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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/179-0.txt b/179-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d268652 --- /dev/null +++ b/179-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7435 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Europeans, by Henry James + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Europeans + +Author: Henry James + +Release Date: November, 1994 [eBook #179] +[Most recently updated: September 18, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: An Anonymous Volunteer + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EUROPEANS *** + + + + +The Europeans + +by Henry James + + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER I + CHAPTER II + CHAPTER III + CHAPTER IV + CHAPTER V + CHAPTER VI + CHAPTER VII + CHAPTER VIII + CHAPTER IX + CHAPTER X + CHAPTER XI + CHAPTER XII + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +A narrow grave-yard in the heart of a bustling, indifferent city, seen +from the windows of a gloomy-looking inn, is at no time an object of +enlivening suggestion; and the spectacle is not at its best when the +mouldy tombstones and funereal umbrage have received the ineffectual +refreshment of a dull, moist snow-fall. If, while the air is thickened +by this frosty drizzle, the calendar should happen to indicate that the +blessed vernal season is already six weeks old, it will be admitted +that no depressing influence is absent from the scene. This fact was +keenly felt on a certain 12th of May, upwards of thirty years since, by +a lady who stood looking out of one of the windows of the best hotel in +the ancient city of Boston. She had stood there for half an hour—stood +there, that is, at intervals; for from time to time she turned back +into the room and measured its length with a restless step. In the +chimney-place was a red-hot fire which emitted a small blue flame; and +in front of the fire, at a table, sat a young man who was busily plying +a pencil. He had a number of sheets of paper cut into small equal +squares, and he was apparently covering them with pictorial +designs—strange-looking figures. He worked rapidly and attentively, +sometimes threw back his head and held out his drawing at arm’s-length, +and kept up a soft, gay-sounding humming and whistling. The lady +brushed past him in her walk; her much-trimmed skirts were voluminous. +She never dropped her eyes upon his work; she only turned them, +occasionally, as she passed, to a mirror suspended above the +toilet-table on the other side of the room. Here she paused a moment, +gave a pinch to her waist with her two hands, or raised these +members—they were very plump and pretty—to the multifold braids of her +hair, with a movement half caressing, half corrective. An attentive +observer might have fancied that during these periods of desultory +self-inspection her face forgot its melancholy; but as soon as she +neared the window again it began to proclaim that she was a very +ill-pleased woman. And indeed, in what met her eyes there was little to +be pleased with. The window-panes were battered by the sleet; the +head-stones in the grave-yard beneath seemed to be holding themselves +askance to keep it out of their faces. A tall iron railing protected +them from the street, and on the other side of the railing an +assemblage of Bostonians were trampling about in the liquid snow. Many +of them were looking up and down; they appeared to be waiting for +something. From time to time a strange vehicle drew near to the place +where they stood,—such a vehicle as the lady at the window, in spite of +a considerable acquaintance with human inventions, had never seen +before: a huge, low omnibus, painted in brilliant colors, and decorated +apparently with jangling bells, attached to a species of groove in the +pavement, through which it was dragged, with a great deal of rumbling, +bouncing and scratching, by a couple of remarkably small horses. When +it reached a certain point the people in front of the grave-yard, of +whom much the greater number were women, carrying satchels and parcels, +projected themselves upon it in a compact body—a movement suggesting +the scramble for places in a life-boat at sea—and were engulfed in its +large interior. Then the life-boat—or the life-car, as the lady at the +window of the hotel vaguely designated it—went bumping and jingling +away upon its invisible wheels, with the helmsman (the man at the +wheel) guiding its course incongruously from the prow. This phenomenon +was repeated every three minutes, and the supply of eagerly-moving +women in cloaks, bearing reticules and bundles, renewed itself in the +most liberal manner. On the other side of the grave-yard was a row of +small red brick houses, showing a series of homely, domestic-looking +backs; at the end opposite the hotel a tall wooden church-spire, +painted white, rose high into the vagueness of the snow-flakes. The +lady at the window looked at it for some time; for reasons of her own +she thought it the ugliest thing she had ever seen. She hated it, she +despised it; it threw her into a state of irritation that was quite out +of proportion to any sensible motive. She had never known herself to +care so much about church-spires. + +She was not pretty; but even when it expressed perplexed irritation her +face was most interesting and agreeable. Neither was she in her first +youth; yet, though slender, with a great deal of extremely +well-fashioned roundness of contour—a suggestion both of maturity and +flexibility—she carried her three and thirty years as a light-wristed +Hebe might have carried a brimming wine-cup. Her complexion was +fatigued, as the French say; her mouth was large, her lips too full, +her teeth uneven, her chin rather commonly modeled; she had a thick +nose, and when she smiled—she was constantly smiling—the lines beside +it rose too high, toward her eyes. But these eyes were charming: gray +in color, brilliant, quickly glancing, gently resting, full of +intelligence. Her forehead was very low—it was her only handsome +feature; and she had a great abundance of crisp dark hair, finely +frizzled, which was always braided in a manner that suggested some +Southern or Eastern, some remotely foreign, woman. She had a large +collection of ear-rings, and wore them in alternation; and they seemed +to give a point to her Oriental or exotic aspect. A compliment had once +been paid her, which, being repeated to her, gave her greater pleasure +than anything she had ever heard. “A pretty woman?” someone had said. +“Why, her features are very bad.” “I don’t know about her features,” a +very discerning observer had answered; “but she carries her head like a +pretty woman.” You may imagine whether, after this, she carried her +head less becomingly. + +She turned away from the window at last, pressing her hands to her +eyes. “It’s too horrible!” she exclaimed. “I shall go back—I shall go +back!” And she flung herself into a chair before the fire. + +“Wait a little, dear child,” said the young man softly, sketching away +at his little scraps of paper. + +The lady put out her foot; it was very small, and there was an immense +rosette on her slipper. She fixed her eyes for a while on this +ornament, and then she looked at the glowing bed of anthracite coal in +the grate. “Did you ever see anything so hideous as that fire?” she +demanded. “Did you ever see anything so—so _affreux_ as—as everything?” +She spoke English with perfect purity; but she brought out this French +epithet in a manner that indicated that she was accustomed to using +French epithets. + +“I think the fire is very pretty,” said the young man, glancing at it a +moment. “Those little blue tongues, dancing on top of the crimson +embers, are extremely picturesque. They are like a fire in an +alchemist’s laboratory.” + +“You are too good-natured, my dear,” his companion declared. + +The young man held out one of his drawings, with his head on one side. +His tongue was gently moving along his under-lip. “Good-natured—yes. +Too good-natured—no.” + +“You are irritating,” said the lady, looking at her slipper. + +He began to retouch his sketch. “I think you mean simply that you are +irritated.” + +“Ah, for that, yes!” said his companion, with a little bitter laugh. +“It’s the darkest day of my life—and you know what that means.” + +“Wait till tomorrow,” rejoined the young man. + +“Yes, we have made a great mistake. If there is any doubt about it +today, there certainly will be none tomorrow. _Ce sera clair, au +moins!_” + +The young man was silent a few moments, driving his pencil. Then at +last, “There are no such things as mistakes,” he affirmed. + +“Very true—for those who are not clever enough to perceive them. Not to +recognize one’s mistakes—that would be happiness in life,” the lady +went on, still looking at her pretty foot. + +“My dearest sister,” said the young man, always intent upon his +drawing, “it’s the first time you have told me I am not clever.” + +“Well, by your own theory I can’t call it a mistake,” answered his +sister, pertinently enough. + +The young man gave a clear, fresh laugh. “You, at least, are clever +enough, dearest sister,” he said. + +“I was not so when I proposed this.” + +“Was it you who proposed it?” asked her brother. + +She turned her head and gave him a little stare. “Do you desire the +credit of it?” + +“If you like, I will take the blame,” he said, looking up with a smile. + +“Yes,” she rejoined in a moment, “you make no difference in these +things. You have no sense of property.” + +The young man gave his joyous laugh again. “If that means I have no +property, you are right!” + +“Don’t joke about your poverty,” said his sister. “That is quite as +vulgar as to boast about it.” + +“My poverty! I have just finished a drawing that will bring me fifty +francs!” + +_“Voyons,”_ said the lady, putting out her hand. + +He added a touch or two, and then gave her his sketch. She looked at +it, but she went on with her idea of a moment before. “If a woman were +to ask you to marry her you would say, ‘Certainly, my dear, with +pleasure!’ And you would marry her and be ridiculously happy. Then at +the end of three months you would say to her, ‘You know that blissful +day when I begged you to be mine!’” + +The young man had risen from the table, stretching his arms a little; +he walked to the window. “That is a description of a charming nature,” +he said. + +“Oh, yes, you have a charming nature; I regard that as our capital. If +I had not been convinced of that I should never have taken the risk of +bringing you to this dreadful country.” + +“This comical country, this delightful country!” exclaimed the young +man, and he broke into the most animated laughter. + +“Is it those women scrambling into the omnibus?” asked his companion. +“What do you suppose is the attraction?” + +“I suppose there is a very good-looking man inside,” said the young +man. + +“In each of them? They come along in hundreds, and the men in this +country don’t seem at all handsome. As for the women—I have never seen +so many at once since I left the convent.” + +“The women are very pretty,” her brother declared, “and the whole +affair is very amusing. I must make a sketch of it.” And he came back +to the table quickly, and picked up his utensils—a small +sketching-board, a sheet of paper, and three or four crayons. He took +his place at the window with these things, and stood there glancing +out, plying his pencil with an air of easy skill. While he worked he +wore a brilliant smile. Brilliant is indeed the word at this moment for +his strongly-lighted face. He was eight and twenty years old; he had a +short, slight, well-made figure. Though he bore a noticeable +resemblance to his sister, he was a better favored person: fair-haired, +clear-faced, witty-looking, with a delicate finish of feature and an +expression at once urbane and not at all serious, a warm blue eye, an +eyebrow finely drawn and excessively arched—an eyebrow which, if ladies +wrote sonnets to those of their lovers, might have been made the +subject of such a piece of verse—and a light moustache that flourished +upwards as if blown that way by the breath of a constant smile. There +was something in his physiognomy at once benevolent and picturesque. +But, as I have hinted, it was not at all serious. The young man’s face +was, in this respect, singular; it was not at all serious, and yet it +inspired the liveliest confidence. + +“Be sure you put in plenty of snow,” said his sister. “_Bonté divine_, +what a climate!” + +“I shall leave the sketch all white, and I shall put in the little +figures in black,” the young man answered, laughing. “And I shall call +it—what is that line in Keats?—Mid-May’s Eldest Child!” + +“I don’t remember,” said the lady, “that mamma ever told me it was like +this.” + +“Mamma never told you anything disagreeable. And it’s not like +this—every day. You will see that tomorrow we shall have a splendid +day.” + +“_Qu’en savez-vous?_ Tomorrow I shall go away.” + +“Where shall you go?” + +“Anywhere away from here. Back to Silberstadt. I shall write to the +Reigning Prince.” + +The young man turned a little and looked at her, with his crayon +poised. “My dear Eugenia,” he murmured, “were you so happy at sea?” + +Eugenia got up; she still held in her hand the drawing her brother had +given her. It was a bold, expressive sketch of a group of miserable +people on the deck of a steamer, clinging together and clutching at +each other, while the vessel lurched downward, at a terrific angle, +into the hollow of a wave. It was extremely clever, and full of a sort +of tragi-comical power. Eugenia dropped her eyes upon it and made a sad +grimace. “How can you draw such odious scenes?” she asked. “I should +like to throw it into the fire!” And she tossed the paper away. Her +brother watched, quietly, to see where it went. It fluttered down to +the floor, where he let it lie. She came toward the window, pinching in +her waist. “Why don’t you reproach me—abuse me?” she asked. “I think I +should feel better then. Why don’t you tell me that you hate me for +bringing you here?” + +“Because you would not believe it. I adore you, dear sister! I am +delighted to be here, and I am charmed with the prospect.” + +“I don’t know what had taken possession of me. I had lost my head,” +Eugenia went on. + +The young man, on his side, went on plying his pencil. “It is evidently +a most curious and interesting country. Here we are, and I mean to +enjoy it.” + +His companion turned away with an impatient step, but presently came +back. “High spirits are doubtless an excellent thing,” she said; “but +you give one too much of them, and I can’t see that they have done you +any good.” + +The young man stared, with lifted eyebrows, smiling; he tapped his +handsome nose with his pencil. “They have made me happy!” + +“That was the least they could do; they have made you nothing else. You +have gone through life thanking fortune for such very small favors that +she has never put herself to any trouble for you.” + +“She must have put herself to a little, I think, to present me with so +admirable a sister.” + +“Be serious, Felix. You forget that I am your elder.” + +“With a sister, then, so elderly!” rejoined Felix, laughing. “I hoped +we had left seriousness in Europe.” + +“I fancy you will find it here. Remember that you are nearly thirty +years old, and that you are nothing but an obscure Bohemian—a penniless +correspondent of an illustrated newspaper.” + +“Obscure as much as you please, but not so much of a Bohemian as you +think. And not at all penniless! I have a hundred pounds in my pocket. +I have an engagement to make fifty sketches, and I mean to paint the +portraits of all our cousins, and of all _their_ cousins, at a hundred +dollars a head.” + +“You are not ambitious,” said Eugenia. + +“You are, dear Baroness,” the young man replied. + +The Baroness was silent a moment, looking out at the sleet-darkened +grave-yard and the bumping horse-cars. “Yes, I am ambitious,” she said +at last. “And my ambition has brought me to this dreadful place!” She +glanced about her—the room had a certain vulgar nudity; the bed and the +window were curtainless—and she gave a little passionate sigh. “Poor +old ambition!” she exclaimed. Then she flung herself down upon a sofa +which stood near against the wall, and covered her face with her hands. + +Her brother went on with his drawing, rapidly and skillfully; after +some moments he sat down beside her and showed her his sketch. “Now, +don’t you think that’s pretty good for an obscure Bohemian?” he asked. +“I have knocked off another fifty francs.” + +Eugenia glanced at the little picture as he laid it on her lap. “Yes, +it is very clever,” she said. And in a moment she added, “Do you +suppose our cousins do that?” + +“Do what?” + +“Get into those things, and look like that.” + +Felix meditated awhile. “I really can’t say. It will be interesting to +discover.” + +“Oh, the rich people can’t!” said the Baroness. + +“Are you very sure they are rich?” asked Felix, lightly. + +His sister slowly turned in her place, looking at him. “Heavenly +powers!” she murmured. “You have a way of bringing out things!” + +“It will certainly be much pleasanter if they are rich,” Felix +declared. + +“Do you suppose if I had not known they were rich I would ever have +come?” + +The young man met his sister’s somewhat peremptory eye with his bright, +contented glance. “Yes, it certainly will be pleasanter,” he repeated. + +“That is all I expect of them,” said the Baroness. “I don’t count upon +their being clever or friendly—at first—or elegant or interesting. But +I assure you I insist upon their being rich.” + +Felix leaned his head upon the back of the sofa and looked awhile at +the oblong patch of sky to which the window served as frame. The snow +was ceasing; it seemed to him that the sky had begun to brighten. “I +count upon their being rich,” he said at last, “and powerful, and +clever, and friendly, and elegant, and interesting, and generally +delightful! _Tu vas voir_.” And he bent forward and kissed his sister. +“Look there!” he went on. “As a portent, even while I speak, the sky is +turning the color of gold; the day is going to be splendid.” + +And indeed, within five minutes the weather had changed. The sun broke +out through the snow-clouds and jumped into the Baroness’s room. +“_Bonté divine_,” exclaimed this lady, “what a climate!” + +“We will go out and see the world,” said Felix. + +And after a while they went out. The air had grown warm as well as +brilliant; the sunshine had dried the pavements. They walked about the +streets at hazard, looking at the people and the houses, the shops and +the vehicles, the blazing blue sky and the muddy crossings, the +hurrying men and the slow-strolling maidens, the fresh red bricks and +the bright green trees, the extraordinary mixture of smartness and +shabbiness. From one hour to another the day had grown vernal; even in +the bustling streets there was an odor of earth and blossom. Felix was +immensely entertained. He had called it a comical country, and he went +about laughing at everything he saw. You would have said that American +civilization expressed itself to his sense in a tissue of capital +jokes. The jokes were certainly excellent, and the young man’s +merriment was joyous and genial. He possessed what is called the +pictorial sense; and this first glimpse of democratic manners stirred +the same sort of attention that he would have given to the movements of +a lively young person with a bright complexion. Such attention would +have been demonstrative and complimentary; and in the present case +Felix might have passed for an undispirited young exile revisiting the +haunts of his childhood. He kept looking at the violent blue of the +sky, at the scintillating air, at the scattered and multiplied patches +of color. + +“_Comme c’est bariolé_, eh?” he said to his sister in that foreign +tongue which they both appeared to feel a mysterious prompting +occasionally to use. + +“Yes, it is _bariolé_ indeed,” the Baroness answered. “I don’t like the +coloring; it hurts my eyes.” + +“It shows how extremes meet,” the young man rejoined. “Instead of +coming to the West we seem to have gone to the East. The way the sky +touches the house-tops is just like Cairo; and the red and blue +sign-boards patched over the face of everything remind one of Mahometan +decorations.” + +“The young women are not Mahometan,” said his companion. “They can’t be +said to hide their faces. I never saw anything so bold.” + +“Thank Heaven they don’t hide their faces!” cried Felix. “Their faces +are uncommonly pretty.” + +“Yes, their faces are often very pretty,” said the Baroness, who was a +very clever woman. She was too clever a woman not to be capable of a +great deal of just and fine observation. She clung more closely than +usual to her brother’s arm; she was not exhilarated, as he was; she +said very little, but she noted a great many things and made her +reflections. She was a little excited; she felt that she had indeed +come to a strange country, to make her fortune. Superficially, she was +conscious of a good deal of irritation and displeasure; the Baroness +was a very delicate and fastidious person. Of old, more than once, she +had gone, for entertainment’s sake and in brilliant company, to a fair +in a provincial town. It seemed to her now that she was at an enormous +fair—that the entertainment and the _désagréments_ were very much the +same. She found herself alternately smiling and shrinking; the show was +very curious, but it was probable, from moment to moment, that one +would be jostled. The Baroness had never seen so many people walking +about before; she had never been so mixed up with people she did not +know. But little by little she felt that this fair was a more serious +undertaking. She went with her brother into a large public garden, +which seemed very pretty, but where she was surprised at seeing no +carriages. The afternoon was drawing to a close; the coarse, vivid +grass and the slender tree-boles were gilded by the level +sunbeams—gilded as with gold that was fresh from the mine. It was the +hour at which ladies should come out for an airing and roll past a +hedge of pedestrians, holding their parasols askance. Here, however, +Eugenia observed no indications of this custom, the absence of which +was more anomalous as there was a charming avenue of remarkably +graceful, arching elms in the most convenient contiguity to a large, +cheerful street, in which, evidently, among the more prosperous members +of the _bourgeoisie_, a great deal of pedestrianism went forward. Our +friends passed out into this well lighted promenade, and Felix noticed +a great many more pretty girls and called his sister’s attention to +them. This latter measure, however, was superfluous; for the Baroness +had inspected, narrowly, these charming young ladies. + +“I feel an intimate conviction that our cousins are like that,” said +Felix. + +The Baroness hoped so, but this is not what she said. “They are very +pretty,” she said, “but they are mere little girls. Where are the +women—the women of thirty?” + +“Of thirty-three, do you mean?” her brother was going to ask; for he +understood often both what she said and what she did not say. But he +only exclaimed upon the beauty of the sunset, while the Baroness, who +had come to seek her fortune, reflected that it would certainly be well +for her if the persons against whom she might need to measure herself +should all be mere little girls. The sunset was superb; they stopped to +look at it; Felix declared that he had never seen such a gorgeous +mixture of colors. The Baroness also thought it splendid; and she was +perhaps the more easily pleased from the fact that while she stood +there she was conscious of much admiring observation on the part of +various nice-looking people who passed that way, and to whom a +distinguished, strikingly-dressed woman with a foreign air, exclaiming +upon the beauties of nature on a Boston street corner in the French +tongue, could not be an object of indifference. Eugenia’s spirits rose. +She surrendered herself to a certain tranquil gaiety. If she had come +to seek her fortune, it seemed to her that her fortune would be easy to +find. There was a promise of it in the gorgeous purity of the western +sky; there was an intimation in the mild, unimpertinent gaze of the +passers of a certain natural facility in things. + +“You will not go back to Silberstadt, eh?” asked Felix. + +“Not tomorrow,” said the Baroness. + +“Nor write to the Reigning Prince?” + +“I shall write to him that they evidently know nothing about him over +here.” + +“He will not believe you,” said the young man. “I advise you to let him +alone.” + +Felix himself continued to be in high good humor. Brought up among +ancient customs and in picturesque cities, he yet found plenty of local +color in the little Puritan metropolis. That evening, after dinner, he +told his sister that he should go forth early on the morrow to look up +their cousins. + +“You are very impatient,” said Eugenia. + +“What can be more natural,” he asked, “after seeing all those pretty +girls today? If one’s cousins are of that pattern, the sooner one knows +them the better.” + +“Perhaps they are not,” said Eugenia. “We ought to have brought some +letters—to some other people.” + +“The other people would not be our kinsfolk.” + +“Possibly they would be none the worse for that,” the Baroness replied. + +Her brother looked at her with his eyebrows lifted. “That was not what +you said when you first proposed to me that we should come out here and +fraternize with our relatives. You said that it was the prompting of +natural affection; and when I suggested some reasons against it you +declared that the _voix du sang_ should go before everything.” + +“You remember all that?” asked the Baroness. + +“Vividly! I was greatly moved by it.” + +She was walking up and down the room, as she had done in the morning; +she stopped in her walk and looked at her brother. She apparently was +going to say something, but she checked herself and resumed her walk. +Then, in a few moments, she said something different, which had the +effect of an explanation of the suppression of her earlier thought. +“You will never be anything but a child, dear brother.” + +“One would suppose that you, madam,” answered Felix, laughing, “were a +thousand years old.” + +“I am—sometimes,” said the Baroness. + +“I will go, then, and announce to our cousins the arrival of a +personage so extraordinary. They will immediately come and pay you +their respects.” + +Eugenia paced the length of the room again, and then she stopped before +her brother, laying her hand upon his arm. “They are not to come and +see me,” she said. “You are not to allow that. That is not the way I +shall meet them first.” And in answer to his interrogative glance she +went on. “You will go and examine, and report. You will come back and +tell me who they are and what they are; their number, gender, their +respective ages—all about them. Be sure you observe everything; be +ready to describe to me the locality, the accessories—how shall I say +it?—the _mise en scène_. Then, at my own time, at my own hour, under +circumstances of my own choosing, I will go to them. I will present +myself—I will appear before them!” said the Baroness, this time +phrasing her idea with a certain frankness. + +“And what message am I to take to them?” asked Felix, who had a lively +faith in the justness of his sister’s arrangements. + +She looked at him a moment—at his expression of agreeable veracity; +and, with that justness that he admired, she replied, “Say what you +please. Tell my story in the way that seems to you most—natural.” And +she bent her forehead for him to kiss. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The next day was splendid, as Felix had prophesied; if the winter had +suddenly leaped into spring, the spring had for the moment as quickly +leaped into summer. This was an observation made by a young girl who +came out of a large square house in the country, and strolled about in +the spacious garden which separated it from a muddy road. The flowering +shrubs and the neatly-disposed plants were basking in the abundant +light and warmth; the transparent shade of the great elms—they were +magnificent trees—seemed to thicken by the hour; and the intensely +habitual stillness offered a submissive medium to the sound of a +distant church-bell. The young girl listened to the church-bell; but +she was not dressed for church. She was bare-headed; she wore a white +muslin waist, with an embroidered border, and the skirt of her dress +was of colored muslin. She was a young lady of some two or three and +twenty years of age, and though a young person of her sex walking +bare-headed in a garden, of a Sunday morning in spring-time, can, in +the nature of things, never be a displeasing object, you would not have +pronounced this innocent Sabbath-breaker especially pretty. She was +tall and pale, thin and a little awkward; her hair was fair and +perfectly straight; her eyes were dark, and they had the singularity of +seeming at once dull and restless—differing herein, as you see, fatally +from the ideal “fine eyes,” which we always imagine to be both +brilliant and tranquil. The doors and windows of the large square house +were all wide open, to admit the purifying sunshine, which lay in +generous patches upon the floor of a wide, high, covered piazza +adjusted to two sides of the mansion—a piazza on which several +straw-bottomed rocking-chairs and half a dozen of those small +cylindrical stools in green and blue porcelain, which suggest an +affiliation between the residents and the Eastern trade, were +symmetrically disposed. It was an ancient house—ancient in the sense of +being eighty years old; it was built of wood, painted a clean, clear, +faded gray, and adorned along the front, at intervals, with flat wooden +pilasters, painted white. These pilasters appeared to support a kind of +classic pediment, which was decorated in the middle by a large triple +window in a boldly carved frame, and in each of its smaller angles by a +glazed circular aperture. A large white door, furnished with a +highly-polished brass knocker, presented itself to the rural-looking +road, with which it was connected by a spacious pathway, paved with +worn and cracked, but very clean, bricks. Behind it there were meadows +and orchards, a barn and a pond; and facing it, a short distance along +the road, on the opposite side, stood a smaller house, painted white, +with external shutters painted green, a little garden on one hand and +an orchard on the other. All this was shining in the morning air, +through which the simple details of the picture addressed themselves to +the eye as distinctly as the items of a “sum” in addition. + +A second young lady presently came out of the house, across the piazza, +descended into the garden and approached the young girl of whom I have +spoken. This second young lady was also thin and pale; but she was +older than the other; she was shorter; she had dark, smooth hair. Her +eyes, unlike the other’s, were quick and bright; but they were not at +all restless. She wore a straw bonnet with white ribbons, and a long, +red, India scarf, which, on the front of her dress, reached to her +feet. In her hand she carried a little key. + +“Gertrude,” she said, “are you very sure you had better not go to +church?” + +Gertrude looked at her a moment, plucked a small sprig from a +lilac-bush, smelled it and threw it away. “I am not very sure of +anything!” she answered. + +The other young lady looked straight past her, at the distant pond, +which lay shining between the long banks of fir trees. Then she said in +a very soft voice, “This is the key of the dining-room closet. I think +you had better have it, if anyone should want anything.” + +“Who is there to want anything?” Gertrude demanded. “I shall be all +alone in the house.” + +“Someone may come,” said her companion. + +“Do you mean Mr. Brand?” + +“Yes, Gertrude. He may like a piece of cake.” + +“I don’t like men that are always eating cake!” Gertrude declared, +giving a pull at the lilac-bush. + +Her companion glanced at her, and then looked down on the ground. “I +think father expected you would come to church,” she said. “What shall +I say to him?” + +“Say I have a bad headache.” + +“Would that be true?” asked the elder lady, looking straight at the +pond again. + +“No, Charlotte,” said the younger one simply. + +Charlotte transferred her quiet eyes to her companion’s face. “I am +afraid you are feeling restless.” + +“I am feeling as I always feel,” Gertrude replied, in the same tone. + +Charlotte turned away; but she stood there a moment. Presently she +looked down at the front of her dress. “Doesn’t it seem to you, +somehow, as if my scarf were too long?” she asked. + +Gertrude walked half round her, looking at the scarf. “I don’t think +you wear it right,” she said. + +“How should I wear it, dear?” + +“I don’t know; differently from that. You should draw it differently +over your shoulders, round your elbows; you should look differently +behind.” + +“How should I look?” Charlotte inquired. + +“I don’t think I can tell you,” said Gertrude, plucking out the scarf a +little behind. “I could do it myself, but I don’t think I can explain +it.” + +Charlotte, by a movement of her elbows, corrected the laxity that had +come from her companion’s touch. “Well, some day you must do it for me. +It doesn’t matter now. Indeed, I don’t think it matters,” she added, +“how one looks behind.” + +“I should say it mattered more,” said Gertrude. “Then you don’t know +who may be observing you. You are not on your guard. You can’t try to +look pretty.” + +Charlotte received this declaration with extreme gravity. “I don’t +think one should ever try to look pretty,” she rejoined, earnestly. + +Her companion was silent. Then she said, “Well, perhaps it’s not of +much use.” + +Charlotte looked at her a little, and then kissed her. “I hope you will +be better when we come back.” + +“My dear sister, I am very well!” said Gertrude. + +Charlotte went down the large brick walk to the garden gate; her +companion strolled slowly toward the house. At the gate Charlotte met a +young man, who was coming in—a tall, fair young man, wearing a high hat +and a pair of thread gloves. He was handsome, but rather too stout. He +had a pleasant smile. “Oh, Mr. Brand!” exclaimed the young lady. + +“I came to see whether your sister was not going to church,” said the +young man. + +“She says she is not going; but I am very glad you have come. I think +if you were to talk to her a little”.... And Charlotte lowered her +voice. “It seems as if she were restless.” + +Mr. Brand smiled down on the young lady from his great height. “I shall +be very glad to talk to her. For that I should be willing to absent +myself from almost any occasion of worship, however attractive.” + +“Well, I suppose you know,” said Charlotte, softly, as if positive +acceptance of this proposition might be dangerous. “But I am afraid I +shall be late.” + +“I hope you will have a pleasant sermon,” said the young man. + +“Oh, Mr. Gilman is always pleasant,” Charlotte answered. And she went +on her way. + +Mr. Brand went into the garden, where Gertrude, hearing the gate close +behind him, turned and looked at him. For a moment she watched him +coming; then she turned away. But almost immediately she corrected this +movement, and stood still, facing him. He took off his hat and wiped +his forehead as he approached. Then he put on his hat again and held +out his hand. His hat being removed, you would have perceived that his +forehead was very large and smooth, and his hair abundant but rather +colorless. His nose was too large, and his mouth and eyes were too +small; but for all this he was, as I have said, a young man of striking +appearance. The expression of his little clean-colored blue eyes was +irresistibly gentle and serious; he looked, as the phrase is, as good +as gold. The young girl, standing in the garden path, glanced, as he +came up, at his thread gloves. + +“I hoped you were going to church,” he said. “I wanted to walk with +you.” + +“I am very much obliged to you,” Gertrude answered. “I am not going to +church.” + +She had shaken hands with him; he held her hand a moment. “Have you any +special reason for not going?” + +“Yes, Mr. Brand,” said the young girl. + +“May I ask what it is?” + +She looked at him smiling; and in her smile, as I have intimated, there +was a certain dullness. But mingled with this dullness was something +sweet and suggestive. “Because the sky is so blue!” she said. + +He looked at the sky, which was magnificent, and then said, smiling +too, “I have heard of young ladies staying at home for bad weather, but +never for good. Your sister, whom I met at the gate, tells me you are +depressed,” he added. + +“Depressed? I am never depressed.” + +“Oh, surely, sometimes,” replied Mr. Brand, as if he thought this a +regrettable account of one’s self. + +“I am never depressed,” Gertrude repeated. “But I am sometimes wicked. +When I am wicked I am in high spirits. I was wicked just now to my +sister.” + +“What did you do to her?” + +“I said things that puzzled her—on purpose.” + +“Why did you do that, Miss Gertrude?” asked the young man. + +She began to smile again. “Because the sky is so blue!” + +“You say things that puzzle _me_,” Mr. Brand declared. + +“I always know when I do it,” proceeded Gertrude. “But people puzzle me +more, I think. And they don’t seem to know!” + +“This is very interesting,” Mr. Brand observed, smiling. + +“You told me to tell you about my—my struggles,” the young girl went +on. + +“Let us talk about them. I have so many things to say.” + +Gertrude turned away a moment; and then, turning back, “You had better +go to church,” she said. + +“You know,” the young man urged, “that I have always one thing to say.” + +Gertrude looked at him a moment. “Please don’t say it now!” + +“We are all alone,” he continued, taking off his hat; “all alone in +this beautiful Sunday stillness.” + +Gertrude looked around her, at the breaking buds, the shining distance, +the blue sky to which she had referred as a pretext for her +irregularities. “That’s the reason,” she said, “why I don’t want you to +speak. Do me a favor; go to church.” + +“May I speak when I come back?” asked Mr. Brand. + +“If you are still disposed,” she answered. + +“I don’t know whether you are wicked,” he said, “but you are certainly +puzzling.” + +She had turned away; she raised her hands to her ears. He looked at her +a moment, and then he slowly walked to church. + +She wandered for a while about the garden, vaguely and without purpose. +The church-bell had stopped ringing; the stillness was complete. This +young lady relished highly, on occasions, the sense of being alone—the +absence of the whole family and the emptiness of the house. Today, +apparently, the servants had also gone to church; there was never a +figure at the open windows; behind the house there was no stout negress +in a red turban, lowering the bucket into the great shingle-hooded +well. And the front door of the big, unguarded home stood open, with +the trustfulness of the golden age; or what is more to the purpose, +with that of New England’s silvery prime. Gertrude slowly passed +through it, and went from one of the empty rooms to the other—large, +clear-colored rooms, with white wainscots, ornamented with thin-legged +mahogany furniture, and, on the walls, with old-fashioned engravings, +chiefly of scriptural subjects, hung very high. This agreeable sense of +solitude, of having the house to herself, of which I have spoken, +always excited Gertrude’s imagination; she could not have told you why, +and neither can her humble historian. It always seemed to her that she +must do something particular—that she must honor the occasion; and +while she roamed about, wondering what she could do, the occasion +usually came to an end. Today she wondered more than ever. At last she +took down a book; there was no library in the house, but there were +books in all the rooms. None of them were forbidden books, and Gertrude +had not stopped at home for the sake of a chance to climb to the +inaccessible shelves. She possessed herself of a very obvious +volume—one of the series of the _Arabian Nights_—and she brought it out +into the portico and sat down with it in her lap. There, for a quarter +of an hour, she read the history of the loves of the Prince +Camaralzaman and the Princess Badoura. At last, looking up, she beheld, +as it seemed to her, the Prince Camaralzaman standing before her. A +beautiful young man was making her a very low bow—a magnificent bow, +such as she had never seen before. He appeared to have dropped from the +clouds; he was wonderfully handsome; he smiled—smiled as if he were +smiling on purpose. Extreme surprise, for a moment, kept Gertrude +sitting still; then she rose, without even keeping her finger in her +book. The young man, with his hat in his hand, still looked at her, +smiling and smiling. It was very strange. + +“Will you kindly tell me,” said the mysterious visitor, at last, +“whether I have the honor of speaking to Miss Wentworth?” + +“My name is Gertrude Wentworth,” murmured the young woman. + +“Then—then—I have the honor—the pleasure—of being your cousin.” + +The young man had so much the character of an apparition that this +announcement seemed to complete his unreality. “What cousin? Who are +you?” said Gertrude. + +He stepped back a few paces and looked up at the house; then glanced +round him at the garden and the distant view. After this he burst out +laughing. “I see it must seem to you very strange,” he said. There was, +after all, something substantial in his laughter. Gertrude looked at +him from head to foot. Yes, he was remarkably handsome; but his smile +was almost a grimace. “It is very still,” he went on, coming nearer +again. And as she only looked at him, for reply, he added, “Are you all +alone?” + +“Everyone has gone to church,” said Gertrude. + +“I was afraid of that!” the young man exclaimed. “But I hope you are +not afraid of me.” + +“You ought to tell me who you are,” Gertrude answered. + +“I am afraid of you!” said the young man. “I had a different plan. I +expected the servant would take in my card, and that you would put your +heads together, before admitting me, and make out my identity.” + +Gertrude had been wondering with a quick intensity which brought its +result; and the result seemed an answer—a wondrous, delightful +answer—to her vague wish that something would befall her. “I know—I +know,” she said. “You come from Europe.” + +“We came two days ago. You have heard of us, then—you believe in us?” + +“We have known, vaguely,” said Gertrude, “that we had relations in +France.” + +“And have you ever wanted to see us?” asked the young man. + +Gertrude was silent a moment. “I have wanted to see you.” + +“I am glad, then, it is you I have found. We wanted to see you, so we +came.” + +“On purpose?” asked Gertrude. + +The young man looked round him, smiling still. “Well, yes; on purpose. +Does that sound as if we should bore you?” he added. “I don’t think we +shall—I really don’t think we shall. We are rather fond of wandering, +too; and we were glad of a pretext.” + +“And you have just arrived?” + +“In Boston, two days ago. At the inn I asked for Mr. Wentworth. He must +be your father. They found out for me where he lived; they seemed often +to have heard of him. I determined to come, without ceremony. So, this +lovely morning, they set my face in the right direction, and told me to +walk straight before me, out of town. I came on foot because I wanted +to see the country. I walked and walked, and here I am! It’s a good +many miles.” + +“It is seven miles and a half,” said Gertrude, softly. Now that this +handsome young man was proving himself a reality she found herself +vaguely trembling; she was deeply excited. She had never in her life +spoken to a foreigner, and she had often thought it would be delightful +to do so. Here was one who had suddenly been engendered by the Sabbath +stillness for her private use; and such a brilliant, polite, smiling +one! She found time and means to compose herself, however: to remind +herself that she must exercise a sort of official hospitality. “We are +very—very glad to see you,” she said. “Won’t you come into the house?” +And she moved toward the open door. + +“You are not afraid of me, then?” asked the young man again, with his +light laugh. + +She wondered a moment, and then, “We are not afraid—here,” she said. + +_“Ah, comme vous devez avoir raison!”_ cried the young man, looking all +round him, appreciatively. It was the first time that Gertrude had +heard so many words of French spoken. They gave her something of a +sensation. Her companion followed her, watching, with a certain +excitement of his own, this tall, interesting-looking girl, dressed in +her clear, crisp muslin. He paused in the hall, where there was a broad +white staircase with a white balustrade. “What a pleasant house!” he +said. “It’s lighter inside than it is out.” + +“It’s pleasanter here,” said Gertrude, and she led the way into the +parlor,—a high, clean, rather empty-looking room. Here they stood +looking at each other,—the young man smiling more than ever; Gertrude, +very serious, trying to smile. + +“I don’t believe you know my name,” he said. “I am called Felix Young. +Your father is my uncle. My mother was his half sister, and older than +he.” + +“Yes,” said Gertrude, “and she turned Roman Catholic and married in +Europe.” + +“I see you know,” said the young man. “She married and she died. Your +father’s family didn’t like her husband. They called him a foreigner; +but he was not. My poor father was born in Sicily, but his parents were +American.” + +“In Sicily?” Gertrude murmured. + +“It is true,” said Felix Young, “that they had spent their lives in +Europe. But they were very patriotic. And so are we.” + +“And you are Sicilian,” said Gertrude. + +“Sicilian, no! Let’s see. I was born at a little place—a dear little +place—in France. My sister was born at Vienna.” + +“So you are French,” said Gertrude. + +“Heaven forbid!” cried the young man. Gertrude’s eyes were fixed upon +him almost insistently. He began to laugh again. “I can easily be +French, if that will please you.” + +“You are a foreigner of some sort,” said Gertrude. + +“Of some sort—yes; I suppose so. But who can say of what sort? I don’t +think we have ever had occasion to settle the question. You know there +are people like that. About their country, their religion, their +profession, they can’t tell.” + +Gertrude stood there gazing; she had not asked him to sit down. She had +never heard of people like that; she wanted to hear. “Where do you +live?” she asked. + +“They can’t tell that, either!” said Felix. “I am afraid you will think +they are little better than vagabonds. I have lived +anywhere—everywhere. I really think I have lived in every city in +Europe.” Gertrude gave a little long soft exhalation. It made the young +man smile at her again; and his smile made her blush a little. To take +refuge from blushing she asked him if, after his long walk, he was not +hungry or thirsty. Her hand was in her pocket; she was fumbling with +the little key that her sister had given her. “Ah, my dear young lady,” +he said, clasping his hands a little, “if you could give me, in +charity, a glass of wine!” + +Gertrude gave a smile and a little nod, and went quickly out of the +room. Presently she came back with a very large decanter in one hand +and a plate in the other, on which was placed a big, round cake with a +frosted top. Gertrude, in taking the cake from the closet, had had a +moment of acute consciousness that it composed the refection of which +her sister had thought that Mr. Brand would like to partake. Her +kinsman from across the seas was looking at the pale, high-hung +engravings. When she came in he turned and smiled at her, as if they +had been old friends meeting after a separation. “You wait upon me +yourself?” he asked. “I am served like the gods!” She had waited upon a +great many people, but none of them had ever told her that. The +observation added a certain lightness to the step with which she went +to a little table where there were some curious red glasses—glasses +covered with little gold sprigs, which Charlotte used to dust every +morning with her own hands. Gertrude thought the glasses very handsome, +and it was a pleasure to her to know that the wine was good; it was her +father’s famous madeira. Felix Young thought it excellent; he wondered +why he had been told that there was no wine in America. She cut him an +immense triangle out of the cake, and again she thought of Mr. Brand. +Felix sat there, with his glass in one hand and his huge morsel of cake +in the other—eating, drinking, smiling, talking. “I am very hungry,” he +said. “I am not at all tired; I am never tired. But I am very hungry.” + +“You must stay to dinner,” said Gertrude. “At two o’clock. They will +all have come back from church; you will see the others.” + +“Who are the others?” asked the young man. “Describe them all.” + +“You will see for yourself. It is you that must tell me; now, about +your sister.” + +“My sister is the Baroness Münster,” said Felix. + +On hearing that his sister was a Baroness, Gertrude got up and walked +about slowly, in front of him. She was silent a moment. She was +thinking of it. “Why didn’t she come, too?” she asked. + +“She did come; she is in Boston, at the hotel.” + +“We will go and see her,” said Gertrude, looking at him. + +“She begs you will not!” the young man replied. “She sends you her +love; she sent me to announce her. She will come and pay her respects +to your father.” + +Gertrude felt herself trembling again. A Baroness Münster, who sent a +brilliant young man to “announce” her; who was coming, as the Queen of +Sheba came to Solomon, to pay her “respects” to quiet Mr. +Wentworth—such a personage presented herself to Gertrude’s vision with +a most effective unexpectedness. For a moment she hardly knew what to +say. “When will she come?” she asked at last. + +“As soon as you will allow her—tomorrow. She is very impatient,” +answered Felix, who wished to be agreeable. + +“Tomorrow, yes,” said Gertrude. She wished to ask more about her; but +she hardly knew what could be predicated of a Baroness Münster. “Is +she—is she—married?” + +Felix had finished his cake and wine; he got up, fixing upon the young +girl his bright, expressive eyes. “She is married to a German +prince—Prince Adolf, of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. He is not the +reigning prince; he is a younger brother.” + +Gertrude gazed at her informant; her lips were slightly parted. “Is she +a—a _Princess_?” she asked at last. + +“Oh, no,” said the young man; “her position is rather a singular one. +It’s a morganatic marriage.” + +“Morganatic?” These were new names and new words to poor Gertrude. + +“That’s what they call a marriage, you know, contracted between a scion +of a ruling house and—and a common mortal. They made Eugenia a +Baroness, poor woman; but that was all they could do. Now they want to +dissolve the marriage. Prince Adolf, between ourselves, is a ninny; but +his brother, who is a clever man, has plans for him. Eugenia, naturally +enough, makes difficulties; not, however, that I think she cares +much—she’s a very clever woman; I’m sure you’ll like her—but she wants +to bother them. Just now everything is _en l’air_.” + +The cheerful, off-hand tone in which her visitor related this darkly +romantic tale seemed to Gertrude very strange; but it seemed also to +convey a certain flattery to herself, a recognition of her wisdom and +dignity. She felt a dozen impressions stirring within her, and +presently the one that was uppermost found words. “They want to +dissolve her marriage?” she asked. + +“So it appears.” + +“And against her will?” + +“Against her right.” + +“She must be very unhappy!” said Gertrude. + +Her visitor looked at her, smiling; he raised his hand to the back of +his head and held it there a moment. “So she says,” he answered. +“That’s her story. She told me to tell it you.” + +“Tell me more,” said Gertrude. + +“No, I will leave that to her; she does it better.” + +Gertrude gave her little excited sigh again. “Well, if she is unhappy,” +she said, “I am glad she has come to us.” + +She had been so interested that she failed to notice the sound of a +footstep in the portico; and yet it was a footstep that she always +recognized. She heard it in the hall, and then she looked out of the +window. They were all coming back from church—her father, her sister +and brother, and their cousins, who always came to dinner on Sunday. +Mr. Brand had come in first; he was in advance of the others, because, +apparently, he was still disposed to say what she had not wished him to +say an hour before. He came into the parlor, looking for Gertrude. He +had two little books in his hand. On seeing Gertrude’s companion he +slowly stopped, looking at him. + +“Is this a cousin?” asked Felix. + +Then Gertrude saw that she must introduce him; but her ears, and, by +sympathy, her lips, were full of all that he had been telling her. +“This is the Prince,” she said, “the Prince of +Silberstadt-Schreckenstein!” + +Felix burst out laughing, and Mr. Brand stood staring, while the +others, who had passed into the house, appeared behind him in the open +doorway. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +That evening at dinner Felix Young gave his sister, the Baroness +Münster, an account of his impressions. She saw that he had come back +in the highest possible spirits; but this fact, to her own mind, was +not a reason for rejoicing. She had but a limited confidence in her +brother’s judgment; his capacity for taking rose-colored views was such +as to vulgarize one of the prettiest of tints. Still, she supposed he +could be trusted to give her the mere facts; and she invited him with +some eagerness to communicate them. “I suppose, at least, they didn’t +turn you out from the door;” she said. “You have been away some ten +hours.” + +“Turn me from the door!” Felix exclaimed. “They took me to their +hearts; they killed the fatted calf.” + +“I know what you want to say: they are a collection of angels.” + +“Exactly,” said Felix. “They are a collection of angels—simply.” + +“_C’est bien vague_,” remarked the Baroness. “What are they like?” + +“Like nothing you ever saw.” + +“I am sure I am much obliged; but that is hardly more definite. +Seriously, they were glad to see you?” + +“Enchanted. It has been the proudest day of my life. Never, never have +I been so lionized! I assure you, I was cock of the walk. My dear +sister,” said the young man, “_nous n’avons qu’à nous tenir_; we shall +be great swells!” + +Madame Münster looked at him, and her eye exhibited a slight responsive +spark. She touched her lips to a glass of wine, and then she said, +“Describe them. Give me a picture.” + +Felix drained his own glass. “Well, it’s in the country, among the +meadows and woods; a wild sort of place, and yet not far from here. +Only, such a road, my dear! Imagine one of the Alpine glaciers +reproduced in mud. But you will not spend much time on it, for they +want you to come and stay, once for all.” + +“Ah,” said the Baroness, “they want me to come and stay, once for all? +_Bon_.” + +“It’s intensely rural, tremendously natural; and all overhung with this +strange white light, this far-away blue sky. There’s a big wooden +house—a kind of three-story bungalow; it looks like a magnified +Nuremberg toy. There was a gentleman there that made a speech to me +about it and called it a ‘venerable mansion;’ but it looks as if it had +been built last night.” + +“Is it handsome—is it elegant?” asked the Baroness. + +Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. “It’s very clean! No splendors, +no gilding, no troops of servants; rather straight-backed chairs. But +you might eat off the floors, and you can sit down on the stairs.” + +“That must be a privilege. And the inhabitants are straight-backed too, +of course.” + +“My dear sister,” said Felix, “the inhabitants are charming.” + +“In what style?” + +“In a style of their own. How shall I describe it? It’s primitive; it’s +patriarchal; it’s the _ton_ of the golden age.” + +“And have they nothing golden but their _ton_? Are there no symptoms of +wealth?” + +“I should say there was wealth without symptoms. A plain, homely way of +life: nothing for show, and very little for—what shall I call it?—for +the senses; but a great _aisance_, and a lot of money, out of sight, +that comes forward very quietly for subscriptions to institutions, for +repairing tenements, for paying doctor’s bills; perhaps even for +portioning daughters.” + +“And the daughters?” Madame Münster demanded. “How many are there?” + +“There are two, Charlotte and Gertrude.” + +“Are they pretty?” + +“One of them,” said Felix. + +“Which is that?” + +The young man was silent, looking at his sister. “Charlotte,” he said +at last. + +She looked at him in return. “I see. You are in love with Gertrude. +They must be Puritans to their finger-tips; anything but gay!” + +“No, they are not gay,” Felix admitted. “They are sober; they are even +severe. They are of a pensive cast; they take things hard. I think +there is something the matter with them; they have some melancholy +memory or some depressing expectation. It’s not the epicurean +temperament. My uncle, Mr. Wentworth, is a tremendously high-toned old +fellow; he looks as if he were undergoing martyrdom, not by fire, but +by freezing. But we shall cheer them up; we shall do them good. They +will take a good deal of stirring up; but they are wonderfully kind and +gentle. And they are appreciative. They think one clever; they think +one remarkable!” + +“That is very fine, so far as it goes,” said the Baroness. “But are we +to be shut up to these three people, Mr. Wentworth and the two young +women—what did you say their names were—Deborah and Hephzibah?” + +“Oh, no; there is another little girl, a cousin of theirs, a very +pretty creature; a thorough little American. And then there is the son +of the house.” + +“Good!” said the Baroness. “We are coming to the gentlemen. What of the +son of the house?” + +“I am afraid he gets tipsy.” + +“He, then, has the epicurean temperament! How old is he?” + +“He is a boy of twenty; a pretty young fellow, but I am afraid he has +vulgar tastes. And then there is Mr. Brand—a very tall young man, a +sort of lay-priest. They seem to think a good deal of him, but I don’t +exactly make him out.” + +“And is there nothing,” asked the Baroness, “between these +extremes—this mysterious ecclesiastic and that intemperate youth?” + +“Oh, yes, there is Mr. Acton. I think,” said the young man, with a nod +at his sister, “that you will like Mr. Acton.” + +“Remember that I am very fastidious,” said the Baroness. “Has he very +good manners?” + +“He will have them with you. He is a man of the world; he has been to +China.” + +Madame Münster gave a little laugh. “A man of the Chinese world! He +must be very interesting.” + +“I have an idea that he brought home a fortune,” said Felix. + +“That is always interesting. Is he young, good-looking, clever?” + +“He is less than forty; he has a baldish head; he says witty things. I +rather think,” added the young man, “that he will admire the Baroness +Münster.” + +“It is very possible,” said this lady. Her brother never knew how she +would take things; but shortly afterwards she declared that he had made +a very pretty description and that on the morrow she would go and see +for herself. + +They mounted, accordingly, into a great barouche—a vehicle as to which +the Baroness found nothing to criticise but the price that was asked +for it and the fact that the coachman wore a straw hat. (At Silberstadt +Madame Münster had had liveries of yellow and crimson.) They drove into +the country, and the Baroness, leaning far back and swaying her +lace-fringed parasol, looked to right and to left and surveyed the +way-side objects. After a while she pronounced them _affreux_. Her +brother remarked that it was apparently a country in which the +foreground was inferior to the _plans reculés_; and the Baroness +rejoined that the landscape seemed to be all foreground. Felix had +fixed with his new friends the hour at which he should bring his +sister; it was four o’clock in the afternoon. The large, clean-faced +house wore, to his eyes, as the barouche drove up to it, a very +friendly aspect; the high, slender elms made lengthening shadows in +front of it. The Baroness descended; her American kinsfolk were +stationed in the portico. Felix waved his hat to them, and a tall, lean +gentleman, with a high forehead and a clean shaven face, came forward +toward the garden gate. Charlotte Wentworth walked at his side. +Gertrude came behind, more slowly. Both of these young ladies wore +rustling silk dresses. Felix ushered his sister into the gate. “Be very +gracious,” he said to her. But he saw the admonition was superfluous. +Eugenia was prepared to be gracious as only Eugenia could be. Felix +knew no keener pleasure than to be able to admire his sister +unrestrictedly; for if the opportunity was frequent, it was not +inveterate. When she desired to please she was to him, as to everyone +else, the most charming woman in the world. Then he forgot that she was +ever anything else; that she was sometimes hard and perverse; that he +was occasionally afraid of her. Now, as she took his arm to pass into +the garden, he felt that she desired, that she proposed, to please, and +this situation made him very happy. Eugenia would please. + +The tall gentleman came to meet her, looking very rigid and grave. But +it was a rigidity that had no illiberal meaning. Mr. Wentworth’s manner +was pregnant, on the contrary, with a sense of grand responsibility, of +the solemnity of the occasion, of its being difficult to show +sufficient deference to a lady at once so distinguished and so unhappy. +Felix had observed on the day before his characteristic pallor; and now +he perceived that there was something almost cadaverous in his uncle’s +high-featured white face. But so clever were this young man’s quick +sympathies and perceptions that he already learned that in these +semi-mortuary manifestations there was no cause for alarm. His light +imagination had gained a glimpse of Mr. Wentworth’s spiritual +mechanism, and taught him that, the old man being infinitely +conscientious, the special operation of conscience within him announced +itself by several of the indications of physical faintness. + +The Baroness took her uncle’s hand, and stood looking at him with her +ugly face and her beautiful smile. “Have I done right to come?” she +asked. + +“Very right, very right,” said Mr. Wentworth, solemnly. He had arranged +in his mind a little speech; but now it quite faded away. He felt +almost frightened. He had never been looked at in just that way—with +just that fixed, intense smile—by any woman; and it perplexed and +weighed upon him, now, that the woman who was smiling so and who had +instantly given him a vivid sense of her possessing other unprecedented +attributes, was his own niece, the child of his own father’s daughter. +The idea that his niece should be a German Baroness, married +“morganatically” to a Prince, had already given him much to think +about. Was it right, was it just, was it acceptable? He always slept +badly, and the night before he had lain awake much more even than +usual, asking himself these questions. The strange word “morganatic” +was constantly in his ears; it reminded him of a certain Mrs. Morgan +whom he had once known and who had been a bold, unpleasant woman. He +had a feeling that it was his duty, so long as the Baroness looked at +him, smiling in that way, to meet her glance with his own scrupulously +adjusted, consciously frigid organs of vision; but on this occasion he +failed to perform his duty to the last. He looked away toward his +daughters. “We are very glad to see you,” he had said. “Allow me to +introduce my daughters—Miss Charlotte Wentworth, Miss Gertrude +Wentworth.” + +The Baroness thought she had never seen people less demonstrative. But +Charlotte kissed her and took her hand, looking at her sweetly and +solemnly. Gertrude seemed to her almost funereal, though Gertrude might +have found a source of gaiety in the fact that Felix, with his +magnificent smile, had been talking to her; he had greeted her as a +very old friend. When she kissed the Baroness she had tears in her +eyes. Madame Münster took each of these young women by the hand, and +looked at them all over. Charlotte thought her very strange-looking and +singularly dressed; she could not have said whether it was well or ill. +She was glad, at any rate, that they had put on their silk +gowns—especially Gertrude. “My cousins are very pretty,” said the +Baroness, turning her eyes from one to the other. “Your daughters are +very handsome, sir.” + +Charlotte blushed quickly; she had never yet heard her personal +appearance alluded to in a loud, expressive voice. Gertrude looked +away—not at Felix; she was extremely pleased. It was not the compliment +that pleased her; she did not believe it; she thought herself very +plain. She could hardly have told you the source of her satisfaction; +it came from something in the way the Baroness spoke, and it was not +diminished—it was rather deepened, oddly enough—by the young girl’s +disbelief. Mr. Wentworth was silent; and then he asked, formally, +“Won’t you come into the house?” + +“These are not all; you have some other children,” said the Baroness. + +“I have a son,” Mr. Wentworth answered. + +“And why doesn’t he come to meet me?” Eugenia cried. “I am afraid he is +not so charming as his sisters.” + +“I don’t know; I will see about it,” the old man declared. + +“He is rather afraid of ladies,” Charlotte said, softly. + +“He is very handsome,” said Gertrude, as loud as she could. + +“We will go in and find him. We will draw him out of his _cachette_.” +And the Baroness took Mr. Wentworth’s arm, who was not aware that he +had offered it to her, and who, as they walked toward the house, +wondered whether he ought to have offered it and whether it was proper +for her to take it if it had not been offered. “I want to know you +well,” said the Baroness, interrupting these meditations, “and I want +you to know me.” + +“It seems natural that we should know each other,” Mr. Wentworth +rejoined. “We are near relatives.” + +“Ah, there comes a moment in life when one reverts, irresistibly, to +one’s natural ties—to one’s natural affections. You must have found +that!” said Eugenia. + +Mr. Wentworth had been told the day before by Felix that Eugenia was +very clever, very brilliant, and the information had held him in some +suspense. This was the cleverness, he supposed; the brilliancy was +beginning. “Yes, the natural affections are very strong,” he murmured. + +“In some people,” the Baroness declared. “Not in all.” Charlotte was +walking beside her; she took hold of her hand again, smiling always. +“And you, _cousine_, where did you get that enchanting complexion?” she +went on; “such lilies and roses?” The roses in poor Charlotte’s +countenance began speedily to predominate over the lilies, and she +quickened her step and reached the portico. “This is the country of +complexions,” the Baroness continued, addressing herself to Mr. +Wentworth. “I am convinced they are more delicate. There are very good +ones in England—in Holland; but they are very apt to be coarse. There +is too much red.” + +“I think you will find,” said Mr. Wentworth, “that this country is +superior in many respects to those you mention. I have been to England +and Holland.” + +“Ah, you have been to Europe?” cried the Baroness. “Why didn’t you come +and see me? But it’s better, after all, this way,” she said. They were +entering the house; she paused and looked round her. “I see you have +arranged your house—your beautiful house—in the—in the Dutch taste!” + +“The house is very old,” remarked Mr. Wentworth. “General Washington +once spent a week here.” + +“Oh, I have heard of Washington,” cried the Baroness. “My father used +to tell me of him.” + +Mr. Wentworth was silent a moment, and then, “I found he was very well +known in Europe,” he said. + +Felix had lingered in the garden with Gertrude; he was standing before +her and smiling, as he had done the day before. What had happened the +day before seemed to her a kind of dream. He had been there and he had +changed everything; the others had seen him, they had talked with him; +but that he should come again, that he should be part of the future, +part of her small, familiar, much-meditating life—this needed, afresh, +the evidence of her senses. The evidence had come to her senses now; +and her senses seemed to rejoice in it. “What do you think of Eugenia?” +Felix asked. “Isn’t she charming?” + +“She is very brilliant,” said Gertrude. “But I can’t tell yet. She +seems to me like a singer singing an air. You can’t tell till the song +is done.” + +“Ah, the song will never be done!” exclaimed the young man, laughing. +“Don’t you think her handsome?” + +Gertrude had been disappointed in the beauty of the Baroness Münster; +she had expected her, for mysterious reasons, to resemble a very pretty +portrait of the Empress Josephine, of which there hung an engraving in +one of the parlors, and which the younger Miss Wentworth had always +greatly admired. But the Baroness was not at all like that—not at all. +Though different, however, she was very wonderful, and Gertrude felt +herself most suggestively corrected. It was strange, nevertheless, that +Felix should speak in that positive way about his sister’s beauty. “I +think I _shall_ think her handsome,” Gertrude said. “It must be very +interesting to know her. I don’t feel as if I ever could.” + +“Ah, you will know her well; you will become great friends,” Felix +declared, as if this were the easiest thing in the world. + +“She is very graceful,” said Gertrude, looking after the Baroness, +suspended to her father’s arm. It was a pleasure to her to say that +anyone was graceful. + +Felix had been looking about him. “And your little cousin, of +yesterday,” he said, “who was so wonderfully pretty—what has become of +her?” + +“She is in the parlor,” Gertrude answered. “Yes, she is very pretty.” +She felt as if it were her duty to take him straight into the house, to +where he might be near her cousin. But after hesitating a moment she +lingered still. “I didn’t believe you would come back,” she said. + +“Not come back!” cried Felix, laughing. “You didn’t know, then, the +impression made upon this susceptible heart of mine.” + +She wondered whether he meant the impression her cousin Lizzie had +made. “Well,” she said, “I didn’t think we should ever see you again.” + +“And pray what did you think would become of me?” + +“I don’t know. I thought you would melt away.” + +“That’s a compliment to my solidity! I melt very often,” said Felix, +“but there is always something left of me.” + +“I came and waited for you by the door, because the others did,” +Gertrude went on. “But if you had never appeared I should not have been +surprised.” + +“I hope,” declared Felix, looking at her, “that you would have been +disappointed.” + +She looked at him a little, and shook her head. “No—no!” + +_“Ah, par exemple!”_ cried the young man. “You deserve that I should +never leave you.” + +Going into the parlor they found Mr. Wentworth performing +introductions. A young man was standing before the Baroness, blushing a +good deal, laughing a little, and shifting his weight from one foot to +the other—a slim, mild-faced young man, with neatly-arranged features, +like those of Mr. Wentworth. Two other gentlemen, behind him, had risen +from their seats, and a little apart, near one of the windows, stood a +remarkably pretty young girl. The young girl was knitting a stocking; +but, while her fingers quickly moved, she looked with wide, brilliant +eyes at the Baroness. + +“And what is your son’s name?” said Eugenia, smiling at the young man. + +“My name is Clifford Wentworth, ma’am,” he said in a tremulous voice. + +“Why didn’t you come out to meet me, Mr. Clifford Wentworth?” the +Baroness demanded, with her beautiful smile. + +“I didn’t think you would want me,” said the young man, slowly sidling +about. + +“One always wants a _beau cousin_,—if one has one! But if you are very +nice to me in future I won’t remember it against you.” And Madame +Münster transferred her smile to the other persons present. It rested +first upon the candid countenance and long-skirted figure of Mr. Brand, +whose eyes were intently fixed upon Mr. Wentworth, as if to beg him not +to prolong an anomalous situation. Mr. Wentworth pronounced his name. +Eugenia gave him a very charming glance, and then looked at the other +gentleman. + +This latter personage was a man of rather less than the usual stature +and the usual weight, with a quick, observant, agreeable dark eye, a +small quantity of thin dark hair, and a small moustache. He had been +standing with his hands in his pockets; and when Eugenia looked at him +he took them out. But he did not, like Mr. Brand, look evasively and +urgently at their host. He met Eugenia’s eyes; he appeared to +appreciate the privilege of meeting them. Madame Münster instantly felt +that he was, intrinsically, the most important person present. She was +not unconscious that this impression was in some degree manifested in +the little sympathetic nod with which she acknowledged Mr. Wentworth’s +announcement, “My cousin, Mr. Acton!” + +“Your cousin—not mine?” said the Baroness. + +“It only depends upon you,” Mr. Acton declared, laughing. + +The Baroness looked at him a moment, and noticed that he had very white +teeth. “Let it depend upon your behavior,” she said. “I think I had +better wait. I have cousins enough. Unless I can also claim +relationship,” she added, “with that charming young lady,” and she +pointed to the young girl at the window. + +“That’s my sister,” said Mr. Acton. And Gertrude Wentworth put her arm +round the young girl and led her forward. It was not, apparently, that +she needed much leading. She came toward the Baroness with a light, +quick step, and with perfect self-possession, rolling her stocking +round its needles. She had dark blue eyes and dark brown hair; she was +wonderfully pretty. + +Eugenia kissed her, as she had kissed the other young women, and then +held her off a little, looking at her. “Now this is quite another +_type_,” she said; she pronounced the word in the French manner. “This +is a different outline, my uncle, a different character, from that of +your own daughters. This, Felix,” she went on, “is very much more what +we have always thought of as the American type.” + +The young girl, during this exposition, was smiling askance at everyone +in turn, and at Felix out of turn. “I find only one type here!” cried +Felix, laughing. “The type adorable!” + +This sally was received in perfect silence, but Felix, who learned all +things quickly, had already learned that the silences frequently +observed among his new acquaintances were not necessarily restrictive +or resentful. It was, as one might say, the silence of expectation, of +modesty. They were all standing round his sister, as if they were +expecting her to acquit herself of the exhibition of some peculiar +faculty, some brilliant talent. Their attitude seemed to imply that she +was a kind of conversational mountebank, attired, intellectually, in +gauze and spangles. This attitude gave a certain ironical force to +Madame Münster’s next words. “Now this is your circle,” she said to her +uncle. “This is your _salon_. These are your regular _habitués_, eh? I +am so glad to see you all together.” + +“Oh,” said Mr. Wentworth, “they are always dropping in and out. You +must do the same.” + +“Father,” interposed Charlotte Wentworth, “they must do something +more.” And she turned her sweet, serious face, that seemed at once +timid and placid, upon their interesting visitor. “What is your name?” +she asked. + +“Eugenia-Camilla-Dolores,” said the Baroness, smiling. “But you needn’t +say all that.” + +“I will say Eugenia, if you will let me. You must come and stay with +us.” + +The Baroness laid her hand upon Charlotte’s arm very tenderly; but she +reserved herself. She was wondering whether it would be possible to +“stay” with these people. “It would be very charming—very charming,” +she said; and her eyes wandered over the company, over the room. She +wished to gain time before committing herself. Her glance fell upon +young Mr. Brand, who stood there, with his arms folded and his hand on +his chin, looking at her. “The gentleman, I suppose, is a sort of +ecclesiastic,” she said to Mr. Wentworth, lowering her voice a little. + +“He is a minister,” answered Mr. Wentworth. + +“A Protestant?” asked Eugenia. + +“I am a Unitarian, madam,” replied Mr. Brand, impressively. + +“Ah, I see,” said Eugenia. “Something new.” She had never heard of this +form of worship. + +Mr. Acton began to laugh, and Gertrude looked anxiously at Mr. Brand. + +“You have come very far,” said Mr. Wentworth. + +“Very far—very far,” the Baroness replied, with a graceful shake of her +head—a shake that might have meant many different things. + +“That’s a reason why you ought to settle down with us,” said Mr. +Wentworth, with that dryness of utterance which, as Eugenia was too +intelligent not to feel, took nothing from the delicacy of his meaning. + +She looked at him, and for an instant, in his cold, still face, she +seemed to see a far-away likeness to the vaguely remembered image of +her mother. Eugenia was a woman of sudden emotions, and now, +unexpectedly, she felt one rising in her heart. She kept looking round +the circle; she knew that there was admiration in all the eyes that +were fixed upon her. She smiled at them all. + +“I came to look—to try—to ask,” she said. “It seems to me I have done +well. I am very tired; I want to rest.” There were tears in her eyes. +The luminous interior, the gentle, tranquil people, the simple, serious +life—the sense of these things pressed upon her with an overmastering +force, and she felt herself yielding to one of the most genuine +emotions she had ever known. “I should like to stay here,” she said. +“Pray take me in.” + +Though she was smiling, there were tears in her voice as well as in her +eyes. “My dear niece,” said Mr. Wentworth, softly. And Charlotte put +out her arms and drew the Baroness toward her; while Robert Acton +turned away, with his hands stealing into his pockets. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +A few days after the Baroness Münster had presented herself to her +American kinsfolk she came, with her brother, and took up her abode in +that small white house adjacent to Mr. Wentworth’s own dwelling of +which mention has already been made. It was on going with his daughters +to return her visit that Mr. Wentworth placed this comfortable cottage +at her service; the offer being the result of a domestic colloquy, +diffused through the ensuing twenty-four hours, in the course of which +the two foreign visitors were discussed and analyzed with a great deal +of earnestness and subtlety. The discussion went forward, as I say, in +the family circle; but that circle on the evening following Madame +Münster’s return to town, as on many other occasions, included Robert +Acton and his pretty sister. If you had been present, it would probably +not have seemed to you that the advent of these brilliant strangers was +treated as an exhilarating occurrence, a pleasure the more in this +tranquil household, a prospective source of entertainment. This was not +Mr. Wentworth’s way of treating any human occurrence. The sudden +irruption into the well-ordered consciousness of the Wentworths of an +element not allowed for in its scheme of usual obligations required a +readjustment of that sense of responsibility which constituted its +principal furniture. To consider an event, crudely and baldly, in the +light of the pleasure it might bring them was an intellectual exercise +with which Felix Young’s American cousins were almost wholly +unacquainted, and which they scarcely supposed to be largely pursued in +any section of human society. The arrival of Felix and his sister was a +satisfaction, but it was a singularly joyless and inelastic +satisfaction. It was an extension of duty, of the exercise of the more +recondite virtues; but neither Mr. Wentworth, nor Charlotte, nor Mr. +Brand, who, among these excellent people, was a great promoter of +reflection and aspiration, frankly adverted to it as an extension of +enjoyment. This function was ultimately assumed by Gertrude Wentworth, +who was a peculiar girl, but the full compass of whose peculiarities +had not been exhibited before they very ingeniously found their pretext +in the presence of these possibly too agreeable foreigners. Gertrude, +however, had to struggle with a great accumulation of obstructions, +both of the subjective, as the metaphysicians say, and of the +objective, order; and indeed it is no small part of the purpose of this +little history to set forth her struggle. What seemed paramount in this +abrupt enlargement of Mr. Wentworth’s sympathies and those of his +daughters was an extension of the field of possible mistakes; and the +doctrine, as it may almost be called, of the oppressive gravity of +mistakes was one of the most cherished traditions of the Wentworth +family. + +“I don’t believe she wants to come and stay in this house,” said +Gertrude; Madame Münster, from this time forward, receiving no other +designation than the personal pronoun. Charlotte and Gertrude acquired +considerable facility in addressing her, directly, as “Eugenia;” but in +speaking of her to each other they rarely called her anything but +“she.” + +“Doesn’t she think it good enough for her?” cried little Lizzie Acton, +who was always asking unpractical questions that required, in +strictness, no answer, and to which indeed she expected no other answer +than such as she herself invariably furnished in a small, +innocently-satirical laugh. + +“She certainly expressed a willingness to come,” said Mr. Wentworth. + +“That was only politeness,” Gertrude rejoined. + +“Yes, she is very polite—very polite,” said Mr. Wentworth. + +“She is too polite,” his son declared, in a softly growling tone which +was habitual to him, but which was an indication of nothing worse than +a vaguely humorous intention. “It is very embarrassing.” + +“That is more than can be said of you, sir,” said Lizzie Acton, with +her little laugh. + +“Well, I don’t mean to encourage her,” Clifford went on. + +“I’m sure I don’t care if you do!” cried Lizzie. + +“She will not think of you, Clifford,” said Gertrude, gravely. + +“I hope not!” Clifford exclaimed. + +“She will think of Robert,” Gertrude continued, in the same tone. + +Robert Acton began to blush; but there was no occasion for it, for +everyone was looking at Gertrude—everyone, at least, save Lizzie, who, +with her pretty head on one side, contemplated her brother. + +“Why do you attribute motives, Gertrude?” asked Mr. Wentworth. + +“I don’t attribute motives, father,” said Gertrude. “I only say she +will think of Robert; and she will!” + +“Gertrude judges by herself!” Acton exclaimed, laughing. “Don’t you, +Gertrude? Of course the Baroness will think of me. She will think of me +from morning till night.” + +“She will be very comfortable here,” said Charlotte, with something of +a housewife’s pride. “She can have the large northeast room. And the +French bedstead,” Charlotte added, with a constant sense of the lady’s +foreignness. + +“She will not like it,” said Gertrude; “not even if you pin little +tidies all over the chairs.” + +“Why not, dear?” asked Charlotte, perceiving a touch of irony here, but +not resenting it. + +Gertrude had left her chair; she was walking about the room; her stiff +silk dress, which she had put on in honor of the Baroness, made a sound +upon the carpet. “I don’t know,” she replied. “She will want something +more—more private.” + +“If she wants to be private she can stay in her room,” Lizzie Acton +remarked. + +Gertrude paused in her walk, looking at her. “That would not be +pleasant,” she answered. “She wants privacy and pleasure together.” + +Robert Acton began to laugh again. “My dear cousin, what a picture!” + +Charlotte had fixed her serious eyes upon her sister; she wondered +whence she had suddenly derived these strange notions. Mr. Wentworth +also observed his younger daughter. + +“I don’t know what her manner of life may have been,” he said; “but she +certainly never can have enjoyed a more refined and salubrious home.” + +Gertrude stood there looking at them all. “She is the wife of a +Prince,” she said. + +“We are all princes here,” said Mr. Wentworth; “and I don’t know of any +palace in this neighborhood that is to let.” + +“Cousin William,” Robert Acton interposed, “do you want to do something +handsome? Make them a present, for three months, of the little house +over the way.” + +“You are very generous with other people’s things!” cried his sister. + +“Robert is very generous with his own things,” Mr. Wentworth observed +dispassionately, and looking, in cold meditation, at his kinsman. + +“Gertrude,” Lizzie went on, “I had an idea you were so fond of your new +cousin.” + +“Which new cousin?” asked Gertrude. + +“I don’t mean the Baroness!” the young girl rejoined, with her laugh. +“I thought you expected to see so much of him.” + +“Of Felix? I hope to see a great deal of him,” said Gertrude, simply. + +“Then why do you want to keep him out of the house?” + +Gertrude looked at Lizzie Acton, and then looked away. + +“Should you want me to live in the house with you, Lizzie?” asked +Clifford. + +“I hope you never will. I hate you!” Such was this young lady’s reply. + +“Father,” said Gertrude, stopping before Mr. Wentworth and smiling, +with a smile the sweeter, as her smile always was, for its rarity; “do +let them live in the little house over the way. It will be lovely!” + +Robert Acton had been watching her. “Gertrude is right,” he said. +“Gertrude is the cleverest girl in the world. If I might take the +liberty, I should strongly recommend their living there.” + +“There is nothing there so pretty as the northeast room,” Charlotte +urged. + +“She will make it pretty. Leave her alone!” Acton exclaimed. + +Gertrude, at his compliment, had blushed and looked at him: it was as +if someone less familiar had complimented her. “I am sure she will make +it pretty. It will be very interesting. It will be a place to go to. It +will be a foreign house.” + +“Are we very sure that we need a foreign house?” Mr. Wentworth +inquired. “Do you think it desirable to establish a foreign house—in +this quiet place?” + +“You speak,” said Acton, laughing, “as if it were a question of the +poor Baroness opening a wine-shop or a gaming-table.” + +“It would be too lovely!” Gertrude declared again, laying her hand on +the back of her father’s chair. + +“That she should open a gaming-table?” Charlotte asked, with great +gravity. + +Gertrude looked at her a moment, and then, “Yes, Charlotte,” she said, +simply. + +“Gertrude is growing pert,” Clifford Wentworth observed, with his +humorous young growl. “That comes of associating with foreigners.” + +Mr. Wentworth looked up at his daughter, who was standing beside him; +he drew her gently forward. “You must be careful,” he said. “You must +keep watch. Indeed, we must all be careful. This is a great change; we +are to be exposed to peculiar influences. I don’t say they are bad. I +don’t judge them in advance. But they may perhaps make it necessary +that we should exercise a great deal of wisdom and self-control. It +will be a different tone.” + +Gertrude was silent a moment, in deference to her father’s speech; then +she spoke in a manner that was not in the least an answer to it. “I +want to see how they will live. I am sure they will have different +hours. She will do all kinds of little things differently. When we go +over there it will be like going to Europe. She will have a boudoir. +She will invite us to dinner—very late. She will breakfast in her +room.” + +Charlotte gazed at her sister again. Gertrude’s imagination seemed to +her to be fairly running riot. She had always known that Gertrude had a +great deal of imagination—she had been very proud of it. But at the +same time she had always felt that it was a dangerous and irresponsible +faculty; and now, to her sense, for the moment, it seemed to threaten +to make her sister a strange person who should come in suddenly, as +from a journey, talking of the peculiar and possibly unpleasant things +she had observed. Charlotte’s imagination took no journeys whatever; +she kept it, as it were, in her pocket, with the other furniture of +this receptacle—a thimble, a little box of peppermint, and a morsel of +court-plaster. “I don’t believe she would have any dinner—or any +breakfast,” said Miss Wentworth. “I don’t believe she knows how to do +anything herself. I should have to get her ever so many servants, and +she wouldn’t like them.” + +“She has a maid,” said Gertrude; “a French maid. She mentioned her.” + +“I wonder if the maid has a little fluted cap and red slippers,” said +Lizzie Acton. “There was a French maid in that play that Robert took me +to see. She had pink stockings; she was very wicked.” + +“She was a _soubrette_,” Gertrude announced, who had never seen a play +in her life. “They call that a soubrette. It will be a great chance to +learn French.” Charlotte gave a little soft, helpless groan. She had a +vision of a wicked, theatrical person, clad in pink stockings and red +shoes, and speaking, with confounding volubility, an incomprehensible +tongue, flitting through the sacred penetralia of that large, clean +house. “That is one reason in favor of their coming here,” Gertrude +went on. “But we can make Eugenia speak French to us, and Felix. I mean +to begin—the next time.” + +Mr. Wentworth had kept her standing near him, and he gave her his +earnest, thin, unresponsive glance again. “I want you to make me a +promise, Gertrude,” he said. + +“What is it?” she asked, smiling. + +“Not to get excited. Not to allow these—these occurrences to be an +occasion for excitement.” + +She looked down at him a moment, and then she shook her head. “I don’t +think I can promise that, father. I am excited already.” + +Mr. Wentworth was silent a while; they all were silent, as if in +recognition of something audacious and portentous. + +“I think they had better go to the other house,” said Charlotte, +quietly. + +“I shall keep them in the other house,” Mr. Wentworth subjoined, more +pregnantly. + +Gertrude turned away; then she looked across at Robert Acton. Her +cousin Robert was a great friend of hers; she often looked at him this +way instead of saying things. Her glance on this occasion, however, +struck him as a substitute for a larger volume of diffident utterance +than usual, inviting him to observe, among other things, the +inefficiency of her father’s design—if design it was—for diminishing, +in the interest of quiet nerves, their occasions of contact with their +foreign relatives. But Acton immediately complimented Mr. Wentworth +upon his liberality. “That’s a very nice thing to do,” he said, “giving +them the little house. You will have treated them handsomely, and, +whatever happens, you will be glad of it.” Mr. Wentworth was liberal, +and he knew he was liberal. It gave him pleasure to know it, to feel +it, to see it recorded; and this pleasure is the only palpable form of +self-indulgence with which the narrator of these incidents will be able +to charge him. + +“A three days’ visit at most, over there, is all I should have found +possible,” Madame Münster remarked to her brother, after they had taken +possession of the little white house. “It would have been too +_intime_—decidedly too _intime_. Breakfast, dinner, and tea _en +famille_—it would have been the end of the world if I could have +reached the third day.” And she made the same observation to her maid +Augustine, an intelligent person, who enjoyed a liberal share of her +confidence. Felix declared that he would willingly spend his life in +the bosom of the Wentworth family; that they were the kindest, +simplest, most amiable people in the world, and that he had taken a +prodigious fancy to them all. The Baroness quite agreed with him that +they were simple and kind; they were thoroughly nice people, and she +liked them extremely. The girls were perfect ladies; it was impossible +to be more of a lady than Charlotte Wentworth, in spite of her little +village air. “But as for thinking them the best company in the world,” +said the Baroness, “that is another thing; and as for wishing to live +_porte à porte_ with them, I should as soon think of wishing myself +back in the convent again, to wear a bombazine apron and sleep in a +dormitory.” And yet the Baroness was in high good humor; she had been +very much pleased. With her lively perception and her refined +imagination, she was capable of enjoying anything that was +characteristic, anything that was good of its kind. The Wentworth +household seemed to her very perfect in its kind—wonderfully peaceful +and unspotted; pervaded by a sort of dove-colored freshness that had +all the quietude and benevolence of what she deemed to be Quakerism, +and yet seemed to be founded upon a degree of material abundance for +which, in certain matters of detail, one might have looked in vain at +the frugal little court of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. She perceived +immediately that her American relatives thought and talked very little +about money; and this of itself made an impression upon Eugenia’s +imagination. She perceived at the same time that if Charlotte or +Gertrude should ask their father for a very considerable sum he would +at once place it in their hands; and this made a still greater +impression. The greatest impression of all, perhaps, was made by +another rapid induction. The Baroness had an immediate conviction that +Robert Acton would put his hand into his pocket every day in the week +if that rattle-pated little sister of his should bid him. The men in +this country, said the Baroness, are evidently very obliging. Her +declaration that she was looking for rest and retirement had been by no +means wholly untrue; nothing that the Baroness said was wholly untrue. +It is but fair to add, perhaps, that nothing that she said was wholly +true. She wrote to a friend in Germany that it was a return to nature; +it was like drinking new milk, and she was very fond of new milk. She +said to herself, of course, that it would be a little dull; but there +can be no better proof of her good spirits than the fact that she +thought she should not mind its being a little dull. It seemed to her, +when from the piazza of her eleemosynary cottage she looked out over +the soundless fields, the stony pastures, the clear-faced ponds, the +rugged little orchards, that she had never been in the midst of so +peculiarly intense a stillness; it was almost a delicate sensual +pleasure. It was all very good, very innocent and safe, and out of it +something good must come. Augustine, indeed, who had an unbounded faith +in her mistress’s wisdom and far-sightedness, was a great deal +perplexed and depressed. She was always ready to take her cue when she +understood it; but she liked to understand it, and on this occasion +comprehension failed. What, indeed, was the Baroness doing _dans cette +galère_? what fish did she expect to land out of these very stagnant +waters? The game was evidently a deep one. Augustine could trust her; +but the sense of walking in the dark betrayed itself in the physiognomy +of this spare, sober, sallow, middle-aged person, who had nothing in +common with Gertrude Wentworth’s conception of a soubrette, by the most +ironical scowl that had ever rested upon the unpretending tokens of the +peace and plenty of the Wentworths. Fortunately, Augustine could quench +skepticism in action. She quite agreed with her mistress—or rather she +quite out-stripped her mistress—in thinking that the little white house +was pitifully bare. _“Il faudra,”_ said Augustine, _“lui faire un peu +de toilette.”_ And she began to hang up _portières_ in the doorways; to +place wax candles, procured after some research, in unexpected +situations; to dispose anomalous draperies over the arms of sofas and +the backs of chairs. The Baroness had brought with her to the New World +a copious provision of the element of costume; and the two Miss +Wentworths, when they came over to see her, were somewhat bewildered by +the obtrusive distribution of her wardrobe. There were India shawls +suspended, curtain-wise, in the parlor door, and curious fabrics, +corresponding to Gertrude’s metaphysical vision of an opera-cloak, +tumbled about in the sitting-places. There were pink silk blinds in the +windows, by which the room was strangely bedimmed; and along the +chimney-piece was disposed a remarkable band of velvet, covered with +coarse, dirty-looking lace. “I have been making myself a little +comfortable,” said the Baroness, much to the confusion of Charlotte, +who had been on the point of proposing to come and help her put her +superfluous draperies away. But what Charlotte mistook for an almost +culpably delayed subsidence Gertrude very presently perceived to be the +most ingenious, the most interesting, the most romantic intention. +“What is life, indeed, without curtains?” she secretly asked herself; +and she appeared to herself to have been leading hitherto an existence +singularly garish and totally devoid of festoons. + +Felix was not a young man who troubled himself greatly about +anything—least of all about the conditions of enjoyment. His faculty of +enjoyment was so large, so unconsciously eager, that it may be said of +it that it had a permanent advance upon embarrassment and sorrow. His +sentient faculty was intrinsically joyous, and novelty and change were +in themselves a delight to him. As they had come to him with a great +deal of frequency, his life had been more agreeable than appeared. +Never was a nature more perfectly fortunate. It was not a restless, +apprehensive, ambitious spirit, running a race with the tyranny of +fate, but a temper so unsuspicious as to put Adversity off her guard, +dodging and evading her with the easy, natural motion of a wind-shifted +flower. Felix extracted entertainment from all things, and all his +faculties—his imagination, his intelligence, his affections, his +senses—had a hand in the game. It seemed to him that Eugenia and he had +been very well treated; there was something absolutely touching in that +combination of paternal liberality and social considerateness which +marked Mr. Wentworth’s deportment. It was most uncommonly kind of him, +for instance, to have given them a house. Felix was positively amused +at having a house of his own; for the little white cottage among the +apple trees—the chalet, as Madame Münster always called it—was much +more sensibly his own than any domiciliary _quatrième_, looking upon a +court, with the rent overdue. Felix had spent a good deal of his life +in looking into courts, with a perhaps slightly tattered pair of elbows +resting upon the ledge of a high-perched window, and the thin smoke of +a cigarette rising into an atmosphere in which street-cries died away +and the vibration of chimes from ancient belfries became sensible. He +had never known anything so infinitely rural as these New England +fields; and he took a great fancy to all their pastoral roughnesses. He +had never had a greater sense of luxurious security; and at the risk of +making him seem a rather sordid adventurer I must declare that he found +an irresistible charm in the fact that he might dine every day at his +uncle’s. The charm was irresistible, however, because his fancy flung a +rosy light over this homely privilege. He appreciated highly the fare +that was set before him. There was a kind of fresh-looking abundance +about it which made him think that people must have lived so in the +mythological era, when they spread their tables upon the grass, +replenished them from cornucopias, and had no particular need of +kitchen stoves. But the great thing that Felix enjoyed was having found +a family—sitting in the midst of gentle, generous people whom he might +call by their first names. He had never known anything more charming +than the attention they paid to what he said. It was like a large sheet +of clean, fine-grained drawing-paper, all ready to be washed over with +effective splashes of water-color. He had never had any cousins, and he +had never before found himself in contact so unrestricted with young +unmarried ladies. He was extremely fond of the society of ladies, and +it was new to him that it might be enjoyed in just this manner. At +first he hardly knew what to make of his state of mind. It seemed to +him that he was in love, indiscriminately, with three girls at once. He +saw that Lizzie Acton was more brilliantly pretty than Charlotte and +Gertrude; but this was scarcely a superiority. His pleasure came from +something they had in common—a part of which was, indeed, that physical +delicacy which seemed to make it proper that they should always dress +in thin materials and clear colors. But they were delicate in other +ways, and it was most agreeable to him to feel that these latter +delicacies were appreciable by contact, as it were. He had known, +fortunately, many virtuous gentlewomen, but it now appeared to him that +in his relations with them (especially when they were unmarried) he had +been looking at pictures under glass. He perceived at present what a +nuisance the glass had been—how it perverted and interfered, how it +caught the reflection of other objects and kept you walking from side +to side. He had no need to ask himself whether Charlotte and Gertrude, +and Lizzie Acton, were in the right light; they were always in the +right light. He liked everything about them: he was, for instance, not +at all above liking the fact that they had very slender feet and high +insteps. He liked their pretty noses; he liked their surprised eyes and +their hesitating, not at all positive way of speaking; he liked so much +knowing that he was perfectly at liberty to be alone for hours, +anywhere, with either of them; that preference for one to the other, as +a companion of solitude, remained a minor affair. Charlotte Wentworth’s +sweetly severe features were as agreeable as Lizzie Acton’s wonderfully +expressive blue eyes; and Gertrude’s air of being always ready to walk +about and listen was as charming as anything else, especially as she +walked very gracefully. After a while Felix began to distinguish; but +even then he would often wish, suddenly, that they were not all so sad. +Even Lizzie Acton, in spite of her fine little chatter and laughter, +appeared sad. Even Clifford Wentworth, who had extreme youth in his +favor, and kept a buggy with enormous wheels and a little sorrel mare +with the prettiest legs in the world—even this fortunate lad was apt to +have an averted, uncomfortable glance, and to edge away from you at +times, in the manner of a person with a bad conscience. The only person +in the circle with no sense of oppression of any kind was, to Felix’s +perception, Robert Acton. + +It might perhaps have been feared that after the completion of those +graceful domiciliary embellishments which have been mentioned Madame +Münster would have found herself confronted with alarming possibilities +of _ennui_. But as yet she had not taken the alarm. The Baroness was a +restless soul, and she projected her restlessness, as it may be said, +into any situation that lay before her. Up to a certain point her +restlessness might be counted upon to entertain her. She was always +expecting something to happen, and, until it was disappointed, +expectancy itself was a delicate pleasure. What the Baroness expected +just now it would take some ingenuity to set forth; it is enough that +while she looked about her she found something to occupy her +imagination. She assured herself that she was enchanted with her new +relatives; she professed to herself that, like her brother, she felt it +a sacred satisfaction to have found a family. It is certain that she +enjoyed to the utmost the gentleness of her kinsfolk’s deference. She +had, first and last, received a great deal of admiration, and her +experience of well-turned compliments was very considerable; but she +knew that she had never been so real a power, never counted for so +much, as now when, for the first time, the standard of comparison of +her little circle was a prey to vagueness. The sense, indeed, that the +good people about her had, as regards her remarkable self, no standard +of comparison at all gave her a feeling of almost illimitable power. It +was true, as she said to herself, that if for this reason they would be +able to discover nothing against her, so they would perhaps neglect to +perceive some of her superior points; but she always wound up her +reflections by declaring that she would take care of that. + +Charlotte and Gertrude were in some perplexity between their desire to +show all proper attention to Madame Münster and their fear of being +importunate. The little house in the orchard had hitherto been occupied +during the summer months by intimate friends of the family, or by poor +relations who found in Mr. Wentworth a landlord attentive to repairs +and oblivious of quarter-day. Under these circumstances the open door +of the small house and that of the large one, facing each other across +their homely gardens, levied no tax upon hourly visits. But the Misses +Wentworth received an impression that Eugenia was no friend to the +primitive custom of “dropping in;” she evidently had no idea of living +without a door-keeper. “One goes into your house as into an inn—except +that there are no servants rushing forward,” she said to Charlotte. And +she added that that was very charming. Gertrude explained to her sister +that she meant just the reverse; she didn’t like it at all. Charlotte +inquired why she should tell an untruth, and Gertrude answered that +there was probably some very good reason for it which they should +discover when they knew her better. “There can surely be no good reason +for telling an untruth,” said Charlotte. “I hope she does not think +so.” + +They had of course desired, from the first, to do everything in the way +of helping her to arrange herself. It had seemed to Charlotte that +there would be a great many things to talk about; but the Baroness was +apparently inclined to talk about nothing. + +“Write her a note, asking her leave to come and see her. I think that +is what she will like,” said Gertrude. + +“Why should I give her the trouble of answering me?” Charlotte asked. +“She will have to write a note and send it over.” + +“I don’t think she will take any trouble,” said Gertrude, profoundly. + +“What then will she do?” + +“That is what I am curious to see,” said Gertrude, leaving her sister +with an impression that her curiosity was morbid. + +They went to see the Baroness without preliminary correspondence; and +in the little salon which she had already created, with its becoming +light and its festoons, they found Robert Acton. + +Eugenia was intensely gracious, but she accused them of neglecting her +cruelly. “You see Mr. Acton has had to take pity upon me,” she said. +“My brother goes off sketching, for hours; I can never depend upon him. +So I was to send Mr. Acton to beg you to come and give me the benefit +of your wisdom.” + +Gertrude looked at her sister. She wanted to say, “_That_ is what she +would have done.” Charlotte said that they hoped the Baroness would +always come and dine with them; it would give them so much pleasure; +and, in that case, she would spare herself the trouble of having a +cook. + +“Ah, but I must have a cook!” cried the Baroness. “An old negress in a +yellow turban. I have set my heart upon that. I want to look out of my +window and see her sitting there on the grass, against the background +of those crooked, dusky little apple trees, pulling the husks off a +lapful of Indian corn. That will be local color, you know. There isn’t +much of it here—you don’t mind my saying that, do you?—so one must make +the most of what one can get. I shall be most happy to dine with you +whenever you will let me; but I want to be able to ask you sometimes. +And I want to be able to ask Mr. Acton,” added the Baroness. + +“You must come and ask me at home,” said Acton. “You must come and see +me; you must dine with me first. I want to show you my place; I want to +introduce you to my mother.” He called again upon Madame Münster, two +days later. He was constantly at the other house; he used to walk +across the fields from his own place, and he appeared to have fewer +scruples than his cousins with regard to dropping in. On this occasion +he found that Mr. Brand had come to pay his respects to the charming +stranger; but after Acton’s arrival the young theologian said nothing. +He sat in his chair with his two hands clasped, fixing upon his hostess +a grave, fascinated stare. The Baroness talked to Robert Acton, but, as +she talked, she turned and smiled at Mr. Brand, who never took his eyes +off her. The two men walked away together; they were going to Mr. +Wentworth’s. Mr. Brand still said nothing; but after they had passed +into Mr. Wentworth’s garden he stopped and looked back for some time at +the little white house. Then, looking at his companion, with his head +bent a little to one side and his eyes somewhat contracted, “Now I +suppose that’s what is called conversation,” he said; “real +conversation.” + +“It’s what I call a very clever woman,” said Acton, laughing. + +“It is most interesting,” Mr. Brand continued. “I only wish she would +speak French; it would seem more in keeping. It must be quite the style +that we have heard about, that we have read about—the style of +conversation of Madame de Staël, of Madame Récamier.” + +Acton also looked at Madame Münster’s residence among its hollyhocks +and apple trees. “What I should like to know,” he said, smiling, “is +just what has brought Madame Récamier to live in that place!” + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Mr. Wentworth, with his cane and his gloves in his hand, went every +afternoon to call upon his niece. A couple of hours later she came over +to the great house to tea. She had let the proposal that she should +regularly dine there fall to the ground; she was in the enjoyment of +whatever satisfaction was to be derived from the spectacle of an old +negress in a crimson turban shelling peas under the apple trees. +Charlotte, who had provided the ancient negress, thought it must be a +strange household, Eugenia having told her that Augustine managed +everything, the ancient negress included—Augustine who was naturally +devoid of all acquaintance with the expurgatory English tongue. By far +the most immoral sentiment which I shall have occasion to attribute to +Charlotte Wentworth was a certain emotion of disappointment at finding +that, in spite of these irregular conditions, the domestic arrangements +at the small house were apparently not—from Eugenia’s peculiar point of +view—strikingly offensive. The Baroness found it amusing to go to tea; +she dressed as if for dinner. The tea-table offered an anomalous and +picturesque repast; and on leaving it they all sat and talked in the +large piazza, or wandered about the garden in the starlight, with their +ears full of those sounds of strange insects which, though they are +supposed to be, all over the world, a part of the magic of summer +nights, seemed to the Baroness to have beneath these western skies an +incomparable resonance. + +Mr. Wentworth, though, as I say, he went punctiliously to call upon +her, was not able to feel that he was getting used to his niece. It +taxed his imagination to believe that she was really his half-sister’s +child. His sister was a figure of his early years; she had been only +twenty when she went abroad, never to return, making in foreign parts a +willful and undesirable marriage. His aunt, Mrs. Whiteside, who had +taken her to Europe for the benefit of the tour, gave, on her return, +so lamentable an account of Mr. Adolphus Young, to whom the headstrong +girl had united her destiny, that it operated as a chill upon family +feeling—especially in the case of the half-brothers. Catherine had done +nothing subsequently to propitiate her family; she had not even written +to them in a way that indicated a lucid appreciation of their suspended +sympathy; so that it had become a tradition in Boston circles that the +highest charity, as regards this young lady, was to think it well to +forget her, and to abstain from conjecture as to the extent to which +her aberrations were reproduced in her descendants. Over these young +people—a vague report of their existence had come to his ears—Mr. +Wentworth had not, in the course of years, allowed his imagination to +hover. It had plenty of occupation nearer home, and though he had many +cares upon his conscience the idea that he had been an unnatural uncle +was, very properly, never among the number. Now that his nephew and +niece had come before him, he perceived that they were the fruit of +influences and circumstances very different from those under which his +own familiar progeny had reached a vaguely-qualified maturity. He felt +no provocation to say that these influences had been exerted for evil; +but he was sometimes afraid that he should not be able to like his +distinguished, delicate, lady-like niece. He was paralyzed and +bewildered by her foreignness. She spoke, somehow, a different +language. There was something strange in her words. He had a feeling +that another man, in his place, would accommodate himself to her tone; +would ask her questions and joke with her, reply to those pleasantries +of her own which sometimes seemed startling as addressed to an uncle. +But Mr. Wentworth could not do these things. He could not even bring +himself to attempt to measure her position in the world. She was the +wife of a foreign nobleman who desired to repudiate her. This had a +singular sound, but the old man felt himself destitute of the materials +for a judgment. It seemed to him that he ought to find them in his own +experience, as a man of the world and an almost public character; but +they were not there, and he was ashamed to confess to himself—much more +to reveal to Eugenia by interrogations possibly too innocent—the +unfurnished condition of this repository. + +It appeared to him that he could get much nearer, as he would have +said, to his nephew; though he was not sure that Felix was altogether +safe. He was so bright and handsome and talkative that it was +impossible not to think well of him; and yet it seemed as if there were +something almost impudent, almost vicious—or as if there ought to be—in +a young man being at once so joyous and so positive. It was to be +observed that while Felix was not at all a serious young man there was +somehow more of him—he had more weight and volume and resonance—than a +number of young men who were distinctly serious. While Mr. Wentworth +meditated upon this anomaly his nephew was admiring him unrestrictedly. +He thought him a most delicate, generous, high-toned old gentleman, +with a very handsome head, of the ascetic type, which he promised +himself the profit of sketching. Felix was far from having made a +secret of the fact that he wielded the paint-brush, and it was not his +own fault if it failed to be generally understood that he was prepared +to execute the most striking likenesses on the most reasonable terms. +“He is an artist—my cousin is an artist,” said Gertrude; and she +offered this information to everyone who would receive it. She offered +it to herself, as it were, by way of admonition and reminder; she +repeated to herself at odd moments, in lonely places, that Felix was +invested with this sacred character. Gertrude had never seen an artist +before; she had only read about such people. They seemed to her a +romantic and mysterious class, whose life was made up of those +agreeable accidents that never happened to other persons. And it merely +quickened her meditations on this point that Felix should declare, as +he repeatedly did, that he was really not an artist. “I have never gone +into the thing seriously,” he said. “I have never studied; I have had +no training. I do a little of everything, and nothing well. I am only +an amateur.” + +It pleased Gertrude even more to think that he was an amateur than to +think that he was an artist; the former word, to her fancy, had an even +subtler connotation. She knew, however, that it was a word to use more +soberly. Mr. Wentworth used it freely; for though he had not been +exactly familiar with it, he found it convenient as a help toward +classifying Felix, who, as a young man extremely clever and active and +apparently respectable and yet not engaged in any recognized business, +was an importunate anomaly. Of course the Baroness and her brother—she +was always spoken of first—were a welcome topic of conversation between +Mr. Wentworth and his daughters and their occasional visitors. + +“And the young man, your nephew, what is his profession?” asked an old +gentleman—Mr. Broderip, of Salem—who had been Mr. Wentworth’s classmate +at Harvard College in the year 1809, and who came into his office in +Devonshire Street. (Mr. Wentworth, in his later years, used to go but +three times a week to his office, where he had a large amount of highly +confidential trust-business to transact.) + +“Well, he’s an amateur,” said Felix’s uncle, with folded hands, and +with a certain satisfaction in being able to say it. And Mr. Broderip +had gone back to Salem with a feeling that this was probably a +“European” expression for a broker or a grain exporter. + +“I should like to do your head, sir,” said Felix to his uncle one +evening, before them all—Mr. Brand and Robert Acton being also present. +“I think I should make a very fine thing of it. It’s an interesting +head; it’s very mediaeval.” + +Mr. Wentworth looked grave; he felt awkwardly, as if all the company +had come in and found him standing before the looking-glass. “The Lord +made it,” he said. “I don’t think it is for man to make it over again.” + +“Certainly the Lord made it,” replied Felix, laughing, “and he made it +very well. But life has been touching up the work. It is a very +interesting type of head. It’s delightfully wasted and emaciated. The +complexion is wonderfully bleached.” And Felix looked round at the +circle, as if to call their attention to these interesting points. Mr. +Wentworth grew visibly paler. “I should like to do you as an old +prelate, an old cardinal, or the prior of an order.” + +“A prelate, a cardinal?” murmured Mr. Wentworth. “Do you refer to the +Roman Catholic priesthood?” + +“I mean an old ecclesiastic who should have led a very pure, abstinent +life. Now I take it that has been the case with you, sir; one sees it +in your face,” Felix proceeded. “You have been very—a very moderate. +Don’t you think one always sees that in a man’s face?” + +“You see more in a man’s face than I should think of looking for,” said +Mr. Wentworth coldly. + +The Baroness rattled her fan, and gave her brilliant laugh. “It is a +risk to look so close!” she exclaimed. “My uncle has some peccadilloes +on his conscience.” Mr. Wentworth looked at her, painfully at a loss; +and in so far as the signs of a pure and abstinent life were visible in +his face they were then probably peculiarly manifest. “You are a _beau +vieillard_, dear uncle,” said Madame Münster, smiling with her foreign +eyes. + +“I think you are paying me a compliment,” said the old man. + +“Surely, I am not the first woman that ever did so!” cried the +Baroness. + +“I think you are,” said Mr. Wentworth gravely. And turning to Felix he +added, in the same tone, “Please don’t take my likeness. My children +have my daguerreotype. That is quite satisfactory.” + +“I won’t promise,” said Felix, “not to work your head into something!” + +Mr. Wentworth looked at him and then at all the others; then he got up +and slowly walked away. + +“Felix,” said Gertrude, in the silence that followed, “I wish you would +paint my portrait.” + +Charlotte wondered whether Gertrude was right in wishing this; and she +looked at Mr. Brand as the most legitimate way of ascertaining. +Whatever Gertrude did or said, Charlotte always looked at Mr. Brand. It +was a standing pretext for looking at Mr. Brand—always, as Charlotte +thought, in the interest of Gertrude’s welfare. It is true that she +felt a tremulous interest in Gertrude being right; for Charlotte, in +her small, still way, was an heroic sister. + +“We should be glad to have your portrait, Miss Gertrude,” said Mr. +Brand. + +“I should be delighted to paint so charming a model,” Felix declared. + +“Do you think you are so lovely, my dear?” asked Lizzie Acton, with her +little inoffensive pertness, biting off a knot in her knitting. + +“It is not because I think I am beautiful,” said Gertrude, looking all +round. “I don’t think I am beautiful, at all.” She spoke with a sort of +conscious deliberateness; and it seemed very strange to Charlotte to +hear her discussing this question so publicly. “It is because I think +it would be amusing to sit and be painted. I have always thought that.” + +“I am sorry you have not had better things to think about, my +daughter,” said Mr. Wentworth. + +“You are very beautiful, cousin Gertrude,” Felix declared. + +“That’s a compliment,” said Gertrude. “I put all the compliments I +receive into a little money-jug that has a slit in the side. I shake +them up and down, and they rattle. There are not many yet—only two or +three.” + +“No, it’s not a compliment,” Felix rejoined. “See; I am careful not to +give it the form of a compliment. I didn’t think you were beautiful at +first. But you have come to seem so little by little.” + +“Take care, now, your jug doesn’t burst!” exclaimed Lizzie. + +“I think sitting for one’s portrait is only one of the various forms of +idleness,” said Mr. Wentworth. “Their name is legion.” + +“My dear sir,” cried Felix, “you can’t be said to be idle when you are +making a man work so!” + +“One might be painted while one is asleep,” suggested Mr. Brand, as a +contribution to the discussion. + +“Ah, do paint me while I am asleep,” said Gertrude to Felix, smiling. +And she closed her eyes a little. It had by this time become a matter +of almost exciting anxiety to Charlotte what Gertrude would say or +would do next. + +She began to sit for her portrait on the following day—in the open air, +on the north side of the piazza. “I wish you would tell me what you +think of us—how we seem to you,” she said to Felix, as he sat before +his easel. + +“You seem to me the best people in the world,” said Felix. + +“You say that,” Gertrude resumed, “because it saves you the trouble of +saying anything else.” + +The young man glanced at her over the top of his canvas. “What else +should I say? It would certainly be a great deal of trouble to say +anything different.” + +“Well,” said Gertrude, “you have seen people before that you have +liked, have you not?” + +“Indeed I have, thank Heaven!” + +“And they have been very different from us,” Gertrude went on. + +“That only proves,” said Felix, “that there are a thousand different +ways of being good company.” + +“Do you think us good company?” asked Gertrude. + +“Company for a king!” + +Gertrude was silent a moment; and then, “There must be a thousand +different ways of being dreary,” she said; “and sometimes I think we +make use of them all.” + +Felix stood up quickly, holding up his hand. “If you could only keep +that look on your face for half an hour—while I catch it!” he said. “It +is uncommonly handsome.” + +“To look handsome for half an hour—that is a great deal to ask of me,” +she answered. + +“It would be the portrait of a young woman who has taken some vow, some +pledge, that she repents of,” said Felix, “and who is thinking it over +at leisure.” + +“I have taken no vow, no pledge,” said Gertrude, very gravely; “I have +nothing to repent of.” + +“My dear cousin, that was only a figure of speech. I am very sure that +no one in your excellent family has anything to repent of.” + +“And yet we are always repenting!” Gertrude exclaimed. “That is what I +mean by our being dreary. You know it perfectly well; you only pretend +that you don’t.” + +Felix gave a quick laugh. “The half hour is going on, and yet you are +handsomer than ever. One must be careful what one says, you see.” + +“To me,” said Gertrude, “you can say anything.” + +Felix looked at her, as an artist might, and painted for some time in +silence. + +“Yes, you seem to me different from your father and sister—from most of +the people you have lived with,” he observed. + +“To say that one’s self,” Gertrude went on, “is like saying—by +implication, at least—that one is better. I am not better; I am much +worse. But they say themselves that I am different. It makes them +unhappy.” + +“Since you accuse me of concealing my real impressions, I may admit +that I think the tendency—among you generally—is to be made unhappy too +easily.” + +“I wish you would tell that to my father,” said Gertrude. + +“It might make him more unhappy!” Felix exclaimed, laughing. + +“It certainly would. I don’t believe you have seen people like that.” + +“Ah, my dear cousin, how do you know what I have seen?” Felix demanded. +“How can I tell you?” + +“You might tell me a great many things, if you only would. You have +seen people like yourself—people who are bright and gay and fond of +amusement. We are not fond of amusement.” + +“Yes,” said Felix, “I confess that rather strikes me. You don’t seem to +me to get all the pleasure out of life that you might. You don’t seem +to me to enjoy..... Do you mind my saying this?” he asked, pausing. + +“Please go on,” said the girl, earnestly. + +“You seem to me very well placed for enjoying. You have money and +liberty and what is called in Europe a ‘position.’ But you take a +painful view of life, as one may say.” + +“One ought to think it bright and charming and delightful, eh?” asked +Gertrude. + +“I should say so—if one can. It is true it all depends upon that,” +Felix added. + +“You know there is a great deal of misery in the world,” said his +model. + +“I have seen a little of it,” the young man rejoined. “But it was all +over there—beyond the sea. I don’t see any here. This is a paradise.” + +Gertrude said nothing; she sat looking at the dahlias and the +currant-bushes in the garden, while Felix went on with his work. “To +‘enjoy,’” she began at last, “to take life—not painfully, must one do +something wrong?” + +Felix gave his long, light laugh again. “Seriously, I think not. And +for this reason, among others: you strike me as very capable of +enjoying, if the chance were given you, and yet at the same time as +incapable of wrong-doing.” + +“I am sure,” said Gertrude, “that you are very wrong in telling a +person that she is incapable of that. We are never nearer to evil than +when we believe that.” + +“You are handsomer than ever,” observed Felix, irrelevantly. + +Gertrude had got used to hearing him say this. There was not so much +excitement in it as at first. “What ought one to do?” she continued. +“To give parties, to go to the theatre, to read novels, to keep late +hours?” + +“I don’t think it’s what one does or one doesn’t do that promotes +enjoyment,” her companion answered. “It is the general way of looking +at life.” + +“They look at it as a discipline—that’s what they do here. I have often +been told that.” + +“Well, that’s very good. But there is another way,” added Felix, +smiling: “to look at it as an opportunity.” + +“An opportunity—yes,” said Gertrude. “One would get more pleasure that +way.” + +“I don’t attempt to say anything better for it than that it has been my +own way—and that is not saying much!” Felix had laid down his palette +and brushes; he was leaning back, with his arms folded, to judge the +effect of his work. “And you know,” he said, “I am a very petty +personage.” + +“You have a great deal of talent,” said Gertrude. + +“No—no,” the young man rejoined, in a tone of cheerful impartiality, “I +have not a great deal of talent. It is nothing at all remarkable. I +assure you I should know if it were. I shall always be obscure. The +world will never hear of me.” Gertrude looked at him with a strange +feeling. She was thinking of the great world which he knew and which +she did not, and how full of brilliant talents it must be, since it +could afford to make light of his abilities. “You needn’t in general +attach much importance to anything I tell you,” he pursued; “but you +may believe me when I say this,—that I am little better than a +good-natured feather-head.” + +“A feather-head?” she repeated. + +“I am a species of Bohemian.” + +“A Bohemian?” Gertrude had never heard this term before, save as a +geographical denomination; and she quite failed to understand the +figurative meaning which her companion appeared to attach to it. But it +gave her pleasure. + +Felix had pushed back his chair and risen to his feet; he slowly came +toward her, smiling. “I am a sort of adventurer,” he said, looking down +at her. + +She got up, meeting his smile. “An adventurer?” she repeated. “I should +like to hear your adventures.” + +For an instant she believed that he was going to take her hand; but he +dropped his own hands suddenly into the pockets of his painting-jacket. +“There is no reason why you shouldn’t,” he said. “I have been an +adventurer, but my adventures have been very innocent. They have all +been happy ones; I don’t think there are any I shouldn’t tell. They +were very pleasant and very pretty; I should like to go over them in +memory. Sit down again, and I will begin,” he added in a moment, with +his naturally persuasive smile. + +Gertrude sat down again on that day, and she sat down on several other +days. Felix, while he plied his brush, told her a great many stories, +and she listened with charmed avidity. Her eyes rested upon his lips; +she was very serious; sometimes, from her air of wondering gravity, he +thought she was displeased. But Felix never believed for more than a +single moment in any displeasure of his own producing. This would have +been fatuity if the optimism it expressed had not been much more a hope +than a prejudice. It is beside the matter to say that he had a good +conscience; for the best conscience is a sort of self-reproach, and +this young man’s brilliantly healthy nature spent itself in objective +good intentions which were ignorant of any test save exactness in +hitting their mark. He told Gertrude how he had walked over France and +Italy with a painter’s knapsack on his back, paying his way often by +knocking off a flattering portrait of his host or hostess. He told her +how he had played the violin in a little band of musicians—not of high +celebrity—who traveled through foreign lands giving provincial +concerts. He told her also how he had been a momentary ornament of a +troupe of strolling actors, engaged in the arduous task of interpreting +Shakespeare to French and German, Polish and Hungarian audiences. + +While this periodical recital was going on, Gertrude lived in a +fantastic world; she seemed to herself to be reading a romance that +came out in daily numbers. She had known nothing so delightful since +the perusal of _Nicholas Nickleby_. One afternoon she went to see her +cousin, Mrs. Acton, Robert’s mother, who was a great invalid, never +leaving the house. She came back alone, on foot, across the fields—this +being a short way which they often used. Felix had gone to Boston with +her father, who desired to take the young man to call upon some of his +friends, old gentlemen who remembered his mother—remembered her, but +said nothing about her—and several of whom, with the gentle ladies +their wives, had driven out from town to pay their respects at the +little house among the apple trees, in vehicles which reminded the +Baroness, who received her visitors with discriminating civility, of +the large, light, rattling barouche in which she herself had made her +journey to this neighborhood. The afternoon was waning; in the western +sky the great picture of a New England sunset, painted in crimson and +silver, was suspended from the zenith; and the stony pastures, as +Gertrude traversed them, thinking intently to herself, were covered +with a light, clear glow. At the open gate of one of the fields she saw +from the distance a man’s figure; he stood there as if he were waiting +for her, and as she came nearer she recognized Mr. Brand. She had a +feeling as of not having seen him for some time; she could not have +said for how long, for it yet seemed to her that he had been very +lately at the house. + +“May I walk back with you?” he asked. And when she had said that he +might if he wanted, he observed that he had seen her and recognized her +half a mile away. + +“You must have very good eyes,” said Gertrude. + +“Yes, I have very good eyes, Miss Gertrude,” said Mr. Brand. She +perceived that he meant something; but for a long time past Mr. Brand +had constantly meant something, and she had almost got used to it. She +felt, however, that what he meant had now a renewed power to disturb +her, to perplex and agitate her. He walked beside her in silence for a +moment, and then he added, “I have had no trouble in seeing that you +are beginning to avoid me. But perhaps,” he went on, “one needn’t have +had very good eyes to see that.” + +“I have not avoided you,” said Gertrude, without looking at him. + +“I think you have been unconscious that you were avoiding me,” Mr. +Brand replied. “You have not even known that I was there.” + +“Well, you are here now, Mr. Brand!” said Gertrude, with a little +laugh. “I know that very well.” + +He made no rejoinder. He simply walked beside her slowly, as they were +obliged to walk over the soft grass. Presently they came to another +gate, which was closed. Mr. Brand laid his hand upon it, but he made no +movement to open it; he stood and looked at his companion. “You are +very much interested—very much absorbed,” he said. + +Gertrude glanced at him; she saw that he was pale and that he looked +excited. She had never seen Mr. Brand excited before, and she felt that +the spectacle, if fully carried out, would be impressive, almost +painful. “Absorbed in what?” she asked. Then she looked away at the +illuminated sky. She felt guilty and uncomfortable, and yet she was +vexed with herself for feeling so. But Mr. Brand, as he stood there +looking at her with his small, kind, persistent eyes, represented an +immense body of half-obliterated obligations, that were rising again +into a certain distinctness. + +“You have new interests, new occupations,” he went on. “I don’t know +that I can say that you have new duties. We have always old ones, +Gertrude,” he added. + +“Please open the gate, Mr. Brand,” she said; and she felt as if, in +saying so, she were cowardly and petulant. But he opened the gate, and +allowed her to pass; then he closed it behind himself. Before she had +time to turn away he put out his hand and held her an instant by the +wrist. + +“I want to say something to you,” he said. + +“I know what you want to say,” she answered. And she was on the point +of adding, “And I know just how you will say it;” but these words she +kept back. + +“I love you, Gertrude,” he said. “I love you very much; I love you more +than ever.” + +He said the words just as she had known he would; she had heard them +before. They had no charm for her; she had said to herself before that +it was very strange. It was supposed to be delightful for a woman to +listen to such words; but these seemed to her flat and mechanical. “I +wish you would forget that,” she declared. + +“How can I—why should I?” he asked. + +“I have made you no promise—given you no pledge,” she said, looking at +him, with her voice trembling a little. + +“You have let me feel that I have an influence over you. You have +opened your mind to me.” + +“I never opened my mind to you, Mr. Brand!” Gertrude cried, with some +vehemence. + +“Then you were not so frank as I thought—as we all thought.” + +“I don’t see what anyone else had to do with it!” cried the girl. + +“I mean your father and your sister. You know it makes them happy to +think you will listen to me.” + +She gave a little laugh. “It doesn’t make them happy,” she said. +“Nothing makes them happy. No one is happy here.” + +“I think your cousin is very happy—Mr. Young,” rejoined Mr. Brand, in a +soft, almost timid tone. + +“So much the better for him!” And Gertrude gave her little laugh again. + +The young man looked at her a moment. “You are very much changed,” he +said. + +“I am glad to hear it,” Gertrude declared. + +“I am not. I have known you a long time, and I have loved you as you +were.” + +“I am much obliged to you,” said Gertrude. “I must be going home.” + +He on his side, gave a little laugh. + +“You certainly do avoid me—you see!” + +“Avoid me, then,” said the girl. + +He looked at her again; and then, very gently, “No I will not avoid +you,” he replied; “but I will leave you, for the present, to yourself. +I think you will remember—after a while—some of the things you have +forgotten. I think you will come back to me; I have great faith in +that.” + +This time his voice was very touching; there was a strong, reproachful +force in what he said, and Gertrude could answer nothing. He turned +away and stood there, leaning his elbows on the gate and looking at the +beautiful sunset. Gertrude left him and took her way home again; but +when she reached the middle of the next field she suddenly burst into +tears. Her tears seemed to her to have been a long time gathering, and +for some moments it was a kind of glee to shed them. But they presently +passed away. There was something a little hard about Gertrude; and she +never wept again. