BACILLUS

 OF

 BEAUTY

 _A Romance of To-day_

 _BY_

 HARRIET STARK

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER

 Book I: _The Broken Chrysalis:_

 I. THE METAMORPHOSIS II. THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN THE WORLD III. THE HORNETS' NEST IV. THE GODDESS AND THE MOB V. A HIGH-CLASS CONCERT

 Book II: _The Birth of the Butterfly:_

 I. THE PSYCHOLOGICAL MOMENT II. A SUNDAY-SCHOOL LESSON III. THE QUEST OF KNOWLEDGE IV. GIRL BACHELOR AND BIOLOGIST V. THE FINDING OF THE BACILLUS VI. THE GREAT CHANGE VII. THE COMING OF THE LOVER

 Book III: _The Joy of the Sunshine:_

 I. CHRISTMAS II. A LOOKING OVER BY THE PACK III. SNARLING AT THE COUNCIL ROCK IV. IN THE INTERESTS OF MUSIC V. A PLAGUE OF REPORTERS VI. LOVE IS NOTHING VII. LOVE IS ALL VIII. A LITTLE BELATED EARL

 BOOK IV: _The Bruising of the Wings:_

 I. THE KISS THAT LIED II. THE IRONY OF LIFE III. THE SUDDENNESS OF DEATH IV. SOME REMARKS ABOUT CATS V. THE LOVE OF LORD STRATHAY VI. LITTLE BROWN PARTRIDGES VII. LETTERS AND SCIENCE VIII. A CHAPERON ON A CATTLE TRAIN IX. A BURST OF SUNLIGHT X. PLIGHTED TROTH

 BOOK V: _The End of the Beginning:_

 I. THE DEEDS OF THE FARM II. CADGE'S ASSIGNMENT III. "P. P. C. "

BOOK I. 

THE BROKEN CHRYSALIS. 

_(From the Shorthand Notes of John Burke. )_

THE BACILLUS OF BEAUTY

CHAPTER I. 

THE METAMORPHOSIS. 

NEW YORK, Sunday, Dec. 16. 

I am going to set down as calmly and fully as I can a plain statement ofall that has happened since I came to New York. 

I shall not trim details, nor soften the facts to humour my own amazement, nor try to explain the marvel that I do not pretend to understand. 

I begin at the beginning--at the plunge into fairy tale and miracle that Imade, after living twenty-five years of baldest prose, when I met HelenWinship here. 

Why, I had dragged her to school on a sled when she was a child. I watchedher grow up. For years I saw her nearly every day at the State Universityin the West that already seems so unreal, so far away, I loved her. 

Man, I knew her face better than I knew my own! Yet when I met her here--when I saw my promised wife, who had kissed me good-by only last June--Idid not recognise her. I looked full into her great eyes and thought shewas a stranger; hesitated even when she called my name. It's a miracle! Ora lie, or a wild dream; or I am going crazy. The thing will not bebelieved. And yet it's true. 

This is my calmness! If I could but think it might be a tremendous blunderout of which I would sometime wake into verity! But there has been nomistake; I have not been dreaming unless I am dreaming now. 

As distinctly as I see the ugly street below, I remember everything thathas befallen me since my train pulled into Jersey City last Thursdaymorning. I remember as one does who is served by sharpened senses. Onlyonce in a fellow's lifetime can he look upon New York for the first time--and to me New York meant Helen. Everything was vividly impressed upon mymind. 

I crossed the Cortlandt Street ferry and walked up Broadway, wonderingwhat Helen would say if I called before breakfast. I could scarcely wait. I stopped in front of St. Paul's Church, gaping up at a twenty-six storybuilding opposite; a monstrous shaft with a gouge out of its south side asif lightning had rived off a sliver. I went over to it and saw that I hadcome to Ann Street, where Barnum's museum used to stand. The Post Office, the City Hall, the restaurant where I ate breakfast, studying upon thewall the bible texts and signs bidding me watch my hat and overcoat; the_Tribune_ building, just as it looks on the almanac cover--all thesemade an instant, deep impression. Not in the least like a dream. 

By the statue of Horace Greeley I stood a moment irresolute. I knew that, before I could reach her, Helen would have left her rooms for BarnardCollege; breakfast had been a mistake. Then I noticed that Nassau Streetwas just opposite; and, in spite of my impatience to be at her door, Iconstrained myself to look up Judge Baker. 

Between its Babel towers narrow Nassau Street was like a canyon. Thepavements were wet, for folks had just finished washing windows, though itwas eight o'clock in the forenoon. Bicycles zipped past and from somewherenorth a freshet of people flooded the sidewalk and roadway. 

Down a steep little hill and up another--both thronged past belief--and ina great marble maze of lawyers' offices I found the sign of Baker &Magoun. 

The boy who alone represented the firm said that I might have to wait someminutes, and turned me loose to browse in the big, high-ceiled outer roomor library of the place where I am to work. After the dim corridors it wasa blaze of light. On all sides were massive bookshelves; the doorways gaveglimpses of other rooms, fine with rugs and pictures and heavy desks, different enough from the plain fittings of the country lawyers' workshopsI had known. The carpet sank under my feet as I went to the window. 

I stood looking at the Jersey hills, blue and fair in the distance, anddreaming of Helen, who was to bless and crown my good fortune, when Iheard a step at the door and a young man came in--a tall, blonde, supplefellow not much older than I. Then the Judge appeared, ponderous, slow oftread, immaculate of dress; the same, unless his iron-gray locks haveretreated yet farther from his wall of a brow, that I have remembered himfrom boyhood. 

"Burke!" he said, "I am glad to see you. Welcome to New York and to thisoffice, my boy!"

The grasp of his big warm hand was as good as the words and the eyesbeneath his heavy gray brows were full of kindness as, holding both myhands in his, he drew me toward the young man who had preceded him. With awinning smile the latter turned. 

"Hynes, " said the Judge, with a heartiness that made one forget his formalmanner, "you have heard me speak of Burke's father, the boyhood companionwith whom, when the finny tribes were eager, I sometimes strayed from thestrait and narrow path that led to school. Burke, Hynes is the sportsmanhere--our tiger-slayer. He beards in their lairs those Tammany ornamentsof the bench whom the flippant term 'necessity Judges, ' because of theirslender acquaintance with the law. "

"Glad to see you, Burke, " said Hynes, as dutifully we laughed together atthe time-honoured jest. 

I knew from the look of him that he was a good fellow, and he had anhonest grip; though out where I come from we might call him a dude. AllNew Yorkers seem to dress pretty well. 

Presently Managing Clerk Crosby came, and Mr. Magoun, as lean, brusque andmosquito-like as his partner is elephantine; and after a few words withthem I was called into the Judge's private room, where a great lump rosein my throat when I tried, and miserably failed, to thank him for all hisgreat kindness. 

"Consider, if it pleases you, " he said, to put me quite at my ease, "thatI have proposed our arrangement, not so much on your own account asbecause I loved your father and must rely upon his son. It brings back myyouth to speak his name--your name, Johnny Burke!"

Yes, I remember the words, I remember the tremour in the kind voice andthe mist of unshed tears through which he looked at me. I'm not dreaming;sometimes I wish I were, almost. 

When I left the Judge, of course I pasted right up to Union Square, thoughI felt sure that Helen would be at college. No. 2 proved to be a dingybrick building with wigs and armour and old uniforms and grimy pictures inthe windows, and above them the signs of a "dental parlour" and a schoolfor theatrical dancing. 

It seemed an odd place in which to look for Nelly, but I pounded up theworn stairs--dressmakers' advertisements on every riser--until I reachedthe top floor, where a meal-bag of a woman whose head was tied up in acoloured handkerchief confronted me with dustpan and broom. 

"I'm the new leddy scrubwoman, and not afther knowin' th' names av th'tinants, " she said, "but av ut's a gir-rul ye're seekin', sure they's twoav thim in there, an' both out, I'm thinkin'. "

I pushed a note for Nelly under the door she indicated--it bore the cardsof "Miss Helen Winship" and "Miss Kathryn Reid"--and hurried away to lookup this gem of a hall bedroom where I am writing; you could wear it on awatch chain, but I pay $3 a week for it. The landlady would board me for$8, but regular dinners at restaurants are only twenty-five cents; good, too. And anybody can breakfast for fifteen. 

Then I went back to Union Square, where I hung about, looking at thestatues. Once I walked as far as Tammany Hall and rushed back again towatch Helen's door. Finally I sat down on a bench from which I could seeher windows; and there in the brief December sunlight, with the littleoasis around me green even in winter, and the roar of Dead Man's Curvejust far enough away, I suppose I spent almost the happiest moments of mylife. 

I was looking at Nelly's picture, taken in cap and gown just before shegraduated last June. My Nelly! Nelly as she used to be before this strangething happened; eager-eyed, thin with over-study and rapid growth. Nelly, whose bright face, swept by so many lights and shadows of expression, sensitive to so many shifting moods, I loved and yearned for. Nearly sixmonths we'd been apart, but at last I had followed to New York to claimher. As I sat smiling at the dream pictures the dear face evoked, my brainwas busy with thoughts of the new home we would together build. I'd hoardevery penny, I planned; I'd walk to save car-fare, practice alleconomies--

Wasn't that a face at her window?

I reached the top landing again, three steps at a time; but the voice thatsaid "Come!" was not Helen's and the figure that turned from pulling atthe shades was short and rolypoly and crowned by flaming red hair. 

"Miss Winship?" said the voice, as its owner seated herself at a bigtable. "Can't imagine what's, keeping her. Are you the John Burke I'veheard so much about? And--perhaps Helen has written to you of Kitty Reid?"

Without waiting for a reply, she bent over the table, scratching with aknife at a sheet of bold drawings of bears. 

"You won't mind my keeping right on?" she queried briskly, lifting a rosy, freckled face. "This is the animal page of the Sunday _Star_ andCadge is in a hurry for it, to do the obbligato. "

I suppose I must have looked the puzzlement I felt, for she addedhastily:--

"The text, you know; a little cool rill of it to trickle down through thepage like a fine, thin strain of music that--that helps out the song--tee-e-e-um; tee-e-e-um--" She lifted her arm, sawing with a long ruler at aviolin of air, --"but you don't have to listen unless you wish--to theobbligato, you know. "

"Doesn't the writer think the pictures the unobtrusive embroidery of theviolin, and the writing the magic melody one cannot choose but hear?"

I thought that rather neat for my first day in New York, but the shrewdblue eyes opened wide at the heresy. 

"Why, no; of course Cadge knows it's the pictures that count; everybodyknows that. "

A writing-table jutted into the room from a second window, backing againstMiss Reid's. On its flap lay German volumes on biology and a littletreatise in English about "Advanced Methods of Imbedding, Sectioning andStaining. " The window ledge held a vase of willow and alder twigs, whosebuds appeared to be swelling. Beside it was a glass of water in whichseeds were sprouting on a floating island of cotton wool. 

"Admiring Helen's forest?" came the voice from the desk. "I'm afraidthere's only second growth timber left; she carried away the greatredwoods and all the giants of the wilderness this morning. Are youinterested in zoology? Sometimes, since I have been living with Helen, Ihave wished more than anything else to find out, What is protoplasm? Doyou happen to know?"

"I'm afraid not. "

"Neither does Helen--nor any one else. "

Miss Reid's merry ways are infectious. I'm glad Helen is rooming with anice girl. 

The place was shabby enough, with cracked and broken ceiling, marredwoodwork and stained wall paper; but etchings, foreign photographs, sketches put up with thumb tacks and bright hangings made it odd andattractive. On a low couch piled with cushions lay Helen's mandolin and abanjo. A plaster cast of some queer animal roosted on the mantel, craningits neck down towards the fireplace. 

"That's the Notre Dame devil, " Miss Reid said, following my glance; "theother is the Lincoln Cathedral devil. " She nodded at a wide-mouthed imp, clawing at a door-top. "Don't you just adore gargoyles?"

"Yes; that is--very much, " I stammered, wandering back to Helen's desk. And then!

And then I heard quick steps outside. They reached the door and paused. Ilooked up eagerly. "There's Helen now, " said Miss Reid; "or else Cadge. "

A tall girl burst into the room, dropping an armful of books, and sprangto Miss Reid. 

"Kitty! Kitty!" she cried, in a voice of wonderful music. "Two camerafiends! One in front of the college, the other by the elevated station;waiting for me to pass, I do believe! And such crowds! They followed me!Look! Look! Down in the Square!"

CHAPTER II. 

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN THE WORLD. 

Both girls ran to the window. Miss Reid laughed teasingly. "I see nobody--or all the world; it's much the same, " she said; "but you have a caller. "

I rose from behind the desk with some confused, trivial thought that Iought to have spent part of the afternoon getting my hair cut. 

I had had but a glimpse of the new comer in her flight across the floor; Iknew she had scarlet lips and shining eyes; that youth and joy andunimagined beauty had entered with her like a burst of sunlight andflooded the room. I felt, rather than saw, that she had turned from thewindow and was looking at me, curiously at first, then smiling. Her smilehad bewildered me when she opened the door; it was a soft, flashing lightthat shone from her face and blessed the air. She seemed surrounded by anaureole. 

But she--how could this wonderful girl know me?--she surely was smiling!She was coming towards me. She was putting out her hands. That gloriousvoice was speaking. 

"John! Is it you? I'm so glad!" it said. 

Had I read about her? Had I seen her picture? Had Helen described her in aletter? Was she Cadge? No; not altogether a stranger; somewhere before Ihad seen--or dreamed--

"John, " she persisted. "Why didn't you write? I thought you were comingnext week. Did you plan to surprise me?"

Miss Reid must have made a mistake, I felt; I must explain that I waswaiting for Helen. But I could not speak; I could only gape, choking andgiddy. I did not speak when the bright vision seemed to take the hands Ihad not offered. I could feel the blood beat in my neck. I could notthink; and yet I knew that a real woman stood before me, albeit unlike allthe other women that ever lived in the world; and that something surprisedand perplexed her. The smile still curved her lips; I felt myself grin inidiotic imitation. 

"What is the matter?" the radiant stranger persisted. "You act as if--"

The smile grew sunnier; it rippled to a laugh that was merriment set tomusic. 

"John! John Burke!" she said, giving my hands a little, impatient shake, just as Nelly used to do. "It isn't possible! Don't you--why, you goose!Don't you know me?"

"Helen!"

Of course! I had known her from the beginning! A man couldn't be in thesame room with Nelly Winship and feel just as if she were any other girl. But she was not Helen at all--that radiant impossibility! And yet she was. Or she said so, and my heart agreed. But when I would have drawn her tome, she stepped back in lovely confusion, with a fluttered question:--

"How long have you been here, John?"

That voice! Sweet, fresh; full of exquisite cadences such as one mighthear in dreams and ever after yearn for--from the first it had baffled memore than the beautiful face. It was not Helen's. What a blunder!

I gazed at her, still giddy. Who was she? I could not trust the astoundingrecognition. She returned the look, bending towards me, seeking aseagerly, I saw with confused wonderment, to read my thought as I to fathomhers. Then, as some half knowledge grew to certainty, the light of herbeauty became a glory; she seemed transfigured by a mighty joy such as noother woman could ever have felt. 

An instant she stood motionless, the sunshine of her eyes still on me. Then, drawing a long breath, she turned away, pulling the pins out of herfeathered hat with hands that trembled. 

I watched the process with the strained attention one gives at crucialmoments to nothings. I laughed out of sheer inanity; every pulse in mybody was throbbing. She lifted the hat from her shining head. She put itdown. She unfastened her coat. In a minute she would turn again, and Ishould once more see that face imbued with light and fire. I waited forher voice. 

"I'm sure of it!" she cried, wheeling about of a sudden, with a laugh likecaressing music, and confronting me again. "You didn't know me, John; didyou?"

"Why didn't I know you?" I gasped. "Why are you glad I don't know you?What does it all mean, Helen?"

Instead of answering she laughed again. It was the happiest joy-song inthe world. A mirthful goddess might have trilled it--a laugh like sunshineand flowers and chasing cloud shadows on waving grass. 

"Helen Winship, stop it! Stop this masquerade!" I shouted, not knowingwhat I did. 

"But I--I'm afraid I can't, John. "

The glorious face brimmed with mischief. In vain the Woman Perfectstruggled to subdue her mirth to penitence. 

"I--I'm so glad to see you, John. Won't you--won't you sit down and letKitty give you some tea?"

Tea! At that moment!

Clattering little blue and white cups and saucers, Miss Reid recalledherself to my remembrance. I had forgotten that she was in the room. Isuspect that she dared not lift her head for fear I might see the laughterin her eyes. 

"I've made it extra strong, Mr. Burke, " she managed to say, "because I'mstarting for the _Star_ office to find the photo-engravers routingthe noses and toeses off all my best beastesses. "

"Kitty thinks all photo-engravers the embodiment of original sin, " saidthe Shining One. "They clip her bears' claws. "

"Well, " returned Miss Reid, making a flat parcel of her drawings, "this isthe den of Beauty and the beasts, and the beasts must be worthy of Beauty. Mr. Burke, don't you know from what county of fairyland Helen hails? Isshe the Maiden Snow-white--but no; see her blush--or the Princess Marvel?And if she's Cinderella, can't we have a peep at the fairy godmother?Cadge will call her nothing but 'H. The M. '--short for 'Helen theMagnificent. ' And--and--oh, isn't she!"

"Kathryn!"

Before that grieved organ-tone of reproach, Kitty's eyes filled. I couldhave wept at the greatness and the beauty of it, but the little artistlaughed through her tears. 

"Helen Eliza, I repent, " she said. "Time to be good, Mr. Burke, when shesays 'Kathryn. '"

Adjusting her hat before a glass, Kitty hummed with a voice that tried notquaver:--

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, Am I most beautiful of all?

"Queen, thou art not the fairest now;Snow-white over the mountain's browA thousand times fairer is than thou. 

"Poor Queen; poor all of us. I'm good, Helen, " she repeated, whisking outof the room. 

"Such a chatterbox!" the goddess said. "But, John, am I really so muchaltered? Is it true that--just at first, you know, of course--you didn'tknow me?"

She bent on me the breathless look I had seen before. In her eagerness, itwas as if the halo of joy that surrounded her were quivering. 

"I know you now; you are my Helen!"

Again I would have caught her in my arms; but she moved uneasily. 

"Wait--I--you haven't told me, " she stammered; "I--I want to talk to you, John. "

She put out a hand as if to fend me off, then let it fall. A sudden heartsickness came upon me. It was not her words, not the movement that chilledme, but the paling of the wonderful light of her face, the look that creptover it, as if I had startled a nymph to flight. I was angry with myclumsy self that I should have caused that look, and yet--from my ownHelen, not this lovely, poising creature that hardly seemed to touch theearth--I should have had a different greeting!

I gazed at her from where I stood, then I turned to the window. The rattleof street cars came up from below. A child was sitting on the bench whereI had sat and feasted my eyes upon the flutter of Helen's curtains. Mynumb brain vaguely speculated whether that child could see me. The sun hadgone, the square was wintry. 

After a long minute Helen followed me. 

"John, " she said, "I am so glad to see you; but I--I want to tell you. Everything here is so new, I--I don't--"

It must all be true; I remember her exact words. They came slowly, hesitated, stopped. 

"Are you--what do you mean, Helen?"

"Let me tell you; let me think. Don't--please don't be angry. "

Through the fog that enveloped me I felt her distress and smarted from thewrong I did so beautiful a creature. 

"I--I didn't expect you so soon, " the music sighed pleadingly. "I--wemustn't hurry about--what we used to talk of. New York is so different!--Oh, but it isn't that! How shall I make you understand?"

"I understand enough, " I said dully; "or rather--Great Heavens!--Iunderstand nothing; nothing but that--you are taking back your promise, aren't you? Or Helen's promise; whose was it?"

I could not feel as if I were speaking to my sweetheart. The figure beforeme wore her pearl-set Kappa key--the badge of her college fraternity; itwore, too, a trim, dark blue dress--Helen's favourite colour and mine--butthere resemblance seemed to stop. 

Confused as I still was by the glory I gazed on, I began painfullycomparing the Nelly I remembered and the Helen I had found. My Helen wasnot quite so tall, but at twenty girls grow. She did not sway with theyielding grace of a young white birch; but she was slim and straight, andgirlish angles round easily to curves. Though I felt a subtle and wondrouschange, I could not trace or track the miracle. 

My Helen had blue-gray eyes; this Helen's eyes might, in some lights, beblue-gray; they seemed of as many tints as the sea. They were dark, luminous and velvet soft as they watched my struggle. A few minutesearlier they had been of extraordinary brilliancy. 

My Helen had soft brown hair, like and how unlike these fragrant locksthat lay in glinting waves with life and sparkle in every thread!

My Helen's face was expressive, piquantly irregular. The face into which Ilooked lured me at moments with a haunting resemblance; but the brow waslower and wider, the nose straighter, the mouth more subtly modelled. Itwas a face Greek in its perfection, brightened by western force andsoftened by some flitting touch of sensuousness and mysticism. 

My Helen blushed easily, but otherwise had little colour. This Helen had ababy's delicate skin, with rose-flushed cheeks and red, red lips. When shespoke or smiled, she seemed to glow with an inner radiance that hadnothing to do with colour. And, oh, how beautiful! How beautiful!

I don't know how long I gazed. 

I was trying to study the girl before me as if she had been merely afact--a statue, a picture. But here was none of the calm certainty of art;I was in the grip of a power, a living charm as mighty as elusive, no moreto be fixed in words than are the splendours of sunset. Yet I saw thevital harmonies of her figure, the grace of every exquisite curve--thefirm, strong line of her white throat, the gracious poise of her head, hersweeping lashes. 

I looked down at her hands; they were of marvellous shape and tint, but Imissed a little sickle-shaped scar from the joint of the left thumb. Iknew the story of that scar. I had seen the child Nelly run to her motherwhen the knife slipped while she was paring a piece of cocoanut for theSaturday pie-baking. That scar was part of Helen; I loved it. I felt asudden revolt against this goddess who usurped little Nelly's place, andsaid that she had changed. Why was she looking at me? What did she want?

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world, " said a choked voice thatI hardly recognised as my own. 

Instantly the joy light shone again from her face, bathing me in itssunshine, and the world was fair. She started forward impulsively, holdingout her hands. 

"Then it's true! Oh, it's true!" she cried. "How can I believe it? I--Nelly Winship--am I really--"

"Ah--you are Nelly! My Nelly!"

What happened is past telling!

With that jubilant outburst, as naive as a child's, she was my own loveagain, but dearer a thousand times. Would I have given her up if her hairwere blanched by pain or sorrow, her cheeks furrowed, her face grown palein illness? Need I look upon her coldly because she had become radiant, compellingly lovely? Why, she was enchanting!

And she was Helen. A miracle had been worked, but Helen's self was lookingat me out of that goddess-like face as unmistakably as from an unfamiliardress. It was seeing her in a marvellous new garb of flesh. 

"Oh, I'm so happy! I'm the happiest girl on earth; I'm--am I reallybeautiful?"

The rich, low, brooding, wondering voice was not Helen's, but in everysentence some note or inflection was as familiar as were her tricks ofmanner, her impulsive gestures. Yes, she was Helen; warm-breathing, flushed with joy of her own loveliness, her perfect womanhood--the girl Iadored, the loveliest thing alive!

I seized the hands she gave me; I drew her nearer. 

"Helen, " I cried, "you are indeed the most beautiful being God evercreated, and--last June you kissed me--"

"I didn't!"

"--Or I kissed you, which is the same thing--after the Commencementreception, by the maple trees, in front of the chapter house; and----"

"And thence in an east-southeasterly direction; with all the hereditamentsand appurtenances--Oh, you funny Old Preciseness!"

"And now I'm going to----" The words were brave, but there was somethingin the pose and poise of her--the wonder of her beauty, the majesty--perhaps the slightest withdrawal, the start of surprise--that awed me. Lamely enough the sentence ended:

"Helen, kiss me!" I begged, hoarsely. 

For just a fraction of a second she hesitated. Then the merriment ofcoquetry again sparkled in her smile. 

"Ah, but I'm afraid--" she mocked. 

Her eyes danced with mischief as she drew away from me. 

"I'm afraid of a man who's going to be a great city lawyer. And then--oh, listen!"

Hurried, ostentatiously heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. They stoppedat the door, and some one fumbled noisily at the knob. There was a stagecough, and Kitty plunged into the room, carefully unnoticing. 

"Such an idea for--a hippopotamus comic, " she panted; "a darling! Sentdrawings down--messenger--rushed back to sketch--"

Here she paused to take breath. 

"--lest I forget. "

Snatching off her gloves she resumed her place at the big table, and beganmaking wild strokes with a crayon on a great sheet of cardboard. 

"I just _had_ to do it, " said she apologetically over her shoulder;"but--don't mind me. "

CHAPTER III. 

THE HORNETS' NEST. 

It was dusk when I left Helen. My head was buzzing. 

Out of her presence what I had seen was unthinkable, unbelievable. I coulddo nothing but walk, walk--a man in a dream. 

I rushed ahead, jostling people in silly haste; I dawdled. I carefully setmy feet across the joinings of paving blocks; I zigzagged; I turnedcorners aimlessly. Once a policeman touched me as I blinked into theroaring torches of a street-repairing gang. Once I found myself onBrooklyn Bridge, looking down at big boats shaped like pumpkin seeds, withlights streaking from every window. Once I woke behind a noisy group underthe coloured lights of a Bowery museum. 

It rained, for horses were rubber-blanketed, and umbrellas dripped on meas I passed. I was hungry, for I smelled the coffee a sodden woman drankat the side of a night lunch wagon. But how could I believe myself awakeor sane?

Again and again I found my way back to the bench on Union Square, fromwhich I could gaze at Helen's window, now dark and forbidding. Across anopen space was a garish saloon. When the door swung open, I saw the towelshanging from the bar. Two men reeled across the street and sat down by me. 

"Oo-oo!" one gurgled. 

"Dan's goin' t' kill 'imself 'cause 'is wife's gone, " blubbered the other. "Tell 'm not ter, can't ye, matey? Tell 'im' t's 'nough fer one t' die!"

"Oo-oo!" bellowed Dan. 

I walked away in the darkness, but I felt better. Drunkenness was nomiracle: I was awake and sane, sane and awake in a homely world of sorrowand folly and love and mystery. 

I went to bed thinking of Cleopatra, "brow-bound with burning gold"; ofFair Rosamond; Vivien, who won Merlin's secret; of Lilith and strange, shining women--not one of them like the goddess the glory of whose smilehad dazzled me. At last I slept, late and heavily. 

Next morning I was again first at the office; and by daylight in thebustling city, things took a different complexion. I had gone to mysweetheart tired by a long journey, and I felt sure, or tried to feelsure, that my impressions of change in her were fantastic and exaggerated. 

Judge Baker, on his arrival, installed me in Hynes's room, behind thelibrary, between the corridor and one of the courts that light the inneroffices. In his own room, to the left, he detained me for some businesstalk, after which he said, carefully rubbing his glasses:

"I trust that you will not find yourself altogether a stranger in thecity. My wife will wish to see you, and my sister, Miss Baker, cherishespleasant recollections of your mother. I believe you are alreadyacquainted with Mrs. Baker's young cousin, Miss Winship. You know that, since graduation, she has come to New York for the purpose of pursuingpost-graduate studies in Barnard?"

"Yes. "

I drew a breath of relief. There was nothing in the Judge's manner to givesignificance to his mention of Helen. I must have deceived myself. 

"A most charming young lady. "

He glanced at the letters on his desk and methodically cut open anenvelope. Then he dropped the paper knife, raising his bushy brows, agesture that indicates his most genial humour, as he continued with morethan usual deliberateness:--

"You knew her, no doubt, as an intelligent student; you may be surprisedto learn that she has developed extraordinary--the word is not toostrong--extraordinary beauty. "

"Always a lovely girl, " I muttered. 

"From her childhood Nelly has been a favourite with me;" the Judge leanedback in his big chair, seeming to commit himself to an utterance; "but herattractions were rather those of mind and heart, I should have said, thanof personal appearance. The change to which I have alluded is more thanthe not uncommon budding of a plain girl into the evanescent beauty ofearly womanhood; it is the most remarkable thing that has ever come undermy observation. I am getting to be an elderly man, Burke, and I have beena respectful admirer of many, many fair women, but I have never seen agirl like Miss Winship; she is phenomenal. "

"You--you think so?"

It was true, then!

"I have ceased to think; I am nonplussed. Witchcraft, though not in theolder sense of the word, is still no doubt exercised by young ladies, andthere are certain improvement commissions that undertake, for a suitableconsideration, the--ah--redecoration of feminine architecture, or even thepartial restoration of human antiques. But this is a different matter. "

"I saw Miss Winship yesterday. "

"You will not then accuse me of overstatement?"

"She is indeed beautiful. "

The restraint with which I spoke evidently puzzled him. He continued tolook at me curiously, as he said slowly:--

"From a young man I should have expected more enthusiasm. At times Isuspect that the youth of today are less susceptible than were those oftwenty-five years ago. But this affair has perhaps occupied my thoughtsmore than otherwise it might, because Helen is in a measure my ward duringher stay in the East, and because of my daughters' affection--"

"Judge, I had supposed you aware of an engagement between Helen andmyself. "

"Ah, that accounts for much. To you, no doubt, she is little altered. Youreyes have seen the budding of that beauty which but now becomes visible tothose less partial. I believe Mrs. Baker did hint at something betweenyou, but it had escaped my mind. "

The Judge's bright eyes that contradict so pleasantly the heavy cast ofhis features began to twinkle. Little lines of geniality formed at theircorners and rayed out over his cheeks. He beamed kindliness, as hecontinued:--

"Accept my congratulations. A most excellent family. Mrs. Winship is Mrs. Baker's cousin. Ah, time flies; time flies! It seems but yesterday that mylittle girls were running about with Nelly, pigtailed, during their visitsin the West. "

"Does Mrs. Baker also think Nelly--changed?"

"Only on Tuesday my wife returned from nursing an ailing relative. She hasnot seen Helen in some time. I believe we are to have her with us atChristmas. We must have you also. But I cannot altogether admit that thechange is a matter of my opinion. It has been commented upon by mydaughters in terms of utmost emphasis. "

"She is the most beautiful woman in the world!"

"There we shall not disagree. To Nelly herself the riddle of nature thatwe seek to read is doubtless also a mystery, but one for whose unravelingshe is happy to wait. My daughters have a picture of her, taken at theage, possibly, of six, which gives inartistic prominence to 'GrandpaWinship's ears'--the left larger than the right. You know the familypeculiarity owned by the eldest child in each generation? The loss of thisinheritance may not be, to a young lady, matter for regret; but as a markof identification and descent, the Winship ears might have entitled her torank among the Revolutionary Daughters. However, she is a poor woman whohas not a club to spare. "

"Judge, how long is it since this--transformation took place? You speak ofit as recent. "

"Nelly comes to me, " said the Judge, "with--ah--natural punctuality formonthly remittances from her father. In November I was struck with thefact that New York agreed with her; yet even then I did not miss thefamily nose--a compromise of pug and Roman. But ten days ago, when I sawher last, I recognised her with difficulty. For more precise informationyou must ask my daughters. "

"Then it was only ten days ago that you saw anything wrong--?"

"Wrong! My dear young friend, if Nelly's case obtained publicity, wouldnot the world, which loves beauty, be divided between a howling New Yorkand a wilderness?"

The Judge glanced up at me, slipping his paper knife end over end throughhis fingers. 

"I have spoken of myself as nonplussed, " he said more seriously, "and Iam. I was never more so; but I see no occasion for anxiety. Since when hasit been thought necessary to call priest or physician because of a younglady's growing charm? Confronted by an ugly duckling, we must congratulatethe swan. "

"Judge, how much money does one need to marry on in New York?"

"All that a man has; all that he can get; often more. But--ah--is thequestion imminent? Nelly is in school; you have come out of the West, as Iunderstand it, to attack New York. Conquer it, Sir; conquer New Yorkbefore you speak of marriage to a New York woman. "

"Helen is not a New York woman. "

"We naturalize them at the docks and stations. "

"But you--" I repressed a movement of impatience. "Didn't you marryyoung?"

"Mrs. Baker and I began our married life in one room; cooked over the gasjet, in tin pails. And if little Nelly is the equal of other women of herfamily--but that is practice versus principle, my young friend; practiceversus principle. "

He turned again to his letters, and I understood that the interview wasclosed. 

Right after lunch I started for Barnard. Helen has written so much aboutthe college that as soon as I struck the Boulevard I knew the solid brickbuilding with its trimmings of stone fasces. I turned into the cloisteredcourt on One Hundred and Nineteenth Street and paused a minute, looking upat its Ionic porticoes and high window lettered "Millbank Hall. "

Then I entered, and a page, small, meek and blue-uniformed, trotted aheadof me through a beautiful hall, white with marble columns and mosaics, sumptuous with golden ceiling, dazzling with light and green with palms, to the curtained entrance of a dainty reception room. 

"Stop a minute, Mercury, " I said as he turned to leave; "where is MissWinship?"

He reappeared from an office beyond, replying:--

"Biol'gy lab'r'tory. What name?"

Instead of waiting until Nelly could be summoned, I followed the mildlydisapproving boy up a great, white stairway, past groups of girls, some inbright silk waists and some in college gowns. Even in the farthest cornerremote from the hubbub, a musical echo blent of gay talk and laughterfilled the air; a light body of sound that the walls held and gave out asa continuous murmur. 

A second time piping, "What name, Sir?" Mercury opened the door of a largeroom with many windows. At the far corner my eyes sought out Helen inconversation with a keen-eyed, weazened little man, at sight of whom theboy took to his heels. 

Three women besides Helen were in the room, bunched at a table that ranalong two sides under the windows. They wore big checked aprons, and oneof them squinted into her microscope under a fur cap. Wide-mouthed jars, empty or holding dirty water, stood on other tables ranged up and down themiddle of the room, and there was a litter of porcelain-lined trays, testtubes, pipettes, glass stirring-rods and racks for microscope slides. 

Against the wall to the left were cabinets with sliding doors, showingretorts, apparatus, bottles of drugs, jars of specimens and large, coloured models of flowers and of the lower marine forms. Against theright hand wall were sinks, an incubator and, beyond, a door leading intoa drug closet. There was the usual laboratory smell, in which thepenetrating fume of alcohol, the smokiness of creosote and carbolic acid, the pungency of oil of clove and the aroma of Canada balsam struggled forthe mastery. 

In her college gown Helen looked more like herself than the day before andless so, the familiar dress accentuating every difference. Against theflowing black her loveliness shone fair and delicate as a cameo, I thoughtof the Princess Ida, Liker to the inhabitantOf some far planet close upon the sunThan our man's earth; such eyes were in her head, And so much grace and power--Lived through her to the tips of her long handsAnd to her feet. 

She had not noticed my entrance, but as I stepped forward, she turned, andI was again lost in wonder at her marvellous grace. Her beauty seemed aharmony so vitally perfect that the sight of it was a joy approachingpain. 

I had not been mistaken! She was the rarest thing in human form on thisearth. I was awed and frightened anew at her perfection. 

"Why, how did you find your way out here?" she asked with girlishdirectness. "I'm not quite ready to go; I must finish my sections forProf. Darmstetter. "

The Professor--I had guessed his identity--joined us, glancing at meinquisitively. His spare figure seemed restless as a squirrel's, butaround the pupils of his eyes appeared the faint, white rim of age. 

"You are friendt of Mees Veensheep?" he asked. "Looks she not vell? NewYork has agreed vit' her; not so?"

At my awkward, guarded assent, I thought that something of the samesurprise Judge Baker had voiced at my moderation flitted over the oldman's face. 

"I find you kvite right; kvite right, " he said, "New York has done MeesVeensheep goot; she looks fery vell. "

He whisked into the drug closet, and Helen seated herself before amicroscope next that of the fur-capped woman. 

"Do you care for slides?" she said. "I'll get another microscope and whileI draw you may look at any on my rack. But be careful; most of the thingsare only temporarily mounted--just in glycerine. Here is the sweetestlongitudinal section of the tentacle of an _Actinia_, and here--lookat these lovely transverse sections of the plumule of a pea; you can seethe primary groups of spiral vessels. They've taken the carmine stainwonderfully! But my work is not advanced; I wish you could see that of theother girls. "

"I mustn't interfere with your task; I'll look about until you are ready. "

Her shining head was already bent over the microscope; her pencil wasmoving, glad to respond to the touch of that lovely hand. 

I picked up a book, the same little volume I had noticed the day before, on "Imbedding, Sectioning and Staining. " Near it lay a treatise onhistology. I opened to the first chapter, on "Protoplasm and the Cell, "but I couldn't fix my thoughts on _Bathybius_ or the _Protomoeba_. I walked toward an aquarium, flanking which stood a jar half-filledwith water in which floated what seemed a big cup-shaped flowerof bright brown jelly with waving petals of white and rose colour. 

While I looked, thinking only of the curve of Helen's lips and the dancinglight in her eyes, and the glowing colour of her soft flesh, Prof. Darmstetter's thin, high-pitched voice grated almost at my ear. 

"T'at is _Actinia_--sea anemone. "

"I come from the West; I have never seen the sea forms living, " I answeredwith an effort, fearing that he meant to show me about the laboratory. 

"It is fery goot sea anemone; fery strong, fery perfect; a goot organism. "

He bent over the jar, rubbing his hands. His parchment face crackled withan almost tender complacency. For a full minute he seemed to gloat overthe flower-like animal. 

"Very pretty, " I said, carelessly. 

"Fery pretty, you call it? T'e prettiness is t'e sign of t'e gootness, t'estrengt', t'e perfection. You know t'at?"

To his challenging question, in which I saw the manner of a teacher withhis pupils, I replied:

"In your estimation goodness and beauty go together?"

"T'ey are t'e same; how not? See t'is way. "

He shook his lean, reproving forefinger at a shapeless, melting mass thatlay at the bottom of a second jar, exuding an ooze of viscid strings. 

"T'at, "--he spat the word out--"is also sea anemone. It is diseased; it isan ugly animal. "

"The poor thing's dying, " said Helen, coming to his side. "There ought tohave been some of the green seaweed, Ulva, in the water. Wouldn't thathave saved it?"

"Ugliness, "--Darmstetter disregarded the question--"is disease; it is batorganism; t'e von makes t'e ot'er. T'e ugly plant or animal is diseased, or else it is botched, inferior plant or animal. It is t'e same vit' manand voman; t'ey are animals. T'e ugly man or voman is veak, diseased orinferior. On t'e ot'er hand, "--I felt what was coming by the sudden oilingof his squeak--"t'e goot man or voman, t'e goot human organism, mus' hafbeauty. Not so?" Again he rubbed his hands. 

Helen glanced mischievously at me, as a half-repressed snort interruptedhis dissertation. 

The woman in the fur cap, who might have been a teacher improving oddhours, had knocked up the barrel of her microscope; she gazed through thewindow at the dazzling Hudson. Next her a thin, sallow girl, whose darkcomplexion contrasted almost weirdly with her yellow hair, slashed at acake of paraffine, her deep-set eyes emitting a spark at every fall of therazor. The other student, a young woman with the heavy figure of middleage, went steadily on, dropping paraffine shavings into some fluid in awatch crystal. With a long-handled pin she fished out minute somethingsleft by the dissolving substance, dropping these upon other crystals--someholding coloured fluids--and finally upon glass slides. She worked as iffor dear life, but every quiver of her back told that she was listening. 

"You agree vit' me?"

"It seems reasonable; the subject is one that you have deeply studied. "

"Ach so! T'e perfect organism must haf t'e perfect beauty. T'e vorld hasnefer seen a perfectly beautiful man or voman. Vat vould it say to von, t'ink you? But perfection, you vill tell me, is far to seek, " he went on, without waiting for a reply. "Yet people haf learned t'at many diseasesare crimes. By-and-by, we may teach t'em t'at bat organism is t'e vorst ofcrimes; beautiful organism t'e first duty. V'at do you say?"

The fur-capped girl pushed back her chair. 

"Prof. Darmstetter, " she said, "will you be good enough to look at mysections?"

"He's stirred up the hornets' nest, " whispered Helen. "But come; perhapsthey will show us. Those girls are so clever; they're sure to havesomething interesting. "

CHAPTER IV. 

THE GODDESS AND THE MOB. 

As we descended the stairway and passed groups of students in front of thebulletin boards in the hall, Helen said:--

"I am afraid you shouldn't have called for me. It isn't usual here. "

"We'll introduce the custom. How could I help coming--after yesterday?Helen--"

"Have you seen Grant's tomb?" she inquired hastily. "It's just beyond thecollege buildings, hidden by them. You mustn't miss it, after coming sofar. "

We had issued on the Boulevard, and a few steps brought us in view of thestately white shrine on Claremont Heights. But I looked instead at herbrilliant face against the velvety background of black hat and featherboa. 

The sun's rays, striking across the river, played hide-and-seek in hershimmering hair, warming it to gold and touching the rose of her cheeks toa clear radiance. Her eyes were scintillant with changing, flashinglights. 

"Well?" she challenged at last, half daring, half afraid. "You know meto-day?"

"You are a sun goddess. Helen, what does it mean?"

"New York agrees vit' me, " Her laugh was irresistible--low and sweet, alaugh that made the glad day brighter. "How not? It is vun fine largecity. "

We laughed together to the memory of _Actinia_. 

"I am a goot organism. T'e bat organisms vish to scratch me; but t'ey arenot so fery bat. In time ve may teach t'em gootness. "

"If Darmstetter doesn't think you a perfect organism, he must be hard tosatisfy. He's a peculiar organism himself. Has he true loves among sandstars or jelly fish, or does he confine his affections to sea anemones?"

"Prof. Darmstetter is a great biologist. It's a shame he has to teach. Don't you think such a man should be free to devote himself to originalwork? He might in England, you know, if he were a fellow of a University. But we're proud of him at Barnard; and the laboratory--oh, it's the mostfascinating place!"

We came slowly down the Boulevard, looking out at the sweep of the Hudson, while she talked of her studies and her college mates, trying, I thought, to keep me from other topics. 

I scarcely noticed her words; her voice was in my ears, fresh and musical. The new grace of her shining head and wondrous, swaying figure, the beautyand spirit of her carriage, filled my consciousness. A schooner with adeck load of wood drifted with the tide, her sails flapping; I saw her ina blur. When I turned from the sheen of the river, the bicyclists whizzingpast left streaks of light. A man cutting brush in a vacant lot leaned onhis axe to look after us. The sudden stopping of his "chop, chop"--he toowas staring at the vision of beauty before his eyes--brought me out of myrevery. 

"Nelly, " I said, "your father will expect a letter from me. What shall Isay?"

"Tell him I am studying hard and like the city. "

"But about us--about you and me?"

"Must we talk of that here--on the street?"

She spoke almost pleadingly, with the same soft clouding of her lovelinessthat I had seen the day before?

"But I must speak, " I said. "You were right yesterday, I won't askanything of you until I have made a start; but I must know that you stilllove me; that will be enough. I can wait. I won't hurry you. That is all, Helen. Everything shall be as you wish; but--you do love me?"

"Oh, you great tease! Why, I suppose I do; but--so much has happened, Idon't know myself now; you didn't know me when you first saw me here. Whycan't you wait and--don't you hope New York vill agree vit' you?"

She laughed with tantalizing roguery. "You _do_ love me!" I cried. "And we shall be so happy with all our dreams come true--happy to betogether and here! If you knew how I have looked forward to coming, andnow--yesterday I thought myself insane, but I wasn't! You are the mostmarvellous--"

"Am I? Oh, I'm glad! So glad!"

I was confused, overjoyed at her sudden sparkle; the soft, flashing lightof her was fire and dew. She made visible nature sympathize with hermoods. The sky smiled and was pensive with her. 

"But see, " she cried with another of her bewildering changes; "we're atColumbia. "

We had left the Boulevard, and were approaching the white-domed library. 

"Look at the inscription, " Helen said, as students carrying notebooksbegan to pass us. "'KING'S COLLEGE FOUNDED UNDER GEORGE II. ' Doesn't thatseem old after the State University? Ours, I mean. "

Our inspection was brief. Before the open admiration of the students Helenseemed, like a poising creature of air and sunshine, fairly to take wingfor flight. 

"Tell me about yourself, " she commanded, when we were beyond the flightsof terraced steps. "You are really in Judge Baker's office? You--you_won't_ say anything more?"

"You--darling! You have almost said you love me; do you know that? Well, I'll be considerate. I will work and I will wait and I will believe--no, I'll be certain that some day a woman more beautiful than the Greeksimagined when they dreamed of goddesses who loved mortal men will come tome and, because it is true, will quite say 'I love you. ' But I may notalways be patient; for you do. After all, you are Nelly!"

I was almost faint with love of her and wonder; I adored her the more forthe earnestness with which she lifted her flushed, smiling, innocent faceto say:

"But tell me about the office, _please_. You wouldn't want me tosay--would you, if I wasn't sure? Isn't the Judge the most delightful man?So--not pompous, you know; but so good. Don't you like Judge Baker?"

"I love you! Oh, yes, the Judge says, 'if we are confronted with an uglyduckling we must congratulate the swan. ' Were you ever an ugly duckling?I'm sure you love me, Helen. "

"Did he say that? Well, even when I last saw him why that was nearly twoweeks ago--I--oh, I was an ugly duckling!"

We laughed like children. In the sunshine of her joy-lit eyes I forgot themiracle of it, forgot everything except that I had reached New York andNelly, and that the world was beautiful when she looked upon it. 

We came down from Cathedral Heights; and as we boarded a train on theelevated, eyes peered around newspapers. An old gentleman wiped hisglasses and readjusted them, his lips forming the words, "mostextraordinary, " and again, "most extraordinary!" A thin, transparent-looking woman followed the direction of his glance and querulously touchedhis elbow. Two slender girls looked and whispered. 

I thought at first that city folks had no manners, but presently began towonder that Helen escaped so easily. She had drawn down a scrap of a veilthat scarcely obscured her glow and colour and, as the train gatheredheadway, our neighbours settled in their places almost as unconcernedly asif no marvel of beauty and youth were present. Indeed, most of them hadnever looked up. The two young girls continued to eye Helen with envy; andI was conscious of an absurd feeling of resentment that they were the onlyones. I wanted to get up and cry out: "Don't you people know that this carcontains a miracle?"

Why, when Helen lifted to her knee a child that tugged at the skirts ofthe stout German hausfrau in the next seat, the mother vouchsafed hardly aglance. 

"How old are you?" asked Helen. 

"Sechs yahre, " was the shy answer. 

"Such a big girl for six!"

"So grosse! So grosse!"

The little thing measured her height by touching her forehead. 

"Shump down, " admonished the mother stolidly, while Helen bent over thechild, wasting upon her the most wonderful smile of the everlasting years. 

"It was long ago, wasn't it, " Nelly asked, when the child had slid fromher lap, "that Uncle promised to take you into his office?"

"Yes, " I said. "When Father died, the Judge told me that when I hadpractised three years--long enough to admit me to the New York bar--he'dhave a place for me. It was because the three years were nearly up, youknow, that I dared last June to ask you--"

"You'd dare anything, " she interrupted hastily. "Remember how, when I wasa Freshman, you raced a theologue down the church aisle one Sunday nightafter service, and slammed the door from the outside? 'Miss Winship, ' yousaid--I had sat near the door and was already in the entry--'may I see youhome?'--"

"The theologue and the congregation didn't get out till you said yes, Iremember! They howled and hammered at the door in most unchristian rage?"

"I _had_ to say yes; why, I had to walk with you even when wequarrelled; it would have made talk for either of us to be seen alone. "

She breathed a sigh that ended in rippling laughter. 

"You'll have to say yes again. "

But at that she changed the subject, and we talked about her work atBarnard until we left the train at Fourteenth Street, where we met theflood tide of Christmas surging into the shops and piling up against gailydecked show windows. 

Street hawkers jingled toy harnesses, shouted the prices of bright truckfor tree ornaments, and pushed through the crowd, offering holly andmistletoe. Circles formed around men exhibiting mechanical turtles orboxing monkeys. From a furry sledge above a shop door, Santa Claus bowedand gesticulated, shaking the lines above his prancing reindeer. I hadnever seen such a spectacle. 

"What a jam!" cried Helen, her cheeks flooded with colour. "Come, let'shurry!"

Indeed, as we threaded our way in and out among the throng, her beautymade an instant impression. 

"There she goes!"

"Where? Where? I don't see her. "

"There! The tall one, with the veil--walking with that jay!"

Not only did I hear such comments; I felt them. Yet even here there weremany who did not notice; and again I sensed that odd displeasure thatpeople could pass without seeing my darling. 

It was a relief to leave the neighbourhood of Sixth Avenue and cross tothe open space of Union Square. 

The east side of the little park was quiet. 

"All right?" I asked. 

"All right. "

Her breath came quickly as if she had been frightened. 

"But see, " she said a moment later, "there comes Kitty trundling herbicycle down Madison Avenue. You'd better come in, and be on your bestbehaviour; yesterday Kitty thought we were quarrelling. "

"Sorry I'm wanted only to vindicate--is it your character or mine thatwould stand clearing? And will you tell me----"

A little old Frenchman, with a wooden leg, who was singing the"Marseillaise" from door to door, approached, holding out his hat. 

"Merci, M'sieu', Madame, " he said, carelessly pocketing a nickel; then, ashe fairly caught sight of the face that Helen of old might have envied, hestarted back in amazement, slowly whispering:--

"Pardon! Mon dieu! Une Ange!"

We left him muttering and staring after us. 

"I'll really have to get a thicker veil, " said Helen hastily; "stuffything! I like to breathe and see. At first it was--oh, delightful to belooked at like that--or almost delightful; for if no had one noticed, howwas I to be sure that--that New York was agreeing vit' me? But now theybegin to----"

"Then New York hasn't always agreed vit' you? Aren't you going to tellme----"

"Oh, I've been well, " she interrupted, "ever since I came. But here'sKitty. Any adventures, Goldilocks?"

"A minute ago a tandem cuffed my back wheel, " said Miss Reid, coming up. "My heart jumped into my mouth and--and I'm nibbling little scallops outof it right now. "

And then we trooped upstairs together. 

CHAPTER V. 

A HIGH-CLASS CONCERT. 

I stayed for supper, over which Kitty's big Angora cat presided; Kittyherself, her red curls in disorder, whimsical, shrewd, dipping from jestto earnest, teased Helen and waited on her, wholly affectionate and, Iguessed, half afraid. 

The little den was cosy by the light of an open fire--for it seemed to beone function of the tall, pink-petticoated lamp to make much darknessvisible; and Nelly was almost like the Nelly I had known, with her eagertalk of home folks and familiar scenes. 

She asked about my mother's illness and death that had held me so long inthe West, and her great eyes grew dim and soft with tears, and she lookedat me like a Goddess grieving; until, sweet as was her sympathy, I forcedmyself to speak of other topics. And then we grew merry again, talking ofcollege mates and the days when I first knew her, when I was a Sophomoreteaching in Hannibal and she was my best scholar--only twelve years old, but she spelled down all the big, husky boys. 

"I didn't know what I was doing, did I, " I said, "when your father used tosay: 'Bright gal, ain't she? I never see the beat of Helen Lizy;' and Iwould tell him you ought to go to the State University?"

"Think of it!" cried Helen. "If I hadn't gone to college, I shouldn't havecome to New York, and, oh, if--but how you must have worked, teaching anddoubling college and law school! Why, you were already through two yearsof law when I entered, only three years later. "

"Well, it's been easy enough since, even with tutoring and shorthanding;six lawyers to every case--"

"Wasn't tutoring Helen your main occupation?" asked Kitty Reidaudaciously. "I have somehow inferred that--"

But there was a sound of hurrying feet on the stairs, and she sprang tothe door, crying:--

"Cadge and Pros. ! They said they were coming. "

On the threshold appeared a lank girl with shining black hair and quick, keen, good-humoured eyes. 

