promising that the machine should executeno more "_Voyages en zigzag_, " and she, ashamed of her temper, forcedherself to decline, with some graciousness, though she made it veryplain that no person on earth could tempt her to get into theautomobile. "At least let him tell you whether your knee is seriously hurt, "Stephen whispered, loath to see the medical help departing. "I'll do nothing of the sort, " retorted Mrs. Star. "A nice spectacleyou would make of me by the roadside! Besides, I am not going to allowmy knee to buy him a new automobile. Thank Heaven, I know how to guardmy pocket against the medical profession--I'll not stir from this spottill he takes himself off. " "Don't be so foolish!" urged French. "If your knee is injured it is avery serious thing. " "Well, it isn't seriously injured, " she said, perversely. "I havechanged my mind, and I mean to have it tied up with witch hazel. " Fortunately her equipage was now seen approaching in the charge of twopark policemen, who had stopped the horses about a mile further on, righted the sleigh and now brought it back not much the worse for themisadventure. The coachman and groom were collected from the bushes, and, as they were quite uninjured, Stephen lifted his aunt into theback seat and they turned their faces homeward. However much the rest of the party may have been inconvenienced, French had certainly attained the object of his solicitude--namely, tohave his thoughts distracted from Simeon Ponsonby. CHAPTER VIII. The second cable from Lopez arrived soon after dinner; it broughtsmall comfort. Its nineteen words told the story but too conclusively. Strayed from party while hunting. Weather turned foggy. Search parties persevered for two weeks. Hope abandoned. Expedition homeward bound. There was no further excuse for concealment; indeed, it was French'splain duty to tell Deena what might be told by the newspapers if hedelayed. It was just nine o'clock, and he walked rapidly to the Minthrops' andrang the bell. Outside an electric cab was waiting, its great lampscasting pathways of light across street and sidewalk. The motorman wasinside; an indication that long waiting had driven him to shelter, though the circumstance had no significance to Stephen. The bell was answered by the butler, who looked portentous and stoodresolutely in the doorway. "Not at 'ome, sir, " he said, in response to Stephen's request to seeMrs. Ponsonby. "Then I must see Mr. Minthrop, " French insisted. The man hesitated and then relaxed his wooden expression. "I beg your pardon, Mr. French. I did not recognize you, sir. Thetruth is, we're a bit h'upset h'inside. Mrs. Minthrop is tuk ill, sir--very sudden--and we're expecting the good word every minute. Ishall tell Mr. Minthrop you called. " Stephen nodded and turned away--the fates had ordained that he was tocarry his secret till the morning. It had been a harassing burden inthe daylight hours, but during the night it became maddening; itseemed beyond his resolution to tell Deena that the pleasure trip hehad set on foot for her husband's advantage had ended in death. As early as he thought permissible, the next morning, he presentedhimself at Ben's door--this time gaining, a cheerful admission--andwas shown to the library on the second floor. There he found the youngfather, radiantly happy, and so self-centered that he had entirelyforgotten the misfortune overhanging his sister-in-law. "Come and see my son, " he said, proudly, and in spite of an expressionof reluctance on the part of French to intrude into the upper regionsof the house, he pushed him ahead of him up the next flight of stairsand knocked softly at the door of a back bedroom. Deena's voice bade them enter, and French was ushered into a largeroom fitted out as a nursery, with the newest appliances for babycomfort. There was a bassinette so be-muslined and be-ribboned andbe-laced that it looked like a ball dress standing by itself in themiddle of the floor; and a bathtub that looked like a hammock; and aweighing machine; and a chart for recording the daily weight; and alarge table with a glass top; and a basket containing all the articlesfor the Lilliputian toilet; while near the fender some doll-likeclothes were airing. Deena was sitting in a low rocking-chair near the fire with her nephewin her arms. She welcomed her visitors with a smile, and turned down acorner of the baby's blanket to display his puckered ugliness toStephen. She was looking happy, tender, proud, maternally beautiful. "Hasn't he a beautifully shaped head?" she demanded, passing her handtenderly over the furry down that served him for hair. "And look athis ears and his hands--was there ever anything so exquisite?" It was French's first introduction to a young human, and he found itslightly repulsive, but Deena, in her Madonna-like sweetness, made hisheart swell. "He is part of an exquisite picture, " he answered. Ben, who had been for a moment with Polly, now came into the room withhis usual noisy bustle, and Deena got up and, surrendering the baby tothe nurse, led the way downstairs. At the library door Stephen paused to whisper to Ben: "Stay with me while I tell her, " in tones of abject fright; but Benshook his head. "Look here, old man, " he said, in mild remonstrance, "if you had had ababy last night, you wouldn't be casting about for fresh troubleto-day--now, would you?" Stephen gave him an indignant glance, and, following Deena, he shutthe library door. He did it in so pronounced a way that she looked upsurprised, and was even more at a loss to account for the gravity ofhis expression; she wondered whether he had thought her rude yesterdaywhen she had disappeared from the table at lunch and had neverreturned, but it was not like French to be touchy. "I left you very unceremoniously yesterday, " she began, "but the nurseappeared for a moment at the door, and I did not want to alarm Ben. You were not offended?" "Believe me, no, " French answered, with a sort of shudder; "for thefirst time in my life I was glad to see you go--your presence wastorture to me--I was concealing something from you, Mrs. Ponsonby, andit has got to get itself told. " While he spoke her expression changed rapidly from amazement to alarm, and she got up and came close to him--waiting--but without a word. "Simeon is lost, " he said, hoarsely, hurling the bald fact at herbefore his courage failed. "I tried to tell you yesterday, " he wenton, drawing the cables from his pocket, "but I couldn't; it all seemedso vague at first, and I ventured to wait until I got more news. " She was standing before him with her hands clasped and her face deadlypale, but with a calm that frightened him. "Do you mean lost at sea?" she asked, in a steady voice--toneless butperfectly clear. He shook his head. "No--on land. He was hunting--it must have been the very hunt we weretalking about--and wandered from his party. A fog came on, and theywere unable to find him. Lopez telegraphs that they sent out searchparties for a fortnight, but could find no trace. " He longed for a word from her, but none came. "At last they abandoned hope, " he concluded. "The expedition is now onits way home. " She had turned her back upon him, and he waited in misery to hear hersob, to see her shoulders shake with her weeping; but, instead, thewhole figure seemed to stiffen, and, wheeling round, she faced himwith blazing eyes. "The cowards!" she cried. "To abandon a man to starvation! What arethey made of to do such a barbarous thing!" "We must not judge them unheard, " Stephen ventured. "Their search mayhave been exhaustive--they may have risked their own lives gladly--andyou know, " he added, gently, "that beyond a certain time it would havebeen useless from the standpoint of saving life. " "It was inhuman to sail away and leave him, " she went on, beating herhands together in a sort of rage. "How can you defend them! You, whosent him off on this horrible journey--how can you sleep in your bedwhen you know Simeon in perishing by inches! I should think you wouldbe on your way now--this moment--to search for him! Oh, dosomething--don't just accept it in this awful way. Haven't you anypity?" Unconsciously she laid her hand on his shoulder, as if shewould push him from the room. Stephen bore her reproaches with a meekness that exasperated her. "Are there no cables to Magellan?" she asked. "There must be somebodythere who for money would do your bidding. Don't waste time, " sheanswered, stamping her foot. Stephen kept his temper. Perhaps he was shrewd enough to see that itwas pity rather than love that gave the fierceness to her mood. It wasthe frenzy of a tender-hearted woman at hearing of an act of crueltyrather than the agony of one who suffers a personal bereavement. "Deena, " he said, not even knowing he had used her name, "do youreally want me to go on this hopeless errand? Think of its utteruselessness--the time that has elapsed, the impossibility ofpenetrating into such a country in the advancing winter. It is thefirst of February, and I could not get there before March; it would bealready their autumn. By this time he has either reached help or he isbeyond it. " At the beginning of his speech Deena's pale face flushed, but as hewent on setting forth the obstacles to his going she seemed to hardenin her scorn. "Oh, yes, " she sneered. "Let him die! It is cold in Patagonia for agently nurtured person like Mr. French. Simeon is poor in friends--heonly had one besides his wife, and that one is a fair-weather friend. But I'll go--I am not afraid of privation. I'll entreat the ArgentineGovernment for help--I'll make friends with the Indians--I'll----" "Hush, " he said, "you have said enough--I will go. " Having gained her point, she burst into tears. "I am cruel, " she said, "selfishly cruel to you, who have been so goodto me--but whom can I turn to except to you? How can we abandon Simeonwithout raising a finger to save him? Say you forgive me. " He held out his hand in mute acquiescence. Her sneers had stung him tothe quick, but her appeal to his manhood for help in her distressmoved him deeply. "Perhaps, " she went on, half to herself, "perhaps if I had been abetter wife--if I had loved him more, I could bear it better--but itis so pitiful. He has always been alone in life, and now he is dyingalone. " Stephen, who was pacing the floor, tried not to listen. He knew shewas not thinking of him when she was confessing her shortcomings toher own conscience, but the admission that she felt herself lacking inlove to Simeon filled him with a deep joy. He did not dare to linger. "I am going, " he said, gently. "Good-by, Deena. Will you pray God tosend you back the man who loves you?" She stood staring at him dumb with misery, but as the door shutbetween them a cry of anguish burst from her very soul. "Come back!" she cried. "Oh, Stephen, come back! I can't bear it! Ican't let you go! Don't you know I love you?--and I have sent you offto die!" She knew that he had gone--that her appeal was to the empty air, andshe flung herself on the sofa in a frenzy of sobs. But the cry reachedStephen in the hall, where he stood battling with himself against hisyearning for one more look, one more word to carry with him, and atthe sound his resolution melted like wax in the flame of his passion. With a bound he was back in the room, on his knees beside her, soothing her with tenderest endearments--pouring out the fullness ofhis love. "Must I go, Deena?" he pleaded. "Must I leave you when I know you loveme? And for what?--a search for the dead!" At his words her conscience woke with a stab of shame. "Yes, go!" she said. "Go quickly. A moment ago I sent you in the nameof compassion; now I send you in expiation for this one intolerableglimpse of Heaven. " * * * * * Stephen, eager to do her bidding, went straight to Mrs. Star's houseto take leave of the only person to whom he owed the obligations offamily affection, and found that redoubtable lady on a sofa in herdressing room. In answer to his expressions of regret at thisintimation of invalidism, she gave an angry groan. "Oh, yes!" she said. "Our medical friend has succeeded in providinganother doctor with as pretty a case of water-on-the-knee--to saynothing of other complications--as he could desire. My only comfortis, he didn't get the charge himself. " "But you have seen a specialist, surely?" exclaimed French, who fearedher hatred of physicians might have prevented her calling in properaid. "Don't distress yourself, " she answered. "McTorture has me fast in hisclutches; and for how long do you suppose? Two months! He will promisenothing short of two months, and even then objects to my going abroad, and the yacht ready to start this very week! I am waiting for Bob tocome into lunch, to get him to send for the sailing master and breakthe news to him. He'll be a disappointed man!" "I will take the yacht off your hands, " said Stephen, casually. "You!" she exclaimed. "Are you running away _from_ or _with_ anybody, that you suddenly annex an ocean steamer? You were prosing onlyyesterday afternoon about work and duty, as if nothing could separateyou from Harmouth. Is the attraction going to bolt with you, Stevie?" Stephen could have killed her as she lay there, allowing her tonguefree play with his most intimate concerns, but the respect due to anold woman, to say nothing of an aunt, restrained his anger, and heanswered, coldly: "If you want to get rid of the yacht for the rest of the year, say so. My friend, Simeon Ponsonby, is lost in the wilderness of Patagonia, and I am organizing a party to search for him. I shall have to resignmy work at Harmouth, but I feel responsible for poor Ponsonby's fate;I sent him on the expedition. " "Ah! did you?" she said, laughing wickedly. "Poor Uriah has beendisposed of, and now the lady sends you to look for his bones. Don'tlook too hard, Stevie, you might find he wasn't lost, after all!" "Stop!" cried French, springing to his feet. "How dare you make a jestof other people's misfortunes? Is there so little decency among yourassociates that you no longer recognize it when you see it?" She had the grace to look ashamed. "Take the yacht, my dear, " she said, kindly, "and if the expense istoo great for your income, you can draw on me for what you like. Can'tyou stand a little teasing from your old aunt?" "I will take the yacht, and pay for it, " said French. "As for theteasing, we seem to have different ideas about what is amusing. " "Then forgive me, " she pleaded, and there were tears in her eyes, "andbe careful of yourself, my dear boy, in this dismal expedition. Takeplenty of furs, and beware of the cannibals. " She won a smile from him as he bent over her sofa to kiss her good-by, but she reserved further comments upon his errantry for Bob. "Quixotic nonsense!" she declared. "Was there ever a man so wise thata woman couldn't make a fool of him?" CHAPTER IX. Could there be a crueler irony of fate than to be absolutely convincedof the widowhood of her you love and to be unable, practically, toestablish the fact? Stephen French had expatriated himself, resigned the work he valued, put the seas between himself and Deena, only to be baffled at everyturn. For two months he had used his utmost acumen in prosecuting thesearch without even finding a clew, and when finally he made his greatdiscovery, it was by yielding to the impulse of the moment rather thanthe suggestions of reason. From March to May Mrs. Star's great ocean-going yacht had steamedalong the southeastern shores of Patagonia. Sometimes within theconfines of the Straits, sometimes rounding its headlands into theAtlantic, and dropping anchor wherever the line of coast gave anyfacility for landing an exploring party, until the hopelessness of thequest was patent to everybody except Stephen. On his way down he had stopped at Buenos Ayres, where he providedhimself with the charts and surveys made by the newly returnedexpedition, and secured Simeon's personal effects left on the_Tintoretto_, together with his diary, scientific memoranda andspecimens, which had been carefully preserved, and were of rare value, from a botanist's point of view. French was fortunate enough to induce both Lopez and the captain ofthe _Tintoretto_ to accompany him as guests, and they provedinvaluable allies, especially the captain, whose topographicalknowledge and recent experience were always to be relied upon. Fromhim Stephen learned all the particulars of Simeon's disappearance, though the last home letter dispatched by the poor fellow, on the eveof the guanaco hunt, covered the first part of the story. It appearedthat Ponsonby had landed with a surveying party from the ship, onemorning in January, on the Patagonian side of the Straits, and set outto botanize while his companions worked. He had climbed a steep bank, in order to secure a particular shrub just in flower, when he saw onthe plain beyond a party of Indians gathered by the shore of a small, fresh-water lake. Most of them were watering their horses, but half adozen were grouped round a man lying on the ground, apparentlyinjured. Their sharp eyes quickly marked Simeon filling his vasculumwith the coveted specimens, and, waving their hands in friendlygreeting, two of them advanced at a gallop. One spoke fairly goodSpanish, and explained that the son of their chief had broken his legby a fall from his horse, and he begged Simeon--whom he conceived, from his occupation of gathering simples, to be a medicine man--tocome to their assistance. Simeon's own Spanish was too poor to undeceive them, but, thinking hemight be of some use, he went back with them, and rigged out a set ofsplints, that made it possible to carry the young man to theirencampment, about a mile away. In gratitude for his services, theyaccompanied him to the ship on his return, mounting him on one oftheir horses and forming a bodyguard round him. It was then that theyproposed the guanaco hunt to the officers of the ship; their own visitto the Straits being simply in pursuit of game. The morning of the hunt the captain described as unusually warm forthat region, even in January, and not particularly clear; there was ahaze that was just not a fog. The Indians met them about a mile backfrom the shore, bringing a dozen extra horses for their guests. Thequietest beast was selected for Ponsonby, but its docility was soquestionable, and the rider's inexperience so evident, that thecaptain persuaded him to give up the chase, and content himself with aride to the encampment to inquire about his patient. The last everseen of him he was sitting on horseback watching the departing hunt. Guanacos in large numbers had been seen on the plains to thenorthwest, whereas the Indian camp lay to the northeast, andPonsonby's route was widely divergent to that of the hunters. All thatwas known is that he never reached the encampment; perhaps he mistookthe trail, and, having left his compass in his cabin, had no means ofascertaining his direction--or perhaps his horse became unmanageableand bolted, carrying him far inland; at all events, his chance withouta compass was poor, for a tremendous rain came on, which lasted forthree days, leadening the sky to an even gray, with no mark of settingor rising sun. At the end of four days the horse he had ridden came into campriderless; its saddle had been removed, probably by Simeon, to make apillow at night, and its whole appearance bespoke long travel. For afortnight the ship's company and the Indians scoured the countryseeking him. They sent up rockets at night, and lighted fires on thehilltops by day; they wearied themselves and the tireless Indians, andat last, knowing the limits of human endurance in a case likePonsonby's, they gave up in despair. All these incidents formed the main topics of conversation in the longevenings in the saloon of the yacht. In addition to Señor Lopez andthe captain of the _Tintoretto_, Stephen had secured the services of ayoung physician with a taste for adventure, and his own sailing masterwas a person of intelligence, so that the little party brought avariety of experience to the councils held on board ship or round thecamp fire when their search carried them so far inland that it wasimpossible to return to the yacht at night. Several times, accompaniedby Pecheray guides, they had been gone for ten days at a time, butnever found a trace of the lost man. There was the faint possibilitythat he had been found and cared for by wandering Indians, but whatwas far more likely was that French might stumble upon the spot wherehe died. Even in that land of beasts and birds of prey something wouldbe left in evidence. The daylight hours were now so few that little could be accomplished, and the cold was becoming severe. A violent snowstorm on the fifteenthof May decided French to give up the search and go home. Accordingly, they steamed out of the Straits of Magellan and turned the vesselnorthward, keeping as near the Patagonian shore as was prudent, in thehope of sighting canoes. They had been steaming in this direction for about three hours, goingslowly and keeping a sharp outlook toward the land, when the captaincalled French's attention to an opening in the coast line, where theGallegos River empties into the sea. An impulse--perhaps it might moretruly be called an inspiration--induced French to order the yachtbrought to anchor in the bay. Although the shore seemed deserted, several canoes filled with Indians immediately put out for the yacht, as was, indeed, their invariable custom. The boats were large, capableof holding six or eight people in the two ends, while in the middlewas the inevitable clay hearth, on which smoldered the fire ofhemlock. As they approached the yacht, the Indians began begging forrum and tobacco, some by gestures and some in a _patois_, in whichSpanish and Indian words were strangely blended; and French, whosepolicy was always to secure their good will, invited them on board andordered the steward to bring spirits and tobacco, and also a plentifulsupply of ship biscuit and sweets. The men were of medium size, and not bad looking, and for the mostpart dressed in loose-fitting mantles of guanaco skins, stained brightred. In spite of the cold, this one garment was their only protection, and even this they would offer in exchange for rum. Knowing theircustoms, French was astonished to find the first man who stepped onboard wearing the coat of civilization under his mantle, and hisastonishment gave way to alarm when he recognized an old checkedcutaway of Simeon's, which had done service for many a winter atHarmouth, and was as unmistakable as the features of its lost owner. While Stephen stared--too agitated to find a word of Spanish---theIndian tossed off half a tumbler of raw whisky at a gulp and, drawingfrom the pocket of poor Simeon's coat a silver flask, he presented itto the steward to be filled with the same genial fluid. The flask wasStephen's parting gift to Simeon, and marked with his name. The excitement now became intense, for the Indians declared that theowner of the coat was alive, and the one who was wearing it, and whoseemed to exercise some authority over the others, began anexplanation in signs. He pointed to a cliff that overhung the stonybeach at the mouth of the river, and, lifting his hand high above hishead; brought it down with a violent gesture, as if to simulate afall. He next motioned toward the canoes, talking volubly all thewhile, though his language was unintelligible to anyone except thecaptain of the _Tintoretto_, who picked out a word here and there. The tribes of the Straits of Magellan and the adjacent coasts varygreatly in their characteristics; some have the impassive bearing weassociate with the Indian, and some are imitative, reproducing soundsand gestures with surprising exactness. It was not difficult to guess that Simeon had fallen over the cliffand been found by the Indians, who are always skirting the shore intheir canoes, and the Spanish captain made out that he was now in oneof their boats higher up the river. When the Indian was asked whetherhe would guide them to the place, he hesitated until bribed by rum andprovisions, and then he agreed to go in his own canoe and bring Simeonto the yacht, where the exchange was to be effected. Why he hesitatedremained a mystery, unless Ponsonby's knowledge of herbs had made himof value to the tribe. French immediately ordered the various tins and boxes, containing thesupply of food promised, to be placed conspicuously on the deck as anearnest of his honesty in the barter, and when a small keg of rum wasadded, the satisfaction was complete; four or five Indians followedtheir leader into his canoe and paddled up the river. They were gone so long--over three hours--that French began to cursehis folly in trusting them, and he was about to follow them up in thelaunch, when he saw their canoe coming round a bend in the stream. Atthe first glance it seemed filled with Indians only, and it was notuntil it was actually alongside that he detected a mummy-like formlying in the stern, which he guessed to be Simeon. Half a dozen sturdy arms made the transfer, by means of a hammock, from the canoe to the yacht, and Simeon, alive but quite unconscious, was laid on the deck. He had probably been subjected by the removal tomore pain than in his enfeebled condition he could bear, and itrequired long and patient exertion on the part of the doctor before hewas revived from his syncope. His condition was pitiable; from an injury to the spine he was ahelpless cripple, while the arm which had been broken in his fall hadknit in a way to render it perfectly useless. He was fearfullyemaciated, probably from the lack of palatable food, and hisexpression was vacant. French gave up his own deck cabin, the most commodious in size, andbefore another hour had passed Simeon was lying in a comfortable bed, clean, warm, devotedly tended, but apparently dying. For forty-eight hours they kept the yacht within the shelter of theriver, fearing the effect of motion on that feeble flame of life, butthe warmth and nourishment soon began to tell, and on the third day herecognized French, and tried to murmur some words of gratitude andpleasure. That night Stephen called the doctor into his own room and shut thedoor. He wanted to put a very simple question, one which might havebeen asked anywhere out of Simeon's hearing, and yet the effort seemedalmost beyond his powers. "Can he live?" The words came in such a hoarse, unnatural voice that the doctor, asensitive man, feared to deal the blow of truth. This was a verymarvel of friendship; like the love of David and Jonathan, it passedthe love of women. The doctor temporized. Mr. Ponsonby had rallied wonderfully; hisconstitution was much stronger than he had been given to understand;it was rather soon to give a definite opinion, but---- Here Stephen interrupted him. "Great God, man! Can't you answer a plain question. Yes or no?" The doctor drew himself up and, to quote his own language, "let himhave it straight. " "If he lives to get home it will be a good deal more than I expect ofhim. " French nodded toward the door, and turned his back. * * * * * That night he relieved the doctor's watch by sitting up with hisfriend, and, having given him his broth at midnight, was almost dozingin his chair when a whisper from Simeon roused him. The sound was sofaint, he held his breath to listen. "Stephen, I want to see Deena. " French's heart began thumping like the screw of his yacht. How hethanked God that he could look his friend in the face as he answered: "So you shall, old man; just as quickly as steam can carry you toher. " A look of satisfaction came into the tired eyes. "It will be a race with death, " he said, "but perhaps--thank you, Stephen. " And he fell asleep. CHAPTER X. With Deena the spring moved drearily. Her position was strangelyanomalous; she was neither wife nor widow, without the right to beglad or sad--only dumbly wretched. She could not mourn for a husbandwho might be living, nor could she ignore the fact that he might bedead, and all the while that parting scene with Stephen burned intoher conscience like a brand. She shut herself up with Polly and the baby, and hardly went out ofthe house while she remained in New York. Love for the child creptdeep into her heart and soothed her into patience when all elsefailed. In May the house in Harmouth returned to her keeping, the lease havingexpired, and she left the Sixty-fifth Street household with reluctanceto take up her old life. In the great city she had been but a humanatom. Her conduct, her unhappiness, her very existence mattered to noone there, except, perhaps, to Ben and Polly, who were as tender andsympathetic as such vigorous people could be; but in Harmouth everycreature was interested in Simeon's fate, and watched Deena with acuriosity she found maddening. She felt herself the main topic of conversation; she never approachedtwo people talking in the street that they didn't break off in guiltyconfusion, and comments upon her mode of dressing and dailyoccupations were continually repeated to her in the form of censure. Her own family were especially out of touch, for their assumption thatshe mourned her husband as Polly would have done made her feel like animpostor. They did not give her much of their company, for their newlyfound fortune made them even more self-centered than theirmisfortunes. Dicky was the exception; perhaps because he had startedin life hard as nails, and so couldn't grow any harder. At all events, Deena thought she discerned a reluctant affection in his greeting thatwas infinitely flattering. Stephen wrote whenever he could catch the Chilian mail boats on theirway through the Straits. His letters were those of a man under thestrong hand of restraint; admirable letters, that filled her withrespect for him and shame at her own craving for "one word more. " On the twenty-fifth of May she had a cable that changed the face ofevents. It was from Montevideo. Have found Simeon. Desperately ill. On our way home. S. FRENCH. The news spread over the town like wildfire. The local paper issued anextra; a thing it had not done since the assassination of Mr. McKinley. As soon as Harmouth knew Mrs. Ponsonby's exact status itbecame distinctly friendly. People are helpful by instinct, and offersof neighborly assistance poured in from all sides. Deena left nothing undone that could, by anticipation, add to Simeon'scomfort. His room was ready, a nurse engaged, and all theparaphernalia belonging to the care of the sick collected long beforethe time due for his arrival. She counted upon seeing him four weeksfrom the date of the cable. The regular trip of the mail boats betweenRio and New York is twenty days; from Montevideo two days more; tothat must be added another day to reach Boston, and she was warnedthat a yacht would go more slowly than a large steamer; she thereforeconcluded the third week in June would bring them. The lot of women is to wait, and they do it under a pressure ofnervous strain that makes it slow torture. No turn of fortune couldhave surprised Deena at this crisis, for her imagination had picturedevery possibility. When a summer storm blackened the sky she saw the yacht tempest-tossedand sinking, driven before a tropical cyclone; when the sun shone, shefancied it sailing gayly into port with Simeon restored to health, expecting to find her as he left her--the willing slave, the carefulhousewife--and she shivered and went pale at the thought; and then ina revulsion of feeling she saw him dying, and she was ready to castherself at his feet, and tell him all--how she had tried to do right, how she had struggled against her love for Stephen. Perhaps he wouldhave mercy upon her and let her go away, all by herself, to wrestlewith her heart. She couldn't eat; she couldn't sleep. She grew so wan and thin she waslike a ghost of her old self. Her mother said: "My dear, you must stop fretting. I am sure, under the care of thatclever young doctor Mr. French took down, and with the comforts of theyacht, your husband will be quite himself by the time he gets home. " And her father added: "You must not be so impatient, Deena; it is mighty nasty sailingthrough West Indian waters, and a boat of that size doesn't carryenough fuel for a prolonged voyage; they will have to stop for coalsomewhere on their way up. " She was growing irritable under her dread. Like Elisha, she longed tosilence them with the answer: "I know it; hold ye your peace. " The middle of June had passed, the fourth week of the voyage hadbegun, and now any day, any hour, might bring news. Deena's anxietyhad made such inroads into her health that her father took alarm andcalled in her old friend Dr. Hassan, and he, wise man, gave her asedative and ordered her to bed, though the afternoon was still young. It was the first long sleep she had had for weeks, and the refreshmentcame at the time of her direst need, for at daybreak the summonsroused her. She waked with a beating heart; wheels stopped in thestreet, her gate clicked, there were footsteps coming up herpath--bold, hurried steps; they reached the veranda--the bell pealed. She sprang from her bed, huddling her dressing gown round her as sheran, and, slipping back the heavy, old-fashioned bolts of the frontdoor, she stood face to face with Stephen. If she were pale, he was paler; his blood seemed turned to ice thatsummer morning. "The yacht is at Wolfshead, " he said. "How soon can you be ready? Wemust go by rail--I have a special waiting for you. " A glow from the first blush of day caught her as she stood in theframe of the doorway. She was like a mediæval saint, with her hairwound in a crown about her head, her blue gown falling in statelyfold, and her bare feet showing under the hem of her nightgown. Inspite of her seeming calm, her eyes blazed with excitement. To French she seemed something holy and apart--as if those bare feetrested on a crescent, and the shadows of the old hall were floatingclouds. He had schooled himself during his hurried journey, in orderto meet her without emotion, but she was her own protection; to havetouched her would have seemed sacrilege. Her lips tried to frame thequestion that consumed her with its terrors. "Simeon----" she began, but her voice failed. Stephen's haggard eyes softened. "He is dying, " he said. "But there is time--perhaps to-day--perhapsto-morrow. His force of will has kept him alive to see you--he hascared more than you knew. " She gave a little sob, and turned toward the staircase. Halfway up shestopped. "I forgot to ask you to come in, " she said, "or whether you wantanything I can get you? But it doesn't matter, does it? All thatmatters is to do Simeon's bidding. I shall be very quick. " In an incredibly short time she was back, fully dressed, and carryinga bag, into which she had thrust what was indispensable to her comfortfor another day. She waked the servant, left a message for her father, and then she and Stephen went out into the street, so gay with earlysunlight and twittering birds, so bare of human traffic. At first astrange shyness kept her dumb; she longed to ask a thousand things, but the questions that rose to her lips seemed susceptible ofmisunderstanding, and Stephen's aloofness frightened her. Did hethink, she wondered, that she could forget her duty to Simeon at sucha moment, that he surrounded himself with this impenetrable reserve?And all the time he was regarding her with a passionate reverence thatshamed him into silence. At the railway station their train was waiting--the locomotive hissingits impatience; they got into the car, for there was but one, and in amoment were flying seaward. A man--the steward of the yacht--was busyat the far end of the car with a cooking apparatus, and the aroma ofcoffee came intoxicatingly to her nostrils. She remembered she hadeaten nothing since her early dinner the day before, and she wasexhausted with excitement, and then she despised herself for thinkingof her physical needs when Simeon lay dying. It was fortunate thatFrench had taken a saner view of the situation, for the coffee wasjust what was needed to restore her equipoise. She began to understand the delicacy of her companion's conduct, andthe simplicity of the whole situation when stripped of morbidness. Theonly thing that behooved her was to soothe her husband's last hours onearth--to give out the tenderness of a pitying heart. As her commonsense asserted itself she began plying Stephen with the questions thathad seemed so impossible half an hour before--would Simeon knowher--could he bear conversation--was he changed in appearance--had hesuffered beyond relief? She demanded the whole story of his rescue andof the voyage home. She was gentle, womanly, infinitely sweet. By thetime they reached their destination all constraint was gone; they weretwo comrades absorbed in a common interest, for Simeon occupied theirevery thought. There was a narrow pier at Wolfshead, sheltered by a point of rockyshore that made a landing for small boats in good weather, and therethe steam launch was waiting with its two trim sailors and its gaudyflag. The yacht was anchored about a mile from shore--her gracefuloutlines clearly defined against the ocean's blue. If the purity ofher white paint had suffered in the long voyage it was notapparent--red and white awnings were stretched over the deck. Alllooked hospitably gay. Once more Deena shrank into herself, thebrilliant scene mocked the tragedy within. All too quickly they crossed the intervening water; they were on thedeck--in the saloon. She was trembling so she could hardly stand, andStephen put her into a comfortable chair and left her, while he madeher coming known. She hardly glanced at the luxurious fittings of thecharming room; her eyes were fixed on the door, dreading, yetimpatient, for the message. A small, sensitive-looking man came toward her and introduced himself. "I am Dr. Miles, " he said, "Mr. Ponsonby's physician, and, if you willallow me, I will take you to him now. There is no question of savinghis strength, Mrs. Ponsonby. We have been nursing what is left to himfor days, in order that he could lavish it in this interview with you. Don't try to curb him; let him have his say. " She followed him to a deck cabin almost under the bridge, and stoodfor a moment at the threshold, to make sure of her composure. Therewas a narrow brass bed, a chest of drawers, a washstand, and close tothe bed a wicker chair, with silk cushions, was drawn up, as if inexpectation of a guest. The head of the bed was toward her, so thatshe couldn't see Simeon's face, but he heard the rustle of skirts, andcalled her name, and she made a step forward and sank on her kneesbeside him. "Oh, Simeon, " she gasped, "how you have suffered! I am so sorry!" He moved his hand feebly and patted her shoulder, and she, in apassion of pity, carried it to her lips. For the first time sheventured to look at him. Was this Simeon! She would have passed him ina hospital ward as an utter stranger, so completely was he changed. Hehad discarded his spectacles, and his eyes were dull and faded; painhad robbed them of that expression of concentrated wisdom she knew sowell. He wore a short, curling beard and mustache, and his clothing, supplied from Stephen's wardrobe, was luxurious; it was silk, of afaint color between blue and gray, and the handkerchief, protrudingfrom the pocket, was delicately fine. Extreme neatness wascharacteristic of Simeon, but he disliked anything florid in dress orappearance, anything opposed to the austere simplicity that marked hismanner of living. She wondered whether such things mattered to himnow. He noticed her start of surprise as her eyes met his, and fancied shewas shocked by the ravages of illness, for he said, with a touch ofhis old irritation: "Didn't they tell you I was dying? Are you afraid to be left alonewith me? You used to be a courageous person, Deena. " The querulousness with which he began the sentence melted into arallying smile. "Oh, no, " she said, "I am not afraid. I am too sorry to befrightened. " "There is a bell, in case you want to summon the doctor, " hecontinued, "but I should rather talk to you alone. I have been veryhomesick for you, and for the old house--sometimes the longing hasbeen most acute--and then the anxiety of leaving you poorly providedfor has been part of my distress. If I could have lived a few yearsmore this would have been obviated, and possibly, even now, my bookwill add something to your income. " He made a visible effort to speakclearly. "Now, in regard to your future support; I have a lifeinsurance of ten thousand dollars, and securities to about the sameamount--and then, of course, the house. This is all I have been ableto save, though I have cut our living down to bare necessities. Youhave been of great assistance to me, Deena--without you life wouldhave had little flavor, but sometimes I fear that in the desire toprovide for your future I was not considerate enough of your present. I ought to have been more mindful that young people need pleasure. Youwill have to forgive that and many other mistakes. " He looked at heralmost wistfully. Deena's tears came, dripping plentifully over her clasped hands. "It is I who should ask forgiveness, " she said, humbly, rememberinghow often she had scorned his economies. "The money is more than Ishall need--don't think of it again, Simeon. Isn't there anything youwant to tell me about your work--your book?" His face lit up eagerly--the topic was congenial. "My papers are safe, " he said. "All the initial work of classificationand description that I did on the _Tintoretto_ is in French's keeping, and he and Sinclair--the man who has my place--are going to edit thebook. We have had a great deal of talk about it on the way up, whenever I had a fairly quiet day. It is idle to try to put into wordswhat I owe French. " "And he feels nothing but self-reproach for having urged you to go, "said Deena, faintly. "Not that anyone could have foreseen themiserable outcome. " "It isn't miserable!" Simeon answered, almost fiercely. "In manyrespects it is all that I hoped. I have made a name for myself--therewill not be a scientific library in the world without my book, whenonce it is issued. People have died for lesser achievements thanthat. " And then he added, more gently: "Not that it could beconsidered as an achievement without French's aid. " His mind could not detach itself from its debt of gratitude, for hesuddenly broke out in passionate eulogy. "He has sacrificed everything to me--his ambitions--his time--hiscomfort--his money, though that is the last thing he would begrudge, but you have no idea what it costs to run one of those large yachts!It must have made an inroad even in his large fortune. He has been afriend indeed!" Deena turned away her face; it was hard for her to praise Stephen, although her heart echoed her husband's words. "He has high ideals in friendship as in everything else, " sheanswered, "but you must remember, Simeon, that the thought of yoursufferings agonized us at home. Who could have abandoned you to such afate? It makes me sick to think of it!" A sort of shiver passed over him, while he said, simply: "It was all in the day's work. French ran the same risks, only withbetter luck. " Presently he added: "I feel tired, Deena--and a little oppressed. Perhaps you had betterring the bell--but stay. Will you kiss me before you ring?" She kissed him with a pity that wrung her heart, and he sighedcontentedly and shut his eyes. He only spoke once more, just as thedoctor came to his bedside. "I should have been glad to see the old house before I die, but it isjust as well as it is. " He was dying all the afternoon, peacefully and gently, and at sunsetthe end came. CHAPTER XI. Master Richard Shelton sat at the foot of his sister's tabledispensing its hospitalities chiefly to himself. Through some lawunknown to science, all dishes seemed to gravitate toward the maincenter of Dicky's trencher, thereby leaving the rest of the tablecomparatively bare. For eighteen months Master Shelton had given Mrs. Ponsonby theadvantage of his company; not so much through volition--albeit, he waswell enough pleased with his quarters--as through submission topaternal authority. Conventional ideas are apt to wilt under the blight of poverty, and torevive under the fuller harvesting of this world's goods, and Mr. Shelton, Sr. , who had, in the days of his leanness, let Polly run wildwith all the college boys of Harmouth, became suddenly particular, ashis bank account fattened, in regard to the niceties of conduct in hisdaughters. His scruples even embraced Deena; he said she was too younga widow to live alone, and a blank sight too handsome, and that eithershe must return to the protection of his roof or else receive herbrother under her own. With the docility of the intelligent, sheaccepted his fiat, but chose the evil represented by a unit ratherthan by the sum total of family companionship. So she and Dicky had lived together since the day when Simeon had beenlaid to rest beside his mother in the churchyard, and Deena had takenup life with such courage as she could muster in the old house. Shehad started out with a long illness, as the result of overtaxednerves, and the nurse who had been engaged for Simeon found ampleemployment with Simeon's widow; but a good constitution and a quietmind are excellent helps toward recovery, and by September she foundherself in admirable health. Stephen's energies had been absorbed in editing Simeon's book. He hadthe assistance of the botanical department of Harmouth, and the bookwas produced in a manner which would have given poor Ponsonby infinitepleasure. French spared no expense, especially in the color drawingsfrom Simeon's photographs and specimens, which were exceptionallyvaluable. The printing was done in Boston, and Stephen was there muchof the time. During Deena's illness he was glad of an excuse to benear enough to get daily reports of her progress, but as she becamestrong and resumed the routine of living, so that intercourse becameunavoidable, he found the strain of silence more than he could bear. He resigned his professorship permanently, and went abroad, making thebook his excuse. He wished to see that it was properly heralded byboth English and Continental scientific periodicals, and he preferredto attend to it himself. To say that Deena missed him but feeblyexpresses the void his going made in her life, but, knowing her ownheart, and suspecting the state of his, she was glad to be spared hispresence in these early days of widowhood, and could not but approvehis decision. Dicky's society was hardly calculated to stifle her longings forhigher things, for his conduct called for constant repression. Atfirst he had nearly driven her wild by his prying interest in what didnot concern him, his way of unmasking her secret thoughts, his powersof seeing round corners, if not through sealed envelopes, but as timewent on she grew fond of his honest boy-nature, and learned to laughat his precocious acuteness. Perhaps with Stephen's departure therewere fewer occasions for her to resent the challenge of his intrusiveeye. There were, also, alleviations coincident with the school year, for then she was free from his company from the time he slammed thefront door, at five minutes to nine, till he returned at two, ravenousfor dinner. On the particular morning indicated at the beginning of the chapter, the season was the late autumn--the clock was pointing ominously nearnine--the lady opposite to Master Shelton looked more beautiful thanever in her widow's weeds. Dicky conveyed half a sausage and a wedgeof buttered toast to the sustenance of boyhood before he asked--withsome difficulty, if the truth were confessed: "May I take a bunch of grapes to school, Deena?" She was about to give a cheerful consent, when he defeated his ownends by adding: "None of the other boys have hothouse grapes; it makes 'em think a lotof me. I guess they know where they come from, too!" "In those circumstances, certainly not, " she answered, indignantly. "You can eat all you like at home. " "Well, I call that low-down mean, " he said, stabbing another sausage, "and you gettin' all the fruit and flowers from Mr. French's placesent to you every day. I wish Polly and Ben were there still--theywouldn't begrudge me a little fruit. " Polly and Ben had taken Stephen's place for the summer, during hisprotracted absence, and had but recently returned to New York. "Polly and Ben would despise your snobbishness just as I do; besides, I do not approve of your taking eatables to school, " she added, disingenuously, for her objection was to furnishing food for Harmouthgossip--not to Dicky. "Oh, pshaw!" he exclaimed. "As if I didn't know why you won't let metake 'em! Mr. French will give me anything I ask for when he getshome--that's one comfort. Did you know he may be here any day? The manwho brought the flowers told me so yesterday. " Deena's complexion flushed a lively pink, or else it was thereflection from the wood fire, leaping in tongues of flame behind thetall brass fender. She certainly looked singularly girlish as she satbehind the array of Ponsonby breakfast silver, her severe black frock, with the transparent bands of white at throat and wrists, only servingto mark her youthful freshness. Her beauty was of little consequenceto her brother, who was busy considering the advantages that mightaccrue to himself from Stephen's return. "When Mr. French went away, he said I could ride his saddle horse, andthough I've been there half a dozen times since Ben left, that oldbeast of a coachman won't let me inside the stable. Will you tell Mr. French when he comes home what an old puddin' head he's got to lookafter his horses? The man ought to be kicked out!" "I shall hardly venture to complain to Mr. French about his servants, "said Deena. "You might be good-natured, " he urged; "here's the whole autumn gonewithout my getting any riding, and Mr. French would do anything youasked----" "It is time for you to go to school, " said Deena, shortly. "No, it isn't; not for three minutes yet, " he contradicted. "'Tennyrate, I don't mean to be early this morning--it's jography, and Idon't know my lesson; but I do think you might speak about the horse, Deena; I never get a bit of sport worth countin'"--this in a high, grumbling minor. "There was Ben; he had his automobile here the wholesummer, and never offered it to me once! The fellows all think it wasawfully mean--I had promised to take them out in it, and it made mefeel deuced cheap, I can tell you. The idea of using a machine likethat just to air a kid every day! I guess it pumped it full of wind, anyhow--that's one comfort. " "If you are going to say disagreeable things about the baby, I won'tlisten to you, " said Deena, crossly, and then, ashamed of herpetulance, added: "Run along to school, dear; the sooner you get someknowledge into that little red head of yours, the sooner you can haveautomobiles and horses of your own. " "Those of my brothers-in-law will suit me just as well, " he said, favoring her with a horrid grimace, as he wiped his mouth on a rope ofnapkin held taut between his outstretched fists. "Perhaps I had betterlet Mr. French know myself what I expect in the future. " "Perhaps you'll mind your own business!" cried Deena, driven to fury. He left the room singing in a quavering treble: I'll pray for you when on the stormy ocean With love's devotion. That's what I'll do. It was a song with which a nursemaid of the Shelton children had beenwont to rock the reigning baby to sleep, and had lurked in Dicky'smemory for many a year. Poor Deena was thoroughly ruffled. It was maddening to have a love sheheld as the most sacred secret of her heart vulgarized by a boy'scoarse teasing, and, in addition, she was jealous of her owndignity--anxious to pay her dead husband proper respect--distressed atthe possibility of Stephen's thoughtful kindness becoming a subject ofcomment in the town. And yet what difference did it make? This carefully guarded secret would be public property by her ownconsent before a week was over, for Dicky's announcement of French'sreturn was no news to Deena--at that very moment her heart was beatingagainst a letter which assured her he was following fast upon itstracks, and when he came he was not likely to prove a patient lover. All through that second summer his letters had been growing moretender, more urgent, till at last he had taken matters into his ownhands, and decided that their separation must end. For aught she knew, his vessel might already have reached New York--he might be thatblessed moment on his way to Harmouth! The thought sent little thrillsof happiness bounding through her veins. She had a shrewd idea hewould appear unannounced by letter or telegram, but notto-day--certainly not to-day--she reflected. There were plenty of small duties waiting for her that morning, but inwoman's parlance she "couldn't settle to anything"; there was anexcitement in her mood that demanded the freedom of fresh air. Shewent up to her bedroom and stood for a moment at her window beforeyielding to the impulse that beckoned her out into the sunshine; and, drawing Stephen's letter from her dress, she read it once more, tomake sure she had missed no precious hint as to the time of hissailing. He wrote: May I come back? You must know all I mean that to imply--to come back, my best beloved, to you--to order my life in accordance to your pleasure--to marry you the day I set foot in Harmouth--or to wait impatiently till you are pleased to give yourself to me. I trust your love too entirely to fear that you will needlessly prolong the time. You are too fair-minded to let mere conventions weigh with you as against my happiness. Between you and me there must be no shams, and yet I would not shock or hurry you for the world. On second thoughts, I shall not wait for your permission to return--that is not the best way to gain one's desires! No, I shall come before you can stop me, and while you are saying to yourself, "Perhaps he is on the ocean, " I may be turning in at your gate. What did she mean to do? she asked herself, with a smile that was itsown answer. She went into her closet, and, fetching her crape hat from the shelf, began pinning it on before the glass. Its somber ugliness accorded illwith the brightness of her hair, and somehow her hair seemed to turnmourning into a mockery. She couldn't help recalling an incident that had happened two yearsbefore, when she had seen herself in that same glass transformed intosudden prettiness by Polly's skillful fingers, and how her pleasure inher appearance had been turned into humiliation by Simeon's pettytyranny, when she asked him to pay for her hat. And then she wasashamed of her own thoughts--distressed that she had let the paltryreminiscence force itself into her mind; for great happiness shouldput us in charity with all. Never again would she allow an unkindremembrance to lodge in her thoughts. She shut the door of her room and hurried out into the street--therewas so much indoors to remind her of what she most wished to forget. When Stephen came for her they would go away from Harmouth--just for alittle while, till the memories faded--and, in a future of perfectlove, think kindly, gratefully, pitifully, of Simeon. You see, she was desperately in love, poor child, and at last heartand conscience were in accord. Her feet fairly danced up the street; she moved so lightly she hardlyrustled the carpet of fallen leaves that overspread the pavement. Itwas a glorious day, the sun was touching all prosaic things with gold, and up in heaven, against the interminable blue, little white cloudssailed in dapples, such as Raphael charged with angel faces, and everyface seemed to smile. Wandering across the campus, under the stately arches of the collegeelms, she finally reached the open country, and, realizing that eventhe wings of happiness are mortal, she turned homeward, choosing theavenue that led past French's place. Perhaps she hoped for reassuringsigns of his coming--doors and windows thrown open and gardeners atwork upon the ground--but before she got beyond the high hedge thatcut off her view, a carriage, which she recognized as Stephen's, droverapidly