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Going of an afternoon to call upon his niece, Mr. Wentworth more than +once found Robert Acton sitting in her little drawing-room. This was in +no degree, to Mr. Wentworth, a perturbing fact, for he had no sense of +competing with his young kinsman for Eugenia’s good graces. Madame +Münster’s uncle had the highest opinion of Robert Acton, who, indeed, +in the family at large, was the object of a great deal of +undemonstrative appreciation. They were all proud of him, in so far as +the charge of being proud may be brought against people who were, +habitually, distinctly guiltless of the misdemeanor known as “taking +credit.” They never boasted of Robert Acton, nor indulged in +vainglorious reference to him; they never quoted the clever things he +had said, nor mentioned the generous things he had done. But a sort of +frigidly-tender faith in his unlimited goodness was a part of their +personal sense of right; and there can, perhaps, be no better proof of +the high esteem in which he was held than the fact that no explicit +judgment was ever passed upon his actions. He was no more praised than +he was blamed; but he was tacitly felt to be an ornament to his circle. +He was the man of the world of the family. He had been to China and +brought home a collection of curiosities; he had made a fortune—or +rather he had quintupled a fortune already considerable; he was +distinguished by that combination of celibacy, “property,” and good +humor which appeals to even the most subdued imaginations; and it was +taken for granted that he would presently place these advantages at the +disposal of some well-regulated young woman of his own “set.” Mr. +Wentworth was not a man to admit to himself that—his paternal duties +apart—he liked any individual much better than all other individuals; +but he thought Robert Acton extremely judicious; and this was perhaps +as near an approach as he was capable of to the eagerness of +preference, which his temperament repudiated as it would have +disengaged itself from something slightly unchaste. Acton was, in fact, +very judicious—and something more beside; and indeed it must be claimed +for Mr. Wentworth that in the more illicit parts of his preference +there hovered the vague adumbration of a belief that his cousin’s final +merit was a certain enviable capacity for whistling, rather gallantly, +at the sanctions of mere judgment—for showing a larger courage, a finer +quality of pluck, than common occasion demanded. Mr. Wentworth would +never have risked the intimation that Acton was made, in the smallest +degree, of the stuff of a hero; but this is small blame to him, for +Robert would certainly never have risked it himself. Acton certainly +exercised great discretion in all things—beginning with his estimate of +himself. He knew that he was by no means so much of a man of the world +as he was supposed to be in local circles; but it must be added that he +knew also that his natural shrewdness had a reach of which he had never +quite given local circles the measure. He was addicted to taking the +humorous view of things, and he had discovered that even in the +narrowest circles such a disposition may find frequent opportunities. +Such opportunities had formed for some time—that is, since his return +from China, a year and a half before—the most active element in this +gentleman’s life, which had just now a rather indolent air. He was +perfectly willing to get married. He was very fond of books, and he had +a handsome library; that is, his books were much more numerous than Mr. +Wentworth’s. He was also very fond of pictures; but it must be +confessed, in the fierce light of contemporary criticism, that his +walls were adorned with several rather abortive masterpieces. He had +got his learning—and there was more of it than commonly appeared—at +Harvard College; and he took a pleasure in old associations, which made +it a part of his daily contentment to live so near this institution +that he often passed it in driving to Boston. He was extremely +interested in the Baroness Münster. + +She was very frank with him; or at least she intended to be. “I am sure +you find it very strange that I should have settled down in this +out-of-the-way part of the world!” she said to him three or four weeks +after she had installed herself. “I am certain you are wondering about +my motives. They are very pure.” The Baroness by this time was an old +inhabitant; the best society in Boston had called upon her, and +Clifford Wentworth had taken her several times to drive in his buggy. + +Robert Acton was seated near her, playing with a fan; there were always +several fans lying about her drawing-room, with long ribbons of +different colors attached to them, and Acton was always playing with +one. “No, I don’t find it at all strange,” he said slowly, smiling. +“That a clever woman should turn up in Boston, or its suburbs—that does +not require so much explanation. Boston is a very nice place.” + +“If you wish to make me contradict you,” said the Baroness, “_vous vous +y prenez mal_. In certain moods there is nothing I am not capable of +agreeing to. Boston is a paradise, and we are in the suburbs of +Paradise.” + +“Just now I am not at all in the suburbs; I am in the place itself,” +rejoined Acton, who was lounging a little in his chair. He was, +however, not always lounging; and when he was he was not quite so +relaxed as he pretended. To a certain extent, he sought refuge from +shyness in this appearance of relaxation; and like many persons in the +same circumstances he somewhat exaggerated the appearance. Beyond this, +the air of being much at his ease was a cover for vigilant observation. +He was more than interested in this clever woman, who, whatever he +might say, was clever not at all after the Boston fashion; she plunged +him into a kind of excitement, held him in vague suspense. He was +obliged to admit to himself that he had never yet seen a woman just +like this—not even in China. He was ashamed, for inscrutable reasons, +of the vivacity of his emotion, and he carried it off, superficially, +by taking, still superficially, the humorous view of Madame Münster. It +was not at all true that he thought it very natural of her to have made +this pious pilgrimage. It might have been said of him in advance that +he was too good a Bostonian to regard in the light of an eccentricity +the desire of even the remotest alien to visit the New England +metropolis. This was an impulse for which, surely, no apology was +needed; and Madame Münster was the fortunate possessor of several New +England cousins. In fact, however, Madame Münster struck him as out of +keeping with her little circle; she was at the best a very agreeable, a +gracefully mystifying anomaly. He knew very well that it would not do +to address these reflections too crudely to Mr. Wentworth; he would +never have remarked to the old gentleman that he wondered what the +Baroness was up to. And indeed he had no great desire to share his +vague mistrust with anyone. There was a personal pleasure in it; the +greatest pleasure he had known at least since he had come from China. +He would keep the Baroness, for better or worse, to himself; he had a +feeling that he deserved to enjoy a monopoly of her, for he was +certainly the person who had most adequately gauged her capacity for +social intercourse. Before long it became apparent to him that the +Baroness was disposed to lay no tax upon such a monopoly. + +One day (he was sitting there again and playing with a fan) she asked +him to apologize, should the occasion present itself, to certain people +in Boston for her not having returned their calls. “There are half a +dozen places,” she said; “a formidable list. Charlotte Wentworth has +written it out for me, in a terrifically distinct hand. There is no +ambiguity on the subject; I know perfectly where I must go. Mr. +Wentworth informs me that the carriage is always at my disposal, and +Charlotte offers to go with me, in a pair of tight gloves and a very +stiff petticoat. And yet for three days I have been putting it off. +They must think me horribly vicious.” + +“You ask me to apologize,” said Acton, “but you don’t tell me what +excuse I can offer.” + +“That is more,” the Baroness declared, “than I am held to. It would be +like my asking you to buy me a bouquet and giving you the money. I have +no reason except that—somehow—it’s too violent an effort. It is not +inspiring. Wouldn’t that serve as an excuse, in Boston? I am told they +are very sincere; they don’t tell fibs. And then Felix ought to go with +me, and he is never in readiness. I don’t see him. He is always roaming +about the fields and sketching old barns, or taking ten-mile walks, or +painting someone’s portrait, or rowing on the pond, or flirting with +Gertrude Wentworth.” + +“I should think it would amuse you to go and see a few people,” said +Acton. “You are having a very quiet time of it here. It’s a dull life +for you.” + +“Ah, the quiet,—the quiet!” the Baroness exclaimed. “That’s what I +like. It’s rest. That’s what I came here for. Amusement? I have had +amusement. And as for seeing people—I have already seen a great many in +my life. If it didn’t sound ungracious I should say that I wish very +humbly your people here would leave me alone!” + +Acton looked at her a moment, and she looked at him. She was a woman +who took being looked at remarkably well. “So you have come here for +rest?” he asked. + +“So I may say. I came for many of those reasons that are no +reasons—don’t you know?—and yet that are really the best: to come away, +to change, to break with everything. When once one comes away one must +arrive somewhere, and I asked myself why I shouldn’t arrive here.” + +“You certainly had time on the way!” said Acton, laughing. + +Madame Münster looked at him again; and then, smiling: “And I have +certainly had time, since I got here, to ask myself why I came. +However, I never ask myself idle questions. Here I am, and it seems to +me you ought only to thank me.” + +“When you go away you will see the difficulties I shall put in your +path.” + +“You mean to put difficulties in my path?” she asked, rearranging the +rosebud in her corsage. + +“The greatest of all—that of having been so agreeable——” + +“That I shall be unable to depart? Don’t be too sure. I have left some +very agreeable people over there.” + +“Ah,” said Acton, “but it was to come here, where I am!” + +“I didn’t know of your existence. Excuse me for saying anything so +rude; but, honestly speaking, I did not. No,” the Baroness pursued, “it +was precisely not to see you—such people as you—that I came.” + +“Such people as me?” cried Acton. + +“I had a sort of longing to come into those natural relations which I +knew I should find here. Over there I had only, as I may say, +artificial relations. Don’t you see the difference?” + +“The difference tells against me,” said Acton. “I suppose I am an +artificial relation.” + +“Conventional,” declared the Baroness; “very conventional.” + +“Well, there is one way in which the relation of a lady and a gentleman +may always become natural,” said Acton. + +“You mean by their becoming lovers? That may be natural or not. And at +any rate,” rejoined Eugenia, _“nous n’en sommes pas là!”_ + +They were not, as yet; but a little later, when she began to go with +him to drive, it might almost have seemed that they were. He came for +her several times, alone, in his high “wagon,” drawn by a pair of +charming light-limbed horses. It was different, her having gone with +Clifford Wentworth, who was her cousin, and so much younger. It was not +to be imagined that she should have a flirtation with Clifford, who was +a mere shame-faced boy, and whom a large section of Boston society +supposed to be “engaged” to Lizzie Acton. Not, indeed, that it was to +be conceived that the Baroness was a possible party to any flirtation +whatever; for she was undoubtedly a married lady. It was generally +known that her matrimonial condition was of the “morganatic” order; but +in its natural aversion to suppose that this meant anything less than +absolute wedlock, the conscience of the community took refuge in the +belief that it implied something even more. + +Acton wished her to think highly of American scenery, and he drove her +to great distances, picking out the prettiest roads and the largest +points of view. If we are good when we are contented, Eugenia’s virtues +should now certainly have been uppermost; for she found a charm in the +rapid movement through a wild country, and in a companion who from time +to time made the vehicle dip, with a motion like a swallow’s flight, +over roads of primitive construction, and who, as she felt, would do a +great many things that she might ask him. Sometimes, for a couple of +hours together, there were almost no houses; there were nothing but +woods and rivers and lakes and horizons adorned with bright-looking +mountains. It seemed to the Baroness very wild, as I have said, and +lovely; but the impression added something to that sense of the +enlargement of opportunity which had been born of her arrival in the +New World. + +One day—it was late in the afternoon—Acton pulled up his horses on the +crest of a hill which commanded a beautiful prospect. He let them stand +a long time to rest, while he sat there and talked with Madame Münster. +The prospect was beautiful in spite of there being nothing human within +sight. There was a wilderness of woods, and the gleam of a distant +river, and a glimpse of half the hill-tops in Massachusetts. The road +had a wide, grassy margin, on the further side of which there flowed a +deep, clear brook; there were wild flowers in the grass, and beside the +brook lay the trunk of a fallen tree. Acton waited a while; at last a +rustic wayfarer came trudging along the road. Acton asked him to hold +the horses—a service he consented to render, as a friendly turn to a +fellow-citizen. Then he invited the Baroness to descend, and the two +wandered away, across the grass, and sat down on the log beside the +brook. + +“I imagine it doesn’t remind you of Silberstadt,” said Acton. It was +the first time that he had mentioned Silberstadt to her, for particular +reasons. He knew she had a husband there, and this was disagreeable to +him; and, furthermore, it had been repeated to him that this husband +wished to put her away—a state of affairs to which even indirect +reference was to be deprecated. It was true, nevertheless, that the +Baroness herself had often alluded to Silberstadt; and Acton had often +wondered why her husband wished to get rid of her. It was a curious +position for a lady—this being known as a repudiated wife; and it is +worthy of observation that the Baroness carried it off with exceeding +grace and dignity. She had made it felt, from the first, that there +were two sides to the question, and that her own side, when she should +choose to present it, would be replete with touching interest. + +“It does not remind me of the town, of course,” she said, “of the +sculptured gables and the Gothic churches, of the wonderful Schloss, +with its moat and its clustering towers. But it has a little look of +some other parts of the principality. One might fancy one’s self among +those grand old German forests, those legendary mountains; the sort of +country one sees from the windows at Schreckenstein.” + +“What is Schreckenstein?” asked Acton. + +“It is a great castle,—the summer residence of the Reigning Prince.” + +“Have you ever lived there?” + +“I have stayed there,” said the Baroness. Acton was silent; he looked a +while at the uncastled landscape before him. “It is the first time you +have ever asked me about Silberstadt,” she said. “I should think you +would want to know about my marriage; it must seem to you very +strange.” + +Acton looked at her a moment. “Now you wouldn’t like me to say that!” + +“You Americans have such odd ways!” the Baroness declared. “You never +ask anything outright; there seem to be so many things you can’t talk +about.” + +“We Americans are very polite,” said Acton, whose national +consciousness had been complicated by a residence in foreign lands, and +who yet disliked to hear Americans abused. “We don’t like to tread upon +people’s toes,” he said. “But I should like very much to hear about +your marriage. Now tell me how it came about.” + +“The Prince fell in love with me,” replied the Baroness simply. “He +pressed his suit very hard. At first he didn’t wish me to marry him; on +the contrary. But on that basis I refused to listen to him. So he +offered me marriage—in so far as he might. I was young, and I confess I +was rather flattered. But if it were to be done again now, I certainly +should not accept him.” + +“How long ago was this?” asked Acton. + +“Oh—several years,” said Eugenia. “You should never ask a woman for +dates.” + +“Why, I should think that when a woman was relating history “ Acton +answered. “And now he wants to break it off?” + +“They want him to make a political marriage. It is his brother’s idea. +His brother is very clever.” + +“They must be a precious pair!” cried Robert Acton. + +The Baroness gave a little philosophic shrug. “_Que voulez-vous?_ They +are princes. They think they are treating me very well. Silberstadt is +a perfectly despotic little state, and the Reigning Prince may annul +the marriage by a stroke of his pen. But he has promised me, +nevertheless, not to do so without my formal consent.” + +“And this you have refused?” + +“Hitherto. It is an indignity, and I have wished at least to make it +difficult for them. But I have a little document in my writing-desk +which I have only to sign and send back to the Prince.” + +“Then it will be all over?” + +The Baroness lifted her hand, and dropped it again. “Of course I shall +keep my title; at least, I shall be at liberty to keep it if I choose. +And I suppose I shall keep it. One must have a name. And I shall keep +my pension. It is very small—it is wretchedly small; but it is what I +live on.” + +“And you have only to sign that paper?” Acton asked. + +The Baroness looked at him a moment. “Do you urge it?” + +He got up slowly, and stood with his hands in his pockets. “What do you +gain by not doing it?” + +“I am supposed to gain this advantage—that if I delay, or temporize, +the Prince may come back to me, may make a stand against his brother. +He is very fond of me, and his brother has pushed him only little by +little.” + +“If he were to come back to you,” said Acton, “would you—would you take +him back?” + +The Baroness met his eyes; she colored just a little. Then she rose. “I +should have the satisfaction of saying, ‘Now it is my turn. I break +with your Serene Highness!’” + +They began to walk toward the carriage. “Well,” said Robert Acton, +“it’s a curious story! How did you make his acquaintance?” + +“I was staying with an old lady—an old Countess—in Dresden. She had +been a friend of my father’s. My father was dead; I was very much +alone. My brother was wandering about the world in a theatrical +troupe.” + +“Your brother ought to have stayed with you,” Acton observed, “and kept +you from putting your trust in princes.” + +The Baroness was silent a moment, and then, “He did what he could,” she +said. “He sent me money. The old Countess encouraged the Prince; she +was even pressing. It seems to me,” Madame Münster added, gently, +“that—under the circumstances—I behaved very well.” + +Acton glanced at her, and made the observation—he had made it +before—that a woman looks the prettier for having unfolded her wrongs +or her sufferings. “Well,” he reflected, audibly, “I should like to see +you send his Serene Highness—somewhere!” + +Madame Münster stooped and plucked a daisy from the grass. “And not +sign my renunciation?” + +“Well, I don’t know—I don’t know,” said Acton. + +“In one case I should have my revenge; in another case I should have my +liberty.” + +Acton gave a little laugh as he helped her into the carriage. “At any +rate,” he said, “take good care of that paper.” + +A couple of days afterward he asked her to come and see his house. The +visit had already been proposed, but it had been put off in consequence +of his mother’s illness. She was a constant invalid, and she had passed +these recent years, very patiently, in a great flowered arm-chair at +her bedroom window. Lately, for some days, she had been unable to see +anyone; but now she was better, and she sent the Baroness a very civil +message. Acton had wished their visitor to come to dinner; but Madame +Münster preferred to begin with a simple call. She had reflected that +if she should go to dinner Mr. Wentworth and his daughters would also +be asked, and it had seemed to her that the peculiar character of the +occasion would be best preserved in a _tête-à-tête_ with her host. Why +the occasion should have a peculiar character she explained to no one. +As far as anyone could see, it was simply very pleasant. Acton came for +her and drove her to his door, an operation which was rapidly +performed. His house the Baroness mentally pronounced a very good one; +more articulately, she declared that it was enchanting. It was large +and square and painted brown; it stood in a well-kept shrubbery, and +was approached, from the gate, by a short drive. It was, moreover, a +much more modern dwelling than Mr. Wentworth’s, and was more +redundantly upholstered and expensively ornamented. The Baroness +perceived that her entertainer had analyzed material comfort to a +sufficiently fine point. And then he possessed the most delightful +_chinoiseries_—trophies of his sojourn in the Celestial Empire: pagodas +of ebony and cabinets of ivory; sculptured monsters, grinning and +leering on chimney-pieces, in front of beautifully figured +hand-screens; porcelain dinner-sets, gleaming behind the glass doors of +mahogany buffets; large screens, in corners, covered with tense silk +and embroidered with mandarins and dragons. These things were scattered +all over the house, and they gave Eugenia a pretext for a complete +domiciliary visit. She liked it, she enjoyed it; she thought it a very +nice place. It had a mixture of the homely and the liberal, and though +it was almost a museum, the large, little-used rooms were as fresh and +clean as a well-kept dairy. Lizzie Acton told her that she dusted all +the pagodas and other curiosities every day with her own hands; and the +Baroness answered that she was evidently a household fairy. Lizzie had +not at all the look of a young lady who dusted things; she wore such +pretty dresses and had such delicate fingers that it was difficult to +imagine her immersed in sordid cares. She came to meet Madame Münster +on her arrival, but she said nothing, or almost nothing, and the +Baroness again reflected—she had had occasion to do so before—that +American girls had no manners. She disliked this little American girl, +and she was quite prepared to learn that she had failed to commend +herself to Miss Acton. Lizzie struck her as positive and explicit +almost to pertness; and the idea of her combining the apparent +incongruities of a taste for housework and the wearing of fresh, +Parisian-looking dresses suggested the possession of a dangerous +energy. It was a source of irritation to the Baroness that in this +country it should seem to matter whether a little girl were a trifle +less or a trifle more of a nonentity; for Eugenia had hitherto been +conscious of no moral pressure as regards the appreciation of +diminutive virgins. It was perhaps an indication of Lizzie’s pertness +that she very soon retired and left the Baroness on her brother’s +hands. Acton talked a great deal about his _chinoiseries_; he knew a +good deal about porcelain and bric-à-brac. The Baroness, in her +progress through the house, made, as it were, a great many stations. +She sat down everywhere, confessed to being a little tired, and asked +about the various objects with a curious mixture of alertness and +inattention. If there had been anyone to say it to she would have +declared that she was positively in love with her host; but she could +hardly make this declaration—even in the strictest confidence—to Acton +himself. It gave her, nevertheless, a pleasure that had some of the +charm of unwontedness to feel, with that admirable keenness with which +she was capable of feeling things, that he had a disposition without +any edges; that even his humorous irony always expanded toward the +point. One’s impression of his honesty was almost like carrying a bunch +of flowers; the perfume was most agreeable, but they were occasionally +an inconvenience. One could trust him, at any rate, round all the +corners of the world; and, withal, he was not absolutely simple, which +would have been excess; he was only relatively simple, which was quite +enough for the Baroness. + +Lizzie reappeared to say that her mother would now be happy to receive +Madame Münster; and the Baroness followed her to Mrs. Acton’s +apartment. Eugenia reflected, as she went, that it was not the +affectation of impertinence that made her dislike this young lady, for +on that ground she could easily have beaten her. It was not an +aspiration on the girl’s part to rivalry, but a kind of laughing, +childishly-mocking indifference to the results of comparison. Mrs. +Acton was an emaciated, sweet-faced woman of five and fifty, sitting +with pillows behind her, and looking out on a clump of hemlocks. She +was very modest, very timid, and very ill; she made Eugenia feel +grateful that she herself was not like that—neither so ill, nor, +possibly, so modest. On a chair, beside her, lay a volume of Emerson’s +Essays. It was a great occasion for poor Mrs. Acton, in her helpless +condition, to be confronted with a clever foreign lady, who had more +manner than any lady—any dozen ladies—that she had ever seen. + +“I have heard a great deal about you,” she said, softly, to the +Baroness. + +“From your son, eh?” Eugenia asked. “He has talked to me immensely of +you. Oh, he talks of you as you would like,” the Baroness declared; “as +such a son _must_ talk of such a mother!” + +Mrs. Acton sat gazing; this was part of Madame Münster’s “manner.” But +Robert Acton was gazing too, in vivid consciousness that he had barely +mentioned his mother to their brilliant guest. He never talked of this +still maternal presence,—a presence refined to such delicacy that it +had almost resolved itself, with him, simply into the subjective +emotion of gratitude. And Acton rarely talked of his emotions. The +Baroness turned her smile toward him, and she instantly felt that she +had been observed to be fibbing. She had struck a false note. But who +were these people to whom such fibbing was not pleasing? If they were +annoyed, the Baroness was equally so; and after the exchange of a few +civil inquiries and low-voiced responses she took leave of Mrs. Acton. +She begged Robert not to come home with her; she would get into the +carriage alone; she preferred that. This was imperious, and she thought +he looked disappointed. While she stood before the door with him—the +carriage was turning in the gravel-walk—this thought restored her +serenity. + +When she had given him her hand in farewell she looked at him a moment. +“I have almost decided to dispatch that paper,” she said. + +He knew that she alluded to the document that she had called her +renunciation; and he assisted her into the carriage without saying +anything. But just before the vehicle began to move he said, “Well, +when you have in fact dispatched it, I hope you will let me know!” + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Felix Young finished Gertrude’s portrait, and he afterwards transferred +to canvas the features of many members of that circle of which it may +be said that he had become for the time the pivot and the centre. I am +afraid it must be confessed that he was a decidedly flattering painter, +and that he imparted to his models a romantic grace which seemed easily +and cheaply acquired by the payment of a hundred dollars to a young man +who made “sitting” so entertaining. For Felix was paid for his +pictures, making, as he did, no secret of the fact that in guiding his +steps to the Western world affectionate curiosity had gone hand in hand +with a desire to better his condition. He took his uncle’s portrait +quite as if Mr. Wentworth had never averted himself from the +experiment; and as he compassed his end only by the exercise of gentle +violence, it is but fair to add that he allowed the old man to give him +nothing but his time. He passed his arm into Mr. Wentworth’s one summer +morning—very few arms indeed had ever passed into Mr. Wentworth’s—and +led him across the garden and along the road into the studio which he +had extemporized in the little house among the apple trees. The grave +gentleman felt himself more and more fascinated by his clever nephew, +whose fresh, demonstrative youth seemed a compendium of experiences so +strangely numerous. It appeared to him that Felix must know a great +deal; he would like to learn what he thought about some of those things +as regards which his own conversation had always been formal, but his +knowledge vague. Felix had a confident, gayly trenchant way of judging +human actions which Mr. Wentworth grew little by little to envy; it +seemed like criticism made easy. Forming an opinion—say on a person’s +conduct—was, with Mr. Wentworth, a good deal like fumbling in a lock +with a key chosen at hazard. He seemed to himself to go about the world +with a big bunch of these ineffectual instruments at his girdle. His +nephew, on the other hand, with a single turn of the wrist, opened any +door as adroitly as a horse-thief. He felt obliged to keep up the +convention that an uncle is always wiser than a nephew, even if he +could keep it up no otherwise than by listening in serious silence to +Felix’s quick, light, constant discourse. But there came a day when he +lapsed from consistency and almost asked his nephew’s advice. + +“Have you ever entertained the idea of settling in the United States?” +he asked one morning, while Felix brilliantly plied his brush. + +“My dear uncle,” said Felix, “excuse me if your question makes me smile +a little. To begin with, I have never entertained an idea. Ideas often +entertain _me_; but I am afraid I have never seriously made a plan. I +know what you are going to say; or rather, I know what you think, for I +don’t think you will say it—that this is very frivolous and +loose-minded on my part. So it is; but I am made like that; I take +things as they come, and somehow there is always some new thing to +follow the last. In the second place, I should never propose to +_settle_. I can’t settle, my dear uncle; I’m not a settler. I know that +is what strangers are supposed to do here; they always settle. But I +haven’t—to answer your question—entertained that idea.” + +“You intend to return to Europe and resume your irregular manner of +life?” Mr. Wentworth inquired. + +“I can’t say I intend. But it’s very likely I shall go back to Europe. +After all, I am a European. I feel that, you know. It will depend a +good deal upon my sister. She’s even more of a European than I; here, +you know, she’s a picture out of her setting. And as for ‘resuming,’ +dear uncle, I really have never given up my irregular manner of life. +What, for me, could be more irregular than this?” + +“Than what?” asked Mr. Wentworth, with his pale gravity. + +“Well, than everything! Living in the midst of you, this way; this +charming, quiet, serious family life; fraternizing with Charlotte and +Gertrude; calling upon twenty young ladies and going out to walk with +them; sitting with you in the evening on the piazza and listening to +the crickets, and going to bed at ten o’clock.” + +“Your description is very animated,” said Mr. Wentworth; “but I see +nothing improper in what you describe.” + +“Neither do I, dear uncle. It is extremely delightful; I shouldn’t like +it if it were improper. I assure you I don’t like improper things; +though I dare say you think I do,” Felix went on, painting away. + +“I have never accused you of that.” + +“Pray don’t,” said Felix, “because, you see, at bottom I am a terrible +Philistine.” + +“A Philistine?” repeated Mr. Wentworth. + +“I mean, as one may say, a plain, God-fearing man.” Mr. Wentworth +looked at him reservedly, like a mystified sage, and Felix continued, +“I trust I shall enjoy a venerable and venerated old age. I mean to +live long. I can hardly call that a plan, perhaps; but it’s a keen +desire—a rosy vision. I shall be a lively, perhaps even a frivolous old +man!” + +“It is natural,” said his uncle, sententiously, “that one should desire +to prolong an agreeable life. We have perhaps a selfish indisposition +to bring our pleasure to a close. But I presume,” he added, “that you +expect to marry.” + +“That too, dear uncle, is a hope, a desire, a vision,” said Felix. It +occurred to him for an instant that this was possibly a preface to the +offer of the hand of one of Mr. Wentworth’s admirable daughters. But in +the name of decent modesty and a proper sense of the hard realities of +this world, Felix banished the thought. His uncle was the incarnation +of benevolence, certainly; but from that to accepting—much more +postulating—the idea of a union between a young lady with a dowry +presumptively brilliant and a penniless artist with no prospect of +fame, there was a very long way. Felix had lately become conscious of a +luxurious preference for the society—if possible unshared with +others—of Gertrude Wentworth; but he had relegated this young lady, for +the moment, to the coldly brilliant category of unattainable +possessions. She was not the first woman for whom he had entertained an +unpractical admiration. He had been in love with duchesses and +countesses, and he had made, once or twice, a perilously near approach +to cynicism in declaring that the disinterestedness of women had been +overrated. On the whole, he had tempered audacity with modesty; and it +is but fair to him now to say explicitly that he would have been +incapable of taking advantage of his present large allowance of +familiarity to make love to the younger of his handsome cousins. Felix +had grown up among traditions in the light of which such a proceeding +looked like a grievous breach of hospitality. I have said that he was +always happy, and it may be counted among the present sources of his +happiness that he had as regards this matter of his relations with +Gertrude a deliciously good conscience. His own deportment seemed to +him suffused with the beauty of virtue—a form of beauty that he admired +with the same vivacity with which he admired all other forms. + +“I think that if you marry,” said Mr. Wentworth presently, “it will +conduce to your happiness.” + +_“Sicurissimo!”_ Felix exclaimed; and then, arresting his brush, he +looked at his uncle with a smile. “There is something I feel tempted to +say to you. May I risk it?” + +Mr. Wentworth drew himself up a little. “I am very safe; I don’t repeat +things.” But he hoped Felix would not risk too much. + +Felix was laughing at his answer. + +“It’s odd to hear you telling me how to be happy. I don’t think you +know yourself, dear uncle. Now, does that sound brutal?” + +The old man was silent a moment, and then, with a dry dignity that +suddenly touched his nephew: “We may sometimes point out a road we are +unable to follow.” + +“Ah, don’t tell me you have had any sorrows,” Felix rejoined. “I didn’t +suppose it, and I didn’t mean to allude to them. I simply meant that +you all don’t amuse yourselves.” + +“Amuse ourselves? We are not children.” + +“Precisely not! You have reached the proper age. I was saying that the +other day to Gertrude,” Felix added. “I hope it was not indiscreet.” + +“If it was,” said Mr. Wentworth, with a keener irony than Felix would +have thought him capable of, “it was but your way of amusing yourself. +I am afraid you have never had a trouble.” + +“Oh, yes, I have!” Felix declared, with some spirit; “before I knew +better. But you don’t catch me at it again.” + +Mr. Wentworth maintained for a while a silence more expressive than a +deep-drawn sigh. “You have no children,” he said at last. + +“Don’t tell me,” Felix exclaimed, “that your charming young people are +a source of grief to you!” + +“I don’t speak of Charlotte.” And then, after a pause, Mr. Wentworth +continued, “I don’t speak of Gertrude. But I feel considerable anxiety +about Clifford. I will tell you another time.” + +The next time he gave Felix a sitting his nephew reminded him that he +had taken him into his confidence. “How is Clifford today?” Felix +asked. “He has always seemed to me a young man of remarkable +discretion. Indeed, he is only too discreet; he seems on his guard +against me—as if he thought me rather light company. The other day he +told his sister—Gertrude repeated it to me—that I was always laughing +at him. If I laugh it is simply from the impulse to try and inspire him +with confidence. That is the only way I have.” + +“Clifford’s situation is no laughing matter,” said Mr. Wentworth. “It +is very peculiar, as I suppose you have guessed.” + +“Ah, you mean his love affair with his cousin?” + +Mr. Wentworth stared, blushing a little. “I mean his absence from +college. He has been suspended. We have decided not to speak of it +unless we are asked.” + +“Suspended?” Felix repeated. + +“He has been requested by the Harvard authorities to absent himself for +six months. Meanwhile he is studying with Mr. Brand. We think Mr. Brand +will help him; at least we hope so.” + +“What befell him at college?” Felix asked. “He was too fond of +pleasure? Mr. Brand certainly will not teach him any of those secrets!” + +“He was too fond of something of which he should not have been fond. I +suppose it is considered a pleasure.” + +Felix gave his light laugh. “My dear uncle, is there any doubt about +its being a pleasure? _C’est de son âge_, as they say in France.” + +“I should have said rather it was a vice of later life—of disappointed +old age.” + +Felix glanced at his uncle, with his lifted eyebrows, and then, “Of +what are you speaking?” he demanded, smiling. + +“Of the situation in which Clifford was found.” + +“Ah, he was found—he was caught?” + +“Necessarily, he was caught. He couldn’t walk; he staggered.” + +“Oh,” said Felix, “he drinks! I rather suspected that, from something I +observed the first day I came here. I quite agree with you that it is a +low taste. It’s not a vice for a gentleman. He ought to give it up.” + +“We hope for a good deal from Mr. Brand’s influence,” Mr. Wentworth +went on. “He has talked to him from the first. And he never touches +anything himself.” + +“I will talk to him—I will talk to him!” Felix declared, gayly. + +“What will you say to him?” asked his uncle, with some apprehension. + +Felix for some moments answered nothing. “Do you mean to marry him to +his cousin?” he asked at last. + +“Marry him?” echoed Mr. Wentworth. “I shouldn’t think his cousin would +want to marry him.” + +“You have no understanding, then, with Mrs. Acton?” + +Mr. Wentworth stared, almost blankly. “I have never discussed such +subjects with her.” + +“I should think it might be time,” said Felix. “Lizzie Acton is +admirably pretty, and if Clifford is dangerous....” + +“They are not engaged,” said Mr. Wentworth. “I have no reason to +suppose they are engaged.” + +_“Par exemple!”_ cried Felix. “A clandestine engagement? Trust me, +Clifford, as I say, is a charming boy. He is incapable of that. Lizzie +Acton, then, would not be jealous of another woman.” + +“I certainly hope not,” said the old man, with a vague sense of +jealousy being an even lower vice than a love of liquor. + +“The best thing for Clifford, then,” Felix propounded, “is to become +interested in some clever, charming woman.” And he paused in his +painting, and, with his elbows on his knees, looked with bright +communicativeness at his uncle. “You see, I believe greatly in the +influence of women. Living with women helps to make a man a gentleman. +It is very true Clifford has his sisters, who are so charming. But +there should be a different sentiment in play from the fraternal, you +know. He has Lizzie Acton; but she, perhaps, is rather immature.” + +“I suspect Lizzie has talked to him, reasoned with him,” said Mr. +Wentworth. + +“On the impropriety of getting tipsy—on the beauty of temperance? That +is dreary work for a pretty young girl. No,” Felix continued; “Clifford +ought to frequent some agreeable woman, who, without ever mentioning +such unsavory subjects, would give him a sense of its being very +ridiculous to be fuddled. If he could fall in love with her a little, +so much the better. The thing would operate as a cure.” + +“Well, now, what lady should you suggest?” asked Mr. Wentworth. + +“There is a clever woman under your hand. My sister.” + +“Your sister—under my hand?” Mr. Wentworth repeated. + +“Say a word to Clifford. Tell him to be bold. He is well disposed +already; he has invited her two or three times to drive. But I don’t +think he comes to see her. Give him a hint to come—to come often. He +will sit there of an afternoon, and they will talk. It will do him +good.” + +Mr. Wentworth meditated. “You think she will exercise a helpful +influence?” + +“She will exercise a civilizing—I may call it a sobering—influence. A +charming, clever, witty woman always does—especially if she is a little +of a coquette. My dear uncle, the society of such women has been half +my education. If Clifford is suspended, as you say, from college, let +Eugenia be his preceptress.” + +Mr. Wentworth continued thoughtful. “You think Eugenia is a coquette?” +he asked. + +“What pretty woman is not?” Felix demanded in turn. But this, for Mr. +Wentworth, could at the best have been no answer, for he did not think +his niece pretty. “With Clifford,” the young man pursued, “Eugenia will +simply be enough of a coquette to be a little ironical. That’s what he +needs. So you recommend him to be nice with her, you know. The +suggestion will come best from you.” + +“Do I understand,” asked the old man, “that I am to suggest to my son +to make a—a profession of—of affection to Madame Münster?” + +“Yes, yes—a profession!” cried Felix sympathetically. + +“But, as I understand it, Madame Münster is a married woman.” + +“Ah,” said Felix, smiling, “of course she can’t marry him. But she will +do what she can.” + +Mr. Wentworth sat for some time with his eyes on the floor; at last he +got up. “I don’t think,” he said, “that I can undertake to recommend my +son any such course.” And without meeting Felix’s surprised glance he +broke off his sitting, which was not resumed for a fortnight. + +Felix was very fond of the little lake which occupied so many of Mr. +Wentworth’s numerous acres, and of a remarkable pine grove which lay +upon the further side of it, planted upon a steep embankment and +haunted by the summer breeze. The murmur of the air in the far off +tree-tops had a strange distinctness; it was almost articulate. One +afternoon the young man came out of his painting-room and passed the +open door of Eugenia’s little salon. Within, in the cool dimness, he +saw his sister, dressed in white, buried in her arm-chair, and holding +to her face an immense bouquet. Opposite to her sat Clifford Wentworth, +twirling his hat. He had evidently just presented the bouquet to the +Baroness, whose fine eyes, as she glanced at him over the big roses and +geraniums, wore a conversational smile. Felix, standing on the +threshold of the cottage, hesitated for a moment as to whether he +should retrace his steps and enter the parlor. Then he went his way and +passed into Mr. Wentworth’s garden. That civilizing process to which he +had suggested that Clifford should be subjected appeared to have come +on of itself. Felix was very sure, at least, that Mr. Wentworth had not +adopted his ingenious device for stimulating the young man’s aesthetic +consciousness. “Doubtless he supposes,” he said to himself, after the +conversation that has been narrated, “that I desire, out of fraternal +benevolence, to procure for Eugenia the amusement of a flirtation—or, +as he probably calls it, an intrigue—with the too susceptible Clifford. +It must be admitted—and I have noticed it before—that nothing exceeds +the license occasionally taken by the imagination of very rigid +people.” Felix, on his own side, had of course said nothing to +Clifford; but he had observed to Eugenia that Mr. Wentworth was much +mortified at his son’s low tastes. “We ought to do something to help +them, after all their kindness to us,” he had added. “Encourage +Clifford to come and see you, and inspire him with a taste for +conversation. That will supplant the other, which only comes from his +puerility, from his not taking his position in the world—that of a rich +young man of ancient stock—seriously enough. Make him a little more +serious. Even if he makes love to you it is no great matter.” + +“I am to offer myself as a superior form of intoxication—a substitute +for a brandy bottle, eh?” asked the Baroness. “Truly, in this country +one comes to strange uses.” + +But she had not positively declined to undertake Clifford’s higher +education, and Felix, who had not thought of the matter again, being +haunted with visions of more personal profit, now reflected that the +work of redemption had fairly begun. The idea in prospect had seemed of +the happiest, but in operation it made him a trifle uneasy. “What if +Eugenia—what if Eugenia”—he asked himself softly; the question dying +away in his sense of Eugenia’s undetermined capacity. But before Felix +had time either to accept or to reject its admonition, even in this +vague form, he saw Robert Acton turn out of Mr. Wentworth’s enclosure, +by a distant gate, and come toward the cottage in the orchard. Acton +had evidently walked from his own house along a shady by-way and was +intending to pay a visit to Madame Münster. Felix watched him a moment; +then he turned away. Acton could be left to play the part of Providence +and interrupt—if interruption were needed—Clifford’s entanglement with +Eugenia. + +Felix passed through the garden toward the house and toward a postern +gate which opened upon a path leading across the fields, beside a +little wood, to the lake. He stopped and looked up at the house; his +eyes rested more particularly upon a certain open window, on the shady +side. Presently Gertrude appeared there, looking out into the summer +light. He took off his hat to her and bade her good-day; he remarked +that he was going to row across the pond, and begged that she would do +him the honor to accompany him. She looked at him a moment; then, +without saying anything, she turned away. But she soon reappeared below +in one of those quaint and charming Leghorn hats, tied with white satin +bows, that were worn at that period; she also carried a green parasol. +She went with him to the edge of the lake, where a couple of boats were +always moored; they got into one of them, and Felix, with gentle +strokes, propelled it to the opposite shore. The day was the perfection +of summer weather; the little lake was the color of sunshine; the plash +of the oars was the only sound, and they found themselves listening to +it. They disembarked, and, by a winding path, ascended the pine-crested +mound which overlooked the water, whose white expanse glittered between +the trees. The place was delightfully cool, and had the added charm +that—in the softly sounding pine boughs—you seemed to hear the coolness +as well as feel it. Felix and Gertrude sat down on the rust-colored +carpet of pine-needles and talked of many things. Felix spoke at last, +in the course of talk, of his going away; it was the first time he had +alluded to it. + +“You are going away?” said Gertrude, looking at him. + +“Some day—when the leaves begin to fall. You know I can’t stay +forever.” + +Gertrude transferred her eyes to the outer prospect, and then, after a +pause, she said, “I shall never see you again.” + +“Why not?” asked Felix. “We shall probably both survive my departure.” + +But Gertrude only repeated, “I shall never see you again. I shall never +hear of you,” she went on. “I shall know nothing about you. I knew +nothing about you before, and it will be the same again.” + +“I knew nothing about you then, unfortunately,” said Felix. “But now I +shall write to you.” + +“Don’t write to me. I shall not answer you,” Gertrude declared. + +“I should of course burn your letters,” said Felix. + +Gertrude looked at him again. “Burn my letters? You sometimes say +strange things.” + +“They are not strange in themselves,” the young man answered. “They are +only strange as said to you. You will come to Europe.” + +“With whom shall I come?” She asked this question simply; she was very +much in earnest. Felix was interested in her earnestness; for some +moments he hesitated. “You can’t tell me that,” she pursued. “You can’t +say that I shall go with my father and my sister; you don’t believe +that.” + +“I shall keep your letters,” said Felix, presently, for all answer. + +“I never write. I don’t know how to write.” Gertrude, for some time, +said nothing more; and her companion, as he looked at her, wished it +had not been “disloyal” to make love to the daughter of an old +gentleman who had offered one hospitality. The afternoon waned; the +shadows stretched themselves; and the light grew deeper in the western +sky. Two persons appeared on the opposite side of the lake, coming from +the house and crossing the meadow. “It is Charlotte and Mr. Brand,” +said Gertrude. “They are coming over here.” But Charlotte and Mr. Brand +only came down to the edge of the water, and stood there, looking +across; they made no motion to enter the boat that Felix had left at +the mooring-place. Felix waved his hat to them; it was too far to call. +They made no visible response, and they presently turned away and +walked along the shore. + +“Mr. Brand is not demonstrative,” said Felix. “He is never +demonstrative to me. He sits silent, with his chin in his hand, looking +at me. Sometimes he looks away. Your father tells me he is so eloquent; +and I should like to hear him talk. He looks like such a noble young +man. But with me he will never talk. And yet I am so fond of listening +to brilliant imagery!” + +“He is very eloquent,” said Gertrude; “but he has no brilliant imagery. +I have heard him talk a great deal. I knew that when they saw us they +would not come over here.” + +“Ah, he is making _la cour_, as they say, to your sister? They desire +to be alone?” + +“No,” said Gertrude, gravely, “they have no such reason as that for +being alone.” + +“But why doesn’t he make _la cour_ to Charlotte?” Felix inquired. “She +is so pretty, so gentle, so good.” + +Gertrude glanced at him, and then she looked at the distantly-seen +couple they were discussing. Mr. Brand and Charlotte were walking side +by side. They might have been a pair of lovers, and yet they might not. +“They think I should not be here,” said Gertrude. + +“With me? I thought you didn’t have those ideas.” + +“You don’t understand. There are a great many things you don’t +understand.” + +“I understand my stupidity. But why, then, do not Charlotte and Mr. +Brand, who, as an elder sister and a clergyman, are free to walk about +together, come over and make me wiser by breaking up the unlawful +interview into which I have lured you?” + +“That is the last thing they would do,” said Gertrude. + +Felix stared at her a moment, with his lifted eyebrows. _“Je n’y +comprends rien!”_ he exclaimed; then his eyes followed for a while the +retreating figures of this critical pair. “You may say what you +please,” he declared; “it is evident to me that your sister is not +indifferent to her clever companion. It is agreeable to her to be +walking there with him. I can see that from here.” And in the +excitement of observation Felix rose to his feet. + +Gertrude rose also, but she made no attempt to emulate her companion’s +discovery; she looked rather in another direction. Felix’s words had +struck her; but a certain delicacy checked her. “She is certainly not +indifferent to Mr. Brand; she has the highest opinion of him.” + +“One can see it—one can see it,” said Felix, in a tone of amused +contemplation, with his head on one side. Gertrude turned her back to +the opposite shore; it was disagreeable to her to look, but she hoped +Felix would say something more. “Ah, they have wandered away into the +wood,” he added. + +Gertrude turned round again. “She is _not_ in love with him,” she said; +it seemed her duty to say that. + +“Then he is in love with her; or if he is not, he ought to be. She is +such a perfect little woman of her kind. She reminds me of a pair of +old-fashioned silver sugar-tongs; you know I am very fond of sugar. And +she is very nice with Mr. Brand; I have noticed that; very gentle and +gracious.” + +Gertrude reflected a moment. Then she took a great resolution. “She +wants him to marry me,” she said. “So of course she is nice.” + +Felix’s eyebrows rose higher than ever. “To marry you! Ah, ah, this is +interesting. And you think one must be very nice with a man to induce +him to do that?” + +Gertrude had turned a little pale, but she went on, “Mr. Brand wants it +himself.” + +Felix folded his arms and stood looking at her. “I see—I see,” he said +quickly. “Why did you never tell me this before?” + +“It is disagreeable to me to speak of it even now. I wished simply to +explain to you about Charlotte.” + +“You don’t wish to marry Mr. Brand, then?” + +“No,” said Gertrude, gravely. + +“And does your father wish it?” + +“Very much.” + +“And you don’t like him—you have refused him?” + +“I don’t wish to marry him.” + +“Your father and sister think you ought to, eh?” + +“It is a long story,” said Gertrude. “They think there are good +reasons. I can’t explain it. They think I have obligations, and that I +have encouraged him.” + +Felix smiled at her, as if she had been telling him an amusing story +about someone else. “I can’t tell you how this interests me,” he said. +“Now you don’t recognize these reasons—these obligations?” + +“I am not sure; it is not easy.” And she picked up her parasol and +turned away, as if to descend the slope. + +“Tell me this,” Felix went on, going with her: “are you likely to give +in—to let them persuade you?” + +Gertrude looked at him with the serious face that she had constantly +worn, in opposition to his almost eager smile. “I shall never marry Mr. +Brand,” she said. + +“I see!” Felix rejoined. And they slowly descended the hill together, +saying nothing till they reached the margin of the pond. “It is your +own affair,” he then resumed; “but do you know, I am not altogether +glad? If it were settled that you were to marry Mr. Brand I should take +a certain comfort in the arrangement. I should feel more free. I have +no right to make love to you myself, eh?” And he paused, lightly +pressing his argument upon her. + +“None whatever,” replied Gertrude quickly—too quickly. + +“Your father would never hear of it; I haven’t a penny. Mr. Brand, of +course, has property of his own, eh?” + +“I believe he has some property; but that has nothing to do with it.” + +“With you, of course not; but with your father and sister it must have. +So, as I say, if this were settled, I should feel more at liberty.” + +“More at liberty?” Gertrude repeated. “Please unfasten the boat.” + +Felix untwisted the rope and stood holding it. “I should be able to say +things to you that I can’t give myself the pleasure of saying now,” he +went on. “I could tell you how much I admire you, without seeming to +pretend to that which I have no right to pretend to. I should make +violent love to you,” he added, laughing, “if I thought you were so +placed as not to be offended by it.” + +“You mean if I were engaged to another man? That is strange reasoning!” +Gertrude exclaimed. + +“In that case you would not take me seriously.” + +“I take everyone seriously,” said Gertrude. And without his help she +stepped lightly into the boat. + +Felix took up the oars and sent it forward. “Ah, this is what you have +been thinking about? It seemed to me you had something on your mind. I +wish very much,” he added, “that you would tell me some of these +so-called reasons—these obligations.” + +“They are not real reasons—good reasons,” said Gertrude, looking at the +pink and yellow gleams in the water. + +“I can understand that! Because a handsome girl has had a spark of +coquetry, that is no reason.” + +“If you mean me, it’s not that. I have not done that.” + +“It is something that troubles you, at any rate,” said Felix. + +“Not so much as it used to,” Gertrude rejoined. + +He looked at her, smiling always. “That is not saying much, eh?” But +she only rested her eyes, very gravely, on the lighted water. She +seemed to him to be trying to hide the signs of the trouble of which +she had just told him. Felix felt, at all times, much the same impulse +to dissipate visible melancholy that a good housewife feels to brush +away dust. There was something he wished to brush away now; suddenly he +stopped rowing and poised his oars. “Why should Mr. Brand have +addressed himself to you, and not to your sister?” he asked. “I am sure +she would listen to him.” + +Gertrude, in her family, was thought capable of a good deal of levity; +but her levity had never gone so far as this. It moved her greatly, +however, to hear Felix say that he was sure of something; so that, +raising her eyes toward him, she tried intently, for some moments, to +conjure up this wonderful image of a love-affair between her own sister +and her own suitor. We know that Gertrude had an imaginative mind; so +that it is not impossible that this effort should have been partially +successful. But she only murmured, “Ah, Felix! ah, Felix!” + +“Why shouldn’t they marry? Try and make them marry!” cried Felix. + +“Try and make them?” + +“Turn the tables on them. Then they will leave you alone. I will help +you as far as I can.” + +Gertrude’s heart began to beat; she was greatly excited; she had never +had anything so interesting proposed to her before. Felix had begun to +row again, and he now sent the boat home with long strokes. “I believe +she _does_ care for him!” said Gertrude, after they had disembarked. + +“Of course she does, and we will marry them off. It will make them +happy; it will make everyone happy. We shall have a wedding and I will +write an epithalamium.” + +“It seems as if it would make _me_ happy,” said Gertrude. + +“To get rid of Mr. Brand, eh? To recover your liberty?” + +Gertrude walked on. “To see my sister married to so good a man.” + +Felix gave his light laugh. “You always put things on those grounds; +you will never say anything for yourself. You are all so afraid, here, +of being selfish. I don’t think you know how,” he went on. “Let me show +you! It will make me happy for myself, and for just the reverse of what +I told you a while ago. After that, when I make love to you, you will +have to think I mean it.” + +“I shall never think you mean anything,” said Gertrude. “You are too +fantastic.” + +“Ah,” cried Felix, “that’s a license to say everything! Gertrude, I +adore you!” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Charlotte and Mr. Brand had not returned when they reached the house; +but the Baroness had come to tea, and Robert Acton also, who now +regularly asked for a place at this generous repast or made his +appearance later in the evening. Clifford Wentworth, with his juvenile +growl, remarked upon it. + +“You are always coming to tea nowadays, Robert,” he said. “I should +think you had drunk enough tea in China.” + +“Since when is Mr. Acton more frequent?” asked the Baroness. + +“Since you came,” said Clifford. “It seems as if you were a kind of +attraction.” + +“I suppose I am a curiosity,” said the Baroness. “Give me time and I +will make you a salon.” + +“It would fall to pieces after you go!” exclaimed Acton. + +“Don’t talk about her going, in that familiar way,” Clifford said. “It +makes me feel gloomy.” + +Mr. Wentworth glanced at his son, and taking note of these words, +wondered if Felix had been teaching him, according to the programme he +had sketched out, to make love to the wife of a German prince. + +Charlotte came in late with Mr. Brand; but Gertrude, to whom, at least, +Felix had taught something, looked in vain, in her face, for the traces +of a guilty passion. Mr. Brand sat down by Gertrude, and she presently +asked him why they had not crossed the pond to join Felix and herself. + +“It is cruel of you to ask me that,” he answered, very softly. He had a +large morsel of cake before him; but he fingered it without eating it. +“I sometimes think you are growing cruel,” he added. + +Gertrude said nothing; she was afraid to speak. There was a kind of +rage in her heart; she felt as if she could easily persuade herself +that she was persecuted. She said to herself that it was quite right +that she should not allow him to make her believe she was wrong. She +thought of what Felix had said to her; she wished indeed Mr. Brand +would marry Charlotte. She looked away from him and spoke no more. Mr. +Brand ended by eating his cake, while Felix sat opposite, describing to +Mr. Wentworth the students’ duels at Heidelberg. After tea they all +dispersed themselves, as usual, upon the piazza and in the garden; and +Mr. Brand drew near to Gertrude again. + +“I didn’t come to you this afternoon because you were not alone,” he +began; “because you were with a newer friend.” + +“Felix? He is an old friend by this time.” + +Mr. Brand looked at the ground for some moments. “I thought I was +prepared to hear you speak in that way,” he resumed. “But I find it +very painful.” + +“I don’t see what else I can say,” said Gertrude. + +Mr. Brand walked beside her for a while in silence; Gertrude wished he +would go away. “He is certainly very accomplished. But I think I ought +to advise you.” + +“To advise me?” + +“I think I know your nature.” + +“I think you don’t,” said Gertrude, with a soft laugh. + +“You make yourself out worse than you are—to please him,” Mr. Brand +said, gently. + +“Worse—to please him? What do you mean?” asked Gertrude, stopping. + +Mr. Brand stopped also, and with the same soft straight-forwardness, +“He doesn’t care for the things you care for—the great questions of +life.” + +Gertrude, with her eyes on his, shook her head. “I don’t care for the +great questions of life. They are much beyond me.” + +“There was a time when you didn’t say that,” said Mr. Brand. + +“Oh,” rejoined Gertrude, “I think you made me talk a great deal of +nonsense. And it depends,” she added, “upon what you call the great +questions of life. There are some things I care for.” + +“Are they the things you talk about with your cousin?” + +“You should not say things to me against my cousin, Mr. Brand,” said +Gertrude. “That is dishonorable.” + +He listened to this respectfully; then he answered, with a little +vibration of the voice, “I should be very sorry to do anything +dishonorable. But I don’t see why it is dishonorable to say that your +cousin is frivolous.” + +“Go and say it to himself!” + +“I think he would admit it,” said Mr. Brand. “That is the tone he would +take. He would not be ashamed of it.” + +“Then I am not ashamed of it!” Gertrude declared. “That is probably +what I like him for. I am frivolous myself.” + +“You are trying, as I said just now, to lower yourself.” + +“I am trying for once to be natural!” cried Gertrude passionately. “I +have been pretending, all my life; I have been dishonest; it is you +that have made me so!” Mr. Brand stood gazing at her, and she went on, +“Why shouldn’t I be frivolous, if I want? One has a right to be +frivolous, if it’s one’s nature. No, I don’t care for the great +questions. I care for pleasure—for amusement. Perhaps I am fond of +wicked things; it is very possible!” + +Mr. Brand remained staring; he was even a little pale, as if he had +been frightened. “I don’t think you know what you are saying!” he +exclaimed. + +“Perhaps not. Perhaps I am talking nonsense. But it is only with you +that I talk nonsense. I never do so with my cousin.” + +“I will speak to you again, when you are less excited,” said Mr. Brand. + +“I am always excited when you speak to me. I must tell you that—even if +it prevents you altogether, in future. Your speaking to me irritates +me. With my cousin it is very different. That seems quiet and natural.” + +He looked at her, and then he looked away, with a kind of helpless +distress, at the dusky garden and the faint summer stars. After which, +suddenly turning back, “Gertrude, Gertrude!” he softly groaned. “Am I +really losing you?” + +She was touched—she was pained; but it had already occurred to her that +she might do something better than say so. It would not have alleviated +her companion’s distress to perceive, just then, whence she had +sympathetically borrowed this ingenuity. “I am not sorry for you,” +Gertrude said; “for in paying so much attention to me you are following +a shadow—you are wasting something precious. There is something else +you might have that you don’t look at—something better than I am. That +is a reality!” And then, with intention, she looked at him and tried to +smile a little. He thought this smile of hers very strange; but she +turned away and left him. + +She wandered about alone in the garden wondering what Mr. Brand would +make of her words, which it had been a singular pleasure for her to +utter. Shortly after, passing in front of the house, she saw at a +distance two persons standing near the garden gate. It was Mr. Brand +going away and bidding good-night to Charlotte, who had walked down +with him from the house. Gertrude saw that the parting was prolonged. +Then she turned her back upon it. She had not gone very far, however, +when she heard her sister slowly following her. She neither turned +round nor waited for her; she knew what Charlotte was going to say. +Charlotte, who at last overtook her, in fact presently began; she had +passed her arm into Gertrude’s. + +“Will you listen to me, dear, if I say something very particular?” + +“I know what you are going to say,” said Gertrude. “Mr. Brand feels +very badly.” + +“Oh, Gertrude, how can you treat him so?” Charlotte demanded. And as +her sister made no answer she added, “After all he has done for you!” + +“What has he done for me?” + +“I wonder you can ask, Gertrude. He has helped you so. You told me so +yourself, a great many times. You told me that he helped you to +struggle with your—your peculiarities. You told me that he had taught +you how to govern your temper.” + +For a moment Gertrude said nothing. Then, “Was my temper very bad?” she +asked. + +“I am not accusing you, Gertrude,” said Charlotte. + +“What are you doing, then?” her sister demanded, with a short laugh. + +“I am pleading for Mr. Brand—reminding you of all you owe him.” + +“I have given it all back,” said Gertrude, still with her little laugh. +“He can take back the virtue he imparted! I want to be wicked again.” + +Her sister made her stop in the path, and fixed upon her, in the +darkness, a sweet, reproachful gaze. “If you talk this way I shall +almost believe it. Think of all we owe Mr. Brand. Think of how he has +always expected something of you. Think how much he has been to us. +Think of his beautiful influence upon Clifford.” + +“He is very good,” said Gertrude, looking at her sister. “I know he is +very good. But he shouldn’t speak against Felix.” + +“Felix is good,” Charlotte answered, softly but promptly. “Felix is +very wonderful. Only he is so different. Mr. Brand is much nearer to +us. I should never think of going to Felix with a trouble—with a +question. Mr. Brand is much more to us, Gertrude.” + +“He is very—very good,” Gertrude repeated. “He is more to you; yes, +much more. Charlotte,” she added suddenly, “you are in love with him!” + +“Oh, Gertrude!” cried poor Charlotte; and her sister saw her blushing +in the darkness. + +Gertrude put her arm round her. “I wish he would marry you!” she went +on. + +Charlotte shook herself free. “You must not say such things!” she +exclaimed, beneath her breath. + +“You like him more than you say, and he likes you more than he knows.” + +“This is very cruel of you!” Charlotte Wentworth murmured. + +But if it was cruel Gertrude continued pitiless. “Not if it’s true,” +she answered. “I wish he would marry you.” + +“Please don’t say that.” + +“I mean to tell him so!” said Gertrude. + +“Oh, Gertrude, Gertrude!” her sister almost moaned. + +“Yes, if he speaks to me again about myself. I will say, ‘Why don’t you +marry Charlotte? She’s a thousand times better than I.’” + +“You _are_ wicked; you _are_ changed!” cried her sister. + +“If you don’t like it you can prevent it,” said Gertrude. “You can +prevent it by keeping him from speaking to me!” And with this she +walked away, very conscious of what she had done; measuring it and +finding a certain joy and a quickened sense of freedom in it. + +Mr. Wentworth was rather wide of the mark in suspecting that Clifford +had begun to pay unscrupulous compliments to his brilliant cousin; for +the young man had really more scruples than he received credit for in +his family. He had a certain transparent shamefacedness which was in +itself a proof that he was not at his ease in dissipation. His +collegiate peccadilloes had aroused a domestic murmur as disagreeable +to the young man as the creaking of his boots would have been to a +house-breaker. Only, as the house-breaker would have simplified matters +by removing his _chaussures_, it had seemed to Clifford that the +shortest cut to comfortable relations with people—relations which +should make him cease to think that when they spoke to him they meant +something improving—was to renounce all ambition toward a nefarious +development. And, in fact, Clifford’s ambition took the most +commendable form. He thought of himself in the future as the well-known +and much-liked Mr. Wentworth, of Boston, who should, in the natural +course of prosperity, have married his pretty cousin, Lizzie Acton; +should live in a wide-fronted house, in view of the Common; and should +drive, behind a light wagon, over the damp autumn roads, a pair of +beautifully matched sorrel horses. Clifford’s vision of the coming +years was very simple; its most definite features were this element of +familiar matrimony and the duplication of his resources for trotting. +He had not yet asked his cousin to marry him; but he meant to do so as +soon as he had taken his degree. Lizzie was serenely conscious of his +intention, and she had made up her mind that he would improve. Her +brother, who was very fond of this light, quick, competent little +Lizzie, saw on his side no reason to interpose. It seemed to him a +graceful social law that Clifford and his sister should become engaged; +he himself was not engaged, but everyone else, fortunately, was not +such a fool as he. He was fond of Clifford, as well, and had his own +way—of which it must be confessed he was a little ashamed—of looking at +those aberrations which had led to the young man’s compulsory +retirement from the neighboring seat of learning. Acton had seen the +world, as he said to himself; he had been to China and had knocked +about among men. He had learned the essential difference between a nice +young fellow and a mean young fellow, and was satisfied that there was +no harm in Clifford. He believed—although it must be added that he had +not quite the courage to declare it—in the doctrine of wild oats, and +thought it a useful preventive of superfluous fears. If Mr. Wentworth +and Charlotte and Mr. Brand would only apply it in Clifford’s case, +they would be happier; and Acton thought it a pity they should not be +happier. They took the boy’s misdemeanors too much to heart; they +talked to him too solemnly; they frightened and bewildered him. Of +course there was the great standard of morality, which forbade that a +man should get tipsy, play at billiards for money, or cultivate his +sensual consciousness; but what fear was there that poor Clifford was +going to run a tilt at any great standard? It had, however, never +occurred to Acton to dedicate the Baroness Münster to the redemption of +a refractory collegian. The instrument, here, would have seemed to him +quite too complex for the operation. Felix, on the other hand, had +spoken in obedience to the belief that the more charming a woman is the +more numerous, literally, are her definite social uses. + +Eugenia herself, as we know, had plenty of leisure to enumerate her +uses. As I have had the honor of intimating, she had come four thousand +miles to seek her fortune; and it is not to be supposed that after this +great effort she could neglect any apparent aid to advancement. It is +my misfortune that in attempting to describe in a short compass the +deportment of this remarkable woman I am obliged to express things +rather brutally. I feel this to be the case, for instance, when I say +that she had primarily detected such an aid to advancement in the +person of Robert Acton, but that she had afterwards remembered that a +prudent archer has always a second bowstring. Eugenia was a woman of +finely-mingled motive, and her intentions were never sensibly gross. +She had a sort of aesthetic ideal for Clifford which seemed to her a +disinterested reason for taking him in hand. It was very well for a +fresh-colored young gentleman to be ingenuous; but Clifford, really, +was crude. With such a pretty face he ought to have prettier manners. +She would teach him that, with a beautiful name, the expectation of a +large property, and, as they said in Europe, a social position, an only +son should know how to carry himself. + +Once Clifford had begun to come and see her by himself and for himself, +he came very often. He hardly knew why he should come; he saw her +almost every evening at his father’s house; he had nothing particular +to say to her. She was not a young girl, and fellows of his age called +only upon young girls. He exaggerated her age; she seemed to him an old +woman; it was happy that the Baroness, with all her intelligence, was +incapable of guessing this. But gradually it struck Clifford that +visiting old women might be, if not a natural, at least, as they say of +some articles of diet, an acquired taste. The Baroness was certainly a +very amusing old woman; she talked to him as no lady—and indeed no +gentleman—had ever talked to him before. + +“You should go to Europe and make the tour,” she said to him one +afternoon. “Of course, on leaving college you will go.” + +“I don’t want to go,” Clifford declared. “I know some fellows who have +been to Europe. They say you can have better fun here.” + +“That depends. It depends upon your idea of fun. Your friends probably +were not introduced.” + +“Introduced?” Clifford demanded. + +“They had no opportunity of going into society; they formed no +_relations_.” This was one of a certain number of words that the +Baroness often pronounced in the French manner. + +“They went to a ball, in Paris; I know that,” said Clifford. + +“Ah, there are balls and balls; especially in Paris. No, you must go, +you know; it is not a thing from which you can dispense yourself. You +need it.” + +“Oh, I’m very well,” said Clifford. “I’m not sick.” + +“I don’t mean for your health, my poor child. I mean for your manners.” + +“I haven’t got any manners!” growled Clifford. + +“Precisely. You don’t mind my assenting to that, eh?” asked the +Baroness with a smile. “You must go to Europe and get a few. You can +get them better there. It is a pity you might not have come while I was +living in—in Germany. I would have introduced you; I had a charming +little circle. You would perhaps have been rather young; but the +younger one begins, I think, the better. Now, at any rate, you have no +time to lose, and when I return you must immediately come to me.” + +All this, to Clifford’s apprehension, was a great mixture—his beginning +young, Eugenia’s return to Europe, his being introduced to her charming +little circle. What was he to begin, and what was her little circle? +His ideas about her marriage had a good deal of vagueness; but they +were in so far definite as that he felt it to be a matter not to be +freely mentioned. He sat and looked all round the room; he supposed she +was alluding in some way to her marriage. + +“Oh, I don’t want to go to Germany,” he said; it seemed to him the most +convenient thing to say. + +She looked at him a while, smiling with her lips, but not with her +eyes. + +“You have scruples?” she asked. + +“Scruples?” said Clifford. + +“You young people, here, are very singular; one doesn’t know where to +expect you. When you are not extremely improper you are so terribly +proper. I dare say you think that, owing to my irregular marriage, I +live with loose people. You were never more mistaken. I have been all +the more particular.” + +“Oh, no,” said Clifford, honestly distressed. “I never thought such a +thing as that.” + +“Are you very sure? I am convinced that your father does, and your +sisters. They say to each other that here I am on my good behavior, but +that over there—married by the left hand—I associate with light women.” + +“Oh, no,” cried Clifford, energetically, “they don’t say such things as +that to each other!” + +“If they think them they had better say them,” the Baroness rejoined. +“Then they can be contradicted. Please contradict that whenever you +hear it, and don’t be afraid of coming to see me on account of the +company I keep. I have the honor of knowing more distinguished men, my +poor child, than you are likely to see in a life-time. I see very few +women; but those are women of rank. So, my dear young Puritan, you +needn’t be afraid. I am not in the least one of those who think that +the society of women who have lost their place in the _vrai monde_ is +necessary to form a young man. I have never taken that tone. I have +kept my place myself, and I think we are a much better school than the +others. Trust me, Clifford, and I will prove that to you,” the Baroness +continued, while she made the agreeable reflection that she could not, +at least, be accused of perverting her young kinsman. “So if you ever +fall among thieves don’t go about saying I sent you to them.” + +Clifford thought it so comical that he should know—in spite of her +figurative language—what she meant, and that she should mean what he +knew, that he could hardly help laughing a little, although he tried +hard. “Oh, no! oh, no!” he murmured. + +“Laugh out, laugh out, if I amuse you!” cried the Baroness. “I am here +for that!” And Clifford thought her a very amusing person indeed. “But +remember,” she said on this occasion, “that you are coming—next year—to +pay me a visit over there.” + +About a week afterwards she said to him, point-blank, “Are you +seriously making love to your little cousin?” + +“Seriously making love”—these words, on Madame Münster’s lips, had to +Clifford’s sense a portentous and embarrassing sound; he hesitated +about assenting, lest he should commit himself to more than he +understood. “Well, I shouldn’t say it if I was!” he exclaimed. + +“Why wouldn’t you say it?” the Baroness demanded. “Those things ought +to be known.” + +“I don’t care whether it is known or not,” Clifford rejoined. “But I +don’t want people looking at me.” + +“A young man of your importance ought to learn to bear observation—to +carry himself as if he were quite indifferent to it. I won’t say, +exactly, unconscious,” the Baroness explained. “No, he must seem to +know he is observed, and to think it natural he should be; but he must +appear perfectly used to it. Now you haven’t that, Clifford; you +haven’t that at all. You must have that, you know. Don’t tell me you +are not a young man of importance,” Eugenia added. “Don’t say anything +so flat as that.” + +“Oh, no, you don’t catch me saying that!” cried Clifford. + +“Yes, you must come to Germany,” Madame Münster continued. “I will show +you how people can be talked about, and yet not seem to know it. You +will be talked about, of course, with me; it will be said you are my +lover. I will show you how little one may mind that—how little I shall +mind it.” + +Clifford sat staring, blushing and laughing. “I shall mind it a good +deal!” he declared. + +“Ah, not too much, you know; that would be uncivil. But I give you +leave to mind it a little; especially if you have a passion for Miss +Acton. _Voyons_; as regards that, you either have or you have not. It +is very simple to say it.” + +“I don’t see why you want to know,” said Clifford. + +“You ought to want me to know. If one is arranging a marriage, one +tells one’s friends.” + +“Oh, I’m not arranging anything,” said Clifford. + +“You don’t intend to marry your cousin?” + +“Well, I expect I shall do as I choose!” + +The Baroness leaned her head upon the back of her chair and closed her +eyes, as if she were tired. Then opening them again, “Your cousin is +very charming!” she said. + +“She is the prettiest girl in this place,” Clifford rejoined. + +“‘In this place’ is saying little; she would be charming anywhere. I am +afraid you are entangled.” + +“Oh, no, I’m not entangled.” + +“Are you engaged? At your age that is the same thing.” + +Clifford looked at the Baroness with some audacity. “Will you tell no +one?” + +“If it’s as sacred as that—no.” + +“Well, then—we are not!” said Clifford. + +“That’s the great secret—that you are not, eh?” asked the Baroness, +with a quick laugh. “I am very glad to hear it. You are altogether too +young. A young man in your position must choose and compare; he must +see the world first. Depend upon it,” she added, “you should not settle +that matter before you have come abroad and paid me that visit. There +are several things I should like to call your attention to first.” + +“Well, I am rather afraid of that visit,” said Clifford. “It seems to +me it will be rather like going to school again.” + +The Baroness looked at him a moment. + +“My dear child,” she said, “there is no agreeable man who has not, at +some moment, been to school to a clever woman—probably a little older +than himself. And you must be thankful when you get your instructions +gratis. With me you would get it gratis.” + +The next day Clifford told Lizzie Acton that the Baroness thought her +the most charming girl she had ever seen. + +Lizzie shook her head. “No, she doesn’t!” she said. + +“Do you think everything she says,” asked Clifford, “is to be taken the +opposite way?” + +“I think that is!” said Lizzie. + +Clifford was going to remark that in this case the Baroness must desire +greatly to bring about a marriage between Mr. Clifford Wentworth and +Miss Elizabeth Acton; but he resolved, on the whole, to suppress this +observation. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +It seemed to Robert Acton, after Eugenia had come to his house, that +something had passed between them which made them a good deal more +intimate. It was hard to say exactly what, except her telling him that +she had taken her resolution with regard to the Prince Adolf; for +Madame Münster’s visit had made no difference in their relations. He +came to see her very often; but he had come to see her very often +before. It was agreeable to him to find himself in her little +drawing-room; but this was not a new discovery. There was a change, +however, in this sense: that if the Baroness had been a great deal in +Acton’s thoughts before, she was now never out of them. From the first +she had been personally fascinating; but the fascination now had become +intellectual as well. He was constantly pondering her words and +motions; they were as interesting as the factors in an algebraic +problem. This is saying a good deal; for Acton was extremely fond of +mathematics. He asked himself whether it could be that he was in love +with her, and then hoped he was not; hoped it not so much for his own +sake as for that of the amatory passion itself. If this was love, love +had been overrated. Love was a poetic impulse, and his own state of +feeling with regard to the Baroness was largely characterized by that +eminently prosaic sentiment—curiosity. It was true, as Acton with his +quietly cogitative habit observed to himself, that curiosity, pushed to +a given point, might become a romantic passion; and he certainly +thought enough about this charming woman to make him restless and even +a little melancholy. It puzzled and vexed him at times to feel that he +was not more ardent. He was not in the least bent upon remaining a +bachelor. In his younger years he had been—or he had tried to be—of the +opinion that it would be a good deal “jollier” not to marry, and he had +flattered himself that his single condition was something of a citadel. +It was a citadel, at all events, of which he had long since leveled the +outworks. He had removed the guns from the ramparts; he had lowered the +draw-bridge across the moat. The draw-bridge had swayed lightly under +Madame Münster’s step; why should he not cause it to be raised again, +so that she might be kept prisoner? He had an idea that she would +become—in time at least, and on learning the conveniences of the place +for making a lady comfortable—a tolerably patient captive. But the +draw-bridge was never raised, and Acton’s brilliant visitor was as free +to depart as she had been to come. It was part of his curiosity to know +why the deuce so susceptible a man was _not_ in love with so charming a +woman. If her various graces were, as I have said, the factors in an +algebraic problem, the answer to this question was the indispensable +unknown quantity. The pursuit of the unknown quantity was extremely +absorbing; for the present it taxed all Acton’s faculties. + +Toward the middle of August he was obliged to leave home for some days; +an old friend, with whom he had been associated in China, had begged +him to come to Newport, where he lay extremely ill. His friend got +better, and at the end of a week Acton was released. I use the word +“released” advisedly; for in spite of his attachment to his Chinese +comrade he had been but a half-hearted visitor. He felt as if he had +been called away from the theatre during the progress of a remarkably +interesting drama. The curtain was up all this time, and he was losing +the fourth act; that fourth act which would have been so essential to a +just appreciation of the fifth. In other words, he was thinking about +the Baroness, who, seen at this distance, seemed a truly brilliant +figure. He saw at Newport a great many pretty women, who certainly were +figures as brilliant as beautiful light dresses could make them; but +though they talked a great deal—and the Baroness’s strong point was +perhaps also her conversation—Madame Münster appeared to lose nothing +by the comparison. He wished she had come to Newport too. Would it not +be possible to make up, as they said, a party for visiting the famous +watering-place and invite Eugenia to join it? It was true that the +complete satisfaction would be to spend a fortnight at Newport with +Eugenia alone. It would be a great pleasure to see her, in society, +carry everything before her, as he was sure she would do. When Acton +caught himself thinking these thoughts he began to walk up and down, +with his hands in his pockets, frowning a little and looking at the +floor. What did it prove—for it certainly proved something—this lively +disposition to be “off” somewhere with Madame Münster, away from all +the rest of them? Such a vision, certainly, seemed a refined +implication of matrimony, after the Baroness should have formally got +rid of her informal husband. At any rate, Acton, with his +characteristic discretion, forbore to give expression to whatever else +it might imply, and the narrator of these incidents is not obliged to +be more definite. + +He returned home rapidly, and, arriving in the afternoon, lost as +little time as possible in joining the familiar circle at Mr. +Wentworth’s. On reaching the house, however, he found the piazzas +empty. The doors and windows were open, and their emptiness was made +clear by the shafts of lamp-light from the parlors. Entering the house, +he found Mr. Wentworth sitting alone in one of these apartments, +engaged in the perusal of the _North American Review_. After they had +exchanged greetings and his cousin had made discreet inquiry about his +journey, Acton asked what had become of Mr. Wentworth’s companions. + +“They are scattered about, amusing themselves as usual,” said the old +man. “I saw Charlotte, a short time since, seated, with Mr. Brand, upon +the piazza. They were conversing with their customary animation. I +suppose they have joined her sister, who, for the hundredth time, was +doing the honors of the garden to her foreign cousin.” + +“I suppose you mean Felix,” said Acton. And on Mr. Wentworth’s +assenting, he said, “And the others?” + +“Your sister has not come this evening. You must have seen her at +home,” said Mr. Wentworth. + +“Yes. I proposed to her to come. She declined.” + +“Lizzie, I suppose, was expecting a visitor,” said the old man, with a +kind of solemn slyness. + +“If she was expecting Clifford, he had not turned up.” + +Mr. Wentworth, at this intelligence, closed the _North American Review_ +and remarked that he had understood Clifford to say that he was going +to see his cousin. Privately, he reflected that if Lizzie Acton had had +no news of his son, Clifford must have gone to Boston for the evening: +an unnatural course of a summer night, especially when accompanied with +disingenuous representations. + +“You must remember that he has two cousins,” said Acton, laughing. And +then, coming to the point, “If Lizzie is not here,” he added, “neither +apparently is the Baroness.” + +Mr. Wentworth stared a moment, and remembered that queer proposition of +Felix’s. For a moment he did not know whether it was not to be wished +that Clifford, after all, might have gone to Boston. “The Baroness has +not honored us tonight,” he said. “She has not come over for three +days.” + +“Is she ill?” Acton asked. + +“No; I have been to see her.” + +“What is the matter with her?” + +“Well,” said Mr. Wentworth, “I infer she has tired of us.” + +Acton pretended to sit down, but he was restless; he found it +impossible to talk with Mr. Wentworth. At the end of ten minutes he +took up his hat and said that he thought he would “go off.” It was very +late; it was ten o’clock. + +His quiet-faced kinsman looked at him a moment. “Are you going home?” +he asked. + +Acton hesitated, and then answered that he had proposed to go over and +take a look at the Baroness. + +“Well, you are honest, at least,” said Mr. Wentworth, sadly. + +“So are you, if you come to that!” cried Acton, laughing. “Why +shouldn’t I be honest?” + +The old man opened the _North American_ again, and read a few lines. +“If we have ever had any virtue among us, we had better keep hold of it +now,” he said. He was not quoting. + +“We have a Baroness among us,” said Acton. “That’s what we must keep +hold of!” He was too impatient to see Madame Münster again to wonder +what Mr. Wentworth was talking about. Nevertheless, after he had passed +out of the house and traversed the garden and the little piece of road +that separated him from Eugenia’s provisional residence, he stopped a +moment outside. He stood in her little garden; the long window of her +parlor was open, and he could see the white curtains, with the +lamp-light shining through them, swaying softly to and fro in the warm +night wind. There was a sort of excitement in the idea of seeing Madame +Münster again; he became aware that his heart was beating rather faster +than usual. It was this that made him stop, with a half-amused +surprise. But in a moment he went along the piazza, and, approaching +the open window, tapped upon its lintel with his stick. He could see +the Baroness within; she was standing in the middle of the room. She +came to the window and pulled aside the curtain; then she stood looking +at him a moment. She was not smiling; she seemed serious. + +_“Mais entrez donc!”_ she said at last. Acton passed in across the +window-sill; he wondered, for an instant, what was the matter with her. +But the next moment she had begun to smile and had put out her hand. +“Better late than never,” she said. “It is very kind of you to come at +this hour.” + +“I have just returned from my journey,” said Acton. + +“Ah, very kind, very kind,” she repeated, looking about her where to +sit. + +“I went first to the other house,” Acton continued. “I expected to find +you there.” + +She had sunk into her usual chair; but she got up again, and began to +move about the room. Acton had laid down his hat and stick; he was +looking at her, conscious that there was in fact a great charm in +seeing her again. “I don’t know whether I ought to tell you to sit +down,” she said. “It is too late to begin a visit.” + +“It’s too early to end one,” Acton declared; “and we needn’t mind the +beginning.” + +She looked at him again, and, after a moment, dropped once more into +her low chair, while he took a place near her. “We are in the middle, +then?” she asked. “Was that where we were when you went away? No, I +haven’t been to the other house.” + +“Not yesterday, nor the day before, eh?” + +“I don’t know how many days it is.” + +“You are tired of it,” said Acton. + +She leaned back in her chair; her arms were folded. “That is a terrible +accusation, but I have not the courage to defend myself.” + +“I am not attacking you,” said Acton. “I expected something of this +kind.” + +“It’s a proof of extreme intelligence. I hope you enjoyed your +journey.” + +“Not at all,” Acton declared. “I would much rather have been here with +you.” + +“Now you _are_ attacking me,” said the Baroness. “You are contrasting +my inconstancy with your own fidelity.” + +“I confess I never get tired of people I like.” + +“Ah, you are not a poor wicked foreign woman, with irritable nerves and +a sophisticated mind!” + +“Something has happened to you since I went away,” said Acton, changing +his place. + +“Your going away—that is what has happened to me.” + +“Do you mean to say that you have missed me?” he asked. + +“If I had meant to say it, it would not be worth your making a note of. +I am very dishonest and my compliments are worthless.” + +Acton was silent for some moments. “You have broken down,” he said at +last. + +Madame Münster left her chair, and began to move about. + +“Only for a moment. I shall pull myself together again.” + +“You had better not take it too hard. If you are bored, you needn’t be +afraid to say so—to me at least.” + +“You shouldn’t say such things as that,” the Baroness answered. “You +should encourage me.” + +“I admire your patience; that is encouraging.” + +“You shouldn’t even say that. When you talk of my patience you are +disloyal to your own people. Patience implies suffering; and what have +I had to suffer?” + +“Oh, not hunger, not unkindness, certainly,” said Acton, laughing. +“Nevertheless, we all admire your patience.” + +“You all detest me!” cried the Baroness, with a sudden vehemence, +turning her back toward him. + +“You make it hard,” said Acton, getting up, “for a man to say something +tender to you.” This evening there was something particularly striking +and touching about her; an unwonted softness and a look of suppressed +emotion. He felt himself suddenly appreciating the fact that she had +behaved very well. She had come to this quiet corner of the world under +the weight of a cruel indignity, and she had been so gracefully, +modestly thankful for the rest she found there. She had joined that +simple circle over the way; she had mingled in its plain, provincial +talk; she had shared its meagre and savorless pleasures. She had set +herself a task, and she had rigidly performed it. She had conformed to +the angular conditions of New England life, and she had had the tact +and pluck to carry it off as if she liked them. Acton felt a more +downright need than he had ever felt before to tell her that he admired +her and that she struck him as a very superior woman. All along, +hitherto, he had been on his guard with her; he had been cautious, +observant, suspicious. But now a certain light tumult in his blood +seemed to tell him that a finer degree of confidence in this charming +woman would be its own reward. “We don’t detest you,” he went on. “I +don’t know what you mean. At any rate, I speak for myself; I don’t know +anything about the others. Very likely, you detest them for the dull +life they make you lead. Really, it would give me a sort of pleasure to +hear you say so.” + +Eugenia had been looking at the door on the other side of the room; now +she slowly turned her eyes toward Robert Acton. “What can be the +motive,” she asked, “of a man like you—an honest man, a _galant +homme_—in saying so base a thing as that?” + +“Does it sound very base?” asked Acton, candidly. “I suppose it does, +and I thank you for telling me so. Of course, I don’t mean it +literally.” + +The Baroness stood looking at him. “How do you mean it?” she asked. + +This question was difficult to answer, and Acton, feeling the least bit +foolish, walked to the open window and looked out. He stood there, +thinking a moment, and then he turned back. “You know that document +that you were to send to Germany,” he said. “You called it your +‘renunciation.’ Did you ever send it?” + +Madame Münster’s eyes expanded; she looked very grave. “What a singular +answer to my question!” + +“Oh, it isn’t an answer,” said Acton. “I have wished to ask you, many +times. I thought it probable you would tell me yourself. The question, +on my part, seems abrupt now; but it would be abrupt at any time.” + +The Baroness was silent a moment; and then, “I think I have told you +too much!” she said. + +This declaration appeared to Acton to have a certain force; he had +indeed a sense of asking more of her than he offered her. He returned +to the window, and watched, for a moment, a little star that twinkled +through the lattice of the piazza. There were at any rate offers enough +he could make; perhaps he had hitherto not been sufficiently explicit +in doing so. “I wish you would ask something of me,” he presently said. +“Is there nothing I can do for you? If you can’t stand this dull life +any more, let me amuse you!” + +The Baroness had sunk once more into a chair, and she had taken up a +fan which she held, with both hands, to her mouth. Over the top of the +fan her eyes were fixed on him. “You are very strange tonight,” she +said, with a little laugh. + +“I will do anything in the world,” he rejoined, standing in front of +her. “Shouldn’t you like to travel about and see something of the +country? Won’t you go to Niagara? You ought to see Niagara, you know.” + +“With you, do you mean?” + +“I should be delighted to take you.” + +“You alone?” + +Acton looked at her, smiling, and yet with a serious air. “Well, yes; +we might go alone,” he said. + +“If you were not what you are,” she answered, “I should feel insulted.” + +“How do you mean—what I am?” + +“If you were one of the gentlemen I have been used to all my life. If +you were not a queer Bostonian.” + +“If the gentlemen you have been used to have taught you to expect +insults,” said Acton, “I am glad I am what I am. You had much better +come to Niagara.” + +“If you wish to ‘amuse’ me,” the Baroness declared, “you need go to no +further expense. You amuse me very effectually.” + +He sat down opposite to her; she still held her fan up to her face, +with her eyes only showing above it. There was a moment’s silence, and +then he said, returning to his former question, “Have you sent that +document to Germany?” + +Again there was a moment’s silence. The expressive eyes of Madame +Münster seemed, however, half to break it. + +“I will tell you—at Niagara!” she said. + +She had hardly spoken when the door at the further end of the room +opened—the door upon which, some minutes previous, Eugenia had fixed +her gaze. Clifford Wentworth stood there, blushing and looking rather +awkward. The Baroness rose, quickly, and Acton, more slowly, did the +same. Clifford gave him no greeting; he was looking at Eugenia. + +“Ah, you were here?” exclaimed Acton. + +“He was in Felix’s studio,” said Madame Münster. “He wanted to see his +sketches.” + +Clifford looked at Robert Acton, but said nothing; he only fanned +himself with his hat. “You chose a bad moment,” said Acton; “you hadn’t +much light.” + +“I hadn’t any!” said Clifford, laughing. + +“Your candle went out?” Eugenia asked. “You should have come back here +and lighted it again.” + +Clifford looked at her a moment. “So I have—come back. But I have left +the candle!” + +Eugenia turned away. “You are very stupid, my poor boy. You had better +go home.” + +“Well,” said Clifford, “good-night!” + +“Haven’t you a word to throw to a man when he has safely returned from +a dangerous journey?” Acton asked. + +“How do you do?” said Clifford. “I thought—I thought you were——” and he +paused, looking at the Baroness again. + +“You thought I was at Newport, eh? So I was—this morning.” + +“Good-night, clever child!” said Madame Münster, over her shoulder. + +Clifford stared at her—not at all like a clever child; and then, with +one of his little facetious growls, took his departure. + +“What is the matter with him?” asked Acton, when he was gone. “He +seemed rather in a muddle.” + +Eugenia, who was near the window, glanced out, listening a moment. “The +matter—the matter”—she answered. “But you don’t say such things here.” + +“If you mean that he had been drinking a little, you can say that.” + +“He doesn’t drink any more. I have cured him. And in return—he’s in +love with me.” + +It was Acton’s turn to stare. He instantly thought of his sister; but +he said nothing about her. He began to laugh. “I don’t wonder at his +passion! But I wonder at his forsaking your society for that of your +brother’s paint-brushes.” + +Eugenia was silent a little. “He had not been in the studio. I invented +that at the moment.” + +“Invented it? For what purpose?” + +“He has an idea of being romantic. He has adopted the habit of coming +to see me at midnight—passing only through the orchard and through +Felix’s painting-room, which has a door opening that way. It seems to +amuse him,” added Eugenia, with a little laugh. + +Acton felt more surprise than he confessed to, for this was a new view +of Clifford, whose irregularities had hitherto been quite without the +romantic element. He tried to laugh again, but he felt rather too +serious, and after a moment’s hesitation his seriousness explained +itself. “I hope you don’t encourage him,” he said. “He must not be +inconstant to poor Lizzie.” + +“To your sister?” + +“You know they are decidedly intimate,” said Acton. + +“Ah,” cried Eugenia, smiling, “has she—has she——” + +“I don’t know,” Acton interrupted, “what she has. But I always supposed +that Clifford had a desire to make himself agreeable to her.” + +“Ah, _par exemple!_” the Baroness went on. “The little monster! The +next time he becomes sentimental I will him tell that he ought to be +ashamed of himself.” + +Acton was silent a moment. “You had better say nothing about it.” + +“I had told him as much already, on general grounds,” said the +Baroness. “But in this country, you know, the relations of young people +are so extraordinary that one is quite at sea. They are not engaged +when you would quite say they ought to be. Take Charlotte Wentworth, +for instance, and that young ecclesiastic. If I were her father I +should insist upon his marrying her; but it appears to be thought there +is no urgency. On the other hand, you suddenly learn that a boy of +twenty and a little girl who is still with her governess—your sister +has no governess? Well, then, who is never away from her mamma—a young +couple, in short, between whom you have noticed nothing beyond an +exchange of the childish pleasantries characteristic of their age, are +on the point of setting up as man and wife.” The Baroness spoke with a +certain exaggerated volubility which was in contrast with the languid +grace that had characterized her manner before Clifford made his +appearance. It seemed to Acton that there was a spark of irritation in +her eye—a note of irony (as when she spoke of Lizzie being never away +from her mother) in her voice. If Madame Münster was irritated, Robert +Acton was vaguely mystified; she began to move about the room again, +and he looked at her without saying anything. Presently she took out +her watch, and, glancing at it, declared that it was three o’clock in +the morning and that he must go. + +“I have not been here an hour,” he said, “and they are still sitting up +at the other house. You can see the lights. Your brother has not come +in.” + +“Oh, at the other house,” cried Eugenia, “they are terrible people! I +don’t know what they may do over there. I am a quiet little humdrum +woman; I have rigid rules and I keep them. One of them is not to have +visitors in the small hours—especially clever men like you. So +good-night!” + +Decidedly, the Baroness was incisive; and though Acton bade her +good-night and departed, he was still a good deal mystified. + +The next day Clifford Wentworth came to see Lizzie, and Acton, who was +at home and saw him pass through the garden, took note of the +circumstance. He had a natural desire to make it tally with Madame +Münster’s account of Clifford’s disaffection; but his ingenuity, +finding itself unequal to the task, resolved at last to ask help of the +young man’s candor. He waited till he saw him going away, and then he +went out and overtook him in the grounds. + +“I wish very much you would answer me a question,” Acton said. “What +were you doing, last night, at Madame Münster’s?” + +Clifford began to laugh and to blush, by no means like a young man with +a romantic secret. “What did she tell you?” he asked. + +“That is exactly what I don’t want to say.” + +“Well, I want to tell you the same,” said Clifford; “and unless I know +it perhaps I can’t.” + +They had stopped in a garden path; Acton looked hard at his rosy young +kinsman. “She said she couldn’t fancy what had got into you; you +appeared to have taken a violent dislike to her.” + +Clifford stared, looking a little alarmed. “Oh, come,” he growled, “you +don’t mean that!” + +“And that when—for common civility’s sake—you came occasionally to the +house you left her alone and spent your time in Felix’s studio, under +pretext of looking at his sketches.” + +“Oh, come!” growled Clifford, again. + +“Did you ever know me to tell an untruth?” + +“Yes, lots of them!” said Clifford, seeing an opening, out of the +discussion, for his sarcastic powers. “Well,” he presently added, “I +thought you were my father.” + +“You knew someone was there?” + +“We heard you coming in.” + +Acton meditated. “You had been with the Baroness, then?” + +“I was in the parlor. We heard your step outside. I thought it was my +father.” + +“And on that,” asked Acton, “you ran away?” + +“She told me to go—to go out by the studio.” + +Acton meditated more intensely; if there had been a chair at hand he +would have sat down. “Why should she wish you not to meet your father?” + +“Well,” said Clifford, “father doesn’t like to see me there.” + +Acton looked askance at his companion and forbore to make any comment +upon this assertion. “Has he said so,” he asked, “to the Baroness?” + +“Well, I hope not,” said Clifford. “He hasn’t said so—in so many +words—to me. But I know it worries him; and I want to stop worrying +him. The Baroness knows it, and she wants me to stop, too.” + +“To stop coming to see her?” + +“I don’t know about that; but to stop worrying father. Eugenia knows +everything,” Clifford added, with an air of knowingness of his own. + +“Ah,” said Acton, interrogatively, “Eugenia knows everything?” + +“She knew it was not father coming in.” + +“Then why did you go?” + +Clifford blushed and laughed afresh. “Well, I was afraid it was. And +besides, she told me to go, at any rate.” + +“Did she think it was I?” Acton asked. + +“She didn’t say so.” + +Again Robert Acton reflected. “But you didn’t go,” he presently said; +“you came back.” + +“I couldn’t get out of the studio,” Clifford rejoined. “The door was +locked, and Felix has nailed some planks across the lower half of the +confounded windows to make the light come in from above. So they were +no use. I waited there a good while, and then, suddenly, I felt +ashamed. I didn’t want to be hiding away from my own father. I couldn’t +stand it any longer. I bolted out, and when I found it was you I was a +little flurried. But Eugenia carried it off, didn’t she?” Clifford +added, in the tone of a young humorist whose perception had not been +permanently clouded by the sense of his own discomfort. + +“Beautifully!” said Acton. “Especially,” he continued, “when one +remembers that you were very imprudent and that she must have been a +good deal annoyed.” + +“Oh,” cried Clifford, with the indifference of a young man who feels +that however he may have failed of felicity in behavior he is extremely +just in his impressions, “Eugenia doesn’t care for anything!” + +Acton hesitated a moment. “Thank you for telling me this,” he said at +last. And then, laying his hand on Clifford’s shoulder, he added, “Tell +me one thing more: are you by chance a little in love with the +Baroness?” + +“No, sir!” said Clifford, almost shaking off his hand. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +The first sunday that followed Robert Acton’s return from Newport +witnessed a change in the brilliant weather that had long prevailed. +The rain began to fall and the day was cold and dreary. Mr. Wentworth +and his daughters put on overshoes and went to church, and Felix Young, +without overshoes, went also, holding an umbrella over Gertrude. It is +to be feared that, in the whole observance, this was the privilege he +most highly valued. The Baroness remained at home; she was in neither a +cheerful nor a devotional mood. She had, however, never been, during +her residence in the United States, what is called a regular attendant +at divine service; and on this particular Sunday morning of which I +began with speaking she stood at the window of her little drawing-room, +watching the long arm of a rose tree that was attached to her piazza, +but a portion of which had disengaged itself, sway to and fro, shake +and gesticulate, against the dusky drizzle of the sky. Every now and +then, in a gust of wind, the rose tree scattered a shower of +water-drops against the window-pane; it appeared to have a kind of +human movement—a menacing, warning intention. The room was very cold; +Madame Münster put on a shawl and walked about. Then she determined to +have some fire; and summoning her ancient negress, the contrast of +whose polished ebony and whose crimson turban had been at first a +source of satisfaction to her, she made arrangements for the production +of a crackling flame. This old woman’s name was Azarina. The Baroness +had begun by thinking that there would be a savory wildness in her +talk, and, for amusement, she had encouraged her to chatter. But +Azarina was dry and prim; her conversation was anything but African; +she reminded Eugenia of the tiresome old ladies she met in society. She +knew, however, how to make a fire; so that after she had laid the logs, +Eugenia, who was terribly bored, found a quarter of an hour’s +entertainment in sitting and watching them blaze and sputter. She had +thought it very likely Robert Acton would come and see her; she had not +met him since that infelicitous evening. But the morning waned without +his coming; several times she thought she heard his step on the piazza; +but it was only a window-shutter shaking in a rain-gust. The Baroness, +since the beginning of that episode in her career of which a slight +sketch has been attempted in these pages, had had many moments of +irritation. But today her irritation had a peculiar keenness; it +appeared to feed upon itself. It urged her to do something; but it +suggested no particularly profitable line of action. If she could have +done something at the moment, on the spot, she would have stepped upon +a European steamer and turned her back, with a kind of rapture, upon +that profoundly mortifying failure, her visit to her American +relations. It is not exactly apparent why she should have termed this +enterprise a failure, inasmuch as she had been treated with the highest +distinction for which allowance had been made in American institutions. +Her irritation came, at bottom, from the sense, which, always present, +had suddenly grown acute, that the social soil on this big, vague +continent was somehow not adapted for growing those plants whose +fragrance she especially inclined to inhale and by which she liked to +see herself surrounded—a species of vegetation for which she carried a +collection of seedlings, as we may say, in her pocket. She found her +chief happiness in the sense of exerting a certain power and making a +certain impression; and now she felt the annoyance of a rather wearied +swimmer who, on nearing shore, to land, finds a smooth straight wall of +rock when he had counted upon a clean firm beach. Her power, in the +American air, seemed to have lost its prehensile attributes; the smooth +wall of rock was insurmountable. _“Surely je n’en suis pas là,”_ she +said to herself, “that I let it make me uncomfortable that a Mr. Robert +Acton shouldn’t honor me with a visit!” Yet she was vexed that he had +not come; and she was vexed at her vexation. + +Her brother, at least, came in, stamping in the hall and shaking the +wet from his coat. In a moment he entered the room, with a glow in his +cheek and half-a-dozen rain-drops glistening on his moustache. “Ah, you +have a fire,” he said. + +_“Les beaux jours sont passés,”_ replied the Baroness. + +“Never, never! They have only begun,” Felix declared, planting himself +before the hearth. He turned his back to the fire, placed his hands +behind him, extended his legs and looked away through the window with +an expression of face which seemed to denote the perception of +rose-color even in the tints of a wet Sunday. + +His sister, from her chair, looked up at him, watching him; and what +she saw in his face was not grateful to her present mood. She was +puzzled by many things, but her brother’s disposition was a frequent +source of wonder to her. I say frequent and not constant, for there +were long periods during which she gave her attention to other +problems. Sometimes she had said to herself that his happy temper, his +eternal gaiety, was an affectation, a _pose_; but she was vaguely +conscious that during the present summer he had been a highly +successful comedian. They had never yet had an explanation; she had not +known the need of one. Felix was presumably following the bent of his +disinterested genius, and she felt that she had no advice to give him +that he would understand. With this, there was always a certain element +of comfort about Felix—the assurance that he would not interfere. He +was very delicate, this pure-minded Felix; in effect, he was her +brother, and Madame Münster felt that there was a great propriety, +every way, in that. It is true that Felix was delicate; he was not fond +of explanations with his sister; this was one of the very few things in +the world about which he was uncomfortable. But now he was not thinking +of anything uncomfortable. + +“Dear brother,” said Eugenia at last, “do stop making _les yeux doux_ +at the rain.” + +“With pleasure. I will make them at you!” answered Felix. + +“How much longer,” asked Eugenia, in a moment, “do you propose to +remain in this lovely spot?” + +Felix stared. “Do you want to go away—already?” + +“‘Already’ is delicious. I am not so happy as you.” + +Felix dropped into a chair, looking at the fire. “The fact is I _am_ +happy,” he said in his light, clear tone. + +“And do you propose to spend your life in making love to Gertrude +Wentworth?” + +“Yes!” said Felix, smiling sidewise at his sister. + +The Baroness returned his glance, much more gravely; and then, “Do you +like her?” she asked. + +“Don’t you?” Felix demanded. + +The Baroness was silent a moment. “I will answer you in the words of +the gentleman who was asked if he liked music: _‘Je ne la crains +pas!’’_” + +“She admires you immensely,” said Felix. + +“I don’t care for that. Other women should not admire one.” + +“They should dislike you?” + +Again Madame Münster hesitated. “They should hate me! It’s a measure of +the time I have been losing here that they don’t.” + +“No time is lost in which one has been happy!” said Felix, with a +bright sententiousness which may well have been a little irritating. + +“And in which,” rejoined his sister, with a harsher laugh, “one has +secured the affections of a young lady with a fortune!” + +Felix explained, very candidly and seriously. “I have secured +Gertrude’s affection, but I am by no means sure that I have secured her +fortune. That may come—or it may not.” + +“Ah, well, it _may!_ That’s the great point.” + +“It depends upon her father. He doesn’t smile upon our union. You know +he wants her to marry Mr. Brand.” + +“I know nothing about it!” cried the Baroness. “Please to put on a +log.” Felix complied with her request and sat watching the quickening +of the flame. Presently his sister added, “And you propose to elope +with mademoiselle?” + +“By no means. I don’t wish to do anything that’s disagreeable to Mr. +Wentworth. He has been far too kind to us.” + +“But you must choose between pleasing yourself and pleasing him.” + +“I want to please everyone!” exclaimed Felix, joyously. “I have a good +conscience. I made up my mind at the outset that it was not my place to +make love to Gertrude.” + +“So, to simplify matters, she made love to you!” + +Felix looked at his sister with sudden gravity. “You say you are not +afraid of her,” he said. “But perhaps you ought to be—a little. She’s a +very clever person.” + +“I begin to see it!” cried the Baroness. Her brother, making no +rejoinder, leaned back in his chair, and there was a long silence. At +last, with an altered accent, Madame Münster put another question. “You +expect, at any rate, to marry?” + +“I shall be greatly disappointed if we don’t.” + +“A disappointment or two will do you good!” the Baroness declared. +“And, afterwards, do you mean to turn American?” + +“It seems to me I am a very good American already. But we shall go to +Europe. Gertrude wants extremely to see the world.” + +“Ah, like me, when I came here!” said the Baroness, with a little +laugh. + +“No, not like you,” Felix rejoined, looking at his sister with a +certain gentle seriousness. While he looked at her she rose from her +chair, and he also got up. “Gertrude is not at all like you,” he went +on; “but in her own way she is almost as clever.” He paused a moment; +his soul was full of an agreeable feeling and of a lively disposition +to express it. His sister, to his spiritual vision, was always like the +lunar disk when only a part of it is lighted. The shadow on this bright +surface seemed to him to expand and to contract; but whatever its +proportions, he always appreciated the moonlight. He looked at the +Baroness, and then he kissed her. “I am very much in love with +Gertrude,” he said. Eugenia turned away and walked about the room, and +Felix continued. “She is very interesting, and very different from what +she seems. She has never had a chance. She is very brilliant. We will +go to Europe and amuse ourselves.” + +The Baroness had gone to the window, where she stood looking out. The +day was drearier than ever; the rain was doggedly falling. “Yes, to +amuse yourselves,” she said at last, “you had decidedly better go to +Europe!” Then she turned round, looking at her brother. A chair stood +near her; she leaned her hands upon the back of it. “Don’t you think it +is very good of me,” she asked, “to come all this way with you simply +to see you properly married—if properly it is?” + +“Oh, it will be properly!” cried Felix, with light eagerness. + +The Baroness gave a little laugh. “You are thinking only of yourself, +and you don’t answer my question. While you are amusing yourself—with +the brilliant Gertrude—what shall I be doing?” + +_“Vous serez de la partie!”_ cried Felix. + +“Thank you: I should spoil it.” The Baroness dropped her eyes for some +moments. “Do you propose, however, to leave me here?” she inquired. + +Felix smiled at her. “My dearest sister, where you are concerned I +never propose. I execute your commands.” + +“I believe,” said Eugenia, slowly, “that you are the most heartless +person living. Don’t you see that I am in trouble?” + +“I saw that you were not cheerful, and I gave you some good news.” + +“Well, let me give you some news,” said the Baroness. “You probably +will not have discovered it for yourself. Robert Acton wants to marry +me.” + +“No, I had not discovered that. But I quite understand it. Why does it +make you unhappy?” + +“Because I can’t decide.” + +“Accept him, accept him!” cried Felix, joyously. “He is the best fellow +in the world.” + +“He is immensely in love with me,” said the Baroness. + +“And he has a large fortune. Permit me in turn to remind you of that.” + +“Oh, I am perfectly aware of it,” said Eugenia. “That’s a great item in +his favor. I am terribly candid.” And she left her place and came +nearer her brother, looking at him hard. He was turning over several +things; she was wondering in what manner he really understood her. + +There were several ways of understanding her: there was what she said, +and there was what she meant, and there was something, between the two, +that was neither. It is probable that, in the last analysis, what she +meant was that Felix should spare her the necessity of stating the case +more exactly and should hold himself commissioned to assist her by all +honorable means to marry the best fellow in the world. But in all this +it was never discovered what Felix understood. + +“Once you have your liberty, what are your objections?” he asked. + +“Well, I don’t particularly like him.” + +“Oh, try a little.” + +“I am trying now,” said Eugenia. “I should succeed better if he didn’t +live here. I could never live here.” + +“Make him go to Europe,” Felix suggested. + +“Ah, there you speak of happiness based upon violent effort,” the +Baroness rejoined. “That is not what I am looking for. He would never +live in Europe.” + +“He would live anywhere, with you!” said Felix, gallantly. + +His sister looked at him still, with a ray of penetration in her +charming eyes; then she turned away again. “You see, at all events,” +she presently went on, “that if it had been said of me that I had come +over here to seek my fortune it would have to be added that I have +found it!” + +“Don’t leave it lying!” urged Felix, with smiling solemnity. + +“I am much obliged to you for your interest,” his sister declared, +after a moment. “But promise me one thing: _pas de zèle!_ If Mr. Acton +should ask you to plead his cause, excuse yourself.” + +“I shall certainly have the excuse,” said Felix, “that I have a cause +of my own to plead.” + +“If he should talk of me—favorably,” Eugenia continued, “warn him +against dangerous illusions. I detest importunities; I want to decide +at my leisure, with my eyes open.” + +“I shall be discreet,” said Felix, “except to you. To you I will say, +Accept him outright.” + +She had advanced to the open doorway, and she stood looking at him. “I +will go and dress and think of it,” she said; and he heard her moving +slowly to her apartments. + +Late in the afternoon the rain stopped, and just afterwards there was a +great flaming, flickering, trickling sunset. Felix sat in his +painting-room and did some work; but at last, as the light, which had +not been brilliant, began to fade, he laid down his brushes and came +out to the little piazza of the cottage. Here he walked up and down for +some time, looking at the splendid blaze of the western sky and saying, +as he had often said before, that this was certainly the country of +sunsets. There was something in these glorious deeps of fire that +quickened his imagination; he always found images and promises in the +western sky. He thought of a good many things—of roaming about the +world with Gertrude Wentworth; he seemed to see their possible +adventures, in a glowing frieze, between the cloud-bars; then of what +Eugenia had just been telling him. He wished very much that Madame +Münster would make a comfortable and honorable marriage. Presently, as +the sunset expanded and deepened, the fancy took him of making a note +of so magnificent a piece of coloring. He returned to his studio and +fetched out a small panel, with his palette and brushes, and, placing +the panel against a window-sill, he began to daub with great gusto. +While he was so occupied he saw Mr. Brand, in the distance, slowly come +down from Mr. Wentworth’s house, nursing a large folded umbrella. He +walked with a joyless, meditative tread, and his eyes were bent upon +the ground. Felix poised his brush for a moment, watching him; then, by +a sudden impulse, as he drew nearer, advanced to the garden-gate and +signaled to him—the palette and bunch of brushes contributing to this +effect. + +Mr. Brand stopped and started; then he appeared to decide to accept +Felix’s invitation. He came out of Mr. Wentworth’s gate and passed +along the road; after which he entered the little garden of the +cottage. Felix had gone back to his sunset; but he made his visitor +welcome while he rapidly brushed it in. + +“I wanted so much to speak to you that I thought I would call you,” he +said, in the friendliest tone. “All the more that you have been to see +me so little. You have come to see my sister; I know that. But you +haven’t come to see me—the celebrated artist. Artists are very +sensitive, you know; they notice those things.” And Felix turned round, +smiling, with a brush in his mouth. + +Mr. Brand stood there with a certain blank, candid majesty, pulling +together the large flaps of his umbrella. “Why should I come to see +you?” he asked. “I know nothing of Art.” + +“It would sound very conceited, I suppose,” said Felix, “if I were to +say that it would be a good little chance for you to learn something. +You would ask me why you should learn; and I should have no answer to +that. I suppose a minister has no need for Art, eh?” + +“He has need for good temper, sir,” said Mr. Brand, with decision. + +Felix jumped up, with his palette on his thumb and a movement of the +liveliest deprecation. “That’s because I keep you standing there while +I splash my red paint! I beg a thousand pardons! You see what bad +manners Art gives a man; and how right you are to let it alone. I +didn’t mean you should stand, either. The piazza, as you see, is +ornamented with rustic chairs; though indeed I ought to warn you that +they have nails in the wrong places. I was just making a note of that +sunset. I never saw such a blaze of different reds. It looks as if the +Celestial City were in flames, eh? If that were really the case I +suppose it would be the business of you theologians to put out the +fire. Fancy me—an ungodly artist—quietly sitting down to paint it!” + +Mr. Brand had always credited Felix Young with a certain impudence, but +it appeared to him that on this occasion his impudence was so great as +to make a special explanation—or even an apology—necessary. And the +impression, it must be added, was sufficiently natural. Felix had at +all times a brilliant assurance of manner which was simply the vehicle +of his good spirits and his good will; but at present he had a special +design, and as he would have admitted that the design was audacious, so +he was conscious of having summoned all the arts of conversation to his +aid. But he was so far from desiring to offend his visitor that he was +rapidly asking himself what personal compliment he could pay the young +clergyman that would gratify him most. If he could think of it, he was +prepared to pay it down. “Have you been preaching one of your beautiful +sermons today?” he suddenly asked, laying down his palette. This was +not what Felix had been trying to think of, but it was a tolerable +stop-gap. + +Mr. Brand frowned—as much as a man can frown who has very fair, soft +eyebrows, and, beneath them, very gentle, tranquil eyes. “No, I have +not preached any sermon today. Did you bring me over here for the +purpose of making that inquiry?” + +Felix saw that he was irritated, and he regretted it immensely; but he +had no fear of not being, in the end, agreeable to Mr. Brand. He looked +at him, smiling and laying his hand on his arm. “No, no, not for +that—not for that. I wanted to ask you something; I wanted to tell you +something. I am sure it will interest you very much. Only—as it is +something rather private—we had better come into my little studio. I +have a western window; we can still see the sunset. _Andiamo!_” And he +gave a little pat to his companion’s arm. + +He led the way in; Mr. Brand stiffly and softly followed. The twilight +had thickened in the little studio; but the wall opposite the western +window was covered with a deep pink flush. There were a great many +sketches and half-finished canvasses suspended in this rosy glow, and +the corners of the room were vague and dusky. Felix begged Mr. Brand to +sit down; then glancing round him, “By Jove, how pretty it looks!” he +cried. But Mr. Brand would not sit down; he went and leaned against the +window; he wondered what Felix wanted of him. In the shadow, on the +darker parts of the wall, he saw the gleam of three or four pictures +that looked fantastic and surprising. They seemed to represent naked +figures. Felix stood there, with his head a little bent and his eyes +fixed upon his visitor, smiling intensely, pulling his moustache. Mr. +Brand felt vaguely uneasy. “It is very delicate—what I want to say,” +Felix began. “But I have been thinking of it for some time.” + +“Please to say it as quickly as possible,” said Mr. Brand. + +“It’s because you are a clergyman, you know,” Felix went on. “I don’t +think I should venture to say it to a common man.” + +Mr. Brand was silent a moment. “If it is a question of yielding to a +weakness, of resenting an injury, I am afraid I am a very common man.” + +“My dearest friend,” cried Felix, “this is not an injury; it’s a +benefit—a great service! You will like it extremely. Only it’s so +delicate!” And, in the dim light, he continued to smile intensely. “You +know I take a great interest in my cousins—in Charlotte and Gertrude +Wentworth. That’s very evident from my having traveled some five +thousand miles to see them.” Mr. Brand said nothing and Felix +proceeded. “Coming into their society as a perfect stranger I received +of course a great many new impressions, and my impressions had a great +freshness, a great keenness. Do you know what I mean?” + +“I am not sure that I do; but I should like you to continue.” + +“I think my impressions have always a good deal of freshness,” said Mr. +Brand’s entertainer; “but on this occasion it was perhaps particularly +natural that—coming in, as I say, from outside—I should be struck with +things that passed unnoticed among yourselves. And then I had my sister +to help me; and she is simply the most observant woman in the world.” + +“I am not surprised,” said Mr. Brand, “that in our little circle two +intelligent persons should have found food for observation. I am sure +that, of late, I have found it myself!” + +“Ah, but I shall surprise you yet!” cried Felix, laughing. “Both my +sister and I took a great fancy to my cousin Charlotte.” + +“Your cousin Charlotte?” repeated Mr. Brand. + +“We fell in love with her from the first!” + +“You fell in love with Charlotte?” Mr. Brand murmured. + +“_Dame!_” exclaimed Felix, “she’s a very charming person; and Eugenia +was especially smitten.” Mr. Brand stood staring, and he pursued, +“Affection, you know, opens one’s eyes, and we noticed something. +Charlotte is not happy! Charlotte is in love.” And Felix, drawing +nearer, laid his hand again upon his companion’s arm. + +There was something akin to an acknowledgment of fascination in the way +Mr. Brand looked at him; but the young clergyman retained as yet quite +enough self-possession to be able to say, with a good deal of +solemnity, “She is not in love with you.” + +Felix gave a light laugh, and rejoined with the alacrity of a maritime +adventurer who feels a puff of wind in his sail. “Ah, no; if she were +in love with me I should know it! I am not so blind as you.” + +“As I?” + +“My dear sir, you are stone blind. Poor Charlotte is dead in love with +_you!_” + +Mr. Brand said nothing for a moment; he breathed a little heavily. “Is +that what you wanted to say to me?” he asked. + +“I have wanted to say it these three weeks. Because of late she has +been worse. I told you,” added Felix, “it was very delicate.” + +“Well, sir”—Mr. Brand began; “well, sir——” + +“I was sure you didn’t know it,” Felix continued. “But don’t you see—as +soon as I mention it—how everything is explained?” Mr. Brand answered +nothing; he looked for a chair and softly sat down. Felix could see +that he was blushing; he had looked straight at his host hitherto, but +now he looked away. The foremost effect of what he had heard had been a +sort of irritation of his modesty. “Of course,” said Felix, “I suggest +nothing; it would be very presumptuous in me to advise you. But I think +there is no doubt about the fact.” + +Mr. Brand looked hard at the floor for some moments; he was oppressed +with a mixture of sensations. Felix, standing there, was very sure that +one of them was profound surprise. The innocent young man had been +completely unsuspicious of poor Charlotte’s hidden flame. This gave +Felix great hope; he was sure that Mr. Brand would be flattered. Felix +thought him very transparent, and indeed he was so; he could neither +simulate nor dissimulate. “I scarcely know what to make of this,” he +said at last, without looking up; and Felix was struck with the fact +that he offered no protest or contradiction. Evidently Felix had +kindled a train of memories—a retrospective illumination. It was +making, to Mr. Brand’s astonished eyes, a very pretty blaze; his second +emotion had been a gratification of vanity. + +“Thank me for telling you,” Felix rejoined. “It’s a good thing to +know.” + +“I am not sure of that,” said Mr. Brand. + +“Ah, don’t let her languish!” Felix murmured, lightly and softly. + +“You _do_ advise me, then?” And Mr. Brand looked up. + +“I congratulate you!” said Felix, smiling. He had thought at first his +visitor was simply appealing; but he saw he was a little ironical. + +“It is in your interest; you have interfered with me,” the young +clergyman went on. + +Felix still stood and smiled. The little room had grown darker, and the +crimson glow had faded; but Mr. Brand could see the brilliant +expression of his face. “I won’t pretend not to know what you mean,” +said Felix at last. “But I have not really interfered with you. Of what +you had to lose—with another person—you have lost nothing. And think +what you have gained!” + +“It seems to me I am the proper judge, on each side,” Mr. Brand +declared. He got up, holding the brim of his hat against his mouth and +staring at Felix through the dusk. + +“You have lost an illusion!” said Felix. + +“What do you call an illusion?” + +“The belief that you really know—that you have ever really +known—Gertrude Wentworth. Depend upon that,” pursued Felix. “I don’t +know her yet; but I have no illusions; I don’t pretend to.” + +Mr. Brand kept gazing, over his hat. “She has always been a lucid, +limpid nature,” he said, solemnly. + +“She has always been a dormant nature. She was waiting for a +touchstone. But now she is beginning to awaken.” + +“Don’t praise her to me!” said Mr. Brand, with a little quaver in his +voice. “If you have the advantage of me that is not generous.” + +“My dear sir, I am melting with generosity!” exclaimed Felix. “And I am +not praising my cousin. I am simply attempting a scientific definition +of her. She doesn’t care for abstractions. Now I think the contrary is +what you have always fancied—is the basis on which you have been +building. She is extremely preoccupied with the concrete. I care for +the concrete, too. But Gertrude is stronger than I; she whirls me +along!” + +Mr. Brand looked for a moment into the crown of his hat. “It’s a most +interesting nature.” + +“So it is,” said Felix. “But it pulls—it pulls—like a runaway horse. +Now I like the feeling of a runaway horse; and if I am thrown out of +the vehicle it is no great matter. But if _you_ should be thrown, Mr. +Brand”—and Felix paused a moment—“another person also would suffer from +the accident.” + +“What other person?” + +“Charlotte Wentworth!” + +Mr. Brand looked at Felix for a moment sidewise, mistrustfully; then +his eyes slowly wandered over the ceiling. Felix was sure he was +secretly struck with the romance of the situation. “I think this is +none of our business,” the young minister murmured. + +“None of mine, perhaps; but surely yours!” + +Mr. Brand lingered still, looking at the ceiling; there was evidently +something he wanted to say. “What do you mean by Miss Gertrude being +strong?” he asked abruptly. + +“Well,” said Felix meditatively, “I mean that she has had a great deal +of self-possession. She was waiting—for years; even when she seemed, +perhaps, to be living in the present. She knew how to wait; she had a +purpose. That’s what I mean by her being strong.” + +“But what do you mean by her purpose?” + +“Well—the purpose to see the world!” + +Mr. Brand eyed his strange informant askance again; but he said +nothing. At last he turned away, as if to take leave. He seemed +bewildered, however; for instead of going to the door he moved toward +the opposite corner of the room. Felix stood and watched him for a +moment—almost groping about in the dusk; then he led him to the door, +with a tender, almost fraternal movement. “Is that all you have to +say?” asked Mr. Brand. + +“Yes, it’s all—but it will bear a good deal of thinking of.” + +Felix went with him to the garden-gate, and watched him slowly walk +away into the thickening twilight with a relaxed rigidity that tried to +rectify itself. “He is offended, excited, bewildered, perplexed—and +enchanted!” Felix said to himself. “That’s a capital mixture.