"Howdy?" she asked with brisk cordiality; "angel children, hope I see youwell. "

In her wake was a tall, quiet-looking young man with a reddish-brownbeard. 

"Salute; salaam, " he said; "all serene, Kitty? And you, Miss Winship?"

Then as the two became accustomed to the light, I saw what I had nervouslyexpected. There was a little start, an odd moment of embarrassment. Theygazed at Helen with quick wonder at her loveliness, then turned away tohide their surprise. 

It was as if in the few days since they had seen her--for the new comerswere Kitty's brother and the Miss Bryant of whom everyone speaks as"Cadge"--Helen's beauty had so blossomed that at fresh sight of her theystruggled with incredulous amazement almost as a stranger might have done. 

Talking rapidly to mask embarrassment, they joined us round the fire, Reiddropped a slouch hat and an overcoat that seemed all pockets bulging withpapers, while Miss Bryant and Kitty began a rapid fire of talk about"copy, " "cuts, " "the black, " "the colour" and other mysteries. 

"Wish you could have got me a proof of the animal page, " said Kittyfinally; "if they hurry the etching again, before my poor dear littlebears have been half an hour on the presses, they'll fill with ink andprint gray. I'll--I'll leave money in my will to prosecute photo-engravers. "

"Oh, don't fret, " said Miss Bryant. "Magazine'll look well this week. BigTom's the greatest Sunday editor that ever happened; and I've got in somegood stuff, too. "

"Of course your obbligato'll be all right, " Kitty sighed; "but--oh, thoseetchers and----Yes, Big Tom'll do; I never see him fretting the ArtDepartment, like the editor before last, to sketch a one-column earthquakecurdling a cup of cream. "

"How _could_ anybody do that?" cried Helen. 

"Just what the artist said. "

Miss Bryant looked slightly older than Helen; in spite of her brusque, careless sentences, I suspected that she was a girl of some knowledge, vast energy and strength of will. And suspicion grew to certainty that sheand Reid were lovers. 

I might have read it in his tone when in the course of the evening heasked her to sing. 

"Then give me a baton, " she responded, springing to her feet. 

Rolling up a newspaper and seizing a bit of charcoal from the drawingtable, she beat time with both hands, launching suddenly into an air whichshe rendered with dramatic expression as rare as her abandon. 

"Applaud! Applaud!" she cried, clapping her own hands at the end of abrilliant passage, her colourless, irregular face alive with enthusiasm, her black eyes snapping. "If you don't applaud, how do you expect me tosing? _Vos plaudite!_"

"I'll applaud when you've surely stopped, " said Kitty Reid demurely; "butbefore we begin an evening of grand opera, I want you to hear thePrincess. Helen, you know you promised. "

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Helen, colouring at the title, "I can't sing beforeCadge; but if you like, I'll play for you. See if I'm not improving in mytremolo. "

Helen did not sing in the old days, so that I was not surprised at herrefusal. Taking her mandolin, she tinkled an air that I have often heardher play, but neither I nor any one else had ears for it, so absorbed wasthe sense of sight. 

Her long lashes swept her cheeks as she bent forward in the firelight, hervivid colouring subdued by the soft, playing glow to an elusive charm. Atone moment, as the flames flickered into stronger life, her beauty seemedto grow fuller and to have an oriental softness and warmth; the next, thelight would die away, and in the cooler, grayer, fainter radiance, herperfect grace of classic outline made her seem a statue--Galatea justcoming to life, more beautiful than the daughters of men, her greatloveliness delicately spiritualized. 

If I were a beautiful woman, I'd learn to play a mandolin. 

"Sing, Helen, " begged Kitty in a whisper. 

In a voice that began tremulously, low and faltering, and slowly gainedcourage, she sang the ballad she had been playing. It was easy to see thatshe was not a musician; but, as she forgot her listeners, we forgoteverything but her. 

Miss Bryant put down the compasses and scale rule she had been restlesslyfingering, and her keen eyes softened and dilated. Kitty dropped on thefloor at Helen's feet; the hush in the room was breathless. Reid sat inthe dark, still as a statue; I clenched my hands and held silence. 

The words were as simple as the air. But the voice, so clear, so sweet, sojoyous, like Helen's own loveliness--to hear it was an ecstasy. We werelistening to the rarest notes that ever had fallen on human ears--unlessthe tale of the sirens be history. 

As the last note died, the fire leaped, dropped and left us in dusk andsilence. Kitty buried her face against Helen's dress. My heart waspounding until in my own ears it sounded like an anvil chorus. I don'tknow whether I was very happy or very miserable. I would have died to hearthat voice again. It is the truth!

With a sudden sob and a sniffing that told of tears unashamed, Miss Bryantfound frivolous words to veil our emotion. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, " she quavered, "this is a high-class concert; threedollars each for tickets, please. Helen, you don't know how to sing, but--don't learn! Come Pros. "--the big drops ran down her cheeks; "I've got tolook up a story in the morning. "

"Wait a minute, " said Reid, his long, delicately shaped fingers trembling. "Let me recover on something. "

Picking up Kitty's banjo, he smote the strings uncertainly and half sang, half declaimed:--

"'With my Hya! Heeya! Heeya! Hullah! Haul!Oh, the green that thunders aft along the deck!Are you sick of towns and men? You must sign and sail again, For it's Johnny Bowlegs, pack your kit and trek!'

"By Jove! Kipling's right; nothing like a banjo, is there? Now then, YoungPerson, I'm with you. Good night; good night!"

While his voice was still echoing down the stairway, Miss Bryant camerunning up again. 

"Say, got a photograph of yourself, Helen?" she asked. 

She had apparently quite recovered from her emotion, and her toneexpressed an odd mixture of business and affection. 

"I believe if I showed Big Tom a picture of you, " she explained, "he'd runa story--there's your science, you know, and your music--on the Societypage, maybe. "

"But I haven't any picture; at least, any that you'd want--only a fewtaken months ago, for my father. "

"Show me those; why won't they do?"

"Oh, they aren't good; they--they don't look like me. Besides, I reallycouldn't let you print my picture, Cadge. "

"All right. Good night, then; good night, Kitty. "

"Perhaps I was just the least bit homesick; I'm glad you've come, " Helensaid to me at good-by. 

She did not withdraw the hand I pressed. She was still under theexcitement of the music; the song had left on her face a dreamytenderness. 

"Don't you like Cadge?" she asked, checking with shy evasiveness the wordsI would have spoken. "She can do anything--sing, talk modern Greek andChinese--Cadge is wonderful. "

"I know some one more wonderful. Helen, when did you begin to sing?"

"I don't sing; to-night was the first time I ever tried before any one butKitty. Did I sing well?"

"I can't believe you're real! I can't--"

"Don't! Don't!" she laughed. "Remember your promise. "

And with that she ran away from the door where I stood, and I camedirectly home. Home, to set down these notes; to wonder; to doubt; topinch myself and try to believe that I am alive. 

I am alive. This that I have written is the truth! This is what I haveseen and heard since a common, puffing railroad train brought me from theWest and set me down in the land of miracles. 

It is the truth; but out of that magic presence I cannot--I am aspowerless to believe as I am powerless to doubt. 

God help me--it is the truth!

BOOK II. 

THE BIRTH OF THE BUTTERFLY. 

(_From the Autobiography of Helen Winship_. )

CHAPTER I

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL MOMENT

No. 2 Union Square, December 14. 

I am the most beautiful woman in the world!

I feel like a daughter of the gods. Bewildered, amazed, at timesincredulous of my good fortune--but happy, happy, happy!

There is no joy in heaven or earth like the joy of being beautiful--incomparably beautiful! It's such a never-ending surprise and delight thatI come out of my musings with a start, a dozen times a day, and shudder tothink: "What if it were only a dream!"

Happy? I have no faith in the old wives' fables that we are most miserablewhen we get what we want. It isn't true that the weak and poor are to beenvied beyond the powerful. Ask the fortunate if they would change! Iwouldn't; not for the Klondike?

I'm so happy! I want to take into my confidence the whole world of women. I want them to know how the gift was gained that they are some day toshare. I want them to know that there are still good fairies in the world;and how I was fated to meet one, how he waved his wand over me and how myimperfections fled. Every woman will read the story of my life with raptattention because of the Secret. I shall tell that last of all. Now it'smy own. 

Is it true that I have longed for beauty more passionately than mostwomen; or is it only that I know myself, not the others? I can rememberthe time, away back, when the longing began--when I was----

Incredible! Was I ever an ugly little girl, careless of my appearance, happiest in a torn and dirty dress; and homely, homely, homely? Oh, miracle! The miracle!

They say all girls begin life thus heedless of beauty; but none get faralong the road before they meet the need of it. So it was with me; and nowI love to recall every pitiful detail of the beginning of the Quest ofBeauty, the funny little tragedy of childhood that changed the current ofmy life--and of your lives, all you women who read. 

It was one day after school, in the old life that has closed forever--after the prairie school, dull, sordid, uninspiring, away in the West--that a playmate, Billy Reynolds, was testing upon me his powers ofteasing. I remember the grin of pleasure in his cruelty that wrinkled hisround, red face when at last he found the dart that stung. His words--ah, they are no dream! They were the awakening, the prelude of to-day. 

"Janey's prettier'n what you be, " he said; and of a sudden I knew that itwas true, and felt that the knowledge nearly broke my heart. 

But could there be any doubt of the proper reply?

"Huh!" I said, shrugging my lean shoulders. "I don't care!"

The day before it would have been true, but that day it was a lie. I didcare; the brave words blistered my throat, sudden tears burned myeyeballs, and to hide them I turned my back upon my tormentor. 

It was not that I was jealous. I cared no more for Billy than for a dozenother playmates. It was just the fact that hurt. I was homely! Not thatthe idea was new to me, either. Dear me, no! Why, from my earliest years Ihad been accustomed to think of myself as plain, and had not cared. Myearliest recollection, almost, is of two women who one day talked about mein my presence, not thinking that I would understand. 

"Ain't she humbly?" said one. 

"Dretful! It's a pity. Looks means so much more to a gal. "

"But she's smart. "

By these words--you can see that I was young--I was exalted, not castdown. And for five years, remembering them, I had been proud of being"smart. " But now, in the moment of revelation, the law of sex was laidupon me, and the thought failed to bring its accustomed comfort. Smart?Perhaps. But--homely!

With feet as light as my heart was heavy because of Billy's taunt, I flewhome and ran up to my room. I had there a tiny mirror, about two-thirds ofwhich had fallen from its frame. I may before that day have taken in itbrief, uncritical glimpses at my face, but they had not led to self-analysis. Now, with beating heart and solemn earnestness, I balanced achair against the door--there was no lock--and looked long and unlovinglyat my reflected image. 

I saw many freckles, a nose too small, ears too big, honest eyes, hairwhich was an undecided brown; in short, an ordinary wind-blown littleprairie girl. Perhaps I was not so ill-looking, nor Janey so pretty, asBilly affected to think, but no such comforting conclusion then came tome. Sorrow fronted me in the glass. 

The broken mirror gave no hint of my figure, but I know that I was leanand angular, with long legs forever thrusting themselves below the hem ofmy dress; the kind of girl for whose growth careful mothers provide skirtswith tucks that can be let out to keep pace with their increasing stature. 

Yes, I was homely! I could not dispute the evidence of the bit of shiveredglass. 

My heart was swelling with grief as I slowly went down stairs, where mymother was getting supper for the hired men. I think it must have beenearly spring, for prairie schools need not expect boy pupils in seedingtime; I know that the door was open and the weather warm. 

"Ma, " I said as I entered the dining room, "will I ever be pretty?"

"Sakes alive! What _will_ the child think of next?"

"But will I, Ma?"

"'Han'some is as han'some does, ' you know, Nelly, " my mother responded, asshe set on the table two big plates piled high with slices of bread. Thenshe went into the buttery and brought out a loaf of temperance cake, aplate of doughnuts and a great dish of butter. 

"Oh, come now, Ma; please tell me, " I wheedled, not content with aproverb. 

"Why, Nelly, I don't know; the' ain't nobody does know. I was well-favoured at your age, but your pa wan't much on looks. But Pa had a sisterwho was reel good-lookin', an' some says you've got her eyes. Maybe you'lltake after her. But land! You can't never tell. I've seen some of theprettiest babies grow up peaked and pindlin' an' plain as a potato;whilst, on the other hand, reel homely children sometimes come up an' fillout rosy-cheeked an' bright-eyed as you please. There was my half-sisterRachel, now, eight years younger'n me. I remember well how folks said shewas the homeliest baby they ever see; an' she grew up homely, too, just alean critter with big eyes an' tousled hair; but she got to be reel pretty'fore she died. Then there's my own Cousin Francie, she that marriedTim'thy Baker an' went to New York to live. She's a bright, nice-lookin'woman, almost han'some; an' her little girls are, too; about your age theybe. An'--"

I suppose the lonely prairie life had made Ma fond of talking, withoutmuch regard for her audience. Often have I heard her for an hour at a timesteadily whispering away to herself. Now she had forgotten her onlyauditor, a wide-eyed little girl, and was fairly launched upon monologue, the subject answering as well as another her imperious need. 

"Which of Pa's sisters, Ma?" I asked, interrupting. 

"W'ich of his sisters--w'at? Wat you talkin' 'bout now?"

"Which is the good-looking one?"

"Oh, your Aunt Em'ly, o' course. Nobody ain't ever accused S'renie orKeren-Happuch o' bein' sinfully beautiful, fur's I know. "

My Aunt Em'ly was invested for me with a new interest. Perhaps some day Imight take after her and grow equally well-favoured. I did not rememberhaving noticed that she was beautiful, and resolved to study her at thefirst opportunity. 

CHAPTER II. 

A SUNDAY-SCHOOL LESSON. 

Going to church was a good old New England custom that in our family hadborne transplanting to the West. Sunday was almost the pleasantest day inthe week to me--not elbowing school-less Saturday from its throne; not ofcourse even comparing with the bliss of Friday just after school, buteasily surpassing the procession of four dull, dreaded, droning days theogre Monday led. 

The beauty and fragrance of the summer Sabbath began in the early morning, when I went out into the garden, before putting on my Sunday frock, andpicked a quantity of the old-fashioned flowers that grew there. I arrangedthem in two flat bouquets, with tall gladiolus stalks behind and smallergrowths ranging down in front so that they might see and be seen, peepingover each other's heads, when placed against the wall in church. 

Then after the great toilet-making of the week we were off. The drive overthe prairie in the democrat wagon behind our smartest pair of ploughhorses was a pleasure that never grew tame from repetition. Arriving atthe church, I would give my bouquets to the old stoop-shouldered sextonand watch him anxiously as he ambled down the aisle with them. Perhaps myflowers--yes, the very flowers that I had dashed the dew from thatmorning--would be placed on the pulpit itself, not on the table below, noryet about the gallery where sat the choir. Then indeed I felt honoured. But wherever they might be, I could watch them all through the services, perhaps catch their fragrance from some favouring breeze, and feel thatthey were own folks from home. 

Even sermon time did not seem long. After I had noted the text to preparefor catechism at home, I was free to dream as I chose until the rustle ofrelief at the close of the speaking. And the droning of bees and buzzingof flies, or the sudden clamour of a hen somewhere near would comefloating in through the open window, and the odour of the flowers and thetwigs of the "ellum" tree tapping at the pane helped to make the littlechurch a haven of restfulness. 

But on the Sunday following my awakening I had no care for sounds outside, no eyes for my bouquets, though they stood at either hand of the pulpit; Igot permission to sit in Aunt Keren's pew, where I could see Aunt Em'ly'sface; and all through the sermon I studied it with big, round eyes. 

Yes, and with sorrow growing leaden in my heart. 

For I was not old enough to see in her face what it had been, nor toappreciate the fine profile that remained. Hers was not the pink-and-whiteof rosy girlhood, the only beauty I could understand; and wherein hertoil-set features differed from those of the other drudging farmers' wivesor the shut-in women of the little village, I could not see. 

A lump rose in my throat; this wrinkled and aging person was the beautifulwoman I might take after!

I'm afraid I returned from church that day without the consolations ofreligion. 

There followed an anxious time of experimenting. Some one had told me thatlemon juice would exorcise freckles, and surreptitiously I tried it. Howmy face smarted after the heroic treatment, and how red and inflamed itlooked! But then in a little while back came the freckles again and theystayed, too, until--but how they went, I am to tell you. 

I wheedled from mother the privilege of daily wearing my coral beads--theones my cousins Milly and Ethel Baker had sent me from New York--and hadan angry fit of crying when one day, while we children were racing for theschoolhouse door at the end of recess, the string broke and they werenearly all trampled upon before I could pick them up. 

Youth is buoyant. Next I begged the sheet lead linings of tea chests fromthe man who kept the general store, and cut them into little strips that Ifolded into hair-curlers, covering them with paper so that the edgesshould not cut. I would go to sleep at night with my short, dampened hairtwisted around these contrivances, and in the morning comb it out andadmire it as it stood about my head in a bushy mass, like the Circassiangirl's at the circus. 

Thus beautified, I happened one day to meet our white-headed old pastor!How he stared!

"Stand still a minute, Nelly, child, and let's look at you, " he commanded. "Why, what have you been doing to yourself?"

The good man's accent wasn't admiring; sadly I realised the failure of myattempt to compel beauty. When I reached home I sternly soaked the curlout of my hair, brushed it flat and braided it into two exceedingly tightpig-tails. Ah, me! It's easy--afterwards--to laugh at the silent sorrowsof childhood, bravely endured alone. At least, it's easy for me, now!

I began to worry Ma about my clothes. I grew ashamed of red-and-black, pin-checked woollen frocks, and sighed for prettier things. One of thegirls wore at a Sunday school concert a gray and blue dress with manysmall ruffles, that seemed to me as elegant as a duchess could want. Thechildren whispered that it had cost $20, and I wondered if I should everagain see raiment so wonderful. I knew that it was useless to ask for sucha dress for myself; I should be told that I was not old enough for finefeathers. 

It was our Sabbath day custom to pass directly from the church services tothose of Sunday school, and drive home after these. One stormy day I wasthe only scholar in my class, and when we had finished the Bible LessonLeaflets and I was watching the long rows of bobbing heads, flaxen anddark, in the pews full of restless, wriggling children, I turned to theteacher with a question that I had long been meditating. 

"Miss Coleman, " I began desperately, "ain't there any way to get pretty?"

"I wish there were a way and I knew it, " she responded with a smile. "Butyou should say 'isn't, ' you know. "

"Oh, but you are pretty, " I cried, not with the intent of compliment, butas merely stating a fact. 

I do not now think that it was a fact. Miss Coleman's features wereirregular, her nose prominent, her forehead too high; but she had a fair, pure complexion and fine eyes, and somehow reminded me of the calla lillythat Ma was always fussing about in our sitting room. 

And she was good and wise. I have often thought how different my lifemight have been if her orbit had not briefly threaded mine. If I had askedthat question of some simpering girl a few years older than I--the averageSunday school teacher--she would have replied, from under the flower-burdened hat that had cost her so much thought, that all flesh was grassand beauty vain; and I should have known that she didn't believe it. 

"For that matter, " said Miss Coleman, after a little pause in which sheseemed considering her words with more than usual care, "there are ways ofgrowing beautiful; and, so far as she can, it is a woman's duty to seekthem; would you like to know how?"

A duty to be beautiful! Here was novel doctrine. 

I gazed with eyes and mouth wide open as she continued: "For one with goodlungs and a sound body, the first law of beauty is to be healthy; andhealth is not just luck. To get it and keep it seek constant exercise inthe open air. Middle-aged women lose their looks because they stay in tooconstantly; when they were girls and played out-of-doors they had roses intheir cheeks. Most handsome women of sixty are those who go among peopleand keep their interest in what is going on. 

"And the second law is intelligence. For thinking gives the eyesexpression. A foolish girl may be fair and rosy, yet far from beautiful. Many of the world's famous beauties have suffered serious blemishes; butthey have all had wit or spirit to give their faces charm. You haveplanted flowers?"

"I guess so; yes'm. " I didn't see the connection. 

"You know then that if you kept digging them to see if they had sprouted, they never would sprout. So it is not well to think too much about growthin beauty. Don't be impatient. It is a work of years. But the method iscertain, within limits. I should think that by exercise for the body andstudy for the mind you might easily become a beautiful woman. Anotherthing; don't slouch. "

I sat up straight as a grenadier, my shoulders absurdly stiff. 

"No, nevermind your shoulders, " said Miss Coleman, smiling; "they'll takecare of themselves if you keep your head right. Practise sitting andstanding erect. And never wear a corset. If the Almighty had meant womanto be corset-shaped, He'd have made her so. "

The superintendent's bell, tinkling for the closing hymn, and the rustleof the leaves of singing books broke in upon our talk; for the first timeI failed to welcome the interruption. 

"Why, I've delivered quite a lecture upon beauty, " Miss Coleman said. "Nowjust a word more. Try to remember that by making yourself a good and wisewoman you will also make yourself more beautiful. "

"Oh, I'll remember; I will!" I cried. 

And I have done so! Every word! And if Miss Coleman could only see me now!How could I forget?

I was silent all the way home. At the dinner table, as my father wastucking his napkin under his chin, he said: "Well, Nelly, w'at was Mr. Stoddard's text?"

"I--I guess it was something about the children of Israel. "

"Yes, prob'ly it was something about 'em, " Pa assented with a chuckle. 

But Ma spoke more sharply: "I guess you won't get let to set in AuntKeren-Happuch's pew again right away, Helen 'Lizy. " For before my lesson Ihad once more been studying Aunt Em'ly's face. 

I didn't mind the prohibition the least bit. I had a new idea and a newhope. The idea was exaggerated, the hope vain. --Was vain? Ah, it has beenmore than realised, as you shall hear; realised in a way that amazes methe more, the more I think upon it. Realised as yours shall be, some day, through me!

Realised! Great Heavens! It is a miracle!

CHAPTER III. 

THE QUEST OF KNOWLEDGE. 

Our district schoolhouse was a shadeless, unpainted box. Within, whittleddesks, staring windows and broken plastering made it a fit prison for theboys, whose rough ways were proof of the refining influence of their dailyintercourse with the hired men. I wonder such places are tolerated. What acontrast to Barnard's white and gold!

John Burke was our teacher the following winter. He was only seventeenthen, but already tall and well grown, in appearance quite a man. He was astudent working his way to an education, and his example was a help to me. For I no longer hated lessons. Miss Coleman's talk had filled me with suchzeal for knowledge that I became, before the term was over, the phenomenonof the school. Mr. Burke boarded at our house and he would bring homeshining tales of my prowess, and often I would listen open-mouthed as wesat about the table at night and he told stories of the State Universityand the students and the merry life they led. 

Every one was amazed at my industry. I played as heartily as I worked, butI studied with a will, too, and passed a score of mates. That was easyenough, for home study was never dreamed of by most of them, and leisurehours in school were passed in marking "tit-tat-to" upon slates or eatingapples under the friendly shelter of the desks. 

At the end of the term I received a prize--a highly coloured print of"Washington Crossing the Delaware, " which Pa and Ma used long after tobring out and exhibit with pride. It is still somewhere in the old house--hung up in Ma's bedroom, I think, along with the blue-and-tinseled crown, marked "Charity" in gilt letters across the front, which I wore in theexciting dialogue of "Faith, Hope and Charity" at a Sunday schoolexhibition. 

But more than any prize I valued the help and friendship of John Burke andthe consciousness that he considered me his most promising pupil. Upborneby new ideals, I resolved to study through the vacation that followed, andto my surprise this was not an infliction but a pleasure, now that I wasmy own task-mistress. 

Next term the "girl teacher"--for economy's sake we had them in summerwhen there were no big boys to thrash--was astonished at my industry andwisdom, and as I could see, a little afraid of them. At the end of thefirst week I went home bursting with an idea that in secret I had longcherished. Aunt Keren was at tea, I remember, and the talk fell upon mywork in school, giving me my opportunity. 

"Who'd a thought a mischeevious little tyke like her would ha' turned outa first-rate learner, after all?" queried Auntie, beaming upon me good-naturedly from behind her gold-bowed spectacles. "I al'ays tol' ye, Ezry, ye'd be proud o' her some day. "

"I guess Sue Arkwright's a famous good teacher; that's one thing, " saidMa, amiably. "Sis never done near so well before; at least, not till lastterm. "

"I never thought Sue was anythin' remarkable, " Pa broke in. "How is that, Sis? Is she a good teacher?"

"No, she ain't, " I responded, with quickened beating of the heart. Criticism of teachers was admissible in my code of ethics, butjustification must follow; there must be proof--or reproof. 

"What's that?" said Pa, looking at me curiously. "Ever ketch her in amistake?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"Bring the book. "

I ran and fetched a well-thumbed book from the sewing machine and turnedto the definitions of familiar foreign words. 

"There, " said I, spreading the speller flat on the table and pointing withmy finger. "French word for 'Mister. ' Teacher called it 'Monshure, ' justas they all do. But that's wrong. To-day I showed her how it is. See, thebook says it's pronounced 'm-o-s-s-e-r' and that little mark means anaccent on the last syllable and it's 'long e. ' 'Mosseer' is right. Butwhen I showed it to teacher, she looked at it awhile, and then shewrinkled up her eye-brows, and whispered it once or twice and said: 'Oh, yes; "mosser. "' And she made us call it 'mosser' all the rest of the day, too, " I ended triumphantly. 

"Why, o' course that ain't right; 'mosser' ain't it!" volunteered one ofthe hired men, who had lingered to hear the discussion. "I've heerd thatword a thousan' times; right way seems like 'M'shoo. ' Shucks! Can't get mytongue 'round it, nohow. "

"Yes, I know", said Pa "you go call Frenchy. "

Joe Lavigne, summoned from the barn, came, followed by all the rest, curious to see what was wanted--a rough, kindly gang of men in blueoveralls and big, clumping boots. 

"Joe, " said Pa; "you say 'Mister' in French. "

"Ya-a-as, M'sieu' Weensheep, so I call heem: M'sieu'; M'sieu'; M'sieu'. "

Very carefully Frenchy pronounced the clipped word. 

"That's all, Joe; I s'pose book French is a good deal diff'rent fromord'nary Kanuck. 'Mosseer' is right anyhow, for the book says so. Teacherhad ought to know enough to go by the book, I sh' think. "

"Tain't her fault, Pa, " I said, relenting. "She never went to any goodschool. I want to go somewhere where the teachers know a real lot; notjust a little bit more than me. I want to go"--I paused to gain courage--"I want to go to the University, like--like Mr. Burke. "

"The State University!" Pa repeated, in a tone of awe; "Thunder! Don'tbelieve we could manage that, Sis. "

"W'y, yes, y'can, too, Ezry, " Aunt Keren argued, "seems to me you'reforehanded enough, to do for an only child. 'Tain't 's if you was like me'n' Ab. , with our four chunies. "

"She'd have to go to an academy first to get fitten for it, " said Ma. "Shecouldn't go to the Univers'ty for three or four years yet. "

"Of course not, " I answered; "but you might write to Mr. Burke to send mea catalogue to find out how much I'd have to know to get taken in. Then Icould study at home till I got pretty near ready, and then take a year atthe Academy. "

The words flowed easily, eagerly; I had so often gone over the plan. 

"Good idee, " said Pa, nodding his head, relieved to find that I wasn'tseeking to leave home at once; and so it was arranged. 

Isn't it wonderful? Plain and bald and homely the house, unpretending thesurroundings, simple and primitive the life, that sent forth the world'sfirst beautiful woman, the Woman of the Secret! I have tried to set it alldown exactly as it happened--the quaint, old-fashioned dialect, the homelyways, the bearded, booted men. For this place, just as it was, was thebirthplace of the new glory; out of this homely simplicity dawned the newera of beauty that is to make the whole world glad. 

A catalogue was sent for, books were bought and I set to work unaided, though Mr. Stoddard took an interest in my studies and often helped me outof difficulties. I chose the classical course, undeterred by parentaldemonstrations of the "plum uselessness" of Latin and Greek; I had for thechoice no better reason than that it was more difficult. I no longer wentto the little red schoolhouse. 

All this time I had almost forgotten Billy, to whom I owed such a debt ofgratitude for sending me upon the Quest. Once I met him on the road. 

"Ain't ye never comin' to school no more?" he queried. 

"No, I am never going again; I am preparing for the State University; Ishall take a classical course, " I answered with hauteur, looking down uponhim as I spoke. Only that morning Ma had let out another tuck in my gown. 

"I'm aw'fly sorry, " Billy murmured with a foolish, embarrassed grin. "Guess I'll walk along of ye, if ye don't care. "

My triumph found me cold. The sting of Billy's words yet rankled, andperhaps I was not so grateful to the little wretch as he deserved. It wasabout a quarter of a mile to our house; we walked the distance in unbrokensilence. Once there, Billy rallied. 

"Good-by, Miss Winship, " he said, holding open the gate for me. It was thefirst time that any one had addressed me by that grown-up title. 

"Good-by, Billy. "

And that was the end of the beginning of the Quest. 

In blizzard time and through the fierce heat of summer I toiled at self-set tasks in our ugly, comfortable home. During the blessed intervals whenwe could induce "girl help" to stay with us I had scarcely any houseworkto do. Fairly regular exercise came to be a habit and I worried admiringrelatives into thinking me a candidate for an early grave by taking a coldbath every morning. In the end I managed, with a single year in acheerless boarding house near a village academy, where I studied greedily, devouring my books, to enter the State University with a scholarship to mycredit. 

I took half the examination in Spring and read extra Virgil and Ovid allsummer. Then in August, when the long vacation was nearly over, came thevillage dressmaker. Ma had promised me two new dresses, and I would sithemming towels or poring over Greek and Roman history while they turnedthe leaves of fashion magazines and discussed materials and trimmings. 

I secretly hoped for a silk, but Mother, to whom I suppose I am even now--now!--a little girl, vetoed that as too showy, and the dressmaker addedher plea for good, durable things. The choice fell upon a golf suiting forschool and a black cashmere for church. 

I begged hard to have the cashmere touch the ground, but both women smiledat the folly of the child who forgot the many re-bindings a long skirtwould call for. There was a comic side to my disappointment, for I guessedthat the widow Trask could not make the designs I coveted, nor anything ofwhich she could not buy a paper pattern. 

But when I went up to the University and became entitled to join in thecry:--

S!----U!We're----a----few!S!----T!----A--T--E!U!----ni----ver--si--tee!Wow!----Wow!----Wow!

--I found that I compared favourably enough with my mates. Dress playedlittle part in every day college life, and for such occasions as socialsor Friday night debating society I soon learned from upper class girls tomitigate ugly gowns with pretty ribbons. And I congratulated myself uponthe fact that I was not by any means the plainest girl in my class. Myface was hopeless, but my hard-won fight for an erect posture had given mea bearing that seemed almost distinguished. And--well, even my face wasn'tso bad, I thought then!

We were a jolly set; most of us poor as church mice, and caring little. Making rather a boast of it, indeed. John Burke's roommate, Jim Reeder, cooked his own meals--mostly oatmeal--in his room and lived on less than adollar a week until fairly starved. I suppose they'll call him "old Hoss"to his dying day. Until his mother moved to town, John was almost as ill-fed. He was just completing his law course when I was a Freshman, and usedto make brave jests at poverty, even after his admission to the bar. 

Of course I was glad to meet him again, and, though I was puzzled just atfirst, to see how little older than I my former teacher was, yetafterwards--why, I haven't answered his last--I don't know how manyletters; I simply must remember to write to him!

I think the best part of the teaching wasn't in the books. Some of thestudents were queer and uncouth when they came, the boys eating with theirknives in the fashion of the farm; some of the brightest girls in ill-fitting clothes--perfect guys they'd be thought in the city. But therewere others of quite different manner, and from them and from professorswho had seen the world, we learned a little--a very little--of its ways. And perhaps we were not unfavourable specimens of young republicanism, with our merry, hopeful outlook upon life, and our future governors andsenators all in the raw--yes, and our countesses and vice-reines!

CHAPTER IV

GIRL BACHELOR AND BIOLOGIST

Merrily flew the years and almost before I realised it came graduation. Inthe leafy dark of the village street, in the calm of a perfect June night, John Burke told me that he loved me, and I plighted my troth to him. 

We laid plans as we bade each other good-by, to meet again--perhaps--inNew York in the fall; and even that little separation seemed so long. Wedid not guess that the weeks would grow to months, and--oh, dear, whatwill he think of me when he gets here? And what--now--shall I say to him?

Father for the first time visited college to see me graduate. Between hispride in my standing at the head of my class and his discomfort in astarched collar, he was a prey to conflicting emotions all Commencementweek, and heaved a great sigh of relief when at last the train that boreus home pulled out of the station. But as we approached our own he againgrew uneasy, and kept peering out at the car window as if on the watch forsomething. 

At length we descended in front of the long yellow box we called the"deepo. " And there was Joe Lavigne to meet us, not with the democratwagon, but with a very new and shiny top buggy. 

When we reached the farmhouse, I saw proofs of a loving conspiracy. Theaddition of a broad veranda and a big bay window, with the softeningeffect of the young trees that had grown up all around the place, made itlook much more homelike than the bare box that had sheltered my childhood. A new hammock swung between two of the trees. 

Mother met me at the door with more emotion than I had ever beforedetected upon her thin face. Then I saw that the dear people had been atwork within the house as well. Cosey corners and modern wall paper andfittings such as I had seen at the professors' houses and had described athome to auditors apparently slightly interested, had been remembered andtreasured up and here attempted, to make my homecoming a festivity. Thehouse had been transformed, and if not always in the best of taste, loveshone through the blunders. 

"Oh, Father, " I cried, "now I am surprised! How much wheat it must havecost!"

"Well, I guess we can stand it, " he said, grimly pleased and proud andanxious all at once. "We wanted to make it kind o' pleasant for ye, Sis;an'--an' homelike. "

There was something so soft and tremulous in his voice that it struck mewith a great pang of contrition that I had left him for so many years, that already I was eager to go away again--to the great city where Johnwas soon to be. 

I turned quickly away and went from room to room admiring the changes, butafter supper, when we were all gathered about the sitting room table, Father returned to the subject most upon his mind. He had seen me withJohn during Commencement week, and must have understood matters. 

"Ready t' stay hum now, I s'pose, ain't ye?" he asked with a note in hisvoice of cheery assurance that perhaps he did not feel, tilting back andforth in his old-fashioned rocking chair, as I had so often seen him do, with closed eyes and open mouth, his face steeled against expression. Andthe slow jog, jog, jog of the chair reminded me how his silent eveningvigils had worn away the rockers until they stood flat upon the floor, making every movement a clacking complaint. 

To-night--to-night, he is rocking just the same, in silence, inloneliness. Poor, dear Pa!

"I'm glad to get home, of course, " I said; "but--I wanted to speak withyou. But not to-night. "

"Why, ye're through school. "

"Yes, but I--I wish I could go on studying; if I may. "

The words tripped over each other in my embarrassment. 

The jog, jog of the chair paused suddenly, leaving for a moment only theticking of the clock to break the silence. 

"Not goin' to put up 'ith us an' stay right alon', eh?" he asked; androcked twice, then stopped again, in suspense for the answer. 

"Why, Father, " I stammered, "of course I don't want to do anything unlessyou're willing, but I had thought I'd like--I did want to go and study inthe city--I think--or somewhere. "

"Dear me! Dear me!" he mused, his voice very low and even; "an' you justthrough the University; 'way up to the top, too. Can't ye--seems as if yebetter stop alon' of us an' study home, same's you used to? Mebbe--mebbe'twon't be good for ye, studyin' so much. "

"Of course I can, you dear old Dad, " I cried; and horribly guilty I feltas I looked at the kindly, weather-beaten face. "I shall do just whateveryou say. But oh, I wish I _could go to the city_! Don't you supposeI could?"

"Chicago, mebbe?"

"I had thought of a post-graduate course in Barnard College--that's in NewYork, you know. "

Father knew John's plans. I blushed hotly. In the pause that followed Iknew that he was thinking of a well-thumbed map in my old schoolgeography; of the long, long journey to Chicago, and the thousand wearymiles that stretched beyond. Hastily I went on:--

"But I know how you have saved for me and worked for me and pinched; andI'd be ashamed to be a burden upon you any longer; I can teach to getmoney to go on with. "

"No;" said Pa, sitting up straight and striking the arm of the chair withhis clenched fist a blow that gave some hint of the excitement that movedhim. "Guess a child o' mine don't need to teach an' get all dragged out, alon' of a passel o' wild children! No, no, Helen 'Lizy;" he added moresoftly, sinking back into the old attitude and once more closing his eyes;"if the's so much more to learn, an' you want to go ahead an' learn it, just you go an' get it done with. I'm right sorry to have ye go so furaway; I did think--but it's nat'ral, child; it's nat'ral. I s'pose JohnBurke's goin' to the city, too, and you kinder--I s'pose young folks likesto be together. "

"I--I--we have talked of it. "

Talked about it! John and I had talked of nothing else for a week. I satvery still, my eyes on the carpet. 

"Guess John Burke'll have all he cares to do for one while, gittin'started in the law office, 'thout runnin' round with Nelly, " said Ma. "Yeseem bent on spoilin' the child, Ezry. Al'ays the same way, ever sin'she's a little girl. "

Her lips were compressed, the outward symbol of a life of silent hours andself restraint. 

"There, there, Ma, " said Father, jogging his chair again. "Don't ye worryno more 'bout that. What's ourn is hern in the long run, an' she may aswell have some of it now when she wants it, an' it'll do her some good. Is'pose Frank Baker--she that's your mother's cousin an' married Tim'thyBaker an's gone to New York to live--I s'pose she might look after you;but it's a long way off, New York--seems like a dretful long way off. Whatye goin' to learn, Sis, if ye should go t' the city?"

"Well, I was good in chemistry; Prof. Meade advised me--I might studymedicine; I don't know. And I want to know more about books and picturesand the things that people talk about, out in the world, though I canhardly call that a study, I suppose. "

The words somehow disappointed me when uttered. They didn't soundconvincing. Such pursuits seemed less serious, there in the old farm-housethat spoke of so much painful toil, than when John and I had discussedthem on the sunny campus. 

"I--I don't know yet, just what to do; there's all summer to plan; but Iwant--somehow--to make the very most and the best of myself, " I addedearnestly. 

It was true, and the nearest I could come to the exact truth; that loveurged me yet more eagerly upon the Quest, and that with all my heart Ilonged to become a wise and brilliant woman, for John's sake, and as astep towards beauty, according to Miss Coleman's words. 

"I don't hold with women bein' doctors, " said Ma, as she energeticallyknitted into the middle of her needle before looking up. "I don't knowwhat we're comin' to, these days. "

"There, there, Ma, I don't know why women shouldn't be doctors, if theywant to. They make better nusses'n men. Mebbe--mebbe Sis'll be gettin'married some day, an' I tell ye a little doctorin' know-how is mightyhandy in a house. A doctor an' a lawyer, now, would be a gret team, rightin the fambly, like. Well, Sis, we'll see; we'll see. "

I knew that the matter was practically settled; and there was little sleepfor me, or for any one, that night in the old farm-house. 

I stayed at home until September, and then one morning Father drove meagain to the little yellow station whose door opens wide upon all theworld. 

"Well, good-by, Helen 'Lizy, " he said. 

"Good-by, Father. "

For weeks I had been eager to be off, but as the train began to move and Ilooked back at his patient figure--he made no more show of his deepemotion than if the parting were for a day--a big lump rose in my throatat leaving him and Ma--old before their time with toil and privation andplanning and striving for me. 

I knew how lonely it would be in the sitting room that night without me. Father with closed eyes jogging away in his chair, Mother bolt upright andthin and prim, forever at her knitting or sewing; no sound but the chairand the ticking clock upon the shelf--that night and every night. And theearly bedtime and the early morning and the long, long day--what acontrast to this!

I pressed my face against the window, but a rush of tears blurred all thedear, familiar landmarks--Barzillai Foote's red barn, the grain elevatorat the siding, the Hartsville road trailing off over the prairie; I wouldhave given worlds to be in the top buggy again, moving homeward, insteadof going swiftly out, out, alone, into the world. Three months ago! I didnot dream what miracles were in store!

And so one day I reached the New York I had dreamed about. It wasn't as ashrine of learning that it appealed to me, altogether; but as a wonderfulplace, beautiful, glittering, feverish with motion, abounding with gayety, thronged with people, bubbling with life. 

How it fascinated me!

Just at first of course I was lonely because John had not yet come, andMrs. Baker, mother's cousin, was away from home. But I soon made friendswith my cousins, Ethel and Milly; shy, nice girls, twins and preciselyalike, except, that Ethel is slightly lame. And at my boarding place Imade the acquaintance of an art student from Cincinnati three or fouryears older than I, who proposed that we should become girl bachelors andlive in a studio. 

"But I didn't know people ever lived in studios, " I objected. 

"Oh, you dear goose!" said Kathryn Reid--it's really her name, though ofcourse I call her Kitty--"Live in studios? Bless you, child, everybodydoes it. And I know a beyewtiful studio that we can have cheap, becausewe're such superior young persons; also because it's ever so many storiesup and no elevator. Can you cook a little? Can you wash dishes, or notmind if they're not washed? You got the blessed bump of disorder? You goodat don't care? Then live with me and be my love. You've no idea the moneyyou'll save. "

That's just the way Kitty talks. You can't induce her to be serious forthree minutes at a time--I suppose it's the artistic temperament. Butshe's shrewd; studio life _is_ better than the kind of boarding housewe escaped from. And so jolly! Kitty has more chums than I, of course. Herbrother, Prosper K. , and Caroline Bryant--"Cadge, " for short--a queer girlwho does newspaper work and sings like an angel, are the ones I see most. Though for that matter the city's full of girls from the country, earningor partly earning their living. One will be studying music, another art;one "boning" at medicine, another selling stories to the newspapers andliving in hope of one day writing a great American play or novel. Suchnice girls--so brave and jolly. 

My new home is in a building on Union Square. And I like it--the place, the people, the glimpse of the wintry Square, the roaring city life undermy window. I'm sure I don't want a quiet room. It's such fun, just likeplaying house, to be by ourselves and independent of all the world. Ithink it's an intoxicating thing, just at first, for a girl to be reallyindependent. Boys think nothing of it; it's what they've been brought upto expect. 

Well, I tore myself away from the dear place to get at my work. I reallymean to work hard and justify Father's sacrifices. I tried to take singinglessons, because John is so fond of music, but there I made a dismalfailure; I had, three months ago, neither ear nor voice. The day beforethe fall semester opened, I climbed the long hill to Barnard College, fellin love with its gleaming white and gold, so different from the StateUniversity, and arranged for a course in biology. Then I began physicalculture in a gymnasium. 

I couldn't have made a queerer or a better combination. For it was in theBarnard laboratory that I met Prof. Darmstetter; and it was my bearing, myunending practice of the West Point setting-up drill, my Delsarte, my"harmonic poise" and evident health that drew his attention to me. 

How well I remember the day I made his acquaintance! I had entered thelaboratory without knowing what manner of man he was, for all myarrangements about my course had been made with clerks. So it was withgenuine surprise that I turned from an inspection of the apparatus toanswer when a squeaking voice at my elbow suddenly saluted me:--

"Mees Veenship, not so?"

The owner of the voice was a little old fellow, whose dry, weazened facegave no hint of his years. I guessed that he was probably seventy, thoughhe might as easily be much younger. His skin was parchment-coloured andcross-hatched by a thousand wrinkles and the hair under his skull-cap wasas white as snow, but he was as bright of eye and brisk of manner as ayouth of twenty. 

"Yes, sir, " I replied rather awkwardly; "I am Miss Winship. "

"V'at for you study biology?" was his surprising query, uttered in a tonebetween a squeak, a snarl, and a grunt. 

"Because I wish to learn, " I replied, after a moment's hesitation. 

"No, mine vriendt, " he snapped, "you do not vish to learn. You carenot'ing for science. You are romantic, you grope, you change, you areunformed. In a vord, you are a voman. You haf industry--mine Gott, yes!--and you vill learn of me because I am a man and because you haf not'ingbetter to do. And by-and-by behold Prince Charming--and you vill meet andmarry and forget science. V'at for I vaste my time vit' you? Eh? I do notknow any voman who becomes a great scientist. Not so? T'ose young vomen, t'ey vaste t'eir time and t'ey vaste mine. "

I followed his gesture and saw two or three nice-looking girls in bigchecked aprons amiably grinning at me. One of them by a solemn winkconveyed the hint that such hazing of new arrivals was not unusual. 

"You're paid to waste your time on me, " I answered hotly. "I'm here towork and to listen to you; my plans are my own affair, and if I neverbecome a great scientist, I don't see what difference that makes to you. "

The meekest looking girl gasped, wide eyed at my temerity. But Prof. Darmstetter's shrewd little eyes twinkled with reassuring good-nature. 

"Vell, vell, ve shall see, " said he, wagging his head; "maybe I find someuse for you. I vatch you. Maybe I find for you some use t'at you don'texpect, eh? Ve shall see. "

So he walked away, shrugging his shoulders and snapping his fingers andmuttering to himself: "Ve shall see; we shall see. " And at timesthroughout the session he chuckled as if he had heard of an excellentjoke. 

"Good gracious!" I whispered to one of the aproned girls that had watchedthe encounter--students like myself--"that's an encouraging reception, isn't it?"

"It is, " she gravely replied. "We're all jealous of you. You are evidentlydestined to become Prof. Darmstetter's favourite pupil. I know I criedhalf the night at the way he greeted me. We were all watching you and yougot off easy. Brought an apron? I can lend you one, if you didn't. It'spretty mussy here. "

"Thank you, " I said, "but really I can't get my mind off Prof. Darmstetter, all in a minute so. What sort of a man is he?"

"Oh, irritating sometimes, but a genius; I suppose his treatment of thegirls is a sample of his Early Teutonic ideas of civility. He likes betterto teach the Columbia boys--says their work in future years'll do him morecredit. But we get used to him and don't mind it, we who were here lastyear. And he's a great scientist; has a world-wide reputation. He almostlives in the laboratory, here and at Columbia; has no home life or friendsor relatives. And oh, it's such a privilege, " she said with a suddenchange of tone, a schoolmistressly manner, looking upon me more austerely, "to study under such a man. He is a Master. "

The Master! She little knew how true was the word! To-morrow, if hissecret and mine were known, the world would hail him as its lord. He wouldbe a greater man than has yet lived on the earth. Armies would fight forhis favour at the bidding of queens--to get what I have! And to think thatchance led me from two thousand miles away, straight to him. 

From the first he seemed to take an interest in my doings. He nevertroubled himself to be polite, but he watched me; always he watched me. Ioften saw him chuckling and rubbing his hands as if in approbation. But ofwhat? Not of my work, for of that he never took the slightest notice, except when I compelled him to do so by some question. 

Then, in quick-flung sentences, he would condense the results of alifetime of study into phrases filled with meaning, that seemed to castlight upon principles, not facts, and make wonderfully clear the verypurpose of Nature. Then indeed he almost forgot that we were women, andtalked with kindling enthusiasm of his pet subject. I ceased to wonderthat he held such high rank in college. 

Under such conditions I made rapid progress. I thoroughly enjoyed thework, though I was not absorbed in it, like most of my companions; but Iwas quick enough to keep pace with them and to make occasional shrewdsuggestions that pleased Prof. Darmstetter not half so much as some suddendisplay of spirit. He did not seem to care whether I became a student. Andalways he watched me, for what purpose I could not determine. 

My home life--if existence in a studio can be so called--was merry. I waslearning the ways of the world. I liked the life. I wrote to John almostevery day. The freedom of the den, the change from rote lessons to post-graduate work was pleasant. I was happy. 

Happy? I must have dreamed it. 

What I thought happiness was nothing to what I now know happiness can be. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE FINDING OF THE BACILLUS. 

If I have dwelt so long upon the laboratory and its master, it is becausethere the great blessing came that has glorified my whole existence. Thiswas the way of it. 

One day I asked Prof. Darmstetter some question about the preparation of amicroscopic slide from a bit of a frog's lung. 

"Vait!" he snapped, "I vill speak vit' you aftervards. "

The girls prophesied the terrible things that were to happen, as theylingered in the cloak room, waiting their turn on the threadbare spot inthe rug which a rich girl had bought to cover the threadbare spot in thecarpet in front of the mirror. "Now you'll catch it!" the last one said, as she carefully put her hat straight with both hands and ran out of theroom. 

When I returned to the laboratory Prof. Darmstetter motioned me to a chairand took one opposite, from which he fixed his keen eyes upon my face. Again he seemed weighing, judging, considering me with uncanny, impersonalscrutiny. 

"How I despise t'ose vomen!" he said at last, throwing up his hands withan impatient gesture. 

Used to his ways, I waited in silence. 

"I teach t'ose vomen, yes; but I despise t'em, " he added. 

"If you do, you ought to be ashamed of it, " I retorted hotly. "But I don'tbelieve you really despise them. Such a bright lot of girls--why, some ofthem are bound to be heard from in science some day!"

"In science? Bah!"

"Why not? There was Mary Somerville and--and--and Caroline Herschel and--well, I can't think of their names all in a minute, but I'm proud to beone of the girls here anyway. "

"You are not one of t'em, " he cried angrily. "T'ey are life failures. Youfancy t'ey are selected examples, but t'ey are not; t'ey are t'e rejected. T'ey stood in t'e market place and no man vanted t'em; or else t'ey arefools as vell as failures and sent t'e men avay. You know me. I ambiologist, not true? I hate t'e vord. I am physiologist, student of t'enature of life--all kinds of life, t'e ocean of life of v'ich man is but apetty incident. "

"You were speaking about--"

"Ach, so! Almost t'ou has t'e scientific mind t'at reasons and remembers. I said, I am physiologist. I study v'at Nature is, v'at she means to do. V'en Nature--Gott, if you vant a shorter name--makes a mistake, Gott says:'Poor material; spoiled in shaping, wrong in t'e vorks; all failures;t'row t'em avay. Ve haf plenty more to go on vit'. You know. You studyNature, also, a little. You know she is law, she is power. To t'eindifidual pitiless, she mofes vit' blind, discompassionate majesty ofermillions of mangled organisms to t'e greater glory of Pan, of Kosmos, oft'e Universe. She vastes life. And how not? Her best vork lives a littlev'ile and produces its kind, and t'e vorst does not, and t'ey go down t'edark vay toget'er and Nature neit'er veeps nor relents Kosmos is greatert'an t'e indifidual and a million years are short. 

"T'ose young vomen--Nature meant t'em to desire beauty and dream of lofe. Vat is lofe? It is Nature's machinery. T'ose vomen are old enough forlofe, but t'ey haf it not. So t'ey die. T'ey do not reproduce t'eir kind, not'ing lifing comes from t'em, to go on lifing, on and on, better andbetter--or vorse, as Nature planned--vit' efery generation. If a voman haft'e desire of lofe and of beauty, and lofe and beauty come not to her, t'en I pity her, because I am less vise and resolute to vit'hold pity t'anNature is. Efen if she haf not lofe, but only t'e ambition of power orlearning or vealt', I might pity her vit' equal injustice, but I cannot. She vill not let me. She does not know t'at she is a failure. She pridesherself upon being so mis-made. She cannot help t'at; neit'er can I helpdespising her. Such vomen are abnormal, monstrous, in a vord, failures. Let t'em die! You, I t'ink, are not so. You study to bide t'e time. Youhaf a fine carriage. You comb t'e hair, you haf pretty ribbons, you maket'e body strong and supple, you look in t'e glass and vish for morebeauty. Not so?"

"Of course I do, " I cried angrily, wondering for the moment if he had losthis senses. It seemed as if he knew little about women for a man whoprofessed to make all life his study. If there were one of his despisedgirls who lacked the desire of beauty and the dream of love, I am muchmistaken. But I came to see afterward that he understood them as well asmyself. 