toward the gate, and in it sat a lady, stately and grand, butso closely veiled as to defy both sun and curiosity. At a sign fromher the carriage stopped, and a voice exclaimed: "I have just been to see you, Mrs. Ponsonby, and was so muchdisappointed to find you out--and so was some one else, I fancy, who Iam sure has been at your house this morning! Pray get in and drivehome with me. And I will send you back to town after you have paid mea little visit. " Deena had by this time recognized Mrs. Star, and recoveredsufficiently from her surprise to take the offered seat in thecarriage, but she was in such a tumult of hope and fear she hardlydared trust herself to do more than greet her old friend. Mrs. Starunderstood quite well, and gave her time to recover her wits by acharacteristic harangue. "How am I?" she repeated, sardonically. "Lame for life! I have nevergot over McTorture's treatment, and never shall. Oh, no, it was notthe original accident--that was an innocent affair--it is the resultof McTorture's nonsense in keeping me chained to my sofa in oneposition till my leg stiffened. But never mind about doctors; they'reall alike--bad's the best! You look handsome and healthy enough tokeep out of their clutches; tell me all about yourself. " "There is never anything to tell about me, " said Deena. "I am muchmore concerned to know why you are here. " Mrs. Star's eyes softened. "Because Stephen wouldn't stop long enough in New York for me toexchange ten words with him, and so I did the next best thing--indeed, the only thing I could do to satisfy my affection--I came with him;and upon my word, I do not think he wanted me! Now, how do you accountfor that, Mrs. Deena?" Her expression was so insinuating that Deena might be excused a slightirritation in her tone as she answered: "I don't account for it. " Here they reached the front door, for the approach was a short one, and Mrs. Star got out laboriously and ushered her guest into the hall. "Do you know your way to the library?" she asked. "It is on the otherside of this barn of a room, and if you will make yourself comfortablethere, I will join you in a minute. The truth is, we are not in order, and I must give a message before I can have the conscience to sit downand enjoy a chat. " Deena's eyes were still blinded by the midday glare, but she managedto cross the great drawing room without stumbling over an ottoman, and, pushing aside the heavy curtain that shut off the library, shewalked directly into Stephen's arms. As Mrs. Star saw fit to leave her undisturbed, it would be sheerpresumption for a humble person like the writer to disregard thatcompelling example. Suffice it to say that for one hour Stephen'shorses stamped and champed in the stable, and that when finally Mrs. Star did appear, the occupants of the library were under theimpression she had been gone barely long enough to take off her wraps. Perhaps no mortals deserve happiness, and certainly few attain it, butif ever a man and a woman were likely to find satisfaction in eachother's companionship, it was the lovers sitting hand in hand beforeStephen's fire. Most women of twenty-four have had some experience of love as apassion; they have known its fullness or its blight, or more oftenstill, they have frittered it away in successive flirtations, but withDeena it had come as a revelation and been consecrated to one. To besure, she had tried to crush and repress it, but it had persistedbecause of its inherent force. And with Stephen the passion was atonce the delight and glory of his life. His was no boy's love made upof sentiment and vanity; he had brought a man's courage to follow dutyto the borders of despair, and all the while he held the image of herhe loved unsullied in his heart. At last they were free to take allthat life had before withheld of sympathy and friendship and perfectunderstanding. What wonder that an hour should slip away before theyrealized the flight of time? Mrs. Star received her nephew's announcement with suitable effusion, and with an undercurrent of genuine feeling. After kissing Deena, shemade a confidence that had a spice of kindly malice. "My dear child, " she said, "I knew so well what was about to happen, that I came all the way from New York in order to welcome you into thefamily, and I think I showed great self-restraint not to tell you soin the carriage when you put that very direct question as to whatbrought me. " CONCERNING THE HEART'S DEEP PAGES By SEWELL FORD _Author of "Horses Nine, " Etc. _ When Dickie's mother put him in my charge for the summer she said:"Keep him out of as much mischief as you can. " This seemedunnecessary, for, really, Dickie was a well-mannered, good-lookingyoung fellow, with broad shoulders, a clear skin and a clean heart. Isaid as much. "Oh, you old bachelors!" laughed Dickie's mother, and sailed away tospend her second season of widowhood abroad. Dickie and I were just taking a look at the country surrounding oursummer headquarters when we found Rosie. Balancing herself on agatepost and eating cherries was Rosie. It must be admitted that shedid both of these things with a certain grace, also that the pictureshe made had its charm. For she was probably sixteen, with all thatthe age implies. Of course, one could not expect Dickie to be at all impressed. Certainly I did not. "Girls!" Here followed an ominous inbreathing, ending in an explosive"Huh!" This was Dickie's expressed attitude toward the sex. For Dickiewas nineteen, which is the scornful age, you know. What are girls whena fellow is going to be a soph. In the fall, with the prospect ofplaying quarterback on the 'varsity eleven? As we neared the girl on the gatepost Dickie gave her a carelessglance. She certainly deserved better. There was the sifting sunshinein her hair and there were her white, rounded arms reaching up to pulldown a fruit-laden branch. Perhaps the girl on the gatepost felt theslight of Dickie's unappreciative glance, perhaps not. At any rate, she was unstirred. "Want one?" she asked, saucily dangling a cherry at us. Red as the cherry went Dickie's face, and he marched stiffly pastwithout reply. Once we were out of earshot, he remarked, with deepdisgust: "What a freshy!" "Yes, but rather pretty, " said I. "Think so? Now, I don't. " This with the air of a connoisseur. "But shedid have good eyes. " "Yes, " I agreed. "I like brown ones myself. " "Brown?" protested Dickie. "They were blue, dark blue and big--thedeep kind. " "Oh, were they?" In my tone must have been that which caused Dickie tosuspect that I was teasing him. "You bet she knows it, too, " he added, vindictively. "Conceitedbeggars, these girls. " "Awfully, " I assented. Then, after a pause: "But I thought you werefond of cherries?" "So I am. If she'd been a boy, I would have tried to buy a quart. " "She seemed to want you to have some, " I suggested. "Perhaps she wouldsell you a few. " Dickie glanced at me suspiciously. "Think so? I've a mind to go backand try. Will you wait?" I said I would; in fact, it was the only thing to be done, for he wasoff. So I sat down and watched the scorner of girls disappear eagerlyaround a bend in the road. At the end of a half hour of waiting Ibegan to speculate. Had Dickie's courage failed him, had he taken tothe woods, or was he upbraiding her of the gatepost for the sin ofconceit? I would go and see for myself. All unheeding the rest of the world, they were sitting at the foot ofthe cherry tree. The "conceited beggar" of the deep blue eyes wastrying to toss cherries into Dickie's open mouth. When she missed itbecame Dickie's turn to toss cherries. The game was a spirited one. Dickie appeared to be well entertained. "I thought you had forgotten me, " said I, mildly. Dickie's laugh brokesquare in the middle, and he smoothed his face into a boredexpression. "Her name is Rosie, " this was the substance of the stammeredintroduction. "Indeed!" I replied. "And you were right about her eyes; they _are_blue. " Dickie flushed guiltily and hastily got on his feet. "Come on, " he said; "I guess we'd better be going. " Very frankly Rosie looked her opinion of me as we left. It wasinteresting to note the elaborate strategy used by Dickie to concealthe fact that he waved his handkerchief to her. There ensued a longsilence between us, but of this Dickie seemed unconscious. He broke itby whistling "Bedelia" two notes off the key. "It's too bad, Dickie, " I said, finally, "that you dislike girls somuch. " "They're a silly lot, " said Dickie, with a brave effort at a tireddrawl. "But Rosie, now----" "Oh, she's not like the rest of them. She's rather jolly. " "Conceited little beggar, though, I suppose?" "No, sir; not a bit. She's just the right kind. " Then Dickie flushedand the conversation lapsed suddenly. We were to go sailing on the river next morning, but when the timecame Dickie pleaded delay. He had "promised to take a book to afriend. " He would be back in a few minutes. Two hours did Dickie takefor that errand, and I began to think that perhaps my joking had beenunwise. Dickie now entered upon a chronic state of being "togged up. " Hetreasured faded flowers, raising hue and cry because the maid threwout a wilted peony which he had enshrined in a vase on his chiffonier. Once he almost fell into the river rescuing an envelope which hadslipped from his pocket. The treasure it contained seemed to be a lockof dark hair. His spending money went for fancy chocolates, which Idid not see him eat. Such were the beginnings of this tremendous affair. Very gentle and serious Dickie became in these days, moods new to him. Also he took to reading poetry. Scott's "Marmion, " about the onlypiece of verse with which he had been on speaking acquaintance, heabandoned for fragments of "Locksley Hall" and "Lucille. " His musicaltaste underwent like change. The rollicking college airs he wasaccustomed to whistle with more vigor than accuracy gave place to"Tell Me, Pretty Maiden, " and "Annie Laurie. " These he executed quiteas inaccurately, but--and this was some relief--in minor key. Sitting in the sacred hush of the moonlight, we had long talks onsober subjects not at all related to "revolving wedges" and "guardsback formation, " on which he had been wont to discourse. With uneasyconscience I meditated on the amazing alchemy, potent in young andtender passion. One morning a grinning youngster with big blue eyes, like Rosie's, handed me a note. It was rather sticky to the touch, by reason of thecandy with which the messenger had been paid. It bore no address. "Darlingest Dearest----" Thus far I read, then folded it promptly andput it in my pocket. The note was still there the next afternoon when, jibing our sail, wecame abruptly on an unexpected scene. In a smart cedar rowboat, suchas they have for hire at the summer hotel, an athletic youth wielded apair of long, spruce oars. Facing him, with her back toward us andleaning comfortably against the chair seat in the stern, was a prettygirl in white. "Why, " said I, with perhaps a suspicion of relief, "I believe that isRosie. " Dickie, gripping the tiller hard, was staring as one in a trance. Mywords roused him. "Rosie? What Rosie?" said he. "Why, the one who gave you the cherries. " "Is it?" asked Dickie, stoically. Then, with studied carelessness anddevilish abandon: "I say, old man, toss me a cigar, will you? I feellike having a smoke. " After dinner I found Dickie in his room. There was a scent of burnedpaper in the air and fresh ashes were in the grate. The mercury wasclose to ninety. "Chilly?" said I. Dickie laughed unconvincingly. "No, just burning some old trash. Wantto take a tramp?" I did. Was it chance or the immutable workings of fate which took usin time past the house of the cherry tree? In a porch hammock wasRosie, a vision of budding beauty only half clouded in flimsy lawn andlace. Yet with never a turn of the head Dickie swaggered by, talkingmeanwhile to me in tones meant to carry an idea of muchlight-heartedness. Over my shoulder I noted that Rosie was standingwatching us, a puzzled look on her face. "Dick!" It was rather a faint call, but loud enough to be heard. "She's calling you, " said I. "Wait, Dickie!" This time there was an aggrieved, pleading note, against which the stern Dickie was not proof. "Well, " said he, "I suppose I'd better see what she wants. Will youwait?" "No, I will go on slowly and you can catch up with me. Don't be long, Dickie. " But a full hour later, when I returned, he was just starting. Fromsome distance up the road I could see them. On the veranda Rosie'smother rocked and worked placidly away at something in her lap. Quitesedately they walked down the path until a big hydrangea bush, studdedthickly with great clumps of blossoms, screened them from the house. Then something occurred which told me that the boating incident andthe unanswered note had either been forgiven or forgotten. I dodgedout of sight behind a hedge. When I thought it safe to come out, Dickie was swinging up the road toward me, whistling furiously. Clawing my shoulder, he remarked: "Say, old man, what do you think ofher?" "Think of whom?" "Why, Rosie. " "Rosie! What Rosie? Oh, you mean the one who gave you the cherries?" "Yes, of course. Say"--this impulsively in my ear--"she's the sweetestgirl alive. " "From what I saw just now, " said I, "I should say that you were quitecompetent to pass on Rosie's flavor. You took at least two tastes. " "I don't care if you did see, " said Dickie. "Suppose you can keep asecret? We're en----" "You young scamp!" I exclaimed. Visions of an ambitious and angrymother came to me with abrupt vividness. "You don't mean to tell methat you two----" "Yep, we are. But no one is to know of it until I've graduated. " Interesting news for me, wasn't it? Well, by means of discreetdeception and the use of such diplomacy as would have settled adispute between nations, I dragged Dickie far away that very night. Moreover, although it was the most difficult and thankless task I hadever undertaken, I kept him away until I had seen him safely bestowedin a college dormitory. There I left him constructing, in defiance ofall the good advice I had given him, an elaborate missive to a personwhom he addressed as "My Darling Rosie. " Then I knew that I might aswell give up. Sorrowfully I recalled the words of a forgottensentimentalist: "It is on the deep pages of the heart that Youthwrites indelibly its salutary to Cupid. " When I met Dickie's mother at the pier in October, I expected to hearthat he had written all about my wicked interference in the Rosieaffair. He hadn't, though, and I shamelessly accepted her thanks, wondering all the while what she would say when the shocking truthcame out. Her Dickie engaged! And to a nameless nobody! It would notbe pleasant to face Dickie's mother after she had acquired thisknowledge. So at the end of the term I was on hand to help Dickie pack his trunk, meaning to save him, by hook or crook, from his precociousentanglement. I should try reason first, then ridicule, and, lastly, Iwould plead with him, as humbly as I might, to forget. This program I did not carry out. On the mantel in Dickie's room, propped against a tobacco jar, was a photograph of a girl with fluffyhair and pouting lips. Observing that Dickie wrapped the picturecarefully in a sweater before tucking it away in his trunk, I asked:"Who is that, Dickie?" "Met her at the Junior hop, " said Dickie. "She's a queen, all right. " "Indeed!" Then I added, anxiously: "And what of Rosie?" "Rosie?" Could this blankness on Dickie's face be genuine? "WhatRosie?" "Why, the one who gave you the cherries. " "Oh, _that_ one!" Dickie laughed lightly. "Why, that's all off longago, you know. " Right there I abandoned all faith in a sentimental theory having to dowith Cupid and certain pages in the heart of Youth. SONG I gave to love the fairest rose That in my garden grew; And still my heart its fragrance knows-- Does he remember, too? He laid his dreams upon my day, His kisses on my mouth, I woke, to find him flown away With summer to the south. Love's vagrant step once more to greet, My garden blooms in vain; The roses of the south are sweet-- Love will not come again! The roses of the south are sweet-- Love will not come again! CHARLOTTE BECKER. AN EDITORIAL SYNOPSIS OF CHAPTERS I--XIII OF "THE DELUGE, " BY DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS Matthew Blacklock, the central figure of the story, is essentially aself-made man, who has made himself a power to be reckoned with. He isa man of great natural force, immense egotism, insatiable greed fornotoriety and unswerving adherence to his own standards of morality. He has two devouring ambitions: First to become one of the innercircle that controls high finance and second to become one of theelect in society. The opening chapters explain these ambitions. The magnate of thefinancial world is Roebuck, who has from time to time made use ofBlacklock's peculiar abilities and following. The latter has becomeimpatient and dissatisfied with his role as a mere instrument anddemands of Roebuck that he shall be given a place among the "seats ofthe mighty. " Roebuck makes a pretense of yielding to the demand. Blacklock's social ambition is awakened and stimulated by his meetingwith Anita Ellersly, the sister of a young society man who has beenthe recipient of many financial favors from Blacklock. The latter finally succeeds in his wish so far as to receive aninvitation to dinner at the Ellerslys', which is given for reasonsthat are obvious. It is made plain to him, however, that hisintentions with respect to Anita are extremely distasteful to her, andafter an evening spent under a tremendous nervous strain he leaves thehouse exhausted and depressed. His first impulse after his visit to the Ellerslys' house is to regardhis plans as hopeless, but his vanity comes to his rescue andstrengthens his resolution to succeed. For assistance he turns toMonson, the trainer of his racing stable, an Englishman in whom he hasdiscovered unmistakable signs of breeding and refinement. UnderMonson's tuition he makes rapid progress in adapting himself to therequirements imposed upon aspirants for social distinction. His absorption in these pursuits leads to his unconscious neglect ofsome of the finer points of his financial game. He allows himself tobe misled by the smooth appearance of the friendliness of MowbrayLangdon, one of Roebuck's trusted lieutenants, and accumulates a heavyshort interest in one of his pet industrial stocks. He visits Roebuckand is deceived by the latter's suavity. He has another invitation todine at the Ellerslys', but his experience is as discouraging asbefore. Nevertheless, having now become hopelessly in love with Anita, hepersists in his attentions and finally becomes engaged to her, thoughit is perfectly understood by both that she does not love him andaccepts him only because he is rich and her family is poor. Meantime, he has to some extent lost his hold upon his affairs in WallStreet and suddenly awakens to the fact that he has been betrayed byLangdon, who, knowing that Blacklock is deeply involved in a shortinterest in Textile Trust stock, has taken advantage of the latter'spreoccupation with Miss Ellersly to boom the price of the stock. Withruin staring him in the face, Blacklock takes energetic measures tosave himself. He makes the startling discovery that Langdon is the personresponsible for the rise in Textile, the object being to drive himfrom the Street. He sees Anita, tells her the situation and frees her, but she refuses to accept her release when she hears of Langdon'sduplicity. With the aid of money loaned to him by a gambler friend, he succeedsthe next day, by means of large purchases of Textile Trust, inpostponing the catastrophe. Calling at the house of the Ellerslys', he has a violent scene withMrs. Ellersly, who attempts to break the engagement between him andAnita, but it ends in his taking her with him from the house. THE DELUGE A STORY OF MODERN FINANCE By DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS [FOR SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS SEE PRECEDING PAGE] As we neared the upper end of the park, I told my chauffeur, throughthe tube, to enter and go slowly. Whenever a lamp flashed in at us, Ihad a glimpse of her progress toward composure--now she was drying hereyes with the bit of lace she called a handkerchief; now her bare armswere up, and with graceful fingers she was arranging her hair; now shewas straight and still, the soft, fluffy material with which her wrapwas edged drawn close about her throat. I shifted to the oppositeseat, for my nerves warned me that I could not long control myself, ifI stayed on where her garments were touching me. I looked away from her for the pleasure of looking at her again, ofrealizing that my overwrought senses were not cheating me. Yes, thereshe was, in all the luster of that magnetic beauty I cannot think ofeven now without an up-blazing of the fire which is to the heart whatthe sun is to the eyes of a blind man dreaming of sight. There she wason my side of the chasm that had separated us--alone withme--mine--mine! And my heart dilated with pride. But a moment latercame a sense of humility. Her beauty intoxicated me, but her youth, her fineness, so fragile for such rough hands as mine, awed andhumbled me. "I must be very gentle, " said I to myself. "I havepromised that she shall never regret. God help me to keep my promise!She is mine, but only to preserve and protect. " And that idea of_responsibility in possession_ was new to me--was to have far-reachingconsequences. Now I think it changed the whole course of my life. She was leaning forward, her elbow on the casement of the open windowof the brougham, her cheek against her hand; the moonlight wasglistening on her round, firm forearm and on her serious face. "Howfar, far away from--everything it seems here!" she said, her voicetuned to that soft, clear light, "and how beautiful it is!" Then, addressing the moon and the shadows of the trees rather than me: "Iwish I could go on and on--and never return to--to the world. " "I wish we could, " said I. My tone was low, but she started, drew back into the brougham, becamean outline in the deep shadow. In another mood that might have angeredme. Just then it hurt me so deeply that to remember it to-day is tofeel a faint ache in the scar of the long healed wound. My face wasnot hidden as was hers; so, perhaps, she saw. At any rate, her voicetried to be friendly as she said: "Well--I have crossed the Rubicon. And I don't regret. It was silly of me to cry. I thought I had beenthrough so much that I was beyond such weakness. But you will find mecalm from now on, and reasonable. " "Not too reasonable, please, " said I, with an attempt at herlightness. "A reasonable woman is as trying as an unreasonable man. " "But we are going to be sensible with each other, " she urged, "liketwo friends. Aren't we?" "We are going to be what we are going to be, " said I. "We'll have totake life as it comes. " That clumsy reminder set her to thinking, stirred her vague uneasinessin those strange circumstances to active alarm. For presently shesaid, in a tone that was not quite so matter-of-course as she wouldhave liked to make it: "We'll go now to my uncle Frank's. He's abrother of my father. I always used to like him best--and still do. But he married a woman mamma thought--queer--and they hadn't much--andhe lives away up on the West Side--One Hundred and Twenty-seventhStreet. " "The wise plan, the only wise plan, " said I, not so calm as she musthave thought me, "is to go to my partner's house and send out for aminister. " "Not to-night, " she replied, nervously. "Take me to uncle Frank's, andto-morrow we can discuss what to do and how to do it. " "To-night, " I persisted. "We must be married to-night. No moreuncertainty and indecision and weakness. Let us begin bravely, Anita!" "To-morrow, " she said. "But not to-night. I must think it over. " "To-night, " I repeated. "To-morrow will be full of its own problems. This is to-night's. " She shook her head, and I saw that the struggle between us hadbegun--the struggle against her timidity and conventionality. "No, notto-night. " This in her tone for finality. To have argued with any woman in such circumstances would have beendangerous; to have argued with her would have been fatal. To reasonwith a woman is to flatter her into suspecting you of weakness andherself of strength. I told the chauffeur to turn about and go slowlyuptown. She settled back into her corner of the brougham. Neither ofus spoke until we were passing Clairmont. Then she started out of hersecure confidence in my obedience, and exclaimed: "This is not theway!" And her voice had in it the hasty call-to-arms. "No, " I replied, determined to push the panic into a rout. "As I toldyou, our future shall be settled to-night. " That in _my_ tone forfinality. A pause, then: "It _has_ been settled, " she said, like a child thatfeels, yet denies, its impotence as it struggles in the compellingarms of its father. "I thought until a few minutes ago that I reallyintended to marry you. Now I see that I didn't. " "Another reason why we're not going to your uncle's, " said I. She leaned forward so that I could see her face. "I cannot marry you, "she said. "I feel humble toward you, for having misled you. But it isbetter that you--and I--should have found out now than too late. " "It _is_ too late--too late to go back. " "Would you wish to marry a woman who does not love you, who loves someone else, and who tells you so and refuses to marry you?" She hadtried to concentrate enough scorn into her voice to hide her fear. "I would, " said I. "And I shall. I'll not desert you, Anita, when yourcourage and strength fail. I will carry you on to safety. " "I tell you I cannot marry you, " she cried, between appeal andcommand. "There are reasons--I may not tell you. But if I might, youwould--would take me to my uncle's. I cannot marry you!" "That is what conventionality bids you say now, " I replied. "But whatwill it bid you say to-morrow morning, as we drive down crowded FifthAvenue, after a night in this brougham?" I could not see her, for she drew back into the darkness as sharply asif I had struck her with all my force full in the face. But I couldfeel the effect of my words upon her. I paused, not because I expectedor wished an answer, but because I had to steady myself--myself, notmy purpose; my purpose was inflexible. I would put through what we hadbegun, just as I would have held her and cut off her arm with mypocketknife if we had been cast away alone, and I had had to do it tosave her life. She was not competent to decide for herself. Everyproblem that had ever faced her had been decided by others for her. Who but me could decide for her now? I longed to plead with her, toshow her how I was suffering; but I dared not. "She wouldmisunderstand, " said I to myself. "She would think you wereweakening. " Full fifteen minutes of that frightful silence before she said: "Iwill go where you wish. " And she said it in a tone which makes mewince as I recall it now. I called my partner's address up through the tube. Again thatfrightful silence, then she was trying to choke back the sobs. A fewwords I caught: "They have broken my will--they have broken my will. " Ball lived in a big, graystone house that stood apart and commanded anoble view of the Hudson and the Palisades. It was, in the main, areproduction of a French chateau, and such changes as the architecthad made in his model were not positively disfiguring, though amusing. There should have been trees and shrubbery about it, but--"As Mrs. B. Says, " Joe had explained to me, "what's the use of sinking a lot ofcash in a house people can't see?" So there was not a bush, not aflower. Inside---- One day Ball took me on a tour of the art shops. "I've got a dozen corners and other big bare spots to fill, " said he. "Mrs. B. Hates to give up money, haggles over every article. I'm goingto put the job through in business style. " I soon discovered that Ihad been brought along to admire his "business style, " not to suggest. After two hours, in which he bought in small lots about a carload ofstatuary, paintings, vases and rugs, he said, "This is too slow. " Hepointed his stick at a crowded corner of the shop. "How much for thatbunch of stuff?" he demanded. The proprietor gave him a figure. "I'llclose, " said Joe, "if you'll give fifteen off for cash. " Theproprietor agreed. "Now we're done, " said Joe to me. "Let's godowntown, and maybe I can pick up what I've dropped. " You can imagine that interior. But don't picture it as notably worsethan the interior of the average New York palace. It was, if anything, better than those houses, where people who deceive themselves abouttheir lack of taste have taken great pains to prevent anyone else frombeing deceived. One could hardly move in Joe's big rooms for thelitter of gilded and tapestried furniture, and their crowded wallsmade the eyes ache. The appearance of the man who opened the door for Anita and mesuggested that our ring had roused him from a bed where he haddeposited himself without bothering to take off his clothes. At thesound of my voice, Ball peered out of his private smoking room, at thefar end of the hall. He started forward; then, seeing how I wasaccompanied, stopped with mouth ajar. He had on a ragged smokingjacket, a pair of shapeless old Romeo slippers, his ordinary businesswaistcoat and trousers. He was wearing neither tie nor collar, and ashort, black pipe was between his fingers. We had evidently caught thehousehold stripped of "lugs, " and sunk in the down-at-the-heelslovenliness which it called "comfort. " Joe was crimson withconfusion, and was using his free hand to stroke, alternately, hisshiny bald head and his heavy brown mustache. He got himself togethersufficiently, after a few seconds, to disappear into his den. When hecame out again, pipe and ragged jacket were gone, and he rushed for usin a gorgeous gray velvet jacket with dark red facings, and a showypair of slippers. "Glad to see you, Mr. Blacklock"--he always addressed every man asMister in his own house, just as "Mrs. B. " always called him "MisterBall, " and he called her "Missus Ball" before "company. " "Come rightinto the front parlor. Billy, turn on the electric lights. " Anita had been standing with her head down. She now looked round withshame and terror in those expressive blue-gray eyes of hers; herdelicate nostrils were quivering. I hastened to introduce Ball to her. Her impulse to fly passed; her training in doing the conventionalthing asserted itself. She lowered her head again, murmured aninaudible acknowledgment of Joe's greeting. "Your wife is at home?" said I. If one was at home in the evening, theother always was also, and both were always there, unless they were atsome theater--except on Sunday night, when they dined at Sherry's, because many fashionable people did it. They had no friends and fewacquaintances. In their humbler and happy days they had had manyfriends, but had lost them when they moved away from Brooklyn and wentto live, like uneasy, out-of-place visitors, in their grand house, pretending to be what they longed to be, longing to be what theypretended to be, and as discontented as they deserved. "Oh, yes, Mrs. B. 's at home, " Joe answered. "I guess she and Alvawere--about to go to bed. " Alva was their one child. She had beenchristened Malvina, after Joe's mother; but when the Balls "blossomedout" they renamed her Alva, which they somehow had got the impressionwas "smarter. " At Joe's blundering confession that the females of the family were inno condition to receive, Anita said to me in a low voice: "Let us go. " I pretended not to hear. "Rout 'em out, " said I to Joe. "And then takemy electric and bring the nearest parson. There's going to be awedding--right here. " And I looked round the long salon, witheverything draped for the summer departure. Joe whisked the cover offone chair, his man off another. "I'll have the women folks down in twominutes, " he cried. Then to the man: "Get a move on you, Billy. Stir'em up in the kitchen. Do the best you can about supper--and put a lotof champagne on the ice. That's the main thing at a wedding. " Anita had seated herself listlessly in one of the uncovered chairs. The wrap slipped back from her shoulders and--how proud I was of her!Joe gazed, took advantage of her not looking up to slap me on the backand to jerk his head in enthusiastic approval. Then he, too, disappeared. A wait, during which we could hear through the silence excitedundertones from the upper floors. The words were indistinct untilJoe's heavy voice sent down to us an angry "No damn' nonsense, I tellyou. Allie's got to come, too. She's not such a fool as you think. Badexample--bosh!" Anita started up. "Oh--please--please!" she cried. "Take meaway--anywhere! This is dreadful. " It was, indeed, dreadful. If I could have had my way at just thatmoment, it would have gone hard with "Mrs. B. " and "Allie"--andheavy-voiced Joe, too. But I hid my feelings. "There's nowhere else togo, " said I, "except the brougham. " She sank helplessly into her chair. A few minutes more of silence, and there was a rustling on the stairs. She started up, trembling, looked round, as if seeking some way ofescape or some place to hide. Joe was in the doorway holding aside oneof the curtains. There entered, in a beribboned and beflounced teagown, a pretty, if rather ordinary, woman of forty, with a petulantbaby face. She was trying to look reserved and severe. She hardlyglanced at me before fastening sharp, suspicious eyes on Anita. "Mrs. Ball, " said I, "this is Miss Ellersly. " "Miss Ellersly!" she exclaimed, her face changing. And she advancedand took both Anita's hands. "Mr. Ball is so stupid, " she went on, with that amusingly affected accent which is the "Sunday clothes" ofspeech. "I didn't catch the name, my dear, " Joe stammered. "Be off, " said I, aside, to him. "Get the nearest preacher, and hustlehim here with his tools. " I had one eye on Anita all the time, and I saw her gaze follow Joe ashe hurried out; and her expression made my heart ache. I heard himsaying in the hall, "Go in, Allie. It's O. K. ;" heard the door slam, knew we should soon have some sort of minister with us. "Allie" entered the drawing room. I had not seen her in six years. Iremembered her unpleasantly as a great, bony, florid child, unable tostand still or to sit still, or to keep her tongue still, full ofaimless questions and giggles and silly remarks, which she and hermother thought funny. I saw her now, grown into a handsome youngwoman, with enough beauty points for an honorable mention, if not fora prize--straight and strong and rounded, with a brow and a keen lookout of the eyes which it seemed a pity should be wasted on a woman. Her mother's looks, her father's good sense, a personality got fromneither, but all her own, and unusual and interesting. "From what Mr. Ball said, " Mrs. Ball was gushing affectedly to Anita, "I got an idea, that--well, really, I didn't know _what_ to think. " Anita looked as if she were about to suffocate. Allie came to therescue. "Not very complimentary to Mr. Blacklock, mother, " said she, good-humoredly. Then to Anita, with a simple friendliness there was noresisting: "Wouldn't you like to come up to my room for a fewminutes?" "Oh, thank you, " responded Anita, after a quick but thoroughinspection of Alva's face, to make sure she was like her voice. I hadnot counted on this; I had been assuming that Anita would not be outof my sight until we were married. It was on the tip of my tongue tointerfere when she looked at me--for permission to go. "Don't keep hertoo long, " said I to Alva, and they were gone. "You can't blame me--really you can't, Mr. Blacklock, " Mrs. Ball beganto plead for herself, as soon as they were safely out of hearing. "After some things--mere hints, you understand--for I'm careful what Ipermit Mr. Ball to say before _me_. I think married people cannot betoo respectful of each other. I _never_ tolerate _vulgarity_. " "No doubt, Joe has made me out a very vulgar person, " said I, forgetting her lack of sense of humor. "Oh, not at all, not at all, Mr. Blacklock, " she protested, in a paniclest she had done her husband damage with me. "I understand, men willbe men, though as a pure-minded woman, I'm sure I can't imagine whythey should be. " "How far off is the nearest church?" I cut in. "Only two blocks--that is, the Methodist church, " she replied. "But Iknow Mr. Ball will bring an Episcopalian. " "Why, I thought you were a devoted Presbyterian, " said I, recallinghow in their Brooklyn days she used to insist on Joe's going with hertwice every Sunday to sleep through long sermons. She looked uncomfortable. "I was reared Presbyterian, " she explained, confusedly, "but you know how it is in New York. And when we came tolive here, we got out of the habit of churchgoing. And all Alva'slittle friends were Episcopalians. So I drifted toward that church. Ifind the service so satisfying--so--elegant. And--one sees there thepeople one sees socially. " "How is your culture class?" I inquired, deliberately malicious, in myimpatience and nervousness. "And do you still take conversationlessons?" She was furiously annoyed. "Oh, those old jokes of Joe's, " she said, affecting disdainful amusement. In fact, they were anything but jokes. On Mondays and Thursdays sheused to attend a class for women who, like herself, wished to be"up-to-date on culture and all that sort of thing. " They hired ateacher to cram them with odds and ends about art and politics and the"latest literature, heavy and light. " On Tuesdays and Fridays she hadan "indigent gentlewoman, " whatever that may be, come to her to teachher how to converse and otherwise conduct herself according to the"standards of polite society. " Joe used to give imitations of thoseconversation lessons that raised roars of laughter round the pokertable, the louder because so many of the other men had wives with thesame ambitions and the same methods of attaining them. Mrs. Ball came back to the subject of Anita. "I am glad you are goingto settle with such a charming girl. She comes of such a charmingfamily. I have never happened to meet any of them. We are in the WestSide set, you know, while they move in the East Side set, and New Yorkis so large that one almost never meets anyone outside one's own set. "This smooth snobbishness, said in the affected "society" tone, was asout of place in her as rouge and hair dye in a wholesome, honest oldgrandmother. I began to pace the floor. "Can it be, " I fretted aloud, "that Joe'sracing round looking for an Episcopalian preacher, when there was aMethodist at hand?" "I'm sure he wouldn't bring anything but a Church of England priest, "Mrs. Ball assured me, loftily. "Why, Miss Ellersly wouldn't think shewas married, if she hadn't a priest of her own church. " My temper got the bit in its teeth. I stopped before her, and fixedher with an eye that must have had some fire in it. "I'm not marryinga fool, Mrs. Ball, " said I. "You mustn't judge her by her bringingup--by her family. Children have a way of bringing themselves up, inspite of damn fool parents. " She weakened so promptly that I was ashamed of myself. My only excusefor getting out of patience with her is that I had seen her seldom inthe last few years, had forgotten how matter-of-surface heraffectation and snobbery were, and how little they interfered with herbeing a good mother and a good wife, up to the limits of her braincapacity. "I'm sure, Mr. Blacklock, " she said, plaintively, "I only wished tosay what was pleasant and nice about your fiancée. I know she's alovely girl. I've often admired her at the opera. She goes a greatdeal in Mrs. Langdon's box, and Mrs. Langdon and I are together on theboard of managers of the Magdalene Home, and also on the board of theHospital for Unfortunate Gentlefolk. " And so on, and on. I walked up and down among those wrapped-up, ghostly chairs and tablesand cabinets and statues many times before Joe arrived with theminister--and he was a Methodist, McCabe by name. You should have seenMrs. Ball's look as he advanced his portly form and round face withits shaven upper lip into the drawing room. She tried to be cordial, but she couldn't--her mind was on Anita, and the horror which wouldfill her when she discovered that she was to be married by a preacherof a sect unknown to fashionable circles. "All I ask of you, " said I, "is that you cut it as short as possible. Miss Ellersly is tired and nervous. " This while we were shaking handsafter Joe's introduction. "You can count on me, sir, " said McCabe, giving my hand an extra shakebefore dropping it. "I've no doubt, from what my young neighbor heretells me, that your marriage is already made in your hearts and withall solemnity. The form is an incident--important, but only anincident. " I liked that, and I liked his unaffected way of saying it. His voicehad more of the homely, homelike, rural twang in it than I had heardin New York in many a day. I mentally added fifty dollars to the fee Ihad intended to give him. And now Anita and Alva were coming down thestairway. I was amazed at sight of her. Her evening dress had givenplace to a pretty blue street suit with a short skirt--white showingat her wrists, at her neck and through slashings in the coat over herbosom; and on her head was a hat to match. I looked at her feet--theslippers had been replaced by boots. "And they're just right for her, "said Alva, who was following my glance, "though I'm not so tall asshe. " But what amazed me most, and delighted me, was that Anita seemed to bealmost in good spirits. It was evident she had formed with Joe'sdaughter one of those sudden friendships so great and so vivid thatthey rarely live long after the passing of the heat of the emergencywhich bred them. Mrs. Ball saw it, also, and was straightway giddiedinto a sort of ecstasy. You can imagine the visions it conjured. I'veno doubt she talked house on the east side of the park to Joe thatvery night, before she let him sleep. However, Anita's face wasserious enough when we took our places before the minister, with hislittle, black-bound book open. And as he read in a voice that wasgenuinely impressive those words that no voice could makeunimpressive, I watched her, saw her paleness blanch into pallor, sawthe dusk creep round her eyes until they were like stars waningsomberly before the gray face of dawn. When they closed and her headbegan to sway, I steadied her with my arm. And so we stood, I with myarm round her, she leaning lightly against my shoulder. Her answerswere mere movements of the lips. At the end, when I kissed her cheek, she said: "Is it over?" "Yes, " McCabe answered--she was looking at him. "And I wish you allhappiness, Mrs. Blacklock. " She stared at him with great wondering eyes. Her form relaxed. Icarried her to a chair. Joe came with a glass of champagne; she dranksome of it, and it brought life back to her face, and some color. Witha naturalness that deceived even me for the moment, she smiled up atJoe as she handed him the glass. "Is it bad luck, " she asked, "for meto be the first to drink my own health?" And she stood, lookingtranquilly at everyone--except me. I took McCabe into the hall and paid him off. When we came back, Isaid: "Now we must be going. " "Oh, but surely you'll stay for supper!" cried Joe's wife. "No, " replied I, in a tone which made it impossible to insist. "Weappreciate your kindness, but we've imposed on it enough. " And I shookhands with her and with Allie and the minister, and, linking Joe's armin mine, made for the door. I gave the necessary directions to mychauffeur while we were waiting for Anita to come down the steps. Joe's daughter was close beside her, and they kissed each othergood-by, Alva on the verge of tears, Anita not suggesting any emotionof any sort. "To-morrow--sure, " Anita said to her. And she answered:"Yes, indeed--as soon as you telephone me. " And so we were off, ashower of rice rattling on the roof of the brougham--the slatternlymanservant had thrown it from the midst of the group of servants. Neither of us spoke. I watched her face without seeming to do so, andby the light of occasional street lamps saw her studying me furtively. At last she said: "I wish to go to my uncle's now. " "We are going home, " said I. "But the house will be shut up, " said she, "and everyone will be inbed. It's nearly midnight. Besides, they might not----" She came to afull stop. "We are going home, " I repeated. "To the Willoughby. " She gave me a look that was meant to scorch--and it did. But I showedat the surface no sign of how I was wincing and shrinking. She drew further into her corner, and out of its darkness came, in alow voice: "How I _hate_ you!" like the whisper of a bullet. I kept silent until I had control of myself. Then, as if talking of amatter which had been finally and amicably settled, I began: "Theapartment isn't exactly ready for us, but Joe's just about nowtelephoning my man that we are coming, and telephoning your people tosend your maid down there. " "I wish to go to my uncle's, " she repeated. "My wife will go with me, " said I, quietly and gently. "I amconsiderate of her, not of _her_ unwise impulses. " A long pause, then from her, in icy calmness: "I am in your power justnow, but I warn you that, if you do not take me to my uncle's, youwill wish you had never seen me. " "I've wished that many times already, " said I, sadly. "I've wished itfrom the bottom of my heart this whole evening, when step by step fatehas been forcing me on to do things that are even more hateful to methan to you. For they not only make me hate myself, but make you hateme, too. " I laid my hand on her arm and held it there, though shetried to draw away. "Anita, " I said, "I would do anything foryou--live for you, die for you. But there's that something insideme--you've felt it--and when it says 'must, ' I can't disobey--you knowI can't. And, though you might break my heart, you could not breakthat will. It's as much your master as it is mine. " "We shall see--to-morrow, " she said. "Do not put me to the test, " I pleaded. Then I added what I knew to betrue: "But you will not. You know it would take some one stronger thanyour uncle, stronger than your parents, to drive me from what Ibelieve right for you and for me. " From the moment that I found thebogy of conventionality potent enough with her to frighten her intokeeping her word and marrying me, I had no fear for "to-morrow. " Thehour when she could defy me had passed. A long, long silence, the electric speeding southward under thearching trees of the West Drive. I remember it was as we skirted thelower end of the Mall that she said evenly: "You have made me hate youso that it terrifies me. I am afraid of the consequences that mustcome to you and to me. " "And well you may be, " I answered, gently. "For you've seen enough ofme to get at least a hint of what I would do, if you drove me to it. Hate is terrible, Anita, but love can be more terrible. " At the Willoughby she let me help her descend from the electric, waited until I sent it away, walked beside me into the building. Myman, Sanders, had evidently been listening for the elevator; the dooropened without my ringing, and there he was, bowing low. Sheacknowledged his welcome with that regard for "appearances" whichtraining had made instinctive. In the center of my--our--drawing-roomtable was a mass of gorgeous roses. "Where did you get 'em?" I askedhim, in an aside. "The elevator boy's brother, sir, " he replied, "works in the florist'sshop just across the street, next to the church. He happened to bedownstairs when I got your message, sir. So I was able to get a fewflowers. I'm sorry, sir, I hadn't a little more time. " "You've done noble, " said I, and I shook hands with him warmly. Anita was greeting those flowers as if they were a friend suddenlyappearing in a time of need. She turned now and beamed on Sanders. "Thank you, " she said; "thank you. " And Sanders was hers. "Anything I can do--ma'am--sir?" asked Sanders. "Nothing--except send my maid as soon as she comes, " she replied. "I shan't need you, " said I. "Mr. Monson is still here, " he said, lingering. "Shall I send himaway, sir, or do you wish to see him?" "I'll speak to him myself in a moment, " I answered. When Sanders was gone, she seated herself and absently played with thebuttons of her glove. "Shall I bring Monson?" I asked. "You know, he's my--factotum. " "_I_ do not wish to see him, " she answered. "You do not like him?" said I. After a brief hesitation she answered, "No. " I restrained a strong impulse to ask her why, for instinct told me shehad some especial reason that somehow concerned me. I said merely:"Then I shall get rid of him. " "Not on my account, " she replied, indifferently. "I care nothing abouthim one way or the other. " "He goes at the end of his month, " said I. She was now taking off her gloves. "Before your maid comes, " I wenton, "let me explain about the apartment. This room and the two leadingout of it are yours. My own suit is on the other side of our privatehall there. " She colored high, paled. I saw that she did not intend to speak. I stood awkwardly, waiting for something further to come into my ownhead. "Good-night, " said I, finally, bowing as if I were taking leaveof a formal acquaintance at the end of a formal call. She did not answer. I left the room, closing the door behind me. I paused an instant, heard the key click in the lock. And I burned in a hot flush ofshame--shame that she should have thought so basely of me. For I didnot then realize how far apart we were, and utterly in the dark, eachtoward the other. I joined Monson in my little smoking room. "Congratulate you, " he began, with his nasty, supercilious grin, whichof late had been getting on my nerves severely. "Thanks, " I replied, curtly, paying no attention to his outstretchedhand. "I want you to put a notice of the marriage in to-morrowmorning's _Herald_. " "Give me the facts--clergyman's name--place, and so on, " said he. "Unnecessary, " I answered. "Just our names and the date--that's all. You'd better step lively. It's late, and it'll be too late if youdelay. " With an irritating show of deliberation he lit a fresh cigarettebefore setting out. I heard her maid come. After about an hour I wentinto the hall--no light showed through the transoms of her suit. Ireturned to my own part of the flat and went to bed in the spare roomto which Sanders had hastily moved my personal belongings. And almostas soon as my head touched the pillow I was asleep. That day whichbegan in disaster--in what a blaze of triumph it had ended! Anita--shewas my wife, and under my roof! But stronger than the sense of victorywon was a new emotion--a sense of a duty done, of a responsibilitybegun. XIV. Joe got to the office rather later than usual the next morning. Theytold him I was already there, but he wouldn't believe it until he hadcome into my private den and with his own eyes had seen me. "Well, I'mjiggered!" said he. "It seems to have made less impression on you thanit did on us. My missus and the little un wouldn't let me go to bedtill after two. They sat on and on, questioning me and discussing. " I laughed--partly because I knew that Joe, like most men, was as fullof gossip and as eager for it as a convalescent old maid, and that, whoever might have been the first at his house to make the break forbed, he was the last to leave off talking. But the chief reason for mylaugh was that, just before he came in on me, I was almost pinchingmyself to see whether I was dreaming it all, and he had made me feelhow vividly true it was. "Why don't you ease down, Blacklock?" he went on. "Everything'ssmooth. The business--at least, my end of it, and I suppose your end, too--was never in better shape, never growing so fast. You could gooff for a week or two, just as well as not. " And he honestly thought it, so little did I let him know about thelarger enterprises of Blacklock & Co. I could have spoken a dozenwords, and he would have been floundering like a caught fish in abasket. There are men--a very few--who work more swiftly and moresurely when they know they're on the brink of ruin; but not Joe. Oneglimpse of our real National Coal account, and all my power over himcouldn't have kept him from showing the whole Street that Blacklock &Co. Was shaky. And whenever the Street begins to think a man is shaky, he must be strong indeed to escape the fate of the wolf that stumblesas it runs with the pack. "No holiday at present, Joe, " was my reply to his suggestion. "Perhapsthe second week in July; but our marriage was so sudden that wehaven't had the time to get ready for a trip. " "Yes--it _was_ sudden, wasn't it?" said Joe, curiosity twitching hisnose like a dog's at scent of a rat. "How did it happen?" "Oh, I'll tell you some time, " replied I. "I must go to work now. " And work a-plenty there was. Before me rose a huge sheaf of clamoroustelegrams from our out-of-town customers and our agents; and soon myanteroom was crowded with my local following, sore and shorn. Isuppose a score or more of the habitual heavy plungers on my tips wereruined and hundreds of others were thousands and tens of thousands outof pocket. "Do you want me to talk to these people?" inquired Joe, with the kindly intention of giving me a chance to shift theunpleasant duty to him. "Certainly not, " said I. "When the place is jammed, let me know. I'lljack 'em up. " It made Joe uneasy for me even to talk of using my "language"--hewould have crawled from the Battery to Harlem to keep me from using iton him. So he silently left me alone. My system of dealing face toface with the speculating and investing public had many greatadvantages over that of all the other big operators--the system ofdecoying the public from behind cleverly contrived screens andslaughtering it without showing so much as the tip of a gun or nosethat could be identified. But to my method there was a disadvantagethat made men, who happen to have more hypocrisy and less nerve thanI, shrink from it--when one of my tips miscarried, down upon me wouldswoop the bad losers in a body to give me a turbulent and interestingquarter of an hour. Toward ten o'clock, my boy came in and said: "Mr. Ball thinks it'sabout time for you to see some of these people. " I went into the main room, where the tickers and blackboards were. AsI approached through my outer office I could hear the noise the crowdwas making--as they cursed me. If you want to rile the very inmostsoul of the average human being, don't take his reputation or hiswife; just cause him to lose money. There were among my customers manywith the true, even-tenored sporting instinct. These were bearingtheir losses with philosophy--none of them was there. Of the perhapsthree hundred who had come to ease their anguish by tongue-lashing me, every one was mad through and through--those who had lost a fewhundred dollars as infuriated as those whom my misleading tip had costthousands and tens of thousands; those whom I had helped to win allthey had in the world more savage than those new to my following. I took my stand in the doorway, a step up from the floor of the mainroom. I looked all round until I had met each pair of angry eyes. Theysay I can give my face an expression that is anything but agreeable;such talent as I have in that direction I exerted then. The instant Iappeared a silence fell; but I waited until the last pair, of clawsdrew in. Then I said, in the quiet tone the army officer uses when hetells the mob that the machine guns will open up in two minutes by thewatch: "Gentlemen, in the effort to counteract my warning to thepublic, the Textile crowd rocketed the stock yesterday. Those whoheeded my warning and sold got excellent prices. Those who did notshould sell to-day. Not even the powerful interests behind Textile canlong maintain yesterday's prices. " A wave of restlessness passed over the crowd. Many shifted their eyesfrom me and began to murmur. I raised my voice slightly as I went on: "The speculators, thegamblers, are the only people who were hurt. Those who sold what theydidn't have are paying for their folly. I have no sympathy for them. Blacklock & Co. Wishes none such in its following, and seizes everyopportunity to weed them out. We are in business only for the bonafide investing public, and we are stronger with that public to-daythan we have ever been. " Again I looked from coward to coward of that mob, changed from threehundred strong to three hundred weak. Then I bowed and withdrew, leaving them to mutter and disperse. I felt well content with thetrend of events--I who wished to impress the public and the financiersthat I had broken with speculation and speculators, could I have had abetter than this unexpected opportunity sharply to define my newcourse? And as Textiles, unsupported, fell toward the close of theday, my content rose toward my normal high spirits. There was nowhisper in the Street that I was in trouble; on the contrary, the ideawas gaining ground that I had really long ceased to be a stock gamblerand deserved a much better reputation than I had. Reputation is amatter of diplomacy rather than of desert. In all my career I wasnever less entitled to a good reputation than in those June days; yetthe disastrous gambling follies, yes, and worse, I then committed, formed the secure foundation of my reputation for conservatism andsquare dealing. From that time dates the decline of the habit thenewspapers had of speaking of me as "Black Matt" or "Matt" Blacklock. In them, and therefore in the public mind, I began to figure as "Mr. Blacklock" and "the well-known authority on finance. " No doubt, my marriage had something to do with this. Probably onecouldn't borrow much money directly in New York on the strength of afashionable marriage; but, so all-pervading is the snobbishness there, one can get, by making a fashionable marriage, any quantity of thatdeferential respect from rich people which is, in some circumstances, easily convertible into cash and credit. I waited with a good deal of anxiety, as you may imagine, for theearly editions of the afternoon papers. The first article my eyechanced upon was a mere wordy elaboration of the brief and vagueannouncement Monson had put in the _Herald_. Later came an interviewwith old Ellersly. "Not at all mysterious, " he had said to thereporters. "Mr. Blacklock found he would have to go abroad on businesssoon--he didn't know just when. On the spur of the moment they decidedto marry. " A good enough story, and I confirmed it when I admitted thereporters. I read their estimates of my fortune and of Anita's withrather bitter amusement--she whose father was living from hand tomouth; I who could not have emerged from a forced settlement withenough to enable me to keep a trap. Still, when one is rich, thereputation of being rich is heavily expensive; but when one is poorthe reputation of being rich can be made a wealth-giving asset. Even as I was reading these fables of my millions, there lay on thedesk before me a statement of the exact posture of my affairs--amemorandum made by myself for my own eyes, and to be burned as soon asI mastered it. On the face of the figures the balance against me wasappalling. My chief asset, indeed my only asset that measured uptoward my debts, was my Coal stocks, those bought and those contractedfor; and, while their par value far exceeded my liabilities, they hadto appear in my memorandum at their actual market value on that day. Ilooked at the calendar--seventeen days until the reorganization schemewould be announced, only seventeen days! Less than three business weeks, and I should be out of the storm andsailing safer and smoother seas than I had ever known. "To indulge_hopes_ is bad, " thought I, "but not to indulge _a_ hope, when one hasonly it between him and the pit. " And I proceeded to plan on the notunwarranted assumption that my coal hope was a present reality. Indeed, what alternative had I? To put it among the future'suncertainties was to put myself among the utterly ruined. Using ascollateral the Coal stocks I had bought outright, I borrowed moremoney, and with it went still deeper into the Coal venture. The morality of these and many of my other doings in those days willno doubt be severely condemned. By no one more severely than bymyself--now that the necessities which then compelled me have passed. There is no subject on which men talk, and think, more humbug than onthat subject of morality. As a matter of fact, except in thosepersonal relations which are governed by the affections, what ismorality but the mandate of policy, and what is policy but the mandateof necessity? My criticism of Roebuck and the other "high financiers"is not upon their morality, but upon their policy, which isshortsighted and stupid and base. The moral difference between me andthem is that, while I merely assert and maintain my right to live, they deny the right of any but themselves to live. I say I criticisethem; but that does not mean that I sympathize with the public atlarge in its complainings against them. The public, its stupidity andcupidity, creates the conditions that breed and foster these men. Arotten cheese reviling the maggots it has bred! In those very hours when I was obeying the great imperative law ofself-preservation, was clutching at every log that floated by meregardless of whether it was my property or not so long as it wouldhelp me keep my head above water--what was going on all around me? Inevery office of the downtown district--merchant, banker, broker, lawyer, man of commerce or finance--was not every busy brain plottingnot self-preservation but pillage and sack--plotting to increase thecost of living for the masses of men by slipping a little tax here anda little tax there onto the cost of everything by which men live? Allalong the line between the farm or mine or shop and the market, atevery one of the tollgates for the collection of _just_ charges, thesebig financiers, backed up by the big lawyers and the rascally publicofficials, had an agent in charge to collect on each passing article alittle more than was honestly due. A thousand subtle ways of levying, all combining to pour in upon the few the torrents of unjust wealth. Ialways laugh when I read of laboring men striking for higher wages. Poor, ignorant fools--they almost deserve their fate. They had betterbe concerning themselves with a huge, universal strike at the pollsfor lower prices. What will it avail them to get higher wages, so longas their masters control and can and will recoup on, the prices of allthe things for which those wages must be spent? However, as I was saying, I lived in Wall Street, in its atmosphere ofthe practical morality of "finance. " On every side swindlingoperations, great and small; operations regarded as right throughlong-established custom, dishonest or doubtful; operations on the wayto becoming established by custom as "respectable. " No man's title toanything conceded unless he had the brains to defend it. There was atime when it would have been regarded as wildly preposterous andviciously immoral to deny property rights in human beings. There maycome a time--who knows?