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Since that visit paid by the Baroness Münster to Mrs. Acton, of which +some account was given at an earlier stage of this narrative, the +intercourse between these two ladies had been neither frequent nor +intimate. It was not that Mrs. Acton had failed to appreciate Madame +Münster’s charms; on the contrary, her perception of the graces of +manner and conversation of her brilliant visitor had been only too +acute. Mrs. Acton was, as they said in Boston, very “intense,” and her +impressions were apt to be too many for her. The state of her health +required the restriction of emotion; and this is why, receiving, as she +sat in her eternal arm-chair, very few visitors, even of the soberest +local type, she had been obliged to limit the number of her interviews +with a lady whose costume and manner recalled to her imagination—Mrs. +Acton’s imagination was a marvel—all that she had ever read of the most +stirring historical periods. But she had sent the Baroness a great many +quaintly-worded messages and a great many nosegays from her garden and +baskets of beautiful fruit. Felix had eaten the fruit, and the Baroness +had arranged the flowers and returned the baskets and the messages. On +the day that followed that rainy Sunday of which mention has been made, +Eugenia determined to go and pay the beneficent invalid a _“visite +d’adieux”_; so it was that, to herself, she qualified her enterprise. +It may be noted that neither on the Sunday evening nor on the Monday +morning had she received that expected visit from Robert Acton. To his +own consciousness, evidently he was “keeping away;” and as the +Baroness, on her side, was keeping away from her uncle’s, whither, for +several days, Felix had been the unembarrassed bearer of apologies and +regrets for absence, chance had not taken the cards from the hands of +design. Mr. Wentworth and his daughters had respected Eugenia’s +seclusion; certain intervals of mysterious retirement appeared to them, +vaguely, a natural part of the graceful, rhythmic movement of so +remarkable a life. Gertrude especially held these periods in honor; she +wondered what Madame Münster did at such times, but she would not have +permitted herself to inquire too curiously. + +The long rain had freshened the air, and twelve hours’ brilliant +sunshine had dried the roads; so that the Baroness, in the late +afternoon, proposing to walk to Mrs. Acton’s, exposed herself to no +great discomfort. As with her charming undulating step she moved along +the clean, grassy margin of the road, beneath the thickly-hanging +boughs of the orchards, through the quiet of the hour and place and the +rich maturity of the summer, she was even conscious of a sort of +luxurious melancholy. The Baroness had the amiable weakness of +attaching herself to places—even when she had begun with a little +aversion; and now, with the prospect of departure, she felt tenderly +toward this well-wooded corner of the Western world, where the sunsets +were so beautiful and one’s ambitions were so pure. Mrs. Acton was able +to receive her; but on entering this lady’s large, freshly-scented room +the Baroness saw that she was looking very ill. She was wonderfully +white and transparent, and, in her flowered arm-chair, she made no +attempt to move. But she flushed a little—like a young girl, the +Baroness thought—and she rested her clear, smiling eyes upon those of +her visitor. Her voice was low and monotonous, like a voice that had +never expressed any human passions. + +“I have come to bid you good-bye,” said Eugenia. “I shall soon be going +away.” + +“When are you going away?” + +“Very soon—any day.” + +“I am very sorry,” said Mrs. Acton. “I hoped you would stay—always.” + +“Always?” Eugenia demanded. + +“Well, I mean a long time,” said Mrs. Acton, in her sweet, feeble tone. +“They tell me you are so comfortable—that you have got such a beautiful +little house.” + +Eugenia stared—that is, she smiled; she thought of her poor little +chalet and she wondered whether her hostess were jesting. “Yes, my +house is exquisite,” she said; “though not to be compared to yours.” + +“And my son is so fond of going to see you,” Mrs. Acton added. “I am +afraid my son will miss you.” + +“Ah, dear madam,” said Eugenia, with a little laugh, “I can’t stay in +America for your son!” + +“Don’t you like America?” + +The Baroness looked at the front of her dress. “If I liked it—that +would not be staying for your son!” + +Mrs. Acton gazed at her with her grave, tender eyes, as if she had not +quite understood. The Baroness at last found something irritating in +the sweet, soft stare of her hostess; and if one were not bound to be +merciful to great invalids she would almost have taken the liberty of +pronouncing her, mentally, a fool. “I am afraid, then, I shall never +see you again,” said Mrs. Acton. “You know I am dying.” + +“Ah, dear madam,” murmured Eugenia. + +“I want to leave my children cheerful and happy. My daughter will +probably marry her cousin.” + +“Two such interesting young people,” said the Baroness, vaguely. She +was not thinking of Clifford Wentworth. + +“I feel so tranquil about my end,” Mrs. Acton went on. “It is coming so +easily, so surely.” And she paused, with her mild gaze always on +Eugenia’s. + +The Baroness hated to be reminded of death; but even in its imminence, +so far as Mrs. Acton was concerned, she preserved her good manners. +“Ah, madam, you are too charming an invalid,” she rejoined. + +But the delicacy of this rejoinder was apparently lost upon her +hostess, who went on in her low, reasonable voice. “I want to leave my +children bright and comfortable. You seem to me all so happy here—just +as you are. So I wish you could stay. It would be so pleasant for +Robert.” + +Eugenia wondered what she meant by its being pleasant for Robert; but +she felt that she would never know what such a woman as that meant. She +got up; she was afraid Mrs. Acton would tell her again that she was +dying. “Good-bye, dear madam,” she said. “I must remember that your +strength is precious.” + +Mrs. Acton took her hand and held it a moment. “Well, you _have_ been +happy here, haven’t you? And you like us all, don’t you? I wish you +would stay,” she added, “in your beautiful little house.” + +She had told Eugenia that her waiting-woman would be in the hall, to +show her downstairs; but the large landing outside her door was empty, +and Eugenia stood there looking about. She felt irritated; the dying +lady had not _“la main heureuse.”_ She passed slowly downstairs, still +looking about. The broad staircase made a great bend, and in the angle +was a high window, looking westward, with a deep bench, covered with a +row of flowering plants in curious old pots of blue china-ware. The +yellow afternoon light came in through the flowers and flickered a +little on the white wainscots. Eugenia paused a moment; the house was +perfectly still, save for the ticking, somewhere, of a great clock. The +lower hall stretched away at the foot of the stairs, half covered over +with a large Oriental rug. Eugenia lingered a little, noticing a great +many things. _“Comme c’est bien!”_ she said to herself; such a large, +solid, irreproachable basis of existence the place seemed to her to +indicate. And then she reflected that Mrs. Acton was soon to withdraw +from it. The reflection accompanied her the rest of the way downstairs, +where she paused again, making more observations. The hall was +extremely broad, and on either side of the front door was a wide, +deeply-set window, which threw the shadows of everything back into the +house. There were high-backed chairs along the wall and big Eastern +vases upon tables, and, on either side, a large cabinet with a glass +front and little curiosities within, dimly gleaming. The doors were +open—into the darkened parlor, the library, the dining-room. All these +rooms seemed empty. Eugenia passed along, and stopped a moment on the +threshold of each. _“Comme c’est bien!”_ she murmured again; she had +thought of just such a house as this when she decided to come to +America. She opened the front door for herself—her light tread had +summoned none of the servants—and on the threshold she gave a last +look. Outside, she was still in the humor for curious contemplation; so +instead of going directly down the little drive, to the gate, she +wandered away towards the garden, which lay to the right of the house. +She had not gone many yards over the grass before she paused quickly; +she perceived a gentleman stretched upon the level verdure, beneath a +tree. He had not heard her coming, and he lay motionless, flat on his +back, with his hands clasped under his head, staring up at the sky; so +that the Baroness was able to reflect, at her leisure, upon the +question of his identity. It was that of a person who had lately been +much in her thoughts; but her first impulse, nevertheless, was to turn +away; the last thing she desired was to have the air of coming in quest +of Robert Acton. The gentleman on the grass, however, gave her no time +to decide; he could not long remain unconscious of so agreeable a +presence. He rolled back his eyes, stared, gave an exclamation, and +then jumped up. He stood an instant, looking at her. + +“Excuse my ridiculous position,” he said. + +“I have just now no sense of the ridiculous. But, in case you have, +don’t imagine I came to see you.” + +“Take care,” rejoined Acton, “how you put it into my head! I was +thinking of you.” + +“The occupation of extreme leisure!” said the Baroness. “To think of a +woman when you are in that position is no compliment.” + +“I didn’t say I was thinking well!” Acton affirmed, smiling. + +She looked at him, and then she turned away. + +“Though I didn’t come to see you,” she said, “remember at least that I +am within your gates.” + +“I am delighted—I am honored! Won’t you come into the house?” + +“I have just come out of it. I have been calling upon your mother. I +have been bidding her farewell.” + +“Farewell?” Acton demanded. + +“I am going away,” said the Baroness. And she turned away again, as if +to illustrate her meaning. + +“When are you going?” asked Acton, standing a moment in his place. But +the Baroness made no answer, and he followed her. + +“I came this way to look at your garden,” she said, walking back to the +gate, over the grass. “But I must go.” + +“Let me at least go with you.” He went with her, and they said nothing +till they reached the gate. It was open, and they looked down the road +which was darkened over with long bosky shadows. “Must you go straight +home?” Acton asked. + +But she made no answer. She said, after a moment, “Why have you not +been to see me?” He said nothing, and then she went on, “Why don’t you +answer me?” + +“I am trying to invent an answer,” Acton confessed. + +“Have you none ready?” + +“None that I can tell you,” he said. “But let me walk with you now.” + +“You may do as you like.” + +She moved slowly along the road, and Acton went with her. Presently he +said, “If I had done as I liked I would have come to see you several +times.” + +“Is that invented?” asked Eugenia. + +“No, that is natural. I stayed away because——” + +“Ah, here comes the reason, then!” + +“Because I wanted to think about you.” + +“Because you wanted to lie down!” said the Baroness. “I have seen you +lie down—almost—in my drawing-room.” + +Acton stopped in the road, with a movement which seemed to beg her to +linger a little. She paused, and he looked at her awhile; he thought +her very charming. “You are jesting,” he said; “but if you are really +going away it is very serious.” + +“If I stay,” and she gave a little laugh, “it is more serious still!” + +“When shall you go?” + +“As soon as possible.” + +“And why?” + +“Why should I stay?” + +“Because we all admire you so.” + +“That is not a reason. I am admired also in Europe.” And she began to +walk homeward again. + +“What could I say to keep you?” asked Acton. He wanted to keep her, and +it was a fact that he had been thinking of her for a week. He was in +love with her now; he was conscious of that, or he thought he was; and +the only question with him was whether he could trust her. + +“What you can say to keep me?” she repeated. “As I want very much to go +it is not in my interest to tell you. Besides, I can’t imagine.” + +He went on with her in silence; he was much more affected by what she +had told him than appeared. Ever since that evening of his return from +Newport her image had had a terrible power to trouble him. What +Clifford Wentworth had told him—that had affected him, too, in an +adverse sense; but it had not liberated him from the discomfort of a +charm of which his intelligence was impatient. “She is not honest, she +is not honest,” he kept murmuring to himself. That is what he had been +saying to the summer sky, ten minutes before. Unfortunately, he was +unable to say it finally, definitively; and now that he was near her it +seemed to matter wonderfully little. “She is a woman who will lie,” he +had said to himself. Now, as he went along, he reminded himself of this +observation; but it failed to frighten him as it had done before. He +almost wished he could make her lie and then convict her of it, so that +he might see how he should like that. He kept thinking of this as he +walked by her side, while she moved forward with her light, graceful +dignity. He had sat with her before; he had driven with her; but he had +never walked with her. + +“By Jove, how _comme il faut_ she is!” he said, as he observed her +sidewise. When they reached the cottage in the orchard she passed into +the gate without asking him to follow; but she turned round, as he +stood there, to bid him good-night. + +“I asked you a question the other night which you never answered,” he +said. “Have you sent off that document—liberating yourself?” + +She hesitated for a single moment—very naturally. Then, “Yes,” she +said, simply. + +He turned away; he wondered whether that would do for his lie. But he +saw her again that evening, for the Baroness reappeared at her uncle’s. +He had little talk with her, however; two gentlemen had driven out from +Boston, in a buggy, to call upon Mr. Wentworth and his daughters, and +Madame Münster was an object of absorbing interest to both of the +visitors. One of them, indeed, said nothing to her; he only sat and +watched with intense gravity, and leaned forward solemnly, presenting +his ear (a very large one), as if he were deaf, whenever she dropped an +observation. He had evidently been impressed with the idea of her +misfortunes and reverses: he never smiled. His companion adopted a +lighter, easier style; sat as near as possible to Madame Münster; +attempted to draw her out, and proposed every few moments a new topic +of conversation. Eugenia was less vividly responsive than usual and had +less to say than, from her brilliant reputation, her interlocutor +expected, upon the relative merits of European and American +institutions; but she was inaccessible to Robert Acton, who roamed +about the piazza with his hands in his pockets, listening for the +grating sound of the buggy from Boston, as it should be brought round +to the side-door. But he listened in vain, and at last he lost +patience. His sister came to him and begged him to take her home, and +he presently went off with her. Eugenia observed him leaving the house +with Lizzie; in her present mood the fact seemed a contribution to her +irritated conviction that he had several precious qualities. “Even that +_mal-élevée_ little girl,” she reflected, “makes him do what she +wishes.” + +She had been sitting just within one of the long windows that opened +upon the piazza; but very soon after Acton had gone away she got up +abruptly, just when the talkative gentleman from Boston was asking her +what she thought of the “moral tone” of that city. On the piazza she +encountered Clifford Wentworth, coming round from the other side of the +house. She stopped him; she told him she wished to speak to him. + +“Why didn’t you go home with your cousin?” she asked. + +Clifford stared. “Why, Robert has taken her,” he said. + +“Exactly so. But you don’t usually leave that to him.” + +“Oh,” said Clifford, “I want to see those fellows start off. They don’t +know how to drive.” + +“It is not, then, that you have quarreled with your cousin?” + +Clifford reflected a moment, and then with a simplicity which had, for +the Baroness, a singularly baffling quality, “Oh, no; we have made up!” +he said. + +She looked at him for some moments; but Clifford had begun to be afraid +of the Baroness’s looks, and he endeavored, now, to shift himself out +of their range. “Why do you never come to see me any more?” she asked. +“Have I displeased you?” + +“Displeased me? Well, I guess not!” said Clifford, with a laugh. + +“Why haven’t you come, then?” + +“Well, because I am afraid of getting shut up in that back room.” + +Eugenia kept looking at him. “I should think you would like that.” + +“Like it!” cried Clifford. + +“I should, if I were a young man calling upon a charming woman.” + +“A charming woman isn’t much use to me when I am shut up in that back +room!” + +“I am afraid I am not of much use to you anywhere!” said Madame +Münster. “And yet you know how I have offered to be.” + +“Well,” observed Clifford, by way of response, “there comes the buggy.” + +“Never mind the buggy. Do you know I am going away?” + +“Do you mean now?” + +“I mean in a few days. I leave this place.” + +“You are going back to Europe?” + +“To Europe, where you are to come and see me.” + +“Oh, yes, I’ll come out there,” said Clifford. + +“But before that,” Eugenia declared, “you must come and see me here.” + +“Well, I shall keep clear of that back room!” rejoined her simple young +kinsman. + +The Baroness was silent a moment. “Yes, you must come frankly—boldly. +That will be very much better. I see that now.” + +“I see it!” said Clifford. And then, in an instant, “What’s the matter +with that buggy?” His practiced ear had apparently detected an +unnatural creak in the wheels of the light vehicle which had been +brought to the portico, and he hurried away to investigate so grave an +anomaly. + +The Baroness walked homeward, alone, in the starlight, asking herself a +question. Was she to have gained nothing—was she to have gained +nothing? + +Gertrude Wentworth had held a silent place in the little circle +gathered about the two gentlemen from Boston. She was not interested in +the visitors; she was watching Madame Münster, as she constantly +watched her. She knew that Eugenia also was not interested—that she was +bored; and Gertrude was absorbed in study of the problem how, in spite +of her indifference and her absent attention, she managed to have such +a charming manner. That was the manner Gertrude would have liked to +have; she determined to cultivate it, and she wished that—to give her +the charm—she might in future very often be bored. While she was +engaged in these researches, Felix Young was looking for Charlotte, to +whom he had something to say. For some time, now, he had had something +to say to Charlotte, and this evening his sense of the propriety of +holding some special conversation with her had reached the +motive-point—resolved itself into acute and delightful desire. He +wandered through the empty rooms on the large ground-floor of the +house, and found her at last in a small apartment denominated, for +reasons not immediately apparent, Mr. Wentworth’s “office:” an +extremely neat and well-dusted room, with an array of law-books, in +time-darkened sheep-skin, on one of the walls; a large map of the +United States on the other, flanked on either side by an old steel +engraving of one of Raphael’s Madonnas; and on the third several glass +cases containing specimens of butterflies and beetles. Charlotte was +sitting by a lamp, embroidering a slipper. Felix did not ask for whom +the slipper was destined; he saw it was very large. + +He moved a chair toward her and sat down, smiling as usual, but, at +first, not speaking. She watched him, with her needle poised, and with +a certain shy, fluttered look which she always wore when he approached +her. There was something in Felix’s manner that quickened her modesty, +her self-consciousness; if absolute choice had been given her she would +have preferred never to find herself alone with him; and in fact, +though she thought him a most brilliant, distinguished, and +well-meaning person, she had exercised a much larger amount of +tremulous tact than he had ever suspected, to circumvent the accident +of _tête-à-tête_. Poor Charlotte could have given no account of the +matter that would not have seemed unjust both to herself and to her +foreign kinsman; she could only have said—or rather, she would never +have said it—that she did not like so much gentleman’s society at once. +She was not reassured, accordingly, when he began, emphasizing his +words with a kind of admiring radiance, “My dear cousin, I am enchanted +at finding you alone.” + +“I am very often alone,” Charlotte observed. Then she quickly added, “I +don’t mean I am lonely!” + +“So clever a woman as you is never lonely,” said Felix. “You have +company in your beautiful work.” And he glanced at the big slipper. + +“I like to work,” declared Charlotte, simply. + +“So do I!” said her companion. “And I like to idle too. But it is not +to idle that I have come in search of you. I want to tell you something +very particular.” + +“Well,” murmured Charlotte; “of course, if you must——” + +“My dear cousin,” said Felix, “it’s nothing that a young lady may not +listen to. At least I suppose it isn’t. But _voyons_; you shall judge. +I am terribly in love.” + +“Well, Felix,” began Miss Wentworth, gravely. But her very gravity +appeared to check the development of her phrase. + +“I am in love with your sister; but in love, Charlotte—in love!” the +young man pursued. Charlotte had laid her work in her lap; her hands +were tightly folded on top of it; she was staring at the carpet. “In +short, I’m in love, dear lady,” said Felix. “Now I want you to help +me.” + +“To help you?” asked Charlotte, with a tremor. + +“I don’t mean with Gertrude; she and I have a perfect understanding; +and oh, how well she understands one! I mean with your father and with +the world in general, including Mr. Brand.” + +“Poor Mr. Brand!” said Charlotte, slowly, but with a simplicity which +made it evident to Felix that the young minister had not repeated to +Miss Wentworth the talk that had lately occurred between them. + +“Ah, now, don’t say ‘poor’ Mr. Brand! I don’t pity Mr. Brand at all. +But I pity your father a little, and I don’t want to displease him. +Therefore, you see, I want you to plead for me. You don’t think me very +shabby, eh?” + +“Shabby?” exclaimed Charlotte softly, for whom Felix represented the +most polished and iridescent qualities of mankind. + +“I don’t mean in my appearance,” rejoined Felix, laughing; for +Charlotte was looking at his boots. “I mean in my conduct. You don’t +think it’s an abuse of hospitality?” + +“To—to care for Gertrude?” asked Charlotte. + +“To have really expressed one’s self. Because I _have_ expressed +myself, Charlotte; I must tell you the whole truth—I have! Of course I +want to marry her—and here is the difficulty. I held off as long as I +could; but she is such a terribly fascinating person! She’s a strange +creature, Charlotte; I don’t believe you really know her.” Charlotte +took up her tapestry again, and again she laid it down. “I know your +father has had higher views,” Felix continued; “and I think you have +shared them. You have wanted to marry her to Mr. Brand.” + +“Oh, no,” said Charlotte, very earnestly. “Mr. Brand has always admired +her. But we did not want anything of that kind.” + +Felix stared. “Surely, marriage was what you proposed.” + +“Yes; but we didn’t wish to force her.” + +“_A la bonne heure!_ That’s very unsafe you know. With these arranged +marriages there is often the deuce to pay.” + +“Oh, Felix,” said Charlotte, “we didn’t want to ‘arrange.’” + +“I am delighted to hear that. Because in such cases—even when the woman +is a thoroughly good creature—she can’t help looking for a +compensation. A charming fellow comes along—and _voilà!_” Charlotte sat +mutely staring at the floor, and Felix presently added, “Do go on with +your slipper, I like to see you work.” + +Charlotte took up her variegated canvas, and began to draw vague blue +stitches in a big round rose. “If Gertrude is so—so strange,” she said, +“why do you want to marry her?” + +“Ah, that’s it, dear Charlotte! I like strange women; I always have +liked them. Ask Eugenia! And Gertrude is wonderful; she says the most +beautiful things!” + +Charlotte looked at him, almost for the first time, as if her meaning +required to be severely pointed. “You have a great influence over her.” + +“Yes—and no!” said Felix. “I had at first, I think; but now it is six +of one and half-a-dozen of the other; it is reciprocal. She affects me +strongly—for she _is_ so strong. I don’t believe you know her; it’s a +beautiful nature.” + +“Oh, yes, Felix; I have always thought Gertrude’s nature beautiful.” + +“Well, if you think so now,” cried the young man, “wait and see! She’s +a folded flower. Let me pluck her from the parent tree and you will see +her expand. I’m sure you will enjoy it.” + +“I don’t understand you,” murmured Charlotte. “I _can’t_, Felix.” + +“Well, you can understand this—that I beg you to say a good word for me +to your father. He regards me, I naturally believe, as a very light +fellow, a Bohemian, an irregular character. Tell him I am not all this; +if I ever was, I have forgotten it. I am fond of pleasure—yes; but of +innocent pleasure. Pain is all one; but in pleasure, you know, there +are tremendous distinctions. Say to him that Gertrude is a folded +flower and that I am a serious man!” + +Charlotte got up from her chair slowly rolling up her work. “We know +you are very kind to everyone, Felix,” she said. “But we are extremely +sorry for Mr. Brand.” + +“Of course you are—you especially! Because,” added Felix hastily, “you +are a woman. But I don’t pity him. It ought to be enough for any man +that you take an interest in him.” + +“It is not enough for Mr. Brand,” said Charlotte, simply. And she stood +there a moment, as if waiting conscientiously for anything more that +Felix might have to say. + +“Mr. Brand is not so keen about his marriage as he was,” he presently +said. “He is afraid of your sister. He begins to think she is wicked.” + +Charlotte looked at him now with beautiful, appealing eyes—eyes into +which he saw the tears rising. “Oh, Felix, Felix,” she cried, “what +have you done to her?” + +“I think she was asleep; I have waked her up!” + +But Charlotte, apparently, was really crying, she walked straight out +of the room. And Felix, standing there and meditating, had the apparent +brutality to take satisfaction in her tears. + +Late that night Gertrude, silent and serious, came to him in the +garden; it was a kind of appointment. Gertrude seemed to like +appointments. She plucked a handful of heliotrope and stuck it into the +front of her dress, but she said nothing. They walked together along +one of the paths, and Felix looked at the great, square, hospitable +house, massing itself vaguely in the starlight, with all its windows +darkened. + +“I have a little of a bad conscience,” he said. “I oughtn’t to meet you +this way till I have got your father’s consent.” + +Gertrude looked at him for some time. “I don’t understand you.” + +“You very often say that,” he said. “Considering how little we +understand each other, it is a wonder how well we get on!” + +“We have done nothing but meet since you came here—but meet alone. The +first time I ever saw you we were alone,” Gertrude went on. “What is +the difference now? Is it because it is at night?” + +“The difference, Gertrude,” said Felix, stopping in the path, “the +difference is that I love you more—more than before!” And then they +stood there, talking, in the warm stillness and in front of the closed +dark house. “I have been talking to Charlotte—been trying to bespeak +her interest with your father. She has a kind of sublime perversity; +was ever a woman so bent upon cutting off her own head?” + +“You are too careful,” said Gertrude; “you are too diplomatic.” + +“Well,” cried the young man, “I didn’t come here to make anyone +unhappy!” + +Gertrude looked round her awhile in the odorous darkness. “I will do +anything you please,” she said. + +“For instance?” asked Felix, smiling. + +“I will go away. I will do anything you please.” + +Felix looked at her in solemn admiration. “Yes, we will go away,” he +said. “But we will make peace first.” + +Gertrude looked about her again, and then she broke out, passionately, +“Why do they try to make one feel guilty? Why do they make it so +difficult? Why can’t they understand?” + +“I will make them understand!” said Felix. He drew her hand into his +arm, and they wandered about in the garden, talking, for an hour. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Felix allowed Charlotte time to plead his cause; and then, on the third +day, he sought an interview with his uncle. It was in the morning; Mr. +Wentworth was in his office; and, on going in, Felix found that +Charlotte was at that moment in conference with her father. She had, in +fact, been constantly near him since her interview with Felix; she had +made up her mind that it was her duty to repeat very literally her +cousin’s passionate plea. She had accordingly followed Mr. Wentworth +about like a shadow, in order to find him at hand when she should have +mustered sufficient composure to speak. For poor Charlotte, in this +matter, naturally lacked composure; especially when she meditated upon +some of Felix’s intimations. It was not cheerful work, at the best, to +keep giving small hammer-taps to the coffin in which one had laid away, +for burial, the poor little unacknowledged offspring of one’s own +misbehaving heart; and the occupation was not rendered more agreeable +by the fact that the ghost of one’s stifled dream had been summoned +from the shades by the strange, bold words of a talkative young +foreigner. What had Felix meant by saying that Mr. Brand was not so +keen? To herself her sister’s justly depressed suitor had shown no sign +of faltering. Charlotte trembled all over when she allowed herself to +believe for an instant now and then that, privately, Mr. Brand might +have faltered; and as it seemed to give more force to Felix’s words to +repeat them to her father, she was waiting until she should have taught +herself to be very calm. But she had now begun to tell Mr. Wentworth +that she was extremely anxious. She was proceeding to develop this +idea, to enumerate the objects of her anxiety, when Felix came in. + +Mr. Wentworth sat there, with his legs crossed, lifting his dry, pure +countenance from the Boston _Advertiser_. Felix entered smiling, as if +he had something particular to say, and his uncle looked at him as if +he both expected and deprecated this event. Felix vividly expressing +himself had come to be a formidable figure to his uncle, who had not +yet arrived at definite views as to a proper tone. For the first time +in his life, as I have said, Mr. Wentworth shirked a responsibility; he +earnestly desired that it might not be laid upon him to determine how +his nephew’s lighter propositions should be treated. He lived under an +apprehension that Felix might yet beguile him into assent to doubtful +inductions, and his conscience instructed him that the best form of +vigilance was the avoidance of discussion. He hoped that the pleasant +episode of his nephew’s visit would pass away without a further lapse +of consistency. + +Felix looked at Charlotte with an air of understanding, and then at Mr. +Wentworth, and then at Charlotte again. Mr. Wentworth bent his refined +eyebrows upon his nephew and stroked down the first page of the +_Advertiser_. “I ought to have brought a bouquet,” said Felix, +laughing. “In France they always do.” + +“We are not in France,” observed Mr. Wentworth, gravely, while +Charlotte earnestly gazed at him. + +“No, luckily, we are not in France, where I am afraid I should have a +harder time of it. My dear Charlotte, have you rendered me that +delightful service?” And Felix bent toward her as if someone had been +presenting him. + +Charlotte looked at him with almost frightened eyes; and Mr. Wentworth +thought this might be the beginning of a discussion. “What is the +bouquet for?” he inquired, by way of turning it off. + +Felix gazed at him, smiling. _“Pour la demande!”_ And then, drawing up +a chair, he seated himself, hat in hand, with a kind of conscious +solemnity. + +Presently he turned to Charlotte again. “My good Charlotte, my +admirable Charlotte,” he murmured, “you have not played me false—you +have not sided against me?” + +Charlotte got up, trembling extremely, though imperceptibly. “You must +speak to my father yourself,” she said. “I think you are clever +enough.” + +But Felix, rising too, begged her to remain. “I can speak better to an +audience!” he declared. + +“I hope it is nothing disagreeable,” said Mr. Wentworth. + +“It’s something delightful, for me!” And Felix, laying down his hat, +clasped his hands a little between his knees. “My dear uncle,” he said, +“I desire, very earnestly, to marry your daughter Gertrude.” Charlotte +sank slowly into her chair again, and Mr. Wentworth sat staring, with a +light in his face that might have been flashed back from an iceberg. He +stared and stared; he said nothing. Felix fell back, with his hands +still clasped. “Ah—you don’t like it. I was afraid!” He blushed deeply, +and Charlotte noticed it—remarking to herself that it was the first +time she had ever seen him blush. She began to blush herself and to +reflect that he might be much in love. + +“This is very abrupt,” said Mr. Wentworth, at last. + +“Have you never suspected it, dear uncle?” Felix inquired. “Well, that +proves how discreet I have been. Yes, I thought you wouldn’t like it.” + +“It is very serious, Felix,” said Mr. Wentworth. + +“You think it’s an abuse of hospitality!” exclaimed Felix, smiling +again. + +“Of hospitality?—an abuse?” his uncle repeated very slowly. + +“That is what Felix said to me,” said Charlotte, conscientiously. + +“Of course you think so; don’t defend yourself!” Felix pursued. “It +_is_ an abuse, obviously; the most I can claim is that it is perhaps a +pardonable one. I simply fell head over heels in love; one can hardly +help that. Though you are Gertrude’s progenitor I don’t believe you +know how attractive she is. Dear uncle, she contains the elements of a +singularly—I may say a strangely—charming woman!” + +“She has always been to me an object of extreme concern,” said Mr. +Wentworth. “We have always desired her happiness.” + +“Well, here it is!” Felix declared. “I will make her happy. She +believes it, too. Now hadn’t you noticed that?” + +“I had noticed that she was much changed,” Mr. Wentworth declared, in a +tone whose unexpressive, unimpassioned quality appeared to Felix to +reveal a profundity of opposition. “It may be that she is only becoming +what you call a charming woman.” + +“Gertrude, at heart, is so earnest, so true,” said Charlotte, very +softly, fastening her eyes upon her father. + +“I delight to hear you praise her!” cried Felix. + +“She has a very peculiar temperament,” said Mr. Wentworth. + +“Eh, even that is praise!” Felix rejoined. “I know I am not the man you +might have looked for. I have no position and no fortune; I can give +Gertrude no place in the world. A place in the world—that’s what she +ought to have; that would bring her out.” + +“A place to do her duty!” remarked Mr. Wentworth. + +“Ah, how charmingly she does it—her duty!” Felix exclaimed, with a +radiant face. “What an exquisite conception she has of it! But she +comes honestly by that, dear uncle.” Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte both +looked at him as if they were watching a greyhound doubling. “Of course +with me she will hide her light under a bushel,” he continued; “I being +the bushel! Now I know you like me—you have certainly proved it. But +you think I am frivolous and penniless and shabby! Granted—granted—a +thousand times granted. I have been a loose fish—a fiddler, a painter, +an actor. But there is this to be said: In the first place, I fancy you +exaggerate; you lend me qualities I haven’t had. I have been a +Bohemian—yes; but in Bohemia I always passed for a gentleman. I wish +you could see some of my old _camarades_—they would tell you! It was +the liberty I liked, but not the opportunities! My sins were all +peccadilloes; I always respected my neighbor’s property—my neighbor’s +wife. Do you see, dear uncle?” Mr. Wentworth ought to have seen; his +cold blue eyes were intently fixed. “And then, _c’est fini!_ It’s all +over. _Je me range_. I have settled down to a jog-trot. I find I can +earn my living—a very fair one—by going about the world and painting +bad portraits. It’s not a glorious profession, but it is a perfectly +respectable one. You won’t deny that, eh? Going about the world, I say? +I must not deny that, for that I am afraid I shall always do—in quest +of agreeable sitters. When I say agreeable, I mean susceptible of +delicate flattery and prompt of payment. Gertrude declares she is +willing to share my wanderings and help to pose my models. She even +thinks it will be charming; and that brings me to my third point. +Gertrude likes me. Encourage her a little and she will tell you so.” + +Felix’s tongue obviously moved much faster than the imagination of his +auditors; his eloquence, like the rocking of a boat in a deep, smooth +lake, made long eddies of silence. And he seemed to be pleading and +chattering still, with his brightly eager smile, his uplifted eyebrows, +his expressive mouth, after he had ceased speaking, and while, with his +glance quickly turning from the father to the daughter, he sat waiting +for the effect of his appeal. “It is not your want of means,” said Mr. +Wentworth, after a period of severe reticence. + +“Now it’s delightful of you to say that! Only don’t say it’s my want of +character. Because I have a character—I assure you I have; a small one, +a little slip of a thing, but still something tangible.” + +“Ought you not to tell Felix that it is Mr. Brand, father?” Charlotte +asked, with infinite mildness. + +“It is not only Mr. Brand,” Mr. Wentworth solemnly declared. And he +looked at his knee for a long time. “It is difficult to explain,” he +said. He wished, evidently, to be very just. “It rests on moral +grounds, as Mr. Brand says. It is the question whether it is the best +thing for Gertrude.” + +“What is better—what is better, dear uncle?” Felix rejoined urgently, +rising in his urgency and standing before Mr. Wentworth. His uncle had +been looking at his knee; but when Felix moved he transferred his gaze +to the handle of the door which faced him. “It is usually a fairly good +thing for a girl to marry the man she loves!” cried Felix. + +While he spoke, Mr. Wentworth saw the handle of the door begin to turn; +the door opened and remained slightly ajar, until Felix had delivered +himself of the cheerful axiom just quoted. Then it opened altogether +and Gertrude stood there. She looked excited; there was a spark in her +sweet, dull eyes. She came in slowly, but with an air of resolution, +and, closing the door softly, looked round at the three persons +present. Felix went to her with tender gallantry, holding out his hand, +and Charlotte made a place for her on the sofa. But Gertrude put her +hands behind her and made no motion to sit down. + +“We are talking of you!” said Felix. + +“I know it,” she answered. “That’s why I came.” And she fastened her +eyes on her father, who returned her gaze very fixedly. In his own cold +blue eyes there was a kind of pleading, reasoning light. + +“It is better you should be present,” said Mr. Wentworth. “We are +discussing your future.” + +“Why discuss it?” asked Gertrude. “Leave it to me.” + +“That is, to me!” cried Felix. + +“I leave it, in the last resort, to a greater wisdom than ours,” said +the old man. + +Felix rubbed his forehead gently. “But _en attendant_ the last resort, +your father lacks confidence,” he said to Gertrude. + +“Haven’t you confidence in Felix?” Gertrude was frowning; there was +something about her that her father and Charlotte had never seen. +Charlotte got up and came to her, as if to put her arm round her; but +suddenly, she seemed afraid to touch her. + +Mr. Wentworth, however, was not afraid. “I have had more confidence in +Felix than in you,” he said. + +“Yes, you have never had confidence in me—never, never! I don’t know +why.” + +“Oh sister, sister!” murmured Charlotte. + +“You have always needed advice,” Mr. Wentworth declared. “You have had +a difficult temperament.” + +“Why do you call it difficult? It might have been easy, if you had +allowed it. You wouldn’t let me be natural. I don’t know what you +wanted to make of me. Mr. Brand was the worst.” + +Charlotte at last took hold of her sister. She laid her two hands upon +Gertrude’s arm. “He cares so much for you,” she almost whispered. + +Gertrude looked at her intently an instant; then kissed her. “No, he +does not,” she said. + +“I have never seen you so passionate,” observed Mr. Wentworth, with an +air of indignation mitigated by high principles. + +“I am sorry if I offend you,” said Gertrude. + +“You offend me, but I don’t think you are sorry.” + +“Yes, father, she is sorry,” said Charlotte. + +“I would even go further, dear uncle,” Felix interposed. “I would +question whether she really offends you. How can she offend you?” + +To this Mr. Wentworth made no immediate answer. Then, in a moment, “She +has not profited as we hoped.” + +“Profited? _Ah voilà!_” Felix exclaimed. + +Gertrude was very pale; she stood looking down. “I have told Felix I +would go away with him,” she presently said. + +“Ah, you have said some admirable things!” cried the young man. + +“Go away, sister?” asked Charlotte. + +“Away—away; to some strange country.” + +“That is to frighten you,” said Felix, smiling at Charlotte. + +“To—what do you call it?” asked Gertrude, turning an instant to Felix. +“To Bohemia.” + +“Do you propose to dispense with preliminaries?” asked Mr. Wentworth, +getting up. + +“Dear uncle, _vous plaisantez!_” cried Felix. “It seems to me that +these are preliminaries.” + +Gertrude turned to her father. “I _have_ profited,” she said. “You +wanted to form my character. Well, my character is formed—for my age. I +know what I want; I have chosen. I am determined to marry this +gentleman.” + +“You had better consent, sir,” said Felix very gently. + +“Yes, sir, you had better consent,” added a very different voice. + +Charlotte gave a little jump, and the others turned to the direction +from which it had come. It was the voice of Mr. Brand, who had stepped +through the long window which stood open to the piazza. He stood +patting his forehead with his pocket-handkerchief; he was very much +flushed; his face wore a singular expression. + +“Yes, sir, you had better consent,” Mr. Brand repeated, coming forward. +“I know what Miss Gertrude means.” + +“My dear friend!” murmured Felix, laying his hand caressingly on the +young minister’s arm. + +Mr. Brand looked at him; then at Mr. Wentworth; lastly at Gertrude. He +did not look at Charlotte. But Charlotte’s earnest eyes were fastened +to his own countenance; they were asking an immense question of it. The +answer to this question could not come all at once; but some of the +elements of it were there. It was one of the elements of it that Mr. +Brand was very red, that he held his head very high, that he had a +bright, excited eye and an air of embarrassed boldness—the air of a man +who has taken a resolve, in the execution of which he apprehends the +failure, not of his moral, but of his personal, resources. Charlotte +thought he looked very grand; and it is incontestable that Mr. Brand +felt very grand. This, in fact, was the grandest moment of his life; +and it was natural that such a moment should contain opportunities of +awkwardness for a large, stout, modest young man. + +“Come in, sir,” said Mr. Wentworth, with an angular wave of his hand. +“It is very proper that you should be present.” + +“I know what you are talking about,” Mr. Brand rejoined. “I heard what +your nephew said.” + +“And he heard what you said!” exclaimed Felix, patting him again on the +arm. + +“I am not sure that I understood,” said Mr. Wentworth, who had +angularity in his voice as well as in his gestures. + +Gertrude had been looking hard at her former suitor. She had been +puzzled, like her sister; but her imagination moved more quickly than +Charlotte’s. “Mr. Brand asked you to let Felix take me away,” she said +to her father. + +The young minister gave her a strange look. “It is not because I don’t +want to see you any more,” he declared, in a tone intended as it were +for publicity. + +“I shouldn’t think you would want to see me any more,” Gertrude +answered, gently. + +Mr. Wentworth stood staring. “Isn’t this rather a change, sir?” he +inquired. + +“Yes, sir.” And Mr. Brand looked anywhere; only still not at Charlotte. +“Yes, sir,” he repeated. And he held his handkerchief a few moments to +his lips. + +“Where are our moral grounds?” demanded Mr. Wentworth, who had always +thought Mr. Brand would be just the thing for a younger daughter with a +peculiar temperament. + +“It is sometimes very moral to change, you know,” suggested Felix. + +Charlotte had softly left her sister’s side. She had edged gently +toward her father, and now her hand found its way into his arm. Mr. +Wentworth had folded up the _Advertiser_ into a surprisingly small +compass, and, holding the roll with one hand, he earnestly clasped it +with the other. Mr. Brand was looking at him; and yet, though Charlotte +was so near, his eyes failed to meet her own. Gertrude watched her +sister. + +“It is better not to speak of change,” said Mr. Brand. “In one sense +there is no change. There was something I desired—something I asked of +you; I desire something still—I ask it of you.” And he paused a moment; +Mr. Wentworth looked bewildered. “I should like, in my ministerial +capacity, to unite this young couple.” + +Gertrude, watching her sister, saw Charlotte flushing intensely, and +Mr. Wentworth felt her pressing upon his arm. “Heavenly Powers!” +murmured Mr. Wentworth. And it was the nearest approach to profanity he +had ever made. + +“That is very nice; that is very handsome!” Felix exclaimed. + +“I don’t understand,” said Mr. Wentworth; though it was plain that +everyone else did. + +“That is very beautiful, Mr. Brand,” said Gertrude, emulating Felix. + +“I should like to marry you. It will give me great pleasure.” + +“As Gertrude says, it’s a beautiful idea,” said Felix. + +Felix was smiling, but Mr. Brand was not even trying to. He himself +treated his proposition very seriously. “I have thought of it, and I +should like to do it,” he affirmed. + +Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring with expanded eyes. Her imagination, +as I have said, was not so rapid as her sister’s, but now it had taken +several little jumps. “Father,” she murmured, “consent!” + +Mr. Brand heard her; he looked away. Mr. Wentworth, evidently, had no +imagination at all. “I have always thought,” he began, slowly, “that +Gertrude’s character required a special line of development.” + +“Father,” repeated Charlotte, _“consent.”_ + +Then, at last, Mr. Brand looked at her. Her father felt her leaning +more heavily upon his folded arm than she had ever done before; and +this, with a certain sweet faintness in her voice, made him wonder what +was the matter. He looked down at her and saw the encounter of her gaze +with the young theologian’s; but even this told him nothing, and he +continued to be bewildered. Nevertheless, “I consent,” he said at last, +“since Mr. Brand recommends it.” + +“I should like to perform the ceremony very soon,” observed Mr. Brand, +with a sort of solemn simplicity. + +“Come, come, that’s charming!” cried Felix, profanely. + +Mr. Wentworth sank into his chair. “Doubtless, when you understand it,” +he said, with a certain judicial asperity. + +Gertrude went to her sister and led her away, and Felix having passed +his arm into Mr. Brand’s and stepped out of the long window with him, +the old man was left sitting there in unillumined perplexity. + +Felix did no work that day. In the afternoon, with Gertrude, he got +into one of the boats and floated about with idly-dipping oars. They +talked a good deal of Mr. Brand—though not exclusively. + +“That was a fine stroke,” said Felix. “It was really heroic.” + +Gertrude sat musing, with her eyes upon the ripples. “That was what he +wanted to be; he wanted to do something fine.” + +“He won’t be comfortable till he has married us,” said Felix. “So much +the better.” + +“He wanted to be magnanimous; he wanted to have a fine moral pleasure. +I know him so well,” Gertrude went on. Felix looked at her; she spoke +slowly, gazing at the clear water. “He thought of it a great deal, +night and day. He thought it would be beautiful. At last he made up his +mind that it was his duty, his duty to do just that—nothing less than +that. He felt exalted; he felt sublime. That’s how he likes to feel. It +is better for him than if I had listened to him.” + +“It’s better for me,” smiled Felix. “But do you know, as regards the +sacrifice, that I don’t believe he admired you when this decision was +taken quite so much as he had done a fortnight before?” + +“He never admired me. He admires Charlotte; he pitied me. I know him so +well.” + +“Well, then, he didn’t pity you so much.” + +Gertrude looked at Felix a little, smiling. “You shouldn’t permit +yourself,” she said, “to diminish the splendor of his action. He +admires Charlotte,” she repeated. + +“That’s capital!” said Felix laughingly, and dipping his oars. I cannot +say exactly to which member of Gertrude’s phrase he alluded; but he +dipped his oars again, and they kept floating about. + +Neither Felix nor his sister, on that day, was present at Mr. +Wentworth’s at the evening repast. The two occupants of the chalet +dined together, and the young man informed his companion that his +marriage was now an assured fact. Eugenia congratulated him, and +replied that if he were as reasonable a husband as he had been, on the +whole, a brother, his wife would have nothing to complain of. + +Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. “I hope,” he said, “not to be +thrown back on my reason.” + +“It is very true,” Eugenia rejoined, “that one’s reason is dismally +flat. It’s a bed with the mattress removed.” + +But the brother and sister, later in the evening, crossed over to the +larger house, the Baroness desiring to compliment her prospective +sister-in-law. They found the usual circle upon the piazza, with the +exception of Clifford Wentworth and Lizzie Acton; and as everyone stood +up as usual to welcome the Baroness, Eugenia had an admiring audience +for her compliment to Gertrude. + +Robert Acton stood on the edge of the piazza, leaning against one of +the white columns, so that he found himself next to Eugenia while she +acquitted herself of a neat little discourse of congratulation. + +“I shall be so glad to know you better,” she said; “I have seen so much +less of you than I should have liked. Naturally; now I see the reason +why! You will love me a little, won’t you? I think I may say I gain on +being known.” And terminating these observations with the softest +cadence of her voice, the Baroness imprinted a sort of grand official +kiss upon Gertrude’s forehead. + +Increased familiarity had not, to Gertrude’s imagination, diminished +the mysterious impressiveness of Eugenia’s personality, and she felt +flattered and transported by this little ceremony. Robert Acton also +seemed to admire it, as he admired so many of the gracious +manifestations of Madame Münster’s wit. + +They had the privilege of making him restless, and on this occasion he +walked away, suddenly, with his hands in his pockets, and then came +back and leaned against his column. Eugenia was now complimenting her +uncle upon his daughter’s engagement, and Mr. Wentworth was listening +with his usual plain yet refined politeness. It is to be supposed that +by this time his perception of the mutual relations of the young people +who surrounded him had become more acute; but he still took the matter +very seriously, and he was not at all exhilarated. + +“Felix will make her a good husband,” said Eugenia. “He will be a +charming companion; he has a great quality—indestructible gaiety.” + +“You think that’s a great quality?” asked the old man. + +Eugenia meditated, with her eyes upon his. “You think one gets tired of +it, eh?” + +“I don’t know that I am prepared to say that,” said Mr. Wentworth. + +“Well, we will say, then, that it is tiresome for others but delightful +for one’s self. A woman’s husband, you know, is supposed to be her +second self; so that, for Felix and Gertrude, gaiety will be a common +property.” + +“Gertrude was always very gay,” said Mr. Wentworth. He was trying to +follow this argument. + +Robert Acton took his hands out of his pockets and came a little nearer +to the Baroness. “You say you gain by being known,” he said. “One +certainly gains by knowing you.” + +“What have _you_ gained?” asked Eugenia. + +“An immense amount of wisdom.” + +“That’s a questionable advantage for a man who was already so wise!” + +Acton shook his head. “No, I was a great fool before I knew you!” + +“And being a fool you made my acquaintance? You are very +complimentary.” + +“Let me keep it up,” said Acton, laughing. “I hope, for our pleasure, +that your brother’s marriage will detain you.” + +“Why should I stop for my brother’s marriage when I would not stop for +my own?” asked the Baroness. + +“Why shouldn’t you stop in either case, now that, as you say, you have +dissolved that mechanical tie that bound you to Europe?” + +The Baroness looked at him a moment. “As I say? You look as if you +doubted it.” + +“Ah,” said Acton, returning her glance, “that is a remnant of my old +folly! We have other attractions,” he added. “We are to have another +marriage.” + +But she seemed not to hear him; she was looking at him still. “My word +was never doubted before,” she said. + +“We are to have another marriage,” Acton repeated, smiling. + +Then she appeared to understand. “Another marriage?” And she looked at +the others. Felix was chattering to Gertrude; Charlotte, at a distance, +was watching them; and Mr. Brand, in quite another quarter, was turning +his back to them, and, with his hands under his coat-tails and his +large head on one side, was looking at the small, tender crescent of a +young moon. “It ought to be Mr. Brand and Charlotte,” said Eugenia, +“but it doesn’t look like it.” + +“There,” Acton answered, “you must judge just now by contraries. There +is more than there looks to be. I expect that combination one of these +days; but that is not what I meant.” + +“Well,” said the Baroness, “I never guess my own lovers; so I can’t +guess other people’s.” + +Acton gave a loud laugh, and he was about to add a rejoinder when Mr. +Wentworth approached his niece. “You will be interested to hear,” the +old man said, with a momentary aspiration toward jocosity, “of another +matrimonial venture in our little circle.” + +“I was just telling the Baroness,” Acton observed. + +“Mr. Acton was apparently about to announce his own engagement,” said +Eugenia. + +Mr. Wentworth’s jocosity increased. “It is not exactly that; but it is +in the family. Clifford, hearing this morning that Mr. Brand had +expressed a desire to tie the nuptial knot for his sister, took it into +his head to arrange that, while his hand was in, our good friend should +perform a like ceremony for himself and Lizzie Acton.” + +The Baroness threw back her head and smiled at her uncle; then turning, +with an intenser radiance, to Robert Acton, “I am certainly very stupid +not to have thought of that,” she said. Acton looked down at his boots, +as if he thought he had perhaps reached the limits of legitimate +experimentation, and for a moment Eugenia said nothing more. It had +been, in fact, a sharp knock, and she needed to recover herself. This +was done, however, promptly enough. “Where are the young people?” she +asked. + +“They are spending the evening with my mother.” + +“Is not the thing very sudden?” + +Acton looked up. “Extremely sudden. There had been a tacit +understanding; but within a day or two Clifford appears to have +received some mysterious impulse to precipitate the affair.” + +“The impulse,” said the Baroness, “was the charms of your very pretty +sister.” + +“But my sister’s charms were an old story; he had always known her.” +Acton had begun to experiment again. + +Here, however, it was evident the Baroness would not help him. “Ah, one +can’t say! Clifford is very young; but he is a nice boy.” + +“He’s a likeable sort of boy, and he will be a rich man.” This was +Acton’s last experiment. Madame Münster turned away. + +She made but a short visit and Felix took her home. In her little +drawing-room she went almost straight to the mirror over the +chimney-piece, and, with a candle uplifted, stood looking into it. “I +shall not wait for your marriage,” she said to her brother. “Tomorrow +my maid shall pack up.” + +“My dear sister,” Felix exclaimed, “we are to be married immediately! +Mr. Brand is too uncomfortable.” + +But Eugenia, turning and still holding her candle aloft, only looked +about the little sitting-room at her gimcracks and curtains and +cushions. “My maid shall pack up,” she repeated. “_Bonté divine_, what +rubbish! I feel like a strolling actress; these are my ‘properties.’” + +“Is the play over, Eugenia?” asked Felix. + +She gave him a sharp glance. “I have spoken my part.” + +“With great applause!” said her brother. + +“Oh, applause—applause!” she murmured. And she gathered up two or three +of her dispersed draperies. She glanced at the beautiful brocade, and +then, “I don’t see how I can have endured it!” she said. + +“Endure it a little longer. Come to my wedding.” + +“Thank you; that’s your affair. My affairs are elsewhere.” + +“Where are you going?” + +“To Germany—by the first ship.” + +“You have decided not to marry Mr. Acton?” + +“I have refused him,” said Eugenia. + +Her brother looked at her in silence. “I am sorry,” he rejoined at +last. “But I was very discreet, as you asked me to be. I said nothing.” + +“Please continue, then, not to allude to the matter,” said Eugenia. + +Felix inclined himself gravely. “You shall be obeyed. But your position +in Germany?” he pursued. + +“Please to make no observations upon it.” + +“I was only going to say that I supposed it was altered.” + +“You are mistaken.” + +“But I thought you had signed——” + +“I have not signed!” said the Baroness. + +Felix urged her no further, and it was arranged that he should +immediately assist her to embark. + +Mr. Brand was indeed, it appeared, very impatient to consummate his +sacrifice and deliver the nuptial benediction which would set it off so +handsomely; but Eugenia’s impatience to withdraw from a country in +which she had not found the fortune she had come to seek was even less +to be mistaken. It is true she had not made any very various exertion; +but she appeared to feel justified in generalizing—in deciding that the +conditions of action on this provincial continent were not favorable to +really superior women. The elder world was, after all, their natural +field. The unembarrassed directness with which she proceeded to apply +these intelligent conclusions appeared to the little circle of +spectators who have figured in our narrative but the supreme exhibition +of a character to which the experience of life had imparted an +inimitable pliancy. It had a distinct effect upon Robert Acton, who, +for the two days preceding her departure, was a very restless and +irritated mortal. She passed her last evening at her uncle’s, where she +had never been more charming; and in parting with Clifford Wentworth’s +affianced bride she drew from her own finger a curious old ring and +presented it to her with the prettiest speech and kiss. Gertrude, who +as an affianced bride was also indebted to her gracious bounty, admired +this little incident extremely, and Robert Acton almost wondered +whether it did not give him the right, as Lizzie’s brother and +guardian, to offer in return a handsome present to the Baroness. It +would have made him extremely happy to be able to offer a handsome +present to the Baroness; but he abstained from this expression of his +sentiments, and they were in consequence, at the very last, by so much +the less comfortable. It was almost at the very last that he saw +her—late the night before she went to Boston to embark. + +“For myself, I wish you might have stayed,” he said. “But not for your +own sake.” + +“I don’t make so many differences,” said the Baroness. “I am simply +sorry to be going.” + +“That’s a much deeper difference than mine,” Acton declared; “for you +mean you are simply glad!” + +Felix parted with her on the deck of the ship. “We shall often meet +over there,” he said. + +“I don’t know,” she answered. “Europe seems to me much larger than +America.” + +Mr. Brand, of course, in the days that immediately followed, was not +the only impatient spirit; but it may be said that of all the young +spirits interested in the event none rose more eagerly to the level of +the occasion. Gertrude left her father’s house with Felix Young; they +were imperturbably happy and they went far away. Clifford and his young +wife sought their felicity in a narrower circle, and the latter’s +influence upon her husband was such as to justify, strikingly, that +theory of the elevating effect of easy intercourse with clever women +which Felix had propounded to Mr. Wentworth. Gertrude was for a good +while a distant figure, but she came back when Charlotte married Mr. +Brand. She was present at the wedding feast, where Felix’s gaiety +confessed to no change. Then she disappeared, and the echo of a gaiety +of her own, mingled with that of her husband, often came back to the +home of her earlier years. Mr. Wentworth at last found himself +listening for it; and Robert Acton, after his mother’s death, married a +particularly nice young girl. + +The End + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EUROPEANS *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Europeans</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Henry James</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November, 1994 [eBook #179]<br /> +[Most recently updated: September 18, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: An Anonymous Volunteer</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EUROPEANS ***</div> + +<h1>The Europeans</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Henry James</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0001">CHAPTER I</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0002">CHAPTER II</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0003">CHAPTER III</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0004">CHAPTER IV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0005">CHAPTER V</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0006">CHAPTER VI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0007">CHAPTER VII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0008">CHAPTER VIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0009">CHAPTER IX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0010">CHAPTER X</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0011">CHAPTER XI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0012">CHAPTER XII</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0001"></a> +CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p> +A narrow grave-yard in the heart of a bustling, indifferent city, seen from the +windows of a gloomy-looking inn, is at no time an object of enlivening +suggestion; and the spectacle is not at its best when the mouldy tombstones and +funereal umbrage have received the ineffectual refreshment of a dull, moist +snow-fall. If, while the air is thickened by this frosty drizzle, the calendar +should happen to indicate that the blessed vernal season is already six weeks +old, it will be admitted that no depressing influence is absent from the scene. +This fact was keenly felt on a certain 12th of May, upwards of thirty years +since, by a lady who stood looking out of one of the windows of the best hotel +in the ancient city of Boston. She had stood there for half an hour—stood +there, that is, at intervals; for from time to time she turned back into the +room and measured its length with a restless step. In the chimney-place was a +red-hot fire which emitted a small blue flame; and in front of the fire, at a +table, sat a young man who was busily plying a pencil. He had a number of +sheets of paper cut into small equal squares, and he was apparently covering +them with pictorial designs—strange-looking figures. He worked rapidly +and attentively, sometimes threw back his head and held out his drawing at +arm’s-length, and kept up a soft, gay-sounding humming and whistling. The +lady brushed past him in her walk; her much-trimmed skirts were voluminous. She +never dropped her eyes upon his work; she only turned them, occasionally, as +she passed, to a mirror suspended above the toilet-table on the other side of +the room. Here she paused a moment, gave a pinch to her waist with her two +hands, or raised these members—they were very plump and pretty—to +the multifold braids of her hair, with a movement half caressing, half +corrective. An attentive observer might have fancied that during these periods +of desultory self-inspection her face forgot its melancholy; but as soon as she +neared the window again it began to proclaim that she was a very ill-pleased +woman. And indeed, in what met her eyes there was little to be pleased with. +The window-panes were battered by the sleet; the head-stones in the grave-yard +beneath seemed to be holding themselves askance to keep it out of their faces. +A tall iron railing protected them from the street, and on the other side of +the railing an assemblage of Bostonians were trampling about in the liquid +snow. Many of them were looking up and down; they appeared to be waiting for +something. From time to time a strange vehicle drew near to the place where +they stood,—such a vehicle as the lady at the window, in spite of a +considerable acquaintance with human inventions, had never seen before: a huge, +low omnibus, painted in brilliant colors, and decorated apparently with +jangling bells, attached to a species of groove in the pavement, through which +it was dragged, with a great deal of rumbling, bouncing and scratching, by a +couple of remarkably small horses. When it reached a certain point the people +in front of the grave-yard, of whom much the greater number were women, +carrying satchels and parcels, projected themselves upon it in a compact +body—a movement suggesting the scramble for places in a life-boat at +sea—and were engulfed in its large interior. Then the life-boat—or +the life-car, as the lady at the window of the hotel vaguely designated +it—went bumping and jingling away upon its invisible wheels, with the +helmsman (the man at the wheel) guiding its course incongruously from the prow. +This phenomenon was repeated every three minutes, and the supply of +eagerly-moving women in cloaks, bearing reticules and bundles, renewed itself +in the most liberal manner. On the other side of the grave-yard was a row of +small red brick houses, showing a series of homely, domestic-looking backs; at +the end opposite the hotel a tall wooden church-spire, painted white, rose high +into the vagueness of the snow-flakes. The lady at the window looked at it for +some time; for reasons of her own she thought it the ugliest thing she had ever +seen. She hated it, she despised it; it threw her into a state of irritation +that was quite out of proportion to any sensible motive. She had never known +herself to care so much about church-spires. +</p> + +<p> +She was not pretty; but even when it expressed perplexed irritation her face +was most interesting and agreeable. Neither was she in her first youth; yet, +though slender, with a great deal of extremely well-fashioned roundness of +contour—a suggestion both of maturity and flexibility—she carried +her three and thirty years as a light-wristed Hebe might have carried a +brimming wine-cup. Her complexion was fatigued, as the French say; her mouth +was large, her lips too full, her teeth uneven, her chin rather commonly +modeled; she had a thick nose, and when she smiled—she was constantly +smiling—the lines beside it rose too high, toward her eyes. But these +eyes were charming: gray in color, brilliant, quickly glancing, gently resting, +full of intelligence. Her forehead was very low—it was her only handsome +feature; and she had a great abundance of crisp dark hair, finely frizzled, +which was always braided in a manner that suggested some Southern or Eastern, +some remotely foreign, woman. She had a large collection of ear-rings, and wore +them in alternation; and they seemed to give a point to her Oriental or exotic +aspect. A compliment had once been paid her, which, being repeated to her, gave +her greater pleasure than anything she had ever heard. “A pretty +woman?” someone had said. “Why, her features are very bad.” +“I don’t know about her features,” a very discerning observer +had answered; “but she carries her head like a pretty woman.” You +may imagine whether, after this, she carried her head less becomingly. +</p> + +<p> +She turned away from the window at last, pressing her hands to her eyes. +“It’s too horrible!” she exclaimed. “I shall go +back—I shall go back!” And she flung herself into a chair before +the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a little, dear child,” said the young man softly, sketching +away at his little scraps of paper. +</p> + +<p> +The lady put out her foot; it was very small, and there was an immense rosette +on her slipper. She fixed her eyes for a while on this ornament, and then she +looked at the glowing bed of anthracite coal in the grate. “Did you ever +see anything so hideous as that fire?” she demanded. “Did you ever +see anything so—so <i>affreux</i> as—as everything?” She +spoke English with perfect purity; but she brought out this French epithet in a +manner that indicated that she was accustomed to using French epithets. +</p> + +<p> +“I think the fire is very pretty,” said the young man, glancing at +it a moment. “Those little blue tongues, dancing on top of the crimson +embers, are extremely picturesque. They are like a fire in an alchemist’s +laboratory.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are too good-natured, my dear,” his companion declared. +</p> + +<p> +The young man held out one of his drawings, with his head on one side. His +tongue was gently moving along his under-lip. “Good-natured—yes. +Too good-natured—no.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are irritating,” said the lady, looking at her slipper. +</p> + +<p> +He began to retouch his sketch. “I think you mean simply that you are +irritated.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, for that, yes!” said his companion, with a little bitter +laugh. “It’s the darkest day of my life—and you know what +that means.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait till tomorrow,” rejoined the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, we have made a great mistake. If there is any doubt about it today, +there certainly will be none tomorrow. <i>Ce sera clair, au moins!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +The young man was silent a few moments, driving his pencil. Then at last, +“There are no such things as mistakes,” he affirmed. +</p> + +<p> +“Very true—for those who are not clever enough to perceive them. +Not to recognize one’s mistakes—that would be happiness in +life,” the lady went on, still looking at her pretty foot. +</p> + +<p> +“My dearest sister,” said the young man, always intent upon his +drawing, “it’s the first time you have told me I am not +clever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, by your own theory I can’t call it a mistake,” +answered his sister, pertinently enough. +</p> + +<p> +The young man gave a clear, fresh laugh. “You, at least, are clever +enough, dearest sister,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I was not so when I proposed this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it you who proposed it?” asked her brother. +</p> + +<p> +She turned her head and gave him a little stare. “Do you desire the +credit of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you like, I will take the blame,” he said, looking up with a +smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she rejoined in a moment, “you make no difference in +these things. You have no sense of property.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man gave his joyous laugh again. “If that means I have no +property, you are right!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t joke about your poverty,” said his sister. “That +is quite as vulgar as to boast about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“My poverty! I have just finished a drawing that will bring me fifty +francs!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Voyons,”</i> said the lady, putting out her hand. +</p> + +<p> +He added a touch or two, and then gave her his sketch. She looked at it, but +she went on with her idea of a moment before. “If a woman were to ask you +to marry her you would say, ‘Certainly, my dear, with pleasure!’ +And you would marry her and be ridiculously happy. Then at the end of three +months you would say to her, ‘You know that blissful day when I begged +you to be mine!’” +</p> + +<p> +The young man had risen from the table, stretching his arms a little; he walked +to the window. “That is a description of a charming nature,” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, you have a charming nature; I regard that as our capital. If I +had not been convinced of that I should never have taken the risk of bringing +you to this dreadful country.” +</p> + +<p> +“This comical country, this delightful country!” exclaimed the +young man, and he broke into the most animated laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it those women scrambling into the omnibus?” asked his +companion. “What do you suppose is the attraction?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose there is a very good-looking man inside,” said the young +man. +</p> + +<p> +“In each of them? They come along in hundreds, and the men in this +country don’t seem at all handsome. As for the women—I have never +seen so many at once since I left the convent.” +</p> + +<p> +“The women are very pretty,” her brother declared, “and the +whole affair is very amusing. I must make a sketch of it.” And he came +back to the table quickly, and picked up his utensils—a small +sketching-board, a sheet of paper, and three or four crayons. He took his place +at the window with these things, and stood there glancing out, plying his +pencil with an air of easy skill. While he worked he wore a brilliant smile. +Brilliant is indeed the word at this moment for his strongly-lighted face. He +was eight and twenty years old; he had a short, slight, well-made figure. +Though he bore a noticeable resemblance to his sister, he was a better favored +person: fair-haired, clear-faced, witty-looking, with a delicate finish of +feature and an expression at once urbane and not at all serious, a warm blue +eye, an eyebrow finely drawn and excessively arched—an eyebrow which, if +ladies wrote sonnets to those of their lovers, might have been made the subject +of such a piece of verse—and a light moustache that flourished upwards as +if blown that way by the breath of a constant smile. There was something in his +physiognomy at once benevolent and picturesque. But, as I have hinted, it was +not at all serious. The young man’s face was, in this respect, singular; +it was not at all serious, and yet it inspired the liveliest confidence. +</p> + +<p> +“Be sure you put in plenty of snow,” said his sister. +“<i>Bonté divine</i>, what a climate!” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall leave the sketch all white, and I shall put in the little +figures in black,” the young man answered, laughing. “And I shall +call it—what is that line in Keats?—Mid-May’s Eldest +Child!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t remember,” said the lady, “that mamma ever +told me it was like this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mamma never told you anything disagreeable. And it’s not like +this—every day. You will see that tomorrow we shall have a splendid +day.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Qu’en savez-vous?</i> Tomorrow I shall go away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where shall you go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Anywhere away from here. Back to Silberstadt. I shall write to the +Reigning Prince.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man turned a little and looked at her, with his crayon poised. +“My dear Eugenia,” he murmured, “were you so happy at +sea?” +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia got up; she still held in her hand the drawing her brother had given +her. It was a bold, expressive sketch of a group of miserable people on the +deck of a steamer, clinging together and clutching at each other, while the +vessel lurched downward, at a terrific angle, into the hollow of a wave. It was +extremely clever, and full of a sort of tragi-comical power. Eugenia dropped +her eyes upon it and made a sad grimace. “How can you draw such odious +scenes?” she asked. “I should like to throw it into the +fire!” And she tossed the paper away. Her brother watched, quietly, to +see where it went. It fluttered down to the floor, where he let it lie. She +came toward the window, pinching in her waist. “Why don’t you +reproach me—abuse me?” she asked. “I think I should feel +better then. Why don’t you tell me that you hate me for bringing you +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you would not believe it. I adore you, dear sister! I am +delighted to be here, and I am charmed with the prospect.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what had taken possession of me. I had lost my +head,” Eugenia went on. +</p> + +<p> +The young man, on his side, went on plying his pencil. “It is evidently a +most curious and interesting country. Here we are, and I mean to enjoy +it.” +</p> + +<p> +His companion turned away with an impatient step, but presently came back. +“High spirits are doubtless an excellent thing,” she said; +“but you give one too much of them, and I can’t see that they have +done you any good.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man stared, with lifted eyebrows, smiling; he tapped his handsome +nose with his pencil. “They have made me happy!” +</p> + +<p> +“That was the least they could do; they have made you nothing else. You +have gone through life thanking fortune for such very small favors that she has +never put herself to any trouble for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“She must have put herself to a little, I think, to present me with so +admirable a sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be serious, Felix. You forget that I am your elder.” +</p> + +<p> +“With a sister, then, so elderly!” rejoined Felix, laughing. +“I hoped we had left seriousness in Europe.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy you will find it here. Remember that you are nearly thirty years +old, and that you are nothing but an obscure Bohemian—a penniless +correspondent of an illustrated newspaper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Obscure as much as you please, but not so much of a Bohemian as you +think. And not at all penniless! I have a hundred pounds in my pocket. I have +an engagement to make fifty sketches, and I mean to paint the portraits of all +our cousins, and of all <i>their</i> cousins, at a hundred dollars a +head.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not ambitious,” said Eugenia. +</p> + +<p> +“You are, dear Baroness,” the young man replied. +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness was silent a moment, looking out at the sleet-darkened grave-yard +and the bumping horse-cars. “Yes, I am ambitious,” she said at +last. “And my ambition has brought me to this dreadful place!” She +glanced about her—the room had a certain vulgar nudity; the bed and the +window were curtainless—and she gave a little passionate sigh. +“Poor old ambition!” she exclaimed. Then she flung herself down +upon a sofa which stood near against the wall, and covered her face with her +hands. +</p> + +<p> +Her brother went on with his drawing, rapidly and skillfully; after some +moments he sat down beside her and showed her his sketch. “Now, +don’t you think that’s pretty good for an obscure Bohemian?” +he asked. “I have knocked off another fifty francs.” +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia glanced at the little picture as he laid it on her lap. “Yes, it +is very clever,” she said. And in a moment she added, “Do you +suppose our cousins do that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Get into those things, and look like that.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix meditated awhile. “I really can’t say. It will be interesting +to discover.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the rich people can’t!” said the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you very sure they are rich?” asked Felix, lightly. +</p> + +<p> +His sister slowly turned in her place, looking at him. “Heavenly +powers!” she murmured. “You have a way of bringing out +things!” +</p> + +<p> +“It will certainly be much pleasanter if they are rich,” Felix +declared. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you suppose if I had not known they were rich I would ever have +come?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man met his sister’s somewhat peremptory eye with his bright, +contented glance. “Yes, it certainly will be pleasanter,” he +repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“That is all I expect of them,” said the Baroness. “I +don’t count upon their being clever or friendly—at first—or +elegant or interesting. But I assure you I insist upon their being rich.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix leaned his head upon the back of the sofa and looked awhile at the oblong +patch of sky to which the window served as frame. The snow was ceasing; it +seemed to him that the sky had begun to brighten. “I count upon their +being rich,” he said at last, “and powerful, and clever, and +friendly, and elegant, and interesting, and generally delightful! <i>Tu vas +voir</i>.” And he bent forward and kissed his sister. “Look +there!” he went on. “As a portent, even while I speak, the sky is +turning the color of gold; the day is going to be splendid.” +</p> + +<p> +And indeed, within five minutes the weather had changed. The sun broke out +through the snow-clouds and jumped into the Baroness’s room. +“<i>Bonté divine</i>,” exclaimed this lady, “what a +climate!” +</p> + +<p> +“We will go out and see the world,” said Felix. +</p> + +<p> +And after a while they went out. The air had grown warm as well as brilliant; +the sunshine had dried the pavements. They walked about the streets at hazard, +looking at the people and the houses, the shops and the vehicles, the blazing +blue sky and the muddy crossings, the hurrying men and the slow-strolling +maidens, the fresh red bricks and the bright green trees, the extraordinary +mixture of smartness and shabbiness. From one hour to another the day had grown +vernal; even in the bustling streets there was an odor of earth and blossom. +Felix was immensely entertained. He had called it a comical country, and he +went about laughing at everything he saw. You would have said that American +civilization expressed itself to his sense in a tissue of capital jokes. The +jokes were certainly excellent, and the young man’s merriment was joyous +and genial. He possessed what is called the pictorial sense; and this first +glimpse of democratic manners stirred the same sort of attention that he would +have given to the movements of a lively young person with a bright complexion. +Such attention would have been demonstrative and complimentary; and in the +present case Felix might have passed for an undispirited young exile revisiting +the haunts of his childhood. He kept looking at the violent blue of the sky, at +the scintillating air, at the scattered and multiplied patches of color. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Comme c’est bariolé</i>, eh?” he said to his sister in +that foreign tongue which they both appeared to feel a mysterious prompting +occasionally to use. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it is <i>bariolé</i> indeed,” the Baroness answered. “I +don’t like the coloring; it hurts my eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“It shows how extremes meet,” the young man rejoined. +“Instead of coming to the West we seem to have gone to the East. The way +the sky touches the house-tops is just like Cairo; and the red and blue +sign-boards patched over the face of everything remind one of Mahometan +decorations.” +</p> + +<p> +“The young women are not Mahometan,” said his companion. +“They can’t be said to hide their faces. I never saw anything so +bold.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank Heaven they don’t hide their faces!” cried Felix. +“Their faces are uncommonly pretty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, their faces are often very pretty,” said the Baroness, who +was a very clever woman. She was too clever a woman not to be capable of a +great deal of just and fine observation. She clung more closely than usual to +her brother’s arm; she was not exhilarated, as he was; she said very +little, but she noted a great many things and made her reflections. She was a +little excited; she felt that she had indeed come to a strange country, to make +her fortune. Superficially, she was conscious of a good deal of irritation and +displeasure; the Baroness was a very delicate and fastidious person. Of old, +more than once, she had gone, for entertainment’s sake and in brilliant +company, to a fair in a provincial town. It seemed to her now that she was at +an enormous fair—that the entertainment and the <i>désagréments</i> were +very much the same. She found herself alternately smiling and shrinking; the +show was very curious, but it was probable, from moment to moment, that one +would be jostled. The Baroness had never seen so many people walking about +before; she had never been so mixed up with people she did not know. But little +by little she felt that this fair was a more serious undertaking. She went with +her brother into a large public garden, which seemed very pretty, but where she +was surprised at seeing no carriages. The afternoon was drawing to a close; the +coarse, vivid grass and the slender tree-boles were gilded by the level +sunbeams—gilded as with gold that was fresh from the mine. It was the +hour at which ladies should come out for an airing and roll past a hedge of +pedestrians, holding their parasols askance. Here, however, Eugenia observed no +indications of this custom, the absence of which was more anomalous as there +was a charming avenue of remarkably graceful, arching elms in the most +convenient contiguity to a large, cheerful street, in which, evidently, among +the more prosperous members of the <i>bourgeoisie</i>, a great deal of +pedestrianism went forward. Our friends passed out into this well lighted +promenade, and Felix noticed a great many more pretty girls and called his +sister’s attention to them. This latter measure, however, was +superfluous; for the Baroness had inspected, narrowly, these charming young +ladies. +</p> + +<p> +“I feel an intimate conviction that our cousins are like that,” +said Felix. +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness hoped so, but this is not what she said. “They are very +pretty,” she said, “but they are mere little girls. Where are the +women—the women of thirty?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of thirty-three, do you mean?” her brother was going to ask; for +he understood often both what she said and what she did not say. But he only +exclaimed upon the beauty of the sunset, while the Baroness, who had come to +seek her fortune, reflected that it would certainly be well for her if the +persons against whom she might need to measure herself should all be mere +little girls. The sunset was superb; they stopped to look at it; Felix declared +that he had never seen such a gorgeous mixture of colors. The Baroness also +thought it splendid; and she was perhaps the more easily pleased from the fact +that while she stood there she was conscious of much admiring observation on +the part of various nice-looking people who passed that way, and to whom a +distinguished, strikingly-dressed woman with a foreign air, exclaiming upon the +beauties of nature on a Boston street corner in the French tongue, could not be +an object of indifference. Eugenia’s spirits rose. She surrendered +herself to a certain tranquil gaiety. If she had come to seek her fortune, it +seemed to her that her fortune would be easy to find. There was a promise of it +in the gorgeous purity of the western sky; there was an intimation in the mild, +unimpertinent gaze of the passers of a certain natural facility in things. +</p> + +<p> +“You will not go back to Silberstadt, eh?” asked Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“Not tomorrow,” said the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor write to the Reigning Prince?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall write to him that they evidently know nothing about him over +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“He will not believe you,” said the young man. “I advise you +to let him alone.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix himself continued to be in high good humor. Brought up among ancient +customs and in picturesque cities, he yet found plenty of local color in the +little Puritan metropolis. That evening, after dinner, he told his sister that +he should go forth early on the morrow to look up their cousins. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very impatient,” said Eugenia. +</p> + +<p> +“What can be more natural,” he asked, “after seeing all those +pretty girls today? If one’s cousins are of that pattern, the sooner one +knows them the better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps they are not,” said Eugenia. “We ought to have +brought some letters—to some other people.” +</p> + +<p> +“The other people would not be our kinsfolk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly they would be none the worse for that,” the Baroness +replied. +</p> + +<p> +Her brother looked at her with his eyebrows lifted. “That was not what +you said when you first proposed to me that we should come out here and +fraternize with our relatives. You said that it was the prompting of natural +affection; and when I suggested some reasons against it you declared that the +<i>voix du sang</i> should go before everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“You remember all that?” asked the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“Vividly! I was greatly moved by it.” +</p> + +<p> +She was walking up and down the room, as she had done in the morning; she +stopped in her walk and looked at her brother. She apparently was going to say +something, but she checked herself and resumed her walk. Then, in a few +moments, she said something different, which had the effect of an explanation +of the suppression of her earlier thought. “You will never be anything +but a child, dear brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“One would suppose that you, madam,” answered Felix, laughing, +“were a thousand years old.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am—sometimes,” said the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“I will go, then, and announce to our cousins the arrival of a personage +so extraordinary. They will immediately come and pay you their respects.” +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia paced the length of the room again, and then she stopped before her +brother, laying her hand upon his arm. “They are not to come and see +me,” she said. “You are not to allow that. That is not the way I +shall meet them first.” And in answer to his interrogative glance she +went on. “You will go and examine, and report. You will come back and +tell me who they are and what they are; their number, gender, their respective +ages—all about them. Be sure you observe everything; be ready to describe +to me the locality, the accessories—how shall I say it?—the <i>mise +en scène</i>. Then, at my own time, at my own hour, under circumstances of my +own choosing, I will go to them. I will present myself—I will appear +before them!” said the Baroness, this time phrasing her idea with a +certain frankness. +</p> + +<p> +“And what message am I to take to them?” asked Felix, who had a +lively faith in the justness of his sister’s arrangements. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him a moment—at his expression of agreeable veracity; and, +with that justness that he admired, she replied, “Say what you please. +Tell my story in the way that seems to you most—natural.” And she +bent her forehead for him to kiss. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0002"></a> +CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p> +The next day was splendid, as Felix had prophesied; if the winter had suddenly +leaped into spring, the spring had for the moment as quickly leaped into +summer. This was an observation made by a young girl who came out of a large +square house in the country, and strolled about in the spacious garden which +separated it from a muddy road. The flowering shrubs and the neatly-disposed +plants were basking in the abundant light and warmth; the transparent shade of +the great elms—they were magnificent trees—seemed to thicken by the +hour; and the intensely habitual stillness offered a submissive medium to the +sound of a distant church-bell. The young girl listened to the church-bell; but +she was not dressed for church. She was bare-headed; she wore a white muslin +waist, with an embroidered border, and the skirt of her dress was of colored +muslin. She was a young lady of some two or three and twenty years of age, and +though a young person of her sex walking bare-headed in a garden, of a Sunday +morning in spring-time, can, in the nature of things, never be a displeasing +object, you would not have pronounced this innocent Sabbath-breaker especially +pretty. She was tall and pale, thin and a little awkward; her hair was fair and +perfectly straight; her eyes were dark, and they had the singularity of seeming +at once dull and restless—differing herein, as you see, fatally from the +ideal “fine eyes,” which we always imagine to be both brilliant and +tranquil. The doors and windows of the large square house were all wide open, +to admit the purifying sunshine, which lay in generous patches upon the floor +of a wide, high, covered piazza adjusted to two sides of the mansion—a +piazza on which several straw-bottomed rocking-chairs and half a dozen of those +small cylindrical stools in green and blue porcelain, which suggest an +affiliation between the residents and the Eastern trade, were symmetrically +disposed. It was an ancient house—ancient in the sense of being eighty +years old; it was built of wood, painted a clean, clear, faded gray, and +adorned along the front, at intervals, with flat wooden pilasters, painted +white. These pilasters appeared to support a kind of classic pediment, which +was decorated in the middle by a large triple window in a boldly carved frame, +and in each of its smaller angles by a glazed circular aperture. A large white +door, furnished with a highly-polished brass knocker, presented itself to the +rural-looking road, with which it was connected by a spacious pathway, paved +with worn and cracked, but very clean, bricks. Behind it there were meadows and +orchards, a barn and a pond; and facing it, a short distance along the road, on +the opposite side, stood a smaller house, painted white, with external shutters +painted green, a little garden on one hand and an orchard on the other. All +this was shining in the morning air, through which the simple details of the +picture addressed themselves to the eye as distinctly as the items of a +“sum” in addition. +</p> + +<p> +A second young lady presently came out of the house, across the piazza, +descended into the garden and approached the young girl of whom I have spoken. +This second young lady was also thin and pale; but she was older than the +other; she was shorter; she had dark, smooth hair. Her eyes, unlike the +other’s, were quick and bright; but they were not at all restless. She +wore a straw bonnet with white ribbons, and a long, red, India scarf, which, on +the front of her dress, reached to her feet. In her hand she carried a little +key. +</p> + +<p> +“Gertrude,” she said, “are you very sure you had better not +go to church?” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude looked at her a moment, plucked a small sprig from a lilac-bush, +smelled it and threw it away. “I am not very sure of anything!” she +answered. +</p> + +<p> +The other young lady looked straight past her, at the distant pond, which lay +shining between the long banks of fir trees. Then she said in a very soft +voice, “This is the key of the dining-room closet. I think you had better +have it, if anyone should want anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is there to want anything?” Gertrude demanded. “I shall +be all alone in the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Someone may come,” said her companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean Mr. Brand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Gertrude. He may like a piece of cake.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like men that are always eating cake!” Gertrude +declared, giving a pull at the lilac-bush. +</p> + +<p> +Her companion glanced at her, and then looked down on the ground. “I +think father expected you would come to church,” she said. “What +shall I say to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Say I have a bad headache.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would that be true?” asked the elder lady, looking straight at the +pond again. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Charlotte,” said the younger one simply. +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte transferred her quiet eyes to her companion’s face. “I am +afraid you are feeling restless.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am feeling as I always feel,” Gertrude replied, in the same +tone. +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte turned away; but she stood there a moment. Presently she looked down +at the front of her dress. “Doesn’t it seem to you, somehow, as if +my scarf were too long?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude walked half round her, looking at the scarf. “I don’t +think you wear it right,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“How should I wear it, dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know; differently from that. You should draw it +differently over your shoulders, round your elbows; you should look differently +behind.” +</p> + +<p> +“How should I look?” Charlotte inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I can tell you,” said Gertrude, plucking out +the scarf a little behind. “I could do it myself, but I don’t think +I can explain it.” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte, by a movement of her elbows, corrected the laxity that had come from +her companion’s touch. “Well, some day you must do it for me. It +doesn’t matter now. Indeed, I don’t think it matters,” she +added, “how one looks behind.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say it mattered more,” said Gertrude. “Then you +don’t know who may be observing you. You are not on your guard. You +can’t try to look pretty.” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte received this declaration with extreme gravity. “I don’t +think one should ever try to look pretty,” she rejoined, earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +Her companion was silent. Then she said, “Well, perhaps it’s not of +much use.” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte looked at her a little, and then kissed her. “I hope you will +be better when we come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sister, I am very well!” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte went down the large brick walk to the garden gate; her companion +strolled slowly toward the house. At the gate Charlotte met a young man, who +was coming in—a tall, fair young man, wearing a high hat and a pair of +thread gloves. He was handsome, but rather too stout. He had a pleasant smile. +“Oh, Mr. Brand!” exclaimed the young lady. +</p> + +<p> +“I came to see whether your sister was not going to church,” said +the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“She says she is not going; but I am very glad you have come. I think if +you were to talk to her a little”.... And Charlotte lowered her voice. +“It seems as if she were restless.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand smiled down on the young lady from his great height. “I shall +be very glad to talk to her. For that I should be willing to absent myself from +almost any occasion of worship, however attractive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I suppose you know,” said Charlotte, softly, as if positive +acceptance of this proposition might be dangerous. “But I am afraid I +shall be late.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you will have a pleasant sermon,” said the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Gilman is always pleasant,” Charlotte answered. And she +went on her way. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand went into the garden, where Gertrude, hearing the gate close behind +him, turned and looked at him. For a moment she watched him coming; then she +turned away. But almost immediately she corrected this movement, and stood +still, facing him. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead as he approached. +Then he put on his hat again and held out his hand. His hat being removed, you +would have perceived that his forehead was very large and smooth, and his hair +abundant but rather colorless. His nose was too large, and his mouth and eyes +were too small; but for all this he was, as I have said, a young man of +striking appearance. The expression of his little clean-colored blue eyes was +irresistibly gentle and serious; he looked, as the phrase is, as good as gold. +The young girl, standing in the garden path, glanced, as he came up, at his +thread gloves. +</p> + +<p> +“I hoped you were going to church,” he said. “I wanted to +walk with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very much obliged to you,” Gertrude answered. “I am not +going to church.” +</p> + +<p> +She had shaken hands with him; he held her hand a moment. “Have you any +special reason for not going?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Brand,” said the young girl. +</p> + +<p> +“May I ask what it is?” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him smiling; and in her smile, as I have intimated, there was a +certain dullness. But mingled with this dullness was something sweet and +suggestive. “Because the sky is so blue!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the sky, which was magnificent, and then said, smiling too, +“I have heard of young ladies staying at home for bad weather, but never +for good. Your sister, whom I met at the gate, tells me you are +depressed,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“Depressed? I am never depressed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, surely, sometimes,” replied Mr. Brand, as if he thought this a +regrettable account of one’s self. +</p> + +<p> +“I am never depressed,” Gertrude repeated. “But I am +sometimes wicked. When I am wicked I am in high spirits. I was wicked just now +to my sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you do to her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I said things that puzzled her—on purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you do that, Miss Gertrude?” asked the young man. +</p> + +<p> +She began to smile again. “Because the sky is so blue!” +</p> + +<p> +“You say things that puzzle <i>me</i>,” Mr. Brand declared. +</p> + +<p> +“I always know when I do it,” proceeded Gertrude. “But people +puzzle me more, I think. And they don’t seem to know!” +</p> + +<p> +“This is very interesting,” Mr. Brand observed, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“You told me to tell you about my—my struggles,” the young +girl went on. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us talk about them. I have so many things to say.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude turned away a moment; and then, turning back, “You had better go +to church,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” the young man urged, “that I have always one +thing to say.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude looked at him a moment. “Please don’t say it now!” +</p> + +<p> +“We are all alone,” he continued, taking off his hat; “all +alone in this beautiful Sunday stillness.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude looked around her, at the breaking buds, the shining distance, the +blue sky to which she had referred as a pretext for her irregularities. +“That’s the reason,” she said, “why I don’t want +you to speak. Do me a favor; go to church.” +</p> + +<p> +“May I speak when I come back?” asked Mr. Brand. +</p> + +<p> +“If you are still disposed,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know whether you are wicked,” he said, “but +you are certainly puzzling.” +</p> + +<p> +She had turned away; she raised her hands to her ears. He looked at her a +moment, and then he slowly walked to church. +</p> + +<p> +She wandered for a while about the garden, vaguely and without purpose. The +church-bell had stopped ringing; the stillness was complete. This young lady +relished highly, on occasions, the sense of being alone—the absence of +the whole family and the emptiness of the house. Today, apparently, the +servants had also gone to church; there was never a figure at the open windows; +behind the house there was no stout negress in a red turban, lowering the +bucket into the great shingle-hooded well. And the front door of the big, +unguarded home stood open, with the trustfulness of the golden age; or what is +more to the purpose, with that of New England’s silvery prime. Gertrude +slowly passed through it, and went from one of the empty rooms to the +other—large, clear-colored rooms, with white wainscots, ornamented with +thin-legged mahogany furniture, and, on the walls, with old-fashioned +engravings, chiefly of scriptural subjects, hung very high. This agreeable +sense of solitude, of having the house to herself, of which I have spoken, +always excited Gertrude’s imagination; she could not have told you why, +and neither can her humble historian. It always seemed to her that she must do +something particular—that she must honor the occasion; and while she +roamed about, wondering what she could do, the occasion usually came to an end. +Today she wondered more than ever. At last she took down a book; there was no +library in the house, but there were books in all the rooms. None of them were +forbidden books, and Gertrude had not stopped at home for the sake of a chance +to climb to the inaccessible shelves. She possessed herself of a very obvious +volume—one of the series of the <i>Arabian Nights</i>—and she +brought it out into the portico and sat down with it in her lap. There, for a +quarter of an hour, she read the history of the loves of the Prince +Camaralzaman and the Princess Badoura. At last, looking up, she beheld, as it +seemed to her, the Prince Camaralzaman standing before her. A beautiful young +man was making her a very low bow—a magnificent bow, such as she had +never seen before. He appeared to have dropped from the clouds; he was +wonderfully handsome; he smiled—smiled as if he were smiling on purpose. +Extreme surprise, for a moment, kept Gertrude sitting still; then she rose, +without even keeping her finger in her book. The young man, with his hat in his +hand, still looked at her, smiling and smiling. It was very strange. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you kindly tell me,” said the mysterious visitor, at last, +“whether I have the honor of speaking to Miss Wentworth?” +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Gertrude Wentworth,” murmured the young woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Then—then—I have the honor—the pleasure—of being +your cousin.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man had so much the character of an apparition that this announcement +seemed to complete his unreality. “What cousin? Who are you?” said +Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +He stepped back a few paces and looked up at the house; then glanced round him +at the garden and the distant view. After this he burst out laughing. “I +see it must seem to you very strange,” he said. There was, after all, +something substantial in his laughter. Gertrude looked at him from head to +foot. Yes, he was remarkably handsome; but his smile was almost a grimace. +“It is very still,” he went on, coming nearer again. And as she +only looked at him, for reply, he added, “Are you all alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Everyone has gone to church,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“I was afraid of that!” the young man exclaimed. “But I hope +you are not afraid of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to tell me who you are,” Gertrude answered. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid of you!” said the young man. “I had a different +plan. I expected the servant would take in my card, and that you would put your +heads together, before admitting me, and make out my identity.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude had been wondering with a quick intensity which brought its result; +and the result seemed an answer—a wondrous, delightful answer—to +her vague wish that something would befall her. “I know—I +know,” she said. “You come from Europe.” +</p> + +<p> +“We came two days ago. You have heard of us, then—you believe in +us?” +</p> + +<p> +“We have known, vaguely,” said Gertrude, “that we had +relations in France.” +</p> + +<p> +“And have you ever wanted to see us?” asked the young man. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude was silent a moment. “I have wanted to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad, then, it is you I have found. We wanted to see you, so we +came.” +</p> + +<p> +“On purpose?” asked Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +The young man looked round him, smiling still. “Well, yes; on purpose. +Does that sound as if we should bore you?” he added. “I don’t +think we shall—I really don’t think we shall. We are rather fond of +wandering, too; and we were glad of a pretext.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you have just arrived?” +</p> + +<p> +“In Boston, two days ago. At the inn I asked for Mr. Wentworth. He must +be your father. They found out for me where he lived; they seemed often to have +heard of him. I determined to come, without ceremony. So, this lovely morning, +they set my face in the right direction, and told me to walk straight before +me, out of town. I came on foot because I wanted to see the country. I walked +and walked, and here I am! It’s a good many miles.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is seven miles and a half,” said Gertrude, softly. Now that +this handsome young man was proving himself a reality she found herself vaguely +trembling; she was deeply excited. She had never in her life spoken to a +foreigner, and she had often thought it would be delightful to do so. Here was +one who had suddenly been engendered by the Sabbath stillness for her private +use; and such a brilliant, polite, smiling one! She found time and means to +compose herself, however: to remind herself that she must exercise a sort of +official hospitality. “We are very—very glad to see you,” she +said. “Won’t you come into the house?” And she moved toward +the open door. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not afraid of me, then?” asked the young man again, with +his light laugh. +</p> + +<p> +She wondered a moment, and then, “We are not afraid—here,” +she said. +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Ah, comme vous devez avoir raison!”</i> cried the young man, +looking all round him, appreciatively. It was the first time that Gertrude had +heard so many words of French spoken. They gave her something of a sensation. +Her companion followed her, watching, with a certain excitement of his own, +this tall, interesting-looking girl, dressed in her clear, crisp muslin. He +paused in the hall, where there was a broad white staircase with a white +balustrade. “What a pleasant house!” he said. “It’s +lighter inside than it is out.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s pleasanter here,” said Gertrude, and she led the way +into the parlor,—a high, clean, rather empty-looking room. Here they +stood looking at each other,—the young man smiling more than ever; +Gertrude, very serious, trying to smile. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe you know my name,” he said. “I am +called Felix Young. Your father is my uncle. My mother was his half sister, and +older than he.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Gertrude, “and she turned Roman Catholic and +married in Europe.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see you know,” said the young man. “She married and she +died. Your father’s family didn’t like her husband. They called him +a foreigner; but he was not. My poor father was born in Sicily, but his parents +were American.” +</p> + +<p> +“In Sicily?” Gertrude murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“It is true,” said Felix Young, “that they had spent their +lives in Europe. But they were very patriotic. And so are we.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you are Sicilian,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“Sicilian, no! Let’s see. I was born at a little place—a dear +little place—in France. My sister was born at Vienna.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you are French,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven forbid!” cried the young man. Gertrude’s eyes were +fixed upon him almost insistently. He began to laugh again. “I can easily +be French, if that will please you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a foreigner of some sort,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“Of some sort—yes; I suppose so. But who can say of what sort? I +don’t think we have ever had occasion to settle the question. You know +there are people like that. About their country, their religion, their +profession, they can’t tell.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude stood there gazing; she had not asked him to sit down. She had never +heard of people like that; she wanted to hear. “Where do you live?” +she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“They can’t tell that, either!” said Felix. “I am +afraid you will think they are little better than vagabonds. I have lived +anywhere—everywhere. I really think I have lived in every city in +Europe.” Gertrude gave a little long soft exhalation. It made the young +man smile at her again; and his smile made her blush a little. To take refuge +from blushing she asked him if, after his long walk, he was not hungry or +thirsty. Her hand was in her pocket; she was fumbling with the little key that +her sister had given her. “Ah, my dear young lady,” he said, +clasping his hands a little, “if you could give me, in charity, a glass +of wine!” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude gave a smile and a little nod, and went quickly out of the room. +Presently she came back with a very large decanter in one hand and a plate in +the other, on which was placed a big, round cake with a frosted top. Gertrude, +in taking the cake from the closet, had had a moment of acute consciousness +that it composed the refection of which her sister had thought that Mr. Brand +would like to partake. Her kinsman from across the seas was looking at the +pale, high-hung engravings. When she came in he turned and smiled at her, as if +they had been old friends meeting after a separation. “You wait upon me +yourself?” he asked. “I am served like the gods!” She had +waited upon a great many people, but none of them had ever told her that. The +observation added a certain lightness to the step with which she went to a +little table where there were some curious red glasses—glasses covered +with little gold sprigs, which Charlotte used to dust every morning with her +own hands. Gertrude thought the glasses very handsome, and it was a pleasure to +her to know that the wine was good; it was her father’s famous madeira. +Felix Young thought it excellent; he wondered why he had been told that there +was no wine in America. She cut him an immense triangle out of the cake, and +again she thought of Mr. Brand. Felix sat there, with his glass in one hand and +his huge morsel of cake in the other—eating, drinking, smiling, talking. +“I am very hungry,” he said. “I am not at all tired; I am +never tired. But I am very hungry.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must stay to dinner,” said Gertrude. “At two +o’clock. They will all have come back from church; you will see the +others.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are the others?” asked the young man. “Describe them +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will see for yourself. It is you that must tell me; now, about your +sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“My sister is the Baroness Münster,” said Felix. +</p> + +<p> +On hearing that his sister was a Baroness, Gertrude got up and walked about +slowly, in front of him. She was silent a moment. She was thinking of it. +“Why didn’t she come, too?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“She did come; she is in Boston, at the hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“We will go and see her,” said Gertrude, looking at him. +</p> + +<p> +“She begs you will not!” the young man replied. “She sends +you her love; she sent me to announce her. She will come and pay her respects +to your father.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude felt herself trembling again. A Baroness Münster, who sent a brilliant +young man to “announce” her; who was coming, as the Queen of Sheba +came to Solomon, to pay her “respects” to quiet Mr. +Wentworth—such a personage presented herself to Gertrude’s vision +with a most effective unexpectedness. For a moment she hardly knew what to say. +“When will she come?” she asked at last. +</p> + +<p> +“As soon as you will allow her—tomorrow. She is very +impatient,” answered Felix, who wished to be agreeable. +</p> + +<p> +“Tomorrow, yes,” said Gertrude. She wished to ask more about her; +but she hardly knew what could be predicated of a Baroness Münster. “Is +she—is she—married?” +</p> + +<p> +Felix had finished his cake and wine; he got up, fixing upon the young girl his +bright, expressive eyes. “She is married to a German prince—Prince +Adolf, of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. He is not the reigning prince; he is a +younger brother.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude gazed at her informant; her lips were slightly parted. “Is she +a—a <i>Princess</i>?” she asked at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said the young man; “her position is rather a +singular one. It’s a morganatic marriage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Morganatic?” These were new names and new words to poor Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what they call a marriage, you know, contracted between a +scion of a ruling house and—and a common mortal. They made Eugenia a +Baroness, poor woman; but that was all they could do. Now they want to dissolve +the marriage. Prince Adolf, between ourselves, is a ninny; but his brother, who +is a clever man, has plans for him. Eugenia, naturally enough, makes +difficulties; not, however, that I think she cares much—she’s a +very clever woman; I’m sure you’ll like her—but she wants to +bother them. Just now everything is <i>en l’air</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +The cheerful, off-hand tone in which her visitor related this darkly romantic +tale seemed to Gertrude very strange; but it seemed also to convey a certain +flattery to herself, a recognition of her wisdom and dignity. She felt a dozen +impressions stirring within her, and presently the one that was uppermost found +words. “They want to dissolve her marriage?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“So it appears.” +</p> + +<p> +“And against her will?” +</p> + +<p> +“Against her right.” +</p> + +<p> +“She must be very unhappy!” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +Her visitor looked at her, smiling; he raised his hand to the back of his head +and held it there a moment. “So she says,” he answered. +“That’s her story. She told me to tell it you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me more,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I will leave that to her; she does it better.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude gave her little excited sigh again. “Well, if she is +unhappy,” she said, “I am glad she has come to us.” +</p> + +<p> +She had been so interested that she failed to notice the sound of a footstep in +the portico; and yet it was a footstep that she always recognized. She heard it +in the hall, and then she looked out of the window. They were all coming back +from church—her father, her sister and brother, and their cousins, who +always came to dinner on Sunday. Mr. Brand had come in first; he was in advance +of the others, because, apparently, he was still disposed to say what she had +not wished him to say an hour before. He came into the parlor, looking for +Gertrude. He had two little books in his hand. On seeing Gertrude’s +companion he slowly stopped, looking at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this a cousin?” asked Felix. +</p> + +<p> +Then Gertrude saw that she must introduce him; but her ears, and, by sympathy, +her lips, were full of all that he had been telling her. “This is the +Prince,” she said, “the Prince of +Silberstadt-Schreckenstein!” +</p> + +<p> +Felix burst out laughing, and Mr. Brand stood staring, while the others, who +had passed into the house, appeared behind him in the open doorway. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0003"></a> +CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p> +That evening at dinner Felix Young gave his sister, the Baroness Münster, an +account of his impressions. She saw that he had come back in the highest +possible spirits; but this fact, to her own mind, was not a reason for +rejoicing. She had but a limited confidence in her brother’s judgment; +his capacity for taking rose-colored views was such as to vulgarize one of the +prettiest of tints. Still, she supposed he could be trusted to give her the +mere facts; and she invited him with some eagerness to communicate them. +“I suppose, at least, they didn’t turn you out from the +door;” she said. “You have been away some ten hours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Turn me from the door!” Felix exclaimed. “They took me to +their hearts; they killed the fatted calf.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know what you want to say: they are a collection of angels.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” said Felix. “They are a collection of +angels—simply.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>C’est bien vague</i>,” remarked the Baroness. “What +are they like?” +</p> + +<p> +“Like nothing you ever saw.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure I am much obliged; but that is hardly more definite. +Seriously, they were glad to see you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Enchanted. It has been the proudest day of my life. Never, never have I +been so lionized! I assure you, I was cock of the walk. My dear sister,” +said the young man, “<i>nous n’avons qu’à nous tenir</i>; we +shall be great swells!” +</p> + +<p> +Madame Münster looked at him, and her eye exhibited a slight responsive spark. +She touched her lips to a glass of wine, and then she said, “Describe +them. Give me a picture.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix drained his own glass. “Well, it’s in the country, among the +meadows and woods; a wild sort of place, and yet not far from here. Only, such +a road, my dear! Imagine one of the Alpine glaciers reproduced in mud. But you +will not spend much time on it, for they want you to come and stay, once for +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said the Baroness, “they want me to come and stay, once +for all? <i>Bon</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s intensely rural, tremendously natural; and all overhung with +this strange white light, this far-away blue sky. There’s a big wooden +house—a kind of three-story bungalow; it looks like a magnified Nuremberg +toy. There was a gentleman there that made a speech to me about it and called +it a ‘venerable mansion;’ but it looks as if it had been built last +night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it handsome—is it elegant?” asked the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. “It’s very clean! No +splendors, no gilding, no troops of servants; rather straight-backed chairs. +But you might eat off the floors, and you can sit down on the stairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“That must be a privilege. And the inhabitants are straight-backed too, +of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sister,” said Felix, “the inhabitants are +charming.” +</p> + +<p> +“In what style?” +</p> + +<p> +“In a style of their own. How shall I describe it? It’s primitive; +it’s patriarchal; it’s the <i>ton</i> of the golden age.” +</p> + +<p> +“And have they nothing golden but their <i>ton</i>? Are there no symptoms +of wealth?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say there was wealth without symptoms. A plain, homely way of +life: nothing for show, and very little for—what shall I call +it?—for the senses; but a great <i>aisance</i>, and a lot of money, out +of sight, that comes forward very quietly for subscriptions to institutions, +for repairing tenements, for paying doctor’s bills; perhaps even for +portioning daughters.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the daughters?” Madame Münster demanded. “How many are +there?” +</p> + +<p> +“There are two, Charlotte and Gertrude.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are they pretty?” +</p> + +<p> +“One of them,” said Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“Which is that?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man was silent, looking at his sister. “Charlotte,” he +said at last. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him in return. “I see. You are in love with Gertrude. They +must be Puritans to their finger-tips; anything but gay!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, they are not gay,” Felix admitted. “They are sober; they +are even severe. They are of a pensive cast; they take things hard. I think +there is something the matter with them; they have some melancholy memory or +some depressing expectation. It’s not the epicurean temperament. My +uncle, Mr. Wentworth, is a tremendously high-toned old fellow; he looks as if +he were undergoing martyrdom, not by fire, but by freezing. But we shall cheer +them up; we shall do them good. They will take a good deal of stirring up; but +they are wonderfully kind and gentle. And they are appreciative. They think one +clever; they think one remarkable!” +</p> + +<p> +“That is very fine, so far as it goes,” said the Baroness. +“But are we to be shut up to these three people, Mr. Wentworth and the +two young women—what did you say their names were—Deborah and +Hephzibah?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no; there is another little girl, a cousin of theirs, a very pretty +creature; a thorough little American. And then there is the son of the +house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” said the Baroness. “We are coming to the gentlemen. +What of the son of the house?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid he gets tipsy.” +</p> + +<p> +“He, then, has the epicurean temperament! How old is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a boy of twenty; a pretty young fellow, but I am afraid he has +vulgar tastes. And then there is Mr. Brand—a very tall young man, a sort +of lay-priest. They seem to think a good deal of him, but I don’t exactly +make him out.” +</p> + +<p> +“And is there nothing,” asked the Baroness, “between these +extremes—this mysterious ecclesiastic and that intemperate youth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, there is Mr. Acton. I think,” said the young man, with a +nod at his sister, “that you will like Mr. Acton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Remember that I am very fastidious,” said the Baroness. “Has +he very good manners?” +</p> + +<p> +“He will have them with you. He is a man of the world; he has been to +China.” +</p> + +<p> +Madame Münster gave a little laugh. “A man of the Chinese world! He must +be very interesting.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have an idea that he brought home a fortune,” said Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“That is always interesting. Is he young, good-looking, clever?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is less than forty; he has a baldish head; he says witty things. I +rather think,” added the young man, “that he will admire the +Baroness Münster.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is very possible,” said this lady. Her brother never knew how +she would take things; but shortly afterwards she declared that he had made a +very pretty description and that on the morrow she would go and see for +herself. +</p> + +<p> +They mounted, accordingly, into a great barouche—a vehicle as to which +the Baroness found nothing to criticise but the price that was asked for it and +the fact that the coachman wore a straw hat. (At Silberstadt Madame Münster had +had liveries of yellow and crimson.) They drove into the country, and the +Baroness, leaning far back and swaying her lace-fringed parasol, looked to +right and to left and surveyed the way-side objects. After a while she +pronounced them <i>affreux</i>. Her brother remarked that it was apparently a +country in which the foreground was inferior to the <i>plans reculés</i>; and +the Baroness rejoined that the landscape seemed to be all foreground. Felix had +fixed with his new friends the hour at which he should bring his sister; it was +four o’clock in the afternoon. The large, clean-faced house wore, to his +eyes, as the barouche drove up to it, a very friendly aspect; the high, slender +elms made lengthening shadows in front of it. The Baroness descended; her +American kinsfolk were stationed in the portico. Felix waved his hat to them, +and a tall, lean gentleman, with a high forehead and a clean shaven face, came +forward toward the garden gate. Charlotte Wentworth walked at his side. +Gertrude came behind, more slowly. Both of these young ladies wore rustling +silk dresses. Felix ushered his sister into the gate. “Be very +gracious,” he said to her. But he saw the admonition was superfluous. +Eugenia was prepared to be gracious as only Eugenia could be. Felix knew no +keener pleasure than to be able to admire his sister unrestrictedly; for if the +opportunity was frequent, it was not inveterate. When she desired to please she +was to him, as to everyone else, the most charming woman in the world. Then he +forgot that she was ever anything else; that she was sometimes hard and +perverse; that he was occasionally afraid of her. Now, as she took his arm to +pass into the garden, he felt that she desired, that she proposed, to please, +and this situation made him very happy. Eugenia would please. +</p> + +<p> +The tall gentleman came to meet her, looking very rigid and grave. But it was a +rigidity that had no illiberal meaning. Mr. Wentworth’s manner was +pregnant, on the contrary, with a sense of grand responsibility, of the +solemnity of the occasion, of its being difficult to show sufficient deference +to a lady at once so distinguished and so unhappy. Felix had observed on the +day before his characteristic pallor; and now he perceived that there was +something almost cadaverous in his uncle’s high-featured white face. But +so clever were this young man’s quick sympathies and perceptions that he +already learned that in these semi-mortuary manifestations there was no cause +for alarm. His light imagination had gained a glimpse of Mr. Wentworth’s +spiritual mechanism, and taught him that, the old man being infinitely +conscientious, the special operation of conscience within him announced itself +by several of the indications of physical faintness. +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness took her uncle’s hand, and stood looking at him with her +ugly face and her beautiful smile. “Have I done right to come?” she +asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Very right, very right,” said Mr. Wentworth, solemnly. He had +arranged in his mind a little speech; but now it quite faded away. He felt +almost frightened. He had never been looked at in just that way—with just +that fixed, intense smile—by any woman; and it perplexed and weighed upon +him, now, that the woman who was smiling so and who had instantly given him a +vivid sense of her possessing other unprecedented attributes, was his own +niece, the child of his own father’s daughter. The idea that his niece +should be a German Baroness, married “morganatically” to a Prince, +had already given him much to think about. Was it right, was it just, was it +acceptable? He always slept badly, and the night before he had lain awake much +more even than usual, asking himself these questions. The strange word +“morganatic” was constantly in his ears; it reminded him of a +certain Mrs. Morgan whom he had once known and who had been a bold, unpleasant +woman. He had a feeling that it was his duty, so long as the Baroness looked at +him, smiling in that way, to meet her glance with his own scrupulously +adjusted, consciously frigid organs of vision; but on this occasion he failed +to perform his duty to the last. He looked away toward his daughters. “We +are very glad to see you,” he had said. “Allow me to introduce my +daughters—Miss Charlotte Wentworth, Miss Gertrude Wentworth.” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness thought she had never seen people less demonstrative. But +Charlotte kissed her and took her hand, looking at her sweetly and solemnly. +Gertrude seemed to her almost funereal, though Gertrude might have found a +source of gaiety in the fact that Felix, with his magnificent smile, had been +talking to her; he had greeted her as a very old friend. When she kissed the +Baroness she had tears in her eyes. Madame Münster took each of these young +women by the hand, and looked at them all over. Charlotte thought her very +strange-looking and singularly dressed; she could not have said whether it was +well or ill. She was glad, at any rate, that they had put on their silk +gowns—especially Gertrude. “My cousins are very pretty,” said +the Baroness, turning her eyes from one to the other. “Your daughters are +very handsome, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte blushed quickly; she had never yet heard her personal appearance +alluded to in a loud, expressive voice. Gertrude looked away—not at +Felix; she was extremely pleased. It was not the compliment that pleased her; +she did not believe it; she thought herself very plain. She could hardly have +told you the source of her satisfaction; it came from something in the way the +Baroness spoke, and it was not diminished—it was rather deepened, oddly +enough—by the young girl’s disbelief. Mr. Wentworth was silent; and +then he asked, formally, “Won’t you come into the house?” +</p> + +<p> +“These are not all; you have some other children,” said the +Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a son,” Mr. Wentworth answered. +</p> + +<p> +“And why doesn’t he come to meet me?” Eugenia cried. “I +am afraid he is not so charming as his sisters.