"I t'ought so, " he mused, his eyes still upon my face. "And you are nottoo beautiful now; t'ey could not doubt. Yes; I vatch you, I study you. Seldom I make t'e mistake; but it is fery important. So I vatch you alittle v'ile longer yet. T'en I say to myelf: 'Here is t'e voman; yes, sheis found. '"

And he chuckled and rubbed his lean hands together as I had so often seenhim do. 

The thought flashed across my mind that this extraordinary man meditated aproposal of marriage, but I dismissed the notion as ridiculous. 

The Professor leaned forward and, fixing me with his eye, spoke in ahoarse whisper, tense with excitement:--

"Mees Veenship, I am a biologist; you are a voman, creature of Nature, yearning for perfection after your kind. I--I can gife it you. You cantrust me; I am ready. I can gif you your vish, t'e vish of efery normalvoman. Science--t'at is I--can make you t'e most beautiful being in t'evorld!"

Another Sunday school lesson! Miss Coleman and her unforgotten lectureupon beauty flashed upon my mind. But this man was promising me more thanshe had done, and his every word was measured. What was the mystery? Whathad he to say to me?

"T'e most beautiful--voman--in t'e vorld, " he went on in a slow, cadencedwhisper. "Do you vish it?"

His glittering eyes held mine again. No, he was not jesting at my expense;rather he seemed waiting with anxiety for me to make some decision uponwhich much depended. He was in very serious earnest. 

But was ever a question more absurd? Who of women would not wish it? Butto get the wish--ah, there's a different matter! I thought he must becrazed by over-study, and I could only sit and stare at him, open-mouthed. 

"Listen!" he went on more rapidly, as if to forestall objection. "You arescholar, too, a little. You know how Nature vorks, how men aid her in herbusiness. Man puts t'e mot'er of vinegar into sweet cider and it isvinegar. T'e fermenting germs of t'e brewery chemist go in vit' vater andhops and malt, and t'ere is beer. T'e bacilli of bread, t'e yeast, svarming vit millions of millions of little spores, go into t'ehousevife's dough, and it is bad bread; but t'at is not t'e fault of t'ebacilli--mein Gott, no!--for vit' t'e bacilli t'e baker makes goot bread. T'e bacilli of butter, of cheese--you haf studied t'em. T'e experimenterputs t'e germs of good butter into bad cream and it becomes goot. Itripens. It is educated, led in t'e right vay. Tradition vaits for years toripen vine and make it perfect. Science finds t'e bacillus of t'e perfectvine and puts it in t'e cask of fresh grape juice, and soon t'e vinedrinkers of t'e vorld svear it is t'e rare old vintage. T'e bacillus, inconceivably tiny, svarming vit' life, reproducing itself a billion fromone, t'at is Nature's tool. And t'e physiologist helps Nature. 

"See now, " continued Prof. Darmstetter. "I haf a vonderful discofery made. I must experiment vit' it--_experimentum in corpore vili!_Impossible, for the subject is mankind. I must haf a voman--a voman likeyou, healt'y, strong, young--all t'e conditions most favourable. She musthaf intelligence--t'at is you. She should know somet'ing of biology, andbe fery brave, so t'at she may not be frightened, but may understand howt'e vonderful gift is to come to her; and t'at is you. She should not bealready beautiful, lest t'e change be less convincing. Yes, you are t'evoman for t'e test. You may become more famous in history fan Cleopatra orNinon, and outshine t'em and all t'e ot'er beauties t'at efer lifed. Doyou vant triumphs? Here t'ey are. Riches? You shall command t'em. Fame?Power? I haf t'em for you. You shall be t'e first. Aftervard, v'en beautyis common as ugliness is now--ah, I do not know. Efen t'en it vill be ablessing. But to be t'e first is fame and all t'e ot'er t'ings I promiseyou. Now do you trust me? Now do you beliefe me? Vill you make t'eexperiment? I haf--let me tell you!--I haf discofered--"

Cautiously Prof. Darmstetter looked about the room. Then he leaned towardme again and added in a hoarse whisper:--

"I haf discofered t'e Bacillus of Beauty. "

CHAPTER VI. 

THE GREAT CHANGE. 

The Bacillus of Beauty! Was the poor man insane? Had much study made ofhim a monomaniac babbling in a dream of absurdities? Do you wonder that Idoubted?

And yet--the thought flashed through my mind that things almost as strangehave become the commonplace. I had seen the bones of my own hand throughthe veiling flesh. I had listened to a voice a thousand miles away. I hadseen insects cut in two, grafted together, head of one and tail ofanother, and living. I had seen many, many marvels which science haswrought along the lines of evolution. And yet--

My dream; my desire always! If it could be!

As I stared open-mouthed at the Professor, he began once more:--

"T'e danger, t'e risk--t'ere is none. You shall see. It is as harmlessas--"

"Never mind about that!" I interrupted. "How would I look? Would it changeme totally? Would I really be the most beautiful?--"

I stopped, blushing at my own eagerness. 

"Absolutely; I svear it. T'e most perfectly beautiful voman in t'e vorld. Mein Gott, yes. How not? Never vas t'ere yet a perfectly beautiful voman. Not von. All have defects; none fulfills t'e ideal. You? You vill looklike yourself. I do not miracles. T'e same soul vill look out of youreyes. You vill be perfect, but of your type. T'e same eyes, more bright;t'e same hair, more lustrous and abundant; t'e same complexion clear andpure; t'e same voman as she might have been if t'e race had gone ondefeloping a hundred t'ousand years. Look you. Some admire blondes; somebrunettes. You are not a Svede to be white, an Italian to be black. Youare a brown American. You shall be t'e most beautiful brown American t'atefer lifed. And you shall be first. Vit' you as an example we shallconvince t'e vorld. Ve shall accomplish in t'ree generations t'e vork of ahundred t'ousand years of defelopment. How vill humanity bless us if wecan raise, out of t'e slums and squalor, out of t'e crooked and blind anddegraded, out of t'e hospitals and prisons, t'e spawning dregs of humanityand make t'em perfect! T'ey shall valk t'e eart' like gods, rejoicing int'eir strengt'. No more failures, no more abnormalities. Nature's vorkhastened by science, aeons of veary vaiting and slow efolution forestalledby--by me!"

The little Professor stood erect, his eye fixed on mine, his miencommanding. I had never looked on man so transfigured. 

The thought was intoxicating me, driving me wild. I tried to think, tostruggle against the tide that was sweeping me away. He seemed to behypnotizing me with his grave, uncanny eye. I could not move, I could notspeak. 

"You may ask, " Darmstetter went on--though I had not thought of asking--"if t'e beauty vould be hereditable; if as an acquired characteristic, itvould pass to descendants, or, if each child vill not haf to be treatedanew. I believe no. It is true t'at acquired traits are not hereditable. T'ere Weissmann is right, v'atefer doubters may say. You know t'e t'eory. T'e blacksmit's muscles are not transmitted to his son t'e clerk; but t'eblack hair t'at he got from his fat'er. Only after fery many generationsof blacksmit's could a boy be born who vould grow up as a clerk vit'blacksmit' muscles. Efolution shapes t'e vorld, yes; but t'e process is soslow, so slow! So education, modification, must begin afresh vit' eachgeneration and continue forefer. But t'is bacillus does not add ornamentto t'e outside. It is not like t'e masseuse, vit' her unguents andkneading. It changes all t'e nature. It is like compressing a millionyears of education by natural selection into von lifetime. T'at is myt'eory. I do not know--it is not yet tried--but how ot'ervise? Ve buthasten t'e process, as t'e chemist hastens fermentation; Natureconstructs, she does not adapt or alter or modify. Ve produce beauty byNature's own met'od. V'y not hereditary?"

I had made up my mind. 

"I'll do it, " I cried, no longer able to resist, for the fever of it wasin my blood. "You shall make your attempt on me! It can do no harm. I donot see how it can accomplish all you claim, but if you think--it's anexperiment full of possibilities--in the interests of science--"

"Interest of humbug!" snapped Prof. Darmstetter, his own sarcastic selfagain. "You consent because you vant to be beautiful. You care not'ing forscience. I can trust you vit' my secret. You need svear no oat's not toreveal it. You vant to be t'e only perfect voman in t'e vorld, and so youshall be, for some time. T'at is right. T'at is your revard. "

My cheeks flushed at his injustice. I do care for others. I am notselfish--not more than everybody. And yet--at that moment I feared him andhis knowledge; I shuddered at nameless terrors. 

Really, I often wonder that I ever had the courage to try. And oh, I am soglad!

Now there is no more fear. Darmstetter is my servant, if I will it. As forhis marvellous power, I shall bless it and reverence it all my life. Ithank God for letting me know this man. It is too wonderful--too wonderfulfor words!

The transformation was slow at first. The beginning--such an anxious time. Every day I studied myself and watched and waited for the first sign ofgrowing grace, for the dawning glory. Sometimes I thought I could see thechange already under way, and then again the same plain Nelly Winshiplooked at me from the uncomplimentary glass, and away flew all my hopes. 

It was the fading of a little scar on my thumb that first let me know theblessed truth. Now I can scarcely see the place where it was, and I'm sureno one else would notice it. It will never go away entirely. Prof. Darmstetter says I am not proof against wounds and old age, because theseare a part of Nature's great plan. But it faded, faded!

And my ears! How I used to hate their prominence! But soon they snuggledcloser to my beautiful, beautiful face--and I'm in sure I don't blamethem. Every morning when I woke, my shining eyes and the bloom of mycheeks told me I was growing perfect, just as he said I must do. ThoughI'm not yet quite perfect. 

I could sit at my glass and look for hours at my reflected image--if itweren't for Kitty--and--

Why, it seems like another girl, and such a girl as never the world sawbefore--not me, but Her. Sometimes times I fear Her; but oftener andoftener, as I get used to the lovely vision, I want to hug Her right outof the cold mirror and kiss Her and pat Her smooth cheek like a child's, and put pretty clothes upon Her, as if she were a doll. 

And then I try to realise that Her is Me, my own self, and I just cannotbelieve it! I look from the reflected image to a little photograph of theHelen Winship I once knew, and back again to the glass, and wonder, andthank God, and shudder with awe of my own loveliness. I luxuriate in it, Ijoy in it, I feel it in every fibre of my being. I am as happy as a queen. I am a queen--or She is. 

I am but slightly taller. My form is more rounded and of better mould, butI am still slender. My face is the same face but--how can I express it? AVenus with the--the expression of a Western schoolgirl pursuing specialstudies in New York, looks at me with Her eyes. They are the eyes of HelenWinship, but larger and fuller orbed and more lustrous, with an appealthat makes me fall in love with myself, as I look. The nose is longer andstraighter, the cheeks fuller and fairer, the chin daintier, the neck--ah, well, why shouldn't I be frank? I am beautiful!

And the complexion--still so strange I do not say "my complexion"--clear, fair, rosy all in one, with the fineness and purity of a baby's; it is themost indescribable of all the marvels that glow in my glass. Before, I hadthe rather sallow, powder-excusing skin of so many Western girls. Now itis perfect. I love to gaze by the hour at my own beauty. I should berenamed Narcissa. 

My voice, too, is glorious. I have to school myself not to start at thesound of it when I speak. And most of all, what most impresses me when Itry to consider myself fairly--candidly--critically--is the appearance ofstrength, of health, of unbounded power and deathless youth--as if theblood of generations of athletic girls and free, Viking men ran in myveins. I am, I believe, the only perfectly healthy woman on earth. 

Will the gods smite me for my happiness? Are they jealous? Ah, well, Ihave never lived until now, and if I can stay a little while like this, Ishall be satisfied; I shall be ready to die. If only beauty does notvanish as suddenly as it came! If it did, I should kill myself. 

There are disadvantages. Such a time as I'm having with my clothes! Moneyto buy new is not so plenty as I could wish, though the $75 a month thatFather sends was more than enough until the change. I'm saving to buy amicroscope--a better one than those loaned to students at the laboratory;so I have to let out and contrive--I who so hate a needle!

And the staring admiration that is lavished on me everywhere! I supposeI'll get used to it; but it's a new experience. I like to be looked at, too, much as it embarrasses me. My loveliness is like a beautiful newdress; one is delighted to have it, but terribly shy about wearing it, atfirst. 

Admiration! Why, the mystified music master is ready to go down on hisknees to me, the janitor and the page boys are puzzled. I wonder--I wonderwhat John will say, I almost dread to think of his seeing me so; yet itwill be the greatest test. Test! I need none!

The girls in the laboratory are divided between awe and envy, and KittyReid--poor Kitty! She began by being puzzled, then grew panic stricken. 

The first time she noticed--I shall always remember it--was when I came infrom the college one day, still skeptical of change, yet hoping it mightbe so. 

"Why, you've a new way of doing your hair--no; same old pug--but somehow--you're looking uncommon fit to-day, " she said glancing up from herdrawings. 

My heart leaped for joy. It was true then! It was true! But rememberingMiss Coleman, I forced myself to reply as quietly as I could:--

"My genius must be beginning to sprout. "

A little later Kitty was in constant mystification. 

"How do you do it?" she would demand. "What have you got? Can't you let meinto the secret? I just think you might introduce me to the fairygodmother. "

If I were to tell any one, it would be Kitty, of course. Such a dearlittle red-headed angel she would make! But it would not be fair to Prof. Darmstetter. He is not ready yet. So I can only sham ignorance and jokewith her about milk baths and cold cream and rain water. Now that she hasreached the stage of fright, I have great fun with her. 

"The age of miracles has come again, " she says a hundred times a day. "Ican't believe my eyes! How is it that you are growing so beautiful? Is itwitchcraft?"

"Am I better looking?" I inquire languidly. "Well, I'm glad of it. I hadan aunt who was well-favoured when she was young; it's high time I tookafter her, if I'm ever going to. "

"No living aunt ever looked as you do now, " Kitty will mutter, shaking herhead. "I don't know what to think. I'm half afraid of you. "

To tell the truth, she's more than half afraid of me, and I delight inmystifying her all I can. 

But the strangest thing of all, the most ridiculous thing, considering hisage, the oddest thing when one remembers that he himself is its creator--Professor Darmstetter is half in love with the beauty he has made; hewould be, if he might, the gray and withered Pygmalion of my Galatea!

CHAPTER VII. 

THE COMING OF THE LOVER. 

December 15. 

Really, I don't know which is the more aggravating, John Burke or Kitty. Such a battle as I've had with them to-day!

I had quite stopped fretting over John's absence. Indeed, though of courseI wished to see him, I dreaded it; I was so happy, just as I was, and Ihad so many things to think about, so many dreams to dream and plans tomake. 

I liked John when he taught the little prairie school and praised me to mywondering relatives. All through my college course I was proud of hisregard, because every one respected him; and last June I promised to marryhim. 

We said then that our love wasn't just a "co-ed. Flirtation, " because hewas a grown man and not a student any more. But--but--but last June Iwasn't--

Why, I've but just come to possess the gift that I wouldn't exchange forthe proudest throne on earth, and I mean to make it my throne in the greatworld. I haven't yet had time to think things out or realise my fairyfortune; but John and I mustn't do anything foolish. Wise love can wait. 

He came while I was at school. 

When I found him here, he actually didn't know me. 

He stared as if I were a stranger whose face drew, yet puzzled him. Thenhe was attracted by my beauty, then for a moment dismayed, and then--why, he was really so much in love that I--I--he gazed at me as if I were notquite real; with reverence. His eyes mirrored my power; the wonder of thenew Me, the glory and the radiance of me shone in them. He worships meand--well, of course nobody could help liking that. 

He was just as he has always been, but somehow, here in the city, Icouldn't help finding him bigger, stronger, more bucolic. His clotheslooked coarse. His collar was low for the mode, his gloveless hands werered. There was something almost clerical in his schoolmasterly garb, buthis bold dark eyes and short hair aggressively brushed to a standstill, ashe used to say, looked anything but ministerial. It was plain that he wasa man of sense and spirit, one to be proud of; plain that he was acountryman, too. 

I couldn't help seeing his thick shoes any more than I could his hurt facewhen I was distant and his ardour the moment I grew kind; and I was soashamed--thinking of his looks and picking flaws, when three months ago Iwas a country girl myself--that I know--I don't know what I should havedone, if Kitty hadn't returned. 

I was so relieved to see her, for John has been writing of marriage soonand of a home, in one room if need be; and we have too much to accomplish, with beauty and woman's wit and brain and strength, for that. It is myduty to think for both, if he's too much in love--the dear, absurd fellow!And yet--

As soon as he was gone, Kitty jumped up from the drawing table. She was onpins and needles for anxiety, her eyes dancing. 

"Well, when's the wedding?" she cried. 

"What wedding?"

I was vexed and puzzled, and distressed, too, after sending John away as Ihad done. I wanted to be alone and have a chance to think quietly. 

"Oh, any old wedding; will it be here, in the den? You going to invite usall?" asked Kitty. 

"Isn't going to be any wedding. "

"I'm sorry; I always did lot on weddings. "

"You'll have to be the bride, then. Honest, Kitty, I don't like jokes onsuch subjects. Mr. Burke and I haven't an idea of being married, not forcenturies. "

Kitty went white all in a minute. She is so quick tempered. 

"Oh, " said she, "you're going to throw him over. I thought as much! Youwere always writing to him when you first came to the city, and talkingabout him, at night when we brushed our hair; but lately you haven'tspoken of him at all. You used to look happier when the postman broughtyou something from him. And you had his picture--"

"The postman's?" I interrupted, but Kitty kept on as if she were woundup:--

"--on the mantel-piece, in a white-and-gold frame with your own. You hid'em both when you began to grow beautiful. I suppose you think you're toogood for him. But don't go and break his heart; please don't, Princess;there's a dear. "

"Goose! I haven't the least notion of breaking his heart. I--why can't youlet me alone? I'm--I'm very fond of him--if you will insist on talkingabout it. "

"Oh, I can see! If you'd noticed the poor fellow's face--"

"'Poor fellow!' If you'd seen him before you came! He doesn't need yourpity. Why, it seems to have been with you a case of love at first sight, "I said mockingly. "He was rude to you, too; he never even noticed that youwere in the room, after I came. "

"I don't care. I don't expect a man to notice me when he meets hissweetheart for the first time in ever so long; and such a sweetheart! Butyou--you--oh, I'm afraid of you! I'm afraid of you! What is this mystery?What is it? Why have you grown so grand and terrible? What has become ofmy chum?"

She sat down flat on the floor and burst into passionate weeping. 

"Get up!" I cried. 

"I won't!"

A sense of great loneliness came over me and I threw myself down besideher. 

"Oh, Kitty, " I said, "why aren't you old and wise and sensible instead ofbeing just a silly girl like myself? Then you wouldn't sit here howling, but you'd kiss me and cuddle me and comfort me and tell me what to do. "

"I'm afraid of you! I'm afraid of you! It's--it's no' canny. "

"Kitty, Kitty! Why aren't you my fairy godmother, so that you could showme in a magic glass what to do, instead of scolding me, when I'm wretchedenough already?"

"Wretched! You!" Her eyes fairly blazed. "I wouldn't ever--_ever_ bewretched if I looked like you--not ever in this world!"

"Yes, you would. You'd be so puzzled about things; and bad girls wouldscold you, and there wouldn't be a single soul within two thousand milesto rely upon. And you'd be awkward and shy when folks looked at you. Andthen you'd--you'd--you'd cry. "

Afterwards we both wiped our eyes and made it all up; and I told her againthat I really was fond of John. 

Well, folks must eat. I went out to get some chops, a half dozen orangesand the other things for supper--we have lunch and supper, no dinner--andthough I started so blue and wretched, I simply couldn't stay melancholylong, people stared at me and admired me so much. They crowded after meinto the little corner grocery, and the room was so full that some oneupset a tub of pickles and there they stood around in the vinegar to lookat me. 

It was frightful! But it was nice too; though I was so embarrassed that Iwanted to run away. I'll get used to it; but--why, my own mother wouldn'tknow me! It's no wonder Kitty is frightened. 

I wish I could see Ma. But she couldn't advise me. I ought to have a home, though, and some one older than Kitty to look after me. I must leave theden; but where to go? Suppose I burned myself broiling chops or beefsteak, or blistered my face with steam from the kettle! That would be frightful, now. It's the least I can do for Prof. Darmstetter to keep free from harmthe beauty he gives me. And besides, --I never before was afraid, but now Igo scurrying through the halls and up and down the stairs like a wildthing; the place is so public, so many people notice me. 

I wonder if I couldn't talk to Mrs. Baker. She's at home now. Or there'sthe Judge's sister, Miss Marcia, the dearest old maid. I've only seen heronce or twice, but I believe she'd be good to know. 

I have too many problems to stay here. I must make some settled plan, nowthat my life means so much to all the women in the world. And--how to dealwith a headstrong young man who won't take "no" for an answer or "wait"for wisdom I simply don't know. If he would only give me time to make myown acquaintance! There are so many things to think of. A great world isopen to me. I have the key and I am going to live the most beautiful life. 

I must think and plan and learn how not to be frightened at my own face inthe mirror; I must--I simply _must_ have time. 

 * * * * *

Dec. 17. 

I have just seen John again; he came up to Barnard, which won't do at all. And he came home with me, and--how he loves me!

But I can manage him. Indeed, he was more reasonable to-day. 

BOOK III. 

THE JOY OF THE SUNSHINE. 

CHAPTER I. 

CHRISTMAS. 

No. -- East 72d Street, Dec. 28. 

Milly and I have just come from a run in the Park, and here I am thisshining white morning scribbling away in my own cosey room. 

My very own room--for the most delightful thing has happened; I'm visitingMrs. Baker--Aunt Frank I am to call her, though she is really Ma'scousin--and she has asked me to spend the rest of the winter here. 

So I've really left the den. And I didn't deserve it. Why, when Mrs. Bakerinvited me to dinner on Christmas day, I dreaded the visit. I hadn't seenher since I came from the West, and I wondered what she'd think of me, andwhat she'd write to Mother. If Pa and Ma could see me now, would they saytheir little Nelly'd "filled out well-favoured?"

What _would_ they say to me?

Why, Christmas morning, when I read the home letters, I felt as if I hadbetrayed my parents' confidence, as if I'd robbed them of their child bychanging into such a lovely creature. Then I laughed; they won't mind mygetting rid of freckles and a pug nose. And then I cried, almost, and feltso lonely, for even Kitty had gone off with Pros. ; and so far away and sohappy, and a good deal troubled with it all; for John had sent me someroses and a ring, and I knew I should find him at my Aunt's, eager to seewhether I wore them. 

John's such a problem. All that day I sat alone in the den, trying tothink, and trying to let down the hem of my waterproof, for it was snowingand I have only one good dress; and every few minutes I would slip on thering and pull it off, watching the rainbow lights that flashed and paledin the heart of the stone, and smiling because John had chosen an opal; Iwonder if he knows it's the gem of the beautiful woman. 

In the end I let it stay on my hand, of course, for, after all, I supposeI am betrothed to him. 

So it happened that I was almost late for dinner at the Bakers', and quitelate when I really got inside the house; for I walked past the door two orthree times before I could muster up courage to ring the bell. When Ifinally ran up the steps, my umbrella was powdered white, and snow andwater were dripping off my skirts. My heart was beating fast with dreadand expectation; I was sure no one would know me. 

"I--I'm too wet for the parlour, " I said to the maid who came to let mein; and after a single startled, puzzled look, she went to tell some oneof my arrival. There I stood in my shabby mackintosh, looking at a huge, gilt-framed picture of the Judge, until a plump little robin of a woman, in a black dress with a dash of red at the throat, came trotting out tomeet me. 

That was Aunt; in spite of my fright and self-consciousness I wanted tolaugh to see her bright eyes look at me in amazement that grew almost topanic. She didn't know me; the servant could not have caught my name. 

"Did you--wish to see me?" she finally managed to say. 

"I'm Helen Winship--" I faltered. I felt as if I had done something verywrong. 

"Nelly!" she cried, clutching my hands and almost lifting herself ontiptoe, as she blinked into my eyes in the uncertain light of the outerhall. "This isn't--can't be--not _our_ Helen Winship--oh, it's somemessage from her--some--"

Her voice died away in incoherent mutterings. She drew me into a big halllike a sitting room behind the small parlour. 

"Come into the light, child, whoever you are. I want to look at you, " shesaid. 

An open fire was burning in the grate, and in the room were Milly andEthel and white-haired Miss Marcia and a tall, blonde young man. 

All rose to their feet, then stopped. There was an awkward pause, theanswering thrill of tense amazement shot from mind to mind like lightning. They stood as if frozen, gazing. The room was for a moment so still that Icould hear my own quick breathing and the hammering of my heart. I wasgrateful for some far shout upon the street that drowned the noise. 

"But--you--but--I thought--" Milly began in a half-hushed, awe-struckwhisper; she never finished the sentence, but continued to gaze at me withbig, round eyes, her lips parted, her breath quick and tremulous. 

I was transported with joy and fright; I almost wished I might sink intothe floor, but just then down the stair came the Judge with John behindhim, and little Joy perched on his shoulder. I think the others were asgrateful as I for the interruption. 

"Put me down! Put me down!" screamed Joy as she saw me sprinkled withsleet. "Mamma, ith that Mithith Thanta Clauth?"

At the welcome laugh that helped to break the ice she ran with a flirt ofher short skirts to hide her head against her father's knee. 

"Helen!" repeated Mrs. Baker, only half recovering from her stupefaction, "this isn't--why, it can't be you!"

"I--oh, I'm afraid I'm late, " I stammered. 

Miss Marcia began to unbutton my raincoat, and her kindness somewhatrelieved my embarrassment, though I don't know how I managed to respond tothe hubbub of greetings, especially when Mr. Hynes, the stranger, waspresented. 

He had been looking at me more intently than he knew, with dark bluebrilliant eyes, and he flushed as he touched my hand, until I was glad totake refuge with Joy, who hovered about, eying me as if she stillsuspected some ruse on the part of Santa Claus. 

"Joy, you know Cousin Nelly?" I said; and at sound of my voice, they alllooked again at each other and then at me. 

"Why, I can't believe my eyes, though Bake here said you'd altered. Altered!" twittered Aunt Frank. She turned indignantly upon the Judge, whowisely attempted no defense. "I didn't dream--Bake, here, never can tell astory straight. Have you--what is it? Nelly, dear, it's two years sinceI've seen you; of course you've--grown!"

But no amazement could long curb her hospitable instincts. Her incoherencevanished as she grasped at a practical consideration. 

"But let Milly take you up stairs and get your things off, " she said withan air as of one who solves problems. 

"Are you truly Cothin Nelly?" Joy lisped. "All wight; come thee my twee. "

Though she couldn't recognise me as the cousin of a few weeks earlier, thechild was eager to claim me as a new friend. So I escaped with her andMilly to the nursery, where I stayed as long as I dared, letting my cheekscool. 

"The twee ith mine and Mamma'th, " said Joy; "we're the only oneth youngenough to have Christhmath twees, Papa thayth. "

"Hoh, guess I'm younger'n Mamma, ain't I?" scoffed my other little cousinwho had been sent to inquire into our delay. He is perhaps a dozen yearsold, is called "Boy" officially, and Timothy, Jr. , in the family records, and--like Joy--wasn't in the least afraid of me, after five minutes'acquaintance. 

Boy led me down to the others, but dinner was nearly over before I felt atease. I'm not used to having at my back a statuesque servant--though thisone was not too statuesque to be surprised by my appearance almost out ofdecorum. And I couldn't help knowing that every one wanted to look at meall the time, which was delicious, but embarrassing. I blushed and gavestupid answers when addressed, and even feared that I might show myself atfault in the etiquette of a city table. It was strange to have forks in somany cases where I've always used spoons. And, though of course I knewwhat the finger bowls were, I wasn't quite sure how to use them. 

No one was more puzzled by my appearance than Uncle Timothy himself. As helooked at me--and this he did through most of the meal--certain long grayhairs in his eyebrows seemed to wave up and down, as I had often noticedwith the frightened curiosity of a child, like the questioning antennae ofan insect. 

"And what is the school work now?" he asked when the dessert came. "Thelast time I had the very real pleasure of seeing you, it was--perhapsanimalculae?"

"The cell, " I replied, relieved at the introduction of a topic that Icould talk about, "and the cell wall. Protoplasmic movements, you know, and unicellular plants and animals. I'd been making sketches that day ofthe common amoeba of standing water. "

"I am not familiar with the--ah--with the amoeba; but doubtless its habitsare interesting. And when do the school days end? A young lady looksforward with pleasure, I fancy, to release from--"

"Is the amoeba a--some horrid bug, I suppose?" interrupted Aunt Frank;"and you--er--do things to it in that laboratory? How can you? The verythought of such a place! It makes me shiver!"

"Oh, but you should see it, so clean and bright; the laboratory's simplybeautiful!"

"But this is your first winter in the city, and you ought to be enjoyingconcerts and theatres, meeting people, seeing things. "

"Oh, I only keep such hours as I elect, being a post graduate; and I'vebeen to several theatres, " I said; "Kitty and I get seats in the topgallery. "

"The--the top gallery?"

"At matinees, " I hastily explained, "and not--not lately. "

And then I felt more confused than ever, for Mr. Hynes was watching me. John was looking at me, too, with that great light in his face that hadbeen there ever since my arrival, when he first saw the opal gleaming onmy finger; and I--oh, how could I have hinted that I don't dare go whereso many people might look at me? But it's the truth. And though the truthmay be inconvenient, it's wonderfully sweet!

After dinner we passed into the big drawing room behind the hall. Joy didsome clumsy little dances in her short white frock--she is really toochubby to caper nimbly--and Ethel and Milly played and sang neither wellnor ill. 

I think they were more afraid of me than I had been of the servants atdinner. They are not very pretty, with their light, wavy hair and paleflower faces, though I'm afraid I set my standard too high now--now that Iknow what is possible. 

I went to the piano myself afterwards and played. Played! It was terrible!Never would I have believed that I could make such a mess of it. I didn'tsing until they began trying carols. I didn't mean to do so then, but Ichimed in before I thought, when they sang:--

He set a star up in the skyFull broad and bright and fair. 

"That song was taken from the Ormulum, " said the Judge; "a poem of thethirteenth century--"

"Nelly! Was that you?" cried Aunt Frank, interrupting. 

The music of the new, fresh, vibrant voice had thrilled them all--allexcept the unconscious Judge--and there they sat, spellbound. But as theyshook off the witchery, there was all at once a babble of voices, andbefore I quite knew what had happened, I was at the piano again, singing"The King in Thule:"

There was a king in ThuleTrue even to the graveTo whom his mistress, dying, A golden goblet gave. 

Perhaps it wasn't very appropriate to Christmas, but Cadge had drilled meupon it. In the middle of the first stanza I happened to glance up, andnoticed that Mr. Hynes was again looking at me with an absorbed, indrawinggaze, colouring with amazed pleasure. It woke in me a flutter ofconsternation and delight, for he has the sensitive face of a musician;but my presence of mind was gone, and for one horrible instant I thought Iwas going to break down, and just sat there, gasping and blushing. Myheart sank and my voice dwindled to a quavering, unfamiliar whisper. Icouldn't remember the words; but then I seized hold of my courage and sangand sang and sang, better than I had ever done before. 

I didn't look up again until I had finished; then somehow I got away fromthe piano, and shyly slipped into a chair near Miss Baker. Of course therewas a clamour that I should sing again, but I couldn't. The flaming of mycheeks made me ashamed. 

Perhaps some time I shall learn the city way of not seeming to care verymuch about anything. 

Aunt must have had it at her tongue's end all the evening to invite me tocome to her; and when she was bidding me good-night she could wait nolonger. 

"You're living right on Union Square?" she said; "in the same buildingwith--with--"

"A milliner, a dentist, a school for theatrical dancing, " I enumerated, laughing happily. I knew that it was I myself, and not my mode of life, that bewildered her. 

"But--is it--_nice_?"

"Better than a boarding-house. Two or three other girls lodge there, thehousekeeper is obliging, and the experience--well, at least it'senlightening. "

"I wish you'd come here. Why don't you?"

"Oh, could I?" I cried with sudden frankness. "You can't think how gladI'd be! The studio was awfully nice at first, and I've made the best ofit, but I know Ma--Mother and Father would be pleased. If it wouldn't betoo much trouble--"

And so easily it was all arranged. Of course after she had seen me, heardme, felt the charm of me--of Her--Aunt Frank couldn't leave Her in thestudio!

I'd have been glad to avoid the journey back to Union Square with John;for the evening, with all its perplexities, had been paradise, and Idreaded to have him bring me back to earth with words of love. I ought tobe more than usually tender towards John now, when he has just lost hismother; but when the Bakers' door had closed behind us, and we stoodtogether under the crispy starlight--for it had cleared and turned coldduring the evening--I talked feverishly of things that neither of us caredabout, and kept it up all the way home. 

John scarcely seemed to listen to my chatter. He was as if under a spell, and his dark, strong face glowed with the magic of it. As we approachedthe Square, he looked down at me, and slipped my hand from his arm intothe clasp of his warm fingers. Through my glove he felt the ring, and gavethe hand a little, almost timid pressure. 

"Am I doing right? Ought I to wear it?" I cried. "Won't you help me think, just as if you didn't--didn't care? This isn't like last summer. We aredifferent; I am very different. You must have seen to-night, that I am notat all the same girl. I've told you that I can't be certain; I am dazed. "

"I shall remember everything--all you told me when I came, and now, " hesaid. "But you are doing right--darling!"

He held my hands when we parted and looked into my eyes, and I saw thathis own were shining. His love seemed too deep for any outburst ofpassion, or else he feared to alarm me; and yet he seemed so sure. 

I wish--I wish--oh, I don't know what I wish; I ought not to be bound toany one; but I suppose I love John. 

CHAPTER II. 

A LOOKING OVER BY THE PACK. 

Jan. 2. 

If women are not meant to study, Prof. Darmstetter should be pleased withme. Instead of working up my laboratory notebooks, I have sat untilmidnight, dreaming. 

"Go to bed early and get your beauty sleep, " says Aunt, but I push openthe window and lean upon the sash and let the cold air blow over me. I'dlike to dance a thousand miles in the moonlight; I'm so young, and sostrong, and such glorious things are coming!

To-morrow I shall have a foretaste of the future; I shall know what otherpeople--not John and my relatives--think of me. Ah, there's only one thingthey can think! To-morrow'll be the beginning of the world to me. 

To-morrow! To-morrow! Aunt Frank has sent out cards for an "At Home. " Andit's to-morrow!

Oh, I'm glad I came here! I revel in the new home. 

I like the house; it looks so big and solid. I like my cousins--quietlittle creatures. They wait upon me, anticipate my smallest wish, anddefer to my opinions as if I were a white star queen dropped from theether; all but Boy, and even he respects me because I can construe Caesar. 

I like my Aunt--devoted to clubs and committees, though she's forgottenthem now in her eagerness to introduce me. Ah, to-morrow! Blessed to-morrow! And I like Aunt Marcia Baker. I wonder if, when I am older, I tooshall be serene and stately, with a face that seems to have outlivedsorrow; I can hardly believe now that I shall care to live at all whenpeople's eyes have ceased to follow my beauty. When for me there are nomore to-morrows. 

I think I shall like Mr. Hynes; he's almost one of the family, for he isbetrothed to Milly, and I'm glad--ah, so glad I'm not she! What a life shelooks forward to--each day exactly like its fellows; a droning, monotonousexistence, keeping house, overseeing the cooking--perhaps doing itherself; for he's only a young lawyer, just starting in life!

But I like his face, so full of impulse and imagination. I believe he's aman who might go far and achieve much. Why should he handicap himself withan early marriage?

It's well enough for Milly; she doesn't understand her limitations. Why, she's almost as eager over to-morrow as if it could mean to her what itdoes to me; and that is an outlook into a life so glad, so wonderful!

Dear, good Aunt Frank proposed the tea before my trunks were fairlyunpacked. 

"Won't your Professor give you a holiday from--is it microbes you study?"she inquired. "Sure they're not dangerous?"

"The afternoon tea bacillus is not wholly innocuous, " suggested Uncle, pinching her cheek. 

It was good to see the loving look that reproved and repaid him. 

"Why, Bake, " she protested, "tea never hurt anybody. "

"Oh, I've time enough, " I said; "I have no regular days for going to Prof. Darmstetter, and the other studies--"

It was on my tongue to add: "and the other studies don't matter, " but Ichecked the words. 

"Well, you'll find it takes time, " Aunt reminded me. "How about clothes, now? Suppose you show me what you brought. "

And in a few minutes we were all chattering at once in discussion of mymodest little wardrobe. I could feel, as each new dress was shaken fromits folds, that Aunt was more dissatisfied than she would confess. 

"Everything's pretty and tasteful, " she conceded at last; "but--for atea--if you could--"

If she had dared, she'd have offered to get me a dress herself. 

"Oh, of course I'll need something new, " I said hurriedly; "I meant to askyour advice. Nothing very costly, " I was reluctantly adding. But at thatmoment an inspiration came to lighten the gloom. 

The very thing! I'd use the money I'd saved for the microscope! I don'tneed one the least bit. 

So I was able to add with some philosophy:--

"I never did have a nice dress, and I'd like something pretty good thistime. Why, I haven't nearly spent all my allowance, " I cried with kindlingenthusiasm, jumping up to pace the floor. "Tell me what I ought to have--just exactly what is most suitable. I don't know much about teas, but I'dlike something--fine!"

Aunt's face glowed with excitement. I think she saw in imagination fiftyHelens dancing before he eyes in a kaleidoscopic assortment of dresses. 

"You're right. We'll get--oh, what shall we--what shall we get that'll begood enough for you?" she cried in a flutter. "Something simple of course, you're so young; but--I'll tell you: We'll go right to Mrs. Edgar!"

Perhaps my own face burned, too. 

"Who's she? Some one on the Avenue?"

"No; no one knows her, but--she's a marvel! It'd mean the world and all toher to please some one sure to be noticed, like you. She's a widow; hastwo children. "

So to Mrs. Edgar we went. Her eyes devoured me. She is a mite of a woman, young, white-faced, vivacious. 

"For a tea?" she asked. "A--a large one?"

She spoke with forced calmness, but her hands had the artist's flutter, the enthusiast's eagerness to be doing. 

"I'll get samples, " she went on; "there's not a minute to be lost; not--one--moment! I'll work all night rather than fail her. You will notwish"--she dismissed us abruptly--"to go with me to the shops?"

"No; Miss Winship attracts too much attention. "

Alas, it's true! It has become an ordeal for me to venture into a shop. But what a blessed thing if my beauty should bring success and ease tothis poor, struggling little widow--just by my wearing a dress she hasmade! Oh, she'll not be the only one! What if Kitty sometime wins fame bypainting my picture, or Cadge by writing of me in her "Recollections?" Whyshouldn't I inspire great poems and noble deeds and fine songs, like thefamous beauties Miss Coleman told about? Yes, even more than they; therewas not one of them all like me!

Next evening when Aunt brought the samples upstairs, I was reading to theJudge in the library, and the others were listening as if stocks and bondswere more fascinating than romances. 

"Shall we pray for a second Joshua, arresting the sun, pendingdeliberation?" asked Uncle, displeased at the interruption. 

"Why, Bake, there's scarcely ten days, and how we'd feel if Nelly didn'tlook well!" cried Aunt Frank; and we all broke out laughing at the bareidea of my looking ill!

"I never saw any one to whom dress mattered so little, " Aunt Marcia said, as she folded up her silk knitting. "But Mrs. Edgar insists upon her fourfittings like any Shylock haggling for his pound of flesh; it is writtenin the bond. "

When she had trotted away home with her prim elderly maid, like a pair outof "Cranford, " Ethel made an impressive announcement:--

"The General will pour. "

"Returned hero from the Philippines?"

"Oh, dear, no. Meg Van Dam could face Mausers, but a Red Cross bazaar wasas near as she got to the war. We call her the General because--oh, you'llfind out. Meg is Mrs. Robert Van Dam. "

"Oh, I think I've seen that name in the papers. Aren't they grand people?"

"Why, yes; rather; we don't know the Van Dams; Meg's only just married. You might have read about her mother-in-law, Mrs. Marmaduke Van Dam, orher aunt-in-law, Mrs. Henry Van Dam, or Mrs. Henry's daughters; thefamily's a tribe. But Meg, why, we went to school with Meg; she's just theGeneral. "

My dress came home to-night--white and dainty. Ah, at last I've somethingto wear that's not "good" and "plain" and "durable"! But there was anoutcry, as there has been at every fitting, because I won't wear stays. Eccentric, they call me; as if Nature and beauty were abnormal!

When I was arrayed in it, Aunt and Ethel led me to the library for Uncle'sinspection. 

"Is to-morrow the day set to exhibit to Helen other aspects of New Yorkthan the scholastic?" he asked, looking up from his paper. "The firstappearances of a young girl in modern society are said to be comparablewith a 'Looking Over by the Pack, ' as described by Mr. Kipling. May Mrs. Baloo and Mrs. Bagheera and Mrs. Shere Khan have good hunting to-night, and be kind to-morrow to our womanling. "

"Why, Bake, you know just as well as I do there aren't any such peoplecoming. I believe it's just one of your jokes, " sputtered Aunt. "Nelly, dear, turn slowly round. "

She had dropped on her knees beside me, busy with pins and folds, and Joywas lisping the caution, born perhaps of experience, "Don't you thoil it, Cothin Nelly, or Nurthey'll vip you, " when Milly came into the library;and with her was Mr. Hynes. 

"Lovely! Isn't it, Ned?" cried Milly. "It's for to-morrow. "

Mr. Hynes scarcely glanced at the dress, then looked away again, withindifference that somehow hurt me. 

"Very pretty, " he said languidly. "Classic, isn't it? By the way, Judge, Ithink you'd be interested--"

And then he began to tell Judge Baker about some horrid auction sale ofold books!

I was surprised. I couldn't account for it. To hide my disappointment--forI do want to look my best to-morrow, and then everybody has taken so muchpains---I bent over Joy, tying and untying the ribbons that held the ringsof soft hair in front of her ears. 

"Thop, Cothin Nelly; you hurt!" she screamed. 

As soon as I could, I ran to take off the dress. How could Aunt so parademe? Of course the women Mr. Hynes knows must have all their dresses fromcity dressmakers. 

But I believe, after all, he did notice, for I saw him colour before heturned sharply away. To please Milly, he might at least--

He called the dress classic; it's just long, soft folds without messytrimmings; and, oh, it's not vanity to peep at myself again and again andto dream of to-morrow. I'm gloriously, gloriously beautiful! If Johncomes to-morrow, I do hope he'll wear gloves. He has good hands, too;well-shaped--

Why, of course; Mr. Hynes must admire me. 

CHAPTER III. 

SNARLING AT THE COUNCIL ROCK. 

Jan. 10. 

To-day has been heaven!

There was a famous lawyer among Aunt's guests and a United States Senatorand a real author, a woman who has written books; but people brushed pastthem all for a word with me!

And I'm going to the Opera! I shall sit in a box. Mrs. Van Dam says I'llmake the sensation of the season! I'm going to the Opera!

When men came this morning with palms and flowers to decorate the house, Iran off to the Park. I did almost run, really. There was a song at mylips: "Gladdest, oh, gladdest, most beautiful in the world; blessed, mostblessed, most beautiful in the world!" and the "tap-tap" of horses' feeton the asphalt, the "b-r-r-r-rp" of the cable cars and the rattle ofelevated trains kept time, until all the city seemed ringing with my joy. 

I know it's foolish; if I had been beautiful from my childhood; if I couldhave grown up to think of it as a matter of course; if I had been used tothe awe of men and women's envy, I might think less about it, might evenfancy that I would have preferred learning or wealth--for we all love whatwe have not. But now--it is so new, so marvellous!

I had plenty of things to think about when I could calm myself. Onlyyesterday I'd had a long talk with Prof. Darmstetter. 

"The experiment is not yet complete, " he declared. He had asked me to stayfor--but that is a part of the secret which is to pass with this recordfrom me to all women. 

"You are beautiful, " he said; "mein Gott, yes! More beautiful t'an anyot'er voman since t'e appearance of man on eart'. But perfectly beautiful?I do not know; I t'ink not yet. Who can tell for v'at ultimate perfectionNature destined t'e human body? But we shall see. T'at perfection youshall reach. In a veek, a mont', t'ree mont's--I cannot tell. Ve must vaitand experiment and still vait, but success is assured--absolute success. Ishall gif it. I do not know if t'e human type is t'e highest t'at eart' iscapable of supporting, but it is t'e highest present type, and it shall bemy vork to gif it t'at for v'ich it has hungered and t'irsted, and towardsv'ich slowly it has groped its vay; it shall be my vork to gif humanitybeauty and perfection. "

The light that illumined his yellow, wrinkled face made me cry out:--

"All the world will bless you! All women will be grateful as I amgrateful--"

"Ach!" he snapped with a sudden change of countenance. "I shall be vonmore name and date to make harter t'e student's lessons and longer t'etables--t'at is gratitude! Vit' t'e vorld we haf at present no concern. For t'is, indeed, you bless me--t'at I am not a quack to make public anincomplete discofery, for ot'er quacks to do mischief. You are glad t'atit is vit' you alone I concern myself. But you are not grateful; you arehappy because I say t'at you shall be yet more beautiful; t'at is notgratitude. You might--"

At the eager shrillness of his voice I drew a step away. 

"Indeed I'm grateful, whether you believe it or not!" I cried. "You thinkall women so selfish! Of course I'm glad that I alone am in the secret, but you proposed it yourself, and I rejoice as much as you do that someday--by and by--other women will be happy as I am happy--"

"Yes--by and by! You emphasize t'at, " he snapped mockingly, but then herecovered himself and his queer new deference. "And you haf t'e right; Ivish you to rechoice in your own lofeliness. Ve haf engaged toget'er int'is great vork, and it is vell t'at we bot' haf our revards--I t'at Iaggomblish somet'ing for t'e benefit of my kind, and you--since vomencannot lofe t'eir kind, but only intifiduals--you haf t'e happy lofe t'atis necessary to a voman. "

His eyes rested on my ring. 

I couldn't tell him--proud as I am of it--that John had loved me before Iever heard of the Bacillus. But I could punish his gibes. 

"Oh, by the way--I'm not coming to-morrow, " I said. "My Aunt is to give atea. "

Strange to see him struggle with his disappointment like a grieving child!But he bravely rallied. 

"T'at is goot, " he said, "you shall tell me v'at people t'ink of you. Youvish to go about--to be admired; you vish to gif up science; not so?"

"Oh, no! I couldn't be a doll, for men to look at and then tire of me. Imust study the harder--to be worthy--"

The look of his face, of the thin, straight-lipped mouth, the keen oldeyes, stopped me. 

"You vill not gif up study now, at least, " he sneered; "not until you haft'e perfect beauty. You haf need of me. "

Prof. Darmstetter is so irritating! Why, he has just as much need of me!He himself said I was the best subject he could find for the experiment. But even if he had finished his work with the Bacillus, he'd rather teachme, a despised woman, all the science I could master than develop thebudding talent of the brightest Columbia boy. The sight of my beauty is ajoy to him. Really, I pity the poor man. He makes the great discovery whenhe's himself too old to profit by it; the Bacillus will not work againstNature. It has brought him only a hopeless longing--

But I shall study. He shall see! Not in the laboratory, of course; that ishardly fitting now. I wouldn't go there again except for the lure ofpromised beauty--can more loveliness be possible? But I do feel theresponsibility of beauty. The wisest and best will crowd about me, andthey must find my words worthy the lips that shape them and the voice thatutters. And I shall learn from their wisdom. 

"There was Hypatia; she was both beautiful and learned, " I found myselfconfiding to a gray squirrel in the Park, and then I laughed and ran hometo make my last preparations. 

Ethel arranged my hair to-day, though I could hardly yield her the delightof its shining, long undulations. Then she did Milly's as nearly like mineas possible, and Milly did hers. The girls wore white like me, and my auntwas in black. The house was full of flowers; as if it had plunged intoseas of them, it dripped with an odourous rosy foam. John sent a box--theextravagant boy!--and there were big American Beauty roses, with stems aslong as walking sticks from Pros. And Cadge. Milly had flowers, too, fromMr. Hynes. 

At first I wasn't a bit afraid, while acquaintances were dropping in oneby one--Mrs. Magoun, Mrs. Crosby, the wife of the managing clerk inUncle's office, Aunt Marcia--all allies. 

Then there came a stir at the door, the magnetic thrill that foreruns aSomebody. And there upon the threshold stood a tall, dashing girl, superbly turned out; not handsome, but fine-looking, dark, decisive, vital--a creature born to command. 

I knew her at the first glance. She was the General!

I was for a moment surprised to see her so young and girlish, though Imight have known; for she was Milly's schoolmate. I doubt if she's twoyears my senior, but in social arts and finesse--ah, the difference!

The house seemed to belong to her from the moment she entered. She movedlike a whirlwind--a well-mannered and exquisitely dressed whirlwind, ofcourse--with an air of abounding vigour and vitality, up to where westood, and there stopped short. 

"How d'y'do?" she said, in the clipped New York fashion, looking at mewith the confidence of one who is never at a loss--and then--

Oh, the joy! For all her _savoir faire_, it was her turn to beconfused. For a moment she peered at me with a short-sighted squint; thenafter a little hesitation, she put up her lorgnette, making an impatientgesture, as if to say: "I can't help it; I _must_"--and stared. 

Her eyes grew big as she gazed; but at last she drew a long breath, andput down the quizzing-glass with an effect of self-denial. When she spokethere was little to remind me of her momentary loss of self-command. 

"Are you enjoying New York?" she demanded. 

"Milly tells me you've never been in the city before; that you arestudying at Barnard. "

"Yes. "

I knew that I had impressed this strong, splendid woman, but I was alittle afraid of her. 

Quite herself again, she began asking questions about myself, my home, mystudies; quick, probing, confusing questions, while in my cheeks theawkward colour came and went. But it would never have occurred to me toparry her queries. I could not help liking her, though when at last sheleft me and began a progress through the rooms, I drew a breath of relief, like one who has passed with credit a stiff examination. 

At the door of the dining-room she paused again, judging through her glassthe table and its dainty decorations. 

"Those flowers are rather high, " she declared, and calling upon Milly forhelp, she began rearranging the roses, and laying the twigs of holly uponthe cloth in bolder patterns. She seemed to take charge, to adopt me withthe house, to accept and audit and vouch for us. 

Then people began coming all at once, all together, and I had to take myplace beside Mrs. Baker and Aunt Marcia in the reception room. 

I can't tell anything about the next hour; it's a blur. But I wouldn'thave missed a minute. I had never before seen a reception, except at theUniversity where sometimes I used to serve as an usher, pouncing uponpeople as they entered and leading them up to the row of Professors andProfessors' wives backed against the wall. But now I had to stand upmyself and meet people. And oh, that was different!

At first two or three women would approach, putting out their hands at anabsurd height, and start to say: "How d' you--" or "I'm so--"

And Aunt would make some excited, half-coherent remark and look at me, anxiously but proudly, and say my name. 

But they never heard her! As they really saw me, each in turn would start, and, wide-eyed, look again. And as the awe and wonder grew in theirfaces--as there came the little stop, the gasp, that told how theirreserve was for once overthrown, then, to the utmost, I tasted the sweetof power and felt the thrill of ecstasy. 

Red spots burned in Aunt's cheeks; she talked fast in her company voice, and somehow the lace at her throat got awry. Aunt Marcia was as calm andstately in her soft black velvet as if nothing were happening. And reallythere was little to disturb one's composure. New Yorkers aren't like ourwhole-souled, emotional Western folks. Not one of these women but wouldhave suffered torture rather than betray her surprise beyond that firstirrepressible gasp of amazement. After that one victory of human nature, they would make talk about the weather, or the newest book, and then getaway to discuss me in undertones in the hall or drawing room. 