--when "high finance's" denial of a moral rightto property of any kind may cease to be regarded as wicked. However, Iattempt no excuses for myself; I need them no more than a judge in theDark Ages needed to apologize for ordering a witch to the stake. Icould no more have done differently than a fish could breathe on landor a man under water. I did as all the others did--and I had thejustification of necessity. Right of might being the code, when menset upon me with pistols, I meet them with pistols, not with thediscarded and antiquated weapons of sermon and prayer and the law. And I thought extremely well of myself and of my pistols that Juneafternoon, as I was hurrying uptown the moment the day's settlement on'Change was finished. I had sent out my daily letter to investors, andits tone of confidence was genuine--I knew that hundreds of customersof a better class would soon be flocking in to take the places ofthose I had been compelled to teach a lesson in the vicissitudes ofgambling. With a light heart and the physical feeling of a footballplayer in training, I sped toward home. Home! For the first time sinceI was a squat little slip of a shaver the word had a personal meaningfor me. Perhaps, if the only other home of mine had been lessuninviting, I should not have looked forward with such high beating ofthe heart to that cold home Anita was making for me. No, I withdrawthat. It is fellows like me, to whom kindly looks and unboughtattentions are as unfamiliar as flowers to the Arctic--it is men likeme that appreciate and treasure and warm up under the faintest show orshadowy suggestion of the sunshine of sentiment. I'd be a littleashamed to say how much money I handed out to servants and beggars andstreet gamins that day. I had a home to go to! As my electric drew up at the Willoughby, a carriage backed to makeroom for it. I recognized the horses and the driver and the crests. "How long has Mrs. Ellersly been with my wife?" I asked the elevatorboy, as he was taking me up. "About half an hour, sir, " he answered. "But Mr. Ellersly--I took uphis card before lunch, and he's still there. " Instead of using my key, I rang the bell, and when Sanders opened, Isaid: "Is Mrs. Blacklock in?" in a voice loud enough to penetrate tothe drawing room. As I had hoped, Anita appeared. Her dress told me that her trunks hadcome--she had sent for her trunks! "Mother and father are here, " saidshe, without looking at me. I followed her into the drawing room and, for the benefit of theservants, Mr. And Mrs. Ellersly and I greeted each other courteously, though Mrs. Ellersly's eyes and mine met in a glance like the flash ofsteel on steel. "We were just going, " said she, and then I felt that Ihad arrived in the midst of a tempest of uncommon fury. "You must stop and make me a visit, " protested I, with elaboratepoliteness. To myself I was assuming that they had come to "make upand be friends"--and resume their places at the trough. "I wish we could, " she answered, in her best manner. And she wasmoving toward the door, the old man in her wake. Neither of themoffered to shake hands with me; neither made pretense of sayinggood-by to Anita, standing by the window like a pillar of ice. I hadclosed the drawing-room door behind me, as I entered. I was about toopen it for them when I was restrained by what I saw working in theold woman's face. She had set her will on escaping from my loathedpresence without a "scene"; but her rage at having been outgeneraledwas too fractious for her will. "You scoundrel!" she hissed, her whole body shaking and her carefullycultivated appearance of the gracious evening of youth swallowed up ina black cyclone of hate. "You gutter plant! God will punish you forthe shame you have brought upon us. " I opened the door and bowed, without a word, without even the desireto return insult for insult--had not Anita again and finally rejectedthem and chosen me? As they passed into the private hall I rang forSanders to come and let them out. When I turned back into the drawingroom, Anita was seated, was reading a book. I waited until I saw shewas not going to speak. Then I said: "What time will you have dinner?"But my face must have been expressing some of the joy and gratitudethat filled me. "She has chosen me!" I was saying to myself over andover. "Whenever you usually have it, " she replied, without looking up. "At seven o'clock, then. You had better tell Sanders. " And I rang forhim and went into my little smoking room. She had resisted herparents' final appeal to her to return to them. She had cast in herlot with me. "The rest can be left to time, " said I to myself. And, reviewing all that had happened, I let a wild hope thrust tenaciousroots deep into me--the hope that she did not quite understand her ownmind as to me. How often ignorance is a blessing; how often knowledgewould make the step falter and the heart quail. Who would have thecourage, not to speak of the desire, to live his life, if he knew hisown future? XV. During dinner I bore the whole burden of conversation--though burden Idid not find it. Like most of the most reticent men, I am extremelytalkative. Silence sets people to wondering and prying; he hides hissecrets best who hides them at the bottom of a river of words. If myspirits are high, I often talk aloud to myself when there is no oneconvenient. And how could my spirits be anything but high, with hersitting there opposite me, mine, mine for better or for worse, throughgood and evil report--my wife! She was only formally responsive, reluctant and brief in answers, volunteering nothing. The servants waiting on us no doubt laid hermanner to shyness; I understood it, or thought I did--but I was nottroubled. It is as natural for me to hope as to breathe; and with myknowledge of character, how could I take seriously the moods andimpulses of one whom I regarded as a childlike girl, trained in falsepride and false ideals? "She has chosen to stay with me, " said I tomyself. "Actions count, not words or manner. A few days or weeks, andshe will be herself, and mine. " And I went gayly on with my efforts tointerest her, to make her smile and forget the rôle she had commandedherself to play. Nor was I wholly unsuccessful. Again and again Ithought I saw a gleam of interest in her eyes or the beginnings of asmile about that sweet mouth of hers. I was careful not to overdo mypart. As soon as we finished dessert I said: "You loathe cigar smoke, so I'll hide myself in my den. Sanders will bring you the cigarettes. "I had myself telephoned for a supply of her kind early in the day. She made a polite protest for the benefit of the servants; but I wasfirm, and she was free to think things over alone in the drawingroom--"your sitting room, " I called it now. I had not finished a smallcigar when there came a timid knock at my door. I threw away the cigarand opened. "I thought it was you, " said I. "I'm familiar with theknocks of all the others. And this was new--like a summer wind tappingwith a flower for admission at a closed window. " And I laughed with alittle raillery, and she smiled, colored, tried to seem cold andhostile again. "Shall I go with you to your sitting room?" I went on. "Perhaps thecigar smoke here----" "No, no, " she interrupted; "I don't really mind cigars--and thewindows are wide open. Besides, I came for only a moment--just tosay----" As she cast about for words to carry her on, I drew up a chair forher. She looked at it uncertainly, seated herself. "When mamma washere--this afternoon, " she went on, "she was urging me to--to do whatshe wished. And after she had used several arguments, without changingme--she said something I--I've been thinking it over, and it seemed Iought in fairness to tell you. " I waited. "She said: 'In a few days more he'--that meant you--'he will beruined. He imagines the worst is over for him, when in fact they'veonly begun. '" "They!" I repeated. "Who are 'they'? The Langdons?" "I think so, " she replied, with an effort. "She did not say--I've toldyou her exact words--as far as I can. " "Well, " said I, "and why didn't you go?" She pressed her lips firmly together. Finally, with a straight lookinto my eyes, she replied: "I shall not discuss that. You probablymisunderstand, but that is your own affair. " "You believed what she said about me, of course, " said I. "I neither believed nor disbelieved, " she answered, indifferently, asshe rose to go. "It does not interest me. " "Come here, " said I. And I waited until she reluctantly joined me atthe window. I pointed to the steeple of the church across the way. "You could as easily throw down that steeple by pushing against itwith your bare hands, " I said to her, "as 'they, ' whoever they are, could put me down. They might take away my money. But if they did, they would only be giving me a lesson that would teach me how moreeasily to get it back again. I am not a bundle of stock certificatesor a bag of money. I am--here, " and I tapped my forehead. She forced a faint, scornful smile. She did not wish me to see herbelief of what I said. "You think that is vanity, " I went on. "But you will learn, sooner orlater, the difference between boasting and simple statement of fact. You will learn that I do not boast. What I said is no more a boastthan for a man with legs to say, 'I can walk. ' Because you have knownonly legless men, you exaggerate the difficulty of walking. It's aseasy for me to make money as it is for some people to spend it. " It is hardly necessary for me to say I was not insinuating anythingagainst her people. But she was just then supersensitive on thesubject, though I did not suspect it. She flushed hotly. "You will nothave any cause to sneer at my people on that account hereafter, " shesaid. "I settled _that_ to-day. " "I was not sneering at them, " I protested. "I wasn't even thinking ofthem. And--you must know that it's a favor to me for anybody to ask meto do anything that will please you. " She made a gesture of impatience. "I see I'd better tell you why--partof the reason why--I did not go with them to-day. I insisted that theygive back all they have taken from you. And when they refused, Irefused to go. " "I don't care why you refused, " said I. "I am content with the factthat you are here. " "But you misunderstand it, " she said, coldly. "I don't understand it, I don't misunderstand it, " was my reply. "Iaccept it. " She looked depressed, discouraged. She turned away from the window, drifted out of the room. While the surface of my mind was taken upwith her, I must have been thinking, underneath, of the warning shehad brought; for, perhaps half or three-quarters of an hour after sheleft, I was suddenly whirled out of my reverie at the window by athought like a pistol thrust into my face. "What if 'they' shouldinclude Roebuck!" And just as a man begins to defend himself from asudden danger before he clearly sees what the danger is, so I began toact before I even questioned whether my suspicion was plausible orabsurd. I went into the hall, rang the bell, slipped a lightweightcoat over my evening dress and put on a hat. When Sanders appeared, Isaid: "I'm going out for a few minutes--perhaps an hour--if anyoneshould ask. " A moment later I was in a hansom and on the way toRoebuck's. TO BE CONTINUED. THE WINDOW This is the window where, one day, I watched him as he came, When all the world was white with May, And vibrant with his name. His eyes to mine, my eyes to his-- Oh lad, how glad were we, What time I leaned to catch the kiss Your fingers tossed to me! This is the window where, one day, I crouched to see him go, When all the world with wrath was gray And desolate with snow. Oh, this the glass where prophet-wise My fate I needs must spell; Through this I looked on Paradise, Through this I looked on Hell. THEODOSIA GARRISON. AMERICANS IN LONDON By LADY WILLSHIRE The author of the following essay on "Americans in London" is one of the most distinguished of the leaders of English Society. She is the daughter of Sir Sanford Freeling, who was for a time military secretary at Gibraltar. Her husband, Sir Arthur Willshire, was an officer in the Guards. Lady Willshire, in addition to her social activities, is, without ostentation, a woman whose charities occupy a large part of her time. In appearance she is over middle height, rather fragile, with great charm of manner. She is an accomplished musician and linguist. Her favorite recreations are riding, driving and bicycling, and she is looked upon as the best dancer in London Society. I can well remember the time when I could easily reckon up the wholelist of my American acquaintances resident in London on the fingers ofone hand, and most of those were the wives of English husbands. That was certainly not more than ten years ago, and then the majorityof Americans that one chanced to meet in England were travelers, whoknew very little of, and cared less apparently to see or take part in, the doings of our London society. In ten years, however, amazing changes can and do take place, especially where the natives of the States are concerned, and nowadaysI find that not only does it require a great many leaves in mycapacious address book to hold the names of the Americans--and thewomen most particularly--who live and move and have a large part oftheir social being in London, but that a very impressive majority ofthese attractive and prominent ladies are not the life partners ofvoting, title-holding British subjects at all. The good work accomplished both ways by the international marriagegoes merrily on. At the present moment we can claim not less thantwenty-five peeresses of transatlantic birth, while we don't pretendto keep anything like an exact record of the ever-increasingacquisitions, from American sources, to our gentry class; but, for allthat, the present big average of American women who come across theocean to conduct a successful siege of London no longer regard theEnglish husband as a sort of necessary preliminary and essential allyto the business of getting on in our smart metropolitan society. The fair and welcome invader from the land of the free and the home ofthe brave can, and does, "arrive" astonishingly well without masculineassistance and encouragement. She may appear as maid, wife or widow; sometimes as divorcee; but, personally, she conducts her own campaign. Furthermore, she comesfully equipped to carry everything before her--she has wit, wealth andgood looks at her command, and she works along approved and sensiblelines of action. If she has a thoroughgoing conquest of London planned out, she doesnot put up at a fashionable hotel and spread her fine plumage and waitfor notice. She usually begins by taking a house; she furnishes it with originalbut discreet good taste; she wears startlingly pretty gowns--quite thebest, as a rule, that Paris can supply; she gives the most takingsorts of entertainments, and the ordinary result is that in one seasonshe is not only launched and talked about, but securely placed andgreatly admired. And if you want to know why she does this thing, the answer you canget, as I did, from her own mouth; she simply "likes London and Londonsociety. " As an amiable, broad-minded woman, she does not love her own countryso much that she cannot find a place in her heart for London, too, andthat which chiefly appeals to her in our elderly, sprawling, sooty, amusing and splendid old capital is the fact that she finds itinteresting. There you have one explanation, at least, of the apparent phenomenonof the ever-growing circle of American women in the very heart of ourbiggest city. But it becomes a Londoner to confess that another goodreason why she is so familiar and conspicuous a figure among us isbecause we reciprocate her liking with the strongest possible warmthof admiration. Not only do we regard our American colony with genuine enthusiasm, andtake pride and pleasure in the fact that it is the largest of its kindin any European capital, but social London pleasantly feels itsinfluence. Now, influence is one of those qualities that the American womancarries about with her just as naturally as she carries her prettyairs of independence, or her capacity for easy and amusing speech, andit is a sad mistake for anyone to take it for granted that on herwealth or her pulchritude alone all her claim to success andpopularity in England rests. In no way that I know of has her influence been more sensibly andbeneficially felt among us than in the introduction of a quick, vivacious tone to conversation. Her gift for light, easy, semi-humorous talk, her gay, self-confidentway of telling a good story, constitute her a leading and most lastingattraction in English estimation. From her the English woman haslearned, first, that which it seems every transatlantic sister isaware by intuition, that one supreme duty of the sex, as it isrepresented in society, is to know how to talk a little to everybody, to talk always in sprightly fashion, and never to adopt the Englishwoman's depressing method of answering all conversational efforts andovertures with chilling monosyllables. It is no exaggeration to say that since the tremendous enlargement ofthe American colony, the whole pace of London drawing-room talk hasenormously improved. We British are not by nature a sprightly andspeechful race, with the gift of gay gab, but under the Americanwoman's cheerful influence we are enjoying a sort of reformation. We send our daughters even to a fashionable school in fashionableKensington, which is kept by a long-headed American woman, who will verynearly guarantee to bid a door post discourse freely and be obeyed. Andthe women to whom first honors are due for having inspired London witha wholesome respect for what I may justly call the very superiorAmerican parts of speech, are Mrs. George Cornwallis-West--perhapsbetter known on both sides of the ocean as Lady RandolphChurchill--and Consuelo, the Dowager Duchess of Manchester. It would be a superfluous and ungrateful task to try to recall thenumber of years that have flown since these two women, unusuallyattractive as they are, even for Americans, came over to literallytake London by storm. Suffice it to say that, as Shakespeare wrote of Cleopatra, "age cannotwither nor custom stale her infinite variety;" and in spite of theamazing influx of their young and lovely and accomplished countrywomeninto London since their day of arrival, these two ladies still stand, as they have stood for years, at the very top of the entire Americanset abroad. Both of them, by marriage or through years of long association, havebecome thoroughly identified with English society, but, unlike LadyVernon-Harcourt, widow of the great leader of the Liberal party, anddaughter of the famous historian Motley, they have never lost theirstrong American individuality. Lady Vernon-Harcourt, to sight and hearing, seems almost a typical andthoroughgoing English woman, but Mrs. George Cornwallis-West and theDuchess Consuelo are, to all intents and purposes, as distinctlyAmerican as the day on which they were presented as brides andbeauties at one of Queen Victoria's drawing-rooms. Then, as well as now, they were both fair to look upon, but they werealso something more--they were the cleverest of talkers, and thebeautiful Consuelo, in her soft, Southern voice, possessed a facultyfor quaint and witty turns of phrase that made her an instantfavorite. At the time of her début, London had yet to meet the American womanwho could not only chatter along cheerfully and intelligently, but whocould artfully and unembarrassedly tell an amusing story before thebig and critical audience that the average dinner table supplies. Ourfair Creole and the fair New Yorker were, however, more than equal toall and any such emergencies and occasions. It was with their capable tongues, quite as much as with theircharming faces, that they scored their social triumphs in England, andit was mainly through their beguiling conversational powers that theyboth caught the attention of the present king and queen--at that timePrince and Princess of Wales--and aroused royalty's prompt and lastingadmiration. Until that time no American could boast the fact that she was thefriend of the queen, prince or princess, but the young duchess andLady Randolph Churchill changed all that. They were the first of theirnation to be asked to the Sandringham house parties, to be included inthe lists of guests invited to meet royal folk at dinners, etc. , andto inspire in the present king and queen the thoroughgoing liking theynow cherish for American things in general and the American woman inparticular. A good deal of brown Thames water has flowed under London Bridge, itis true, since these exponents of two entirely different types ofAmerican womanhood came over to astonish even our _blasé_ society, butno two of their sex and nation have succeeded in making a more deepand lasting impression upon London than these, or have done more toinsure the social success of their countrywomen who followed in theirfootsteps. Consuelo, the duchess, is a grandmother to-day, but she is almost asprominent a figure in the gay world as she ever was; unlike Mrs. George Cornwallis-West, she never went in, so to speak, for politicalprestige. She has cared for social gayety pure and simple, preservedmuch of her beauty, maintained her reputation as the most delightfulhouse-party guest in England, and is noted nowadays as being, as well, the most skillful, tactful and serenely polite bridge-whist partner inthe United Kingdom. When, a few months ago, a house-party for royalty was given atChatsworth by the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, it was at the urgentrequest of both the king and queen that the Dowager Duchess ofManchester came over from Paris to spend a few days under the sameroof with their majesties, whose affection for this low-voiced, sweet-tempered, witty American woman has never wavered. Every now andthen one hears anew in London drawing rooms of some amusing saying ofhers, for she is as gracious and graceful a conversationalist as ofyore, and with three young and blooming American duchesses to rivalher, still stands well apart from and ahead of them all, at least sofar as the homage of our smart and titled society can be accepted asproof of a woman's position. Of all the three young duchesses, I think her youthful Grace ofMarlborough is far and away the most distinctly popular andinfluential. She has conquered even the most indifferent and the mostprejudiced, by an exquisitely charming sweetness of manner that isquite irresistible. She does not possess what a Frenchman would call the _vif_ style ofher average countrywomen, and she is not a very vigorous talker, butshe is wonderfully sympathetic and attractive of manner; her porcelainfine, aristocratic prettiness makes her a distinguished figurewherever she goes, and from the first she presided at the head of hervast establishment, and took her rightful position in England with anatural dignity and a complete grasp of the situation that literallytook the breath away from the rather skeptical British onlooker. There is a story told, _sub rosa_, of the discomfiture of a high-nosedand rather too helpful aristocratic matron and relative, who, on thearrival of her shy looking, slim young Grace, undertook to set herright and well beforehand on points of etiquette, ducal duty andresponsibilities, etc. Nobody knows to this day just what passed between the fair girl andthe stately matron, but the duchess was not very much bothered withunnecessary advice after one short interview with her rather officioussocial fairy-godmother. And if the duchess was not ready to takeadvice, it was simply because she did not need it. When she gave herfirst great house party at Blenheim, it rather outrivaled in splendoranything of the sort done in England in a long time, and her chiefguests were royalties; nevertheless, there was not a hitch or amistake in all the elaborate proceedings; and a critical peer, whoenjoyed the magnificent hospitality of the Marlboroughs, was heard toremark afterward that to be born an American millionairess is toapparently know by instinct all that has to be taught from childhoodto a native English duchess. That Her Grace of Marlborough has a natural taste for splendidsurroundings is shown by her fondness for big Blenheim and themarvelous luxury she has introduced into every part of that vastmansion; and when her indulgent father offered to buy for her a housein London, she imposed but two guiding conditions on his choice forher of a home in town. "I want the biggest house on the most fashionable street, " she is saidto have said. The result was that Mr. Vanderbilt purchased SunderlandHouse, in Curzon Street, and there the duchess is fittingly installed. There the most sumptuous decorating and furnishing has been done, andwhen she entertains, her dinners will be the most splendid and herballs the largest and most luxurious of the season, for whatever theduchess does is done in almost regal style. Eventually no London hostess can or will outshine her, and yet thisfirst among the American duchesses is not very socially inclined. Sheprefers the country life and Blenheim to the best that London can giveher, and this taste is to a great measure shared by many of ourAmerican peeresses and guests. The Countess of Orford, Lady Monson, the Countess of Donoughmore, Mrs. Spender Clay, Lady Charles Ross and Mrs. Langhorne Shaw, for example, find English country life pre-eminently to their taste, and all butavoid the town, save in the very height of the season. Lady Orford--who was Miss Corbin--lives at Waborne Hall, her husband'smagnificent Georgian place in Norfolk. There she gives shootingparties, from there she goes with her husband and pretty youngdaughter to fish in Scotland and Norway, and the chief interest thatbrings her up to London is her taste for music and the opera, which, she declares, is the only pleasure that one cannot gratify out oftown. Next after music, sport--fishing most especially--engages herparticular interest. Though she rarely goes out with the guns, herhusband declares she is a capital shot, and that she could and wouldride to hounds with the most daring of our fox-hunting peeresses, ifNorfolk was a hunting shire. Prominent, however, among the hunting set is the handsome Countess ofDonoughmore, whose father, the American millionaire Grace, owns BattleAbbey, and has made England his home for many years. His slender, pretty daughter, who was Miss Eleana Grace before she married an Irishearl, rode to hounds from her days of floating locks and short skirts. Now, as a fair and fashionable peeress, she hunts Ireland and Englandboth with all the zest and skill of a native-born Irish woman. Herkeenest American competitor, in the art of hard cross-country riding, is a young and beautiful Virginian, Mrs. Langhorne-Shaw, who comesover every year to hunt, and for no other purpose. In spite of all her youth and beauty and charm, this fairsister-in-law of the famous American artist, Charles Dana Gibson, scarcely makes an appearance in London at all. She arrives in Englandat the season when the scent is best and the hounds at their briskest, and, American-wise, she takes a house in the very heart of the huntingdistrict. Sometimes she brings over her own string of horses from her nativeState, for she is a judge of sound and capable animals; and she hasdone more than any other one of her sex and race to prove that theAmerican-built riding habit is a capital garment, and that when she iswell mounted and in the field there are few in England who can surpassan American woman at hard and intelligent riding. Lady Monson, though less of a sportswoman than Lady Donoughmore orMrs. Langhorne-Shaw, is, if anything, more devoted to country life inEngland than either, for a very great part of every year she spends, by preference, at her husband's beautiful home, "Barton Hall, " andthere she entertains not only extensively and luxuriously, but chieflythe diplomats, domestic and foreign. This capacity for gathering about her quite the most interesting amongnotable men has made her house parties rather famous in an enviableway, and has given Lady Monson a marked reputation as a hostess. Herhusband is the nephew of Sir Edmund Monson, the well-known ambassadorto France, and Lady Monson is herself a famous beauty. Before herfirst marriage, to a wealthy New Yorker, she was Miss Romaine Stone, and celebrated in London, Newport and New York for a uniquely delicateloveliness of face and form. Her beauty was, indeed, as widely talked about and ardently admired inLondon as was that of Lady Naylor Leyland some years ago, or as we nowvery enthusiastically discuss the charming features of Mrs. SamChauncey or Lady Ross, who are prominent members of the youngerAmerican colony. Both of the last-mentioned fair women hail from the State ofKentucky--Lady Ross was Miss Patricia Ellison, of Louisville, and Mrs. Chauncey belongs to the ever-growing class of American women who havecreated a deep impression on London society by making the very most ofsome particular talent or taste or feature. Society in these days, like the professions of war, law or medicine, is in the hands of the specialists; and I think that the Americanwomen who came over to carve out their own social way saw thisopportunity at once and have developed it in a quite remarkablefashion. The arbiters of social place are not handing out any of the big prizesto the women who are just agreeable in a commonplace style. Do thestriking thing in London, and do it well, is the rule for success atthis time, and the energetic, quickly perceiving American woman losesnot a week nor a day after her arrival in proving to us that she is adefinite person indeed. London society is made up of as many as ten different sets, allindependent and powerful, each one in its own way, and the skill ofthe woman from New York or Chicago is displayed by her promptness indeciding on just the set into which she prefers to enter. Mrs. Bradley Martin, Lady Deerhurst, Lady Bagot; Cora, LadyStrafford--now known by her new married title as Mrs. Kennard--LadyNewborough and a score of others one could mention, are to be includedamong the Americans who have devoted their talents entirely to theconquering of the smartest of smart sets. Most of these have marriedtitles, it is true, but titles are not essential, after all, wherenatural social gifts are possessed; Mrs. Sam Chauncey, for instance, is a case in point. Mrs. Chauncey is an American widow and a beauty, with a most agreeablemanner and lively intelligence; she presides in a bewitching bijou ofa little house in Hertford Street, and drives one of the smartestminiature victorias that appear in the park. But London's first andmost striking impression concerning this delightful acquisition fromthe States was derived from her wonderful and lovely gowns--her Frenchfrocks are, for taste and becomingness, quite paralyzing to even abreath of criticism, and from the first moment of her début in Londonthey excited only the most whole-souled enthusiasm in the hearts ofall beholders of both sexes. To say that she is rather particularly famous as the best dressedwoman in our great city is, perhaps, to make a pretty strongassertion, in the face of very serious competition offered by womennotable for the perfection of their wardrobe, but this claim reallystands on good grounds. Even among her compatriots, she seems alwaysastonishingly well gowned, and really, if we are going to honestlygive honor where honor is due, we must put natural pride and sentimentaside and agree that the presence of the American woman in London hashad a marked and salutary influence on the whole dress problem asEnglish women look at it. Not to mince matters, we may as well confess that _les Americaines_ dogown themselves with superlative taste. Our peeresses and visitorsfrom the States know what to wear and how to wear it; they show somuch tact in their choice of colors, they put on their gay gowns andhats with such a completeness of touch, and display so much instinctfor style in the choice and use of small etceteras, that it is idle tosay we English have not been compelled to notice and admire. If imitation is truly the sincerest flattery, as some ancient wiseacresaid years ago, then there is pretty clear evidence daily afforded toprove that we are complimenting our American sisters by slowlyadopting their ideas of dress. More and more each season does Paris send us the sort of gown andhatpin, belt and handkerchief and hair ornament, that goes to NewYork, and more and more is the saying, "She dresses quite like anAmerican woman, " accepted as a kindly comment, wherever it is offered. A general impression, also, is prevailing to the effect that onereason why our American cousins wear their fine frocks with such goodresults is because they hold their heads high and their backs flat andstraight. There is even now, in London, a vastly popular _corsetière_who does not hesitate to recommend herself as the only artiste in townwho can persuade any form, stout or lean, to assume at once the exactoutlines of the admired American figure. The Duchess of Roxburghe, Mrs. Kennard and the Countess of Suffolk areall very fair examples, in our eyes, of the high perfection of line towhich the feminine form divine can and does attain in America; for allthese women hold themselves with the most superlative grace, weargowns that would make Solomon in all his glory feel envious, and helpto maintain the now fixed belief in England that all Americans aretall, straight, slender and born with a capacity for wearing diamondtiaras with as much ease as straw hats. It would not be fair, though, to lay too much of the social success ofKing Edward's fair new subjects and visitors wholly at their wardrobedoors, for the two most influential and prominent American women justnow in London are neither of them titled, nor do they place too muchstress on the gorgeousness of their frocks and frills. Both Mrs. Arthur Paget--who was Miss Minnie Stevens, of New York--andMrs. Ronalds are listed everywhere among the most popular of ourhostesses, and Mrs. Ronalds, especially, is a distinct power in themusical world. Scarcely a famous artist comes to town but sooner orlater he hears, to his advantage, of this wealthy American. Her red and white music room--by far the most artistic and completelyequipped private salon of its kind in London--has sheltereddistinguished companies of the very fashionable and intellectualEnglish music lovers; she has made her Sunday afternoons of somethingmore than mere frivolous importance, and won for them, indeed, adecided and enviable celebrity, for Mrs. Ronalds is one of thoseAmerican women who possess a genius for hospitality. Mrs. Paget, it is true, takes due rank in the same category, and boththese women have all the truly American tastes for featuring theirentertainments most delightfully. To continue in the commonplace roundof quite conventional functions, as approved by society, is not to beborne by these energetic and novelty-loving ladies, and a dinner, asupper party or a dance at Mrs. Paget's is sure to develop someunexpected and charming phase. It is to Mrs. Paget, for example, that we are indebted for theintroduction of that purely American festivity, "The Ladies'Luncheon. " "The Ladies' Luncheon" is now quite acclimatized here; wehave accepted it as we have also accepted "The Ladies' Dinner-party, "which was wholly unknown previous to the American invasion. WhetherMrs. Paget was instrumental or not in making for the last-mentionedform of entertainment a place among our conservative hostesses is notquite proven, but it is safe to say that this tall, vivacious, energetic lady, who skates as well as she dances, golfs and drives amotor car, carries almost more social power in her small right handthan any other untitled woman in London. She is heartily admired by our present king and queen, who find in hersparkling talk very much the same mental stimulus that one derivesfrom the Duchess Consuelo's gay epigrams, and, above everything else, the court and its circle of society reverence the charms of the womanwhose brain bubbles over with ideas. If a dance, a dinner, a bazaar or a picnic is on foot, Mrs. Paget canmap out and put through the enterprise with amazing skill andreadiness, and she shows all the American's shrewd business instinctfor profitably pleasing a ticket-purchasing public when a charity fundmust be swelled or a hospital assisted. With her vigor, high spirits and infinite variety of charm, she isenormously sought after and courted and fêted, but it is noticeable, and none the less admirable, in English eyes, that the American womanestablished in a foreign land rarely or never fails in either heradmiration or her affection for her country across the sea. At the time of the Spanish-American War, this extreme loyalty to theirnative home and the land of their birth was made evident in not onebut a dozen ways that never escaped the notice of English eyes. Expatriated though in a measure she is, the Anglicized American womanscarcely ever loses her sense of pride and profound satisfaction inbeing an American, after all, and so strong is this feeling in thesedelightful women that it is accepted quite as a matter of course, bothby them and by their English friends, that their sons shouldfrequently go back to the mothers' land in order to find their wives. Two notable instances of the son's love for his mother's country andhis instinctive interest in her countrywomen have been supplied in themarriages of the young Duke of Manchester and the son of Sir Williamand Lady Vernon-Harcourt. It seems scarcely more than natural that Mr. Lewis Vernon-Harcourtshould marry pretty Miss Burns, of New York, though, through hismother as well as his father, all his interests and sympathies arenaturally centered in England. Yet it is safe to say that when the average Englishman marries anAmerican he does not feel in the least as though he was marrying, soto speak, outside the family circle. The marvelous adaptability of the American woman robs the situation ofany difficulty, and in no way, so far, has the American wife of theEnglishman showed more astonishing adaptability than in the cordialinterest with which she often identifies herself with her husband'spolitical interests, if he is in Parliament. Three of the keenest politicians in petticoats that England possessesare American women by birth; and the first and leading spirit amongthem is the American wife of Mr. Chamberlain. Mrs. Chamberlain cares little or nothing for society, and beyond theobligatory functions at which she has been obliged to preside orattend, she shows small taste for the frivolities of that specialworld of men and women where the main task and occupation of every dayis to amuse one's self. But in the affairs of state she feels a veryburning interest indeed. She is one of the two women in the British empire who are admitted bymen to understand the mysterious and, to the average feminine mind, inexplicable fiscal problem; she knows all about tariff reform; she isher husband's first secretary, confidante and adviser; she is said tobe the most discreet lady in speech, where her husband's politicalinterests are concerned, and when he speaks in public Mrs. Chamberlainsits so near to him that, in case of a lapse of memory, she can playthe part of stage prompter. Every one of his speeches she commits to memory, and can, therefore, give him any missing word at any critical moment, and in this way sheis even more helpful than the capable and intellectual LadyVernon-Harcourt was to her distinguished husband. There is still a third American woman to whose abilities her Englishhusband is deeply indebted. This is Lady Curzon, who has very clearlydefined diplomatic gifts, who is naturally highly ambitious, and whohas, in her zeal to help her husband, learned to speak more EastIndian dialects and Oriental tongues than any white woman in India. Fourth, perhaps, of this list should be mentioned Lady Cheylesmore, who was in her girlhood, spent at Newport and New York, so well knownand admired, especially for her wonderful red hair, which Whistlerloved to paint. Lady Cheylesmore was Miss Elizabeth French in those days, and now sheis proud to be known as the wife of the mayor of Westminster, for herhusband has lately been chosen for that very dignified position. Asone of London's lady mayoresses, she will dispense delightfulhospitality in her handsome house in Upper Grosvenor Street, which isfamous for its three wonderful drawing rooms, decorated by theBrothers Adam, and regarded by connoisseurs as one of the most perfectexamples of their art and taste. At her dinner parties Lady Cheylesmore entertains many politicians ofnote, and in one way or another, by her infinite tact and good sense, does much to aid and abet her husband's well-known aspirations to abrilliant parliamentary place. She is one of the ardently ambitious American women of whose very realand deserved triumphs we hear so much artistically as well associally, these days. And let it be said here and now, to London'scredit, that there is no city in the world that gives to its residentdaughters of Uncle Sam a heartier measure of praise and encouragementin all their accomplishments. We may, some of us, cherish high tariff principles and believe inrestricting the immigration. None of us, however, is ready to vote forany measures that will bar out or discourage one class of fair andaccomplished aliens who cross the ocean bent on conquering London, andwho in the end are so often conquered in turn by London's charm, andwho settle down to form an element in our society that is fastbecoming as familiar and as welcome as it is admirable andindispensable. THE BLOOD OF BLINK BONNY By MARTHA MCCULLOCH-WILLIAMS Miss Allys Rhett stood upon the clubhouse lawn, a vision in filmywhite, smiling her softest, most enchanting smile. There was a reasonfor the smile--a reason strictly feminine, yet doubly masculine. Shehad walked down the steps that led from the _piazza_ betwixt RichHilary and Jack Adair, the catches of the season, in full view of theHammond girl, who was left to waste her sweetness upon prosy old VanAmmerer. The Hammond girl had been rather nasty all summer--she was, moreover, well known to be in hot pursuit of Rich Hilary. Until Allys came onthe scene it had seemed the pursuit must be successful. They had goneabroad on the same steamer the year before, dawdled through a Londonseason, and come home simultaneously--he rather bored and languid, sheof a demure and downcast, but withal possessive, air. She had saidthey were not engaged--"oh, dear no, only excellent friends, " butlooking all the while a contradiction of the words. Then unwisely shehad taken Hilary to that tiresome tea for the little Rhett girl--andbehold! the mischief was done. The little Rhett girl was not little; instead, she was divinely tall, and lithe as a young ash. No child, either. What with inclination andmother-wisdom, her coming out had waited for her to find herself. Atnineteen she had found herself--a woman, well poised and charming asshe was beautiful. Notwithstanding Hilary had not instantlysurrendered--horse, foot and dragoons. Rather he had held out forterms--the full honors of war, as became a man rising thirty, andprospective heir to more millions than he well knew what to do with. Two or three of the millions had taken shape in the Bay Park, thenewest and finest of metropolitan courses. Hilary's father, a poweralike on the turf and in the street, had built it, and controlled itabsolutely--of course through the figment of an obedient jockey club. A trace of sentiment, conjoined to a deal of pride, had made himrevive an old-time stake--the Far and Near. It dated back to thatlimbo of racing things--"before the war. " Banker Hilary's grandfather, a leader among gentlemen horsemen of that good day, had been of thosewho instituted it--a fact upon which no turf scribe had failed todilate when telling the glories of the course. The event was, ofcourse, set down a classic--as well it might be, all thingsconsidered. The founders had framed it so liberally as to admit thebest in training--hence the name. The refounders made conditionssomething narrower, but offset that by quadrupling the value. This was Far and Near day--with a record crowd, and hot, bright summerweather. The track was well known to be lightning fast, and the entrylist was so big and puzzling that the Far and Near might well proveanybody's race. There were favorites, of course, also rank outsiders. One heard their names everywhere in the massed throng that hadoverflowed the big stand, the lawn, the free field, and broken inhuman waves upon the green velvet of the infield. This by PresidentHilary's own order. He had come to the track early, and looked toeverything--with a result that there was no trouble anywhere. The crowd had been gayly demonstrative through the first two races. Ithad watched the third in tense silence--except that moiety of itebbing and flowing through the clubhouse. It was the silence of edgedpatience. Albeit the early races were fair betting propositions, themost of those who watched them had come to lay wagers on some Far andNear candidate--and the Far and Near candidates had been getting theirpreliminaries. They numbered just nineteen. Seventeen had been out when Allys and hersquires stopped under the shade of a tree. Notwithstanding the shadow, she put up her white parasol, tilting it at just the angle to make itthrow her head and shoulders in high relief. Adair glanced at her, caught a hard breath, nipped it, then looked steadily down the coursea minute. Hilary smiled--a smile that got no further than the corners of his redlips--his eyes, indeed, gloomed the more for it--then turned uponAllys with: "Pick the winner for us, won't you? You are so delightfulfeminine you know nothing of horses, therefore ought to bring us luck. Say, now, what shall we back?" "It depends, " Allys said, twirling her parasol ever so lightly. "Doyou want to lose? Or do you really care to win?" "To win, please, O oracle, if it's all the same to you, " Hilary said, supplication in his voice, although his eyes danced. Allys gave him a long look. "Then you must take Heathflower, " shesaid. "I have the Wickliffe boy's word for it--he wrote me onlyyesterday: 'Miss Allys, if you want to get wealthy, bet all your realmoney on that Heathflower thing. '" "H'm! Who is the Wickliffe boy? Tell us that before we play his tip, "Adair demanded. Hilary could not speak for laughing. Allys smiled entrancingly. "The Wickliffe boy--is a knight-errant bornout of time, " she said. "I'm wondering if it will last. We came toknow him last summer--mother and I--down at Hollymount, my uncle'splace in Virginia. The Wickliffe boy, Billy by name, lives atLyonesse, which is Hollymount's next neighbor. It belongs to Billy'suncle, the dearest old bachelor--maybe that is the reason the boy hassuch reverence for womankind. I don't know which he comes nearestworshiping--women or horses. Whenever we rode out--he was my steadfastgallant--he managed somehow to pass through or by or around Haw Bush, where the Heathflower thing was bred. Old Major Mediwether, her owner, is Billy's best chum. They match beautifully--though the major isnearly eighty, and Billy just my age--rising nineteen. " "They must have made it interesting for you. I'm sure you couldn'ttell half so much about either of us, " Adair said, with a deeplyinjured air. Allys shook her head at him. "They are dears, " she said, emphatically. "And they taught me a lot I should never have known--about horses andmen. " "Anything specific--as about the Heathflower thing?" Hilary asked, affecting to speak with awe. Allys nodded. "A heap, " she said. "I can hear Billy now, as we watchedher on the training track, saying: 'She hasn't got any looks--but legsare better for winnin'. And she must win; she's bound to--whenever shefeels like it, and the track and the weights suit her. She can't helpit--she's got eight full crosses of Blink Bonny blood. '" "Blink Bonny! H'm! Who was he? What did he do?" Hilary asked. Allys looked at him severely. "'He' happens to have been 'she, '" shesaid. "As for the doing, it was only winning the Derby, with the Oaksright on top of it. Mighty few mares have ever done that--as you wouldknow if you had grown up in Virginia, with time to know everything. Billy does know everything about pedigrees--he can reel them off atleast a hundred years back. Remember, now, I'm strictly quoting him:'Blink Bonny is really ancient history--she won the year poor old DickTen Broek tried so hard to have his American-bred ones carry off theblue ribbon of the turf. He didn't win it--no American did--until oneof them had luck enough to try for it with something of Blink Bonny'sblood. Iroquois went back to her through his sire, BonnieScotland-Iroquois, who wasn't really a great horse, but a good onethat happened on a great chance. '" "Why, Allys darling, I can hardly believe my ears! Here you aretalking horse like a veteran, when I always thought you didn't know afetlock from a wishbone, " the Hammond girl cooed, swimming up behindthem on old Van Ammerer's arm. They were headed for the paddock, although it was not quite time for the saddling bell. The Heathflowerthing was still invisible--Allys searched the course for her throughHilary's glass, saying the while over her shoulder, with her mostinfantine smile: "You thought right, Camilla dear. I don't really_know_ anything--have only a parrot faculty of repeating what I hear. " The Hammond girl flushed--that was what she had said of Allys whenpeople laughed over the Rhett _mots_. But before she could counter, Allys cried joyously: "At last! The Heathflower thing! Really, shehasn't any looks--but see her run, will you?" "She does move like a winner--but it's impossible she can stay, "Hilary said, almost arrogantly. "Pedigree is all very well--until itruns up against performance----" "Right you are! Quite mighty right, Rich, me boy, " old Van Ammererinterrupted. "But I didn't know they let dark horses run in the Farand Near----" "Lucky you are young, Van--you have such a lot to learn, " Adair said, brusquely, as they went toward the paddock. It was thronged, butsomehow at sight of Hilary the human masses fell respectfullyapart--albeit the men and women there had forgotten themselves, evenforgotten each other for the time being, in their poignant eagernessover the big race. They were hardly through the gate and well established in an eddy whenthe bell brought the racers pacing or scurrying in. The Heathflowerthing came straight off the course, and stood spiritlessly, droopingher head and blinking her eyes. Clear eyes, matching the loose, satinyskin, beneath which whipcord muscles stood out, or played at eachleast motion, they told the eye initiate that she was in the pink ofcondition. Like her so-famous ancestors, a bay with black points, neither under nor over size, with a fine, lean head, a long neck, andfour splendid legs, it was a marvel that she could so utterly lack anytrace of equine comeliness. Her chest was noticeably narrow, herbarrel out of proportion to shoulders and quarters. Still, againstthose patent blemishes, a judge of conformation would have set thesplendid sloping shoulders, the reaching forearm, the bunches of massymuscle in the long loin, the quarters well let down into perfecthoughs, the fine, clean bone of knees and ankles, the firm, close-grained hoofs spreading faintly from coronet to base. Clean-limbed throughout, with ears that, if they drooped, had no traceof coarseness and were set wide apart above a basin face, the mareshowed race indisputably, notwithstanding the white in her foreheadwas too smudgy to be called a star, or that, though her muzzle taperedfinely, the lower lip habitually protruded a bit. A four-year-old, shewas still a maiden--consequently had but a feather on her back in theFar and Near. The handicapper had laughed, half wearily, halfcompassionately as he allotted it, muttering something about thejockey club robbing the cradle and the grave--that poor old MajorMeriwether, it was well known, hadn't any money to spare; what he didhave was the gambler's instinct to sit into any game where the stakeswere big. The race was open to three-year-olds and upward, and run over adistance--two miles and a half. The distance kept out the sprinters--italso, now and again, played hob with racing idols. To win a horse mustbe able to go--also to stay. With twenty thousand of added money, there was sure to be always a long list of entries. The conditionsheld one curious survival from the original fixture--namely, that, horses brought over three hundred miles to run in it got a three-poundallowance if they reached the course less than a week before the dayof the race. Major Meriwether had chuckled whenever he thought of that. He knew"the weight of a stable key may win or lose a race. " And theHeathflower thing was a splendid traveler, coming out of her paddedstall as ready to run as when she went into it. She had got to the BayPark only two days back, in charge of her rubber, Amos, and Black Tim, her jockey. Tim stood at her head, Amos was giving her lank sidestheir last polish, as Allys and her train swept down upon them. Allys nodded to them gayly, as she asked: "Tim, have you come up tobreak New York? I hear your stable will need a special car to takehome its money--after the Far and Near. " "Yessum, dat's so!" Tim said. Amos scowled at him, but said to Allys, respectfully: "Please'um, don't ax dat dar fool boy no mo' 'bout de Flower--hit's mighty badluck sayin' whut you _gwine_ do, ontwel you is done done it. " "Dar come Marse Billy Wickliffe--you kin ax him all you wanter. " Timgiggled, then clapped his hand over his mouth. Tim waslathy--long-legged, long-armed, with an ashy-black complexion and verybig eyes. As he stood fondling the Flower's nose, he glared disdain ofall the other candidates, or, rather, of the knots of folk gatheredadmiringly about them. Allys turned half about--for two breaths at least she had a snobbishimpulse to overlook Billy and hurry away. Billy was tall, with a facelike a young Greek god--but how greet him there with the Hammond girlto see, in a checked suit, patently ready-made, with the noisiest ofshirts, a flowing bright red tie, and a sunburned straw hat? If itwere only Adair, she would not mind--Hilary was, she knew, very muchmore critical. She might have run away, but that she caught theHammond girl's look--amusement and satisfaction struggled through it, although the young lady tried hard to mask them. Allys turned wholly, holding out both hands, and saying: "Billy, byall that's delightful! I've just been telling these people about you. Come, show them I kept well within the truth. " Billy caught the outstretched hands, his heart so openly in his eyesHilary wanted to strangle him on the spot. The Hammond girl laughed, and turned to whisper in Van Ammerer's ear. Adair, alone of the group, shook hands. Although the others gave him civil, if formal, greeting, Billy felt their hostility intuitively, and flung up his head like astag at bay. "You got my note--have you done it yet?" he asked, bending over Allysin a fashion that made Hilary's teeth set hard. She laughed back at him: "Have you done it yet? Bet your whole fortuneon the Heathflower thing at a hundred to one?" Billy nodded confidently. "That's just what I have done. Unc' Robertwas willin'--he thought as I did, such a little bit o' money wasbetter risked than kept. " "H'm! I hope you kept the price of a return ticket, " Hilary said, trying to speak jocularly. "Really, Mr. Wickliffe, you can't thinkthat ugly brute has a chance to be even in the money. " "My money's talkin' for me, " Billy said, facing Hilary. "'Tain'tmuch--only a thousand. Lordy! if I could, wouldn't I burn up theseringsters! You ought to a-heard 'em, Miss Allys, when I went at 'em. 