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know; I will see about it,” the old man declared. +</p> + +<p> +“He is rather afraid of ladies,” Charlotte said, softly. +</p> + +<p> +“He is very handsome,” said Gertrude, as loud as she could. +</p> + +<p> +“We will go in and find him. We will draw him out of his +<i>cachette</i>.” And the Baroness took Mr. Wentworth’s arm, who +was not aware that he had offered it to her, and who, as they walked toward the +house, wondered whether he ought to have offered it and whether it was proper +for her to take it if it had not been offered. “I want to know you +well,” said the Baroness, interrupting these meditations, “and I +want you to know me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems natural that we should know each other,” Mr. Wentworth +rejoined. “We are near relatives.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, there comes a moment in life when one reverts, irresistibly, to +one’s natural ties—to one’s natural affections. You must have +found that!” said Eugenia. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth had been told the day before by Felix that Eugenia was very +clever, very brilliant, and the information had held him in some suspense. This +was the cleverness, he supposed; the brilliancy was beginning. “Yes, the +natural affections are very strong,” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“In some people,” the Baroness declared. “Not in all.” +Charlotte was walking beside her; she took hold of her hand again, smiling +always. “And you, <i>cousine</i>, where did you get that enchanting +complexion?” she went on; “such lilies and roses?” The roses +in poor Charlotte’s countenance began speedily to predominate over the +lilies, and she quickened her step and reached the portico. “This is the +country of complexions,” the Baroness continued, addressing herself to +Mr. Wentworth. “I am convinced they are more delicate. There are very +good ones in England—in Holland; but they are very apt to be coarse. +There is too much red.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you will find,” said Mr. Wentworth, “that this +country is superior in many respects to those you mention. I have been to +England and Holland.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you have been to Europe?” cried the Baroness. “Why +didn’t you come and see me? But it’s better, after all, this +way,” she said. They were entering the house; she paused and looked round +her. “I see you have arranged your house—your beautiful +house—in the—in the Dutch taste!” +</p> + +<p> +“The house is very old,” remarked Mr. Wentworth. “General +Washington once spent a week here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I have heard of Washington,” cried the Baroness. “My +father used to tell me of him.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth was silent a moment, and then, “I found he was very well +known in Europe,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Felix had lingered in the garden with Gertrude; he was standing before her and +smiling, as he had done the day before. What had happened the day before seemed +to her a kind of dream. He had been there and he had changed everything; the +others had seen him, they had talked with him; but that he should come again, +that he should be part of the future, part of her small, familiar, +much-meditating life—this needed, afresh, the evidence of her senses. The +evidence had come to her senses now; and her senses seemed to rejoice in it. +“What do you think of Eugenia?” Felix asked. “Isn’t she +charming?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is very brilliant,” said Gertrude. “But I can’t +tell yet. She seems to me like a singer singing an air. You can’t tell +till the song is done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, the song will never be done!” exclaimed the young man, +laughing. “Don’t you think her handsome?” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude had been disappointed in the beauty of the Baroness Münster; she had +expected her, for mysterious reasons, to resemble a very pretty portrait of the +Empress Josephine, of which there hung an engraving in one of the parlors, and +which the younger Miss Wentworth had always greatly admired. But the Baroness +was not at all like that—not at all. Though different, however, she was +very wonderful, and Gertrude felt herself most suggestively corrected. It was +strange, nevertheless, that Felix should speak in that positive way about his +sister’s beauty. “I think I <i>shall</i> think her handsome,” +Gertrude said. “It must be very interesting to know her. I don’t +feel as if I ever could.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you will know her well; you will become great friends,” Felix +declared, as if this were the easiest thing in the world. +</p> + +<p> +“She is very graceful,” said Gertrude, looking after the Baroness, +suspended to her father’s arm. It was a pleasure to her to say that +anyone was graceful. +</p> + +<p> +Felix had been looking about him. “And your little cousin, of +yesterday,” he said, “who was so wonderfully pretty—what has +become of her?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is in the parlor,” Gertrude answered. “Yes, she is very +pretty.” She felt as if it were her duty to take him straight into the +house, to where he might be near her cousin. But after hesitating a moment she +lingered still. “I didn’t believe you would come back,” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +“Not come back!” cried Felix, laughing. “You didn’t +know, then, the impression made upon this susceptible heart of mine.” +</p> + +<p> +She wondered whether he meant the impression her cousin Lizzie had made. +“Well,” she said, “I didn’t think we should ever see +you again.” +</p> + +<p> +“And pray what did you think would become of me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. I thought you would melt away.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a compliment to my solidity! I melt very often,” said +Felix, “but there is always something left of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I came and waited for you by the door, because the others did,” +Gertrude went on. “But if you had never appeared I should not have been +surprised.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope,” declared Felix, looking at her, “that you would +have been disappointed.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him a little, and shook her head. “No—no!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Ah, par exemple!”</i> cried the young man. “You deserve +that I should never leave you.” +</p> + +<p> +Going into the parlor they found Mr. Wentworth performing introductions. A +young man was standing before the Baroness, blushing a good deal, laughing a +little, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other—a slim, +mild-faced young man, with neatly-arranged features, like those of Mr. +Wentworth. Two other gentlemen, behind him, had risen from their seats, and a +little apart, near one of the windows, stood a remarkably pretty young girl. +The young girl was knitting a stocking; but, while her fingers quickly moved, +she looked with wide, brilliant eyes at the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“And what is your son’s name?” said Eugenia, smiling at the +young man. +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Clifford Wentworth, ma’am,” he said in a +tremulous voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you come out to meet me, Mr. Clifford Wentworth?” +the Baroness demanded, with her beautiful smile. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think you would want me,” said the young man, +slowly sidling about. +</p> + +<p> +“One always wants a <i>beau cousin</i>,—if one has one! But if you +are very nice to me in future I won’t remember it against you.” And +Madame Münster transferred her smile to the other persons present. It rested +first upon the candid countenance and long-skirted figure of Mr. Brand, whose +eyes were intently fixed upon Mr. Wentworth, as if to beg him not to prolong an +anomalous situation. Mr. Wentworth pronounced his name. Eugenia gave him a very +charming glance, and then looked at the other gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +This latter personage was a man of rather less than the usual stature and the +usual weight, with a quick, observant, agreeable dark eye, a small quantity of +thin dark hair, and a small moustache. He had been standing with his hands in +his pockets; and when Eugenia looked at him he took them out. But he did not, +like Mr. Brand, look evasively and urgently at their host. He met +Eugenia’s eyes; he appeared to appreciate the privilege of meeting them. +Madame Münster instantly felt that he was, intrinsically, the most important +person present. She was not unconscious that this impression was in some degree +manifested in the little sympathetic nod with which she acknowledged Mr. +Wentworth’s announcement, “My cousin, Mr. Acton!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your cousin—not mine?” said the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“It only depends upon you,” Mr. Acton declared, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness looked at him a moment, and noticed that he had very white teeth. +“Let it depend upon your behavior,” she said. “I think I had +better wait. I have cousins enough. Unless I can also claim +relationship,” she added, “with that charming young lady,” +and she pointed to the young girl at the window. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my sister,” said Mr. Acton. And Gertrude Wentworth +put her arm round the young girl and led her forward. It was not, apparently, +that she needed much leading. She came toward the Baroness with a light, quick +step, and with perfect self-possession, rolling her stocking round its needles. +She had dark blue eyes and dark brown hair; she was wonderfully pretty. +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia kissed her, as she had kissed the other young women, and then held her +off a little, looking at her. “Now this is quite another +<i>type</i>,” she said; she pronounced the word in the French manner. +“This is a different outline, my uncle, a different character, from that +of your own daughters. This, Felix,” she went on, “is very much +more what we have always thought of as the American type.” +</p> + +<p> +The young girl, during this exposition, was smiling askance at everyone in +turn, and at Felix out of turn. “I find only one type here!” cried +Felix, laughing. “The type adorable!” +</p> + +<p> +This sally was received in perfect silence, but Felix, who learned all things +quickly, had already learned that the silences frequently observed among his +new acquaintances were not necessarily restrictive or resentful. It was, as one +might say, the silence of expectation, of modesty. They were all standing round +his sister, as if they were expecting her to acquit herself of the exhibition +of some peculiar faculty, some brilliant talent. Their attitude seemed to imply +that she was a kind of conversational mountebank, attired, intellectually, in +gauze and spangles. This attitude gave a certain ironical force to Madame +Münster’s next words. “Now this is your circle,” she said to +her uncle. “This is your <i>salon</i>. These are your regular +<i>habitués</i>, eh? I am so glad to see you all together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Mr. Wentworth, “they are always dropping in and +out. You must do the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” interposed Charlotte Wentworth, “they must do +something more.” And she turned her sweet, serious face, that seemed at +once timid and placid, upon their interesting visitor. “What is your +name?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Eugenia-Camilla-Dolores,” said the Baroness, smiling. “But +you needn’t say all that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will say Eugenia, if you will let me. You must come and stay with +us.” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness laid her hand upon Charlotte’s arm very tenderly; but she +reserved herself. She was wondering whether it would be possible to +“stay” with these people. “It would be very +charming—very charming,” she said; and her eyes wandered over the +company, over the room. She wished to gain time before committing herself. Her +glance fell upon young Mr. Brand, who stood there, with his arms folded and his +hand on his chin, looking at her. “The gentleman, I suppose, is a sort of +ecclesiastic,” she said to Mr. Wentworth, lowering her voice a little. +</p> + +<p> +“He is a minister,” answered Mr. Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“A Protestant?” asked Eugenia. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a Unitarian, madam,” replied Mr. Brand, impressively. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I see,” said Eugenia. “Something new.” She had +never heard of this form of worship. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Acton began to laugh, and Gertrude looked anxiously at Mr. Brand. +</p> + +<p> +“You have come very far,” said Mr. Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“Very far—very far,” the Baroness replied, with a graceful +shake of her head—a shake that might have meant many different things. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a reason why you ought to settle down with us,” said +Mr. Wentworth, with that dryness of utterance which, as Eugenia was too +intelligent not to feel, took nothing from the delicacy of his meaning. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him, and for an instant, in his cold, still face, she seemed to +see a far-away likeness to the vaguely remembered image of her mother. Eugenia +was a woman of sudden emotions, and now, unexpectedly, she felt one rising in +her heart. She kept looking round the circle; she knew that there was +admiration in all the eyes that were fixed upon her. She smiled at them all. +</p> + +<p> +“I came to look—to try—to ask,” she said. “It +seems to me I have done well. I am very tired; I want to rest.” There +were tears in her eyes. The luminous interior, the gentle, tranquil people, the +simple, serious life—the sense of these things pressed upon her with an +overmastering force, and she felt herself yielding to one of the most genuine +emotions she had ever known. “I should like to stay here,” she +said. “Pray take me in.” +</p> + +<p> +Though she was smiling, there were tears in her voice as well as in her eyes. +“My dear niece,” said Mr. Wentworth, softly. And Charlotte put out +her arms and drew the Baroness toward her; while Robert Acton turned away, with +his hands stealing into his pockets. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0004"></a> +CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p> +A few days after the Baroness Münster had presented herself to her American +kinsfolk she came, with her brother, and took up her abode in that small white +house adjacent to Mr. Wentworth’s own dwelling of which mention has +already been made. It was on going with his daughters to return her visit that +Mr. Wentworth placed this comfortable cottage at her service; the offer being +the result of a domestic colloquy, diffused through the ensuing twenty-four +hours, in the course of which the two foreign visitors were discussed and +analyzed with a great deal of earnestness and subtlety. The discussion went +forward, as I say, in the family circle; but that circle on the evening +following Madame Münster’s return to town, as on many other occasions, +included Robert Acton and his pretty sister. If you had been present, it would +probably not have seemed to you that the advent of these brilliant strangers +was treated as an exhilarating occurrence, a pleasure the more in this tranquil +household, a prospective source of entertainment. This was not Mr. +Wentworth’s way of treating any human occurrence. The sudden irruption +into the well-ordered consciousness of the Wentworths of an element not allowed +for in its scheme of usual obligations required a readjustment of that sense of +responsibility which constituted its principal furniture. To consider an event, +crudely and baldly, in the light of the pleasure it might bring them was an +intellectual exercise with which Felix Young’s American cousins were +almost wholly unacquainted, and which they scarcely supposed to be largely +pursued in any section of human society. The arrival of Felix and his sister +was a satisfaction, but it was a singularly joyless and inelastic satisfaction. +It was an extension of duty, of the exercise of the more recondite virtues; but +neither Mr. Wentworth, nor Charlotte, nor Mr. Brand, who, among these excellent +people, was a great promoter of reflection and aspiration, frankly adverted to +it as an extension of enjoyment. This function was ultimately assumed by +Gertrude Wentworth, who was a peculiar girl, but the full compass of whose +peculiarities had not been exhibited before they very ingeniously found their +pretext in the presence of these possibly too agreeable foreigners. Gertrude, +however, had to struggle with a great accumulation of obstructions, both of the +subjective, as the metaphysicians say, and of the objective, order; and indeed +it is no small part of the purpose of this little history to set forth her +struggle. What seemed paramount in this abrupt enlargement of Mr. +Wentworth’s sympathies and those of his daughters was an extension of the +field of possible mistakes; and the doctrine, as it may almost be called, of +the oppressive gravity of mistakes was one of the most cherished traditions of +the Wentworth family. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe she wants to come and stay in this house,” +said Gertrude; Madame Münster, from this time forward, receiving no other +designation than the personal pronoun. Charlotte and Gertrude acquired +considerable facility in addressing her, directly, as “Eugenia;” +but in speaking of her to each other they rarely called her anything but +“she.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doesn’t she think it good enough for her?” cried little +Lizzie Acton, who was always asking unpractical questions that required, in +strictness, no answer, and to which indeed she expected no other answer than +such as she herself invariably furnished in a small, innocently-satirical +laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“She certainly expressed a willingness to come,” said Mr. +Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“That was only politeness,” Gertrude rejoined. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she is very polite—very polite,” said Mr. Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“She is too polite,” his son declared, in a softly growling tone +which was habitual to him, but which was an indication of nothing worse than a +vaguely humorous intention. “It is very embarrassing.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is more than can be said of you, sir,” said Lizzie Acton, +with her little laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t mean to encourage her,” Clifford went on. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure I don’t care if you do!” cried Lizzie. +</p> + +<p> +“She will not think of you, Clifford,” said Gertrude, gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope not!” Clifford exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“She will think of Robert,” Gertrude continued, in the same tone. +</p> + +<p> +Robert Acton began to blush; but there was no occasion for it, for everyone was +looking at Gertrude—everyone, at least, save Lizzie, who, with her pretty +head on one side, contemplated her brother. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you attribute motives, Gertrude?” asked Mr. Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t attribute motives, father,” said Gertrude. “I +only say she will think of Robert; and she will!” +</p> + +<p> +“Gertrude judges by herself!” Acton exclaimed, laughing. +“Don’t you, Gertrude? Of course the Baroness will think of me. She +will think of me from morning till night.” +</p> + +<p> +“She will be very comfortable here,” said Charlotte, with something +of a housewife’s pride. “She can have the large northeast room. And +the French bedstead,” Charlotte added, with a constant sense of the +lady’s foreignness. +</p> + +<p> +“She will not like it,” said Gertrude; “not even if you pin +little tidies all over the chairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not, dear?” asked Charlotte, perceiving a touch of irony here, +but not resenting it. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude had left her chair; she was walking about the room; her stiff silk +dress, which she had put on in honor of the Baroness, made a sound upon the +carpet. “I don’t know,” she replied. “She will want +something more—more private.” +</p> + +<p> +“If she wants to be private she can stay in her room,” Lizzie Acton +remarked. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude paused in her walk, looking at her. “That would not be +pleasant,” she answered. “She wants privacy and pleasure +together.” +</p> + +<p> +Robert Acton began to laugh again. “My dear cousin, what a +picture!” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte had fixed her serious eyes upon her sister; she wondered whence she +had suddenly derived these strange notions. Mr. Wentworth also observed his +younger daughter. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what her manner of life may have been,” he +said; “but she certainly never can have enjoyed a more refined and +salubrious home.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude stood there looking at them all. “She is the wife of a +Prince,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“We are all princes here,” said Mr. Wentworth; “and I +don’t know of any palace in this neighborhood that is to let.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cousin William,” Robert Acton interposed, “do you want to do +something handsome? Make them a present, for three months, of the little house +over the way.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are very generous with other people’s things!” cried his +sister. +</p> + +<p> +“Robert is very generous with his own things,” Mr. Wentworth +observed dispassionately, and looking, in cold meditation, at his kinsman. +</p> + +<p> +“Gertrude,” Lizzie went on, “I had an idea you were so fond +of your new cousin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which new cousin?” asked Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mean the Baroness!” the young girl rejoined, with +her laugh. “I thought you expected to see so much of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of Felix? I hope to see a great deal of him,” said Gertrude, +simply. +</p> + +<p> +“Then why do you want to keep him out of the house?” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude looked at Lizzie Acton, and then looked away. +</p> + +<p> +“Should you want me to live in the house with you, Lizzie?” asked +Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you never will. I hate you!” Such was this young +lady’s reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” said Gertrude, stopping before Mr. Wentworth and smiling, +with a smile the sweeter, as her smile always was, for its rarity; “do +let them live in the little house over the way. It will be lovely!” +</p> + +<p> +Robert Acton had been watching her. “Gertrude is right,” he said. +“Gertrude is the cleverest girl in the world. If I might take the +liberty, I should strongly recommend their living there.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is nothing there so pretty as the northeast room,” Charlotte +urged. +</p> + +<p> +“She will make it pretty. Leave her alone!” Acton exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude, at his compliment, had blushed and looked at him: it was as if +someone less familiar had complimented her. “I am sure she will make it +pretty. It will be very interesting. It will be a place to go to. It will be a +foreign house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are we very sure that we need a foreign house?” Mr. Wentworth +inquired. “Do you think it desirable to establish a foreign +house—in this quiet place?” +</p> + +<p> +“You speak,” said Acton, laughing, “as if it were a question +of the poor Baroness opening a wine-shop or a gaming-table.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be too lovely!” Gertrude declared again, laying her hand +on the back of her father’s chair. +</p> + +<p> +“That she should open a gaming-table?” Charlotte asked, with great +gravity. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude looked at her a moment, and then, “Yes, Charlotte,” she +said, simply. +</p> + +<p> +“Gertrude is growing pert,” Clifford Wentworth observed, with his +humorous young growl. “That comes of associating with foreigners.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth looked up at his daughter, who was standing beside him; he drew +her gently forward. “You must be careful,” he said. “You must +keep watch. Indeed, we must all be careful. This is a great change; we are to +be exposed to peculiar influences. I don’t say they are bad. I +don’t judge them in advance. But they may perhaps make it necessary that +we should exercise a great deal of wisdom and self-control. It will be a +different tone.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude was silent a moment, in deference to her father’s speech; then +she spoke in a manner that was not in the least an answer to it. “I want +to see how they will live. I am sure they will have different hours. She will +do all kinds of little things differently. When we go over there it will be +like going to Europe. She will have a boudoir. She will invite us to +dinner—very late. She will breakfast in her room.” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte gazed at her sister again. Gertrude’s imagination seemed to her +to be fairly running riot. She had always known that Gertrude had a great deal +of imagination—she had been very proud of it. But at the same time she +had always felt that it was a dangerous and irresponsible faculty; and now, to +her sense, for the moment, it seemed to threaten to make her sister a strange +person who should come in suddenly, as from a journey, talking of the peculiar +and possibly unpleasant things she had observed. Charlotte’s imagination +took no journeys whatever; she kept it, as it were, in her pocket, with the +other furniture of this receptacle—a thimble, a little box of peppermint, +and a morsel of court-plaster. “I don’t believe she would have any +dinner—or any breakfast,” said Miss Wentworth. “I don’t +believe she knows how to do anything herself. I should have to get her ever so +many servants, and she wouldn’t like them.” +</p> + +<p> +“She has a maid,” said Gertrude; “a French maid. She +mentioned her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if the maid has a little fluted cap and red slippers,” +said Lizzie Acton. “There was a French maid in that play that Robert took +me to see. She had pink stockings; she was very wicked.” +</p> + +<p> +“She was a <i>soubrette</i>,” Gertrude announced, who had never +seen a play in her life. “They call that a soubrette. It will be a great +chance to learn French.” Charlotte gave a little soft, helpless groan. +She had a vision of a wicked, theatrical person, clad in pink stockings and red +shoes, and speaking, with confounding volubility, an incomprehensible tongue, +flitting through the sacred penetralia of that large, clean house. “That +is one reason in favor of their coming here,” Gertrude went on. +“But we can make Eugenia speak French to us, and Felix. I mean to +begin—the next time.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth had kept her standing near him, and he gave her his earnest, +thin, unresponsive glance again. “I want you to make me a promise, +Gertrude,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” she asked, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Not to get excited. Not to allow these—these occurrences to be an +occasion for excitement.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked down at him a moment, and then she shook her head. “I +don’t think I can promise that, father. I am excited already.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth was silent a while; they all were silent, as if in recognition of +something audacious and portentous. +</p> + +<p> +“I think they had better go to the other house,” said Charlotte, +quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall keep them in the other house,” Mr. Wentworth subjoined, +more pregnantly. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude turned away; then she looked across at Robert Acton. Her cousin Robert +was a great friend of hers; she often looked at him this way instead of saying +things. Her glance on this occasion, however, struck him as a substitute for a +larger volume of diffident utterance than usual, inviting him to observe, among +other things, the inefficiency of her father’s design—if design it +was—for diminishing, in the interest of quiet nerves, their occasions of +contact with their foreign relatives. But Acton immediately complimented Mr. +Wentworth upon his liberality. “That’s a very nice thing to +do,” he said, “giving them the little house. You will have treated +them handsomely, and, whatever happens, you will be glad of it.” Mr. +Wentworth was liberal, and he knew he was liberal. It gave him pleasure to know +it, to feel it, to see it recorded; and this pleasure is the only palpable form +of self-indulgence with which the narrator of these incidents will be able to +charge him. +</p> + +<p> +“A three days’ visit at most, over there, is all I should have +found possible,” Madame Münster remarked to her brother, after they had +taken possession of the little white house. “It would have been too +<i>intime</i>—decidedly too <i>intime</i>. Breakfast, dinner, and tea +<i>en famille</i>—it would have been the end of the world if I could have +reached the third day.” And she made the same observation to her maid +Augustine, an intelligent person, who enjoyed a liberal share of her +confidence. Felix declared that he would willingly spend his life in the bosom +of the Wentworth family; that they were the kindest, simplest, most amiable +people in the world, and that he had taken a prodigious fancy to them all. The +Baroness quite agreed with him that they were simple and kind; they were +thoroughly nice people, and she liked them extremely. The girls were perfect +ladies; it was impossible to be more of a lady than Charlotte Wentworth, in +spite of her little village air. “But as for thinking them the best +company in the world,” said the Baroness, “that is another thing; +and as for wishing to live <i>porte à porte</i> with them, I should as soon +think of wishing myself back in the convent again, to wear a bombazine apron +and sleep in a dormitory.” And yet the Baroness was in high good humor; +she had been very much pleased. With her lively perception and her refined +imagination, she was capable of enjoying anything that was characteristic, +anything that was good of its kind. The Wentworth household seemed to her very +perfect in its kind—wonderfully peaceful and unspotted; pervaded by a +sort of dove-colored freshness that had all the quietude and benevolence of +what she deemed to be Quakerism, and yet seemed to be founded upon a degree of +material abundance for which, in certain matters of detail, one might have +looked in vain at the frugal little court of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. She +perceived immediately that her American relatives thought and talked very +little about money; and this of itself made an impression upon Eugenia’s +imagination. She perceived at the same time that if Charlotte or Gertrude +should ask their father for a very considerable sum he would at once place it +in their hands; and this made a still greater impression. The greatest +impression of all, perhaps, was made by another rapid induction. The Baroness +had an immediate conviction that Robert Acton would put his hand into his +pocket every day in the week if that rattle-pated little sister of his should +bid him. The men in this country, said the Baroness, are evidently very +obliging. Her declaration that she was looking for rest and retirement had been +by no means wholly untrue; nothing that the Baroness said was wholly untrue. It +is but fair to add, perhaps, that nothing that she said was wholly true. She +wrote to a friend in Germany that it was a return to nature; it was like +drinking new milk, and she was very fond of new milk. She said to herself, of +course, that it would be a little dull; but there can be no better proof of her +good spirits than the fact that she thought she should not mind its being a +little dull. It seemed to her, when from the piazza of her eleemosynary cottage +she looked out over the soundless fields, the stony pastures, the clear-faced +ponds, the rugged little orchards, that she had never been in the midst of so +peculiarly intense a stillness; it was almost a delicate sensual pleasure. It +was all very good, very innocent and safe, and out of it something good must +come. Augustine, indeed, who had an unbounded faith in her mistress’s +wisdom and far-sightedness, was a great deal perplexed and depressed. She was +always ready to take her cue when she understood it; but she liked to +understand it, and on this occasion comprehension failed. What, indeed, was the +Baroness doing <i>dans cette galère</i>? what fish did she expect to land out +of these very stagnant waters? The game was evidently a deep one. Augustine +could trust her; but the sense of walking in the dark betrayed itself in the +physiognomy of this spare, sober, sallow, middle-aged person, who had nothing +in common with Gertrude Wentworth’s conception of a soubrette, by the +most ironical scowl that had ever rested upon the unpretending tokens of the +peace and plenty of the Wentworths. Fortunately, Augustine could quench +skepticism in action. She quite agreed with her mistress—or rather she +quite out-stripped her mistress—in thinking that the little white house +was pitifully bare. <i>“Il faudra,”</i> said Augustine, +<i>“lui faire un peu de toilette.”</i> And she began to hang up +<i>portières</i> in the doorways; to place wax candles, procured after some +research, in unexpected situations; to dispose anomalous draperies over the +arms of sofas and the backs of chairs. The Baroness had brought with her to the +New World a copious provision of the element of costume; and the two Miss +Wentworths, when they came over to see her, were somewhat bewildered by the +obtrusive distribution of her wardrobe. There were India shawls suspended, +curtain-wise, in the parlor door, and curious fabrics, corresponding to +Gertrude’s metaphysical vision of an opera-cloak, tumbled about in the +sitting-places. There were pink silk blinds in the windows, by which the room +was strangely bedimmed; and along the chimney-piece was disposed a remarkable +band of velvet, covered with coarse, dirty-looking lace. “I have been +making myself a little comfortable,” said the Baroness, much to the +confusion of Charlotte, who had been on the point of proposing to come and help +her put her superfluous draperies away. But what Charlotte mistook for an +almost culpably delayed subsidence Gertrude very presently perceived to be the +most ingenious, the most interesting, the most romantic intention. “What +is life, indeed, without curtains?” she secretly asked herself; and she +appeared to herself to have been leading hitherto an existence singularly +garish and totally devoid of festoons. +</p> + +<p> +Felix was not a young man who troubled himself greatly about +anything—least of all about the conditions of enjoyment. His faculty of +enjoyment was so large, so unconsciously eager, that it may be said of it that +it had a permanent advance upon embarrassment and sorrow. His sentient faculty +was intrinsically joyous, and novelty and change were in themselves a delight +to him. As they had come to him with a great deal of frequency, his life had +been more agreeable than appeared. Never was a nature more perfectly fortunate. +It was not a restless, apprehensive, ambitious spirit, running a race with the +tyranny of fate, but a temper so unsuspicious as to put Adversity off her +guard, dodging and evading her with the easy, natural motion of a wind-shifted +flower. Felix extracted entertainment from all things, and all his +faculties—his imagination, his intelligence, his affections, his +senses—had a hand in the game. It seemed to him that Eugenia and he had +been very well treated; there was something absolutely touching in that +combination of paternal liberality and social considerateness which marked Mr. +Wentworth’s deportment. It was most uncommonly kind of him, for instance, +to have given them a house. Felix was positively amused at having a house of +his own; for the little white cottage among the apple trees—the chalet, +as Madame Münster always called it—was much more sensibly his own than +any domiciliary <i>quatrième</i>, looking upon a court, with the rent overdue. +Felix had spent a good deal of his life in looking into courts, with a perhaps +slightly tattered pair of elbows resting upon the ledge of a high-perched +window, and the thin smoke of a cigarette rising into an atmosphere in which +street-cries died away and the vibration of chimes from ancient belfries became +sensible. He had never known anything so infinitely rural as these New England +fields; and he took a great fancy to all their pastoral roughnesses. He had +never had a greater sense of luxurious security; and at the risk of making him +seem a rather sordid adventurer I must declare that he found an irresistible +charm in the fact that he might dine every day at his uncle’s. The charm +was irresistible, however, because his fancy flung a rosy light over this +homely privilege. He appreciated highly the fare that was set before him. There +was a kind of fresh-looking abundance about it which made him think that people +must have lived so in the mythological era, when they spread their tables upon +the grass, replenished them from cornucopias, and had no particular need of +kitchen stoves. But the great thing that Felix enjoyed was having found a +family—sitting in the midst of gentle, generous people whom he might call +by their first names. He had never known anything more charming than the +attention they paid to what he said. It was like a large sheet of clean, +fine-grained drawing-paper, all ready to be washed over with effective splashes +of water-color. He had never had any cousins, and he had never before found +himself in contact so unrestricted with young unmarried ladies. He was +extremely fond of the society of ladies, and it was new to him that it might be +enjoyed in just this manner. At first he hardly knew what to make of his state +of mind. It seemed to him that he was in love, indiscriminately, with three +girls at once. He saw that Lizzie Acton was more brilliantly pretty than +Charlotte and Gertrude; but this was scarcely a superiority. His pleasure came +from something they had in common—a part of which was, indeed, that +physical delicacy which seemed to make it proper that they should always dress +in thin materials and clear colors. But they were delicate in other ways, and +it was most agreeable to him to feel that these latter delicacies were +appreciable by contact, as it were. He had known, fortunately, many virtuous +gentlewomen, but it now appeared to him that in his relations with them +(especially when they were unmarried) he had been looking at pictures under +glass. He perceived at present what a nuisance the glass had been—how it +perverted and interfered, how it caught the reflection of other objects and +kept you walking from side to side. He had no need to ask himself whether +Charlotte and Gertrude, and Lizzie Acton, were in the right light; they were +always in the right light. He liked everything about them: he was, for +instance, not at all above liking the fact that they had very slender feet and +high insteps. He liked their pretty noses; he liked their surprised eyes and +their hesitating, not at all positive way of speaking; he liked so much knowing +that he was perfectly at liberty to be alone for hours, anywhere, with either +of them; that preference for one to the other, as a companion of solitude, +remained a minor affair. Charlotte Wentworth’s sweetly severe features +were as agreeable as Lizzie Acton’s wonderfully expressive blue eyes; and +Gertrude’s air of being always ready to walk about and listen was as +charming as anything else, especially as she walked very gracefully. After a +while Felix began to distinguish; but even then he would often wish, suddenly, +that they were not all so sad. Even Lizzie Acton, in spite of her fine little +chatter and laughter, appeared sad. Even Clifford Wentworth, who had extreme +youth in his favor, and kept a buggy with enormous wheels and a little sorrel +mare with the prettiest legs in the world—even this fortunate lad was apt +to have an averted, uncomfortable glance, and to edge away from you at times, +in the manner of a person with a bad conscience. The only person in the circle +with no sense of oppression of any kind was, to Felix’s perception, +Robert Acton. +</p> + +<p> +It might perhaps have been feared that after the completion of those graceful +domiciliary embellishments which have been mentioned Madame Münster would have +found herself confronted with alarming possibilities of <i>ennui</i>. But as +yet she had not taken the alarm. The Baroness was a restless soul, and she +projected her restlessness, as it may be said, into any situation that lay +before her. Up to a certain point her restlessness might be counted upon to +entertain her. She was always expecting something to happen, and, until it was +disappointed, expectancy itself was a delicate pleasure. What the Baroness +expected just now it would take some ingenuity to set forth; it is enough that +while she looked about her she found something to occupy her imagination. She +assured herself that she was enchanted with her new relatives; she professed to +herself that, like her brother, she felt it a sacred satisfaction to have found +a family. It is certain that she enjoyed to the utmost the gentleness of her +kinsfolk’s deference. She had, first and last, received a great deal of +admiration, and her experience of well-turned compliments was very +considerable; but she knew that she had never been so real a power, never +counted for so much, as now when, for the first time, the standard of +comparison of her little circle was a prey to vagueness. The sense, indeed, +that the good people about her had, as regards her remarkable self, no standard +of comparison at all gave her a feeling of almost illimitable power. It was +true, as she said to herself, that if for this reason they would be able to +discover nothing against her, so they would perhaps neglect to perceive some of +her superior points; but she always wound up her reflections by declaring that +she would take care of that. +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte and Gertrude were in some perplexity between their desire to show all +proper attention to Madame Münster and their fear of being importunate. The +little house in the orchard had hitherto been occupied during the summer months +by intimate friends of the family, or by poor relations who found in Mr. +Wentworth a landlord attentive to repairs and oblivious of quarter-day. Under +these circumstances the open door of the small house and that of the large one, +facing each other across their homely gardens, levied no tax upon hourly +visits. But the Misses Wentworth received an impression that Eugenia was no +friend to the primitive custom of “dropping in;” she evidently had +no idea of living without a door-keeper. “One goes into your house as +into an inn—except that there are no servants rushing forward,” she +said to Charlotte. And she added that that was very charming. Gertrude +explained to her sister that she meant just the reverse; she didn’t like +it at all. Charlotte inquired why she should tell an untruth, and Gertrude +answered that there was probably some very good reason for it which they should +discover when they knew her better. “There can surely be no good reason +for telling an untruth,” said Charlotte. “I hope she does not think +so.” +</p> + +<p> +They had of course desired, from the first, to do everything in the way of +helping her to arrange herself. It had seemed to Charlotte that there would be +a great many things to talk about; but the Baroness was apparently inclined to +talk about nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Write her a note, asking her leave to come and see her. I think that is +what she will like,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should I give her the trouble of answering me?” Charlotte +asked. “She will have to write a note and send it over.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think she will take any trouble,” said Gertrude, +profoundly. +</p> + +<p> +“What then will she do?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is what I am curious to see,” said Gertrude, leaving her +sister with an impression that her curiosity was morbid. +</p> + +<p> +They went to see the Baroness without preliminary correspondence; and in the +little salon which she had already created, with its becoming light and its +festoons, they found Robert Acton. +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia was intensely gracious, but she accused them of neglecting her cruelly. +“You see Mr. Acton has had to take pity upon me,” she said. +“My brother goes off sketching, for hours; I can never depend upon him. +So I was to send Mr. Acton to beg you to come and give me the benefit of your +wisdom.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude looked at her sister. She wanted to say, “<i>That</i> is what +she would have done.” Charlotte said that they hoped the Baroness would +always come and dine with them; it would give them so much pleasure; and, in +that case, she would spare herself the trouble of having a cook. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but I must have a cook!” cried the Baroness. “An old +negress in a yellow turban. I have set my heart upon that. I want to look out +of my window and see her sitting there on the grass, against the background of +those crooked, dusky little apple trees, pulling the husks off a lapful of +Indian corn. That will be local color, you know. There isn’t much of it +here—you don’t mind my saying that, do you?—so one must make +the most of what one can get. I shall be most happy to dine with you whenever +you will let me; but I want to be able to ask you sometimes. And I want to be +able to ask Mr. Acton,” added the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“You must come and ask me at home,” said Acton. “You must +come and see me; you must dine with me first. I want to show you my place; I +want to introduce you to my mother.” He called again upon Madame Münster, +two days later. He was constantly at the other house; he used to walk across +the fields from his own place, and he appeared to have fewer scruples than his +cousins with regard to dropping in. On this occasion he found that Mr. Brand +had come to pay his respects to the charming stranger; but after Acton’s +arrival the young theologian said nothing. He sat in his chair with his two +hands clasped, fixing upon his hostess a grave, fascinated stare. The Baroness +talked to Robert Acton, but, as she talked, she turned and smiled at Mr. Brand, +who never took his eyes off her. The two men walked away together; they were +going to Mr. Wentworth’s. Mr. Brand still said nothing; but after they +had passed into Mr. Wentworth’s garden he stopped and looked back for +some time at the little white house. Then, looking at his companion, with his +head bent a little to one side and his eyes somewhat contracted, “Now I +suppose that’s what is called conversation,” he said; “real +conversation.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s what I call a very clever woman,” said Acton, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“It is most interesting,” Mr. Brand continued. “I only wish +she would speak French; it would seem more in keeping. It must be quite the +style that we have heard about, that we have read about—the style of +conversation of Madame de Staël, of Madame Récamier.” +</p> + +<p> +Acton also looked at Madame Münster’s residence among its hollyhocks and +apple trees. “What I should like to know,” he said, smiling, +“is just what has brought Madame Récamier to live in that place!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0005"></a> +CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth, with his cane and his gloves in his hand, went every afternoon +to call upon his niece. A couple of hours later she came over to the great +house to tea. She had let the proposal that she should regularly dine there +fall to the ground; she was in the enjoyment of whatever satisfaction was to be +derived from the spectacle of an old negress in a crimson turban shelling peas +under the apple trees. Charlotte, who had provided the ancient negress, thought +it must be a strange household, Eugenia having told her that Augustine managed +everything, the ancient negress included—Augustine who was naturally +devoid of all acquaintance with the expurgatory English tongue. By far the most +immoral sentiment which I shall have occasion to attribute to Charlotte +Wentworth was a certain emotion of disappointment at finding that, in spite of +these irregular conditions, the domestic arrangements at the small house were +apparently not—from Eugenia’s peculiar point of +view—strikingly offensive. The Baroness found it amusing to go to tea; +she dressed as if for dinner. The tea-table offered an anomalous and +picturesque repast; and on leaving it they all sat and talked in the large +piazza, or wandered about the garden in the starlight, with their ears full of +those sounds of strange insects which, though they are supposed to be, all over +the world, a part of the magic of summer nights, seemed to the Baroness to have +beneath these western skies an incomparable resonance. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth, though, as I say, he went punctiliously to call upon her, was +not able to feel that he was getting used to his niece. It taxed his +imagination to believe that she was really his half-sister’s child. His +sister was a figure of his early years; she had been only twenty when she went +abroad, never to return, making in foreign parts a willful and undesirable +marriage. His aunt, Mrs. Whiteside, who had taken her to Europe for the benefit +of the tour, gave, on her return, so lamentable an account of Mr. Adolphus +Young, to whom the headstrong girl had united her destiny, that it operated as +a chill upon family feeling—especially in the case of the half-brothers. +Catherine had done nothing subsequently to propitiate her family; she had not +even written to them in a way that indicated a lucid appreciation of their +suspended sympathy; so that it had become a tradition in Boston circles that +the highest charity, as regards this young lady, was to think it well to forget +her, and to abstain from conjecture as to the extent to which her aberrations +were reproduced in her descendants. Over these young people—a vague +report of their existence had come to his ears—Mr. Wentworth had not, in +the course of years, allowed his imagination to hover. It had plenty of +occupation nearer home, and though he had many cares upon his conscience the +idea that he had been an unnatural uncle was, very properly, never among the +number. Now that his nephew and niece had come before him, he perceived that +they were the fruit of influences and circumstances very different from those +under which his own familiar progeny had reached a vaguely-qualified maturity. +He felt no provocation to say that these influences had been exerted for evil; +but he was sometimes afraid that he should not be able to like his +distinguished, delicate, lady-like niece. He was paralyzed and bewildered by +her foreignness. She spoke, somehow, a different language. There was something +strange in her words. He had a feeling that another man, in his place, would +accommodate himself to her tone; would ask her questions and joke with her, +reply to those pleasantries of her own which sometimes seemed startling as +addressed to an uncle. But Mr. Wentworth could not do these things. He could +not even bring himself to attempt to measure her position in the world. She was +the wife of a foreign nobleman who desired to repudiate her. This had a +singular sound, but the old man felt himself destitute of the materials for a +judgment. It seemed to him that he ought to find them in his own experience, as +a man of the world and an almost public character; but they were not there, and +he was ashamed to confess to himself—much more to reveal to Eugenia by +interrogations possibly too innocent—the unfurnished condition of this +repository. +</p> + +<p> +It appeared to him that he could get much nearer, as he would have said, to his +nephew; though he was not sure that Felix was altogether safe. He was so bright +and handsome and talkative that it was impossible not to think well of him; and +yet it seemed as if there were something almost impudent, almost +vicious—or as if there ought to be—in a young man being at once so +joyous and so positive. It was to be observed that while Felix was not at all a +serious young man there was somehow more of him—he had more weight and +volume and resonance—than a number of young men who were distinctly +serious. While Mr. Wentworth meditated upon this anomaly his nephew was +admiring him unrestrictedly. He thought him a most delicate, generous, +high-toned old gentleman, with a very handsome head, of the ascetic type, which +he promised himself the profit of sketching. Felix was far from having made a +secret of the fact that he wielded the paint-brush, and it was not his own +fault if it failed to be generally understood that he was prepared to execute +the most striking likenesses on the most reasonable terms. “He is an +artist—my cousin is an artist,” said Gertrude; and she offered this +information to everyone who would receive it. She offered it to herself, as it +were, by way of admonition and reminder; she repeated to herself at odd +moments, in lonely places, that Felix was invested with this sacred character. +Gertrude had never seen an artist before; she had only read about such people. +They seemed to her a romantic and mysterious class, whose life was made up of +those agreeable accidents that never happened to other persons. And it merely +quickened her meditations on this point that Felix should declare, as he +repeatedly did, that he was really not an artist. “I have never gone into +the thing seriously,” he said. “I have never studied; I have had no +training. I do a little of everything, and nothing well. I am only an +amateur.” +</p> + +<p> +It pleased Gertrude even more to think that he was an amateur than to think +that he was an artist; the former word, to her fancy, had an even subtler +connotation. She knew, however, that it was a word to use more soberly. Mr. +Wentworth used it freely; for though he had not been exactly familiar with it, +he found it convenient as a help toward classifying Felix, who, as a young man +extremely clever and active and apparently respectable and yet not engaged in +any recognized business, was an importunate anomaly. Of course the Baroness and +her brother—she was always spoken of first—were a welcome topic of +conversation between Mr. Wentworth and his daughters and their occasional +visitors. +</p> + +<p> +“And the young man, your nephew, what is his profession?” asked an +old gentleman—Mr. Broderip, of Salem—who had been Mr. +Wentworth’s classmate at Harvard College in the year 1809, and who came +into his office in Devonshire Street. (Mr. Wentworth, in his later years, used +to go but three times a week to his office, where he had a large amount of +highly confidential trust-business to transact.) +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he’s an amateur,” said Felix’s uncle, with +folded hands, and with a certain satisfaction in being able to say it. And Mr. +Broderip had gone back to Salem with a feeling that this was probably a +“European” expression for a broker or a grain exporter. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to do your head, sir,” said Felix to his uncle one +evening, before them all—Mr. Brand and Robert Acton being also present. +“I think I should make a very fine thing of it. It’s an interesting +head; it’s very mediaeval.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth looked grave; he felt awkwardly, as if all the company had come +in and found him standing before the looking-glass. “The Lord made +it,” he said. “I don’t think it is for man to make it over +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly the Lord made it,” replied Felix, laughing, “and +he made it very well. But life has been touching up the work. It is a very +interesting type of head. It’s delightfully wasted and emaciated. The +complexion is wonderfully bleached.” And Felix looked round at the +circle, as if to call their attention to these interesting points. Mr. +Wentworth grew visibly paler. “I should like to do you as an old prelate, +an old cardinal, or the prior of an order.” +</p> + +<p> +“A prelate, a cardinal?” murmured Mr. Wentworth. “Do you +refer to the Roman Catholic priesthood?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean an old ecclesiastic who should have led a very pure, abstinent +life. Now I take it that has been the case with you, sir; one sees it in your +face,” Felix proceeded. “You have been very—a very moderate. +Don’t you think one always sees that in a man’s face?” +</p> + +<p> +“You see more in a man’s face than I should think of looking +for,” said Mr. Wentworth coldly. +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness rattled her fan, and gave her brilliant laugh. “It is a risk +to look so close!” she exclaimed. “My uncle has some peccadilloes +on his conscience.” Mr. Wentworth looked at her, painfully at a loss; and +in so far as the signs of a pure and abstinent life were visible in his face +they were then probably peculiarly manifest. “You are a <i>beau +vieillard</i>, dear uncle,” said Madame Münster, smiling with her foreign +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you are paying me a compliment,” said the old man. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, I am not the first woman that ever did so!” cried the +Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you are,” said Mr. Wentworth gravely. And turning to Felix +he added, in the same tone, “Please don’t take my likeness. My +children have my daguerreotype. That is quite satisfactory.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t promise,” said Felix, “not to work your head +into something!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth looked at him and then at all the others; then he got up and +slowly walked away. +</p> + +<p> +“Felix,” said Gertrude, in the silence that followed, “I wish +you would paint my portrait.” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte wondered whether Gertrude was right in wishing this; and she looked +at Mr. Brand as the most legitimate way of ascertaining. Whatever Gertrude did +or said, Charlotte always looked at Mr. Brand. It was a standing pretext for +looking at Mr. Brand—always, as Charlotte thought, in the interest of +Gertrude’s welfare. It is true that she felt a tremulous interest in +Gertrude being right; for Charlotte, in her small, still way, was an heroic +sister. +</p> + +<p> +“We should be glad to have your portrait, Miss Gertrude,” said Mr. +Brand. +</p> + +<p> +“I should be delighted to paint so charming a model,” Felix +declared. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think you are so lovely, my dear?” asked Lizzie Acton, with +her little inoffensive pertness, biting off a knot in her knitting. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not because I think I am beautiful,” said Gertrude, looking +all round. “I don’t think I am beautiful, at all.” She spoke +with a sort of conscious deliberateness; and it seemed very strange to +Charlotte to hear her discussing this question so publicly. “It is +because I think it would be amusing to sit and be painted. I have always +thought that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry you have not had better things to think about, my +daughter,” said Mr. Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very beautiful, cousin Gertrude,” Felix declared. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a compliment,” said Gertrude. “I put all the +compliments I receive into a little money-jug that has a slit in the side. I +shake them up and down, and they rattle. There are not many yet—only two +or three.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, it’s not a compliment,” Felix rejoined. “See; I am +careful not to give it the form of a compliment. I didn’t think you were +beautiful at first. But you have come to seem so little by little.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take care, now, your jug doesn’t burst!” exclaimed Lizzie. +</p> + +<p> +“I think sitting for one’s portrait is only one of the various +forms of idleness,” said Mr. Wentworth. “Their name is +legion.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sir,” cried Felix, “you can’t be said to be +idle when you are making a man work so!” +</p> + +<p> +“One might be painted while one is asleep,” suggested Mr. Brand, as +a contribution to the discussion. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, do paint me while I am asleep,” said Gertrude to Felix, +smiling. And she closed her eyes a little. It had by this time become a matter +of almost exciting anxiety to Charlotte what Gertrude would say or would do +next. +</p> + +<p> +She began to sit for her portrait on the following day—in the open air, +on the north side of the piazza. “I wish you would tell me what you think +of us—how we seem to you,” she said to Felix, as he sat before his +easel. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to me the best people in the world,” said Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“You say that,” Gertrude resumed, “because it saves you the +trouble of saying anything else.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man glanced at her over the top of his canvas. “What else +should I say? It would certainly be a great deal of trouble to say anything +different.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Gertrude, “you have seen people before that you +have liked, have you not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I have, thank Heaven!” +</p> + +<p> +“And they have been very different from us,” Gertrude went on. +</p> + +<p> +“That only proves,” said Felix, “that there are a thousand +different ways of being good company.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think us good company?” asked Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“Company for a king!” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude was silent a moment; and then, “There must be a thousand +different ways of being dreary,” she said; “and sometimes I think +we make use of them all.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix stood up quickly, holding up his hand. “If you could only keep that +look on your face for half an hour—while I catch it!” he said. +“It is uncommonly handsome.” +</p> + +<p> +“To look handsome for half an hour—that is a great deal to ask of +me,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be the portrait of a young woman who has taken some vow, some +pledge, that she repents of,” said Felix, “and who is thinking it +over at leisure.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have taken no vow, no pledge,” said Gertrude, very gravely; +“I have nothing to repent of.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear cousin, that was only a figure of speech. I am very sure that no +one in your excellent family has anything to repent of.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet we are always repenting!” Gertrude exclaimed. “That +is what I mean by our being dreary. You know it perfectly well; you only +pretend that you don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix gave a quick laugh. “The half hour is going on, and yet you are +handsomer than ever. One must be careful what one says, you see.” +</p> + +<p> +“To me,” said Gertrude, “you can say anything.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix looked at her, as an artist might, and painted for some time in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you seem to me different from your father and sister—from +most of the people you have lived with,” he observed. +</p> + +<p> +“To say that one’s self,” Gertrude went on, “is like +saying—by implication, at least—that one is better. I am not +better; I am much worse. But they say themselves that I am different. It makes +them unhappy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Since you accuse me of concealing my real impressions, I may admit that +I think the tendency—among you generally—is to be made unhappy too +easily.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would tell that to my father,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“It might make him more unhappy!” Felix exclaimed, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“It certainly would. I don’t believe you have seen people like +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my dear cousin, how do you know what I have seen?” Felix +demanded. “How can I tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You might tell me a great many things, if you only would. You have seen +people like yourself—people who are bright and gay and fond of amusement. +We are not fond of amusement.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Felix, “I confess that rather strikes me. You +don’t seem to me to get all the pleasure out of life that you might. You +don’t seem to me to enjoy..... Do you mind my saying this?” he +asked, pausing. +</p> + +<p> +“Please go on,” said the girl, earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to me very well placed for enjoying. You have money and liberty +and what is called in Europe a ‘position.’ But you take a painful +view of life, as one may say.” +</p> + +<p> +“One ought to think it bright and charming and delightful, eh?” +asked Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“I should say so—if one can. It is true it all depends upon +that,” Felix added. +</p> + +<p> +“You know there is a great deal of misery in the world,” said his +model. +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen a little of it,” the young man rejoined. “But it +was all over there—beyond the sea. I don’t see any here. This is a +paradise.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude said nothing; she sat looking at the dahlias and the currant-bushes in +the garden, while Felix went on with his work. “To +‘enjoy,’” she began at last, “to take life—not +painfully, must one do something wrong?” +</p> + +<p> +Felix gave his long, light laugh again. “Seriously, I think not. And for +this reason, among others: you strike me as very capable of enjoying, if the +chance were given you, and yet at the same time as incapable of +wrong-doing.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure,” said Gertrude, “that you are very wrong in +telling a person that she is incapable of that. We are never nearer to evil +than when we believe that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are handsomer than ever,” observed Felix, irrelevantly. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude had got used to hearing him say this. There was not so much excitement +in it as at first. “What ought one to do?” she continued. “To +give parties, to go to the theatre, to read novels, to keep late hours?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think it’s what one does or one doesn’t do +that promotes enjoyment,” her companion answered. “It is the +general way of looking at life.” +</p> + +<p> +“They look at it as a discipline—that’s what they do here. I +have often been told that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s very good. But there is another way,” added +Felix, smiling: “to look at it as an opportunity.” +</p> + +<p> +“An opportunity—yes,” said Gertrude. “One would get +more pleasure that way.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t attempt to say anything better for it than that it has +been my own way—and that is not saying much!” Felix had laid down +his palette and brushes; he was leaning back, with his arms folded, to judge +the effect of his work. “And you know,” he said, “I am a very +petty personage.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have a great deal of talent,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“No—no,” the young man rejoined, in a tone of cheerful +impartiality, “I have not a great deal of talent. It is nothing at all +remarkable. I assure you I should know if it were. I shall always be obscure. +The world will never hear of me.” Gertrude looked at him with a strange +feeling. She was thinking of the great world which he knew and which she did +not, and how full of brilliant talents it must be, since it could afford to +make light of his abilities. “You needn’t in general attach much +importance to anything I tell you,” he pursued; “but you may +believe me when I say this,—that I am little better than a good-natured +feather-head.” +</p> + +<p> +“A feather-head?” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a species of Bohemian.” +</p> + +<p> +“A Bohemian?” Gertrude had never heard this term before, save as a +geographical denomination; and she quite failed to understand the figurative +meaning which her companion appeared to attach to it. But it gave her pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +Felix had pushed back his chair and risen to his feet; he slowly came toward +her, smiling. “I am a sort of adventurer,” he said, looking down at +her. +</p> + +<p> +She got up, meeting his smile. “An adventurer?” she repeated. +“I should like to hear your adventures.” +</p> + +<p> +For an instant she believed that he was going to take her hand; but he dropped +his own hands suddenly into the pockets of his painting-jacket. “There is +no reason why you shouldn’t,” he said. “I have been an +adventurer, but my adventures have been very innocent. They have all been happy +ones; I don’t think there are any I shouldn’t tell. They were very +pleasant and very pretty; I should like to go over them in memory. Sit down +again, and I will begin,” he added in a moment, with his naturally +persuasive smile. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude sat down again on that day, and she sat down on several other days. +Felix, while he plied his brush, told her a great many stories, and she +listened with charmed avidity. Her eyes rested upon his lips; she was very +serious; sometimes, from her air of wondering gravity, he thought she was +displeased. But Felix never believed for more than a single moment in any +displeasure of his own producing. This would have been fatuity if the optimism +it expressed had not been much more a hope than a prejudice. It is beside the +matter to say that he had a good conscience; for the best conscience is a sort +of self-reproach, and this young man’s brilliantly healthy nature spent +itself in objective good intentions which were ignorant of any test save +exactness in hitting their mark. He told Gertrude how he had walked over France +and Italy with a painter’s knapsack on his back, paying his way often by +knocking off a flattering portrait of his host or hostess. He told her how he +had played the violin in a little band of musicians—not of high +celebrity—who traveled through foreign lands giving provincial concerts. +He told her also how he had been a momentary ornament of a troupe of strolling +actors, engaged in the arduous task of interpreting Shakespeare to French and +German, Polish and Hungarian audiences. +</p> + +<p> +While this periodical recital was going on, Gertrude lived in a fantastic +world; she seemed to herself to be reading a romance that came out in daily +numbers. She had known nothing so delightful since the perusal of <i>Nicholas +Nickleby</i>. One afternoon she went to see her cousin, Mrs. Acton, +Robert’s mother, who was a great invalid, never leaving the house. She +came back alone, on foot, across the fields—this being a short way which +they often used. Felix had gone to Boston with her father, who desired to take +the young man to call upon some of his friends, old gentlemen who remembered +his mother—remembered her, but said nothing about her—and several +of whom, with the gentle ladies their wives, had driven out from town to pay +their respects at the little house among the apple trees, in vehicles which +reminded the Baroness, who received her visitors with discriminating civility, +of the large, light, rattling barouche in which she herself had made her +journey to this neighborhood. The afternoon was waning; in the western sky the +great picture of a New England sunset, painted in crimson and silver, was +suspended from the zenith; and the stony pastures, as Gertrude traversed them, +thinking intently to herself, were covered with a light, clear glow. At the +open gate of one of the fields she saw from the distance a man’s figure; +he stood there as if he were waiting for her, and as she came nearer she +recognized Mr. Brand. She had a feeling as of not having seen him for some +time; she could not have said for how long, for it yet seemed to her that he +had been very lately at the house. +</p> + +<p> +“May I walk back with you?” he asked. And when she had said that he +might if he wanted, he observed that he had seen her and recognized her half a +mile away. +</p> + +<p> +“You must have very good eyes,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have very good eyes, Miss Gertrude,” said Mr. Brand. She +perceived that he meant something; but for a long time past Mr. Brand had +constantly meant something, and she had almost got used to it. She felt, +however, that what he meant had now a renewed power to disturb her, to perplex +and agitate her. He walked beside her in silence for a moment, and then he +added, “I have had no trouble in seeing that you are beginning to avoid +me. But perhaps,” he went on, “one needn’t have had very good +eyes to see that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not avoided you,” said Gertrude, without looking at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you have been unconscious that you were avoiding me,” Mr. +Brand replied. “You have not even known that I was there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you are here now, Mr. Brand!” said Gertrude, with a little +laugh. “I know that very well.” +</p> + +<p> +He made no rejoinder. He simply walked beside her slowly, as they were obliged +to walk over the soft grass. Presently they came to another gate, which was +closed. Mr. Brand laid his hand upon it, but he made no movement to open it; he +stood and looked at his companion. “You are very much +interested—very much absorbed,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude glanced at him; she saw that he was pale and that he looked excited. +She had never seen Mr. Brand excited before, and she felt that the spectacle, +if fully carried out, would be impressive, almost painful. “Absorbed in +what?” she asked. Then she looked away at the illuminated sky. She felt +guilty and uncomfortable, and yet she was vexed with herself for feeling so. +But Mr. Brand, as he stood there looking at her with his small, kind, +persistent eyes, represented an immense body of half-obliterated obligations, +that were rising again into a certain distinctness. +</p> + +<p> +“You have new interests, new occupations,” he went on. “I +don’t know that I can say that you have new duties. We have always old +ones, Gertrude,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“Please open the gate, Mr. Brand,” she said; and she felt as if, in +saying so, she were cowardly and petulant. But he opened the gate, and allowed +her to pass; then he closed it behind himself. Before she had time to turn away +he put out his hand and held her an instant by the wrist. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to say something to you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I know what you want to say,” she answered. And she was on the +point of adding, “And I know just how you will say it;” but these +words she kept back. +</p> + +<p> +“I love you, Gertrude,” he said. “I love you very much; I +love you more than ever.” +</p> + +<p> +He said the words just as she had known he would; she had heard them before. +They had no charm for her; she had said to herself before that it was very +strange. It was supposed to be delightful for a woman to listen to such words; +but these seemed to her flat and mechanical. “I wish you would forget +that,” she declared. +</p> + +<p> +“How can I—why should I?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I have made you no promise—given you no pledge,” she said, +looking at him, with her voice trembling a little. +</p> + +<p> +“You have let me feel that I have an influence over you. You have opened +your mind to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never opened my mind to you, Mr. Brand!” Gertrude cried, with +some vehemence. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you were not so frank as I thought—as we all thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see what anyone else had to do with it!” cried the +girl. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean your father and your sister. You know it makes them happy to +think you will listen to me.” +</p> + +<p> +She gave a little laugh. “It doesn’t make them happy,” she +said. “Nothing makes them happy. No one is happy here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think your cousin is very happy—Mr. Young,” rejoined Mr. +Brand, in a soft, almost timid tone. +</p> + +<p> +“So much the better for him!” And Gertrude gave her little laugh +again. +</p> + +<p> +The young man looked at her a moment. “You are very much changed,” +he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to hear it,” Gertrude declared. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not. I have known you a long time, and I have loved you as you +were.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am much obliged to you,” said Gertrude. “I must be going +home.” +</p> + +<p> +He on his side, gave a little laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“You certainly do avoid me—you see!” +</p> + +<p> +“Avoid me, then,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her again; and then, very gently, “No I will not avoid +you,” he replied; “but I will leave you, for the present, to +yourself. I think you will remember—after a while—some of the +things you have forgotten. I think you will come back to me; I have great faith +in that.” +</p> + +<p> +This time his voice was very touching; there was a strong, reproachful force in +what he said, and Gertrude could answer nothing. He turned away and stood +there, leaning his elbows on the gate and looking at the beautiful sunset. +Gertrude left him and took her way home again; but when she reached the middle +of the next field she suddenly burst into tears. Her tears seemed to her to +have been a long time gathering, and for some moments it was a kind of glee to +shed them. But they presently passed away. There was something a little hard +about Gertrude; and she never wept again. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0006"></a> +CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p> +Going of an afternoon to call upon his niece, Mr. Wentworth more than once +found Robert Acton sitting in her little drawing-room. This was in no degree, +to Mr. Wentworth, a perturbing fact, for he had no sense of competing with his +young kinsman for Eugenia’s good graces. Madame Münster’s uncle had +the highest opinion of Robert Acton, who, indeed, in the family at large, was +the object of a great deal of undemonstrative appreciation. They were all proud +of him, in so far as the charge of being proud may be brought against people +who were, habitually, distinctly guiltless of the misdemeanor known as +“taking credit.” They never boasted of Robert Acton, nor indulged +in vainglorious reference to him; they never quoted the clever things he had +said, nor mentioned the generous things he had done. But a sort of +frigidly-tender faith in his unlimited goodness was a part of their personal +sense of right; and there can, perhaps, be no better proof of the high esteem +in which he was held than the fact that no explicit judgment was ever passed +upon his actions. He was no more praised than he was blamed; but he was tacitly +felt to be an ornament to his circle. He was the man of the world of the +family. He had been to China and brought home a collection of curiosities; he +had made a fortune—or rather he had quintupled a fortune already +considerable; he was distinguished by that combination of celibacy, +“property,” and good humor which appeals to even the most subdued +imaginations; and it was taken for granted that he would presently place these +advantages at the disposal of some well-regulated young woman of his own +“set.” Mr. Wentworth was not a man to admit to himself +that—his paternal duties apart—he liked any individual much better +than all other individuals; but he thought Robert Acton extremely judicious; +and this was perhaps as near an approach as he was capable of to the eagerness +of preference, which his temperament repudiated as it would have disengaged +itself from something slightly unchaste. Acton was, in fact, very +judicious—and something more beside; and indeed it must be claimed for +Mr. Wentworth that in the more illicit parts of his preference there hovered +the vague adumbration of a belief that his cousin’s final merit was a +certain enviable capacity for whistling, rather gallantly, at the sanctions of +mere judgment—for showing a larger courage, a finer quality of pluck, +than common occasion demanded. Mr. Wentworth would never have risked the +intimation that Acton was made, in the smallest degree, of the stuff of a hero; +but this is small blame to him, for Robert would certainly never have risked it +himself. Acton certainly exercised great discretion in all +things—beginning with his estimate of himself. He knew that he was by no +means so much of a man of the world as he was supposed to be in local circles; +but it must be added that he knew also that his natural shrewdness had a reach +of which he had never quite given local circles the measure. He was addicted to +taking the humorous view of things, and he had discovered that even in the +narrowest circles such a disposition may find frequent opportunities. Such +opportunities had formed for some time—that is, since his return from +China, a year and a half before—the most active element in this +gentleman’s life, which had just now a rather indolent air. He was +perfectly willing to get married. He was very fond of books, and he had a +handsome library; that is, his books were much more numerous than Mr. +Wentworth’s. He was also very fond of pictures; but it must be confessed, +in the fierce light of contemporary criticism, that his walls were adorned with +several rather abortive masterpieces. He had got his learning—and there +was more of it than commonly appeared—at Harvard College; and he took a +pleasure in old associations, which made it a part of his daily contentment to +live so near this institution that he often passed it in driving to Boston. He +was extremely interested in the Baroness Münster. +</p> + +<p> +She was very frank with him; or at least she intended to be. “I am sure +you find it very strange that I should have settled down in this out-of-the-way +part of the world!” she said to him three or four weeks after she had +installed herself. “I am certain you are wondering about my motives. They +are very pure.” The Baroness by this time was an old inhabitant; the best +society in Boston had called upon her, and Clifford Wentworth had taken her +several times to drive in his buggy. +</p> + +<p> +Robert Acton was seated near her, playing with a fan; there were always several +fans lying about her drawing-room, with long ribbons of different colors +attached to them, and Acton was always playing with one. “No, I +don’t find it at all strange,” he said slowly, smiling. “That +a clever woman should turn up in Boston, or its suburbs—that does not +require so much explanation. Boston is a very nice place.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you wish to make me contradict you,” said the Baroness, +“<i>vous vous y prenez mal</i>. In certain moods there is nothing I am +not capable of agreeing to. Boston is a paradise, and we are in the suburbs of +Paradise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just now I am not at all in the suburbs; I am in the place +itself,” rejoined Acton, who was lounging a little in his chair. He was, +however, not always lounging; and when he was he was not quite so relaxed as he +pretended. To a certain extent, he sought refuge from shyness in this +appearance of relaxation; and like many persons in the same circumstances he +somewhat exaggerated the appearance. Beyond this, the air of being much at his +ease was a cover for vigilant observation. He was more than interested in this +clever woman, who, whatever he might say, was clever not at all after the +Boston fashion; she plunged him into a kind of excitement, held him in vague +suspense. He was obliged to admit to himself that he had never yet seen a woman +just like this—not even in China. He was ashamed, for inscrutable +reasons, of the vivacity of his emotion, and he carried it off, superficially, +by taking, still superficially, the humorous view of Madame Münster. It was not +at all true that he thought it very natural of her to have made this pious +pilgrimage. It might have been said of him in advance that he was too good a +Bostonian to regard in the light of an eccentricity the desire of even the +remotest alien to visit the New England metropolis. This was an impulse for +which, surely, no apology was needed; and Madame Münster was the fortunate +possessor of several New England cousins. In fact, however, Madame Münster +struck him as out of keeping with her little circle; she was at the best a very +agreeable, a gracefully mystifying anomaly. He knew very well that it would not +do to address these reflections too crudely to Mr. Wentworth; he would never +have remarked to the old gentleman that he wondered what the Baroness was up +to. And indeed he had no great desire to share his vague mistrust with anyone. +There was a personal pleasure in it; the greatest pleasure he had known at +least since he had come from China. He would keep the Baroness, for better or +worse, to himself; he had a feeling that he deserved to enjoy a monopoly of +her, for he was certainly the person who had most adequately gauged her +capacity for social intercourse. Before long it became apparent to him that the +Baroness was disposed to lay no tax upon such a monopoly. +</p> + +<p> +One day (he was sitting there again and playing with a fan) she asked him to +apologize, should the occasion present itself, to certain people in Boston for +her not having returned their calls. “There are half a dozen +places,” she said; “a formidable list. Charlotte Wentworth has +written it out for me, in a terrifically distinct hand. There is no ambiguity +on the subject; I know perfectly where I must go. Mr. Wentworth informs me that +the carriage is always at my disposal, and Charlotte offers to go with me, in a +pair of tight gloves and a very stiff petticoat. And yet for three days I have +been putting it off. They must think me horribly vicious.” +</p> + +<p> +“You ask me to apologize,” said Acton, “but you don’t +tell me what excuse I can offer.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is more,” the Baroness declared, “than I am held to. It +would be like my asking you to buy me a bouquet and giving you the money. I +have no reason except that—somehow—it’s too violent an +effort. It is not inspiring. Wouldn’t that serve as an excuse, in Boston? +I am told they are very sincere; they don’t tell fibs. And then Felix +ought to go with me, and he is never in readiness. I don’t see him. He is +always roaming about the fields and sketching old barns, or taking ten-mile +walks, or painting someone’s portrait, or rowing on the pond, or flirting +with Gertrude Wentworth.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think it would amuse you to go and see a few people,” +said Acton. “You are having a very quiet time of it here. It’s a +dull life for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, the quiet,—the quiet!” the Baroness exclaimed. +“That’s what I like. It’s rest. That’s what I came here +for. Amusement? I have had amusement. And as for seeing people—I have +already seen a great many in my life. If it didn’t sound ungracious I +should say that I wish very humbly your people here would leave me +alone!” +</p> + +<p> +Acton looked at her a moment, and she looked at him. She was a woman who took +being looked at remarkably well. “So you have come here for rest?” +he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“So I may say. I came for many of those reasons that are no +reasons—don’t you know?—and yet that are really the best: to +come away, to change, to break with everything. When once one comes away one +must arrive somewhere, and I asked myself why I shouldn’t arrive +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“You certainly had time on the way!” said Acton, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Münster looked at him again; and then, smiling: “And I have +certainly had time, since I got here, to ask myself why I came. However, I +never ask myself idle questions. Here I am, and it seems to me you ought only +to thank me.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you go away you will see the difficulties I shall put in your +path.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean to put difficulties in my path?” she asked, rearranging +the rosebud in her corsage. +</p> + +<p> +“The greatest of all—that of having been so +agreeable——” +</p> + +<p> +“That I shall be unable to depart? Don’t be too sure. I have left +some very agreeable people over there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Acton, “but it was to come here, where I +am!” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know of your existence. Excuse me for saying anything so +rude; but, honestly speaking, I did not. No,” the Baroness pursued, +“it was precisely not to see you—such people as you—that I +came.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such people as me?” cried Acton. +</p> + +<p> +“I had a sort of longing to come into those natural relations which I +knew I should find here. Over there I had only, as I may say, artificial +relations. Don’t you see the difference?” +</p> + +<p> +“The difference tells against me,” said Acton. “I suppose I +am an artificial relation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Conventional,” declared the Baroness; “very +conventional.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there is one way in which the relation of a lady and a gentleman +may always become natural,” said Acton. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean by their becoming lovers? That may be natural or not. And at +any rate,” rejoined Eugenia, <i>“nous n’en sommes pas +là!”</i> +</p> + +<p> +They were not, as yet; but a little later, when she began to go with him to +drive, it might almost have seemed that they were. He came for her several +times, alone, in his high “wagon,” drawn by a pair of charming +light-limbed horses. It was different, her having gone with Clifford Wentworth, +who was her cousin, and so much younger. It was not to be imagined that she +should have a flirtation with Clifford, who was a mere shame-faced boy, and +whom a large section of Boston society supposed to be “engaged” to +Lizzie Acton. Not, indeed, that it was to be conceived that the Baroness was a +possible party to any flirtation whatever; for she was undoubtedly a married +lady. It was generally known that her matrimonial condition was of the +“morganatic” order; but in its natural aversion to suppose that +this meant anything less than absolute wedlock, the conscience of the community +took refuge in the belief that it implied something even more. +</p> + +<p> +Acton wished her to think highly of American scenery, and he drove her to great +distances, picking out the prettiest roads and the largest points of view. If +we are good when we are contented, Eugenia’s virtues should now certainly +have been uppermost; for she found a charm in the rapid movement through a wild +country, and in a companion who from time to time made the vehicle dip, with a +motion like a swallow’s flight, over roads of primitive construction, and +who, as she felt, would do a great many things that she might ask him. +Sometimes, for a couple of hours together, there were almost no houses; there +were nothing but woods and rivers and lakes and horizons adorned with +bright-looking mountains. It seemed to the Baroness very wild, as I have said, +and lovely; but the impression added something to that sense of the enlargement +of opportunity which had been born of her arrival in the New World. +</p> + +<p> +One day—it was late in the afternoon—Acton pulled up his horses on +the crest of a hill which commanded a beautiful prospect. He let them stand a +long time to rest, while he sat there and talked with Madame Münster. The +prospect was beautiful in spite of there being nothing human within sight. +There was a wilderness of woods, and the gleam of a distant river, and a +glimpse of half the hill-tops in Massachusetts. The road had a wide, grassy +margin, on the further side of which there flowed a deep, clear brook; there +were wild flowers in the grass, and beside the brook lay the trunk of a fallen +tree. Acton waited a while; at last a rustic wayfarer came trudging along the +road. Acton asked him to hold the horses—a service he consented to +render, as a friendly turn to a fellow-citizen. Then he invited the Baroness to +descend, and the two wandered away, across the grass, and sat down on the log +beside the brook. +</p> + +<p> +“I imagine it doesn’t remind you of Silberstadt,” said Acton. +It was the first time that he had mentioned Silberstadt to her, for particular +reasons. He knew she had a husband there, and this was disagreeable to him; +and, furthermore, it had been repeated to him that this husband wished to put +her away—a state of affairs to which even indirect reference was to be +deprecated. It was true, nevertheless, that the Baroness herself had often +alluded to Silberstadt; and Acton had often wondered why her husband wished to +get rid of her. It was a curious position for a lady—this being known as +a repudiated wife; and it is worthy of observation that the Baroness carried it +off with exceeding grace and dignity. She had made it felt, from the first, +that there were two sides to the question, and that her own side, when she +should choose to present it, would be replete with touching interest. +</p> + +<p> +“It does not remind me of the town, of course,” she said, “of +the sculptured gables and the Gothic churches, of the wonderful Schloss, with +its moat and its clustering towers. But it has a little look of some other +parts of the principality. One might fancy one’s self among those grand +old German forests, those legendary mountains; the sort of country one sees +from the windows at Schreckenstein.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is Schreckenstein?” asked Acton. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a great castle,—the summer residence of the Reigning +Prince.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever lived there?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have stayed there,” said the Baroness. Acton was silent; he +looked a while at the uncastled landscape before him. “It is the first +time you have ever asked me about Silberstadt,” she said. “I should +think you would want to know about my marriage; it must seem to you very +strange.” +</p> + +<p> +Acton looked at her a moment. “Now you wouldn’t like me to say +that!” +</p> + +<p> +“You Americans have such odd ways!” the Baroness declared. +“You never ask anything outright; there seem to be so many things you +can’t talk about.” +</p> + +<p> +“We Americans are very polite,” said Acton, whose national +consciousness had been complicated by a residence in foreign lands, and who yet +disliked to hear Americans abused. “We don’t like to tread upon +people’s toes,” he said. “But I should like very much to hear +about your marriage. Now tell me how it came about.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Prince fell in love with me,” replied the Baroness simply. +“He pressed his suit very hard. At first he didn’t wish me to marry +him; on the contrary. But on that basis I refused to listen to him. So he +offered me marriage—in so far as he might. I was young, and I confess I +was rather flattered. But if it were to be done again now, I certainly should +not accept him.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long ago was this?” asked Acton. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—several years,” said Eugenia. “You should never ask +a woman for dates.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I should think that when a woman was relating history “ Acton +answered. “And now he wants to break it off?” +</p> + +<p> +“They want him to make a political marriage. It is his brother’s +idea. His brother is very clever.” +</p> + +<p> +“They must be a precious pair!” cried Robert Acton. +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness gave a little philosophic shrug. “<i>Que voulez-vous?</i> +They are princes. They think they are treating me very well. Silberstadt is a +perfectly despotic little state, and the Reigning Prince may annul the marriage +by a stroke of his pen. But he has promised me, nevertheless, not to do so +without my formal consent.” +</p> + +<p> +“And this you have refused?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hitherto. It is an indignity, and I have wished at least to make it +difficult for them. But I have a little document in my writing-desk which I +have only to sign and send back to the Prince.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it will be all over?” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness lifted her hand, and dropped it again. “Of course I shall +keep my title; at least, I shall be at liberty to keep it if I choose. And I +suppose I shall keep it. One must have a name. And I shall keep my pension. It +is very small—it is wretchedly small; but it is what I live on.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you have only to sign that paper?” Acton asked. +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness looked at him a moment. “Do you urge it?” +</p> + +<p> +He got up slowly, and stood with his hands in his pockets. “What do you +gain by not doing it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am supposed to gain this advantage—that if I delay, or +temporize, the Prince may come back to me, may make a stand against his +brother. He is very fond of me, and his brother has pushed him only little by +little.” +</p> + +<p> +“If he were to come back to you,” said Acton, “would +you—would you take him back?” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness met his eyes; she colored just a little. Then she rose. “I +should have the satisfaction of saying, ‘Now it is my turn. I break with +your Serene Highness!’” +</p> + +<p> +They began to walk toward the carriage. “Well,” said Robert Acton, +“it’s a curious story! How did you make his acquaintance?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was staying with an old lady—an old Countess—in Dresden. +She had been a friend of my father’s. My father was dead; I was very much +alone. My brother was wandering about the world in a theatrical troupe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your brother ought to have stayed with you,” Acton observed, +“and kept you from putting your trust in princes.” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness was silent a moment, and then, “He did what he could,” +she said. “He sent me money. The old Countess encouraged the Prince; she +was even pressing. It seems to me,” Madame Münster added, gently, +“that—under the circumstances—I behaved very well.” +</p> + +<p> +Acton glanced at her, and made the observation—he had made it +before—that a woman looks the prettier for having unfolded her wrongs or +her sufferings. “Well,” he reflected, audibly, “I should like +to see you send his Serene Highness—somewhere!” +</p> + +<p> +Madame Münster stooped and plucked a daisy from the grass. “And not sign +my renunciation?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t know—I don’t know,” said Acton. +</p> + +<p> +“In one case I should have my revenge; in another case I should have my +liberty.” +</p> + +<p> +Acton gave a little laugh as he helped her into the carriage. “At any +rate,” he said, “take good care of that paper.” +</p> + +<p> +A couple of days afterward he asked her to come and see his house. The visit +had already been proposed, but it had been put off in consequence of his +mother’s illness. She was a constant invalid, and she had passed these +recent years, very patiently, in a great flowered arm-chair at her bedroom +window. Lately, for some days, she had been unable to see anyone; but now she +was better, and she sent the Baroness a very civil message. Acton had wished +their visitor to come to dinner; but Madame Münster preferred to begin with a +simple call. She had reflected that if she should go to dinner Mr. Wentworth +and his daughters would also be asked, and it had seemed to her that the +peculiar character of the occasion would be best preserved in a +<i>tête-à-tête</i> with her host. Why the occasion should have a peculiar +character she explained to no one. As far as anyone could see, it was simply +very pleasant. Acton came for her and drove her to his door, an operation which +was rapidly performed. His house the Baroness mentally pronounced a very good +one; more articulately, she declared that it was enchanting. It was large and +square and painted brown; it stood in a well-kept shrubbery, and was +approached, from the gate, by a short drive. It was, moreover, a much more +modern dwelling than Mr. Wentworth’s, and was more redundantly +upholstered and expensively ornamented. The Baroness perceived that her +entertainer had analyzed material comfort to a sufficiently fine point. And +then he possessed the most delightful <i>chinoiseries</i>—trophies of his +sojourn in the Celestial Empire: pagodas of ebony and cabinets of ivory; +sculptured monsters, grinning and leering on chimney-pieces, in front of +beautifully figured hand-screens; porcelain dinner-sets, gleaming behind the +glass doors of mahogany buffets; large screens, in corners, covered with tense +silk and embroidered with mandarins and dragons. These things were scattered +all over the house, and they gave Eugenia a pretext for a complete domiciliary +visit. She liked it, she enjoyed it; she thought it a very nice place. It had a +mixture of the homely and the liberal, and though it was almost a museum, the +large, little-used rooms were as fresh and clean as a well-kept dairy. Lizzie +Acton told her that she dusted all the pagodas and other curiosities every day +with her own hands; and the Baroness answered that she was evidently a +household fairy. Lizzie had not at all the look of a young lady who dusted +things; she wore such pretty dresses and had such delicate fingers that it was +difficult to imagine her immersed in sordid cares. She came to meet Madame +Münster on her arrival, but she said nothing, or almost nothing, and the +Baroness again reflected—she had had occasion to do so before—that +American girls had no manners. She disliked this little American girl, and she +was quite prepared to learn that she had failed to commend herself to Miss +Acton. Lizzie struck her as positive and explicit almost to pertness; and the +idea of her combining the apparent incongruities of a taste for housework and +the wearing of fresh, Parisian-looking dresses suggested the possession of a +dangerous energy. It was a source of irritation to the Baroness that in this +country it should seem to matter whether a little girl were a trifle less or a +trifle more of a nonentity; for Eugenia had hitherto been conscious of no moral +pressure as regards the appreciation of diminutive virgins. It was perhaps an +indication of Lizzie’s pertness that she very soon retired and left the +Baroness on her brother’s hands. Acton talked a great deal about his +<i>chinoiseries</i>; he knew a good deal about porcelain and bric-à-brac. The +Baroness, in her progress through the house, made, as it were, a great many +stations. She sat down everywhere, confessed to being a little tired, and asked +about the various objects with a curious mixture of alertness and inattention. +If there had been anyone to say it to she would have declared that she was +positively in love with her host; but she could hardly make this +declaration—even in the strictest confidence—to Acton himself. It +gave her, nevertheless, a pleasure that had some of the charm of unwontedness +to feel, with that admirable keenness with which she was capable of feeling +things, that he had a disposition without any edges; that even his humorous +irony always expanded toward the point. One’s impression of his honesty +was almost like carrying a bunch of flowers; the perfume was most agreeable, +but they were occasionally an inconvenience. One could trust him, at any rate, +round all the corners of the world; and, withal, he was not absolutely simple, +which would have been excess; he was only relatively simple, which was quite +enough for the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +Lizzie reappeared to say that her mother would now be happy to receive Madame +Münster; and the Baroness followed her to Mrs. Acton’s apartment. Eugenia +reflected, as she went, that it was not the affectation of impertinence that +made her dislike this young lady, for on that ground she could easily have +beaten her. It was not an aspiration on the girl’s part to rivalry, but a +kind of laughing, childishly-mocking indifference to the results of comparison. +Mrs. Acton was an emaciated, sweet-faced woman of five and fifty, sitting with +pillows behind her, and looking out on a clump of hemlocks. She was very +modest, very timid, and very ill; she made Eugenia feel grateful that she +herself was not like that—neither so ill, nor, possibly, so modest. On a +chair, beside her, lay a volume of Emerson’s Essays. It was a great +occasion for poor Mrs. Acton, in her helpless condition, to be confronted with +a clever foreign lady, who had more manner than any lady—any dozen +ladies—that she had ever seen. +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard a great deal about you,” she said, softly, to the +Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“From your son, eh?” Eugenia asked. “He has talked to me +immensely of you. Oh, he talks of you as you would like,” the Baroness +declared; “as such a son <i>must</i> talk of such a mother!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Acton sat gazing; this was part of Madame Münster’s +“manner.” But Robert Acton was gazing too, in vivid consciousness +that he had barely mentioned his mother to their brilliant guest. He never +talked of this still maternal presence,—a presence refined to such +delicacy that it had almost resolved itself, with him, simply into the +subjective emotion of gratitude. And Acton rarely talked of his emotions. The +Baroness turned her smile toward him, and she instantly felt that she had been +observed to be fibbing. She had struck a false note. But who were these people +to whom such fibbing was not pleasing? If they were annoyed, the Baroness was +equally so; and after the exchange of a few civil inquiries and low-voiced +responses she took leave of Mrs. Acton. She begged Robert not to come home with +her; she would get into the carriage alone; she preferred that. This was +imperious, and she thought he looked disappointed. While she stood before the +door with him—the carriage was turning in the gravel-walk—this +thought restored her serenity. +</p> + +<p> +When she had given him her hand in farewell she looked at him a moment. +“I have almost decided to dispatch that paper,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He knew that she alluded to the document that she had called her renunciation; +and he assisted her into the carriage without saying anything. But just before +the vehicle began to move he said, “Well, when you have in fact +dispatched it, I hope you will let me know!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0007"></a> +CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p> +Felix Young finished Gertrude’s portrait, and he afterwards transferred +to canvas the features of many members of that circle of which it may be said +that he had become for the time the pivot and the centre. I am afraid it must +be confessed that he was a decidedly flattering painter, and that he imparted +to his models a romantic grace which seemed easily and cheaply acquired by the +payment of a hundred dollars to a young man who made “sitting” so +entertaining. For Felix was paid for his pictures, making, as he did, no secret +of the fact that in guiding his steps to the Western world affectionate +curiosity had gone hand in hand with a desire to better his condition. He took +his uncle’s portrait quite as if Mr. Wentworth had never averted himself +from the experiment; and as he compassed his end only by the exercise of gentle +violence, it is but fair to add that he allowed the old man to give him nothing +but his time. He passed his arm into Mr. Wentworth’s one summer +morning—very few arms indeed had ever passed into Mr. +Wentworth’s—and led him across the garden and along the road into +the studio which he had extemporized in the little house among the apple trees. +The grave gentleman felt himself more and more fascinated by his clever nephew, +whose fresh, demonstrative youth seemed a compendium of experiences so +strangely numerous. It appeared to him that Felix must know a great deal; he +would like to learn what he thought about some of those things as regards which +his own conversation had always been formal, but his knowledge vague. Felix had +a confident, gayly trenchant way of judging human actions which Mr. Wentworth +grew little by little to envy; it seemed like criticism made easy. Forming an +opinion—say on a person’s conduct—was, with Mr. Wentworth, a +good deal like fumbling in a lock with a key chosen at hazard. He seemed to +himself to go about the world with a big bunch of these ineffectual instruments +at his girdle. His nephew, on the other hand, with a single turn of the wrist, +opened any door as adroitly as a horse-thief. He felt obliged to keep up the +convention that an uncle is always wiser than a nephew, even if he could keep +it up no otherwise than by listening in serious silence to Felix’s quick, +light, constant discourse. But there came a day when he lapsed from consistency +and almost asked his nephew’s advice. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever entertained the idea of settling in the United +States?” he asked one morning, while Felix brilliantly plied his brush. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear uncle,” said Felix, “excuse me if your question +makes me smile a little. To begin with, I have never entertained an idea. Ideas +often entertain <i>me</i>; but I am afraid I have never seriously made a plan. +I know what you are going to say; or rather, I know what you think, for I +don’t think you will say it—that this is very frivolous and +loose-minded on my part. So it is; but I am made like that; I take things as +they come, and somehow there is always some new thing to follow the last. In +the second place, I should never propose to <i>settle</i>. I can’t +settle, my dear uncle; I’m not a settler. I know that is what strangers +are supposed to do here; they always settle. But I haven’t—to +answer your question—entertained that idea.” +</p> + +<p> +“You intend to return to Europe and resume your irregular manner of +life?” Mr. Wentworth inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t say I intend. But it’s very likely I shall go back +to Europe. After all, I am a European. I feel that, you know. It will depend a +good deal upon my sister. She’s even more of a European than I; here, you +know, she’s a picture out of her setting. And as for +‘resuming,’ dear uncle, I really have never given up my irregular +manner of life. What, for me, could be more irregular than this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Than what?” asked Mr. Wentworth, with his pale gravity. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, than everything! Living in the midst of you, this way; this +charming, quiet, serious family life; fraternizing with Charlotte and Gertrude; +calling upon twenty young ladies and going out to walk with them; sitting with +you in the evening on the piazza and listening to the crickets, and going to +bed at ten o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your description is very animated,” said Mr. Wentworth; “but +I see nothing improper in what you describe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Neither do I, dear uncle. It is extremely delightful; I shouldn’t +like it if it were improper. I assure you I don’t like improper things; +though I dare say you think I do,” Felix went on, painting away. +</p> + +<p> +“I have never accused you of that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray don’t,” said Felix, “because, you see, at bottom +I am a terrible Philistine.” +</p> + +<p> +“A Philistine?” repeated Mr. Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean, as one may say, a plain, God-fearing man.” Mr. Wentworth +looked at him reservedly, like a mystified sage, and Felix continued, “I +trust I shall enjoy a venerable and venerated old age. I mean to live long. I +can hardly call that a plan, perhaps; but it’s a keen desire—a rosy +vision. I shall be a lively, perhaps even a frivolous old man!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is natural,” said his uncle, sententiously, “that one +should desire to prolong an agreeable life. We have perhaps a selfish +indisposition to bring our pleasure to a close. But I presume,” he added, +“that you expect to marry.” +</p> + +<p> +“That too, dear uncle, is a hope, a desire, a vision,” said Felix. +It occurred to him for an instant that this was possibly a preface to the offer +of the hand of one of Mr. Wentworth’s admirable daughters. But in the +name of decent modesty and a proper sense of the hard realities of this world, +Felix banished the thought. His uncle was the incarnation of benevolence, +certainly; but from that to accepting—much more postulating—the +idea of a union between a young lady with a dowry presumptively brilliant and a +penniless artist with no prospect of fame, there was a very long way. Felix had +lately become conscious of a luxurious preference for the society—if +possible unshared with others—of Gertrude Wentworth; but he had relegated +this young lady, for the moment, to the coldly brilliant category of +unattainable possessions. She was not the first woman for whom he had +entertained an unpractical admiration. He had been in love with duchesses and +countesses, and he had made, once or twice, a perilously near approach to +cynicism in declaring that the disinterestedness of women had been overrated. +On the whole, he had tempered audacity with modesty; and it is but fair to him +now to say explicitly that he would have been incapable of taking advantage of +his present large allowance of familiarity to make love to the younger of his +handsome cousins. Felix had grown up among traditions in the light of which +such a proceeding looked like a grievous breach of hospitality. I have said +that he was always happy, and it may be counted among the present sources of +his happiness that he had as regards this matter of his relations with Gertrude +a deliciously good conscience. His own deportment seemed to him suffused with +the beauty of virtue—a form of beauty that he admired with the same +vivacity with which he admired all other forms. +</p> + +<p> +“I think that if you marry,” said Mr. Wentworth presently, +“it will conduce to your happiness.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Sicurissimo!”</i> Felix exclaimed; and then, arresting his +brush, he looked at his uncle with a smile. “There is something I feel +tempted to say to you. May I risk it?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth drew himself up a little. “I am very safe; I don’t +repeat things.” But he hoped Felix would not risk too much. +</p> + +<p> +Felix was laughing at his answer. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s odd to hear you telling me how to be happy. I don’t +think you know yourself, dear uncle. Now, does that sound brutal?” +</p> + +<p> +The old man was silent a moment, and then, with a dry dignity that suddenly +touched his nephew: “We may sometimes point out a road we are unable to +follow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, don’t tell me you have had any sorrows,” Felix rejoined. +“I didn’t suppose it, and I didn’t mean to allude to them. I +simply meant that you all don’t amuse yourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Amuse ourselves? We are not children.” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely not! You have reached the proper age. I was saying that the +other day to Gertrude,” Felix added. “I hope it was not +indiscreet.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it was,” said Mr. Wentworth, with a keener irony than Felix +would have thought him capable of, “it was but your way of amusing +yourself. I am afraid you have never had a trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, I have!” Felix declared, with some spirit; “before +I knew better. But you don’t catch me at it again.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth maintained for a while a silence more expressive than a +deep-drawn sigh. “You have no children,” he said at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tell me,” Felix exclaimed, “that your charming +young people are a source of grief to you!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t speak of Charlotte.” And then, after a pause, Mr. +Wentworth continued, “I don’t speak of Gertrude. But I feel +considerable anxiety about Clifford. I will tell you another time.” +</p> + +<p> +The next time he gave Felix a sitting his nephew reminded him that he had taken +him into his confidence. “How is Clifford today?” Felix asked. +“He has always seemed to me a young man of remarkable discretion. Indeed, +he is only too discreet; he seems on his guard against me—as if he +thought me rather light company. The other day he told his +sister—Gertrude repeated it to me—that I was always laughing at +him. If I laugh it is simply from the impulse to try and inspire him with +confidence. That is the only way I have.” +</p> + +<p> +“Clifford’s situation is no laughing matter,” said Mr. +Wentworth. “It is very peculiar, as I suppose you have guessed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you mean his love affair with his cousin?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth stared, blushing a little. “I mean his absence from +college. He has been suspended. We have decided not to speak of it unless we +are asked.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suspended?” Felix repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“He has been requested by the Harvard authorities to absent himself for +six months. Meanwhile he is studying with Mr. Brand. We think Mr. Brand will +help him; at least we hope so.” +</p> + +<p> +“What befell him at college?” Felix asked. “He was too fond +of pleasure? Mr. Brand certainly will not teach him any of those +secrets!” +</p> + +<p> +“He was too fond of something of which he should not have been fond. I +suppose it is considered a pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix gave his light laugh. “My dear uncle, is there any doubt about its +being a pleasure? <i>C’est de son âge</i>, as they say in France.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should have said rather it was a vice of later life—of +disappointed old age.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix glanced at his uncle, with his lifted eyebrows, and then, “Of what +are you speaking?” he demanded, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Of the situation in which Clifford was found.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, he was found—he was caught?” +</p> + +<p> +“Necessarily, he was caught. He couldn’t walk; he staggered.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Felix, “he drinks! I rather suspected that, from +something I observed the first day I came here. I quite agree with you that it +is a low taste. It’s not a vice for a gentleman. He ought to give it +up.” +</p> + +<p> +“We hope for a good deal from Mr. Brand’s influence,” Mr. +Wentworth went on. “He has talked to him from the first. And he never +touches anything himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will talk to him—I will talk to him!” Felix declared, +gayly. +</p> + +<p> +“What will you say to him?” asked his uncle, with some +apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +Felix for some moments answered nothing. “Do you mean to marry him to his +cousin?” he asked at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Marry him?” echoed Mr. Wentworth. “I shouldn’t think +his cousin would want to marry him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have no understanding, then, with Mrs. Acton?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth stared, almost blankly. “I have never discussed such +subjects with her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think it might be time,” said Felix. “Lizzie Acton +is admirably pretty, and if Clifford is dangerous....” +</p> + +<p> +“They are not engaged,” said Mr. Wentworth. “I have no reason +to suppose they are engaged.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Par exemple!”</i> cried Felix. “A clandestine engagement? +Trust me, Clifford, as I say, is a charming boy. He is incapable of that. +Lizzie Acton, then, would not be jealous of another woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly hope not,” said the old man, with a vague sense of +jealousy being an even lower vice than a love of liquor. +</p> + +<p> +“The best thing for Clifford, then,” Felix propounded, “is to +become interested in some clever, charming woman.” And he paused in his +painting, and, with his elbows on his knees, looked with bright +communicativeness at his uncle. “You see, I believe greatly in the +influence of women. Living with women helps to make a man a gentleman. It is +very true Clifford has his sisters, who are so charming. But there should be a +different sentiment in play from the fraternal, you know. He has Lizzie Acton; +but she, perhaps, is rather immature.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suspect Lizzie has talked to him, reasoned with him,” said Mr. +Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“On the impropriety of getting tipsy—on the beauty of temperance? +That is dreary work for a pretty young girl. No,” Felix continued; +“Clifford ought to frequent some agreeable woman, who, without ever +mentioning such unsavory subjects, would give him a sense of its being very +ridiculous to be fuddled. If he could fall in love with her a little, so much +the better. The thing would operate as a cure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now, what lady should you suggest?” asked Mr. Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a clever woman under your hand. My sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your sister—under my hand?” Mr. Wentworth repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Say a word to Clifford. Tell him to be bold. He is well disposed +already; he has invited her two or three times to drive. But I don’t +think he comes to see her. Give him a hint to come—to come often. He will +sit there of an afternoon, and they will talk. It will do him good.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth meditated. “You think she will exercise a helpful +influence?” +</p> + +<p> +“She will exercise a civilizing—I may call it a +sobering—influence. A charming, clever, witty woman always +does—especially if she is a little of a coquette. My dear uncle, the +society of such women has been half my education. If Clifford is suspended, as +you say, from college, let Eugenia be his preceptress.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth continued thoughtful. “You think Eugenia is a +coquette?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“What pretty woman is not?” Felix demanded in turn. But this, for +Mr. Wentworth, could at the best have been no answer, for he did not think his +niece pretty. “With Clifford,” the young man pursued, +“Eugenia will simply be enough of a coquette to be a little ironical. +That’s what he needs. So you recommend him to be nice with her, you know. +The suggestion will come best from you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I understand,” asked the old man, “that I am to suggest +to my son to make a—a profession of—of affection to Madame +Münster?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes—a profession!” cried Felix sympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +“But, as I understand it, Madame Münster is a married woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Felix, smiling, “of course she can’t marry +him. But she will do what she can.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth sat for some time with his eyes on the floor; at last he got up. +“I don’t think,” he said, “that I can undertake to +recommend my son any such course.” And without meeting Felix’s +surprised glance he broke off his sitting, which was not resumed for a +fortnight. +</p> + +<p> +Felix was very fond of the little lake which occupied so many of Mr. +Wentworth’s numerous acres, and of a remarkable pine grove which lay upon +the further side of it, planted upon a steep embankment and haunted by the +summer breeze. The murmur of the air in the far off tree-tops had a strange +distinctness; it was almost articulate. One afternoon the young man came out of +his painting-room and passed the open door of Eugenia’s little salon. +Within, in the cool dimness, he saw his sister, dressed in white, buried in her +arm-chair, and holding to her face an immense bouquet. Opposite to her sat +Clifford Wentworth, twirling his hat. He had evidently just presented the +bouquet to the Baroness, whose fine eyes, as she glanced at him over the big +roses and geraniums, wore a conversational smile. Felix, standing on the +threshold of the cottage, hesitated for a moment as to whether he should +retrace his steps and enter the parlor. Then he went his way and passed into +Mr. Wentworth’s garden. That civilizing process to which he had suggested +that Clifford should be subjected appeared to have come on of itself. Felix was +very sure, at least, that Mr. Wentworth had not adopted his ingenious device +for stimulating the young man’s aesthetic consciousness. “Doubtless +he supposes,” he said to himself, after the conversation that has been +narrated, “that I desire, out of fraternal benevolence, to procure for +Eugenia the amusement of a flirtation—or, as he probably calls it, an +intrigue—with the too susceptible Clifford. It must be admitted—and +I have noticed it before—that nothing exceeds the license occasionally +taken by the imagination of very rigid people.” Felix, on his own side, +had of course said nothing to Clifford; but he had observed to Eugenia that Mr. +Wentworth was much mortified at his son’s low tastes. “We ought to +do something to help them, after all their kindness to us,” he had added. +“Encourage Clifford to come and see you, and inspire him with a taste for +conversation. That will supplant the other, which only comes from his +puerility, from his not taking his position in the world—that of a rich +young man of ancient stock—seriously enough. Make him a little more +serious. Even if he makes love to you it is no great matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am to offer myself as a superior form of intoxication—a +substitute for a brandy bottle, eh?” asked the Baroness. “Truly, in +this country one comes to strange uses.” +</p> + +<p> +But she had not positively declined to undertake Clifford’s higher +education, and Felix, who had not thought of the matter again, being haunted +with visions of more personal profit, now reflected that the work of redemption +had fairly begun. The idea in prospect had seemed of the happiest, but in +operation it made him a trifle uneasy. “What if Eugenia—what if +Eugenia”—he asked himself softly; the question dying away in his +sense of Eugenia’s undetermined capacity. But before Felix had time +either to accept or to reject its admonition, even in this vague form, he saw +Robert Acton turn out of Mr. Wentworth’s enclosure, by a distant gate, +and come toward the cottage in the orchard. Acton had evidently walked from his +own house along a shady by-way and was intending to pay a visit to Madame +Münster. Felix watched him a moment; then he turned away. Acton could be left +to play the part of Providence and interrupt—if interruption were +needed—Clifford’s entanglement with Eugenia. +</p> + +<p> +Felix passed through the garden toward the house and toward a postern gate +which opened upon a path leading across the fields, beside a little wood, to +the lake. He stopped and looked up at the house; his eyes rested more +particularly upon a certain open window, on the shady side. Presently Gertrude +appeared there, looking out into the summer light. He took off his hat to her +and bade her good-day; he remarked that he was going to row across the pond, +and begged that she would do him the honor to accompany him. She looked at him +a moment; then, without saying anything, she turned away. But she soon +reappeared below in one of those quaint and charming Leghorn hats, tied with +white satin bows, that were worn at that period; she also carried a green +parasol. She went with him to the edge of the lake, where a couple of boats +were always moored; they got into one of them, and Felix, with gentle strokes, +propelled it to the opposite shore. The day was the perfection of summer +weather; the little lake was the color of sunshine; the plash of the oars was +the only sound, and they found themselves listening to it. They disembarked, +and, by a winding path, ascended the pine-crested mound which overlooked the +water, whose white expanse glittered between the trees. The place was +delightfully cool, and had the added charm that—in the softly sounding +pine boughs—you seemed to hear the coolness as well as feel it. Felix and +Gertrude sat down on the rust-colored carpet of pine-needles and talked of many +things. Felix spoke at last, in the course of talk, of his going away; it was +the first time he had alluded to it. +</p> + +<p> +“You are going away?” said Gertrude, looking at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Some day—when the leaves begin to fall. You know I can’t +stay forever.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude transferred her eyes to the outer prospect, and then, after a pause, +she said, “I shall never see you again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” asked Felix. “We shall probably both survive my +departure.” +</p> + +<p> +But Gertrude only repeated, “I shall never see you again. I shall never +hear of you,” she went on. “I shall know nothing about you. I knew +nothing about you before, and it will be the same again.” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew nothing about you then, unfortunately,” said Felix. +“But now I shall write to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t write to me. I shall not answer you,” Gertrude +declared. +</p> + +<p> +“I should of course burn your letters,” said Felix. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude looked at him again. “Burn my letters? You sometimes say strange +things.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are not strange in themselves,” the young man answered. +“They are only strange as said to you. You will come to Europe.” +</p> + +<p> +“With whom shall I come?” She asked this question simply; she was +very much in earnest. Felix was interested in her earnestness; for some moments +he hesitated. “You can’t tell me that,” she pursued. +“You can’t say that I shall go with my father and my sister; you +don’t believe that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall keep your letters,” said Felix, presently, for all answer. +</p> + +<p> +“I never write. I don’t know how to write.” Gertrude, for +some time, said nothing more; and her companion, as he looked at her, wished it +had not been “disloyal” to make love to the daughter of an old +gentleman who had offered one hospitality. The afternoon waned; the shadows +stretched themselves; and the light grew deeper in the western sky. Two persons +appeared on the opposite side of the lake, coming from the house and crossing +the meadow. “It is Charlotte and Mr. Brand,” said Gertrude. +“They are coming over here.” But Charlotte and Mr. Brand only came +down to the edge of the water, and stood there, looking across; they made no +motion to enter the boat that Felix had left at the mooring-place. Felix waved +his hat to them; it was too far to call. They made no visible response, and +they presently turned away and walked along the shore. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Brand is not demonstrative,” said Felix. “He is never +demonstrative to me. He sits silent, with his chin in his hand, looking at me. +Sometimes he looks away. Your father tells me he is so eloquent; and I should +like to hear him talk. He looks like such a noble young man. But with me he +will never talk. And yet I am so fond of listening to brilliant imagery!” +</p> + +<p> +“He is very eloquent,” said Gertrude; “but he has no +brilliant imagery. I have heard him talk a great deal. I knew that when they +saw us they would not come over here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, he is making <i>la cour</i>, as they say, to your sister? They +desire to be alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Gertrude, gravely, “they have no such reason as +that for being alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why doesn’t he make <i>la cour</i> to Charlotte?” Felix +inquired. “She is so pretty, so gentle, so good.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude glanced at him, and then she looked at the distantly-seen couple they +were discussing. Mr. Brand and Charlotte were walking side by side. They might +have been a pair of lovers, and yet they might not. “They think I should +not be here,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“With me? I thought you didn’t have those ideas.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understand. There are a great many things you +don’t understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand my stupidity. But why, then, do not Charlotte and Mr. +Brand, who, as an elder sister and a clergyman, are free to walk about +together, come over and make me wiser by breaking up the unlawful interview +into which I have lured you?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is the last thing they would do,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +Felix stared at her a moment, with his lifted eyebrows. <i>“Je n’y +comprends rien!”