Quickly the sixth sense of a strange agitation went through the house. Iknew what they were all talking about, thinking about. Subtle waves ofthought seemed to catch up each new comer so that she felt, without beingtold, that something extraordinary was happening. Women now approached notunprepared; but for all their bracing against the shock, not one could bequite nonchalant at the first sight of my superb, compelling beauty. 

My eyes flashed, my pulse rioted as I felt the vibrant excitement of thegathering, the tiptoe eagerness to reach our neighbourhood, the hush thatfell upon the circle immediately around me, the reaction of overgay laughand chatter in the far corners. 

Oh, it was lovely, lovely! No girl could have been quite unmoved to feelthat all those soft lights were glowing in her honour, those masses offlowers blooming, all that warmth and perfume of elegance and luxurywafted as incense to her nostrils. And the undercurrent of suppressedexcitement, the sensation of Her!

At times I grew impatient of conventionality. How was it possible forthese people to look so quietly, eye to eye, upon the most vitally perfectof living beings? How could they turn from me to orange frappé or saltedalmonds?

Once or twice I caught some faint echo of the talk about us. 

"Where is she?" asked one voice, made by curiosity more penetrating thanits owner realised. 

"Julia's seen her; she's talked and talked till I had to come. "

"And she's still studying?"--Another voice--"How can she? Great beauty andgreat scientist--bizarre combination!"

How that would amuse Prof. Darmstetter!

By and by I saw John towering above the others while he bobbed abouthelplessly in the sea of women's heads that filled the rooms and even roseupon the "bleachers, " as he calls the stairs. There were not really sovery many people, but he didn't know how to reach us, he is so awkward. When he had steered his course among the women and had spoken to my Aunt, his face was radiant as he turned to me. 

"I knew _you_ wouldn't fail us, Mr. Burke, " Aunt said hurriedly. "Mrs. Marshall--so glad--this is--Nelly, dear--"

Behind John was a lady waiting to meet me. 

"--So glad you've come, " I said to him; and the words sounded curiously tome because in my excitement I also had spoken in my "company voice. "

But I had no time to say another word to him, as I turned to greet Mrs. Marshall. 

He mumbled something, flushing, while his eyes devoured my beauty in onedumb, worshipping look. Then he dropped quickly out of our group. I wassorry, but he'll understand that I was flurried. He ought to learn self-control, though; he shouldn't look at me before so many people with allhis heart in his eyes. 

And I was so vexed about his clothes, too! His old, long, black coat, suchas lawyers wear in the West, would have been pretty nearly right--something like what the other men wore--but he seemed to think it was notgood enough, and had put on a brand new business suit. Of course therewasn't another man there so clad, but he never seemed to notice how absurdhe was. 

The Viewing of the Pack didn't last long. Before my cheeks had ceasedflaming, before I had grown used to standing there to be looked at, peopleseemed to go, all at once, as suddenly as they had arrived. 

Just as the last ones were leaving, some instinct told me that Mr. Hyneshad come. Before I saw him, I felt his gaze upon me, a wondering, gladlook, as if I were Eve, the first and only woman. 

Milly brought him to me and left us together, but at first he was almostcurt in his effort to hide his sensibility to my beauty--as if that were aweakness!--and I was furiously shy, and felt somehow that I must hold himat still greater distance. 

"Am I never again to hear you sing?" he asked. "Sweet sounds that havegiven a new definition to music are still vibrating in my memory. "

I knew he was thinking of Christmas!

"I don't often sing, except for Joy, " I mumbled; "I've had so fewlessons. "

"Joy doesn't know her joys; but--wouldn't she share them?"

"Sometime--perhaps--"

I couldn't answer him, for hot and cold waves of shyness and pleasure wererunning over me. Oh, I hope, for Milly's sake, he doesn't dislike me. Heseems to feel so intensely, to be so alive!

When he had gone, I went to the dining-room with Aunt Marcia, and foundthere Ethel and the General and Peggy Van Dam, the General's cousin, apale girl, all eyes and teeth. Kitty was with them, and she darted towardsme, but Mrs. Van Dam was before her. 

"Sit down, both of you, " she commanded. 

She fairly put us into chairs, and brought us cups of something--I don'tknow what. 

Aunt Marcia breathed a little sigh of relief. 

"Helen, " she said, "you haven't been standing too long?"

"It wasn't an instant! I could stand all day!"

Mrs. Van Dam smiled, and I felt _gauche_, like a schoolgirl. I am soimpulsive!

"It was all delightful!" cried Kitty; "and yet--while you were my chum, Helen, I _did_ think you rather good-looking!"

"You find yourself mistaken?" the General inquired. 

"Oh, no-o-o; not exactly; a beautiful girl, certainly; but--oh, I couldhave made pincushions of some of those pudgy women, nibbling wafers, anddelivering themselves of lukewarm appreciations! 'Too tall'--'too short'--'too dark'--'too light'; 'I like your height bettah, my deah. ' Helen, youdairymaid, powder! Plaster over that 'essentially improbable' colour. "

Mrs. Van Dam broke out laughing at Kitty's mimicry. I wish the childwouldn't let her hair straggle in front of her ears and look so harum-scarum. 

"I doubt if we have had many harsh critics, " said Miss Baker. 

"Not a thing to criticise, " cried Aunt Frank, entering just then andcatching the last word. "Everybody so interested in Nelly! Bake, if you'donly come earlier, I'd have been perfectly satisfied. "

They say that Uncle Timothy can never be coaxed home to one of his wife'sreceptions, but he answered with great solemnity, as he loomed up behindthe little woman:--

"I am privileged to be here, even at the eleventh hour. I could not whollydeny myself the sight of so much youth and bloom. "

"Don't be hypocritical, Judge, " said the General reprovingly. "You're toobig and honest to achieve graceful deceit. But before I go--I've seats forthe Opera Monday night in Mother's box. Miss Winship must come, and--" herglance deliberated briefly--"and Milly. "

Milly cried, "How delightful, Meg!" But my tongue tripped and my cheeksflamed as I tried to say that I had never seen an opera and to thank mynew friend. 

Little she heeded my lack of words. Gazing at me once again as she hadupon first seeing me, she exclaimed:--

"You great, glorious creature! They sha'n't hive you in a schoolroom; youmust come out and show yourself; why, you'll set New York in a furore!"

I think she's splendid. 

No sooner was she gone than I was summoned to the reception-room, andCadge rushed to meet me. She looked much smarter than Kitty, with herblack hair curled and her keen eyes shining with excitement. 

"All over but the shouting?" she asked. "Meant to get here in season tosee you knock 'em in the Old Kent Road, but woman proposes, Big Tomdisposes. Shall I turn in a paragraph? Just--did you have music? What'syour dress--in the Sunday society slush, of course, not the daily; 'fraidthe _Star_ won't take over a stick--. Greek a little bit? M-m-m--notmodistic exactly, but--but--. "

Her abrupt sentences grew slower, paused, dropped to an awestruck whisper, as she looked upon me. She added in her gravest manner: "Say, you're theloveliest ever happened! The--very--limit!"

But awe and Cadge could not long live together. In a moment her mouth tooka comically benevolent quirk. 

"And 'among those present'--" she asked; "who was that leaving just as Igot here?"

"Mrs. Robert Van Dam, schoolmate of my cousins. But you're not writing meup, Cadge?"

Cadge whistled. 

"Van Dam! How calmly the giddy child says it! Does your youngest cousinmake mud pies with duchesses? Say, she comes pretty near being one of the'400. ' But I'm off; a grist of copy to grind--talk of raving beauties, you'll be the only one that won't rave!"

Of course Cadge wouldn't have talked just like that before the others, ifshe had come earlier. 

At bedtime Milly and Ethel ran to my room to talk things over, and my Auntcame to shoo them off to bed, but she stayed and talked, too; and I've nobusiness to be writing at this shocking time of night, except, of course Icouldn't sleep and so I might as well. 

"Everybody thinks you resemble your cousins, " Aunt said; "and really there_is_ a family likeness. "

Poor Aunt! Ethel and Milly are washed out copies of me, in dress and hair, if that constitutes resemblance; and they imitate even my mannerisms. 

I should think Mr. Hynes would be too critical to admire Milly. 

I had a partial engagement for Monday with John; but he'll let me off, togo to the Opera. 

CHAPTER IV. 

IN THE INTERESTS OF MUSIC. 

Tuesday morning, Jan. 14. 

I am writing before breakfast. They told me to lie quietly in bed thismorning, but I'm not tired, not excited. Nothing more happened than Imight have expected. I couldn't have supposed that in my presence peoplewould be stocks and stones!

But oh, it was beautiful, terrible! How can I write it? If I could onlyflash last night--every glorious minute of it--upon paper!

And I might have lost it--they didn't want to let me go! There was a fullfamily council beforehand. John had taken quietly enough the cancelling ofour half engagement for the evening, but he had strong objections to mygoing to the Opera. 

"If you prefer that--" he said; "but do you think it wise to appear insuch a public place with strangers?"

"But why not?"

I was impatient at so much discussion and discretion. My mind was made up. 

"There's no reason why you shouldn't, I suppose. " John drew a great sigh. "But I shall feel easier if--I think I'll go too. "

"We'll all go, " cried Aunt Frank--it was so funny to have them sit theredebating in that way the problem of Her--"we'll enjoy it of all things--the Judge and I, and especially Ethel. "

And so, when the great night came, Milly and I left the others in themidst of their preparations, and went off to dine with Mrs. Van Dam; wewere to go with her afterwards to see Mascagni's "Christofero Colombo. "

It seems impossible now, but I was excited even about the dinner. Ithought it the beginning of recognition--and it was!--to be seized upon bythis splendid, masterful young General. 

She lives not far from us--on Sixty-seventh Street near Fifth Avenue, while we are on Seventy-second Street near Madison. The wall of her housenear the ground looks like that of a fortress; there are no high steps infront, but Milly and I were shown into a hall, oak finished and English, right on the street level; and then into a room off the hall that wasEnglish, too--oak and red leather, with branching horns above the manteland on the floor a big fur rug; and, presently, into a little brocade-lined elevator that took us to Mrs. Van Dam's sitting-room on the thirdfloor. 

"You ought to see the whole house, " Milly whispered, as we were slowlyascending. 

I had eyes just then for nothing but the General herself, who met us, afigure that abashed me, swishing a gleaming evening dress, her neck andhair a-glitter with jewels, more dominant and possessive and---yes, evenmore interested in me than when I had first seen her. 

When we went down to dinner, I did see the house; for at a word fromMilly, partly in good nature and partly in pride, Mrs. Van Dam led the waythrough stately rooms that kept me alternating between confusion anddelight, until she paused in a gilded salon, with stuccoed ceiling andsoftest of soft rose hangings, where I scarcely dared set foot upon theshining floor. 

Less in jest than wonder, I asked if Marie Antoinette didn't walk there o'nights. 

"It's _Diane_, isn't it, who walks here this night?" she said, linking her arm in mine and leading me to a tall mirror. Then she changedcolour a little, took her arm away hastily and walked from the greatglass. Kind and friendly as she was, she couldn't quite like to see herown image reflected there--beside mine!

"_Diane_ and the Queen of Sheba!" exclaimed Milly, for beside oursimple frocks the General was indeed magnificent. 

Her brow cleared at this, and she laughed with satisfaction. When Iblurted out something about having once run off to a shop parlour, beforeI came to Aunt, for a peep at a full-length glass, she laughed again atthe confession and called me "a buttercup, a perfect _Diane_. "

At dinner we met Mr. Van Dam--a small man who doesn't talk much; and itseemed so exciting to have wine at table, though of course I did not tasteit, or coffee. 

And it was delightful to lean back in the carriage, as we drove to theOpera House, and remember how Kitty and I used to pin up our skirts underour ulsters and jog about in street cars. Mrs. Van Dam wore a wonderfulhooded cloak of lace and fur, and her gloves fastened all the way to herelbows with silk loops that passed over silver balls. 

I had been so impatient during dinner, because they didn't sit down untileight o'clock, and then dawdled as if there were no Opera to follow; but Ineedn't have worried, for although the performance had begun when wearrived, there were still many vacant places in the great house. I drewcloser about my face the scarf that Ethel had lent me until we had passedthrough the dazzling lobby, up the stairway and through the corridors, anduntil the red curtains of the box had parted, and I had slipped into theleast conspicuous chair. Muffled as I was, I trembled at the first glanceat the great, brilliantly lighted house, from which rose the stir of agathering audience and a rustle of low voices. 

"Why, you're not nervous, are you?" the General asked. "I've brought youhere early on purpose; you'll be comfortably settled before anybodynotices. "

And she good-naturedly pushed me into a front place. The music was all thewhile going on, but no one seemed to pay much attention. 

"Who'll notice me in this big building?" I asked with a shaky littlelaugh. 

But just at first, as I looked out over the house, I clutched the lacethat was still around my throat. It was warm after the chill air without, and my head swam. There was mystery in the swarming figures and themurmur. The breath of the roses that lay over the box rails, the gleamingof bared shoulders, the flash of jewels seemed to belong to some otherworld--a world where I was native, and from which I had too long beenexiled. Surely in some other life I must have had my place among gaily-dressed ladies who smiled and nodded, bending tiara-crowned heads abovegently waving fans. I felt kinship with them; I passionately longed to benoticed by them, and feared it even more intensely. 

Almost immediately after our arrival the curtain fell upon the firstscene. We had missed every word of it! Mrs. Van Dam left me for a fewminutes to myself, and as I became more composed, I put back my scarf andlooked about a little more boldly. The house was yet far from full, butevery moment people were coming in. 

The boxes at each side of us were untenanted, but at no great distance Isaw Peggy Van Dam, seated beside a large woman--her mother, Mrs. Henry--and chatting busily with a stout, good-natured-looking young man. EvenPeggy had not noticed our entrance and, quite reassured, I lifted my operaglass and began studying the audience. 

We were near the front of the house in the first tier on the left, and Ihad in view almost the whole sweep of the great gold and crimsonhorseshoe. Down in the orchestra some of the women were as gorgeous insatins and brocades as those in the boxes, while others wore streetattire. Nearly all the men had donned evening dress, and I thought atfirst--but soon saw how absurd that was--that I could pick out John by hisoffice suit. I could not repress a little glow of pride, as I looked downupon those rows and rows of heads, to think that somewhere among them, orabove them, John was watching, rejoicing with me, fearing for me where forhimself he would never fear. He'd lift, if he could, every stone from mypath. Mr. Hynes, now, would carry you forward so fast that you'd never seethe stones. 

I had no thought that Mr. Hynes was in the house, but, amusing myself withthe idea, I lifted my glass--dear little pearl trinket with which theGeneral had provided me--and looked for him, wondering how often a pooryoung lawyer attends the Opera. Of course I couldn't see anybody I knew, nor could I read my libretto, for the words danced before my eyes; andMrs. Van Dam, smiling at my interest, began chattering about the peoplearound us, speaking as if I would soon be as familiar with the brilliantworld of fashion and society as herself. 

"I wonder, " she said in her energetic way, "what it feels like to be atone's first opera. "

Excitement was flashing from my eyes and burning on my cheeks as Ianswered:--

"It's--it's--oh, I can't tell you! But in the West, " I added hastily, "wehad oratorio. "

"What a buttercup you are!" she said again. 

Soon the curtain rose upon the second act--or scene. Whichever it was, that was all that I was fated to see or hear of the Opera. And for thelittle while I could consider it, I must say I was disappointed. Thescenery was superb, but the voices--

"You've spoiled us, Nelly, " Milly whispered. 

"Colombo's not bad. "

I squeezed her hand ecstatically. 

I find that I don't criticise men so shrewdly; but oh, the thin, shrillpipe of Isabella, compared with what a woman's voice may be! Yet I admiredher skill, and did not wonder that the house applauded. 

The second scene was just closing, and I was lost in dreams of the finethings that I shall do for art and music when I'm a great society leader, when the box door opened, and there entered an elderly couple, muchalike--tall, thin, rather stately and withered. I knew that they must beMrs. Marmaduke Van Dam, the General's mother-in-law, and her husband. Impulsively I sprang up to allow them to come to the front places. 

And then--the catastrophe!

I was conscious at first only of an instant's confusion, of a hurriedintroduction in undertones. Then I found myself again sitting, my armtingling to the clutch of Milly's fingers. In her pale, pretty face herlight eyes glowed with a fright that was not all painful. 

The blood seemed to flow back to my heart as I realised what I had done. The sudden stir in our box had called attention, and I had been standingin the glare of electric lights overhead and at my feet, my white dressoutlined against the blood-red curtains. 

"Take this fan, " Milly whispered from behind me. "Will you have my seat?"

Shame dyed my face. After such a heedless act I couldn't look at theGeneral. I knew that, in his surprise at my appearance, Mr. Marmaduke VanDam had fumbled noisily with his chair, and that Mrs. Marmaduke haddropped her shoulder wrap--she was in evening dress; how can elderly womendo it?--I knew that in spite of their rigid politeness they found it hardto keep their eyes from me. I hoped the General had been too busy toappreciate my folly, and I drew a quivering breath of relief that it hadhad no more serious consequences. 

Yet I was queerly dissatisfied. The Metropolitan Opera House is a bigbuilding, and the part of the audience to which I could have beenconspicuous was small. Yet some people must have seen; had they taken nonotice?

For some space--minutes or seconds--it seemed so. 

Then a confused murmur, a shifting, restless movement, began near us inthe orchestra. A good many people down there, as well as in the boxes ateach side, had noticed me earlier. Now they began whispering to theirneighbours. Heads were turned our way; people were asking, answering, almost pointing. I could see the knowledge of me spread from seat to seat, from row to row, as ripples spread from a stone thrown into still water. Opera glasses were levelled. Comment grew, swelled to a stir of surprise. The curtain had dropped for the interval between scenes; our box becamefor the moment the centre of interest, and the lights were high. Even theorchestra was resting. 

Then it was given me to see how in a great audience Panic may leap withoutcause from Opportunity. 

The stir grew, spread. Fascinated, I gazed down at the disturbance. I knewthat a frightened smile still curved my lips. I felt my eyes glow, luminous and dilated. My heart almost stopped beating, gripped by triumphand horror. Afterwards I realised that I had not availed myself of thescreen Milly offered; I hadn't lifted the fan to shield my face; I had notstirred to hide myself. 

"Bob!" whispered the General. "Quick! Don't you see?"

Robert Van Dam sprang to his feet, offering, as I thought, to exchangeplaces with me. Once more I started up, and chairs were moved to give mepassage. 

While again I stood under the glare of the lights, and while for thesecond time the movement in the box drew attention thither, somebody belowhalf rose to look at me. Two or three--a dozen--followed. As I droppedinto my seat at the back of the box, and cast the scarf again about myhead, twenty, thirty people were struggling out of their chairs. 

From my shelter I watched as, farther and farther away, the heads began toturn. From places where I had not been visible I heard the murmurswelling, the scuffle of people rising. I had disappeared from sight, thefirst to rise had dropped back into their seats as if ashamed, but othersincreased the uneasy tumult of low, tense sounds. 

My brain worked quickly. I understood the shuddering thrill that passedover the audience. It was as if all my life I had seen such vastassemblies, and knew the laws that rule their souls. Even before it came Iguessed it was coming; a voice--it was a man's--crying out:--

"What is it? Is it--fire?"

And from away across the house came the answering call--not a questionthis time, not hesitant, but quick and sharp:--"Fire!"

What should I do? Why was not John or Mr. Hynes there to tell me? Wildthoughts darted through my mind. Should I stand once more? Show myself?Should I cry: "It was I, only I! They were looking at me. There is nofire!"

Crazy, crazy thought! For the thing was over as soon as it began. 

Those who had started the confusion and who understood its cause, beganshouting:--

"Sit down! Sit down!"

From the topmost gallery a tremendous great voice came bellowing down:--

"What--_fool_--said--that?"

There was a little laugh, a hiss or two rebuked the disorder; then thebaton signalled the orchestra, and the music recommenced, smoothly and inperfect time; the conductor had never turned his head. The curtain wentup; the incident was closed. 

I drew a long, sighing breath of relief as one, then another, then alltogether, as if by a single impulse, the people sat down in their places. It had been but an instant. The painted stage, the glittering courtladies, Isabella on her throne, the suppliant Colombo, were as if nothinghad happened. 

"First-rate orchestra, " muttered Robert Van Dam. 

The General turned in her chair and looked at me. She did not speak, but Icould see that she was excited; it seems to me now that her eyes were verybright, and that her strong, square-chinned face looked curiouslysatisfied. 

"Let's go, " I gasped; "I want to go home. "

Choking with sobs, though not unhappy, I felt as if I wished to run, tofly; but, as I tottered out of the box, I could scarcely stand. Mr. VanDam helped me, the General and Milly following. In the corridor we werejoined by Peggy and the florid young man whom I had seen with her. 

"Why--why, you're not going? You are not going?" Peggy cried. She breathedquickly, and her teeth and eyes alike seemed to twinkle. "Can--can't Mr. Bellmer or I--do something?"

"Nothing at all, " said the General in brisk staccato, fastening my wrapswith an air of proprietorship; "nobody's in voice to-night, do you think?Miss Winship doesn't care to stay. "

Before we reached the lobby, John came from somewhere, hurrying towardsus. I was walking between Mr. Bellmer and Robert Van Dam, but withscarcely a look at them he tucked my hand under his arm, just as he wouldhave done in the old days at the State University. At the door Mr. Van Damlooked for a cab. 

"I'll take her home, " said John grimly. 

"I'll go with you; I must see her safe with Mrs. Baker, " the Generalreplied, understanding at once. "Mr. Bellmer, tell Mother, please, thatBob and I have gone with Miss Winship. Or--Bob, you won't be needed; youexplain to Mother. "

The two men hurried away upon their errand, though I fancied they wentreluctantly. Peggy had not come down. 

All the way home John's brows were black, and he looked straight ahead ofhim. As we passed under the glow of electric lamps, Milly smiled bravelyat me across the carriage, respect and awe mingling with her sympathy. TheGeneral sat at my side erect; her eyes glittered, and she looked oddlypleased--not like a woman who had been at the focus of a scene, and hadbeen dragged away from the Opera before it was over, but like a Generalindeed, planning great campaigns. 

As for me, I felt that I must laugh--cry. Did ever such a ridiculousthing, such a wonderful, glorious thing, such a perfectly awful thing, happen to any other girl that ever lived?

I was living the scene again--seeing the mass of heads, the sea ofupturned faces. Again I was gazing into the one face that had beendistinct, the eyes that had drawn mine in all that blur and confusion, that had looked back at me, as if in answer to my voiceless call for help, with strength and good cheer. Even in the moment of my utmost terror, Ihad been sustained by that message from Ned Hynes. How did I chance to seehim just at that crisis, when I didn't know of his presence? And whydidn't he come to us afterwards, as John did?

Mrs. Baker and Ethel saw us leave the box, and were at home with Unclealmost as soon as we. 

"Are you safe, Nelly?" Aunt cried, rushing at me; then, with the sharpnessof tense nerves, she rebuked the Judge: "Ba-ake, you hissed her!"

"Nay, my dear; in the interests of music, I frowned upon disorder. " Headded, with waving of his antennae eyebrows: "It was Helen's first opera. "

We all laughed hysterically, and then Mrs. Van Dam and John went away. 

Could--_could_ Mr. Hynes have gone to the Opera just because he hadheard that I would be there?

CHAPTER V. 

A PLAGUE OF REPORTERS. 

Saturday evening, Jan. 18. 

Since Monday I have left the house but once. The Judge has given me amicroscope so that I may study at home instead of going to Barnard; and toplease him I make a pretence of cutting sections from the plants in Aunt'sconservatory; but oh, it's so dull, so dull! Or would be but for my happythoughts. It isn't interest in apical cell or primary meristem that makesme fret to return to Prof. Darmstetter!

It's all on account of reporters that I am shut up like a state secret ora crown jewel. From daylight until dark, men with pencils and notebooks, cardboard-bearing artists and people with hand cameras have watched thehouse; and it's so tiresome. 

The siege had already begun when Mrs. Baker came to my room the morningafter the Opera, but I knew nothing about it. I couldn't understand whyshe scolded with such vehemence upon finding me writing in this littlebook instead of lying in bed; why she exclaimed so nervously over myescape and the horrors of jumping from windows, or sliding down ropes, orof being hurried along in fire panics until I was crushed to death. 

"Why, you talk as if there had _been_ a fire, " I cried, kissing her. 

Millions of fires have flamed and roared and sunk and died again; butnever before has there been a Me!

The dear fussy little woman said that John had been telephoning inquiries. I could see that she wished to keep me in my room, and finally, at somelaboured excuse for withholding the morning papers, I understood that sheand John were hiding something; she is so transparent!

"You must be calm, Nelly, dear; you mustn't excite yourself, " she chirpedanxiously. 

"Unless I see the papers, I shall have a fever, a high fever, " Ithreatened; "I must--oh, I must see every word about last evening!"

At last the _Record_ and the _Messenger_ came upstairs alreadyopened to the critiques of the new opera. Mrs. Baker wished to read aloud, but I almost snatched the papers from her; my eyes couldn't go fast enoughdown the columns. But in neither sheet did I find more than a reference toa "senseless alarm" that marred the rendition of "Christofero. "

My cheeks flamed with annoyance. It was the reporters who were senseless;they had seen men adoring the wonder of this century, and had not flashednews of it--of me--to all the world!

Aunt couldn't understand. She thought to comfort me by saying that myshare in the disturbance would never be suspected; she unblushinglyaverred that no one had seen me; she begged me to rest, to forget myfright, not to be distressed by the newspapers. 

Distressed? Not I! Events had been too startling for me to heed thestupidity that whined over missing a few bars of a silly overture when_I_ was in sight. Indeed I had been frightened; yet why should notthe world demand to look upon me? I thought only of hurrying to Prof. Darmstetter that he might share my triumph. But Aunt wouldn't hear of myleaving the house; scarcely of my coming down stairs. Fluttering into myroom she would bring me some fruit, a novel; then she would trot awayagain with an air of preoccupation. 

I was getting out of patience at all this mystery, when, during one of herbrief absences, Ethel tapped at my door, and a minute later Kitty Reiddashed at me, while in the doorway appeared Cadge, scratching with onehand in a black bag. 

"Oh, Helen, Helen, " cried Kitty, laughing and half crying, "_have_you seen Cadge's exclusive?"

"Cadge! You were there? Cadge!"

"Sure, " said that strange creature, her keen eyes glancing about my room;"you don't deserve half I've done for you--not letting me knowbeforehand--. "

"Or me!" Kitty broke in. "Oh, I've have given a--a tube of chrome yellowto see you!"

"--but we've made the Row look like nineteen cents in a country where theydon't use money. See you've got the fossils. " Cadge nodded towards thepapers I had been reading. "But the _Star's_ worth the whole--nowwhere the mischief--"

"Cadge! Show me!"

From the black bag she drew several sheets of paper, upon each of whichwas pasted a cutting from a newspaper, with pencilled notes in the margin;a handkerchief, a bunch of keys, six pointed pencils, a pen-knife, apurse, rather lean, a photograph of two kittens. 

"There, " she said, relieved at sight of these, "knew I couldn't have lost'em. Brooklyn woman left 'em $5, 000 in her will. They'll stand me in agood little old half column. Now--where--ah, here you are!"

She unfolded a _Star_ clipping and proudly spread it upon my knee. 

"There, Princess! That's the real thing!"

I caught my breath at the staring headlines. 

BEAUTY OF A WOMAN THREATENS A PANIC AT THE OPERA HOUSE. 

PRESENCE OF MISS HELEN WINSHIP CREATES SENSATION THAT MIGHT HAVE RESULTEDIN A PERILOUS STAMPEDE. 

_Alarm of Fire During the Third Scene of "Christofero Colombo"_

GREAT AUDIENCE AT THE METROPOLITAN ENDANGERED BY FRENZY OVER REMARKABLYLOVELY GIRL. 

"Hot stuff, ain't it?" said Cadge, beaming with satisfaction. "I neverlike that Opera assignment--dresses and society, second fiddle to themusic man--but I wouldn't have missed last night! Minute I saw you in theVan Dam box I knew there'd be the biggest circus I ever--why--why, Helen--"

The horror of it--the pitiful vulgarity! My father, the University folks--all the world would know that I had been made notorious by a--that I--oh, the tingling joy, the rapture--that I was the loveliest of women!

"Cadge! Oh, Cadge!"

I threw myself into her arms. 

"Why, Helen, what's this? Can't stand for the headlines? Built in theoffice and I know they're rather--"

"They're _quite_" interrupted Kitty. "Of course the Princess wouldn'texpect a first page scare. But cheer up, child; there's worse to come. "

The girls were soothing me and fussing over me when Aunt Frank opened thedoor. At her surprised look I brushed away my tears of joy. I understoodeverything now--her uneasiness, the long telephonic conferences, myconfinement to the house. 

"Aunt, " I managed to say, "here is Kitty come to condole with me andcongratulate me; and this is my friend, Miss Bryant of the _Star_. You remember? She was here at the tea. "

"A reporter!"

"Oh, I had to know! Don't worry. Cadge, dear, did nobody but you see me?"

"The fossils never have anything they can't clip, " said Cadge in the toneof absorption that her work always commands. "I'm surprised myself at the_Echo_, though it did notice that a 'Miss Winslow' fainted in the VanDam box. But haven't you had reporters here--regiments? Expected to findyou ordering Gatlings for the siege. "

"We're bombarded!" said Aunt. "With--er--"

"Rapid fire questions, " suggested Ethel. 

"--but the servants have their orders. Of course, " Aunt added uneasily, "we're glad to see any friend of Nelly's. "

"Oh, by the way, I'm interviewing you, " Cadge announced; _Star_ wantsto follow up its beat. You haven't talked?"

"Why, no; but--do I have to be interviewed?"

Just at first the idea was a shock, I must confess. 

"Do you _have_ to be interviewed? Wish all interviewees were as meek. Why, of course, Helen, you'll want to make a statement. I 'phoned the_Star_ photographer to meet me here, but he's failed to connect. However, Kitty can sketch--"

"Oh, Miss Bryant!" wailed Aunt. "An interview! How frightful! Can't youlet her off?"

"Why, I don't exactly see how--though I might--" Cadge deliberated, studying Aunt's face rather than mine, "--might wait and see the redextras. I know how she feels, Mrs. Baker--they're always that way, atfirst--and I'm anxious to spare her, but--I can't let the _Star_ bebeaten. If I were you--"

She turned to me, hesitated a moment, then burst out impulsively:--

"If I were you, I wouldn't say a word! Not--one--blessed--word! I'd piquecuriosity. There! That _is_ treason! Why, I'd give my eye teeth, 'most, for a nice signed statement. But I'll wait--that is, if you really, honest-Injun, prefer. "

"You're very kind, " said Aunt Frank, with a sigh of bewildered relief. "We'd give anything, of course--_anything_!--to avoid--"

"Mind, " Cadge admonished me as she rose to go. "I'm running big risks, letting you off; the office relied on me. If you do talk to anybody else, or even see anybody, you'll let me know, quick? And if you don't want togive up, look out for a little fat girl with blue eyes and a baby stare;she'll be here sure, crying for pictures; generally gets 'em, first time, too. Snuffles and dabs her eyes and says: 'If I go back without anyphotograph, I'll lose my j-o-o-o-b! Wa-a-a-h! Wa-a-a-h! until you doanything to get rid of her. Ought to be on the stage; tears in her voice. I wouldn't do stunts like that, if I never--you will look out, won't you?"

Aunt is so funny, not to have guessed who wrote the _Star_ article. But she never saw it. Her precautions had all been taken at John'sofficious suggestion over the telephone. Busybody! An interview is nothingso terrible. The world has a right to know about me; and I don't supposeAunt had an idea how grievously Cadge was disappointed. 

No sooner had Cadge left us than Mr. Bellmer, pink and stammering in mypresence, and after him the General, called to inquire for me. 

It was wonderful to see the change in the strong, self-confident girl'smanner. She beamed at my appearance, and her every word was caressing anddeferential. The night before had had a magical effect. I was no longer"Diane, " the ingenue whom she patronized as well as admired. I was apowerful woman, a great lady. 

"Did our Princess enjoy waking this morning to find herself famous?" sheasked, echoing Milly's word for me; and then, to Mrs. Baker's horror, she, too, had a tale to tell about reporters; they had been besetting her forinformation about her companion of the Opera. 

"But I never see people of that sort, you know, " she said, with an accentthat piqued me, though I couldn't help feeling glad that Cadge had gone. 

She showered me with messages from Mrs. Marmaduke Van Dam and from Peggyand Mrs. Henry. She had a dozen plans for my entertainment, but Mrs. Bakeropposed a flurried negative:--

"We'll run no more risks like last night's; Nelly must stay at home--tillfolks get used to her. "

"Then I can never go anywhere; never!" I cried in despair, yet laughing. It's impossible sometimes not to laugh at Aunt. But Mrs. Van Dam gave me alook that promised many things. 

"You won't be left in hiding after such a début; you'll electrifysociety!" she said; and when she had gone, I wore away the day wonderingwhat she meant, until I could send for the afternoon papers. 

I laughed until I cried when they came, and cried until I laughed. The redextras reviewed the occurrence at the Opera from Alpha to Omega, publishing "statements" from ushers who had shown us to our box; frompeople in the audience and from the cab man who drove us home. And theysupplemented their accounts with pen and ink sketches of "Miss HelenWinship at the Opera, " evolved from the fallible inner consciousness of"hurry-up artists. "

When Uncle came home, he found me reading an interview with him whichcontained the momentous information that he would say nothing. 

"We shall not again forget, " he said with a deep sigh of relief, "that

--the face that launched a thousand shipsAnd burned the topless towers of Ilion

--was Helen's. But the Metropolitan still stands. An argument not used onheart-hardened Pharaoh was a plague of press representatives. "

I'm afraid he'd had a trying day. 

The worst of my day was still to come. 

After dinner, when I happened to be alone a minute in the library, Mr. Hynes came in. Oddly enough I'd been thinking about him. I had determinedthat the next time he called I would for once be self-possessed; I wouldact as if I had not seen how oddly he conducts himself--now gazing at meas if he would travel round the earth to feast his eyes upon my beauty andnow actually shunning Milly's cousin. I was quite resolved to begin afreshand treat him just as cordially as I would any other man:

But the moment he appeared away flew all my wits. 

"I think Milly'll be here in a minute, " I stammered, and then I stopped, tongue-tied and blushing. 

He came towards me, saying abruptly: "May I tell you what I thought when Isaw you above us--" I didn't need to ask when or where. "--I thought: TheQueen has come to her coronation. "

One's own stupid self is so perverse! Of course I meant to thank him forhis silent help the night before, but I asked with a rush of nervousconfusion:--

"You--were you there?"

I could have suffered torture sooner than own that I had seen him. 

"Were you there, Ned?" repeated Milly, blundering into the room. "Why, wedidn't see you. "

Of all vexatious interruptions! Behind her came John and most of thefamily. 

"The servant of The Presence would fain know if The Presence is well, "John said, coming quickly to my side and peering down at me with a dark, worn look upon his face, as if he hadn't slept, and a catch in his voicethat irritated me, in spite of his playful words. I knew well enough thathis anxiety had been on my account, but it was so unnecessary!

"The child bears up wonderfully, " cried my Aunt, before I could answer;"but to-morrow'll tell the story; to-morrow she'll feel the strain. "

Then they all broke out talking at once. John drew a big chair for me tothe fire, and there was such an ado, adjusting lights and fending me withscreens. 

"You _are_ well?" John asked, obstinately planting himself between meand the others. 

"Perfectly. How absurd you are!"

It was so ridiculous that I should be coddled after the triumph of mylife, as if something awful had happened to me. 

I had felt annoyed all day, so far as anything can now annoy me, by John'stoo solicitous guardianship, and it vexed me anew when he began to pile upcautions against this and against that--to warn me against going out aloneupon the street, and to urge care even in my intercourse with Cadge. He isquicker than my Aunt; he divined the source of the _Star_ article, and he almost forbade me to cleave to such an indiscreet friend. 

"Oh, last night won't happen again, " I said carelessly; "and you don'tknow Cadge; she's as good as the wheat. "

I wasn't listening to him. I was twisting his ring impatiently on myfinger and watching in the play of the fire a vision of the great OperaHouse, the lights, the jewels, the perfumes, the white, wondering faces. 

"Can't you see, Nelly, " replied John, with irritation, "that this Bryantwoman's article practically accuses you of risking lives to gratify a whimof vanity?"

"Why, John Burke, how can you say such a thing?" exclaimed Aunt Frank, overhearing his words and as usual answering only the last half dozen. "Risking lives! Poor Nelly!"

"I didn't say it, " John patiently explained; "but other people--"

"Nobody else will talk about Nelly's vanity. Why, she hasn't a particle. As for the papers, I won't have one in the house--"

"Except the _Evening Post_?" suggested Aunt Marcia. 

"Which Cadge says isn't a newspaper, " I contributed. 

"--so we needn't care what they say. "

I was ready to laugh at John's discomfiture, but the possible truth of hiswords struck me, and I cried out:

"People won't really believe I did it on purpose, whatever the paperssay--that I went there just to be looked at! Oh, that would be horrible!Horrible!"

"Of course not, " John said with curt inconsistency to bring me comfort;but I had a reply more sincere--a fleeting glance only, but it said: "TheQueen can do no wrong. "

"Oh, I hope you are right; I hope no one thought that, " I said confusedlyin answer to the glance. And then I bent over the Caesar that Boy laidupon my lap, while Uncle asked:--

"Well, my son, is there mutiny again in the camp of our Great and GoodFriend, Divitiacus the Aeduan?"

A few minutes later John said good-night with a ludicrous expression ofpained, absent-minded patience. I didn't go to the door with him; Iscarcely looked up from Boy's ablative absolutes. 

Oh I treated him shabbily. And yet--why did he use every effort that dayto keep me ignorant of my own rightful affairs, only to come at me himselfwith a club, gibbering of newspapers?

Why, John's absurd! He would have liked to find me--not ill, of course, but overcome by the Opera experience, dependent on him, ready to beshielded, hidden, petted, comforted. He can not see me as I am--a strong, splendid woman, ready to accept the responsibilities of my beauty. 

CHAPTER VI. 

LOVE IS NOTHING!

Monday, Jan. 20. 

Dear me! Beauty is a responsibility! Such troubles, such trials aboutnothing! It's photographs this time!

Last Wednesday--the day after the papers published so much about me--astrange man called in Mrs. Baker's absence and begged me to let him takemy photograph--as a service to Art. If Aunt had been at home I wouldn'thave been permitted to see him. But the man was pleasant and gentlemanly, and so sincere in his admiration that he won the way to my heart. I'mafraid devotion is still so new to me that it's the surest road to my goodgraces. He hesitated and stammered, blinking before my shining lovelinessas if blinded, as he offered to take the pictures for nothing, if he mightexhibit them afterwards; and at last I went to his studio, though I saidthat his work must be for me only, and that I must pay for it. 

I wonder at myself for yielding, for I didn't mean to have any photographsuntil the experiment was quite finished--to mortify me in future withtheir record of imperfection; but I'm so nearly perfect now that, really, it's time I had something to tell me how I do look. Of course, as fast asI can lay hands on them, I'm destroying every likeness of the old Nelly. At the studio it was such a revelation--the care and intelligence the mandisplayed, the skill of the posing--that when I got home full of thesubject and found Cadge waiting, I had to tell her all about it. 

"H'm!" she said after I had finished; "what sort of looking chap?"

When I had described him, she sat silent at least a third of a minute, establishing for herself a new record. Then she said:--

"Princess, I'll have to take back every word I said yesterday aboutletting you off from being interviewed. I agreed to wait, but it's up toyou. Every rag in town'll have some kind of feature about you next Sunday, and you wouldn't ask me to see the _Star_ beaten? You'd better comeright now to the _Star_ photographer, or--see last night's papers?--you'll wish you'd never been born. I tell you the situation's out of mycontrol. "

"Well, come on then, before Aunt Frank gets back. "

So we started out again. The sun and air made me so drunken with pure joyof living that I didn't mind the scolding sure to follow--though itcertainly has proved an annoyance ever since to have Aunt's fidgettyoversight of me redoubled, and to be shut up, as I have been, closer thanever, like a Princess in a fairy book, just as my splendid triumphs werebeginning. 

Worst of all, almost, Mrs. Baker told the tale of my misdeeds to John. 

"Why, Helen, " he said at once, "no photographer of standing goes aboutsoliciting patronage; the man who came here wants pictures of you tosell. "

"Like the great ladies' photographs in England?" I asked flippantly, though I was really a little disturbed. 

"Just what I told her!" groaned Aunt Frank. "Bake must see the man; or--Mr. Burke, why can't you find out about him? Perhaps it's all right, " sheadded weakly; "from her accounts he didn't flatter Nelly one bit; simplyraved over her. "

"Yes, I'll run in and converse with the art lover, " John grimly agreed;but just then in came Milly with the General, and the subject was changed. 

Indeed, though I don't know just how she managed it, from the moment thebrilliant woman of the world entered the room, poor clumsy John was madeto seem clumsier than ever, and before long, without quite knowing why, hewent away. I'm pretty sure that Mrs. Van Dam dislikes to see us together. 

John was wrong and yet not wrong about the photographer; his threatenedinterposition came to nothing, for the very next morning--only yesterday, long ago as it seems--I was enlightened as to the cheap and silly trickthat had been played upon me. 

"Thee, Cothin Nelly; pwetty, pwetty!" cried Joy, running towards me andholding up a huge poster picture from the Sunday _Echo_. 

"Isn't it--why--give it to me!" I almost snatched the sheet from her babyhands. 

My portrait! I knew it in spite of crude colour and cheap paper. It was myportrait, and it was labelled: "HELEN WINSHIP, MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN THEWORLD. POSED BY MISS WINSHIP ESPECIALLY FOR--"

And then--the insolence of the man!--there followed the name of thebashful stranger whose devotion to Art had drawn him to my door! Thefellow had practised upon my credulity to obtain my likeness forpublication. 

I threw down the sheet, quivering with anger. I felt that I should neveragain dare look at a paper; but half an hour later I sent Boy out to buythem all, and, locked into my room, I shook all about me a snowstorm ofbulky supplements and magazines. 

Having posed for Cadge, I knew, of course, that the _Star_ wouldprint my picture, perhaps several of them. But at any other time I shouldhave been overcome to find a "special section" of four pages filled withhalf-tone likenesses of me, cemented together by an essay on "Beauty, "signed by a novelist of repute, and by articles from painters, sculptors, dressmakers and gymnasts, all from their respective standpoints extollingmy perfections. Cadge had written an interview headed "How It Feels to beBeautiful. "

But the _Echo!_ Besides the poster which Joy had shown me, itpublished two pages of portraits framed in medallion miniatures ofcelebrated beauties with whom it compared me, making me surpass theloveliest women of history and legend, from Helen of Troy to the reigningmusic hall performer. And, with a shock of surprise, I not only saw in thepictures the dress I had worn and the theatrical things the deferentialartist had loaned me to pose in, but in the article appeared every word Ihad said to him; and the skill with which fact, fiction, clever conjectureand picturesque description had been stirred into the sweetened batterthat Cadge calls a "first-rate delirious yellow style" was maddening. 

This is the beginning of the stuff:--

CHAPTER I. 

A PRAIRIE BUD. 

So fair that, had you Beauty's picture took, It must like her or not like Beauty look. --ALEYN'S HENRY VII. 

A Western Wild Rose!

As sweet! As perfect!

By all who have seen her, Helen Winship is pronounced the most beautifulof women. 

Last Monday night, at the Opera House, a great audience paid her suchspontaneous tribute as never before was offered human being. 

At the sight of a young girl, trembling and blushing, staid citizens werelifted to their feet by an irresistible wave of enthusiasm. 

Not for anything this girl has done, though Science will hear from her;not for her voice, though no nightingale sings so melodiously; but for aface more glorious than that other Helen's, "Whose beauty summoned Greeceto arms and drew a thousand ships to Tenedos. "

This modern Helen is a niece of Judge Timothy Baker, at whose residence, No. -- East Seventy-second Street, she is staying. 

The Judge and his family are reticent concerning their lovely guest, ofwhom the _Echo_ presents the first authentic picture. 

Miss Winship cannot be described. 

Artists say that by their stern canons she is a perfect woman. Her beautyis that of flawless health and a hitherto unknown physical perfection. 

She is cast in Goddess mould. The loose, flowing robe of her daily wear isof classic grace and dignity. 

Tall as the Venus of Milo, she incarnates that noble figure with alightness and a purity virginal and modern. 

She is neither blonde nor brunette; of a type essentially American, shehas glorious eyes and for her smile a man would lose his head. 

It is a fact for students of heredity and environment to consider thatMiss Winship is not a product of the cities. Jasper M. Winship, herfather, is a bonanza farmer. Mrs. Winship was in her youth the belle ofprairie dances, and still has remarkable beauty. 

Born of pioneer stock, baby Helen was reared to a life of freedom;learning what she knew of grandeur from the sky and of luxury from the lapof Mother Earth. Child of the sunshine and sweet air, she danced with thebutterflies, as innocent as they of cramping clothing that would distorther body, or of city conventionalities that might warp her mind. 

Year by year she grew, a brown-faced cherub, strong-limbed and supple. Springtime after springtime her marvellous beauty budded, unnoted save bythe passing traveller, who put aside the bright, wind-blown hair to gazelong into her fathomless eyes. 

Roystering farm-hands checked their drunken songs at the little maid'sapproach, but no wild thing feared her. Birds and squirrels came at hercall and fed from her hand. 

And so it went. Chapters II and III described with brilliant inaccuracy myUniversity life and made me a piquant mixture of devotee of science andfavourite of fashion. Ah, well, it was all as accurate as Pa's name orMother's beauty or her love of dancing--she thinks it's as wicked asplaying cards. 

Before I had read half the papers, between dread of Father and John andthe absurdity of it all, I was in a gale of tears and laughter. More thanonce Milly crept to the door, or I heard in the hall the uneven step oflame little Ethel. But I wouldn't open. I was swept by a passion of----

Not grief, not anger, not concern, not fear of anything on earth; but--Joy!

Joy in my beauty, about which a million men and women had that morningread for the first time! Joy in the fame of my beauty which should lastforever! Joy in my full and rapturous life!

What did I care for the spelling of a name or the bald prose about mycollege course? What concern was it of mine how my photographs had beenobtained? Trifles; trifles all! Here were the essential facts set broadlyforth, speeding to every part of the country--why, to every part of theworld! Cadge or Pros. Reid now--any one who knows how such things aredone--might note the hours as they passed, and say: "Now two millions haveseen her beauty, have read of her; now three; now five; now ten millions. "

And the story would spread! In ever widening circles, men warned bytelegraph of the new wonder would tear open the damp sheets; and pen andpencil and printing press would hurry to reproduce those marvellouslines--to-morrow in Philadelphia, Boston, Baltimore, Montreal; next dayin Chicago, St. Louis, Atlanta; and so on to Denver, Galveston and theGolden Gate. 

The picture--_mine_;--_my picture_!--would be spread on tablesin the low cabins of pilot boats and fishing smacks; it would be nailed tothe log walls of Klondike mining huts; soldiers in the steaming trenchesaround Manila would pass the torn sheets from hand to hand, and for amoment forget their sweethearts while they read of me. 

And the ships! The swiftest of them all would carry these pages to London, Paris, Vienna, there to be multiplied a thousand fold and sent out againin many tongues. Blue-eyed Gretchen, Giuseppina, with her bare locks andrainbow-barred apron, slant-eyed O Mimosa San, all in good time woulddream over the fair face on the heralding page; women shut in the zenanasof the unchanging East would gossip from housetop to housetop of thewonderful Feringhe beauty; whipped slaves in midmost Africa would carry mypicture in their packs into regions where white men have never trod, anddying whalers in the far North would look at my face and forget for alittle while their dooming ice floes. 

The wealth of all the earth was at my command. Railroad train and oceangrayhound, stage and pony cart, spurring horseman and naked brown runnersweating through jungle paths under his mail bags, would bear the news ofme East and West, until they met in the antipodes and put a girdle of myloveliness right round the world!

Never before had I realised what a great thing a newspaper is!

My heart was beating with a terrible joy. And so--prosaic detail--I threwthe papers down in a heap on the floor, combed my hair in a great looseknot, put a rose at my belt, and went down to smile at my Aunt'sanxieties. I even went with my cousins to supper with Aunt Marcia. And inthe early evening Mr. Hynes came to walk with us home. I knew his step, and my heart jumped with fright. What would he, so fastidious as he was, think of that poster?

But his look leaped to mine as he entered, and I--oh, it seemed as ifthere had never been such a night; never the snow, the delight of the coldand dark and the far, wise stars! I couldn't tell what joy elf possessedme as we walked homeward. I wanted to run like a child. Yet I couldn'tbear to reach the house. 

"Why, Helen, " said Ethel; "you're not wearing your veil. "

"Will the reporters git me ef I don't--watch--out?" I laughed. How could Imuffle myself like a grandmother?

"We'll keep away the goblins, " he said; and--it's a little thing to writedown--he walked beside me instead of Milly. We would pass through theshadows of the trees, and then under the glare of an electric lamp, andthen again into blackness; and I felt in his quickened breath an instantresponse to my mood; as if newspapers had never existed, and we wereplaying at goblins. 

I hope he didn't think me childish. 

Of course John had come before we reached home, and of course he had beenall day fuming over the papers, as if that would do any good; but I haddrunk too deep of the intoxicating air to be disturbed by his surprisedlook when Mr. Hynes and I entered the library; can't I go without hisguarding even to Aunt Marcia's?

I like the library--bookshelves, not too high, all about it, and the glowof the open fire and the smiling faces. Sometimes I grow impatient ofAunt's fussy kindness, and of the slavish worship of limp andcharacterless Milly and Ethel; but last night I was glad to be walledabout with cousins, barricaded from the big, curious world. I could havehugged Boy, who lay curled on the hearth, deep in the adventures of Mowgliand the Wolf Brethren. I did hug little Joy, who climbed into my lap, lisping, as she does every night: "Thing, Cothin Nelly. "

I looked shyly at Mr. Hynes, who had stooped to pat the cat that purredagainst his leg, muttering something about a "fine animal. " I knew--Ibegin to understand him so well--just how he felt the charm of everything. 

"Thing, " Joy insisted, putting up a baby hand until it touched my cheekand twined itself in my hair, "Thing, Cothin Nelly. " And I crooned whilebreathlessly all in the room listened:--

"Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the Western sea--

"He'll be a bad man, won't he, Joy, " I broke off, as John came to mycorner, "if he scolds a poor girl who has had to stand on the floor allday for the scholars to look at, and get no good mark on her deportmentcard?"

"I am no longer a schoolmaster, Nelly, " said John so icily that Auntlooked up at him, surprised. "Come, Joy, " she said, "Cousin Nelly can'tbe troubled with a great big girl. Why, Mr. Burke, she's cried herselfill, fairly, over those dreadful newspapers. I do so hope they'll leaveher in peace now. But of course we tell her it's all meant as a tribute. "

"Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon and blow--Blow him again to me, While my little Joy, while my pretty Joy sleeps. "

"Thing more about your little Joy! More about me. "

The sleepy child cuddled closer and, as I continued to sing, I knew thatat least one person in the room understood that a creature so blessed as Icould never cry herself ill. 

"Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the West--"

"Milly and I have tributes, too, " laughed Ethel. "The _Trumpet_ sayswe're just as charming girls as our wonderful cousin. And the_Record_ prints snapshots at Joy and her nursemaid. Aren't newspapersfunny?"