'The Heathflower thing, did you say?' the first one asked me. 'Oh, say! do you want to rob us poor fellows? Couldn't think of layin' youless'n a thousand to one on that proposition. ' But he cut it mightyquick to a hundred to one when I said: 'I'd take you for a hundred, only I know you couldn't pay. ' Tell you he rubbed his slate in a hurryafter I got down fifty. The next one tried to be smart as he was--sangout to some o' the rest: 'Here's the wild man from Borneo, come toskin us alive!' Then made out he was skeered to death when I offeredhim one little pitiful rag of a ten. But when they saw me keep onright down the line, some of 'em shut up and looked a little anxious, some cut the price, and some got sassier than ever. They called meRube, and Johnny-on-the-spot-of-wealth, and Shekels, and a heap ofother things. But I didn't mind. Still, next time I'll send my moneyby one of those commissioner fellows. To-day I couldn't risk it. " "What makes you so suddenly avaricious, Billy?" Allys asked. "Lastsummer you cared less for money than anything. There must be areason--tell me, does it wear frocks?" "Not the special reason, " Billy said, with an adoring look; then inher ear: "I know you don't care for money any more'n I do. But I'mbound to have some--if there's any chance--it's--it's because of themajor. I'll tell you all about it, after the race. " The parade was nearly over when Allys and her three swains came againto the lawn. By some odd chance, the long shots had been well towardthe head of it, leaving the two favorites and the three second choicesto bring up the rear. The Heathflower thing was immediately in frontof them. She had moved so soberly, plodding with low head and sleepyeyes, the watchers had given her an ironic cheer, mingled with catcalls. All the others had got a welcome more or less enthusiastic, butit was only when Aramis, even-money favorite, came through the paddockgate that the crowd got to its feet. All up and down, and round about, roaring cheers greeted him, followedhim--men flung up their hats for him, women in shrill falsetto criedhis name. Nobody could fail to understand that he carried the hopesand the fortunes of a great multitude. Nobody could fail to understandeither that Aldegonde, who followed right on his heels, would win orlose for as many. The pair were blood-brothers, sons of the greatHamburg, but one out of an imported dam, the other from a mare tracingto Lexington, and richly inbred to that great sire. Still the line of cleavage was not patriotic nor even international. Folk had picked one or the other to win freakishly--on hunches of allsorts, tips of all manners, pure fancy, or "inside information" of thehollowest sort. As to looks, pedigree, or performance, there washardly a pin to choose between the pair. Both were three-year-olds, tried in the fire of spring racing; both held able to go the distanceand stay the route, in that they had won from everything except fromeach other. By some curious chance they had not met before that season--in theirtwo-year-old form they had won and lost to each other. Thus to many onlookers the Far and Near held out a promise of such anequine duel as would make it the race of the century. And certainlytwo handsomer or gallanter beasts than the pair of raking chestnuts, long-striding, racelike, with white-starred faces and single whitehind feet, never looked through a bridle. Notwithstanding, the second choices were far from friendless, albeittheir greatest support was for the place or to show. The greeting theygot was tame compared to that of the favorites, but still a volleyingcheer, rising and falling along the quarter-mile of humanity bankedand massed either side the course. Shrewd form players and the plainersort had taken liberal fliers on them--that was evident by the way theshouting mounted in the free field, and the jam in front of thebetting ring. Not a few of the professional layers had turned their slates and wereout on watch for the event that would mean thousands in or out oftheir pockets. Among the second choices Artillery, the black Meddlermare, was held a shade the best. Next to her came Tay Ho, a son ofHastings, five years old, who might have divided honors with thefavorites but for being an arrant rogue. To-day he ran in blinkers, and nodded the least bit in his stride, whereas his stable mate, Petrel, the last of the second choices, went as free as ever waterran. Billy watched the parade, scarcely conscious that Allys clung to hisarm. Hilary stood at her other hand, frowning blackly. The finish linewas almost in front of them. Hilary moved back a pace. "We can see better here, " he said, trying todraw Allys along with him. She shook her head obstinately, but saidnothing; in her heart she was resolved that Billy should have thecomfort of her presence in his hour of defeat. Since she was very far from being a model young person, Hilary'smanifest anger was not displeasing. She was going to marry him--butonly at her own time, and upon her own conditions. So far, there wasno engagement--she had fenced and played with him beautifully allthrough the last three months. He had no right whatever to be nastyabout Billy; of course, if it were some grown-up body, Adair forexample, there might be a color of reason for his wrath. He ought tounderstand that Billy was, in a way, her guest--also a person to whomshe owed something in the way of hospitality. What provoked her mostwas knowing that Hilary was less jealous than ashamed--ashamed to haveher thus openly countenance anybody who wore Billy's clothes. She wasall the angrier for her own moment of snobbishness--men ought to beabove such paltry things, she reasoned; anyway, she was bound to standby Billy to the inevitably bitter end. The start was tedious. Again and again the line of rainbow jacketsdrew taut across the course, only to break and tangle, and at lastdissolve into its original gaudy units. Billy sighed as he watched it, then smiled shyly, and drew a long breath, saying in Allys' ear: "Ihate to win except right square out. " "I don't understand, " Allys returned. Billy looked at her in surprise. "Don't you see--the favorites have got so much on their backs, thelonger they wheel and turn, the more they take out of themselves?" heasked. "I'll bet they are frettin' like everything, too. See there!One of them chestnut-sorrels--can't tell whether it's Aramis orAldegonde--is cuttin' up high didoes. And the Heathflower thingstandin' like a little lamb----" "She may be standing there when the race is over, " Hilary interrupted. Billy did not put down his glass, but said over his shoulder: "Oh, Ireckon Tim can stop her before she gets that far around. Don't know, though--if she feels like runnin' she's a handful. And this is one ofthe days--I know, because she looks as though she couldn't beat afuneral. " Allys pressed Billy's arm--it was all she could do to show herenjoyment of the way he had turned things. Hilary bent toward her, saying, with a hard smile: "You seem to be on Mr. Wickliffe's side--Iwonder will you back his judgment?" "Maybe so, " Allys said, without turning her head. "That is, if youcare to make it anything worth while. I'm not quite sure which I'dlike best--a winter in Paris or a pearl necklace--and I know I shan'tever get them at bridge--I have no luck at all. " "Give you millions against--just one word, " Hilary whispered; thenaloud: "Is it a bet?" "Say yes, Miss Allys, " Billy entreated. "You ain't trustin' to myjudgment--remember that--but to the blood of Blink Bonny. " "I take you up, " Allys said, nodding to Hilary. As well this way asany other, she thought--besides, she could hold him off as long as shechose. Her father would stand by her loyally--he was in no haste tosee her established. Besides, this was what she had always craved--towatch a race with a heartrending wager on its event. "Here they come!" Billy shouted, dropping his glass, and flinging uphis head. Up course the rainbow line had at last held steady, then, as the tapeflew up, bellied out like a sail in gusty wind, and been rent intoflecks and tatters. The lightweights, of course, were in the foremostof the flecks and tatters--all, that is, save the Heathflower thing, who came absolutely last. Tim's orange jacket and scarlet sash weredust-dimmed by the time he came to the stand. But right in front ofhim were Aldegonde's tiger stripes, black and yellow, and the blue andwhite in the saddle of Aramis. "Last all the way--eh, Miss Allys?" Adair said, leaning across Billy, who would have given back but that Allys clung to him in silence, hereyes glued to the glass, flushing and paling, her breath comingquicker even thus early in the race. There were open lengths all along--the lightweights were bent onmaking it a runaway race. Billy knew they could never do it. Ahorseman born and made, he marked their stride, and understood evenbetter than their jockeys how much the killing pace was taking out ofthem. It did not astonish him that in the outstretch, before a milehad been run, three of the first flight chucked it up, falling back, back, till even the Heathflower thing showed them her heels. At themile there were more counterfeits proven--as the race swept down uponthe stand the second time there were but seven of the originalcontenders really in it. The rest were tailing hopelessly. One or twoeven pulled up. But the Heathflower thing was among the seven, andkeeping place right behind the favorites. Allys clutched Billy's arm so hard her fingers half buried in it. Shewas getting the thrills she had pined for with a vengeance, now thather freedom, her future, were to be colored by the issue of the race. The Heathflower thing could not win, of course; still, it was puredelight to have her so far redeem herself. If she was even near thereal contenders at the finish, Billy's faith would be justified. Somany, at shorter odds, had already fallen out, there would bedistinction in staying all the way. If the impossible happened, the Heathflower thing won, then she wouldhave Hilary in a very proper frame of mind. Losing always hurt himdreadfully--it would be gall and wormwood to have lost to such awinner. She felt this rather than thought it--connected thought indeedwas impossible in view of what was happening out on the course. In the outstretch, for the second time, Aramis shot forward like thearrow from a bended bow. He had been running under wraps--now thus farfrom home, his jockey, the most famous of them all, gave him his head, evidently thinking there would be but one horse in the race. All in abreath two open lengths showed between Aramis and the others; thenAldegonde with a mighty burst lapped the leader's flank. Tay Ho wasright behind--so close his backers set up a breathless shout. TheFlower was still last, but strive, strain, stretch as the flyingleaders might, they got no further away from her. Billy flung up his hat, then clapped his hand over his mouth and said, smotheredly: "See that, Miss Allys! Let her come into the stretch with just onebreath more'n those fine fellows, and it's all over but the cashin'in. " "Billy, you're an angel! I thought we were hopelessly beaten, " Allysbreathed rather than said. Hilary's mouth set. Adair, watching him narrowly, saw it also whitenwhen, at the second mile post, the three leaders swept the turn barelyheads apart, with the Heathflower thing right on their heels. Morethan that, she was running strongly, easily, clearly not distressed, although Aramis, still leading, rolled the least bit. Could that leggy bay really stay the route? Was there any reason forthe Wickliffe boy's unreason? Was there also any chance forhim?--there Adair stopped short, smiling a thought grimly to see howall unconsciously, all femininely, Allys drooped to Billy's upright, youthful strength. Hilary likewise noted it--with a thumping heart that sent the colorsurging over his face. Habitually he held himself well in hand--itamazed and angered him to find himself thus swept beyond himself. Toall of us come moments when instinct masters reason--the primalmasculine instinct of possession told him he would win or lose hisquicksilver sweetheart on the issue of this race. Now she had no thought of him--her eyes were only for the course, where four horses ran like a team as never any of them had run before. All through the first quarter of this fateful last half, they heldeach other safe, running side by side, stride for stride. At the furlong pole beyond, Tay Ho's hooded head for the first timeshowed in front--only to be instantly eclipsed by the white star ofAldegonde. Aramis began to hang--the angry roar of his backers told hewas out of it. Simultaneously, the jockeys sat down to ride--there wasthe cruel swish of catgut, the crueler prodding of steel. In the crowda great hushed breath, like the sigh of a forest before the storm, told of tense heartstrings. Almost instantly the sigh changed to a shouted roar as Tay Ho droppedback level with Aramis, leaving Aldegonde and the Heathflower thinghalf a length to the good. But next breath the falterers cameagain--together they held their place, their way, four mighty massesof blood and bone, of breath and fire and stay, fighting it out everyinch of the way, with a living sea roaring, shouting, cursing, cryingencouragement on either hand. How they lay down to it! How they came up! Stretch and gather! Stretch and gather, the game and gallant foursomeheld to it. Now, for the first time, the Heathflower thing showed allthat was in her. Even those who stood to lose fortunes felt that herwhirlwind rush deserved to win. A hundred yards from the wire, whips still flying, rowels plowingfurrows in satin coats, Aramis staggered, half stumbled, then fellback an open length. Tim flung away his whip, and leaned far over, lying almost flat uponthe Flower's neck to shout in her ear: "You see dat dar MisterAldergown! Dee calls him bulldawg! Tote yosef, gal! Show 'im you'sbulldawg, too. " Perhaps the Flower resented the caution. Certainly, she hung a bit in the next stride. Tay Ho and Aldegonde, runningeither side of her, almost let in daylight between. The cheers, the roars, mounted in deafening volume. The Heathflowerthing answered them by going down, down, till it seemed she lay quiteflat on earth. And then she came up, up, with a leap so long, solancelike, it recovered all she had lost. Again she thrust herselfforward--the horses either side of her thrust as far. Twenty yards from home not one of the three was an inch to the good orthe bad. Aldegonde's jockey slashed his mount savagely--somehow, oneblow of the whip fell on the Flower's quarter--fell and won the race. With a sweep as of the wind she went away from it, and got her noseacross the finish line three inches in front! A near thing. Anybody must admit that. So near the tumult died to abreathless hush. Hilary half turned about. "I'm going to the judges'stand to see what won, " he said. "I saw Aldegonde first. " "I don't know about that--but I reckon you won't go, " Billy said, laying his hand upon Hilary's arm. Hilary was furious. "Why not?" he demanded. He was no weakling, butsomehow he could not get free of that impertinent young cub's grip. "Oh, because you are--your father's son, " Billy said, nonchalantly, then steadfastly, the lightness dying from face and voice: "I mean nodisrespect, Mr. Hilary, but all of us have got to take account ofhuman nature. We may think we know what won--you and me--but it's thejudges' business to say so--and ours to be satisfied with the sayin'. That's only fair----" "Let go my arm!" Hilary said, in a hoarse whisper, his eyes murderous. Billy held him fast. "Not until you give me a gentleman's word youwon't interfere, " he said. Allys looked at him amazed, enchanted. Here was no boy to be playedwith, petted and coaxed from his beliefs--rather a man standing forwhat he held the right with the fire and strength of youth. Adair caught Hilary on the other side, saying under breath: "Holdstill, Rich! You must! The wild man from Borneo is right this time. Itwould be horribly bad form if you said a questioning word--and, anyway, the judges saw--what we did. " Hilary turned upon Billy a look that made Allys hide her eyes, butnodded shortly, and strode away, not toward the stand. Billy turned toshield Allys, until by the stunned silence falling on the course, heknew the boards were going up--with the Flower's number at the top ofthem. Then he took the fence in front at a flying leap, and came to himselfonly when he had both arms about the Flower's neck, his face pressedto it, and tears raining, as he whispered: "You won, lady! You had to!You wouldn't let Haw Bush be sold over the major's head. Hang themortgages now--we'll save him, you and I! And you shall never, neverrun another race!" As the Flower was led away to receive other flowers, the hideoushorseshoe penalty of victory, the crowd was astounded to see in themiddle of the course a tall youngster in loud plaids, leaping, shouting, hugging himself, laughing and crying in the same breath. And this was what he shouted: "The blood of Blink Bonny! Hurrah!hurrah! Beat it if you can! Hurrah for Haw Bush! For Major Meriwether!For Tim! For Blink Bonny! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" Allys watched him, smiling roguishly. "Billy is ridiculously young, "she said to the constant Adair. Adair looked glum. He knew, and knew she knew, that the boy they hadwelcomed was of full man's age--quite old enough, in fact, to bemarried. MONOTONY Love, does my love with weary burden fall Daily upon thy too accustomed ear With words so oft repeated that the dear, Sweet tones of early joy begin to pall? What gift of loving may I give to call Again to your deep eyes of brown the tear Of welling, full delight and love, the clear, Rose-petaled blush that holds my heart in thrall? Not all the homage of the bees that wing Laden with honey through the clover days Wearies the tiny queen with heavy tune! Not all the rapture of the birds that fling Love melodies adrift through leafy ways Burdens the mothers on their nests in June! PHILIP GERRY. "PLUG" IVORY AND "PLUG" AVERY By HOLMAN F. DAY It was the queerest turnout that ever invaded Smyrna Corner. Even the frogs of Smyrna swamp at the edge of the village gulped backtheir pipings, climbed the bank for a nearer view, and goggled inastonished silence as it passed, groaning, in the soft and early dusk. 'Twas a sort of van--almost a little house on wheels, with an elbow ofstove funnel sticking out of one side. An old chaise top was fastenedby strings and wire over a seat in front. Dust and mud coveredeverything with striated coatings, mask eloquent of wanderings overmany soils. A cadaverous horse, knee-sprung and wheezy, dragged thevan at the gait of a caterpillar. Under the chaise top was hunched an old man, gaunt but huge of frame, his knees almost to his chin. Long, white hair fluffed over his bentshoulders, and little puffs of white whiskers stood out from histanned cheeks. A fuzzy beaver hat barely covered the bald spot on hishead. The reins were looped around his neck. Between his hands, hugeas hams, moaned and sucked and suffled and droned a much-patchedaccordion. The instrument lamented like a tortured animal as he pulledit out and squatted it together. To its accompaniment, the old mansang over and over some words that he had fitted to the tune of "OldDog Tray, " "Plug" Ivory Buck sat outside the door of his "emporium" in SmyrnaCorner, his chair tipped back comfortably, ankle roosting across hisknee, his fuzzy stovepipe hat on the back of his head. The end of his cigar, red in the May dusk, was cocked up close to hisleft eye with the arrogant tilt that signified the general temperamentof "Plug" Ivory. For almost fifty years a circus man, he felt a blandand yet contemptuous superiority to those who had passed their livesin Smyrna Corner. However, when his father had died at the ripe age ofninety-three--died in the harness, even while gingerly and thriftilyknuckling along a weight into the eighth notch of the bar of the scoopscales--Ivory had come back as sole heir to store, stock and stand, aseventy-two-year-old black sheep bringing a most amazing tail behindhim--no less than a band chariot, a half dozen animal cages, a tentloaded on a great cart, and various impedimenta of "Buck's LeviathanCircus and Menagerie. " He trundled the array through the village's single street, stored thegilded glories in the big barn on the old home place, with theeuphemism of circus terminology changed the sign "A. Buck, GeneralStore, " to "I. Buck, Commercial Emporium, " and there he had lived fiveyears, keeping "bachelor's hall" in the big house adjoining the store. Sometimes he dropped vague hints that he might start on the roadagain, displaying as much assurance of long years ahead as though hewere twenty-one. It was a general saying in Smyrna Corner that a Buckdidn't think he was getting old until after he had turned ninety. Thetownspeople accepted Ivory as a sort of a wild goose of passage, called him "Plug" on account of his never varying style of headgear, and deferred to him because he had fifty thousand dollars tucked awayin the savings bank at the shire. The May dusk became tawny in the west, and he gazed out into itdiscontentedly. "I wish them blamenation tadpoles shed their voices along with theirtails, " he grumbled, with an ear to the frogs in the marsh. "Theyain't quite so bad when they get big enough to trill, but thateverlasting yipping makes me lonesome. I'm a good mind to toss up thistenpenny nail and salt codfish business and get back to the sawdustonce more. " There was a stir in a cage above his head, a parrot waddled down thebars, stood on his beak and yawped hoarsely: "Crack 'em down, gents! The old army game!" "If it wasn't for you, Elkanah, I swear I should die of listening tonothing but frogs tuning up and swallows twittering and old foolsswapping guff, " he went on, sourly, and then he suddenly cocked hisear, for a new note sounded faintly from the marsh. "I never knew a bullfrog to get his bass as early as this, " he mused, and as he listened and peered, the old horse's head came slowlybobbing around the alders at the bend of the road. Above the wailingof the distant accordion he caught a few words as the cart wabbled upthe rise on its dished wheels: Old horse Joe is ever faithful, O-o-o, o-o-o--ever true. We've been--o-o-o--wide world over, O-o-o, o-o-o, toodle-oodle--through. Then a medley of dronings, and finally these words were lustilytrolled with the confidence of one who safely reaches the last line: A bet-tur friend than old horse Joe. "Whoa, there! Whup!" screamed the parrot, swinging by one foot. "Ain't you kind of working a friend to the limit and a little plus?"inquired Buck, sarcastically. The old horse had stopped before theemporium, legs spraddled, head down and sending the dust up in littlepuffs as he breathed. "Joachim loves music, " replied the stranger, mildly. "He'll travel allday if I'll only play and sing to him. " "Love of music will be the death of friend Joachim, then, " commentedBuck. "Is there a hostelry near by?" asked the other, lifting his old hatpolitely. With satirical courtesy Buck lifted his--and at thatpsychological moment the only plug hats in the whole town of Smyrnasaluted each other. "There's a hossery down the road a ways, and a mannery, too, all runby old Sam Fyles. " "Crack 'em down, gents, " rasped the parrot. "Twenty can play as wellas one. " The man under the chaise top pricked up his ears and cast asignificant look at the plug hat on the platform. Plug hat on theplatform seemed to recognize some affinity in plug hat on the van, andthere was an acceleration of mutual interest when the parrot croakedhis sentence again. Buck tipped forward with a clatter of his chair legs and trudged downto the roadside. He walked around the outfit with an inquisitivesniffing of his nose and a crinkling of eyebrows, and at last sethimself before the man of the chaise top, his knuckles on his hips. "Who be I?" he demanded. The stranger surveyed him for some time, huggling his head down incowering fashion, so it seemed in the dusk. "You, " he huskily ventured, "are Buck's Leviathan Circus andMenagerie; Ivory Buck, Proprietor. " "And you, " declared Buck, "are Brick Avery, inventor of the dancingturkey and captor of the celebrated infant anaconda--side-show graftwith me for eight years. " He put up his hand, and the stranger took it for a solemn shake, flinching at the same time. "How long since?" pursued Buck. "Thirty years for certain. " "Yes, all of that. Let's see! If I remember right, you threw up yourside-show privilege with me pretty sudden, didn't you?" His teeth wereset hard into his cigar. The man on the van scratched a trembling forefinger through a cheektuft. "I don't exactly recollect how the--the change came about, " hefaltered. "Well, _I_ do! You ducked out across country the night of the punkinfreshet, when I was mud bound and the elephant was afraid of thebridges. You and your dancin' turkey and infant anaconda and a cage ofmonkeys that wasn't yours and--_Her!_" He shouted the word. "Whatbecome of Her, Brick Avery?" He seized a spoke of the forewheel and shook the old vehicle angrily. The spoke came away in his hand. "Never mind it, " quavered the man. "We're all coming to pieces, me andthe whole caboodle. Don't hit me with it, though!" He was eying the spoke in Buck's clutch. "What did you steal her for, Brick Avery?" "There isn't anything sure about her going away with me, " the otherprotested. Buck yanked away another spoke in his vehemence. "Don't you lie to me, " he bawled. "There wasn't telegraphs andtelephones and railroads handy in them days, so that I could stop youor catch you, but I didn't need any telegraphs to tell me she had goneaway with handsome Mounseer Hercules, of the curly hair. " He snortedthe sobriquet with bitter spite. "A girl I'd took off'n the streetsand made the champion lady rider of--and was going to marry, andthought more of, damn yeh, than I did of all the rest of the world!What did ye do with her?" "Well, she wanted to go along, and so I took her aboard. She seemed towant to get away from your show, near as I could find out. " The gianthugged his knees together and blinked appealingly. "It must be a bang-up living you're giving her, " sneered Buck, runninghis eye over the equipage. In his passion he forgot the lapse of theyears and the possibility of changes. "Seems as if you hadn't heard the latest news, " broke in Avery, hisface suddenly clearing of the puckers of apprehension. "She neverstuck to me no time. She didn't intend to. She just made believe thatshe was going to marry me so that I would take her along. She run awaywith the sixteen hundred dollars I had saved up and SignorDellabunko--or something like that--who was waiting for her on theroad, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of 'em since, nor I don't wantto, and I've still got the letter that she left me, so that I canprove what I say. She was going to do the same thing to you, she saidin it, but she had made up her mind that she couldn't work you soeasy. It's all in that letter! Kind of a kick-you-and-run letter!" In his agitation Buck broke another spoke from the crumbling wheel. The parrot cracked his beak against the cage's bars and yawled: "It's the old army game, gents!" "Hadn't you just as soon tear pickets off'n the fence there, orsomething like that?" wistfully queried Avery. "This is all I've gotleft, and I haven't any money, and I haven't had very much courage todo anything since she took that sixteen hundred dollars away from me. "He scruffed his raspy palms on his upcocked knees. "I didn't reallywant to run away with her, Ivory, but she bossed me into it. I neverwas no hand to stand up for my rights. Any one, almost, could talk me'round. I wish she'd stuck to you and let me alone. " His big handstrembled on his knees, and his weak face, with its flabby chaps, hadthe wistful look one sees on a foxhound's visage. "When did you giveup the road?" he asked. "Haven't given it up!" The tone was curt and the scowl deepened. "I'vestored my wagons and the round-top and the seats, but I'm liable tobuy an elephant and a lemon and start out again 'most any time. " The eyes of the old men softened with a glint of appreciation as theylooked at each other. "I don't suppose you have to, " suggested Avery, with a glance at thestore. "Fifty thousand in the bank and the stand of buildings here, " repliedBuck, with the careless ease of the "well-fixed. " "How do you get yourthree squares nowadays?" "Lecture on Lost Arts and Free Love and cure stuttering in one secretlesson, pay in advance, " Avery replied, listlessly. "But there ain'tthe three squares in it. I wish I'd been as sharp as you are, andnever let a woman whiffle me into a scrape. " "Nobody ever come it over me, " declared Buck, pride slowly replacinghis ire, but he added, gloomily; "excepting her, and I've neverstopped thinking about it, and I've never seen another woman worthlooking at--not for me, even if she did come it over me. " "But she didn't come it over you, " insisted Avery. "I'm the one shecome it over, and look at me!" He made a despairing gesture thatembraced all his pathetic appanage. "You are the one that's come out'unrivaled, stupendous and triumphant, ' as your full sheeters used tosay. If I was any help in steering her away I'm humbly glad of it, forI always liked you, Ivory. " This gradual shifting to the ground of the benefactor, even of theservile sort, was not entirely placating, as Ivory Buck's corrugatedbrow still hinted, but the constant iteration of admiration for hismarvelous shrewdness and good fortune was having its effect. The oldgrudge and sorrow that had gnawed at his heart during so many yearssuddenly shooed away. The pain was assuaged. It was like opodeldocstuffed into an aching tooth. He felt as though he would like tolisten to a lot more of that comforting talk. "Avery, " he cried, with a heartiness that surprised even himself, "you're a poor old devil that's been abused, and you seem to be allin. " He surveyed the wheezing horse and kicked another spoke from theyawning wheel. "Crack 'em down, crack 'em down, gents!" squalled the parrot. "If it wasn't for Elkanah, there, to holler that to me, with anoccasional 'Hey, Rube!' I couldn't stay in this Godforsaken placefifteen minutes. There's no one here that can talk about anythingexcept ensilage and new-milk cows. Now what say? Store your old trapsalong o' mine, squat down and take it comfortable. I reckon that youand me can find a few things to talk about that really amount tosomething!" "I should hate to feel I was a burden on you, Ivory, " stammered Avery, gasping at the amazing generosity of this invitation. "If there's anystutterers around here I might earn a little something on the side, perhaps. " "Me with fifty thousand in the bank and letting a guest of mine graftfor a living? Not by a blame sight!" snorted Buck. "You just climb outand shut up and help me unharness old Pollyponeezus here. " Ten minutes afterward they had the canvas off the chariots and wereinspecting them by lantern light, chattering old reminiscences andseeming almost to hear the "roomp-roomp" of the elephant and the snapof the ringmaster's whip. To the astonishment of Smyrna Corner, two plug hats, around whichwreaths of cigar smoke were cozily curling, blossomed on the platformof the emporium next morning, instead of one. The old men had thirtyyears of mutual confidences to impart, and set busily at it, theparrot waddling the monotonous round of his cage overhead and rasping: "Crack 'em down, gents! The old army game!" In two weeks "Plug" Ivory and "Plug" Avery were as much fixtures inthe Smyrna scenery as the town pump. Occasionally of an evening thewail of the snuffling accordion wavered out over the village. Buck, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, seemed to get consolingechoes of the past even from this lugubrious assault on Melody, andloungers hovered at a respectful distance. No one dared to askquestions, and in this respect the old men differed from the town pumpas features in the scenery. Before a month had passed the two had so thoroughly renewed theiryouth that they were discussing the expense of fitting out a"hit-the-grit" circus, and were writing to the big shows for prices onsuperannuated or "shopworn" animals. It was voted that the dancing turkey and infant anaconda grafts wereno longer feasible. Once on a time the crowds would watch a turkeyhopping about on a hot tin to the rig-a-jig of a fiddle and would comeout satisfied that they had received their money's worth. A man couldeven exhibit an angleworm in a bottle and call it the infant anaconda, and escape being lynched. Brick Avery sadly testified to the passingof those glorious days. However, it was decided that a cage of white leghorn fowls, coloredwith aniline dyes, could be shown even in these barren times as "RoyalSouth American Witherlicks"; that Joachim could be converted into apassable zebra, and "Plug" Avery still had in his van the celluloidlemon peel as well as the glass cube that created the illusion of icein the pink lemonade. The village painter was set at work on the newgilding of the chariots in the big barn. "Even if we don't really get away, " explained Buck, "it's a good ideato keep the property from running down. " But the appearance of the new gilt inflamed their showmen's hearts. Anirresistible hankering to get a nearer sniff of the sawdust, to mixwith the old crowd, induced Buck to send a card to a sporting paper, advertising for correspondence from bareback riders, tumblers, specialty people and privilege speculators, who wanted to join a"one-ring, chase-the-fairs road show--no first-raters. " He emphasizedthe fact that all personal interviews would be arranged later in NewYork City. "We don't want anyone tracking down here, " he confided to Avery. "Thatwould call the bluff. But we can get some letters that maybe will perkus up a little. " The letters came in bundles--letters long, short, earnest andwitty--whiffs from the good old world of the dressing tent. And theywere read and discussed on the emporium's platform, and some wereanswered in non-committal style so as to draw out furthercorrespondence, and all in all it was voted by both "Plugs" that asmall amount of money invested in advertising certainly did produceits full worth of entertainment. But in the midst of these innocent attempts to alleviate _ennui_something else came along beside letters. It was a woman--a slim, wiry, alert woman. She clambered down from the stage one day, advancedtrippingly to the platform and courtesied low before the two plughats, her long, draggly plume bobbing against her rouged cheek. Thetwo plug hats arose and were doffed. Then the three faced each other. "You don't hold your ages as well as I do, boys, " she commented, afterher sharp scrutiny. "It's the old army game, gents!" screamed the parrot, excited by thisnew arrival, gay with her colors and her ribbons. "It's Her!" gasped Plug Avery. "It's Signory Rosy-elly!" choked Plug Avery. She came up and sat down between them on one of the platform chairs. "It was the longest time before I could place those names, " shechattered. "'Buck & Avery, Consolidated Aggregation, ' says I tomyself. 'Buck & Avery, ' I says. And, thinks I, them two old codgersmust have gone to Kingdom Come, for I'm--let's see--I'm twenty, orsomething like that, years younger than either of you, as I remember. "She poked each one jovially with her parasol. "'Buck & Avery, ' says I, " she went on, cheerfully oblivious of theirgrimness. "'It's their boys, ' I says, and so I came right along, for Ineed the job, and I couldn't explain the romantic part in a letter. Iwas thinking I'd surely be taken on when I told Buck and Avery's sonsthe romance. But I don't have to tell _you_, boys. " She jocosely poked them again. "'A little old!' you say?"--they hadn't said anything, by the way, butstood there with gaping, toothless mouths. "Not a bit of it for ajay-town circuit. Of course, it isn't a Forepaugh job for me now orelse I wouldn't be down here talking to Buck & Avery. But I'm stillgood for it all--rings, banners, hurdles, rump-cling gallop and theblazing hoop for the wind-up. You know what I can do, boys. Rememberold times. Give me an engagement for old-times' sake. " She flashed atthem the arch looks of a faded coquette. Buck, the poignancy of his ancient regret having been modified by hislong course of consolation from the lips of Avery, was the first torecover. This faded woman, trying to stay time's ravages by her rouge, displaced the beauteous image he had cherished so long in his memory. "Ain't you ashamed to face us two?" he demanded. "You that run awayand broke your promise to me! You that ruined me!" He patted hisbreast dramatically and shot a thumb out at Avery. "My sakes!" she cried. "You ain't so unprofessional as to remember allthat silliness against me, are you? I was only a girl, and youcouldn't expect me to love you--either of you. I'm a poor widow now, "she sighed, "and I need work. And here you have been laying up grudgesagainst me--the two of you--all these years! What would your wiveshave said?" "We never got married, " replied the two, in mournful duet. But she wasn't in a consoling mood. "You're lucky!" she snapped. "Imarried a cheap, worthless renegade, who stole my money and ran away. He fell off a trapeze and broke his neck, and I was glad of it. " The look that passed between Plug Ivory and Plug Avery carried all thepith of the quotation: "The mills of the gods grind slowly, but theygrind exceeding small. " "So am I, " grunted Buck, surlily. "No, I'm sorry he didn't live totorment you. No, the only thing I'm really sorry about is that 'twasBrick Avery's money he got away with. " Avery sighed. "But I want to say to you, Signory Rosy-elly, " continued Buck, with aburst of pride quite excusable, tipping his hat to one side andhooking his thumb into the armhole of his vest, "it wasn't my moneyyou got, and it never will be my money you'll get. You just made themistake of your life when you run away from me. " "He's got fifty thousand dollars in the bank, " hoarsely whisperedAvery, vicariously sharing in this pride of prosperity--the prosperitybeyond her reach. "Uh-huh! Correct!" corroborated Buck, surveying her in increasingtriumph. This moment was really worth waiting through the years for, he reflected. "Twenty can play as well as one, " croaked the parrot, his beady eyepressed between the bars of his cage. The signora glanced up at this new speaker, eyed Elkanah with a sagelook that he returned, and then, after a moment's reflection, said: "Thanks for the suggestion, old chap. That is to say, three can playas well as two, when there's fifty thousand in the bank. Buck, youknow I'm always outspoken and straight to the point. No underhandedbluff for me. I'm going to sue you for ten thousand. " "Crack 'em down, gents!" remarked Elkanah, grimly. Buck cast a malevolent look at the bird, and then, his cigartip-tilted and the corner of his mouth sarcastically askew, suggestedwith an air as though the idea were the limit of satiricimpossibility: "I want to know! Breach of promise, I per-sume!" "Good aim! You've rung the bell, " rejoined the lady, coolly. The unconscionable impudence of the bare suggestion fetched a gaspfrom both men. Plug Ivory's assumption of dignity crumbledimmediately. The years rolled back. He felt one of those old-time fitsof rage come bristling up the back of his head, the fury of old whenhe had tried to wither that giddy creature in his spasms of jealousy. But now, as in the past, her calm assurance put him out of countenanceand his wild anathemas died away in sputterings. "I know all that, Ivory Buck, " she said, icily. "But how are you goingto prove I was married? Where are you going to hunt for witnesses?Professional people are like wild geese--roosting on air and moultingtheir names like feathers. What proof of anything are you going tofind after all these thirty years? While I--I've got your letters, every one--all your promises. Observe how I take my cue! Jurya-listening! I've been hunting the world over for you. You hid here. Here I find you--this poor, deserted woman, whose life has beenwrecked by your faithlessness, finds you. Me, with a crape veil, asniff in my nose, a crushed-creature face make-up, a tremolo in myvoice and a smart lawyer such as I know about! What can you two oldfools say to a country jury to block my bluff? Why, you can save moneyby handing me your bank book!" In his fury Buck grabbed her chair and tipped it forward violently inorder to dump her off his sacred platform. She fled out into spacewith a flutter of skirts, landed lightly as a cat and pirouetted onone toe, crooking her arms in the professional pose that appeals forapplause. "This is the first time Signora Rosyelli, champion bareback rider, ever tried to ride a mule, " she chirped, "but you see she can do itand make her graceful dismount to the music of the band. " Several villagers across the road were gaping at the scene. Sheinquired the way to the tavern, one of them took her valise, and shewent down the road, tossing a kiss from her finger tips toward the twoplug hats. Plug hats watched her out of sight and then turned towardeach other with simultaneous jerk. "Don't that beat tophet and repeat?" they inquired, in exact unison. "What are you going to do?" asked Plug Avery. "Fight her! Fight her clear to the high, consolidated supreme courtaggregation of the United States, or whatever they call it!" roaredPlug Ivory. "Nobody has ever beat her yet, except Dellybunko, and we ain't in hisclass, " sighed Avery, despondently. "You don't think, do you, that I'm going to lap my thumb and fingerand peel her off ten thousand dollars?" "Why don't you and she get married and we'll all live here, happy, hereafter?" wistfully suggested Avery. "If it was in a book it wouldend off like that--sure pop. " "This ain't no book, " replied Buck, elbows on his knees, eyes moodilyon the dusty planks. "So you're bound to go to court?" "Low court--high court--clear to the ridgepole--clear to the cupoly, and then I'll shin the weather vane with the star spangled banner ofjustice between my teeth. " "I heard a breach of promise trial once, " related Avery, half closinghis eyes in reminiscence, "and it was the funniest thing I everlistened to. 'Twas twenty years ago, and I'll bet that the people downthere laugh yet when they see that fellow walk along the street. Themletters he wrote was certainly the squashiest--why, every one of themseemed to woggle like a tumbler of jelly--sweet and sloppy, as youmight say! It being so long ago, when you was having your spell, Idon't suppose you remember just what you wrote to her, do you?" Avery still gazed at the same knothole, but a hot flush was crawlingup from under his collar. He took off his plug hat and scuffed hiswrist across his steaming forehead. "I remember that he called her 'Ittikins, Pittikins, Popsy-sweet. 