</i> he exclaimed; then his eyes followed for a while the +retreating figures of this critical pair. “You may say what you +please,” he declared; “it is evident to me that your sister is not +indifferent to her clever companion. It is agreeable to her to be walking there +with him. I can see that from here.” And in the excitement of observation +Felix rose to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude rose also, but she made no attempt to emulate her companion’s +discovery; she looked rather in another direction. Felix’s words had +struck her; but a certain delicacy checked her. “She is certainly not +indifferent to Mr. Brand; she has the highest opinion of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“One can see it—one can see it,” said Felix, in a tone of +amused contemplation, with his head on one side. Gertrude turned her back to +the opposite shore; it was disagreeable to her to look, but she hoped Felix +would say something more. “Ah, they have wandered away into the +wood,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude turned round again. “She is <i>not</i> in love with him,” +she said; it seemed her duty to say that. +</p> + +<p> +“Then he is in love with her; or if he is not, he ought to be. She is +such a perfect little woman of her kind. She reminds me of a pair of +old-fashioned silver sugar-tongs; you know I am very fond of sugar. And she is +very nice with Mr. Brand; I have noticed that; very gentle and gracious.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude reflected a moment. Then she took a great resolution. “She wants +him to marry me,” she said. “So of course she is nice.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix’s eyebrows rose higher than ever. “To marry you! Ah, ah, this +is interesting. And you think one must be very nice with a man to induce him to +do that?” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude had turned a little pale, but she went on, “Mr. Brand wants it +himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix folded his arms and stood looking at her. “I see—I +see,” he said quickly. “Why did you never tell me this +before?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is disagreeable to me to speak of it even now. I wished simply to +explain to you about Charlotte.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t wish to marry Mr. Brand, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Gertrude, gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“And does your father wish it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you don’t like him—you have refused him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t wish to marry him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your father and sister think you ought to, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a long story,” said Gertrude. “They think there are +good reasons. I can’t explain it. They think I have obligations, and that +I have encouraged him.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix smiled at her, as if she had been telling him an amusing story about +someone else. “I can’t tell you how this interests me,” he +said. “Now you don’t recognize these reasons—these +obligations?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not sure; it is not easy.” And she picked up her parasol and +turned away, as if to descend the slope. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me this,” Felix went on, going with her: “are you +likely to give in—to let them persuade you?” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude looked at him with the serious face that she had constantly worn, in +opposition to his almost eager smile. “I shall never marry Mr. +Brand,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I see!” Felix rejoined. And they slowly descended the hill +together, saying nothing till they reached the margin of the pond. “It is +your own affair,” he then resumed; “but do you know, I am not +altogether glad? If it were settled that you were to marry Mr. Brand I should +take a certain comfort in the arrangement. I should feel more free. I have no +right to make love to you myself, eh?” And he paused, lightly pressing +his argument upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“None whatever,” replied Gertrude quickly—too quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Your father would never hear of it; I haven’t a penny. Mr. Brand, +of course, has property of his own, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe he has some property; but that has nothing to do with +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“With you, of course not; but with your father and sister it must have. +So, as I say, if this were settled, I should feel more at liberty.” +</p> + +<p> +“More at liberty?” Gertrude repeated. “Please unfasten the +boat.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix untwisted the rope and stood holding it. “I should be able to say +things to you that I can’t give myself the pleasure of saying now,” +he went on. “I could tell you how much I admire you, without seeming to +pretend to that which I have no right to pretend to. I should make violent love +to you,” he added, laughing, “if I thought you were so placed as +not to be offended by it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean if I were engaged to another man? That is strange +reasoning!” Gertrude exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“In that case you would not take me seriously.” +</p> + +<p> +“I take everyone seriously,” said Gertrude. And without his help +she stepped lightly into the boat. +</p> + +<p> +Felix took up the oars and sent it forward. “Ah, this is what you have +been thinking about? It seemed to me you had something on your mind. I wish +very much,” he added, “that you would tell me some of these +so-called reasons—these obligations.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are not real reasons—good reasons,” said Gertrude, +looking at the pink and yellow gleams in the water. +</p> + +<p> +“I can understand that! Because a handsome girl has had a spark of +coquetry, that is no reason.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you mean me, it’s not that. I have not done that.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is something that troubles you, at any rate,” said Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“Not so much as it used to,” Gertrude rejoined. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her, smiling always. “That is not saying much, eh?” +But she only rested her eyes, very gravely, on the lighted water. She seemed to +him to be trying to hide the signs of the trouble of which she had just told +him. Felix felt, at all times, much the same impulse to dissipate visible +melancholy that a good housewife feels to brush away dust. There was something +he wished to brush away now; suddenly he stopped rowing and poised his oars. +“Why should Mr. Brand have addressed himself to you, and not to your +sister?” he asked. “I am sure she would listen to him.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude, in her family, was thought capable of a good deal of levity; but her +levity had never gone so far as this. It moved her greatly, however, to hear +Felix say that he was sure of something; so that, raising her eyes toward him, +she tried intently, for some moments, to conjure up this wonderful image of a +love-affair between her own sister and her own suitor. We know that Gertrude +had an imaginative mind; so that it is not impossible that this effort should +have been partially successful. But she only murmured, “Ah, Felix! ah, +Felix!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why shouldn’t they marry? Try and make them marry!” cried +Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“Try and make them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Turn the tables on them. Then they will leave you alone. I will help you +as far as I can.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude’s heart began to beat; she was greatly excited; she had never +had anything so interesting proposed to her before. Felix had begun to row +again, and he now sent the boat home with long strokes. “I believe she +<i>does</i> care for him!” said Gertrude, after they had disembarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course she does, and we will marry them off. It will make them happy; +it will make everyone happy. We shall have a wedding and I will write an +epithalamium.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems as if it would make <i>me</i> happy,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“To get rid of Mr. Brand, eh? To recover your liberty?” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude walked on. “To see my sister married to so good a man.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix gave his light laugh. “You always put things on those grounds; you +will never say anything for yourself. You are all so afraid, here, of being +selfish. I don’t think you know how,” he went on. “Let me +show you! It will make me happy for myself, and for just the reverse of what I +told you a while ago. After that, when I make love to you, you will have to +think I mean it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall never think you mean anything,” said Gertrude. “You +are too fantastic.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” cried Felix, “that’s a license to say everything! +Gertrude, I adore you!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0008"></a> +CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p> +Charlotte and Mr. Brand had not returned when they reached the house; but the +Baroness had come to tea, and Robert Acton also, who now regularly asked for a +place at this generous repast or made his appearance later in the evening. +Clifford Wentworth, with his juvenile growl, remarked upon it. +</p> + +<p> +“You are always coming to tea nowadays, Robert,” he said. “I +should think you had drunk enough tea in China.” +</p> + +<p> +“Since when is Mr. Acton more frequent?” asked the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“Since you came,” said Clifford. “It seems as if you were a +kind of attraction.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I am a curiosity,” said the Baroness. “Give me +time and I will make you a salon.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would fall to pieces after you go!” exclaimed Acton. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk about her going, in that familiar way,” Clifford +said. “It makes me feel gloomy.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth glanced at his son, and taking note of these words, wondered if +Felix had been teaching him, according to the programme he had sketched out, to +make love to the wife of a German prince. +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte came in late with Mr. Brand; but Gertrude, to whom, at least, Felix +had taught something, looked in vain, in her face, for the traces of a guilty +passion. Mr. Brand sat down by Gertrude, and she presently asked him why they +had not crossed the pond to join Felix and herself. +</p> + +<p> +“It is cruel of you to ask me that,” he answered, very softly. He +had a large morsel of cake before him; but he fingered it without eating it. +“I sometimes think you are growing cruel,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude said nothing; she was afraid to speak. There was a kind of rage in her +heart; she felt as if she could easily persuade herself that she was +persecuted. She said to herself that it was quite right that she should not +allow him to make her believe she was wrong. She thought of what Felix had said +to her; she wished indeed Mr. Brand would marry Charlotte. She looked away from +him and spoke no more. Mr. Brand ended by eating his cake, while Felix sat +opposite, describing to Mr. Wentworth the students’ duels at Heidelberg. +After tea they all dispersed themselves, as usual, upon the piazza and in the +garden; and Mr. Brand drew near to Gertrude again. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t come to you this afternoon because you were not +alone,” he began; “because you were with a newer friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Felix? He is an old friend by this time.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand looked at the ground for some moments. “I thought I was +prepared to hear you speak in that way,” he resumed. “But I find it +very painful.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see what else I can say,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand walked beside her for a while in silence; Gertrude wished he would go +away. “He is certainly very accomplished. But I think I ought to advise +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“To advise me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I know your nature.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you don’t,” said Gertrude, with a soft laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“You make yourself out worse than you are—to please him,” Mr. +Brand said, gently. +</p> + +<p> +“Worse—to please him? What do you mean?” asked Gertrude, +stopping. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand stopped also, and with the same soft straight-forwardness, “He +doesn’t care for the things you care for—the great questions of +life.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude, with her eyes on his, shook her head. “I don’t care for +the great questions of life. They are much beyond me.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was a time when you didn’t say that,” said Mr. Brand. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” rejoined Gertrude, “I think you made me talk a great +deal of nonsense. And it depends,” she added, “upon what you call +the great questions of life. There are some things I care for.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are they the things you talk about with your cousin?” +</p> + +<p> +“You should not say things to me against my cousin, Mr. Brand,” +said Gertrude. “That is dishonorable.” +</p> + +<p> +He listened to this respectfully; then he answered, with a little vibration of +the voice, “I should be very sorry to do anything dishonorable. But I +don’t see why it is dishonorable to say that your cousin is +frivolous.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go and say it to himself!” +</p> + +<p> +“I think he would admit it,” said Mr. Brand. “That is the +tone he would take. He would not be ashamed of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I am not ashamed of it!” Gertrude declared. “That is +probably what I like him for. I am frivolous myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are trying, as I said just now, to lower yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am trying for once to be natural!” cried Gertrude passionately. +“I have been pretending, all my life; I have been dishonest; it is you +that have made me so!” Mr. Brand stood gazing at her, and she went on, +“Why shouldn’t I be frivolous, if I want? One has a right to be +frivolous, if it’s one’s nature. No, I don’t care for the +great questions. I care for pleasure—for amusement. Perhaps I am fond of +wicked things; it is very possible!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand remained staring; he was even a little pale, as if he had been +frightened. “I don’t think you know what you are saying!” he +exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not. Perhaps I am talking nonsense. But it is only with you that +I talk nonsense. I never do so with my cousin.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will speak to you again, when you are less excited,” said Mr. +Brand. +</p> + +<p> +“I am always excited when you speak to me. I must tell you +that—even if it prevents you altogether, in future. Your speaking to me +irritates me. With my cousin it is very different. That seems quiet and +natural.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her, and then he looked away, with a kind of helpless distress, at +the dusky garden and the faint summer stars. After which, suddenly turning +back, “Gertrude, Gertrude!” he softly groaned. “Am I really +losing you?” +</p> + +<p> +She was touched—she was pained; but it had already occurred to her that +she might do something better than say so. It would not have alleviated her +companion’s distress to perceive, just then, whence she had +sympathetically borrowed this ingenuity. “I am not sorry for you,” +Gertrude said; “for in paying so much attention to me you are following a +shadow—you are wasting something precious. There is something else you +might have that you don’t look at—something better than I am. That +is a reality!” And then, with intention, she looked at him and tried to +smile a little. He thought this smile of hers very strange; but she turned away +and left him. +</p> + +<p> +She wandered about alone in the garden wondering what Mr. Brand would make of +her words, which it had been a singular pleasure for her to utter. Shortly +after, passing in front of the house, she saw at a distance two persons +standing near the garden gate. It was Mr. Brand going away and bidding +good-night to Charlotte, who had walked down with him from the house. Gertrude +saw that the parting was prolonged. Then she turned her back upon it. She had +not gone very far, however, when she heard her sister slowly following her. She +neither turned round nor waited for her; she knew what Charlotte was going to +say. Charlotte, who at last overtook her, in fact presently began; she had +passed her arm into Gertrude’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you listen to me, dear, if I say something very particular?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know what you are going to say,” said Gertrude. “Mr. Brand +feels very badly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Gertrude, how can you treat him so?” Charlotte demanded. And +as her sister made no answer she added, “After all he has done for +you!” +</p> + +<p> +“What has he done for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder you can ask, Gertrude. He has helped you so. You told me so +yourself, a great many times. You told me that he helped you to struggle with +your—your peculiarities. You told me that he had taught you how to govern +your temper.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Gertrude said nothing. Then, “Was my temper very bad?” +she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not accusing you, Gertrude,” said Charlotte. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing, then?” her sister demanded, with a short +laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“I am pleading for Mr. Brand—reminding you of all you owe +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have given it all back,” said Gertrude, still with her little +laugh. “He can take back the virtue he imparted! I want to be wicked +again.” +</p> + +<p> +Her sister made her stop in the path, and fixed upon her, in the darkness, a +sweet, reproachful gaze. “If you talk this way I shall almost believe it. +Think of all we owe Mr. Brand. Think of how he has always expected something of +you. Think how much he has been to us. Think of his beautiful influence upon +Clifford.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is very good,” said Gertrude, looking at her sister. “I +know he is very good. But he shouldn’t speak against Felix.” +</p> + +<p> +“Felix is good,” Charlotte answered, softly but promptly. +“Felix is very wonderful. Only he is so different. Mr. Brand is much +nearer to us. I should never think of going to Felix with a trouble—with +a question. Mr. Brand is much more to us, Gertrude.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is very—very good,” Gertrude repeated. “He is more +to you; yes, much more. Charlotte,” she added suddenly, “you are in +love with him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Gertrude!” cried poor Charlotte; and her sister saw her +blushing in the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude put her arm round her. “I wish he would marry you!” she +went on. +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte shook herself free. “You must not say such things!” she +exclaimed, beneath her breath. +</p> + +<p> +“You like him more than you say, and he likes you more than he +knows.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is very cruel of you!” Charlotte Wentworth murmured. +</p> + +<p> +But if it was cruel Gertrude continued pitiless. “Not if it’s +true,” she answered. “I wish he would marry you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t say that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean to tell him so!” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Gertrude, Gertrude!” her sister almost moaned. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, if he speaks to me again about myself. I will say, ‘Why +don’t you marry Charlotte? She’s a thousand times better than +I.’” +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>are</i> wicked; you <i>are</i> changed!” cried her sister. +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t like it you can prevent it,” said Gertrude. +“You can prevent it by keeping him from speaking to me!” And with +this she walked away, very conscious of what she had done; measuring it and +finding a certain joy and a quickened sense of freedom in it. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth was rather wide of the mark in suspecting that Clifford had begun +to pay unscrupulous compliments to his brilliant cousin; for the young man had +really more scruples than he received credit for in his family. He had a +certain transparent shamefacedness which was in itself a proof that he was not +at his ease in dissipation. His collegiate peccadilloes had aroused a domestic +murmur as disagreeable to the young man as the creaking of his boots would have +been to a house-breaker. Only, as the house-breaker would have simplified +matters by removing his <i>chaussures</i>, it had seemed to Clifford that the +shortest cut to comfortable relations with people—relations which should +make him cease to think that when they spoke to him they meant something +improving—was to renounce all ambition toward a nefarious development. +And, in fact, Clifford’s ambition took the most commendable form. He +thought of himself in the future as the well-known and much-liked Mr. +Wentworth, of Boston, who should, in the natural course of prosperity, have +married his pretty cousin, Lizzie Acton; should live in a wide-fronted house, +in view of the Common; and should drive, behind a light wagon, over the damp +autumn roads, a pair of beautifully matched sorrel horses. Clifford’s +vision of the coming years was very simple; its most definite features were +this element of familiar matrimony and the duplication of his resources for +trotting. He had not yet asked his cousin to marry him; but he meant to do so +as soon as he had taken his degree. Lizzie was serenely conscious of his +intention, and she had made up her mind that he would improve. Her brother, who +was very fond of this light, quick, competent little Lizzie, saw on his side no +reason to interpose. It seemed to him a graceful social law that Clifford and +his sister should become engaged; he himself was not engaged, but everyone +else, fortunately, was not such a fool as he. He was fond of Clifford, as well, +and had his own way—of which it must be confessed he was a little +ashamed—of looking at those aberrations which had led to the young +man’s compulsory retirement from the neighboring seat of learning. Acton +had seen the world, as he said to himself; he had been to China and had knocked +about among men. He had learned the essential difference between a nice young +fellow and a mean young fellow, and was satisfied that there was no harm in +Clifford. He believed—although it must be added that he had not quite the +courage to declare it—in the doctrine of wild oats, and thought it a +useful preventive of superfluous fears. If Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte and Mr. +Brand would only apply it in Clifford’s case, they would be happier; and +Acton thought it a pity they should not be happier. They took the boy’s +misdemeanors too much to heart; they talked to him too solemnly; they +frightened and bewildered him. Of course there was the great standard of +morality, which forbade that a man should get tipsy, play at billiards for +money, or cultivate his sensual consciousness; but what fear was there that +poor Clifford was going to run a tilt at any great standard? It had, however, +never occurred to Acton to dedicate the Baroness Münster to the redemption of a +refractory collegian. The instrument, here, would have seemed to him quite too +complex for the operation. Felix, on the other hand, had spoken in obedience to +the belief that the more charming a woman is the more numerous, literally, are +her definite social uses. +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia herself, as we know, had plenty of leisure to enumerate her uses. As I +have had the honor of intimating, she had come four thousand miles to seek her +fortune; and it is not to be supposed that after this great effort she could +neglect any apparent aid to advancement. It is my misfortune that in attempting +to describe in a short compass the deportment of this remarkable woman I am +obliged to express things rather brutally. I feel this to be the case, for +instance, when I say that she had primarily detected such an aid to advancement +in the person of Robert Acton, but that she had afterwards remembered that a +prudent archer has always a second bowstring. Eugenia was a woman of +finely-mingled motive, and her intentions were never sensibly gross. She had a +sort of aesthetic ideal for Clifford which seemed to her a disinterested reason +for taking him in hand. It was very well for a fresh-colored young gentleman to +be ingenuous; but Clifford, really, was crude. With such a pretty face he ought +to have prettier manners. She would teach him that, with a beautiful name, the +expectation of a large property, and, as they said in Europe, a social +position, an only son should know how to carry himself. +</p> + +<p> +Once Clifford had begun to come and see her by himself and for himself, he came +very often. He hardly knew why he should come; he saw her almost every evening +at his father’s house; he had nothing particular to say to her. She was +not a young girl, and fellows of his age called only upon young girls. He +exaggerated her age; she seemed to him an old woman; it was happy that the +Baroness, with all her intelligence, was incapable of guessing this. But +gradually it struck Clifford that visiting old women might be, if not a +natural, at least, as they say of some articles of diet, an acquired taste. The +Baroness was certainly a very amusing old woman; she talked to him as no +lady—and indeed no gentleman—had ever talked to him before. +</p> + +<p> +“You should go to Europe and make the tour,” she said to him one +afternoon. “Of course, on leaving college you will go.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to go,” Clifford declared. “I know some +fellows who have been to Europe. They say you can have better fun here.” +</p> + +<p> +“That depends. It depends upon your idea of fun. Your friends probably +were not introduced.” +</p> + +<p> +“Introduced?” Clifford demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“They had no opportunity of going into society; they formed no +<i>relations</i>.” This was one of a certain number of words that the +Baroness often pronounced in the French manner. +</p> + +<p> +“They went to a ball, in Paris; I know that,” said Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, there are balls and balls; especially in Paris. No, you must go, you +know; it is not a thing from which you can dispense yourself. You need +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m very well,” said Clifford. “I’m not +sick.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mean for your health, my poor child. I mean for your +manners.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got any manners!” growled Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely. You don’t mind my assenting to that, eh?” asked +the Baroness with a smile. “You must go to Europe and get a few. You can +get them better there. It is a pity you might not have come while I was living +in—in Germany. I would have introduced you; I had a charming little +circle. You would perhaps have been rather young; but the younger one begins, I +think, the better. Now, at any rate, you have no time to lose, and when I +return you must immediately come to me.” +</p> + +<p> +All this, to Clifford’s apprehension, was a great mixture—his +beginning young, Eugenia’s return to Europe, his being introduced to her +charming little circle. What was he to begin, and what was her little circle? +His ideas about her marriage had a good deal of vagueness; but they were in so +far definite as that he felt it to be a matter not to be freely mentioned. He +sat and looked all round the room; he supposed she was alluding in some way to +her marriage. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t want to go to Germany,” he said; it seemed to +him the most convenient thing to say. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him a while, smiling with her lips, but not with her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You have scruples?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Scruples?” said Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“You young people, here, are very singular; one doesn’t know where +to expect you. When you are not extremely improper you are so terribly proper. +I dare say you think that, owing to my irregular marriage, I live with loose +people. You were never more mistaken. I have been all the more +particular.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said Clifford, honestly distressed. “I never +thought such a thing as that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you very sure? I am convinced that your father does, and your +sisters. They say to each other that here I am on my good behavior, but that +over there—married by the left hand—I associate with light +women.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” cried Clifford, energetically, “they don’t +say such things as that to each other!” +</p> + +<p> +“If they think them they had better say them,” the Baroness +rejoined. “Then they can be contradicted. Please contradict that whenever +you hear it, and don’t be afraid of coming to see me on account of the +company I keep. I have the honor of knowing more distinguished men, my poor +child, than you are likely to see in a life-time. I see very few women; but +those are women of rank. So, my dear young Puritan, you needn’t be +afraid. I am not in the least one of those who think that the society of women +who have lost their place in the <i>vrai monde</i> is necessary to form a young +man. I have never taken that tone. I have kept my place myself, and I think we +are a much better school than the others. Trust me, Clifford, and I will prove +that to you,” the Baroness continued, while she made the agreeable +reflection that she could not, at least, be accused of perverting her young +kinsman. “So if you ever fall among thieves don’t go about saying I +sent you to them.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford thought it so comical that he should know—in spite of her +figurative language—what she meant, and that she should mean what he +knew, that he could hardly help laughing a little, although he tried hard. +“Oh, no! oh, no!” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Laugh out, laugh out, if I amuse you!” cried the Baroness. +“I am here for that!” And Clifford thought her a very amusing +person indeed. “But remember,” she said on this occasion, +“that you are coming—next year—to pay me a visit over +there.” +</p> + +<p> +About a week afterwards she said to him, point-blank, “Are you seriously +making love to your little cousin?” +</p> + +<p> +“Seriously making love”—these words, on Madame +Münster’s lips, had to Clifford’s sense a portentous and +embarrassing sound; he hesitated about assenting, lest he should commit himself +to more than he understood. “Well, I shouldn’t say it if I +was!” he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Why wouldn’t you say it?” the Baroness demanded. +“Those things ought to be known.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care whether it is known or not,” Clifford rejoined. +“But I don’t want people looking at me.” +</p> + +<p> +“A young man of your importance ought to learn to bear +observation—to carry himself as if he were quite indifferent to it. I +won’t say, exactly, unconscious,” the Baroness explained. +“No, he must seem to know he is observed, and to think it natural he +should be; but he must appear perfectly used to it. Now you haven’t that, +Clifford; you haven’t that at all. You must have that, you know. +Don’t tell me you are not a young man of importance,” Eugenia +added. “Don’t say anything so flat as that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, you don’t catch me saying that!” cried Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you must come to Germany,” Madame Münster continued. “I +will show you how people can be talked about, and yet not seem to know it. You +will be talked about, of course, with me; it will be said you are my lover. I +will show you how little one may mind that—how little I shall mind +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford sat staring, blushing and laughing. “I shall mind it a good +deal!” he declared. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, not too much, you know; that would be uncivil. But I give you leave +to mind it a little; especially if you have a passion for Miss Acton. +<i>Voyons</i>; as regards that, you either have or you have not. It is very +simple to say it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see why you want to know,” said Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to want me to know. If one is arranging a marriage, one tells +one’s friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m not arranging anything,” said Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t intend to marry your cousin?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I expect I shall do as I choose!” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness leaned her head upon the back of her chair and closed her eyes, as +if she were tired. Then opening them again, “Your cousin is very +charming!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“She is the prettiest girl in this place,” Clifford rejoined. +</p> + +<p> +“‘In this place’ is saying little; she would be charming +anywhere. I am afraid you are entangled.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, I’m not entangled.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you engaged? At your age that is the same thing.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford looked at the Baroness with some audacity. “Will you tell no +one?” +</p> + +<p> +“If it’s as sacred as that—no.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then—we are not!” said Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the great secret—that you are not, eh?” asked +the Baroness, with a quick laugh. “I am very glad to hear it. You are +altogether too young. A young man in your position must choose and compare; he +must see the world first. Depend upon it,” she added, “you should +not settle that matter before you have come abroad and paid me that visit. +There are several things I should like to call your attention to first.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I am rather afraid of that visit,” said Clifford. “It +seems to me it will be rather like going to school again.” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness looked at him a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear child,” she said, “there is no agreeable man who has +not, at some moment, been to school to a clever woman—probably a little +older than himself. And you must be thankful when you get your instructions +gratis. With me you would get it gratis.” +</p> + +<p> +The next day Clifford told Lizzie Acton that the Baroness thought her the most +charming girl she had ever seen. +</p> + +<p> +Lizzie shook her head. “No, she doesn’t!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think everything she says,” asked Clifford, “is to be +taken the opposite way?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think that is!” said Lizzie. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford was going to remark that in this case the Baroness must desire greatly +to bring about a marriage between Mr. Clifford Wentworth and Miss Elizabeth +Acton; but he resolved, on the whole, to suppress this observation. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0009"></a> +CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p> +It seemed to Robert Acton, after Eugenia had come to his house, that something +had passed between them which made them a good deal more intimate. It was hard +to say exactly what, except her telling him that she had taken her resolution +with regard to the Prince Adolf; for Madame Münster’s visit had made no +difference in their relations. He came to see her very often; but he had come +to see her very often before. It was agreeable to him to find himself in her +little drawing-room; but this was not a new discovery. There was a change, +however, in this sense: that if the Baroness had been a great deal in +Acton’s thoughts before, she was now never out of them. From the first +she had been personally fascinating; but the fascination now had become +intellectual as well. He was constantly pondering her words and motions; they +were as interesting as the factors in an algebraic problem. This is saying a +good deal; for Acton was extremely fond of mathematics. He asked himself +whether it could be that he was in love with her, and then hoped he was not; +hoped it not so much for his own sake as for that of the amatory passion +itself. If this was love, love had been overrated. Love was a poetic impulse, +and his own state of feeling with regard to the Baroness was largely +characterized by that eminently prosaic sentiment—curiosity. It was true, +as Acton with his quietly cogitative habit observed to himself, that curiosity, +pushed to a given point, might become a romantic passion; and he certainly +thought enough about this charming woman to make him restless and even a little +melancholy. It puzzled and vexed him at times to feel that he was not more +ardent. He was not in the least bent upon remaining a bachelor. In his younger +years he had been—or he had tried to be—of the opinion that it +would be a good deal “jollier” not to marry, and he had flattered +himself that his single condition was something of a citadel. It was a citadel, +at all events, of which he had long since leveled the outworks. He had removed +the guns from the ramparts; he had lowered the draw-bridge across the moat. The +draw-bridge had swayed lightly under Madame Münster’s step; why should he +not cause it to be raised again, so that she might be kept prisoner? He had an +idea that she would become—in time at least, and on learning the +conveniences of the place for making a lady comfortable—a tolerably +patient captive. But the draw-bridge was never raised, and Acton’s +brilliant visitor was as free to depart as she had been to come. It was part of +his curiosity to know why the deuce so susceptible a man was <i>not</i> in love +with so charming a woman. If her various graces were, as I have said, the +factors in an algebraic problem, the answer to this question was the +indispensable unknown quantity. The pursuit of the unknown quantity was +extremely absorbing; for the present it taxed all Acton’s faculties. +</p> + +<p> +Toward the middle of August he was obliged to leave home for some days; an old +friend, with whom he had been associated in China, had begged him to come to +Newport, where he lay extremely ill. His friend got better, and at the end of a +week Acton was released. I use the word “released” advisedly; for +in spite of his attachment to his Chinese comrade he had been but a +half-hearted visitor. He felt as if he had been called away from the theatre +during the progress of a remarkably interesting drama. The curtain was up all +this time, and he was losing the fourth act; that fourth act which would have +been so essential to a just appreciation of the fifth. In other words, he was +thinking about the Baroness, who, seen at this distance, seemed a truly +brilliant figure. He saw at Newport a great many pretty women, who certainly +were figures as brilliant as beautiful light dresses could make them; but +though they talked a great deal—and the Baroness’s strong point was +perhaps also her conversation—Madame Münster appeared to lose nothing by +the comparison. He wished she had come to Newport too. Would it not be possible +to make up, as they said, a party for visiting the famous watering-place and +invite Eugenia to join it? It was true that the complete satisfaction would be +to spend a fortnight at Newport with Eugenia alone. It would be a great +pleasure to see her, in society, carry everything before her, as he was sure +she would do. When Acton caught himself thinking these thoughts he began to +walk up and down, with his hands in his pockets, frowning a little and looking +at the floor. What did it prove—for it certainly proved +something—this lively disposition to be “off” somewhere with +Madame Münster, away from all the rest of them? Such a vision, certainly, +seemed a refined implication of matrimony, after the Baroness should have +formally got rid of her informal husband. At any rate, Acton, with his +characteristic discretion, forbore to give expression to whatever else it might +imply, and the narrator of these incidents is not obliged to be more definite. +</p> + +<p> +He returned home rapidly, and, arriving in the afternoon, lost as little time +as possible in joining the familiar circle at Mr. Wentworth’s. On +reaching the house, however, he found the piazzas empty. The doors and windows +were open, and their emptiness was made clear by the shafts of lamp-light from +the parlors. Entering the house, he found Mr. Wentworth sitting alone in one of +these apartments, engaged in the perusal of the <i>North American Review</i>. +After they had exchanged greetings and his cousin had made discreet inquiry +about his journey, Acton asked what had become of Mr. Wentworth’s +companions. +</p> + +<p> +“They are scattered about, amusing themselves as usual,” said the +old man. “I saw Charlotte, a short time since, seated, with Mr. Brand, +upon the piazza. They were conversing with their customary animation. I suppose +they have joined her sister, who, for the hundredth time, was doing the honors +of the garden to her foreign cousin.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you mean Felix,” said Acton. And on Mr. +Wentworth’s assenting, he said, “And the others?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your sister has not come this evening. You must have seen her at +home,” said Mr. Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I proposed to her to come. She declined.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lizzie, I suppose, was expecting a visitor,” said the old man, +with a kind of solemn slyness. +</p> + +<p> +“If she was expecting Clifford, he had not turned up.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth, at this intelligence, closed the <i>North American Review</i> +and remarked that he had understood Clifford to say that he was going to see +his cousin. Privately, he reflected that if Lizzie Acton had had no news of his +son, Clifford must have gone to Boston for the evening: an unnatural course of +a summer night, especially when accompanied with disingenuous representations. +</p> + +<p> +“You must remember that he has two cousins,” said Acton, laughing. +And then, coming to the point, “If Lizzie is not here,” he added, +“neither apparently is the Baroness.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth stared a moment, and remembered that queer proposition of +Felix’s. For a moment he did not know whether it was not to be wished +that Clifford, after all, might have gone to Boston. “The Baroness has +not honored us tonight,” he said. “She has not come over for three +days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she ill?” Acton asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I have been to see her.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter with her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Mr. Wentworth, “I infer she has tired of +us.” +</p> + +<p> +Acton pretended to sit down, but he was restless; he found it impossible to +talk with Mr. Wentworth. At the end of ten minutes he took up his hat and said +that he thought he would “go off.” It was very late; it was ten +o’clock. +</p> + +<p> +His quiet-faced kinsman looked at him a moment. “Are you going +home?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Acton hesitated, and then answered that he had proposed to go over and take a +look at the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you are honest, at least,” said Mr. Wentworth, sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“So are you, if you come to that!” cried Acton, laughing. +“Why shouldn’t I be honest?” +</p> + +<p> +The old man opened the <i>North American</i> again, and read a few lines. +“If we have ever had any virtue among us, we had better keep hold of it +now,” he said. He was not quoting. +</p> + +<p> +“We have a Baroness among us,” said Acton. “That’s what +we must keep hold of!” He was too impatient to see Madame Münster again +to wonder what Mr. Wentworth was talking about. Nevertheless, after he had +passed out of the house and traversed the garden and the little piece of road +that separated him from Eugenia’s provisional residence, he stopped a +moment outside. He stood in her little garden; the long window of her parlor +was open, and he could see the white curtains, with the lamp-light shining +through them, swaying softly to and fro in the warm night wind. There was a +sort of excitement in the idea of seeing Madame Münster again; he became aware +that his heart was beating rather faster than usual. It was this that made him +stop, with a half-amused surprise. But in a moment he went along the piazza, +and, approaching the open window, tapped upon its lintel with his stick. He +could see the Baroness within; she was standing in the middle of the room. She +came to the window and pulled aside the curtain; then she stood looking at him +a moment. She was not smiling; she seemed serious. +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Mais entrez donc!”</i> she said at last. Acton passed in across +the window-sill; he wondered, for an instant, what was the matter with her. But +the next moment she had begun to smile and had put out her hand. “Better +late than never,” she said. “It is very kind of you to come at this +hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have just returned from my journey,” said Acton. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, very kind, very kind,” she repeated, looking about her where +to sit. +</p> + +<p> +“I went first to the other house,” Acton continued. “I +expected to find you there.” +</p> + +<p> +She had sunk into her usual chair; but she got up again, and began to move +about the room. Acton had laid down his hat and stick; he was looking at her, +conscious that there was in fact a great charm in seeing her again. “I +don’t know whether I ought to tell you to sit down,” she said. +“It is too late to begin a visit.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s too early to end one,” Acton declared; “and we +needn’t mind the beginning.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him again, and, after a moment, dropped once more into her low +chair, while he took a place near her. “We are in the middle, +then?” she asked. “Was that where we were when you went away? No, I +haven’t been to the other house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not yesterday, nor the day before, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know how many days it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are tired of it,” said Acton. +</p> + +<p> +She leaned back in her chair; her arms were folded. “That is a terrible +accusation, but I have not the courage to defend myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not attacking you,” said Acton. “I expected something +of this kind.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a proof of extreme intelligence. I hope you enjoyed your +journey.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” Acton declared. “I would much rather have been +here with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now you <i>are</i> attacking me,” said the Baroness. “You +are contrasting my inconstancy with your own fidelity.” +</p> + +<p> +“I confess I never get tired of people I like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you are not a poor wicked foreign woman, with irritable nerves and a +sophisticated mind!” +</p> + +<p> +“Something has happened to you since I went away,” said Acton, +changing his place. +</p> + +<p> +“Your going away—that is what has happened to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say that you have missed me?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“If I had meant to say it, it would not be worth your making a note of. I +am very dishonest and my compliments are worthless.” +</p> + +<p> +Acton was silent for some moments. “You have broken down,” he said +at last. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Münster left her chair, and began to move about. +</p> + +<p> +“Only for a moment. I shall pull myself together again.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had better not take it too hard. If you are bored, you needn’t +be afraid to say so—to me at least.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shouldn’t say such things as that,” the Baroness +answered. “You should encourage me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I admire your patience; that is encouraging.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shouldn’t even say that. When you talk of my patience you are +disloyal to your own people. Patience implies suffering; and what have I had to +suffer?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not hunger, not unkindness, certainly,” said Acton, laughing. +“Nevertheless, we all admire your patience.” +</p> + +<p> +“You all detest me!” cried the Baroness, with a sudden vehemence, +turning her back toward him. +</p> + +<p> +“You make it hard,” said Acton, getting up, “for a man to say +something tender to you.” This evening there was something particularly +striking and touching about her; an unwonted softness and a look of suppressed +emotion. He felt himself suddenly appreciating the fact that she had behaved +very well. She had come to this quiet corner of the world under the weight of a +cruel indignity, and she had been so gracefully, modestly thankful for the rest +she found there. She had joined that simple circle over the way; she had +mingled in its plain, provincial talk; she had shared its meagre and savorless +pleasures. She had set herself a task, and she had rigidly performed it. She +had conformed to the angular conditions of New England life, and she had had +the tact and pluck to carry it off as if she liked them. Acton felt a more +downright need than he had ever felt before to tell her that he admired her and +that she struck him as a very superior woman. All along, hitherto, he had been +on his guard with her; he had been cautious, observant, suspicious. But now a +certain light tumult in his blood seemed to tell him that a finer degree of +confidence in this charming woman would be its own reward. “We +don’t detest you,” he went on. “I don’t know what you +mean. At any rate, I speak for myself; I don’t know anything about the +others. Very likely, you detest them for the dull life they make you lead. +Really, it would give me a sort of pleasure to hear you say so.” +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia had been looking at the door on the other side of the room; now she +slowly turned her eyes toward Robert Acton. “What can be the +motive,” she asked, “of a man like you—an honest man, a +<i>galant homme</i>—in saying so base a thing as that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Does it sound very base?” asked Acton, candidly. “I suppose +it does, and I thank you for telling me so. Of course, I don’t mean it +literally.” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness stood looking at him. “How do you mean it?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +This question was difficult to answer, and Acton, feeling the least bit +foolish, walked to the open window and looked out. He stood there, thinking a +moment, and then he turned back. “You know that document that you were to +send to Germany,” he said. “You called it your +‘renunciation.’ Did you ever send it?” +</p> + +<p> +Madame Münster’s eyes expanded; she looked very grave. “What a +singular answer to my question!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it isn’t an answer,” said Acton. “I have wished to +ask you, many times. I thought it probable you would tell me yourself. The +question, on my part, seems abrupt now; but it would be abrupt at any +time.” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness was silent a moment; and then, “I think I have told you too +much!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +This declaration appeared to Acton to have a certain force; he had indeed a +sense of asking more of her than he offered her. He returned to the window, and +watched, for a moment, a little star that twinkled through the lattice of the +piazza. There were at any rate offers enough he could make; perhaps he had +hitherto not been sufficiently explicit in doing so. “I wish you would +ask something of me,” he presently said. “Is there nothing I can do +for you? If you can’t stand this dull life any more, let me amuse +you!” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness had sunk once more into a chair, and she had taken up a fan which +she held, with both hands, to her mouth. Over the top of the fan her eyes were +fixed on him. “You are very strange tonight,” she said, with a +little laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“I will do anything in the world,” he rejoined, standing in front +of her. “Shouldn’t you like to travel about and see something of +the country? Won’t you go to Niagara? You ought to see Niagara, you +know.” +</p> + +<p> +“With you, do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should be delighted to take you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You alone?” +</p> + +<p> +Acton looked at her, smiling, and yet with a serious air. “Well, yes; we +might go alone,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“If you were not what you are,” she answered, “I should feel +insulted.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean—what I am?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you were one of the gentlemen I have been used to all my life. If you +were not a queer Bostonian.” +</p> + +<p> +“If the gentlemen you have been used to have taught you to expect +insults,” said Acton, “I am glad I am what I am. You had much +better come to Niagara.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you wish to ‘amuse’ me,” the Baroness declared, +“you need go to no further expense. You amuse me very effectually.” +</p> + +<p> +He sat down opposite to her; she still held her fan up to her face, with her +eyes only showing above it. There was a moment’s silence, and then he +said, returning to his former question, “Have you sent that document to +Germany?” +</p> + +<p> +Again there was a moment’s silence. The expressive eyes of Madame Münster +seemed, however, half to break it. +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you—at Niagara!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +She had hardly spoken when the door at the further end of the room +opened—the door upon which, some minutes previous, Eugenia had fixed her +gaze. Clifford Wentworth stood there, blushing and looking rather awkward. The +Baroness rose, quickly, and Acton, more slowly, did the same. Clifford gave him +no greeting; he was looking at Eugenia. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you were here?” exclaimed Acton. +</p> + +<p> +“He was in Felix’s studio,” said Madame Münster. “He +wanted to see his sketches.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford looked at Robert Acton, but said nothing; he only fanned himself with +his hat. “You chose a bad moment,” said Acton; “you +hadn’t much light.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hadn’t any!” said Clifford, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Your candle went out?” Eugenia asked. “You should have come +back here and lighted it again.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford looked at her a moment. “So I have—come back. But I have +left the candle!” +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia turned away. “You are very stupid, my poor boy. You had better go +home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Clifford, “good-night!” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you a word to throw to a man when he has safely returned +from a dangerous journey?” Acton asked. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do?” said Clifford. “I thought—I thought +you were——” and he paused, looking at the Baroness again. +</p> + +<p> +“You thought I was at Newport, eh? So I was—this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, clever child!” said Madame Münster, over her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford stared at her—not at all like a clever child; and then, with one +of his little facetious growls, took his departure. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter with him?” asked Acton, when he was gone. +“He seemed rather in a muddle.” +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia, who was near the window, glanced out, listening a moment. “The +matter—the matter”—she answered. “But you don’t +say such things here.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you mean that he had been drinking a little, you can say that.” +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t drink any more. I have cured him. And in +return—he’s in love with me.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Acton’s turn to stare. He instantly thought of his sister; but he +said nothing about her. He began to laugh. “I don’t wonder at his +passion! But I wonder at his forsaking your society for that of your +brother’s paint-brushes.” +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia was silent a little. “He had not been in the studio. I invented +that at the moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Invented it? For what purpose?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has an idea of being romantic. He has adopted the habit of coming to +see me at midnight—passing only through the orchard and through +Felix’s painting-room, which has a door opening that way. It seems to +amuse him,” added Eugenia, with a little laugh. +</p> + +<p> +Acton felt more surprise than he confessed to, for this was a new view of +Clifford, whose irregularities had hitherto been quite without the romantic +element. He tried to laugh again, but he felt rather too serious, and after a +moment’s hesitation his seriousness explained itself. “I hope you +don’t encourage him,” he said. “He must not be inconstant to +poor Lizzie.” +</p> + +<p> +“To your sister?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know they are decidedly intimate,” said Acton. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” cried Eugenia, smiling, “has she—has +she——” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” Acton interrupted, “what she has. But I +always supposed that Clifford had a desire to make himself agreeable to +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, <i>par exemple!</i>” the Baroness went on. “The little +monster! The next time he becomes sentimental I will him tell that he ought to +be ashamed of himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Acton was silent a moment. “You had better say nothing about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had told him as much already, on general grounds,” said the +Baroness. “But in this country, you know, the relations of young people +are so extraordinary that one is quite at sea. They are not engaged when you +would quite say they ought to be. Take Charlotte Wentworth, for instance, and +that young ecclesiastic. If I were her father I should insist upon his marrying +her; but it appears to be thought there is no urgency. On the other hand, you +suddenly learn that a boy of twenty and a little girl who is still with her +governess—your sister has no governess? Well, then, who is never away +from her mamma—a young couple, in short, between whom you have noticed +nothing beyond an exchange of the childish pleasantries characteristic of their +age, are on the point of setting up as man and wife.” The Baroness spoke +with a certain exaggerated volubility which was in contrast with the languid +grace that had characterized her manner before Clifford made his appearance. It +seemed to Acton that there was a spark of irritation in her eye—a note of +irony (as when she spoke of Lizzie being never away from her mother) in her +voice. If Madame Münster was irritated, Robert Acton was vaguely mystified; she +began to move about the room again, and he looked at her without saying +anything. Presently she took out her watch, and, glancing at it, declared that +it was three o’clock in the morning and that he must go. +</p> + +<p> +“I have not been here an hour,” he said, “and they are still +sitting up at the other house. You can see the lights. Your brother has not +come in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, at the other house,” cried Eugenia, “they are terrible +people! I don’t know what they may do over there. I am a quiet little +humdrum woman; I have rigid rules and I keep them. One of them is not to have +visitors in the small hours—especially clever men like you. So +good-night!” +</p> + +<p> +Decidedly, the Baroness was incisive; and though Acton bade her good-night and +departed, he was still a good deal mystified. +</p> + +<p> +The next day Clifford Wentworth came to see Lizzie, and Acton, who was at home +and saw him pass through the garden, took note of the circumstance. He had a +natural desire to make it tally with Madame Münster’s account of +Clifford’s disaffection; but his ingenuity, finding itself unequal to the +task, resolved at last to ask help of the young man’s candor. He waited +till he saw him going away, and then he went out and overtook him in the +grounds. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish very much you would answer me a question,” Acton said. +“What were you doing, last night, at Madame Münster’s?” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford began to laugh and to blush, by no means like a young man with a +romantic secret. “What did she tell you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“That is exactly what I don’t want to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I want to tell you the same,” said Clifford; “and +unless I know it perhaps I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +They had stopped in a garden path; Acton looked hard at his rosy young kinsman. +“She said she couldn’t fancy what had got into you; you appeared to +have taken a violent dislike to her.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford stared, looking a little alarmed. “Oh, come,” he growled, +“you don’t mean that!” +</p> + +<p> +“And that when—for common civility’s sake—you came +occasionally to the house you left her alone and spent your time in +Felix’s studio, under pretext of looking at his sketches.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come!” growled Clifford, again. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever know me to tell an untruth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, lots of them!” said Clifford, seeing an opening, out of the +discussion, for his sarcastic powers. “Well,” he presently added, +“I thought you were my father.” +</p> + +<p> +“You knew someone was there?” +</p> + +<p> +“We heard you coming in.” +</p> + +<p> +Acton meditated. “You had been with the Baroness, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was in the parlor. We heard your step outside. I thought it was my +father.” +</p> + +<p> +“And on that,” asked Acton, “you ran away?” +</p> + +<p> +“She told me to go—to go out by the studio.” +</p> + +<p> +Acton meditated more intensely; if there had been a chair at hand he would have +sat down. “Why should she wish you not to meet your father?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Clifford, “father doesn’t like to see me +there.” +</p> + +<p> +Acton looked askance at his companion and forbore to make any comment upon this +assertion. “Has he said so,” he asked, “to the +Baroness?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I hope not,” said Clifford. “He hasn’t said +so—in so many words—to me. But I know it worries him; and I want to +stop worrying him. The Baroness knows it, and she wants me to stop, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“To stop coming to see her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know about that; but to stop worrying father. Eugenia +knows everything,” Clifford added, with an air of knowingness of his own. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Acton, interrogatively, “Eugenia knows +everything?” +</p> + +<p> +“She knew it was not father coming in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why did you go?” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford blushed and laughed afresh. “Well, I was afraid it was. And +besides, she told me to go, at any rate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did she think it was I?” Acton asked. +</p> + +<p> +“She didn’t say so.” +</p> + +<p> +Again Robert Acton reflected. “But you didn’t go,” he +presently said; “you came back.” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t get out of the studio,” Clifford rejoined. +“The door was locked, and Felix has nailed some planks across the lower +half of the confounded windows to make the light come in from above. So they +were no use. I waited there a good while, and then, suddenly, I felt ashamed. I +didn’t want to be hiding away from my own father. I couldn’t stand +it any longer. I bolted out, and when I found it was you I was a little +flurried. But Eugenia carried it off, didn’t she?” Clifford added, +in the tone of a young humorist whose perception had not been permanently +clouded by the sense of his own discomfort. +</p> + +<p> +“Beautifully!” said Acton. “Especially,” he continued, +“when one remembers that you were very imprudent and that she must have +been a good deal annoyed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” cried Clifford, with the indifference of a young man who +feels that however he may have failed of felicity in behavior he is extremely +just in his impressions, “Eugenia doesn’t care for anything!” +</p> + +<p> +Acton hesitated a moment. “Thank you for telling me this,” he said +at last. And then, laying his hand on Clifford’s shoulder, he added, +“Tell me one thing more: are you by chance a little in love with the +Baroness?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir!” said Clifford, almost shaking off his hand. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0010"></a> +CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p> +The first sunday that followed Robert Acton’s return from Newport +witnessed a change in the brilliant weather that had long prevailed. The rain +began to fall and the day was cold and dreary. Mr. Wentworth and his daughters +put on overshoes and went to church, and Felix Young, without overshoes, went +also, holding an umbrella over Gertrude. It is to be feared that, in the whole +observance, this was the privilege he most highly valued. The Baroness remained +at home; she was in neither a cheerful nor a devotional mood. She had, however, +never been, during her residence in the United States, what is called a regular +attendant at divine service; and on this particular Sunday morning of which I +began with speaking she stood at the window of her little drawing-room, +watching the long arm of a rose tree that was attached to her piazza, but a +portion of which had disengaged itself, sway to and fro, shake and gesticulate, +against the dusky drizzle of the sky. Every now and then, in a gust of wind, +the rose tree scattered a shower of water-drops against the window-pane; it +appeared to have a kind of human movement—a menacing, warning intention. +The room was very cold; Madame Münster put on a shawl and walked about. Then +she determined to have some fire; and summoning her ancient negress, the +contrast of whose polished ebony and whose crimson turban had been at first a +source of satisfaction to her, she made arrangements for the production of a +crackling flame. This old woman’s name was Azarina. The Baroness had +begun by thinking that there would be a savory wildness in her talk, and, for +amusement, she had encouraged her to chatter. But Azarina was dry and prim; her +conversation was anything but African; she reminded Eugenia of the tiresome old +ladies she met in society. She knew, however, how to make a fire; so that after +she had laid the logs, Eugenia, who was terribly bored, found a quarter of an +hour’s entertainment in sitting and watching them blaze and sputter. She +had thought it very likely Robert Acton would come and see her; she had not met +him since that infelicitous evening. But the morning waned without his coming; +several times she thought she heard his step on the piazza; but it was only a +window-shutter shaking in a rain-gust. The Baroness, since the beginning of +that episode in her career of which a slight sketch has been attempted in these +pages, had had many moments of irritation. But today her irritation had a +peculiar keenness; it appeared to feed upon itself. It urged her to do +something; but it suggested no particularly profitable line of action. If she +could have done something at the moment, on the spot, she would have stepped +upon a European steamer and turned her back, with a kind of rapture, upon that +profoundly mortifying failure, her visit to her American relations. It is not +exactly apparent why she should have termed this enterprise a failure, inasmuch +as she had been treated with the highest distinction for which allowance had +been made in American institutions. Her irritation came, at bottom, from the +sense, which, always present, had suddenly grown acute, that the social soil on +this big, vague continent was somehow not adapted for growing those plants +whose fragrance she especially inclined to inhale and by which she liked to see +herself surrounded—a species of vegetation for which she carried a +collection of seedlings, as we may say, in her pocket. She found her chief +happiness in the sense of exerting a certain power and making a certain +impression; and now she felt the annoyance of a rather wearied swimmer who, on +nearing shore, to land, finds a smooth straight wall of rock when he had +counted upon a clean firm beach. Her power, in the American air, seemed to have +lost its prehensile attributes; the smooth wall of rock was insurmountable. +<i>“Surely je n’en suis pas là,”</i> she said to herself, +“that I let it make me uncomfortable that a Mr. Robert Acton +shouldn’t honor me with a visit!” Yet she was vexed that he had not +come; and she was vexed at her vexation. +</p> + +<p> +Her brother, at least, came in, stamping in the hall and shaking the wet from +his coat. In a moment he entered the room, with a glow in his cheek and +half-a-dozen rain-drops glistening on his moustache. “Ah, you have a +fire,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Les beaux jours sont passés,”</i> replied the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“Never, never! They have only begun,” Felix declared, planting +himself before the hearth. He turned his back to the fire, placed his hands +behind him, extended his legs and looked away through the window with an +expression of face which seemed to denote the perception of rose-color even in +the tints of a wet Sunday. +</p> + +<p> +His sister, from her chair, looked up at him, watching him; and what she saw in +his face was not grateful to her present mood. She was puzzled by many things, +but her brother’s disposition was a frequent source of wonder to her. I +say frequent and not constant, for there were long periods during which she +gave her attention to other problems. Sometimes she had said to herself that +his happy temper, his eternal gaiety, was an affectation, a <i>pose</i>; but +she was vaguely conscious that during the present summer he had been a highly +successful comedian. They had never yet had an explanation; she had not known +the need of one. Felix was presumably following the bent of his disinterested +genius, and she felt that she had no advice to give him that he would +understand. With this, there was always a certain element of comfort about +Felix—the assurance that he would not interfere. He was very delicate, +this pure-minded Felix; in effect, he was her brother, and Madame Münster felt +that there was a great propriety, every way, in that. It is true that Felix was +delicate; he was not fond of explanations with his sister; this was one of the +very few things in the world about which he was uncomfortable. But now he was +not thinking of anything uncomfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear brother,” said Eugenia at last, “do stop making <i>les +yeux doux</i> at the rain.” +</p> + +<p> +“With pleasure. I will make them at you!” answered Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“How much longer,” asked Eugenia, in a moment, “do you +propose to remain in this lovely spot?” +</p> + +<p> +Felix stared. “Do you want to go away—already?” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Already’ is delicious. I am not so happy as you.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix dropped into a chair, looking at the fire. “The fact is I <i>am</i> +happy,” he said in his light, clear tone. +</p> + +<p> +“And do you propose to spend your life in making love to Gertrude +Wentworth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” said Felix, smiling sidewise at his sister. +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness returned his glance, much more gravely; and then, “Do you +like her?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you?” Felix demanded. +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness was silent a moment. “I will answer you in the words of the +gentleman who was asked if he liked music: <i>‘Je ne la crains +pas!’’</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“She admires you immensely,” said Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care for that. Other women should not admire one.” +</p> + +<p> +“They should dislike you?” +</p> + +<p> +Again Madame Münster hesitated. “They should hate me! It’s a +measure of the time I have been losing here that they don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“No time is lost in which one has been happy!” said Felix, with a +bright sententiousness which may well have been a little irritating. +</p> + +<p> +“And in which,” rejoined his sister, with a harsher laugh, +“one has secured the affections of a young lady with a fortune!” +</p> + +<p> +Felix explained, very candidly and seriously. “I have secured +Gertrude’s affection, but I am by no means sure that I have secured her +fortune. That may come—or it may not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well, it <i>may!</i> That’s the great point.” +</p> + +<p> +“It depends upon her father. He doesn’t smile upon our union. You +know he wants her to marry Mr. Brand.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing about it!” cried the Baroness. “Please to put +on a log.” Felix complied with her request and sat watching the +quickening of the flame. Presently his sister added, “And you propose to +elope with mademoiselle?” +</p> + +<p> +“By no means. I don’t wish to do anything that’s disagreeable +to Mr. Wentworth. He has been far too kind to us.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you must choose between pleasing yourself and pleasing him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to please everyone!” exclaimed Felix, joyously. “I +have a good conscience. I made up my mind at the outset that it was not my +place to make love to Gertrude.” +</p> + +<p> +“So, to simplify matters, she made love to you!” +</p> + +<p> +Felix looked at his sister with sudden gravity. “You say you are not +afraid of her,” he said. “But perhaps you ought to be—a +little. She’s a very clever person.” +</p> + +<p> +“I begin to see it!” cried the Baroness. Her brother, making no +rejoinder, leaned back in his chair, and there was a long silence. At last, +with an altered accent, Madame Münster put another question. “You expect, +at any rate, to marry?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be greatly disappointed if we don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“A disappointment or two will do you good!” the Baroness declared. +“And, afterwards, do you mean to turn American?” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me I am a very good American already. But we shall go to +Europe. Gertrude wants extremely to see the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, like me, when I came here!” said the Baroness, with a little +laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not like you,” Felix rejoined, looking at his sister with a +certain gentle seriousness. While he looked at her she rose from her chair, and +he also got up. “Gertrude is not at all like you,” he went on; +“but in her own way she is almost as clever.” He paused a moment; +his soul was full of an agreeable feeling and of a lively disposition to +express it. His sister, to his spiritual vision, was always like the lunar disk +when only a part of it is lighted. The shadow on this bright surface seemed to +him to expand and to contract; but whatever its proportions, he always +appreciated the moonlight. He looked at the Baroness, and then he kissed her. +“I am very much in love with Gertrude,” he said. Eugenia turned +away and walked about the room, and Felix continued. “She is very +interesting, and very different from what she seems. She has never had a +chance. She is very brilliant. We will go to Europe and amuse ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness had gone to the window, where she stood looking out. The day was +drearier than ever; the rain was doggedly falling. “Yes, to amuse +yourselves,” she said at last, “you had decidedly better go to +Europe!” Then she turned round, looking at her brother. A chair stood +near her; she leaned her hands upon the back of it. “Don’t you +think it is very good of me,” she asked, “to come all this way with +you simply to see you properly married—if properly it is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it will be properly!” cried Felix, with light eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness gave a little laugh. “You are thinking only of yourself, and +you don’t answer my question. While you are amusing yourself—with +the brilliant Gertrude—what shall I be doing?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Vous serez de la partie!”</i> cried Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you: I should spoil it.” The Baroness dropped her eyes for +some moments. “Do you propose, however, to leave me here?” she +inquired. +</p> + +<p> +Felix smiled at her. “My dearest sister, where you are concerned I never +propose. I execute your commands.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe,” said Eugenia, slowly, “that you are the most +heartless person living. Don’t you see that I am in trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw that you were not cheerful, and I gave you some good news.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, let me give you some news,” said the Baroness. “You +probably will not have discovered it for yourself. Robert Acton wants to marry +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I had not discovered that. But I quite understand it. Why does it +make you unhappy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I can’t decide.” +</p> + +<p> +“Accept him, accept him!” cried Felix, joyously. “He is the +best fellow in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is immensely in love with me,” said the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“And he has a large fortune. Permit me in turn to remind you of +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I am perfectly aware of it,” said Eugenia. “That’s +a great item in his favor. I am terribly candid.” And she left her place +and came nearer her brother, looking at him hard. He was turning over several +things; she was wondering in what manner he really understood her. +</p> + +<p> +There were several ways of understanding her: there was what she said, and +there was what she meant, and there was something, between the two, that was +neither. It is probable that, in the last analysis, what she meant was that +Felix should spare her the necessity of stating the case more exactly and +should hold himself commissioned to assist her by all honorable means to marry +the best fellow in the world. But in all this it was never discovered what +Felix understood. +</p> + +<p> +“Once you have your liberty, what are your objections?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t particularly like him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, try a little.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am trying now,” said Eugenia. “I should succeed better if +he didn’t live here. I could never live here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Make him go to Europe,” Felix suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, there you speak of happiness based upon violent effort,” the +Baroness rejoined. “That is not what I am looking for. He would never +live in Europe.” +</p> + +<p> +“He would live anywhere, with you!” said Felix, gallantly. +</p> + +<p> +His sister looked at him still, with a ray of penetration in her charming eyes; +then she turned away again. “You see, at all events,” she presently +went on, “that if it had been said of me that I had come over here to +seek my fortune it would have to be added that I have found it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t leave it lying!” urged Felix, with smiling solemnity. +</p> + +<p> +“I am much obliged to you for your interest,” his sister declared, +after a moment. “But promise me one thing: <i>pas de zèle!</i> If Mr. +Acton should ask you to plead his cause, excuse yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall certainly have the excuse,” said Felix, “that I have +a cause of my own to plead.” +</p> + +<p> +“If he should talk of me—favorably,” Eugenia continued, +“warn him against dangerous illusions. I detest importunities; I want to +decide at my leisure, with my eyes open.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be discreet,” said Felix, “except to you. To you I +will say, Accept him outright.” +</p> + +<p> +She had advanced to the open doorway, and she stood looking at him. “I +will go and dress and think of it,” she said; and he heard her moving +slowly to her apartments. +</p> + +<p> +Late in the afternoon the rain stopped, and just afterwards there was a great +flaming, flickering, trickling sunset. Felix sat in his painting-room and did +some work; but at last, as the light, which had not been brilliant, began to +fade, he laid down his brushes and came out to the little piazza of the +cottage. Here he walked up and down for some time, looking at the splendid +blaze of the western sky and saying, as he had often said before, that this was +certainly the country of sunsets. There was something in these glorious deeps +of fire that quickened his imagination; he always found images and promises in +the western sky. He thought of a good many things—of roaming about the +world with Gertrude Wentworth; he seemed to see their possible adventures, in a +glowing frieze, between the cloud-bars; then of what Eugenia had just been +telling him. He wished very much that Madame Münster would make a comfortable +and honorable marriage. Presently, as the sunset expanded and deepened, the +fancy took him of making a note of so magnificent a piece of coloring. He +returned to his studio and fetched out a small panel, with his palette and +brushes, and, placing the panel against a window-sill, he began to daub with +great gusto. While he was so occupied he saw Mr. Brand, in the distance, slowly +come down from Mr. Wentworth’s house, nursing a large folded umbrella. He +walked with a joyless, meditative tread, and his eyes were bent upon the +ground. Felix poised his brush for a moment, watching him; then, by a sudden +impulse, as he drew nearer, advanced to the garden-gate and signaled to +him—the palette and bunch of brushes contributing to this effect. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand stopped and started; then he appeared to decide to accept +Felix’s invitation. He came out of Mr. Wentworth’s gate and passed +along the road; after which he entered the little garden of the cottage. Felix +had gone back to his sunset; but he made his visitor welcome while he rapidly +brushed it in. +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted so much to speak to you that I thought I would call you,” +he said, in the friendliest tone. “All the more that you have been to see +me so little. You have come to see my sister; I know that. But you +haven’t come to see me—the celebrated artist. Artists are very +sensitive, you know; they notice those things.” And Felix turned round, +smiling, with a brush in his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand stood there with a certain blank, candid majesty, pulling together +the large flaps of his umbrella. “Why should I come to see you?” he +asked. “I know nothing of Art.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would sound very conceited, I suppose,” said Felix, “if I +were to say that it would be a good little chance for you to learn something. +You would ask me why you should learn; and I should have no answer to that. I +suppose a minister has no need for Art, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has need for good temper, sir,” said Mr. Brand, with decision. +</p> + +<p> +Felix jumped up, with his palette on his thumb and a movement of the liveliest +deprecation. “That’s because I keep you standing there while I +splash my red paint! I beg a thousand pardons! You see what bad manners Art +gives a man; and how right you are to let it alone. I didn’t mean you +should stand, either. The piazza, as you see, is ornamented with rustic chairs; +though indeed I ought to warn you that they have nails in the wrong places. I +was just making a note of that sunset. I never saw such a blaze of different +reds. It looks as if the Celestial City were in flames, eh? If that were really +the case I suppose it would be the business of you theologians to put out the +fire. Fancy me—an ungodly artist—quietly sitting down to paint +it!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand had always credited Felix Young with a certain impudence, but it +appeared to him that on this occasion his impudence was so great as to make a +special explanation—or even an apology—necessary. And the +impression, it must be added, was sufficiently natural. Felix had at all times +a brilliant assurance of manner which was simply the vehicle of his good +spirits and his good will; but at present he had a special design, and as he +would have admitted that the design was audacious, so he was conscious of +having summoned all the arts of conversation to his aid. But he was so far from +desiring to offend his visitor that he was rapidly asking himself what personal +compliment he could pay the young clergyman that would gratify him most. If he +could think of it, he was prepared to pay it down. “Have you been +preaching one of your beautiful sermons today?” he suddenly asked, laying +down his palette. This was not what Felix had been trying to think of, but it +was a tolerable stop-gap. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand frowned—as much as a man can frown who has very fair, soft +eyebrows, and, beneath them, very gentle, tranquil eyes. “No, I have not +preached any sermon today. Did you bring me over here for the purpose of making +that inquiry?” +</p> + +<p> +Felix saw that he was irritated, and he regretted it immensely; but he had no +fear of not being, in the end, agreeable to Mr. Brand. He looked at him, +smiling and laying his hand on his arm. “No, no, not for that—not +for that. I wanted to ask you something; I wanted to tell you something. I am +sure it will interest you very much. Only—as it is something rather +private—we had better come into my little studio. I have a western +window; we can still see the sunset. <i>Andiamo!</i>” And he gave a +little pat to his companion’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +He led the way in; Mr. Brand stiffly and softly followed. The twilight had +thickened in the little studio; but the wall opposite the western window was +covered with a deep pink flush. There were a great many sketches and +half-finished canvasses suspended in this rosy glow, and the corners of the +room were vague and dusky. Felix begged Mr. Brand to sit down; then glancing +round him, “By Jove, how pretty it looks!” he cried. But Mr. Brand +would not sit down; he went and leaned against the window; he wondered what +Felix wanted of him. In the shadow, on the darker parts of the wall, he saw the +gleam of three or four pictures that looked fantastic and surprising. They +seemed to represent naked figures. Felix stood there, with his head a little +bent and his eyes fixed upon his visitor, smiling intensely, pulling his +moustache. Mr. Brand felt vaguely uneasy. “It is very delicate—what +I want to say,” Felix began. “But I have been thinking of it for +some time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please to say it as quickly as possible,” said Mr. Brand. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s because you are a clergyman, you know,” Felix went on. +“I don’t think I should venture to say it to a common man.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand was silent a moment. “If it is a question of yielding to a +weakness, of resenting an injury, I am afraid I am a very common man.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dearest friend,” cried Felix, “this is not an injury; +it’s a benefit—a great service! You will like it extremely. Only +it’s so delicate!” And, in the dim light, he continued to smile +intensely. “You know I take a great interest in my cousins—in +Charlotte and Gertrude Wentworth. That’s very evident from my having +traveled some five thousand miles to see them.” Mr. Brand said nothing +and Felix proceeded. “Coming into their society as a perfect stranger I +received of course a great many new impressions, and my impressions had a great +freshness, a great keenness. Do you know what I mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not sure that I do; but I should like you to continue.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think my impressions have always a good deal of freshness,” said +Mr. Brand’s entertainer; “but on this occasion it was perhaps +particularly natural that—coming in, as I say, from outside—I +should be struck with things that passed unnoticed among yourselves. And then I +had my sister to help me; and she is simply the most observant woman in the +world.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not surprised,” said Mr. Brand, “that in our little +circle two intelligent persons should have found food for observation. I am +sure that, of late, I have found it myself!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but I shall surprise you yet!” cried Felix, laughing. +“Both my sister and I took a great fancy to my cousin Charlotte.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your cousin Charlotte?” repeated Mr. Brand. +</p> + +<p> +“We fell in love with her from the first!” +</p> + +<p> +“You fell in love with Charlotte?” Mr. Brand murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Dame!</i>” exclaimed Felix, “she’s a very charming +person; and Eugenia was especially smitten.” Mr. Brand stood staring, and +he pursued, “Affection, you know, opens one’s eyes, and we noticed +something. Charlotte is not happy! Charlotte is in love.” And Felix, +drawing nearer, laid his hand again upon his companion’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +There was something akin to an acknowledgment of fascination in the way Mr. +Brand looked at him; but the young clergyman retained as yet quite enough +self-possession to be able to say, with a good deal of solemnity, “She is +not in love with you.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix gave a light laugh, and rejoined with the alacrity of a maritime +adventurer who feels a puff of wind in his sail. “Ah, no; if she were in +love with me I should know it! I am not so blind as you.” +</p> + +<p> +“As I?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sir, you are stone blind. Poor Charlotte is dead in love with +<i>you!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand said nothing for a moment; he breathed a little heavily. “Is +that what you wanted to say to me?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I have wanted to say it these three weeks. Because of late she has been +worse. I told you,” added Felix, “it was very delicate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir”—Mr. Brand began; “well, +sir——” +</p> + +<p> +“I was sure you didn’t know it,” Felix continued. “But +don’t you see—as soon as I mention it—how everything is +explained?” Mr. Brand answered nothing; he looked for a chair and softly +sat down. Felix could see that he was blushing; he had looked straight at his +host hitherto, but now he looked away. The foremost effect of what he had heard +had been a sort of irritation of his modesty. “Of course,” said +Felix, “I suggest nothing; it would be very presumptuous in me to advise +you. But I think there is no doubt about the fact.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand looked hard at the floor for some moments; he was oppressed with a +mixture of sensations. Felix, standing there, was very sure that one of them +was profound surprise. The innocent young man had been completely unsuspicious +of poor Charlotte’s hidden flame. This gave Felix great hope; he was sure +that Mr. Brand would be flattered. Felix thought him very transparent, and +indeed he was so; he could neither simulate nor dissimulate. “I scarcely +know what to make of this,” he said at last, without looking up; and +Felix was struck with the fact that he offered no protest or contradiction. +Evidently Felix had kindled a train of memories—a retrospective +illumination. It was making, to Mr. Brand’s astonished eyes, a very +pretty blaze; his second emotion had been a gratification of vanity. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank me for telling you,” Felix rejoined. “It’s a +good thing to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not sure of that,” said Mr. Brand. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, don’t let her languish!” Felix murmured, lightly and +softly. +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>do</i> advise me, then?” And Mr. Brand looked up. +</p> + +<p> +“I congratulate you!” said Felix, smiling. He had thought at first +his visitor was simply appealing; but he saw he was a little ironical. +</p> + +<p> +“It is in your interest; you have interfered with me,” the young +clergyman went on. +</p> + +<p> +Felix still stood and smiled. The little room had grown darker, and the crimson +glow had faded; but Mr. Brand could see the brilliant expression of his face. +“I won’t pretend not to know what you mean,” said Felix at +last. “But I have not really interfered with you. Of what you had to +lose—with another person—you have lost nothing. And think what you +have gained!” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me I am the proper judge, on each side,” Mr. Brand +declared. He got up, holding the brim of his hat against his mouth and staring +at Felix through the dusk. +</p> + +<p> +“You have lost an illusion!” said Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you call an illusion?” +</p> + +<p> +“The belief that you really know—that you have ever really +known—Gertrude Wentworth. Depend upon that,” pursued Felix. +“I don’t know her yet; but I have no illusions; I don’t +pretend to.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand kept gazing, over his hat. “She has always been a lucid, limpid +nature,” he said, solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +“She has always been a dormant nature. She was waiting for a touchstone. +But now she is beginning to awaken.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t praise her to me!” said Mr. Brand, with a little +quaver in his voice. “If you have the advantage of me that is not +generous.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sir, I am melting with generosity!” exclaimed Felix. +“And I am not praising my cousin. I am simply attempting a scientific +definition of her. She doesn’t care for abstractions. Now I think the +contrary is what you have always fancied—is the basis on which you have +been building. She is extremely preoccupied with the concrete. I care for the +concrete, too. But Gertrude is stronger than I; she whirls me along!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand looked for a moment into the crown of his hat. “It’s a +most interesting nature.” +</p> + +<p> +“So it is,” said Felix. “But it pulls—it +pulls—like a runaway horse. Now I like the feeling of a runaway horse; +and if I am thrown out of the vehicle it is no great matter. But if <i>you</i> +should be thrown, Mr. Brand”—and Felix paused a +moment—“another person also would suffer from the accident.” +</p> + +<p> +“What other person?” +</p> + +<p> +“Charlotte Wentworth!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand looked at Felix for a moment sidewise, mistrustfully; then his eyes +slowly wandered over the ceiling. Felix was sure he was secretly struck with +the romance of the situation. “I think this is none of our +business,” the young minister murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“None of mine, perhaps; but surely yours!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand lingered still, looking at the ceiling; there was evidently something +he wanted to say. “What do you mean by Miss Gertrude being strong?” +he asked abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Felix meditatively, “I mean that she has had a +great deal of self-possession. She was waiting—for years; even when she +seemed, perhaps, to be living in the present. She knew how to wait; she had a +purpose. That’s what I mean by her being strong.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what do you mean by her purpose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—the purpose to see the world!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand eyed his strange informant askance again; but he said nothing. At +last he turned away, as if to take leave. He seemed bewildered, however; for +instead of going to the door he moved toward the opposite corner of the room. +Felix stood and watched him for a moment—almost groping about in the +dusk; then he led him to the door, with a tender, almost fraternal movement. +“Is that all you have to say?” asked Mr. Brand. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it’s all—but it will bear a good deal of thinking +of.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix went with him to the garden-gate, and watched him slowly walk away into +the thickening twilight with a relaxed rigidity that tried to rectify itself. +“He is offended, excited, bewildered, perplexed—and +enchanted!” Felix said to himself. “That’s a capital +mixture.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0011"></a> +CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p> +Since that visit paid by the Baroness Münster to Mrs. Acton, of which some +account was given at an earlier stage of this narrative, the intercourse +between these two ladies had been neither frequent nor intimate. It was not +that Mrs. Acton had failed to appreciate Madame Münster’s charms; on the +contrary, her perception of the graces of manner and conversation of her +brilliant visitor had been only too acute. Mrs. Acton was, as they said in +Boston, very “intense,” and her impressions were apt to be too many +for her. The state of her health required the restriction of emotion; and this +is why, receiving, as she sat in her eternal arm-chair, very few visitors, even +of the soberest local type, she had been obliged to limit the number of her +interviews with a lady whose costume and manner recalled to her +imagination—Mrs. Acton’s imagination was a marvel—all that +she had ever read of the most stirring historical periods. But she had sent the +Baroness a great many quaintly-worded messages and a great many nosegays from +her garden and baskets of beautiful fruit. Felix had eaten the fruit, and the +Baroness had arranged the flowers and returned the baskets and the messages. On +the day that followed that rainy Sunday of which mention has been made, Eugenia +determined to go and pay the beneficent invalid a <i>“visite +d’adieux”</i>; so it was that, to herself, she qualified her +enterprise. It may be noted that neither on the Sunday evening nor on the +Monday morning had she received that expected visit from Robert Acton. To his +own consciousness, evidently he was “keeping away;” and as the +Baroness, on her side, was keeping away from her uncle’s, whither, for +several days, Felix had been the unembarrassed bearer of apologies and regrets +for absence, chance had not taken the cards from the hands of design. Mr. +Wentworth and his daughters had respected Eugenia’s seclusion; certain +intervals of mysterious retirement appeared to them, vaguely, a natural part of +the graceful, rhythmic movement of so remarkable a life. Gertrude especially +held these periods in honor; she wondered what Madame Münster did at such +times, but she would not have permitted herself to inquire too curiously. +</p> + +<p> +The long rain had freshened the air, and twelve hours’ brilliant sunshine +had dried the roads; so that the Baroness, in the late afternoon, proposing to +walk to Mrs. Acton’s, exposed herself to no great discomfort. As with her +charming undulating step she moved along the clean, grassy margin of the road, +beneath the thickly-hanging boughs of the orchards, through the quiet of the +hour and place and the rich maturity of the summer, she was even conscious of a +sort of luxurious melancholy. The Baroness had the amiable weakness of +attaching herself to places—even when she had begun with a little +aversion; and now, with the prospect of departure, she felt tenderly toward +this well-wooded corner of the Western world, where the sunsets were so +beautiful and one’s ambitions were so pure. Mrs. Acton was able to +receive her; but on entering this lady’s large, freshly-scented room the +Baroness saw that she was looking very ill. She was wonderfully white and +transparent, and, in her flowered arm-chair, she made no attempt to move. But +she flushed a little—like a young girl, the Baroness thought—and +she rested her clear, smiling eyes upon those of her visitor. Her voice was low +and monotonous, like a voice that had never expressed any human passions. +</p> + +<p> +“I have come to bid you good-bye,” said Eugenia. “I shall +soon be going away.” +</p> + +<p> +“When are you going away?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very soon—any day.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very sorry,” said Mrs. Acton. “I hoped you would +stay—always.” +</p> + +<p> +“Always?” Eugenia demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I mean a long time,” said Mrs. Acton, in her sweet, feeble +tone. “They tell me you are so comfortable—that you have got such a +beautiful little house.” +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia stared—that is, she smiled; she thought of her poor little chalet +and she wondered whether her hostess were jesting. “Yes, my house is +exquisite,” she said; “though not to be compared to yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“And my son is so fond of going to see you,” Mrs. Acton added. +“I am afraid my son will miss you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, dear madam,” said Eugenia, with a little laugh, “I +can’t stay in America for your son!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you like America?” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness looked at the front of her dress. “If I liked it—that +would not be staying for your son!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Acton gazed at her with her grave, tender eyes, as if she had not quite +understood. The Baroness at last found something irritating in the sweet, soft +stare of her hostess; and if one were not bound to be merciful to great +invalids she would almost have taken the liberty of pronouncing her, mentally, +a fool. “I am afraid, then, I shall never see you again,” said Mrs. +Acton. “You know I am dying.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, dear madam,” murmured Eugenia. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to leave my children cheerful and happy. My daughter will +probably marry her cousin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Two such interesting young people,” said the Baroness, vaguely. +She was not thinking of Clifford Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“I feel so tranquil about my end,” Mrs. Acton went on. “It is +coming so easily, so surely.” And she paused, with her mild gaze always +on Eugenia’s. +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness hated to be reminded of death; but even in its imminence, so far +as Mrs. Acton was concerned, she preserved her good manners. “Ah, madam, +you are too charming an invalid,” she rejoined. +</p> + +<p> +But the delicacy of this rejoinder was apparently lost upon her hostess, who +went on in her low, reasonable voice. “I want to leave my children bright +and comfortable. You seem to me all so happy here—just as you are. So I +wish you could stay. It would be so pleasant for Robert.” +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia wondered what she meant by its being pleasant for Robert; but she felt +that she would never know what such a woman as that meant. She got up; she was +afraid Mrs. Acton would tell her again that she was dying. “Good-bye, +dear madam,” she said. “I must remember that your strength is +precious.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Acton took her hand and held it a moment. “Well, you <i>have</i> +been happy here, haven’t you? And you like us all, don’t you? I +wish you would stay,” she added, “in your beautiful little +house.” +</p> + +<p> +She had told Eugenia that her waiting-woman would be in the hall, to show her +downstairs; but the large landing outside her door was empty, and Eugenia stood +there looking about. She felt irritated; the dying lady had not <i>“la +main heureuse.”</i> She passed slowly downstairs, still looking about. +The broad staircase made a great bend, and in the angle was a high window, +looking westward, with a deep bench, covered with a row of flowering plants in +curious old pots of blue china-ware. The yellow afternoon light came in through +the flowers and flickered a little on the white wainscots. Eugenia paused a +moment; the house was perfectly still, save for the ticking, somewhere, of a +great clock. The lower hall stretched away at the foot of the stairs, half +covered over with a large Oriental rug. Eugenia lingered a little, noticing a +great many things. <i>“Comme c’est bien!”</i> she said to +herself; such a large, solid, irreproachable basis of existence the place +seemed to her to indicate. And then she reflected that Mrs. Acton was soon to +withdraw from it. The reflection accompanied her the rest of the way +downstairs, where she paused again, making more observations. The hall was +extremely broad, and on either side of the front door was a wide, deeply-set +window, which threw the shadows of everything back into the house. There were +high-backed chairs along the wall and big Eastern vases upon tables, and, on +either side, a large cabinet with a glass front and little curiosities within, +dimly gleaming. The doors were open—into the darkened parlor, the +library, the dining-room. All these rooms seemed empty. Eugenia passed along, +and stopped a moment on the threshold of each. <i>“Comme c’est +bien!”</i> she murmured again; she had thought of just such a house as +this when she decided to come to America. She opened the front door for +herself—her light tread had summoned none of the servants—and on +the threshold she gave a last look. Outside, she was still in the humor for +curious contemplation; so instead of going directly down the little drive, to +the gate, she wandered away towards the garden, which lay to the right of the +house. She had not gone many yards over the grass before she paused quickly; +she perceived a gentleman stretched upon the level verdure, beneath a tree. He +had not heard her coming, and he lay motionless, flat on his back, with his +hands clasped under his head, staring up at the sky; so that the Baroness was +able to reflect, at her leisure, upon the question of his identity. It was that +of a person who had lately been much in her thoughts; but her first impulse, +nevertheless, was to turn away; the last thing she desired was to have the air +of coming in quest of Robert Acton. The gentleman on the grass, however, gave +her no time to decide; he could not long remain unconscious of so agreeable a +presence. He rolled back his eyes, stared, gave an exclamation, and then jumped +up. He stood an instant, looking at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse my ridiculous position,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I have just now no sense of the ridiculous. But, in case you have, +don’t imagine I came to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take care,” rejoined Acton, “how you put it into my head! I +was thinking of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“The occupation of extreme leisure!” said the Baroness. “To +think of a woman when you are in that position is no compliment.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t say I was thinking well!” Acton affirmed, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him, and then she turned away. +</p> + +<p> +“Though I didn’t come to see you,” she said, “remember +at least that I am within your gates.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am delighted—I am honored! Won’t you come into the +house?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have just come out of it. I have been calling upon your mother. I have +been bidding her farewell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell?” Acton demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going away,” said the Baroness. And she turned away again, as +if to illustrate her meaning. +</p> + +<p> +“When are you going?” asked Acton, standing a moment in his place. +But the Baroness made no answer, and he followed her. +</p> + +<p> +“I came this way to look at your garden,” she said, walking back to +the gate, over the grass. “But I must go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me at least go with you.” He went with her, and they said +nothing till they reached the gate. It was open, and they looked down the road +which was darkened over with long bosky shadows. “Must you go straight +home?” Acton asked. +</p> + +<p> +But she made no answer. She said, after a moment, “Why have you not been +to see me?” He said nothing, and then she went on, “Why don’t +you answer me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am trying to invent an answer,” Acton confessed. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you none ready?” +</p> + +<p> +“None that I can tell you,” he said. “But let me walk with +you now.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may do as you like.” +</p> + +<p> +She moved slowly along the road, and Acton went with her. Presently he said, +“If I had done as I liked I would have come to see you several +times.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that invented?” asked Eugenia. +</p> + +<p> +“No, that is natural. I stayed away because——” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, here comes the reason, then!” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I wanted to think about you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you wanted to lie down!” said the Baroness. “I have +seen you lie down—almost—in my drawing-room.” +</p> + +<p> +Acton stopped in the road, with a movement which seemed to beg her to linger a +little. She paused, and he looked at her awhile; he thought her very charming. +“You are jesting,” he said; “but if you are really going away +it is very serious.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I stay,” and she gave a little laugh, “it is more serious +still!” +</p> + +<p> +“When shall you go?” +</p> + +<p> +“As soon as possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“And why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should I stay?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because we all admire you so.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is not a reason. I am admired also in Europe.” And she began +to walk homeward again. +</p> + +<p> +“What could I say to keep you?” asked Acton. He wanted to keep her, +and it was a fact that he had been thinking of her for a week. He was in love +with her now; he was conscious of that, or he thought he was; and the only +question with him was whether he could trust her. +</p> + +<p> +“What you can say to keep me?” she repeated. “As I want very +much to go it is not in my interest to tell you. Besides, I can’t +imagine.” +</p> + +<p> +He went on with her in silence; he was much more affected by what she had told +him than appeared. Ever since that evening of his return from Newport her image +had had a terrible power to trouble him. What Clifford Wentworth had told +him—that had affected him, too, in an adverse sense; but it had not +liberated him from the discomfort of a charm of which his intelligence was +impatient. “She is not honest, she is not honest,” he kept +murmuring to himself. That is what he had been saying to the summer sky, ten +minutes before. Unfortunately, he was unable to say it finally, definitively; +and now that he was near her it seemed to matter wonderfully little. “She +is a woman who will lie,” he had said to himself. Now, as he went along, +he reminded himself of this observation; but it failed to frighten him as it +had done before. He almost wished he could make her lie and then convict her of +it, so that he might see how he should like that. He kept thinking of this as +he walked by her side, while she moved forward with her light, graceful +dignity. He had sat with her before; he had driven with her; but he had never +walked with her. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, how <i>comme il faut</i> she is!” he said, as he observed +her sidewise. When they reached the cottage in the orchard she passed into the +gate without asking him to follow; but she turned round, as he stood there, to +bid him good-night. +</p> + +<p> +“I asked you a question the other night which you never answered,” +he said. “Have you sent off that document—liberating +yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated for a single moment—very naturally. Then, +“Yes,” she said, simply. +</p> + +<p> +He turned away; he wondered whether that would do for his lie. But he saw her +again that evening, for the Baroness reappeared at her uncle’s. He had +little talk with her, however; two gentlemen had driven out from Boston, in a +buggy, to call upon Mr. Wentworth and his daughters, and Madame Münster was an +object of absorbing interest to both of the visitors. One of them, indeed, said +nothing to her; he only sat and watched with intense gravity, and leaned +forward solemnly, presenting his ear (a very large one), as if he were deaf, +whenever she dropped an observation. He had evidently been impressed with the +idea of her misfortunes and reverses: he never smiled. His companion adopted a +lighter, easier style; sat as near as possible to Madame Münster; attempted to +draw her out, and proposed every few moments a new topic of conversation. +Eugenia was less vividly responsive than usual and had less to say than, from +her brilliant reputation, her interlocutor expected, upon the relative merits +of European and American institutions; but she was inaccessible to Robert +Acton, who roamed about the piazza with his hands in his pockets, listening for +the grating sound of the buggy from Boston, as it should be brought round to +the side-door. But he listened in vain, and at last he lost patience. His +sister came to him and begged him to take her home, and he presently went off +with her. Eugenia observed him leaving the house with Lizzie; in her present +mood the fact seemed a contribution to her irritated conviction that he had +several precious qualities. “Even that <i>mal-élevée</i> little +girl,” she reflected, “makes him do what she wishes.” +</p> + +<p> +She had been sitting just within one of the long windows that opened upon the +piazza; but very soon after Acton had gone away she got up abruptly, just when +the talkative gentleman from Boston was asking her what she thought of the +“moral tone” of that city. On the piazza she encountered Clifford +Wentworth, coming round from the other side of the house. She stopped him; she +told him she wished to speak to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you go home with your cousin?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford stared. “Why, Robert has taken her,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly so. But you don’t usually leave that to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Clifford, “I want to see those fellows start off. +They don’t know how to drive.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not, then, that you have quarreled with your cousin?” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford reflected a moment, and then with a simplicity which had, for the +Baroness, a singularly baffling quality, “Oh, no; we have made up!” +he said. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him for some moments; but Clifford had begun to be afraid of the +Baroness’s looks, and he endeavored, now, to shift himself out of their +range. “Why do you never come to see me any more?” she asked. +“Have I displeased you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Displeased me? Well, I guess not!” said Clifford, with a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Why haven’t you come, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, because I am afraid of getting shut up in that back room.” +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia kept looking at him. “I should think you would like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Like it!” cried Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“I should, if I were a young man calling upon a charming woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“A charming woman isn’t much use to me when I am shut up in that +back room!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid I am not of much use to you anywhere!” said Madame +Münster. “And yet you know how I have offered to be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” observed Clifford, by way of response, “there comes +the buggy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind the buggy. Do you know I am going away?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean in a few days. I leave this place.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are going back to Europe?” +</p> + +<p> +“To Europe, where you are to come and see me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, I’ll come out there,” said Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“But before that,” Eugenia declared, “you must come and see +me here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I shall keep clear of that back room!” rejoined her simple +young kinsman. +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness was silent a moment. “Yes, you must come +frankly—boldly. That will be very much better. I see that now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see it!” said Clifford. And then, in an instant, +“What’s the matter with that buggy?” His practiced ear had +apparently detected an unnatural creak in the wheels of the light vehicle which +had been brought to the portico, and he hurried away to investigate so grave an +anomaly. +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness walked homeward, alone, in the starlight, asking herself a +question. Was she to have gained nothing—was she to have gained nothing? +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude Wentworth had held a silent place in the little circle gathered about +the two gentlemen from Boston. She was not interested in the visitors; she was +watching Madame Münster, as she constantly watched her. She knew that Eugenia +also was not interested—that she was bored; and Gertrude was absorbed in +study of the problem how, in spite of her indifference and her absent +attention, she managed to have such a charming manner. That was the manner +Gertrude would have liked to have; she determined to cultivate it, and she +wished that—to give her the charm—she might in future very often be +bored. While she was engaged in these researches, Felix Young was looking for +Charlotte, to whom he had something to say. For some time, now, he had had +something to say to Charlotte, and this evening his sense of the propriety of +holding some special conversation with her had reached the +motive-point—resolved itself into acute and delightful desire. He +wandered through the empty rooms on the large ground-floor of the house, and +found her at last in a small apartment denominated, for reasons not immediately +apparent, Mr. Wentworth’s “office:” an extremely neat and +well-dusted room, with an array of law-books, in time-darkened sheep-skin, on +one of the walls; a large map of the United States on the other, flanked on +either side by an old steel engraving of one of Raphael’s Madonnas; and +on the third several glass cases containing specimens of butterflies and +beetles. Charlotte was sitting by a lamp, embroidering a slipper. Felix did not +ask for whom the slipper was destined; he saw it was very large. +</p> + +<p> +He moved a chair toward her and sat down, smiling as usual, but, at first, not +speaking. She watched him, with her needle poised, and with a certain shy, +fluttered look which she always wore when he approached her. There was +something in Felix’s manner that quickened her modesty, her +self-consciousness; if absolute choice had been given her she would have +preferred never to find herself alone with him; and in fact, though she thought +him a most brilliant, distinguished, and well-meaning person, she had exercised +a much larger amount of tremulous tact than he had ever suspected, to +circumvent the accident of <i>tête-à-tête</i>. Poor Charlotte could have given +no account of the matter that would not have seemed unjust both to herself and +to her foreign kinsman; she could only have said—or rather, she would +never have said it—that she did not like so much gentleman’s +society at once. She was not reassured, accordingly, when he began, emphasizing +his words with a kind of admiring radiance, “My dear cousin, I am +enchanted at finding you alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very often alone,” Charlotte observed. Then she quickly +added, “I don’t mean I am lonely!” +</p> + +<p> +“So clever a woman as you is never lonely,” said Felix. “You +have company in your beautiful work.” And he glanced at the big slipper. +</p> + +<p> +“I like to work,” declared Charlotte, simply. +</p> + +<p> +“So do I!” said her companion. “And I like to idle too. But +it is not to idle that I have come in search of you. I want to tell you +something very particular.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” murmured Charlotte; “of course, if you +must——” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear cousin,” said Felix, “it’s nothing that a +young lady may not listen to. At least I suppose it isn’t. But +<i>voyons</i>; you shall judge. I am terribly in love.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Felix,” began Miss Wentworth, gravely. But her very gravity +appeared to check the development of her phrase. +</p> + +<p> +“I am in love with your sister; but in love, Charlotte—in +love!” the young man pursued. Charlotte had laid her work in her lap; her +hands were tightly folded on top of it; she was staring at the carpet. +“In short, I’m in love, dear lady,” said Felix. “Now I +want you to help me.” +</p> + +<p> +“To help you?” asked Charlotte, with a tremor. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mean with Gertrude; she and I have a perfect +understanding; and oh, how well she understands one! I mean with your father +and with the world in general, including Mr. Brand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Mr. Brand!” said Charlotte, slowly, but with a simplicity +which made it evident to Felix that the young minister had not repeated to Miss +Wentworth the talk that had lately occurred between them. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, now, don’t say ‘poor’ Mr. Brand! I don’t +pity Mr. Brand at all. But I pity your father a little, and I don’t want +to displease him. Therefore, you see, I want you to plead for me. You +don’t think me very shabby, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Shabby?” exclaimed Charlotte softly, for whom Felix represented +the most polished and iridescent qualities of mankind. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mean in my appearance,” rejoined Felix, laughing; +for Charlotte was looking at his boots. “I mean in my conduct. You +don’t think it’s an abuse of hospitality?” +</p> + +<p> +“To—to care for Gertrude?” asked Charlotte. +</p> + +<p> +“To have really expressed one’s self. Because I <i>have</i> +expressed myself, Charlotte; I must tell you the whole truth—I have! Of +course I want to marry her—and here is the difficulty. I held off as long +as I could; but she is such a terribly fascinating person! She’s a +strange creature, Charlotte; I don’t believe you really know her.” +Charlotte took up her tapestry again, and again she laid it down. “I know +your father has had higher views,” Felix continued; “and I think +you have shared them. You have wanted to marry her to Mr. Brand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said Charlotte, very earnestly. “Mr. Brand has +always admired her. But we did not want anything of that kind.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix stared. “Surely, marriage was what you proposed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but we didn’t wish to force her.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>A la bonne heure!</i> That’s very unsafe you know. With these +arranged marriages there is often the deuce to pay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Felix,” said Charlotte, “we didn’t want to +‘arrange.’” +</p> + +<p> +“I am delighted to hear that. Because in such cases—even when the +woman is a thoroughly good creature—she can’t help looking for a +compensation. A charming fellow comes along—and <i>voilà!</i>” +Charlotte sat mutely staring at the floor, and Felix presently added, “Do +go on with your slipper, I like to see you work.” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte took up her variegated canvas, and began to draw vague blue stitches +in a big round rose. “If Gertrude is so—so strange,” she +said, “why do you want to marry her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that’s it, dear Charlotte! I like strange women; I always have +liked them. Ask Eugenia! And Gertrude is wonderful; she says the most beautiful +things!” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte looked at him, almost for the first time, as if her meaning required +to be severely pointed. “You have a great influence over her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—and no!” said Felix. “I had at first, I think; but +now it is six of one and half-a-dozen of the other; it is reciprocal. She +affects me strongly—for she <i>is</i> so strong. I don’t believe +you know her; it’s a beautiful nature.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, Felix; I have always thought Gertrude’s nature +beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if you think so now,” cried the young man, “wait and +see! She’s a folded flower. Let me pluck her from the parent tree and you +will see her expand. I’m sure you will enjoy it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand you,” murmured Charlotte. “I +<i>can’t</i>, Felix.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you can understand this—that I beg you to say a good word +for me to your father. He regards me, I naturally believe, as a very light +fellow, a Bohemian, an irregular character. Tell him I am not all this; if I +ever was, I have forgotten it. I am fond of pleasure—yes; but of innocent +pleasure. Pain is all one; but in pleasure, you know, there are tremendous +distinctions. Say to him that Gertrude is a folded flower and that I am a +serious man!” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte got up from her chair slowly rolling up her work. “We know you +are very kind to everyone, Felix,” she said. “But we are extremely +sorry for Mr. Brand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you are—you especially! Because,” added Felix +hastily, “you are a woman. But I don’t pity him. It ought to be +enough for any man that you take an interest in him.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not enough for Mr. Brand,” said Charlotte, simply. And she +stood there a moment, as if waiting conscientiously for anything more that +Felix might have to say. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Brand is not so keen about his marriage as he was,” he +presently said. “He is afraid of your sister. He begins to think she is +wicked.” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte looked at him now with beautiful, appealing eyes—eyes into +which he saw the tears rising. “Oh, Felix, Felix,” she cried, +“what have you done to her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think she was asleep; I have waked her up!” +</p> + +<p> +But Charlotte, apparently, was really crying, she walked straight out of the +room. And Felix, standing there and meditating, had the apparent brutality to +take satisfaction in her tears. +</p> + +<p> +Late that night Gertrude, silent and serious, came to him in the garden; it was +a kind of appointment. Gertrude seemed to like appointments. She plucked a +handful of heliotrope and stuck it into the front of her dress, but she said +nothing. They walked together along one of the paths, and Felix looked at the +great, square, hospitable house, massing itself vaguely in the starlight, with +all its windows darkened. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a little of a bad conscience,” he said. “I +oughtn’t to meet you this way till I have got your father’s +consent.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude looked at him for some time. “I don’t understand +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You very often say that,” he said. “Considering how little +we understand each other, it is a wonder how well we get on!” +</p> + +<p> +“We have done nothing but meet since you came here—but meet alone. +The first time I ever saw you we were alone,” Gertrude went on. +“What is the difference now? Is it because it is at night?” +</p> + +<p> +“The difference, Gertrude,” said Felix, stopping in the path, +“the difference is that I love you more—more than before!” +And then they stood there, talking, in the warm stillness and in front of the +closed dark house. “I have been talking to Charlotte—been trying to +bespeak her interest with your father. She has a kind of sublime perversity; +was ever a woman so bent upon cutting off her own head?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are too careful,” said Gertrude; “you are too +diplomatic.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” cried the young man, “I didn’t come here to +make anyone unhappy!” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude looked round her awhile in the odorous darkness. “I will do +anything you please,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“For instance?” asked Felix, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“I will go away. I will do anything you please.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix looked at her in solemn admiration. “Yes, we will go away,” +he said. “But we will make peace first.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude looked about her again, and then she broke out, passionately, +“Why do they try to make one feel guilty? Why do they make it so +difficult? Why can’t they understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will make them understand!” said Felix. He drew her hand into +his arm, and they wandered about in the garden, talking, for an hour. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0012"></a> +CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p> +Felix allowed Charlotte time to plead his cause; and then, on the third day, he +sought an interview with his uncle. It was in the morning; Mr. Wentworth was in +his office; and, on going in, Felix found that Charlotte was at that moment in +conference with her father. She had, in fact, been constantly near him since +her interview with Felix; she had made up her mind that it was her duty to +repeat very literally her cousin’s passionate plea. She had accordingly +followed Mr. Wentworth about like a shadow, in order to find him at hand when +she should have mustered sufficient composure to speak. For poor Charlotte, in +this matter, naturally lacked composure; especially when she meditated upon +some of Felix’s intimations. It was not cheerful work, at the best, to +keep giving small hammer-taps to the coffin in which one had laid away, for +burial, the poor little unacknowledged offspring of one’s own misbehaving +heart; and the occupation was not rendered more agreeable by the fact that the +ghost of one’s stifled dream had been summoned from the shades by the +strange, bold words of a talkative young foreigner. What had Felix meant by +saying that Mr. Brand was not so keen? To herself her sister’s justly +depressed suitor had shown no sign of faltering. Charlotte trembled all over +when she allowed herself to believe for an instant now and then that, +privately, Mr. Brand might have faltered; and as it seemed to give more force +to Felix’s words to repeat them to her father, she was waiting until she +should have taught herself to be very calm. But she had now begun to tell Mr. +Wentworth that she was extremely anxious. She was proceeding to develop this +idea, to enumerate the objects of her anxiety, when Felix came in. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth sat there, with his legs crossed, lifting his dry, pure +countenance from the Boston <i>Advertiser</i>. Felix entered smiling, as if he +had something particular to say, and his uncle looked at him as if he both +expected and deprecated this event. Felix vividly expressing himself had come +to be a formidable figure to his uncle, who had not yet arrived at definite +views as to a proper tone. For the first time in his life, as I have said, Mr. +Wentworth shirked a responsibility; he earnestly desired that it might not be +laid upon him to determine how his nephew’s lighter propositions should +be treated. He lived under an apprehension that Felix might yet beguile him +into assent to doubtful inductions, and his conscience instructed him that the +best form of vigilance was the avoidance of discussion. He hoped that the +pleasant episode of his nephew’s visit would pass away without a further +lapse of consistency. +</p> + +<p> +Felix looked at Charlotte with an air of understanding, and then at Mr. +Wentworth, and then at Charlotte again. Mr. Wentworth bent his refined eyebrows +upon his nephew and stroked down the first page of the <i>Advertiser</i>. +“I ought to have brought a bouquet,” said Felix, laughing. +“In France they always do.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are not in France,” observed Mr. Wentworth, gravely, while +Charlotte earnestly gazed at him. +</p> + +<p> +“No, luckily, we are not in France, where I am afraid I should have a +harder time of it. My dear Charlotte, have you rendered me that delightful +service?” And Felix bent toward her as if someone had been presenting +him. +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte looked at him with almost frightened eyes; and Mr. Wentworth thought +this might be the beginning of a discussion. “What is the bouquet +for?” he inquired, by way of turning it off. +</p> + +<p> +Felix gazed at him, smiling. <i>“Pour la demande!”