"Some one of us should be running for office, " said Uncle Timothy. "Itseems gratuitous to subject an unambitious private family to the treatmentexpected by a candidate or a multi-millionaire. Yet I have seldom hadoccasion to complain of the press. In its own perhaps headlong manner, itpursues such matters as are of greatest public importance. A household, toavoid its attentions, should be provided with good, plain, durablecountenances. The difficulty with this family is its excess ofattraction. "

He patted Aunt's hand affectionately, while I sang:--

"--Under the silver moonSleep, my little Joy, sleep, my pretty Joy, sleep--"

"--but, Uncle, what shall I do?"

"Nothing. In a shorter time than now seems possible, another topic willsupersede you. Then, as one of our Presidents has aptly said, you willsink into 'innocuous desuetude. '"

But of course I sha'n't!

As I rose to carry Joy to her bed, I felt from all in the room a look thatsaid I was like a great, glorious Madonna, and I bent lower over thesleeping child's still face; it is good to have everybody admire me. 

Oh, I do wish John were more reasonable. Not satisfied with seeing meSaturday and yesterday, he came again to-day and asked me to marry him atonce. He's so ridiculous!

"Perhaps I'm selfish to wish to mould your brilliant life to my ploddingone, " he said wistfully, as if he were reading my thoughts. "But I don'tmean to be selfish. I love you--and--you're drifting away from me. "

"What a goose you are, John!" I said, laughing impatiently. "I'm just thesame that I always was; the trouble is, I'm not a bit sentimental. "

John _is_ selfish. He'd hide me somewhere outside the city, he'd buryalive the most lovely of women. He prosed to me about a "home"; as if Icould now endure a Darby and Joan existence!

To-night his ring distracts--torments me. I pull it off and put it backand it galls my finger, as if it rubbed a wound. I used to go to sleepwith it against my lips--I love the opal, gem of the beautiful women. Iwonder if it's really unlucky. 

I suppose John's talk to-day annoyed me because I'm in such a restlessmood--waiting for the barriers to fall, for the glorious life ahead of meto open. How could he expect me to feel as in the days when we were boyand girl, when we dreamed foolish dreams about each other, and wereromantic, and young? I have changed since then, I have a thousand thingsto think about in which he doesn't sympathize; if I answered his words atrandom it was because I couldn't fix my mind upon them. I drew a longbreath when he left me--when I escaped the tender, perplexed question ofhis eyes. 

It's true; I'm not a bit sentimental. I used to think I was, but now Ifeel sure that I could never love any one as John loves me. 

But I mustn't drift away from him. I remember so many things that tie ustogether, here in this strange, stormy city. What happy times we used tohave! He'll understand better by and by, and be less exacting. 

But I can't marry; I must be free to enjoy the victories of my beauty; Itold him at Christmas that I can't marry for a long, long time. 

CHAPTER VII. 

LOVE is ALL!

Thursday, Jan. 30. 

I've been trying to read, but I can't. Pale heroines in books are so dull!

Last night came the Van Dams' dance and my triumph--and a greater triumphstill; for to-day I have a wonderful, beautiful chapter to add to my ownbook, to the story of the only woman whose life is worth while. 

I see the vista of my future, and--ah, little book, my eyes are dazzled! Arich woman would be a beggar, a clever woman a fool, an empress wouldleave her throne to exchange with me. Nothing, nothing is impossible tothe most beautiful woman that ever lived, whose life is crowned by love. Love is all; all! In a palace without Ned I'd weep myself blind; with hima desert would be Eden. Love is all!

That blessed dance!

The General invited me ten days ago, the afternoon when--when John Burke--poor John!---scolded me about the photographs. 

"Just a 'small and early, '" she said, broaching her errand as soon as shehad fairly driven John off the field--there was just the faintestsuggestion of relief in her tone--"Peggy's mother's giving it--Mrs. HenryVan Dam. "

She looked at Aunt with an assurance as calm as if there were no interdictupon social experiments. 

"Impossible!" gasped Aunt, glancing despairingly in the direction in whichher ally had disappeared. "Why, Nelly doesn't leave the house; I'vestopped her attendance even at Barnard. "

"And quite right; but a private house isn't a big school, nor yet theOpera. Of course you say yes, don't you, Helen?"

"Yes, yes! A dance! Oh, I'm going to a dance! Play for me, Milly; play forme!"

Humming a bar of a waltz, I caught Aunt Frank in my arms, and whirled herabout the room until she begged for mercy. 

"Oh, you dear people, I'm so happy!" I cried as I stopped, my cheeksglowing, and, falling all about me, a flood of glistening hair; while theGeneral, whose creed is to wonder at nothing, gazed at me in delightedamazement. 

"You splen--did creature!" she cried. 

"I--I would like to go; Aunt Frank, you will let me?" I said meekly, astoo late I realised how differently a New York girl _bien élevée_would have received the invitation. But, indeed, my heart jumped withrapture. 

Without John, Mrs. Baker really didn't know how to refuse me. 

"But--but--but--" she stammered. 

"Surround her with a bodyguard, if you like, " said the General. "You'llhave Judge Baker and Hynes, of course; and that--what's the name of thatshy young man who's just gone? He looks presentable. "

"But--but--" protested Aunt; "Bake'd never go; and--Nelly--has--do yousuppose Mr. Burke has evening clothes?"

"Naturally, " I said with nonchalance, though my quick temper was fired. Iwas as sure he hadn't as I was that Mrs. Van Dam knew his name, and thathe would oppose the dance even more strongly than did Aunt; and I wishedthat I could go without him. But it was useless to think of this, witheven the General suggesting a bodyguard. I resolved that he should atleast consult a decent tailor. 

"Why not have detectives as guards--as if I wore a fortune in diamonds?" Igrumbled. 

"Let us at least have Mr. Burke. Now, Helen, what do _you_ propose towear?" concluded the General. 

Mrs. Van Dam took an extraordinary interest in my toilette. She even cameto see my new evening dress fitted, and put little Mrs. Edgar into such aflutter that she prodded me with pins. I'll simply have to ask Father toincrease my allowance; cheap white silk, clouded with tulle, was the bestI could manage. 

"H'm--Empire; simple and graceful, " pronounced Oracle. "Square neck, Helen, or round?"

"Why--I've never worn a low dress--not really low, " I said, longing butdubious. "Pa says--"

"Nonsense!"

"A shame!" chimed Mrs. Edgar. 

And it would have been a shame to hide my neck and arms. I laughed whenthey cut away their interfering linings from the white column of mythroat, and left across my shoulders only wisps of tulle. And last night, when I came to dress, I laughed again, and kissed the entrancing flesh, sofirm and soft and gleaming faintly pink, and then I blushed because AuntMarcia saw me do it. I worship the miracle of my own fairness. I couldscarcely bear to put gloves on, even. 

Miss Baker gathered all my shining hair into the loose knot that suits me, and put roses at my girdle and into the misty tulle about my shoulders. Ethel fitted on my slippers, and brought her fan and her lacehandkerchief, and when I had smiled for one last time at the partedscarlet lips and the brilliant eyes that smiled back at me from themirror, and had turned reluctantly from my dressing table, I was stilljoyous at remembrance of the light, the grace, the marvel of the vision Ihad seen reflected, that had seemed fairly to float in the dancing roselight of its own happiness. 

Down in the hall the family were waiting, with John and Mr. Hynes; and, asI glided into sight on the stairway, Milly behind me, the Judge looked upat us, quoting with heavy playfulness:--

"She seizes hearts, not waiting for consent, Like sudden death that snatches unprepared. 

"How many conquests will satisfy you to-night, fair Princesses? Milly, will two young men answer instead of one old one?" He had been exemptedfrom serving on my bodyguard. 

"Bake! Death! How can you, " sputtered Aunt. "Come, girls, the carriage iswaiting. 

"Wish I could dance, " whispered Ethel, reaching up to touch my flowers--apathetic little figure poised on her best foot. 

"Oh, I wish you could! I wish you were going, " I replied hastily, bendingto kiss the little creature, the better to hide my sudden consciousness ofmy bared shoulders. 

All in the room were looking at me as if never before had they beheld mybeauty. John's strained eyes seemed to plead with me for an answeringglance of affection, and I knew that Ned--though I wasn't conscious oflooking at him at all--was alternately white and red as I was myself. Ifelt his glance so confused and passionate and withal so impetuous that, as Aunt Marcia lifted my wrap and I went down to the carriage, my heartbeat violently, and I sank back into my corner in a frightful, blissfulmaze of fear and ecstasy. 

But even then I didn't know what had happened to me. 

We had but a few blocks to go, and before I had recovered, a man in liverywas opening the carriage door at the mouth of a canvas tunnel which seemedto dive under a great house that towered so far above the street as tolook almost narrow. We passed through the tunnel, another man opened adoor almost at the street level, and we advanced into a hall extending theentire width of the house, so brilliantly lighted and so spacious that Icaught my breath at thought of our errand, seeing that the size of theplace and its splendour so far exceeded what I had supposed. 

I clutched at Aunt's hand as if to stop her in front of the hugefireplace, where logs, crackling on tall "firedogs" of twisted iron, gaveout a yellow blaze; but then quickly such a different terror and wonderand joy came again upon me that I lost consciousness of everything butNed; and the masses of ferns and palms through which we were moving--thedoll-like servants in silk stockings and knee breeches, their scarletcoats emblazoned with the monogram of the Van Dams--faded out of sight. Yet I never once glanced in his direction. 

We had to go to the third floor for the dressing rooms; but in spite ofthose minutes of grace, when a maid had removed my wraps--she started withamazement as she did so--my cheeks were still aflame. 

Mrs. Baker and Milly fussed with my dress, and Aunt became incoherent inher efforts to soothe and encourage me; for she feared the ordeal beforeus, and thought that I feared it also. And I was afraid, but not ofmeeting any person in that house, save one. I quivered at the thought thatoutside the door Ned was waiting, that we must go out to him, that I mighteven be obliged to speak to him. And yet I longed to see him again, to bewith him--somewhere, away from them all. 

Perhaps at last I was beginning to understand. 

The General had been sent for, and I kept close to her and to Peggy, whenthey went down with our party to the parlours on the second floor. There, at our entrance, groups of people seemed to divide with an eager buzz thatat any other time would have been ravishing music. Last night I didn'tknow that I heard it, though now I remember how splendidly apparelledwomen and sombre-coated men turned their heads as we passed. Of courseword had spread that the beautiful Miss Winship was expected. 

It was almost in a dream that I stood before Mrs. Henry Van Dam--a short, heavy woman, in purple velvet, flashing with diamonds. Without a vestigeof awkwardness or timidity I answered her effusive welcome, and thegreetings of her grayish wisp of a husband, and of Mr. And Mrs. MarmadukeVan Dam--both thin and grave; her neck cords standing out under herdiamond collar. And of little Mr. Robert Van Dam. And of Mr. Bellmer--apink, young, plump thing, all white waistcoat and bald head, just as Iremembered him at the Opera. 

I held a reception of my own. I did it easily. After the first momentsNed's presence excited me. I was always conscious of his nearness; I feltthat whether I talked or was silent--though I was never allowed to bethat--to whatever part of the room he went, his glowing eyes never leftme. And there came to me a thrilling confidence that he understood. Heknew that to me all these people were so much lace, so many blotches ofwhite complexion, so many pincushions of silk or lustrous satin stuckthrough with jewels. He knew that I cared for no one of them; for nothing;not even for my beauty, except that--thank God!--it pleasured him. 

I knew that perfect beauty had come to me last night--had come because Iloved and was loved; and because Love was not the pale shadow I had calledby its name, but a rapture that was in my heart and in my face and in thefaces 'round me and in the music that swelled from the great ballroom!

I had no idea of time, but perhaps it wasn't long before the Generalmanoeuvred me from the sitting-out rooms and across the hall to join thedancers. Mrs. Baker and John were with us; Ned was not, but I knew that hewould follow. 

It was a big apartment that we entered, occupying the entire end of thesecond floor towards the street, perhaps thirty feet by forty and twentyhigh; for an instant I was dazzled by the gleam of white and gold, therise of pilasters at door and window, the shimmer of soft, bright hangingsand everywhere the cheat of mirrors. I breathed delight at sight of thelovely ceiling all luminous--no lights showed anywhere, yet the air wastransfused by a rosy glow. The next minute I had forgotten this in thepulse of the music and the blur of moving figures; my favourite waltz wassounding, and the scene was one of fairyland. 

"Shall we dance?" asked John, and I came to myself in a panic. Dance withJohn--there? I hadn't thought of that. Of course I must, but--why, hisstep is abominable! It always was!

"As you please, " I said with the best grace I could muster, glancingnervously up at him. He looked well in his new evening clothes, but hisface was set in grim lines of endurance, and I went on with guilty hasteto forestall question or reproach:--

"I hope you waltz better than you used. "

"I'm afraid I don't, " said he dryly. 

And he didn't. I simply couldn't dance with him. He never thought aboutwhat he was doing or where he was going. I looked back despairingly at theGeneral, grimacing involuntarily as I gathered my skirts from under hisfeet; and I had an odd notion that she smiled with malicious satisfaction. Could she have reckoned upon weaning me from him by a display of hisawkwardness? I felt nettled at both of them. 

"Helen, " he said abruptly, as we laboured along the crowded floor, "do youremember our last dance--at the Commencement ball?"

The night of our betrothal! What a time to remind me of it! I had justseen Ned and Milly join the group we had left; and as they, too, began todance, I felt a stab of pain that made me answer angrily--we were barelyescaping collision with another couple:--

"If it's only at Commencement that you care to dance--"

He tightened his grip upon me almost roughly, then took me back to my Auntwithout a word. 

I tried to reason myself out of my pettishness, to atone to John, poorfellow! But my eyes followed Ned and Milly among the graceful, flyingfigures, and my feet tapped the floor impatiently until, presently, themusic stopped and they came to us. Then Ned's parted lips said something, and then--as the music recommenced, I was in his arms and, almost withoutmy own knowledge or volition, was moving around the room. 

Moving, not dancing--floating in a rosy light, away and away from themall, into endless space, my hand in his, his breath on my cheek; always togo on, I felt; on and on, to the dim borderland between this earth andHeaven. 

Presently his eyes told me that something was happening. The dancers hadbeen too busily engaged to pay much heed to my first brief adventure, butin the intermission of the music I had been noticed, and now I saw thatthere was an open space about us. Here and there a couple stood as theyhad risen from their seats, while others, who had begun to dance, had cometo a pause. Slender girls in clouds of gauze and fat matrons panting insatins were gazing in our direction. In the doorway were gathered peoplefrom the parlours. 

"Are they looking at us? We must stop, " I whispered. 

"Looking at you, not us. But don't stop; not yet--Helen!"

"Helen!" He had called my name! My eyes must have shown with bliss andterror. I had an almost overmastering desire to whisper his name also, toanswer the entreaty of his voice, the clasp of his fingers. But I forcedmyself to remember how many eyes were watching. 

"I--we must stop, " I said. 

"Not yet; unless--we shall dance together again?"

I scarcely heard the "yes" I breathed. I shouldn't have known what I hadsaid but for the sudden light in his eyes, the firmer pressure of his arm. 

My feet didn't seem to touch the floor, as he gently constrained me when Iwould have ceased to dance, and kept me circling round with him until wecame opposite my seat; then he put me into it as naturally as if I hadbeen tired. 

Tired! Our faces told--they must have told our story. But the others wereblind--blind! John had risen as if to meet us, but if he took note at allof my flushed face, he doubtless thought me frightened. 

It was exultation, not fright. I did not heed the following eyes, when, asgliding figures began to cover the floor again, John took me back to theparlours. I went with him submissively; I thought of nothing but the joyof my life, the love of my lover. I shall think of nothing else to the endof my days. 

Ned went with me, confused and impulsive and ardent as John was attentiveand curiously formal. But I wasn't allowed to remain with either of them. I didn't wish to do so. I was glad that people crowded about me--men inblack coats all alike, whose talk was as monotonous as their broadexpanses of shirt front or their cat's eye finger rings. But I tried tolisten and answer that I might hide from John my tumult. 

Before long I danced again--this time with some black coat; then withanother and another and another; and, at last, once more with Ned. 

We scarcely spoke, but he did not hide from me the fervour of his look, nor I from him the wild joy of mine. There was no need of words when allwas understood, but as he put his arm around me, the tinkling musicreceded until I could hardly hear it, the figures about us grewindistinct--and in all the world there were left only he and I. 

"Once there was another Helen, " he said. His voice caressed my name. 

"There have been many; which Helen?"

I so loved the word as he had spoken it that I must repeat it after him. 

"_The_ Helen; there was never another--until you. She was terrible asan army with banners; fair as the sea or the sunset. Men fought for her;died for her. She had hair that meshed hearts and eyes that smote. Sometimes I think--do you believe in soul transmigration?"

My heart beat until it choked me. Some voice far in the depths of my soulwarned me that I must check him--we must wait until I--he--Milly--

"Sometimes; who does not? But Prof. Darmstetter would say that it wasnonsense, " I whispered, and waited without power to say another word. 

"It is true; Helen is alive again, and all men worship her. "

His eyes were so tenderly regardful that--I could not help it. Once more Iraised mine and we read each other's souls. And the music seized us andswept us away with its rapture and its mystery. 

The rest of the evening comes to me like a dream, through which I floatedin the breath of flowers and the far murmur of unheeded talk. I sawlittle, heard little, yet was faintly conscious that I was the lodestar ofall glances and exulting in my triumph. It was marvellous!

I didn't dance much. People don't at New York balls. But whether I dancedor talked with tiresome men, my heart beat violently because he would seethe admiration I won--he would know that I, who was Helen, a Queen tothese others, lived only for him, was his slave. 

There was supper, served at an endless number of little tables; there wasa cotillon which I danced with Mr. Bellmer. John stayed in the parlourswith Aunt, and Ned danced with Milly, but I was not jealous. 

Jealous of Milly, with her thin shoulders rising out of her white dress, her colourless eyes and her dull hair dressed like mine with roses?Jealous, when his glance ever sought me; when, as often as we approachedin a figure, if I spoke, his eyes answered; if I turned away my face, hisgrew heavy with pain?

Once in the dance I gave a hand to each of them. His burned like my own;hers was cold. 

"Tired, Milly?" I asked, and indeed I meant kindly. 

"No, " she said sulkily, turning to the next dancer. 

I couldn't even pity her, I was so happy. 

I couldn't bear to have the beautiful evening end, and yet I was glad togo home--to be alone. 

When John lifted me from the carriage, his clasp almost crushed my hand;poor John, how he will feel the blow! I didn't wait to say good-night toAunt; I didn't look at Milly, but ran away to my room. 

Oh, indeed, the child doesn't love him! Milly knows no more about Lovethan I did two months ago. She's bloodless, cold; I do not wrong her. Someday she will learn what Love is, as I have learned, and will thank me forsaving her from a great mistake. I hope she will!

I have saved myself from the error of my life. I'm not the same woman Iwas yesterday. It makes me blush to think how I looked forward to theadulation of the nobodies at that dance. I care for no praise but his. Why, I'll go in rags, I'll work, slave--I'll hide myself from every eyebut his, if that will make him love me better. Or I will be Empress ofbeautiful women, if that is his pleasure, and give him all an Empress'slove. 

I couldn't sleep last night. I know that he could not. I know that he hasbeen watching, waiting, as I have, for to-day, when he must come to me. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A LITTLE BELTED EARL. 

Feb. 4. 

Five wasted days; and nothing more to tell, though some women mightn'tthink so; nothing but--another triumph!

I've been to the Charity Ball. I've danced with a Lord--such a littlefellow to be a belted Earl! I have scored over brilliant women of Society. 

It isn't the simple country girl of a few weeks ago whom Ned loves, but awonderful woman--a Personage; and I am glad, glad, glad! Though no womancould be good enough for him. I'm not; I am only beautiful enough. And oh, so feverishly happy, except that waiting is hard, so hard. I'm so restlessthat I scarcely know myself. 

If I might tell him that I love him--as other Queens do! I am afraid ofhis glance when he is here, because he knows. But when he's not here, Iimagine that he does not know, that he will never come again unless helearns the truth, and I say it over and over: "I love him! I love him!"and am glad and panic-stricken as if he had heard. 

I have never had any other secret, but the Bacillus, I would sooner diethan tell that, to Ned. My love I would cry aloud, but I cannot until hespeaks, and he cannot speak until--has Milly no pride?

I thought--I thought that the very day after the dance--why, I could haverubbed my eyes, when I went down to a late breakfast, to find Mrs. Bakerchirping with sleepy amiability, and Milly doling out complacent gossip toEthel. The very sky had fallen for me to gather rainbow gold--and here wewere living prose again, just as before. 

I had struggled with my joy through all the short night, for I hadimagined them suffering and angry; but I do believe that on the wholeMilly had enjoyed the dance, and liked to shine even by her reflectedimportance as the beautiful Miss Winship's cousin. She had been vexed byNed's admiration for me; and yet--and yet she didn't understand. Thestupid! Didn't see that his love is mine. 

There may have been a pause as I came, dazzling them like a great rosylight; but then my aunt stifled a yawn as she said, "Here's Nelly, " andthe chatter went on as before. 

But I didn't hear it. Gliding confusedly into a seat, I had opened a notefrom John. "--Called West on business; start to-day, " it said; and thenindeed I began to feel the tangle, the terrible tangle--my cousins blind, John gone, when I was counting the minutes until I could see him. Oh, Imust be free! It is his right to know the truth, and--what can Ned saywhile I'm affianced? I am Milly's cousin, and he John's friend. 

I hurried to escape. I longed to be by myself that I might recall Ned'severy look and word. Without reason--against reason--I felt that at anyminute Ned might come, and waves of happiness and dread and impatienceswept over me, and kept me smiling and singing and running anxiously to myglass. 

Ned loves my beauty; I pulled down my hair and reknotted it and pulled itdown again, fearful--so foolish have I grown--lest I might fail to pleasehim; and frowned over my dresses and rummaged bureau drawers for ribbons, until Milly, who had tapped at my door and entered almost without mynotice, asked abruptly:--

"Who's coming?"

"No one; John--no, he's out of town. "

I flushed to see her regard the litter about me with calm deliberateness. 

"Oh, you don't have to take pains for John, " she said with a short laugh. "But come; Meg's down stairs. "

The General had followed Milly up; she whisked into the room, showering mewith congratulations on my success at the dance, she claimed me for adinner, a concert--half a dozen engagements. 

"Oh, by the way, " she said, checking her flood of gossip. "Who d'yousuppose is to be at the Charity Ball? Lord Strathay. You'll talk with areal Earl, Nelly--for of course he'll ask to be introduced. "

"Another dance!" groaned my aunt, who had trotted panting in the General'swake; "I'm sure I wish I'd never said she might go; I'm as nervous as awitch after last evening. "

Poor Aunt; she looked tired. She's really becoming the great objector. 

Such a day as it was! I started at every footstep; my heart gave an absurdjump at every movement of the door hangings. Of course I knew that Nedcouldn't--that we mustn't see each other until--but Ned is mine; it's sowonderful that he loves me. If I were Milly, I wouldn't remain an hour--not a minute!--in such a false position. 

Yet the next day passed just like that day, and the next and the next andthe next; every morning a note from John, scrawled on a railway train, andbegging for a line from me. I wrote, poor fellow; so that's settled, andI'm very sorry for him. 

I got rid of one morning by calling on Prof. Darmstetter. It was threeweeks since I had seen him, and he was testy. 

"I see much in t'e newspapers about t'e beautiful Mees Veensheep, but v'ydoes she neglect our experiment?" he demanded, following me across thelaboratory to my old table. "V'ere are my records, my opportunities forobservation? Has t'e beautiful Mees Veensheep no regard for science?"

"You've always said she hadn't, and pretended to be glad of it; I won'tcontradict, " I returned. "But hurry up with your records; it doesn't needscience or the newspapers, does it, to tell you that the beautiful MissWinship cannot go about very freely?"

"Ach, no, " said he humbly; for he could not look upon my face and hold hisanger. "If I haf not alreaty gifen to Mees Veensheep t'e perfect beautyt'at I promised, I cannot conceive greater perfection. You are satisfiedvit' our vork--vit' me?"

"Yes, I'm satisfied, " I said coolly. 

Just as soon as I could, I left him. Oh, I ought to be grateful, more thanever grateful now that the Bacillus has won for me the most blessed ofearth's gifts--the gift of love. But I'm not; I wish I might never againsee Prof. Darmstetter; he reminds me--he makes me feel unreal. As for hisrecords, the experiment is finished. We have succeeded, and I want toenjoy our success and forget its processes. And why not? He knows in hisheart that we have no further need of each other. 

My real records now are public; the Charity Ball last night added abrilliant chapter. 

The Charity Ball! How calmly I write that! I hope it may be the lasttriumph I need to win in public without Ned; but I enjoyed it. There wasno awkward John to spoil my dancing, no jealous Milly, no over-anxiousAunt. I had Mrs. Marmaduke Van Dam for my chaperon--more the great lady, with all her thin rigidity, than Mrs. Henry; and for companion theGeneral, almost as young and light-hearted as I. 

And I was mistress of myself, strong and self-contained. Instead of beingconfused when all eyes were bent upon me, I had a new feeling of gladself-command. I felt the rhythm of my flawless beauty, my pure harmoniesof face and form, and found it natural that fine toilets should be foilsto my cheap white dress, and that I should be the centre around which thegreat assembly revolved. I'm really getting used to myself. 

I danced constantly, danced myself tired, holding warm at my heart thisone thought: that in the morning Ned would read of my triumphs and beproud of them, and rejoice because she about whom the whole city istalking thinks only of him. 

My partner in the march was "Hughy" Bellmer, as the General calls him; Ibegin to know him well. He's harmless, with his drawl and his round pinkface that shines with admiration. Deliciously he patronized the ball. 

"Aw, Miss Winship, " he said, "too large, too public. People prefer todawnce in their own houses. "--The ball was at the Waldorf-Astoria. --"Thesmaller a dawnce is, the greater it is, don't ye see. "

"But aren't any great people here?" I asked demurely. "I am just a countrymouse, and I've really counted on seeing one or two great people, Mr. Bellmer--besides you, of course. "

"The Charity Ball is--aw, y'know, Miss Winship, an institution, " heexplained, fairly strutting in his complacency at my deference; "and as aninstitution, not as a Society event, ye understand, it is patronized bythe most prominent ladies in the city. "

"How good of them!" I cried, laughing. 

He was so funny! But he was useful, too; he knew about everybody. 

Some of the women I shall remember--Mrs. Sloane Schuyler, leader of thesmallest and most exclusive of Society's many sets--a handsome woman withwell-arched eyebrows; and Mrs. Fredericks, of the same group; sallow, withgreat black eyes, talking with tremendous animation; and Mrs. Terry--ofthe newly rich; Mr. Bellmer's aunt; dumpy, diamonded and disagreeable-looking. 

"But where are the famous beauties?" I asked eagerly. "Won't they dance, even for charity, except in their own houses?"

Some of them were there; tall, pale, stylish girls, or women whosedarkened eyes and faces mealy with powder told of a bitter fight withtime. Why, I haven't seen a woman whom I thought beautiful since--since Ibecame so. 

"Aw, Miss Winship, really, y'know, you have no rivals, " said my partner. 

I hadn't supposed him clever enough to guess what I was thinking. 

"Oh, yes I have--one, " I said; "isn't there somewhere here a real liveLord?"

But just then we joined Meg, and it was she who pointed out to me "TheEarl of Strathay--the Twelfth Earl of Strathay, " in a whisper of comicalrespect and deference. 

He wasn't very impressive--just a thin, pale young fellow with a bulboushead, big above and small below; but I was glad to do Meg a service; forof course she wished to meet him, and of course Lord Strathay waspresented to the beautiful Miss Winship and her chaperons. 

Then I danced with him. I felt as if I were amusing a nice boy; he hardlycame to my shoulder. I asked him if he liked America. 

He wasn't too much of a boy to reply:--

"Like is a feeble word to voice one's impressions of the land of lovelywomen. "

And then he looked at me. Oh, he did admire me immensely, and I took quitea fancy to him in turn, though it seemed pathetic that such a poor littlefellow--I don't believe he's twenty-one--should carry the weight of histitle. I danced with his cousin, too, a Mr. Poultney; and wherever I wentStrathay's eyes followed me wistfully. 

Meg danced with Strathay and amused me by her elation. She hadn't reallyrecovered from it to-day. 

To-day! Blessed to-day! Lord Strathay's only an Earl; to-day there came tome--Ned! Oh, this has been the gladdest, most provoking day of my life, for I had only a moment with him. 

It was Mrs. Baker's "afternoon, " and we had a good many callers; the fameof my beauty has spread. They gazed furtively at me as they talked andsipped their tea, and it was all very stupid until--oh, I didn't know howperturbed, how unhappy I'd been, until--I glanced up for a word with theGeneral, who came late, and behind her I saw--Him. He came to me as ifthere were no one else in the room. 

Ah, I have been unhappy! I have known that he would try to keep away fromme. Useless! Useless to fight with love! It's too strong for us. At sightof him joy like a fire flashed through my veins. 

But there were my cousins; there was Meg--she looked at him impatiently, Ifancied, as she has sometimes looked at John. Poor John, it didn't needher surveillance to break his feeble hold upon my heart. And there theystayed. They wouldn't go. They stayed, and talked, while I shivered andgrew hot with fear and gladness and the excitement of his presence; theytalked--of all senseless topics--about the ball. 

"Why, Mr. Hynes, we've missed you, " said Ethel carelessly, at sight ofhim. "Oh, Meg, tell us about last night, won't you? Helen's said nothing;almost nothing at all. "

"Oh, what is there to tell?"

It made me impatient. How could I chatter nothings when Ned was by myside, smiling down at me so confusedly?

"Most girls would find enough! You should have heard the dowagers cluck, Ethel!" exclaimed the General, her face losing its vexed look at thethought. "It was bad weather for their broods. You never saw such ascurrying, pin feathers sticking every which way. The proudest hour ofHughy Bellmer's life was when the march started, and he walked besideHelen--same parade as always--through that wide hall between the Astorgallery and the big ball room; committeemen and patronesses at the headand the line tailing. You may believe the plumes drooped and the war painttrickled. Nelly was the only girl looked at. Milly, you should have beenthere? Headache? You look pale beside Helen. "

"Oh, I don't hope to rival Nelly's colour; she looks like--like somebody's'_Femme Peinte par Elle-même_. '" said Milly with a laugh that mighthave been innocent. Since Ned's entrance she had grown white and my cheekshad burned, until there was reason for her jest. 

"Is Mr. Bellmer handsome--handsome enough to be Nelly's partner?"persisted Ethel, impatient for her gossip--to her it's all there is ofgayety. "And is Lord Strathay--nice?"

"Mr. Bellmer's an overgrown cherub with a monocle, " I laughed. Ned shallnot think me one of those odious, fortune-hunting girls. 

"Hughy's pretty good-looking, Ethie, " said Meg, amiably; "and the bestfellow in the world; but probably not of a calibre to interest a collegegirl. And Lord Strathay"--the name rolled slowly from her tongue, as ifshe were loth to let it go--"is a charming fellow. Just succeeded to thetitle. He's travelling with his cousin, the Hon. Stephen AllardycePoultney. Nelly danced with him. And did she tell you that Mrs. SloaneSchuyler begged to have her presented? Sister to a Duchess, you know. We'll have Helen in London next. Nobody there to compare with her. Justwhat Strathay said, I do assure you. "

London! Men of title, and great ladies and the glitter of a court! Once Imay have dreamed of power and place and the rustle of trailing robes, andbeing admired of all men and hated of all women, but now in my annoyance Ilonged to cry out: "Why can't you talk sense? Why babble of such sillythings?"

To make matters worse, Uncle came just in time to hear the General's lastremark. 

"I do not think our Princess would leave us, " he said, "even if--

'at her feet were laidThe sceptres of the earth exposed on heapsTo choose where she would reign. '"

It was scarcely to be borne. I knew he was thinking of John, and I caughtmyself looking down at my hand, praying that Ned might see that I nolonger wore the opal ring. 

Then came Aunt Frank with a headache, looking ill enough, indeed; and Iwas glad to jump up and serve her some tea. 

"Milly has a headache, too, " I said; and she looked from Milly's vexed, cold face to mine, almost peevishly replying:--

"Nothing ever seems to ail you, child. "

After all the weary waiting, Ned and I exchanged only a word. But the wordwas a delight and a comfort. 

More than once the Judge has suggested for me a short absence from thecity to win a respite from the newspapers; and this morning, when he sawthat the _Echo_ had smuggled an East Side girl into the ballroom lastnight to tell the Bowery, in Boweryese, how the other half lives, herdescriptions of me so incensed him that he almost insisted upon Aunt'spacking for Bermuda at once. Ned must have heard of that. 

"You will not go away?" he said when he took leave of me. 

"You know that Uncle--"

"You will not?"

"No. "

I couldn't speak steadily. The low, passionate entreaty told me that hehad come to receive that pledge, and I gave it. 

Oh, now, now, I cannot be unhappy! I know that he has tried to stay awayfrom me, and why he has not succeeded. Love has been too mighty for usboth. Love has conquered us, and I--I shall never again be unhappy!

BOOK IV. 

THE BRUISING OF THE WINGS. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE KISS THAT LIED. 

East Sixty-seventh Street, Feb. 25. 

He said he did not love me. 

It is not true. I saw love when he spoke, when he kissed my hands. He doeslove me, but he guards a man's honour. 

I have broken John's heart, given up my home, estranged my friends; I havegiven up even Ned for love of him. But I'd have gone to the ends of theearth in gladness, I'd have given up for him all else in life--even mybeauty; which is dearer than life. 

He'll come to me yet. Milly won't forgive, won't trust. She will not tryto understand. Her only thought will be to hurt, to punish. She'll drivehim to me again; but oh, the shame of taking him so, given to me by herseverity!

I won't believe he doesn't love me. 

What have I done to be so tortured? I didn't know it was cruelty not tobreak the bond with John earlier; I didn't know I gave him only a girl'spassing fancy. 

It was when I met Ned that my heart awoke. 

I knew that he was Milly's betrothed and I had not thought of thusrepaying Aunt's kindness. Her kindness! Kind as a stone. 

But it wasn't Ned's fault. He couldn't help himself. If he could have leftme alone! If he could only have gone away!

I suppose he tried to control himself, but his eyes glowed when he lookedon me; and I, thinking I knew what love was, because I was affianced, didnot see--did not know what the wild joy meant that his look woke in myheart. 

To keep faith with John and Milly, should I have shunned him? But therewas nothing to warn me; he never spoke of love; I never thought of it. Ifhe had spoken earlier, I might have known what to do. It might have beenthe danger signal. Why could he not have kept away? Why did he not speak aword of love until it was too late--until--ah, I was so happy!

But he does love me. There's truer speech than that of words, and hislips--that kissed me, but said he did not love--have told two stories. Iknow which to believe!

And Milly knows. She is too wise to contend with Me. 

I shall never know what brought Ned to the house--three weeks ago, but Ihaven't dared to write of it--I shall never know what happened before Isaw him. 

I ran into the library with a song bubbling to my lips--for I was thinkingof him--and the gladness of it was in my eyes when I found him there. Hestarted and turned to me a face of confusion--yes, and of worship. Hefumbled with a book on the table, and glanced toward the door as if hewould have left me. I saw that, but I didn't think--there was no time tothink, but I must have felt that a crisis had come that would decide ourlives. All the fear, all the sweet shame that I had felt before himvanished. My heart beat wildly for happiness, but I was calm. 

At last we were alone together!

I waited for him to speak. Slowly he turned as my questioning eyes hadwilled. His were black with passion and grief. A look of pain contractedhis face, and he said, jerking the words out hoarsely:--

"I'm going away. "

The suddenness of it almost took my breath. I had expected differentwords. Indeed his eyes had shot another message; _they_ said that hewould never leave me!

Confused by lips that lied and eyes that confessed, I stammered:--

"Going--not going away? Why? Why should you go?"

I couldn't keep appeal out of my tone, and I could see him brace himselfto resist. I think I knew that, if he could, he meant to sacrifice ourlove to John and Milly. I think I had seen this earlier; but I had thoughtthe struggle past when he came to me and begged me not to leave the city. But perhaps, this time, I didn't understand him; perhaps I was simplyconfused by his distress. 

I thought he tried in vain to look away from me. Then he moved a stepnearer, slowly, as if reluctant. His face was haggard. 

"Tell me why you are going. "

I scarcely knew I spoke. It was as if some will independent of my own haddictated the words. Yet I did not try to hide my heart's wish; it was toolate. He was my life, and in all but words--yes, and in words even--I toldhim so. We had confessed our love. It was his right. 

"Listen, " I said. "If anything is--is wrong, I must know it. I--I_must_ know it. Tell me. I must know everything. Ned, you must tellme. "

A vein stood out upon his forehead, but still he gazed silently at me. After a time he said hoarsely:--

"I'm going because for your beauty I have thrown away the love of thewoman I was to marry. For you I have lost her, and yet--I loved Milly. MyGod, I love her!"

Once he had begun, the words came with fierce swiftness. He seemed to meanthem to sting, to cut, to stab. It was hard not to cry out with the painof hearing them. All that I understood was that he meant to wrench himselffrom me with a force that should make the breach impassable. This I felt, though still his eyes gave the lie to his words; his eyes that said I wasdear as life to him. 

"Don't think I blame you for the inevitable, " he went on. "You do notknow, and I pray God you may never understand, how contemptible I havebeen. And don't think me a fool; I'm not crying for the moon, nor dreamingthat a glorious creature like you--ah, you're as far above me as the starsabove the sea--to you I have been only--"

"Don't speak like that!" I cried. White-faced, I stared at him, tremblingly, pleadingly. There was a cloud in my brain that seemed to becoming down; it threatened to smother me--but I held fast to my courage. It was life itself for which I was fighting. 

"You have--you are--"

The truth was at my lips, but he interrupted:--

"I know you have reason to hate me, for I have done you wrong. Because ofmy folly, your place here is not what it was; and you love Burke, whom Ihave wronged, as I love Milly, whom I have estranged. I must keep awayfrom you. You can see that. For the sake of all, I must keep away fromyou. "

The cloud was choking me, but I put forth my strength. 

"You have done nothing wrong; I do not--"

Words failed me. I hadn't the temerity to speak John's name. And Ned--could he not see?--only stood there saying:--

"Why I've wrecked Milly's life and mine and turned your friends againstyou, only God knows, who made men what they are; only God knows--I don't. Can you forgive me?"

Didn't he love me? His despair was beating conviction into me. He waspale, his lip quivered. Why was he humbled and ashamed? I was palsied withdoubt, and the golden moments were fleeting, were fleeting. I must act!But I felt as if I were dead and could not, though that strangling cloudstill hurt me. 

"There is nothing to forgive, " I faltered at last. "Or--you must forgiveme. Perhaps I should understand, but--oh, I'm not wise. Indeed I have notmeant to--to--Shall I speak to Milly for you? But that would only makematters worse. They may take me--to Bermuda--anywhere; or--I will leavethis house; she'll forget if I go away. "

At the last words my tremulous voice broke almost into a scream. Must I goaway--go away that he may make Milly happy?

"You will stay here, " he said, his lips quivering more and more. "Whyshould I drive you from home? I have lost Milly. She understands no morethan you, and I hope she never may! You need not fear that I shall troubleyou. I shall not see you again. You are maddening--no, not that--but I ammad. Mad!"

He turned abruptly to go, came back as hastily, caught my hand and pressedhot kisses on it. His burning eyes looked passionately into mine. He wasindeed like one insane. 

Then with a great groan of contrition he put his hands before his face andrushed blindly from the room. 

"Ned! Ned!" I cried out, but it was too late; he didn't hear me. 

I don't know how I reached my chamber. I fell in a heap on the floor, shivering, laughing, sobbing, moaning for death. 

Going away! I was going away from Ned! My beauty had meshed him; I almosthated it. I saw his haggard face, I heard again his voice, solicitous forMilly's grief. I know now that pain cannot kill, or I should have died. 

Going away! He did not love me. He cared nothing for my hurt, only forMilly's. He loved that little white piece of putty that hadn't life enoughto love any man!

I heard rain against the windows and felt a sudden fierce longing to goout and fight the storm. Could not a strong woman compel love? No otherwoman since the world began had been so fit for love, had yearned for itso hungrily. 

Going away! Yet I felt his kisses upon my hand. Are men so different? Whatis a man, that he should love and not love?

How cold the old Nelly was! Since coming to the city, I had never let Johnkiss me; yet I thought I loved him. I thought love was a brook to makelittle tinkling music, and it had become a mighty ocean sweeping over me, sweeping over me!

But I must act at once, I thought; I must go away. I must find my aunt, must tell her--what? Where could I go? Not back to Kitty; she had left theden. Not to Miss Baker, who would share Aunt's wrath. Where could one suchas I find refuge? A woman whom all women must hate for her loveliness?

"Ned! Ned! I am alone!" I cried in my agony of soul. "You must--youwill!--come back to me, come back to me. "

I bathed my eyes and hurried from the house to forget the thought, but itfollowed everywhere. The rain had not stopped, but it suited me to bedrenched, to hold my face to the whiplash of the water snapped by thewind. I went to Meg Van Dam, who had long urged me to pay her a visit. This time I was ready to consent, for she at least was glad to have me;and before I left her I had agreed to go to her. 

It was dinner time when I reached home, glad that it was to be home to meno longer; the house made me shudder as a dungeon might. It was so changedsince morning, seen now with different eyes. The dining room was soheavily respectable, with its fussily formal arrangements--like Uncle, forit's big; like Aunt, for it's crotchety. 

I suppose there must have been a scene with Ned. Aunt Frank was depressed, fitfully talkative. Milly scarcely spoke, but in the curtness with whichshe turned her sullen head when poor Ethel asked some question, I wasn'tslow in finding a meaning. 

Joy begged in vain for her nightly lullaby. I couldn't respond to her"Thing, Cothin Nelly!" I'd never before noticed how like she is to hersisters. With her snubby nose and her yellow braids, she'll grow into justanother white-faced doll as Milly. 

Miss Baker talked persistently about Bermuda; as if my exile had ever beena possibility! In all my blind whirlwind of pain, I was glad that this wasthe last night I should have to writhe under the click of her knittingneedles, and sit opposite her large, solemn features. 

"A change will do you good, Frances, " she purred. "By either the_Orinoco_ or the _Trinidad_ you'll have only a two days' voyage. Helen will be in her element among the coral, and Milly must come homewith a coat of tan. "

Milly bent lower over her magazine; in an hour she hadn't turned a page. Her thin hands, like claws, that held the book, disgusted me, fascinatedme! They were the hands that Ned had kissed, as he had mine; clasped andpressed, as he had--how could he!

I called Aunt to me at bedtime, and told her I'd trespassed upon herkindness too long, and that Mrs. Van Dam was pressing. 

"But we can't let you go, " she said, even while the wonder whether shemight not shone through her face. "You and Meg have become friends, Iknow, but Bake and I feel responsible to your mother. "

Of course we understood each other, but neither cared to speak the truth. She had no pity, in her feeling for her own child, for the hurt I mightconceal. And I don't want her pity!

At least I shall no longer have to tear my heart out, meeting Ned in herhouse. 

The parting was easier than might have been expected, for we all rose tothe occasion. Uncle had been drilled over night, and his perplexity andAunt's preparations for leaving home amused me. The trip to Bermuda hadbeen proposed for my sake, Aunt had only half desired it; but now sheforgot her fears of winter storms, seasickness and shipwreck, and clutchedat the excuse to whisk Milly out of reach of Ned Hynes and out of sight ofme. 

Her tone was dulcet sweet. 

"We can't blame you for preferring New York, when the Van Dams are solovely to you, " she said complacently. "But Ethel is delicate. Bermuda'lldo her a world of good; though of course it's not fashionable. '"

"I'm sure you'll have a lovely trip, " I said. "You must let me help youpack. "

She was turning the house topsy-turvy in her zeal to sail by the nextboat, the very next day. She succeeded; and when she left the house Ileft it, too; to come here; to the General; to a house that would twomonths ago have seemed a palace such as I could never dream of living in. It would suit me better to be independent, to be sometimes alone, to feelthat I shouldn't have a shrewd woman's eyes so much upon me. But for thepresent--it is my refuge!

At Christmas I should have broken down and sobbed when I saw the last ofthe Bakers, instead of dropping honeyed sentences and undulating out ofthe room--like--like--. He called me once the Goddess glowing in her walk. I have changed this winter, mentally as well as physically. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE IRONY OF LIFE. 

I've been feverishly gay since I came to Meg. I have walked betweenstormwinds--grief behind and grief that I must enter. I've dined anddanced, and I've clenched my hands lest I might shriek, and I've longed tohide away and die. 

But I won't die. I'm not like other women--a silly, whining pack, theirhearts the same fluttering page blotted with the same tears wept in Hellor Heaven. Love is a draught for two--or one; wretched one!--to drink. Mylife is for the world. 

Oh, I've been a child, caring only for the lights and the pretty thingsand the music; but I'm not blind now. I understand many things that werehidden from the plain girl from the West. I have lived a year in everyday. I see as they are these people I have thought so kind. So rich I callthem now; so smug, so socially jealous. 

There's Meg Van Dam, now; surely she knows why I have come to her, and shewas Milly's friend; yet she fawns upon me. I thought her a great person, but now I know she's eager to rise by hanging at my skirts, and I amusemyself with her joy that I've rejected Ned, as she thinks; with her talkof Strathay, her dismay at John Burke's wooing. 

John's so persistent. He called to see me the very day--almost in the hourI came here; the hour I was pacing the dainty little room Meg assigns me, picturing the scene on board the Bermuda boat, wondering if Ned had goneto the dock on the chance of a parting word with Milly, torturing myselfwith the vision of a lovers' reconciliation. 

When John's card was brought, I was tempted to refuse to see him. But atthe thought that he would know too well how to interpret reserves, I wentdown, nerved to meet him with a smile. 

"Why, John, " I said with my most pleased expression, "back from the Westso soon? You've heard the news, I suppose--my cousins sailed thismorning. "

He had turned from the window at the rustle of my dress, and the grimnessof his square-set jaws, warning me of a coming struggle, relaxed into alook of perplexity. Men have so little insight; he could not see that, asI sank, still smiling, into a chair, my breath came in gasps that almostchoked me. After a moment's silence he said sharply:--

"Helen, we must be married. "

"Married! Didn't you get my letter? John--"

"Listen!" he interrupted. "I must have the right to take care of you. Youneed me. "

"Indeed?"

My tone was purposed insolence; I met his look with bravado. I hated himbecause he--because I--because he dared to know--because he offered tocome to my relief when my aunt--Ned--perhaps he thought me deserted--lovelorn. His awkward figure woke in me a sudden physical repulsion. 

"_I_ need _you_?" I repeated with a cool laugh. "And except thegood deed of providing me with a husband, what services do you proposeto--"

"Nelly, " he said, disregarding my taunts, "I have just come from the_Orinoco_. When I reached the office this morning and heard that theparty was starting, I assumed that you would be with it and hurried to thepier. If I'd missed the boat, I might not have learned the truth until--when? Why have they gone without you? What does it all mean?"

I pulled a flower nonchalantly from a vase beside me, but I felt my cheeksburn and grow white with deadly cold and fever. 

"Didn't Mrs. Baker tell you, " I said, "that 'Nelly dear' thought Bermudaunfashionable? You got my letter?"

"No; you did write, then? You so far recognised the claim of your promisedhusband--"

"Not now; not one minute--"

In a blind frenzy of rage I held out his ring; but he knew the master wordto my heart. I stopped short as, ignoring what I said, he hurried on. 

"Why wasn't Hynes at the boat?" he demanded. "Did he know what I didn't--that it was not the place to seek you?"

He grasped my wrists, he looked into my bloodless face--caught thedefiant, exultant look that flashed upon it at the news he gave; then hedropped my hands but immediately seized them again. 

"If he dares come near you, he shall answer! Speak!" he said. "Is it forhis sake that you've stayed here?"

"If you will let me go--"

He loosed his grasp and I ostentatiously chafed my wrists. I was in afury. I was driven to madness by the thought that John might force aquarrel upon Ned--the man I had rejected and the man that had rejected me!

"I'll never marry you nor any poor man!" I cried out. "What have you tooffer me? What can you do? Oh, yes, you can come and insult me, and talkto me of love--Love! The love that would make me a poor man's drudge!"

Again I thrust his ring at him, the opal spitting angry blue and orangefires. I thought he would have struck at it. Heaven knows what madinstinct was at the back of his brain. I believe every man's a brute whenthe woman he loves defies him. I think his fingers tingled for the Caveman's club. At any rate, I shrank in terror from his eyes. 

But quickly the red light sank in them, and a puzzled look grew thereinstead, turning them very soft and pitiful. 

"Nelly, I cannot think you serious, " he said. "We have always talked ofmarriage, and--is it an insult to press you for the day? Heart of me, I'vebeen so much worried about you! Are you very sure that you have chosen thewisest part? If you are, I can only leave you to think it over, perhapsto--"

"Don't preach!"

I flung out at him a torrent of abusive words, resolved that he shouldthink about me what he chose, so long as it was not the truth. 

He had no plea for himself; he saw that it would be useless. I stabbed himthe more viciously as the anger died out of his face and left it onlygrave and pained. He looked older than I had ever seen him before; and onhis temple, where he turned toward the window, gleamed a little streak ofgray. 

"But, Nelly, what will you do?" he said at last. 

His tone was as level as if he were discussing some trivial matter. He hadgiven up the fight, and, paying no heed to my unkindness, had fallen backupon the old habit, the instinct of looking out for me, smoothing my wayafter his own fashion that is so irritating. 

"You can't stay among these--these strangers, can you?" he continued. "Areyou going home?"

"To the farm? Never, I hope. Mrs. Van Dam, my chaperon, has many plans forme--better form than talking things over with a man. In the spring we maygo abroad. "

He tried--poor, foolish fellow--to read from my face the riddle of awoman's heart before he answered:--

"I'm afraid I don't altogether understand you, Nelly. "

Presently he left me, wondering, even as I wonder now: Why don't I carefor John? He's a strong man and he loves me. Just another of Nature'ssorry jests, isn't it?

It was all so hopeless, so tangled. I leaned against the mantel, relievedby his going, but unutterably lonely. Just for a moment I feared thebrilliant future that stretched in vista--without love, it looked anendless level of tedium and weariness. My bitterness towards John meltedand the years we had known each other unrolled themselves before me--happy, innocent years. I felt his strength and gentleness, and of a suddensomething clutched at my throat. Sob followed sob; I shook in a tearlessconvulsion. 

Only for an instant. Then I, too, turned to leave the room, but fate orinstinct had brought John back and I was startled by his voice:--

"Nelly, tell me!"

He did not come near me. There was no gust of passion in his tone, yet Ifelt as never before the depth of his tenderness. He had not come back towoo, but as the old friend, ambitious of helpfulness. 

"Helen, " he said, "how can I leave you, who need protection more than anyother woman, so terribly alone?"

I didn't fear I might be tempted, but I quavered out:--

"John, go away. I've wronged you enough. I never loved you; I've no faithin love. I never loved you at all, and--you must have seen, lately, that Ihave changed--that I've become a very--a very mercenary woman. I can'tafford to marry a poor man. "

My lips quivered, for this was the cruelest lie of all; I have changed, but I'm not money loving. And I couldn't deceive him. He smiled queerly, but he must have thought time his ally, for he only said:--

"Money can buy you nothing; you might leave gewgaws to other women. Butyou are less mercenary than you think yourself; and you will always knowthat I love you; let it rest with that, for now. "

So he went away the second time, leaving me with my hands clenched and myteeth set--so fierce had been my fight to seem composed. As I sankbreathless into a chair, and my tense fingers relaxed, out from my righthand rolled the little opal ring. I hadn't returned it, after all; hadbeen gripping it all the time, unknowing. At sight of it, I burst intohysterical laughter. 