'Thought I'd die laughing at that trial! Did you sling in any nameslike that, Ivory? You being so prominent now and settled down andhaving money in the bank, them kind of names, if you wrote mushy likethat, will certainly tickle folks something tremendous. " A student in physiognomy might have read that memory was playing havocwith Buck's resolution. Avery was knitting his brows in deepreflection, knuckling his forehead. "Seems as if, " he went on, slowly, "she told me you called hersomething like 'Sweety-tweety, ' or 'Tweeny-weeny Girlikins'--somethinglike that. How them newspapers do like to string out things--funnykind of things, when a man is prominent and well known, and has gotmoney in the bank! Folks can't help laughing--they just naturallycan't, Ive! You'll be setting there in court, looking ugly as a gibcatand her lawyer reading them things out. Them cussed lawyers have asassy way of----" Buck got up, kicked his chair off onto the ground, and in choleruncontrollable, clacked his fists under Avery's nose and barked: "Twit me another word--just one other word--and I'll drive that oldnose of yourn clear up into the roof of your head!" Then he locked his store door and stumped away across the field to thebig barn, where the remains of Buck's Leviathan Circus reposed inisolated state. No one knows by just what course of agonized reasoning he arrived athis final decision, but at dusk he came back to the store. With thedumb placidity of some ruminant, Avery was sitting in his same placeon the platform of the emporium. "Brick, " said Ivory, humbly, "I've been thinking back and rememberingwhat I wrote to her--and it's all of it pretty clear in my mind, 'cause I never wrote love letters to anyone else. And I can't face it. I couldn't sit in court and hear it. I couldn't sit here on thisplatform in my own home place and face the people afterward. Icouldn't start on the road with a circus and have the face to standbefore the big tent after it and bark like I used to. They'd grin meout of business. I'd be backed into the stall. No, I can't do it. Godown and see what she'll compromise on. " Avery came back after two hours and loomed in the dusk before theplatform. He fixed his eyes on the plug hat that was still lowered inthe attitude of despondency. "I wrassled with her, Ivory, just the same as if I was handling my ownmoney, and I beat her down to sixty-six hundred. She won't take a centless. " "I'll tell you what that sounds like to me, " snarled Buck, after amoment of meditation. "It sounds as if she was going to get fivethousand and you was looking after your little old sixteen hundred. " A couple of tears squeezed out and down over Avery's flabby cheeks. "This ain't the first time you've misjudged me, when I've been doingyou a favor, " said he. "And it's all on account of the same mis'ablewoman that I'm misjudged--and we was living so happy here, me and you. I wish she was in----" His voice broke. "I ain't responsible for what I'm saying, Avery, " pleaded Buck, contritely. "You know what things have happened to stir me up the lastfew hours--yes, all my life, for that matter. I ain't been comfortablein mind for thirty years till you come here and cheered me up andshowed me what's what. I appreciate it and I'll prove that to youbefore we're done. We'll get along together all right after this. Allis, you must see me through. " Then the two plug hats bent together in earnest conference. The next morning Avery, armed with an order on the savings bank at theshire for six thousand six hundred dollars, and with Buck's bank bookin his inside pocket, drove up to the door of Fyles' tavern in Buck'sbest carriage, and Signora Rosyelli flipped lightly up beside thepeace commissioner. He was to pay over the money on the neutral ground at the shire, receive the letters, put her aboard a train and then come backtriumphantly into that interrupted _otium cum dignitate_ of SmyrnaCorner. For two days a solitary and bereaved plug hat on the emporium'splatform turned its fuzzy gloss toward the bend in the road at theclump of alders. But the sleek black nose of Buck's "reader" did notappear. On the third day the bank book arrived by mail, its account minus sixthousand six hundred dollars, and between its leaves a letter. It wasan apologetic letter, and yet it was flavored with a note ofcomplaint. Brick Avery stated that after thinking it all over he feltthat, having been misjudged cruelly twice, it might happen again, andbeing old, he could not endure griefs of that kind. He had supportedthe first two, but being naturally tender-hearted and easilyinfluenced, the third might be fatal. Moreover, the conscience ofSignora Rosyelli had troubled her, so he believed, ever since theaffair of the one thousand six hundred dollars. So he had decided thathe would quiet her remorse by marrying her and taking entire charge ofher improved finances. In fact, so certain was he that she would wastethe money--being a woman fickle and vain--that he had insisted on themarriage, and she, realizing her dependence on his aid in cashing in, assented, and now he assured her that as her husband he was entitledto full control of their affairs--all of which, so the letterdelicately hinted, was serving as retribution and bringing her into aproper frame of mind to realize her past enormities. The writer hopedthat his own personal self-sacrifice in thus becoming the instrumentof flagellation would be appreciated by one whom he esteemed highly. They would be known at the fairs as Moseer and Madame Bottotte, andwould do the genteel and compact gift-sale graft from thebuggy--having the necessary capital now--and would accept the buggyand horse as a wedding present, knowing that an old friend withforty-three thousand four hundred dollars still left in the bank wouldnot begrudge this small gift to a couple just starting out in life, and with deep regard for him and all inquiring friends, they were, etc. In the more crucial moments of his life Buck had frequently refrainedfrom anathema as a method of relief. Some situations were made vulgarand matter-of-fact by sulphurous ejaculation. It dulled the edge ofrancor brutally, as a rock dulls a razor. Now he merely turned the paper over, took out a stubby lead pencil, licked it and began to write on the blank side, flattening the paperon his bank book. FOR SALE--1 Band Wagon, 1 Swan Chariot, 3 Lion Cages. He paused here in his laborious scrawl and, despite his resolution ofsilence, muttered: "It's going to be a clean sale. I don't never in all my life want tohear of a circus, see a circus, talk circus, see a circus man----" "Crack 'em down, gents!" squalled the parrot. It was the first timefor many hours that he had heard his master's voice, and the soundcheered him. He hooked his beak around a wire and rattled awayjovially. He seemed to be relieved by the absence of the other plughat that had been absorbing so much of the familiar, beloved andoriginal plug hat's attention. Ivory looked up at Elkanah vindictively and then resumed hissoliloquy. "No, sir, never! Half of circusing is a skin game all through--andI've done my share of the skinning. But to be skinned twice--me, I. Buck, proprietor--and the last time the worst, but----" "Twenty can play it as well as one!" the parrot yelled, cocking hiseye over the edge of the cage. It was an evil scowl that flashed up from under the plug hat, butElkanah in his new joy was oblivious. "Me a man that's been all through it from A to Z--my affections trodon, all confidence in females destroyed and nothing ahead of me allthe rest of my life! No, sir, I never want to hear of a circus again. Bit by the mouths I fed--and they thumbing their noses at me. Thattrick----" "It's the old army game!" squealed the parrot, in nerve-racking rasp. Ivory Buck arose, yanked the bottom off the cage, caught the squawkingbird, wrung his neck, tossed him into the middle of the road, andthen, sucking his bleeding finger, went on writing the copy for hisadvertisement. SUPPER WITH NATICA By ROBERT E. MACALARNEY It isn't at all pleasant to burn one's fingers, but it's worth whileburning them now and then, if you have to be scorched to be near aparticularly attractive fire; at least I've found it that way. All ofwhich leads me to Natica Drayton--Melsford that was. I think I'm the only one of the crew she dragged at her heels whohasn't forgot about things and gone off after other game; some of themhave been lashed to the burning stake of pretty uncomfortabledomesticity, too. As for me--well, I've simply gone on caring, and Ithink I shall always go on. Does she know it? Of course she knows it; always has known it, eversince that first summer at Sacandaga. Not that I've been ass enough tosay anything after the first time. I'm only an ordinary sort of chapwhen it comes to intuition, but somehow I've never plucked up thecheek to do any talking about my own miserable self; not since she letme down as gently as she could, while I paddled her back from BirchPoint to the canoe house, with Elephant Mountain ragged-backed in themoon-haze. For the life of me I couldn't tell you what it was shesaid. There was the drip of water from the paddle as I lifted it, stroke after stroke; the tiny hiss of smother at the prow, and twistedthrough it all, like a gathering string, Natica Melsford's voice, letting me down easy--as easily as she could. After I had made fast, I remember feeling that somehow the moonlighthad turned things extremely cold; and I reached for my sweater thatlay in the stern. I also laughed a great deal too much around the logsat the bungalow fire, and then drank a deal more than too much at theclubhouse before turning in. Maybe it was cowardly to sneak back totown a couple of days later, "on business, " of course--a shabby excusefor a chap that doesn't dabble in business more than I do. But Ihonestly needed to go to get back my equilibrium. I got it, though, and I've kept it pretty continuously. And this much is enough forthat. Natica Melsford is the only interesting bit about this story, and let's get back to her. That winter she married Jack Drayton. The afternoon we rehearsed forthe wedding I looked at her, before we pranced down the aisle andendured the endless silly giggles of the bridesmaids, and the usherlouts who would fall out of step, and grew more peevish by the minute. I looked her over then, and I said to myself: "You feeble paranoiac, imagine that girl tying up with _you_. " Well, I couldn't very wellimagine it, although I tried. But I was extremely noisy, and I heardtwo or three of the bridesmaids, to say nothing of the maid of honorand the bridegroom's mamma, tapping their gentle hammers, at myexpense, at the breakfast. It was a year afterward that I began to fagregularly for the Drayton establishment. Jack Drayton, by rights, ought to have been poisoned. He'd be thefirst to acknowledge it now. Perhaps if he'd married a girl whoinsisted on having things out the moment they began, the thingswouldn't have happened. But Natica Melsford wasn't that sort. She wasthe kind that simply looked scorn into and clear through you, when shethought you were acting low down. This, with a man strung like Jackwas, simply put the fat into the fire. It would have been differentwith me. I'd--well--I'd have made an abject crawl, to be sure. Yousee, her knowing this was the thing that must have always queered mewith her. A woman prefers a man she can get furious at and who'llstick it out a bit, to one who caves in at the first sign of a frown. But Jack carried things too far. No, he didn't mind my frequenting the house. He liked me and I likedhim. But, all the same, I knew he didn't regard me as a foeman worthyof his steel. And, although the knowledge made me raw now and then, when he's come in with his easy, careless way, still I swallowed themean feeling because it gave me a chance to see her. And don't imagineI went around hunting for trouble. It was at the club one night--I'djust come from the Draytons, and Jack hadn't been home to dinner--thatI heard Rawlins Richardson and Horace Trevano chattering about MaisieHartopp. The "Jo-Jo" song had made the biggest kind of a hit thatwinter at the Gaiety, and the hit had been made by the Hartopp singingit to a stage box which the Johnnies scrambled to bid in nightly. It seemed like small game for Jack Drayton to be trailing along withthe ruck--the ruck meaning Tony Criswold and the rest of thatjust-out-of-college crew--but I didn't need signed affidavits, afterfive minutes of club chatter, to know that he was pretty well tied toan avenue window at Cherry's after the show. The Ruinart, too, thatkept spouting from the bucket beside it, was a pet vintage of theHartopp. There was a lot of that silly chuckle, and I recalled readingsomewhere that there was a husband belonging to the Hartopp, a mediumgood welterweight, who picked up a living flooring easy marks forprivate clubs at Paterson, N. J. , and the like, and occasionallyserving as a punching bag for the good uns before a championship mill. What the devil was there to do? I couldn't answer the riddle. It sounds like old women's chatter, the meddlesome way I scribble thisdown. It would take a real thing in the line of literature to paint meright, anyway, I fancy. When a third party keeps mixing in withhusband and wife, he deserves all the slanging that's coming to him;which same is my last squeal for mercy. A month went by--two of them. Natica Drayton wasn't the strain thatneeds spectacles to see through things. Then, too, I guessed theloving friend sympathy racket was being worked by some of the bridgewhist aggregation which met up with her every fortnight. She laughedmore than she ought to have done. This was a bad sign with her. Onceor twice, when the three of us dined together, and she was almostnoisy over the benedictine, I could have choked Jack Drayton, for hedidn't see. It's not a pretty thing for an outsider to sit _à trois_, and see things in a wife's manner that the husband doesn't or won'tsee; and worse than that, to know that the wife knows you see it andthat he doesn't. Speak to Jack? I wouldn't have done it for worlds. AsI said, I'm willing to burn my fingers and even cuddle the hurt; but Idon't meddle with giant firecrackers except on the Fourth of July, andthat didn't come until afterward. I was to take her to the opera one night--Drayton had the habit ofdropping in for an act or two and then disappearing--but on her owndoorstep she tossed off her carriage wrap and sent Martin back to thestables. "Let's talk, instead, " she said, and she made me coffee in thelibrary, with one of those French pots that gurgle conveniently whenyou don't exactly know what to say. That pot did a heap of gurglingbefore we began to talk. When she spoke, what she said almost took meoff my chair. "Percy, have you seen the show at the Gaiety?" she asked. I had seen it more than once, and I said so. "They tell me there's a song there----" she went on. "There are a lot of songs, " said I. "There's one in particular. " There wasn't any use in fencing, so I answered: "You mean the 'Jo-Jo'song. It's a silly little ditty, and it's sung by----" "A girl named Hartopp--Maisie Hartopp. " She was speaking as if shewere trying to remember where she'd heard the name. Of course, me for the clumsy speech. "She's a winner, " I cut in. She got up at that, and walked over to the fireplace. "She seems tobe, " she said, picking at a bit of bronze, a wedding present, I think. Then she came over to where I was sitting and put a hand on myshoulder. I'd have got to my feet if I hadn't been afraid to face her. "Percy----" she began, and I felt the fingers on my shoulder quiver. Idon't think the Apaches handed out anything much worse in the tortureline than the quiver of a woman's ringers upon your shoulder, when youknow that those fingers aren't quivering on your account. Maybe thatoccurred to her, for a second later she took her hand away. "You oncesaid something foolish to me, Percy, " she said. I nodded my head, my eyes upon an edge of the Royal Bokhara. "It wasin a canoe, wasn't it?" I replied. "There was a moon, of course, andthe paddle blades went drip, drip. " "You meant what you said then, didn't you?" My gaze was wavering from the rug by now. Little wonder, was it? "Imeant it all right, " I got out after a while. "Do you want to hear mesay my little speech over again?" Was it possible that, after all, Natica Drayton had really decided to toss Jack over, and take on afag, warranted kind and gentle, able to be driven by any lady? But Iforgot that foolish notion pretty nearly right off. "There is a husband, " she went on, as if taking account of stock. "There always is, " I rejoined. "Some of 'em are good and the othersare bad. " I chuckled despite me, as I put in my mean little hack. "I mean the Hartopp's husband, " she explained. "There is, " I said. "'Boiler-plate' Hartopp. His given name is James, and he prize-fights fair to middling. " All this wasn't quite goodbilliards, but we'd begun wrong that night, and we might as well keepit up, thought I. Natica Drayton was tapping her foot upon the fender. "H'm, " she mused. "Some of those horrid names sound interesting. " Then she turned to meabruptly. "I think, perhaps, you ought to go now, " she suggested. "I think so, too, " I agreed, rising very hastily, and taking my leave. "Have you Friday evening disengaged?" She flung this after me before Ihad got to the hall. "Yes, " said I, all unthinking. "Then we'll do it Friday, " she said. "We'll do what?" I asked, coming back to her. For once I feltrebellious, and showed it, whereat she smiled. "Supper after the theater at Cherry's. " "Oh, well, I don't mind that, " I volunteered. "With 'Boiler-plate' Hartopp, " she added. The searchlight dawned upon me. It swung around the room once ortwice, and that was enough. I knew in the flood of sudden illuminationthat the girl had planned this thing in advance, with the daring ofdespair--and a wife's despair, a very young wife's despair, is a moredesperate thing than the anger of any other woman. Natica had plannedit all in advance; had figured it, and the chances of it. And in thebalance she had confidently thrown the asset of my assisting her. The right sort of a man, I suppose, would have become enraged becauseof her taking things for granted. But I--I had been chained to herchariot too long a time to experience the mild sensation ofresentment. Natica wished to face her husband in a crowded restaurant after theplay. More than that, she wished to face him in company with a man notof her sort, even as he--Drayton--was escorting a woman whose lane ofliving did not rightly cross his. The coincidence of Natica'smeans-to-an-end being the Hartopp's husband, was simply a gift offate; an opportunity of administering poetic justice, which could notbe denied. Had the Hartopp not possessed a convenient husband, Naticawould have arranged for another companion. But even she had not daredto plan her _coup_ alone, with her chosen instrument of wifelyretaliation. Through it all, she had confidently counted on me, adiscreet background, a pliant puppet. She could not know what Drayton might do, after they had eyed oneanother from different tables. She did not much care. But she would atleast have the painful joy of the Brahmin woman's hope, who trusts bysome fresh incantation to secure a blessing, formerly vouchsafed herby the gods, but which now old-time petitions fail to renew. It seemedcold-blooded, the entire arrangement, and yet I knew it was not. Shewas far braver than I could have been, even to win her caring. But Iunderstood. I must have been rough as I took her hand. "Look here, " I said. "It'sa desperate game, Natica. You wouldn't have dared to say that to anyother man than me. You've got used to seeing me fag for you. And I'mgoing to do it this time, too. But if you weaken, by Heaven, you'lldeserve to lose for good. It's crazy, it's the act of a pair ofparetics, but I'm going to see it through. " She was crying when I left her. "Percy, my dear, " she said; then shebegan to laugh--that after dinner benedictine laugh of hers. "If thereweren't Jack, that speech of yours just now might make me want to kissyou. " On the sidewalk I tried to figure out if there had been knockout dropsin the coffee Natica had brewed for me. In any one of the forty-eighthours ensuing, I might have rung up the Draytons' on the telephone, and told her that I had come to my senses. But I didn't do anything ofthe sort. Instead, I hunted up a newspaper chap I knew, and he put menext to "Boiler-plate" Hartopp at the Metropole. The bruiser wasn't as bad sort as I had fancied him. He was anEnglishman all right--a cut below middle class; you could tell that bythe way he clipped his initial h's off and on. I tried the ice atfirst--it's always best when you don't know the exact thickness ofyour frozen water. The way I tried it was to toss a flower or two atMaisie Hartopp and her "Jo-Jo" song. He rose sure enough, and it didn't take me a quarter hour to see thatthe pug was really bowled out by the parcel of stage skirts who worehis name on the Gaiety bills. This made it a warmer game than it mighthave been otherwise, but I was in for it now, and I made the date. No, I didn't mention Natica. Even a broken-to-harness shawl carrierhas a shred of cautious decency about him. But I gabbled lightly abouta certain feminine party who was keen on exemplars of the genuinething in the line of the manly art. Whereupon "Boilerplate" acquired apouter-pigeon chest, which fairly bulged over the bar railing, andgave me his word of honor he'd be waiting at Forty-fourth Street abouteleven on Friday. He intimated, ere I left, that he'd bring hisfestive accouterments with him. And he did. We were a bit late--Natica and I. It must have been a quarter past thehour when we drove up to Cherry's. I felt reasonably certain that ifJack Drayton were guarding a champagne bucket by the corner table thatnight, he was located then. In the offing, miserably self-conscious, acrush hat on the back of his really fine head, and two or three smalllocomotive headlights glinting from his broad expanse of eveningshirt, was "Boiler-plate" Hartopp. The flunkeys were regarding himcuriously, and once a waiter-captain came out and gave him what seemedto be an unsatisfactory report. I think the man was just about to take the count from sheer nerves, when he made me out in the doorway. Natica winked--actually winked atme--as he floundered over his share of the introduction. Looking ather, and faintly divining her mood that night, I felt sorry for Jack, for "Boiler-plate" and for myself. I left them for a moment and wentin to see about my table. Two minutes later I emerged, to face Draytonand the Hartopp unloading from an electric hansom. The under-tonedremark of one of the footman came to me: "A bit behind schedule timeto-night, eh, Charley?" There wasn't anything to do then, for they were fair inside. "Boiler-plate" was finishing some elephantine pleasantry to Natica, when he saw what I saw. A foolish grin rippled across his wide face. "Hullo!" he said to the Hartopp, who looked properly peevish, and thenwaspish, as she let her glance travel to Natica, who stood perfectlypoised and, I fancied, a trifle expectant. Drayton eyed them togetherand in particular. The color streaked his forehead and faded out. Thenhe saw me, and, although he never may have murder in his eyes again, it was there at that choice moment. We weren't at all spectacular, youmustn't think that. It was all very quick, and there were a lot ofpeople coming and going. She was in instant command of the situation. Why shouldn't she havebeen, having created it? And unexpectedly, suddenly as she hadencountered her quarry, equally suddenly she shifted her position, without the time to take me into her confidence. "Don't bother about our table, Percy, " she said. "Now that we've metfriends, it will be jollier to dine _en famille_. It will be ever somuch nicer than eating in a stuffy restaurant, and the butler won'thave gone to bed yet. Run out and get us a theater wagon. " I went out to the carriage man in a trance. The gods, of a deed, werefighting furiously on Natica's side--for she could not have foreseenthis vantage, readily as she swung her attack by its aid. Exquisitetorture, truly, to flaunt a husband's folly in his own face, over hisown mahogany, with the source of that folly looking on. Drayton'sbounden civility to his wife, and to the other woman, must make himpresent himself as a target. He knew it, his wife knew it; as yet theother woman but dimly suspected it--not being over subtle--and itsmote me in the face continuously. The puppet always feels the mostcut up at times like these. In a way, it is because his vanity isbeing seared. Mine fairly crackled. So we rattled off up the avenue. The only comfortable ones among uswere Natica and Hartopp. He seemed to think the occurrence a pleasantbit of chance, and he wasn't in the least jealous, not he. I supposethe wife had him schooled to her stage ways of doing things. Once he turned to Jack with a chuckle and said: "This is a jossy bitof luck, ain't it, each of us out with the other man's better?" Natica laughed shamelessly. "You've such a keen appreciation of theridiculous, Mr. Hartopp, " she said. And when "Boiler-plate" tried todeny the insinuation, his wife nudged him on the arm and whispered:"Shut up, Jim. " There isn't any use in stringing out the amateur theatricals the fiveof us indulged in that night. The Drayton servants were too wellchosen to show any surprise at being told to put on a champagne supperat midnight, and then go to bed before it was served. We sat at thatmahogany table until the candelabra were guttering, and each of us hadtoyed more than he ought to have done with his glass. Natica acted asif she were entertaining in earnest, and for the time being I actuallythink she felt that she was. She got the Hartopp to sing her "Jo-Jo"song, and the Hartopp actually did it as if she enjoyed it. AfterwardNatica induced "Boiler-plate" to tell about the time he mixed it upwith Fitzsimmons for ten rounds. "It was a lucky punch that put me out, " he kept repeating, almostpathetically. "You know Fitz's lucky punch. " I might have seen what was in the wind if I hadn't been thick-headed, what with the champagne and the rattles. "Boiler-plate" once startedon the ring, it was an easy transition. "You've boxing gloves, haven't you, Jack?" asked Natica. "Get them forMr. Hartopp. Let's see him demonstrate Mr. Fitzsimmons' lucky punch. " Drayton turned without a word, and made as if to go upstairs. At thedoor he turned. "Come on, Hartopp, " he said. "I'll lend you a rowingjersey. " "You clear a place in the drawing room, Percy, " said Natica, briskly. "Be sure that the shades are drawn. It would be awful to be raided bythe police. " And I obediently piled the gilt parlor furniture incorners. The Hartopp fluttered anxiously around Natica the while. She was awoman, and she was beginning to half understand. "Please, " she said, touching Natica's arm. "Jim's been drinking, and he's very rough whenhe's been drinking. We've all been foolish, but only foolish, remember. Jim and I sail for London next week. Just let us slip awaynow, and forget all about it. " Natica laughed. Her eyes were on the door. "Remember, we've only beenfoolish, " repeated the Hartopp. "Only foolish, that's all. " She wentto Natica and shook her arm roughly; there were feet upon the stairs. "You silly, " she snapped. "You ought to be glad you're married to agentleman. He's different from all the others. I can tell you that, and I know. And I tell you that Jim's been drinking. Jack will----" Natica's pose stiffened, but she did not look around. "Yes, _Jack_will what?" she said, coldly. The Hartopp flushed. "He'll be hurt, " she finished, weakly. Then, asthe two from upstairs entered, she whispered: "He'll be hurt worsethan you are now. " The "Boiler-plate" looked very foolish in an old Yale rowing shirt, with the "Y" stretched taut across his ponderous chest. He had a pairof arms like a blacksmith. Jack Drayton had taken off his coat and wasin his shirt sleeves. He never looked at Natica, nor at the Hartopp;but he tossed me a stopwatch and told me to keep time. "We'll box five rounds, Percy, " he said. Natica clapped her hands. "What fun!" she cried. "Jack, you're boxingagainst my champion. " The "Boiler-plate, " who had been regarding the work at hand with muchgravity, again allowed his countenance to be relaxed by the old, foolish grin. "Oh, I say, " he interposed. "That's all right, but solong as Maisie is in the room I'm fighting for her--she's my wife, youknow. " The Hartopp went to Natica with a softened gleam in her eyes; "I saw atelephone in the hall, " she said. "I'm going out to call a cab. " Iheard her at the lever as they began to spar. I don't believe I could get a job at timekeeping in a real mill. Myrounds must have been wonderfully and fearfully made. For I forgot allabout the stop-watch now and then, while I learned the truth of theHartopp's caution that "Boiler-plate" grew rough after he'd beendrinking a bit. I knew that Jack had been a pretty fair boxer at the university, but, after I had called time for the first round, the thing was to allintents and purposes a genuine fight, and he was all in several timesover. The "Boiler-plate's" fists made a noise like a woodchopper. Natica stood watching it with a queer, queer smile. But I saw--and Isaw it with a sinking at the heart, for I realized that I'd cherishedthe guilty hope that things were not really going to be straightenedout--that with every mark of the "Boiler-plate's" glove, her husbandwas coming back into his own. She half sprang toward them when Jack went down with a crash, after Ihad got them started on the last go. Drayton arose warily, the bloodspurting from a nasty cut over the eye, where the heel of the other'sglove had scraped. The "Boiler-plate" lumbered dangerously near justthen, and Natica, despite her, uttered a cry of warning. I saw Jack turn away from the mountain in the Yale rowing shirt, andhis eyes met Natica's squarely for the first time since Cherry's. Something he read in them made him laugh. This was only for thefraction of a second, however, for a glove, with the _n_th powerbehind it, lifted him a clear three feet into a stack of gilt chairsnear his own corner. He didn't move, and the "Boilerplate" stared at him stupidly. "Say, _you_ made him look at you, " he said to Natica. "I didn't meanto land on him blind. " But she did not heed him. She was among the gilt chairs, with JackDrayton's head upon her lap. The wheels of a cab stopped outside, andthe Hartopp was seizing her dazed lord and master. She had his coatand bediamonded linen in her hands, and she clutched the"Boiler-plate" firmly, leading him to the door. "Say, Maisie, wait a minute, " he protested. "I've got the swell'scollege shirt on, and I didn't mean to land on him blind. " I opened the door, for she signaled with her eyes. "Come on, Jim, there's a dear, " she said. Between us we cajoled him into the coupe. As I shut the door, she leaned to me and whispered: "Tell her for meshe's a cat--a cruel cat. " I handed the driver a bill. "You've a very bad memory, cabby, haven'tyou?" I asked. "Extremely bad, sir, " said he, touching his hat. "But, Maisie, I've got the swell's college shirt on, " I heard"Boiler-plate" insist. Then the wheels moved. The Draytons were both upon their feet when I stole back into thehall. I needed my hat and coat, or I shouldn't have set foot withinthe house again that night. Jack, a bit staggery and holding to theback of a chair, mopped the cut on his temple with a handkerchief, hiswife's handkerchief, in his free hand. Natica, a smear of red on thefront of her frock, stood beside him, with a strangely happyexpression in her face and pose. A great many things had been pushedover the precipice which leads to forgetfulness, in the time I hadbeen out on the sidewalk busy with the cabby. "Good-night, Percy, " Jack called out. "Good-night, " said I, going to him to take his hand, for he was toowobbly to have met me halfway. "It's been a nightmare, " said he. "We'll wake up to-morrow morning andknow that we've only been asleep. " "Yes, " I agreed, but looking at the puffiness in his face, I thoughtthis was coming it a bit strong. "Good-night, Percy, " said Natica. And gently as she spoke the words, it came to me with a sudden rush of conviction that I had ceasedfagging for the Drayton establishment for good--now. "It was coming to me, " said Jack. I was fiddling on the thresholduncertainly. "Hush, you foolish boy, " whispered Natica, touching the cut on hisforehead, just once, with a very tender finger. "Yes, it was coming to you, " said I. I was glad that they perceivedthe conviction in my speech. And that is how I had my last supper with Natica. BY THE FOUNTAIN BY MARGARET HOUSTON There was nothing in the aspect of the white brick mansion to indicatethat a tragedy was going on inside. A woman quietly dressed, her faceshowing delicately above her dark furs, came lightly down the steps. She paused a half second at the gateway and looked back, but there wasno hesitation in the glance. "Jules, " she said to the coachman, "you may drive to the park. " She did not look back as they drove away. There should be no gossiping among the servants. Everything should bedone decently. From the park she could take the suburban and goquietly into town. From there--the world was wide. There was a note onhis dresser, he would read it to-night and understand--no, notunderstand, she had ceased to expect that of him--but he wouldknow--in some dull, stern way he would see--he would see. She caughtsight of her face in the little mirror of the brougham and lowered herveil. Ah, it was a bitter, barren thing, this striving, striving, endlessly striving to be understood. She had endured it for four yearsand she was worn heartsick with the strain. Her soul cried out forwarmth, for life, for breathing room; was not one's first duty toone's self after all? She turned suddenly--Jules stood by the opendoor. "Jules, " she said, summoning a little severity of manner tocounterbalance the tremor in her voice, "you need not come back forme. Jules, " she added, turning again, "good-by--you have--you havebeen very faithful. " The man touched his hat gravely and stood like a sentinel till she hadpassed from sight among the trees. It was late in November, and the maple boughs were a riot of red andgold. The sky beyond them looked pale and far away, as though a whiteveil had been drawn across its tender southern blue. She rejoiced nowthat she had elected to spend this last hour in the frosty outdoorgladness. With a little impulse of relief, she flung back her veil anddrew a deep breath. Then she locked her hands inside her muff andbegan to walk briskly. At the park's further end there was a bench, inside a sort of rooflesssummerhouse, where on warm days the fountain played in a rainbow. Sheknew the place well--she had sat there many times--with him and withanother---she would go there now and think her own thoughts. It washidden from the driveways, and the place was sweet with memories whichneed not goad and pain her. She remembered the last time she had satthere. It came back to her now with a sudden vividness. It was the dayshe had refused--the other one. She remembered the dress she wore--athin little mull, cut low about the throat and strewn with pinkrosebuds. And it was on that same bench. She had done it very gently. She had simply shown him her ring, and begged him with a little catchof the breath to be her friend--always. His was the sort of heart awoman might warm herself by all her life. He was tender and impulsivelike herself, and he had always understood--always. How could she haveforgotten for so long? Friends were rare--and he had promised to beher friend through everything. Her friend! Had he realized how muchthat meant? Her step had grown very slow; she quickened it, lifting her head, andreached the little plaza near the fountain, her face flushed with thewalk, the dark tendrils of her hair fallen from beneath her floatingveil. It was very sad here now, and very lonely. She had not thought thatany place long familiar could look so strange. She paused, almostdreading to enter the old retreat, clothed as it was in the witheredvine robes of dead springs. It was so like the rainbow fountain of herown years, checked and desolate and still. A whirlwind of red andyellow leaves swept about her feet. She started nervously, and, opening the little gate, went in. But the place was not deserted. A man sat on the bench. He rose as sheclosed the gate, and when she would have withdrawn, he came toward herand held out a hand. "Oh, " she said, feeling as if she were speaking in a dream, "isit--where did you come from?" "It seems very natural to see you here, " he said. His face was bronzed and he had more beard than formerly, but his eyeswere the same when he smiled. "I did not dream you were anywhere near us, " she went on, the wonderdeepening in her eyes. "I was--you seem part of my thoughts--I wasthinking of you only a moment ago. " "You were always kind, " said the man. "Let me spread my overcoat onthe bench--the stone is cold. You have been walking, haven't you?" "Yes. I don't walk much--it tires me easily. " She sat down, looseningthe furs at her throat, Breathing quickly; her eyes searched his face, half dazed, half questioning. "But where have you been?" she asked. "Were you not in Africa?" "Yes. I have been home only a few days--I don't wonder you aresurprised finding me here; people don't often sit in the park at thistime--but I find it cozier than the station across the way. I came outon the hill early this noon to look up old friends, and I found I'd anhour to wait. " "Am I not an old friend?" she asked. "Why have you not been tosee--us?" "I hope I may count you such, " said the man. "I knew your husband, too, many years ago; but he said that you were ill; I saw him thismorning. " "I have been ill, " she answered, quickly, and looked away, pushingback her hair with the little movement he knew so well. "I am sorry for that, " he said. "I heard of your loss--I did not losesight entirely of my friends. Your little boy, " he added, his voicesoftening--"your little boy----" "My baby died, " she said. "I know--I heard of it--I knew how keenly you could suffer. But Iknew, too, how brave you were----" "Oh!" she said, catching the lace at her throat. "If he--if my babyhad lived--I might--I could----" She checked herself with a sudden biting of the lip, but the tearsbroke from her eyelids and she bowed her face. "Ah, " said the man, "I know--this is very hard; but it is something, after all, to have felt--to have known. No loss can be so bitter as alack--a need. " There was a moment's silence between them. "Tell me of yourself, " she said, quietly, at length. "There is little to tell. My life is very much the same. I haveneither wife nor child. Until a man finds those, he's a mostindifferent topic. " "You have never married?" she asked. "No. Your life is, fuller, sweeter, better. Tell me of that. I used toknow your husband--did you know?" "No, " she said, "I did not know. " "Yes, we were chaps together, he and I, the same age, though he seemedolder--he was a plucky little fellow--you did not know him long, Ibelieve, before you married. " She was looking straight before her at the still fountain. "No, " shesaid, "I did not know him long. " "Ah, " mused the man, "I know him well. He is a prince--one of God'sown. Somewhat quiet now, I find, but he was always rather reserved, his life made him so; he was such a kid when he began to support themall--the mother and the girls, you know. But he worked along, going tonight school--always ready, always courageous. My father used to sayhe'd give all his four boys for that one. We never worked much, youknow. I suppose those who don't know him call him stern, but he hascarried a pretty heavy load all his life, and that sobers a man andtakes the spring out of him--of course you know, though. " But the woman said nothing. The man paused, regarding her a moment, then he let his gaze follow hers. "I was thinking of the fountain, " she said; "how it once flashed andsang and played--and now----" "And now, " said the man, "it is silent and cold--but the bright wateris there still, and when the spring comes back it will leap forthagain. It reminds me of my friend of whom we were just speaking--yourhusband. All the glow and life are still in his heart, and you willwaken them. I said when you were married, that he needed just that--aunion with a rich, sunny nature like your own, to teach him all thathe had missed, and give back to him all that he had lost. " Her, lashes fell slowly, and she stroked her muff with one white hand. The man spoke on, musingly. "I suppose even you do not realize thegood he does--the help he gives to others. He doesn't talk ofhimself--he never did--even to you, I suppose? No? It is like him, hewas always so. It was--it was in the cemetery I saw him this morning. I--when I come home--I always go there--my mother is there, youremember--I found him by--by your little boy. He was talking, with thesexton when I came up. It seems the grass didn't grow about the littlefellow's--bed. The man admitted that his own little folks wereaccustomed to play there--the lot is shady and close to thehouse--they bring their toys and frolic there till the grass is quiteworn away. You should have seen his face when the man told him that. 'Let them come, ' he said; 'don't stop them; the grass doesn't matter. ''The boy won't be so lonely, ' said he to me. 'It seems so far away outhere--and he all by himself--he was such a little chap--I sort of feelone of us ought to stay with him--at night. '" The woman raised her eyes to his face. "Ah, " she said, softly, "didhe--did he say that?" "Yes--and it goes to show, what you doubtless know better than I, howdeep and true and tender he is beneath it all. Shan't I lay this coatmore about you? I think the air has grown chillier. " "No, thank you, " she said, rising. "Yes, it is chillier. " The man rose also. She stood a moment--her hand on the little gate, her eyes grown dark and deep. He waited at her side. Her fingers sought the latch absently. "Let me open it for you, " he said. "Were you going into town, or didyou come for the walk?" "I?" she said. "Oh, I told Jules not to come back for me--it's a shortwalk home. " She smiled up at him for the first time with her old-timebrightness. "And you, " she said, "you haven't completed the round ofyour 'old friends' yet--you will come with me. " BAS BLEU By ANNA A. ROGERS _Author of "PEACE AND THE VICES"_ That his wife was keeping something from him had been unpleasantlyapparent to Robert Penn for over two months; but what really wore uponhis easily disturbed nerves was the equally obvious fact that hersecret was the source of an unusual, unnatural, unseemly happiness, which she took no pains to disguise. Robert was the very much overworked junior partner in the prosperouslaw firm of Messrs. Flagg, Bentnor & Penn; and the question of histaking a much-needed rest had been gravely discussed by the other twopartners more than once during the year; but the mere suggestion of itput him into such a tantrum that they let it drop, trusting to aredistribution of the work of the office to lighten somewhat Penn'sburden. So all the fashionable divorcées--hitherto Bentnor'sspecialty--were turned over to the junior partner, as a slight meansof professional diversion. But he threw himself into the cases of his clients, male and female, with the same old unsparing fervor, and Flagg and Bentnor--the latterwas Penn's brother-in-law--raised their eyebrows and shook their headsbehind his back. What first drew Robert's attention to his wife's secret was the suddeninexplicable condoning of his own small negligences and ignorances, which had once been brought to book. So accustomed does the happilymarried husband of the day become to certain domestic requisitionsthat the withdrawal of them is apt to arouse his suspicions at once. These jealous doubts, later on, ran the whole gamut from the postmanto the rector of Mrs. Penn's church, but at first all Robert fearedwas that she had become indifferent to him. That, after five happyyears, she should be sweetly serene when he suddenly remembered thathe had bought tickets for the theater, just as they had settled downafter dinner for a quiet evening, Mrs. Penn looking prettily domesticin a lilac tea gown! Nothing but the established repugnance of aself-made man to wasting four dollars, even to save his pride, madehim uncover his delinquency--and he held his breath till the stormshould pass. But no storm followed his confession. Instead of which, she sprang to her feet, laughing: "Oh, I'm wild to see that play! It has a deep, ethical purpose. Canyou give me six minutes to scratch off this gown and bundle myselfinto another?" It was so unusual, and she made such a delightful picture standing inthe doorway, that he felt that the occasion deserved recognition. "You may have twelve minutes to dress in, Helen. I'll call a cab. " "Oh, Rob, how lovely!" and off she flew. After a moment spent in the happy digestion of this delightfulantenuptial way of exculpating a really outrageous masculine default, it slowly dawned upon him, as he arose and emptied the ash tray intothe library fire, that it was most unusual, extraordinary, startling!There was a time when she would have made a scene, and either theywould have spent the evening apart at home in silence, or together atthe theater in a still more painful silence. At that instant was born in Robert Penn's already overwrought brainthe thought that his wife no longer loved him! Robert loathed all theatergoing. The mere physical restraint wastorture to so active, high-strung a man, but when it came to a problemplay---- He not unnaturally considered that it represented the fullmeasure of his devotion to his wife, to spend an evening beside herlistening to the same old jumble of human motives, human passions, that had occupied him all day long. Hate, jealousy, revenge, greed, infidelity were the staples of his trade, as it were; the untanglingof law, if not always equity, from the seething mass was his _raisond'être_, and moreover paid his coal bills. That Helen was almostmorbidly fond of the theater had long been his heaviest cross. His thin, dark face looked very worn as he hunched himself into hisovercoat in the hall, and, looking up, saw Helen running down thestairs, just as she used to do in the dear old sweetheart days, chattering merrily the while: "Talk of Protean artists! Vaudeville clamor for me some day--you'llsee! I'll be five characters in twenty-five minutes, and no one ofthem Helen Penn!" And then she looked so altogether exactly the way he liked his wife tolook, that he whispered something quite absurdly lover-like to her ashe put her into the cab. She laughed in an excited, detached way andmade no response in kind, and again his mood changed and a chilly fogof vague suspicion closed in upon him. At the theater he leaned back in his seat and watched Helen with eyesthat began to reinventory her personality, seeking to comprehend thisstrange exhilaration that had recently uplifted her out of all herenvironment. Once, between the second and third acts, Helen asked Robert for apencil and made a note on the margin of her program, which shelaughingly refused to let him read. It was all that was needed tocrystallize his resentment, and muttering something about "a whiff oftobacco, " he got up and went to the lobby. It so happened that Mr. Flagg, the dignified senior member of theirsuccessful firm, was strolling about alone with a cigarette, and aftergreetings between the two Flagg said, in a low tone, to Robert: "It's all up with your side of the Perry case! The evidence inrebuttal will knock you higher than Haman. I've just got hold ofit--I'll explain in the morning. It seems that your pretty client hasbeen hoodwinking _caro sposo_ for two years--all the time looking likea Botticello angel, all pure soul and sublimated thought, dressedalways in shades of gray--pearl gray, Penn!" laughed Flagg; "a dovewith the heart of a---- There's the bell! Come down early to-morrow, there's work ahead for us all. " The first thing that Robert did as he sank into his seat was to notethe shade of Helen's gown--it was a dull lead color! If jealousy is once allowed so much as a finger tip within the portalsof a heart, the chances are that within an inconceivably short time hewill be in entire possession, sprawled all over the place, yelling forcorroboration and drinking it thirstily until madness comes. Every little unrelated incident in Robert's home life fell suddenlyinto place under suspicion's nimble fingers. Up to that time he hadbeen reasonably sure of the integrity of his hearthstone. Only withinthose eight weeks had these new symptoms been developing in theconduct of the wife of his bosom, the mother of his little daughter, Betty. Her curiously happy exaltation, her absentmindedness, her long, smiling reveries; the look of flushed excitement on her pretty face, the odd impression of breathlessness; the muttering of strange wordsin her sleep, followed by bursts of almost ribald laughter. Could itbe possible that she was leading a double life, like that otherwoman?---a life to which he had no latchkey? What was that devilish thing in "The Cross of Berny"--from Gautier's pen, if he remembered rightly, among those four royal collaborateurs--"Tocall a woman--my wife! What revolting indiscretion! To callchildren----" But the thought of little Betty hushed even his madimaginings. However, it was his business to fathom all this mystery at once. Anidealist was a blind ass--look at Perry! Penn did not rest well that first night after the problem play, norfor many nights to come. One morning a question of law came up at the office that made itexpedient that one of the firm should go at once to Washington toconsult a supreme authority, and Robert was sent, that he might havethe benefit of even that small change of scene. He rushed home tothrow a few things into a bag and kiss his wife and Betty good-by. Heopened the front door with his latchkey as usual, and as usual calledout: "Helen, where are you?" There was a low cry, the shuffle of feet across a hardwood floor, thebang of a door closed quickly, and then in a voice toned to sudden_insouciance_ and overdoing it: "Here I am, Rob, in the library. " He stood frozen stiff for an instant, as his legal experiencewhispered to him all the possibilities hidden in those few sounds. Themain thing was to keep his head! He went to the library and foundHelen sitting alone in his own especial chair, peacefully readingBoswell's "Life of Johnson, " as he was quick to notice as he passedbehind her. Although her attitude was one of rather sleepy repose, there weresigns of a hasty rearrangement of the _mise en scène_, whichcorroborated the aural evidence which reached him in the hall. Nearthe door to the reception room was a piece of paper; he slipped on around "Carteret" pencil as he went to his desk in a silence that hefelt that he could not break, without also breaking a few otherthings. Helen sat watching him in surprise--not an altogether genuinesurprise, he thought, after one glance--thank Heaven, he was an expertin moral turpitudes and sinuosities--the woman did not live who coulddeceive him! "Did you forget something, Rob? Why didn't you telephone? I could havesent it to you, " she asked, simply. Ah, that accursed simplicity!Well, she would find that he was not simple, that was one sure thing. "No, Helen, I forgot nothing--I never do forget anything, " he said, with sullen meaning. "Where's Betty?" "It's a fair day and it's eleven; of course she is out in the park, "replied Helen, smiling. He smiled too, but in such a way that she sat forward in her chairwith dilated eyes, into which Robert read a rising fear. "Dear, what is it? What is wrong?" "Wrong? Who said wrong? _I_ didn't, " he found himself saying, greatlyto his disappointment, for suspicions are useless until graduatedinto--evidence; so he hastened to explain his errand; sorting oversome papers at his desk meanwhile. All the time his mind was intentupon one thing only--the possession of that piece of paper lying nearthe reception-room door. He walked toward the cabinet in the corner to fill his pockets withcigars; the paper was lying just behind him, and as he turned he wouldstoop and pick it up. He heard a slight noise behind him, and, wheeling-swiftly, discoveredHelen creeping toward the paper, her hand already outstretched. Withone quick movement he snatched it from the floor, and forced himselfto hold it aloft and laugh a little. He might have spared himself allthat finesse, for she ran to him, clinging to his arm, laughing, coaxing, pouting, begging him to give it to her--unread! "Rob, you'll break my heart if you read that. Please not now--laterperhaps--some day I will explain; please, dear!" "If the contents of this paper are sufficiently serious to break yourheart if I do read it, perhaps mine will be broken if I don't. So, asa measure of self-preservation----" He put the piece of note paperinto his pocket. His face was white, his pulse was galloping like mad, and yet he managed a rather ghastly smile into her face, upraised andpleading. "Face of a Botticello angel!" he thought, and steeled his heartagainst her. She sank into a chair half laughing and yet with an introvertedexpression--"_recueillement d'esprit_, " he thought to himself, bitterly. Brushing her hair in passing lightly with his lips, he leftthe room and presently the house. When she discovered that he had gonewithout again seeing her, she flew to the telephone and held a longincoherent talk with some one she not infrequently called "Ben, dear, "to whom she confided certain undefined fears about her husband and herfuture. A suggestion of a trip to Europe from the other end of thetelephone met with her unbounded gratitude and enthusiasm. Afterurging haste, she left the colloquy almost her old smiling self, andwent to the library, where she did not continue the reading ofBoswell's "Life of Johnson, " but went thence directly to the receptionroom--into which Robert had peered before leaving the house--and, stooping, she drew from under the lounge many sheets of paper, and wassoon lost in their perusal. Robert had been forced to wait until he was settled on the train forWashington before he found time to read the note whose possession hadcaused Helen such perturbation. It was evidently the middle page of aletter, a single sheet, note size, torn from a pad. The handwritingwas unquestionably masculine, entirely unfamiliar to Penn, hurried andfull of what Helen would have called--temperament. After one glance, the blood rushed to his head, and his hot eyesdevoured again and again these words: Since our interview yesterday, and in regard to that irresistible scene of the blue stockings, I am not willing to let it drop. However, I should like to suggest abbreviation, and I fear I shall have to ask you to change the shade to a dull bluish gray. If you will come to my office in the morning, I feel sure we can soon arrange a climax which shall embody your own wishes and mine. As to the effect--the after-effect--of her husband's death on H. P. 's character, attention will be diverted from that by the previous gossip about---- And there it ended. The initials, H. P. --Helen Penn--were the tacks that fastenedconviction to Robert's consciousness; conviction of an intrigue oflong standing and unspeakable familiarities--all these verbalobscurities were only too sickeningly familiar to him, fresh from thePerry letters--but here was more! Apparently a coolly plotted murder--one ray of light only his eyesclung to--the "climax" was yet _in limine_! In a well-built city house the insertion of a latchkey and opening ofa front door between ten and eleven o'clock at night are noises easilycovered by the urban roar of even one of the lateral streets of agreat city. Robert entered and closed the door with--he assuredhimself--no greater minimum of noise than is instinctive towardmidnight with even a sober married man. Among all the emotions whichhad seethed through his mind during the past few hours, a reaction wasat that moment in possession of him, in favor of his wife, who hadbeen to him a well of sweet water through all those years. If evil wasdrawing near to her, why push her toward it? Surely a finer thingwould be to warn and protect her, to beat down underfoot his ownwounded _ego_ and win her back! The electric light in the hall was burning, and he went directly tothe library. Touching an electric button near the door, the room wasflooded with light, and there before his weary eyes, hanging over theback of his Morris chair, was--Heaven help him!--a pair of longdelft-blue silk stockings! Robert's agony was black upon him, his mindonce more full of crawling, writhing suspicions; his mouth and throatwere parched, his pulse beats filled the world. Then into the silence fell Helen's laugh from the floor above, a longpeal of mirth that spoke clearly of companionship. He had not made alife study of psychic differentiation for nothing--Helen was notalone! From that instant, all pretenses were abandoned, Robert was asleuthhound on a keen scent. With his head well forward, he crept up the carpeted stairway. Theupper hall light was burning low; from his wife's "sewing room, " as itwas called, came the sound of voices. The door was ajar, and from thecrevice a strong light flooded out into the twilight of the hall. Nowentirely mad with jealousy, he softly glided toward the crack, butbefore his eyes could further feed his torture, his ears served up aplenitude, in Helen's voice--that dear, clear, sweet voice that hadsung his child to sleep and---- "Mr. Stillingfleet--my dear Mr. Stillingfleet, if I may be allowed theliberty----" "My dearest creature, " interrupted a deep voice, muffled, almost as ifby intent disguised, "if it be a liberty to call me dear, I findmyself craving the instant fall of kingdoms. " "La, sir, you confuse me quite!" There was a rustle of silken skirtsand Helen laughed again. Peering cautiously in, this sight met Robert's bloodshot eyes:Helen--or at least the fantastic figure which had her voice--stood bythe mantelpiece. The hair was high-rolled and powdered, in it twonodding white plumes; she wore a yellow brocade gown strangely cut, long black mitts on her hands, which waved a huge fan coquettishly ata man--a creature in the costume of Goldsmith's day--who stood nearher, bowing low. On his head was a wig, powdered and in queue, hisface a mask of paint and powder and patches. He was clad in a hugewaistcoat, long coat, knee breeches and hose--_blue_ hose--upon hiscomely legs! Putting out his hand toward Helen's, he said withsickening affectation, seizing her hand and raising it to his lips: "It's high time we were off to Montague's, my fair H. P. 'Time flies, death urges, knells call, heaven invites!'" For an instant a very ancient and honorable desire to enter that roomand violently change the face of several things dominated thelistening husband; that he did not marked the high tide of his nervousbreakdown. A sudden reaction, common to the neurasthenic, swept overhim, and his soul withdrew in anguish from the sickening horror of thediscovery. He crept softly down the stairs, seized hat and coat andstaggered out into the night. It was five days before Benjamin Bentnor's best detective worksucceeded in finding his brother-in-law in a hall bedroom at anobscure hotel in Washington, for a strong impulse of duty to beperformed had landed Robert there, although he had completely lostsight of his mission. When Ben found him, he was seated on the edge ofthe bed, his head bowed in his hands. Bentnor's gentleness toward him would have shown a saner man that hiscondition was serious; but it took a physician to do that in the end, and a year of rest and travel to cure him. At first, however, all Bentnor could do was to sit about ratherhelplessly and chatter in an effort to break through Robert's gloom. The second day after he found his brother-in-law, he was at his wits'end to find further subjects for cheerful conversation, until towardevening he had a sudden inspiration! To be sure it was Helen's secret, but surely she would not object toanything which might serve to arouse her poor husband's interest, however slightly, and bring him to the point of consenting to returnto his home. Bentnor was short, stout, slightly bald, and somehow radiated comfort, even while sitting astride of a cane-bottomed chair, and smokinganother man's brand of cigarettes, in a one-windowed room nine feet byten and a half. "Helen Bentnor Penn's a great girl, isn't she, Rob?" No response camefrom the huddled figure on the bed. "Of course, all the Bentnors have brains--you must have observed thatfor yourself; but she's the first literary genius among us, althoughI've always felt that all I needed was leisure--however, that'sneither here nor there. Helen has arrived, and shall have the honor. Why, the editor who accepted that clever little _lever de rideau_ ofhers and brings it out in this month's issue of his magazine, wasdownright enthusiastic--can you imagine an editor having anyenthusiasm left in him, Penn? I can't, for one. Must have amagnificent flow of gastric juice! However that may be, this chap hastaken Helen up _con amore_, and written advice as to some changes, andgiven her interviews and all that. Most amateurs have to have several'fittings, ' I suppose. And then the check he sent her--by Jove, even Iwas surprised!" Robert looked up for the first time, and turned a haggard face, blankwith wonder, toward his wife's brother. Ben laughed. "Well, I suppose it is a bit of a shock to a man to find that hiswife's brains have a market value. " He was greatly encouraged byPenn's aroused interest and hurried on with his tale: "It strikes me I oughtn't to be telling you this, Rob, for it wasHelen's birthday surprise for you. She's been in an ecstasy over itfor about eight weeks. Don't you tell her I've told you! Promise!" "Trust me, " murmured Penn, and a smile twitched at his face. "Such plottings and plans and secrecy! I've been in it up to the neckfrom the first. On your birthday--somehow she's in love with you yet, Penn--Lord, how does a man do that?