</i> And then, +drawing up a chair, he seated himself, hat in hand, with a kind of conscious +solemnity. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he turned to Charlotte again. “My good Charlotte, my admirable +Charlotte,” he murmured, “you have not played me false—you +have not sided against me?” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte got up, trembling extremely, though imperceptibly. “You must +speak to my father yourself,” she said. “I think you are clever +enough.” +</p> + +<p> +But Felix, rising too, begged her to remain. “I can speak better to an +audience!” he declared. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope it is nothing disagreeable,” said Mr. Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s something delightful, for me!” And Felix, laying down +his hat, clasped his hands a little between his knees. “My dear +uncle,” he said, “I desire, very earnestly, to marry your daughter +Gertrude.” Charlotte sank slowly into her chair again, and Mr. Wentworth +sat staring, with a light in his face that might have been flashed back from an +iceberg. He stared and stared; he said nothing. Felix fell back, with his hands +still clasped. “Ah—you don’t like it. I was afraid!” He +blushed deeply, and Charlotte noticed it—remarking to herself that it was +the first time she had ever seen him blush. She began to blush herself and to +reflect that he might be much in love. +</p> + +<p> +“This is very abrupt,” said Mr. Wentworth, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you never suspected it, dear uncle?” Felix inquired. +“Well, that proves how discreet I have been. Yes, I thought you +wouldn’t like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is very serious, Felix,” said Mr. Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“You think it’s an abuse of hospitality!” exclaimed Felix, +smiling again. +</p> + +<p> +“Of hospitality?—an abuse?” his uncle repeated very slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“That is what Felix said to me,” said Charlotte, conscientiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you think so; don’t defend yourself!” Felix +pursued. “It <i>is</i> an abuse, obviously; the most I can claim is that +it is perhaps a pardonable one. I simply fell head over heels in love; one can +hardly help that. Though you are Gertrude’s progenitor I don’t +believe you know how attractive she is. Dear uncle, she contains the elements +of a singularly—I may say a strangely—charming woman!” +</p> + +<p> +“She has always been to me an object of extreme concern,” said Mr. +Wentworth. “We have always desired her happiness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, here it is!” Felix declared. “I will make her happy. +She believes it, too. Now hadn’t you noticed that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I had noticed that she was much changed,” Mr. Wentworth declared, +in a tone whose unexpressive, unimpassioned quality appeared to Felix to reveal +a profundity of opposition. “It may be that she is only becoming what you +call a charming woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gertrude, at heart, is so earnest, so true,” said Charlotte, very +softly, fastening her eyes upon her father. +</p> + +<p> +“I delight to hear you praise her!” cried Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“She has a very peculiar temperament,” said Mr. Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh, even that is praise!” Felix rejoined. “I know I am not +the man you might have looked for. I have no position and no fortune; I can +give Gertrude no place in the world. A place in the world—that’s +what she ought to have; that would bring her out.” +</p> + +<p> +“A place to do her duty!” remarked Mr. Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, how charmingly she does it—her duty!” Felix exclaimed, +with a radiant face. “What an exquisite conception she has of it! But she +comes honestly by that, dear uncle.” Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte both +looked at him as if they were watching a greyhound doubling. “Of course +with me she will hide her light under a bushel,” he continued; “I +being the bushel! Now I know you like me—you have certainly proved it. +But you think I am frivolous and penniless and shabby! +Granted—granted—a thousand times granted. I have been a loose +fish—a fiddler, a painter, an actor. But there is this to be said: In the +first place, I fancy you exaggerate; you lend me qualities I haven’t had. +I have been a Bohemian—yes; but in Bohemia I always passed for a +gentleman. I wish you could see some of my old <i>camarades</i>—they +would tell you! It was the liberty I liked, but not the opportunities! My sins +were all peccadilloes; I always respected my neighbor’s property—my +neighbor’s wife. Do you see, dear uncle?” Mr. Wentworth ought to +have seen; his cold blue eyes were intently fixed. “And then, +<i>c’est fini!</i> It’s all over. <i>Je me range</i>. I have +settled down to a jog-trot. I find I can earn my living—a very fair +one—by going about the world and painting bad portraits. It’s not a +glorious profession, but it is a perfectly respectable one. You won’t +deny that, eh? Going about the world, I say? I must not deny that, for that I +am afraid I shall always do—in quest of agreeable sitters. When I say +agreeable, I mean susceptible of delicate flattery and prompt of payment. +Gertrude declares she is willing to share my wanderings and help to pose my +models. She even thinks it will be charming; and that brings me to my third +point. Gertrude likes me. Encourage her a little and she will tell you +so.” +</p> + +<p> +Felix’s tongue obviously moved much faster than the imagination of his +auditors; his eloquence, like the rocking of a boat in a deep, smooth lake, +made long eddies of silence. And he seemed to be pleading and chattering still, +with his brightly eager smile, his uplifted eyebrows, his expressive mouth, +after he had ceased speaking, and while, with his glance quickly turning from +the father to the daughter, he sat waiting for the effect of his appeal. +“It is not your want of means,” said Mr. Wentworth, after a period +of severe reticence. +</p> + +<p> +“Now it’s delightful of you to say that! Only don’t say +it’s my want of character. Because I have a character—I assure you +I have; a small one, a little slip of a thing, but still something +tangible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ought you not to tell Felix that it is Mr. Brand, father?” +Charlotte asked, with infinite mildness. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not only Mr. Brand,” Mr. Wentworth solemnly declared. And he +looked at his knee for a long time. “It is difficult to explain,” +he said. He wished, evidently, to be very just. “It rests on moral +grounds, as Mr. Brand says. It is the question whether it is the best thing for +Gertrude.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is better—what is better, dear uncle?” Felix rejoined +urgently, rising in his urgency and standing before Mr. Wentworth. His uncle +had been looking at his knee; but when Felix moved he transferred his gaze to +the handle of the door which faced him. “It is usually a fairly good +thing for a girl to marry the man she loves!” cried Felix. +</p> + +<p> +While he spoke, Mr. Wentworth saw the handle of the door begin to turn; the +door opened and remained slightly ajar, until Felix had delivered himself of +the cheerful axiom just quoted. Then it opened altogether and Gertrude stood +there. She looked excited; there was a spark in her sweet, dull eyes. She came +in slowly, but with an air of resolution, and, closing the door softly, looked +round at the three persons present. Felix went to her with tender gallantry, +holding out his hand, and Charlotte made a place for her on the sofa. But +Gertrude put her hands behind her and made no motion to sit down. +</p> + +<p> +“We are talking of you!” said Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it,” she answered. “That’s why I came.” +And she fastened her eyes on her father, who returned her gaze very fixedly. In +his own cold blue eyes there was a kind of pleading, reasoning light. +</p> + +<p> +“It is better you should be present,” said Mr. Wentworth. “We +are discussing your future.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why discuss it?” asked Gertrude. “Leave it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is, to me!” cried Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“I leave it, in the last resort, to a greater wisdom than ours,” +said the old man. +</p> + +<p> +Felix rubbed his forehead gently. “But <i>en attendant</i> the last +resort, your father lacks confidence,” he said to Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you confidence in Felix?” Gertrude was frowning; +there was something about her that her father and Charlotte had never seen. +Charlotte got up and came to her, as if to put her arm round her; but suddenly, +she seemed afraid to touch her. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth, however, was not afraid. “I have had more confidence in +Felix than in you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you have never had confidence in me—never, never! I +don’t know why.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh sister, sister!” murmured Charlotte. +</p> + +<p> +“You have always needed advice,” Mr. Wentworth declared. “You +have had a difficult temperament.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you call it difficult? It might have been easy, if you had +allowed it. You wouldn’t let me be natural. I don’t know what you +wanted to make of me. Mr. Brand was the worst.” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte at last took hold of her sister. She laid her two hands upon +Gertrude’s arm. “He cares so much for you,” she almost +whispered. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude looked at her intently an instant; then kissed her. “No, he does +not,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I have never seen you so passionate,” observed Mr. Wentworth, with +an air of indignation mitigated by high principles. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry if I offend you,” said Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +“You offend me, but I don’t think you are sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, father, she is sorry,” said Charlotte. +</p> + +<p> +“I would even go further, dear uncle,” Felix interposed. “I +would question whether she really offends you. How can she offend you?” +</p> + +<p> +To this Mr. Wentworth made no immediate answer. Then, in a moment, “She +has not profited as we hoped.” +</p> + +<p> +“Profited? <i>Ah voilà!</i>” Felix exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude was very pale; she stood looking down. “I have told Felix I +would go away with him,” she presently said. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you have said some admirable things!” cried the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“Go away, sister?” asked Charlotte. +</p> + +<p> +“Away—away; to some strange country.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is to frighten you,” said Felix, smiling at Charlotte. +</p> + +<p> +“To—what do you call it?” asked Gertrude, turning an instant +to Felix. “To Bohemia.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you propose to dispense with preliminaries?” asked Mr. +Wentworth, getting up. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear uncle, <i>vous plaisantez!</i>” cried Felix. “It seems +to me that these are preliminaries.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude turned to her father. “I <i>have</i> profited,” she said. +“You wanted to form my character. Well, my character is formed—for +my age. I know what I want; I have chosen. I am determined to marry this +gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had better consent, sir,” said Felix very gently. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, you had better consent,” added a very different voice. +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte gave a little jump, and the others turned to the direction from which +it had come. It was the voice of Mr. Brand, who had stepped through the long +window which stood open to the piazza. He stood patting his forehead with his +pocket-handkerchief; he was very much flushed; his face wore a singular +expression. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, you had better consent,” Mr. Brand repeated, coming +forward. “I know what Miss Gertrude means.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear friend!” murmured Felix, laying his hand caressingly on +the young minister’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand looked at him; then at Mr. Wentworth; lastly at Gertrude. He did not +look at Charlotte. But Charlotte’s earnest eyes were fastened to his own +countenance; they were asking an immense question of it. The answer to this +question could not come all at once; but some of the elements of it were there. +It was one of the elements of it that Mr. Brand was very red, that he held his +head very high, that he had a bright, excited eye and an air of embarrassed +boldness—the air of a man who has taken a resolve, in the execution of +which he apprehends the failure, not of his moral, but of his personal, +resources. Charlotte thought he looked very grand; and it is incontestable that +Mr. Brand felt very grand. This, in fact, was the grandest moment of his life; +and it was natural that such a moment should contain opportunities of +awkwardness for a large, stout, modest young man. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, sir,” said Mr. Wentworth, with an angular wave of his +hand. “It is very proper that you should be present.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know what you are talking about,” Mr. Brand rejoined. “I +heard what your nephew said.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he heard what you said!” exclaimed Felix, patting him again on +the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not sure that I understood,” said Mr. Wentworth, who had +angularity in his voice as well as in his gestures. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude had been looking hard at her former suitor. She had been puzzled, like +her sister; but her imagination moved more quickly than Charlotte’s. +“Mr. Brand asked you to let Felix take me away,” she said to her +father. +</p> + +<p> +The young minister gave her a strange look. “It is not because I +don’t want to see you any more,” he declared, in a tone intended as +it were for publicity. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t think you would want to see me any more,” +Gertrude answered, gently. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth stood staring. “Isn’t this rather a change, +sir?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” And Mr. Brand looked anywhere; only still not at +Charlotte. “Yes, sir,” he repeated. And he held his handkerchief a +few moments to his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are our moral grounds?” demanded Mr. Wentworth, who had +always thought Mr. Brand would be just the thing for a younger daughter with a +peculiar temperament. +</p> + +<p> +“It is sometimes very moral to change, you know,” suggested Felix. +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte had softly left her sister’s side. She had edged gently toward +her father, and now her hand found its way into his arm. Mr. Wentworth had +folded up the <i>Advertiser</i> into a surprisingly small compass, and, holding +the roll with one hand, he earnestly clasped it with the other. Mr. Brand was +looking at him; and yet, though Charlotte was so near, his eyes failed to meet +her own. Gertrude watched her sister. +</p> + +<p> +“It is better not to speak of change,” said Mr. Brand. “In +one sense there is no change. There was something I desired—something I +asked of you; I desire something still—I ask it of you.” And he +paused a moment; Mr. Wentworth looked bewildered. “I should like, in my +ministerial capacity, to unite this young couple.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude, watching her sister, saw Charlotte flushing intensely, and Mr. +Wentworth felt her pressing upon his arm. “Heavenly Powers!” +murmured Mr. Wentworth. And it was the nearest approach to profanity he had +ever made. +</p> + +<p> +“That is very nice; that is very handsome!” Felix exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand,” said Mr. Wentworth; though it was plain +that everyone else did. +</p> + +<p> +“That is very beautiful, Mr. Brand,” said Gertrude, emulating +Felix. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to marry you. It will give me great pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“As Gertrude says, it’s a beautiful idea,” said Felix. +</p> + +<p> +Felix was smiling, but Mr. Brand was not even trying to. He himself treated his +proposition very seriously. “I have thought of it, and I should like to +do it,” he affirmed. +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring with expanded eyes. Her imagination, as I +have said, was not so rapid as her sister’s, but now it had taken several +little jumps. “Father,” she murmured, “consent!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand heard her; he looked away. Mr. Wentworth, evidently, had no +imagination at all. “I have always thought,” he began, slowly, +“that Gertrude’s character required a special line of +development.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” repeated Charlotte, <i>“consent.”</i> +</p> + +<p> +Then, at last, Mr. Brand looked at her. Her father felt her leaning more +heavily upon his folded arm than she had ever done before; and this, with a +certain sweet faintness in her voice, made him wonder what was the matter. He +looked down at her and saw the encounter of her gaze with the young +theologian’s; but even this told him nothing, and he continued to be +bewildered. Nevertheless, “I consent,” he said at last, +“since Mr. Brand recommends it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to perform the ceremony very soon,” observed Mr. +Brand, with a sort of solemn simplicity. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come, that’s charming!” cried Felix, profanely. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth sank into his chair. “Doubtless, when you understand +it,” he said, with a certain judicial asperity. +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude went to her sister and led her away, and Felix having passed his arm +into Mr. Brand’s and stepped out of the long window with him, the old man +was left sitting there in unillumined perplexity. +</p> + +<p> +Felix did no work that day. In the afternoon, with Gertrude, he got into one of +the boats and floated about with idly-dipping oars. They talked a good deal of +Mr. Brand—though not exclusively. +</p> + +<p> +“That was a fine stroke,” said Felix. “It was really +heroic.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude sat musing, with her eyes upon the ripples. “That was what he +wanted to be; he wanted to do something fine.” +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t be comfortable till he has married us,” said Felix. +“So much the better.” +</p> + +<p> +“He wanted to be magnanimous; he wanted to have a fine moral pleasure. I +know him so well,” Gertrude went on. Felix looked at her; she spoke +slowly, gazing at the clear water. “He thought of it a great deal, night +and day. He thought it would be beautiful. At last he made up his mind that it +was his duty, his duty to do just that—nothing less than that. He felt +exalted; he felt sublime. That’s how he likes to feel. It is better for +him than if I had listened to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s better for me,” smiled Felix. “But do you know, +as regards the sacrifice, that I don’t believe he admired you when this +decision was taken quite so much as he had done a fortnight before?” +</p> + +<p> +“He never admired me. He admires Charlotte; he pitied me. I know him so +well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, he didn’t pity you so much.” +</p> + +<p> +Gertrude looked at Felix a little, smiling. “You shouldn’t permit +yourself,” she said, “to diminish the splendor of his action. He +admires Charlotte,” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s capital!” said Felix laughingly, and dipping his +oars. I cannot say exactly to which member of Gertrude’s phrase he +alluded; but he dipped his oars again, and they kept floating about. +</p> + +<p> +Neither Felix nor his sister, on that day, was present at Mr. Wentworth’s +at the evening repast. The two occupants of the chalet dined together, and the +young man informed his companion that his marriage was now an assured fact. +Eugenia congratulated him, and replied that if he were as reasonable a husband +as he had been, on the whole, a brother, his wife would have nothing to +complain of. +</p> + +<p> +Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. “I hope,” he said, +“not to be thrown back on my reason.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is very true,” Eugenia rejoined, “that one’s reason +is dismally flat. It’s a bed with the mattress removed.” +</p> + +<p> +But the brother and sister, later in the evening, crossed over to the larger +house, the Baroness desiring to compliment her prospective sister-in-law. They +found the usual circle upon the piazza, with the exception of Clifford +Wentworth and Lizzie Acton; and as everyone stood up as usual to welcome the +Baroness, Eugenia had an admiring audience for her compliment to Gertrude. +</p> + +<p> +Robert Acton stood on the edge of the piazza, leaning against one of the white +columns, so that he found himself next to Eugenia while she acquitted herself +of a neat little discourse of congratulation. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be so glad to know you better,” she said; “I have +seen so much less of you than I should have liked. Naturally; now I see the +reason why! You will love me a little, won’t you? I think I may say I +gain on being known.” And terminating these observations with the softest +cadence of her voice, the Baroness imprinted a sort of grand official kiss upon +Gertrude’s forehead. +</p> + +<p> +Increased familiarity had not, to Gertrude’s imagination, diminished the +mysterious impressiveness of Eugenia’s personality, and she felt +flattered and transported by this little ceremony. Robert Acton also seemed to +admire it, as he admired so many of the gracious manifestations of Madame +Münster’s wit. +</p> + +<p> +They had the privilege of making him restless, and on this occasion he walked +away, suddenly, with his hands in his pockets, and then came back and leaned +against his column. Eugenia was now complimenting her uncle upon his +daughter’s engagement, and Mr. Wentworth was listening with his usual +plain yet refined politeness. It is to be supposed that by this time his +perception of the mutual relations of the young people who surrounded him had +become more acute; but he still took the matter very seriously, and he was not +at all exhilarated. +</p> + +<p> +“Felix will make her a good husband,” said Eugenia. “He will +be a charming companion; he has a great quality—indestructible +gaiety.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think that’s a great quality?” asked the old man. +</p> + +<p> +Eugenia meditated, with her eyes upon his. “You think one gets tired of +it, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know that I am prepared to say that,” said Mr. +Wentworth. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we will say, then, that it is tiresome for others but delightful +for one’s self. A woman’s husband, you know, is supposed to be her +second self; so that, for Felix and Gertrude, gaiety will be a common +property.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gertrude was always very gay,” said Mr. Wentworth. He was trying +to follow this argument. +</p> + +<p> +Robert Acton took his hands out of his pockets and came a little nearer to the +Baroness. “You say you gain by being known,” he said. “One +certainly gains by knowing you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What have <i>you</i> gained?” asked Eugenia. +</p> + +<p> +“An immense amount of wisdom.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a questionable advantage for a man who was already so +wise!” +</p> + +<p> +Acton shook his head. “No, I was a great fool before I knew you!” +</p> + +<p> +“And being a fool you made my acquaintance? You are very +complimentary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me keep it up,” said Acton, laughing. “I hope, for our +pleasure, that your brother’s marriage will detain you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should I stop for my brother’s marriage when I would not stop +for my own?” asked the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +“Why shouldn’t you stop in either case, now that, as you say, you +have dissolved that mechanical tie that bound you to Europe?” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness looked at him a moment. “As I say? You look as if you +doubted it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Acton, returning her glance, “that is a remnant of +my old folly! We have other attractions,” he added. “We are to have +another marriage.” +</p> + +<p> +But she seemed not to hear him; she was looking at him still. “My word +was never doubted before,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“We are to have another marriage,” Acton repeated, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +Then she appeared to understand. “Another marriage?” And she looked +at the others. Felix was chattering to Gertrude; Charlotte, at a distance, was +watching them; and Mr. Brand, in quite another quarter, was turning his back to +them, and, with his hands under his coat-tails and his large head on one side, +was looking at the small, tender crescent of a young moon. “It ought to +be Mr. Brand and Charlotte,” said Eugenia, “but it doesn’t +look like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“There,” Acton answered, “you must judge just now by +contraries. There is more than there looks to be. I expect that combination one +of these days; but that is not what I meant.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the Baroness, “I never guess my own lovers; so I +can’t guess other people’s.” +</p> + +<p> +Acton gave a loud laugh, and he was about to add a rejoinder when Mr. Wentworth +approached his niece. “You will be interested to hear,” the old man +said, with a momentary aspiration toward jocosity, “of another +matrimonial venture in our little circle.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was just telling the Baroness,” Acton observed. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Acton was apparently about to announce his own engagement,” +said Eugenia. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wentworth’s jocosity increased. “It is not exactly that; but it +is in the family. Clifford, hearing this morning that Mr. Brand had expressed a +desire to tie the nuptial knot for his sister, took it into his head to arrange +that, while his hand was in, our good friend should perform a like ceremony for +himself and Lizzie Acton.” +</p> + +<p> +The Baroness threw back her head and smiled at her uncle; then turning, with an +intenser radiance, to Robert Acton, “I am certainly very stupid not to +have thought of that,” she said. Acton looked down at his boots, as if he +thought he had perhaps reached the limits of legitimate experimentation, and +for a moment Eugenia said nothing more. It had been, in fact, a sharp knock, +and she needed to recover herself. This was done, however, promptly enough. +“Where are the young people?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“They are spending the evening with my mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is not the thing very sudden?” +</p> + +<p> +Acton looked up. “Extremely sudden. There had been a tacit understanding; +but within a day or two Clifford appears to have received some mysterious +impulse to precipitate the affair.” +</p> + +<p> +“The impulse,” said the Baroness, “was the charms of your +very pretty sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“But my sister’s charms were an old story; he had always known +her.” Acton had begun to experiment again. +</p> + +<p> +Here, however, it was evident the Baroness would not help him. “Ah, one +can’t say! Clifford is very young; but he is a nice boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a likeable sort of boy, and he will be a rich man.” +This was Acton’s last experiment. Madame Münster turned away. +</p> + +<p> +She made but a short visit and Felix took her home. In her little drawing-room +she went almost straight to the mirror over the chimney-piece, and, with a +candle uplifted, stood looking into it. “I shall not wait for your +marriage,” she said to her brother. “Tomorrow my maid shall pack +up.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sister,” Felix exclaimed, “we are to be married +immediately! Mr. Brand is too uncomfortable.” +</p> + +<p> +But Eugenia, turning and still holding her candle aloft, only looked about the +little sitting-room at her gimcracks and curtains and cushions. “My maid +shall pack up,” she repeated. “<i>Bonté divine</i>, what rubbish! I +feel like a strolling actress; these are my ‘properties.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the play over, Eugenia?” asked Felix. +</p> + +<p> +She gave him a sharp glance. “I have spoken my part.” +</p> + +<p> +“With great applause!” said her brother. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, applause—applause!” she murmured. And she gathered up +two or three of her dispersed draperies. She glanced at the beautiful brocade, +and then, “I don’t see how I can have endured it!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Endure it a little longer. Come to my wedding.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you; that’s your affair. My affairs are elsewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you going?” +</p> + +<p> +“To Germany—by the first ship.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have decided not to marry Mr. Acton?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have refused him,” said Eugenia. +</p> + +<p> +Her brother looked at her in silence. “I am sorry,” he rejoined at +last. “But I was very discreet, as you asked me to be. I said +nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please continue, then, not to allude to the matter,” said Eugenia. +</p> + +<p> +Felix inclined himself gravely. “You shall be obeyed. But your position +in Germany?” he pursued. +</p> + +<p> +“Please to make no observations upon it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was only going to say that I supposed it was altered.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are mistaken.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I thought you had signed——” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not signed!” said the Baroness. +</p> + +<p> +Felix urged her no further, and it was arranged that he should immediately +assist her to embark. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand was indeed, it appeared, very impatient to consummate his sacrifice +and deliver the nuptial benediction which would set it off so handsomely; but +Eugenia’s impatience to withdraw from a country in which she had not +found the fortune she had come to seek was even less to be mistaken. It is true +she had not made any very various exertion; but she appeared to feel justified +in generalizing—in deciding that the conditions of action on this +provincial continent were not favorable to really superior women. The elder +world was, after all, their natural field. The unembarrassed directness with +which she proceeded to apply these intelligent conclusions appeared to the +little circle of spectators who have figured in our narrative but the supreme +exhibition of a character to which the experience of life had imparted an +inimitable pliancy. It had a distinct effect upon Robert Acton, who, for the +two days preceding her departure, was a very restless and irritated mortal. She +passed her last evening at her uncle’s, where she had never been more +charming; and in parting with Clifford Wentworth’s affianced bride she +drew from her own finger a curious old ring and presented it to her with the +prettiest speech and kiss. Gertrude, who as an affianced bride was also +indebted to her gracious bounty, admired this little incident extremely, and +Robert Acton almost wondered whether it did not give him the right, as +Lizzie’s brother and guardian, to offer in return a handsome present to +the Baroness. It would have made him extremely happy to be able to offer a +handsome present to the Baroness; but he abstained from this expression of his +sentiments, and they were in consequence, at the very last, by so much the less +comfortable. It was almost at the very last that he saw her—late the +night before she went to Boston to embark. +</p> + +<p> +“For myself, I wish you might have stayed,” he said. “But not +for your own sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t make so many differences,” said the Baroness. +“I am simply sorry to be going.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a much deeper difference than mine,” Acton declared; +“for you mean you are simply glad!” +</p> + +<p> +Felix parted with her on the deck of the ship. “We shall often meet over +there,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” she answered. “Europe seems to me much +larger than America.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brand, of course, in the days that immediately followed, was not the only +impatient spirit; but it may be said that of all the young spirits interested +in the event none rose more eagerly to the level of the occasion. Gertrude left +her father’s house with Felix Young; they were imperturbably happy and +they went far away. Clifford and his young wife sought their felicity in a +narrower circle, and the latter’s influence upon her husband was such as +to justify, strikingly, that theory of the elevating effect of easy intercourse +with clever women which Felix had propounded to Mr. Wentworth. Gertrude was for +a good while a distant figure, but she came back when Charlotte married Mr. +Brand. She was present at the wedding feast, where Felix’s gaiety +confessed to no change. Then she disappeared, and the echo of a gaiety of her +own, mingled with that of her husband, often came back to the home of her +earlier years. Mr. Wentworth at last found himself listening for it; and Robert +Acton, after his mother’s death, married a particularly nice young girl. +</p> + +<p> +The End +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EUROPEANS ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..290788c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #179 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/179) diff --git a/old/179-8.txt b/old/179-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7ae1787 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/179-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7369 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Europeans, by Henry James + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost +no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use +it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this +eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Europeans + +Author: Henry James + +Release Date: March 14, 2006 [EBook #179] +Last Updated: March 29, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EUROPEANS *** + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + + + +THE EUROPEANS + +by Henry James + + + +CONTENTS + + + +CHAPTER I + +CHAPTER II + +CHAPTER III + +CHAPTER IV + +CHAPTER V + +CHAPTER VI + +CHAPTER VII + +CHAPTER VIII + +CHAPTER IX + +CHAPTER X + +CHAPTER XI + +CHAPTER XII + + + +CHAPTER I + +A narrow grave-yard in the heart of a bustling, indifferent city, seen +from the windows of a gloomy-looking inn, is at no time an object of +enlivening suggestion; and the spectacle is not at its best when the +mouldy tombstones and funereal umbrage have received the ineffectual +refreshment of a dull, moist snow-fall. If, while the air is thickened +by this frosty drizzle, the calendar should happen to indicate that the +blessed vernal season is already six weeks old, it will be admitted that +no depressing influence is absent from the scene. This fact was keenly +felt on a certain 12th of May, upwards of thirty years since, by a lady +who stood looking out of one of the windows of the best hotel in the +ancient city of Boston. She had stood there for half an hour--stood +there, that is, at intervals; for from time to time she turned back +into the room and measured its length with a restless step. In the +chimney-place was a red-hot fire which emitted a small blue flame; and +in front of the fire, at a table, sat a young man who was busily plying +a pencil. He had a number of sheets of paper cut into small +equal squares, and he was apparently covering them with pictorial +designs--strange-looking figures. He worked rapidly and attentively, +sometimes threw back his head and held out his drawing at arm's-length, +and kept up a soft, gay-sounding humming and whistling. The lady brushed +past him in her walk; her much-trimmed skirts were voluminous. She never +dropped her eyes upon his work; she only turned them, occasionally, as +she passed, to a mirror suspended above the toilet-table on the other +side of the room. Here she paused a moment, gave a pinch to her waist +with her two hands, or raised these members--they were very plump +and pretty--to the multifold braids of her hair, with a movement half +caressing, half corrective. An attentive observer might have fancied +that during these periods of desultory self-inspection her face forgot +its melancholy; but as soon as she neared the window again it began to +proclaim that she was a very ill-pleased woman. And indeed, in what +met her eyes there was little to be pleased with. The window-panes were +battered by the sleet; the head-stones in the grave-yard beneath seemed +to be holding themselves askance to keep it out of their faces. A tall +iron railing protected them from the street, and on the other side of +the railing an assemblage of Bostonians were trampling about in the +liquid snow. Many of them were looking up and down; they appeared to be +waiting for something. From time to time a strange vehicle drew near to +the place where they stood,--such a vehicle as the lady at the window, +in spite of a considerable acquaintance with human inventions, had +never seen before: a huge, low omnibus, painted in brilliant colors, +and decorated apparently with jangling bells, attached to a species of +groove in the pavement, through which it was dragged, with a great deal +of rumbling, bouncing and scratching, by a couple of remarkably small +horses. When it reached a certain point the people in front of the +grave-yard, of whom much the greater number were women, carrying +satchels and parcels, projected themselves upon it in a compact body--a +movement suggesting the scramble for places in a life-boat at sea--and +were engulfed in its large interior. Then the life-boat--or the +life-car, as the lady at the window of the hotel vaguely designated +it--went bumping and jingling away upon its invisible wheels, with the +helmsman (the man at the wheel) guiding its course incongruously from +the prow. This phenomenon was repeated every three minutes, and the +supply of eagerly-moving women in cloaks, bearing reticules and bundles, +renewed itself in the most liberal manner. On the other side of the +grave-yard was a row of small red brick houses, showing a series of +homely, domestic-looking backs; at the end opposite the hotel a tall +wooden church-spire, painted white, rose high into the vagueness of +the snow-flakes. The lady at the window looked at it for some time; for +reasons of her own she thought it the ugliest thing she had ever seen. +She hated it, she despised it; it threw her into a state of irritation +that was quite out of proportion to any sensible motive. She had never +known herself to care so much about church-spires. + +She was not pretty; but even when it expressed perplexed irritation her +face was most interesting and agreeable. Neither was she in her +first youth; yet, though slender, with a great deal of extremely +well-fashioned roundness of contour--a suggestion both of maturity and +flexibility--she carried her three and thirty years as a light-wristed +Hebe might have carried a brimming wine-cup. Her complexion was +fatigued, as the French say; her mouth was large, her lips too full, her +teeth uneven, her chin rather commonly modeled; she had a thick nose, +and when she smiled--she was constantly smiling--the lines beside it +rose too high, toward her eyes. But these eyes were charming: gray +in color, brilliant, quickly glancing, gently resting, full of +intelligence. Her forehead was very low--it was her only handsome +feature; and she had a great abundance of crisp dark hair, finely +frizzled, which was always braided in a manner that suggested some +Southern or Eastern, some remotely foreign, woman. She had a large +collection of ear-rings, and wore them in alternation; and they seemed +to give a point to her Oriental or exotic aspect. A compliment had once +been paid her, which, being repeated to her, gave her greater pleasure +than anything she had ever heard. "A pretty woman?" someone had said. +"Why, her features are very bad." "I don't know about her features," a +very discerning observer had answered; "but she carries her head like a +pretty woman." You may imagine whether, after this, she carried her head +less becomingly. + +She turned away from the window at last, pressing her hands to her eyes. +"It's too horrible!" she exclaimed. "I shall go back--I shall go back!" +And she flung herself into a chair before the fire. + +"Wait a little, dear child," said the young man softly, sketching away +at his little scraps of paper. + +The lady put out her foot; it was very small, and there was an immense +rosette on her slipper. She fixed her eyes for a while on this ornament, +and then she looked at the glowing bed of anthracite coal in the grate. +"Did you ever see anything so hideous as that fire?" she demanded. "Did +you ever see anything so--so _affreux_ as--as everything?" She spoke +English with perfect purity; but she brought out this French epithet +in a manner that indicated that she was accustomed to using French +epithets. + +"I think the fire is very pretty," said the young man, glancing at it +a moment. "Those little blue tongues, dancing on top of the crimson +embers, are extremely picturesque. They are like a fire in an +alchemist's laboratory." + +"You are too good-natured, my dear," his companion declared. + +The young man held out one of his drawings, with his head on one side. +His tongue was gently moving along his under-lip. "Good-natured--yes. +Too good-natured--no." + +"You are irritating," said the lady, looking at her slipper. + +He began to retouch his sketch. "I think you mean simply that you are +irritated." + +"Ah, for that, yes!" said his companion, with a little bitter laugh. +"It's the darkest day of my life--and you know what that means." + +"Wait till tomorrow," rejoined the young man. + +"Yes, we have made a great mistake. If there is any doubt about it +today, there certainly will be none tomorrow. _Ce sera clair, au +moins!_" + +The young man was silent a few moments, driving his pencil. Then at +last, "There are no such things as mistakes," he affirmed. + +"Very true--for those who are not clever enough to perceive them. Not +to recognize one's mistakes--that would be happiness in life," the lady +went on, still looking at her pretty foot. + +"My dearest sister," said the young man, always intent upon his drawing, +"it's the first time you have told me I am not clever." + +"Well, by your own theory I can't call it a mistake," answered his +sister, pertinently enough. + +The young man gave a clear, fresh laugh. "You, at least, are clever +enough, dearest sister," he said. + +"I was not so when I proposed this." + +"Was it you who proposed it?" asked her brother. + +She turned her head and gave him a little stare. "Do you desire the +credit of it?" + +"If you like, I will take the blame," he said, looking up with a smile. + +"Yes," she rejoined in a moment, "you make no difference in these +things. You have no sense of property." + +The young man gave his joyous laugh again. "If that means I have no +property, you are right!" + +"Don't joke about your poverty," said his sister. "That is quite as +vulgar as to boast about it." + +"My poverty! I have just finished a drawing that will bring me fifty +francs!" + +_"Voyons,"_ said the lady, putting out her hand. + +He added a touch or two, and then gave her his sketch. She looked at it, +but she went on with her idea of a moment before. "If a woman were to +ask you to marry her you would say, 'Certainly, my dear, with pleasure!' +And you would marry her and be ridiculously happy. Then at the end of +three months you would say to her, 'You know that blissful day when I +begged you to be mine!'" + +The young man had risen from the table, stretching his arms a little; he +walked to the window. "That is a description of a charming nature," he +said. + +"Oh, yes, you have a charming nature; I regard that as our capital. If +I had not been convinced of that I should never have taken the risk of +bringing you to this dreadful country." + +"This comical country, this delightful country!" exclaimed the young +man, and he broke into the most animated laughter. + +"Is it those women scrambling into the omnibus?" asked his companion. +"What do you suppose is the attraction?" + +"I suppose there is a very good-looking man inside," said the young man. + +"In each of them? They come along in hundreds, and the men in this +country don't seem at all handsome. As for the women--I have never seen +so many at once since I left the convent." + +"The women are very pretty," her brother declared, "and the whole affair +is very amusing. I must make a sketch of it." And he came back to the +table quickly, and picked up his utensils--a small sketching-board, +a sheet of paper, and three or four crayons. He took his place at the +window with these things, and stood there glancing out, plying his +pencil with an air of easy skill. While he worked he wore a +brilliant smile. Brilliant is indeed the word at this moment for his +strongly-lighted face. He was eight and twenty years old; he had a +short, slight, well-made figure. Though he bore a noticeable resemblance +to his sister, he was a better favored person: fair-haired, clear-faced, +witty-looking, with a delicate finish of feature and an expression at +once urbane and not at all serious, a warm blue eye, an eyebrow finely +drawn and excessively arched--an eyebrow which, if ladies wrote sonnets +to those of their lovers, might have been made the subject of such a +piece of verse--and a light moustache that flourished upwards as if +blown that way by the breath of a constant smile. There was something +in his physiognomy at once benevolent and picturesque. But, as I have +hinted, it was not at all serious. The young man's face was, in this +respect, singular; it was not at all serious, and yet it inspired the +liveliest confidence. + +"Be sure you put in plenty of snow," said his sister. "_Bont divine_, +what a climate!" + +"I shall leave the sketch all white, and I shall put in the little +figures in black," the young man answered, laughing. "And I shall call +it--what is that line in Keats?--Mid-May's Eldest Child!" + +"I don't remember," said the lady, "that mamma ever told me it was like +this." + +"Mamma never told you anything disagreeable. And it's not like +this--every day. You will see that tomorrow we shall have a splendid +day." + +"_Qu'en savez-vous?_ Tomorrow I shall go away." + +"Where shall you go?" + +"Anywhere away from here. Back to Silberstadt. I shall write to the +Reigning Prince." + +The young man turned a little and looked at her, with his crayon poised. +"My dear Eugenia," he murmured, "were you so happy at sea?" + +Eugenia got up; she still held in her hand the drawing her brother had +given her. It was a bold, expressive sketch of a group of miserable +people on the deck of a steamer, clinging together and clutching at each +other, while the vessel lurched downward, at a terrific angle, into +the hollow of a wave. It was extremely clever, and full of a sort of +tragi-comical power. Eugenia dropped her eyes upon it and made a sad +grimace. "How can you draw such odious scenes?" she asked. "I should +like to throw it into the fire!" And she tossed the paper away. Her +brother watched, quietly, to see where it went. It fluttered down to the +floor, where he let it lie. She came toward the window, pinching in +her waist. "Why don't you reproach me--abuse me?" she asked. "I think +I should feel better then. Why don't you tell me that you hate me for +bringing you here?" + +"Because you would not believe it. I adore you, dear sister! I am +delighted to be here, and I am charmed with the prospect." + +"I don't know what had taken possession of me. I had lost my head," +Eugenia went on. + +The young man, on his side, went on plying his pencil. "It is evidently +a most curious and interesting country. Here we are, and I mean to enjoy +it." + +His companion turned away with an impatient step, but presently came +back. "High spirits are doubtless an excellent thing," she said; "but +you give one too much of them, and I can't see that they have done you +any good." + +The young man stared, with lifted eyebrows, smiling; he tapped his +handsome nose with his pencil. "They have made me happy!" + +"That was the least they could do; they have made you nothing else. You +have gone through life thanking fortune for such very small favors that +she has never put herself to any trouble for you." + +"She must have put herself to a little, I think, to present me with so +admirable a sister." + +"Be serious, Felix. You forget that I am your elder." + +"With a sister, then, so elderly!" rejoined Felix, laughing. "I hoped we +had left seriousness in Europe." + +"I fancy you will find it here. Remember that you are nearly thirty +years old, and that you are nothing but an obscure Bohemian--a penniless +correspondent of an illustrated newspaper." + +"Obscure as much as you please, but not so much of a Bohemian as you +think. And not at all penniless! I have a hundred pounds in my pocket. +I have an engagement to make fifty sketches, and I mean to paint the +portraits of all our cousins, and of all _their_ cousins, at a hundred +dollars a head." + +"You are not ambitious," said Eugenia. + +"You are, dear Baroness," the young man replied. + +The Baroness was silent a moment, looking out at the sleet-darkened +grave-yard and the bumping horse-cars. "Yes, I am ambitious," she said +at last. "And my ambition has brought me to this dreadful place!" She +glanced about her--the room had a certain vulgar nudity; the bed and the +window were curtainless--and she gave a little passionate sigh. "Poor +old ambition!" she exclaimed. Then she flung herself down upon a sofa +which stood near against the wall, and covered her face with her hands. + +Her brother went on with his drawing, rapidly and skillfully; after some +moments he sat down beside her and showed her his sketch. "Now, don't +you think that's pretty good for an obscure Bohemian?" he asked. "I have +knocked off another fifty francs." + +Eugenia glanced at the little picture as he laid it on her lap. "Yes, +it is very clever," she said. And in a moment she added, "Do you suppose +our cousins do that?" + +"Do what?" + +"Get into those things, and look like that." + +Felix meditated awhile. "I really can't say. It will be interesting to +discover." + +"Oh, the rich people can't!" said the Baroness. + +"Are you very sure they are rich?" asked Felix, lightly. + +His sister slowly turned in her place, looking at him. "Heavenly +powers!" she murmured. "You have a way of bringing out things!" + +"It will certainly be much pleasanter if they are rich," Felix declared. + +"Do you suppose if I had not known they were rich I would ever have +come?" + +The young man met his sister's somewhat peremptory eye with his bright, +contented glance. "Yes, it certainly will be pleasanter," he repeated. + +"That is all I expect of them," said the Baroness. "I don't count upon +their being clever or friendly--at first--or elegant or interesting. But +I assure you I insist upon their being rich." + +Felix leaned his head upon the back of the sofa and looked awhile at the +oblong patch of sky to which the window served as frame. The snow was +ceasing; it seemed to him that the sky had begun to brighten. "I count +upon their being rich," he said at last, "and powerful, and clever, and +friendly, and elegant, and interesting, and generally delightful! _Tu +vas voir_." And he bent forward and kissed his sister. "Look there!" he +went on. "As a portent, even while I speak, the sky is turning the color +of gold; the day is going to be splendid." + +And indeed, within five minutes the weather had changed. The sun broke +out through the snow-clouds and jumped into the Baroness's room. "_Bont +divine_," exclaimed this lady, "what a climate!" + +"We will go out and see the world," said Felix. + +And after a while they went out. The air had grown warm as well as +brilliant; the sunshine had dried the pavements. They walked about the +streets at hazard, looking at the people and the houses, the shops and +the vehicles, the blazing blue sky and the muddy crossings, the hurrying +men and the slow-strolling maidens, the fresh red bricks and the bright +green trees, the extraordinary mixture of smartness and shabbiness. +From one hour to another the day had grown vernal; even in the bustling +streets there was an odor of earth and blossom. Felix was immensely +entertained. He had called it a comical country, and he went about +laughing at everything he saw. You would have said that American +civilization expressed itself to his sense in a tissue of capital jokes. +The jokes were certainly excellent, and the young man's merriment was +joyous and genial. He possessed what is called the pictorial sense; +and this first glimpse of democratic manners stirred the same sort of +attention that he would have given to the movements of a lively +young person with a bright complexion. Such attention would have been +demonstrative and complimentary; and in the present case Felix might +have passed for an undispirited young exile revisiting the haunts of +his childhood. He kept looking at the violent blue of the sky, at the +scintillating air, at the scattered and multiplied patches of color. + +"_Comme c'est bariol_, eh?" he said to his sister in that foreign +tongue which they both appeared to feel a mysterious prompting +occasionally to use. + +"Yes, it is _bariol_ indeed," the Baroness answered. "I don't like the +coloring; it hurts my eyes." + +"It shows how extremes meet," the young man rejoined. "Instead of coming +to the West we seem to have gone to the East. The way the sky touches +the house-tops is just like Cairo; and the red and blue sign-boards +patched over the face of everything remind one of Mahometan +decorations." + +"The young women are not Mahometan," said his companion. "They can't be +said to hide their faces. I never saw anything so bold." + +"Thank Heaven they don't hide their faces!" cried Felix. "Their faces +are uncommonly pretty." + +"Yes, their faces are often very pretty," said the Baroness, who was +a very clever woman. She was too clever a woman not to be capable of +a great deal of just and fine observation. She clung more closely than +usual to her brother's arm; she was not exhilarated, as he was; she said +very little, but she noted a great many things and made her reflections. +She was a little excited; she felt that she had indeed come to a strange +country, to make her fortune. Superficially, she was conscious of a good +deal of irritation and displeasure; the Baroness was a very delicate +and fastidious person. Of old, more than once, she had gone, for +entertainment's sake and in brilliant company, to a fair in a provincial +town. It seemed to her now that she was at an enormous fair--that the +entertainment and the _dsagrments_ were very much the same. She found +herself alternately smiling and shrinking; the show was very curious, +but it was probable, from moment to moment, that one would be jostled. +The Baroness had never seen so many people walking about before; she +had never been so mixed up with people she did not know. But little by +little she felt that this fair was a more serious undertaking. She went +with her brother into a large public garden, which seemed very pretty, +but where she was surprised at seeing no carriages. The afternoon was +drawing to a close; the coarse, vivid grass and the slender tree-boles +were gilded by the level sunbeams--gilded as with gold that was fresh +from the mine. It was the hour at which ladies should come out for an +airing and roll past a hedge of pedestrians, holding their parasols +askance. Here, however, Eugenia observed no indications of this custom, +the absence of which was more anomalous as there was a charming avenue +of remarkably graceful, arching elms in the most convenient contiguity +to a large, cheerful street, in which, evidently, among the more +prosperous members of the _bourgeoisie_, a great deal of pedestrianism +went forward. Our friends passed out into this well lighted promenade, +and Felix noticed a great many more pretty girls and called his sister's +attention to them. This latter measure, however, was superfluous; for +the Baroness had inspected, narrowly, these charming young ladies. + +"I feel an intimate conviction that our cousins are like that," said +Felix. + +The Baroness hoped so, but this is not what she said. "They are very +pretty," she said, "but they are mere little girls. Where are the +women--the women of thirty?" + +"Of thirty-three, do you mean?" her brother was going to ask; for he +understood often both what she said and what she did not say. But he +only exclaimed upon the beauty of the sunset, while the Baroness, who +had come to seek her fortune, reflected that it would certainly be well +for her if the persons against whom she might need to measure herself +should all be mere little girls. The sunset was superb; they stopped +to look at it; Felix declared that he had never seen such a gorgeous +mixture of colors. The Baroness also thought it splendid; and she was +perhaps the more easily pleased from the fact that while she stood there +she was conscious of much admiring observation on the part of various +nice-looking people who passed that way, and to whom a distinguished, +strikingly-dressed woman with a foreign air, exclaiming upon the +beauties of nature on a Boston street corner in the French tongue, +could not be an object of indifference. Eugenia's spirits rose. She +surrendered herself to a certain tranquil gaiety. If she had come to +seek her fortune, it seemed to her that her fortune would be easy to +find. There was a promise of it in the gorgeous purity of the western +sky; there was an intimation in the mild, unimpertinent gaze of the +passers of a certain natural facility in things. + +"You will not go back to Silberstadt, eh?" asked Felix. + +"Not tomorrow," said the Baroness. + +"Nor write to the Reigning Prince?" + +"I shall write to him that they evidently know nothing about him over +here." + +"He will not believe you," said the young man. "I advise you to let him +alone." + +Felix himself continued to be in high good humor. Brought up among +ancient customs and in picturesque cities, he yet found plenty of local +color in the little Puritan metropolis. That evening, after dinner, he +told his sister that he should go forth early on the morrow to look up +their cousins. + +"You are very impatient," said Eugenia. + +"What can be more natural," he asked, "after seeing all those pretty +girls today? If one's cousins are of that pattern, the sooner one knows +them the better." + +"Perhaps they are not," said Eugenia. "We ought to have brought some +letters--to some other people." + +"The other people would not be our kinsfolk." + +"Possibly they would be none the worse for that," the Baroness replied. + +Her brother looked at her with his eyebrows lifted. "That was not what +you said when you first proposed to me that we should come out here and +fraternize with our relatives. You said that it was the prompting of +natural affection; and when I suggested some reasons against it you +declared that the _voix du sang_ should go before everything." + +"You remember all that?" asked the Baroness. + +"Vividly! I was greatly moved by it." + +She was walking up and down the room, as she had done in the morning; +she stopped in her walk and looked at her brother. She apparently was +going to say something, but she checked herself and resumed her walk. +Then, in a few moments, she said something different, which had the +effect of an explanation of the suppression of her earlier thought. "You +will never be anything but a child, dear brother." + +"One would suppose that you, madam," answered Felix, laughing, "were a +thousand years old." + +"I am--sometimes," said the Baroness. + +"I will go, then, and announce to our cousins the arrival of a +personage so extraordinary. They will immediately come and pay you their +respects." + +Eugenia paced the length of the room again, and then she stopped before +her brother, laying her hand upon his arm. "They are not to come and see +me," she said. "You are not to allow that. That is not the way I shall +meet them first." And in answer to his interrogative glance she went on. +"You will go and examine, and report. You will come back and tell me +who they are and what they are; their number, gender, their respective +ages--all about them. Be sure you observe everything; be ready to +describe to me the locality, the accessories--how shall I say +it?--the _mise en scne_. Then, at my own time, at my own hour, under +circumstances of my own choosing, I will go to them. I will present +myself--I will appear before them!" said the Baroness, this time +phrasing her idea with a certain frankness. + +"And what message am I to take to them?" asked Felix, who had a lively +faith in the justness of his sister's arrangements. + +She looked at him a moment--at his expression of agreeable veracity; +and, with that justness that he admired, she replied, "Say what you +please. Tell my story in the way that seems to you most--natural." And +she bent her forehead for him to kiss. + + + +CHAPTER II + +The next day was splendid, as Felix had prophesied; if the winter had +suddenly leaped into spring, the spring had for the moment as quickly +leaped into summer. This was an observation made by a young girl who +came out of a large square house in the country, and strolled about in +the spacious garden which separated it from a muddy road. The flowering +shrubs and the neatly-disposed plants were basking in the abundant +light and warmth; the transparent shade of the great elms--they were +magnificent trees--seemed to thicken by the hour; and the intensely +habitual stillness offered a submissive medium to the sound of a distant +church-bell. The young girl listened to the church-bell; but she was not +dressed for church. She was bare-headed; she wore a white muslin waist, +with an embroidered border, and the skirt of her dress was of colored +muslin. She was a young lady of some two or three and twenty years +of age, and though a young person of her sex walking bare-headed in +a garden, of a Sunday morning in spring-time, can, in the nature of +things, never be a displeasing object, you would not have pronounced +this innocent Sabbath-breaker especially pretty. She was tall and pale, +thin and a little awkward; her hair was fair and perfectly straight; her +eyes were dark, and they had the singularity of seeming at once dull +and restless--differing herein, as you see, fatally from the ideal "fine +eyes," which we always imagine to be both brilliant and tranquil. The +doors and windows of the large square house were all wide open, to admit +the purifying sunshine, which lay in generous patches upon the floor +of a wide, high, covered piazza adjusted to two sides of the mansion--a +piazza on which several straw-bottomed rocking-chairs and half a dozen +of those small cylindrical stools in green and blue porcelain, which +suggest an affiliation between the residents and the Eastern trade, were +symmetrically disposed. It was an ancient house--ancient in the sense +of being eighty years old; it was built of wood, painted a clean, clear, +faded gray, and adorned along the front, at intervals, with flat wooden +pilasters, painted white. These pilasters appeared to support a kind of +classic pediment, which was decorated in the middle by a large triple +window in a boldly carved frame, and in each of its smaller angles by +a glazed circular aperture. A large white door, furnished with a +highly-polished brass knocker, presented itself to the rural-looking +road, with which it was connected by a spacious pathway, paved with worn +and cracked, but very clean, bricks. Behind it there were meadows and +orchards, a barn and a pond; and facing it, a short distance along the +road, on the opposite side, stood a smaller house, painted white, with +external shutters painted green, a little garden on one hand and an +orchard on the other. All this was shining in the morning air, through +which the simple details of the picture addressed themselves to the eye +as distinctly as the items of a "sum" in addition. + +A second young lady presently came out of the house, across the piazza, +descended into the garden and approached the young girl of whom I have +spoken. This second young lady was also thin and pale; but she was older +than the other; she was shorter; she had dark, smooth hair. Her eyes, +unlike the other's, were quick and bright; but they were not at all +restless. She wore a straw bonnet with white ribbons, and a long, red, +India scarf, which, on the front of her dress, reached to her feet. In +her hand she carried a little key. + +"Gertrude," she said, "are you very sure you had better not go to +church?" + +Gertrude looked at her a moment, plucked a small sprig from a +lilac-bush, smelled it and threw it away. "I am not very sure of +anything!" she answered. + +The other young lady looked straight past her, at the distant pond, +which lay shining between the long banks of fir trees. Then she said in +a very soft voice, "This is the key of the dining-room closet. I think +you had better have it, if anyone should want anything." + +"Who is there to want anything?" Gertrude demanded. "I shall be all +alone in the house." + +"Someone may come," said her companion. + +"Do you mean Mr. Brand?" + +"Yes, Gertrude. He may like a piece of cake." + +"I don't like men that are always eating cake!" Gertrude declared, +giving a pull at the lilac-bush. + +Her companion glanced at her, and then looked down on the ground. "I +think father expected you would come to church," she said. "What shall I +say to him?" + +"Say I have a bad headache." + +"Would that be true?" asked the elder lady, looking straight at the pond +again. + +"No, Charlotte," said the younger one simply. + +Charlotte transferred her quiet eyes to her companion's face. "I am +afraid you are feeling restless." + +"I am feeling as I always feel," Gertrude replied, in the same tone. + +Charlotte turned away; but she stood there a moment. Presently she +looked down at the front of her dress. "Doesn't it seem to you, somehow, +as if my scarf were too long?" she asked. + +Gertrude walked half round her, looking at the scarf. "I don't think you +wear it right," she said. + +"How should I wear it, dear?" + +"I don't know; differently from that. You should draw it differently +over your shoulders, round your elbows; you should look differently +behind." + +"How should I look?" Charlotte inquired. + +"I don't think I can tell you," said Gertrude, plucking out the scarf +a little behind. "I could do it myself, but I don't think I can explain +it." + +Charlotte, by a movement of her elbows, corrected the laxity that had +come from her companion's touch. "Well, some day you must do it for me. +It doesn't matter now. Indeed, I don't think it matters," she added, +"how one looks behind." + +"I should say it mattered more," said Gertrude. "Then you don't know who +may be observing you. You are not on your guard. You can't try to look +pretty." + +Charlotte received this declaration with extreme gravity. "I don't think +one should ever try to look pretty," she rejoined, earnestly. + +Her companion was silent. Then she said, "Well, perhaps it's not of much +use." + +Charlotte looked at her a little, and then kissed her. "I hope you will +be better when we come back." + +"My dear sister, I am very well!" said Gertrude. + +Charlotte went down the large brick walk to the garden gate; her +companion strolled slowly toward the house. At the gate Charlotte met a +young man, who was coming in--a tall, fair young man, wearing a high hat +and a pair of thread gloves. He was handsome, but rather too stout. He +had a pleasant smile. "Oh, Mr. Brand!" exclaimed the young lady. + +"I came to see whether your sister was not going to church," said the +young man. + +"She says she is not going; but I am very glad you have come. I think if +you were to talk to her a little".... And Charlotte lowered her voice. +"It seems as if she were restless." + +Mr. Brand smiled down on the young lady from his great height. "I shall +be very glad to talk to her. For that I should be willing to absent +myself from almost any occasion of worship, however attractive." + +"Well, I suppose you know," said Charlotte, softly, as if positive +acceptance of this proposition might be dangerous. "But I am afraid I +shall be late." + +"I hope you will have a pleasant sermon," said the young man. + +"Oh, Mr. Gilman is always pleasant," Charlotte answered. And she went on +her way. + +Mr. Brand went into the garden, where Gertrude, hearing the gate close +behind him, turned and looked at him. For a moment she watched him +coming; then she turned away. But almost immediately she corrected this +movement, and stood still, facing him. He took off his hat and wiped his +forehead as he approached. Then he put on his hat again and held out his +hand. His hat being removed, you would have perceived that his forehead +was very large and smooth, and his hair abundant but rather colorless. +His nose was too large, and his mouth and eyes were too small; but for +all this he was, as I have said, a young man of striking appearance. The +expression of his little clean-colored blue eyes was irresistibly gentle +and serious; he looked, as the phrase is, as good as gold. The young +girl, standing in the garden path, glanced, as he came up, at his thread +gloves. + +"I hoped you were going to church," he said. "I wanted to walk with +you." + +"I am very much obliged to you," Gertrude answered. "I am not going to +church." + +She had shaken hands with him; he held her hand a moment. "Have you any +special reason for not going?" + +"Yes, Mr. Brand," said the young girl. + +"May I ask what it is?" + +She looked at him smiling; and in her smile, as I have intimated, there +was a certain dullness. But mingled with this dullness was something +sweet and suggestive. "Because the sky is so blue!" she said. + +He looked at the sky, which was magnificent, and then said, smiling too, +"I have heard of young ladies staying at home for bad weather, but +never for good. Your sister, whom I met at the gate, tells me you are +depressed," he added. + +"Depressed? I am never depressed." + +"Oh, surely, sometimes," replied Mr. Brand, as if he thought this a +regrettable account of one's self. + +"I am never depressed," Gertrude repeated. "But I am sometimes wicked. +When I am wicked I am in high spirits. I was wicked just now to my +sister." + +"What did you do to her?" + +"I said things that puzzled her--on purpose." + +"Why did you do that, Miss Gertrude?" asked the young man. + +She began to smile again. "Because the sky is so blue!" + +"You say things that puzzle _me_," Mr. Brand declared. + +"I always know when I do it," proceeded Gertrude. "But people puzzle me +more, I think. And they don't seem to know!" + +"This is very interesting," Mr. Brand observed, smiling. + +"You told me to tell you about my--my struggles," the young girl went +on. + +"Let us talk about them. I have so many things to say." + +Gertrude turned away a moment; and then, turning back, "You had better +go to church," she said. + +"You know," the young man urged, "that I have always one thing to say." + +Gertrude looked at him a moment. "Please don't say it now!" + +"We are all alone," he continued, taking off his hat; "all alone in this +beautiful Sunday stillness." + +Gertrude looked around her, at the breaking buds, the shining +distance, the blue sky to which she had referred as a pretext for her +irregularities. "That's the reason," she said, "why I don't want you to +speak. Do me a favor; go to church." + +"May I speak when I come back?" asked Mr. Brand. + +"If you are still disposed," she answered. + +"I don't know whether you are wicked," he said, "but you are certainly +puzzling." + +She had turned away; she raised her hands to her ears. He looked at her +a moment, and then he slowly walked to church. + +She wandered for a while about the garden, vaguely and without purpose. +The church-bell had stopped ringing; the stillness was complete. This +young lady relished highly, on occasions, the sense of being alone--the +absence of the whole family and the emptiness of the house. Today, +apparently, the servants had also gone to church; there was never a +figure at the open windows; behind the house there was no stout negress +in a red turban, lowering the bucket into the great shingle-hooded +well. And the front door of the big, unguarded home stood open, with +the trustfulness of the golden age; or what is more to the purpose, with +that of New England's silvery prime. Gertrude slowly passed through it, +and went from one of the empty rooms to the other--large, clear-colored +rooms, with white wainscots, ornamented with thin-legged mahogany +furniture, and, on the walls, with old-fashioned engravings, chiefly of +scriptural subjects, hung very high. This agreeable sense of solitude, +of having the house to herself, of which I have spoken, always excited +Gertrude's imagination; she could not have told you why, and neither can +her humble historian. It always seemed to her that she must do something +particular--that she must honor the occasion; and while she roamed +about, wondering what she could do, the occasion usually came to an end. +Today she wondered more than ever. At last she took down a book; there +was no library in the house, but there were books in all the rooms. None +of them were forbidden books, and Gertrude had not stopped at home for +the sake of a chance to climb to the inaccessible shelves. She possessed +herself of a very obvious volume--one of the series of the _Arabian +Nights_--and she brought it out into the portico and sat down with it +in her lap. There, for a quarter of an hour, she read the history of +the loves of the Prince Camaralzaman and the Princess Badoura. At last, +looking up, she beheld, as it seemed to her, the Prince Camaralzaman +standing before her. A beautiful young man was making her a very low +bow--a magnificent bow, such as she had never seen before. He appeared +to have dropped from the clouds; he was wonderfully handsome; he +smiled--smiled as if he were smiling on purpose. Extreme surprise, for a +moment, kept Gertrude sitting still; then she rose, without even keeping +her finger in her book. The young man, with his hat in his hand, still +looked at her, smiling and smiling. It was very strange. + +"Will you kindly tell me," said the mysterious visitor, at last, +"whether I have the honor of speaking to Miss Wentworth?" + +"My name is Gertrude Wentworth," murmured the young woman. + +"Then--then--I have the honor--the pleasure--of being your cousin." + +The young man had so much the character of an apparition that this +announcement seemed to complete his unreality. "What cousin? Who are +you?" said Gertrude. + +He stepped back a few paces and looked up at the house; then glanced +round him at the garden and the distant view. After this he burst out +laughing. "I see it must seem to you very strange," he said. There was, +after all, something substantial in his laughter. Gertrude looked at him +from head to foot. Yes, he was remarkably handsome; but his smile was +almost a grimace. "It is very still," he went on, coming nearer again. +And as she only looked at him, for reply, he added, "Are you all alone?" + +"Everyone has gone to church," said Gertrude. + +"I was afraid of that!" the young man exclaimed. "But I hope you are not +afraid of me." + +"You ought to tell me who you are," Gertrude answered. + +"I am afraid of you!" said the young man. "I had a different plan. I +expected the servant would take in my card, and that you would put your +heads together, before admitting me, and make out my identity." + +Gertrude had been wondering with a quick intensity which brought +its result; and the result seemed an answer--a wondrous, delightful +answer--to her vague wish that something would befall her. "I know--I +know," she said. "You come from Europe." + +"We came two days ago. You have heard of us, then--you believe in us?" + +"We have known, vaguely," said Gertrude, "that we had relations in +France." + +"And have you ever wanted to see us?" asked the young man. + +Gertrude was silent a moment. "I have wanted to see you." + +"I am glad, then, it is you I have found. We wanted to see you, so we +came." + +"On purpose?" asked Gertrude. + +The young man looked round him, smiling still. "Well, yes; on purpose. +Does that sound as if we should bore you?" he added. "I don't think we +shall--I really don't think we shall. We are rather fond of wandering, +too; and we were glad of a pretext." + +"And you have just arrived?" + +"In Boston, two days ago. At the inn I asked for Mr. Wentworth. He must +be your father. They found out for me where he lived; they seemed often +to have heard of him. I determined to come, without ceremony. So, this +lovely morning, they set my face in the right direction, and told me to +walk straight before me, out of town. I came on foot because I wanted +to see the country. I walked and walked, and here I am! It's a good many +miles." + +"It is seven miles and a half," said Gertrude, softly. Now that this +handsome young man was proving himself a reality she found herself +vaguely trembling; she was deeply excited. She had never in her life +spoken to a foreigner, and she had often thought it would be delightful +to do so. Here was one who had suddenly been engendered by the Sabbath +stillness for her private use; and such a brilliant, polite, smiling +one! She found time and means to compose herself, however: to remind +herself that she must exercise a sort of official hospitality. "We are +very--very glad to see you," she said. "Won't you come into the house?" +And she moved toward the open door. + +"You are not afraid of me, then?" asked the young man again, with his +light laugh. + +She wondered a moment, and then, "We are not afraid--here," she said. + +_"Ah, comme vous devez avoir raison!"_ cried the young man, looking all +round him, appreciatively. It was the first time that Gertrude had heard +so many words of French spoken. They gave her something of a sensation. +Her companion followed her, watching, with a certain excitement of his +own, this tall, interesting-looking girl, dressed in her clear, crisp +muslin. He paused in the hall, where there was a broad white staircase +with a white balustrade. "What a pleasant house!" he said. "It's lighter +inside than it is out." + +"It's pleasanter here," said Gertrude, and she led the way into the +parlor,--a high, clean, rather empty-looking room. Here they stood +looking at each other,--the young man smiling more than ever; Gertrude, +very serious, trying to smile. + +"I don't believe you know my name," he said. "I am called Felix Young. +Your father is my uncle. My mother was his half sister, and older than +he." + +"Yes," said Gertrude, "and she turned Roman Catholic and married in +Europe." + +"I see you know," said the young man. "She married and she died. Your +father's family didn't like her husband. They called him a foreigner; +but he was not. My poor father was born in Sicily, but his parents were +American." + +"In Sicily?" Gertrude murmured. + +"It is true," said Felix Young, "that they had spent their lives in +Europe. But they were very patriotic. And so are we." + +"And you are Sicilian," said Gertrude. + +"Sicilian, no! Let's see. I was born at a little place--a dear little +place--in France. My sister was born at Vienna." + +"So you are French," said Gertrude. + +"Heaven forbid!" cried the young man. Gertrude's eyes were fixed upon +him almost insistently. He began to laugh again. "I can easily be +French, if that will please you." + +"You are a foreigner of some sort," said Gertrude. + +"Of some sort--yes; I suppose so. But who can say of what sort? I don't +think we have ever had occasion to settle the question. You know +there are people like that. About their country, their religion, their +profession, they can't tell." + +Gertrude stood there gazing; she had not asked him to sit down. She +had never heard of people like that; she wanted to hear. "Where do you +live?" she asked. + +"They can't tell that, either!" said Felix. "I am afraid you will +think they are little better than vagabonds. I have lived +anywhere--everywhere. I really think I have lived in every city in +Europe." Gertrude gave a little long soft exhalation. It made the young +man smile at her again; and his smile made her blush a little. To take +refuge from blushing she asked him if, after his long walk, he was not +hungry or thirsty. Her hand was in her pocket; she was fumbling with the +little key that her sister had given her. "Ah, my dear young lady," he +said, clasping his hands a little, "if you could give me, in charity, a +glass of wine!" + +Gertrude gave a smile and a little nod, and went quickly out of the +room. Presently she came back with a very large decanter in one hand +and a plate in the other, on which was placed a big, round cake with +a frosted top. Gertrude, in taking the cake from the closet, had had a +moment of acute consciousness that it composed the refection of which +her sister had thought that Mr. Brand would like to partake. Her kinsman +from across the seas was looking at the pale, high-hung engravings. When +she came in he turned and smiled at her, as if they had been old friends +meeting after a separation. "You wait upon me yourself?" he asked. "I am +served like the gods!" She had waited upon a great many people, but +none of them had ever told her that. The observation added a certain +lightness to the step with which she went to a little table where there +were some curious red glasses--glasses covered with little gold sprigs, +which Charlotte used to dust every morning with her own hands. Gertrude +thought the glasses very handsome, and it was a pleasure to her to know +that the wine was good; it was her father's famous madeira. Felix Young +thought it excellent; he wondered why he had been told that there was +no wine in America. She cut him an immense triangle out of the cake, and +again she thought of Mr. Brand. Felix sat there, with his glass in +one hand and his huge morsel of cake in the other--eating, drinking, +smiling, talking. "I am very hungry," he said. "I am not at all tired; I +am never tired. But I am very hungry." + +"You must stay to dinner," said Gertrude. "At two o'clock. They will all +have come back from church; you will see the others." + +"Who are the others?" asked the young man. "Describe them all." + +"You will see for yourself. It is you that must tell me; now, about your +sister." + +"My sister is the Baroness Mnster," said Felix. + +On hearing that his sister was a Baroness, Gertrude got up and walked +about slowly, in front of him. She was silent a moment. She was thinking +of it. "Why didn't she come, too?" she asked. + +"She did come; she is in Boston, at the hotel." + +"We will go and see her," said Gertrude, looking at him. + +"She begs you will not!" the young man replied. "She sends you her love; +she sent me to announce her. She will come and pay her respects to your +father." + +Gertrude felt herself trembling again. A Baroness Mnster, who sent a +brilliant young man to "announce" her; who was coming, as the Queen +of Sheba came to Solomon, to pay her "respects" to quiet Mr. +Wentworth--such a personage presented herself to Gertrude's vision with +a most effective unexpectedness. For a moment she hardly knew what to +say. "When will she come?" she asked at last. + +"As soon as you will allow her--tomorrow. She is very impatient," +answered Felix, who wished to be agreeable. + +"Tomorrow, yes," said Gertrude. She wished to ask more about her; but +she hardly knew what could be predicated of a Baroness Mnster. "Is +she--is she--married?" + +Felix had finished his cake and wine; he got up, fixing upon the +young girl his bright, expressive eyes. "She is married to a German +prince--Prince Adolf, of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. He is not the +reigning prince; he is a younger brother." + +Gertrude gazed at her informant; her lips were slightly parted. "Is she +a--a _Princess_?" she asked at last. + +"Oh, no," said the young man; "her position is rather a singular one. +It's a morganatic marriage." + +"Morganatic?" These were new names and new words to poor Gertrude. + +"That's what they call a marriage, you know, contracted between a +scion of a ruling house and--and a common mortal. They made Eugenia a +Baroness, poor woman; but that was all they could do. Now they want to +dissolve the marriage. Prince Adolf, between ourselves, is a ninny; but +his brother, who is a clever man, has plans for him. Eugenia, naturally +enough, makes difficulties; not, however, that I think she cares +much--she's a very clever woman; I'm sure you'll like her--but she wants +to bother them. Just now everything is _en l'air_." + +The cheerful, off-hand tone in which her visitor related this darkly +romantic tale seemed to Gertrude very strange; but it seemed also to +convey a certain flattery to herself, a recognition of her wisdom and +dignity. She felt a dozen impressions stirring within her, and presently +the one that was uppermost found words. "They want to dissolve her +marriage?" she asked. + +"So it appears." + +"And against her will?" + +"Against her right." + +"She must be very unhappy!" said Gertrude. + +Her visitor looked at her, smiling; he raised his hand to the back of +his head and held it there a moment. "So she says," he answered. "That's +her story. She told me to tell it you." + +"Tell me more," said Gertrude. + +"No, I will leave that to her; she does it better." + +Gertrude gave her little excited sigh again. "Well, if she is unhappy," +she said, "I am glad she has come to us." + +She had been so interested that she failed to notice the sound of a +footstep in the portico; and yet it was a footstep that she always +recognized. She heard it in the hall, and then she looked out of the +window. They were all coming back from church--her father, her sister +and brother, and their cousins, who always came to dinner on Sunday. +Mr. Brand had come in first; he was in advance of the others, because, +apparently, he was still disposed to say what she had not wished him to +say an hour before. He came into the parlor, looking for Gertrude. He +had two little books in his hand. On seeing Gertrude's companion he +slowly stopped, looking at him. + +"Is this a cousin?" asked Felix. + +Then Gertrude saw that she must introduce him; but her ears, and, by +sympathy, her lips, were full of all that he had been telling her. "This +is the Prince," she said, "the Prince of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein!" + +Felix burst out laughing, and Mr. Brand stood staring, while the others, +who had passed into the house, appeared behind him in the open doorway. + + + +CHAPTER III + +That evening at dinner Felix Young gave his sister, the Baroness +Mnster, an account of his impressions. She saw that he had come back in +the highest possible spirits; but this fact, to her own mind, was not a +reason for rejoicing. She had but a limited confidence in her brother's +judgment; his capacity for taking rose-colored views was such as to +vulgarize one of the prettiest of tints. Still, she supposed he could +be trusted to give her the mere facts; and she invited him with some +eagerness to communicate them. "I suppose, at least, they didn't turn +you out from the door;" she said. "You have been away some ten hours." + +"Turn me from the door!" Felix exclaimed. "They took me to their hearts; +they killed the fatted calf." + +"I know what you want to say: they are a collection of angels." + +"Exactly," said Felix. "They are a collection of angels--simply." + +"_C'est bien vague_," remarked the Baroness. "What are they like?" + +"Like nothing you ever saw." + +"I am sure I am much obliged; but that is hardly more definite. +Seriously, they were glad to see you?" + +"Enchanted. It has been the proudest day of my life. Never, never have I +been so lionized! I assure you, I was cock of the walk. My dear sister," +said the young man, "_nous n'avons qu' nous tenir_; we shall be great +swells!" + +Madame Mnster looked at him, and her eye exhibited a slight responsive +spark. She touched her lips to a glass of wine, and then she said, +"Describe them. Give me a picture." + +Felix drained his own glass. "Well, it's in the country, among the +meadows and woods; a wild sort of place, and yet not far from here. +Only, such a road, my dear! Imagine one of the Alpine glaciers +reproduced in mud. But you will not spend much time on it, for they want +you to come and stay, once for all." + +"Ah," said the Baroness, "they want me to come and stay, once for all? +_Bon_." + +"It's intensely rural, tremendously natural; and all overhung with +this strange white light, this far-away blue sky. There's a big wooden +house--a kind of three-story bungalow; it looks like a magnified +Nuremberg toy. There was a gentleman there that made a speech to me +about it and called it a 'venerable mansion;' but it looks as if it had +been built last night." + +"Is it handsome--is it elegant?" asked the Baroness. + +Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. "It's very clean! No splendors, +no gilding, no troops of servants; rather straight-backed chairs. But +you might eat off the floors, and you can sit down on the stairs." + +"That must be a privilege. And the inhabitants are straight-backed too, +of course." + +"My dear sister," said Felix, "the inhabitants are charming." + +"In what style?" + +"In a style of their own. How shall I describe it? It's primitive; it's +patriarchal; it's the _ton_ of the golden age." + +"And have they nothing golden but their _ton_? Are there no symptoms of +wealth?" + +"I should say there was wealth without symptoms. A plain, homely way of +life: nothing for show, and very little for--what shall I call it?--for +the senses; but a great _aisance_, and a lot of money, out of sight, +that comes forward very quietly for subscriptions to institutions, +for repairing tenements, for paying doctor's bills; perhaps even for +portioning daughters." + +"And the daughters?" Madame Mnster demanded. "How many are there?" + +"There are two, Charlotte and Gertrude." + +"Are they pretty?" + +"One of them," said Felix. + +"Which is that?" + +The young man was silent, looking at his sister. "Charlotte," he said at +last. + +She looked at him in return. "I see. You are in love with Gertrude. They +must be Puritans to their finger-tips; anything but gay!" + +"No, they are not gay," Felix admitted. "They are sober; they are even +severe. They are of a pensive cast; they take things hard. I think there +is something the matter with them; they have some melancholy memory +or some depressing expectation. It's not the epicurean temperament. My +uncle, Mr. Wentworth, is a tremendously high-toned old fellow; he looks +as if he were undergoing martyrdom, not by fire, but by freezing. But we +shall cheer them up; we shall do them good. They will take a good deal +of stirring up; but they are wonderfully kind and gentle. And they are +appreciative. They think one clever; they think one remarkable!" + +"That is very fine, so far as it goes," said the Baroness. "But are we +to be shut up to these three people, Mr. Wentworth and the two young +women--what did you say their names were--Deborah and Hephzibah?" + +"Oh, no; there is another little girl, a cousin of theirs, a very pretty +creature; a thorough little American. And then there is the son of the +house." + +"Good!" said the Baroness. "We are coming to the gentlemen. What of the +son of the house?" + +"I am afraid he gets tipsy." + +"He, then, has the epicurean temperament! How old is he?" + +"He is a boy of twenty; a pretty young fellow, but I am afraid he has +vulgar tastes. And then there is Mr. Brand--a very tall young man, a +sort of lay-priest. They seem to think a good deal of him, but I don't +exactly make him out." + +"And is there nothing," asked the Baroness, "between these +extremes--this mysterious ecclesiastic and that intemperate youth?" + +"Oh, yes, there is Mr. Acton. I think," said the young man, with a nod +at his sister, "that you will like Mr. Acton." + +"Remember that I am very fastidious," said the Baroness. "Has he very +good manners?" + +"He will have them with you. He is a man of the world; he has been to +China." + +Madame Mnster gave a little laugh. "A man of the Chinese world! He must +be very interesting." + +"I have an idea that he brought home a fortune," said Felix. + +"That is always interesting. Is he young, good-looking, clever?" + +"He is less than forty; he has a baldish head; he says witty things. I +rather think," added the young man, "that he will admire the Baroness +Mnster." + +"It is very possible," said this lady. Her brother never knew how she +would take things; but shortly afterwards she declared that he had made +a very pretty description and that on the morrow she would go and see +for herself. + +They mounted, accordingly, into a great barouche--a vehicle as to which +the Baroness found nothing to criticise but the price that was asked +for it and the fact that the coachman wore a straw hat. (At Silberstadt +Madame Mnster had had liveries of yellow and crimson.) They drove +into the country, and the Baroness, leaning far back and swaying her +lace-fringed parasol, looked to right and to left and surveyed the +way-side objects. After a while she pronounced them _affreux_. +Her brother remarked that it was apparently a country in which the +foreground was inferior to the _plans reculs_; and the Baroness +rejoined that the landscape seemed to be all foreground. Felix had fixed +with his new friends the hour at which he should bring his sister; it +was four o'clock in the afternoon. The large, clean-faced house wore, +to his eyes, as the barouche drove up to it, a very friendly aspect; the +high, slender elms made lengthening shadows in front of it. The Baroness +descended; her American kinsfolk were stationed in the portico. Felix +waved his hat to them, and a tall, lean gentleman, with a high forehead +and a clean shaven face, came forward toward the garden gate. Charlotte +Wentworth walked at his side. Gertrude came behind, more slowly. Both of +these young ladies wore rustling silk dresses. Felix ushered his sister +into the gate. "Be very gracious," he said to her. But he saw the +admonition was superfluous. Eugenia was prepared to be gracious as +only Eugenia could be. Felix knew no keener pleasure than to be able to +admire his sister unrestrictedly; for if the opportunity was frequent, +it was not inveterate. When she desired to please she was to him, as to +everyone else, the most charming woman in the world. Then he forgot that +she was ever anything else; that she was sometimes hard and perverse; +that he was occasionally afraid of her. Now, as she took his arm to pass +into the garden, he felt that she desired, that she proposed, to please, +and this situation made him very happy. Eugenia would please. + +The tall gentleman came to meet her, looking very rigid and grave. But +it was a rigidity that had no illiberal meaning. Mr. Wentworth's manner +was pregnant, on the contrary, with a sense of grand responsibility, of +the solemnity of the occasion, of its being difficult to show sufficient +deference to a lady at once so distinguished and so unhappy. Felix +had observed on the day before his characteristic pallor; and now he +perceived that there was something almost cadaverous in his uncle's +high-featured white face. But so clever were this young man's quick +sympathies and perceptions that he already learned that in these +semi-mortuary manifestations there was no cause for alarm. His light +imagination had gained a glimpse of Mr. Wentworth's spiritual mechanism, +and taught him that, the old man being infinitely conscientious, the +special operation of conscience within him announced itself by several +of the indications of physical faintness. + +The Baroness took her uncle's hand, and stood looking at him with her +ugly face and her beautiful smile. "Have I done right to come?" she +asked. + +"Very right, very right," said Mr. Wentworth, solemnly. He had arranged +in his mind a little speech; but now it quite faded away. He felt almost +frightened. He had never been looked at in just that way--with just that +fixed, intense smile--by any woman; and it perplexed and weighed upon +him, now, that the woman who was smiling so and who had instantly given +him a vivid sense of her possessing other unprecedented attributes, was +his own niece, the child of his own father's daughter. The idea that his +niece should be a German Baroness, married "morganatically" to a Prince, +had already given him much to think about. Was it right, was it just, +was it acceptable? He always slept badly, and the night before he had +lain awake much more even than usual, asking himself these questions. +The strange word "morganatic" was constantly in his ears; it reminded +him of a certain Mrs. Morgan whom he had once known and who had been a +bold, unpleasant woman. He had a feeling that it was his duty, so long +as the Baroness looked at him, smiling in that way, to meet her glance +with his own scrupulously adjusted, consciously frigid organs of vision; +but on this occasion he failed to perform his duty to the last. He +looked away toward his daughters. "We are very glad to see you," he had +said. "Allow me to introduce my daughters--Miss Charlotte Wentworth, +Miss Gertrude Wentworth." + +The Baroness thought she had never seen people less demonstrative. +But Charlotte kissed her and took her hand, looking at her sweetly and +solemnly. Gertrude seemed to her almost funereal, though Gertrude +might have found a source of gaiety in the fact that Felix, with his +magnificent smile, had been talking to her; he had greeted her as a +very old friend. When she kissed the Baroness she had tears in her eyes. +Madame Mnster took each of these young women by the hand, and looked at +them all over. Charlotte thought her very strange-looking and singularly +dressed; she could not have said whether it was well or ill. She was +glad, at any rate, that they had put on their silk gowns--especially +Gertrude. "My cousins are very pretty," said the Baroness, turning her +eyes from one to the other. "Your daughters are very handsome, sir." + +Charlotte blushed quickly; she had never yet heard her personal +appearance alluded to in a loud, expressive voice. Gertrude looked +away--not at Felix; she was extremely pleased. It was not the compliment +that pleased her; she did not believe it; she thought herself very +plain. She could hardly have told you the source of her satisfaction; +it came from something in the way the Baroness spoke, and it was not +diminished--it was rather deepened, oddly enough--by the young girl's +disbelief. Mr. Wentworth was silent; and then he asked, formally, "Won't +you come into the house?" + +"These are not all; you have some other children," said the Baroness. + +"I have a son," Mr. Wentworth answered. + +"And why doesn't he come to meet me?" Eugenia cried. "I am afraid he is +not so charming as his sisters." + +"I don't know; I will see about it," the old man declared. + +"He is rather afraid of ladies," Charlotte said, softly. + +"He is very handsome," said Gertrude, as loud as she could. + +"We will go in and find him. We will draw him out of his _cachette_." +And the Baroness took Mr. Wentworth's arm, who was not aware that he had +offered it to her, and who, as they walked toward the house, wondered +whether he ought to have offered it and whether it was proper for her to +take it if it had not been offered. "I want to know you well," said the +Baroness, interrupting these meditations, "and I want you to know me." + +"It seems natural that we should know each other," Mr. Wentworth +rejoined. "We are near relatives." + +"Ah, there comes a moment in life when one reverts, irresistibly, to +one's natural ties--to one's natural affections. You must have found +that!" said Eugenia. + +Mr. Wentworth had been told the day before by Felix that Eugenia was +very clever, very brilliant, and the information had held him in some +suspense. This was the cleverness, he supposed; the brilliancy was +beginning. "Yes, the natural affections are very strong," he murmured. + +"In some people," the Baroness declared. "Not in all." Charlotte was +walking beside her; she took hold of her hand again, smiling always. +"And you, _cousine_, where did you get that enchanting complexion?" +she went on; "such lilies and roses?" The roses in poor Charlotte's +countenance began speedily to predominate over the lilies, and she +quickened her step and reached the portico. "This is the country +of complexions," the Baroness continued, addressing herself to Mr. +Wentworth. "I am convinced they are more delicate. There are very good +ones in England--in Holland; but they are very apt to be coarse. There +is too much red." + +"I think you will find," said Mr. Wentworth, "that this country is +superior in many respects to those you mention. I have been to England +and Holland." + +"Ah, you have been to Europe?" cried the Baroness. "Why didn't you come +and see me? But it's better, after all, this way," she said. They were +entering the house; she paused and looked round her. "I see you have +arranged your house--your beautiful house--in the--in the Dutch taste!" + +"The house is very old," remarked Mr. Wentworth. "General Washington +once spent a week here." + +"Oh, I have heard of Washington," cried the Baroness. "My father used to +tell me of him." + +Mr. Wentworth was silent a moment, and then, "I found he was very well +known in Europe," he said. + +Felix had lingered in the garden with Gertrude; he was standing before +her and smiling, as he had done the day before. What had happened the +day before seemed to her a kind of dream. He had been there and he had +changed everything; the others had seen him, they had talked with him; +but that he should come again, that he should be part of the future, +part of her small, familiar, much-meditating life--this needed, afresh, +the evidence of her senses. The evidence had come to her senses now; +and her senses seemed to rejoice in it. "What do you think of Eugenia?" +Felix asked. "Isn't she charming?" + +"She is very brilliant," said Gertrude. "But I can't tell yet. She seems +to me like a singer singing an air. You can't tell till the song is +done." + +"Ah, the song will never be done!" exclaimed the young man, laughing. +"Don't you think her handsome?" + +Gertrude had been disappointed in the beauty of the Baroness Mnster; +she had expected her, for mysterious reasons, to resemble a very pretty +portrait of the Empress Josephine, of which there hung an engraving +in one of the parlors, and which the younger Miss Wentworth had always +greatly admired. But the Baroness was not at all like that--not at all. +Though different, however, she was very wonderful, and Gertrude felt +herself most suggestively corrected. It was strange, nevertheless, that +Felix should speak in that positive way about his sister's beauty. "I +think I _shall_ think her handsome," Gertrude said. "It must be very +interesting to know her. I don't feel as if I ever could." + +"Ah, you will know her well; you will become great friends," Felix +declared, as if this were the easiest thing in the world. + +"She is very graceful," said Gertrude, looking after the Baroness, +suspended to her father's arm. It was a pleasure to her to say that +anyone was graceful. + +Felix had been looking about him. "And your little cousin, of +yesterday," he said, "who was so wonderfully pretty--what has become of +her?" + +"She is in the parlor," Gertrude answered. "Yes, she is very pretty." +She felt as if it were her duty to take him straight into the house, +to where he might be near her cousin. But after hesitating a moment she +lingered still. "I didn't believe you would come back," she said. + +"Not come back!" cried Felix, laughing. "You didn't know, then, the +impression made upon this susceptible heart of mine." + +She wondered whether he meant the impression her cousin Lizzie had made. +"Well," she said, "I didn't think we should ever see you again." + +"And pray what did you think would become of me?" + +"I don't know. I thought you would melt away." + +"That's a compliment to my solidity! I melt very often," said Felix, +"but there is always something left of me." + +"I came and waited for you by the door, because the others did," +Gertrude went on. "But if you had never appeared I should not have been +surprised." + +"I hope," declared Felix, looking at her, "that you would have been +disappointed." + +She looked at him a little, and shook her head. "No--no!" + +_"Ah, par exemple!"_ cried the young man. "You deserve that I should +never leave you." + +Going into the parlor they found Mr. Wentworth performing introductions. +A young man was standing before the Baroness, blushing a good deal, +laughing a little, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other--a +slim, mild-faced young man, with neatly-arranged features, like those +of Mr. Wentworth. Two other gentlemen, behind him, had risen from their +seats, and a little apart, near one of the windows, stood a remarkably +pretty young girl. The young girl was knitting a stocking; but, while +her fingers quickly moved, she looked with wide, brilliant eyes at the +Baroness. + +"And what is your son's name?" said Eugenia, smiling at the young man. + +"My name is Clifford Wentworth, ma'am," he said in a tremulous voice. + +"Why didn't you come out to meet me, Mr. Clifford Wentworth?" the +Baroness demanded, with her beautiful smile. + +"I didn't think you would want me," said the young man, slowly sidling +about. + +"One always wants a _beau cousin_,--if one has one! But if you are +very nice to me in future I won't remember it against you." And Madame +Mnster transferred her smile to the other persons present. It rested +first upon the candid countenance and long-skirted figure of Mr. Brand, +whose eyes were intently fixed upon Mr. Wentworth, as if to beg him not +to prolong an anomalous situation. Mr. Wentworth pronounced his name. +Eugenia gave him a very charming glance, and then looked at the other +gentleman. + +This latter personage was a man of rather less than the usual stature +and the usual weight, with a quick, observant, agreeable dark eye, a +small quantity of thin dark hair, and a small moustache. He had been +standing with his hands in his pockets; and when Eugenia looked at him +he took them out. But he did not, like Mr. Brand, look evasively and +urgently at their host. He met Eugenia's eyes; he appeared to appreciate +the privilege of meeting them. Madame Mnster instantly felt that he +was, intrinsically, the most important person present. She was not +unconscious that this impression was in some degree manifested in the +little sympathetic nod with which she acknowledged Mr. Wentworth's +announcement, "My cousin, Mr. Acton!" + +"Your cousin--not mine?" said the Baroness. + +"It only depends upon you," Mr. Acton declared, laughing. + +The Baroness looked at him a moment, and noticed that he had very white +teeth. "Let it depend upon your behavior," she said. "I think I +had better wait. I have cousins enough. Unless I can also claim +relationship," she added, "with that charming young lady," and she +pointed to the young girl at the window. + +"That's my sister," said Mr. Acton. And Gertrude Wentworth put her arm +round the young girl and led her forward. It was not, apparently, that +she needed much leading. She came toward the Baroness with a light, +quick step, and with perfect self-possession, rolling her stocking +round its needles. She had dark blue eyes and dark brown hair; she was +wonderfully pretty. + +Eugenia kissed her, as she had kissed the other young women, and then +held her off a little, looking at her. "Now this is quite another +_type_," she said; she pronounced the word in the French manner. "This +is a different outline, my uncle, a different character, from that of +your own daughters. This, Felix," she went on, "is very much more what +we have always thought of as the American type." + +The young girl, during this exposition, was smiling askance at everyone +in turn, and at Felix out of turn. "I find only one type here!" cried +Felix, laughing. "The type adorable!" + +This sally was received in perfect silence, but Felix, who learned +all things quickly, had already learned that the silences frequently +observed among his new acquaintances were not necessarily restrictive +or resentful. It was, as one might say, the silence of expectation, +of modesty. They were all standing round his sister, as if they were +expecting her to acquit herself of the exhibition of some peculiar +faculty, some brilliant talent. Their attitude seemed to imply that she +was a kind of conversational mountebank, attired, intellectually, in +gauze and spangles. This attitude gave a certain ironical force to +Madame Mnster's next words. "Now this is your circle," she said to her +uncle. "This is your _salon_. These are your regular _habitus_, eh? I +am so glad to see you all together." + +"Oh," said Mr. Wentworth, "they are always dropping in and out. You must +do the same." + +"Father," interposed Charlotte Wentworth, "they must do something more." +And she turned her sweet, serious face, that seemed at once timid and +placid, upon their interesting visitor. "What is your name?" she asked. + +"Eugenia-Camilla-Dolores," said the Baroness, smiling. "But you needn't +say all that." + +"I will say Eugenia, if you will let me. You must come and stay with +us." + +The Baroness laid her hand upon Charlotte's arm very tenderly; but she +reserved herself. She was wondering whether it would be possible to +"stay" with these people. "It would be very charming--very charming," +she said; and her eyes wandered over the company, over the room. She +wished to gain time before committing herself. Her glance fell upon +young Mr. Brand, who stood there, with his arms folded and his hand +on his chin, looking at her. "The gentleman, I suppose, is a sort of +ecclesiastic," she said to Mr. Wentworth, lowering her voice a little. + +"He is a minister," answered Mr. Wentworth. + +"A Protestant?" asked Eugenia. + +"I am a Unitarian, madam," replied Mr. Brand, impressively. + +"Ah, I see," said Eugenia. "Something new." She had never heard of this +form of worship. + +Mr. Acton began to laugh, and Gertrude looked anxiously at Mr. Brand. + +"You have come very far," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"Very far--very far," the Baroness replied, with a graceful shake of her +head--a shake that might have meant many different things. + +"That's a reason why you ought to settle down with us," said Mr. +Wentworth, with that dryness of utterance which, as Eugenia was too +intelligent not to feel, took nothing from the delicacy of his meaning. + +She looked at him, and for an instant, in his cold, still face, she +seemed to see a far-away likeness to the vaguely remembered image of her +mother. Eugenia was a woman of sudden emotions, and now, unexpectedly, +she felt one rising in her heart. She kept looking round the circle; she +knew that there was admiration in all the eyes that were fixed upon her. +She smiled at them all. + +"I came to look--to try--to ask," she said. "It seems to me I have done +well. I am very tired; I want to rest." There were tears in her eyes. +The luminous interior, the gentle, tranquil people, the simple, serious +life--the sense of these things pressed upon her with an overmastering +force, and she felt herself yielding to one of the most genuine emotions +she had ever known. "I should like to stay here," she said. "Pray take +me in." + +Though she was smiling, there were tears in her voice as well as in her +eyes. "My dear niece," said Mr. Wentworth, softly. And Charlotte put +out her arms and drew the Baroness toward her; while Robert Acton turned +away, with his hands stealing into his pockets. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A few days after the Baroness Mnster had presented herself to her +American kinsfolk she came, with her brother, and took up her abode in +that small white house adjacent to Mr. Wentworth's own dwelling of which +mention has already been made. It was on going with his daughters to +return her visit that Mr. Wentworth placed this comfortable cottage at +her service; the offer being the result of a domestic colloquy, diffused +through the ensuing twenty-four hours, in the course of which the +two foreign visitors were discussed and analyzed with a great deal of +earnestness and subtlety. The discussion went forward, as I say, in the +family circle; but that circle on the evening following Madame Mnster's +return to town, as on many other occasions, included Robert Acton and +his pretty sister. If you had been present, it would probably not have +seemed to you that the advent of these brilliant strangers was treated +as an exhilarating occurrence, a pleasure the more in this tranquil +household, a prospective source of entertainment. This was not Mr. +Wentworth's way of treating any human occurrence. The sudden irruption +into the well-ordered consciousness of the Wentworths of an element not +allowed for in its scheme of usual obligations required a readjustment +of that sense of responsibility which constituted its principal +furniture. To consider an event, crudely and baldly, in the light of +the pleasure it might bring them was an intellectual exercise with which +Felix Young's American cousins were almost wholly unacquainted, and +which they scarcely supposed to be largely pursued in any section of +human society. The arrival of Felix and his sister was a satisfaction, +but it was a singularly joyless and inelastic satisfaction. It was an +extension of duty, of the exercise of the more recondite virtues; but +neither Mr. Wentworth, nor Charlotte, nor Mr. Brand, who, among these +excellent people, was a great promoter of reflection and aspiration, +frankly adverted to it as an extension of enjoyment. This function was +ultimately assumed by Gertrude Wentworth, who was a peculiar girl, but +the full compass of whose peculiarities had not been exhibited before +they very ingeniously found their pretext in the presence of these +possibly too agreeable foreigners. Gertrude, however, had to struggle +with a great accumulation of obstructions, both of the subjective, as +the metaphysicians say, and of the objective, order; and indeed it is +no small part of the purpose of this little history to set forth her +struggle. What seemed paramount in this abrupt enlargement of Mr. +Wentworth's sympathies and those of his daughters was an extension of +the field of possible mistakes; and the doctrine, as it may almost +be called, of the oppressive gravity of mistakes was one of the most +cherished traditions of the Wentworth family. + +"I don't believe she wants to come and stay in this house," said +Gertrude; Madame Mnster, from this time forward, receiving no other +designation than the personal pronoun. Charlotte and Gertrude acquired +considerable facility in addressing her, directly, as "Eugenia;" but in +speaking of her to each other they rarely called her anything but "she." + +"Doesn't she think it good enough for her?" cried little Lizzie +Acton, who was always asking unpractical questions that required, in +strictness, no answer, and to which indeed she expected no other +answer than such as she herself invariably furnished in a small, +innocently-satirical laugh. + +"She certainly expressed a willingness to come," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"That was only politeness," Gertrude rejoined. + +"Yes, she is very polite--very polite," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"She is too polite," his son declared, in a softly growling tone which +was habitual to him, but which was an indication of nothing worse than a +vaguely humorous intention. "It is very embarrassing." + +"That is more than can be said of you, sir," said Lizzie Acton, with her +little laugh. + +"Well, I don't mean to encourage her," Clifford went on. + +"I'm sure I don't care if you do!" cried Lizzie. + +"She will not think of you, Clifford," said Gertrude, gravely. + +"I hope not!" Clifford exclaimed. + +"She will think of Robert," Gertrude continued, in the same tone. + +Robert Acton began to blush; but there was no occasion for it, for +everyone was looking at Gertrude--everyone, at least, save Lizzie, who, +with her pretty head on one side, contemplated her brother. + +"Why do you attribute motives, Gertrude?" asked Mr. Wentworth. + +"I don't attribute motives, father," said Gertrude. "I only say she will +think of Robert; and she will!" + +"Gertrude judges by herself!" Acton exclaimed, laughing. "Don't you, +Gertrude? Of course the Baroness will think of me. She will think of me +from morning till night." + +"She will be very comfortable here," said Charlotte, with something of +a housewife's pride. "She can have the large northeast room. And the +French bedstead," Charlotte added, with a constant sense of the lady's +foreignness. + +"She will not like it," said Gertrude; "not even if you pin little +tidies all over the chairs." + +"Why not, dear?" asked Charlotte, perceiving a touch of irony here, but +not resenting it. + +Gertrude had left her chair; she was walking about the room; her stiff +silk dress, which she had put on in honor of the Baroness, made a sound +upon the carpet. "I don't know," she replied. "She will want something +more--more private." + +"If she wants to be private she can stay in her room," Lizzie Acton +remarked. + +Gertrude paused in her walk, looking at her. "That would not be +pleasant," she answered. "She wants privacy and pleasure together." + +Robert Acton began to laugh again. "My dear cousin, what a picture!" + +Charlotte had fixed her serious eyes upon her sister; she wondered +whence she had suddenly derived these strange notions. Mr. Wentworth +also observed his younger daughter. + +"I don't know what her manner of life may have been," he said; "but she +certainly never can have enjoyed a more refined and salubrious home." + +Gertrude stood there looking at them all. "She is the wife of a Prince," +she said. + +"We are all princes here," said Mr. Wentworth; "and I don't know of any +palace in this neighborhood that is to let." + +"Cousin William," Robert Acton interposed, "do you want to do something +handsome? Make them a present, for three months, of the little house +over the way." + +"You are very generous with other people's things!" cried his sister. + +"Robert is very generous with his own things," Mr. Wentworth observed +dispassionately, and looking, in cold meditation, at his kinsman. + +"Gertrude," Lizzie went on, "I had an idea you were so fond of your new +cousin." + +"Which new cousin?" asked Gertrude. + +"I don't mean the Baroness!" the young girl rejoined, with her laugh. "I +thought you expected to see so much of him." + +"Of Felix? I hope to see a great deal of him," said Gertrude, simply. + +"Then why do you want to keep him out of the house?" + +Gertrude looked at Lizzie Acton, and then looked away. + +"Should you want me to live in the house with you, Lizzie?" asked +Clifford. + +"I hope you never will. I hate you!" Such was this young lady's reply. + +"Father," said Gertrude, stopping before Mr. Wentworth and smiling, with +a smile the sweeter, as her smile always was, for its rarity; "do let +them live in the little house over the way. It will be lovely!" + +Robert Acton had been watching her. "Gertrude is right," he said. +"Gertrude is the cleverest girl in the world. If I might take the +liberty, I should strongly recommend their living there." + +"There is nothing there so pretty as the northeast room," Charlotte +urged. + +"She will make it pretty. Leave her alone!" Acton exclaimed. + +Gertrude, at his compliment, had blushed and looked at him: it was as if +someone less familiar had complimented her. "I am sure she will make +it pretty. It will be very interesting. It will be a place to go to. It +will be a foreign house." + +"Are we very sure that we need a foreign house?" Mr. Wentworth inquired. +"Do you think it desirable to establish a foreign house--in this quiet +place?" + +"You speak," said Acton, laughing, "as if it were a question of the poor +Baroness opening a wine-shop or a gaming-table." + +"It would be too lovely!" Gertrude declared again, laying her hand on +the back of her father's chair. + +"That she should open a gaming-table?" Charlotte asked, with great +gravity. + +Gertrude looked at her a moment, and then, "Yes, Charlotte," she said, +simply. + +"Gertrude is growing pert," Clifford Wentworth observed, with his +humorous young growl. "That comes of associating with foreigners." + +Mr. Wentworth looked up at his daughter, who was standing beside him; he +drew her gently forward. "You must be careful," he said. "You must keep +watch. Indeed, we must all be careful. This is a great change; we are +to be exposed to peculiar influences. I don't say they are bad. I don't +judge them in advance. But they may perhaps make it necessary that we +should exercise a great deal of wisdom and self-control. It will be a +different tone." + +Gertrude was silent a moment, in deference to her father's speech; then +she spoke in a manner that was not in the least an answer to it. "I want +to see how they will live. I am sure they will have different hours. She +will do all kinds of little things differently. When we go over there it +will be like going to Europe. She will have a boudoir. She will invite +us to dinner--very late. She will breakfast in her room." + +Charlotte gazed at her sister again. Gertrude's imagination seemed to +her to be fairly running riot. She had always known that Gertrude had +a great deal of imagination--she had been very proud of it. But at the +same time she had always felt that it was a dangerous and irresponsible +faculty; and now, to her sense, for the moment, it seemed to threaten to +make her sister a strange person who should come in suddenly, as from a +journey, talking of the peculiar and possibly unpleasant things she had +observed. Charlotte's imagination took no journeys whatever; she +kept it, as it were, in her pocket, with the other furniture of this +receptacle--a thimble, a little box of peppermint, and a morsel of +court-plaster. "I don't believe she would have any dinner--or any +breakfast," said Miss Wentworth. "I don't believe she knows how to do +anything herself. I should have to get her ever so many servants, and +she wouldn't like them." + +"She has a maid," said Gertrude; "a French maid. She mentioned her." + +"I wonder if the maid has a little fluted cap and red slippers," said +Lizzie Acton. "There was a French maid in that play that Robert took me +to see. She had pink stockings; she was very wicked." + +"She was a _soubrette_," Gertrude announced, who had never seen a play +in her life. "They call that a soubrette. It will be a great chance to +learn French." Charlotte gave a little soft, helpless groan. She had a +vision of a wicked, theatrical person, clad in pink stockings and red +shoes, and speaking, with confounding volubility, an incomprehensible +tongue, flitting through the sacred penetralia of that large, clean +house. "That is one reason in favor of their coming here," Gertrude went +on. "But we can make Eugenia speak French to us, and Felix. I mean to +begin--the next time." + +Mr. Wentworth had kept her standing near him, and he gave her his +earnest, thin, unresponsive glance again. "I want you to make me a +promise, Gertrude," he said. + +"What is it?" she asked, smiling. + +"Not to get excited. Not to allow these--these occurrences to be an +occasion for excitement." + +She looked down at him a moment, and then she shook her head. "I don't +think I can promise that, father. I am excited already." + +Mr. Wentworth was silent a while; they all were silent, as if in +recognition of something audacious and portentous. + +"I think they had better go to the other house," said Charlotte, +quietly. + +"I shall keep them in the other house," Mr. Wentworth subjoined, more +pregnantly. + +Gertrude turned away; then she looked across at Robert Acton. Her cousin +Robert was a great friend of hers; she often looked at him this way +instead of saying things. Her glance on this occasion, however, struck +him as a substitute for a larger volume of diffident utterance than +usual, inviting him to observe, among other things, the inefficiency of +her father's design--if design it was--for diminishing, in the +interest of quiet nerves, their occasions of contact with their foreign +relatives. But Acton immediately complimented Mr. Wentworth upon his +liberality. "That's a very nice thing to do," he said, "giving them +the little house. You will have treated them handsomely, and, whatever +happens, you will be glad of it." Mr. Wentworth was liberal, and he knew +he was liberal. It gave him pleasure to know it, to feel it, to see it +recorded; and this pleasure is the only palpable form of self-indulgence +with which the narrator of these incidents will be able to charge him. + +"A three days' visit at most, over there, is all I should have found +possible," Madame Mnster remarked to her brother, after they had +taken possession of the little white house. "It would have been too +_intime_--decidedly too _intime_. Breakfast, dinner, and tea _en +famille_--it would have been the end of the world if I could have +reached the third day." And she made the same observation to her maid +Augustine, an intelligent person, who enjoyed a liberal share of her +confidence. Felix declared that he would willingly spend his life in +the bosom of the Wentworth family; that they were the kindest, simplest, +most amiable people in the world, and that he had taken a prodigious +fancy to them all. The Baroness quite agreed with him that they were +simple and kind; they were thoroughly nice people, and she liked them +extremely. The girls were perfect ladies; it was impossible to be more +of a lady than Charlotte Wentworth, in spite of her little village +air. "But as for thinking them the best company in the world," said the +Baroness, "that is another thing; and as for wishing to live _porte +porte_ with them, I should as soon think of wishing myself back in the +convent again, to wear a bombazine apron and sleep in a dormitory." And +yet the Baroness was in high good humor; she had been very much pleased. +With her lively perception and her refined imagination, she was capable +of enjoying anything that was characteristic, anything that was good +of its kind. The Wentworth household seemed to her very perfect in +its kind--wonderfully peaceful and unspotted; pervaded by a sort of +dove-colored freshness that had all the quietude and benevolence of what +she deemed to be Quakerism, and yet seemed to be founded upon a degree +of material abundance for which, in certain matters of detail, one +might have looked in vain at the frugal little court of +Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. She perceived immediately that her American +relatives thought and talked very little about money; and this of itself +made an impression upon Eugenia's imagination. She perceived at the same +time that if Charlotte or Gertrude should ask their father for a very +considerable sum he would at once place it in their hands; and this made +a still greater impression. The greatest impression of all, perhaps, +was made by another rapid induction. The Baroness had an immediate +conviction that Robert Acton would put his hand into his pocket every +day in the week if that rattle-pated little sister of his should bid +him. The men in this country, said the Baroness, are evidently very +obliging. Her declaration that she was looking for rest and retirement +had been by no means wholly untrue; nothing that the Baroness said was +wholly untrue. It is but fair to add, perhaps, that nothing that she +said was wholly true. She wrote to a friend in Germany that it was a +return to nature; it was like drinking new milk, and she was very fond +of new milk. She said to herself, of course, that it would be a little +dull; but there can be no better proof of her good spirits than the fact +that she thought she should not mind its being a little dull. It seemed +to her, when from the piazza of her eleemosynary cottage she looked out +over the soundless fields, the stony pastures, the clear-faced ponds, +the rugged little orchards, that she had never been in the midst of +so peculiarly intense a stillness; it was almost a delicate sensual +pleasure. It was all very good, very innocent and safe, and out of it +something good must come. Augustine, indeed, who had an unbounded faith +in her mistress's wisdom and far-sightedness, was a great deal perplexed +and depressed. She was always ready to take her cue when she understood +it; but she liked to understand it, and on this occasion comprehension +failed. What, indeed, was the Baroness doing _dans cette galre_? what +fish did she expect to land out of these very stagnant waters? The game +was evidently a deep one. Augustine could trust her; but the sense of +walking in the dark betrayed itself in the physiognomy of this spare, +sober, sallow, middle-aged person, who had nothing in common with +Gertrude Wentworth's conception of a soubrette, by the most ironical +scowl that had ever rested upon the unpretending tokens of the peace and +plenty of the Wentworths. Fortunately, Augustine could quench skepticism +in action. She quite agreed with her mistress--or rather she quite +out-stripped her mistress--in thinking that the little white house was +pitifully bare. _"Il faudra,"_ said Augustine, _"lui faire un peu de +toilette."