And that madly merry laughter is the end. I should go crazy if I yieldedto love that I can't return, and I should despise him if he accepted. Ahusband not too impassioned, a fair bargain--beauty bartered for position, power, for a name in history--that is all there is left to me, now thatlove has vanished. 

The farm! I couldn't go back, to isolation and dull routine! I told John Imight go abroad. Why not? I might see the great capitals, and in thesplendour of palaces find a fitting frame for my beauty. There may besalve for heartache in the smile of princes. At any rate, the seas wouldflow between me and Ned Hynes. 

I had forgotten my ambitions. I'd have said to Ned: "Whither thou goest Iwill go;" but if what he feels for me is not love--if in his heart hehates me for the witchery I've put upon him--

I could go abroad with a title, if I chose. If love lies not my way, thereis Strathay. 

How listless I am, turning from my sorrow to write of what to most girlswould be a delight--of that pathetic little figure, toadied and flattered, but keeping a good heart through it all; of his marked attentions, which Ipermit because they keep other men away; of his efforts to see me--for theVan Dams' position isn't what I imagined it, and we are not invited tomany houses where I could meet him; of Meg's rejoicings over a few of thecards we do receive. 

Oh, I win her triumphs, triumphs in plenty! Because the Earl admires me, hasn't she once sat at the same table with Mrs. Sloane Schuyler, whorefuses to meet intimately more than a hundred New York women; and hasn'tshe twice or thrice talked "autos" with Mrs. Fredericks; and isn't sheenvied by all the women of her own set because the Earl and his cousinshine refulgent from her box at the Opera?

Triumphs, certainly; doesn't Mrs. Henry wrangle with Meg over my poorbody, demanding that I sit in her box, and that I join Peggy's Badmintonclub, and bring the Earl, who would bring the youths and maidens who wouldbring the prestige that would, some day, make a Newport cottage sociallyfeasible?

That's her dream, Meg's is Mayfair; she thinks of nothing but how toinvest me in London and claim her profit when I am Strathay's Countess, ormistress of some other little great man's hall. Oh, I understand them;Mrs. Henry's the worst; oily!

I wonder if London is less petty than New York; if I should be out of thetug and scramble there. But I mustn't judge New York, viewing it throughthe Van Dams' eyes. If I did, I should see a curious pyramid. 

At the top, a sole and unapproachable figure, the twelfth Earl ofStrathay, just out of school;

Next a society, two-thirds of whose daughters will marry abroad, and toall of whose members an Earl's lack of a wife is a burning issue;

Hanging by their skirts a thousand others, like the General and Mrs. Henry, available for big functions, pushing to get into the little ones;

Hanging by these in turn, ten thousand others outside the pale, butflinging money right and left in charity or prodigality to catch the eyesof those who catch the eyes of those who nod to Earls;

And after them nobody!

And the problem: "How high can we climb?"

Why, there are twenty thousand families in New York rich enough to beElect, if wealth were all. I could almost marry Strathay to save him fromthe ugly millioned girls! How they hate me!

I know what love is like, now; Strathay means to speak. If Ned wouldonly--but three weeks--three long, long weeks, and he doesn't--oh, Iwon't believe that, deep in his heart he does not love me. It's not time--not time, yet, to think about the little Earl!

At any rate I won't be flung at his head; last night I taught Meg a lessonshe'll remember. She meant to bring him home to supper after the Opera, where, in spite of my first experience, we're constant now in attendance;but, to her surprise, then dismay, then almost abject remonstrance, Iprepared to go out before dinner to inspect the new studio Kitty and Cadgehave taken. 

"Be back in good season?" she pleaded. "How _could_ you make anengagement for the night when Strathay. --Not wait for you! Why Helen, youcan't--what would Strathay think if I allowed you to arrive alone at theOpera?"

"Then can't you and Peggy entertain him?"

"Peggy?" She looked at me with blank incredulity. "You wouldn't stay awaywhen Strathay--why, Helen, you didn't mean that. Drive straight to theMetropolitan when you leave your--those people, if you don't wish to comeback for me. Where do they live?" she groaned despairingly. 

"Top of a business block in West Fourteenth Street. "

I thought she would have refused me the carriage for such a trip, but shedidn't venture quite so far as that; and the hour I spent with the girlswas a blessed breathing spell. 

"What a barn!" I cried, when I had climbed more stairs than I could countto the big loft where I found them. "Girls, how came you here?"

"Behold the prodigal daughter! Shall we kill the fatted rarebit?" AndKitty threw herself upon me; while Cadge, waving her arms proudly at theNavajo rugs, stuffed heads of animals and vast canvasses of Indian bravesand ponies that made the weird place more weird, replied to my query:--

"Borrowed it of an artist who's wintering in Mexico; cheap; just as itstands. "

Then they installed me under a queer tepee, and we had one of the old timepicked-up suppers, and for an hour my troubles were pushed into thebackground. The girls are in such frightful taste that I really shoulddrop them, but they're loyal and so proud of me!

"Princess, " said Cadge, "time you were letting contracts for the buildingof fresh worlds to shine in. You're the most famous person in this, withall the women thirsting for your gore; and you've a real live Lord for a'follower. '"

"That's nothing. "

Cadge thinks me still betrothed to John, so she affected to misunderstand. 

"Nearly nothing, for a fact, " she said; "it isn't ornamental, but weseldom see specimens and mustn't judge hastily. And it is a Lord. --See thehand-out he gave me for last Sunday--full-page interview: 'Earl ofStrathay Discusses American Society?'

"Some English won't stand for anything but a regular pie-faced story, butStrathay's a real good little man. "

"You said he had sixty-nine pairs of shoes, " said Kitty reminiscently. 

"No; twenty-nine. "

"What's His Lordlets doing in New York?" inquired Pros. , who was there asusual, a queer and quiet wooer. 

"Tinting the town a chaste and delicate pink, assisted and chaperoned byhis cousin, the Hon. Stephen Allardyce Poultney. Ugh! Glad the _Star_doesn't want an interview with _His_ Geniality; don't like S. A. P. Esq. , " said Cadge energetically. "But, Helen, now you've got people whereyou want 'em, you play your own hand. You don't want any Van Dam for abear leader. That crowd's been working every fetch there is to get in withthe top notchers, and they just couldn't. Knowing you is worth more tothem than endowing a hospital. You're a social bonanza. "

Perhaps I shouldn't have let her talk so about Meg, but, after all, shetold me nothing new. 

"Did I send you a marked paper with the paragraph I wrote about theimportant 'ological experiments you couldn't leave, even for the 'land ofthe lily and the rose?'" she proceeded. "Don't wonder you didn't want togo to Bermuda, everything coming so fast your way. I crammed your scienceinto the story because it's good advertising. Don't really study atBarnard now, do you? I wouldn't; would you, Kitty?"

Her white, mobile face gleaming with animation, Cadge declaimed upon oneof her thousand hobbies:--

"What's women's science good for but dribbling essays to women's clubs? Ifsome 'Chairwoman of Progress' were to grab off the Princess, does it takescience to give 'em 'Fresh Evidence that Woman was Evolved from a HigherOrder of Quadrumanous Ape than Man?' We all know what the clubs want, andif they get it, they'd vote any one of us as bright a light as Haeckel. --Pros. , you saved any clippings for the Princess?"

Pros. Gave me a quantity of articles about my beauty cut from out-of-townand foreign papers. I believe I'll subscribe to a clippings bureau. Ihadn't thought of that. 

I stayed and stayed; it was so pleasant in the eyrie; but when at last Irose to go, Kitty sighed:--

"Why, you've only been here a minute, and in that gorgeous dress, you'relike a real Princess, not my chum. I shall suggest a court circular--'ThePrincess Helen drove out yesterday attended by Gen. Van Dam. '--'Her SereneHighness, Princess Helen, honoured the Misses Reid and Bryant last eveningat a soiree. '--leaded brevier every morning on the editorial page. Oh, Nelly, can't I have your left-off looks? A homely girl starves on breadand water, while a pretty one wallows in jam. "

"Princess must be wallowing in wealth, " said Cadge, inspecting my eveningdress; "suspect she didn't dress for us; it's Opera night. Stockholdersshare receipts with you? Beauty show in that first tier box must selltickets. "

"Wish they would divide; I'm as poor as a church mouse, " I said, laughing. 

I didn't go to the Opera, though the girls had cheered me up until Ihurried home prepared to do Meg's bidding; but she had gone--angry, Isuppose--and I didn't follow. 

I gained nothing; the Opera gives me my best chance to see and be seen. Imight as well have had my hour of triumph, the men in the box, the jealousglances of the women. I might as well have scanned with feverishexpectation the big audience that turns to me more eagerly than to thesingers, searching--oh, I'm mad to think that Ned might come there againto look upon me. 

I didn't even escape the Earl. Meg and her husband came home early, bringing him and Poultney; we had the supper, and, for my sins, I mademyself so agreeable that Meg forgave me, almost. 

It was easy; I just let the poor boy talk to me about his mother andsisters, and watched his face light up as he spoke of them in a simple, hearty way that American boys don't often command. He is really very nice. One of his sisters is a beauty. 

"But not like you, " he said. 

He's as boyishly honest as if he were sixteen; and as modest. To beCountess of Strathay would be a--

Of course Mrs. Henry and Peggy were here, smiling on Mr. Poultney, Strathay's cousin. Oh, I'm useful! I believe Mrs. Marmaduke is the onlyVan Dam who's kind to me without a motive; they're not Knickerbockers atall, as I supposed. 

Cadge is right; I gain nothing socially by remaining with Meg; and herguesses come too close to my heart's sorrow. She watches and worries, forever concerned lest some "folly" on my part interfere with herambitions. Why, I'm frantic at times with imagining that even the maid shelends me--an English "person"--reports upon my every change of mood. 

Oh, I ought to be independent, independent in all ways. With a littlemoney I could manage it. 

There's a Mrs. Whitney, a widowed aunt of Meg's husband, who lives alonein an apartment where a paying guest, if that guest were I, might bereceived. Meg would raise an outcry, of course, but I can't keep onvisiting her indefinitely; and I should still be partly in her hands. 

But I have no money. My allowance is the merest nothing, spent before itcomes. Why, I owe Meg's dressmaker, for the dress Cadge admired and forothers--Mrs. Edgar was cheaper; I must go back to her. And in theNicaragua, where Mrs. Whitney lives, the cost of--but it wouldn't be forlong. 

If Ned doesn't--

I won't think about Strathay. I must wait. It's my fault that I haven'tplenty of money. I've been so unhappy that I haven't explained to Fatherhow my needs have increased, how my way of life has changed. But I'llwrite to-night; he refuses me nothing. He must send me a good sum at once;as much as he can raise. 

Mrs. Whitney's a harmless tabby--a thin, ex-handsome creature strugglingto maintain appearances; but I can put up with her. I will go to theNicaragua. I'll go at once. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE SUDDENNESS OF DEATH. 

The Nicaragua, March 29. 

How could I have known that he would die?

I had never seen any one die. It was as if life were a precious winerushing from an overturned glass that I could not put right again. I didnot dream a man could be so fragile. 

For weeks I have not added a word to this record. But now I have lookedupon death, and I must write. There is no one to confide in but thislittle book, stained by so many tears, confident of so many sorrows, somany disappointments. 

Prof. Darmstetter is dead. 

Dead, but not by my fault. I was not the thousandth part to blame. Yet Itremble like a leaf to think of it. I shall get no sleep to-night and to-morrow look like a fright to pay for it--no! I can never do that now, thank God! Thank God for that!

Yes, I'm glad; when I try to be calm, I am glad he's dead--no, not that--sorry he's dead, of course, but glad that my rights are safe--when I amcalm. 

But I can't be calm; it was too horrible!

It happened yesterday in the laboratory; we were alone together. I haveseldom been to the laboratory of late, but I had begun to suspect that theProfessor was planning treachery, preparing to try the Bacillus upon otherwomen. He had been so impatient because I had not gone often enough, thathe might make his records, his comparisons, his tests--I don't know whatflummery. All at once he ceased his importunities; some instinct taught methat he was about to seek a more tractable subject. I was resolved that ifhe did contemplate such injustice, I should put a stop to it. And I wentto watch him. 

Was that wrong? Why, he had promised me that I should have pioneer'srights in the realm of beauty. Sole possession was to be my reward? I hadthe right to hold him to his promise. But I didn't think--

Yesterday I spoke to Prof. Darmstetter. That was how it came about. He hadlooked disconcerted at my appearance in the laboratory, and my suspicionshad suddenly grown to certainty. I said to him:--

"I wish to see you alone. "

A guilty look came to his face. I was watching him as he had watched mebefore the great change, and when he started at my words I knew he wasthinking of playing me false; his conscience must have warned him that Ihad read his thoughts. But he knew that my strength was greater than hisand he bowed assent. 

When the other girls had gone--some of them with frightened looks at me, as if mine were the devil's beauty they tell about--and when Prof. Darmstetter was ready to begin his own work, I faced him with achallenge:--

"Prof. Darmstetter, you are about to break your word. "

"You are mistaken, " he said; but he could not face my look. 

"I am not mistaken; you are planning to try the Bacillus upon other women, and you promised that I should be first. "

"And so you are! I dit not promise t'at you should be t'e only beautifulvoman all your life, or ten years, or von year. You haf t'e honour ofbeing first. It is all, and it is enough. You shall be famous by t'at. Iam an old man and must sometime brint my discofery for t'e goot of t'evorld; but first I must make experiments; I must try the Bacillus vit' ablonde voman, vit' a brunette voman, vit' a negro voman--it vill be fineto share t'e secrets of Gott and see v'at He meant to make of t'e negro. "

If his enthusiasm had not run counter to my rights, I might have admiredit. 

"I must try it vit' a cripple, " he went on, "vit' an idiot, vit' a deafand dumb voman. I must set it difficult tasks, learn its limitations. T'enI must publish. "

"You shall do nothing of the kind. You are not a very old man and I amyoung. I have your secret safe, and it shall not be lost to the world evenif you die. I shall see that your name is coupled with the Bacillus asthat of its discoverer. Do you think I care to rob you of your honours? Ivalue them little, compared with the beauty you have given me. Think whatyou promised me! That I should be first! And I have had the perfect beautyonly a few days and already you are planning to make it cheap and common. This injustice I will oppose with all my might, but I will be fair withyou. "

"Fair vit' me!" he shouted. "Vat do you mean? T'at I shall die unknown, vit' t'e greatest discofery of all time in my hands? You call t'at fair?It is not fair to me, because I haf hungered for fame as you for beauty. But t'at is not'ing; t'at is for me only, and I am not'ing. It is not fairto t'e vorld to vit'hold t'is precious gift one hour longer t'an isnecessary to experiment, to try, to make sure. To keep t'is possession allto yourself vould you deny it to millions of your sisters?"

"Yes, I would; and so would they, in my place, " I cried. "I care as muchfor my beauty as you for your fame. And I hold you to your promise. I wasto be first, and I shall be first. I haven't yet begun to live. You havebarely finished your experiments, and now you're planning my ruin. I willnot be balked. "

"I vill not be balked by such selfishness, " screamed Prof. Darmstetter, his parchment face livid with rage; "_I_ vill be master of my ownvork. "

My beauty! My hold on life and power and success and love! My only hope ofNed, if he loves me--and God knows whether he does or no! See such beautymultiplied by the thousand, the million? Never!

I forced myself to be calm. My anger left me in a moment. I knew howuseless it was, and I remembered that he himself had armed me for myprotection. I smiled and held out both my hands to him, and I could seehim falter as he looked. 

"Look at me!" I said. My voice was a marvel even to myself, so rich andfull and musical! "Look at me! Of what use was it to make me beautiful ifyou are now to make me unhappy? Ah, I beg of you, I implore you, don't bejust, but be kind! Let me have my own way and see--oh, see how I shallthank you!"

His face changed as I moved toward him with a coaxing smile, and droppedmy hands on his shoulders. The tempest of his wrath subsided as suddenlyas it had risen, and he stood short-sightedly, his head thrust forward, peering into my eyes, helpless, panting, disarmed. 

"You will not--ah, you will not!" I whispered. 

"Ach, Du!" he murmured. "Du bist mein Frankenstein! Ich kann nicht--ich--ich habe alles verloren, verloren! Ehre, Ruhm, Pflicht, Redlichkeit, denguten Namen! Verloren! Verloren!"

A touch of colour that I had never seen there before grew slowly in hischeeks. It was the danger signal; but I did not know; indeed I did notknow!

"Come, " I said, shaking him lightly, playfully; "promise me that you willnot do it for a year. "

"Delilah!" he whispered from behind set lips, his breath coming quicker, ahoarse rattling in his throat. 

Then he snatched my hand and began pressing kisses upon it--greedily, likea man abandoning himself to a sudden impulse. 

But the next moment, before I could move, he threw back his head andtottered to a chair, where he sat for an instant, breathing heavily. Justas I sprang toward him his frame stiffened and straightened and he slippedfrom the chair and fell heavily to the floor, where he lay limp, unbreathing, sprawled upon the bare boards in all the pitiful ugliness ofdeath. 

I was terribly frightened. 

For a moment wild thoughts raced through my brain--foolish impulses offlight lest I be found with the body and somehow be held responsible. Then, with scorn for my folly, I ran out into the hall, crying for help. 

The janitor rushed in, and seeing what had happened, went for the nearestphysician, who came at once and knelt by the fallen man's side. But beforehe closed the staring eyes, rose from his examination of the prostratefigure and slowly shook his head, we both knew that Prof. Darmstetter wasdead. 

"His heart--. " he began, turning for the first time toward me, whom as yethe had not noticed; and then he started back and stood open-mouthed, transfixed, staring at me--at my beauty. 

In that sweet instant, call it wicked or not, I was glad that Darmstetterwas dead! I could not help it. So long as he lived, I was not safe. 

I did not blame him for planning to experiment with others, any more thanI would have blamed a cat that scratches or a snake that stings. I will bejust. His love of learning overbore his honour. He could not have keptfaith. I should never have been safe with him in the same world. Yet am Isorry for him. I owe him much. 

In the Doctor's wondering gaze at me over the body of my beauty's creatorI felt anew the sense of power that has inspired me by night and day sincemy great awakening. 

I have had bitter experiences of late; this has been the worst, yet in away the most fortunate. By no fault of mine I am relieved of the danger ofseeing beauty like--like this too common. 

And I will be fair to the dead man, though he was not fair to me: if thereis a God above, by Him I swear that I will write out the secret of theBacillus this day, so that it shall not be lost if I too die suddenly, ashe--

I will devise it to humanity, and John Burke shall execute the will. Poorfellow! Poor John!

I can't see that I was wrong. I did not know, Prof. Darmstetter himselfprobably did not know, that he was liable to such an attack. Even if I hadknown--I had the right to defend myself, hadn't I? It was not like theNelly Winship I once knew to use such weapons against him; but that Nellyis as dead as he, and this glorious vision of white and rosy tint andundulant form shall be rival-less for years; marvel of every land, thetheme of every tongue. 

I sit alone in this huge palace in which I have come to live--feeling thatat last I have a home of my own, where no one can overlook my thoughts--Isit alone and think of the future; and it is rosy bright, if only I couldforget--if only I could forget!

In all the world I am the sole guardian of the Secret. I shall be the mostbeautiful woman for years and years and years; blessed with such beautythat men shall know the tale of it is a lie, until they, too, come fromfar countries to look upon it; and they shall go home and be known asliars in their turn, and always dream of me. When I am old and gray, Iwill tell the world how Darmstetter died, on the eve of publishing hisdiscovery. Perhaps I shall cling to it until I, too--

Ah, I can see that ghastly Thing, the dead, hideous eyes staring up at me!Shall I be like that some day? As ugly as that!

It was not my fault, dead, staring eyes; not my fault!

CHAPTER IV. 

SOME REMARKS ABOUT CATS. 

The Nicaragua, April 27. 

I've been sitting for my portrait to Van Nostrand. It is an offering tothe shades of Prof. Darmstetter. I must preserve some attempted record ofmy beauty for his sake; though the Bacillus couldn't have made, if he hadlived, another woman as beautiful as I. It isn't conceivable. 

I believe I'm a little tired with that, and with rearranging Mrs. Whitney's flat, and a little worried, too, about bills, the money fromFather comes so slowly. Not that I need mind owing a trifle at the shops;half the women run accounts; but it's embarrassing not to have readymoney. Why, I have to buy things to ward off gifts; Meg simply won't seeme go without. 

Perhaps I'm depressed too, because to-day has been a succession of pettysquabbles, and I hate squabbling. 

This morning came Aunt Frank. I knew she had returned from Bermuda, so Iwasn't surprised to see her dumpy figure appear in Mrs. Whitney's parlour, followed by Uncle Timothy's broad back and towering head. I did with zestthe honours of the apartment. It was sweet revenge to see Mrs. Baker'snervous discomfort at meeting me, and to watch her stealing furtiveglances at my beautiful home. 

"Well, Nelly, dear, " she said, "you look very cosey, but we expected that, after your visit to Mrs. Van Dam, you would go to Marcia until ourreturn. "

"Oh, I couldn't think of troubling either of you, " I said sweetly; "I havefriends to whom it is a real pleasure to advise me. "

That shot told. 

"You don't know what anxiety you've caused, leaving us for--for strangers, that way, " she retorted, bridling; "but since you _would_ go, I'mglad everything's turned out so--been having your portrait painted? Why, it's a--it _is_ a Van Nostrand!"--She had spied the painting. --"It'slike you, rather; but--doesn't he charge a fortune?"

Then she rattled on, about the rooms, about Bermuda lilies and donkeycarts, trying now and again to pry into my plans and urging me, not toowarmly, to return to her, until she had reached the limits of a call ofcourtesy. I think it was with real relief that she rose as she received myfinal refusal. Uncle, who had sat silent in kind, or blind, perplexity, was unfeignedly glad to go. 

"Run in often, won't you?" she said, at parting. "I hear--but perhaps Ishouldn't speak of that. Is--is Lord Strathay like his pictures?"

Fussy! She'd gladly wash her hands of me, yet thinks she has a duty. But Iwas glad, for once, to see her. It's not for nothing that I have runsociety's gauntlet; I can aim confetti with the best of them; innocent-looking but they hurt. 

Scarcely had they gone when in rushed the General and my prim duenna, Mrs. Whitney; they'd been waiting until the coast was clear. It was withsomething like a scream that the two flew at me, crying in one voice:--

"Have you _really_ refused to be one of Peggy's bridesmaids? Whydidn't you consult _me_?"

Peggy despairs of Mr. Poultney; she's going to marry some person inStandard Oil, and her wedding will be a function. 

"Yes, " I said, ignoring the latter question. 

"But why--_why_--" Mrs. Whitney squeaked and panted, and her breathfailed. 

"Because--was it because Ann Fredericks was asked too?" Meg demanded. 

"Yes, if you must know. "

"But what has Ann done?" said Meg. She planted herself in front of me, herhard, handsome eyes blazing with impatience. "She's as homely as theSunset Cox statue and as uncivil to you as she dares; but she's only acousin of _the_ Frederickses, you mustn't mind her. What has Anndone, Helen?"

"She weighs two hundred and they call her 'Baby'! She's a fat slug on acurrant bush! I won't talk about her. "

I dashed into my room but Meg's staccato reached me even there. 

"Just like Helen! Imagine Mrs. Henry's state of mind. "

"And Ann's, " said Mrs. Whitney. 

"Oh, Ann's in mortal terror. But how can Helen expect pasty girls like AnnFredericks--out last fall and already touching up--to forgive her beauty?Trouble is, every girl who comes near Helen knows she makes her look likea caricature. "

Meg paced the floor a minute, then slapped herself into a chair. 

"Oh, I've seen the women scowl at her, " said Mrs. Whitney. 

"Scowl?" said Meg. "Why, I've seen a woman actually put out her foot forHelen to trip over. Old women are the worst, I do believe; some of theyoung ones admire her. What do you think old Mrs. Terry said--HughyBellmer's aunt--at the last of her frightful luncheon concerts, where youeat two hours in a jungle of palms and orchids, and groan to music twohours more in indigestion. 'A lovely girl, my dear Mrs. Van Dam, ' shesaid; 'a privilege to know her. Pity that so many of our best people fightshy of a protégée of the newspapers. ' _That_ from Mrs. Terry, withher hair and her hats--"

"And her divorce record, " added Mrs. Whitney. 

"She fears for her nephew; as if Helen would look at him! But thenewspapers _have_ hurt Helen. I wish she'd announce her engagement;she has the cards in her hands, but she's got to play 'em; and poorStrathay's so devoted!--Why didn't you shade the lights Tuesday at yourdinner? In that glare we were all worse frights beside her than usual. "

"I hate murky rooms!" I cried, breaking out upon them, for I couldn'tstand it any longer. "It's your 'rose of yesterday' who insists ontwilight and shaded candles. I enjoy electricity!"

Meg gazed at me in despair. 

"Helen, are you really bent on making enemies?" she asked. "What_did_ Ann Fredericks do?"

I couldn't have answered; it would have been no answer to say that sheangers me with a supercilious stare; but the trouble of replying wasspared me, for Mrs. Henry appeared that minute in the doorway, greeting mein her nervous puffy voice:--

"How _well_ you look!" she said. "_Such_ a treat to get a peepat you! Peggy really must try your dressmaker--but she's _so_disappointed! You _must_ let me beg of you--_just_ like an owndaughter and Peggy couldn't think more of a sister! You _will_reconsider--"

Something in the way she thrust forward her head reminded me of how hertiara slipped and hitched about, on the night of her dance, and how Nedand I giggled when it had to be repinned. 

"I'm afraid Peggy should have consulted me earlier, " I said with a spiteborn of the recollection. 

It would have been more than mortal not to take offense at that. Mrs. Henry's face grew red, and after a few perfunctory words she and Meg left, and Mrs. Whitney went out with them. 

As Mrs. Henry backed into the hall, she almost collided with Kitty, whohad just come up. 

"Talking wedding?" that tease asked, following me back into the parlourand pirouetting before a mirror. "Chastening experience for once in a wayto see mysel' as ithers see me. Big wedding, won't it be? Florist toldCadge he was forcing a churchful of peach and apple blossoms. You're abridesmaid, ain't you? That _was_ Mrs. Henry? Know I've seen herhere. Looks apoplectic; and there's too much musk in her violet. "

"That was Mrs. Henry, but I'm not on Peggy's list. How are the beastesses'noses and toeses?"

"Ambulance rung for. " Kitty darted to another looking glass. "Regular hallof mirrors, ain't it? Helen, why are photo-engravers--but say, I've seen alist of bridesmaids; Ann Fredericks was one, cousin of _the_Frederickses; great for Helen, we all said--Pros. And Cadge and--"

"Has the list been printed?"

Kitty looked puzzled. 

"What are you cross about?" she said finally. "I don't wonder you gettired of such doings, tugging a ton of bouquet down a church aisle, organgrinding Lohengrin. If ever I marry, I sha'n't ask you to stand up withme; I propose to be the central figure at my own wedding; Cadge can do asshe chooses. "

"Why, Kitty! Cadge and--why, Pros. , of course. "

"In June. Came to tell you. "

For a moment Kitty's eyes danced, then the mist followed the sunlight, andthe poor little creature buried her head in my lap, sobbing. 

"Oh, what'll I do, " she cried, "when Cadge takes away my brother and mybrother takes away Cadge, and you--they say you're going off with thatEnglisher to be a Countess--not that I ever see anything of you now. "

"Oh, hush, child; don't you know you're talking nonsense?"

Kitty took me at my word. 

"Earl's lady is a Countess, ain't she?" she asked, her voice still shaky. Then she sat suddenly upright and put back her red curls from her brow, winking vigourously. "Oh, if you do live in a castle, put in bathtubs andgas; and if you go to court, please, Princess, hide a kodak under yourbouquet for me and--"

Crying and laughing by turns and tossing back her flaming locks, shestarted for the door. 

"Helen, " she said, turning as she reached it, "I have such bad symptoms!Am I really the only girl that's jealous of you?"

"The only one that isn't jealous, you--you dear!" I exclaimed; and Ibelieve it's almost true!

Kitty paused in the hall, playing with the roses in a bowl upon the table. 

"We hear something of how the dowagers adore you. But let 'em wag theirdouble chins; you'll scat the old cats from their cushions!" she said. 

At the impetuous outflinging of her hands, the floor was strewn with pinkpetals. 

"Cats?" repeated Mrs. Whitney, who just then made her appearance, "arethey a hobby with Miss Reid?"

"I'd drown 'em, " cried Kitty, vanishing, "nine times!"

Oh, I'm weary of these bickerings; so womanish! Every creature whose rivalI could possibly become is my enemy. I don't blame them. What chance havethey while I am present? Women who agree about nothing else make commoncause against one who surpasses them. They are like prairie wolves thatrun in packs to pull down the buffalo, and I shall pity them as I wouldpity wolves. They shall find that I have a long memory. 

I have decided. I shall marry Strathay. 

February--March--April--three long, long months, and still Ned doesn'tcome, does not write. Yes, it's time to act; thank God, I've still somepride!

While Darmstetter lived, I couldn't have left New York; but now, now thatI am safe, why should I stay here, flatting with a shrew, provoking theVan Dams, to whom I owe some gratitude, wasting my life for a man who--whosaid he didn't love me?

Milly's at home again; let Ned return to her, if he chooses. I shall marryStrathay. Meg shall be friend to a Countess. Then I shall be quits withher and with Mrs. Henry and with Peggy. And the "best people" will no morefight shy of me--though they don't now; they don't need to. Except Mrs. Schuyler, who has snubbed me just enough to leave herself right, whateverhappens, few of them have ever met me. 

I owe no thanks to Mrs. Whitney, with her prunes and her prisms and herpenny-pinchings. I must secure my future. 

And there's only one way--Strathay. I've been foolish to hesitate. Hetried to speak yesterday, after the flower tea--for that's the extent ofmy social shining now; I am good to draw a crowd at a bazaar!--and Ishould have let him; I meant to do so. 

But I can't blame myself for being sentimental, weak, and for putting himoff; I was tired out. What an ordeal I'd undergone! What black looks fromthe women! They'd rather have starved their summer church in theAdirondacks than nursed it with my help!

But he must have understood; I think he saw everything that happened. Thegirls at my stall were sulky because no one bought of them, while I wassurrounded; and one, in lifting a handful of roses, drew them towards herwith a spiteful jerk that left a long thorn-scratch across my hand. 

I pretended not to notice. Then in a minute I cried:--

"Why, see; how could that have happened?"

And I laid my perfect hand beside hers, ugly with outstanding veins, thatshe might note the accident--and the difference. People giggled, and shesnatched her hand away, blushing furiously. 

I was in high spirits, with a crowd about me. I knew how tall and gracefulI looked behind my flowers; and to tease Mrs. Terry, I pinned Bellmer'sboutonniere with unnecessary graciousness, and smiled at her while hesniffed it with beatitude beaming from his moony face. 

"Awf'ly slow things, teas, " he said regretfully, as she bore him off';"awf'ly slow, don't you think?" Really the man's little better than adownright fool; if he were poor, no one would waste a better word uponhim. 

As he went, I caught sight of a slight figure, a pair of jealous, worshipping eyes. Poor Strathay had seen the incident; had perhapsthought--

I took pains to be cordial to him, when he had made his way with Poultneyto my side; and to Mr. Poultney, too; though I don't like him much betterthan Cadge does, with his cold eyes and his thin smile, that seems to say:"Hope you find my schoolboy entertaining. "

An Earl is always entertaining!

Yet I ran away from him. I left the tea early. I wanted to think. All theway home in the carriage I marshalled arguments in his favour. I sawmyself at court, throned in my brilliant circle, flattered by princes, consulted by statesmen, the ornament of a society I am fitted to adorn. Isaw a world of jealous women at my feet and Ned convinced that I had beenplaying with him. I even rehearsed the scene we should enact when Strathayshould speak; I foresaw the flush upon his face, the sparkle of his eyeswhen I should tell him that I would try to love him. 

He must have slipped his cousin's leash, for he was at the Nicaraguaalmost as soon as I was. But there at home, with the boy's eyes fixed onmine, with the tremour of his voice telling me how much he cared, Icouldn't listen. 

I made talk with him, for him. I gave him no chance to speak, determinedas I was that he should speak. I was conscious of but one desire--to putoff the avowal. 

At last he said: "Sometimes I fancy you're not happy. "

His voice was tense. He was leaning forward in his eagerness; he looked sozealous to be my champion--so honest!

I tried to smile. I really liked him. 

Happy! Out of memory there came to me a picture: I was creeping to Ethel'sbed at night, whispering to her that I was the happiest girl in the world;she kissed me sleepily, and said she was happy too, and then I groped myway back to bed, and lay there in the dark, smiling. That was years ago. Three months? Years, long, long years ago!

Now it flashed across me that Lord Strathay loved me as I had loved Ned. That gave me a measure of the gift he was to offer. I felt Ned's kisses onmy hands, bidding me be honest. --I felt other kisses, too; I saw--goodGod, how long must I see?--a gray old face--the face of Darmstetter!Happy! I closed my eyes to shut out the vision. I shuddered. 

"You--really, I'm afraid you're very tired, " he said, after waiting alittle. 

"Yes; tired, " I gasped; "that's all. "

But I knew I must marry him. I controlled myself. I smiled; I waited. Iwished him to go on, but he was peering into my straining eyes withanxious sympathy. 

"I'm afraid you're too tired to talk with me to-day, " he said; "but--youwill let me come again?"

"Yes. "

Such a relief! Though what was to be gained by waiting? What must be mustbe. 

Indeed an older man might have seen the wisdom of speaking at once. ButStrathay looked wistfully at me for a moment, then turned away with a big, honest schoolboy sigh; and something like a sob broke his voice as hewhispered:--

"I--I would do anything to serve you. "

Then he went away. 

Perverse! I _will_ marry him. Other women take husbands so. I likehim; I should like him even if he were not an Earl--and his name a career. 

I shall make Strathay as fine a Countess as any cold, blonde English girl, and he'll be proud of me, and every man will envy him. I shall wrong himless than I should have wronged John Burke. I should have hated John if Ihad married him, for he'd expect love, where Strathay will be content togive it. Why, the one honest thing I've done was to break with John. 

I wish I could afford to keep on being honest!

CHAPTER V. 

THE LOVE OF LORD STRATHAY. 

May 5. 

Lord deliver me from the well-meaning!

Because of one pestilential dun, I've done what the weary waiting formoney, money, money would never have driven me to do. I've been to Uncle, unknown to his wife, to ask advice. I might have known better. 

It was with a wildly beating pulse that I entered the familiar littleprivate office, thinking that Ned might be on the other side of thepartition--near enough, perhaps, to hear me; that he might at any momentrap upon the door and enter the room as he used to do, upon such flimsyerrands! I wondered how he would look, and what he'd say if he came; buthe never did come, though the talk was long enough, mercy knows; long andprofitless. 

It was hard, with that cold sinking at my heart, to talk to the Judge, ashe sat with his keen eyes fixed upon me, leaning back in his chair, attimes frowning absent-mindedly. 

"I've come to tell you--I've written home for money, " I began breathlesslyto explain. "But they don't understand, of course--it isn't half what Ineed, now. I really don't quite know what to do. And so I came to--"

My words died away into unintelligibility. 

"Anticipated your allowance a little? Well, well, how much do you need?"he asked indulgently. 

"I don't exactly know; not much, " I cried eagerly, "I haven't asked Fatherto send it all at once. Two or three thousand dollars would be a greathelp--for the present. "

"Two or three thousand! Is it little Nelly Winship who is talking aboutthousands? And what important scheme has she in mind?"

His tone was playful. 

"To pay my bills. '"

"Bills aggregating thousands?" He dropped his paper cutter sharply. "Is itpossible that in so short a time--if the recital be not too painful, prayexplain. "

"Oh, it's simple enough; the dressmaker would say: 'Do let me make youthis, it's such a pleasure to fit you;' or, 'That would be the rage, ifyou'd introduce it. ' And Mrs. Van Dam begged me to buy a hat from aprotegee just starting in business, because it would be a help to have thebeautiful Miss Winship for a customer. It did help the milliner, too, forI bought three and they were printed in the papers. But she wants her payjust as if it hadn't been worth the price twice over as an advertisement. And all the things for the flat--"

"Furniture?"

"Why, yes; we've rearranged the place and I've contributed a little. UncleTimothy, you can see--I need more money than other women. I can't walkwithout attracting notice, and cab hire or a carriage by the month--and--and I can't shop for myself, you don't know what a difference that makes;and--oh, everything is different! Why, I've just had my portrait painted. But Father isn't a poor man. " "He is poor, measured by New Yorkstandards. And he is sending you a great deal of money. "

"Yes, but--I must have a _lot_ more. "

The Judge frowned slowly, considering what he had heard. Finally he said, slowly shaking his head:--

"Doubtless we should have warned you, upon your coming to New York, but Idid not anticipate that one of your substantial Western stock woulddevelop habits of extravagance; nor were they apparent while you were withus. I cannot think it was altogether our fault, and certainly it was notyour father's. I am not unmindful of the recent unsettling experienceswhich furnish excuse for confusion of ideas; but, Nelly, I appeal to ahead that should be logical, even if--I have never thought it giddy withadulation--to see the facts as they exist. You must yield to your aunt'swish and return to her or to Marcia--"

"Impossible!"

"--you must bring me your bills; doubtless we can give up the furniture--"

"Give it up!"

The coolly spoken words struck to my heart. Why, we had just finishedarranging it! But he misunderstood my exclamation, and added:--

"I comprehend your reluctance, and I confess that I should little like toadvise returning goods bought in good faith, if there were any chance ofpayment; but--let me see; are you of age?"

"Why, yes; just twenty-one. "

"Is it possible? How time passes, to be sure! Yet--ah, the point is notimportant; the tradespeople should not have trusted you. Consider that youare unable to pay; the less of two evils is to return the goods as soon aspossible, that they may be received undamaged. "

"Oh, it's not so bad as that?" I said hastily. "Nearly everybody iswilling to wait, and I--you know Aunt Frank doesn't want me, and I shouldbe a--white elephant to Miss Baker. I must live somewhere. It's not myfault if my only friends are rich, and if I--but why can't Father--"

"I do not believe your father can pay your debts, " he interrupted, "inaddition to the generous sums he has already forwarded, unless--surely youwere not suggesting that he should mortgage the farm in order to--pay forpaintings?"

"I didn't mean that at all!" I cried; "I never thought of that. But how_do_ people--"

"You and I must do what is to be done, if possible without distressinghim, " he said; "your father is not so young as he once was. If you havebought things for which your allowance will not pay, although"--hehesitated a moment, "--the situation is--ah--trying to Mrs. Whitney. Isuppose her half of the common stock is secure?"

"Her half!"

"Has she been leaning upon your slender purse?" he asked not unkindly. 

"Why--she saves money by me and I increase her social importance. Ofcourse she had furniture, but it was old and--and--"

I could not find the words to explain to a man my horror of ugliness. Hewouldn't have understood. 

"Well, well, it makes no difference now. I must arrange matters for you, and I think you will agree, upon reflection, that the first step must beto give up whatever we can. "

"But, Uncle--" I tried to speak calmly, to show him the situation--"Mrs. Whitney is a Van Dam, and they befriended me when--why, they would neverforgive me; it would be ruin. And even from the practical standpoint--youwouldn't like to have your lawbooks sold, would you? Well, people haveintroduced me--and pretty furniture and pretty clothes and not to have anyscandal or any talk--oh, you can see!"

"In the light of reports that reach me, " said the Judge, "I might supposethat you"--he hesitated a moment, then continued, in an attempt at abantering manner, "that you refer to your luxuries as preliminary to--ah--matrimony, which is said to be the only gainful occupation that my sexleaves almost exclusively to yours, and in which fine clothing isundoubtedly an adjuvant. But observation leads me to think that it is abusiness less profitable than is often imagined. Hm!"

He drummed on the table, and when he continued, he seemed talking to gaintime, considering what he wished to say. 

"I grant you, " he said with his cumbrous playfulness, "that thesensibility of flesh and blood to beauty is as broad a fact as the effectof heat or cold. It is so universally recognised that we take a prettygirl, like original sin or the curse of labour, as a _chose jugeé_. Her sway must have begun with the glacial drifters and the kitchenmiddeners and the Engis skull man, when they and the rest of thepaleoliths were battling with the dodo and the dinornis and thedidifornis, and had no time for the cult of beauty except by proxy. Did itever occur to you that we men drove a hard bargain with your sex when wecompelled you to beauty, made you carry the topknots and the tail-feathers? Men propose marriage, women adorn themselves to listen. Letwomen choose their mates, and they might go as plain as peahens; and menwould strut about, displaying wattles, combs and argus-eyed plumes. "

"Women would be less beautiful if they proposed?"

"Some could not be, I fear. " He pulled down his brows, considering theproposition, then shook his head positively, with a little sigh. "You willremember--was it not Darwin who said that women, in order to attract men, borrow the plumage of male birds, which these have acquired to please thefemales of their kind? Beauty must be the first law of life to the sexthat has not the privilege of choosing. Under the circumstances, it issurprising how much of plainness women have preserved. Possibly because ofthe extraordinary directions which beauty culture may take. Burton assertsthat the Somali choose wives by ranging the women in line for inspection;she wins a husband of note who projects farthest _a tergo_. Yet amongfamous Greek statues there is also a steatopygous Venus. "

The office boy came to the door, and his knock woke Uncle out of hisrevery. He excused himself to his caller, and, returning to me, went on:--

"I have been--ah--I admit, rather evading the personal question. I wish, without seeking embarrassing confidences, to remind you that young peopleare apt to think bad matters--other than business matters--worse than theyare. I am not asking questions, but, when I was younger, cynicism usuallyhid but ill the scars of heartache. Do not, I pray you, throw yourselfaway in the gloom of momentary unhappiness. "

Did he guess--about Ned? That I was the one most hurt there? He shouldnever know that I winced. I shrugged my shoulders, ignoring his fatherlyglance, and faced him with a stare meant to be brazen. 

"You do not at the present time believe in sentiment?" he said. "Then Ishall adapt my argument to your whim of practicality, and speak of therumours which connect your name with that of young Lord Strathay. "

"Oh; that boy!"

"I presume you are right; he does seem to have fallen deeply in love withyou. But--if indeed, you are dazzled by the glamour of a title--do not betoo confident of his fealty. I know men better than you know them, mydear. Man loves beauty, but he does not always want to marry it. The rarewhite swan is admired, but the little brown partridge, clucking as shemarshals her covey of chicks, is the type of the marrying woman. Again, noman is master of himself. That Strathay wishes to marry you, I canunderstand; but, perhaps, when he is not under the spell of your presence, he falls to wondering how you will pronounce the social shibboleths, andmay let 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would. ' It is idle to deny that, admitting as one must the existence of lines of social cleavage in modernlife, it is often a mistake to overstep their boundaries in matrimony;though as to international alliances--"

"Oh, " I said, interrupting his prosings with a light laugh, "you mustn'ttake the matter _au sérieux_. "

"I take it so because it is serious. " The Judge's eyes and his tone werevery grave. "Forgive me if I remind you that these _obiter dicta_have grown out of a discussion of your money affairs, wherein you arebankrupt. If--and I ask your pardon if the supposition does you wrong--ifyou are relying on a brilliant marriage to help you out of financialdifficulties--"

He hesitated a moment, then went on slowly: "Perhaps I ought to warn youthat, if at any time this does become a serious matter, you will havepowerful opposition. I had not intended to tell you--though now I deem itbest--that Mr. Stephen Allardyce Poultney has lately done me the honour tocall; and--"

"Lord Strathay's cousin?" I thought he could hear the thrumming of myheart. This was why he had beaten so long about the bush! "Was he--was hespeaking about me?"

I felt a sudden chill of apprehension, and almost feared to hear theanswer. 

"He was; he came to the point with a refreshing directness worthy of abusiness man, and said that he wanted to know all about you. "

"And you--"

"I need not trouble you with our conversation. In view of the attentionswhich his Lordship has been paying you, his cousin felt it a duty, heintimated, to make inquiries. He did not care a button, I inferred, foryour position here, as it could not affect Lord Strathay's in England; buthe had read the newspapers with pardonable perplexity, and asked if youwere really the only daughter of a bonanza farmer. I did not feel itnecessary to enter into particulars, but informed him that your father wasrich in honesty and in the possession of a daughter good and beautifulenough for any Lord that lives. He thanked me and said 'quite so, ' asEnglishmen usually do say when they disagree with one. He added that hewould try to get the poor beggar--for so he referred to his kinsman--awayfishing. 

"You will note that, in the higher social strata, the choice ofmatrimonial partners has progressed beyond the personal selection soconfidently assumed by the scientists, and has become a matter forrelatives to--"

"And my only relative in New York, " I said slowly, wondering how fatal wasthis unexpected news, "has made it impossible for me to achieve a successthat was almost within my grasp. "

I don't see that the remark was so very terrible, but he looked at me withan odd air of astonishment and consternation. Then he seemed to considerit best to treat my natural disappointment as a joke. 

"Not very serious is this conversation, as you have reminded me, " he said. "You don't wish me to tell that which is not?"

"Why, naturally--no. " I was stunned, but I forced a laugh. "But it_is_ funny. Why--I was nearer landing the prize than I supposed, wasn't I?--that is, if I had wanted to land it?"

"Um--yes; it was rather close. But in this world you'll find strong menoften dissuading weak ones from action briefly meditated. "

He gazed at me solemnly, portentously, critically. 

"Yes, " I said, trying to speak with careless ease; "one Lord gone, butthere are others. Don't be too hard upon Strathay, though. He's not sobad. His estates are not heavily encumbered, and he's as likely now to weda music hall singer as a daughter of the Beerage. Perhaps such a marriageas he might have offered is not the best in life, but it is something thatwomen who love their daughters as well as you love yours are glad toarrange for them. I should have made Strathay a very decent wife--"

But at the word I stopped; something in the sound of it shattered my coolphilosophy. 

"Of course, of course, " Uncle assented. Then after a pause he went on, hesitatingly:--

"Nelly, these are not matters for a man to discuss with you. Why don't yourun in and talk with your aunt?"

I hadn't the least intention of calling, but I answered him according tohis folly. 

"I must, some time; but I'm so worried--"

"Ah, yes; those debts. Could you not, if you are determined not to comehome to us, seek less expensive apartments? You know that for any wants inreason your aunt and I--"

"I--I can't, just yet, " I faltered, with a dreary vision before my eyes ofsuch a boarding house as that from which Kitty rescued me. 

"Very well, Nelly, but think about it; you will see that to go on as youare doing would be only throwing money into a bottomless pit. But bring meyour bills to-morrow; I must have facts and figures, if we are tostraighten your affairs. Now--you need money--"

He was fumbling for his check book. Badly as I needed help, instinctivelyI cried:--

"Oh, no; not that!"

"Quite sure? It is the situation that troubles you and not the butcher, the baker--"

"Quite sure. "

"I desist. But sleep on what I have said. Remember that I am in yourfather's place, that I--your aunt and I--are very anxious about you. "

He took my hand, seeming as perplexed as I am myself. He lookedaffectionate enough, but so futile. 

So I came away heartsick. It's useless to argue with Judge Baker. He's aplebeian from his thick shoe soles to his thin hair; but he's honest. Andyet--if he had been less ponderously precise--he might have said: "Why, really, I don't exactly know. Mr. Winship is a well-to-do man. It has beenyears since I knew, but I can ascertain and--"

Or he might just have told the plain truth--that Father has a largeWestern farm. Englishmen think all Western folks are rich. Why, I believeMeg Van Dam would dower me if I were to marry Strathay. I could make itworth her while. It wouldn't be the first arrangement of that sort in NewYork, either. 

If only Strathay had seen me once more, no power on earth could haveprevented an avowal; and marriage with a peer of England would have givenme a station befitting my beauty. 

But perhaps it's not too late. Strathay may not heed his cousin. If hecomes wooing again, I shall not be so silly as I was the last time. Strange that I have not seen him. Can he have gone already?

I might do the London season by borrowing from Meg. It would cost afortune, and--unless Strathay does propose--perhaps even she wouldn't careto finance me now. 

I wish---

Oh, I wish I could get out of my dreams the ghastly form of Darmstetter, as I saw him dead at my feet! He haunts me all day long, and all the nightI dream of him!

And I wish I had not broken John Burke's honest heart--how wistful helooked, as he waited for me at the door of the office and helped me to mycarriage! Perhaps Ned wasn't in the building; perhaps--he may have avoidedme. 

I wish I had not brought him sorrow, and I wish--

No, I don't! I just hope Milly is even more wretched than I am!

Father really might mortgage. I could easily pay it back. I wonder I neverthought of that. I'll ask him. I will not take my bills to Judge Baker--tobe lectured on the dodo and on lines of social cleavage--as if any mancould be a match for me. 

I'll never go back to Aunt Frank! There is Bellmer, now--and Strathay mustsoon return to New York, to sail. 

CHAPTER VI. 

LITTLE BROWN PARTRIDGES. 

May 20. 

I wonder if I couldn't _earn_ money. For the last week--nothing buttrouble. No check from Father. Hugh Bellmer I have not seen. Strathay hasreally gone, spirited away by that superior cousin. 

And Mrs. Whitney has deserted me--oh, if it were not for money troubles, Iwouldn't mind that, cruel as was the manner of it!

Of course the newspapers soon learned that Strathay had left town. Trustthem for that; and to make sensational use of it! The first I knew of it, indeed, was when one day Cadge came bursting into the room. 

"Isn't it a shame?" she began in her piercing voice; as ever at fever heatof unrest, she waved at me a folded newspaper. 

"Emphatically; but what is it?"

"That fierce tale of the _Echo_; haven't seen it? We couldn't print aline. Big Tom says the chief has put his foot down; won't have storiesabout women in private life, you know--without their consent. But whydidn't you--why can't you give us a whack at it?"

"Because there isn't a word of truth in the whole disgusting--what does itsay?"

I had seized the sheet from her hands and rapidly glanced over the staringheadlines. Eagerly she interrupted me:--

"Oh, isn't it the worst ever? But I see how it happened. They must havesent out a leg man to get facts, and when no one would talk, they stirredthis up in the office. But--not to print, now--what _are_ you goingto do with His Lordship? Honest, Princess?"

"Nothing; there's absolutely nothing between us. He's a nice fellow, and Ilike him, and we're good friends; that's all. I--I knew he was going;fishing. "

"Well, I'm glad of that. But so must I be going. "

And she whisked out of the room, leaving in my hands this astoundingoutrage upon truth and decency:

BY EDWARD PEPPER. 

Helen Winship is the most extraordinary woman living;

The most beautiful woman in the world;

A scientist of national repute;

She has just passed through a tragedy which has left an impress upon herwhole life;

Most wonderful of all, she is the only American girl who has ever refuseda titled lover. 

This is her life story, told for the first time:--

_Chapter I. --Death:_

A woman's scream of agony!

A strange scene, like an alchemist's den, the light of falling dayreflected from test tubes and crucibles, revealing in dark corners uncouthappliances, queer diagrams, strange odours. Upon the floor the inertfigure of the foremost of New York's chemists; above his prostrate form, wild-eyed with horror at seeing his dramatic death, a beautiful woman, themost beautiful in the world. 

This was the end of Prof. Carl Darmstetter;

This was how the legacy of science came to Helen Winship. 

To carry it out, she has refused a title. 

_Chapter II. --Love:_

Born upon a Western farm, Helen Winship's father is a yeoman of the sturdystock that has laid the world under tribute for its daily bread. 

Early she made the choice that devotes her life to science. She was theconfidant of the dead chemist, whose torch of knowledge she took up firm-handed, when it fell from his nerveless fingers. 

She is vowed as a vestal virgin to science. 