--for breakfast she was to show youthe magazine within whose fold is to be found her first literarylambkin; for luncheon--for you were to spend the day at home--she wasgoing to give you the check! Generous little beggar, Nell! She saidshe had never been able to really give you anything before--she hadonly bought with your money and forced upon you things you didn'twant. Then that night after dinner she and I were to act her two-partplay--we've been at it for weeks, tooth and nail, powder andpatches----" "_You_ and Helen!" gasped Robert. "Great Scott! who on earth else?--the editor?" laughed Bentnor, littledreaming what the few words meant to the distraught man before him. "Perhaps you think I can't do that sort of thing! It's in our blood, the love of the buskin. The fact is, I've always had my suspicionsthat in the time of Charles the Second--well, never mind. We had ourlast final farewell dress rehearsal the night you came on here. I tellyou I'm great in it. Helen, to be sure, does fairly well as _HesterPiozzi_, but wait till you see me as _Mr. Stillingfleet_! You know hewas the fellow whose grayish-blue stockings gave the name for all timeto 'blue-stocking' clubs. He and Dr. Johnson were always buzzingaround the literary women of that day, the pretty D'Arblay, thedignified Mistress Montague of Portman Square, and the great Piozziherself--of course, you remember?" "Yes, I remember, " whispered Robert, his face once more hidden, but agreat peace possessing him. "Ben, " he cried, almost joyfully, "what'sthe title of Helen's play?" "_Bas Bleu_, " said Bentnor, concealing his triumph at his own tacticsin the lighting of his twenty-third cigarette. Robert groaned, and his head again drooped in unspeakable humiliation. And in that moment he made up his mind that no one should ever sharehis guilty secret. To make a pathetic appeal to Helen, dwelling uponhis love, his doubts, his torturing jealousy, was one thing; quiteanother to tell that hopelessly humorous, refusing-to-be-patheticstory of those ridiculous _bas bleus_--they dangled everywhere fromevery point of his story; flying, pirouetting, circling andpin-wheeling in a psychic _pas seul_! It was impossible for even amember of the firm of Flagg, Bentnor & Penn to be impressive. Let themcall it a nervous breakdown, his lips were forever sealed. Then the thought of his home came to him like distant music. He sawhimself opening his door; he saw a small ball of white coming down thestairs backward in a terrifying fury of speed, the little, fat, half-bare legs and a swirl of tiny skirts all that was visible of hiswee daughter coming to greet him. He saw himself catch her off thelast step and lift her in his arms, burying his face against thebaby's hot, panting little body, then he heard Helen's voice and thesound of her scurrying feet! Robert sprang up, and with a burst of wild laughter, shouted: "Ben, let's go home! I believe you're dead right--I've got nervousprostration, and I've got it bad!" THE VAGABOND Your arms have held me till they seemed my home. Your heart denies me; and the spells I weave Are powerless to hold you. You must roam, And I must, grieving, hide the thing I grieve. Oh, love that does not love me, will there come No time when I am all too dear to leave? Is life so rich without me? Will there be No ache of loneliness? No sudden sting Of loss--of longing? Will your memory Dwell on no passionate, sweet, familiar thing, Soft touch or whispered word? Are you so free From any ties but those new days may bring? So much I miss you that I do not dare To let my heart turn backward, nor my eyes Search the wide future that is swept so bare Of all I coveted. Yet deeplier lies Than any misery of dull despair The fear that you may some day come to prize The things I stand for, when I am not there To fill your needs with all my sympathies. M. M. THE DOING OF THE LAMBS By SUSAN SAYRE TITSWORTH "Well, so long, fellows, " said the Goat, and rose to go. "Good-night, old man, " responded the cheerful chorus of his hosts. Asthe Goat went out into the hall there was silence in the room he hadleft, which lasted until after he had opened the hall door and had hadtime to close it. But instead of closing it, he merely bumped noisilyagainst it, and rattled the knob, and stood listening. As if hisdeparture were a signal, a roar of laughter from within followed hisstratagem. One voice rose above the noise. "By George!" it said. "Isn't he the limit?" The Goat closed the door silently and mounted the stairs to his ownroom in the apartment above. His suspicions were confirmed. They had dragged him in with them as they all came over together fromdinner at the Commons, to tell them some more of his wild Westerntales. It was not the first time they had done it. They were a selectlittle group of Eastern men, two or three years out of Harvard orYale, in rather good repute with the faculty of the Law School for thequality of their work, and known among their fellow students as theLambs, from their somewhat ostentatious habit of flocking together. The Goat was from the West, a graduate of a prairie college ofMoravian foundation, an athletic, good-looking young fellow inbadly-fitting clothes, who appeared in no way ashamed to admit that hehad never before been east of the Mississippi, and was franklyimpressed by New York. His _gaucherie_ was not ungraceful; there wasan attractive impertinence in his cheerful assertions that hisMoravian grandparents had desired him not to smoke or drink until hehad completed his education and was earning his own living, and that, consequently, he knew tobacco only by sight and smell, and hadcontented himself with looking on the wine when it was red. There wasone vacant seat at the table, which the Lambs occupied at the Commons;with an eye to future entertainment they had invited the Goat to jointhem, and in the two months since the term began, the arrangement hadgiven general satisfaction. They had undertaken the education of the Goat; they set him up to thetheater, with supper at the Black Cat or Pabst's afterward, and layawake nights howling at the recollection of his naïve and shrewdcomments; they took him walking to show him the historical landmarksof New York, extemporizing the landmarks and the history as they wentalong, to the delighted gratitude of the Goat, who lamented thatArizona had no associations. They egged him on to tell stories of hisprowess with lasso and lariat, of which he was boyishly proud, andlistened with flattering attention to his relations of grizzly huntsand Greaser raids. He usually told these experiences as happening to afriend of his, and blushed and looked sheepish when they accused himof modesty. In return for the pleasure he afforded them, they coachedhim in first-year law, and gave him pointers about the professors'idiosyncrasies, feeling well repaid by his enthusiastic reports of hisgood progress, and of the encouraging impression he was making on hisinstructors. And, finally, they were teaching him to smoke. After much urging, hehad consented to try it, and had accomplished part of a cigar. Then hehad suddenly become silent, looked at it intently for a few moments, and then, murmuring an indistinct excuse, had retired withprecipitation. He appeared at breakfast the next morning, good-naturedly accepted all the chaffing he got, and bravely essayedanother that evening. That had been a week or more before. On this particular night he hadsuccessfully smoked a whole Chancellor without growing pale or lettingit go out, treating them meanwhile to a vivacious narrative of adrunken gambler who had been run out of a little mining camp onestormy winter night, and had taken refuge with a friend of the Goat, also caught out in the blizzard, in a cave which proved to be thedomicile of a big hibernating grizzly not thoroughly hibernated; atthe close, he had, as usual, protested but not denied when theypolitely insisted on identifying his friend with himself. Then he hadtorn himself away to study common-law pleading in the suspiciousmanner previously described. There was, however, no sign of resentment or of injured feelings inhis face as he lit the gas in his own room. On the contrary, hegrinned cheerfully at his reflection in the glass, and, pulling openhis top drawer, took from the remote corner an unmistakablysophisticated brier and a package of Yale Mixture, and proceeded tolight up. He grinned again as his teeth clamped on the stem, andjerked it into the corner of his mouth with a practiced twist of histongue. Then he picked up a small and well-thumbed book lying halfhidden among his law books and papers, and glanced over a few pages. "I did that pretty well, " he said, approvingly. "Pity those babesdon't know their Bret Harte any better. Guess I'll ring in some ofTeddy's '97 trip on 'em to-morrow night. " And then he sat down tostudy. The next day the Lamb from Boston announced that his cousin and hermother, who were passing through town on their way home from threeyears of wandering abroad, were coming to call on him at four. Therefore, at two, he and his brother Lambs began to prepare his room, and the only other one that was visible from the front door of theirapartment, for the fitting reception of his relatives. Thispreparation consisted largely in moving all presentable articles inall the rooms into these two, and banishing all unpresentable into themost remote of the other rooms, and shutting that door. The Lamb fromBrookline inspected the pictures and photographs, straightening thefirst, retiring some of the second, and adding a few of both borrowedfrom the other members of the flock, and arranged to suit his ownartistic fancy; the Lamb from Philadelphia polished off the cups andsaucers with a clean towel; then the Lamb from Boston took the toweland dusted the mantel. After their labors, they attired themselves intheir "glad rags, " and sat in readiness behind their half-closeddoors, while the Boston Lamb laid out two or three law tomes on hiscouch, and assumed a studious attitude in his Morris chair. Promptlyat four appeared the Cousin and the Aunt. They were courteously impressed by the Lamb's bachelor quarters andthe appurtenances thereof, nor was the significance of the "Cases onQuasi-Contracts, " which the Lamb ostentatiously hustled away, lostupon them. The Cousin insisted on looking at it, and her comments wereof so sprightly a character and so difficult to return in kind, thatthe Lamb, conscious of the open doors, and not desiring to subject the_esprit de corps_ of his friends to a very severe strain, called inhis brother Lambs to meet his relatives. They attended promptly, three personable young men in irreproachableafternoon dress, overjoyed to find the Cousin as pretty as her voicewas musical, and as entertaining as her skillful jolly of the BostonLamb had led them to expect. In ten minutes the flock was hers tocommand. The Philadelphia Lamb took down from its new position on theBoston Lamb's wall the cherished Whistler of the Brookline Lamb, andpresented it to her; the Boston Lamb begged her acceptance of thequaint little Cloisonné cup which she admired as she drank from it, and which was the property of the Philadelphia member; the AlbanyLamb, on the plea that everything of value had already been abstractedfrom him to make the Boston Lamb's room pretty for her, offered herhimself, and was in no way cast down when she declined him on theground that he was too decorative to be truly useful. But in themiddle of the recrimination that followed this turning state'sevidence on the part of the Albany Lamb, the Cousin inquired: "You are all law students--do any of you know a man named Freeman whois studying up here?" The flock looked at each other and smiled. Freeman was the Goat's name. "She doesn't mean the Goat, " explained the Boston Lamb, hastily. "Weknow a first-year man named Freeman, " he added, turning to her, "buthe's a wild and woolly Westerner, who'd never been off the plains ofArizona till he came here. There may be others, but we're educatingonly one. " "Oh, no, " said the Cousin. "The Mr. Freeman I mean is the son of theconsul-general to Japan--he's a San Francisco man, and he's beeneverywhere. We met him first in Cairo, and then we played together inYokohama, and came as far as Honolulu together, last spring. Hedecided to study law in New York, and I know he lives up heresomewhere. " "Such a nice young fellow!" contributed the Aunt. "Don't know him, " said the flock. "We'll ask the Goat about him, " suggested the Philadelphia Lamb. "We've been so engrossed with our own pet Freeman that we haven't hadtime for any other, " volunteered the Brookline Lamb. "It's rather strange, " began the Cousin, and then interrupted herself. "Anyway, I hope you'll all look him up; I am sure he will be verygrateful. " The flock acknowledged the bouquet by appropriatedemonstrations. "Our acquaintance with his namesake verges on the altruistic, also, "ventured the Albany Lamb. "I should not like, myself, to be the victim of your altruism, " saidthe Cousin, with a slow glance that took them all in. In the midst ofthe delighted expostulations that greeted this shot, the apartmentbell rang sharply. The Brookline Lamb, being nearest, went to open thedoor, and, having opened it, remarked in a subdued but unmistakablysincere manner: "Well, I'll be----" A saving recollection of the Cousin and the Auntbrought him to a full stop there, but everybody looked up, and for amoment the flock was speechless. Not so the Goat, for it was the Goatwho stood there, arrayed in the afternoon panoply of advancedcivilization, with a cigarette between his fingers and the neatest ofsticks under his arm. "Beg pardon!" he said. "Didn't realize--regret exceedingly--shouldnever have intruded--why, Miss Brewster!" And with an instantcombination of high hat, stick and cigarette that showed muchpractice, he came in to shake hands with the Cousin, who, suddenlydisplaying a brilliant color, had risen and taken a step toward him. "What luck! what bully good luck!" he went on. "Mrs. Brewster, how doyou do? This is like old Cairo days. Boston, you brute, why didn't youmention this at luncheon?" The flock choked; this was from the Goat, who had unobtrusivelyconsumed most of the plate of toast at noon while the Lambs werediscussing the visit of the Cousin and the Aunt. The Albany Lamb roseto the occasion feebly. "There seems to have been some mistake, " he said. The Goat put his haton the bust of the young Augustus, and sat down on the divan besidethe Cousin. "Well, now I've happened in, mightn't I have some tea?" he inquired, genially. "No lemon, if you please, " and he pointed a suggestivefinger at the rum. In dazed silence the Brookline Lamb hastened toserve him, while the Cousin said, with a peculiar little smiletightening the corners of her mouth: "I thought it was strange that you didn't know Mr. Freeman. " "We really don't, " said the Boston Lamb, making a late recover. "I'mnot at all sure that he is a fit person for you to associate with--allwe know of him is what he has told us himself. " "That's all right, " said the Goat, impudently. "And, anyway, I didn'tcome to see you this time, old man. " "What has he told you?" demanded the Cousin, as the Boston Lamb gaspedwith impotent rage. "A series of Munchausen adventures, " returned the Philadelphia Lamb, vindictively. "Six Apaches and three and a half Sioux with one throwof the lasso. " "Won out in a hugging match with a ten-foot grizzly, " added the AlbanyLamb. "Nonsense!" said the Cousin, interrupting the Brookline Lamb's sarcasmin regard to nerve cures. "Hasn't he told you about the mob atValladolid? Or about San Juan?" The flock gazed with unutterablereproach at the Goat, who sipped his tea with a critical frown, andobserved, pleasantly: "That happened to a friend of mine. " The Lambs surrendered at discretion, and roared. The Cousin glanced atthe Aunt, and they rose. "We have had the most attractive time, " said the Cousin, prettily, as, suddenly sobered by this calamity, the Lambs protested in a bodyagainst her going. "It has been charming--and I am so interested inyour experiment in altruism. " The Lambs collapsed under the _excathedra_ nature of the smile she bestowed upon them, as she turnedand held out a frank hand to the Goat. "I am glad you happened in, "she said. "I mailed a note to you this morning--you will doubtless getit to-night. Come and see us. " "The Holland, isn't it?" said the Goat, holding her hand, and then hemade a short speech to her that sounded to the paralyzed Lambs like aChinese laundry bill, but which evidently carried meaning to theCousin, for she flushed and nodded. Then she turned back to the flock, who by this time, with touching unanimity, were showering devotedattentions on the Aunt. At the elevator they were all graciouslydismissed except the Boston Lamb, who alone went down to put hisrelatives into their cab. "Come and see us, all of you, " called the Cousin, cordially, as thecar began to descend. "How soon?" begged the Albany Lamb, anxiously. "Any time, after to-night, " returned the Cousin, and was lowered fromtheir sight. Then with one accord they fell upon the Goat, and bore him into theapartment for condign punishment, regardless of his indignantassertions of his right as a citizen to a trial by a jury of hispeers. When the Boston Lamb came leaping up the stairs to add hisweight to the balancing of accounts, he found a riotous crowd. "Just because my luggage was derailed and burned up out in the Kansasdeserts, " the Goat was saying, "and I struck New York in a suit ofhobo clothes from Topeka--oh, you fellows are easy marks!" "Where are your Moravian grandparents?" demanded the Albany Lamb. "Don't know, " said the Goat, unfilially. "They died before I was born. They weren't Moravians, anyway. " "See here!" The Boston Lamb jerked him to his feet with one hand andassaulted him with the other. "What was that stuff you were reelingoff to my cousin? As her nearest male relative, geographicallyspeaking, I insist on an explanation. " "That was Japanese, " said the Goat, with a grin, and immediatelyfavored the crowd with several more doubtfully emphatic remarks in thesame tongue. "I pass!" said the Boston Lamb, meekly. "But one thing more. Are youengaged to my cousin?" "How very impertinent!" returned the Goat. "Why didn't you ask her?" The Boston Lamb inserted four determined fingers between the Goat'scollar and the back of his neck, and in view of the attitude of mindand body of the other Lambs, the Goat saw fit to yield. "Not exactly, as yet, " he admitted. "But to-night--I hope----" "After which we are invited to call--oh, you brute!" groaned theAlbany Lamb, and started for him. But the Goat had pulled himselfloose, and gained the door. He stopped, however, to pull an oblongpackage from his coat pocket. "Here, " he said, tossing it toward the crowd. "The smokes are on metonight. Sorry I can't be here to assist, for they're a distinctadvance on your husky old Chancellors. Also, there's a case of fairlygood booze downstairs that the janitor is taking care of until youcall for it. So long, fellows!" And with a wave of his hat the Goatdeparted. THE UNATTAINED A gem apart In the unreached heart Of a shy and secret place; Swift-winged in flight As a meteor's light In the far-off field of space. More sweet and clear To the spirit's ear Than a wave-song on the beach; Like the baffling blue Of a mountain view, Or a dream just out of reach. Like light withdrawn By a rain-swept dawn, When the clouds are wild and gray; Like a wind that blows Through the orchard close Ever and ever away. WILLIAM HAMILTON HAYNE. THE FLATTERER By GEORGE HIBBARD Miss Miriam Whiting languidly descended the broad terrace steps. Ifher slow progress suggested bodily weariness, her whole bearing wasnot less indicative of spiritual lassitude. She allowed her hand tostray indolently along the balustrade, as with the other she held thelace-covered sunshade at a careless angle over her shoulder. On the lawn the guests from outside were gathered. Collected in groupsor wandering in pairs, they dotted the grounds. As one of thosestaying in the house, she appeared as a semi-official hostess with amodified duty of seeing that all went as well as possible. Her headached slightly, as she began to discover. Even the light of the lateafternoon was trying. The dress which she expected to wear had provedtoo dilapidated, and she had been obliged to put on one she wished tosave for more important occasions. The invitation which she needed forthe satisfactory conduct of her modish itineracy from country house tocountry house had not come in the early mail as she expected. The band, hidden in a small, thick boscage of the wide gardens, brokeinto a mockingly cheerful air. At intervals some distant laugh tauntedher. She was late, she knew. The shadows had begun to lengthen acrossthe open spaces by the fountain, and she could almost see Mrs. Gunnison's tart and ominous frown of displeasure. Why was she there, except to be seen; so that the world should know that one who had justcome from the Kingsmills' place on the Hudson had paused beneath thebroad roofs of "Highlands" before, presumably, going to the VanVelsors, in Newport? As with pinched lips she reflected, she quickened her pace carefully. "Ah, senator!" she cried, as she held out her hand with regulatedeffusion. "I am so charmed. I did not know that you were to be here. You great ones of the earth are so busy and so much in demand----" Senator Grayson bowed and beamed. He shifted in uneasy gratificationfrom one foot to the other, and a rosier red showed in his round face. "I did not think that you young ladies noticed us old politicians----" "Every one should be given the benefit of a doubt. Of course, in oursilly lives there is not very much chance to know about anythingreally worth while, but when a thing is really great even we cannothelp hearing about it. Your last speech--the broad, far-reachingviews----" The senator stood in agreeable embarrassment. "I read it, " Miriam continued. "I could not go to sleep, because Iwanted to finish it. Of course, I could not understand all, but I wasentranced. Even I could feel the force and eloquence. I have heard ofnothing else. " "Really?" cried the enchanted statesman. "Do you know I thought it hadfallen flat? You are good to tell me. These side-lights are of theutmost value, and, indeed, I esteem your opinion. Would you let me getout a cup of tea? And--and--Mrs. Grayson was only saying the other daythat she wanted to ask you to come to Washington for a visit thiswinter. " As the senator stumbled away, Miss Whiting felt a light touch at herelbow. "In your most popular and successful manner, Miriam, " said a slight, slim woman, whom she found standing beside her. "He's a dear, if he is an old goose, " said Miriam, defiantly. "And, ofcourse, any shading would be lost on him. " "I know, " continued the other, the sharp brown eyes in her lean brownface regarding the girl critically. "There are degrees of flatteryeven in your flattering. You have reduced it--or elevated it--to theproud position of an exact science. " Before Miriam could reply, a young man who had discovered her fromafar advanced with what was evidently an unusual degree ofprecipitancy. "Miss Whiting, I am delighted, " he puffed. "I have been looking foryou everywhere. I was in town, and I went to that bric-a-brac shop. The fan is undoubtedly a real Jacques Callot. " "I was sure, " she murmured, "with your knowledge and taste, that youcould decide at once. Of course, I did not know. " "And--and----" hesitated the youth, "I hope that you will not beoffended. I told them to send it to you here. If you will accept it?" "How terrible--and how kind of you!" Miriam cried, holding out bothhands, as if led by an irresistible impulse. "But you are so generous. All your friends have discovered that. I always think of St. Francissharing his cloak with the blind beggar. " "So good of you, " he stuttered. "It's nothing. You must be tired. Can't I bring a chair for you? I am going to get one. " As the young man turned hurriedly away, Miriam grasped her companion'sarm. "I never thought that he would give it to me. Never, Janet--honestly, "she exclaimed, with earnestness. "The way of the transgressor is likely to be strewn--with surprises. " "I only thought of saying something pleasant at a dinner. " "I'd taken Bengy Wade's opinion without a moment's hesitation on thelength of a fox terrier's tail, but a fan----" "He wants to be considered artistic, " pleaded Miriam. "And the last touch about St. Francis, wasn't that a trifle overdone?Somewhat too thickly laid on? What used to be called by painters in apre-impressionistic age--too great _impasto_. I am afraid that you area little deteriorating. " "Miriam!" Both turned, and found a tall lady calling with as great animation asa due regard for the requirements of a statuesque pose permitted. "I want to speak to you, " she exclaimed, as soon as words werepossible. "I want you to come to my house to-morrow morning. I amgoing to have a little music. Emmeline is going to sing. " "Oh!" cried Miriam. "Don't you like her singing?" the other inquired, earnestly. "Oh, _very_ much, " assured Miriam. "Only--the truth is, I once heardher sing Brunnhilde's 'Awakening, ' and she murdered it so horribly. " "Emmeline is often too ambitious, " the other commented, with visiblecontent. "Lighter things she can do charmingly, and she should hold to them, "Miriam announced, with decision. "I arranged the program, " said the lady, "and, for her own sake, Ishall not let her attempt anything to which she is unequal. Of course, I shall not sing myself. " "Oh, Mrs. Ogden!" "You know I never sing anything but Wagner, and then only when thereare a few--when my hearers are in full sympathy. You will be sure tocome, " she added, as she turned to give another invitation. "By theway, you will be at Westbrook this autumn. I want you to ridePersiflage in the hunt as often as you like. " "Much better, " commented Miriam's companion, as they strayed on. "Ofcourse, nothing would please her--as a bitter rival--more than to hearher sister-in-law's singing abused. That touch about lighter thingswas masterly when she herself only sings Wagner for a few. But how doyou manage with Emmeline?" "I tell her that no one can conduct, an automobile as she does. " "My dear!" "It's an amusing game, " the girl answered. "But is it a safe one?" "Why not?" she exclaimed, challengingly. The two advanced toward the spreading marquee which appeared to be thecenter of the mild social maelstrom. A greater ebullition perceptiblymarked the spot. The conflict of voices arose more audibly. Many wereconstantly drawn inward, while by some counter-current others were, frequently cast outward to continue in drifting circles until againbrought back to the gently agitated center. On the very edge of thisvortex--the heart of which was the long table beneath the tent--sat agoodly sized lady. Her appearance might have been offered by anecromancer as the proof of a successfully accomplished trick, for thesmall camp stool on which she rested was so thoroughly concealed fromsight that she might have been considered to rest upon air. Catchingsight of Miriam, she beckoned to her with a vigor that threateneddisruption of her gloves. "Where have you been?" she cried, as Miriam and her friend approached. "I have been waiting for you. So many have been asking for you. Iexpected you to be here. " "My dear Mrs. Gunnison, " cooed the girl, "you must forgive me. Absolutely, I could not help myself. I was all ready on time--but Ihave been admiring again your wonderful house. And I have beenwondering at the perfect way in which it is kept up--the faultlessmanner in which everything is managed. I can only think of LordWantham's place. Though, of course, there is not the brilliancythere----" "I like to have things nice about me, " said Mrs. Gunnison, complacently. "Sit down here, my dear. I want to have you near me. Andyou, too, Mrs. Brough. " "I may be a little to blame for keeping Miriam, " said the elder woman. "I have been so much interested in what she was saying. " "Every one is, " responded Mrs. Gunnison, warmly. "Miriam is sopopular--quite celebrated, for it. Indeed, there are numbers of peoplehere who want to meet her. One young man in particular--Mr. Leeds----" "Did he say he wished to know me?" the girl asked, quickly. "Well, no, " admitted Mrs. Gunnison, "But then I want you to know eachother. I'm quite bent on it. Nothing could be better. I'd like to seeit come out the way I'd have it. You know how rich he is. And they sayhe is going to be somebody. Mr. Leeds! Mr. Leeds!" A tall young man looked and advanced. While his gait did not indicatereluctance, there was nothing that seemed to reveal eagerness. He cameforward deliberately and stopped before the party. "_I_ don't think, Mr. Leeds, that you know Miss Whiting, " Mrs. Gunnison announced. "A dear friend of mine--and a dear. Mrs. Broughand you are old friends. You see her so often that I feel that I cantake her away. Come, I want to show you something. " With her customary smile of unconcerned intelligence, Mrs. Broughallowed herself to be drawn off. The young man slowly settled himselfin the chair which Mrs. Gunnison had left. "Oh, you shall not escape, " declared Miriam. "Mr. Leeds, I am so gladto be able to speak to you at last. I have so much to say to you. Theytold me that you would be here this afternoon. I wondered if I shouldsee you. " Leeds had not spoken, but looked at the girl with a steadiness whichfor a moment caused her to cast down her animated eyes. "I missed you everywhere last winter, " she went on, more slowly. "And, of course, heard of you always. " Leeds continued to inspect the girl with amusement in his glance. "Oh, how splendid accomplishing something must be--standing forsomething!" "Don't you think that you are rather overvaluing my modestachievements?" "Of course, you speak that way, but others do not, " she hurried on. "You are known from one end of the country to the other. " "Really----" he began. "To be such an inspiring influence in local politics----" "Because, " he laughed, "having a minor public position--because, by afluke, having found myself in the place of a common councilman, I havegot some things done and kept others from being done. " "Public life has always been so absorbing for me. I can think ofnothing nobler for a man. " "Than being a common councilman, " he interrupted. "You laugh, " she said. "But I grew so interested, I followed in thenewspapers, from day to day, what you were doing. " "You were very good, " he answered, gravely. "Or you are very good tosay so. " "Don't you believe me?" she asked, suddenly arrested by his tone. "I have heard a good deal of you, Miss Whiting. " Miriam flushed slightly, but she looked at him steadily. "What have you heard?" "I have heard that you have ways of making the worse appear the betterreason--that you flatter. " The glow deepened in her face and her eyes flashed. "And, " he went on, lightly, "why should not one try to make the worldpleasanter by making it more satisfied with itself? Isn't that thepart of a public benefactor?" "You are laughing at me, " she cried. "You--are--despising me. " "No, indeed, " he answered, with real earnestness. "You misunderstandme. Isn't it only fair to give back in pleasant speeches theadmiration and adulation that the world gives you? There would be acertain dishonesty in taking all and giving nothing. " "You--you--are mocking me, " she gasped, rising, as if to fly, and thensinking back. "No, " he answered, "only I object to being mocked myself. I'd rathernot be included with all the others to be given pleasant words, as youcan so easily give them out of a large supply. I'd prefer to have youthink better of me than to believe that I am to be treated in thatway. " "Mr. Leeds, you are abominable and rude--and I cannot listen to you. " "I am sorry. Honestly, when you began to make such--civil speeches tome I was disappointed. It was so exactly what I had been told toexpect. " Miriam bit her lips--and her hand trembled a little on the handle ofthe sunshade. "I may have lost my temper a little, " he said, "which one should neverdo--but I can't take anything back. " That afternoon Miss Whiting was strangely silent. Held at the openingof the tent by her hostess, people passed before her unseen. What shesaid she hardly knew. What her words meant she could not have told. She was only aware that her voice sounded unnatural, and that herlaugh--when laugh she must--struck discordantly and strangely on herears. She felt that the time would never come when she could bealone--to think. II. Mrs. Gunnison's dinners, like all else of the establishment, werealways large. The classic limits authoritatively imposed she wouldhave scorned--if she had ever heard of them. If she could have timedit, the greater the number of minutes required by the procession tothe dining room in passing a given point, the better she would havebeen satisfied. She only felt that she "entertained" when she beheldserried ranks of guests stretching away from her on either hand. Therefore, when Miriam turned and discovered Leeds at her right, theyfound themselves in such semi-isolation as only exists at a very largedinner table. "I am sorry, " he said, pleadingly. "So am I, " she answered. "Very--oh, you think I mean that to bepleasant in that way, too----" She hastily averted her face, and engaged vigorously in conversationwith the man on the other side. Leeds stared moodily before him. During the passing of the many courses which Mrs. Gunnison's idea offitting ceremony demanded, the lady whom he had taken in found himneither communicative nor responsive. The dinner dragged on. MissWhiting's soft right shoulder remained constantly turned on him. Herdiscourses, which he could not help hearing, continued actively andunceasingly. At last Mrs. Gunnison darted restless glances about. Shehad already begun to stir uneasily in her chair. Miriam suddenly veered round upon him. "I want to tell you something, " she almost whispered. "What Isaid--what I tried to say this afternoon was true. " He looked at her with fixed earnestness. "Oh!" she cried, passionately. "I can't bear to have you study me asif I were a specimen of something--of mendacity, you think. But nomatter about that. You must believe me. Don't you?" "How can I, " he answered, slowly, "with----" "With my reputation, " she caught up, quickly, as he paused. "Do nottry to spare me--now. Can't you hear--can't you see, now, that I amspeaking the truth?" He gazed at her without answering. "Oh, I can read in your eyes that you do not. I want you to believeme. Can't you believe--even that?" He shook his head half smilingly. "You do not know all that I have heard, " he answered. "Who can have been so unfair--so cruel? I--I never wanted to bebelieved so before. Oh, you think that is only a part of it; that thehabit is so strong with me--that I am only flattering. " "If I have been--warned, " Leeds continued. "As if I were a peril--an evil----" "Perhaps you might be, " he muttered. "I will not bear it. You _shall_ believe me. I am not flattering. " "At least, that you should have been willing to take the trouble totry was in itself a distinction. " "You are hard on me. " "I must protect myself. " Mrs. Gunnison had arisen, and a rustling stir was spreading down thetable. "I am not a harpy, " she cried. "A siren was a bird more beautiful, but not less dangerous, " he said. She rose straightly and swiftly. "You feel that you can speak to me like that because you believe I amwhat you think. Very well. There may be satisfaction for you to knowit. I am, then, everything that you have implied. More--more than youhave said. I am false. I do flatter people--cajole them--deceive. I doit for my own interest. Now are you satisfied? Could anything beworse? I confess, even, that I have deserved the way you have treatedme. " "Believe me----" he began, hastily. But she had swept from him, and, amid the group of retreating women, he found no chance to finish the sentence. III. Miriam Whiting said "good-night" very early. A greater accuracy mightdemand the statement that the time at which she had "gone upstairs"was relatively not late--for the hours of the house were expansive, and not only had morning a way of extending into afternoon, butmidnight into morning. As a general thing, she had only disappearedwith her hostess, but on this particular evening she pleadedweariness--sleepiness--had even hinted at a headache, which no one hadever known her to have. Thereupon she departed, followed by thereproaches of the rest. Once in her room, she hurried her maid, and, finally, abruptly dismissed her. When she was alone, she went to thewindow and threw wide both the shutters. She leaned with her elbows onthe sill, gazing out at the moonlit country. Perfectly round, with a burnished sky about it, such as may sometimesbe seen when the circle is absolutely full, the white disk hung in theheavens. Below, about the quiet edges of the fountain, the light laywith silken sheen. Only, where the drops fell tremulously, the waterwas broken into glittering sparks. All was very still. Far off a dogbarked fitfully. That was the one sound which broke the silence, withthe exception of the occasional distant laughter of some men on theterrace at the end of the spreading wing. With her fingers buried inher thick hair, carefully gathered for the night, she looked straightbefore her, although she was wholly unconscious of the scene. A light knock at the door was repeated twice before she heard it andspoke. "It's I, " the voice said, insistently. "May I come in?" "Of course, " Miriam answered, without moving. The door opened quickly, and a small figure darted into the room. "There was some one coming, " said Mrs. Brough, as she glanced down atthe voluminous silken folds in which her little body was lost. "I amnot in a condition to be seen--generally. " She came forward slowly. "My room is near yours. I saw your light. I thought that you had notgone to sleep. I wanted to come to speak to you. " She put her hands onMiriam's shoulder. "You have been crying. " "Yes, " said Miriam, quietly. "I saw at dinner that you were not yourself--and I am troubled, too. Ihave a confession to make. " Miriam looked at her curiously. "You know that I am your friend--now, " the other went on. "Since wehave been here together, we have come to know each other as I neverthought that we should. There was a time before, though, when I didnot understand so well. I had watched you, and I did not like you. Idistrusted you--or, rather, did not trust you----" "I understand. You were clever enough to see through me----" "I thought that with your--insincerities that you were all false. Ishould have been wise enough to know differently. But what willyou?--to assume evil is easy, and always gives one a proud sense ofsuperior perspicacity. I condemned you, Miriam, without a hearing, andI told Arthur Leeds. " "You did it?" the girl murmured, dully. "Yes, I warned him. " "Why?" "Because I like him and admire him, and I thought you--dangerous. " "That is why he has said the things he has. " "He has said something?" "He has told me that I am not worthy of regard or consideration orrespect. " "Impossible!" "Perhaps not directly--but he has implied that and more--by word andaction. And--and--I love him. " Mrs. Brough sat down quickly in the chair which she had drawn up, andtook Miriam's hands. "I know you so well now, " she said, "that at dinner I saw somethingwas wrong. I did not realize that it was as bad as that. " "I think I loved him even last winter, when I only saw him--heard whohe was--and did not know him. I admired and respected and reverencedhim. But he seemed different to me. And to-day when I met him I wantedto tell him a little--as much as I could--of what I thought. I wantedhim to know something of the feeling that I had. I wanted to pleasehim. I wanted him to be nice to me--because I pleased him. What I saidto him was true--true. " She sprang to her feet, and spoke in deep, tragic tones. "True!" she repeated. "And I have lost the power of being thoughttrue. My words can only be considered so many counterfeits. I have sooften debased the true metal of sincerity that anything I say mustring false--that anything I may give cannot be taken. What I saidsounded fraudulently in my own ears. I could not forget the many, manytimes when I had spoken so nearly in the same way without meaning orbelief, and each speech seemed to me a mockery. Though I longed withall of me to speak simply and sincerely--knowing that I spoke thetruth--I hardly seemed to myself to be doing it. All appeared a part, but a repetition of the many times before when I had played apart--when what I did was a comedy--a farce--a tragedy!" She broke off with a sob. "You have cried wolf pretty often, " avowed Mrs. Brough. "I am a Cassandra, " said the girl, instantly. "When I wish to bebelieved I cannot. When all that is most precious and dearest to medepends on it I cannot be trusted. I may speak, but I shall not beheard--when all my life is in being heard--I know it. " "You see, " said Mrs. Brough, "when I told him I thought of you as youseemed----" "As I was. I don't blame you, " Miriam cried, bitterly. "What I hadbecome! Let me tell you. " She sat down again, and, with her elbows onher knees and her chin on her hands, gazed fixedly at the other. "Ithink I began innocently enough. I wanted to be liked--and I fell intothe way of saying pleasant little things. I tried to make everybodycontented and pleased with me. That was when I came out. Indeed, I maysay for myself that I had a sympathetic nature. I could not bear tosee anyone uncomfortable or doubtful about themselves or anything, without trying to help them. Surely that was not bad?" "No, " said Mrs. Brough, slowly. "I really wished to help every one, " she continued. "And the best waythat I found to do it was to say pleasant things. It was easy--toofatally easy. When I discovered how popular this made me I kept on. Icontinued for myself what I had really begun for others. Insensibly Iacquired skill. I was not stupid. I had rather a gift forcharacter--and could say exactly the thing to each one to flatter themthe most. I found that I took pleasure in the exercise of suchcleverness. There was a feeling of power in it--playing with thefoibles and weaknesses of men and women. I did not see that I wasoften trafficking in unworthiness and baseness. " "I've no doubt you did harm, " concluded Mrs. Brough. "People are onlytoo willing to be encouraged in their vanities. I don't think, Miriam, that you were really very good for a person's character. " "I was not very good for my own, " Miriam went on, grimly. "Iretrograded. I can see it now. In playing on the follies and faults ofothers, I grew less careful--less critical myself. Then the familylost its money. Oh, I haven't the poor excuse that I was in want--thatwhat I did was done from any lack of anything essential for myself orothers. Ours was just a commonplace, undramatic loss--with only needfor saving and retrenchment. Without the deprivation of a singlenecessity, or comfort, even. Merely the absence of the luxuries. Theluxuries, though, in a way, had become necessities to me--and--Ifound, by exercising my power, I could get much that I wished. Iflattered and cajoled to please people, so that they would do thingsfor me, give me things. That is ended----" She pointed dramatically to a table. "There is the fan from Bengy Wade in a package. To-morrow it goes backto him. There is a note to Mrs. Grayson, declining her invitation. IfI go to Westbrook I shall not ride Persiflage. I have turned over anew leaf. But the degradation of thinking of the record on the oldones! If I could only tear them out instead of trying to fold themdown. I see it all now. He has made me see it all. He has made medespise myself until I see the way I look in his eyes; until I seemthe same in my own. Janet, what can I do?" The girl's head bent on the arm of the chair, as her body was shakenwith sobs. The other put out her hand and gently stroked her heavyhair. "Don't you exaggerate?" "Did you, " Miriam panted, "when you said what you did to Mr. Leeds?Did you make my blackness less black than it should be--did youconcede to me any saving light?" "I did not know. If I can do anything now----" "You must not speak to him, " Miriam cried, sitting up abruptly. "Therewould be no use. When the seeds of distrust have been sown they willgrow, even if the weeds crowd out everything else. " "But weeds can be dug up. " "That must be my part, " Miriam answered, more calmly. "Only one courseis left. It's funny, " she smiled, swiftly, through her tears. "Thereis poetic justice in it. I can do only one thing. It is myretribution. " IV. The announcement which Mrs. Gunnison made on the following morningcame as a surprise to Miriam. She had some difficulty in notdisplaying an undue excitement. The habit of containment, which hadcome with worldly experience, however, did not fail her. She heard herhostess state that Arthur Leeds was coming to stay in the housewithout any exhibition of visible emotion. Mrs. Gunnison said that, asthe Barlows had other people coming, he was going to transfer himselfto "Highlands, " and that he would arrive in time for luncheon. Anyfears which Miriam experienced were wholly offset by a devoutthankfulness. The event offered such an occasion for the carrying outof her plan as she had not hoped to have given her. In the promise ofsuch an admirable opportunity for the execution of her purpose, shefound a melancholy satisfaction. If, as she thought to herself, theiron was to enter her soul, the sooner the affair was accomplished thebetter. The process of self-sacrifice was not pleasant in theexecution, however glorious it might appear in the conception. Self-immolation might be a duty, but, as every martyrdom, it was moresatisfactory as an ideal than as a fact. The first opportunity which came to execute what she had laboriouslyplanned was during the aimless inoccupation of after luncheonidleness. The arrangements for the afternoon had not yet beenconcluded, but were in the careless making. Who should ride; whoshould drive; who should walk; who should go and who should stay; thewhat and whither had not been settled: Leeds strolled to her side. "I have been trying to speak to you, but you have avoided me. " "Yes, " she said. "Why?" he asked; "I am going to tell you the truth, now----" shepaused, and looked at him. "Why?" he repeated. "Because I think that you are the most detestable man I ever saw, " sheanswered, gazing squarely at him. He started slightly--glanced at her in surprise, and abruptly sat downon the divan beside her. "You have really come to that conclusion?" he asked. "I have always believed it, " she answered, firmly. "But you said----" "You told me that I was a flatterer. I shall not be with _you_ anylonger. You wish the truth. You shall have it. " "That is what you thought from the first?" he said, slowly. "Yes, " she answered, less clearly. "I have always understood that youwere most absurdly self-satisfied. That you are deluded by a pose asto which you are so weak as to deceive yourself. That you takeyourself with a seriousness which leads you to believe that you arepreaching a crusade when you are only blowing a penny whistle. Thatyou assume that you have made for yourself a position and a reputationwhich were made for you. " "What do you mean?" he asked, quietly. "You have an old name and a large fortune which rendered youconspicuous and made everything easy. The newspapers have talked ofyou only as they would anyway. Indeed, they would have given morespace to you if you had a liking for conducting an automobile paintedlike a barber's pole than they have because you went into politics. They would have preferred the striped automobile, but they had to becontent with the 'reform politics' as the freak of one in your place. " "Then you think I am--nothing?" "You are a rich young man of assured position--spoiled by the world. " "I thought I had, at least, ordinary common sense. " "Probably--but still you have unduly lost your head. You would notknow if people were laughing at you----" Leeds flushed slightly. Miriam caught her breath sharply, and reachedforward to take up a fan which lay within her reach. "I am altogether a monster?" "No, " she replied, calmly. "A very ordinary young man, I should say. " "I'd be kind to dumb animals and not kick a baby----" "I am quite serious, " she answered. "You objected to any littlepleasantness on my part because what I said might not be altogethersincere. Now we are going to have facts. Indeed, you are the type ofman I dislike. " "At least, we know where we are now, " he responded. "Yes. And as we are staying in the same house it may be as well. " Miriam rose slowly. She walked decidedly across the room, andostentatiously placed herself beside Mrs. Gunnison. Leeds, deserted, did not move. He sat staring at the floor, as he softly drummed withhis fingers on the couch's leather arm. As well as in certain other particulars, the life of a country houseis microcosmical in this--escape from the requirements of humanrelationship is impossible. Indeed, the demands are made greater, thebonds more firmly fixed. In fact, the condition of all may be morefitly described as the condition of two united in matrimony--they takeeach other for better or worse. Constantly through the day they mustmeet. The terms on which they are thrown together impose intimacy. Iflatent antipathy exists with the revealing conditions of constantcompanionship it must be discovered. If inherent sympathy is to befound the two gravitate toward each other with inevitable certainty. As the birthplace of aversion quickly reaching a maturity ofdetestation and hate; as the hothouse of interest growing speedilyinto full bloom of liking and love, there is no place like a countryhouse. All existence there, in its condensed form, is a forcingprocess. Without any awkwardly abrupt transition or disconnectingjolts, those who begin to talk about mutual friends in the morning mayeasily reach a discussion of their own souls in the afternoon, and befar on the broad and easy path of sentiment by evening. Like ordislike, more or less strong, must surely and quickly follow. There isin the social chemistry a certainty of repulsion or attraction, out ofwhich the most unexpected combinations result--of a surprisinglylasting nature. In the daily routine Miriam saw Leeds constantly. Though she mightcome down late for breakfast, she always found him. Even if shebreakfasted in her room, when she descended he was always smoking inthe hall. "I did not expect to stay so long, " he explained to her on oneoccasion, rising as she paused at the foot of the stairs. "Then why do you?" she asked, coldly. "Don't you know?" he demanded. "Should you feel it pleasanter if Iwent away?" "Really--as I have undertaken to be perfectly frank with you--how canyour going or staying make the least difference in the world to me?" "Still, " he said, looking at her curiously, "there must be somethingtiresome in having to be scorning somebody all the time. " "I think, " she said, briefly, "I hear voices in the billiard room. Iam going in there. " If at dinner Leeds found himself next to her he discovered that shespoke to him no more than the strict letter of the law governing theconduct of guests in the same house demanded. What she said was of themost indifferent nature. If he sought to reach a more personal basishe found himself checked. "Miss Whiting, " he said, suddenly, on the third evening, "I am goingaway to-morrow morning. " Miriam swung about swiftly. "To-morrow!" she exclaimed, with a catch in her voice. "Yes, I think I had better go, though there is something I want totell you before I do. I have thought of all that you have said. I haveprofited by the new light that you have thrown upon myself--myactions--my life. " "What do you mean?" she murmured. "I have realized that very likely I am a prig. I understand thefutility of what I am trying to do. I see that I have been mistaken inmy power. I'm going to give up. " "Give up?" she replied. "You have shown that I was attempting more than I was able to do. TheDonaldsons have asked me to go in their yacht round the world. The_Vierna_ starts on Thursday. I am going away to be lazy and careless, and live the life for which you think I'm fitted. " "You are going to give up everything?" she exclaimed. "Yes, " he answered. "It is your doing. You must take theresponsibility of it. " "But what I say--what I think, can make no difference, " she almostentreated. "I am not of enough importance to you--you cannot considerme enough----" "All that is something of which you know nothing, " he answered, gravely. "Something of which I have told you nothing. I am goingaway--with the Donaldsons. " "People like that!" she interrupted. "People like that. I am going with them to lead their life--to be gonefor a year, unless one thing happens. As I said, you are responsible. " "But I can't be, " she implored. "It isn't possible. I can't count foranything. " "Let me assure you that you do. " "Then I can't take the responsibility. I won't. " "Unless one thing happens I am going, " he went on, inflexibly. "Thereare some, I think, who believe in me--who will think I am making amistake. " "But your future--your career, " she began, and paused abashed, as shesaw the way he watched her. "I thought we were to have no--insincerities--no flatteries. Since Iknow what you really think, such civil implications can mean nothing. " She bit her lips, pale as her cheeks were white. "Oh!" she cried, "how horrible!" Through all of dinner she hardly spoke. If she said nothing to Leeds, neither would she address the man on her other side, only giving suchmonosyllable answers as were necessary. The evening dragged slowly. Leeds did not approach her. Once or twice she looked toward him, buthe did not appear to notice her. Indeed, he only came late from thesmoking room and returned after a brief appearance in the big hall. "When, " she asked once, in a timid voice, of Mrs. Gunnison, "does Mr. Leeds go?" "The early train, " the lady answered. "I believe he leaves the housebefore seven, or at some equally unearthly hour. " * * * * * The fresh sunlight of the early morning was flooding through the openhall door as Leeds came down the wide, main stairs. He saw, under the_porte-cochère_, the trap ready to take him to the station, and intowhich the second man, with the help of the groom, was lifting histrunk. Here and there a housemaid was busy with duster and cloth. Themachinery of the establishment was being set in running condition, andthere was the accompanying disorder. The place seemed strange andunfamiliar. "Your keys, sir, " the butler said, holding out the bunch. "Yes, " he answered, "I'm ready. " As he spoke he started. Clearly in the stillness of the morning heheard a few soft notes struck on the piano. At that hour the sound wasmost unusual. He listened. The Flower Music of "Parsifal. " With aswiftness that left the astonished butler staring after him, he dartedtoward a door. In a moment he had torn the portière aside and hadcrossed the polished floor of the music room. Miriam was seated at thepiano, her fingers resting on the keys. "You are down!" he exclaimed. "Yes, " she answered, neither turning round nor looking up. "You are very early. " "Yes, " she assented. Then she whirled about on the music stool. "Icame down to see you. " "Why?" Both spoke with a simple directness--with the manner of those dealingin ultimate moments with the unmistakable facts. "You told me last night that you were doing as you do because of whatI have said. I cannot take the responsibility. I'd rather that youthought even worse of me than you do. Oh!" she cried, bending her headdown on her hands, which clasped the rack of the piano. "I am, false--false! I cannot be true even in my falsity. All that I havebeen telling you is not the truth. " "Yes?" he interrupted, eagerly. "When you judged me--when you told me--or showed me what you thoughtof me--I recognized what I was doing--what I was. I saw I was false. My pride drove me to do something else. It was a punishment formyself--a price I must pay. As falsely as you thought I tried toplease you--as falsely, _really_, I made myself hateful to you. I toldyou every