_ And she began to hang up _portires_ in the doorways; +to place wax candles, procured after some research, in unexpected +situations; to dispose anomalous draperies over the arms of sofas and +the backs of chairs. The Baroness had brought with her to the New +World a copious provision of the element of costume; and the two Miss +Wentworths, when they came over to see her, were somewhat bewildered +by the obtrusive distribution of her wardrobe. There were India shawls +suspended, curtain-wise, in the parlor door, and curious fabrics, +corresponding to Gertrude's metaphysical vision of an opera-cloak, +tumbled about in the sitting-places. There were pink silk blinds in +the windows, by which the room was strangely bedimmed; and along the +chimney-piece was disposed a remarkable band of velvet, covered +with coarse, dirty-looking lace. "I have been making myself a little +comfortable," said the Baroness, much to the confusion of Charlotte, +who had been on the point of proposing to come and help her put her +superfluous draperies away. But what Charlotte mistook for an almost +culpably delayed subsidence Gertrude very presently perceived to be the +most ingenious, the most interesting, the most romantic intention. "What +is life, indeed, without curtains?" she secretly asked herself; and +she appeared to herself to have been leading hitherto an existence +singularly garish and totally devoid of festoons. + +Felix was not a young man who troubled himself greatly about +anything--least of all about the conditions of enjoyment. His faculty of +enjoyment was so large, so unconsciously eager, that it may be said of +it that it had a permanent advance upon embarrassment and sorrow. His +sentient faculty was intrinsically joyous, and novelty and change were +in themselves a delight to him. As they had come to him with a great +deal of frequency, his life had been more agreeable than appeared. +Never was a nature more perfectly fortunate. It was not a restless, +apprehensive, ambitious spirit, running a race with the tyranny of fate, +but a temper so unsuspicious as to put Adversity off her guard, dodging +and evading her with the easy, natural motion of a wind-shifted +flower. Felix extracted entertainment from all things, and all his +faculties--his imagination, his intelligence, his affections, his +senses--had a hand in the game. It seemed to him that Eugenia and he had +been very well treated; there was something absolutely touching in that +combination of paternal liberality and social considerateness which +marked Mr. Wentworth's deportment. It was most uncommonly kind of him, +for instance, to have given them a house. Felix was positively amused at +having a house of his own; for the little white cottage among the apple +trees--the chalet, as Madame Mnster always called it--was much more +sensibly his own than any domiciliary _quatrime_, looking upon a +court, with the rent overdue. Felix had spent a good deal of his life +in looking into courts, with a perhaps slightly tattered pair of elbows +resting upon the ledge of a high-perched window, and the thin smoke of a +cigarette rising into an atmosphere in which street-cries died away and +the vibration of chimes from ancient belfries became sensible. He had +never known anything so infinitely rural as these New England fields; +and he took a great fancy to all their pastoral roughnesses. He had +never had a greater sense of luxurious security; and at the risk of +making him seem a rather sordid adventurer I must declare that he found +an irresistible charm in the fact that he might dine every day at his +uncle's. The charm was irresistible, however, because his fancy flung +a rosy light over this homely privilege. He appreciated highly the fare +that was set before him. There was a kind of fresh-looking abundance +about it which made him think that people must have lived so in +the mythological era, when they spread their tables upon the grass, +replenished them from cornucopias, and had no particular need of kitchen +stoves. But the great thing that Felix enjoyed was having found a +family--sitting in the midst of gentle, generous people whom he might +call by their first names. He had never known anything more charming +than the attention they paid to what he said. It was like a large sheet +of clean, fine-grained drawing-paper, all ready to be washed over with +effective splashes of water-color. He had never had any cousins, and +he had never before found himself in contact so unrestricted with young +unmarried ladies. He was extremely fond of the society of ladies, and it +was new to him that it might be enjoyed in just this manner. At first he +hardly knew what to make of his state of mind. It seemed to him that +he was in love, indiscriminately, with three girls at once. He saw that +Lizzie Acton was more brilliantly pretty than Charlotte and Gertrude; +but this was scarcely a superiority. His pleasure came from something +they had in common--a part of which was, indeed, that physical delicacy +which seemed to make it proper that they should always dress in thin +materials and clear colors. But they were delicate in other ways, and +it was most agreeable to him to feel that these latter delicacies were +appreciable by contact, as it were. He had known, fortunately, many +virtuous gentlewomen, but it now appeared to him that in his relations +with them (especially when they were unmarried) he had been looking at +pictures under glass. He perceived at present what a nuisance the glass +had been--how it perverted and interfered, how it caught the reflection +of other objects and kept you walking from side to side. He had no need +to ask himself whether Charlotte and Gertrude, and Lizzie Acton, were +in the right light; they were always in the right light. He liked +everything about them: he was, for instance, not at all above liking the +fact that they had very slender feet and high insteps. He liked their +pretty noses; he liked their surprised eyes and their hesitating, not +at all positive way of speaking; he liked so much knowing that he was +perfectly at liberty to be alone for hours, anywhere, with either of +them; that preference for one to the other, as a companion of solitude, +remained a minor affair. Charlotte Wentworth's sweetly severe features +were as agreeable as Lizzie Acton's wonderfully expressive blue eyes; +and Gertrude's air of being always ready to walk about and listen was +as charming as anything else, especially as she walked very gracefully. +After a while Felix began to distinguish; but even then he would often +wish, suddenly, that they were not all so sad. Even Lizzie Acton, +in spite of her fine little chatter and laughter, appeared sad. Even +Clifford Wentworth, who had extreme youth in his favor, and kept a buggy +with enormous wheels and a little sorrel mare with the prettiest legs +in the world--even this fortunate lad was apt to have an averted, +uncomfortable glance, and to edge away from you at times, in the manner +of a person with a bad conscience. The only person in the circle with +no sense of oppression of any kind was, to Felix's perception, Robert +Acton. + +It might perhaps have been feared that after the completion of those +graceful domiciliary embellishments which have been mentioned Madame +Mnster would have found herself confronted with alarming possibilities +of _ennui_. But as yet she had not taken the alarm. The Baroness was a +restless soul, and she projected her restlessness, as it may be said, +into any situation that lay before her. Up to a certain point her +restlessness might be counted upon to entertain her. She was always +expecting something to happen, and, until it was disappointed, +expectancy itself was a delicate pleasure. What the Baroness expected +just now it would take some ingenuity to set forth; it is enough +that while she looked about her she found something to occupy her +imagination. She assured herself that she was enchanted with her new +relatives; she professed to herself that, like her brother, she felt +it a sacred satisfaction to have found a family. It is certain that she +enjoyed to the utmost the gentleness of her kinsfolk's deference. +She had, first and last, received a great deal of admiration, and her +experience of well-turned compliments was very considerable; but she +knew that she had never been so real a power, never counted for so +much, as now when, for the first time, the standard of comparison of her +little circle was a prey to vagueness. The sense, indeed, that the good +people about her had, as regards her remarkable self, no standard of +comparison at all gave her a feeling of almost illimitable power. It was +true, as she said to herself, that if for this reason they would be +able to discover nothing against her, so they would perhaps neglect +to perceive some of her superior points; but she always wound up her +reflections by declaring that she would take care of that. + +Charlotte and Gertrude were in some perplexity between their desire +to show all proper attention to Madame Mnster and their fear of being +importunate. The little house in the orchard had hitherto been occupied +during the summer months by intimate friends of the family, or by poor +relations who found in Mr. Wentworth a landlord attentive to repairs and +oblivious of quarter-day. Under these circumstances the open door of the +small house and that of the large one, facing each other across their +homely gardens, levied no tax upon hourly visits. But the Misses +Wentworth received an impression that Eugenia was no friend to the +primitive custom of "dropping in;" she evidently had no idea of living +without a door-keeper. "One goes into your house as into an inn--except +that there are no servants rushing forward," she said to Charlotte. And +she added that that was very charming. Gertrude explained to her sister +that she meant just the reverse; she didn't like it at all. Charlotte +inquired why she should tell an untruth, and Gertrude answered that +there was probably some very good reason for it which they should +discover when they knew her better. "There can surely be no good reason +for telling an untruth," said Charlotte. "I hope she does not think so." + +They had of course desired, from the first, to do everything in the way +of helping her to arrange herself. It had seemed to Charlotte that +there would be a great many things to talk about; but the Baroness was +apparently inclined to talk about nothing. + +"Write her a note, asking her leave to come and see her. I think that is +what she will like," said Gertrude. + +"Why should I give her the trouble of answering me?" Charlotte asked. +"She will have to write a note and send it over." + +"I don't think she will take any trouble," said Gertrude, profoundly. + +"What then will she do?" + +"That is what I am curious to see," said Gertrude, leaving her sister +with an impression that her curiosity was morbid. + +They went to see the Baroness without preliminary correspondence; and in +the little salon which she had already created, with its becoming light +and its festoons, they found Robert Acton. + +Eugenia was intensely gracious, but she accused them of neglecting her +cruelly. "You see Mr. Acton has had to take pity upon me," she said. "My +brother goes off sketching, for hours; I can never depend upon him. So I +was to send Mr. Acton to beg you to come and give me the benefit of your +wisdom." + +Gertrude looked at her sister. She wanted to say, "_That_ is what she +would have done." Charlotte said that they hoped the Baroness would +always come and dine with them; it would give them so much pleasure; +and, in that case, she would spare herself the trouble of having a cook. + +"Ah, but I must have a cook!" cried the Baroness. "An old negress in a +yellow turban. I have set my heart upon that. I want to look out of my +window and see her sitting there on the grass, against the background of +those crooked, dusky little apple trees, pulling the husks off a lapful +of Indian corn. That will be local color, you know. There isn't much of +it here--you don't mind my saying that, do you?--so one must make +the most of what one can get. I shall be most happy to dine with you +whenever you will let me; but I want to be able to ask you sometimes. +And I want to be able to ask Mr. Acton," added the Baroness. + +"You must come and ask me at home," said Acton. "You must come and see +me; you must dine with me first. I want to show you my place; I want to +introduce you to my mother." He called again upon Madame Mnster, two +days later. He was constantly at the other house; he used to walk across +the fields from his own place, and he appeared to have fewer scruples +than his cousins with regard to dropping in. On this occasion he found +that Mr. Brand had come to pay his respects to the charming stranger; +but after Acton's arrival the young theologian said nothing. He sat in +his chair with his two hands clasped, fixing upon his hostess a grave, +fascinated stare. The Baroness talked to Robert Acton, but, as she +talked, she turned and smiled at Mr. Brand, who never took his eyes +off her. The two men walked away together; they were going to Mr. +Wentworth's. Mr. Brand still said nothing; but after they had passed +into Mr. Wentworth's garden he stopped and looked back for some time at +the little white house. Then, looking at his companion, with his head +bent a little to one side and his eyes somewhat contracted, "Now +I suppose that's what is called conversation," he said; "real +conversation." + +"It's what I call a very clever woman," said Acton, laughing. + +"It is most interesting," Mr. Brand continued. "I only wish she would +speak French; it would seem more in keeping. It must be quite the +style that we have heard about, that we have read about--the style of +conversation of Madame de Stal, of Madame Rcamier." + +Acton also looked at Madame Mnster's residence among its hollyhocks and +apple trees. "What I should like to know," he said, smiling, "is just +what has brought Madame Rcamier to live in that place!" + + + +CHAPTER V + +Mr. Wentworth, with his cane and his gloves in his hand, went every +afternoon to call upon his niece. A couple of hours later she came over +to the great house to tea. She had let the proposal that she should +regularly dine there fall to the ground; she was in the enjoyment of +whatever satisfaction was to be derived from the spectacle of an +old negress in a crimson turban shelling peas under the apple trees. +Charlotte, who had provided the ancient negress, thought it must be +a strange household, Eugenia having told her that Augustine managed +everything, the ancient negress included--Augustine who was naturally +devoid of all acquaintance with the expurgatory English tongue. By far +the most immoral sentiment which I shall have occasion to attribute to +Charlotte Wentworth was a certain emotion of disappointment at finding +that, in spite of these irregular conditions, the domestic arrangements +at the small house were apparently not--from Eugenia's peculiar point of +view--strikingly offensive. The Baroness found it amusing to go to tea; +she dressed as if for dinner. The tea-table offered an anomalous and +picturesque repast; and on leaving it they all sat and talked in the +large piazza, or wandered about the garden in the starlight, with their +ears full of those sounds of strange insects which, though they are +supposed to be, all over the world, a part of the magic of summer +nights, seemed to the Baroness to have beneath these western skies an +incomparable resonance. + +Mr. Wentworth, though, as I say, he went punctiliously to call upon her, +was not able to feel that he was getting used to his niece. It taxed his +imagination to believe that she was really his half-sister's child. His +sister was a figure of his early years; she had been only twenty when +she went abroad, never to return, making in foreign parts a willful and +undesirable marriage. His aunt, Mrs. Whiteside, who had taken her to +Europe for the benefit of the tour, gave, on her return, so lamentable +an account of Mr. Adolphus Young, to whom the headstrong girl had united +her destiny, that it operated as a chill upon family feeling--especially +in the case of the half-brothers. Catherine had done nothing +subsequently to propitiate her family; she had not even written to +them in a way that indicated a lucid appreciation of their suspended +sympathy; so that it had become a tradition in Boston circles that the +highest charity, as regards this young lady, was to think it well to +forget her, and to abstain from conjecture as to the extent to which +her aberrations were reproduced in her descendants. Over these young +people--a vague report of their existence had come to his ears--Mr. +Wentworth had not, in the course of years, allowed his imagination to +hover. It had plenty of occupation nearer home, and though he had many +cares upon his conscience the idea that he had been an unnatural uncle +was, very properly, never among the number. Now that his nephew and +niece had come before him, he perceived that they were the fruit of +influences and circumstances very different from those under which his +own familiar progeny had reached a vaguely-qualified maturity. He felt +no provocation to say that these influences had been exerted for evil; +but he was sometimes afraid that he should not be able to like +his distinguished, delicate, lady-like niece. He was paralyzed and +bewildered by her foreignness. She spoke, somehow, a different language. +There was something strange in her words. He had a feeling that another +man, in his place, would accommodate himself to her tone; would ask +her questions and joke with her, reply to those pleasantries of her +own which sometimes seemed startling as addressed to an uncle. But Mr. +Wentworth could not do these things. He could not even bring himself +to attempt to measure her position in the world. She was the wife of +a foreign nobleman who desired to repudiate her. This had a singular +sound, but the old man felt himself destitute of the materials for +a judgment. It seemed to him that he ought to find them in his own +experience, as a man of the world and an almost public character; but +they were not there, and he was ashamed to confess to himself--much +more to reveal to Eugenia by interrogations possibly too innocent--the +unfurnished condition of this repository. + +It appeared to him that he could get much nearer, as he would have said, +to his nephew; though he was not sure that Felix was altogether safe. He +was so bright and handsome and talkative that it was impossible not to +think well of him; and yet it seemed as if there were something almost +impudent, almost vicious--or as if there ought to be--in a young man +being at once so joyous and so positive. It was to be observed that +while Felix was not at all a serious young man there was somehow more of +him--he had more weight and volume and resonance--than a number of young +men who were distinctly serious. While Mr. Wentworth meditated upon this +anomaly his nephew was admiring him unrestrictedly. He thought him a +most delicate, generous, high-toned old gentleman, with a very handsome +head, of the ascetic type, which he promised himself the profit of +sketching. Felix was far from having made a secret of the fact that he +wielded the paint-brush, and it was not his own fault if it failed to be +generally understood that he was prepared to execute the most striking +likenesses on the most reasonable terms. "He is an artist--my cousin is +an artist," said Gertrude; and she offered this information to everyone +who would receive it. She offered it to herself, as it were, by way +of admonition and reminder; she repeated to herself at odd moments, +in lonely places, that Felix was invested with this sacred character. +Gertrude had never seen an artist before; she had only read about such +people. They seemed to her a romantic and mysterious class, whose life +was made up of those agreeable accidents that never happened to other +persons. And it merely quickened her meditations on this point that +Felix should declare, as he repeatedly did, that he was really not an +artist. "I have never gone into the thing seriously," he said. "I have +never studied; I have had no training. I do a little of everything, and +nothing well. I am only an amateur." + +It pleased Gertrude even more to think that he was an amateur than to +think that he was an artist; the former word, to her fancy, had an even +subtler connotation. She knew, however, that it was a word to use +more soberly. Mr. Wentworth used it freely; for though he had not +been exactly familiar with it, he found it convenient as a help toward +classifying Felix, who, as a young man extremely clever and active and +apparently respectable and yet not engaged in any recognized business, +was an importunate anomaly. Of course the Baroness and her brother--she +was always spoken of first--were a welcome topic of conversation between +Mr. Wentworth and his daughters and their occasional visitors. + +"And the young man, your nephew, what is his profession?" asked an +old gentleman--Mr. Broderip, of Salem--who had been Mr. Wentworth's +classmate at Harvard College in the year 1809, and who came into his +office in Devonshire Street. (Mr. Wentworth, in his later years, used to +go but three times a week to his office, where he had a large amount of +highly confidential trust-business to transact.) + +"Well, he's an amateur," said Felix's uncle, with folded hands, and with +a certain satisfaction in being able to say it. And Mr. Broderip had +gone back to Salem with a feeling that this was probably a "European" +expression for a broker or a grain exporter. + +"I should like to do your head, sir," said Felix to his uncle one +evening, before them all--Mr. Brand and Robert Acton being also present. +"I think I should make a very fine thing of it. It's an interesting +head; it's very mediaeval." + +Mr. Wentworth looked grave; he felt awkwardly, as if all the company had +come in and found him standing before the looking-glass. "The Lord made +it," he said. "I don't think it is for man to make it over again." + +"Certainly the Lord made it," replied Felix, laughing, "and he made +it very well. But life has been touching up the work. It is a very +interesting type of head. It's delightfully wasted and emaciated. The +complexion is wonderfully bleached." And Felix looked round at the +circle, as if to call their attention to these interesting points. +Mr. Wentworth grew visibly paler. "I should like to do you as an old +prelate, an old cardinal, or the prior of an order." + +"A prelate, a cardinal?" murmured Mr. Wentworth. "Do you refer to the +Roman Catholic priesthood?" + +"I mean an old ecclesiastic who should have led a very pure, abstinent +life. Now I take it that has been the case with you, sir; one sees it in +your face," Felix proceeded. "You have been very--a very moderate. Don't +you think one always sees that in a man's face?" + +"You see more in a man's face than I should think of looking for," said +Mr. Wentworth coldly. + +The Baroness rattled her fan, and gave her brilliant laugh. "It is a +risk to look so close!" she exclaimed. "My uncle has some peccadilloes +on his conscience." Mr. Wentworth looked at her, painfully at a loss; +and in so far as the signs of a pure and abstinent life were visible in +his face they were then probably peculiarly manifest. "You are a _beau +vieillard_, dear uncle," said Madame Mnster, smiling with her foreign +eyes. + +"I think you are paying me a compliment," said the old man. + +"Surely, I am not the first woman that ever did so!" cried the Baroness. + +"I think you are," said Mr. Wentworth gravely. And turning to Felix he +added, in the same tone, "Please don't take my likeness. My children +have my daguerreotype. That is quite satisfactory." + +"I won't promise," said Felix, "not to work your head into something!" + +Mr. Wentworth looked at him and then at all the others; then he got up +and slowly walked away. + +"Felix," said Gertrude, in the silence that followed, "I wish you would +paint my portrait." + +Charlotte wondered whether Gertrude was right in wishing this; and she +looked at Mr. Brand as the most legitimate way of ascertaining. Whatever +Gertrude did or said, Charlotte always looked at Mr. Brand. It was a +standing pretext for looking at Mr. Brand--always, as Charlotte thought, +in the interest of Gertrude's welfare. It is true that she felt a +tremulous interest in Gertrude being right; for Charlotte, in her small, +still way, was an heroic sister. + +"We should be glad to have your portrait, Miss Gertrude," said Mr. +Brand. + +"I should be delighted to paint so charming a model," Felix declared. + +"Do you think you are so lovely, my dear?" asked Lizzie Acton, with her +little inoffensive pertness, biting off a knot in her knitting. + +"It is not because I think I am beautiful," said Gertrude, looking all +round. "I don't think I am beautiful, at all." She spoke with a sort +of conscious deliberateness; and it seemed very strange to Charlotte to +hear her discussing this question so publicly. "It is because I think it +would be amusing to sit and be painted. I have always thought that." + +"I am sorry you have not had better things to think about, my daughter," +said Mr. Wentworth. + +"You are very beautiful, cousin Gertrude," Felix declared. + +"That's a compliment," said Gertrude. "I put all the compliments I +receive into a little money-jug that has a slit in the side. I shake +them up and down, and they rattle. There are not many yet--only two or +three." + +"No, it's not a compliment," Felix rejoined. "See; I am careful not to +give it the form of a compliment. I didn't think you were beautiful at +first. But you have come to seem so little by little." + +"Take care, now, your jug doesn't burst!" exclaimed Lizzie. + +"I think sitting for one's portrait is only one of the various forms of +idleness," said Mr. Wentworth. "Their name is legion." + +"My dear sir," cried Felix, "you can't be said to be idle when you are +making a man work so!" + +"One might be painted while one is asleep," suggested Mr. Brand, as a +contribution to the discussion. + +"Ah, do paint me while I am asleep," said Gertrude to Felix, smiling. +And she closed her eyes a little. It had by this time become a matter of +almost exciting anxiety to Charlotte what Gertrude would say or would do +next. + +She began to sit for her portrait on the following day--in the open +air, on the north side of the piazza. "I wish you would tell me what you +think of us--how we seem to you," she said to Felix, as he sat before +his easel. + +"You seem to me the best people in the world," said Felix. + +"You say that," Gertrude resumed, "because it saves you the trouble of +saying anything else." + +The young man glanced at her over the top of his canvas. "What else +should I say? It would certainly be a great deal of trouble to say +anything different." + +"Well," said Gertrude, "you have seen people before that you have liked, +have you not?" + +"Indeed I have, thank Heaven!" + +"And they have been very different from us," Gertrude went on. + +"That only proves," said Felix, "that there are a thousand different +ways of being good company." + +"Do you think us good company?" asked Gertrude. + +"Company for a king!" + +Gertrude was silent a moment; and then, "There must be a thousand +different ways of being dreary," she said; "and sometimes I think we +make use of them all." + +Felix stood up quickly, holding up his hand. "If you could only keep +that look on your face for half an hour--while I catch it!" he said. "It +is uncommonly handsome." + +"To look handsome for half an hour--that is a great deal to ask of me," +she answered. + +"It would be the portrait of a young woman who has taken some vow, some +pledge, that she repents of," said Felix, "and who is thinking it over +at leisure." + +"I have taken no vow, no pledge," said Gertrude, very gravely; "I have +nothing to repent of." + +"My dear cousin, that was only a figure of speech. I am very sure that +no one in your excellent family has anything to repent of." + +"And yet we are always repenting!" Gertrude exclaimed. "That is what I +mean by our being dreary. You know it perfectly well; you only pretend +that you don't." + +Felix gave a quick laugh. "The half hour is going on, and yet you are +handsomer than ever. One must be careful what one says, you see." + +"To me," said Gertrude, "you can say anything." + +Felix looked at her, as an artist might, and painted for some time in +silence. + +"Yes, you seem to me different from your father and sister--from most of +the people you have lived with," he observed. + +"To say that one's self," Gertrude went on, "is like saying--by +implication, at least--that one is better. I am not better; I am much +worse. But they say themselves that I am different. It makes them +unhappy." + +"Since you accuse me of concealing my real impressions, I may admit that +I think the tendency--among you generally--is to be made unhappy too +easily." + +"I wish you would tell that to my father," said Gertrude. + +"It might make him more unhappy!" Felix exclaimed, laughing. + +"It certainly would. I don't believe you have seen people like that." + +"Ah, my dear cousin, how do you know what I have seen?" Felix demanded. +"How can I tell you?" + +"You might tell me a great many things, if you only would. You have +seen people like yourself--people who are bright and gay and fond of +amusement. We are not fond of amusement." + +"Yes," said Felix, "I confess that rather strikes me. You don't seem to +me to get all the pleasure out of life that you might. You don't seem to +me to enjoy..... Do you mind my saying this?" he asked, pausing. + +"Please go on," said the girl, earnestly. + +"You seem to me very well placed for enjoying. You have money and +liberty and what is called in Europe a 'position.' But you take a +painful view of life, as one may say." + +"One ought to think it bright and charming and delightful, eh?" asked +Gertrude. + +"I should say so--if one can. It is true it all depends upon that," +Felix added. + +"You know there is a great deal of misery in the world," said his model. + +"I have seen a little of it," the young man rejoined. "But it was all +over there--beyond the sea. I don't see any here. This is a paradise." + +Gertrude said nothing; she sat looking at the dahlias and the +currant-bushes in the garden, while Felix went on with his work. "To +'enjoy,'" she began at last, "to take life--not painfully, must one do +something wrong?" + +Felix gave his long, light laugh again. "Seriously, I think not. And for +this reason, among others: you strike me as very capable of enjoying, +if the chance were given you, and yet at the same time as incapable of +wrong-doing." + +"I am sure," said Gertrude, "that you are very wrong in telling a person +that she is incapable of that. We are never nearer to evil than when we +believe that." + +"You are handsomer than ever," observed Felix, irrelevantly. + +Gertrude had got used to hearing him say this. There was not so much +excitement in it as at first. "What ought one to do?" she continued. "To +give parties, to go to the theatre, to read novels, to keep late hours?" + +"I don't think it's what one does or one doesn't do that promotes +enjoyment," her companion answered. "It is the general way of looking at +life." + +"They look at it as a discipline--that's what they do here. I have often +been told that." + +"Well, that's very good. But there is another way," added Felix, +smiling: "to look at it as an opportunity." + +"An opportunity--yes," said Gertrude. "One would get more pleasure that +way." + +"I don't attempt to say anything better for it than that it has been my +own way--and that is not saying much!" Felix had laid down his palette +and brushes; he was leaning back, with his arms folded, to judge +the effect of his work. "And you know," he said, "I am a very petty +personage." + +"You have a great deal of talent," said Gertrude. + +"No--no," the young man rejoined, in a tone of cheerful impartiality, +"I have not a great deal of talent. It is nothing at all remarkable. +I assure you I should know if it were. I shall always be obscure. The +world will never hear of me." Gertrude looked at him with a strange +feeling. She was thinking of the great world which he knew and which she +did not, and how full of brilliant talents it must be, since it could +afford to make light of his abilities. "You needn't in general attach +much importance to anything I tell you," he pursued; "but you may +believe me when I say this,--that I am little better than a good-natured +feather-head." + +"A feather-head?" she repeated. + +"I am a species of Bohemian." + +"A Bohemian?" Gertrude had never heard this term before, save as a +geographical denomination; and she quite failed to understand the +figurative meaning which her companion appeared to attach to it. But it +gave her pleasure. + +Felix had pushed back his chair and risen to his feet; he slowly came +toward her, smiling. "I am a sort of adventurer," he said, looking down +at her. + +She got up, meeting his smile. "An adventurer?" she repeated. "I should +like to hear your adventures." + +For an instant she believed that he was going to take her hand; but he +dropped his own hands suddenly into the pockets of his painting-jacket. +"There is no reason why you shouldn't," he said. "I have been an +adventurer, but my adventures have been very innocent. They have all +been happy ones; I don't think there are any I shouldn't tell. They were +very pleasant and very pretty; I should like to go over them in memory. +Sit down again, and I will begin," he added in a moment, with his +naturally persuasive smile. + +Gertrude sat down again on that day, and she sat down on several other +days. Felix, while he plied his brush, told her a great many stories, +and she listened with charmed avidity. Her eyes rested upon his lips; +she was very serious; sometimes, from her air of wondering gravity, he +thought she was displeased. But Felix never believed for more than a +single moment in any displeasure of his own producing. This would have +been fatuity if the optimism it expressed had not been much more a hope +than a prejudice. It is beside the matter to say that he had a good +conscience; for the best conscience is a sort of self-reproach, and this +young man's brilliantly healthy nature spent itself in objective good +intentions which were ignorant of any test save exactness in hitting +their mark. He told Gertrude how he had walked over France and Italy +with a painter's knapsack on his back, paying his way often by knocking +off a flattering portrait of his host or hostess. He told her how he +had played the violin in a little band of musicians--not of high +celebrity--who traveled through foreign lands giving provincial +concerts. He told her also how he had been a momentary ornament of a +troupe of strolling actors, engaged in the arduous task of interpreting +Shakespeare to French and German, Polish and Hungarian audiences. + +While this periodical recital was going on, Gertrude lived in a +fantastic world; she seemed to herself to be reading a romance that +came out in daily numbers. She had known nothing so delightful since +the perusal of _Nicholas Nickleby_. One afternoon she went to see her +cousin, Mrs. Acton, Robert's mother, who was a great invalid, never +leaving the house. She came back alone, on foot, across the fields--this +being a short way which they often used. Felix had gone to Boston with +her father, who desired to take the young man to call upon some of his +friends, old gentlemen who remembered his mother--remembered her, but +said nothing about her--and several of whom, with the gentle ladies +their wives, had driven out from town to pay their respects at the +little house among the apple trees, in vehicles which reminded the +Baroness, who received her visitors with discriminating civility, of +the large, light, rattling barouche in which she herself had made her +journey to this neighborhood. The afternoon was waning; in the western +sky the great picture of a New England sunset, painted in crimson +and silver, was suspended from the zenith; and the stony pastures, as +Gertrude traversed them, thinking intently to herself, were covered with +a light, clear glow. At the open gate of one of the fields she saw from +the distance a man's figure; he stood there as if he were waiting for +her, and as she came nearer she recognized Mr. Brand. She had a feeling +as of not having seen him for some time; she could not have said for +how long, for it yet seemed to her that he had been very lately at the +house. + +"May I walk back with you?" he asked. And when she had said that he +might if he wanted, he observed that he had seen her and recognized her +half a mile away. + +"You must have very good eyes," said Gertrude. + +"Yes, I have very good eyes, Miss Gertrude," said Mr. Brand. She +perceived that he meant something; but for a long time past Mr. Brand +had constantly meant something, and she had almost got used to it. She +felt, however, that what he meant had now a renewed power to disturb +her, to perplex and agitate her. He walked beside her in silence for a +moment, and then he added, "I have had no trouble in seeing that you are +beginning to avoid me. But perhaps," he went on, "one needn't have had +very good eyes to see that." + +"I have not avoided you," said Gertrude, without looking at him. + +"I think you have been unconscious that you were avoiding me," Mr. Brand +replied. "You have not even known that I was there." + +"Well, you are here now, Mr. Brand!" said Gertrude, with a little laugh. +"I know that very well." + +He made no rejoinder. He simply walked beside her slowly, as they were +obliged to walk over the soft grass. Presently they came to another +gate, which was closed. Mr. Brand laid his hand upon it, but he made no +movement to open it; he stood and looked at his companion. "You are very +much interested--very much absorbed," he said. + +Gertrude glanced at him; she saw that he was pale and that he looked +excited. She had never seen Mr. Brand excited before, and she felt +that the spectacle, if fully carried out, would be impressive, almost +painful. "Absorbed in what?" she asked. Then she looked away at the +illuminated sky. She felt guilty and uncomfortable, and yet she was +vexed with herself for feeling so. But Mr. Brand, as he stood there +looking at her with his small, kind, persistent eyes, represented an +immense body of half-obliterated obligations, that were rising again +into a certain distinctness. + +"You have new interests, new occupations," he went on. "I don't know +that I can say that you have new duties. We have always old ones, +Gertrude," he added. + +"Please open the gate, Mr. Brand," she said; and she felt as if, in +saying so, she were cowardly and petulant. But he opened the gate, and +allowed her to pass; then he closed it behind himself. Before she had +time to turn away he put out his hand and held her an instant by the +wrist. + +"I want to say something to you," he said. + +"I know what you want to say," she answered. And she was on the point of +adding, "And I know just how you will say it;" but these words she kept +back. + +"I love you, Gertrude," he said. "I love you very much; I love you more +than ever." + +He said the words just as she had known he would; she had heard them +before. They had no charm for her; she had said to herself before that +it was very strange. It was supposed to be delightful for a woman to +listen to such words; but these seemed to her flat and mechanical. "I +wish you would forget that," she declared. + +"How can I--why should I?" he asked. + +"I have made you no promise--given you no pledge," she said, looking at +him, with her voice trembling a little. + +"You have let me feel that I have an influence over you. You have opened +your mind to me." + +"I never opened my mind to you, Mr. Brand!" Gertrude cried, with some +vehemence. + +"Then you were not so frank as I thought--as we all thought." + +"I don't see what anyone else had to do with it!" cried the girl. + +"I mean your father and your sister. You know it makes them happy to +think you will listen to me." + +She gave a little laugh. "It doesn't make them happy," she said. +"Nothing makes them happy. No one is happy here." + +"I think your cousin is very happy--Mr. Young," rejoined Mr. Brand, in a +soft, almost timid tone. + +"So much the better for him!" And Gertrude gave her little laugh again. + +The young man looked at her a moment. "You are very much changed," he +said. + +"I am glad to hear it," Gertrude declared. + +"I am not. I have known you a long time, and I have loved you as you +were." + +"I am much obliged to you," said Gertrude. "I must be going home." + +He on his side, gave a little laugh. + +"You certainly do avoid me--you see!" + +"Avoid me, then," said the girl. + +He looked at her again; and then, very gently, "No I will not avoid +you," he replied; "but I will leave you, for the present, to yourself. +I think you will remember--after a while--some of the things you have +forgotten. I think you will come back to me; I have great faith in +that." + +This time his voice was very touching; there was a strong, reproachful +force in what he said, and Gertrude could answer nothing. He turned +away and stood there, leaning his elbows on the gate and looking at the +beautiful sunset. Gertrude left him and took her way home again; but +when she reached the middle of the next field she suddenly burst into +tears. Her tears seemed to her to have been a long time gathering, and +for some moments it was a kind of glee to shed them. But they presently +passed away. There was something a little hard about Gertrude; and she +never wept again. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Going of an afternoon to call upon his niece, Mr. Wentworth more than +once found Robert Acton sitting in her little drawing-room. This was in +no degree, to Mr. Wentworth, a perturbing fact, for he had no sense +of competing with his young kinsman for Eugenia's good graces. Madame +Mnster's uncle had the highest opinion of Robert Acton, who, indeed, in +the family at large, was the object of a great deal of undemonstrative +appreciation. They were all proud of him, in so far as the charge +of being proud may be brought against people who were, habitually, +distinctly guiltless of the misdemeanor known as "taking credit." They +never boasted of Robert Acton, nor indulged in vainglorious reference to +him; they never quoted the clever things he had said, nor mentioned the +generous things he had done. But a sort of frigidly-tender faith in +his unlimited goodness was a part of their personal sense of right; and +there can, perhaps, be no better proof of the high esteem in which he +was held than the fact that no explicit judgment was ever passed upon +his actions. He was no more praised than he was blamed; but he was +tacitly felt to be an ornament to his circle. He was the man of the +world of the family. He had been to China and brought home a collection +of curiosities; he had made a fortune--or rather he had quintupled a +fortune already considerable; he was distinguished by that combination +of celibacy, "property," and good humor which appeals to even the +most subdued imaginations; and it was taken for granted that he would +presently place these advantages at the disposal of some well-regulated +young woman of his own "set." Mr. Wentworth was not a man to admit to +himself that--his paternal duties apart--he liked any individual much +better than all other individuals; but he thought Robert Acton extremely +judicious; and this was perhaps as near an approach as he was capable of +to the eagerness of preference, which his temperament repudiated as it +would have disengaged itself from something slightly unchaste. Acton +was, in fact, very judicious--and something more beside; and indeed it +must be claimed for Mr. Wentworth that in the more illicit parts of +his preference there hovered the vague adumbration of a belief that +his cousin's final merit was a certain enviable capacity for whistling, +rather gallantly, at the sanctions of mere judgment--for showing a +larger courage, a finer quality of pluck, than common occasion demanded. +Mr. Wentworth would never have risked the intimation that Acton was +made, in the smallest degree, of the stuff of a hero; but this is small +blame to him, for Robert would certainly never have risked it himself. +Acton certainly exercised great discretion in all things--beginning with +his estimate of himself. He knew that he was by no means so much of a +man of the world as he was supposed to be in local circles; but it must +be added that he knew also that his natural shrewdness had a reach +of which he had never quite given local circles the measure. He was +addicted to taking the humorous view of things, and he had discovered +that even in the narrowest circles such a disposition may find frequent +opportunities. Such opportunities had formed for some time--that is, +since his return from China, a year and a half before--the most active +element in this gentleman's life, which had just now a rather indolent +air. He was perfectly willing to get married. He was very fond of +books, and he had a handsome library; that is, his books were much more +numerous than Mr. Wentworth's. He was also very fond of pictures; but it +must be confessed, in the fierce light of contemporary criticism, that +his walls were adorned with several rather abortive masterpieces. He had +got his learning--and there was more of it than commonly appeared--at +Harvard College; and he took a pleasure in old associations, which made +it a part of his daily contentment to live so near this institution that +he often passed it in driving to Boston. He was extremely interested in +the Baroness Mnster. + +She was very frank with him; or at least she intended to be. "I am +sure you find it very strange that I should have settled down in this +out-of-the-way part of the world!" she said to him three or four weeks +after she had installed herself. "I am certain you are wondering about +my motives. They are very pure." The Baroness by this time was an old +inhabitant; the best society in Boston had called upon her, and Clifford +Wentworth had taken her several times to drive in his buggy. + +Robert Acton was seated near her, playing with a fan; there were +always several fans lying about her drawing-room, with long ribbons of +different colors attached to them, and Acton was always playing with +one. "No, I don't find it at all strange," he said slowly, smiling. +"That a clever woman should turn up in Boston, or its suburbs--that does +not require so much explanation. Boston is a very nice place." + +"If you wish to make me contradict you," said the Baroness, "_vous vous +y prenez mal_. In certain moods there is nothing I am not capable +of agreeing to. Boston is a paradise, and we are in the suburbs of +Paradise." + +"Just now I am not at all in the suburbs; I am in the place itself," +rejoined Acton, who was lounging a little in his chair. He was, however, +not always lounging; and when he was he was not quite so relaxed as he +pretended. To a certain extent, he sought refuge from shyness in +this appearance of relaxation; and like many persons in the same +circumstances he somewhat exaggerated the appearance. Beyond this, the +air of being much at his ease was a cover for vigilant observation. He +was more than interested in this clever woman, who, whatever he might +say, was clever not at all after the Boston fashion; she plunged him +into a kind of excitement, held him in vague suspense. He was obliged to +admit to himself that he had never yet seen a woman just like this--not +even in China. He was ashamed, for inscrutable reasons, of the vivacity +of his emotion, and he carried it off, superficially, by taking, still +superficially, the humorous view of Madame Mnster. It was not at all +true that he thought it very natural of her to have made this pious +pilgrimage. It might have been said of him in advance that he was too +good a Bostonian to regard in the light of an eccentricity the desire of +even the remotest alien to visit the New England metropolis. This was an +impulse for which, surely, no apology was needed; and Madame Mnster +was the fortunate possessor of several New England cousins. In fact, +however, Madame Mnster struck him as out of keeping with her little +circle; she was at the best a very agreeable, a gracefully mystifying +anomaly. He knew very well that it would not do to address these +reflections too crudely to Mr. Wentworth; he would never have remarked +to the old gentleman that he wondered what the Baroness was up to. And +indeed he had no great desire to share his vague mistrust with anyone. +There was a personal pleasure in it; the greatest pleasure he had known +at least since he had come from China. He would keep the Baroness, for +better or worse, to himself; he had a feeling that he deserved to +enjoy a monopoly of her, for he was certainly the person who had most +adequately gauged her capacity for social intercourse. Before long it +became apparent to him that the Baroness was disposed to lay no tax upon +such a monopoly. + +One day (he was sitting there again and playing with a fan) she asked +him to apologize, should the occasion present itself, to certain people +in Boston for her not having returned their calls. "There are half a +dozen places," she said; "a formidable list. Charlotte Wentworth has +written it out for me, in a terrifically distinct hand. There is +no ambiguity on the subject; I know perfectly where I must go. Mr. +Wentworth informs me that the carriage is always at my disposal, and +Charlotte offers to go with me, in a pair of tight gloves and a very +stiff petticoat. And yet for three days I have been putting it off. They +must think me horribly vicious." + +"You ask me to apologize," said Acton, "but you don't tell me what +excuse I can offer." + +"That is more," the Baroness declared, "than I am held to. It would be +like my asking you to buy me a bouquet and giving you the money. I have +no reason except that--somehow--it's too violent an effort. It is not +inspiring. Wouldn't that serve as an excuse, in Boston? I am told they +are very sincere; they don't tell fibs. And then Felix ought to go with +me, and he is never in readiness. I don't see him. He is always roaming +about the fields and sketching old barns, or taking ten-mile walks, or +painting someone's portrait, or rowing on the pond, or flirting with +Gertrude Wentworth." + +"I should think it would amuse you to go and see a few people," said +Acton. "You are having a very quiet time of it here. It's a dull life +for you." + +"Ah, the quiet,--the quiet!" the Baroness exclaimed. "That's what I +like. It's rest. That's what I came here for. Amusement? I have had +amusement. And as for seeing people--I have already seen a great many +in my life. If it didn't sound ungracious I should say that I wish very +humbly your people here would leave me alone!" + +Acton looked at her a moment, and she looked at him. She was a woman who +took being looked at remarkably well. "So you have come here for rest?" +he asked. + +"So I may say. I came for many of those reasons that are no +reasons--don't you know?--and yet that are really the best: to come +away, to change, to break with everything. When once one comes away one +must arrive somewhere, and I asked myself why I shouldn't arrive here." + +"You certainly had time on the way!" said Acton, laughing. + +Madame Mnster looked at him again; and then, smiling: "And I have +certainly had time, since I got here, to ask myself why I came. However, +I never ask myself idle questions. Here I am, and it seems to me you +ought only to thank me." + +"When you go away you will see the difficulties I shall put in your +path." + +"You mean to put difficulties in my path?" she asked, rearranging the +rosebud in her corsage. + +"The greatest of all--that of having been so agreeable----" + +"That I shall be unable to depart? Don't be too sure. I have left some +very agreeable people over there." + +"Ah," said Acton, "but it was to come here, where I am!" + +"I didn't know of your existence. Excuse me for saying anything so rude; +but, honestly speaking, I did not. No," the Baroness pursued, "it was +precisely not to see you--such people as you--that I came." + +"Such people as me?" cried Acton. + +"I had a sort of longing to come into those natural relations which I +knew I should find here. Over there I had only, as I may say, artificial +relations. Don't you see the difference?" + +"The difference tells against me," said Acton. "I suppose I am an +artificial relation." + +"Conventional," declared the Baroness; "very conventional." + +"Well, there is one way in which the relation of a lady and a gentleman +may always become natural," said Acton. + +"You mean by their becoming lovers? That may be natural or not. And at +any rate," rejoined Eugenia, _"nous n'en sommes pas l!"_ + +They were not, as yet; but a little later, when she began to go with him +to drive, it might almost have seemed that they were. He came for her +several times, alone, in his high "wagon," drawn by a pair of charming +light-limbed horses. It was different, her having gone with Clifford +Wentworth, who was her cousin, and so much younger. It was not to be +imagined that she should have a flirtation with Clifford, who was a mere +shame-faced boy, and whom a large section of Boston society supposed to +be "engaged" to Lizzie Acton. Not, indeed, that it was to be conceived +that the Baroness was a possible party to any flirtation whatever; for +she was undoubtedly a married lady. It was generally known that her +matrimonial condition was of the "morganatic" order; but in its natural +aversion to suppose that this meant anything less than absolute wedlock, +the conscience of the community took refuge in the belief that it +implied something even more. + +Acton wished her to think highly of American scenery, and he drove her +to great distances, picking out the prettiest roads and the largest +points of view. If we are good when we are contented, Eugenia's virtues +should now certainly have been uppermost; for she found a charm in the +rapid movement through a wild country, and in a companion who from time +to time made the vehicle dip, with a motion like a swallow's flight, +over roads of primitive construction, and who, as she felt, would do +a great many things that she might ask him. Sometimes, for a couple +of hours together, there were almost no houses; there were nothing but +woods and rivers and lakes and horizons adorned with bright-looking +mountains. It seemed to the Baroness very wild, as I have said, +and lovely; but the impression added something to that sense of the +enlargement of opportunity which had been born of her arrival in the New +World. + +One day--it was late in the afternoon--Acton pulled up his horses on the +crest of a hill which commanded a beautiful prospect. He let them stand +a long time to rest, while he sat there and talked with Madame Mnster. +The prospect was beautiful in spite of there being nothing human within +sight. There was a wilderness of woods, and the gleam of a distant +river, and a glimpse of half the hill-tops in Massachusetts. The road +had a wide, grassy margin, on the further side of which there flowed a +deep, clear brook; there were wild flowers in the grass, and beside the +brook lay the trunk of a fallen tree. Acton waited a while; at last a +rustic wayfarer came trudging along the road. Acton asked him to hold +the horses--a service he consented to render, as a friendly turn to a +fellow-citizen. Then he invited the Baroness to descend, and the two +wandered away, across the grass, and sat down on the log beside the +brook. + +"I imagine it doesn't remind you of Silberstadt," said Acton. It was +the first time that he had mentioned Silberstadt to her, for particular +reasons. He knew she had a husband there, and this was disagreeable to +him; and, furthermore, it had been repeated to him that this husband +wished to put her away--a state of affairs to which even indirect +reference was to be deprecated. It was true, nevertheless, that the +Baroness herself had often alluded to Silberstadt; and Acton had often +wondered why her husband wished to get rid of her. It was a curious +position for a lady--this being known as a repudiated wife; and it is +worthy of observation that the Baroness carried it off with exceeding +grace and dignity. She had made it felt, from the first, that there were +two sides to the question, and that her own side, when she should choose +to present it, would be replete with touching interest. + +"It does not remind me of the town, of course," she said, "of the +sculptured gables and the Gothic churches, of the wonderful Schloss, +with its moat and its clustering towers. But it has a little look of +some other parts of the principality. One might fancy one's self among +those grand old German forests, those legendary mountains; the sort of +country one sees from the windows at Schreckenstein." + +"What is Schreckenstein?" asked Acton. + +"It is a great castle,--the summer residence of the Reigning Prince." + +"Have you ever lived there?" + +"I have stayed there," said the Baroness. Acton was silent; he looked a +while at the uncastled landscape before him. "It is the first time you +have ever asked me about Silberstadt," she said. "I should think you +would want to know about my marriage; it must seem to you very strange." + +Acton looked at her a moment. "Now you wouldn't like me to say that!" + +"You Americans have such odd ways!" the Baroness declared. "You never +ask anything outright; there seem to be so many things you can't talk +about." + +"We Americans are very polite," said Acton, whose national consciousness +had been complicated by a residence in foreign lands, and who yet +disliked to hear Americans abused. "We don't like to tread upon +people's toes," he said. "But I should like very much to hear about your +marriage. Now tell me how it came about." + +"The Prince fell in love with me," replied the Baroness simply. "He +pressed his suit very hard. At first he didn't wish me to marry him; +on the contrary. But on that basis I refused to listen to him. So he +offered me marriage--in so far as he might. I was young, and I confess +I was rather flattered. But if it were to be done again now, I certainly +should not accept him." + +"How long ago was this?" asked Acton. + +"Oh--several years," said Eugenia. "You should never ask a woman for +dates." + +"Why, I should think that when a woman was relating history" Acton +answered. "And now he wants to break it off?" + +"They want him to make a political marriage. It is his brother's idea. +His brother is very clever." + +"They must be a precious pair!" cried Robert Acton. + +The Baroness gave a little philosophic shrug. "_Que voulez-vous?_ They +are princes. They think they are treating me very well. Silberstadt is +a perfectly despotic little state, and the Reigning Prince may annul the +marriage by a stroke of his pen. But he has promised me, nevertheless, +not to do so without my formal consent." + +"And this you have refused?" + +"Hitherto. It is an indignity, and I have wished at least to make it +difficult for them. But I have a little document in my writing-desk +which I have only to sign and send back to the Prince." + +"Then it will be all over?" + +The Baroness lifted her hand, and dropped it again. "Of course I shall +keep my title; at least, I shall be at liberty to keep it if I choose. +And I suppose I shall keep it. One must have a name. And I shall keep my +pension. It is very small--it is wretchedly small; but it is what I live +on." + +"And you have only to sign that paper?" Acton asked. + +The Baroness looked at him a moment. "Do you urge it?" + +He got up slowly, and stood with his hands in his pockets. "What do you +gain by not doing it?" + +"I am supposed to gain this advantage--that if I delay, or temporize, +the Prince may come back to me, may make a stand against his brother. +He is very fond of me, and his brother has pushed him only little by +little." + +"If he were to come back to you," said Acton, "would you--would you take +him back?" + +The Baroness met his eyes; she colored just a little. Then she rose. "I +should have the satisfaction of saying, 'Now it is my turn. I break with +your Serene Highness!'" + +They began to walk toward the carriage. "Well," said Robert Acton, "it's +a curious story! How did you make his acquaintance?" + +"I was staying with an old lady--an old Countess--in Dresden. She had +been a friend of my father's. My father was dead; I was very much alone. +My brother was wandering about the world in a theatrical troupe." + +"Your brother ought to have stayed with you," Acton observed, "and kept +you from putting your trust in princes." + +The Baroness was silent a moment, and then, "He did what he could," she +said. "He sent me money. The old Countess encouraged the Prince; she +was even pressing. It seems to me," Madame Mnster added, gently, +"that--under the circumstances--I behaved very well." + +Acton glanced at her, and made the observation--he had made it +before--that a woman looks the prettier for having unfolded her wrongs +or her sufferings. "Well," he reflected, audibly, "I should like to see +you send his Serene Highness--somewhere!" + +Madame Mnster stooped and plucked a daisy from the grass. "And not sign +my renunciation?" + +"Well, I don't know--I don't know," said Acton. + +"In one case I should have my revenge; in another case I should have my +liberty." + +Acton gave a little laugh as he helped her into the carriage. "At any +rate," he said, "take good care of that paper." + +A couple of days afterward he asked her to come and see his house. The +visit had already been proposed, but it had been put off in consequence +of his mother's illness. She was a constant invalid, and she had passed +these recent years, very patiently, in a great flowered arm-chair at +her bedroom window. Lately, for some days, she had been unable to see +anyone; but now she was better, and she sent the Baroness a very civil +message. Acton had wished their visitor to come to dinner; but Madame +Mnster preferred to begin with a simple call. She had reflected that +if she should go to dinner Mr. Wentworth and his daughters would also +be asked, and it had seemed to her that the peculiar character of the +occasion would be best preserved in a _tte--tte_ with her host. Why +the occasion should have a peculiar character she explained to no one. +As far as anyone could see, it was simply very pleasant. Acton came for +her and drove her to his door, an operation which was rapidly performed. +His house the Baroness mentally pronounced a very good one; more +articulately, she declared that it was enchanting. It was large and +square and painted brown; it stood in a well-kept shrubbery, and was +approached, from the gate, by a short drive. It was, moreover, a much +more modern dwelling than Mr. Wentworth's, and was more redundantly +upholstered and expensively ornamented. The Baroness perceived that her +entertainer had analyzed material comfort to a sufficiently fine point. +And then he possessed the most delightful _chinoiseries_--trophies of +his sojourn in the Celestial Empire: pagodas of ebony and cabinets of +ivory; sculptured monsters, grinning and leering on chimney-pieces, +in front of beautifully figured hand-screens; porcelain dinner-sets, +gleaming behind the glass doors of mahogany buffets; large screens, +in corners, covered with tense silk and embroidered with mandarins and +dragons. These things were scattered all over the house, and they gave +Eugenia a pretext for a complete domiciliary visit. She liked it, she +enjoyed it; she thought it a very nice place. It had a mixture of the +homely and the liberal, and though it was almost a museum, the large, +little-used rooms were as fresh and clean as a well-kept dairy. Lizzie +Acton told her that she dusted all the pagodas and other curiosities +every day with her own hands; and the Baroness answered that she was +evidently a household fairy. Lizzie had not at all the look of a young +lady who dusted things; she wore such pretty dresses and had such +delicate fingers that it was difficult to imagine her immersed in sordid +cares. She came to meet Madame Mnster on her arrival, but she said +nothing, or almost nothing, and the Baroness again reflected--she had +had occasion to do so before--that American girls had no manners. She +disliked this little American girl, and she was quite prepared to learn +that she had failed to commend herself to Miss Acton. Lizzie struck +her as positive and explicit almost to pertness; and the idea of her +combining the apparent incongruities of a taste for housework and the +wearing of fresh, Parisian-looking dresses suggested the possession of a +dangerous energy. It was a source of irritation to the Baroness that +in this country it should seem to matter whether a little girl were a +trifle less or a trifle more of a nonentity; for Eugenia had hitherto +been conscious of no moral pressure as regards the appreciation of +diminutive virgins. It was perhaps an indication of Lizzie's pertness +that she very soon retired and left the Baroness on her brother's hands. +Acton talked a great deal about his _chinoiseries_; he knew a good deal +about porcelain and bric--brac. The Baroness, in her progress through +the house, made, as it were, a great many stations. She sat down +everywhere, confessed to being a little tired, and asked about the +various objects with a curious mixture of alertness and inattention. If +there had been anyone to say it to she would have declared that she +was positively in love with her host; but she could hardly make this +declaration--even in the strictest confidence--to Acton himself. It gave +her, nevertheless, a pleasure that had some of the charm of unwontedness +to feel, with that admirable keenness with which she was capable of +feeling things, that he had a disposition without any edges; that even +his humorous irony always expanded toward the point. One's impression of +his honesty was almost like carrying a bunch of flowers; the perfume was +most agreeable, but they were occasionally an inconvenience. One could +trust him, at any rate, round all the corners of the world; and, withal, +he was not absolutely simple, which would have been excess; he was only +relatively simple, which was quite enough for the Baroness. + +Lizzie reappeared to say that her mother would now be happy to receive +Madame Mnster; and the Baroness followed her to Mrs. Acton's apartment. +Eugenia reflected, as she went, that it was not the affectation of +impertinence that made her dislike this young lady, for on that ground +she could easily have beaten her. It was not an aspiration on the girl's +part to rivalry, but a kind of laughing, childishly-mocking indifference +to the results of comparison. Mrs. Acton was an emaciated, sweet-faced +woman of five and fifty, sitting with pillows behind her, and looking +out on a clump of hemlocks. She was very modest, very timid, and very +ill; she made Eugenia feel grateful that she herself was not like +that--neither so ill, nor, possibly, so modest. On a chair, beside her, +lay a volume of Emerson's Essays. It was a great occasion for poor Mrs. +Acton, in her helpless condition, to be confronted with a clever foreign +lady, who had more manner than any lady--any dozen ladies--that she had +ever seen. + +"I have heard a great deal about you," she said, softly, to the +Baroness. + +"From your son, eh?" Eugenia asked. "He has talked to me immensely of +you. Oh, he talks of you as you would like," the Baroness declared; "as +such a son _must_ talk of such a mother!" + +Mrs. Acton sat gazing; this was part of Madame Mnster's "manner." But +Robert Acton was gazing too, in vivid consciousness that he had barely +mentioned his mother to their brilliant guest. He never talked of this +still maternal presence,--a presence refined to such delicacy that it +had almost resolved itself, with him, simply into the subjective emotion +of gratitude. And Acton rarely talked of his emotions. The Baroness +turned her smile toward him, and she instantly felt that she had been +observed to be fibbing. She had struck a false note. But who were these +people to whom such fibbing was not pleasing? If they were annoyed, the +Baroness was equally so; and after the exchange of a few civil inquiries +and low-voiced responses she took leave of Mrs. Acton. She begged Robert +not to come home with her; she would get into the carriage alone; +she preferred that. This was imperious, and she thought he looked +disappointed. While she stood before the door with him--the carriage was +turning in the gravel-walk--this thought restored her serenity. + +When she had given him her hand in farewell she looked at him a moment. +"I have almost decided to dispatch that paper," she said. + +He knew that she alluded to the document that she had called her +renunciation; and he assisted her into the carriage without saying +anything. But just before the vehicle began to move he said, "Well, when +you have in fact dispatched it, I hope you will let me know!" + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Felix Young finished Gertrude's portrait, and he afterwards transferred +to canvas the features of many members of that circle of which it may +be said that he had become for the time the pivot and the centre. I am +afraid it must be confessed that he was a decidedly flattering painter, +and that he imparted to his models a romantic grace which seemed easily +and cheaply acquired by the payment of a hundred dollars to a young man +who made "sitting" so entertaining. For Felix was paid for his pictures, +making, as he did, no secret of the fact that in guiding his steps to +the Western world affectionate curiosity had gone hand in hand with a +desire to better his condition. He took his uncle's portrait quite as if +Mr. Wentworth had never averted himself from the experiment; and as he +compassed his end only by the exercise of gentle violence, it is but +fair to add that he allowed the old man to give him nothing but his +time. He passed his arm into Mr. Wentworth's one summer morning--very +few arms indeed had ever passed into Mr. Wentworth's--and led him across +the garden and along the road into the studio which he had extemporized +in the little house among the apple trees. The grave gentleman felt +himself more and more fascinated by his clever nephew, whose fresh, +demonstrative youth seemed a compendium of experiences so strangely +numerous. It appeared to him that Felix must know a great deal; he would +like to learn what he thought about some of those things as regards +which his own conversation had always been formal, but his knowledge +vague. Felix had a confident, gayly trenchant way of judging human +actions which Mr. Wentworth grew little by little to envy; it seemed +like criticism made easy. Forming an opinion--say on a person's +conduct--was, with Mr. Wentworth, a good deal like fumbling in a lock +with a key chosen at hazard. He seemed to himself to go about the world +with a big bunch of these ineffectual instruments at his girdle. His +nephew, on the other hand, with a single turn of the wrist, opened +any door as adroitly as a horse-thief. He felt obliged to keep up the +convention that an uncle is always wiser than a nephew, even if he could +keep it up no otherwise than by listening in serious silence to Felix's +quick, light, constant discourse. But there came a day when he lapsed +from consistency and almost asked his nephew's advice. + +"Have you ever entertained the idea of settling in the United States?" +he asked one morning, while Felix brilliantly plied his brush. + +"My dear uncle," said Felix, "excuse me if your question makes me smile +a little. To begin with, I have never entertained an idea. Ideas often +entertain _me_; but I am afraid I have never seriously made a plan. I +know what you are going to say; or rather, I know what you think, for +I don't think you will say it--that this is very frivolous and +loose-minded on my part. So it is; but I am made like that; I take +things as they come, and somehow there is always some new thing +to follow the last. In the second place, I should never propose to +_settle_. I can't settle, my dear uncle; I'm not a settler. I know that +is what strangers are supposed to do here; they always settle. But I +haven't--to answer your question--entertained that idea." + +"You intend to return to Europe and resume your irregular manner of +life?" Mr. Wentworth inquired. + +"I can't say I intend. But it's very likely I shall go back to Europe. +After all, I am a European. I feel that, you know. It will depend a good +deal upon my sister. She's even more of a European than I; here, you +know, she's a picture out of her setting. And as for 'resuming,' dear +uncle, I really have never given up my irregular manner of life. What, +for me, could be more irregular than this?" + +"Than what?" asked Mr. Wentworth, with his pale gravity. + +"Well, than everything! Living in the midst of you, this way; this +charming, quiet, serious family life; fraternizing with Charlotte and +Gertrude; calling upon twenty young ladies and going out to walk with +them; sitting with you in the evening on the piazza and listening to the +crickets, and going to bed at ten o'clock." + +"Your description is very animated," said Mr. Wentworth; "but I see +nothing improper in what you describe." + +"Neither do I, dear uncle. It is extremely delightful; I shouldn't +like it if it were improper. I assure you I don't like improper things; +though I dare say you think I do," Felix went on, painting away. + +"I have never accused you of that." + +"Pray don't," said Felix, "because, you see, at bottom I am a terrible +Philistine." + +"A Philistine?" repeated Mr. Wentworth. + +"I mean, as one may say, a plain, God-fearing man." Mr. Wentworth looked +at him reservedly, like a mystified sage, and Felix continued, "I trust +I shall enjoy a venerable and venerated old age. I mean to live long. +I can hardly call that a plan, perhaps; but it's a keen desire--a rosy +vision. I shall be a lively, perhaps even a frivolous old man!" + +"It is natural," said his uncle, sententiously, "that one should desire +to prolong an agreeable life. We have perhaps a selfish indisposition +to bring our pleasure to a close. But I presume," he added, "that you +expect to marry." + +"That too, dear uncle, is a hope, a desire, a vision," said Felix. It +occurred to him for an instant that this was possibly a preface to the +offer of the hand of one of Mr. Wentworth's admirable daughters. But in +the name of decent modesty and a proper sense of the hard realities of +this world, Felix banished the thought. His uncle was the incarnation +of benevolence, certainly; but from that to accepting--much more +postulating--the idea of a union between a young lady with a dowry +presumptively brilliant and a penniless artist with no prospect of +fame, there was a very long way. Felix had lately become conscious of +a luxurious preference for the society--if possible unshared with +others--of Gertrude Wentworth; but he had relegated this young lady, +for the moment, to the coldly brilliant category of unattainable +possessions. She was not the first woman for whom he had entertained +an unpractical admiration. He had been in love with duchesses and +countesses, and he had made, once or twice, a perilously near approach +to cynicism in declaring that the disinterestedness of women had been +overrated. On the whole, he had tempered audacity with modesty; and +it is but fair to him now to say explicitly that he would have been +incapable of taking advantage of his present large allowance of +familiarity to make love to the younger of his handsome cousins. Felix +had grown up among traditions in the light of which such a proceeding +looked like a grievous breach of hospitality. I have said that he was +always happy, and it may be counted among the present sources of his +happiness that he had as regards this matter of his relations with +Gertrude a deliciously good conscience. His own deportment seemed to +him suffused with the beauty of virtue--a form of beauty that he admired +with the same vivacity with which he admired all other forms. + +"I think that if you marry," said Mr. Wentworth presently, "it will +conduce to your happiness." + +_"Sicurissimo!"_ Felix exclaimed; and then, arresting his brush, he +looked at his uncle with a smile. "There is something I feel tempted to +say to you. May I risk it?" + +Mr. Wentworth drew himself up a little. "I am very safe; I don't repeat +things." But he hoped Felix would not risk too much. + +Felix was laughing at his answer. + +"It's odd to hear you telling me how to be happy. I don't think you know +yourself, dear uncle. Now, does that sound brutal?" + +The old man was silent a moment, and then, with a dry dignity that +suddenly touched his nephew: "We may sometimes point out a road we are +unable to follow." + +"Ah, don't tell me you have had any sorrows," Felix rejoined. "I didn't +suppose it, and I didn't mean to allude to them. I simply meant that you +all don't amuse yourselves." + +"Amuse ourselves? We are not children." + +"Precisely not! You have reached the proper age. I was saying that the +other day to Gertrude," Felix added. "I hope it was not indiscreet." + +"If it was," said Mr. Wentworth, with a keener irony than Felix would +have thought him capable of, "it was but your way of amusing yourself. I +am afraid you have never had a trouble." + +"Oh, yes, I have!" Felix declared, with some spirit; "before I knew +better. But you don't catch me at it again." + +Mr. Wentworth maintained for a while a silence more expressive than a +deep-drawn sigh. "You have no children," he said at last. + +"Don't tell me," Felix exclaimed, "that your charming young people are a +source of grief to you!" + +"I don't speak of Charlotte." And then, after a pause, Mr. Wentworth +continued, "I don't speak of Gertrude. But I feel considerable anxiety +about Clifford. I will tell you another time." + +The next time he gave Felix a sitting his nephew reminded him that he +had taken him into his confidence. "How is Clifford today?" Felix +asked. "He has always seemed to me a young man of remarkable discretion. +Indeed, he is only too discreet; he seems on his guard against me--as +if he thought me rather light company. The other day he told his +sister--Gertrude repeated it to me--that I was always laughing at him. +If I laugh it is simply from the impulse to try and inspire him with +confidence. That is the only way I have." + +"Clifford's situation is no laughing matter," said Mr. Wentworth. "It is +very peculiar, as I suppose you have guessed." + +"Ah, you mean his love affair with his cousin?" + +Mr. Wentworth stared, blushing a little. "I mean his absence from +college. He has been suspended. We have decided not to speak of it +unless we are asked." + +"Suspended?" Felix repeated. + +"He has been requested by the Harvard authorities to absent himself for +six months. Meanwhile he is studying with Mr. Brand. We think Mr. Brand +will help him; at least we hope so." + +"What befell him at college?" Felix asked. "He was too fond of pleasure? +Mr. Brand certainly will not teach him any of those secrets!" + +"He was too fond of something of which he should not have been fond. I +suppose it is considered a pleasure." + +Felix gave his light laugh. "My dear uncle, is there any doubt about its +being a pleasure? _C'est de son ge_, as they say in France." + +"I should have said rather it was a vice of later life--of disappointed +old age." + +Felix glanced at his uncle, with his lifted eyebrows, and then, "Of what +are you speaking?" he demanded, smiling. + +"Of the situation in which Clifford was found." + +"Ah, he was found--he was caught?" + +"Necessarily, he was caught. He couldn't walk; he staggered." + +"Oh," said Felix, "he drinks! I rather suspected that, from something I +observed the first day I came here. I quite agree with you that it is a +low taste. It's not a vice for a gentleman. He ought to give it up." + +"We hope for a good deal from Mr. Brand's influence," Mr. Wentworth went +on. "He has talked to him from the first. And he never touches anything +himself." + +"I will talk to him--I will talk to him!" Felix declared, gayly. + +"What will you say to him?" asked his uncle, with some apprehension. + +Felix for some moments answered nothing. "Do you mean to marry him to +his cousin?" he asked at last. + +"Marry him?" echoed Mr. Wentworth. "I shouldn't think his cousin would +want to marry him." + +"You have no understanding, then, with Mrs. Acton?" + +Mr. Wentworth stared, almost blankly. "I have never discussed such +subjects with her." + +"I should think it might be time," said Felix. "Lizzie Acton is +admirably pretty, and if Clifford is dangerous...." + +"They are not engaged," said Mr. Wentworth. "I have no reason to suppose +they are engaged." + +_"Par exemple!"_ cried Felix. "A clandestine engagement? Trust me, +Clifford, as I say, is a charming boy. He is incapable of that. Lizzie +Acton, then, would not be jealous of another woman." + +"I certainly hope not," said the old man, with a vague sense of jealousy +being an even lower vice than a love of liquor. + +"The best thing for Clifford, then," Felix propounded, "is to become +interested in some clever, charming woman." And he paused in his +painting, and, with his elbows on his knees, looked with bright +communicativeness at his uncle. "You see, I believe greatly in the +influence of women. Living with women helps to make a man a gentleman. +It is very true Clifford has his sisters, who are so charming. But there +should be a different sentiment in play from the fraternal, you know. He +has Lizzie Acton; but she, perhaps, is rather immature." + +"I suspect Lizzie has talked to him, reasoned with him," said Mr. +Wentworth. + +"On the impropriety of getting tipsy--on the beauty of temperance? That +is dreary work for a pretty young girl. No," Felix continued; "Clifford +ought to frequent some agreeable woman, who, without ever mentioning +such unsavory subjects, would give him a sense of its being very +ridiculous to be fuddled. If he could fall in love with her a little, so +much the better. The thing would operate as a cure." + +"Well, now, what lady should you suggest?" asked Mr. Wentworth. + +"There is a clever woman under your hand. My sister." + +"Your sister--under my hand?" Mr. Wentworth repeated. + +"Say a word to Clifford. Tell him to be bold. He is well disposed +already; he has invited her two or three times to drive. But I don't +think he comes to see her. Give him a hint to come--to come often. +He will sit there of an afternoon, and they will talk. It will do him +good." + +Mr. Wentworth meditated. "You think she will exercise a helpful +influence?" + +"She will exercise a civilizing--I may call it a sobering--influence. A +charming, clever, witty woman always does--especially if she is a little +of a coquette. My dear uncle, the society of such women has been half +my education. If Clifford is suspended, as you say, from college, let +Eugenia be his preceptress." + +Mr. Wentworth continued thoughtful. "You think Eugenia is a coquette?" +he asked. + +"What pretty woman is not?" Felix demanded in turn. But this, for Mr. +Wentworth, could at the best have been no answer, for he did not think +his niece pretty. "With Clifford," the young man pursued, "Eugenia will +simply be enough of a coquette to be a little ironical. That's what +he needs. So you recommend him to be nice with her, you know. The +suggestion will come best from you." + +"Do I understand," asked the old man, "that I am to suggest to my son to +make a--a profession of--of affection to Madame Mnster?" + +"Yes, yes--a profession!" cried Felix sympathetically. + +"But, as I understand it, Madame Mnster is a married woman." + +"Ah," said Felix, smiling, "of course she can't marry him. But she will +do what she can." + +Mr. Wentworth sat for some time with his eyes on the floor; at last he +got up. "I don't think," he said, "that I can undertake to recommend my +son any such course." And without meeting Felix's surprised glance he +broke off his sitting, which was not resumed for a fortnight. + +Felix was very fond of the little lake which occupied so many of Mr. +Wentworth's numerous acres, and of a remarkable pine grove which lay +upon the further side of it, planted upon a steep embankment and haunted +by the summer breeze. The murmur of the air in the far off tree-tops +had a strange distinctness; it was almost articulate. One afternoon +the young man came out of his painting-room and passed the open door of +Eugenia's little salon. Within, in the cool dimness, he saw his sister, +dressed in white, buried in her arm-chair, and holding to her face an +immense bouquet. Opposite to her sat Clifford Wentworth, twirling his +hat. He had evidently just presented the bouquet to the Baroness, whose +fine eyes, as she glanced at him over the big roses and geraniums, wore +a conversational smile. Felix, standing on the threshold of the cottage, +hesitated for a moment as to whether he should retrace his steps and +enter the parlor. Then he went his way and passed into Mr. Wentworth's +garden. That civilizing process to which he had suggested that Clifford +should be subjected appeared to have come on of itself. Felix was very +sure, at least, that Mr. Wentworth had not adopted his ingenious device +for stimulating the young man's aesthetic consciousness. "Doubtless +he supposes," he said to himself, after the conversation that has been +narrated, "that I desire, out of fraternal benevolence, to procure for +Eugenia the amusement of a flirtation--or, as he probably calls it, an +intrigue--with the too susceptible Clifford. It must be admitted--and +I have noticed it before--that nothing exceeds the license occasionally +taken by the imagination of very rigid people." Felix, on his own side, +had of course said nothing to Clifford; but he had observed to Eugenia +that Mr. Wentworth was much mortified at his son's low tastes. "We ought +to do something to help them, after all their kindness to us," he had +added. "Encourage Clifford to come and see you, and inspire him with a +taste for conversation. That will supplant the other, which only comes +from his puerility, from his not taking his position in the world--that +of a rich young man of ancient stock--seriously enough. Make him +a little more serious. Even if he makes love to you it is no great +matter." + +"I am to offer myself as a superior form of intoxication--a substitute +for a brandy bottle, eh?" asked the Baroness. "Truly, in this country +one comes to strange uses." + +But she had not positively declined to undertake Clifford's higher +education, and Felix, who had not thought of the matter again, being +haunted with visions of more personal profit, now reflected that the +work of redemption had fairly begun. The idea in prospect had seemed +of the happiest, but in operation it made him a trifle uneasy. "What if +Eugenia--what if Eugenia"--he asked himself softly; the question dying +away in his sense of Eugenia's undetermined capacity. But before Felix +had time either to accept or to reject its admonition, even in this +vague form, he saw Robert Acton turn out of Mr. Wentworth's enclosure, +by a distant gate, and come toward the cottage in the orchard. Acton +had evidently walked from his own house along a shady by-way and was +intending to pay a visit to Madame Mnster. Felix watched him a moment; +then he turned away. Acton could be left to play the part of Providence +and interrupt--if interruption were needed--Clifford's entanglement with +Eugenia. + +Felix passed through the garden toward the house and toward a postern +gate which opened upon a path leading across the fields, beside a little +wood, to the lake. He stopped and looked up at the house; his eyes +rested more particularly upon a certain open window, on the shady side. +Presently Gertrude appeared there, looking out into the summer light. He +took off his hat to her and bade her good-day; he remarked that he was +going to row across the pond, and begged that she would do him the +honor to accompany him. She looked at him a moment; then, without saying +anything, she turned away. But she soon reappeared below in one of those +quaint and charming Leghorn hats, tied with white satin bows, that were +worn at that period; she also carried a green parasol. She went with +him to the edge of the lake, where a couple of boats were always moored; +they got into one of them, and Felix, with gentle strokes, propelled it +to the opposite shore. The day was the perfection of summer weather; +the little lake was the color of sunshine; the plash of the oars was the +only sound, and they found themselves listening to it. They disembarked, +and, by a winding path, ascended the pine-crested mound which overlooked +the water, whose white expanse glittered between the trees. The place +was delightfully cool, and had the added charm that--in the softly +sounding pine boughs--you seemed to hear the coolness as well as +feel it. Felix and Gertrude sat down on the rust-colored carpet of +pine-needles and talked of many things. Felix spoke at last, in the +course of talk, of his going away; it was the first time he had alluded +to it. + +"You are going away?" said Gertrude, looking at him. + +"Some day--when the leaves begin to fall. You know I can't stay +forever." + +Gertrude transferred her eyes to the outer prospect, and then, after a +pause, she said, "I shall never see you again." + +"Why not?" asked Felix. "We shall probably both survive my departure." + +But Gertrude only repeated, "I shall never see you again. I shall never +hear of you," she went on. "I shall know nothing about you. I knew +nothing about you before, and it will be the same again." + +"I knew nothing about you then, unfortunately," said Felix. "But now I +shall write to you." + +"Don't write to me. I shall not answer you," Gertrude declared. + +"I should of course burn your letters," said Felix. + +Gertrude looked at him again. "Burn my letters? You sometimes say +strange things." + +"They are not strange in themselves," the young man answered. "They are +only strange as said to you. You will come to Europe." + +"With whom shall I come?" She asked this question simply; she was very +much in earnest. Felix was interested in her earnestness; for some +moments he hesitated. "You can't tell me that," she pursued. "You can't +say that I shall go with my father and my sister; you don't believe +that." + +"I shall keep your letters," said Felix, presently, for all answer. + +"I never write. I don't know how to write." Gertrude, for some time, +said nothing more; and her companion, as he looked at her, wished it had +not been "disloyal" to make love to the daughter of an old gentleman who +had offered one hospitality. The afternoon waned; the shadows stretched +themselves; and the light grew deeper in the western sky. Two persons +appeared on the opposite side of the lake, coming from the house and +crossing the meadow. "It is Charlotte and Mr. Brand," said Gertrude. +"They are coming over here." But Charlotte and Mr. Brand only came down +to the edge of the water, and stood there, looking across; they made no +motion to enter the boat that Felix had left at the mooring-place. Felix +waved his hat to them; it was too far to call. They made no visible +response, and they presently turned away and walked along the shore. + +"Mr. Brand is not demonstrative," said Felix. "He is never demonstrative +to me. He sits silent, with his chin in his hand, looking at me. +Sometimes he looks away. Your father tells me he is so eloquent; and I +should like to hear him talk. He looks like such a noble young man. +But with me he will never talk. And yet I am so fond of listening to +brilliant imagery!" + +"He is very eloquent," said Gertrude; "but he has no brilliant imagery. +I have heard him talk a great deal. I knew that when they saw us they +would not come over here." + +"Ah, he is making _la cour_, as they say, to your sister? They desire to +be alone?" + +"No," said Gertrude, gravely, "they have no such reason as that for +being alone." + +"But why doesn't he make _la cour_ to Charlotte?" Felix inquired. "She +is so pretty, so gentle, so good." + +Gertrude glanced at him, and then she looked at the distantly-seen +couple they were discussing. Mr. Brand and Charlotte were walking side +by side. They might have been a pair of lovers, and yet they might not. +"They think I should not be here," said Gertrude. + +"With me? I thought you didn't have those ideas." + +"You don't understand. There are a great many things you don't +understand." + +"I understand my stupidity. But why, then, do not Charlotte and Mr. +Brand, who, as an elder sister and a clergyman, are free to walk about +together, come over and make me wiser by breaking up the unlawful +interview into which I have lured you?" + +"That is the last thing they would do," said Gertrude. + +Felix stared at her a moment, with his lifted eyebrows. _"Je n'y +comprends rien!"_ he exclaimed; then his eyes followed for a while the +retreating figures of this critical pair. "You may say what you please," +he declared; "it is evident to me that your sister is not indifferent +to her clever companion. It is agreeable to her to be walking there with +him. I can see that from here." And in the excitement of observation +Felix rose to his feet. + +Gertrude rose also, but she made no attempt to emulate her companion's +discovery; she looked rather in another direction. Felix's words had +struck her; but a certain delicacy checked her. "She is certainly not +indifferent to Mr. Brand; she has the highest opinion of him." + +"One can see it--one can see it," said Felix, in a tone of amused +contemplation, with his head on one side. Gertrude turned her back to +the opposite shore; it was disagreeable to her to look, but she hoped +Felix would say something more. "Ah, they have wandered away into the +wood," he added. + +Gertrude turned round again. "She is _not_ in love with him," she said; +it seemed her duty to say that. + +"Then he is in love with her; or if he is not, he ought to be. She is +such a perfect little woman of her kind. She reminds me of a pair of +old-fashioned silver sugar-tongs; you know I am very fond of sugar. And +she is very nice with Mr. Brand; I have noticed that; very gentle and +gracious." + +Gertrude reflected a moment. Then she took a great resolution. "She +wants him to marry me," she said. "So of course she is nice." + +Felix's eyebrows rose higher than ever. "To marry you! Ah, ah, this is +interesting. And you think one must be very nice with a man to induce +him to do that?" + +Gertrude had turned a little pale, but she went on, "Mr. Brand wants it +himself." + +Felix folded his arms and stood looking at her. "I see--I see," he said +quickly. "Why did you never tell me this before?" + +"It is disagreeable to me to speak of it even now. I wished simply to +explain to you about Charlotte." + +"You don't wish to marry Mr. Brand, then?" + +"No," said Gertrude, gravely. + +"And does your father wish it?" + +"Very much." + +"And you don't like him--you have refused him?" + +"I don't wish to marry him." + +"Your father and sister think you ought to, eh?" + +"It is a long story," said Gertrude. "They think there are good reasons. +I can't explain it. They think I have obligations, and that I have +encouraged him." + +Felix smiled at her, as if she had been telling him an amusing story +about someone else. "I can't tell you how this interests me," he said. +"Now you don't recognize these reasons--these obligations?" + +"I am not sure; it is not easy." And she picked up her parasol and +turned away, as if to descend the slope. + +"Tell me this," Felix went on, going with her: "are you likely to give +in--to let them persuade you?" + +Gertrude looked at him with the serious face that she had constantly +worn, in opposition to his almost eager smile. "I shall never marry Mr. +Brand," she said. + +"I see!" Felix rejoined. And they slowly descended the hill together, +saying nothing till they reached the margin of the pond. "It is your own +affair," he then resumed; "but do you know, I am not altogether glad? If +it were settled that you were to marry Mr. Brand I should take a certain +comfort in the arrangement. I should feel more free. I have no right +to make love to you myself, eh?" And he paused, lightly pressing his +argument upon her. + +"None whatever," replied Gertrude quickly--too quickly. + +"Your father would never hear of it; I haven't a penny. Mr. Brand, of +course, has property of his own, eh?" + +"I believe he has some property; but that has nothing to do with it." + +"With you, of course not; but with your father and sister it must have. +So, as I say, if this were settled, I should feel more at liberty." + +"More at liberty?" Gertrude repeated. "Please unfasten the boat." + +Felix untwisted the rope and stood holding it. "I should be able to say +things to you that I can't give myself the pleasure of saying now," he +went on. "I could tell you how much I admire you, without seeming to +pretend to that which I have no right to pretend to. I should make +violent love to you," he added, laughing, "if I thought you were so +placed as not to be offended by it." + +"You mean if I were engaged to another man? That is strange reasoning!" +Gertrude exclaimed. + +"In that case you would not take me seriously." + +"I take everyone seriously," said Gertrude. And without his help she +stepped lightly into the boat. + +Felix took up the oars and sent it forward. "Ah, this is what you have +been thinking about? It seemed to me you had something on your mind. +I wish very much," he added, "that you would tell me some of these +so-called reasons--these obligations." + +"They are not real reasons--good reasons," said Gertrude, looking at the +pink and yellow gleams in the water. + +"I can understand that! Because a handsome girl has had a spark of +coquetry, that is no reason." + +"If you mean me, it's not that. I have not done that." + +"It is something that troubles you, at any rate," said Felix. + +"Not so much as it used to," Gertrude rejoined. + +He looked at her, smiling always. "That is not saying much, eh?" But she +only rested her eyes, very gravely, on the lighted water. She seemed to +him to be trying to hide the signs of the trouble of which she had just +told him. Felix felt, at all times, much the same impulse to dissipate +visible melancholy that a good housewife feels to brush away dust. There +was something he wished to brush away now; suddenly he stopped rowing +and poised his oars. "Why should Mr. Brand have addressed himself to +you, and not to your sister?" he asked. "I am sure she would listen to +him." + +Gertrude, in her family, was thought capable of a good deal of levity; +but her levity had never gone so far as this. It moved her greatly, +however, to hear Felix say that he was sure of something; so that, +raising her eyes toward him, she tried intently, for some moments, to +conjure up this wonderful image of a love-affair between her own sister +and her own suitor. We know that Gertrude had an imaginative mind; so +that it is not impossible that this effort should have been partially +successful. But she only murmured, "Ah, Felix! ah, Felix!" + +"Why shouldn't they marry? Try and make them marry!" cried Felix. + +"Try and make them?" + +"Turn the tables on them. Then they will leave you alone. I will help +you as far as I can." + +Gertrude's heart began to beat; she was greatly excited; she had never +had anything so interesting proposed to her before. Felix had begun to +row again, and he now sent the boat home with long strokes. "I believe +she _does_ care for him!" said Gertrude, after they had disembarked. + +"Of course she does, and we will marry them off. It will make them +happy; it will make everyone happy. We shall have a wedding and I will +write an epithalamium." + +"It seems as if it would make _me_ happy," said Gertrude. + +"To get rid of Mr. Brand, eh? To recover your liberty?" + +Gertrude walked on. "To see my sister married to so good a man." + +Felix gave his light laugh. "You always put things on those grounds; you +will never say anything for yourself. You are all so afraid, here, of +being selfish. I don't think you know how," he went on. "Let me show +you! It will make me happy for myself, and for just the reverse of what +I told you a while ago. After that, when I make love to you, you will +have to think I mean it." + +"I shall never think you mean anything," said Gertrude. "You are too +fantastic." + +"Ah," cried Felix, "that's a license to say everything! Gertrude, I +adore you!" + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Charlotte and Mr. Brand had not returned when they reached the house; +but the Baroness had come to tea, and Robert Acton also, who now +regularly asked for a place at this generous repast or made his +appearance later in the evening. Clifford Wentworth, with his juvenile +growl, remarked upon it. + +"You are always coming to tea nowadays, Robert," he said. "I should +think you had drunk enough tea in China." + +"Since when is Mr. Acton more frequent?" asked the Baroness. + +"Since you came," said Clifford. "It seems as if you were a kind of +attraction." + +"I suppose I am a curiosity," said the Baroness. "Give me time and I +will make you a salon." + +"It would fall to pieces after you go!" exclaimed Acton. + +"Don't talk about her going, in that familiar way," Clifford said. "It +makes me feel gloomy." + +Mr. Wentworth glanced at his son, and taking note of these words, +wondered if Felix had been teaching him, according to the programme he +had sketched out, to make love to the wife of a German prince. + +Charlotte came in late with Mr. Brand; but Gertrude, to whom, at least, +Felix had taught something, looked in vain, in her face, for the traces +of a guilty passion. Mr. Brand sat down by Gertrude, and she presently +asked him why they had not crossed the pond to join Felix and herself. + +"It is cruel of you to ask me that," he answered, very softly. He had a +large morsel of cake before him; but he fingered it without eating it. +"I sometimes think you are growing cruel," he added. + +Gertrude said nothing; she was afraid to speak. There was a kind of rage +in her heart; she felt as if she could easily persuade herself that she +was persecuted. She said to herself that it was quite right that she +should not allow him to make her believe she was wrong. She thought +of what Felix had said to her; she wished indeed Mr. Brand would marry +Charlotte. She looked away from him and spoke no more. Mr. Brand +ended by eating his cake, while Felix sat opposite, describing to +Mr. Wentworth the students' duels at Heidelberg. After tea they all +dispersed themselves, as usual, upon the piazza and in the garden; and +Mr. Brand drew near to Gertrude again. + +"I didn't come to you this afternoon because you were not alone," he +began; "because you were with a newer friend." + +"Felix? He is an old friend by this time." + +Mr. Brand looked at the ground for some moments. "I thought I was +prepared to hear you speak in that way," he resumed. "But I find it very +painful." + +"I don't see what else I can say," said Gertrude. + +Mr. Brand walked beside her for a while in silence; Gertrude wished he +would go away. "He is certainly very accomplished. But I think I ought +to advise you." + +"To advise me?" + +"I think I know your nature." + +"I think you don't," said Gertrude, with a soft laugh. + +"You make yourself out worse than you are--to please him," Mr. Brand +said, gently. + +"Worse--to please him? What do you mean?" asked Gertrude, stopping. + +Mr. Brand stopped also, and with the same soft straight-forwardness, "He +doesn't care for the things you care for--the great questions of life." + +Gertrude, with her eyes on his, shook her head. "I don't care for the +great questions of life. They are much beyond me." + +"There was a time when you didn't say that," said Mr. Brand. + +"Oh," rejoined Gertrude, "I think you made me talk a great deal of +nonsense. And it depends," she added, "upon what you call the great +questions of life. There are some things I care for." + +"Are they the things you talk about with your cousin?" + +"You should not say things to me against my cousin, Mr. Brand," said +Gertrude. "That is dishonorable." + +He listened to this respectfully; then he answered, with a little +vibration of the voice, "I should be very sorry to do anything +dishonorable. But I don't see why it is dishonorable to say that your +cousin is frivolous." + +"Go and say it to himself!" + +"I think he would admit it," said Mr. Brand. "That is the tone he would +take. He would not be ashamed of it." + +"Then I am not ashamed of it!" Gertrude declared. "That is probably what +I like him for. I am frivolous myself." + +"You are trying, as I said just now, to lower yourself." + +"I am trying for once to be natural!" cried Gertrude passionately. "I +have been pretending, all my life; I have been dishonest; it is you that +have made me so!" Mr. Brand stood gazing at her, and she went on, "Why +shouldn't I be frivolous, if I want? One has a right to be frivolous, if +it's one's nature. No, I don't care for the great questions. I care for +pleasure--for amusement. Perhaps I am fond of wicked things; it is very +possible!" + +Mr. Brand remained staring; he was even a little pale, as if he had been +frightened. "I don't think you know what you are saying!" he exclaimed. + +"Perhaps not. Perhaps I am talking nonsense. But it is only with you +that I talk nonsense. I never do so with my cousin." + +"I will speak to you again, when you are less excited," said Mr. Brand. + +"I am always excited when you speak to me. I must tell you that--even if +it prevents you altogether, in future. Your speaking to me irritates me. +With my cousin it is very different. That seems quiet and natural." + +He looked at her, and then he looked away, with a kind of helpless +distress, at the dusky garden and the faint summer stars. After which, +suddenly turning back, "Gertrude, Gertrude!" he softly groaned. "Am I +really losing you?" + +She was touched--she was pained; but it had already occurred to her that +she might do something better than say so. It would not have alleviated +her companion's distress to perceive, just then, whence she had +sympathetically borrowed this ingenuity. "I am not sorry for you," +Gertrude said; "for in paying so much attention to me you are following +a shadow--you are wasting something precious. There is something else +you might have that you don't look at--something better than I am. That +is a reality!" And then, with intention, she looked at him and tried +to smile a little. He thought this smile of hers very strange; but she +turned away and left him. + +She wandered about alone in the garden wondering what Mr. Brand would +make of her words, which it had been a singular pleasure for her to +utter. Shortly after, passing in front of the house, she saw at a +distance two persons standing near the garden gate. It was Mr. Brand +going away and bidding good-night to Charlotte, who had walked down with +him from the house. Gertrude saw that the parting was prolonged. Then +she turned her back upon it. She had not gone very far, however, when +she heard her sister slowly following her. She neither turned round nor +waited for her; she knew what Charlotte was going to say. Charlotte, who +at last overtook her, in fact presently began; she had passed her arm +into Gertrude's. + +"Will you listen to me, dear, if I say something very particular?" + +"I know what you are going to say," said Gertrude. "Mr. Brand feels very +badly." + +"Oh, Gertrude, how can you treat him so?" Charlotte demanded. And as her +sister made no answer she added, "After all he has done for you!" + +"What has he done for me?" + +"I wonder you can ask, Gertrude. He has helped you so. You told me so +yourself, a great many times. You told me that he helped you to struggle +with your--your peculiarities. You told me that he had taught you how to +govern your temper." + +For a moment Gertrude said nothing. Then, "Was my temper very bad?" she +asked. + +"I am not accusing you, Gertrude," said Charlotte. + +"What are you doing, then?" her sister demanded, with a short laugh. + +"I am pleading for Mr. Brand--reminding you of all you owe him." + +"I have given it all back," said Gertrude, still with her little laugh. +"He can take back the virtue he imparted! I want to be wicked again." + +Her sister made her stop in the path, and fixed upon her, in the +darkness, a sweet, reproachful gaze. "If you talk this way I shall +almost believe it. Think of all we owe Mr. Brand. Think of how he has +always expected something of you. Think how much he has been to us. +Think of his beautiful influence upon Clifford." + +"He is very good," said Gertrude, looking at her sister. "I know he is +very good. But he shouldn't speak against Felix." + +"Felix is good," Charlotte answered, softly but promptly. "Felix is very +wonderful. Only he is so different. Mr. Brand is much nearer to us. I +should never think of going to Felix with a trouble--with a question. +Mr. Brand is much more to us, Gertrude." + +"He is very--very good," Gertrude repeated. "He is more to you; yes, +much more. Charlotte," she added suddenly, "you are in love with him!" + +"Oh, Gertrude!" cried poor Charlotte; and her sister saw her blushing in +the darkness. + +Gertrude put her arm round her. "I wish he would marry you!" she went +on. + +Charlotte shook herself free. "You must not say such things!" she +exclaimed, beneath her breath. + +"You like him more than you say, and he likes you more than he knows." + +"This is very cruel of you!" Charlotte Wentworth murmured. + +But if it was cruel Gertrude continued pitiless. "Not if it's true," she +answered. "I wish he would marry you." + +"Please don't say that." + +"I mean to tell him so!" said Gertrude. + +"Oh, Gertrude, Gertrude!" her sister almost moaned. + +"Yes, if he speaks to me again about myself. I will say, 'Why don't you +marry Charlotte? She's a thousand times better than I.'" + +"You _are_ wicked; you _are_ changed!" cried her sister. + +"If you don't like it you can prevent it," said Gertrude. "You can +prevent it by keeping him from speaking to me!" And with this she walked +away, very conscious of what she had done; measuring it and finding a +certain joy and a quickened sense of freedom in it. + +Mr. Wentworth was rather wide of the mark in suspecting that Clifford +had begun to pay unscrupulous compliments to his brilliant cousin; for +the young man had really more scruples than he received credit for in +his family. He had a certain transparent shamefacedness which was +in itself a proof that he was not at his ease in dissipation. His +collegiate peccadilloes had aroused a domestic murmur as disagreeable +to the young man as the creaking of his boots would have been to a +house-breaker. Only, as the house-breaker would have simplified matters +by removing his _chaussures_, it had seemed to Clifford that the +shortest cut to comfortable relations with people--relations which +should make him cease to think that when they spoke to him they meant +something improving--was to renounce all ambition toward a nefarious +development. And, in fact, Clifford's ambition took the most commendable +form. He thought of himself in the future as the well-known and +much-liked Mr. Wentworth, of Boston, who should, in the natural course +of prosperity, have married his pretty cousin, Lizzie Acton; should live +in a wide-fronted house, in view of the Common; and should drive, behind +a light wagon, over the damp autumn roads, a pair of beautifully matched +sorrel horses. Clifford's vision of the coming years was very simple; +its most definite features were this element of familiar matrimony and +the duplication of his resources for trotting. He had not yet asked his +cousin to marry him; but he meant to do so as soon as he had taken his +degree. Lizzie was serenely conscious of his intention, and she had made +up her mind that he would improve. Her brother, who was very fond of +this light, quick, competent little Lizzie, saw on his side no reason to +interpose. It seemed to him a graceful social law that Clifford and his +sister should become engaged; he himself was not engaged, but everyone +else, fortunately, was not such a fool as he. He was fond of Clifford, +as well, and had his own way--of which it must be confessed he was a +little ashamed--of looking at those aberrations which had led to the +young man's compulsory retirement from the neighboring seat of learning. +Acton had seen the world, as he said to himself; he had been to China +and had knocked about among men. He had learned the essential difference +between a nice young fellow and a mean young fellow, and was satisfied +that there was no harm in Clifford. He believed--although it must be +added that he had not quite the courage to declare it--in the doctrine +of wild oats, and thought it a useful preventive of superfluous fears. +If Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte and Mr. Brand would only apply it in +Clifford's case, they would be happier; and Acton thought it a pity +they should not be happier. They took the boy's misdemeanors too much to +heart; they talked to him too solemnly; they frightened and bewildered +him. Of course there was the great standard of morality, which forbade +that a man should get tipsy, play at billiards for money, or cultivate +his sensual consciousness; but what fear was there that poor Clifford +was going to run a tilt at any great standard? It had, however, never +occurred to Acton to dedicate the Baroness Mnster to the redemption of +a refractory collegian. The instrument, here, would have seemed to +him quite too complex for the operation. Felix, on the other hand, had +spoken in obedience to the belief that the more charming a woman is the +more numerous, literally, are her definite social uses. + +Eugenia herself, as we know, had plenty of leisure to enumerate her +uses. As I have had the honor of intimating, she had come four thousand +miles to seek her fortune; and it is not to be supposed that after this +great effort she could neglect any apparent aid to advancement. It is +my misfortune that in attempting to describe in a short compass the +deportment of this remarkable woman I am obliged to express things +rather brutally. I feel this to be the case, for instance, when I say +that she had primarily detected such an aid to advancement in the person +of Robert Acton, but that she had afterwards remembered that a +prudent archer has always a second bowstring. Eugenia was a woman of +finely-mingled motive, and her intentions were never sensibly gross. +She had a sort of aesthetic ideal for Clifford which seemed to her a +disinterested reason for taking him in hand. It was very well for a +fresh-colored young gentleman to be ingenuous; but Clifford, really, was +crude. With such a pretty face he ought to have prettier manners. She +would teach him that, with a beautiful name, the expectation of a large +property, and, as they said in Europe, a social position, an only son +should know how to carry himself. + +Once Clifford had begun to come and see her by himself and for himself, +he came very often. He hardly knew why he should come; he saw her almost +every evening at his father's house; he had nothing particular to say to +her. She was not a young girl, and fellows of his age called only upon +young girls. He exaggerated her age; she seemed to him an old woman; it +was happy that the Baroness, with all her intelligence, was incapable of +guessing this. But gradually it struck Clifford that visiting old women +might be, if not a natural, at least, as they say of some articles of +diet, an acquired taste. The Baroness was certainly a very amusing old +woman; she talked to him as no lady--and indeed no gentleman--had ever +talked to him before. + +"You should go to Europe and make the tour," she said to him one +afternoon. "Of course, on leaving college you will go." + +"I don't want to go," Clifford declared. "I know some fellows who have +been to Europe. They say you can have better fun here." + +"That depends. It depends upon your idea of fun. Your friends probably +were not introduced." + +"Introduced?" Clifford demanded. + +"They had no opportunity of going into society; they formed no +_relations_." This was one of a certain number of words that the +Baroness often pronounced in the French manner. + +"They went to a ball, in Paris; I know that," said Clifford. + +"Ah, there are balls and balls; especially in Paris. No, you must go, +you know; it is not a thing from which you can dispense yourself. You +need it." + +"Oh, I'm very well," said Clifford. "I'm not sick." + +"I don't mean for your health, my poor child. I mean for your manners." + +"I haven't got any manners!" growled Clifford. + +"Precisely. You don't mind my assenting to that, eh?" asked the Baroness +with a smile. "You must go to Europe and get a few. You can get them +better there. It is a pity you might not have come while I was living +in--in Germany. I would have introduced you; I had a charming little +circle. You would perhaps have been rather young; but the younger one +begins, I think, the better. Now, at any rate, you have no time to lose, +and when I return you must immediately come to me." + +All this, to Clifford's apprehension, was a great mixture--his beginning +young, Eugenia's return to Europe, his being introduced to her charming +little circle. What was he to begin, and what was her little circle? His +ideas about her marriage had a good deal of vagueness; but they were +in so far definite as that he felt it to be a matter not to be freely +mentioned. He sat and looked all round the room; he supposed she was +alluding in some way to her marriage. + +"Oh, I don't want to go to Germany," he said; it seemed to him the most +convenient thing to say. + +She looked at him a while, smiling with her lips, but not with her eyes. + +"You have scruples?" she asked. + +"Scruples?" said Clifford. + +"You young people, here, are very singular; one doesn't know where to +expect you. When you are not extremely improper you are so terribly +proper. I dare say you think that, owing to my irregular marriage, I +live with loose people. You were never more mistaken. I have been all +the more particular." + +"Oh, no," said Clifford, honestly distressed. "I never thought such a +thing as that." + +"Are you very sure? I am convinced that your father does, and your +sisters. They say to each other that here I am on my good behavior, +but that over there--married by the left hand--I associate with light +women." + +"Oh, no," cried Clifford, energetically, "they don't say such things as +that to each other!" + +"If they think them they had better say them," the Baroness rejoined. +"Then they can be contradicted. Please contradict that whenever you hear +it, and don't be afraid of coming to see me on account of the company I +keep. I have the honor of knowing more distinguished men, my poor child, +than you are likely to see in a life-time. I see very few women; but +those are women of rank. So, my dear young Puritan, you needn't be +afraid. I am not in the least one of those who think that the society of +women who have lost their place in the _vrai monde_ is necessary to form +a young man. I have never taken that tone. I have kept my place myself, +and I think we are a much better school than the others. Trust me, +Clifford, and I will prove that to you," the Baroness continued, while +she made the agreeable reflection that she could not, at least, be +accused of perverting her young kinsman. "So if you ever fall among +thieves don't go about saying I sent you to them." + +Clifford thought it so comical that he should know--in spite of her +figurative language--what she meant, and that she should mean what he +knew, that he could hardly help laughing a little, although he tried +hard. "Oh, no! oh, no!" he murmured. + +"Laugh out, laugh out, if I amuse you!" cried the Baroness. "I am here +for that!" And Clifford thought her a very amusing person indeed. +"But remember," she said on this occasion, "that you are coming--next +year--to pay me a visit over there." + +About a week afterwards she said to him, point-blank, "Are you seriously +making love to your little cousin?" + +"Seriously making love"--these words, on Madame Mnster's lips, had to +Clifford's sense a portentous and embarrassing sound; he hesitated about +assenting, lest he should commit himself to more than he understood. +"Well, I shouldn't say it if I was!" he exclaimed. + +"Why wouldn't you say it?" the Baroness demanded. "Those things ought to +be known." + +"I don't care whether it is known or not," Clifford rejoined. "But I +don't want people looking at me." + +"A young man of your importance ought to learn to bear observation--to +carry himself as if he were quite indifferent to it. I won't say, +exactly, unconscious," the Baroness explained. "No, he must seem to know +he is observed, and to think it natural he should be; but he must appear +perfectly used to it. Now you haven't that, Clifford; you haven't that +at all. You must have that, you know. Don't tell me you are not a young +man of importance," Eugenia added. "Don't say anything so flat as that." + +"Oh, no, you don't catch me saying that!" cried Clifford. + +"Yes, you must come to Germany," Madame Mnster continued. "I will show +you how people can be talked about, and yet not seem to know it. You +will be talked about, of course, with me; it will be said you are my +lover. I will show you how little one may mind that--how little I shall +mind it." + +Clifford sat staring, blushing and laughing. "I shall mind it a good +deal!" he declared. + +"Ah, not too much, you know; that would be uncivil. But I give you leave +to mind it a little; especially if you have a passion for Miss Acton. +_Voyons_; as regards that, you either have or you have not. It is very +simple to say it." + +"I don't see why you want to know," said Clifford. + +"You ought to want me to know. If one is arranging a marriage, one tells +one's friends." + +"Oh, I'm not arranging anything," said Clifford. + +"You don't intend to marry your cousin?" + +"Well, I expect I shall do as I choose!" + +The Baroness leaned her head upon the back of her chair and closed her +eyes, as if she were tired. Then opening them again, "Your cousin is +very charming!" she said. + +"She is the prettiest girl in this place," Clifford rejoined. + +"'In this place' is saying little; she would be charming anywhere. I am +afraid you are entangled." + +"Oh, no, I'm not entangled." + +"Are you engaged? At your age that is the same thing." + +Clifford looked at the Baroness with some audacity. "Will you tell no +one?" + +"If it's as sacred as that--no." + +"Well, then--we are not!" said Clifford. + +"That's the great secret--that you are not, eh?" asked the Baroness, +with a quick laugh. "I am very glad to hear it. You are altogether too +young. A young man in your position must choose and compare; he must see +the world first. Depend upon it," she added, "you should not settle that +matter before you have come abroad and paid me that visit. There are +several things I should like to call your attention to first." + +"Well, I am rather afraid of that visit," said Clifford. "It seems to me +it will be rather like going to school again." + +The Baroness looked at him a moment. + +"My dear child," she said, "there is no agreeable man who has not, at +some moment, been to school to a clever woman--probably a little older +than himself. And you must be thankful when you get your instructions +gratis. With me you would get it gratis." + +The next day Clifford told Lizzie Acton that the Baroness thought her +the most charming girl she had ever seen. + +Lizzie shook her head. "No, she doesn't!" she said. + +"Do you think everything she says," asked Clifford, "is to be taken the +opposite way?" + +"I think that is!" said Lizzie. + +Clifford was going to remark that in this case the Baroness must desire +greatly to bring about a marriage between Mr. Clifford Wentworth and +Miss Elizabeth Acton; but he resolved, on the whole, to suppress this +observation. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +It seemed to Robert Acton, after Eugenia had come to his house, that +something had passed between them which made them a good deal more +intimate. It was hard to say exactly what, except her telling him that +she had taken her resolution with regard to the Prince Adolf; for Madame +Mnster's visit had made no difference in their relations. He came to +see her very often; but he had come to see her very often before. It was +agreeable to him to find himself in her little drawing-room; but this +was not a new discovery. There was a change, however, in this sense: +that if the Baroness had been a great deal in Acton's thoughts before, +she was now never out of them. From the first she had been personally +fascinating; but the fascination now had become intellectual as well. He +was constantly pondering her words and motions; they were as interesting +as the factors in an algebraic problem. This is saying a good deal; for +Acton was extremely fond of mathematics. He asked himself whether it +could be that he was in love with her, and then hoped he was not; hoped +it not so much for his own sake as for that of the amatory passion +itself. If this was love, love had been overrated. Love was a poetic +impulse, and his own state of feeling with regard to the Baroness was +largely characterized by that eminently prosaic sentiment--curiosity. +It was true, as Acton with his quietly cogitative habit observed +to himself, that curiosity, pushed to a given point, might become a +romantic passion; and he certainly thought enough about this charming +woman to make him restless and even a little melancholy. It puzzled and +vexed him at times to feel that he was not more ardent. He was not in +the least bent upon remaining a bachelor. In his younger years he had +been--or he had tried to be--of the opinion that it would be a good deal +"jollier" not to marry, and he had flattered himself that his single +condition was something of a citadel. It was a citadel, at all events, +of which he had long since leveled the outworks. He had removed the guns +from the ramparts; he had lowered the draw-bridge across the moat. The +draw-bridge had swayed lightly under Madame Mnster's step; why should +he not cause it to be raised again, so that she might be kept prisoner? +He had an idea that she would become--in time at least, and on learning +the conveniences of the place for making a lady comfortable--a tolerably +patient captive. But the draw-bridge was never raised, and Acton's +brilliant visitor was as free to depart as she had been to come. It was +part of his curiosity to know why the deuce so susceptible a man was +_not_ in love with so charming a woman. If her various graces were, as +I have said, the factors in an algebraic problem, the answer to this +question was the indispensable unknown quantity. The pursuit of the +unknown quantity was extremely absorbing; for the present it taxed all +Acton's faculties. + +Toward the middle of August he was obliged to leave home for some days; +an old friend, with whom he had been associated in China, had begged him +to come to Newport, where he lay extremely ill. His friend got better, +and at the end of a week Acton was released. I use the word "released" +advisedly; for in spite of his attachment to his Chinese comrade he had +been but a half-hearted visitor. He felt as if he had been called away +from the theatre during the progress of a remarkably interesting drama. +The curtain was up all this time, and he was losing the fourth act; that +fourth act which would have been so essential to a just appreciation of +the fifth. In other words, he was thinking about the Baroness, who, seen +at this distance, seemed a truly brilliant figure. He saw at Newport +a great many pretty women, who certainly were figures as brilliant as +beautiful light dresses could make them; but though they talked a +great deal--and the Baroness's strong point was perhaps also her +conversation--Madame Mnster appeared to lose nothing by the comparison. +He wished she had come to Newport too. Would it not be possible to make +up, as they said, a party for visiting the famous watering-place and +invite Eugenia to join it? It was true that the complete satisfaction +would be to spend a fortnight at Newport with Eugenia alone. It would be +a great pleasure to see her, in society, carry everything before her, +as he was sure she would do. When Acton caught himself thinking these +thoughts he began to walk up and down, with his hands in his pockets, +frowning a little and looking at the floor. What did it prove--for +it certainly proved something--this lively disposition to be "off" +somewhere with Madame Mnster, away from all the rest of them? Such a +vision, certainly, seemed a refined implication of matrimony, after the +Baroness should have formally got rid of her informal husband. At +any rate, Acton, with his characteristic discretion, forbore to give +expression to whatever else it might imply, and the narrator of these +incidents is not obliged to be more definite. + +He returned home rapidly, and, arriving in the afternoon, lost as little +time as possible in joining the familiar circle at Mr. Wentworth's. On +reaching the house, however, he found the piazzas empty. The doors and +windows were open, and their emptiness was made clear by the shafts of +lamp-light from the parlors. Entering the house, he found Mr. Wentworth +sitting alone in one of these apartments, engaged in the perusal of +the _North American Review_. After they had exchanged greetings and his +cousin had made discreet inquiry about his journey, Acton asked what had +become of Mr. Wentworth's companions. + +"They are scattered about, amusing themselves as usual," said the old +man. "I saw Charlotte, a short time since, seated, with Mr. Brand, +upon the piazza. They were conversing with their customary animation. +I suppose they have joined her sister, who, for the hundredth time, was +doing the honors of the garden to her foreign cousin." + +"I suppose you mean Felix," said Acton. And on Mr. Wentworth's +assenting, he said, "And the others?" + +"Your sister has not come this evening. You must have seen her at home," +said Mr. Wentworth. + +"Yes. I proposed to her to come. She declined." + +"Lizzie, I suppose, was expecting a visitor," said the old man, with a +kind of solemn slyness. + +"If she was expecting Clifford, he had not turned up." + +Mr. Wentworth, at this intelligence, closed the _North American Review_ +and remarked that he had understood Clifford to say that he was going to +see his cousin. Privately, he reflected that if Lizzie Acton had had no +news of his son, Clifford must have gone to Boston for the evening: an +unnatural course of a summer night, especially when accompanied with +disingenuous representations. + +"You must remember that he has two cousins," said Acton, laughing. And +then, coming to the point, "If Lizzie is not here," he added, "neither +apparently is the Baroness." + +Mr. Wentworth stared a moment, and remembered that queer proposition of +Felix's. For a moment he did not know whether it was not to be wished +that Clifford, after all, might have gone to Boston. "The Baroness +has not honored us tonight," he said. "She has not come over for three +days." + +"Is she ill?" Acton asked. + +"No; I have been to see her." + +"What is the matter with her?" + +"Well," said Mr. Wentworth, "I infer she has tired of us." + +Acton pretended to sit down, but he was restless; he found it impossible +to talk with Mr. Wentworth. At the end of ten minutes he took up his hat +and said that he thought he would "go off." It was very late; it was ten +o'clock. + +His quiet-faced kinsman looked at him a moment. "Are you going home?" he +asked. + +Acton hesitated, and then answered that he had proposed to go over and +take a look at the Baroness. + +"Well, you are honest, at least," said Mr. Wentworth, sadly. + +"So are you, if you come to that!" cried Acton, laughing. "Why shouldn't +I be honest?" + +The old man opened the _North American_ again, and read a few lines. +"If we have ever had any virtue among us, we had better keep hold of it +now," he said. He was not quoting. + +"We have a Baroness among us," said Acton. "That's what we must keep +hold of!" He was too impatient to see Madame Mnster again to wonder +what Mr. Wentworth was talking about. Nevertheless, after he had passed +out of the house and traversed the garden and the little piece of road +that separated him from Eugenia's provisional residence, he stopped a +moment outside. He stood in her little garden; the long window of +her parlor was open, and he could see the white curtains, with the +lamp-light shining through them, swaying softly to and fro in the warm +night wind. There was a sort of excitement in the idea of seeing Madame +Mnster again; he became aware that his heart was beating rather faster +than usual. It was this that made him stop, with a half-amused surprise. +But in a moment he went along the piazza, and, approaching the open +window, tapped upon its lintel with his stick. He could see the Baroness +within; she was standing in the middle of the room. She came to the +window and pulled aside the curtain; then she stood looking at him a +moment. She was not smiling; she seemed serious. + +_"Mais entrez donc!"_ she said at last. Acton passed in across the +window-sill; he wondered, for an instant, what was the matter with her. +But the next moment she had begun to smile and had put out her hand. +"Better late than never," she said. "It is very kind of you to come at +this hour." + +"I have just returned from my journey," said Acton. + +"Ah, very kind, very kind," she repeated, looking about her where to +sit. + +"I went first to the other house," Acton continued. "I expected to find +you there." + +She had sunk into her usual chair; but she got up again, and began +to move about the room. Acton had laid down his hat and stick; he was +looking at her, conscious that there was in fact a great charm in seeing +her again. "I don't know whether I ought to tell you to sit down," she +said. "It is too late to begin a visit." + +"It's too early to end one," Acton declared; "and we needn't mind the +beginning." + +She looked at him again, and, after a moment, dropped once more into her +low chair, while he took a place near her. "We are in the middle, then?" +she asked. "Was that where we were when you went away? No, I haven't +been to the other house." + +"Not yesterday, nor the day before, eh?" + +"I don't know how many days it is." + +"You are tired of it," said Acton. + +She leaned back in her chair; her arms were folded. "That is a terrible +accusation, but I have not the courage to defend myself." + +"I am not attacking you," said Acton. "I expected something of this +kind." + +"It's a proof of extreme intelligence. I hope you enjoyed your journey." + +"Not at all," Acton declared. "I would much rather have been here with +you." + +"Now you _are_ attacking me," said the Baroness. "You are contrasting my +inconstancy with your own fidelity." + +"I confess I never get tired of people I like." + +"Ah, you are not a poor wicked foreign woman, with irritable nerves and +a sophisticated mind!" + +"Something has happened to you since I went away," said Acton, changing +his place. + +"Your going away--that is what has happened to me." + +"Do you mean to say that you have missed me?" he asked. + +"If I had meant to say it, it would not be worth your making a note of. +I am very dishonest and my compliments are worthless." + +Acton was silent for some moments. "You have broken down," he said at +last. + +Madame Mnster left her chair, and began to move about. + +"Only for a moment. I shall pull myself together again." + +"You had better not take it too hard. If you are bored, you needn't be +afraid to say so--to me at least." + +"You shouldn't say such things as that," the Baroness answered. "You +should encourage me." + +"I admire your patience; that is encouraging." + +"You shouldn't even say that. When you talk of my patience you are +disloyal to your own people. Patience implies suffering; and what have I +had to suffer?" + +"Oh, not hunger, not unkindness, certainly," said Acton, laughing. +"Nevertheless, we all admire your patience." + +"You all detest me!" cried the Baroness, with a sudden vehemence, +turning her back toward him. + +"You make it hard," said Acton, getting up, "for a man to say something +tender to you." This evening there was something particularly striking +and touching about her; an unwonted softness and a look of suppressed +emotion. He felt himself suddenly appreciating the fact that she had +behaved very well. She had come to this quiet corner of the world +under the weight of a cruel indignity, and she had been so gracefully, +modestly thankful for the rest she found there. She had joined that +simple circle over the way; she had mingled in its plain, provincial +talk; she had shared its meagre and savorless pleasures. She had set +herself a task, and she had rigidly performed it. She had conformed to +the angular conditions of New England life, and she had had the tact and +pluck to carry it off as if she liked them. Acton felt a more downright +need than he had ever felt before to tell her that he admired her and +that she struck him as a very superior woman. All along, hitherto, +he had been on his guard with her; he had been cautious, observant, +suspicious. But now a certain light tumult in his blood seemed to tell +him that a finer degree of confidence in this charming woman would be +its own reward. "We don't detest you," he went on. "I don't know what +you mean. At any rate, I speak for myself; I don't know anything about +the others. Very likely, you detest them for the dull life they make you +lead. Really, it would give me a sort of pleasure to hear you say so." + +Eugenia had been looking at the door on the other side of the room; +now she slowly turned her eyes toward Robert Acton. "What can be +the motive," she asked, "of a man like you--an honest man, a _galant +homme_--in saying so base a thing as that?" + +"Does it sound very base?" asked Acton, candidly. "I suppose it +does, and I thank you for telling me so. Of course, I don't mean it +literally." + +The Baroness stood looking at him. "How do you mean it?" she asked. + +This question was difficult to answer, and Acton, feeling the least +bit foolish, walked to the open window and looked out. He stood there, +thinking a moment, and then he turned back. "You know that document +that you were to send to Germany," he said. "You called it your +'renunciation.' Did you ever send it?" + +Madame Mnster's eyes expanded; she looked very grave. "What a singular +answer to my question!" + +"Oh, it isn't an answer," said Acton. "I have wished to ask you, many +times. I thought it probable you would tell me yourself. The question, +on my part, seems abrupt now; but it would be abrupt at any time." + +The Baroness was silent a moment; and then, "I think I have told you too +much!" she said. + +This declaration appeared to Acton to have a certain force; he had +indeed a sense of asking more of her than he offered her. He returned +to the window, and watched, for a moment, a little star that twinkled +through the lattice of the piazza. There were at any rate offers enough +he could make; perhaps he had hitherto not been sufficiently explicit in +doing so. "I wish you would ask something of me," he presently said. "Is +there nothing I can do for you? If you can't stand this dull life any +more, let me amuse you!" + +The Baroness had sunk once more into a chair, and she had taken up a fan +which she held, with both hands, to her mouth. Over the top of the fan +her eyes were fixed on him. "You are very strange tonight," she said, +with a little laugh. + +"I will do anything in the world," he rejoined, standing in front +of her. "Shouldn't you like to travel about and see something of the +country? Won't you go to Niagara? You ought to see Niagara, you know." + +"With you, do you mean?" + +"I should be delighted to take you." + +"You alone?" + +Acton looked at her, smiling, and yet with a serious air. "Well, yes; we +might go alone," he said. + +"If you were not what you are," she answered, "I should feel insulted." + +"How do you mean--what I am?" + +"If you were one of the gentlemen I have been used to all my life. If +you were not a queer Bostonian." + +"If the gentlemen you have been used to have taught you to expect +insults," said Acton, "I am glad I am what I am. You had much better +come to Niagara." + +"If you wish to 'amuse' me," the Baroness declared, "you need go to no +further expense. You amuse me very effectually." + +He sat down opposite to her; she still held her fan up to her face, with +her eyes only showing above it. There was a moment's silence, and then +he said, returning to his former question, "Have you sent that document +to Germany?" + +Again there was a moment's silence. The expressive eyes of Madame +Mnster seemed, however, half to break it. + +"I will tell you--at Niagara!" she said. + +She had hardly spoken when the door at the further end of the room +opened--the door upon which, some minutes previous, Eugenia had fixed +her gaze. Clifford Wentworth stood there, blushing and looking rather +awkward. The Baroness rose, quickly, and Acton, more slowly, did the +same. Clifford gave him no greeting; he was looking at Eugenia. + +"Ah, you were here?" exclaimed Acton. + +"He was in Felix's studio," said Madame Mnster. "He wanted to see his +sketches." + +Clifford looked at Robert Acton, but said nothing; he only fanned +himself with his hat. "You chose a bad moment," said Acton; "you hadn't +much light." + +"I hadn't any!" said Clifford, laughing. + +"Your candle went out?" Eugenia asked. "You should have come back here +and lighted it again." + +Clifford looked at her a moment. "So I have--come back. But I have left +the candle!" + +Eugenia turned away. "You are very stupid, my poor boy. You had better +go home." + +"Well," said Clifford, "good-night!" + +"Haven't you a word to throw to a man when he has safely returned from a +dangerous journey?" Acton asked. + +"How do you do?" said Clifford. "I thought--I thought you were----" and +he paused, looking at the Baroness again. + +"You thought I was at Newport, eh? So I was--this morning." + +"Good-night, clever child!" said Madame Mnster, over her shoulder. + +Clifford stared at her--not at all like a clever child; and then, with +one of his little facetious growls, took his departure. + +"What is the matter with him?" asked Acton, when he was gone. "He seemed +rather in a muddle." + +Eugenia, who was near the window, glanced out, listening a moment. "The +matter--the matter"--she answered. "But you don't say such things here." + +"If you mean that he had been drinking a little, you can say that." + +"He doesn't drink any more. I have cured him. And in return--he's in +love with me." + +It was Acton's turn to stare. He instantly thought of his sister; but +he said nothing about her. He began to laugh. "I don't wonder at his +passion! But I wonder at his forsaking your society for that of your +brother's paint-brushes." + +Eugenia was silent a little. "He had not been in the studio. I invented +that at the moment." + +"Invented it? For what purpose?" + +"He has an idea of being romantic. He has adopted the habit of coming to +see me at midnight--passing only through the orchard and through Felix's +painting-room, which has a door opening that way. It seems to amuse +him," added Eugenia, with a little laugh. + +Acton felt more surprise than he confessed to, for this was a new view +of Clifford, whose irregularities had hitherto been quite without +the romantic element. He tried to laugh again, but he felt rather too +serious, and after a moment's hesitation his seriousness explained +itself. "I hope you don't encourage him," he said. "He must not be +inconstant to poor Lizzie." + +"To your sister?" + +"You know they are decidedly intimate," said Acton. + +"Ah," cried Eugenia, smiling, "has she--has she----" + +"I don't know," Acton interrupted, "what she has. But I always supposed +that Clifford had a desire to make himself agreeable to her." + +"Ah, _par exemple!