Strange whim of destiny! Across this maiden life of devoted study came theshadow of a great name which for two hundred years has been blazoned uponthe pages of England's history. 

In the loom of fate the modest gray warp of Helen Winship's life crossedthe gay woof of a Lord of high degree, and left a strange mark upon theweb of time. 

Love came to her--many times; but came at last in a guise that seldom woosin vain. 

_Chapter III. --Sacrifice:_

Who has forgotten the memorable scene in the Metropolitan Opera House, when the beautiful Miss Winship took the vast audience by storm, causingalmost a panic, which was exclusively reported in these columns?

It was followed by a greater sensation. 

Rumour ran through the ranks of the Four Hundred, and the rustle of it wasas the wind in a great forest. For one of the proudest titles from beyondthe sea, before which the wealth and fashion of the city had marshalledtheir attractions, had passed them by to kneel at the feet of the lovelyscholar. 

The Earl of Strathay is the twelfth Earl of his house. He is twenty-oneyears old. His mother, the Countess Strathay, famous as a beauty, has beenprominent in the "Prince's set. "

Witley Castle, his seat, is one of the show places of England, thoughfinancially embarrassed by the follies of the late Earl. 

It was Lord Strathay's intention, upon landing in New York to go West in aweek; but he looked upon the fair investigator, and to look is to love. 

He laid his title at the feet of the lovely daughter of Democracy, butwith that smile whose sweetness is a marvel to all men, she shook herbeautiful head. 

She was wedded to learning. 

Fretted by the pain, he plunged into the wilderness to hide like a woundeddeer. 

What shall be said of this beautiful woman, for whom men sigh as for theunattainable? That she is lovely as the morning? All New York knows it. That her walk is like a lily's swaying in the wind, her voice is thesweetest music that ever ravished ear, her hair a lure for sunbeams? It isthe commonplace of conversation at every smart house. 

For this lovely woman of science is no ascetic. She moves by right ofbeauty and high purpose, in the best society. This farmer's daughter walksamong the proudest in the land, and none there is to compare with her. 

Like the Admirable Crichton, no art is to her unknown, no accomplishmentby her neglected. Her eager soul, not satisfied with dominion over therealm of beauty and of love, would have all knowledge for its sphere. 

Amusing, isn't it?--to one who is not the heroine of the tale! The tragedyof Darmstetter revived, my scientific attainments--but oh, the worst--theworst of all--is the wicked lie that I am in the "best society. "

Why, the very day before, we had been "at home, " Mrs. Whitney and I, andhardly a soul that counts was here. Mrs. Van Dam had a convenientheadache; I haven't seen her since Peggy's wedding. If she had not been sovery civil--she and Mrs. Henry--I might think that even then she suspectedthat Strathay--

There were a few correct, vapid young men in gray trousers and long frockcoats among our guests that day, but none worth serious attention. And thewomen!

One creature tucked tracks under the tea cloth, whereat Mrs. Whitney'spinched nose was elevated. Ethel saw the action--in spite of her motherand sister, the poor girl clings to me; I suppose it's natural that_she_ should love beauty--and hopping round the table at the firstchance, she pulled out one, chuckling mightily. 

"'Favour is deceitful and beauty is vain, '" she quoted in undertone; "oh, Nelly, take your share of the unco guid and the riders of hobby horses, and be thankful it's no larger. "

Ethel doesn't know how great it is. There was the woman who insists ongloating over me as a proof of the superiority of her sex; the woman whohad written a book, the woman who would talk about Karma, and the woman--there was more than one--who would talk about the Earl. 

After they had gone, Mrs. Whitney's disgust was as plain as her horror oftheir appetite for cake and other creature comforts. But the storm brokein earnest a day or two later, after the last reception we shall ever holdtogether. 

I can't describe it. I don't understand it. Women are fast leaving thecity; it was too late for an "evening. "

But that made no difference; I do not deceive myself. I am pressing withmy shoulders against a mountain barrier--the prejudice of women--and itnever, never yields. Active opposition I could fight; but the tactics arenow to ignore me. In response to cards, I get "regrets, " or women simplystay away. 

Men--ah, yes, there are always men, and many of them like as well asadmire me. But there is a subtle something that affects every man'sthought of a woman of whom women disapprove. They don't condemn me--ah, aman can be generous!--they imagine they allow for women's jealousies; butdeep in their hearts lies hid the suspicion that only women are qualifiedjudges of women. They respect me, but they reserve judgment; and they donot wholly respect themselves, for in order to see me, they evade theirlawful guardians--their wives and mothers. 

It may have been the wine--I overheard two young cads making free of myhouse to discuss my affairs. 

"Mrs. Terry really dragged Hughy out of town?" one of them asked, assuminga familiarity with Bellmer that I suspect he cannot claim. 

"Guess so; he's playing horse with old Bellmer's money; always wrong sideof the betting. "

"Needs Keeley cure. Good natured cuss; wonder if the Winship'll get him. "

"Lay ye three to one--say twenties--that he gets away, like thatStrathay--"

I addressed some smiling speech to the wretches, but through the wholeevening my cheeks did not cease to burn. 

When the last guest had gone, tired and hysterical as she was, Mrs. Whitney began a long tirade. 

"It must be stopped! It must be stopped!" she cried, pacing back andforth. 

The blaze of anger improved her. She must have been a handsome womanonce--tall and slender, with fine dark eyes that roll about dramatically. 

"I don't see what there is to stop, " I said, perversity taking possessionof me, though at heart I quite agreed with her estimate of the evening. "The object of an entertainment being to entertain, why shouldn't the menI know come to ours? If they stayed away, you'd be disappointed; but whenthey come, as they did to-night, you're frightened, or pretend to be. "

"I'm not frightened; I'm appalled. I don't mean Mr. Burke, though he's adetrimental--and, by the way, he was as much distressed to-night as I was. I mean the men who have families--wives and daughters! Why didn't theybring 'em--or stay away?"

"I'd thank John Burke to mind his own business, " I cried hotly. "Hedoesn't have to come here unless he wants to. "

"There is only one way, " she went on, as if speaking to herself, pacingthe floor and fanning herself violently--for her face, and especially hernose, was as red as a beet; she really laces disgracefully--"there's onlyone way; I must fall ill at once. I must have nervous prostration, or--it's nearly June. I shall leave town. Heavens! What a night!"

"You're assuming a great deal. Our arrangements were made by two, and arehardly to be broken by one. You can't agree to matronize me--let me buyfurniture for you, and then abandon me, cut off my social opportunities--leave me--"

"Social opportunity! Social collapse! Disgrace! Why, your prospects werereally extraordinary. But now! Where was Meg to-night? Where was Mrs. Marmaduke? Why did my own sister-in-law stay away?"

"I don't know; do you?"

Her harangue begun, she couldn't stop. "Where's Strathay?" she demanded. "Gone; and no announcement--what was the matter? Needn't tell me yourefused him! And why is the letter box always full of duns? Can't you payyour bills? Why didn't you say so earlier? Would have saved us both a dealof trouble!"

"I didn't tell you I had money. "

"You played the part, ordering dresses fit for a Duchess, and things forthe flat. You spent enough on a wedding gift for Peggy--or was it apromise to spend?--to support a family a month--peace offering becauseyou'd abused her!--Of course if you'd made the great success everybodyexpected, you'd be on the top wave, and so should I. I don't deny Ithought of that. But now--an evening like this--no women worth countingand a horde of men--well, it's bad enough for me, but it's worse for you. No one'll say I brought 'em. "

"Oh, no, " I assented. 

"It comes to this, then, " she went on at full heat, flushing and fanningherself still more violently; "either you or I must leave this house, andat once. "

"Well, I sha'n't. "

And so she did!

Whose fault was it that we were left in such a predicament--that of theinexperienced girl, or the chaperon's? What is a chaperon for? Mrs. Whitney has treated me shamefully, shamefully! Here I am all by myself, and I don't know what to do. 

Ah, well, I must play my own hand. She shall regret this night's work, ifI marry rank or money. 

It is so strange how every one prospers except poor, baffled, loveless me, who have the greatest gift of all. I wonder if it is really Nature's lawthat the very beautiful must suffer; if this is her way of equalizing thelot of the poor and plain and lowly; her law of compensation to make thesplendid creatures walk lonely and in sorrow all their days while plainones coo and are happy. Was Uncle Tim right about the little brownpartridges?

If I were superstitious or easily disheartened, I should say--but I amneither! I shall succeed. I will take my place by right of beauty or diefighting! If I see Lord Strathay again, he shall marry me within a week. They shall call it "one of those romantic weddings. "

I can't live here alone. I have nothing to fall back upon; nothing but afather who doesn't answer my letters, and Judge Baker who lectures me inpolysyllables, and John Burke--poor old John; what a good fellow he is!--who simply loves me; and Mrs. Van Dam, who was my friend as long as shehoped to rise by my beauty to higher place, but who has headaches now; andMrs. Marmaduke--

I don't understand her desertion. 

Ah--yes, there is another, my constant companion now. 

He is an old man, thin and sallow. He lies prone on the floor, staring atme with dead, sightless eyes. He whispers from muted lips "Delilah!" andthe sound of it is in my ears day and night; day and night!

My God! It will drive me mad!

CHAPTER VII. 

LETTERS AND SCIENCE. 

May 29. 

I've revised my opinion of the newspapers. The Star has done me a goodturn, a great service. 

I had tried to borrow money of Cadge, for the third time, and she told meshe had none--which was true, or she would have let me have it. Then shesaid:--

"Why don't you sell a story to some paper--either something veryscientific, or else, 'Who's the Handsomest Man in New York?' or--"

"I think I ought to get something from them, after all the stuff they'veprinted; but how? To whom do I go?"

"Nobody! Heavens!" cried Cadge. "Want to create an earthquake on Park Row?You're a disturber of traffic. Let me manage. I know the ropes and ithelps me at the office to bring in hot features. They might give you fiftyfor it, too. "

And I actually did get $50 for digging out of the text books an essay onRats as Disseminators of Bubonic Plague; they only used a little of it, but the pictures and the signature and the nonsense about me as ascientist were the real thing, Cadge said. 

The money, the money, the money was the real thing to me! It has given mea breathing spell--. That and the hundred for signing a patent medicinetestimonial; but I had to sacrifice more than half I got from both sourcesto pacify greedy creditors. And a month between remittances, and so littlewhen they come! Father _can't_ refuse to mortgage; why doesn't hewrite to me?

The day I took the article to Cadge I had a long talk with her and withPros. Reid, who spends at the eyrie every hour he can spare. One must havesome society or go crazy, though perhaps they aren't exactly what I'dchoose if my kingdom had opened to me. 

Pros. Has shrewd eyes that inspire confidence--gray eyes with the tirednight work look in them. He talks amazing slang at times, at others not atall; and I wish every one might be as kind and thoughtful. 

I could think of nothing all the evening but my bills, and at last I wasmoved to ask him abruptly:--

"What can a girl do to get money, Pros. ?"

"'Pends on the girl. "

"This girl; a somewhat educated person; and grasping. One who wants muchmoney and wants it right now. "

"Princesses don't earn money; they have it. "

"Suppose the Princess were enchanted--or--or something? Oh, you may notthink me serious, but I really don't know what I shall do, if my shipdoesn't come in pretty soon. "

He looked quizzically at me; he thinks I plead poverty as a joke; Cadgewould never tell him how I have tried to borrow. 

"'Twould be a hard case, supposing it possible, " he said, "because youwould want a good deal of money, and because you'd be a bother to have'round--too beautiful. You couldn't sell many newspaper stories, becauseyou'd soon cease to be a novelty as a special, and would get a pressticket to City Hall Park. Reporting's another coloured horse altogether--poor pay, and takes training to get it. Beauty's a disadvantage eventhere; too much beauty. Tell you what you could do, though, if ever you_should_ want to earn money--go on the stage. "

"Girl I knew, " said Cadge, "made a pot of money going round to summerresorts, giving women lessons, energizing and decomposing; kind ofDelsarte; said it made her 'most die--to see 'em rolling on the floor likeelephants, trying to get lean, and eating 'emselves fat four times a day, with caramels between--and not be able to laugh. Might try the Barnardgirls. It can't be sure beauty to be up there; I've seen some of 'em. Saynow; that's not so bad--'How to be Helen; in Twenty Lessons. ' Or say, Princess; answer the great question: 'Does Soap Hurt the Skin?'"

She grinned. Cadge fancies, I suppose, that by any mail I may get a bigcheck from home. 

"You display almost human intelligence, " said Pros, admiringly; "stage'sbetter, though. "

"But, Mr. Reid, that's too public. "

"Inherited instinct; no more public than--than being a beauty. " He gazedat me with mild audacity, --"Money getting's prosaic, off the stage. Mostgirls who want cash become tiddlety-wink typewriters at eight per; bargainprice; fully worth four. Now that isn't your class; if $8 a week wouldsatisfy you, which it wouldn't, do you suppose there's an office in townthat'd have you? Men won't subject their clerks to the white light ofbeauty; wives won't stand for it, either. There are places where no girlcan get work unless she's pulchritudinous. Catch the idea? A pretty Londonbarmaid can't draw more beer than an ugly one, but draws more custom. What's a Princess to do with such jobs? You'd be like the man who wouldn'tbe fool enough to marry any woman who'd be fool enough to have him--ingetting work, I mean. This is the other side of all that rot about Woman'sCentury and Woman's Widening Sphere. Never go into an office, MissWinship; my wife won't, when we're married. "

"'Cause she'll be in one already, " interrupted Cadge; "why, if I had tomope 'round all day in a flat, I'd be driven to drink--club tea. Imagineit; Cadge Bryant a clubwoman!"

"Clubwomaning is exciting enough, election time. "

"But men get money, " I persisted. "Isn't there anything a girl can do?"

"I've a sister, " said Reid, "--other sister out in Cincinnati--who wants aprofession; law's the one I'm recommending. It's so harmless. Courseshe'll never have any practice; she won't get out and hustle with thegreasy Yahoudis who run the bar now-a-days. No, so long as my sister hasthe career fever, I say law, every time. Cadge, why don't you study law?"

"The dear boy does so enjoy talking nonsense, " Cadge explainedindulgently. 

"In ordinary business, " Reid went on, "pretty women are only employed aslures for men. Swell milliners have 'em to overawe with their greatgrieving eyes the Hubbies who're inclined to kick at market rates forbonnets. Now there's dry goods, chief theme of half the race. You'd thinkthere'd be a show there for a pretty girl; well, there ain't. It's retailtrade; one girl can sell about as many papers of pins in a day asanother. "

"Some pretty cloak and suit models get big wages, " said Cadge. 

"Yes, in the jobbing houses. That's wholesale trade, and every dickercounts. Have to corset themselves to death, though. "

"It's a fact, " Cadge put in. "Many's the filler I've written about it. Girl has to destroy her beauty to get a living by her beauty. "

"Sure! Fashions not made to fit women, but women to fit fashions. Thenthose girls have an awful time, if they're careful about their associates. Why, it's getting so a model is expected to sell goods herself--heldresponsible if she doesn't. No sale, no job next week. See the situation, "Pros. Added, "--on the one hand the buyer, a vain man away from home, withthousands to invest; on the other a girl who must get that money for herfirm. Well, of course it's not so bad as that, but----"

"But _I_ wouldn't corset myself Redfern shape and go into such horridplaces for the world, " I cried. 

No more than Judge Baker, or Father, or any one else, could Reid see mysituation. What do I care about earning $8 a week--or $80? I must have agreat deal of money, at once; to pay my debts and to live upon. Men getmoney quickly--in Wall Street or by inventions or----

"Course not, " said Pros. "You're the Princess; and Princesses may beHonorary Presidents and ask questions and take an interest, but they don'tdo things. "

"Pros. Is right about the stage, " said Cadge; "that's the best sort ofwholesale business. You sell a chance to look at you to fifteen hundredpeople at once; and folks can't paw you over to see how your clothes fit, either. I'd like it myself, but I'm too--well, after all, I might do; I'mat least picturesquely ugly. "

And so the antiphony of discouragement ended in a laugh. 

I wonder--women on the stage do get big sums, and they often graduate fromit to society. If even a music hall singer can become a duchess----

Bellmer's father made his money in sugar, they say. If I had it, I couldstorm any position. I suppose Mrs. Terry has shooed him off on thatautomobile tour I heard about; but he must come back--and so mustStrathay. 

I can't wait long, I'm not safe an hour from human vultures hungry formoney, though I've none to yield them. 

I must do something. No sooner had Mrs. Whitney vanished from the flat ina whirlwind of tears and reproaches than in came the furniture man, as ifhe had been watching the house, to threaten that, unless I pay at once, hewill take away everything. He was not rude in words, but oh, so differentfrom the oily people who sold me the things. His ferret eyes searched theapartment; he seemed counting every article. 

"The furniture's safe, " I said; "it won't walk away. "

"Of course it's safe, " he answered with a suspicion of a sneer; "butwhen'll it be paid for?"

"I don't know; go away!" I said. "I've written to my father. "

The fellow looked at me with open admiration. 

"Better 'tend to this thing; better write again to--your father, " he saidand walked off, leaving me cold and tremulous with rage. 

I must have imagined the pause, the inflection; but he has me undersurveillance. Like a thief!

I flew to the dining-room and swallowed a glass of sherry, for I was faintand quivering; but before I had turned from the sideboard Cadge bouncedinto the room, tearing through the flat to find me, and stopped to stare, open-eyed. 

"Drop that!" she cried. 

"Oh, don't preach! I've just been having such a time!"

"Everybody has 'em; I've had fifty a year for fifty years. And I don'tmind your drowning sorrow in the flowing bowl, either. But do it like aman, in company. Honest now, Helen. "

She changed the subject abruptly to the errand that had brought her; but, before she went away, she looked curiously at the sideboard and said:----

"Helen, you really don't----"

"Mercy, no! Scarcely at table, even. Why I used to be shocked to see howthings to drink are thrust upon women, even in department stores. Butthey're not all deadly; there's 'creme de menthe' now--the pep'mintextract Ma used to give me for stomach-ache. "

Cadge laughed with me, but she turned quickly grave again. 

"Mind what I tell you, Princess, " she said, "and never, never drink even'pep'mint extract' in the house like that, alone; if you do, I see yourfinish; reporters learn a thing or two. "

She's right--for ordinary women. But I told her the truth; I don't carefor wine. I've seen girls flushed at dinner, but I know too much ofphysiology, and I care too much for my beauty. 

Still, in emergencies----

Emergencies--oh! I could have named to her the very day I first tastedwine. It was here in the Nicaragua, the day Darmstetter----

Well, well, --I mustn't think about that. I can't understand why I don'thear from Father. Impossible to make him see how different are my presenttastes and pressing needs from those I brought from home. I hope he won'tdelay long about the money. 

My position is becoming intolerable. I owe the butcher, grocer, furnituredealer, photographer--and the milliner is the worst of all. The money Igot from the _Star_ is filched from me by people who need it far lessthan I. Why, I even owe money to the maids, and I can't discharge eitherof them, because I'd have to pay her. But they must somehow be sent away. 

I wonder if Father couldn't sell the farm. That would bring more than amortgage; but it might take months, and even then I need in a single yearmore than all he has in the world. 

Will any woman who reads the story of my life--the real story whichsometime I shall write, leaving out the paltry details which now harassme--will any woman believe that the most beautiful woman in the world inthe wonderful year, of the finding of the Bacillus actually thought oftramping the streets, looking for work, like a story heroine seeking herfortune? I shall have to do something--anything!

But I can't work; I'm not calm enough, and it would ruin my beauty. 

The luck must change!

Sometimes I see more clearly than the sordidness of this horribleexistence, a big palace with a terraced front and a mile long drivestraight to the park gate, past great trees and turf that is always green;and long rows of stately ladies looking down on me from their frames onthe lofty wall beside soldiers that have stood silent guard there threehundred years. I can see a beautiful woman courtesying to a Queen and allthe world reading it in the morning paper; and a big town house withmyriad lights blinking through the fog outside, where shivering wretcheswatch the carriages drive up to my door. For twenty--no thirty years--Imight be the one inimitable and wholly adorable being, clothed with raregarments, blazing with jewels, confidant of statesmen, maker of the menwho make history. History! I should _be_ history!

I could do it all myself--I have never had a chance, never yet the glimmerof a chance, but I could do anything, conquer anything, achieve anything!

It is so little that I ask--the money to live upon, and a chance, only thechance--it is maddening to be denied that!--and fair play to live my lifeand carry out my destiny. 

There was a time when I wanted less, expected less; like Cadge with queer, devoted Pros. Or Kitty Reid, her hair blowing about her face, happy withher daubs, messing about in the studio. Was I happier when I was likethat? I would not go back to it! I would not barter my beauty for anyother gift on earth. I shall fight and fight to the last ditch. I don'tpropose to be a pawn on the chess-board. 

If it comes to that, I shall know what to do!

CHAPTER VIII. 

A CHAPERON ON A CATTLE TRAIN. 

June 4. 

This has been one of my worst days, and I have for a long time had no daysbut bad ones. Three things have happened, either one of which would alonehave been a calamity. Together they crush, they frighten, they humiliateme!

This morning came this letter from Father:--

Hannibal, May 31. 

"DEAR NELLY:--

"I take my pen in hand to tell you that we are all well and hope that youare the same. It was a very cold winter and we were so put to it to getwater for the stock after the dry fall that I am thinking of putting downa driven well this summer if I can find the money. Ma has a sprained wristwhich is painful but not serious. John Burke sent home some little itemsfrom the papers. We are glad that you have been having a good time. Wewere glad that you had gone to Timothy's house, though John Burke said thegirl you were with before was very nice. But twas right not to stay longenough to wear out your welcome. I do not see how I can get so much money. I have sent you all I had by me and we have been pinched a good deal too. I had a chance of a pass on a cattle train and Ma said why don't you goeast yourself and see Nelly. But I said no school's most done and she'llbe coming home and how can I leave? Shaw said she we can tend toeverything all right so maybe I will come. I have written to Timothy andwill do as he says. I have a feeling Daughter that you need some one byyou in the city. Ma sends her love and asks why you don't write oftener. We wouldn't scarcely know what you was doing at all if it wasn't for John. 

"Your Loving Father, "EZRA D. WINSHIP. " It seems I'm to have a new chaperon. He's a littlestiff in the joints and his face is wrinkled and his talk is not that ofsociety and he's coming out of the West on a cattle train. Good Lord!

Oh, yes, he'll come. Uncle Timothy'll urge him to take me back to thefarm. 

I won't go back! As soon as I had read this news I started for theImperial Theatre to see the manager. I walked, for I have no more creditat the livery stable; and I was grimly amused to see in the shop windowsthe "Winship hats" and graceful "Winship scarves" that are coining moneyfor other people while I have scarcely carfare. 

The unusual exercise may have tired me, or perhaps it was some lingeringremnant of the old farm superstition against the theatre that made meslacken my steps as I neared the office. I remembered my father'stremulous voice cautioning me against play-houses before I started for thecity. 

"Now don't ye go near them places, " he said, wiping his nose and dodgingabout the corners of his eyes. "They're bad for young girls. "

Why do I think of these things? If he cares so much for me, why doesn't heget me the money I asked for; instead of coming here-on a cattle train?

Whatever the reason, Puritanic training or fear of my errand, I walkedslowly back and forth in front of the dingy little office of the theatrefor some time before I conquered my irresolution and went desperately intothe place. 

They told me the manager was out, but after a little waiting I began tosuspect that this was a dingy white lie, and so it proved; for when Ilifted my veil and blushing like a school-girl, told the people in theoffice who I was, at once some one scurried into a little den andpresently came out to say that Mr. Blumenthal had "returned. "

Oh, the manager's an important person in his way; he has theatres in everypart of the country and is a busy man. But he was willing enough to see mewhen his stupid people had let him know that I was the Miss Winship! Sorryas was my heart, I felt a thrill of triumph at this new proof of my fameand the power beauty gives. 

When I entered his office, a bald little man turned from a litter ofpapers and looked at me with frank, business-like curiosity, as if he hada perfect right to do so-and indeed he had. I was not there to bartertalent, but to rent my face. I understood that; but perhaps for this veryreason my tongue tripped as it has seldom done of late when I blunderinglyexplained my errand. 

"Guess we can do something for you, " he said promptly. "Of course there'sa horde of applicants, but you're exceptional; you know that. "

He smiled good-naturedly, and I felt at once relieved and indignant thathe should treat as an everyday affair the step I had pondered during somany sleepless nights. 

"Must remember though, " he added, "on the stage a passably pretty womanwith a good nose, who has command of her features and can summonexpression to them, often appears more beautiful than a goddess-facedstick. However, it's worth trying. I don't believe you're a stick. Ah, --would you walk on?"

"I don't understand. "

"Stage slang; would you be willing to go on as a minor character--wearfine clothes and be looked at without saying much--at first, you know?Or--of course your idea's to star-you got a backer?"

"I don't understand that, either. "

"Some one to pay the bills while you're being taught. To hire a companyand a theatre as a gamble. "

"Impossible! I want money at once. I supposed that my--my beauty wouldcommand a position on the stage; it's certainly a bar to employment offit. "

"Of course it would; yes, yes, but not immediately. Why, even Mrs. Farquhar had to have long and expensive training before she made herdebut. And you know what a scandal there had been about her!

"Not that there's been any about you, " he added hastily, to my look ofamazement. "But you know--ah--public mention of any sort piques curiosity. Er--what's your act?"

"My act?"

"Yes; what can you do?"

"Sing a little; nothing else. I thought of opera. "

This proposition didn't seem to strike him favourably. 

"I don't know--" he hesitated. "You have a wonderful speaking voice, andyou've been advertised to beat the band. Who's your press agent?"

"I don't quite know what a press agent is; but I'm sure I never had any. "

"Well, you don't need any. Now that I see you--, but I fancied months agothat you were probably getting ready for this. Suppose you sing a littlesong for me. "

We stumbled through dim passages to the stage, half-lighted by a window ortwo high overhead. Mr. Blumenthal sat alone in the orchestra, and Isummoned all my resolution, and then, frightened and ashamed anddesperate, I sang the "Sehnsucht, " following it with what Cadge calls a"good yelling song" to show the power of my voice. 

Then the rotund little manager rolled silently back to the office, and Iknew as I followed him that I had been judged by a different standard fromthat of an applauding drawing-room. 

"Well!" said he, when we had regained his room. "You are a marvel! Sing byall means; but, if you must have immediate results, not in opera. Musichalls get pretty much the most profitable part of the business since theybecame so fashionable in London. Tell you what I'll do. --I'll give you ashort trial at--say a hundred a week. You've a wonderful voice and notraining; but any teacher can soon put you in shape to sing a few showysongs. Give me an option on your services for a longer term at a higherfigure, if you take to the business and it takes to you, and you can startin next month at the roof garden. "

"The roof garden!" I cried out; but then I saw how foolish it would be tofeel affronted at this common man with money who would rank me as anattraction among acrobats and trick dogs. 

"I shouldn't like that, " I said more calmly; "people are very foolish, ofcourse, but I've been told that--that if I were to sing in public, myappearance would mark a new era in music; now, I wouldn't care to sing insuch a place; I had hoped, too, that I could get more--more salary. "

"Would seem so, wouldn't it?" said Mr. Blumenthal. "But it's a fair offer. Tell you why. 

"You'll take with an audience, for a short run, anyhow, if you've got--er--temperament; but I run the risk that you haven't. I spend considerablemoney getting you ready to appear, and then you're on the stage only a fewminutes. Another thing: Most people nowadays are short sighted; you haveto capture 'em in the mass--two Topsies, four Uncle Toms, eight Marksesthe lawyers, twenty chorus girls kicking at once-big stage picture, youknow, not the individual. And the individual must have the large manner. Yes, yes; I use you for bait to draw people, but I need other performersto amuse 'em after they're here. They want to feel that there's 'somethingdoing' all the while, something different. Curiosity wouldn't last long;either you'd turn out an artist and--er--do what a music hall audiencewants done, or you'd fail. In the former case you could command moremoney; never so much as people say, though. There's so many liars. "

"I--I'll think over your offer, " I said. "I wouldn't have to wear--"

"Costumes of approved brevity? No; at least not to start with. "

Mr. Blumenthal also had risen. He looked at me, as if aroused to myignorance of things theatrical, with a more personal and kindly interest. 

"Sorry my offer doesn't strike you favourably, " he said. "I'd like mightywell to bring you out; but if you hold off for opera--that isn't my line, though--mind you, I don't say it could be done; but if some one were foundto put up the money, would you wait and study? Know what you'd beundertaking, I suppose--hard work, regular hours, open air, steady habits?That's the life of a singer. Your health good? No nerves? We might make adeal, if you mean business. Trouble is, so many beautiful women thinkbeauty as an asset is worth more than it is; it makes 'em careless aboutstudying while they're young, and it can't last--"

I never heard the end of that sentence. I flew home and went straight tomy mirror. Sure enough, I fancied I saw a haggard look about the eyes--

My God! This gift of beauty doesn't confer immunity from fatigue, accident, old age. This loveliness must fade and crack and wrinkle, thesefull organ tones must shrivel to a shrill pipe; and I--I! shall one day bea tottering old woman, bent, gray, hideous!

And all the little disfiguring hurts of life--they frighten me! I neverenter a train that I do not think, with a shudder, of derailment andbleeding gashes and white scars; or cross a street without looking aboutfor the waving hoofs of runaway horses that shall beat me down, or forsome bicycle rider who might roll me over in a limp heap on the pavingstones. 

Yesterday I saw a horrid creature; her face blotched with red by acidstain or by a birth mark. Why does she not kill herself? Why didn't shedie before I saw her? I shall dream of her for months--of her andDarmstetter, old and wrinkled as I shall be some day, and dead--with thatsame awful look in my fixed eyes!

Ah, what a Nelly I have come to be! Is it possible that I once rode friskycolts bareback and had no nerves! I mustn't have nerves! They make oneold. Mr. Blumenthal said so. But how to avoid them? Oh, I must be careful;so careful! How do women dare to ride bicycles?

And this theatrical Napoleon, part of whose business is the appraisementof beauty--did he suspect that mine was less than perfect? It was perfecta month ago. 

He couldn't have meant that, or he was trying to make a better bargain bycheapening the wares I brought--

But I can't go upon the stage. How could I have thought of it? I mustn'tsubject myself to the late hours, the grease paint, the bad air! Of whatuse would be a mint of money, if I lost my beauty?

I steadied my nerves with a tiny glass of Curaçoa, and looked again. Theface in the mirror was beautiful, beautiful! There is no other like it!And gazing upon radiant Her, I might have recovered myself but for thethird untoward event of the day. 

It came in the shape of Bellmer. 

Perhaps I ought not to have seen him alone, but it is hard for one who haslived in the free atmosphere of the prairie, and has been a bachelor girlin New York with Kitty Reid to think about caution. Besides, it was such ablessed relief to see his full-moon face rise above the darkness of mytroubles! I greeted him with my sweetest smile, and did my very best tomake myself agreeable. 

"You've been out of town, haven't you?" I asked when the talk began toflag, as it soon does with Hughy. 

"Aw, yes, " he said; "pickin' up a record or two, with my 'mobe;' y' oughtto see it; it's a beauty, gasolene, you know. Awful nuisance, punctures, though. Cost me thirteen dollars to repair one; vulcanize the tire, y'see. Tires weigh thirty pounds each; awful lot, ain't it? Stripped one rightoff, though, trying to turn in the mud; fastened on with half-inch spikes, too. Can't I persuade you to--aw--take a spin some day? Where's Mrs. Whitney?"

"Gone to the country; she--she's ill. "

"Awful tabby, wa'n't she?"

"Oh, no; I like her very much, but she was in a hurry to leave town. "

"So Aunt Terry said. Awf'ly down on you, Aunt Terry is, " he drawled witheven more than his usual tactlessness, "but I stand up for you, I assuahyou, Miss Winship. I tell her you're awf'ly sensible an' jolly--lettin' afellow come like this, now, and talk to you's jolly, ain't it? An' youwill try my mobe? Awf'ly jolly 'twould be to take a spin. "

"Very jolly indeed, " I said. I turned my head that I might not see hisshining scalp. Thank heaven, I thought, Hughy doesn't know enough to bedeterred by two rejections, nor even by the gossip about Strathay. Iwished--it was wicked, of course--I wished I were his widow; but I wasdetermined not to repeat such folly as I had shown about the Earl. 

"Very jolly, " I repeated, "but you don't know what a coward I am; Ibelieve I'd be afraid. "

"Aw, no, Miss Winship, " he remonstrated; "afraid of the mobe? Aw, no; notwith me. I'll teach you how to run it, I do assuah you; awf'ly jolly thatwould be. "

"Why, yes; that would be nice, of course, " I said; "but--"

Oh, how shall I tell the rest? I was afraid of the machine; I knew I couldnever mount it, with his hand on the lever; I was just trying to refusewithout offending him. 

"--I'm such a coward, really, " I went on; I smiled painstakingly into hisstupid pink face that seemed suddenly to have grown pinker; and then Ifelt my smile stiffen upon my lips, for he had whirled around on the pianostool on which he was sitting, and he smiled back at me, but not as hewould have done in Mrs. Whitney's presence. He--he leered!

"You wouldn't be afraid, with me, y' know, --" was all he said, but he roseas if to come nearer me. 

"Oh, yes, I should--I should--" I stammered; I couldn't move; I couldn'tlook away from him. 

I seemed face to face with some foolish, grinning masque of horror. Myheart beat as I think a bird's must when a snake has eyed it; and a coldmoisture broke out upon me. 

"Oh, yes, I should!" I cried as I broke loose from the spell of terror, and made some halting excuse to get rid of him. I didn't dare even wait tosee him leave the room, but fled from it myself, conscious as I went ofhis open-mouthed stare, and of his detaining: "Aw, now, Miss Winship--"

To get as far away as possible, I retreated to the kitchen, where Isurprised Nora and Annie in conclave. They seized the opportunity to "givenotice. " Nora has a sweetheart and is to be married; Annie has inventedthe excuse of an ailing mother, because she dares not stay alone with me. They are both afraid, now that Mrs. Whitney--selfish creature!--has gone, and left me helpless against the world. 

At any other time the news would have been a fresh calamity--for how can Ipay them, or how get rid of them without paying? But with the memory ofthat awful scene in my head, I could think of nothing else. I don't knowwhat I said in reply. 

Bellmer's insult has stayed with me and haunted me. I had bearded atheatrical manager in his den and had been received with kindness andcourtesy. He had even assumed that some things in the profession aboutwhich I was inquiring might be trying to a tenderly reared girl, and thathe ought to give me advice and warnings. But this Thing bearing agentleman's repute; this bat-brained darling of a society that I'm notthought good enough to enter, had insulted me like a boor under my ownroof; and he would probably boast of it like a boor to others as base ashimself! The poverty of it, the grossness of it!

I'm not ignorant, now. I know there's a way open to me--God knows I nevermean to walk on it--but if ever I do go, open-eyed, into what the worldcalls wrong to end my worries, it will be at the invitation of one who hasat least the manner of a gentleman!

Sometimes I wonder if I did right about Ned. If he had known that I lovedhim, if I had made it plain, if I were even now to tell him all thetruth. --But he said--

I hate him! The whole world's against me, but I won't be beaten! I won'tgo back to the farm with Father. I will not give up the fight!

What shall I do?

CHAPTER IX. 

A BURST OF SUNLIGHT. 

June 8. 

They say the darkest hour comes just before the dawn. It was so with me. My troubles grew too great to bear, then vanished in an hour. 

Fate couldn't forever frown. I knew there must be help; some handoutstretched in a pitiless world. 

Really I am almost happy, for in the most unexpected and yet the mostnatural fashion, my perplexities have vanished; and I believe that my lifewill not be, after all, a failure. 

The hour before the dawn was more than dark. It was dreary. In the morningI did not care to go out, and no one came except one strange man whobesieged the door--there have been many such here recently, dunning anddunning and dunning, until my patience was worn to shreds. This was adecent-looking fellow with a thin face, a mustache dyed black and acarefully unkeen expression that noticed everything. 

"Miss Winship?" he said, and upon my acknowledging the name, he placed apaper in my hands and went away. I was so relieved because he said nothingabout wanting "a little money on account;" he wasn't even coarselyinsolent, like so many of them. He did look surprised at my appearance; sosurprised that his explanation of his errand died away into anunintelligible murmur. But I wasn't curious about it. 

I tried to read a newspaper, only to gather from some headlines thatStrathay and his cousin were passengers by an out-going steamship. Iwonder if it was all money, money, that kept him from me--or was it morethan half the fear of beauty?

I couldn't read anything else, not even a note from Mrs. Marmaduke; it wasdated from her country place; she hoped to see me--"in the autumn!" Peggyis in Europe; the General's going if she's not gone already. "May see youat the wedding of that odd Miss Bryant, " ran her last brusque message. "Ibegged an invitation; really I like her. But the chances are against mybeing here. "

All gone, I thought; my last hope, all my friends. 

There was a note from Mrs. Baker; I compelled myself to glance at that, and when I had done so, seized my hat and veil. She would call, it said, that afternoon!

With no thought but of escape, I left the house; I cared not where I went, nor what I did. I knew the Judge had sent Aunt Frank to pry into mytroubles; I walked with feverish haste, I would have liked to fly to avoidher. My hands shook. 

Oh, I was wretched!

As I passed the Park, I saw that spring had leaped to summer and the treeswaved fresh, green branches in the air--just such trees as John and Iwalked under, less than a year ago, making great plans for a goldenfuture; and a golden future there must be, but I had then no hope of it, no joy in life, no happiness even in my beauty. One only thought spurredme on, to forget past, present and future; to buy forgetfulness by anycaprice; to win diversion by any adventure. 

After some time I saw that I was in a side street whose number seemedfamiliar; self-searching at last recalled to me that on this street livedtwo rival faith healers, about whose lively competition for clients Cadgehad once told us girls a funny story. 

Could there have come to my thought some hope of finding rest from sorrowin the leading of another mind? Impossible to say. I was near insanity, Ithink. I chose the nearer practitioner and rang the bell. 

I can smile now at memory of the stuffy little parlour into which I wasushered, but I did not smile then at it, nor at the middle-aged woman whoreceived me with a set smile of stereotyped placidity. Her name, I think, was Mallard. 

"Have you a conviction of disease, my daughter?" she asked, in a low voicewith a caressing overtone gurgling in its cadences. "You look as radiantas the morn. You should not think ill. "

"I am not ill, " I replied; "but the world is harsh. "

"The world is the expression of our sense life to the spirit, " she cooed. "We do not live or die, but we pass through the phenomena. Through thepurifying of our thoughts we will gradually become more and more etherealuntil we are translated. "

I felt that momentary shiver that folk tales tells us is caused by someone walking over our graves. 

"I'm in no haste to be translated, " I said. 

"No one need be translated until she is ready--unless she has enemies. Areyou suffering from the errors of others? Has any one felt fear for you?That would account for what the world calls unhappiness. Is some onetrying to influence your subjective state?"

"I am convinced of it, " I said with wasted sarcasm. "But you can donothing for me; you can't--can you work on unbelievers?"

"Most assuredly. We are channels through which truth must flow to ourpatients. I need not tell you what I myself have done. "--Mrs. Mallardmodestly cast down her eyes. --"Mrs. Eddy has healed carous bones andcancers. I--some of our healers can dissuade the conviction of decayedteeth. The 'filling, ' as the world calls it, is, in such cases, pink andvery durable. If these marvels can be wrought upon the body, why may notthe mind be led toward healing? Confide; confide. "

"Heal the world of its hate of me, " I cried out. "What you say is all sovague. Does the mind exist?"

"It Is the only thing that does exist. Without mind man and the universewould collapse; the winds would weary and the world stand still. Sin-tossed humanity, expressed in tempest and flood, the divine mind calms andlimits with a word. "

I rose hastily to go. Chance alone and weariness of life had led me toenter the woman's parlor, but there was no forgetfulness in it. Impatiencespurred me to be moving, and I turned to the door, with the polite fictionthat I was leaving town but might soon consult the healer. 

"That makes no difference, " she persisted, getting between me and thedoor. "We treat many cases, of belief in unhappiness by the absent method. From 9 to 10 A. M. We go into the Silence for our Eastern patients. Ourten o'clock is nine o'clock for those living in the central time belt. At11 A. M. It is nine for those in Denver or Rocky Mountain time region. Thus we are in the Silence during the entire forenoon, but it is alwaysnine for the patient. Will you not arrange for treatment; you really lookvery badly?"

"Not today. " I pushed past her. 

To my astonishment the woman followed me to the outer door, abruptlychanging her tone. 

"I know very well why you don't get healed, " she said. "You fill your mindwith antagonistic thoughts by reading papers that are fighting some one onevery page. You want to get into some kind of society where you can pay$15 or $20 a week and get free healing, and you are disappointed because Iwon't give you my time and strength for nothing, so that you can have themoney to go somewhere and have a good time. Oh, I know you societypeople!"

By degrees her voice had lost its cooing tone and had risen to a shriek. Iwas amazed--until I remembered the rival across the street, who wasprobably watching me from behind closed blinds. 

As I walked away with the woman's angry words ringing after me from thedoorstep, I was divided between amusement and despair; I cannot express itby any other phrase. And that cynical mingling of feelings was the nearestapproach to contentment that I had known for days. 

The feeling died away; reaction came. It was the worst hour of my life. The thought of suicide--the respite I had always held in reserve against aday too evil to be borne--pressed upon my mind. 

I wandered to a ferry and crossed the East River to some unfamiliar suburbwhere saloons were thicker than I had ever before seen them; and all theway over I looked at the turbid water and knew in my heart that I shouldnever have the courage to throw my beautiful body into that foul tide. 

From the ferry I presently reached a vast, forbidding cemetery, and as Iwent among the crowded graves there came floating out from a little chapelthe sound of prayers intoned for the dead. I almost envied them; almostwished that I, too, might be laid to rest in the little churchyard athome. 

Then I lay down flat upon the turf in a lonely place, and tried to thinkof myself as dead. Never had the pulse beat stronger in my veins then atthat moment. There were little living things all around me, joying in thewarm sun; tiny insects that crawled, unrebuked, over my gown, so busy, sohappy in their way, with their petty affairs all prospering, that Iwondered why I should be so out of tune with the world. And then a rain oftears gushed from my eyes. I do not think that any one who should haveseen me there could have guessed that the prone and weeping woman was themost beautiful of created things; I do not think I have an enemy so bitterthat she would not have pitied me. 

I tried to think, but I was too tired. I had a vision of myself returningto the narrow round of farm life, to Ma's reproaches, to dreary, grindingtoil that I might win back dollar by dollar the money I had squandered--myback bent, my face seamed, my hands marred, like Aunt Emily's; and Ishuddered and wept and grovelled before fate. 

Then I saw myself remaining in the city, seeking work and finding nothing. Teach I could not; every door was barred except--I saw myself before thefootlights, coarsened, swallowing greedily the applause of a music hallaudience, taking a husband from that audience perhaps--a brute likeBellmer! Better die!

But as the vision passed, a great desire of life grew upon me. It seemedmonstrous, hideous, that I should ever die or be unhappy; the fightinginstinct sent the blood galloping. I sat erect. 

Then I noticed that the sun was gone, and the evening cool was rapidlyfalling. The little people of the grass whose affairs I had idly watched Icould no longer see--gone to their homes maybe; and I turned to mine, desolate as it was, hungry and chilled and alone. 

And that evening John Burke brought the sunshine. 

CHAPTER X. 

PLIGHTED TROTH. 

"Helen, you seem tired, " John said as I met him at the door--at first Ipeeped out from behind it, I remember, as if I feared the bogey-man--"Haveyou been too hard at work?"

"I've been out all the afternoon, " I said, "and I suppose I am rathertired, but it was pleasant and warm; and I wore a veil. "

There was a little awkward pause after I had ushered him to the receptionroom, and then, guiding the talk through channels he thought safe, hespoke about his law work, the amusing things that happen at the office, his gratifying progress in his profession. 

"Oh, " I said, "talking of the law reminds me--some stupid paper was lefthere to-day. "

I found with some difficulty and handed to him the stiff folded legal capthe man had brought. 

He glanced through it with apprehensive surprise, skipping the longsentences to the end. 

"Why, this is returnable to-morrow, " he said; "Nelly, I had no idea youwere in such urgent money troubles; why didn't you send for me at once;this morning?"

"Oh, if that's all--I've had so many duns that I'm tired of them: tired todeath of them. "

"But this isn't a dun, " he began in the unnaturally quiet tone of a manwho is trying to keep his temper and isn't going to succeed. "It is acourt order; and people don't ignore court orders unless they want to getinto trouble. This paper calls you to court to-morrow morning insupplementary proceedings. "

"I don't know what they are. "

"You don't want to know what they are. You mustn't know. It's an ordeal soterrible that most creditors employ it only as a last resort, especiallyagainst a woman. This plaintiff, being herself a woman, is less merciful. "

"Why is it so terrible? I have no money; they can't make me pay what Ihaven't got, can they? Is it the Inquisition?"

"Yes, of a sort; it's an inquiry into your ability to pay, and almost noquestion that could throw light upon that is barred. You'll be asked aboutyour business in New York, your income and expenses, your family and yourfather's means. It will be a turning inside out of your most intimateaffairs. "

"Why, I should expect all that, " I said. 

"But, Nelly--" he hesitated. "You're alone here?"

He had not before alluded to Mrs. Whitney, though I suppose he understoodthat she had gone; I appreciated his delicacy. 

"I'm afraid you'll be asked about that, " he went on; "asked, I mean, how ayoung woman without money maintains a fine apartment. They'll inquireabout your servants, the daily expenses of your table, your wine bills, ifyou ever have any; then they'll question you about your visitors, theircharacter and number, and try to wring admissions from you, and to givesinister shades to innocent relations. The reporters will all be there, aswarm of them. You're a semi-public character, more's the pity, and somelawyers like to be known for their severity to debtors. What a field dayfor the press! The beautiful Miss Winship in supplementary proceedings--columns of testimony, pages of pictures--! Ugh! In a word, the experienceis so severe that you cannot undergo it. "

"I don't see how it's to be helped; is it a crime to live alone?" I said. "I won't ask Uncle Timothy for money--and have Aunt Frank know about it. "

Again he hesitated, then he said more slowly, but plumping out the lastwords in a kind of desperation: "I've heard a woman--once--asked if shehad a lover--to pay the money, you know. "

I didn't understand at first; then a flush deepened upon my face. 

"They wouldn't dare! This woman knows all about me; why, she's Meg VanDam's dressmaker; Mrs. Whitney's too--" I said. 

"I've heard it done, " John repeated patiently. "You must pardon me. Ididn't want to go into this phase of it, but it may explain what, withyour permission, I am about to do. Now, before I go--for I must go at onceto find this attorney, at his house, the Democratic Club, anywhere--I mustbe frank with you. "

He was already at the door, where he turned and faced me, looking almosthandsome in his sturdy manliness, his colour heightened by excitement. 

"I must tell you one thing, " he went on very slowly. "I haven't in all theworld a fraction of the money called for by this one bill; but in a way Ihave made some success. I am beginning to be known. If I myself offerterms, so much cash down, so much a month, pledging my word for thepayment, the woman's lawyer will agree. She'll be glad to get the money inthat way, or in any way. But I must guard your reputation. I shall tellplaintiff's counsel that you are my affianced wife, that I didn't know howbadly you were in debt--both statements are true--and that I assumepayment. I wish to assure you that, in thus asserting our old relation, Ishall not presume upon the liberty I am obliged to take. "

I think I have treated John badly; yet he brought me help. And he had nothought of recompense. Since he has seen how useless it was, he has ceasedto pester me with love making, but has been simply, kindly helpful. And Ihave been so lonely, so harassed and tormented. 

It was far enough from my thoughts to do such a thing, but as I stooddumbly looking at him, it flashed upon me that here, after all, was theman who had always loved me, always helped me, always respected me. Ialmost loved him in return. Why not try to reward his devotion, and throwmy distracted self upon his protection?

"I would not have you tell a lie for me, John, " said I uncertainly, holding out my hands and smiling softly into his eyes. 

"I don't understand--" he stood irresolute, yet moved, I could see, by mybeauty. "Do you mean--" and he slowly approached, peering from under hiscontracted brows as if trying to read my eyes. 

"I mean that I have treated you very badly; and that I am sorry, " Iwhispered, hiding my head with a little sigh upon his shoulder; and aftera time he put his arms about me gently as if half afraid, and was silent. I felt how good he was, how strong and patient, and was at peace. I knew Icould trust him. 

So we stood for a little while at the dividing line between the future andthe past. I do not know what were his thoughts, but I had not been so muchat rest for a long, long time-not since I came from home to New York. 

Then with a sigh of quiet content, he said in a low and gentle voice:--

"It's a strange thing to hurry away now, Nelly; but you know I have somuch to do before I can rest tonight. I must speak of this: Now--now thatwe are to belong to each other always--I must know exactly about all youraffairs, so that I can arrange them. There are other debts?"

The word grated upon my nerves, I had been so glad to forget. 

"Yes, I'm afraid I owe a lot of money, but must we--just to-night?" Iasked. 

"I'm afraid it's safest. It is not alone that you will be able to forgetthe matter sooner if you confide in me now, but how can we know that theseproceedings will not be repeated if I don't attend promptly to everything?Some one else may bring suit tomorrow, and another the next day, givingyou no peace. I'm sorry, but it is the best way. Tell me everything now, and I will arrange with them all, and need never mention the subjectagain. Then you can be at peace. "

"Well, if I must--"

It seemed impossible to go on. Even the thought of how good he was and howhe had taken up my burden when it was too heavy for my own strength madeit harder to face the horrible business. 

"--I owe ten dollars to Kitty Reid, and about twenty-five to Cadge, " Iadmitted. "I didn't mean to borrow of them, but I had to do it, justlately--"

"Poor child!" said John, stroking my hand with his big, warm paw, as hewould a baby's. "Poor child!"

"I've bills somewhere for everything else--"

It was like digging among the ruins of my past greatness to pull out thecrumpled papers from my writing desk, reminding me of the gay scenes thatfor me were no more; but John quietly took them from me, and begansmoothing them and laying them in methodical piles and making notes ofamounts and names. 

"I've refused all these to Uncle Timothy; he's been worrying me withquestions--" I said desperately. 

"Three florists, two confectioners, " he enumerated, as if he had not heardme. 

"--Women eat sweets by the ton, but lately there have been few of 'em inthis house. Then here are the accounts for newspaper clippings, you know;Shanks and Romeike; but they're trifles. "

"You must have been a good customer, " John said, glancing about thedishevelled flat--I hadn't had the heart to rearrange it since Mrs. Whitney left. "From the look of the place, I believe you would have boughta mummy or a heathen god, if anybody had suggested it to you. "

"I have a little heathen god--Gautama; alabaster--and a mummied cat. "

"And you're very fond of that? But no matter. Shoemaker and milliner andfurniture man; that makes eleven. "

He lengthened his list on the margin of a newspaper. 

"Well, I never paid Van Nostrand for that painting, and I've evenforgotten how much he said it would be. And there's a photograph bill--aperfectly scandalous one--and another dressmaker; Mrs. Edgar; I went backto her after Meg's woman got crusty, but she never'll sue me. And theJapanese furniture shop and--another photographer--and here's the bill forbric-a-brac--that's sixteen. The wine account--there is one, but it oughtto be Mrs. Whitney's; for entertaining. I suppose Pa and Ma would say thatwas a very wicked bill, now wouldn't they, Schoolmaster?"

"They would indeed, Helen 'Lizy; I'm not sure that I don't agree withthem. By the way, does your father know about all this?"

"Yes, a little. I've begged him for money, but he won't mortgage the farm. And Judge Baker knows. He wants me to come back to his house, but ofcourse I won't do it. I guess he's sent for Father; Pa's coming East soon, on a cattle train pass. "

"A cattle train!"