untrue, miserable thing of which I could think. It seems asif any little remnant of dignity which I had demanded it. But to haveyou say that you were influenced by my lies--were going to give up somuch that was splendid and great--because of them! Oh, you mustbelieve me now. I could not bear it. " "Then you don't think I am altogether contemptible?" "I think you are the finest and best and strongest man I know, " shesaid, bravely. On one knee, beside her, he had his arm about her. "Bless you, darling, " he cried. "Then I can tell the truth, too. Ithink that you are the dearest and sweetest woman, and I loveyou--love you!" "I--I don't deserve it, " she sobbed. "I would not, " he said, "let myself believe what you told me at first, but then I would not let myself believe what you said afterward. Ihoped----" "Oh, it was so hard for me. Can't you understand? There was expiationin it. Don't you think it enough?" "I think we have both been mistaken and unhappy. " "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Since the first I have changed. It taught me alesson. I am different--really. " "We'll have everything all right now, and that is all. " "But you are going away, " she exclaimed. "I said I was going away unless one thing happened. " "Yes, " she said, eagerly. "Very well--it has happened. " The sound of the brush striking sharply and with metallic distinctnesson a dustpan came from the room beyond. "Perhaps we had better go on the terrace, " he laughed. "Really, youknow, we ought to have moonlight and mystery, but----" Together they went out through the open door into the fresh, softmorning air. The warm scent of the garden blew up to them. A large, yellow butterfly fluttered peacefully by. The dew still lay on leafand flower, glittering in a thousand sparkles. "The night is the time for romance, " he said. "Any well managedproposal should be made under the stars. " "But the morning, such a morning, " she exclaimed, softly, and claspingher hands in ecstasy. "And as this is going to be a beginning for me, I like the morning better. " THE MIRACLE OF DAWN By MADISON CAWEIN What it would mean for you and me If dawn should come no more! Think of its gold along the sea, Its rose above the shore! That rose of awful mystery, Our souls bow down before. What wonder that the Inca kneeled, The Aztec prayed and pled And sacrificed to it, and sealed, With rites that long are dead, The marvels that it once revealed To them it comforted! What wonder, yea! what awe, behold! What rapture and what tears Were ours, if wild its rivered gold-- That now each day appears-- Burst on the world, in darkness rolled, Once every thousand years! Think what it means to me and you To see it even as God Evolved it when the world was new! When Light rose, earthquake shod, And slow its gradual splendor grew O'er deeps the whirlwind trod. What shoutings then and cymbalings Arose from depth and height! What worship-solemn trumpetings, And thunders, burning white, Of winds and waves, and anthemings Of Earth received the Light! Think what it means to see the dawn! The dawn, that comes each day! What if the East should ne'er grow wan, Should never more grow gray! That line of rose no more be drawn Above the ocean's spray! THE SONG OF BROADWAY By ROBERT STEWART A certain club of good fellows of both sexes, journalists, authors, illustrators, actors, men of pleasure, and Bohemians generally, usedto gather on Sunday evenings, a merry decade ago, round the hospitabletable of an Italian lady who had acquired her culinary accomplishmentsunder the distinguished eye of M. Martin--late chef to M. De Lesseps, and present proprietor of Martin's Restaurant--before she attempted topractice on her own account, so to speak, in the basement of a dingybrick house in West Twelfth Street. Signora Maria was a trusting soul in those days, and many a hungrypoor devil has hung up his hat, coat and dinner there, and blessed hiskind hostess as he quaffed her red ink. We didn't say claret; wecalled out: "Where's my red ink bottle, Maria?" And Maria would putdown the soup tureen she was going from table to table with, and fetchus a pint of her _ordinaire_. It was sour stuff certainly, which evenMaria's radiant smile couldn't sweeten, but budding genius is carelessof the morrow, and on Sunday evenings, especially, when Maria held hersalon in the boarded back room, built out over the yard, vastquantities of it were gayly consumed, along with cigarettes, andcoffee, and flaming _pousse-cafés_. In one sense, at least, our function was appropriate to the night. Everybody "came prepared"--women and men both--like a countryExperience Meeting. Jokes cracked like lightning through the tobaccoclouds; songs of love and war trembled and roared above our heads;humor and pathos, those twin slaves of the lamp, sported and wept atour bidding; in a word, no end of youthful bombast, and kind laughter, and harmless, gratified vanity, was exhibited there. It was reallymore like a Montmartre _cabaret_ than any place I ever saw in NewYork. Only, with humblest apologies for disparaging their worldliness, the ladies were so evidently good, sincere, faithful friends, wives, mothers, sweethearts, that some of us watched their happy gayety withgrateful, pleased eyes. A Judas came to that kindly board, and betrayed to a newspaper thesemerry, honest folk at their simple feast. Stupid, prosperouscommercial persons pushed their way in and stared at them. They fledaway, scared at last, to more inaccessible haunts. But on one particularly jolly evening, to return to a text memories oftried friends and happy hours have beguiled me from, among a number ofnotable guests one who "favored, " Mr. Wilton Lackaye, then appearingas that white-eyed, hairy, awful _Svengali_ everybody so loathed andapplauded, dramatically recited a remarkable and original poem calledthe "Song of Broadway. " Many a time since have I remembered the scene, the song, the company; the long, wine-stained tables, the eddyingcigarette smoke, the acute, lively faces. In one way or another, everyone there was a trained observer, and knew his Broadway. It is rather a bold thing to say you know your Broadway. As I, too, sing my song about it, if I sound a note once or twice you have neverheard, oh, thank Heaven, and turn away! With us, I trust, it will bebut a minor chord. So every stroller there recognized the world helives in, and the child, the mother, the cabby, gambler, pickpocket, doctor, parson, each carries off his or her own bundle of impressions. Leaving it, then, to graver historians to trace the financial, commercial and social evolution of this tremendous street, which was aforest trail once, within whose sylvan solitudes red men roamed andwild beasts prowled, let us from our humble station, as men of theworld and social philosophers, describe merely that stretch of itwhich begins at Madison Square and ends at Forty-fifth Street; whereit is high noon at eight o'clock at night, and bedtime when the graydawn comes shivering cold and ghastly into hotel corridors where thewasherwomen are scrubbing the marble floors. "Little old Broadway, " asit is affectionately toasted in the vernacular of its _habitués_, wherever rye whisky is drunk, and faithful homesick hearts recall itslights, its pleasures and its crowds. Broadway, I say, at eight o'clock at night, is the most fascinatingstreet on earth. It is _en fête_ every evening; and you have only towalk that mile often enough, and the whole town will display itself atleisure and at its ease, perfectly unconscious and natural andselfish. It is not the lights; it is not the brilliant hotels, andtheaters, and restaurants, and shops, and tramcars, and hurrying cabs;it is not the music that floats out to you on the rippling surface ofthe town's deep voice; it is not that voice itself, vibrating as it iswith every emotion of the human heart, of pleasure, excitement, careless gayety, shame that has ceased to care, lust whispering itsappeal, modesty's shocked sigh, innocence's happy prattle, kindlaughter, friendly chat, unexpected hearty greetings; it is the vast, shifting, jostling, loitering, idle crowd, the multitude of a hugecosmopolitan city that is the spectacle, and that to a man who knowshis town is more dramatic, and humorous, and pathetic, and fascinatingthan all the plays to which young ladies, and their papas, too, arehurrying, to thrill, and laugh, and cry over. Think of a mile of street, brilliant like a drawing room almost, andswarming with all kinds of men and women from all over the world, eachseeking his or her particular amusement and finding it. Pleasure isthe commodity on sale here, and one can obtain it at any of thoseglittering signs blazing out over the crush, or traffic in it with thevenders of the pavement. Isn't it marvelous? Isn't it wonderful? as the conjurer says when hecuts your watch out of an onion. Mr. Conjurer returns your watch insafety, but it retains that delicate perfume which only the time itchronicles can wear away. Many an ingenious traveler has stepped outof his hotel to watch this magic spectacle for a little, and broughtback with him bitter remembrances that all the tears shed secretlywon't ever wash out. _Tant pis!_ You are not a preacher, monsieur. There is only one churchon your Broadway, and that is dark and shut and sold to a syndicate. The only religion one gets here is the Bibles in the hotel bedrooms, and at Jerry McAuley's Cremorne Mission, round the corner inThirty-second Street. What, then? Nobody claims Broadway to be adomestic scene, and children and nursemaids don't constitute itscharm. Look north, from where we have turned into it, after lighting ourcigars at Van Valkenburg's, under the Albemarle Hotel, and thosedazzling signs will tell you what most people come here for: Martin's, Weber's Music Hall, the Imperial Hotel, the Knickerbocker Theater, with Mr. Sothern in "Hamlet, " Hoster's, Kid McCoy's Café, Brown's ChopHouse, Grand Opera, Rector's Restaurant--to dine, to drink, to smoke, to stroll, to see the play, to watch each other. Did you ever see somuch light, so much life? Halt where sedate business halts, too, atthe St. James Building, frowning darkly down on gay, hoydenishMartin's, whose roguish, Parisian eyes twinkle mischievously up at it, as if they know the tall, somber old hypocrite has a score of wickedtheatrical agencies hidden away in its locked heart, and just _see_! Straight ahead of you, within ten minutes' brisk walk, are twentytheaters, sixteen hotels, six expensive restaurants, two hugedepartment stores, the _Herald_ newspaper palace, with the elevatedroad cutting across its face, several tall apartment houses thrustingup their lighted windows into the night, telegraph offices, bars, apothecaries, florists, confectioners, tobacconists, jewelry shopsgalore, all signed with electricity, and producing that wonderfulglitter and glare that is both so bizarre and so enchanting. A street, do we call this? It is a scene, most theatrical and gorgeous, and setfor the great human comedy which is even now being displayed upon it. In this theater you perceive audience and actor alike occupy thestage, as they used to do in the old London playhouses; and poorlittle flower girls are pushing their way through our throng, alsooffering the roses that fade so fast after they are plucked. Anythingmakes an interest, an excitement; a fire engine tearing acrossThirty-sixth Street, a policeman marching a thief to the precincthouse, an ambulance clanging down Sixth Avenue, a newsboy asleep onthe Dime Savings Bank steps, the bronze hammers striking nine on the_Herald_ clock, a Corean embassy driving up to Wallack's Theater intheir soft felt hats and gorgeous robes. Never were a lot of people more easy to be amused, more eager to laughor sympathize. A gentleman's hat blows up in the air; hoots oflaughter explode after it. It rolls under an express van; a dozencitizens spring to its rescue. Nerves are on edge. Stimulants areexciting keen brains. It is a trifle savage, this crowd. Look! Seethem hustle that masher! His hat's smashed already. The poor child hewas persecuting is crying with fright. A woman, not given to such apure embrace, has her arm about her; a big "plain-clothes man" isdrying her eyes with his handkerchief; a couple of young stock brokersare bargaining with cabby on his box to drive her home. Ah, that is apretty sight! I think Mr. Addison would have liked to see it, and DickSteele, I know, would have slipped a bank note into her hand. Oh, burst of sunshine in the darkness! Oh, chivalry and kindness beamingout on fast Broadway! Oh, reckless, hardened sinners loving innocenceand kneeling to it! But come; this is still Broadway. A block off they know nothing of allthis. Above us Daly's is closing and its fashionable audience pouringout on the pavement. In Twenty-ninth Street, the Cairo, the Alhambra, the Bohemia, are just as brilliant and fascinating as usual. I remember, one evening, as I was passing the ladies' entrance to theGilsey House, on my way home from the club, out comes a visitingfamily party--_monsieur et madame et sa fille_. Monsieur stops, buttoning up that "good frock coat, " the uniform of the Americansenator, which has proclaimed Squedunk through every capital inEurope. He stands, the oracle of the post office, the rich man of thecounty, the benignant elder of the Congregational church, gazingacross the way at all the flaring signs toward Sixth Avenue. "Ah, " says he, smiling reminiscently, "the Midway. Let's go and lookat 'em, my dears. " I had a wicked impulse to go, too, and see what happened. But Irepressed it, and took the liberty to inform Mr. Smallville that thoseplaces were not especially recommended for ladies. I think miss wasmortally offended with me for upsetting the program. Are other people secretly disappointed, too, because they can't get apeep behind those closed doors? It was Madam Eve, I believe, who firsttasted the apple; it was Pandora who lifted the lid of the box oftroubles; propose a slumming party, and be sure it is the ladies whowill applaud loudest. Well, then--those places, dear Miss Smallvilleare--very much like the zenanas the foreign missionaryess told youabout last autumn in the church parlors. Now you know all about it. Ask your brother Tom if I'm not correct. I wager he can tell you if hechooses. It is a curious fact, by the way, that all the places which makeBroadway notorious are in the side streets. Just as it is a curiousmisnomer to call the toughest section of it the Tenderloin. Broadwayhas no slums. Laboring people, even, never make any distinguishableelement in its populace. This is, of course, owing to its geographicalposition. But there is one fact which is immensely to its credit, andis perhaps due to the Irish who govern it, if they do prefer FifthAvenue to parade in. For when Brian Boru--from whom every loyalIrishman is descended--was king, didn't a beauteous damsel, with aring of price, stroll unprotected and in safety over his kingdom?Beauteous damsels with rings of price certainly stroll unprotectedover Broadway, but this is not the fact I emphasize. It is, seriously, that it is quite possible for young ladies to walk this fastest milein the United States, with their papas and mammas, every evening, andwrite home to Kate that "it is just like Saturday night on MainStreet, only bigger. " No sensible girl could promenade the Strand orthe Bois after theater hours, no matter how chaperoned, and then makesuch a comparison. Huzza! I say. Huzza! It is America's compliment toher women. Still, however decorously Broadway subdues its hilarity before theladies, like a fast young man at a tea party, we all know it is not inthe least like Saturday night on Main Street. Let us saunter along, like two men of the world, perfectly competent to recognize vice, butinfinitely preferring to smile at honest gayety, and find out whatthis crowd really is that is again packing the pavement as thetheaters turn out their audiences. Principally, so much in the majority as to characterize it, men ofaffairs, country merchants, out-of-town visitors, with and withouttheir womenkind, the New York audience to whom actor and clergymanalike make their appeal; while circling about in it, embroidered so tospeak on its surface, is that other crowd--high fashion, artists, actors, distinguished visitors, wardmen, Bohemians, sporting people, thieves and confidence men--which also produces its effect, and lendsits coloring and vivacity to the picture. The side streets, lookingeast at least, are respectable, but they are not brilliant. Fashion, Bohemia and fast life are, after all, what we have come to watch. Andas fashion mostly cuts Broadway--where it used to live and promenadewhen Mr. N. P. Willis' natty boots pattered about FourteenthStreet--at the first crossing, it is Bohemia and the "wise push" wewill sup with. In Broadway parlance, Bohemia means newspaper and theatrical people. And I venture to remind the ladies and gentlemen of the drama inpresenting them in such a company, that I am painting a city nocturne, and may properly introduce Mr. Morgan, Mr. Beerbohm Tree, FatherDucey, dear man, in his cape overcoat, Al Smith leaning against theGilsey House railing, or any other characteristic and familiar figurenatural to the composition. No picture of Broadway would be complete, they will acknowledge, without them, and to use a metaphor I havebefore employed, they are certainly accustomed to occupy "the centerof the stage" with dignity and elegance. Anyway, they all come here, and I should think they would all love it. This part of Broadway is nicknamed the Rialto. Nowhere else are theytaken so cordially and frankly by the hand. They lounge about it byday and win fame and fortune in its theaters at night. Nat Goodwin andhis wife, Hackett and Mary Mannering--when they can meet--Sir HenryIrving, De Wolf Hopper, Miss Annie Russell, bowing to Charles Richmanout of a cab, Amelia Bingham, Joseph Jefferson, whose only fault isthat he isn't immortal, and funny, rollicking Fay Templeton, humming anew coon song--old favorites and new ones, you may see them going tosupper at the Lambs' Club, the Players, the Waldorf, Delmonico's, Sherry's, any evening they are in town. Broadway is darker. The theater lights are out. Only bars andapothecaries, shops and hotels, are brilliant. The opera is over, andcarriages are whirling away toward Fifth Avenue, and tramcars crawlingalong in procession, packed to the platforms with gayly dressedpassengers. Across the way from Macy's huge dark store, the _Herald_presses are rushing off the biography of the day in sight ofeverybody, and no philosopher moralizes on that awful, tremendousrecord of four-and-twenty hours of a whole world's work, play, crime, suffering, heroism, love, faith. Our fast friends must tremble as they pass those windows, and rememberthe relentless, watchful eyes forever fixed on them. The ladies andgentlemen of this society dine at Shanley's and Rector's, and callsupper _lunch_. Except that they are more painstakingly dressed, theydon't look very different from others. I have often thought that sucha congregation might gather in Trinity Chapel, say, and be preached toby an innocent clergyman with a weary sense of the futility of tryingto make such evidently virtuous persons penitent. Should you like to really know them? They are thick about you on everyhand. Drama and tragedy and pathos are in rehearsal now; and that oldcomedy of "A Fool and His Money. " Walk a few blocks with the nightclerk of Wilson's chemist shop. Get to know the bookmaker coming outof George Considine's Metropole bar, chat with our acquaintance, theplainclothes man. Join that man-about-town, on his way to the AstoriaClub. Masks will be torn off then, every actor will be seen as he is. That family coachman is a burglar just out of Auburn. That thin, alertgentleman in evening clothes is a gambler, getting a breath of airbefore taking his place behind Daly's wheel. That pale-faced studentis a reporter on his way to "hit the pipe. " That sweet-faced girl willbe screaming drunk by two o'clock--the pale little man in mourning isthe most notorious divekeeper in America. The one with the beautifulsilver beard is a race-track owner over in New Jersey, and they callthe red-headed Jew talking to "Honest John Kelly" the king of thegold-brick men. This well-dressed gentleman with the large hands isCorbett, the pugilist; that kindly-faced, handsome one, going into TomO'Rourke's, is a famous all-round sport. Notice that beautifullygowned, superbly handsome brunette who is getting out of a hansom atMartin's Restaurant. She had a yataghan in her flat she brought fromParis with her, and she caught it up one night and drove it into herlover's neck, and was acquitted on the ground that it was done inself-defense. Do you want more detailed biographies, or is your acquaintancesufficiently extended? The owls on the _Herald_ building are staringknowingly at the moon, who is coquettishly hiding her face behind acloud. Mr. Greeley has fallen asleep in his chair, facing Mr. Dodge, after listening to that eternal long temperance speech which is neverended. I don't think Broadway is amusing after midnight. Let's go to Brown's and have some deviled kidneys and a mug of Bass. GREEN DEVILS AND OLD MAIDS By EMERSON G. TAYLOR Miss Herron guided the fat horses into the byroad with the manner of anavigating officer on the bridge of a liner. Not even after they werestraightened out, and dropped their quickened gait to the usualcomfortable trot, did she unclose her lips or take her gray eyes fromher course. "Is anything coming behind us, Lucy?" This to the young girl besideher. "No, Cousin Agatha. He kept straight on. " "You're sure?" "Quite sure. " "Well, that's a mercy. " For the first time she leaned back a little. "But I wonder that John Arnold so much as dreamed of trying to passme. " "You drive so splendidly, " replied the girl, drooping her pretty headso that the big white hat quite shaded her face. "The way you beat Mr. Arnold was fine. He looked so silly when we passed him. You're sobrave and--and skillful. It makes one feel so safe to be with you. " "Of course I've driven all my life, " Miss Herron admitted. "Yourgrand-uncle, the judge, my dear, always insisted that driving was partof a gentlewoman's education, like household management or a knowledgeof English history. A bit of a race is only amusing, but what withthese automobiles, there's no pleasure in horses at all nowadays. " "They certainly _are_ dangerous. " "Dangerous! They should not be allowed on the roads at all. Any morethan--than drunken men. The comparison somehow pleases me, Lucy. Didyou observe it?" "Yes, yes, Cousin Agatha. " The girl turned to the older lady a facevery young and fair and eyes that shone. "I was laughing at it all thetime. " It was a great pleasure, so Miss Herron assured all her friends, tofeel sure that her little cousin was for a few months at least to bebrought under the influence which had shaped the lives of her NewEngland forebears. For the child to live in Herron House, to grow inknowledge of her race, so splendidly patriotic, so consistently richand cultivated from the days when Barham was part of a colony, seemedto the proud old lady a real necessity for Lucy. She must never forgetthat she was a New England gentlewoman; she must learn the traditions, stiffen with the pride of her race. And because these things mightgrow dim or be clean forgotten, did she spend all her days in thenoisy, extravagant city or the lazy places abroad. Miss Herron rejoiced when Lucy's father laughed, and replied to herrequest by sending the child to her for a whole long summer. "She is very dear to me, " he had whispered, looking across the room towhere Lucy was chattering as she poured tea. "And very lovely, Agatha. " "She has the Herron look, " she had answered, complacently. "You'll take ever so good care, of her?" "I may be trusted, I think, not to abuse any member of my family. " Quiet, sunny days followed. There were hours in the glowing garden, murmurous with bees, heavy with delicate perfume of box and verbenaand mignonette; hours in the great old house, with its familytreasures of plate and china and mahogany, where ancient Chloe andSylvester still served as in the days when they had followed Norththat kindly Yankee major they had found helpless after the doings inthe Shenandoah Valley. There were company at dinner, less formalgatherings on the piazza of a moonlight evening, when accreditedyoungsters from the summer colony amused and sometimes scandalizedMiss Herron with their laughter and singing. And now and then Lucywould be carried off to other houses of Barham; whence she wouldreturn to render a supposedly exact account of all she did and said. Only twice since the first of June did Miss Herron fail in her promiseto Lucy's father and to herself. And these occasions had been withinthe last ten days, when her old neuralgia had laid her low. What hercharge was up to at those times, Miss Herron did not care to inquire. It was ordered that not even Lucy should come near when cousin Agathawas in pain, and therefore uncertain in temper as well as a bitcareless as to costume. "Tell me, " the old lady asked, after they had driven some distancealong the shady road, "are you really enjoying your stay here?" "Yes, indeed. I think Barham's just lovely. " "And what's most lovable in it?" Lucy stole a look from under her broad hat brim, then retreated. "Idon't believe I know, " she said, simply. "It's all----" "Charming. Of course. I'm glad you think so. We could dispense withthe strangers, however. They don't belong here. They are vulgarly richand _parvenu_. " "Some of them are nice, Cousin Agatha, " the child protested, deferentially. "Who, for instance?" "All those who come to the house. " "A pack of rascals!" the old lady replied, crisply. "Laughinglike--hyenas, if that's the animal. It's a mercy that the boys andgirls are sent to good schools. They learn some decent behavior, though of course they haven't had your advantages, my dear. But Idislike their mothers. They are rich, but they have no poise. Poise, my dear, and the marks of long descent. But the children may develop. All but one of them. " Lucy's face grew gently mutinous. "Which is that, cousin?" "That yellow-haired boy of----" She checked her reply abruptly tolisten. The horses were reined in. "My dear, " she asked, resignedly, "what was that noise I heard?" There was no mistaking that honk of the goose many times strengthened, and, following this, the low, steady sputter of a gasoline engine. Thenigh horse's ears pricked up, then were laid back; his honest matestopped short to await developments. "I'm afraid, " ventured Lucy, "that it's an automobile. " "The wretches, to choose this road! Are they coming? Go along, there!"cried Miss Herron to the horses, who sprang forward as she laid thewhip on their fat flanks. "If we can get just beyond the woods I canturn out for it. But--oh, the _wretches_!" "Honk-honk!" close behind now. "Oh!" cried Lucy. She knelt up in the carriage seat, looking backalong the road. "Wave to him, my child. " Miss Herron leaned back on the reins. Herthin cheeks flushed up, and her gray eyes were like coal fires. "Signal the creature to slow up. " "I am, Cousin Agatha. I am waving as hard as I can. " She was standingnow, meeting with a lithe motion of supple knees and slender hips eachplunge of the hurrying carriage, one little hand on the back of theseat. And with the other, Lucy, who looked at cousin Agatha and thenlaughed--just a little--signaled gayly if vaguely to the driver of thecoming car. This was a young man, whose hair--for he wore nohat--shone in the sun like crisp gold wire. "Honk!" spoke the horn, "honk!" and then three times more in quickersuccession. Lucy laughed aloud. "Isn't he silly?" And then waved once more. "Honk!" "Whoa!" commanded Miss Herron, drawing her steeds to the side of theroad. "Stand still, and don't be so foolish. It's only"--shehesitated, then pronounced the word as though it profaned herspeech--"an automobile. " "May I pass you?" came the driver's voice from behind. The chokingreek of the gas drifted down and enveloped them. "It's all right, " caroled Lucy. "Come ahead!" Then she dropped down toher seat beside her companion, light as a sparrow. "Is it coming?" The horses snorted, swerved, and plunged heavily. There swept by avision of dark green and shining brass, the chuck-chuck-chuck ofmachinery. "Oh, do be careful, Arch!" cried Lucy, for the ponderous machineground through the soft bank that hemmed in the road on that side, andcanted dangerously for a second or two. Then it whirled up the road, with the dust thick in its trail, and through the haze the driver'syellow head shining. The fat horses shivered, and stood fast. "The wretch! I _knew_ it was young Fraser. " "It wasn't like him, " Lucy murmured, and a hint of a smile crossed herlips, "to have driven by us so fast. " "I'd not expect it of him, certainly. " "Nor I. " And Lucy sighed in spite of herself. She was not very old. "Ha!" Miss Herron bestowed a lightning glance on her unconsciouslittle passenger, and found it her turn to smile, but with a kind ofgrimness. "Indeed!" she remarked, and added, under her breath after aqueer pause: "How _very_ extraordinary!" They drove along quietly after that for some minutes, for Miss Herronrequested silence that she might compose herself the more readilyafter her fright. The road led them up a gentle incline, then turnedsharp to the right, and a couple of hundred yards forked to leadaround both sides of a hill. It was not till the horses approachedthis point that their driver opened her lips. She had worn, all thetime that she was quieting her nerves, a look of anxiety into themidst of which would break every now and then the kindest and briefestof whimsical smiles. "Which direction shall we take?" Lucy started from her reverie. She, too, had said no word. "This isSteven's Forks, isn't it? Shall we go to the right?" "Toward home, then?" "Yes, " said Lucy, eagerly, "toward home. To the right, please. " The talk brightened then. And Lucy in particular chattered away atdesperate speed, exclaiming over the rolling landscape, telling herold hostess how much she had enjoyed Barham. "That is very pleasant to hear, " replied Miss Herron, graciouslyenough. "I am only sorry that my indisposition last week preventedour----" "Please don't think of it, Cousin Agatha. " "No? My dear, have you ever been visited by neuralgia?" "I mean, " explained the child, eagerly and shyly together, "that itdidn't interfere with my good times at all. " "I understand. Silly girl, why don't they teach you to say thingsproperly! But I know exactly what you mean. " "Not _really_!" A quick dismay chased away the arch gayety. "And I'm very glad if you had what you would call a good time. " "Oh, I did! It's all been delightful, " Lucy contrived to stammer, andthen fell to scanning the road, which stretched away for a long halfmile ahead of them, white and level. "A good road for those wretched machines, " observed Miss Herron. "Isee one has been along it. " And she pointed to the track of broadtires they were following. "Wouldn't a farm wagon leave those marks?" "Possibly, but----" She rose slightly in her seat, and peered ahead. She laughed aloud as she gathered up her reins and touched the horsesinto a brisk trot. "This may be the workings of Providence, my dear. " "Perhaps, Cousin Agatha. " "Is that thing yonder green?" "There's only one person in it, and--and he's getting out now. It'sstopped. " "Anything more?" "Oh!" cried Lucy, and now it was hers to stand, "I think----" "Indeed!" remarked Miss Herron. "I fancied I saw that yellow head ofhis. " "The workings of Providence!" Lucy sighed. "How perfectly absurd! Don't be irreverent, miss. " As they approached the machine, young Fraser was quite invisible; butwhen at last Miss Herron had coaxed her horses up to it, and made themstand, he crawled out from beneath it somewhere, red-faced, dusty andwith black grease on his hands. "The penalty of recklessness!" observed the old lady, surveying theboy as though he was inanimate stone. "Broken down. " "How d'ye do, Miss Herron?" said Fraser, apparently much embarrassed. "Lucy----" "Is that machine really broken?" The joyful hope in Miss Agatha'svoice was quite unconcealed. "Smashed?" "There's something wrong, certainly, " the boy confessed, ruefully. Hisregard sought Lucy's. "But just what's amiss I can't see. " The old lady shook her head warningly. Some outward manifestation shehad to make in order to conceal the joy which, like a warm cordial, penetrated every fiber of her being as a certain plan shaped itself inher mind. This was the automobile which had frightened her horses andset her nerves twittering; and now it reposed by the roadsidehelpless. This was the reckless, handsome boy who had set her guestslaughing on an occasion requiring a measure of decorum, since thebishop honored her house with his presence; who now, with everyappearance of impotent anger, was tinkering with the vitals of a hotengine, dirty and perspiring. Miss Herron admired the idea which grewbefore her imagination as she would have admired a beautiful, unfolding flower. "It ought to go now, " the boy announced, after some further bunglingexamination. What his testing and poking was supposed to accomplishdid not appear. He spoke with an odd ruefulness, and seemed to try todeepen the impression his tone conveyed by another look at Lucyeloquent of regret. "Try it, " said Miss Herron. The boy threw over the balance wheel; there came forth a clank andsome faint clicks from the engine's interior; then cold silencesettled upon it again. "No go, " reported Archibald, and proceeded to explain what by rightsshould have come to pass. "But none of these engines are perfected, "he added. "So there you must--remain? Two miles from any assistance?" "Yes, Miss Herron. " "I rather question the willingness of any of our Barham folk to aid ashipwrecked automobile. You drive them so heedlessly, young gentleman. I confess, " she continued, judiciously, "that I rather enjoy yourplight. " The boy grinned delightfully. "So do I. It isn't often"--how expressthe light mockery that danced on his lips!--"that my accidents are socharmingly compensated as this is. " "I am quite serious, Mr. Fraser. " "I am equally so, Miss Herron. " A moment they regarded one another in silence. "I am inclined to offeryou some assistance, I think, " the old lady announced, deliberately. "Merely out of common humanity. I have read that the drivers ofautomobiles often depend on friendly or highly paid wagoners to--totow them. Now----" Archibald drowned the rest in thankful protestations. And---- "It would be awfully kind of you, Cousin Agatha, " said little Lucy, suddenly finding her voice. "I'm sure that Archie----" "Eh?" "It would be very nice indeed, " the child contrived to say, and triedto look unconscious. "If you could help me a little, " explained Archibald, and his owncheeks flamed, though his eyes faltered not a bit. "The break isn'tvery serious, I guess. " A second time Miss Herron considered in silence. She turneddeliberately and looked at Lucy, who returned her questioning glancewith a stare of babylike innocence; her gray eyes interrogated theboy. "If you can assure me that your machine can't go, " said Miss Herron, "I'll tow you. " For a brief second Archibald hesitated. Then he fumbled among thelevers; raised the hood again; returned to the driver's seat, andfingered at something the ladies could not see. "She can't be moved, "the boy reported. From the fence along the roadside a loosened rail was wrenched; anhonest cow, picketed at pasture, had her tether shortened a dozen feetin two strokes of the boy's knife. In five minutes more, amid manywarnings from Miss Herron against scratching the varnish, one end ofthe rail was made fast to the rear axle of the carriage, and the otherto the automobile. "Now jump in, " ordered Lucy, radiant with smiles; and she pointed tothe back seat. "Mr. Fraser, " her cousin amended, calmly, "will continue in hisautomobile. To--to steer, if necessary. " "But----" "I should prefer it, if you please. " The horses strained forward, thewheels turned; the triumphal procession was under way. "My dear, " saidMiss Herron, "will you be good enough to hold your parasol over me?The sun is very uncomfortable. " All the way home, the length of Barham Street, where the people staredand laughed, young Fraser repeated all the maledictions he couldremember or invent. For the dust choked him, and the view of Lucy'sback as she sat holding the parasol over her cousin did not cheer. "I'll get even--oh, more than even!--with you, dear lady, " hepromised, releasing his tiller to shake his fist at Miss Herron'sunconscious and unbending figure, "if it takes all summer. I wonder ifshe could have guessed. And it was planned so perfectly. " Barham laughed over the story, laughed again when at the Richmonds'dance Lucy came back into the glare of the lights with the Fraser boy, dazzled and bright-cheeked, after half an hour's absence in thedarkness of the great garden. And how many of the gossips would havegiven their ears to have heard the long talk between Miss Agatha andLucy's father on the night of his arrival? So the slow summer driftedby. If the Revolutionary Daughters had not arranged their Septembermeeting on the day that a freight wreck made the trains from Barhamwestward very late and irregular; if Miss Herron had not been waitinga fretful half hour in the dusty station for the means of reaching themeeting before it was over, when Archie Fraser drove his car thitherin a search for an express package, the latter part of this storywould have been very different. But as the boy stopped his panting, throbbing machine at the edge of the platform, Miss Herron looked outthe window. "I am waiting for a train, " she remarked, on the heels of her stifflittle greeting, "for Oldport. " Archie glanced at the old lady's delicate dress and at the badge ofgold and enamel she wore on her breast. "The R. D. 's?" he asked, respectfully. "Exactly. I am one of the charter members, as you probably are aware. And to miss the meeting is distinctly vexatious. " "I'm so sorry. " He turned to the station agent. "How late's thetrain?" "Half an hour or so. She won't make up much comin' this far. And she'sgot to let the express pass her. " Out by the platform the car murmured its steady, quiet song of power, and quivered with its singing. Archibald started, stung by a suddenhope. If only---- "That will bring you to Oldport very late, I'm afraid, " he ventured, feeling his way toward a compassing of his plan. The express packagecould wait. "I'm very sorry. I wish----" Here he broke off his speechto gaze pensively at the automobile. "It's very annoying, " said Miss Herron. The station agent winced, as though she had laid a lash across hisshoulders, and in his awkward fashion endeavored to apologize for hisroad's remissness. Like a tradesman reproved by his best customer, hepromised Miss Herron that "it shouldn't happen again. " It was quite inkeeping with her character that she was graciously pleased to acceptthe man's excuses. And then the agent, fired into an expansivecheerfulness by her kindness, said that which won him the mysteriouspresent he received the following Christmas. "Why can't _you_ take Miss Herron over, Mr. Fraser--hey? I guess thatthere autobile----" "That----" "Autobile, " repeated the agent, sturdily. "She'll beat most o' thetrains on _this_ road. " "The very thing!" He made a mental promise never to forget this man'skindness and tact. "Oldport! It wouldn't take us an hour; and it's thebest piece of road in the State. " "The idea!" exclaimed Miss Herron, gently scornful. "Inan--automobile!" "Please come, " he begged. "It would be such an honor, and a pleasure, too. " "I should _prefer_ the train. " But the very fact that she let a noteof argument and protest come into her voice gave Archibald instantencouragement. The station agent, warned by a furious wink, came nobly to the fore. "I'm afraid the train ain't goin' to do ye much good, ma'am. Not forsome time, anyway. I never see such a road's this. " "I'll go very carefully, " Archie went on, recklessly promising. "Of course, you know, I dislike those machines, but, " Miss Herronconfessed, with a fair show of sincerity, "I am rather eager to bepresent at this meeting. " She surveyed with critical eye thedeep-cushioned seats, the heavy springs, then the tiller and thevarious start-and-stop levers. "You think there'll be no danger?" "Not the least. I'm sure you'd not be afraid, Miss Herron. " "I am afraid, " she replied, tartly, "of nothing that man can devise. Be so good as to lend me your arm, Mr. Fraser. " He charmed her by his deferential escort across the platform; heprotected the rustling silk of her skirt from any possible fleck ofdirt as she mounted to her place; he was solicitous, as a gentlemanshould be, concerning the dust cloth, and deft as a footman inarranging it. Clearly, as Miss Herron perceived, the boy appreciatedthe honor she was doing him, and so far earned her approval. Nor werehis manners wholly uncouth. Archie drew on his gauntlets and settled himself, hands on tiller andthrottle. "Are you quite ready?" He could not hide his smile. A sweethour was to follow. "I am waiting, " she answered. "Go, then. " The ponderous machine leaped forward as if released from a spring, gathering power and speed each half second. Miss Herron laid her handon the driver's arm. "Not too fast--all at once, " she said. "I----" "She'll do better when we strike the good road, " the driver replied. "This sand checks her badly. " It was so lovely a revenge that lay now in his hand to inflict. Thisold lady had towed him home once, the laughingstock of the village;she had brought to naught at the same time the scheme which had costLucy and himself such a deal of planning. The machine was to beabandoned, they had arranged in that runaway afternoon when MissHerron kept her room; the carriage was to overtake him in hisdistress; he was to drive home with the two ladies, holding Lucy'shand on the back seat, and convincing Miss Herron of his superiorqualifications to marry into her family. But all this had in thesequel come to less than nothing. It was Miss Herron also who, Archiewas convinced, had been at the bottom of his father's suddendetermination to attach him to the Paris branch of the Fraserbusiness, and so banish him from all that was dearest and best in theworld. Now, by blessed good luck, Miss Herron was quite in his power tofrighten soundly and to land at the gathering of the elect, blown, dusty and disheveled. If he had been more than twenty, he would havethought and acted otherwise than he did; but the likely outcome of hisplan never troubled the boy, if indeed it entered his honest head atall. "I'll scare her, " remarked Archie, grinning silently, "good andhard. " But, even as he plotted, he wooed her with his politest phrases;laughed, but not too loudly, at the little sparkles of wit, acceptedwith naïve delight her comments on the skill in driving that a boy ofhis age could show. For five minutes or so they ran quietly andsteadily along a featureless road through barren pastures. There wastime enough for his plan to blossom, for Oldport was nearly thirtymiles away, and there intervened a village through which to drive atillegal speed. But by slow degrees, without at all perceiving how it came about, Archie found that somehow his passenger was a very delightful oldlady. What had become of the absurd starchiness, which before had somaddened him, of the stiff pride, which had condescended to him asthough Fraser & Co. Were creatures far beneath the regard of a NewEngland old maid? She asked him questions, she was as interested ascould be in his father's plans for him. "Where will you live in Paris?" asked Miss Herron. "Oh, over in the Quarter, I hope. It'd be more fun there than in theother house. " "The other house?" "Ours, you know. Father likes to have his own place when he's over. " "Indeed?" "We only lease it, " Archie explained, ingenuously. "It's up near theArch. " "Indeed! That should be extremely pleasant. " "I hate the idea of going, " the boy blurted out. He looked straightahead; a slow flush darkened his fair skin. "Yes?" "Unless, " he murmured, suddenly inspired to madness, "unless----" Miss Herron readjusted the dust cloth. The boy felt a quick irritationat her apparent inattention; but the purpose, born of her apparentreadiness to hear and approve him, held. "I want Lucy to go, too, MissHerron, " he announced, bluntly enough. "Indeed!" "Lucy!" he cried. "I do love her so! Please say that I can have her. Please say----" "Do I understand, " she asked, and the boy could not comprehend why herold voice shook so, "that you are making a formal proposal for thehand of Miss Lucy Herron?" "Yes, " he cried, jubilantly. "Oh, say I may ask her. " "If you had intended so far to honor us, " the old lady replied, icily, "I should have thought that you would have approached the subject with_some_ degree of formality. " "Miss Herron!" "To speak of such matters in an--automobile is to treat them veryunbecomingly. It is not, " she continued, and all her unbendingrigidity of demeanor was behind her words, "dignified. " "Being dignified, " cried Archie, hotly, "hasn't anything to do withbeing in love. " Was it a smile that lighted up her craggy features, like sunshine on granite. "You don't understand. " "Apparently not. I am quite unused to the ways of modern youth. Theworld's moved very fast in recent years. In an--automobile--as itwere. " "But Lucy----" "Well, Mr. Fraser?" "I----" "Let us not refer to her, I beg. " "Not ever again?" he asked, but with no hint of disappointment. "I am surprised that you so much as dreamed of it under the presentcircumstances, " she replied, tartly. Archie laughed shortly. "Please forget that I so far forgot myself, "he begged. "It _was_ wrong, under the present circumstances. " All theboy's sunny malice shone from his clear eyes. "I ought to haveremembered my real duty and pleasure. " "And that, " Miss Herron asked, for once caught unawares, as itappeared, "is what?" "Watch!" said Archie, briefly. They had come by now to the beginning of the solid macadam road thatruns across the county, to the joy of the chauffeur as to thecorresponding dismay of the truck farmers for whom it was constructed. There was nothing ahead to break the long, hard track. Archie reacheddown beside him, though his eyes never left his course or one hand thesteering wheel, and set his hand to some lever. The song of the greatmachine was for a second broken; then a new song of the road began, louder and fiercer than the first and in quicker measure. Miss Herronfelt as she did the first time she descended in the express elevatorof a high office building. She was conscious that her hat was tuggingat its pins. She settled herself back deeper in the seat and bracedher feet stiffly, only to bounce up as they ran over some stick. "Oh!" she gasped. "Ahem!" "Sit tight, " counseled Archie, suavely. "We'll get there in time, allright, if nothing happens. " "If anything breaks, " she remarked, "you can usually get somebody totow the machine home. " "People are very charitable. Yes, Miss Herron. " "Up to a point. " And to that Archie had no rejoinder. It was perhaps as well that hedid not see the smile that his passenger wore. It might have taken theedge off his revenge. The houses commenced to appear at more frequent intervals now, andtook on a character a little different from the old weather-grayeddwellings of the open country. There showed a white, slim church spireabove the trees. "Scarborough, " said Archie, and made the horn speak. "You'll be careful?" she asked. "Through the village----" "Honk! honk!" This for a couple of children, who, starting to runacross the road, doubled back like rabbits. Miss Herron caught just aglimpse of their white faces, and the end of their father's torrent ofimprecation. Now it was the horse of a baker's wagon that climbed thebank by the roadside in two leaps and pranced shiveringly. Some boyscheered and then flung stones. "Dear me!" ejaculated Miss Herron. "I rather hope we'll meet nobody Iknow. " "The sheriff himself couldn't stop us now. " "But----" "Honk! honk!" "Oh, Mr. Fraser!" They missed by a foot a carriage that was beginningslowly to turn around, and was nearly straight across the road whenArchie twitched the automobile aside as if it was a polo pony. "The stupid creatures!" cried Miss Herron, indignantly, when her heartcommenced to beat again, "to block the way!" "That _was_ a close shave, " commented Archie. "Not too recklessly, Mr. Fraser. " "I must get you to the meeting, ma'am. " "But the risk----" "If I can't have Lucy, " the boy declared, sullenly, "_I don't_ carewhat happens. " "Assure me, " demanded his passenger, after a brief moment, duringwhich with no slackening of speed the great machine tore downScarborough's main street like a green tornado, "that you retainentire control of the thing. " "Oh, yes. " Another pause. "I suggested that you make no mention of Miss Lucy. " "I can't have her?" "How fast _can_ the automobile go?" asked Miss Herron, ignoring theboy's question. "Some faster than this. But Lucy can----" "Let us not discuss the matter, please. " "I can't have her?" "I beg, Mr. Fraser, I _beg_ you to center your attention on drivingyour machine. " "Well, I will, then. I'll drive her, " said the boy, grimly, "good andfast. " They came again to the open, but the road continued hard andbroad, with only long curves around the base of a hill now and then. The wind blew the old lady's hair into disarray, her dress was graywith dust, her eyes smarted terribly; she gave from time to time alittle gasp--or was it a laugh?--and clutched at Archie's arm, whichheld so rigid and strong to the tiller wheel. "This'll be her finish, all right, " he thought. "Cross old cat. Scared?" he asked of her. "I beg pardon?" "You're not scared, I suppose?" he said, mockingly. "I have been accustomed to fast driving, Mr. Fraser, all my life. " It was because she made that reply that Archie, quite desperate bynow, dared what finally did occur. And this was occasioned by hisspying in the distance another big car headed as he was, but movingless rapidly. In a minute he was alongside, and jammed on the brakes. The other driver, who was heavily mustached, red-faced and had threeairy young damsels stowed in the tonneau, looked up in surprise. "Hello, Isidore!" "Hello! Hello, Mr. Fraser!" "I'll race you to the bridge. " "Go on, now! Watcher think I got here?" But the girls choruseddelightedly, and teased their driver--all but one, and she leanedforward to whisper confidingly, with her arms around his fat neck. Miss Herron surveyed the landscape. "'Fraid cat!" giggled the girl. "You're afraid, Mr. Mayer. " "I ain't, only----" "One!" cried Archie, releasing his steed again. "Two!" "Leggo, May!" grunted the other. "And----" "Three!" yelled Mayer. "To the bridge!" By mere good luck the highway was empty, for to think that any cart orcarriage could be passed was absurd. Side by side the huge machines, scarlet, green, alive with shining brass, tore along with the roar ofexpress trains between the ditch and the bank. The slightest swerve atsuch speed meant death. The chatter of the careless girls dwindled, the faces of the rival drivers grew pale and tense. "Oh, be careful!" murmured Miss Herron. "It's very dangerous. " "Very, " replied Archie. "Promise me Lucy and I'll slow up. " A sudden little shriek of joy and some handclapping from Mayer'stonneau interrupted what the old lady might have answered. Glancingover, Miss Herron perceived that their rival had drawn ahead a yard ormore, that the girls were crying taunts at her. Not far away now thereshowed a gleam of the river. And then Archie encountered the greatestsurprise of his life. "Saucy things!" remarked his passenger, and fell silent again. "Come on!" called the prettiest of the three, through her hollowedhands. "Old freight car!" "Archie!" "Yes, Miss Herron?" "Can't you---- Oh!" "What, ma'am?" From the tail of his eye he was aware that Miss Agathawas wringing her hands. "Archie, they _mustn't_ beat us!" "I guess I'll crowd him. " "Oh!" The time was ripe, he thought. "Give me Lucy, " he repeated, doggedly, "or I'll foul him. " He had expected to frighten her. He had told himself what fun it wouldbe to hear her give her agitated assent, with the fear of death on herif she refused. It was to be a fine revenge. But Miss Herron onlyraised a warning forefinger. "Archie Fraser, " she said, in trembling tones, "if--if you take thedust from those common young women and that vulgar man, I'll neverforgive you. " "Great heavens, Miss Herron! I--I----" "_Beat 'em!_" she ordered truculently. He stuck blindly to his point: "Lucy?" "_Beat 'em!