John stabbed the paper viciously, then he said more gently:--

"A cattle train is cold comfort for a substantial farmer at his time oflife; and I don't think we will let him mortgage. "

That young man will need discipline; but I imagine he was thinking lessabout my poor old father than about--well, I needn't have mentioned theBaker house, but what does he really know of how I came to leave it?Perhaps suspicion and bitter memories made my retort more spirited than itneed have been. 

"We won't discuss that, please, " I said with hauteur; "and we won't be tooemphatic about what is past. It _is_ past. I'll find out what is aproper scale of expenditure for a young lawyer's wife in New York, and Ishall not exceed it. I've been living very economically for the spherethat seemed open to me. Perhaps I ought not to have tried it; but I thinkyou should blame those who lured me into extravagance and then desertedme. I've had a terrible, terrible experience! Do you know that? And I waswithin an ace of becoming an ornament of the British peerage. Did you knowthat?"

"Yes; I don't blame you for refusing, either; some girls don't seem tohave the necessary strength of mind. No; I'm not blaming anybody foranything. Nelly, next week it will be a year since our first betrothal; doyou remember? Haven't you, after all, loved me a little, all the time?"

He looked at me wistfully. 

"At least, " I said, "I didn't love Lord Strathay. "

I didn't think it necessary to correct him as to my refusal of the Earl. 

"We'll see if Kitty won't take you in again until we can be married, " hesaid, jabbing the paper again and changing the subject almost brusquely. "If you don't want to go back to your aunt, that'll be better than aboarding house, won't it? You pay the girls out of this, and I'll lookafter the other bills. There's a good fellow. Now, then what's No. 18?"

I fingered with an odd reluctance the little roll of bills he handed me, though it was like a life buoy to a drowning sailor. 

"You'd better, " he said, with quiet decision, cutting short my hesitation. "The girls won't need to know where it comes from, or that I know anythingabout it. It's ever so much nicer that way, don't you think?"

I put the money with my pride into my pocket, and continued sorting outbills from the rubbish. In all we scheduled over forty before we gave itup. Besides the Van Nostrand painting and one or two accounts thatprobably escaped us, I found that I owed between $4, 000 and $5, 000. 

"That is the whole of my dowry, John, " I said. 

"I would as willingly accept you as a portionless bride, " he declaimed intheatrical fashion; and then we both broke into hysterical laughter. 

"Never mind, " he said, at last, wiping his eyes. "I never dreamed that allthis rubbish about you could cost so much; I ought to have had my eyesopen. But now we aren't going to worry one little worry, are we? I'llstraighten it all out in time. And now I really must go. "

And so he went away with a parting kiss, leaving me very happy. I don'tknow that I love him; or rather I know that I don't--but I shall be goodto him and make him so happy that he'll forget all the trouble I have costhim. Dear old unselfish, patient John!

And I am more content and less torn by anxiety than I have been for many along day. It is such a relief!

And so I'm thinking it over. Even from the selfish standpoint I have notdone so badly. John is developing wonderfully. He is not so destitute ofsocial finesse as when he came, his language is better, his bearing moreconfident. He makes a good figure in evening dress. He will be a famoussuccess in the law, and, with a beautiful wife to help him, he should gofar. He may be President some day, or Minister to the Court of St. James, or a Justice of the Supreme Court. 

Whatever his career, I shall help him. I have the power to do things inthe world as well as he. And once married, I may almost choose my friendsand his associates. The women will no longer fear me so much. He shall notregret this night's work. 

So that is settled. I am so relieved, and more tired than I have everguessed a woman could be. Tired, tired, tired!

I'm sure it is the best thing I could do, now; but--Judge Baker is right!What was it he said? "A loveless marriage, "--Oh, well, since I broke NedHynes's heart by setting a silly little girl to drive him away, and brokemy own by breaking his, I haven't much cared what becomes of me; only tobe at peace. 

It will be a relief to move out of this accursed flat, where I have spentthe gloomiest hours of my life. 

BOOK V. 

THE END OF THE BEGINNING. 

(From the Shorthand Notes of John Burke. )

CHAPTER I. 

THE DEEDS OF THE FARM. 

Sunday, June 13. 

In three days it will be a year since Helen promised to marry me, and onthat anniversary she will be my wife. 

It is strange how exactly according to my plan things have come about--andhow differently from all that I have dreamed. 

She is the most beautiful woman in the world; she is to be my wife soonerthan I dared to hope--and--I must be good to her. I must love her. 

Did I ever doubt my love until she claimed it five days ago with suchconfidence in my loyalty? In that moment, as I went to her, as I took herin my arms, as I felt that she needed me and trusted me, with thesuddenness of a revelation I knew--

It was hard to meet Ethel--and Milly and Mrs. Baker afterwards. 

To-day, in preparing to move to our new home, I came across the roughnotes I wrote last December, when the marvel of Helen's beauty was freshto me. As I read the disjointed and half incredulous words I had set topaper, I found myself living over again those days of Faery andenchantment. 

Custom has somewhat dulled the shock of her beauty; I have grown quicklyused to her as the most radiantly lovely of created beings; my mind hasbeen drawn to dwell upon moral problems and to sorrow at seeing hergradually become the victim of her beauty--her nature, once as fine as theoutward form that clothes it, warped by constant adulation, envy andstrife; until--

But it is a miracle! As unbelievable, as unthinkable as it was on the veryfirst day when that glowing dream of loveliness made manifest floatedtoward me in the little room overlooking Union Square, and I was nearswooning with pure delight of vision. 

Beautiful; wonderful! She didn't love me then and she doesn't now; but themost marvellous woman in the world needs me--and I will not fail her. 

I wish I could take her out of the city for a change of mental atmosphere. She shrinks from her father's suggestion of a summer on the farm. But intime her wholesome nature must reassert itself; she must become, if notagain the fresh, light-hearted girl I knew a year ago, a sweet andgracious woman whose sufferings will have added pathos to her charm. 

And even now she's not to be judged like other women; before the shiningof her beauty, reproach falls powerless. It is my sacred task to guardher--to soothe her awakening from all that nightmare of inflated hopes andvain imaginings. Kitty Reid and---yes, and little Ethel--will help me. 

Kitty is a good fellow. 

"Why, cert. , " she said when I begged her last Wednesday to take care ofHelen. "Married! Did you say married? Oh, Cadge, quit pegging shoes!"

Jumping up from the drawing table, Kitty left streams of India ink makingher beastesses all tigers while she called to Miss Bryant, who waspounding viciously upon a typewriter:--

"Cadge, did you hear? Cadge! The Princess is going to be married. 'Courseyou remember, Mr. Burke, Cadge is going to be married herself Saturday. "

"Don't be too sure of it, " returned Miss Bryant, "and do let me finishthis sentence. Ten to one Pros. Or I'll be grabbed off for an assignmentSaturday evening 'fore we can be married. But the Princess is different;she has leisure. Burke, shake!"

She sprang up to take my hand, her eyes shining with excitement. 

Kitty hurried with me to the Nicaragua, where she pounced upon Helen, herred curls madly bobbing. 

"What a bride you'll make!" she cried fondly. "Going to be married fromthe den, aren't you? Oh, I'm up to my eyes in weddings; Cadge simply won'tattend to anything. But what have you been doing to yourself? Come here, Helen. "

She pushed the proud, pale beauty into a chair, smothering her with kissesand the piles of cushions that seem to add bliss to women's joys andsoften all their griefs. 

"Tired, aren't you?" she purred. "Needed me. Now just you sit and talkwith Mr. Burke and I'll pack up your brittle-brae in three no-times. Clesta, --where's that imp?"

She called to the little combination maid and model who had accompaniedus. 

"Clesta's afraid of you, Helen. 'Why'd ye fetch me 'long?' she whimpers. 'Miss Kitty, why'd ye fetch me 'long?' Huh, I 'member how you used to havehis picture with yours in a white and gold frame!"

Helen scarcely replied to Kitty's raptures. She laid her head back half-protestingly among her cushions, showing her long, exquisite throat. Foran instant she let her shadowy lashes droop over the everchanging lustreof her eyes. I couldn't help thinking of a great, glorious bird of heavenresting with broken wing. 

"Poor little Princess!" said Kitty, who hardly comes to Helen's shoulder. Then we all laughed. 

Kitty stayed at the Nicaragua that night, and when I came Thursdayafternoon she stopped me outside the door, to say:--

"I wouldn't let Helen talk too much; she's nervous. "

"Can you tell me what is the matter with her?" I asked. "I don't thinkshe's well. "

"Oh, nothing. You know--she's been worrying. " Then loyal Kitty spokepurposely of commonplaces. "General must have danced her off her feet. Darmstetter's death upset her terribly, too. She never will speak of it. But she'll be as right as right with me. Bring her 'round as soon as theman comes for the trunks. You've only to head up a barrel of dishes, quick, 'fore Clesta gets in any fine work smashing 'em. "

As I passed through the hall, littered with trunks and packing cases, tothe dismantled parlour, Helen looked up from a mass of old letters anddance cards. 

"I'm sorting my--souvenirs, " she said. 

The face she lifted was white, only the lips richly red, with a shade offatigue under the haunting eyes. The graceful figure in its close-fittingdress looked a trifle less round than it had done earlier in the winter, and one fair arm, as it escaped from its flowing sleeve, was almost thin. 

"Dear, " I said wistfully, for something in her drooping attitude smote meto remorse and inspired me with tenderness; "will you really trust yourlife to me?"

She leaned towards me, and beauty breathed about her as a spell. I benttill my lips caressed her perfumed hair; and then--I saw among the rubbishon her desk something that made me interrupt the words we might havespoken. 

"What's that?" I asked. "Not--pawn tickets?"

"For a necklace, " she said; "and this--this must be my diamond--"

"Pawned and not paid for!"

She offered me the tickets, only half understanding, her great eyes asinnocent as they were lovely. 

"I had forgotten, " she said. "I only found them when I came to--"

She brushed the rubbish of her winter's triumphs and disappointments tothe floor, and turned from it with a little, disdainful movement. 

"I had to pay the maids, " she said simply. 

"Nelly, why--why didn't you come to me sooner?"

With a bump against the door, Clesta sidled into the room awestruck andsmutched, bearing a tray. 

"Miss Kitty said, " she stammered, "as how I should make tea. " And as soonas she had found a resting place for her burden, the frightened girl madea dash for the door. 

Before Helen had finished drinking, there was a stir in the hall, and thenthe sound of a familiar voice startled us. 

"Wa-al, Helen 'Lizy, " it said. "How ye do, John? Don't git up; I can settill ye're through. "

And Mr. Winship himself stood before us, stoop-shouldered, roughly dressedfrom the cattle cars, his kindly old eyes twinkling, his good face allglorified by the honest love and pride shining through its plainness. 

"Why, Father!" cried Helen with a start. 

She looked at him with a nervous repugnance to his appearance, which shetried to subdue. He did not seem to notice it. 

"Wa'n't lookin' for me yit-a-while, was ye?" he asked. "Kind o' thoughtI'd s'prise ye. Did s'prise the man down in the hall. Didn't want to letme in till I told him who I was. Little gal in the entry says ye'removin'; ye do look all tore up, for a fac'. "

Mr. Winship has grown old within the year. His hair has whitened and hisbushy eyebrows; but the grip of his hand, the sound of his homely speech, seemed to wake me from some ugly dream. Here we were together again in thewholesome daylight, Father Winship, little Helen 'Lizy and theSchoolmaster, and all must yet be well. 

Mr. Winship sighed with deep content as he sank into a chair, his eyesscarcely leaving Helen. He owned himself beat out and glad of a dish oftea; but when Clesta had served him in her scuttling crab fashion, hewould stop in the middle of a sentence, with saucer half lifted, to gazewith perplexed, wistful tenderness at his stately daughter. 

She is the child of his old age; I think he must be long past sixty, andfast growing feeble. The instinct of father love has grown in him sorefined that he sees the soul and not the envelope. Grand and beautiful asshe is to others, to him she is still his little Nelly. 

He would not even own that he thought her altered. 

"I d'know, " he said, a shade of anxiety blending with the old fond pride. "Fust-off, Sis didn't look jes' nat'ral, spite of all the picters she'ssent us; but that was her long-tailed dress, mebbe. W'en she's a youngone, Ma was all for tyin' back her ears and pinchin' her nose with aclo'espin--to make it straight or so'thin'; but I says to Ma, w'en Helen'Lizy lef' home, 'don't ye be one mite afeard, ' I says, 'but what thembright eyes'll outshine the peaked city gals. ' Guess they have, sort o', eh, Sis; f'om what John's been writin'?"

"I don't know, Father. "

"Don't ye--don't ye want t' hear 'bout the folks? Brought ye heaps o'messages. Frenchy, now--him that worked for us--druv over f'om the Merriamplace to know 'f 'twas true that city folks made a catouse over ye. He'dheard the men readin' 'bout ye in the papers. 

"'Wa-al, ' I says to Frenchy, 'Helen 'Lizy was al'ays han'some. '

"'D'know 'bout zat, ' says Frenchy, only he says it in his lingo, 'but shewas one vair cute li'l gal. '

"'Han'some as a picter, ' I tol' him; 'an' cutes' little tyke y'ever see. '"

"How is Mother?" asked Helen constrainedly. 

"Ma's lottin' on havin' ye home; wants t' hear all 'bout the good times. School done? All packed and ready for a start, ain't ye? But ye don't seemto be feeling any too good. Don't New York agree with ye, Sissy? Beenstudying too hard?"

"She is a goot organism; New York agrees vit her, " I said. "Wasn't thathow poor old Darmstetter put it, Nelly? Mr. Winship, Nelly has overworked, but with your consent, she is about to let a tyrannical husband take careof her. "

At my heedless mention of Darmstetter, Helen's white face grew whiter. Hertrembling hand strayed, seeking support. 

"Al'ays s'posed you'n' Sis'd be marryin' some day, " said Mr. Winship, dubiously watching her, while he stroked his beard; "but seems mos's ifye'd better wait a spell, till Ma's chirked her up some. Han'some placehere. "

His eyes examined the luxurious, disordered room. 

"These here things ain't yourn, Sis?"

"Not all of them. "

"I ain't refusin' to let Sis marry, if ye're both sot on't, " he conceded. Then he caught sight of the Van Nostrand painting, and his slow glancetravelled from it to Helen. "That done for you, Sis? I never helt withbare necks. Yes, Sis can marry, if she says so, though Ma wants her home. But she ain't been writin' real cheerful. She--she's asked for money, that's the size on't. An' here ye are up in arms an' she nigh sick. Idon't want nothing hid away f'om me; how come ye livin' in a place likethis?"

He rose laboriously, surveying through the open doorway the beautiful halland the dining-room; while I interposed some jesting talk on othermatters, for I had hoped to get Helen out of the Nicaragua before herfather's arrival, and still hoped to spare him knowledge of our worsttroubles. 

"If Sis has been buyin' all this here, I ain't denying that I'll feel theexpense, " he said, sticking to the subject; "but I guess we can manage. "

Fumbling for his wallet, he drew some papers from it and handed them toHelen, adding:--

"There, Sis; there they are. "

"Money, Father?" she asked with indifference. "I don't believe I needany. "

"Don't ye? Ye wrote 'bout mortgagin'. I didn't want to do it, 'count o'Ma, partly; but we kep' worryin' an' worryin' 'bout ye. Ma couldn't sleepo' nights or eat her victuals; an fin'lly--'Ezry, ' she says, 'we waspossessed to let Helen 'Lizy, at her age, an' all the chick or child wegot, go off alone to the city. Ezry, ' she says, 'you go fetch her home. Like's not Tim can let ye have the money, ' she says; 'his wife bein' anown cousin, right in the family, y'know. ' So I've brought the deeds, Sis, an'--"

"What!" cried Helen, starting up. "The deeds of the farm? Let me see!"

She reached out a shaking hand for the papers. 

"I'll pay you back!" she cried. "Why didn't you come sooner? How much canyou get? How much money?"

"Not much more'n three thousan', I'm afeared, on a mortgage; cap'tal'skind o' skeery--but Tim--"

"Three thousand dollars!"

Laughing hysterically, she fell back in her chair. 

"I had ought 'a come sooner; an' three thousan' ain't a gre't deal, Idon't suppose, here in the city; but it's been spend, spend--not that Igrutch it--an' things ain't so flourishin' as they was. I'm gittin' tooold to manage, mebbe--"

"Mr. Winship, " I said, "Nelly has told you the truth; she doesn't needmoney; she--"

"Three thousand will save me!" Helen cried. "I can pay a little toeverybody. I can hold out, I can--"

"Please, Miss--the furniture--"

Behind Clesta appeared two men who gaped at Helen in momentaryforgetfulness of their errand. 

Helen's creditors have proved more than reasonable, with the exception ofthe furniture people; their demands were such that there seemed noalternative but to surrender the goods. As the men who came for themadvanced into the room, stammering questions about the articles they wereto remove, Helen struggled to her feet and started to meet them, thenstopped, clutching at a table for support. Their eyes never left her face. 

"Are they takin' your things, Sis?" asked Mr. Winship. 

Her feverish glance answered him. 

"What's to pay?" he inquired. 

"Want to keep the stuff, Boss?" asked the head packer. 

"Yes, " I said, seeing her distress, and resolving desperately to find themeans, somehow. 

"It ain't none o' your look-out, " interposed Mr. Winship. "Sis ain't a-goin' to be beholden to her husband, not till she's married. Ezry Winshipal'ays has done for his own, an' he proposes to do, jes' as fur's he'sable. Sis'll tell ye I hain't stented her--What's to pay?"

I couldn't see all his savings go for gauds!

"You may take the goods, " I said to the men, with sudden revulsion offeeling. "There's no room for them, " I added gruffly to Mr. Winship, "inour--the rooms--where we are to live. "

"All right, Boss, " said the head packer; "which gent speaks for the lady?"

"Father!" Helen gasped. 

"What's to pay?" insisted Mr. Winship. 

"Take the goods, " I repeated. 

"All right, Boss;" and the two men went about their work, still glancingat us with sidelong looks of curiosity. 

Helen gazed at me with eyes that stabbed. Then slowly her glance dulled. She dropped on a packing box and sat silent--a bowed figure of despair--forgetting apparently that she was not alone. 

Mr. Winship made no further attempt to interfere with events. He stood byHelen's side, puzzled and taciturn. 

I, too, was silent, reproaching myself for the brutality of my action, unable to decide what I should have done or ought to do. Helen herself hadsuggested that we give up the furniture, and I had not mourned thenecessity, for I hated the stuff, with its reminders of the General andthe Whitney woman and Bellmer and the Earl and all those strange peoplethat I used to see around her. But I might have known that she could not, all at once, wean herself from the trumpery. 

A minute later Clesta ushered in the man who was to take the trunks, andwhen I had given him his directions, I asked:--

"Shall we go, Nelly?"

"If ye ain't reconciled to movin'--" Mr. Winship began. 

But Helen answered neither of us. Her eyes were bent upon the floor, and alook, not now of resentment, but of--was it fear?--had slowly crept uponher face. Her hands were clenched. 

Darmstetter! Instinct--or memory of my careless words spoken but a littleearlier--told me the truth. The growing pallor of her cheek spoke herthought. How that tragedy haunts her! The face I looked upon was at thelast almost ghastly. 

"Nelly--" I said, very gently. 

She looked around with the slow bewilderment that I once saw on the faceof a sleep-walker. Her eyes saw through us, and past us, fixed upon someinvisible horror. She was heedless of the familiar scene, the figuresgrouped about her. Then there came a sudden flush to her face, a quickrecoil of terror; she shuddered as if waking from a nightmare. 

"Why do we stay here?" she cried starting up with sudden, panic strength. "Let's get out of this horrible place! Let's go! Oh, let's go! Let's go!"

And so it was, in sorrow and with dark forebodings, that we left the gayrooms where Helen had so passionately enjoyed her little flight in thesunshine. 

The drive through the streets was at first silent. Shutting her eyes, sheleaned back in the carriage. Sometimes she shuddered convulsively. 

"Where ye goin'?" Mr. Winship asked at last, peering out at the carriagewindow. Indeed the trip to Fourteenth Street seemed interminable to me, and I didn't wonder at his impatience. 

The simple question broke down Helen's reserve. 

"Anywhere!" she sobbed, breaking into violent, hysterical tears. "I didn'twant to stay there! I didn't want the furniture! I didn't want it! I don'twant money! Father, you needn't mortgage!"

"We'll talk 'bout that some other time, " said Mr. Winship soothingly. "Nevermind now, Sissy. "

"Ye'll take good care of Helen 'Lizy?" he said to Cadge and Kitty when wehad half carried her up the long flights of stairs to the studio. Heseemed to take no notice of the strange furnishings of the loft, but hisfurrowed brow smoothed itself as he looked into the hospitable faces ofthe two girls. 

"Ye'll take good care of her?" he repeated simply. "I'm afeard my daughterain't very well. "

"We will; we will!" they assured him eagerly; and indeed it seemed thatHelen had found her needed rest, for she bade us good night almostcheerfully. 

CHAPTER II. 

CADGE'S ASSIGNMENT. 

"You say Winship is around at your place?" asked Judge Baker Fridaymorning. I had before told him about the approaching marriage. "The dearold boy! I am very glad. "

"He wants to talk with you about a mortgage, " I said bluntly. "Can youdissuade him? I think the situation in its main features is no secret toyou. "

The Judge frowned in surprise. "You don't mean that she--"

"Of course Helen has refused her father's offer. We have so arrangedeverything that no help from him is needed, but he may be ratherobstinate, for I'm afraid she wrote to him, suggesting--I mean, she nowregrets it, " I added. 

"Ah, those regrets! Those regrets!" He sat silent for a moment, thinkingdeeply. "That phase of an otherwise rosy situation is unfortunate. I willdo my best with Winship, and you must explain to me your proposedarrangements; for I claim an uncle's privilege to be of use to Nelly, andshe, with perhaps natural reticence, has acquainted me only partially withher affairs. I rejoice to hear that she now wishes to spare her father, but--you will pardon me, Burke?--she was hasty; she was hasty. It iseasier to set forces of love or hate moving than to check them in motion. Sometimes I think, Burke, that people were in certain ways less recklessin the good old days when they had perpetually before their eyes thevision of a hair-trigger God, always cocked and ready to shoot if theycrossed the line of duty. But Nelly is coming bravely through a severetest of character. May I offer you both my heartiest--"

It was just at that happy moment that the office boy announced Mr. Winshipto share the Judge's kind wishes; and by good luck in came also Mrs. Baker, but a moment behind him. 

"Why, Ezra!" she chirped in a flutter of amazed cordiality at sight of herhusband's visitor. "You in New York? Why, for Nelly's wedding, of course!John Burke, why've you kept us in the dark these months and months? I'm--I'm really ashamed of you!"

Her plump gloved hands seized Mr. Winship's, while her small, swift, bird-like eyes looked reproach at me. 

"Patience, Mrs. Baker; patience!" rejoined the Judge. "Is not an engagedman entitled to his secrets? Has it escaped your memory how, once upon atime, you and I--. "

"There, now, Bake! Stop, can't you?" she interrupted with vehement goodnature; and I ceased to intrude upon the three old friends. 

That afternoon, when I sought Helen at the studio, I was more surprisedthan I should have been, and wonderfully relieved to discover the resultof their conference. 

Ignorant of any quarrel and overflowing with anxiety, Helen's father hadunbosomed his anxieties about her health and accomplished what nodiplomacy could have done. Mrs. Baker had flown with him to the studio, where, constrained by his presence, Helen had submitted to an incredibletruce with her aunt. 

"I told Tim'thy an' Frances we'd eat Sunday dinner with 'em, " Mr. Winshiptold me; "an' they say you'n' Sis had ought to be married f'om theirhouse. Good idee, seems to me, though Sis here don't take to it, somehow. "

"Oh, I suppose I can endure Aunt Frank, " said Helen, making savage dabs atCadge's typewriter; "if you wish it--you and John. "

She was making a great effort for her father's sake, and I could notexclaim against her chilly reception of the olive branch. 

"It'll please Ma, w'en she comes to hear 'bout it; she thinks a sight ofFrank Baker, " urged Mr. Winship. 

"'Fraid I'll have to tackle someb'dy else 'bout that money, " he went onafter a pause; "Tim'thy says he ain't got a cent loose, jest now. I didkind o' want to keep it quiet, keep it to the fambly like, but I can gitit; I can git th' money; on'y it'll take time. "

"Why, Father, I begged you not to try, " said Helen impatiently. "I don'tneed money; ask John. "

"W'at you've spent can't come on John, " declared Mr. Winship; "I'll haveto be inquirin' 'round. But I'm glad to see ye lookin' brighter'n you didyist'day, Sissy; Tim'thy's wife'll have an eye on ye. She's comin' hereagin to-morrer, she says, to a weddin'. You didn't tell me 'bout any onegittin' married--not in sich a hurry, not to-morrer. W'ich gal is it?"

"Wouldn't think it was Cadge, would you?" laughed Kitty, staggering intothe room under the weight of a big palm. "Next chum I have, it'll be inthe contract that, in case of emergency, she helps run her own wedding. 'Course Helen's all right with me--or will be, once Caroline Bryant'sdisposed of. "

In spite of the confusion of the wedding preparations, Helen did do creditto Kitty's nursing; and last evening, when there came the climax of allthe bustle, she seemed stronger even than on Friday. 

It was a night to remember!

The big Indians of the canvasses peeped grimly from ambushes of flowersand tall ferns, as the studio door opened and Kitty came running to meetme, her cheeks flushed and her curls in a hurricane. 

"'Most time for the minister, " she cried breathlessly, "and not a sign ofCadge! Not a sign! And I want to tell you--Helen's sorry we invited theGeneral, but she won't come, so that's no matter; but the Bakers--do theylike him?"

"Like the minister?"

"Like Ned Hynes?" panted Kitty. "When we asked 'em yesterday, I forgot, but he'll be here. Pros. And he belong to a downtown club--'At the Sign ofthe Skull and Crossbones'--or something--"

"Well?"

"Oh, it's all right, but I thought I'd tell you. If only Cadge'd come!That's what eating me!" Kitty groaned. "But do you see our Princess? Allshe needed was me to make her comfy. Shall I get you the least little bitof colour, out of a box, Helen? Or--no; you're too lovely. But come, youmust have some roses. "

As Helen joined us, very pale in her shimmering dress, with her hair likean aureole about her head, she looked a tall, white Grace, a swaying lilyshining in the dusky place. Almost with the old reverence I whispered:--

"You are the most beautiful of woman!"

"Do I please you, Sir?" she said, smiling as she moved away again withKitty. "Won't you see to Father? He's come without his necktie. "

"Sho, Sis!" said Mr. Winship; "don't my beard hide it? Declare I cleanforgot. "

Soon Helen returned to pin a flower at my button-hole. 

"Where _can_ Cadge be?" she cried gaily; but her hands shook and shedropped the rose. "Do you suppose she's interviewing a lunatic asylum?"

What had changed her voice and burned fever spots in her cheeks? I wasn'tso indifferent as I had seemed to Kitty's news. Had she told Helen, too, that Ned Hynes--what was he to my betrothed?

"Can't you rest somewhere and just show for the ceremony?" I said, "Nelly, you're not strong. "

"There's not a place big enough for a mouse. But did you mean it? Do Ireally look well to-night? Am I just as beautiful as I was three-fourmonths ago, or have I--"

"Oh, do slip out and 'phone the _Star_! I can feel my hairwhitening, " whispered Kitty, turning to me hastily, as a couple of womenentered. "See, folks are beginning to come. "

I went out into the warm and rainy night, but there was no Cadge at the_Star_ office. By the time I had returned with this information, theeyry held a considerable gathering. Mrs. Baker had arrived, and her twodaughters; but I had no time to wonder at Milly's coming, for behind meentered Mrs. Van Dam and then, among a group of strangers, I noticedHynes. 

Involuntarily, at sight of him, my eyes turned to Helen; but not a muscleof her face betrayed deeper feeling than polite pleasure as she helpedKitty receive the wedding guests, greeting the General cordially, Hyneswith graciousness. 

Kitty's welcome to Mrs. Van Dam would have been irresistibly funny, if Ihad had eyes to see the humour. 

"Cadge promised to be home early, " she sputtered, "but probably she'stelling some one this minute: 'Oh, I'll be there in time; I don't needmuch--not much more than the programme. '

"Can't _you_ guess where she is, Pros. ?" she implored in anundertone, as her brother approached us. "If the minister gets here beforeCadge does, I'll cut her off with a shilling. "

"What an interesting place!" exclaimed Mrs. Van Dam, examining hersurroundings through her quizzing glasses. "I've heard so much about yourpaintings, Miss Reid. And what an astonishing girl, this Miss Bryant!Where can she be? Helen, you sly girl, I hear news about you. "

"Oh, very likely Miss Bryant is out of town, " Reid answered for her with aquiet smile. "She'll show up after the paper goes to press, if notsooner. "

"On her wedding day! The girl's a genius! And when may that be? When willthe--ah--when will the paper go to press?"

"They take copy up to two o'clock for the second edition. But she maybehere at any moment. "

The General stared at him with amazement. 

"Oh, you don't know Cadge, " sighed Kitty, "if you think she'd be jarred byher own wedding. But we must do something. Everybody's here and waiting. Sing, Helen, won't you? Oh, do sing. "

Helen had not joined in the rapid conversation. Now she smiled assent withstately compliance. Undulating across the studio, she returned with amandolin--not the one I remembered, but a pretty bit of workmanship ininlaid wood. Bending above this, she relieved the wait by merry, liltingtunes like the music of a bobolink, while Kitty fidgetted in and out, thepuckers in her forehead every minute growing deeper. 

While I listened to the gladsome music, my glance strayed to Milly, butshe was almost hidden by the curtains of the tepee; and then to Ned, whosat with his face turned partly away from us. I noticed that he lookedgaunt, and I found a bitter satisfaction in the thought that, perhaps, inHelen's "three-four months" he had not seen, until that night, either ofthe women with whose lives his own had been entangled. 

"Just one more, " begged Kitty, when Helen stopped. "You're my only hope;do sing, Helen. "

Dropping the mandolin, Helen began without accompaniment "The King ofThule:"--

"'There stood the old carouser, And drank the last life glow;And hurled the hallowed gobletInto the tide below. 

"He saw it plunging and filling, And sinking deep in the sea;Then fell his eyelids forever, And never more drank he!'"

It was the ballad she had sung at Christmas--in what different mood! Thenher voice had been as carefree as a bird's carol, but now it lent to thelimpid simplicity of the air a sobbing, shuddering sweetness--an almostweird intensity that strangely affected her listeners. 

When she had finished, something like a gasp went through the room. With aheart-breaking coldness I felt that I was her only unmoved auditor, or--no; Ned seemed studying with weary disapproval the pattern of his shoes. 

"Love and death; and at a wedding!" Mrs. Van Dam shivered. "Something morecheerful, Helen. "

"Let's go--let's go and eat up Cadge's spread; that'd be cheerful, "sniffed Kitty, her hot, nervous hand patting Helen's shoulder. "ThePrincess's tired. But we must do something. "

"Eat the wedding supper before the wedding. Original, I must say!"

But the General willingly enough helped Kitty to marshal us into thecrowded little dining-room; where Helen and I found ourselves beside Mr. Winship and Ethel. Her father accepted Helen's music with as littlesurprise as he had shown at her beauty. 

"Comin' home pretty soon, ain't ye, " he asked, "to give us some hymn tunesSunday evenings? W'at'll I git for ye? Must be hungry after so muchsinging. "

"I'm afraid I wasn't in voice to-night, " said she rather wearily. 

"Not in voice!" protested Ethel with shy enthusiasm; "why, Nelly, I neverbefore heard even you sing like that; it was-it was-oh, it was wonderful!"

I dared not look at her, yet I saw every movement of the slight littlefigure--saw the blush of eagerness that mounted even to the blonde littlecurls about her forehead; and, retreating impatiently, I tried to followMr. Winship's example, as he waited on the company with a quaintly finecourtesy. Indeed, he made quite a conquest of the General, who presently, after chatting with him for some time with keen interest, askedabruptly:--

"Why haven't we had him here before? So interesting, such an original!Room here for you, Milly. Some salad, please, Mr. Hynes. "

Hynes's pinched face took colour. With alacrity he obeyed the General'sorders, fetching plates and glasses, and hovering about the group thatincluded Milly and her mother, until Mrs. Baker's face began to wear adisturbed flush, though Milly's small, white features remained impassive. 

I watched the little drama with dawning comprehension. Then Ned did not--Helen--it was really Ethel's sister with whom he longed to make peace, while I--Ethel--

Helen's voice roused me. 

"Can't we go into the other room?" she asked. "I'm tired; can't we go andsit quietly together?"

With the fading of the glow and colour left by the music, she lookedindeed tired, almost haggard. In spite of the regal self possession withwhich she rose, drawing Ethel with her, I knew in the face of Milly'striumph-yes, I had known before--why her restless spirit had spurred heron to such flights of folly; why she had--she brings no love to me; hasshe perhaps offered pity?

We turned together to the door, but there was a sound of hurrying feet, and Miss Bryant rushed before us, followed by a big bearded giant of aman. 

"Forbear and eat no more till my necessities be served, " she declaimed, advancing to the table. "Food has not passed my lips to-day; or--not muchfood. "

"Cadge!" gasped Helen with a choking laugh, sinking again upon her chair. 

Reid calmly extended a plate of salad to his betrothed, while Kittygroaned, scandalized:--

"You mustn't eat now! You mustn't! Where've you been? Look at the stateyou're in! _Don't_ eat, Cadge; you must dress this minute!"

"Bridgeport, " returned Miss Bryant, grinning benevolently on the weddingguests, her wet hair clinging about her face, her shirt waist dampenedwith the raindrops that trickled from her hatbrim. "Driving an antelope toa racing sulky. If _I_ bear marks, y'ought to see the antelope;_and_ the sulky! Seven column picture, Kitty; I've made a lay-out. You must get right at it--antelope kicking the atmosphere into smallpieces--"

"Cadge, " suggested Reid, mildly, "our train leaves at midnight. "

"We'll make it; but this story must come out whether or not 'Mrs. ProsperK. Reid' does. Won't dress, but--say, just you show my wedding gown, Kitty; not for publication but as an evidence--more salad, Pros. "

Kitty ran and brought a billowy mass of fleecy white stuff, and Cadgestood, devouring salad, over the dainty thing, gesticulating at it withher fork and explaining its beauties:--

"You can see for yourselves it's swell. Mrs. Edgar fitted me at the_Star_ office, with furious mug-makers pounding on the door. "

"With _what_?" gasped the General. 

"Mug-makers; alleged artists; after an old photo. Anyhow, it's money inMrs. Edgar's pocket. One of her biggest customers owes her a lot, shesays, and she can't get a cent; needed cash to pay her rent; little boyill, too. My, but I'm hungry! Can't I eat while I'm being married?"

I felt Helen start; I remembered that I had seen Mrs. Edgar's name amongher bills. Poor girl!

And then the wedding; and the practical Cadge surprised us all. 

All her soul was shining in her eyes as she said, "I will. " She lookedupon Pros. With the shy love of a girl who has loved but once. For a briefminute we saw the depth, the earnestness, the affection that in her seekso often the mask of frivolity, and I wouldn't be surprised if more thanone tempest-tossed soul envied her peace, her love, her certitude. 

The ceremony was short. The giant, who proved to be Big Tom, gave away thebride. As the couple rushed off for a brief honeymoon, the newly made Mrs. Reid--still with the shimmer of tears in her beautiful eyes--tried hard toresume her old manner. 

"'Member, Kitty, " she called back from the stairway in a voice thattrembled, "you can't make that antelope cavort too lively. Brown'll sendphotographs in the morning. "

Soon only Mr. Winship and I were left with Kitty and Helen and the paintedIndians. 

"What a Cadge!" said Helen languidly, as she walked with us to the door. "But she's the best girl in the world. "

I believe she's pretty nearly right. I haven't always done Miss Bryantjustice. My mind dwelt upon the lovely picture she had made of trust andhappiness; and I wondered whether my own wife would show shining, happyeyes like hers when--In my restless dreams the vision of them lingered, grotesquely alternating with a swaying figure driving a shadowy antelope--a figure that was sometimes Helen's and sometimes little Ethel's--until Iwaked--

And thus began to-day--it has been the hardest day in a hard week. 

It is three hours now, maybe, since we returned from Mrs. Baker's Sundaydinner. A love feast after a feud is trying, but Helen was brave. Mrs. Baker is too honest for diplomacy, and at first I watched Helen nervously, as she sat in the familiar library, a red spot in each cheek, pitting aquiet hauteur against the embarrassed chirpings of her aunt and Milly'ssphynx-like silence. 

But little by little the cordiality of the Judge and of his tactfulsister, helped by Ethel's radiant delight and Mr. Winship's pleasure inthe visit, gave another flavour to the dinner than that of the fattedcalf, and warmed the atmosphere out of its chill reminiscence of theencounter with Hynes. 

The children, too, were a resource, though for a minute Joy was a terror. Baker, junior, was offering me a kodak picture, when she came running upto look at it. 

"You can have it, " said Boy; "it's clearer than the one you liked theother day. "

"Thath me!" cried Joy, with a fiendish hop and skip. "Me'n Efel on 'ethidewalk. Mither Burke, you like me'n Efel?"

"I like you very much. "

"Efel too, or o'ny me? Mr. Burke, w'y you don't like Efel too?"

Like Ethel--the shy little wild flower! Like Ethel!

"Say, Mr. Burke, " said Boy opportunely, "here's an envelope to put it in. "

"W'at I like, " Mr. Winship said, his frosty blue eyes twinkling withenjoyment, "is to see Sis here gittin' a good dose o' home folks; do hermore good'n med'cine. "

And almost he seemed right, for, as the minutes wore on, a brighter colourrose to Helen's cheeks, and the marvellous charm she knows so well how touse held us fascinated. She waged a war of jests with the Judge and fellback into her old caressing ways with Miss Baker. Ethel could scarcelycontain her happiness, and even Milly showed signs of melting. 

I brought Helen away as early as I could--as soon as we had completedplans for a quiet wedding next Wednesday. 

"I hope you're proud of her, Ezra, " declared Mrs. Baker as we took leave;"she told you she's refused a title? But there! All foreigners break theirwives' hearts--Nelly's a sensible girl! You didn't expect, though, to findNew York crazy over her?"

"Oh, I don't know; Helen 'Lizy's ma was a hansome girl; Sis here had oughtto be satisfied if she wears a half as well. "

"Come again thoon to thing to Joy, " lisped the baby; "Joy loveth you thomuth. "

Helen buried her face in the yellow curls, and when she turned away hereyes were wet. 

I stayed at the studio only long enough to beg Kitty to see that hercharge rests. Just as we were parting at the door, Helen turned full on meher great, lambent eyes. 

"Do you love me?" she asked suddenly. 

"Why, I loved you, " I replied, "when you were a little freckled Nelly inpigtails. "

And that, at least, is true! God help me to be kind to the most beautifulwoman in the world!

CHAPTER III. 

"P. P. C. "

June 21, 19--. 

Helen and I were to have been married just a year ago. To-day I have beengoing over her own story of her life--of her meeting with Darmstetter, ofthe blight he cast upon her, of her growth in loveliness, her brieffluttering in the sunshine, her failure, her supping with sorrow, herdeath. 

I must bring to a close the record of this miracle. 

This who was the most extraordinary woman that ever lived, was also littleNellie Winship. Again as I remember her as she was--a thing of such vitalforce that no man could be unmoved in her presence, of such supernalloveliness that words can never tell of it--again I feel that I must be inan ugly dream. But this bit of paper, blotted with tears and stained withwine and ashes, tells me that there was no mistake. 

She had seemed in high spirits that Sunday at the Bakers', though she wastired when we returned to the studio. Mr. Winship and I made no stop. Pros. And Cadge were enjoying their brief honeymoon trip and so Kitty andHelen were left together. 

Monday morning I went first to the rooms I had taken; Kitty was to bethere later, arranging our little furniture. She was to live with us for atime and care for Nelly. But when I reached the office, there lay on mydesk a telegram. 

"Helen is ill; come, " it read. 

Cadge met me at the studio door, white-faced, strangely, silently gentle. From a tumbled heap among the cushions of the tepee came a voice likeKitty's, moaning. Cadge tried to speak, but could only point to the littlebedroom. 

There, in the straight white dress she wore at the wedding, Helen lay, asif sleeping, upon a couch. Floods of shining hair fell about hershoulders. In the white dignity of death her face was marvellous. Alltrace of stress and strain had left it, replaced by an enigmatic calm. Shelooked not merely beautiful, but Beauty's self vouchsafed to mortal eyes. 

I do not know how long I gazed. Vaguely, between Kitty's sobs, I heard theticking of a watch. 

"For another woman of such loveliness, " at length said a reverent voicebehind me, "we must wait the final evolution of humanity. "

Dr. Upton, one of Reid's friends whom I had seen at the wedding, hadreached the house before me. He had been examining a glass, a spoon andsome other objects so quietly that I had not heard. He said that Helen hadbeen dead some hours. 

Mechanically I listened, but it was not until afterward that I understoodthe full purport of his speech or of Kitty's story of the night andmorning. Their words reached me as if spoken from some great distance bythe people who live in dreams. 

Kitty had come to us; she stood in the doorway, white and shaking. 

"Helen--Helen's head ached, " she sobbed, "and she begged me to brush herhair, but when I began, she said it hurt, and told me to stop; then shefell to writing. I coaxed her to come to bed, for I thought she was ill;but she called me 'Kathryn' and then I knew I couldn't manage her. Oh, Iwas wicked, wicked; but I was afraid of her, always--you know. So I--oh, how could I?--I fixed a screen against the light and lay down, meaning totry again in a few minutes; but the instant my head touched the pillow Imust have dropped asleep. The last thing I said was: 'Shall I tell Morphyyou're coming?' I was so tired that I don't know whether she answered. Andthis morning--oh, I can't believe it; Oh, Helen, Helen!"

"And this morning?" prompted Dr. Upton. 

"This morning when--when I waked and saw her on the couch, I wondered whyshe hadn't come to bed; but I dropped a shawl over her and tiptoed out. Itwasn't until half-past eight that I tried--oh, I can't! I can't! Don't askme!"

Kitty's voice was lost in hysterical chokings. 

Dr. Upton handed me Helen's visiting card. Below the name was scrawled:"P. P. C. "

"It was found pinned to Miss Reid's bedspread, " he said; "is that MissWinship's handwriting?"

"Yes, " I answered. The shaky letters were unrecognisable. 

"Don't you see! To say farewell, " wailed Kitty. "She's done it a hundredtimes when she started for school before I was up. Barnard is so far. Oh, I can't bear it! How could you, Helen?"

"Don't, Kitty, " said Cadge, drawing her from the room. 

The doctor motioned me to a table behind the screen of which Kitty hadspoken. There Helen had sat, there lay her writing case, the key sealed inan envelope addressed to me. Picking up a slip of paper torn from a letterpad, he asked:--

"Is this also Miss Winship's writing?"

He held it out to me and I read the single line:--

"Don't tell Father. "

Dazed, half-comprehending, I repeated: "Yes. "

Upton had found nothing else, except Helen's watch, open beside thewriting case, and a glass that still held a little sherry. At this helooked with sombre intelligence and set it carefully aside. 

Nothing in the room had been disturbed. Helen's chair had the look ofhaving been pushed from the table as she rose but a minute before. Near iton an easel stood the Van Nostrand picture, smiling--smiling, as if it hadseen no tragedy. On the floor was a little ash as of charred paper. 

In a few minutes Mrs. Reid and Kitty returned with Mr. Winship. Throughthe fog that enveloped me I saw with dull curiosity that they had told himsomething that he didn't understand. 

He could not believe Helen dead, but knelt by her side and coaxed her towake, rubbing her fair, slender hands between his leathery palms andcalling her by every pet name of her childhood. 

"It's on'y your ol' Dad, Sis, " he crooned. "Jes' come to fetch ye t' yerMa; that's all. I know yer tired--plum tired out; but Ma 'n' me'll takecare on ye. " It was pitiful to hear him. 

He desisted at last and looked back at us with a mien of anger. 

"Do suthin', some o' ye, " he snarled, "'stid o' standin' round like gumps!Speak to me, Poppet; tell yer ol' Pap w'at ails ye. Fetch some hot water, you gals! Ain't ye got no sense? Rub her feet; an' her hands. Speak to me, Sissy--why don't ye?"

As the truth slowly won over him, he straightened himself, one hand stillclasping Helen's cold one. 

"It's sudden; sudden, " he said. "Doctor, w'at ailed my little Nelly?"

Still numbly inquisitive, I waited. The old man couldn't see the truth, the horrible truth. What would the doctor say?

It was Cadge's voice that broke the silence; gentle, assured, yet with anote almost of defiance. 

"We think--in fact, Helen overstudied, " she said. "We've been much worriedabout her. "

Dr. Upton turned abruptly. Cadge's irregular, mobile face for once wasstill, its quiet demand bent full upon him. His answering look refusedher, but the effort was obvious with which he spoke to the broken manwaiting his verdict. 

"Miss Winship--your daughter--" he began. 

The words died. Cadge's steady black eyes controlled him. 

"Wa-al?"

The doctor bowed his head over Helen. I was listening again to her watchthat ticked insistently. "Don't tell Father! Don't tell Father!" it saidover and over, over and over, louder and louder, until the words echoedfrom every corner of the room. 

They must hear! That was why she had left it!

"I ast ye w'at ailed my little girl. "

"Cardiac asthenia--heart failure, " said Dr. Upton, abruptly. 

Kitty threw herself upon Cadge, kissing her convulsively, while Mr. Winship persisted:--

"Sis was first-rate yist'day; w'at fetched the attack on?"

As gently as Cadge herself, Dr. Upton answered:--

"Mr. Winship, your daughter wasn't so strong as she seemed. There was muchin her condition to cause anxiety. I'll be back in an hour, " he added, moving hastily, as Reid entered, toward the door. 

Could I let him shoulder the responsibility of concealment? And if Irefused? Publicity--an inquest? At last I was alive to the situation; insilent gratitude I wrung Upton's hand, but he took no notice of me. As hepassed Reid he growled:--

"Your wife's a good woman to tie to, Pros. She's all right. Lucky she wastelegraphed for. "

Cadge had begun to talk in low tones to Mr. Winship. He did not seem tolisten, but the quiet voice soothed him. Gradually his gray, set featuresrelaxed, though he would not submit to be led from the bedside. 

"Ma was right, " he said at last, broken and querulous. "We'd never oughtto have let her come to the city. Ye say she'll be famous? Sissy, my poorlittle Poppet, w'at good to ye is fame; w'at good is all your studyin'?"

 * * * * *

I did not open Helen's writing case for weeks; not until after my returnfrom the dreary journey West with Mr. Winship. 

Stunned by the shock of her death, bearing not only my grief but theknowledge that her father and mother must hold me in part responsible forher fatal coming to New York, I could not face the secret of her choice ofdeath rather than marriage with me. 

It was a hot July night when I turned the key that guarded the secret. 

I found the story of the Bacillus, the curse that killed Darmstetter, thatkilled Helen. With it was a letter that I have read a thousand times--thisletter that I am now reading. The scent of roses still breathes from it. On the last page there are splashes of wine. 

This is what it says:--

JOHN: I cannot bear it. Prof. Darmstetter gave me death when he gave mebeauty. 

I am not a coward; but what is left? I am tired, wretched; there is noplace for me. 

The Bacillus has defeated every wish it has aroused. It has refused melove, ambition, honest work. From men it has compelled fear; from womenhate; it has cut me off from my kind. 

You saw Ned smiling into Milly's pale eyes. I should not have cared, I whowas to marry you, but--I love him; you know it--you have known it since myheart broke, since I tore it out and swore to reign, to dazzle, to beQueen of the world. 

You know what came of my ambitions. The world treated my beauty as amenace; it struck me down. Then I asked to earn my bread; but without youI might have starved. You were my refuge--and you--you love a cripple!

Why didn't I guess? I would have been glad, for Ethel is a dear child, andI had given you sorrow enough. I did not love you; I do not think I havepretended to love you. But can no man help seeming to care for me--helpcaring while he is with me? Ned told me he did not love; but you, you Itrusted; you would have married me, not letting me know--

Ethel limps, she is plain. Plain as I was when you adored my ugly face, myfreckles. Does beauty kill love, or do men see beauty only where theylove? Little brown partridges, little brown partridges--

The Bacillus is a cheat; every woman to her lover is the most beautiful!

Ethel's good. You would have found me conspicuous, an annoyance amongpeople who shrink from the extraordinary. I have been fond of Ethel. 

I was marrying you to get my debts paid--you knew that--but there wasmore. You must believe--you know there was more. I thought you loved me. Was that strange? How many times have you spoken to me of love? I wantedto show my gratitude, to make you happy, since happiness was not for me. Iwould have tried; I would have buried my own misery; buried everything butthe sense of your goodness. I would have given you the co-operation of aclever woman. I would have given you the affection you know I have alwaysfelt. I would have worked, planned, compelled success for you. 

But that's over. Ethel is a dear child. I will not stand between you andEthel. 

Don't pity me. I need no pity. I would endure yesterday and to-day athousand times for the sake of the first hour of my beauty. Would I changenow to be like Ethel, to be white putty like Milly--to have your love, orNed's? Beauty--I can die with it sooner than drown it in tears. 

Don't tell Father. He will suffer; but less than if I went home to eat myheart out in repinings, to grow old and ugly, cursing the world. I havelived too long. I am already less beautiful. 

If I could destroy the secret! Death, leaving that behind, is crucifixion. But I was the first, I was the first! That dead face so gray and old--"Delilah!" it mows at me. I keep my promise! I haven't robbed you, youshall have your fame! I, too, I shall never be forgotten!

John, take the secret. Keep my word for me. If you doubt the discovery, try it on an enemy. If you think my sorrow could have been avoided, offerthe Bacillus as a wedding gift to--. 

Give Milly, who has Ned's love, my beauty? Would it turn him from her? IfI thought it--But even for that, there shall be no other! It shall gofirst. Forever and forever my name, my face, --

"Delilah!" It grins, it gibbers. Wait for no tests. Print quick! To-morrow, to-day--it's almost day. Give him what he wants, John--"Delilah!"

Why do you come back, dead face, dead eyes? Haven't I promised? You shallhave print, type, a million circulation! Go away, you're dead! What's fameto youth, health, life? It's you who rob and kill. I won't look--I won't!If I wake Kitty, could she help? I won't look, I'm going mad!

Gone! I must hurry. He might come back. Shall I leave the secret? It'slife for life, we're even. If beauty were cheap, who'd care for it? It'sdeath to be first, but afterwards--nothing! If I burned it--but no--Ipromised--. 

Why not?

"Delilah!" Your health, dead eyes! I haf put t'e bacillus of perfect vineinto t'e new grape juice, and I svear it's--Prosit, dead eyes!--here's aP. P. C. ; quickest goodby--Poor Kitty! You'll be sorry for the mostbeautiful woman in the--

The Bacillus of Beauty has had its victim. 

Why do I keep the wine-splashed, rose-breathing letter? Why read over andover the fragments of Helen's journal? Better remember my little school-mate as she was before the poison stung her. Might she, with time andcontact with life, have reacted against the virus, or must such lovelinessbe fatal to what is best in woman? Who can answer? Helen is dead, Darmstetter is dead, and the Bacillus--

The Bacillus shall have no other victim. 

We who were near to Helen have been slow to recover from the shock and thebitterness of her death. Her father and mother have nothing to hold themto life; they are uprooted. Ned has grieved for her with bitter self-reproach, though he is happy with Milly. Ethel and I--

But to-night I can think only of Helen. 

THE END.