_ Show me, " she declaimed, in trumpet tones, "that the manwho wants to marry a Herron has some courage in him. Now!" The road narrowed just ahead, where it led through a cut in the hilland then down to the bridge. On either side the banks rose eight orten feet, and very steep, and beyond was a sharp curve. Archie madehis horn speak angrily, as once more he came abreast of his rival, favored by the fact that Mayer had struck a strip of newly repairedand soft roadway some yards long. A second later he was leading. "Pull up!" he bellowed hoarsely, crouching forward over his tillerstill lower. He dropped his hand to the emergency brake. The cut wasnot six rods off. Once more the girls cried out, but this time inshrill fear. Miss Herron remained calm as the Sphinx. "Honk!" from Mayer, and the click of levers. His machine slid along ina cloud of dust. "You win!" It was ten minutes before the victors exchanged a single word. Theyrattled over the long bridge, steered up the streets of Oldport to theplace where the Daughters were in session. Then Archie lay back with asigh. "You weren't scared a bit!" he exclaimed, frankly doleful. The old lady straightened her hat, lightly brushed off the top layerof dust from the front of her dress, then gave the briefest of queerlittle laughs. "It is one of the traits of my family, " she said, "never to be surprised at anything. And another, " she added, descending majestically from the automobile, "is to make the best ofcircumstances which appear to be inevitable. " The boy blinked. "I don't understand, " he stammered. Miss Herron touched him on the arm. "I trust, then, that Lucy willexpress herself to you more clearly. In case--if you should venture toask her a question. " And with that the old lady minced her way up the steps of the house todisappear within doors. "Good Lord!" exclaimed Archie, as the light began to break. TWO SORROWS Before Love came my eyes were dim with tears, Because I had not known her gentle face; Softly I said: "But when across the years Her smile illumes the darkness of my place, All grief from my poor heart she will efface. " Now Love is mine--she walks with me for aye Down paths of primrose and blue violet; But on my heart at every close of day A grief more keen than my old grief is set, -- I weep for those who have not found Love yet! CHARLES HANSON TOWNE. LOVE AND MUSHROOMS By FRANCES WILSON Van Mater, out on the coast for the melancholy purpose of witnessingwhat he conceived to be Corny Graham's crowning indiscretion--that isto say, his marriage--found himself lingering for the purpose ofbasking in California's smiles. The writing instinct, which in thelittle old town on Manhattan would keep his hand traveling back andforth across the paper for days at a stretch, here languished anddrowsed like some heavy-eyed, faintly smiling lotus eater. He had, to be sure--in a spurt of energy that subsided almost asquickly as it came--begun a song to that sybaritic state, in which itwas represented as a lady around whose neck hung A chain ablaze with diamond days All on the seasons strung, which he thought sounded rather well. Then, unfortunately, the rains set in and the result was a mentalwashout that carried the last vestige of his poetical idea out intothe vasty deep where individual ideas become world-thought, thoughthere was a moment when he had an inspiration--something about keepingLent, which should typify the rains. But this, too, drifted off like achip on an ocean, and the song became mere literary junk. Probably the law of compensation is responsible for the fact that, while the coast's dazzling summer is flawed by trade winds, its rainyseason is tempered by mushrooms. At least, so thought Van Mater. Connoisseur that he was in the joys of living, he confessed to a newsensation when, for the first time, he found himself plodding over theseared, round-shouldered hills, spongy with the supererogatory wetnessof a three days' downpour. The rain had ceased temporarily, but thesky wore a look of ineffable gloom, and the feathery mist trailedalong the earth like an uneasy ghost. Some swarthy, dark-eyed Portuguese children, met on the road the daybefore, had proffered him their pail of spoil, and as he examined itscontents he understood, for the first time, what a mushroom reallyought to be. Their dank odor--the odor of germinating things--seemedto come from down in the earth where the gnomes are supposed toforegather; and Van Mater's thoughts reverted with withering scorn tocertain woodeny, tan objects that had been foisted upon him from timeto time as mushrooms--always, he now triumphantly recalled, to his owninward amazement. Why, when and where mushrooms had won their vogue with epicures, hehad often dumbly wondered, though he had remained silent lest heexpose a too abysmal ignorance. Now he chuckled hilariously. It washis acceptance of those frauds--those mere shells from which the soulshad fled--that displayed ignorance! In future he would know better, and he tossed the children a quarter and went his way, in a pleasantanticipation of the manner in which he would carelessly throw off tocertain admiring friends: "But I never eat mushrooms, save they come straight to the table fromthe soil, picked within an hour of the time when the rain ceases. Those things? Why, my dear fellow, you might as well eat so muchgristle. Talk about the bouquet of wine! Why, the bouquet of themushroom is as delicate and elusive as--as----" The simile failed tomaterialize, but he went on eloquently: "You can no more preserve itthan you can the dew upon a plum. " All of which sounded so well thathe speculated anxiously upon the probability of any of the saidfellows divining how very little he knew about the matter, after all. They were so deuced knowing, some of them; but it seemed a pity to letan idea like that, what had actually leaped from his brainfull-fledged, go to waste. Decidedly, it was worth the risk. His mind again reverted to the subject with pleasant anticipationwhen, the next afternoon, clad in knickers and a Norfolk, with a cappulled rakishly over his eyes, he trudged over the hills to which thechildren had directed him. Soon, however, everything was blotted fromhis consciousness save a section of brown hill, over which his eyesroved eagerly in search of the small, Japanese-looking fungi. "Mushroom or toadstool?" was his stern inward query, as the pertlittle parasols became more and more numerous; and he did not realizethat he had spoken aloud until a gush of laughter caused him to raisehis eyes hastily. She was not three steps away, and from the trim leather leggings, above which her kilted skirt swirled, to the thick sweater and Tamthat she wore, she seemed to Van Mater the most dashingly correctdamsel he had ever seen. The foggy air had brought a delicious colorto her cheeks and brightness to her eye which made her seem a verycreature of the out-of-doors, and Van Mater stared, charmed andarrested. "Evidently you don't recognize me, " she suggested. "I was the thirdbridesmaid--the one in pink--the homely one, you know. " She eyed him with a wicked satisfaction while the color rose to hisface. He had a disagreeable recollection, since she identified herselfso minutely, that he had rather passed that particular bridesmaid overwith scant attention, amazing as it now seemed. Then he recoveredhimself, and with that gallant movement of the arm which seems theperfect expression of deference, removed his soft cap and bowed low, as he said: "Of course--I remember you perfectly now, Miss--ah. " He tried, as he took her extended hand, to mumble somethingunintelligible enough to pass for her name, looking at her with anadmiration purposely open in the hope of distracting her attention, but the ruse was of no avail. She only smiled into his face withimpish delight. "You people from the East are so dreadfully disingenuous, " shecomplained. "Why not confess frankly that, so far as you areconcerned, I belong to the 'no name' series?" Her eyes were dancing, and suddenly Van Mater felt as if he had knownher always--eons before he had known himself in his presentincarnation. "To think that I shouldn't have recognized you in the pink gown, " hemurmured, with well-feigned surprise. "And to think that I'm no moresurprised than I am to have you suddenly bob up here in the wet, afteryour wanderings of perhaps a hundred lifetimes! I can't seem to recallthe date and planet upon which we last met, " he continued, apologetically, "but I fancy that we picked mushrooms in those oldtimes--that the earth and air were all sopping, just as they are now. " "You write books--you know you do!" "Well--it's a decent enough occupation!" "Yes, " uncertainly. "Still, writers aren't usually very sincere; theydon't mean what they say. They spin copy as a spider does a web!" "Writers not sincere--don't mean what they say!" he echoed. "Why, mydear young lady, you're all wrong. They usually mean so much that theycan't begin to say it--and as for sincerity, they're the sincerestpeople in the world!" "That is, while it lasts!" he added to himself, but his listener, whohad stooped to the ground and was now holding up a particularly largeand luscious mushroom, was all unconscious of his reservation. "Look out! You're stepping on them!" she cried, excitedly, and for thenext ten minutes they wandered about with eyes bent on the earth infascinated absorption. Van Mater at last straightened up with such athrill of satisfaction as he had not experienced since boyhood. "My pail's full, " he called, seating himself on one of the projectingbowlders. "So come and show me where to pick the beefsteaks. " She pointed upward. Where the hill humped itself against the sky theblurred figure of a cow was visible. Van Mater tried again. "You might come and rest, " he coaxed, pointing to another bowlder thatcropped out in friendly nearness to his own. With a last lingeringscrutiny of the ground about, she came, seating herself beside him. Then, with her chin resting on her hands, she surveyed him with a sortof boyish _sang-froid_. "We're right cozy for acquaintances of a half hour's standing, " sheremarked, at last. "But, then, I've heard about you for so long. Yousee, Corny told Beth, and she has--well--mentioned you to me. " "Pooh--that's nothing! I tell you, I've known you for centuries. Iremember that when I heard of one of those theosophist fellowsmarrying a girl he'd known for a thousand years or so, I roared. Now Iunderstand it!" (Very solemnly. ) She did not speak, and he began again with increased seriousness: "Really, I'm in earnest, you know. I've the most curious senseof--well, of companionship with you--as if we'd known each otherindefinitely, as if----" She interrupted rather hastily. "Honestly?" Tersely--"Upon my soul. " She rose somewhat hurriedly. "It's going to rain!" "Never mind. I have a conundrum. Why is love like a mushroom?" She wrinkled her brow. "Because it's easily crushed, I suppose, andyou're never quite sure of it. " "Wrong. Because it springs up in a night--that is, in an hour, " heanswered, impressively. The drops began to fall softly, swiftly, easily, as if they wouldnever more be stanched. "Come, " she said, but her cheeks were more richly colored than before. "Isn't this heavenly?" he murmured, as they vanished down the road ina blur of rain. She did not answer, but her eyes were shining. SOME FEMININE STARS By ALAN DALE Advertised personalities. Enormous sums squandered on theatrical impossibilities. Amelia Bingham's pluck and restlessness. "Nancy Stair" rather tiresome. Lesser lights in star-dom. Three thin, anæmic, bedraggled plays, each with a heralded, exultantfeminine "star" skewered to its bloodless pulp, dropped into thismetropolis just ahead of the reluctant crocus. Three highly advertised"personalities" tried to weather out a veritable emaciation of drama, and the result was, of course, a foregone conclusion. Slowly butsurely is knowledge being forced upon the deluded manager, and he islearning to appreciate the vital truth of the much batteredShakespearian quotation, "The play's the thing. " No trumped-upinterest in one particular puppet will take the place of the dramaitself. This is a pity. It is easier to create a marionette than it isto construct a play. The three highly advertised "personalities" that reached us at crocustime were owned and engineered by Miss Amelia Bingham, Miss MaryMannering and Miss Virginia Harned. I mention them in the order inwhich they appeared, which is not necessarily that of superior merit. They came in at the fag end of a tired season, dragging a load ofpitiful dramatic bones. Hope ran high, but fell in sheer despondency. In spite of the fact that the poet prefers to picture hope asspringing, I think that in this case it may be better portrayed asrunning. There is a sensation of panic in the race. Miss Bingham came to town with a very swollen "comedy-drama, " called"Mademoiselle Marni, " from the pen of a "monsoor, " programmed as HenriDumay--said to be an American "monsoor" at that. This actress affectsFrench plays for reasons that have never been explained, and thatcertainly do not appear. As a "star, " she is of course entitled totreat herself to any luxury that may seem to tempt her histrionicappetite, and the Gallic siren evidently appeals to her. It is notlikely that there will be international complications, although theprovocation must at times be keen. "Mademoiselle Marni" was one of those impossible chromos that mighthave been designed for the mere purpose of giving one's sense of humora chance to ventilate itself. In the serious theater-goer--and one isbound to consider him--it awoke amazement. How is it that at rehearsala dozen presumably sane people can "pass" such an effort, he must haveasked himself? Why is it that in a theatrical venture that costs agreat deal of money, there are no misgivings? The serious theater-goeris never able to answer these questions. It is almost proverbial that the most hopeless sort of theatricalenterprise--if conventional--never languishes for lack of funds. Tryand start a solid business scheme, in which you can calculate resultsin black and white, and the difficulties and discouragements will bealmost insuperable. Endeavor to obtain money for an invention orinnovation that has success written across it in luminous letters, andyou will "strike a snag, " as the rude phrase goes, with marvelouscelerity. But a bad play--one that to the unsophisticatedtheater-usher or to the manager's scrubwoman must perforce appear assuch--experiences no such fate. This is one of the marvels oftheaterdom. In the case of "Mademoiselle Marni" Miss Bingham herself must havespent an enormous sum that she would probably have hesitated to investin some enterprise sane or possible. The play was a turgid coagulationof illogical episodes lacking in all plausibility. This particularactress is generally happy when she can select for herself a characterthat is beloved by all the masculine members of the cast. Apparently, she "sees" herself in this rôle. She likes to appear as thepersonification of all the virtues, self-sacrificing and otherwise, and this idiosyncrasy is, of course, frequently fatal to sustainedinterest. We do not care for these sensational paragons. In "Mademoiselle Marni" Miss Bingham played the part of a verybeautiful French actress, of whom everybody said: "Oh, what a woman!"(Perhaps the audience also echoed that phrase, but with quite adifferent significance. ) She was exquisitely in love with _Comte Raoulde Saverne_, who was engaged to another, and was "ordered" away fromher by the father of that other. This parent was a very wicked baron, and just as _Mlle. Marni_ in an ecstasy of rage was about to strikehim, somebody called out: "Do not hit him; he is your father. " We discovered that _Mlle. Marni_ was the wicked baron's illegitimatechild. As he had been saying extremely pretty things to her--for shewas so bee-yoo-ti-ful!--you will readily perceive that fastidiouspeople might find this "situation" what some critics love to call"unpleasant. " Wicked barons, viewed in the process of admiring theirown daughters, are not exactly long-felt wants upon the New Yorkstage. However, this episode was scarcely offensive, for it was soexuberantly silly that nobody could take it seriously. Later on, _Mlle. Marni_ gambled on the stock exchange, and made twomillion dollars in a few minutes, so that she could get even with thewicked baron, and force him to recall _Raoul_. In this act the actresswore black velvet, and looked every inch French--Bleecker StreetFrench. It was the "big" scene, and was considered very strenuous bythose acting in it. To those in the audience, it merely accentuatedthe cheap vulgarity of the play, that had no redeeming point, eitherliterary or dramatic. It was, in fact, a forlorn hope. Perhaps if Miss Amelia Bingham would not select her own plays, shewould fare better. She is by no means lacking in histrionic ability. She has done many good things in her day. But the temptation of theself-made "star" to see nothing but her own part in the drama that shebuys, is very acute. A satisfactory _ensemble_, a logical story, a setof plausible characters and a motive are all overlooked. Her own"personality" is her sole anxiety, and--well, it is not enough. MissBingham was assisted by Frederic de Belleville, Frazer Coulter andothers less known to fortune and to fame, but "Mademoiselle Marni" wasnot accepted. It was staged "regardless, " but even that fact did notcount in its favor. Miss Bingham's pluck and recklessness were alonein evidence. Scarcely more felicitous was Miss Mary Mannering with "Nancy Stair. "Miss Mannering is not as good an actress as Miss Bingham. She is oneof the "be-stars-quickly. " A year or two more in some good companywould have been of inestimable advantage to her, but the lower rungsof the ladder are not in great demand to-day. That ladder istop-heavy. The upper rungs are worn by the futile grasp of the tooambitious; the lower ones are neglected. It was Paul M. Potter who tapped on the book cover of Elinor MacartneyLane's novel, with his not very magic wand, and tried to coax forth aplay. Exactly why he did this was not made clear, for the day of thebook play is over, and there was nothing in "Nancy Stair" thatovertopped the gently commonplace. Mr. Potter's play was by no meanslacking in interest, but we are exceedingly tired of the ubiquitousheroine of tawdry "romance" who does unsubtle things, in an unsubtleway, to help out certain unsubtle "complications. " If I mistake not, these very novels are beginning to pall, as such stupid, meaninglessvaporings should do. One cannot resist the belief that one-half ofthem are written with an eye upon the gullible playwright, for a playmeans larger remuneration than any novel could ever hope to secure. It is not necessary to rehearse the story of "Nancy Stair. " I canassume that you have read it, though if you are like me, you haven't. I look upon Mr. Julius Cahn's "Official Theatrical Guide" as rich andracy literature compared with these fatiguing attempts to inventimpossible people, and drag them through a jungle of impossiblehappenings--simply because Mr. Anthony Hope, a few years ago, achievedsuccess by similar means, which at that time had a semblance ofnovelty. I may be "prejudiced, " but then I have at least the courageof my own prejudices. In "Nancy Stair" Mr. Potter even seemed tobelittle opportunities that might have raised his play from the dulllevel of conventionality. One episode in which _Nancy_, afraid that her lover has murdered the_Duke of Borthwicke_, enters the presence of the corpse, and thereforges a letter in the interests of _Danvers_, might have been madeinto something strongly emotional, creepy and Sarah Bernhardtian. Thisincident in itself was so striking, and it seemed to be so new--thoughI believe that Mr. Potter himself repudiates the notion that there canbe anything new in the drama--that it was almost criminal to slightit. Nothing was made of it. It almost escaped attention. Instead, wegot a crew of comic opera Scotchmen singing songs, and an absurdpicture of _Robert Burns_, who was injected pell-mell into the"romance. " It was disheartening. Those who had read the book complained bitterly of the "liberties"that Mr. Potter had taken with it. Those who had not read the bookcomplained equally bitterly that Mr. Potter had not taken more ofthose "liberties" and made it better worth his while. To me, the bookdrama is a conundrum. It always has been, and now that it has nearlydied out, I am still unable to solve it. When you read a book, youform mental pictures of its characters, and are generally discontentedwith those that confront you on the stage. And when you don't read abook, the play made therefrom lacks lucidity, and you experience theneed of a "key. " I should imagine that the dramatization of a novelkilled its sale. Who, after viewing "Nancy Stair" as a play, wouldtackle it as a novel? Of course, when a book is dramatized after ithas had a stupendous sale, the author cannot complain. He has noexcuse for protesting. This is a somewhat interesting topic. Miss Mannering coped with _Nancy_ as she would cope with _Camille_ or_Juliet_, or any character quite outside of her range of ability. Inlight comedy episodes, she is quite acceptable. She is a very pretty, graceful, distinguished young woman, but her "emotion" is absurd. Herdramatic fervor is such an exceedingly stereotyped affair that you canwatch it in a detached mood. You can pursue your own thoughts whileshe is "fervoring, " and she will not interrupt them. Miss Mannering isemotional in a conventional stage way, and she knows a few tricks. Butthe subtlety that comes from experience, the quality that nothing buta long and arduous apprenticeship can produce, are leagues beyond herken. It is a pity, but the "be-stars-quickly" all suffer in thisidentical way and there is no remedy. Robert Loraine as the "hero" gave a far better performance. It wastheatrical, but satisfactory. The late _Robert Burns_ was played by T. D. Frawley in a deliciously Hibernian way. Poor Bobbie would have hada fit if he could have seen his nationality juggled with in thismanner. If Mr. Frawley had warbled "The Wearing o' the Green" theillusion would have been complete. Mr. Andrew Mack could have donenothing better--for Ireland. "The Lady Shore" was the title of Miss Virginia Harned's massiveproduction at the Hudson Theater. Jane Shore was dragged, willy-nilly, from history almost as though she were the heroine of a so-calledpopular novel, and two ladies, Mrs. Vance Thompson and Lena R. Smith, propelled her toward 1905. While, on moral grounds, we may inveighagainst the courtesan, when we meet her in everyday life, the factremains that for the stage there is no character in greater demand by"star" actresses and "romantic" playwrights. They seem to find apeculiar interest in a woman who has "lived"--no matter how. If, inransacking history, they are lucky enough to discover a courtesan whocan be billed as a "king's favorite, " they appear to smack their lipsexultantly. One is almost inclined to believe that dead-and-gone kingsmust have chosen "favorites" merely for the sake of to-day's stage. As soon as the playwright has excavated a courtesan, he begins tothink of the best way of whitewashing her. For she must be offered upas more sinned against than sinning. Of course. The playwright wasteshis substance thinking up excuses for her. He is quite willing--nay, anxious--that she shall go wrong, but he prefers that she shall bedriven to it by untoward circumstances. He is desirous that we shallsympathize with her, to the point of tears, in the last act. It isvery kind of him to do such charitable deeds in history's name, and werealize how exceedingly unselfish he is. Just the same, this mania forresurrecting defunct courtesans seems a trifle neurasthenic. Itappears to indicate a hysterical sympathy, on the part of theplaywright, with dead characters whom, in life, he would hesitate atasking to dinner _en famille_. The two women who built up "The Lady Shore" smashed history intosmithereens in their rabid and frenzied effort to make her anexquisite impersonation of nearly all the virtues. It was, in fact, grotesque and ludicrous. With any old history book staring them in theface, they treated Jane Shore precisely as though she were the heroineof a dime novel. They had no qualms. They lopped great wads from herpast, and huge excrescences from her present, and by the time that shehad reached the last act, the audience sat dazed at the delicatebeauty of her character. No masculine playwright could have done asmuch. Possibly if the purifiers of Lady Jane Shore elected todramatize the career of Messalina, they would make of her acombination of Joan of Arc and Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall. The _Jane Shore_ at the Hudson Theater was married to a brute of ahusband, but she left him simply because she was driven to it, poorgirl! She became the mistress of _Edward IV. _, apparently because sheyearned to be a mother to his children. She was always rescuing thelittle princes from the _Duke of Gloucester_. She sat beside _EdwardIV. _, in the council chamber of Westminster Palace, so that she couldbeseech him to pardon delinquents who were brought before him in aprocession of fifteenth century "drunk and disorderly. " There never was a more perfect lady. The playwrights unfortunatelyomitted to picture her teaching a Sunday school, and I can onlyimagine that they must have forgotten to do so. _Jane Shore's_ lovefor _Edward IV. _ was depicted in such lily tints that you simply hatedthe memory of your history book that said such rude things about herlife after the sovereign's death. The historical "penance" that on thestage seemed so effective was, as we know, really unavailing. Dramaticlicense is a great thing, and it is pardonable when it is used withdiscrimination. But made to do duty as a daub, it is unjustifiable. What is the use of going down into history as one thing, if you are tobe bobbed up on the stage, after the passage of centuries, as another?To the feminine playwright, the line that separates saints fromsinners is an invisible boundary. As a play, "The Lady Shore" was mere melodrama, of a somewhatincoherent nature. Perhaps if the central character had beenimaginary--and it was nearly that--the melodrama would have been allthe better for it. Why not invent a good new character, instead ofrevamping a bad old one? Why not exercise the imagination upon someoriginal creation, instead of straining it around a type that lurks inthe libraries? The authors of "The Lady Shore" might have used theirlabors more advantageously. It is always a futile task to rewritehistory. History is cold, and unbudgingly accurate. Why trifle withit? Miss Virginia Harned, however, escaped from her play. She is anemotional actress of considerable force, as she showed us in herproduction of "The Lady of the Camelias. " She has the power ofrepression. She is artistic, sincere and graceful. Her work in thisdiffuse play proved that beyond the peradventure of a doubt, so thather engagement at the Hudson Theater need not be unduly deplored. The_Gloucester_ of John Blair was extremely amusing. Such a _Richard_, the most imaginative imaginer could never have dreamed of! He playedthe part as though the _Duke of Gloucester_ were an Ibsen gentleman, battling with a dark green matinée. Mr. Loraine came from "NancyStair" to "The Lady Shore, " and was _Edward IV. _ It would beinteresting to know which "heroine" he really preferred. The littleprinces in the tower seemed to deserve their fate. They were argumentsin favor of race suicide. Two other celestial bodies of the feminine gender, fixed for one briefweek apiece on the theatrical "concave, " moved quickly in thedirection of "the road. " These more or less heavenly lights were MissOdette Tyler and Miss Eugenie Blair, who appeared at thosekaleidoscopic theaters called "combination houses. " Miss Tyler used tobe something of a Broadway "favorite"--a term that has lost a gooddeal of its significance. She appeared in the little Yorkville Theateron the highroad to One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, in a play ofher own, called "The Red Carnation. " No purpose would be served in analyzing this uncanny, chaotic mass, even were it possible to do so. Miss Tyler placed herself amid Frenchrevolutionary surroundings, and was seen as a remarkable "romantic"French woman, with a strong American accent and an emphatic New Yorkmanner. She fluttered through Paris in 1793, evidently convinced thatit was just as "easy" as New York in 1905. She had a caramel demeanorand ice-cream allurements. She kittened and frivoled through the Reignof Terror with an archness that was commendable, though somewhatmisplaced, and she let loose a lay figure labeled _Marie Antoinette_that was designed to frame her own accomplishments. Familiar as we are with the French revolution, used as a stage motive, "The Red Carnation" threw such a new light upon it all, that we were atrifle dumfounded. Miss Tyler gracefully revised it for us, and madeit appear as a somewhat gay and frolicsome time. Moreover, it had allthe modern improvements. It seemed to be steam-heated andelectric-lighted, and although _Marie Antoinette_ did not make herentrance in an automobile, you felt that it was waiting outside. Historians, interested in the French revolution, might get somevaluable sidelights from Miss Odette Tyler's idea of it. The actressherself has an agreeable personality and considerable ability. The other "star" to whom I have fitfully alluded--Miss EugenieBlair--has much vogue outside of New York. She came to the Murray HillTheater with a version of Wilkie Collins' much-abused "New Magdalen, "which was called "Her Second Life. " This being her life number two, you felt a distinct sensation of relief that you were spared a glimpseat lives numbers one and three. It was such a very crude performancethat I should not have dragged it into this record had it not been forthe fact that Miss Blair was part of the singular display of celestialbodies that I have tried to indicate in this article. She is a weightyactress corporeally, if not artistically, and poor _Mercy Merrick_fared rather badly. This Wilkie Collins heroine has been neglected oflate, in favor of such base subterfuges as figures of the _NancyStair_ caliber, but certain signs point to revivals of "The NewMagdalen, " which as an emotional story has seldom been surpassed. Compared with the pitiful puppet "romances" of to-day, this genuinepiece of throbbing fiction seems to be in distinctly another class. Mr. Frank Keenan, with whose praiseworthy effort to emulate thetactics of M. Antoine in Paris my readers are familiar, gave up theBerkeley Lyceum ghost, unable to weather the storm and stress ofexperiment. While admiring Mr. Keenan's energy, and appreciating thelittle one-act bills that he offered with such rapid-transit celerity, it is impossible to avoid deprecating the lack of logical foresightthat he manifested. He trifled with our young affections, aroused our enthusiasm andinspired in us the belief that a permanent institution was inevitable, and then--quietly dropped out. In other walks of life, people who makeexperiments have generally supplied themselves with the wherewithal towait while their schemes approach fruition. Rome was not built in aday, but if the builders thereof had been actors, Rome never wouldhave been built at all! The actor, who is usually a singularlyunbalanced person, looks for immediate success, and can endure nothingelse. Why Mr. Keenan should have expected to jump into a whirlwind ofinstantaneous applause is an enigma. Nothing that is out of theconventional rut succeeds at the start. There must be patience, perseverance and a struggle. Otherwise life would be very easy, whichit is not. The rosy little scheme at the Berkeley Lyceum had attractedconsiderable attention. Critics paid homage to every change of bill, anxious to chronicle success, and looking with glad eyes at thepossible advent of a new impetus to the jaded theatrical machine. Theyhad worked themselves into the most appreciative state of mind. Lo, and behold! After a few weeks, M. Antoine's American imitatorevaporated. Lack of funds! What a dismal lack of those funds there must have been when theenterprise started! Who but an actor would embark upon a scheme, andproject such radiant promises in the interests of those who are tiredof wallowing in the trough of vulgar "popularity, " when it wasapparent that, without that popularity, the thing couldn't last morethan a month? Mr. Keenan should apologize to M. Antoine, of Paris. Hetook his name in vain. People with new ideas, opposed to theconventionality of the old ones, expect naturally to bide their timebefore the public unhesitatingly accepts them. If Mr. Keenan hadengaged in his alluring pursuit, willing and even anxious to "losemoney" before he made it, a very different story would have been told. People ask why dramatic chroniclers grow cynical. The answer issimple. They feel that they are persistently "jollied" along, and theyassuredly are. It was so in the case of the Berkeley Lyceum plan thatfell through simply because money failed to pour into the box office, and M. Antoine, of Paris, lacked the vitality of Barnum & Bailey'scircus! It was so last year when Mr. Sydney Rosenfeld tried to"elevate" the stage with the Century Players. This is an age ofget-rich-quickly, and there is no other object. Actors talk of art, and of unconventionality; they inveigh against commercialism and posemost picturesquely. But they are in such a hurry to spear the florid, bloated body of easy success that they cannot wait. Mr. Frank Keenanwent direct from M. Antoine's Parisian plan to vaudeville! The little play upon which he relied to turn the tide of dollars inhis direction was called "A Passion in a Suburb, " and was described as"a psychological study of madness, " by Algernon Boyesen. It was horrorfor the sake of horror, which is always distressing, and it was afailure. It was food neither for the elect nor for the mob. Bothclasses demand a plausible excuse for stage happenings. The picture ofan insane husband strangling his wife and child might be accepted asthe logical sequence of some startling train of events. But to enter aplayhouse and watch a couple of murders for no other reason than thatthe murderer was a madman, is not enlivening. It is ghoulish. I have devoted much space to Mr. Frank Keenan and his plan. I wassorry for him until I thought it all over. Then I couldn't helpfeeling a bit sore. It was all very foolish. The bubble was pricked soquickly! It is a consolation to reflect that the New York critics dideverything in their power to push along a project that would have beenof great value to this metropolis. It was foredoomed to failure, because it depended upon the iniquity known as "quick returns. " _Demortuis nil nisi bonum. _ (I think I have, though!) That a one-act play is fully able to create a veritable sensation, askeen as any that a five-act drama might evoke, was instanced at theManhattan Theater, when Mrs. Fiske produced a little drama, written byherself, and called "A Light from St. Agnes. " I think I may say thatit was the finest and most artistic one-act play that I have everseen--and I've seen a few in my day. It aroused a matinée audience, ona warm afternoon, to an ecstasy of enthusiastic approval, because itappealed directly to the artistic fiber. It was not a case for cold analytic judgment. It was not an occasionwhen long-haired critics could draw a diagram, and prate learnedly of"technique" and other topics that often make critics such insensatebores. "A Light from St. Agnes" was recognized intuitively as great. The soul of an audience never makes a mistake, though the brainfrequently errs. A brain might perhaps prove that this play wasartistically admirable, but the soul reached that conclusion instantlyand unreasoningly. The effect was marvelous. I wonder if you quite grasp my meaning. You know there are some thingsthat refuse to be reduced to diagram form. They decline to answer tothe call of a, b and c. They won't be x'd and y'd algebraically. Verymaterial people of course rebel at this. They want everything cut anddried. They would dissect the soul with a scalpel, and reduce psychiceffects to the medium of pounds and ounces. That is what certainreviewers tried to do with "A Light from St. Agnes. " Their material eyes saw that the end of the little play was murder;that its motive was a sacrilegious robbery--the theft of a diamondcross from the body of a woman lying dead in a church; that the manwas a drink-besotted ruffian; that the woman was his illicit partner;that the atmosphere was assuredly brutal. Material eyes saw all this. Material senses reasoned that, given all these qualities, such a playmust be horrible, and unduly strenuous. But intuition set all thisreasoning awry. You see, intuition doesn't reason; it _knows_. It isbetter to know than to reason. Get a dozen people to prove to you that"A Light from St. Agnes" was a dismal and unnecessary tragedy. Oh, they might be able to do it. Then go and see it, and you willunderstand precisely what I am driving at. Plays that appeal to intuition are the most wonderful offerings thatthe theater can make. Nothing can stay their effect; nobody cansuccessfully argue against them. Rare indeed they are. When someplaywright, as the result of a genuine emotion, makes a drama, in thesheer delight of that emotion, and with a disregard forconventionality, and no hope of box-office approval--then you get awork of art. Incidentally, I may remark that such a work of art is soirresistible that it literally forces the box office to tinkle. Itwould be a pity if it didn't. The scene of "A Light from St. Agnes" is laid in a Louisiana villagecalled Bon Hilaire. _Michel_ and _Toinette_ occupy a rude hut, in thevicinity of St. Agnes' Church. The light from the church sometimesirradiates the sordid, loathsome room. In fact, _Toinette_ places hercouch in such a position that the light may shine upon her eyes, andawaken her in time to call _Michel_, her befuddled partner. A woman who has tried to reform the lawless life of this section ofLouisiana has died. Her body lies in the church. _Toinette_ and_Michel_ have both been cynically amused, in their reckless way, ather efforts, unavailing, to reform them. And she is dead! _FatherBertrand_ visits _Toinette_, and tells her this. The peasant laughs. The priest gives her a crucifix that the woman left for her, and itsinfluence--though the playwright is far too subtle even to suggestthis--is the "moral" of the little play for those who want their i'sdotted and their t's crossed. The drama moves quickly. The drama is tragedy. _Michel_ returns, morehopelessly intoxicated than ever. She lies on the rude couch, seekingsleep. He talks, as he plies himself with drink. The subject is thedead woman in the church of St. Agnes. Some one had placed a lily inher hand. He hopes that nobody will ever dare to place a lily in his!There are long silences; significant pauses. Through the open windowhe looks into the church. He sees the dead woman, laid out on agold-embroidered cloth. On her breast is a cross of diamonds. More long silences; more significant pauses. He must possess thatdiamond cross. Why not? He hated the dead woman. He would steal intothe church and rob the body; nay, more, he would hurl insults at it. _Toinette_ has the crucifix. Perhaps it is that; perhaps it is theawakening of some forgotten instinct within her. The horror of theman's intention convulses her. There is a terrible conflict betweenthe two. It is the very intensity of drama. The audience, wrought up, holds its breath. Then _Toinette_, by a ruse, escapes from the man, and, rushing from the dwelling, gives an alarm. The bells ring, inwildest chime. _Michel_ realizes that he is trapped; that the womanhas undone him. He goes after her, finds her, brings her back. Hewrestles with her, forces her back upon the rude couch, and plungeshis knife into her throat. The stage is in darkness. Yet you can dimly see him hovering over thebody; you watch him in a sort of fascination, as he washes the bloodfrom his hands, and then furtively, in the silence, steals away. _Toinette_ lies, extended on the couch, motionless--dead. From thewindow the light from St. Agnes creeps into the room. It is casttenderly over _Toinette's_ body, which it irradiates strangely as thecurtain falls slowly. One must "describe" plays, even when in so doing one runs the risk ofdoing them an injustice. My recital of the story of "A Light from St. Agnes" sounds bald, as I recall the effect that the play produced. Iinsist that never for one moment was it "morbid" or unnecessarilyhorrible. It rang true, without one hysterical intonation. It wassincere, dignified, artistic, beautiful. It was admirably staged; itwas acted by John Mason, William B. Mack and Fernanda Eliscu withexquisite appeal. Mrs. Fiske scored heavily as a playwright. There were two otherone-act dramas from her pen--"The Rose" and "The Eyes of the Heart. "The latter made an excellent impression, but it was in "A Light fromSt. Agnes" that she stamped herself indelibly upon the season. FOR BOOK LOVERS Archibald Lowery Sessions Practical purposes served by stories of trade and commerce. Something more than entertainment. Among the interesting new books are "The Common Lot, " by Robert Herrick; "The Master Word, " by L. H. Hammond; "The Plum Tree, " by David Graham Phillips. Spring has brought with it a multitude of gay volumes. Americanbookbinding has at last reached such a point that, whatever the natureof its contents, a novel may at least make an impression by its goodclothes. Trade stories almost overcrowd this brilliant assemblage. Of course, it is what might be expected of American commercialism, that ourliterature should open its doors to all phases of business andmanufacture. Most of us feel particularly at home and in our element, as it were, when finding amusement for a leisure hour among mills orstock markets. And these tales, like the Rollo books, impart much valuableinformation to the uninitiated. We can remember feeling a slightdegree of impatience some years ago, when Mr. Hopkinson Smith gave ushis careful demonstration of the building of stone piers in the pagesof "Caleb West. " But in the end we recognized thriftily that he hadgiven us, for the small price of the book, enough points to beavailable for carrying on an intelligent conversation with a stonemason; a decided addition to one's accomplishments in those days ofsocial misunderstanding. That book came with the first advances of the tide. Now hundreds ofsuch volumes are washed up at our feet, out of which we may accumulateregular trade libraries if we like, from which a young student canlearn the ins and outs of all professions and commercial ventures, theirtemptations or advantages, and their relation, as well, to the mysteriousworkings of love. What a possession for a would-be-well-equippedworldling! The only difficulty is, what are we going to do when these resourcesare used up? However, there is no real need to worry. We can still encourage theunsuccessful author, who has been befogged by romance and idealism, topeg away for a year or two at some, if possible, unique form ofmanufacture, going into it from the bottom and learning its tricks andits manners. He will have at least the opportunity of becoming a goodmechanic, and probably some chance of getting up a paying novel in thehereafter--with a seductive cover. * * * * * There can be no doubt that "The Common Lot, " by Robert Herrick, Macmillan Company, is among the strongest of this year's books, andone which should take high rank as a thoroughly representativeAmerican novel. From beginning to end it absorbs attention, is virile in the depictionof character, and most of all notable in its absolute fidelity tohuman nature and the modern point of view, even where it points anoverwhelming moral. The story of Jackson Powers' career, his promisingbeginning, the natural temptation to overlook a bit of dishonesty, andhis equally natural response to it, followed by his deterioration asan architect who sacrifices his ideals to commercial interests, is afine piece of work; so is the portrait of his strong wife, and herslow but crushing realization of his weakness. The delightful little doctor in the slums, and the defiant product ofconventionality, Venetia Phillips, supply plenty of humor, and forsensation, one need not look further than the thrilling description ofthe Glenmore fire, which, in its awful tragedy, reveals Powers tohimself as a criminal. Not the least powerful scene is that in which his confession andattempts to atone are received by the contemptuous man of the world, who sees in them only weakness and cowardice, despite his scorn of thecrime. No reader will put down the book without having experienced somestirrings of heart and some reminders of personal experience, orwithout a keen interest in the story. * * * * * As "The Cost" dealt with finance on a big scale, so David GrahamPhillips' latest book, "The Plum Tree, " Bobbs-Merrill Company, dealswith politics on a big scale. In these two stories, Mr. Phillips depends for the success of hisnarrative rather upon theme and plot than upon style andcharacterization; not that these two elements are slighted, or thatthey are not skillfully and masterfully handled, but that one feelsthat they are purposely subordinated to the subject-matter and tointerest in the development of the tale. That it is an intensely interesting book cannot be denied; it is sobecause it is near enough to the facts of politics to make thestirring and dramatic episodes it describes seem like the account of aphase of vital human life. The story is that of young Sayler's development from a green, inexperienced and impecunious young lawyer, to the seasoned man whocontrols the politics of the country through his unerring manipulationof both party machines; the maker of Presidents, the master ofCongress, the terror of the financial world. The methods by which heachieves these results make up the action of the story; they are suchas we are all familiar with, except, perhaps, in the combination whichMr. Phillips makes of them. The love element is of minor importance, and doubtless, to some minds, it will be considered unattractive. But no one can deny that thestory, as a whole, is one of more than ordinary power. * * * * * The Harpers publish another new story by Warwick Deeping, "TheSlanderers. " It is a novel which, in style, so suggests GeorgeMeredith as to make one suspect that the author is a pupil of theolder writer. A pair of idealists, quite realistic, nevertheless, in theirintroduction to one another, and in the attachment which follows, arethe chief actors in the plot. Gabriel Strong, the dreamy son of aprosperous English squire, falls in love with Joan Gildersledge, theequally dreamy daughter of a bestial and intemperate miser. Gabrielmarries an unsatisfactory young woman in the vicinity, Ophelia Gusset, and retains Joan as his consoler and friend in a virtuous buthigh-strung companionship, out of which the country gossips, who hearof it through a spying servant, develop a slander. Gabriel's wife, meantime, is amusing herself with a military man at awatering place. The clearing up of this situation, and the pairing offof congenial couples with various striking episodes, among them thedeath of Zeus Gildersledge, and his denunciation of his daughter, andthe final reconciliation of Gabriel with his father, by whom he hasbeen disinherited, make up a tale in which interest is sustained tothe very end. The book is full of dainty descriptions of landscape, and the few leading personalities are well and strongly drawn. * * * * * "The Master Word, " by L. H. Hammond, Macmillan, is described upon thetitle-page as "a story of the South of to-day. " Its background isplaced in the phosphate region of Tennessee, and the author assures usthat many of the incidents described, "especially those more or lesssensational in their nature, " actually occurred within her ownexperience. The purpose of the story, she says, furthermore, is "infull accord with Southern thoughts and hopes. " It is hardly necessary to say that it would not be a story of theSouth if it did not deal in some way with the race question; but itwould be premature to conclude from this that it is essentially aproblem novel. The opening chapters introduce this question, growing out of thedistressing circumstances of a wife's discovery of her husband'sinfidelity, and the problem is interwoven closely with the plot in thepresence of the latter's illegitimate mulatto daughter. Her career andend are the more unpleasant to the reader because of the convictionthat they are detailed with facts as they exist in the South. Thepathetic interest of Viry's story, though properly subordinate to themain plot, forces itself on the reader's attention. In other respects, also, the truth of the conditions described isimpressed upon one, even though he may be unfamiliar with the facts. It is a very strong tale, full of color, with a consistently developedplot, constructed with a fine sense of proportion and vividcharacterization, except in one respect, which constitutes the weakpoint of the story--that is to say, the character of Dick Lawton, whois somewhat priggish and altogether disappointing. * * * * * Miss Geraldine Bonner has very wisely selected a theme for her story, "The Pioneer, " Bobbs-Merrill Company, with which she is thoroughly athome. Its subtitle is "A Tale of Two States"--viz. : California andNevada, and, therefore, as may be correctly inferred, it is a miningstory, or at least a story in which this element plays an importantpart. The action takes place during the years almost immediately followingthe Civil War, and leads up to the period of the Bonanza discoveriesin Nevada, in the early seventies. With such material as thisafforded, it is easy to see that an extremely interesting tale can beconstructed by so experienced an author as Miss Bonner. The story involves, of course, the consecutive gain and loss offortunes many times repeated; it pictures the social life of SanFrancisco and the rough life of Nevada mining camps, and givesattractive glimpses of the valleys of California, all with a degree ofdescriptive power that is a little unexpected. The character of the old pioneer, Colonel Parrish, and the twosisters, June and Rosamund Allen, and the reciprocal affection of thethree, furnish the large element of human interest in the story, forthey are very attractive and lovable people. The relations of the twogirls with "Uncle Jim" arrest the attention and stimulate thesympathies of the reader even more than the love affairs of theformer. The narrative flows on pretty evenly, with no strikingly dramaticsituations and no overwhelming climax, but interest is heldtenaciously all through. * * * * * Another of the late Guy Wetmore Carryl's posthumous books is "Far Fromthe Maddening Girls, " published by McClure, Phillips & Co. It is altogether a delicious piece of nonsense, serious neither instyle nor intention, filled with puns so atrocious as to make thereader admire the author's audacity, the recklessness of which addsmuch to his entertainment. A bachelor, hopelessly cynical, as he thinks, on the subject of women, who deludes himself into the conviction that he can successfully andpermanently escape from them, is not only a fair mark for any sort ofridicule, but also a fruitful theme for a farce. The particularbachelor who figures in this narrative devised a means of effectingthis end by building himself a country house--of all things! Theresult is, of course, obvious; as, indeed, the result of a farce oughtto be. Doubtless some critical souls will call the story flat, but to suchpeople we can only say that there is a lot of harmless fun in the bookthat will act as an efficient corrective for jaundiced views of life. * * * * * A very charming story is "The Princess Passes, " by C. N. And A. M. Williamson, the authors of "The Lightning Conductor, " which will berecalled with a great deal of pleasure by a multitude of novelreaders. The new book is published by Henry Holt & Co. Like "The Lightning Conductor, " the new book has for its theme aEuropean tour, partly by automobile and partly on foot, undertaken bythe hero, Lord Montagu Lane, at the urgent solicitation of hisfriends, Mr. And Mrs. Jack Winston, to cure a serious case ofdisappointed love. That he should find ample consolation for the loss of Helen Blantock, and in the end lose interest in her and her titled grocery man, willnot surprise the reader. The manner in which it is effected, however, involves some rather unconventional details, worked out, of course, through the agency of a delightful American girl. Anyone who has read"The Heavenly Twins" will doubtless find something to stirreminiscence in the intercourse between Lord Lane and the Boy. In thisthe chief interest in the plot centers. It is altogether a charming narrative, full of pretty descriptivepassages, and colored by the evident satisfaction the authors took inwriting it. * * * * * "The Secret Woman, " by Eden Phillpotts, Macmillan Company, is a littletale of English farm life, with a picturesque setting, great intensityof action and passion, and some indefiniteness as to what code ofmorals the rather unpleasant performances of its characters should bejudged by. As adultery, usury, murder and suicide are among these littleeccentricities, offset against superstition, religion and rationalism, the reader may take his choice of theories. Interest is sustainedwithout question, and the two women--an older and a younger one--whoas heroines and wrongdoers enlist our sympathy, are attractive andpainted in clearer colors than the men. One or two minorpersonalities, however, are clearly drawn, and the dramatic elementforcefully developed. * * * * * It would be difficult to hit upon a novelist who shows widerdivergences in his work than Booth Tarkington, not because he gives init any special evidence of versatility--a word which implies somethinglike genius, or at least talent. This peculiarity is due rather to anarbitrary method in the choice of themes. In his latest book, "In the Arena, " published by McClure, Phillips &Co. , he has given a striking demonstration of this. It is a collectionof six short stories, dealing with the subject of State and municipalpolitics. The question of cause and effect here is comparativelyunimportant; whether Mr. Tarkington went to the Indiana legislature toget material for short stories, or whether he has written thesebecause of his experience as an assemblyman, is not a matter ofliterary interest. The narrations are not particularly convincing. Those who are familiarwith the practical politician, and his followers and their modernmethods, will find few parallels in the characters and descriptions inthese tales. Political bosses nowadays seldom resort to the crudedevice of ballot-box stuffing and threatened blackmail to defeatreformers, and reformers are unlikely to be so easily frightened asFarwell was. The game is much more complex than it used to be, principally because the reformers have learned to play it moreintelligently, and those who fail to give them credit for astutenessknow little about the rules; the politicians themselves have ceased tomake the mistake of underrating their antagonists. The female lobbyist is a character that "once-upon-a-time" flourishedat the national and in State capitals, but modern methods have madeher, to a large degree, superfluous, and now the high-priced lawyer, representing the Trust, deals directly with the party boss instead ofthe individual lawmaker. It is cheaper and quicker. Mr. Tarkington's friends, Boss Gorgett and Mrs. Protheroe, belong to aspecies that is extinct--at any rate, outside of Indiana. * * * * * "The Chronicles of Don Q, " by K. And Hesketh Prichard, J. B. Lippincott Company, is a picturesque tale of adventure, told, however, with a restraint that lends dignity and a fair degree of plausibility. Being the story of a Spanish bandit, there is, of course, an abundanceof murder and sudden deaths; but as the right persons survive, and amajority of the villains die, with more or less violence, thesensibilities of the reader are not much shocked. In spite of Don Q's profession and associates, and a temperamentsomewhat pessimistic for a highwayman, he is not really a bad sort offellow. His idiosyncrasies are due, doubtless, to an earlydisappointment in love, on account of which allowances are to be made, particularly as he retains his courtly manners, a careful regard forthe misfortunes of others, so far as his occupation permits, a veryefficient sympathy with the weak and a devotion to the Churchmanifested in many practical ways--his piety being of the kindimitated, with more or less success in America, by persons said tobelong to the same class as Don Q. Though apparently absolutely isolated from the rest of the world inhis mountain retreat in southern Spain, he keeps in touch with affairsoutside so far as they affect him, and is able, in mysterious ways, toanticipate, and so defeat, all attempts to ensnare him. Surprise isimpossible for him, as it was for Sherlock Holmes. If his portrait, by Stanley Wood, is a faithful likeness, theinfluence of his presence is not to be wondered at. * * * * * "Constance Trescott, " by Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, Century Company, standsout among the stronger books of the season. He takes for his heroine anot unfamiliar type of woman, reared by an old uncle whose antipathyto religion has made her, as she describes it: "Neither religious nornon-religious--open-minded. " She is, however, docile because of her deep love for her husband, under the latter's attempts to interest her in the faith which heholds dear. Trescott, who compels admiration by his fine, straightforward course, takes his wife to a small Missouri town, whereSouthern prejudice is still rife and laws are lax, and where feelingis bitter against the uncle of Constance, the absentee landowner, whohas sent Trescott to represent him in enforcing evictions from a tractof land to which he claims ownership. Greyhurst is Trescott's opponent in a consequent lawsuit, apicturesque and passionate character, with a mixture of Creole andIndian blood. While he admires Constance, he hates her husband, whomhe labors unscrupulously to defeat. The court scene, where Constance is called to give certain testimony, and does it to the confusion of Greyhurst, is interesting; and stillmore dramatic is the murder of Trescott by Greyhurst, after thedecision against the latter. The rest of the book turns upon the revenge which Constance, undisciplined as she is by nobler inspirations, devotes her life andfortune to wreaking upon Greyhurst, and its sensational consummation. The story is one of Dr. Mitchell's most characteristic efforts, and, like all he writes, is well worth reading. Transcriber's Notes The Contents list was added. Cold [changed to Could] hold all he could chew. Dena [changed to Deena] turned and came slowly dressed in loose-fitting mantles of guano [changed to guanaco] skins secretary at Gibralter [changed to Gibraltar] among notaable [changed to notable] men The Wickcliffe [changed to Wickliffe] boy, Billy divorçees [changed to divorcées]--hitherto Bentnor's particularly large and lusscious [changed to luscious] mushroom