_" the Baroness went on. "The little monster! The next +time he becomes sentimental I will him tell that he ought to be ashamed +of himself." + +Acton was silent a moment. "You had better say nothing about it." + +"I had told him as much already, on general grounds," said the Baroness. +"But in this country, you know, the relations of young people are so +extraordinary that one is quite at sea. They are not engaged when +you would quite say they ought to be. Take Charlotte Wentworth, for +instance, and that young ecclesiastic. If I were her father I should +insist upon his marrying her; but it appears to be thought there is no +urgency. On the other hand, you suddenly learn that a boy of twenty +and a little girl who is still with her governess--your sister has no +governess? Well, then, who is never away from her mamma--a young couple, +in short, between whom you have noticed nothing beyond an exchange of +the childish pleasantries characteristic of their age, are on the +point of setting up as man and wife." The Baroness spoke with a certain +exaggerated volubility which was in contrast with the languid grace that +had characterized her manner before Clifford made his appearance. It +seemed to Acton that there was a spark of irritation in her eye--a note +of irony (as when she spoke of Lizzie being never away from her mother) +in her voice. If Madame Mnster was irritated, Robert Acton was vaguely +mystified; she began to move about the room again, and he looked at her +without saying anything. Presently she took out her watch, and, glancing +at it, declared that it was three o'clock in the morning and that he +must go. + +"I have not been here an hour," he said, "and they are still sitting up +at the other house. You can see the lights. Your brother has not come +in." + +"Oh, at the other house," cried Eugenia, "they are terrible people! +I don't know what they may do over there. I am a quiet little humdrum +woman; I have rigid rules and I keep them. One of them is not to +have visitors in the small hours--especially clever men like you. So +good-night!" + +Decidedly, the Baroness was incisive; and though Acton bade her +good-night and departed, he was still a good deal mystified. + +The next day Clifford Wentworth came to see Lizzie, and Acton, who +was at home and saw him pass through the garden, took note of the +circumstance. He had a natural desire to make it tally with Madame +Mnster's account of Clifford's disaffection; but his ingenuity, finding +itself unequal to the task, resolved at last to ask help of the young +man's candor. He waited till he saw him going away, and then he went out +and overtook him in the grounds. + +"I wish very much you would answer me a question," Acton said. "What +were you doing, last night, at Madame Mnster's?" + +Clifford began to laugh and to blush, by no means like a young man with +a romantic secret. "What did she tell you?" he asked. + +"That is exactly what I don't want to say." + +"Well, I want to tell you the same," said Clifford; "and unless I know +it perhaps I can't." + +They had stopped in a garden path; Acton looked hard at his rosy +young kinsman. "She said she couldn't fancy what had got into you; you +appeared to have taken a violent dislike to her." + +Clifford stared, looking a little alarmed. "Oh, come," he growled, "you +don't mean that!" + +"And that when--for common civility's sake--you came occasionally to the +house you left her alone and spent your time in Felix's studio, under +pretext of looking at his sketches." + +"Oh, come!" growled Clifford, again. + +"Did you ever know me to tell an untruth?" + +"Yes, lots of them!" said Clifford, seeing an opening, out of the +discussion, for his sarcastic powers. "Well," he presently added, "I +thought you were my father." + +"You knew someone was there?" + +"We heard you coming in." + +Acton meditated. "You had been with the Baroness, then?" + +"I was in the parlor. We heard your step outside. I thought it was my +father." + +"And on that," asked Acton, "you ran away?" + +"She told me to go--to go out by the studio." + +Acton meditated more intensely; if there had been a chair at hand he +would have sat down. "Why should she wish you not to meet your father?" + +"Well," said Clifford, "father doesn't like to see me there." + +Acton looked askance at his companion and forbore to make any comment +upon this assertion. "Has he said so," he asked, "to the Baroness?" + +"Well, I hope not," said Clifford. "He hasn't said so--in so many +words--to me. But I know it worries him; and I want to stop worrying +him. The Baroness knows it, and she wants me to stop, too." + +"To stop coming to see her?" + +"I don't know about that; but to stop worrying father. Eugenia knows +everything," Clifford added, with an air of knowingness of his own. + +"Ah," said Acton, interrogatively, "Eugenia knows everything?" + +"She knew it was not father coming in." + +"Then why did you go?" + +Clifford blushed and laughed afresh. "Well, I was afraid it was. And +besides, she told me to go, at any rate." + +"Did she think it was I?" Acton asked. + +"She didn't say so." + +Again Robert Acton reflected. "But you didn't go," he presently said; +"you came back." + +"I couldn't get out of the studio," Clifford rejoined. "The door was +locked, and Felix has nailed some planks across the lower half of the +confounded windows to make the light come in from above. So they were no +use. I waited there a good while, and then, suddenly, I felt ashamed. +I didn't want to be hiding away from my own father. I couldn't stand +it any longer. I bolted out, and when I found it was you I was a little +flurried. But Eugenia carried it off, didn't she?" Clifford added, in +the tone of a young humorist whose perception had not been permanently +clouded by the sense of his own discomfort. + +"Beautifully!" said Acton. "Especially," he continued, "when one +remembers that you were very imprudent and that she must have been a +good deal annoyed." + +"Oh," cried Clifford, with the indifference of a young man who feels +that however he may have failed of felicity in behavior he is extremely +just in his impressions, "Eugenia doesn't care for anything!" + +Acton hesitated a moment. "Thank you for telling me this," he said at +last. And then, laying his hand on Clifford's shoulder, he added, +"Tell me one thing more: are you by chance a little in love with the +Baroness?" + +"No, sir!" said Clifford, almost shaking off his hand. + + + +CHAPTER X + +The first sunday that followed Robert Acton's return from Newport +witnessed a change in the brilliant weather that had long prevailed. The +rain began to fall and the day was cold and dreary. Mr. Wentworth and +his daughters put on overshoes and went to church, and Felix Young, +without overshoes, went also, holding an umbrella over Gertrude. It is +to be feared that, in the whole observance, this was the privilege he +most highly valued. The Baroness remained at home; she was in neither a +cheerful nor a devotional mood. She had, however, never been, during her +residence in the United States, what is called a regular attendant at +divine service; and on this particular Sunday morning of which I began +with speaking she stood at the window of her little drawing-room, +watching the long arm of a rose tree that was attached to her piazza, +but a portion of which had disengaged itself, sway to and fro, shake and +gesticulate, against the dusky drizzle of the sky. Every now and then, +in a gust of wind, the rose tree scattered a shower of water-drops +against the window-pane; it appeared to have a kind of human movement--a +menacing, warning intention. The room was very cold; Madame Mnster put +on a shawl and walked about. Then she determined to have some fire; and +summoning her ancient negress, the contrast of whose polished ebony and +whose crimson turban had been at first a source of satisfaction to her, +she made arrangements for the production of a crackling flame. This old +woman's name was Azarina. The Baroness had begun by thinking that there +would be a savory wildness in her talk, and, for amusement, she +had encouraged her to chatter. But Azarina was dry and prim; her +conversation was anything but African; she reminded Eugenia of the +tiresome old ladies she met in society. She knew, however, how to make +a fire; so that after she had laid the logs, Eugenia, who was terribly +bored, found a quarter of an hour's entertainment in sitting and +watching them blaze and sputter. She had thought it very likely +Robert Acton would come and see her; she had not met him since that +infelicitous evening. But the morning waned without his coming; several +times she thought she heard his step on the piazza; but it was only a +window-shutter shaking in a rain-gust. The Baroness, since the beginning +of that episode in her career of which a slight sketch has been +attempted in these pages, had had many moments of irritation. But today +her irritation had a peculiar keenness; it appeared to feed upon +itself. It urged her to do something; but it suggested no particularly +profitable line of action. If she could have done something at the +moment, on the spot, she would have stepped upon a European steamer and +turned her back, with a kind of rapture, upon that profoundly mortifying +failure, her visit to her American relations. It is not exactly apparent +why she should have termed this enterprise a failure, inasmuch as she +had been treated with the highest distinction for which allowance had +been made in American institutions. Her irritation came, at bottom, from +the sense, which, always present, had suddenly grown acute, that the +social soil on this big, vague continent was somehow not adapted for +growing those plants whose fragrance she especially inclined to +inhale and by which she liked to see herself surrounded--a species of +vegetation for which she carried a collection of seedlings, as we +may say, in her pocket. She found her chief happiness in the sense of +exerting a certain power and making a certain impression; and now she +felt the annoyance of a rather wearied swimmer who, on nearing shore, +to land, finds a smooth straight wall of rock when he had counted upon +a clean firm beach. Her power, in the American air, seemed to have lost +its prehensile attributes; the smooth wall of rock was insurmountable. +_"Surely je n'en suis pas l,"_ she said to herself, "that I let it +make me uncomfortable that a Mr. Robert Acton shouldn't honor me with a +visit!" Yet she was vexed that he had not come; and she was vexed at her +vexation. + +Her brother, at least, came in, stamping in the hall and shaking the wet +from his coat. In a moment he entered the room, with a glow in his cheek +and half-a-dozen rain-drops glistening on his moustache. "Ah, you have a +fire," he said. + +_"Les beaux jours sont passs,"_ replied the Baroness. + +"Never, never! They have only begun," Felix declared, planting himself +before the hearth. He turned his back to the fire, placed his hands +behind him, extended his legs and looked away through the window with an +expression of face which seemed to denote the perception of rose-color +even in the tints of a wet Sunday. + +His sister, from her chair, looked up at him, watching him; and what she +saw in his face was not grateful to her present mood. She was puzzled +by many things, but her brother's disposition was a frequent source +of wonder to her. I say frequent and not constant, for there were long +periods during which she gave her attention to other problems. Sometimes +she had said to herself that his happy temper, his eternal gaiety, was +an affectation, a _pose_; but she was vaguely conscious that during the +present summer he had been a highly successful comedian. They had never +yet had an explanation; she had not known the need of one. Felix was +presumably following the bent of his disinterested genius, and she felt +that she had no advice to give him that he would understand. With this, +there was always a certain element of comfort about Felix--the assurance +that he would not interfere. He was very delicate, this pure-minded +Felix; in effect, he was her brother, and Madame Mnster felt that there +was a great propriety, every way, in that. It is true that Felix was +delicate; he was not fond of explanations with his sister; this was one +of the very few things in the world about which he was uncomfortable. +But now he was not thinking of anything uncomfortable. + +"Dear brother," said Eugenia at last, "do stop making _les yeux doux_ at +the rain." + +"With pleasure. I will make them at you!" answered Felix. + +"How much longer," asked Eugenia, in a moment, "do you propose to remain +in this lovely spot?" + +Felix stared. "Do you want to go away--already?" + +"'Already' is delicious. I am not so happy as you." + +Felix dropped into a chair, looking at the fire. "The fact is I _am_ +happy," he said in his light, clear tone. + +"And do you propose to spend your life in making love to Gertrude +Wentworth?" + +"Yes!" said Felix, smiling sidewise at his sister. + +The Baroness returned his glance, much more gravely; and then, "Do you +like her?" she asked. + +"Don't you?" Felix demanded. + +The Baroness was silent a moment. "I will answer you in the words of the +gentleman who was asked if he liked music: _'Je ne la crains pas!'_" + +"She admires you immensely," said Felix. + +"I don't care for that. Other women should not admire one." + +"They should dislike you?" + +Again Madame Mnster hesitated. "They should hate me! It's a measure of +the time I have been losing here that they don't." + +"No time is lost in which one has been happy!" said Felix, with a bright +sententiousness which may well have been a little irritating. + +"And in which," rejoined his sister, with a harsher laugh, "one has +secured the affections of a young lady with a fortune!" + +Felix explained, very candidly and seriously. "I have secured Gertrude's +affection, but I am by no means sure that I have secured her fortune. +That may come--or it may not." + +"Ah, well, it _may!_ That's the great point." + +"It depends upon her father. He doesn't smile upon our union. You know +he wants her to marry Mr. Brand." + +"I know nothing about it!" cried the Baroness. "Please to put on a log." +Felix complied with her request and sat watching the quickening of +the flame. Presently his sister added, "And you propose to elope with +mademoiselle?" + +"By no means. I don't wish to do anything that's disagreeable to Mr. +Wentworth. He has been far too kind to us." + +"But you must choose between pleasing yourself and pleasing him." + +"I want to please everyone!" exclaimed Felix, joyously. "I have a good +conscience. I made up my mind at the outset that it was not my place to +make love to Gertrude." + +"So, to simplify matters, she made love to you!" + +Felix looked at his sister with sudden gravity. "You say you are not +afraid of her," he said. "But perhaps you ought to be--a little. She's a +very clever person." + +"I begin to see it!" cried the Baroness. Her brother, making no +rejoinder, leaned back in his chair, and there was a long silence. At +last, with an altered accent, Madame Mnster put another question. "You +expect, at any rate, to marry?" + +"I shall be greatly disappointed if we don't." + +"A disappointment or two will do you good!" the Baroness declared. "And, +afterwards, do you mean to turn American?" + +"It seems to me I am a very good American already. But we shall go to +Europe. Gertrude wants extremely to see the world." + +"Ah, like me, when I came here!" said the Baroness, with a little laugh. + +"No, not like you," Felix rejoined, looking at his sister with a certain +gentle seriousness. While he looked at her she rose from her chair, and +he also got up. "Gertrude is not at all like you," he went on; "but in +her own way she is almost as clever." He paused a moment; his soul was +full of an agreeable feeling and of a lively disposition to express it. +His sister, to his spiritual vision, was always like the lunar disk when +only a part of it is lighted. The shadow on this bright surface seemed +to him to expand and to contract; but whatever its proportions, he +always appreciated the moonlight. He looked at the Baroness, and then +he kissed her. "I am very much in love with Gertrude," he said. Eugenia +turned away and walked about the room, and Felix continued. "She is very +interesting, and very different from what she seems. She has never had +a chance. She is very brilliant. We will go to Europe and amuse +ourselves." + +The Baroness had gone to the window, where she stood looking out. The +day was drearier than ever; the rain was doggedly falling. "Yes, to +amuse yourselves," she said at last, "you had decidedly better go to +Europe!" Then she turned round, looking at her brother. A chair stood +near her; she leaned her hands upon the back of it. "Don't you think it +is very good of me," she asked, "to come all this way with you simply to +see you properly married--if properly it is?" + +"Oh, it will be properly!" cried Felix, with light eagerness. + +The Baroness gave a little laugh. "You are thinking only of yourself, +and you don't answer my question. While you are amusing yourself--with +the brilliant Gertrude--what shall I be doing?" + +_"Vous serez de la partie!"_ cried Felix. + +"Thank you: I should spoil it." The Baroness dropped her eyes for some +moments. "Do you propose, however, to leave me here?" she inquired. + +Felix smiled at her. "My dearest sister, where you are concerned I never +propose. I execute your commands." + +"I believe," said Eugenia, slowly, "that you are the most heartless +person living. Don't you see that I am in trouble?" + +"I saw that you were not cheerful, and I gave you some good news." + +"Well, let me give you some news," said the Baroness. "You probably will +not have discovered it for yourself. Robert Acton wants to marry me." + +"No, I had not discovered that. But I quite understand it. Why does it +make you unhappy?" + +"Because I can't decide." + +"Accept him, accept him!" cried Felix, joyously. "He is the best fellow +in the world." + +"He is immensely in love with me," said the Baroness. + +"And he has a large fortune. Permit me in turn to remind you of that." + +"Oh, I am perfectly aware of it," said Eugenia. "That's a great item in +his favor. I am terribly candid." And she left her place and came nearer +her brother, looking at him hard. He was turning over several things; +she was wondering in what manner he really understood her. + +There were several ways of understanding her: there was what she said, +and there was what she meant, and there was something, between the two, +that was neither. It is probable that, in the last analysis, what she +meant was that Felix should spare her the necessity of stating the case +more exactly and should hold himself commissioned to assist her by all +honorable means to marry the best fellow in the world. But in all this +it was never discovered what Felix understood. + +"Once you have your liberty, what are your objections?" he asked. + +"Well, I don't particularly like him." + +"Oh, try a little." + +"I am trying now," said Eugenia. "I should succeed better if he didn't +live here. I could never live here." + +"Make him go to Europe," Felix suggested. + +"Ah, there you speak of happiness based upon violent effort," the +Baroness rejoined. "That is not what I am looking for. He would never +live in Europe." + +"He would live anywhere, with you!" said Felix, gallantly. + +His sister looked at him still, with a ray of penetration in her +charming eyes; then she turned away again. "You see, at all events," she +presently went on, "that if it had been said of me that I had come over +here to seek my fortune it would have to be added that I have found it!" + +"Don't leave it lying!" urged Felix, with smiling solemnity. + +"I am much obliged to you for your interest," his sister declared, after +a moment. "But promise me one thing: _pas de zle!_ If Mr. Acton should +ask you to plead his cause, excuse yourself." + +"I shall certainly have the excuse," said Felix, "that I have a cause of +my own to plead." + +"If he should talk of me--favorably," Eugenia continued, "warn him +against dangerous illusions. I detest importunities; I want to decide at +my leisure, with my eyes open." + +"I shall be discreet," said Felix, "except to you. To you I will say, +Accept him outright." + +She had advanced to the open doorway, and she stood looking at him. "I +will go and dress and think of it," she said; and he heard her moving +slowly to her apartments. + +Late in the afternoon the rain stopped, and just afterwards there was +a great flaming, flickering, trickling sunset. Felix sat in his +painting-room and did some work; but at last, as the light, which had +not been brilliant, began to fade, he laid down his brushes and came out +to the little piazza of the cottage. Here he walked up and down for some +time, looking at the splendid blaze of the western sky and saying, as he +had often said before, that this was certainly the country of sunsets. +There was something in these glorious deeps of fire that quickened his +imagination; he always found images and promises in the western sky. He +thought of a good many things--of roaming about the world with Gertrude +Wentworth; he seemed to see their possible adventures, in a glowing +frieze, between the cloud-bars; then of what Eugenia had just been +telling him. He wished very much that Madame Mnster would make a +comfortable and honorable marriage. Presently, as the sunset expanded +and deepened, the fancy took him of making a note of so magnificent a +piece of coloring. He returned to his studio and fetched out a small +panel, with his palette and brushes, and, placing the panel against a +window-sill, he began to daub with great gusto. While he was so occupied +he saw Mr. Brand, in the distance, slowly come down from Mr. Wentworth's +house, nursing a large folded umbrella. He walked with a joyless, +meditative tread, and his eyes were bent upon the ground. Felix poised +his brush for a moment, watching him; then, by a sudden impulse, as +he drew nearer, advanced to the garden-gate and signaled to him--the +palette and bunch of brushes contributing to this effect. + +Mr. Brand stopped and started; then he appeared to decide to accept +Felix's invitation. He came out of Mr. Wentworth's gate and passed along +the road; after which he entered the little garden of the cottage. Felix +had gone back to his sunset; but he made his visitor welcome while he +rapidly brushed it in. + +"I wanted so much to speak to you that I thought I would call you," he +said, in the friendliest tone. "All the more that you have been to +see me so little. You have come to see my sister; I know that. But +you haven't come to see me--the celebrated artist. Artists are very +sensitive, you know; they notice those things." And Felix turned round, +smiling, with a brush in his mouth. + +Mr. Brand stood there with a certain blank, candid majesty, pulling +together the large flaps of his umbrella. "Why should I come to see +you?" he asked. "I know nothing of Art." + +"It would sound very conceited, I suppose," said Felix, "if I were to +say that it would be a good little chance for you to learn something. +You would ask me why you should learn; and I should have no answer to +that. I suppose a minister has no need for Art, eh?" + +"He has need for good temper, sir," said Mr. Brand, with decision. + +Felix jumped up, with his palette on his thumb and a movement of the +liveliest deprecation. "That's because I keep you standing there while I +splash my red paint! I beg a thousand pardons! You see what bad manners +Art gives a man; and how right you are to let it alone. I didn't mean +you should stand, either. The piazza, as you see, is ornamented with +rustic chairs; though indeed I ought to warn you that they have nails in +the wrong places. I was just making a note of that sunset. I never saw +such a blaze of different reds. It looks as if the Celestial City were +in flames, eh? If that were really the case I suppose it would be the +business of you theologians to put out the fire. Fancy me--an ungodly +artist--quietly sitting down to paint it!" + +Mr. Brand had always credited Felix Young with a certain impudence, but +it appeared to him that on this occasion his impudence was so great as +to make a special explanation--or even an apology--necessary. And the +impression, it must be added, was sufficiently natural. Felix had at all +times a brilliant assurance of manner which was simply the vehicle of +his good spirits and his good will; but at present he had a special +design, and as he would have admitted that the design was audacious, so +he was conscious of having summoned all the arts of conversation to his +aid. But he was so far from desiring to offend his visitor that he was +rapidly asking himself what personal compliment he could pay the young +clergyman that would gratify him most. If he could think of it, he was +prepared to pay it down. "Have you been preaching one of your beautiful +sermons today?" he suddenly asked, laying down his palette. This was not +what Felix had been trying to think of, but it was a tolerable stop-gap. + +Mr. Brand frowned--as much as a man can frown who has very fair, soft +eyebrows, and, beneath them, very gentle, tranquil eyes. "No, I have not +preached any sermon today. Did you bring me over here for the purpose of +making that inquiry?" + +Felix saw that he was irritated, and he regretted it immensely; but he +had no fear of not being, in the end, agreeable to Mr. Brand. He +looked at him, smiling and laying his hand on his arm. "No, no, not for +that--not for that. I wanted to ask you something; I wanted to tell +you something. I am sure it will interest you very much. Only--as it is +something rather private--we had better come into my little studio. I +have a western window; we can still see the sunset. _Andiamo!_" And he +gave a little pat to his companion's arm. + +He led the way in; Mr. Brand stiffly and softly followed. The twilight +had thickened in the little studio; but the wall opposite the western +window was covered with a deep pink flush. There were a great many +sketches and half-finished canvasses suspended in this rosy glow, and +the corners of the room were vague and dusky. Felix begged Mr. Brand to +sit down; then glancing round him, "By Jove, how pretty it looks!" he +cried. But Mr. Brand would not sit down; he went and leaned against +the window; he wondered what Felix wanted of him. In the shadow, on the +darker parts of the wall, he saw the gleam of three or four pictures +that looked fantastic and surprising. They seemed to represent naked +figures. Felix stood there, with his head a little bent and his eyes +fixed upon his visitor, smiling intensely, pulling his moustache. Mr. +Brand felt vaguely uneasy. "It is very delicate--what I want to say," +Felix began. "But I have been thinking of it for some time." + +"Please to say it as quickly as possible," said Mr. Brand. + +"It's because you are a clergyman, you know," Felix went on. "I don't +think I should venture to say it to a common man." + +Mr. Brand was silent a moment. "If it is a question of yielding to a +weakness, of resenting an injury, I am afraid I am a very common man." + +"My dearest friend," cried Felix, "this is not an injury; it's a +benefit--a great service! You will like it extremely. Only it's so +delicate!" And, in the dim light, he continued to smile intensely. "You +know I take a great interest in my cousins--in Charlotte and Gertrude +Wentworth. That's very evident from my having traveled some five +thousand miles to see them." Mr. Brand said nothing and Felix proceeded. +"Coming into their society as a perfect stranger I received of course a +great many new impressions, and my impressions had a great freshness, a +great keenness. Do you know what I mean?" + +"I am not sure that I do; but I should like you to continue." + +"I think my impressions have always a good deal of freshness," said Mr. +Brand's entertainer; "but on this occasion it was perhaps particularly +natural that--coming in, as I say, from outside--I should be struck with +things that passed unnoticed among yourselves. And then I had my sister +to help me; and she is simply the most observant woman in the world." + +"I am not surprised," said Mr. Brand, "that in our little circle two +intelligent persons should have found food for observation. I am sure +that, of late, I have found it myself!" + +"Ah, but I shall surprise you yet!" cried Felix, laughing. "Both my +sister and I took a great fancy to my cousin Charlotte." + +"Your cousin Charlotte?" repeated Mr. Brand. + +"We fell in love with her from the first!" + +"You fell in love with Charlotte?" Mr. Brand murmured. + +"_Dame!_" exclaimed Felix, "she's a very charming person; and Eugenia +was especially smitten." Mr. Brand stood staring, and he pursued, +"Affection, you know, opens one's eyes, and we noticed something. +Charlotte is not happy! Charlotte is in love." And Felix, drawing +nearer, laid his hand again upon his companion's arm. + +There was something akin to an acknowledgment of fascination in the way +Mr. Brand looked at him; but the young clergyman retained as yet quite +enough self-possession to be able to say, with a good deal of solemnity, +"She is not in love with you." + +Felix gave a light laugh, and rejoined with the alacrity of a maritime +adventurer who feels a puff of wind in his sail. "Ah, no; if she were in +love with me I should know it! I am not so blind as you." + +"As I?" + +"My dear sir, you are stone blind. Poor Charlotte is dead in love with +_you!_" + +Mr. Brand said nothing for a moment; he breathed a little heavily. "Is +that what you wanted to say to me?" he asked. + +"I have wanted to say it these three weeks. Because of late she has been +worse. I told you," added Felix, "it was very delicate." + +"Well, sir"--Mr. Brand began; "well, sir----" + +"I was sure you didn't know it," Felix continued. "But don't you see--as +soon as I mention it--how everything is explained?" Mr. Brand answered +nothing; he looked for a chair and softly sat down. Felix could see that +he was blushing; he had looked straight at his host hitherto, but now he +looked away. The foremost effect of what he had heard had been a sort of +irritation of his modesty. "Of course," said Felix, "I suggest nothing; +it would be very presumptuous in me to advise you. But I think there is +no doubt about the fact." + +Mr. Brand looked hard at the floor for some moments; he was oppressed +with a mixture of sensations. Felix, standing there, was very sure +that one of them was profound surprise. The innocent young man had been +completely unsuspicious of poor Charlotte's hidden flame. This gave +Felix great hope; he was sure that Mr. Brand would be flattered. Felix +thought him very transparent, and indeed he was so; he could neither +simulate nor dissimulate. "I scarcely know what to make of this," he +said at last, without looking up; and Felix was struck with the fact +that he offered no protest or contradiction. Evidently Felix had kindled +a train of memories--a retrospective illumination. It was making, to +Mr. Brand's astonished eyes, a very pretty blaze; his second emotion had +been a gratification of vanity. + +"Thank me for telling you," Felix rejoined. "It's a good thing to know." + +"I am not sure of that," said Mr. Brand. + +"Ah, don't let her languish!" Felix murmured, lightly and softly. + +"You _do_ advise me, then?" And Mr. Brand looked up. + +"I congratulate you!" said Felix, smiling. He had thought at first his +visitor was simply appealing; but he saw he was a little ironical. + +"It is in your interest; you have interfered with me," the young +clergyman went on. + +Felix still stood and smiled. The little room had grown darker, and the +crimson glow had faded; but Mr. Brand could see the brilliant expression +of his face. "I won't pretend not to know what you mean," said Felix +at last. "But I have not really interfered with you. Of what you had +to lose--with another person--you have lost nothing. And think what you +have gained!" + +"It seems to me I am the proper judge, on each side," Mr. Brand +declared. He got up, holding the brim of his hat against his mouth and +staring at Felix through the dusk. + +"You have lost an illusion!" said Felix. + +"What do you call an illusion?" + +"The belief that you really know--that you have ever really +known--Gertrude Wentworth. Depend upon that," pursued Felix. "I don't +know her yet; but I have no illusions; I don't pretend to." + +Mr. Brand kept gazing, over his hat. "She has always been a lucid, +limpid nature," he said, solemnly. + +"She has always been a dormant nature. She was waiting for a touchstone. +But now she is beginning to awaken." + +"Don't praise her to me!" said Mr. Brand, with a little quaver in his +voice. "If you have the advantage of me that is not generous." + +"My dear sir, I am melting with generosity!" exclaimed Felix. "And I am +not praising my cousin. I am simply attempting a scientific definition +of her. She doesn't care for abstractions. Now I think the contrary +is what you have always fancied--is the basis on which you have been +building. She is extremely preoccupied with the concrete. I care for the +concrete, too. But Gertrude is stronger than I; she whirls me along!" + +Mr. Brand looked for a moment into the crown of his hat. "It's a most +interesting nature." + +"So it is," said Felix. "But it pulls--it pulls--like a runaway horse. +Now I like the feeling of a runaway horse; and if I am thrown out of +the vehicle it is no great matter. But if _you_ should be thrown, Mr. +Brand"--and Felix paused a moment--"another person also would suffer +from the accident." + +"What other person?" + +"Charlotte Wentworth!" + +Mr. Brand looked at Felix for a moment sidewise, mistrustfully; then his +eyes slowly wandered over the ceiling. Felix was sure he was secretly +struck with the romance of the situation. "I think this is none of our +business," the young minister murmured. + +"None of mine, perhaps; but surely yours!" + +Mr. Brand lingered still, looking at the ceiling; there was evidently +something he wanted to say. "What do you mean by Miss Gertrude being +strong?" he asked abruptly. + +"Well," said Felix meditatively, "I mean that she has had a great deal +of self-possession. She was waiting--for years; even when she seemed, +perhaps, to be living in the present. She knew how to wait; she had a +purpose. That's what I mean by her being strong." + +"But what do you mean by her purpose?" + +"Well--the purpose to see the world!" + +Mr. Brand eyed his strange informant askance again; but he said nothing. +At last he turned away, as if to take leave. He seemed bewildered, +however; for instead of going to the door he moved toward the opposite +corner of the room. Felix stood and watched him for a moment--almost +groping about in the dusk; then he led him to the door, with a tender, +almost fraternal movement. "Is that all you have to say?" asked Mr. +Brand. + +"Yes, it's all--but it will bear a good deal of thinking of." + +Felix went with him to the garden-gate, and watched him slowly walk +away into the thickening twilight with a relaxed rigidity that tried +to rectify itself. "He is offended, excited, bewildered, perplexed--and +enchanted!" Felix said to himself. "That's a capital mixture." + + + +CHAPTER XI + +Since that visit paid by the Baroness Mnster to Mrs. Acton, of which +some account was given at an earlier stage of this narrative, the +intercourse between these two ladies had been neither frequent nor +intimate. It was not that Mrs. Acton had failed to appreciate Madame +Mnster's charms; on the contrary, her perception of the graces of +manner and conversation of her brilliant visitor had been only too +acute. Mrs. Acton was, as they said in Boston, very "intense," and her +impressions were apt to be too many for her. The state of her health +required the restriction of emotion; and this is why, receiving, as she +sat in her eternal arm-chair, very few visitors, even of the soberest +local type, she had been obliged to limit the number of her interviews +with a lady whose costume and manner recalled to her imagination--Mrs. +Acton's imagination was a marvel--all that she had ever read of the most +stirring historical periods. But she had sent the Baroness a great many +quaintly-worded messages and a great many nosegays from her garden and +baskets of beautiful fruit. Felix had eaten the fruit, and the Baroness +had arranged the flowers and returned the baskets and the messages. On +the day that followed that rainy Sunday of which mention has been made, +Eugenia determined to go and pay the beneficent invalid a _"visite +d'adieux"_; so it was that, to herself, she qualified her enterprise. +It may be noted that neither on the Sunday evening nor on the Monday +morning had she received that expected visit from Robert Acton. To his +own consciousness, evidently he was "keeping away;" and as the Baroness, +on her side, was keeping away from her uncle's, whither, for several +days, Felix had been the unembarrassed bearer of apologies and regrets +for absence, chance had not taken the cards from the hands of design. +Mr. Wentworth and his daughters had respected Eugenia's seclusion; +certain intervals of mysterious retirement appeared to them, vaguely, a +natural part of the graceful, rhythmic movement of so remarkable a +life. Gertrude especially held these periods in honor; she wondered +what Madame Mnster did at such times, but she would not have permitted +herself to inquire too curiously. + +The long rain had freshened the air, and twelve hours' brilliant +sunshine had dried the roads; so that the Baroness, in the late +afternoon, proposing to walk to Mrs. Acton's, exposed herself to no +great discomfort. As with her charming undulating step she moved along +the clean, grassy margin of the road, beneath the thickly-hanging boughs +of the orchards, through the quiet of the hour and place and the rich +maturity of the summer, she was even conscious of a sort of luxurious +melancholy. The Baroness had the amiable weakness of attaching herself +to places--even when she had begun with a little aversion; and now, with +the prospect of departure, she felt tenderly toward this well-wooded +corner of the Western world, where the sunsets were so beautiful and +one's ambitions were so pure. Mrs. Acton was able to receive her; but on +entering this lady's large, freshly-scented room the Baroness saw that +she was looking very ill. She was wonderfully white and transparent, +and, in her flowered arm-chair, she made no attempt to move. But she +flushed a little--like a young girl, the Baroness thought--and she +rested her clear, smiling eyes upon those of her visitor. Her voice +was low and monotonous, like a voice that had never expressed any human +passions. + +"I have come to bid you good-bye," said Eugenia. "I shall soon be going +away." + +"When are you going away?" + +"Very soon--any day." + +"I am very sorry," said Mrs. Acton. "I hoped you would stay--always." + +"Always?" Eugenia demanded. + +"Well, I mean a long time," said Mrs. Acton, in her sweet, feeble tone. +"They tell me you are so comfortable--that you have got such a beautiful +little house." + +Eugenia stared--that is, she smiled; she thought of her poor little +chalet and she wondered whether her hostess were jesting. "Yes, my house +is exquisite," she said; "though not to be compared to yours." + +"And my son is so fond of going to see you," Mrs. Acton added. "I am +afraid my son will miss you." + +"Ah, dear madam," said Eugenia, with a little laugh, "I can't stay in +America for your son!" + +"Don't you like America?" + +The Baroness looked at the front of her dress. "If I liked it--that +would not be staying for your son!" + +Mrs. Acton gazed at her with her grave, tender eyes, as if she had not +quite understood. The Baroness at last found something irritating in +the sweet, soft stare of her hostess; and if one were not bound to be +merciful to great invalids she would almost have taken the liberty of +pronouncing her, mentally, a fool. "I am afraid, then, I shall never see +you again," said Mrs. Acton. "You know I am dying." + +"Ah, dear madam," murmured Eugenia. + +"I want to leave my children cheerful and happy. My daughter will +probably marry her cousin." + +"Two such interesting young people," said the Baroness, vaguely. She was +not thinking of Clifford Wentworth. + +"I feel so tranquil about my end," Mrs. Acton went on. "It is coming +so easily, so surely." And she paused, with her mild gaze always on +Eugenia's. + +The Baroness hated to be reminded of death; but even in its imminence, +so far as Mrs. Acton was concerned, she preserved her good manners. "Ah, +madam, you are too charming an invalid," she rejoined. + +But the delicacy of this rejoinder was apparently lost upon her hostess, +who went on in her low, reasonable voice. "I want to leave my children +bright and comfortable. You seem to me all so happy here--just as you +are. So I wish you could stay. It would be so pleasant for Robert." + +Eugenia wondered what she meant by its being pleasant for Robert; but +she felt that she would never know what such a woman as that meant. +She got up; she was afraid Mrs. Acton would tell her again that she +was dying. "Good-bye, dear madam," she said. "I must remember that your +strength is precious." + +Mrs. Acton took her hand and held it a moment. "Well, you _have_ been +happy here, haven't you? And you like us all, don't you? I wish you +would stay," she added, "in your beautiful little house." + +She had told Eugenia that her waiting-woman would be in the hall, to +show her downstairs; but the large landing outside her door was empty, +and Eugenia stood there looking about. She felt irritated; the dying +lady had not _"la main heureuse."_ She passed slowly downstairs, still +looking about. The broad staircase made a great bend, and in the angle +was a high window, looking westward, with a deep bench, covered with +a row of flowering plants in curious old pots of blue china-ware. The +yellow afternoon light came in through the flowers and flickered a +little on the white wainscots. Eugenia paused a moment; the house was +perfectly still, save for the ticking, somewhere, of a great clock. The +lower hall stretched away at the foot of the stairs, half covered over +with a large Oriental rug. Eugenia lingered a little, noticing a great +many things. _"Comme c'est bien!"_ she said to herself; such a large, +solid, irreproachable basis of existence the place seemed to her to +indicate. And then she reflected that Mrs. Acton was soon to withdraw +from it. The reflection accompanied her the rest of the way downstairs, +where she paused again, making more observations. The hall was extremely +broad, and on either side of the front door was a wide, deeply-set +window, which threw the shadows of everything back into the house. +There were high-backed chairs along the wall and big Eastern vases upon +tables, and, on either side, a large cabinet with a glass front and +little curiosities within, dimly gleaming. The doors were open--into the +darkened parlor, the library, the dining-room. All these rooms seemed +empty. Eugenia passed along, and stopped a moment on the threshold of +each. _"Comme c'est bien!"_ she murmured again; she had thought of just +such a house as this when she decided to come to America. She opened +the front door for herself--her light tread had summoned none of the +servants--and on the threshold she gave a last look. Outside, she +was still in the humor for curious contemplation; so instead of going +directly down the little drive, to the gate, she wandered away towards +the garden, which lay to the right of the house. She had not gone +many yards over the grass before she paused quickly; she perceived a +gentleman stretched upon the level verdure, beneath a tree. He had not +heard her coming, and he lay motionless, flat on his back, with his +hands clasped under his head, staring up at the sky; so that the +Baroness was able to reflect, at her leisure, upon the question of +his identity. It was that of a person who had lately been much in her +thoughts; but her first impulse, nevertheless, was to turn away; the +last thing she desired was to have the air of coming in quest of Robert +Acton. The gentleman on the grass, however, gave her no time to decide; +he could not long remain unconscious of so agreeable a presence. He +rolled back his eyes, stared, gave an exclamation, and then jumped up. +He stood an instant, looking at her. + +"Excuse my ridiculous position," he said. + +"I have just now no sense of the ridiculous. But, in case you have, +don't imagine I came to see you." + +"Take care," rejoined Acton, "how you put it into my head! I was +thinking of you." + +"The occupation of extreme leisure!" said the Baroness. "To think of a +woman when you are in that position is no compliment." + +"I didn't say I was thinking well!" Acton affirmed, smiling. + +She looked at him, and then she turned away. + +"Though I didn't come to see you," she said, "remember at least that I +am within your gates." + +"I am delighted--I am honored! Won't you come into the house?" + +"I have just come out of it. I have been calling upon your mother. I +have been bidding her farewell." + +"Farewell?" Acton demanded. + +"I am going away," said the Baroness. And she turned away again, as if +to illustrate her meaning. + +"When are you going?" asked Acton, standing a moment in his place. But +the Baroness made no answer, and he followed her. + +"I came this way to look at your garden," she said, walking back to the +gate, over the grass. "But I must go." + +"Let me at least go with you." He went with her, and they said nothing +till they reached the gate. It was open, and they looked down the road +which was darkened over with long bosky shadows. "Must you go straight +home?" Acton asked. + +But she made no answer. She said, after a moment, "Why have you not been +to see me?" He said nothing, and then she went on, "Why don't you answer +me?" + +"I am trying to invent an answer," Acton confessed. + +"Have you none ready?" + +"None that I can tell you," he said. "But let me walk with you now." + +"You may do as you like." + +She moved slowly along the road, and Acton went with her. Presently he +said, "If I had done as I liked I would have come to see you several +times." + +"Is that invented?" asked Eugenia. + +"No, that is natural. I stayed away because----" + +"Ah, here comes the reason, then!" + +"Because I wanted to think about you." + +"Because you wanted to lie down!" said the Baroness. "I have seen you +lie down--almost--in my drawing-room." + +Acton stopped in the road, with a movement which seemed to beg her to +linger a little. She paused, and he looked at her awhile; he thought her +very charming. "You are jesting," he said; "but if you are really going +away it is very serious." + +"If I stay," and she gave a little laugh, "it is more serious still!" + +"When shall you go?" + +"As soon as possible." + +"And why?" + +"Why should I stay?" + +"Because we all admire you so." + +"That is not a reason. I am admired also in Europe." And she began to +walk homeward again. + +"What could I say to keep you?" asked Acton. He wanted to keep her, and +it was a fact that he had been thinking of her for a week. He was in +love with her now; he was conscious of that, or he thought he was; and +the only question with him was whether he could trust her. + +"What you can say to keep me?" she repeated. "As I want very much to go +it is not in my interest to tell you. Besides, I can't imagine." + +He went on with her in silence; he was much more affected by what she +had told him than appeared. Ever since that evening of his return from +Newport her image had had a terrible power to trouble him. What Clifford +Wentworth had told him--that had affected him, too, in an adverse sense; +but it had not liberated him from the discomfort of a charm of which his +intelligence was impatient. "She is not honest, she is not honest," he +kept murmuring to himself. That is what he had been saying to the summer +sky, ten minutes before. Unfortunately, he was unable to say it +finally, definitively; and now that he was near her it seemed to matter +wonderfully little. "She is a woman who will lie," he had said to +himself. Now, as he went along, he reminded himself of this observation; +but it failed to frighten him as it had done before. He almost wished he +could make her lie and then convict her of it, so that he might see how +he should like that. He kept thinking of this as he walked by her side, +while she moved forward with her light, graceful dignity. He had sat +with her before; he had driven with her; but he had never walked with +her. + +"By Jove, how _comme il faut_ she is!" he said, as he observed her +sidewise. When they reached the cottage in the orchard she passed into +the gate without asking him to follow; but she turned round, as he stood +there, to bid him good-night. + +"I asked you a question the other night which you never answered," he +said. "Have you sent off that document--liberating yourself?" + +She hesitated for a single moment--very naturally. Then, "Yes," she +said, simply. + +He turned away; he wondered whether that would do for his lie. But he +saw her again that evening, for the Baroness reappeared at her uncle's. +He had little talk with her, however; two gentlemen had driven out from +Boston, in a buggy, to call upon Mr. Wentworth and his daughters, +and Madame Mnster was an object of absorbing interest to both of the +visitors. One of them, indeed, said nothing to her; he only sat and +watched with intense gravity, and leaned forward solemnly, presenting +his ear (a very large one), as if he were deaf, whenever she dropped +an observation. He had evidently been impressed with the idea of her +misfortunes and reverses: he never smiled. His companion adopted a +lighter, easier style; sat as near as possible to Madame Mnster; +attempted to draw her out, and proposed every few moments a new topic +of conversation. Eugenia was less vividly responsive than usual and +had less to say than, from her brilliant reputation, her interlocutor +expected, upon the relative merits of European and American +institutions; but she was inaccessible to Robert Acton, who roamed about +the piazza with his hands in his pockets, listening for the grating +sound of the buggy from Boston, as it should be brought round to the +side-door. But he listened in vain, and at last he lost patience. His +sister came to him and begged him to take her home, and he presently +went off with her. Eugenia observed him leaving the house with Lizzie; +in her present mood the fact seemed a contribution to her irritated +conviction that he had several precious qualities. "Even that +_mal-leve_ little girl," she reflected, "makes him do what she +wishes." + +She had been sitting just within one of the long windows that opened +upon the piazza; but very soon after Acton had gone away she got up +abruptly, just when the talkative gentleman from Boston was asking her +what she thought of the "moral tone" of that city. On the piazza she +encountered Clifford Wentworth, coming round from the other side of the +house. She stopped him; she told him she wished to speak to him. + +"Why didn't you go home with your cousin?" she asked. + +Clifford stared. "Why, Robert has taken her," he said. + +"Exactly so. But you don't usually leave that to him." + +"Oh," said Clifford, "I want to see those fellows start off. They don't +know how to drive." + +"It is not, then, that you have quarreled with your cousin?" + +Clifford reflected a moment, and then with a simplicity which had, for +the Baroness, a singularly baffling quality, "Oh, no; we have made up!" +he said. + +She looked at him for some moments; but Clifford had begun to be afraid +of the Baroness's looks, and he endeavored, now, to shift himself out +of their range. "Why do you never come to see me any more?" she asked. +"Have I displeased you?" + +"Displeased me? Well, I guess not!" said Clifford, with a laugh. + +"Why haven't you come, then?" + +"Well, because I am afraid of getting shut up in that back room." + +Eugenia kept looking at him. "I should think you would like that." + +"Like it!" cried Clifford. + +"I should, if I were a young man calling upon a charming woman." + +"A charming woman isn't much use to me when I am shut up in that back +room!" + +"I am afraid I am not of much use to you anywhere!" said Madame Mnster. +"And yet you know how I have offered to be." + +"Well," observed Clifford, by way of response, "there comes the buggy." + +"Never mind the buggy. Do you know I am going away?" + +"Do you mean now?" + +"I mean in a few days. I leave this place." + +"You are going back to Europe?" + +"To Europe, where you are to come and see me." + +"Oh, yes, I'll come out there," said Clifford. + +"But before that," Eugenia declared, "you must come and see me here." + +"Well, I shall keep clear of that back room!" rejoined her simple young +kinsman. + +The Baroness was silent a moment. "Yes, you must come frankly--boldly. +That will be very much better. I see that now." + +"I see it!" said Clifford. And then, in an instant, "What's the matter +with that buggy?" His practiced ear had apparently detected an unnatural +creak in the wheels of the light vehicle which had been brought to the +portico, and he hurried away to investigate so grave an anomaly. + +The Baroness walked homeward, alone, in the starlight, asking herself +a question. Was she to have gained nothing--was she to have gained +nothing? + +Gertrude Wentworth had held a silent place in the little circle gathered +about the two gentlemen from Boston. She was not interested in the +visitors; she was watching Madame Mnster, as she constantly watched +her. She knew that Eugenia also was not interested--that she was bored; +and Gertrude was absorbed in study of the problem how, in spite of +her indifference and her absent attention, she managed to have such a +charming manner. That was the manner Gertrude would have liked to have; +she determined to cultivate it, and she wished that--to give her the +charm--she might in future very often be bored. While she was engaged in +these researches, Felix Young was looking for Charlotte, to whom he had +something to say. For some time, now, he had had something to say to +Charlotte, and this evening his sense of the propriety of holding some +special conversation with her had reached the motive-point--resolved +itself into acute and delightful desire. He wandered through the empty +rooms on the large ground-floor of the house, and found her at last in +a small apartment denominated, for reasons not immediately apparent, Mr. +Wentworth's "office:" an extremely neat and well-dusted room, with an +array of law-books, in time-darkened sheep-skin, on one of the walls; a +large map of the United States on the other, flanked on either side by +an old steel engraving of one of Raphael's Madonnas; and on the third +several glass cases containing specimens of butterflies and beetles. +Charlotte was sitting by a lamp, embroidering a slipper. Felix did not +ask for whom the slipper was destined; he saw it was very large. + +He moved a chair toward her and sat down, smiling as usual, but, at +first, not speaking. She watched him, with her needle poised, and with +a certain shy, fluttered look which she always wore when he approached +her. There was something in Felix's manner that quickened her modesty, +her self-consciousness; if absolute choice had been given her she would +have preferred never to find herself alone with him; and in fact, +though she thought him a most brilliant, distinguished, and well-meaning +person, she had exercised a much larger amount of tremulous tact than +he had ever suspected, to circumvent the accident of _tte--tte_. Poor +Charlotte could have given no account of the matter that would not have +seemed unjust both to herself and to her foreign kinsman; she could only +have said--or rather, she would never have said it--that she did +not like so much gentleman's society at once. She was not reassured, +accordingly, when he began, emphasizing his words with a kind of +admiring radiance, "My dear cousin, I am enchanted at finding you +alone." + +"I am very often alone," Charlotte observed. Then she quickly added, "I +don't mean I am lonely!" + +"So clever a woman as you is never lonely," said Felix. "You have +company in your beautiful work." And he glanced at the big slipper. + +"I like to work," declared Charlotte, simply. + +"So do I!" said her companion. "And I like to idle too. But it is not +to idle that I have come in search of you. I want to tell you something +very particular." + +"Well," murmured Charlotte; "of course, if you must----" + +"My dear cousin," said Felix, "it's nothing that a young lady may not +listen to. At least I suppose it isn't. But _voyons_; you shall judge. I +am terribly in love." + +"Well, Felix," began Miss Wentworth, gravely. But her very gravity +appeared to check the development of her phrase. + +"I am in love with your sister; but in love, Charlotte--in love!" the +young man pursued. Charlotte had laid her work in her lap; her hands +were tightly folded on top of it; she was staring at the carpet. "In +short, I'm in love, dear lady," said Felix. "Now I want you to help me." + +"To help you?" asked Charlotte, with a tremor. + +"I don't mean with Gertrude; she and I have a perfect understanding; and +oh, how well she understands one! I mean with your father and with the +world in general, including Mr. Brand." + +"Poor Mr. Brand!" said Charlotte, slowly, but with a simplicity which +made it evident to Felix that the young minister had not repeated to +Miss Wentworth the talk that had lately occurred between them. + +"Ah, now, don't say 'poor' Mr. Brand! I don't pity Mr. Brand at all. +But I pity your father a little, and I don't want to displease him. +Therefore, you see, I want you to plead for me. You don't think me very +shabby, eh?" + +"Shabby?" exclaimed Charlotte softly, for whom Felix represented the +most polished and iridescent qualities of mankind. + +"I don't mean in my appearance," rejoined Felix, laughing; for Charlotte +was looking at his boots. "I mean in my conduct. You don't think it's an +abuse of hospitality?" + +"To--to care for Gertrude?" asked Charlotte. + +"To have really expressed one's self. Because I _have_ expressed myself, +Charlotte; I must tell you the whole truth--I have! Of course I want to +marry her--and here is the difficulty. I held off as long as I could; +but she is such a terribly fascinating person! She's a strange creature, +Charlotte; I don't believe you really know her." Charlotte took up her +tapestry again, and again she laid it down. "I know your father has had +higher views," Felix continued; "and I think you have shared them. You +have wanted to marry her to Mr. Brand." + +"Oh, no," said Charlotte, very earnestly. "Mr. Brand has always admired +her. But we did not want anything of that kind." + +Felix stared. "Surely, marriage was what you proposed." + +"Yes; but we didn't wish to force her." + +"_A la bonne heure!_ That's very unsafe you know. With these arranged +marriages there is often the deuce to pay." + +"Oh, Felix," said Charlotte, "we didn't want to 'arrange.'" + +"I am delighted to hear that. Because in such cases--even when the +woman is a thoroughly good creature--she can't help looking for a +compensation. A charming fellow comes along--and _voil!_" Charlotte sat +mutely staring at the floor, and Felix presently added, "Do go on with +your slipper, I like to see you work." + +Charlotte took up her variegated canvas, and began to draw vague blue +stitches in a big round rose. "If Gertrude is so--so strange," she said, +"why do you want to marry her?" + +"Ah, that's it, dear Charlotte! I like strange women; I always have +liked them. Ask Eugenia! And Gertrude is wonderful; she says the most +beautiful things!" + +Charlotte looked at him, almost for the first time, as if her meaning +required to be severely pointed. "You have a great influence over her." + +"Yes--and no!" said Felix. "I had at first, I think; but now it is six +of one and half-a-dozen of the other; it is reciprocal. She affects me +strongly--for she _is_ so strong. I don't believe you know her; it's a +beautiful nature." + +"Oh, yes, Felix; I have always thought Gertrude's nature beautiful." + +"Well, if you think so now," cried the young man, "wait and see! She's +a folded flower. Let me pluck her from the parent tree and you will see +her expand. I'm sure you will enjoy it." + +"I don't understand you," murmured Charlotte. "I _can't_, Felix." + +"Well, you can understand this--that I beg you to say a good word for +me to your father. He regards me, I naturally believe, as a very light +fellow, a Bohemian, an irregular character. Tell him I am not all this; +if I ever was, I have forgotten it. I am fond of pleasure--yes; but of +innocent pleasure. Pain is all one; but in pleasure, you know, there are +tremendous distinctions. Say to him that Gertrude is a folded flower and +that I am a serious man!" + +Charlotte got up from her chair slowly rolling up her work. "We know you +are very kind to everyone, Felix," she said. "But we are extremely sorry +for Mr. Brand." + +"Of course you are--you especially! Because," added Felix hastily, "you +are a woman. But I don't pity him. It ought to be enough for any man +that you take an interest in him." + +"It is not enough for Mr. Brand," said Charlotte, simply. And she stood +there a moment, as if waiting conscientiously for anything more that +Felix might have to say. + +"Mr. Brand is not so keen about his marriage as he was," he presently +said. "He is afraid of your sister. He begins to think she is wicked." + +Charlotte looked at him now with beautiful, appealing eyes--eyes into +which he saw the tears rising. "Oh, Felix, Felix," she cried, "what have +you done to her?" + +"I think she was asleep; I have waked her up!" + +But Charlotte, apparently, was really crying, she walked straight out +of the room. And Felix, standing there and meditating, had the apparent +brutality to take satisfaction in her tears. + +Late that night Gertrude, silent and serious, came to him in the garden; +it was a kind of appointment. Gertrude seemed to like appointments. +She plucked a handful of heliotrope and stuck it into the front of +her dress, but she said nothing. They walked together along one of the +paths, and Felix looked at the great, square, hospitable house, massing +itself vaguely in the starlight, with all its windows darkened. + +"I have a little of a bad conscience," he said. "I oughtn't to meet you +this way till I have got your father's consent." + +Gertrude looked at him for some time. "I don't understand you." + +"You very often say that," he said. "Considering how little we +understand each other, it is a wonder how well we get on!" + +"We have done nothing but meet since you came here--but meet alone. The +first time I ever saw you we were alone," Gertrude went on. "What is the +difference now? Is it because it is at night?" + +"The difference, Gertrude," said Felix, stopping in the path, "the +difference is that I love you more--more than before!" And then they +stood there, talking, in the warm stillness and in front of the closed +dark house. "I have been talking to Charlotte--been trying to bespeak +her interest with your father. She has a kind of sublime perversity; was +ever a woman so bent upon cutting off her own head?" + +"You are too careful," said Gertrude; "you are too diplomatic." + +"Well," cried the young man, "I didn't come here to make anyone +unhappy!" + +Gertrude looked round her awhile in the odorous darkness. "I will do +anything you please," she said. + +"For instance?" asked Felix, smiling. + +"I will go away. I will do anything you please." + +Felix looked at her in solemn admiration. "Yes, we will go away," he +said. "But we will make peace first." + +Gertrude looked about her again, and then she broke out, passionately, +"Why do they try to make one feel guilty? Why do they make it so +difficult? Why can't they understand?" + +"I will make them understand!" said Felix. He drew her hand into his +arm, and they wandered about in the garden, talking, for an hour. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Felix allowed Charlotte time to plead his cause; and then, on the third +day, he sought an interview with his uncle. It was in the morning; +Mr. Wentworth was in his office; and, on going in, Felix found that +Charlotte was at that moment in conference with her father. She had, in +fact, been constantly near him since her interview with Felix; she +had made up her mind that it was her duty to repeat very literally her +cousin's passionate plea. She had accordingly followed Mr. Wentworth +about like a shadow, in order to find him at hand when she should have +mustered sufficient composure to speak. For poor Charlotte, in this +matter, naturally lacked composure; especially when she meditated upon +some of Felix's intimations. It was not cheerful work, at the best, to +keep giving small hammer-taps to the coffin in which one had laid +away, for burial, the poor little unacknowledged offspring of one's own +misbehaving heart; and the occupation was not rendered more agreeable +by the fact that the ghost of one's stifled dream had been summoned from +the shades by the strange, bold words of a talkative young foreigner. +What had Felix meant by saying that Mr. Brand was not so keen? To +herself her sister's justly depressed suitor had shown no sign of +faltering. Charlotte trembled all over when she allowed herself to +believe for an instant now and then that, privately, Mr. Brand might +have faltered; and as it seemed to give more force to Felix's words to +repeat them to her father, she was waiting until she should have taught +herself to be very calm. But she had now begun to tell Mr. Wentworth +that she was extremely anxious. She was proceeding to develop this idea, +to enumerate the objects of her anxiety, when Felix came in. + +Mr. Wentworth sat there, with his legs crossed, lifting his dry, pure +countenance from the Boston _Advertiser_. Felix entered smiling, as if +he had something particular to say, and his uncle looked at him as if +he both expected and deprecated this event. Felix vividly expressing +himself had come to be a formidable figure to his uncle, who had not yet +arrived at definite views as to a proper tone. For the first time in +his life, as I have said, Mr. Wentworth shirked a responsibility; he +earnestly desired that it might not be laid upon him to determine how +his nephew's lighter propositions should be treated. He lived under an +apprehension that Felix might yet beguile him into assent to doubtful +inductions, and his conscience instructed him that the best form of +vigilance was the avoidance of discussion. He hoped that the pleasant +episode of his nephew's visit would pass away without a further lapse of +consistency. + +Felix looked at Charlotte with an air of understanding, and then at Mr. +Wentworth, and then at Charlotte again. Mr. Wentworth bent his refined +eyebrows upon his nephew and stroked down the first page of the +_Advertiser_. "I ought to have brought a bouquet," said Felix, laughing. +"In France they always do." + +"We are not in France," observed Mr. Wentworth, gravely, while Charlotte +earnestly gazed at him. + +"No, luckily, we are not in France, where I am afraid I should have +a harder time of it. My dear Charlotte, have you rendered me that +delightful service?" And Felix bent toward her as if someone had been +presenting him. + +Charlotte looked at him with almost frightened eyes; and Mr. Wentworth +thought this might be the beginning of a discussion. "What is the +bouquet for?" he inquired, by way of turning it off. + +Felix gazed at him, smiling. _"Pour la demande!"_ And then, drawing up +a chair, he seated himself, hat in hand, with a kind of conscious +solemnity. + +Presently he turned to Charlotte again. "My good Charlotte, my admirable +Charlotte," he murmured, "you have not played me false--you have not +sided against me?" + +Charlotte got up, trembling extremely, though imperceptibly. "You must +speak to my father yourself," she said. "I think you are clever enough." + +But Felix, rising too, begged her to remain. "I can speak better to an +audience!" he declared. + +"I hope it is nothing disagreeable," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"It's something delightful, for me!" And Felix, laying down his hat, +clasped his hands a little between his knees. "My dear uncle," he said, +"I desire, very earnestly, to marry your daughter Gertrude." Charlotte +sank slowly into her chair again, and Mr. Wentworth sat staring, with a +light in his face that might have been flashed back from an iceberg. +He stared and stared; he said nothing. Felix fell back, with his hands +still clasped. "Ah--you don't like it. I was afraid!" He blushed deeply, +and Charlotte noticed it--remarking to herself that it was the first +time she had ever seen him blush. She began to blush herself and to +reflect that he might be much in love. + +"This is very abrupt," said Mr. Wentworth, at last. + +"Have you never suspected it, dear uncle?" Felix inquired. "Well, that +proves how discreet I have been. Yes, I thought you wouldn't like it." + +"It is very serious, Felix," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"You think it's an abuse of hospitality!" exclaimed Felix, smiling +again. + +"Of hospitality?--an abuse?" his uncle repeated very slowly. + +"That is what Felix said to me," said Charlotte, conscientiously. + +"Of course you think so; don't defend yourself!" Felix pursued. "It +_is_ an abuse, obviously; the most I can claim is that it is perhaps a +pardonable one. I simply fell head over heels in love; one can hardly +help that. Though you are Gertrude's progenitor I don't believe you +know how attractive she is. Dear uncle, she contains the elements of a +singularly--I may say a strangely--charming woman!" + +"She has always been to me an object of extreme concern," said Mr. +Wentworth. "We have always desired her happiness." + +"Well, here it is!" Felix declared. "I will make her happy. She believes +it, too. Now hadn't you noticed that?" + +"I had noticed that she was much changed," Mr. Wentworth declared, in +a tone whose unexpressive, unimpassioned quality appeared to Felix to +reveal a profundity of opposition. "It may be that she is only becoming +what you call a charming woman." + +"Gertrude, at heart, is so earnest, so true," said Charlotte, very +softly, fastening her eyes upon her father. + +"I delight to hear you praise her!" cried Felix. + +"She has a very peculiar temperament," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"Eh, even that is praise!" Felix rejoined. "I know I am not the man you +might have looked for. I have no position and no fortune; I can give +Gertrude no place in the world. A place in the world--that's what she +ought to have; that would bring her out." + +"A place to do her duty!" remarked Mr. Wentworth. + +"Ah, how charmingly she does it--her duty!" Felix exclaimed, with a +radiant face. "What an exquisite conception she has of it! But she comes +honestly by that, dear uncle." Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte both looked +at him as if they were watching a greyhound doubling. "Of course with +me she will hide her light under a bushel," he continued; "I being the +bushel! Now I know you like me--you have certainly proved it. But you +think I am frivolous and penniless and shabby! Granted--granted--a +thousand times granted. I have been a loose fish--a fiddler, a painter, +an actor. But there is this to be said: In the first place, I fancy +you exaggerate; you lend me qualities I haven't had. I have been a +Bohemian--yes; but in Bohemia I always passed for a gentleman. I wish +you could see some of my old _camarades_--they would tell you! It +was the liberty I liked, but not the opportunities! My sins were all +peccadilloes; I always respected my neighbor's property--my neighbor's +wife. Do you see, dear uncle?" Mr. Wentworth ought to have seen; his +cold blue eyes were intently fixed. "And then, _c'est fini!_ It's all +over. _Je me range_. I have settled down to a jog-trot. I find I can +earn my living--a very fair one--by going about the world and painting +bad portraits. It's not a glorious profession, but it is a perfectly +respectable one. You won't deny that, eh? Going about the world, I say? +I must not deny that, for that I am afraid I shall always do--in quest +of agreeable sitters. When I say agreeable, I mean susceptible of +delicate flattery and prompt of payment. Gertrude declares she is +willing to share my wanderings and help to pose my models. She even +thinks it will be charming; and that brings me to my third point. +Gertrude likes me. Encourage her a little and she will tell you so." + +Felix's tongue obviously moved much faster than the imagination of his +auditors; his eloquence, like the rocking of a boat in a deep, smooth +lake, made long eddies of silence. And he seemed to be pleading and +chattering still, with his brightly eager smile, his uplifted eyebrows, +his expressive mouth, after he had ceased speaking, and while, with his +glance quickly turning from the father to the daughter, he sat waiting +for the effect of his appeal. "It is not your want of means," said Mr. +Wentworth, after a period of severe reticence. + +"Now it's delightful of you to say that! Only don't say it's my want of +character. Because I have a character--I assure you I have; a small one, +a little slip of a thing, but still something tangible." + +"Ought you not to tell Felix that it is Mr. Brand, father?" Charlotte +asked, with infinite mildness. + +"It is not only Mr. Brand," Mr. Wentworth solemnly declared. And he +looked at his knee for a long time. "It is difficult to explain," he +said. He wished, evidently, to be very just. "It rests on moral grounds, +as Mr. Brand says. It is the question whether it is the best thing for +Gertrude." + +"What is better--what is better, dear uncle?" Felix rejoined urgently, +rising in his urgency and standing before Mr. Wentworth. His uncle had +been looking at his knee; but when Felix moved he transferred his gaze +to the handle of the door which faced him. "It is usually a fairly good +thing for a girl to marry the man she loves!" cried Felix. + +While he spoke, Mr. Wentworth saw the handle of the door begin to turn; +the door opened and remained slightly ajar, until Felix had delivered +himself of the cheerful axiom just quoted. Then it opened altogether +and Gertrude stood there. She looked excited; there was a spark in her +sweet, dull eyes. She came in slowly, but with an air of resolution, +and, closing the door softly, looked round at the three persons present. +Felix went to her with tender gallantry, holding out his hand, and +Charlotte made a place for her on the sofa. But Gertrude put her hands +behind her and made no motion to sit down. + +"We are talking of you!" said Felix. + +"I know it," she answered. "That's why I came." And she fastened her +eyes on her father, who returned her gaze very fixedly. In his own cold +blue eyes there was a kind of pleading, reasoning light. + +"It is better you should be present," said Mr. Wentworth. "We are +discussing your future." + +"Why discuss it?" asked Gertrude. "Leave it to me." + +"That is, to me!" cried Felix. + +"I leave it, in the last resort, to a greater wisdom than ours," said +the old man. + +Felix rubbed his forehead gently. "But _en attendant_ the last resort, +your father lacks confidence," he said to Gertrude. + +"Haven't you confidence in Felix?" Gertrude was frowning; there was +something about her that her father and Charlotte had never seen. +Charlotte got up and came to her, as if to put her arm round her; but +suddenly, she seemed afraid to touch her. + +Mr. Wentworth, however, was not afraid. "I have had more confidence in +Felix than in you," he said. + +"Yes, you have never had confidence in me--never, never! I don't know +why." + +"Oh sister, sister!" murmured Charlotte. + +"You have always needed advice," Mr. Wentworth declared. "You have had a +difficult temperament." + +"Why do you call it difficult? It might have been easy, if you had +allowed it. You wouldn't let me be natural. I don't know what you wanted +to make of me. Mr. Brand was the worst." + +Charlotte at last took hold of her sister. She laid her two hands upon +Gertrude's arm. "He cares so much for you," she almost whispered. + +Gertrude looked at her intently an instant; then kissed her. "No, he +does not," she said. + +"I have never seen you so passionate," observed Mr. Wentworth, with an +air of indignation mitigated by high principles. + +"I am sorry if I offend you," said Gertrude. + +"You offend me, but I don't think you are sorry." + +"Yes, father, she is sorry," said Charlotte. + +"I would even go further, dear uncle," Felix interposed. "I would +question whether she really offends you. How can she offend you?" + +To this Mr. Wentworth made no immediate answer. Then, in a moment, "She +has not profited as we hoped." + +"Profited? _Ah voil!_" Felix exclaimed. + +Gertrude was very pale; she stood looking down. "I have told Felix I +would go away with him," she presently said. + +"Ah, you have said some admirable things!" cried the young man. + +"Go away, sister?" asked Charlotte. + +"Away--away; to some strange country." + +"That is to frighten you," said Felix, smiling at Charlotte. + +"To--what do you call it?" asked Gertrude, turning an instant to Felix. +"To Bohemia." + +"Do you propose to dispense with preliminaries?" asked Mr. Wentworth, +getting up. + +"Dear uncle, _vous plaisantez!_" cried Felix. "It seems to me that these +are preliminaries." + +Gertrude turned to her father. "I _have_ profited," she said. "You +wanted to form my character. Well, my character is formed--for my age. +I know what I want; I have chosen. I am determined to marry this +gentleman." + +"You had better consent, sir," said Felix very gently. + +"Yes, sir, you had better consent," added a very different voice. + +Charlotte gave a little jump, and the others turned to the direction +from which it had come. It was the voice of Mr. Brand, who had stepped +through the long window which stood open to the piazza. He stood patting +his forehead with his pocket-handkerchief; he was very much flushed; his +face wore a singular expression. + +"Yes, sir, you had better consent," Mr. Brand repeated, coming forward. +"I know what Miss Gertrude means." + +"My dear friend!" murmured Felix, laying his hand caressingly on the +young minister's arm. + +Mr. Brand looked at him; then at Mr. Wentworth; lastly at Gertrude. He +did not look at Charlotte. But Charlotte's earnest eyes were fastened +to his own countenance; they were asking an immense question of it. +The answer to this question could not come all at once; but some of the +elements of it were there. It was one of the elements of it that Mr. +Brand was very red, that he held his head very high, that he had a +bright, excited eye and an air of embarrassed boldness--the air of a +man who has taken a resolve, in the execution of which he apprehends +the failure, not of his moral, but of his personal, resources. Charlotte +thought he looked very grand; and it is incontestable that Mr. Brand +felt very grand. This, in fact, was the grandest moment of his life; +and it was natural that such a moment should contain opportunities of +awkwardness for a large, stout, modest young man. + +"Come in, sir," said Mr. Wentworth, with an angular wave of his hand. +"It is very proper that you should be present." + +"I know what you are talking about," Mr. Brand rejoined. "I heard what +your nephew said." + +"And he heard what you said!" exclaimed Felix, patting him again on the +arm. + +"I am not sure that I understood," said Mr. Wentworth, who had +angularity in his voice as well as in his gestures. + +Gertrude had been looking hard at her former suitor. She had been +puzzled, like her sister; but her imagination moved more quickly than +Charlotte's. "Mr. Brand asked you to let Felix take me away," she said +to her father. + +The young minister gave her a strange look. "It is not because I don't +want to see you any more," he declared, in a tone intended as it were +for publicity. + +"I shouldn't think you would want to see me any more," Gertrude +answered, gently. + +Mr. Wentworth stood staring. "Isn't this rather a change, sir?" he +inquired. + +"Yes, sir." And Mr. Brand looked anywhere; only still not at Charlotte. +"Yes, sir," he repeated. And he held his handkerchief a few moments to +his lips. + +"Where are our moral grounds?" demanded Mr. Wentworth, who had always +thought Mr. Brand would be just the thing for a younger daughter with a +peculiar temperament. + +"It is sometimes very moral to change, you know," suggested Felix. + +Charlotte had softly left her sister's side. She had edged gently toward +her father, and now her hand found its way into his arm. Mr. Wentworth +had folded up the _Advertiser_ into a surprisingly small compass, and, +holding the roll with one hand, he earnestly clasped it with the other. +Mr. Brand was looking at him; and yet, though Charlotte was so near, his +eyes failed to meet her own. Gertrude watched her sister. + +"It is better not to speak of change," said Mr. Brand. "In one sense +there is no change. There was something I desired--something I asked of +you; I desire something still--I ask it of you." And he paused a moment; +Mr. Wentworth looked bewildered. "I should like, in my ministerial +capacity, to unite this young couple." + +Gertrude, watching her sister, saw Charlotte flushing intensely, and Mr. +Wentworth felt her pressing upon his arm. "Heavenly Powers!" murmured +Mr. Wentworth. And it was the nearest approach to profanity he had ever +made. + +"That is very nice; that is very handsome!" Felix exclaimed. + +"I don't understand," said Mr. Wentworth; though it was plain that +everyone else did. + +"That is very beautiful, Mr. Brand," said Gertrude, emulating Felix. + +"I should like to marry you. It will give me great pleasure." + +"As Gertrude says, it's a beautiful idea," said Felix. + +Felix was smiling, but Mr. Brand was not even trying to. He himself +treated his proposition very seriously. "I have thought of it, and I +should like to do it," he affirmed. + +Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring with expanded eyes. Her imagination, +as I have said, was not so rapid as her sister's, but now it had taken +several little jumps. "Father," she murmured, "consent!" + +Mr. Brand heard her; he looked away. Mr. Wentworth, evidently, had no +imagination at all. "I have always thought," he began, slowly, "that +Gertrude's character required a special line of development." + +"Father," repeated Charlotte, _"consent."_ + +Then, at last, Mr. Brand looked at her. Her father felt her leaning more +heavily upon his folded arm than she had ever done before; and this, +with a certain sweet faintness in her voice, made him wonder what was +the matter. He looked down at her and saw the encounter of her gaze with +the young theologian's; but even this told him nothing, and he continued +to be bewildered. Nevertheless, "I consent," he said at last, "since Mr. +Brand recommends it." + +"I should like to perform the ceremony very soon," observed Mr. Brand, +with a sort of solemn simplicity. + +"Come, come, that's charming!" cried Felix, profanely. + +Mr. Wentworth sank into his chair. "Doubtless, when you understand it," +he said, with a certain judicial asperity. + +Gertrude went to her sister and led her away, and Felix having passed +his arm into Mr. Brand's and stepped out of the long window with him, +the old man was left sitting there in unillumined perplexity. + +Felix did no work that day. In the afternoon, with Gertrude, he got into +one of the boats and floated about with idly-dipping oars. They talked a +good deal of Mr. Brand--though not exclusively. + +"That was a fine stroke," said Felix. "It was really heroic." + +Gertrude sat musing, with her eyes upon the ripples. "That was what he +wanted to be; he wanted to do something fine." + +"He won't be comfortable till he has married us," said Felix. "So much +the better." + +"He wanted to be magnanimous; he wanted to have a fine moral pleasure. +I know him so well," Gertrude went on. Felix looked at her; she spoke +slowly, gazing at the clear water. "He thought of it a great deal, night +and day. He thought it would be beautiful. At last he made up his mind +that it was his duty, his duty to do just that--nothing less than that. +He felt exalted; he felt sublime. That's how he likes to feel. It is +better for him than if I had listened to him." + +"It's better for me," smiled Felix. "But do you know, as regards the +sacrifice, that I don't believe he admired you when this decision was +taken quite so much as he had done a fortnight before?" + +"He never admired me. He admires Charlotte; he pitied me. I know him so +well." + +"Well, then, he didn't pity you so much." + +Gertrude looked at Felix a little, smiling. "You shouldn't permit +yourself," she said, "to diminish the splendor of his action. He admires +Charlotte," she repeated. + +"That's capital!" said Felix laughingly, and dipping his oars. I cannot +say exactly to which member of Gertrude's phrase he alluded; but he +dipped his oars again, and they kept floating about. + +Neither Felix nor his sister, on that day, was present at Mr. +Wentworth's at the evening repast. The two occupants of the chalet dined +together, and the young man informed his companion that his marriage was +now an assured fact. Eugenia congratulated him, and replied that if he +were as reasonable a husband as he had been, on the whole, a brother, +his wife would have nothing to complain of. + +Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. "I hope," he said, "not to be +thrown back on my reason." + +"It is very true," Eugenia rejoined, "that one's reason is dismally +flat. It's a bed with the mattress removed." + +But the brother and sister, later in the evening, crossed over to +the larger house, the Baroness desiring to compliment her prospective +sister-in-law. They found the usual circle upon the piazza, with the +exception of Clifford Wentworth and Lizzie Acton; and as everyone stood +up as usual to welcome the Baroness, Eugenia had an admiring audience +for her compliment to Gertrude. + +Robert Acton stood on the edge of the piazza, leaning against one of +the white columns, so that he found himself next to Eugenia while she +acquitted herself of a neat little discourse of congratulation. + +"I shall be so glad to know you better," she said; "I have seen so much +less of you than I should have liked. Naturally; now I see the reason +why! You will love me a little, won't you? I think I may say I gain +on being known." And terminating these observations with the softest +cadence of her voice, the Baroness imprinted a sort of grand official +kiss upon Gertrude's forehead. + +Increased familiarity had not, to Gertrude's imagination, diminished +the mysterious impressiveness of Eugenia's personality, and she felt +flattered and transported by this little ceremony. Robert Acton +also seemed to admire it, as he admired so many of the gracious +manifestations of Madame Mnster's wit. + +They had the privilege of making him restless, and on this occasion he +walked away, suddenly, with his hands in his pockets, and then came back +and leaned against his column. Eugenia was now complimenting her uncle +upon his daughter's engagement, and Mr. Wentworth was listening with his +usual plain yet refined politeness. It is to be supposed that by this +time his perception of the mutual relations of the young people who +surrounded him had become more acute; but he still took the matter very +seriously, and he was not at all exhilarated. + +"Felix will make her a good husband," said Eugenia. "He will be a +charming companion; he has a great quality--indestructible gaiety." + +"You think that's a great quality?" asked the old man. + +Eugenia meditated, with her eyes upon his. "You think one gets tired of +it, eh?" + +"I don't know that I am prepared to say that," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"Well, we will say, then, that it is tiresome for others but delightful +for one's self. A woman's husband, you know, is supposed to be her +second self; so that, for Felix and Gertrude, gaiety will be a common +property." + +"Gertrude was always very gay," said Mr. Wentworth. He was trying to +follow this argument. + +Robert Acton took his hands out of his pockets and came a little nearer +to the Baroness. "You say you gain by being known," he said. "One +certainly gains by knowing you." + +"What have _you_ gained?" asked Eugenia. + +"An immense amount of wisdom." + +"That's a questionable advantage for a man who was already so wise!" + +Acton shook his head. "No, I was a great fool before I knew you!" + +"And being a fool you made my acquaintance? You are very complimentary." + +"Let me keep it up," said Acton, laughing. "I hope, for our pleasure, +that your brother's marriage will detain you." + +"Why should I stop for my brother's marriage when I would not stop for +my own?" asked the Baroness. + +"Why shouldn't you stop in either case, now that, as you say, you have +dissolved that mechanical tie that bound you to Europe?" + +The Baroness looked at him a moment. "As I say? You look as if you +doubted it." + +"Ah," said Acton, returning her glance, "that is a remnant of my old +folly! We have other attractions," he added. "We are to have another +marriage." + +But she seemed not to hear him; she was looking at him still. "My word +was never doubted before," she said. + +"We are to have another marriage," Acton repeated, smiling. + +Then she appeared to understand. "Another marriage?" And she looked at +the others. Felix was chattering to Gertrude; Charlotte, at a distance, +was watching them; and Mr. Brand, in quite another quarter, was turning +his back to them, and, with his hands under his coat-tails and his large +head on one side, was looking at the small, tender crescent of a young +moon. "It ought to be Mr. Brand and Charlotte," said Eugenia, "but it +doesn't look like it." + +"There," Acton answered, "you must judge just now by contraries. There +is more than there looks to be. I expect that combination one of these +days; but that is not what I meant." + +"Well," said the Baroness, "I never guess my own lovers; so I can't +guess other people's." + +Acton gave a loud laugh, and he was about to add a rejoinder when Mr. +Wentworth approached his niece. "You will be interested to hear," the +old man said, with a momentary aspiration toward jocosity, "of another +matrimonial venture in our little circle." + +"I was just telling the Baroness," Acton observed. + +"Mr. Acton was apparently about to announce his own engagement," said +Eugenia. + +Mr. Wentworth's jocosity increased. "It is not exactly that; but it +is in the family. Clifford, hearing this morning that Mr. Brand had +expressed a desire to tie the nuptial knot for his sister, took it into +his head to arrange that, while his hand was in, our good friend should +perform a like ceremony for himself and Lizzie Acton." + +The Baroness threw back her head and smiled at her uncle; then turning, +with an intenser radiance, to Robert Acton, "I am certainly very stupid +not to have thought of that," she said. Acton looked down at his +boots, as if he thought he had perhaps reached the limits of legitimate +experimentation, and for a moment Eugenia said nothing more. It had +been, in fact, a sharp knock, and she needed to recover herself. This +was done, however, promptly enough. "Where are the young people?" she +asked. + +"They are spending the evening with my mother." + +"Is not the thing very sudden?" + +Acton looked up. "Extremely sudden. There had been a tacit +understanding; but within a day or two Clifford appears to have received +some mysterious impulse to precipitate the affair." + +"The impulse," said the Baroness, "was the charms of your very pretty +sister." + +"But my sister's charms were an old story; he had always known her." +Acton had begun to experiment again. + +Here, however, it was evident the Baroness would not help him. "Ah, one +can't say! Clifford is very young; but he is a nice boy." + +"He's a likeable sort of boy, and he will be a rich man." This was +Acton's last experiment. Madame Mnster turned away. + +She made but a short visit and Felix took her home. In her little +drawing-room she went almost straight to the mirror over the +chimney-piece, and, with a candle uplifted, stood looking into it. "I +shall not wait for your marriage," she said to her brother. "Tomorrow my +maid shall pack up." + +"My dear sister," Felix exclaimed, "we are to be married immediately! +Mr. Brand is too uncomfortable." + +But Eugenia, turning and still holding her candle aloft, only looked +about the little sitting-room at her gimcracks and curtains and +cushions. "My maid shall pack up," she repeated. "_Bont divine_, what +rubbish! I feel like a strolling actress; these are my 'properties.'" + +"Is the play over, Eugenia?" asked Felix. + +She gave him a sharp glance. "I have spoken my part." + +"With great applause!" said her brother. + +"Oh, applause--applause!" she murmured. And she gathered up two or three +of her dispersed draperies. She glanced at the beautiful brocade, and +then, "I don't see how I can have endured it!" she said. + +"Endure it a little longer. Come to my wedding." + +"Thank you; that's your affair. My affairs are elsewhere." + +"Where are you going?" + +"To Germany--by the first ship." + +"You have decided not to marry Mr. Acton?" + +"I have refused him," said Eugenia. + +Her brother looked at her in silence. "I am sorry," he rejoined at last. +"But I was very discreet, as you asked me to be. I said nothing." + +"Please continue, then, not to allude to the matter," said Eugenia. + +Felix inclined himself gravely. "You shall be obeyed. But your position +in Germany?" he pursued. + +"Please to make no observations upon it." + +"I was only going to say that I supposed it was altered." + +"You are mistaken." + +"But I thought you had signed----" + +"I have not signed!" said the Baroness. + +Felix urged her no further, and it was arranged that he should +immediately assist her to embark. + +Mr. Brand was indeed, it appeared, very impatient to consummate his +sacrifice and deliver the nuptial benediction which would set it off so +handsomely; but Eugenia's impatience to withdraw from a country in which +she had not found the fortune she had come to seek was even less to be +mistaken. It is true she had not made any very various exertion; but +she appeared to feel justified in generalizing--in deciding that the +conditions of action on this provincial continent were not favorable +to really superior women. The elder world was, after all, their natural +field. The unembarrassed directness with which she proceeded to +apply these intelligent conclusions appeared to the little circle of +spectators who have figured in our narrative but the supreme exhibition +of a character to which the experience of life had imparted an +inimitable pliancy. It had a distinct effect upon Robert Acton, who, for +the two days preceding her departure, was a very restless and irritated +mortal. She passed her last evening at her uncle's, where she had never +been more charming; and in parting with Clifford Wentworth's affianced +bride she drew from her own finger a curious old ring and presented it +to her with the prettiest speech and kiss. Gertrude, who as an affianced +bride was also indebted to her gracious bounty, admired this little +incident extremely, and Robert Acton almost wondered whether it did not +give him the right, as Lizzie's brother and guardian, to offer in return +a handsome present to the Baroness. It would have made him extremely +happy to be able to offer a handsome present to the Baroness; but he +abstained from this expression of his sentiments, and they were in +consequence, at the very last, by so much the less comfortable. It was +almost at the very last that he saw her--late the night before she went +to Boston to embark. + +"For myself, I wish you might have stayed," he said. "But not for your +own sake." + +"I don't make so many differences," said the Baroness. "I am simply +sorry to be going." + +"That's a much deeper difference than mine," Acton declared; "for you +mean you are simply glad!" + +Felix parted with her on the deck of the ship. "We shall often meet over +there," he said. + +"I don't know," she answered. "Europe seems to me much larger than +America." + +Mr. Brand, of course, in the days that immediately followed, was not the +only impatient spirit; but it may be said that of all the young spirits +interested in the event none rose more eagerly to the level of the +occasion. Gertrude left her father's house with Felix Young; they were +imperturbably happy and they went far away. Clifford and his young wife +sought their felicity in a narrower circle, and the latter's influence +upon her husband was such as to justify, strikingly, that theory of the +elevating effect of easy intercourse with clever women which Felix had +propounded to Mr. Wentworth. Gertrude was for a good while a distant +figure, but she came back when Charlotte married Mr. Brand. She was +present at the wedding feast, where Felix's gaiety confessed to no +change. Then she disappeared, and the echo of a gaiety of her own, +mingled with that of her husband, often came back to the home of her +earlier years. Mr. Wentworth at last found himself listening for it; +and Robert Acton, after his mother's death, married a particularly nice +young girl. + +The End + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Europeans, by Henry James + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EUROPEANS *** + +***** This file should be named 179-8.txt or 179-8.zip ***** This and +all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/179/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be +renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one +owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and +you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission +and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Europeans + +Author: Henry James + +Release Date: March 14, 2006 [EBook #179] +Last Updated: September 18, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EUROPEANS *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE EUROPEANS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Henry James + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + A narrow grave-yard in the heart of a bustling, indifferent city, seen + from the windows of a gloomy-looking inn, is at no time an object of + enlivening suggestion; and the spectacle is not at its best when the + mouldy tombstones and funereal umbrage have received the ineffectual + refreshment of a dull, moist snow-fall. If, while the air is thickened by + this frosty drizzle, the calendar should happen to indicate that the + blessed vernal season is already six weeks old, it will be admitted that + no depressing influence is absent from the scene. This fact was keenly + felt on a certain 12th of May, upwards of thirty years since, by a lady + who stood looking out of one of the windows of the best hotel in the + ancient city of Boston. She had stood there for half an hour—stood + there, that is, at intervals; for from time to time she turned back into + the room and measured its length with a restless step. In the + chimney-place was a red-hot fire which emitted a small blue flame; and in + front of the fire, at a table, sat a young man who was busily plying a + pencil. He had a number of sheets of paper cut into small equal squares, + and he was apparently covering them with pictorial designs—strange-looking + figures. He worked rapidly and attentively, sometimes threw back his head + and held out his drawing at arm’s-length, and kept up a soft, gay-sounding + humming and whistling. The lady brushed past him in her walk; her + much-trimmed skirts were voluminous. She never dropped her eyes upon his + work; she only turned them, occasionally, as she passed, to a mirror + suspended above the toilet-table on the other side of the room. Here she + paused a moment, gave a pinch to her waist with her two hands, or raised + these members—they were very plump and pretty—to the multifold + braids of her hair, with a movement half caressing, half corrective. An + attentive observer might have fancied that during these periods of + desultory self-inspection her face forgot its melancholy; but as soon as + she neared the window again it began to proclaim that she was a very + ill-pleased woman. And indeed, in what met her eyes there was little to be + pleased with. The window-panes were battered by the sleet; the head-stones + in the grave-yard beneath seemed to be holding themselves askance to keep + it out of their faces. A tall iron railing protected them from the street, + and on the other side of the railing an assemblage of Bostonians were + trampling about in the liquid snow. Many of them were looking up and down; + they appeared to be waiting for something. From time to time a strange + vehicle drew near to the place where they stood,—such a vehicle as + the lady at the window, in spite of a considerable acquaintance with human + inventions, had never seen before: a huge, low omnibus, painted in + brilliant colors, and decorated apparently with jangling bells, attached + to a species of groove in the pavement, through which it was dragged, with + a great deal of rumbling, bouncing and scratching, by a couple of + remarkably small horses. When it reached a certain point the people in + front of the grave-yard, of whom much the greater number were women, + carrying satchels and parcels, projected themselves upon it in a compact + body—a movement suggesting the scramble for places in a life-boat at + sea—and were engulfed in its large interior. Then the life-boat—or + the life-car, as the lady at the window of the hotel vaguely designated it—went + bumping and jingling away upon its invisible wheels, with the helmsman + (the man at the wheel) guiding its course incongruously from the prow. + This phenomenon was repeated every three minutes, and the supply of + eagerly-moving women in cloaks, bearing reticules and bundles, renewed + itself in the most liberal manner. On the other side of the grave-yard was + a row of small red brick houses, showing a series of homely, + domestic-looking backs; at the end opposite the hotel a tall wooden + church-spire, painted white, rose high into the vagueness of the + snow-flakes. The lady at the window looked at it for some time; for + reasons of her own she thought it the ugliest thing she had ever seen. She + hated it, she despised it; it threw her into a state of irritation that + was quite out of proportion to any sensible motive. She had never known + herself to care so much about church-spires. + </p> + <p> + She was not pretty; but even when it expressed perplexed irritation her + face was most interesting and agreeable. Neither was she in her first + youth; yet, though slender, with a great deal of extremely well-fashioned + roundness of contour—a suggestion both of maturity and flexibility—she + carried her three and thirty years as a light-wristed Hebe might have + carried a brimming wine-cup. Her complexion was fatigued, as the French + say; her mouth was large, her lips too full, her teeth uneven, her chin + rather commonly modeled; she had a thick nose, and when she smiled—she + was constantly smiling—the lines beside it rose too high, toward her + eyes. But these eyes were charming: gray in color, brilliant, quickly + glancing, gently resting, full of intelligence. Her forehead was very low—it + was her only handsome feature; and she had a great abundance of crisp dark + hair, finely frizzled, which was always braided in a manner that suggested + some Southern or Eastern, some remotely foreign, woman. She had a large + collection of ear-rings, and wore them in alternation; and they seemed to + give a point to her Oriental or exotic aspect. A compliment had once been + paid her, which, being repeated to her, gave her greater pleasure than + anything she had ever heard. “A pretty woman?” someone had said. “Why, + her features are very bad.” “I don’t know about her features,” a very + discerning observer had answered; “but she carries her head like a pretty + woman.” You may imagine whether, after this, she carried her head less + becomingly. + </p> + <p> + She turned away from the window at last, pressing her hands to her eyes. + “It’s too horrible!” she exclaimed. “I shall go back—I shall go + back!” And she flung herself into a chair before the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little, dear child,” said the young man softly, sketching away at + his little scraps of paper. + </p> + <p> + The lady put out her foot; it was very small, and there was an immense + rosette on her slipper. She fixed her eyes for a while on this ornament, + and then she looked at the glowing bed of anthracite coal in the grate. + “Did you ever see anything so hideous as that fire?” she demanded. “Did + you ever see anything so—so <i>affreux</i> as—as everything?” She + spoke English with perfect purity; but she brought out this French epithet + in a manner that indicated that she was accustomed to using French + epithets. + </p> + <p> + “I think the fire is very pretty,” said the young man, glancing at it a + moment. “Those little blue tongues, dancing on top of the crimson embers, + are extremely picturesque. They are like a fire in an alchemist’s + laboratory.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too good-natured, my dear,” his companion declared. + </p> + <p> + The young man held out one of his drawings, with his head on one side. His + tongue was gently moving along his under-lip. “Good-natured—yes. Too + good-natured—no.” + </p> + <p> + “You are irritating,” said the lady, looking at her slipper. + </p> + <p> + He began to retouch his sketch. “I think you mean simply that you are + irritated.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, for that, yes!” said his companion, with a little bitter laugh. “It’s + the darkest day of my life—and you know what that means.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till tomorrow,” rejoined the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we have made a great mistake. If there is any doubt about it today, + there certainly will be none tomorrow. <i>Ce sera clair, au moins!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The young man was silent a few moments, driving his pencil. Then at last, + “There are no such things as mistakes,” he affirmed. + </p> + <p> + “Very true—for those who are not clever enough to perceive them. Not + to recognize one’s mistakes—that would be happiness in life,” the + lady went on, still looking at her pretty foot. + </p> + <p> + “My dearest sister,” said the young man, always intent upon his drawing, + “it’s the first time you have told me I am not clever.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, by your own theory I can’t call it a mistake,” answered his sister, + pertinently enough. + </p> + <p> + The young man gave a clear, fresh laugh. “You, at least, are clever + enough, dearest sister,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I was not so when I proposed this.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it you who proposed it?” asked her brother. + </p> + <p> + She turned her head and gave him a little stare. “Do you desire the credit + of it?” + </p> + <p> + “If you like, I will take the blame,” he said, looking up with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she rejoined in a moment, “you make no difference in these things. + You have no sense of property.” + </p> + <p> + The young man gave his joyous laugh again. “If that means I have no + property, you are right!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t joke about your poverty,” said his sister. “That is quite as vulgar + as to boast about it.” + </p> + <p> + “My poverty! I have just finished a drawing that will bring me fifty + francs!” + </p> + <p> + <i>“Voyons,”</i> said the lady, putting out her hand. + </p> + <p> + He added a touch or two, and then gave her his sketch. She looked at it, + but she went on with her idea of a moment before. “If a woman were to ask + you to marry her you would say, ‘Certainly, my dear, with pleasure!’ And + you would marry her and be ridiculously happy. Then at the end of three + months you would say to her, ‘You know that blissful day when I begged you + to be mine!’” + </p> + <p> + The young man had risen from the table, stretching his arms a little; he + walked to the window. “That is a description of a charming nature,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, you have a charming nature; I regard that as our capital. If I + had not been convinced of that I should never have taken the risk of + bringing you to this dreadful country.” + </p> + <p> + “This comical country, this delightful country!” exclaimed the young man, + and he broke into the most animated laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Is it those women scrambling into the omnibus?” asked his companion. + “What do you suppose is the attraction?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose there is a very good-looking man inside,” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + “In each of them? They come along in hundreds, and the men in this country + don’t seem at all handsome. As for the women—I have never seen so + many at once since I left the convent.” + </p> + <p> + “The women are very pretty,” her brother declared, “and the whole affair + is very amusing. I must make a sketch of it.” And he came back to the + table quickly, and picked up his utensils—a small sketching-board, a + sheet of paper, and three or four crayons. He took his place at the window + with these things, and stood there glancing out, plying his pencil with an + air of easy skill. While he worked he wore a brilliant smile. Brilliant is + indeed the word at this moment for his strongly-lighted face. He was eight + and twenty years old; he had a short, slight, well-made figure. Though he + bore a noticeable resemblance to his sister, he was a better favored + person: fair-haired, clear-faced, witty-looking, with a delicate finish of + feature and an expression at once urbane and not at all serious, a warm + blue eye, an eyebrow finely drawn and excessively arched—an eyebrow + which, if ladies wrote sonnets to those of their lovers, might have been + made the subject of such a piece of verse—and a light moustache that + flourished upwards as if blown that way by the breath of a constant smile. + There was something in his physiognomy at once benevolent and picturesque. + But, as I have hinted, it was not at all serious. The young man’s face + was, in this respect, singular; it was not at all serious, and yet it + inspired the liveliest confidence. + </p> + <p> + “Be sure you put in plenty of snow,” said his sister. “<i>Bonté divine</i>, what + a climate!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall leave the sketch all white, and I shall put in the little figures + in black,” the young man answered, laughing. “And I shall call it—what + is that line in Keats?—Mid-May’s Eldest Child!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t remember,” said the lady, “that mamma ever told me it was like + this.” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma never told you anything disagreeable. And it’s not like this—every + day. You will see that tomorrow we shall have a splendid day.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Qu’en savez-vous?</i> Tomorrow I shall go away.” + </p> + <p> + “Where shall you go?” + </p> + <p> + “Anywhere away from here. Back to Silberstadt. I shall write to the + Reigning Prince.” + </p> + <p> + The young man turned a little and looked at her, with his crayon poised. + “My dear Eugenia,” he murmured, “were you so happy at sea?” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia got up; she still held in her hand the drawing her brother had + given her. It was a bold, expressive sketch of a group of miserable people + on the deck of a steamer, clinging together and clutching at each other, + while the vessel lurched downward, at a terrific angle, into the hollow of + a wave. It was extremely clever, and full of a sort of tragi-comical + power. Eugenia dropped her eyes upon it and made a sad grimace. “How can + you draw such odious scenes?” she asked. “I should like to throw it into + the fire!” And she tossed the paper away. Her brother watched, quietly, to + see where it went. It fluttered down to the floor, where he let it lie. + She came toward the window, pinching in her waist. “Why don’t you reproach + me—abuse me?” she asked. “I think I should feel better then. Why + don’t you tell me that you hate me for bringing you here?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you would not believe it. I adore you, dear sister! I am + delighted to be here, and I am charmed with the prospect.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what had taken possession of me. I had lost my head,” + Eugenia went on. + </p> + <p> + The young man, on his side, went on plying his pencil. “It is evidently a + most curious and interesting country. Here we are, and I mean to enjoy + it.” + </p> + <p> + His companion turned away with an impatient step, but presently came back. + “High spirits are doubtless an excellent thing,” she said; “but you give + one too much of them, and I can’t see that they have done you any good.” + </p> + <p> + The young man stared, with lifted eyebrows, smiling; he tapped his + handsome nose with his pencil. “They have made me happy!” + </p> + <p> + “That was the least they could do; they have made you nothing else. You + have gone through life thanking fortune for such very small favors that + she has never put herself to any trouble for you.” + </p> + <p> + “She must have put herself to a little, I think, to present me with so + admirable a sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Be serious, Felix. You forget that I am your elder.” + </p> + <p> + “With a sister, then, so elderly!” rejoined Felix, laughing. “I hoped we + had left seriousness in Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy you will find it here. Remember that you are nearly thirty years + old, and that you are nothing but an obscure Bohemian—a penniless + correspondent of an illustrated newspaper.” + </p> + <p> + “Obscure as much as you please, but not so much of a Bohemian as you + think. And not at all penniless! I have a hundred pounds in my pocket. I + have an engagement to make fifty sketches, and I mean to paint the + portraits of all our cousins, and of all <i>their</i> cousins, at a hundred + dollars a head.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not ambitious,” said Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “You are, dear Baroness,” the young man replied. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness was silent a moment, looking out at the sleet-darkened + grave-yard and the bumping horse-cars. “Yes, I am ambitious,” she said at + last. “And my ambition has brought me to this dreadful place!” She glanced + about her—the room had a certain vulgar nudity; the bed and the + window were curtainless—and she gave a little passionate sigh. “Poor + old ambition!” she exclaimed. Then she flung herself down upon a sofa + which stood near against the wall, and covered her face with her hands. + </p> + <p> + Her brother went on with his drawing, rapidly and skillfully; after some + moments he sat down beside her and showed her his sketch. “Now, don’t you + think that’s pretty good for an obscure Bohemian?” he asked. “I have + knocked off another fifty francs.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia glanced at the little picture as he laid it on her lap. “Yes, it + is very clever,” she said. And in a moment she added, “Do you suppose our + cousins do that?” + </p> + <p> + “Do what?” + </p> + <p> + “Get into those things, and look like that.” + </p> + <p> + Felix meditated awhile. “I really can’t say. It will be interesting to + discover.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the rich people can’t!” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Are you very sure they are rich?” asked Felix, lightly. + </p> + <p> + His sister slowly turned in her place, looking at him. “Heavenly powers!” + she murmured. “You have a way of bringing out things!” + </p> + <p> + “It will certainly be much pleasanter if they are rich,” Felix declared. + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose if I had not known they were rich I would ever have come?” + </p> + <p> + The young man met his sister’s somewhat peremptory eye with his bright, + contented glance. “Yes, it certainly will be pleasanter,” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “That is all I expect of them,” said the Baroness. “I don’t count upon + their being clever or friendly—at first—or elegant or + interesting. But I assure you I insist upon their being rich.” + </p> + <p> + Felix leaned his head upon the back of the sofa and looked awhile at the + oblong patch of sky to which the window served as frame. The snow was + ceasing; it seemed to him that the sky had begun to brighten. “I count + upon their being rich,” he said at last, “and powerful, and clever, and + friendly, and elegant, and interesting, and generally delightful! <i>Tu vas + voir</i>.” And he bent forward and kissed his sister. “Look there!” he went + on. “As a portent, even while I speak, the sky is turning the color of + gold; the day is going to be splendid.” + </p> + <p> + And indeed, within five minutes the weather had changed. The sun broke out + through the snow-clouds and jumped into the Baroness’s room. “<i>Bonté + divine</i>,” exclaimed this lady, “what a climate!” + </p> + <p> + “We will go out and see the world,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + And after a while they went out. The air had grown warm as well as + brilliant; the sunshine had dried the pavements. They walked about the + streets at hazard, looking at the people and the houses, the shops and the + vehicles, the blazing blue sky and the muddy crossings, the hurrying men + and the slow-strolling maidens, the fresh red bricks and the bright green + trees, the extraordinary mixture of smartness and shabbiness. From one + hour to another the day had grown vernal; even in the bustling streets + there was an odor of earth and blossom. Felix was immensely entertained. + He had called it a comical country, and he went about laughing at + everything he saw. You would have said that American civilization + expressed itself to his sense in a tissue of capital jokes. The jokes were + certainly excellent, and the young man’s merriment was joyous and genial. + He possessed what is called the pictorial sense; and this first glimpse of + democratic manners stirred the same sort of attention that he would have + given to the movements of a lively young person with a bright complexion. + Such attention would have been demonstrative and complimentary; and in the + present case Felix might have passed for an undispirited young exile + revisiting the haunts of his childhood. He kept looking at the violent + blue of the sky, at the scintillating air, at the scattered and multiplied + patches of color. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Comme c’est bariolé</i>, eh?” he said to his sister in that foreign tongue + which they both appeared to feel a mysterious prompting occasionally to + use. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is <i>bariolé</i> indeed,” the Baroness answered. “I don’t like the + coloring; it hurts my eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “It shows how extremes meet,” the young man rejoined. “Instead of coming + to the West we seem to have gone to the East. The way the sky touches the + house-tops is just like Cairo; and the red and blue sign-boards patched + over the face of everything remind one of Mahometan decorations.” + </p> + <p> + “The young women are not Mahometan,” said his companion. “They can’t be + said to hide their faces. I never saw anything so bold.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank Heaven they don’t hide their faces!” cried Felix. “Their faces are + uncommonly pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, their faces are often very pretty,” said the Baroness, who was a + very clever woman. She was too clever a woman not to be capable of a great + deal of just and fine observation. She clung more closely than usual to + her brother’s arm; she was not exhilarated, as he was; she said very + little, but she noted a great many things and made her reflections. She + was a little excited; she felt that she had indeed come to a strange + country, to make her fortune. Superficially, she was conscious of a good + deal of irritation and displeasure; the Baroness was a very delicate and + fastidious person. Of old, more than once, she had gone, for + entertainment’s sake and in brilliant company, to a fair in a provincial + town. It seemed to her now that she was at an enormous fair—that the + entertainment and the <i>désagréments</i> were very much the same. She found + herself alternately smiling and shrinking; the show was very curious, but + it was probable, from moment to moment, that one would be jostled. The + Baroness had never seen so many people walking about before; she had never + been so mixed up with people she did not know. But little by little she + felt that this fair was a more serious undertaking. She went with her + brother into a large public garden, which seemed very pretty, but where + she was surprised at seeing no carriages. The afternoon was drawing to a + close; the coarse, vivid grass and the slender tree-boles were gilded by + the level sunbeams—gilded as with gold that was fresh from the mine. + It was the hour at which ladies should come out for an airing and roll + past a hedge of pedestrians, holding their parasols askance. Here, + however, Eugenia observed no indications of this custom, the absence of + which was more anomalous as there was a charming avenue of remarkably + graceful, arching elms in the most convenient contiguity to a large, + cheerful street, in which, evidently, among the more prosperous members of + the <i>bourgeoisie</i>, a great deal of pedestrianism went forward. Our friends + passed out into this well lighted promenade, and Felix noticed a great + many more pretty girls and called his sister’s attention to them. This + latter measure, however, was superfluous; for the Baroness had inspected, + narrowly, these charming young ladies. + </p> + <p> + “I feel an intimate conviction that our cousins are like that,” said + Felix. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness hoped so, but this is not what she said. “They are very + pretty,” she said, “but they are mere little girls. Where are the women—the + women of thirty?” + </p> + <p> + “Of thirty-three, do you mean?” her brother was going to ask; for he + understood often both what she said and what she did not say. But he only + exclaimed upon the beauty of the sunset, while the Baroness, who had come + to seek her fortune, reflected that it would certainly be well for her if + the persons against whom she might need to measure herself should all be + mere little girls. The sunset was superb; they stopped to look at it; + Felix declared that he had never seen such a gorgeous mixture of colors. + The Baroness also thought it splendid; and she was perhaps the more easily + pleased from the fact that while she stood there she was conscious of much + admiring observation on the part of various nice-looking people who passed + that way, and to whom a distinguished, strikingly-dressed woman with a + foreign air, exclaiming upon the beauties of nature on a Boston street + corner in the French tongue, could not be an object of indifference. + Eugenia’s spirits rose. She surrendered herself to a certain tranquil + gaiety. If she had come to seek her fortune, it seemed to her that her + fortune would be easy to find. There was a promise of it in the gorgeous + purity of the western sky; there was an intimation in the mild, + unimpertinent gaze of the passers of a certain natural facility in things. + </p> + <p> + “You will not go back to Silberstadt, eh?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Not tomorrow,” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Nor write to the Reigning Prince?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall write to him that they evidently know nothing about him over + here.” + </p> + <p> + “He will not believe you,” said the young man. “I advise you to let him + alone.” + </p> + <p> + Felix himself continued to be in high good humor. Brought up among ancient + customs and in picturesque cities, he yet found plenty of local color in + the little Puritan metropolis. That evening, after dinner, he told his + sister that he should go forth early on the morrow to look up their + cousins. + </p> + <p> + “You are very impatient,” said Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “What can be more natural,” he asked, “after seeing all those pretty girls + today? If one’s cousins are of that pattern, the sooner one knows them + the better.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps they are not,” said Eugenia. “We ought to have brought some + letters—to some other people.” + </p> + <p> + “The other people would not be our kinsfolk.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly they would be none the worse for that,” the Baroness replied. + </p> + <p> + Her brother looked at her with his eyebrows lifted. “That was not what you + said when you first proposed to me that we should come out here and + fraternize with our relatives. You said that it was the prompting of + natural affection; and when I suggested some reasons against it you + declared that the <i>voix du sang</i> should go before everything.” + </p> + <p> + “You remember all that?” asked the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Vividly! I was greatly moved by it.” + </p> + <p> + She was walking up and down the room, as she had done in the morning; she + stopped in her walk and looked at her brother. She apparently was going to + say something, but she checked herself and resumed her walk. Then, in a + few moments, she said something different, which had the effect of an + explanation of the suppression of her earlier thought. “You will never be + anything but a child, dear brother.” + </p> + <p> + “One would suppose that you, madam,” answered Felix, laughing, “were a + thousand years old.” + </p> + <p> + “I am—sometimes,” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “I will go, then, and announce to our cousins the arrival of a personage + so extraordinary. They will immediately come and pay you their respects.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia paced the length of the room again, and then she stopped before + her brother, laying her hand upon his arm. “They are not to come and see + me,” she said. “You are not to allow that. That is not the way I shall + meet them first.” And in answer to his interrogative glance she went on. + “You will go and examine, and report. You will come back and tell me who + they are and what they are; their number, gender, their respective ages—all + about them. Be sure you observe everything; be ready to describe to me the + locality, the accessories—how shall I say it?—the <i>mise en + scène</i>. Then, at my own time, at my own hour, under circumstances of my own + choosing, I will go to them. I will present myself—I will appear + before them!” said the Baroness, this time phrasing her idea with a + certain frankness. + </p> + <p> + “And what message am I to take to them?” asked Felix, who had a lively + faith in the justness of his sister’s arrangements. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him a moment—at his expression of agreeable veracity; + and, with that justness that he admired, she replied, “Say what you + please. Tell my story in the way that seems to you most—natural.” + And she bent her forehead for him to kiss. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The next day was splendid, as Felix had prophesied; if the winter had + suddenly leaped into spring, the spring had for the moment as quickly + leaped into summer. This was an observation made by a young girl who came + out of a large square house in the country, and strolled about in the + spacious garden which separated it from a muddy road. The flowering shrubs + and the neatly-disposed plants were basking in the abundant light and + warmth; the transparent shade of the great elms—they were + magnificent trees—seemed to thicken by the hour; and the intensely + habitual stillness offered a submissive medium to the sound of a distant + church-bell. The young girl listened to the church-bell; but she was not + dressed for church. She was bare-headed; she wore a white muslin waist, + with an embroidered border, and the skirt of her dress was of colored + muslin. She was a young lady of some two or three and twenty years of age, + and though a young person of her sex walking bare-headed in a garden, of a + Sunday morning in spring-time, can, in the nature of things, never be a + displeasing object, you would not have pronounced this innocent + Sabbath-breaker especially pretty. She was tall and pale, thin and a + little awkward; her hair was fair and perfectly straight; her eyes were + dark, and they had the singularity of seeming at once dull and restless—differing + herein, as you see, fatally from the ideal “fine eyes,” which we always + imagine to be both brilliant and tranquil. The doors and windows of the + large square house were all wide open, to admit the purifying sunshine, + which lay in generous patches upon the floor of a wide, high, covered + piazza adjusted to two sides of the mansion—a piazza on which + several straw-bottomed rocking-chairs and half a dozen of those small + cylindrical stools in green and blue porcelain, which suggest an + affiliation between the residents and the Eastern trade, were + symmetrically disposed. It was an ancient house—ancient in the sense + of being eighty years old; it was built of wood, painted a clean, clear, + faded gray, and adorned along the front, at intervals, with flat wooden + pilasters, painted white. These pilasters appeared to support a kind of + classic pediment, which was decorated in the middle by a large triple + window in a boldly carved frame, and in each of its smaller angles by a + glazed circular aperture. A large white door, furnished with a + highly-polished brass knocker, presented itself to the rural-looking road, + with which it was connected by a spacious pathway, paved with worn and + cracked, but very clean, bricks. Behind it there were meadows and + orchards, a barn and a pond; and facing it, a short distance along the + road, on the opposite side, stood a smaller house, painted white, with + external shutters painted green, a little garden on one hand and an + orchard on the other. All this was shining in the morning air, through + which the simple details of the picture addressed themselves to the eye as + distinctly as the items of a “sum” in addition. + </p> + <p> + A second young lady presently came out of the house, across the piazza, + descended into the garden and approached the young girl of whom I have + spoken. This second young lady was also thin and pale; but she was older + than the other; she was shorter; she had dark, smooth hair. Her eyes, + unlike the other’s, were quick and bright; but they were not at all + restless. She wore a straw bonnet with white ribbons, and a long, red, + India scarf, which, on the front of her dress, reached to her feet. In her + hand she carried a little key. + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude,” she said, “are you very sure you had better not go to church?” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at her a moment, plucked a small sprig from a lilac-bush, + smelled it and threw it away. “I am not very sure of anything!” she + answered. + </p> + <p> + The other young lady looked straight past her, at the distant pond, which + lay shining between the long banks of fir trees. Then she said in a very + soft voice, “This is the key of the dining-room closet. I think you had + better have it, if anyone should want anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is there to want anything?” Gertrude demanded. “I shall be all alone + in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Someone may come,” said her companion. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean Mr. Brand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Gertrude. He may like a piece of cake.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like men that are always eating cake!” Gertrude declared, giving + a pull at the lilac-bush. + </p> + <p> + Her companion glanced at her, and then looked down on the ground. “I think + father expected you would come to church,” she said. “What shall I say to + him?” + </p> + <p> + “Say I have a bad headache.” + </p> + <p> + “Would that be true?” asked the elder lady, looking straight at the pond + again. + </p> + <p> + “No, Charlotte,” said the younger one simply. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte transferred her quiet eyes to her companion’s face. “I am afraid + you are feeling restless.” + </p> + <p> + “I am feeling as I always feel,” Gertrude replied, in the same tone. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte turned away; but she stood there a moment. Presently she looked + down at the front of her dress. “Doesn’t it seem to you, somehow, as if + my scarf were too long?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude walked half round her, looking at the scarf. “I don’t think you + wear it right,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “How should I wear it, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know; differently from that. You should draw it differently over + your shoulders, round your elbows; you should look differently behind.” + </p> + <p> + “How should I look?” Charlotte inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I can tell you,” said Gertrude, plucking out the scarf a + little behind. “I could do it myself, but I don’t think I can explain it.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte, by a movement of her elbows, corrected the laxity that had come + from her companion’s touch. “Well, some day you must do it for me. It + doesn’t matter now. Indeed, I don’t think it matters,” she added, “how one + looks behind.” + </p> + <p> + “I should say it mattered more,” said Gertrude. “Then you don’t know who + may be observing you. You are not on your guard. You can’t try to look + pretty.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte received this declaration with extreme gravity. “I don’t think + one should ever try to look pretty,” she rejoined, earnestly. + </p> + <p> + Her companion was silent. Then she said, “Well, perhaps it’s not of much + use.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte looked at her a little, and then kissed her. “I hope you will be + better when we come back.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sister, I am very well!” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte went down the large brick walk to the garden gate; her companion + strolled slowly toward the house. At the gate Charlotte met a young man, + who was coming in—a tall, fair young man, wearing a high hat and a + pair of thread gloves. He was handsome, but rather too stout. He had a + pleasant smile. “Oh, Mr. Brand!” exclaimed the young lady. + </p> + <p> + “I came to see whether your sister was not going to church,” said the + young man. + </p> + <p> + “She says she is not going; but I am very glad you have come. I think if + you were to talk to her a little”.... And Charlotte lowered her voice. “It + seems as if she were restless.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand smiled down on the young lady from his great height. “I shall be + very glad to talk to her. For that I should be willing to absent myself + from almost any occasion of worship, however attractive.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose you know,” said Charlotte, softly, as if positive + acceptance of this proposition might be dangerous. “But I am afraid I + shall be late.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will have a pleasant sermon,” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Gilman is always pleasant,” Charlotte answered. And she went on + her way. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand went into the garden, where Gertrude, hearing the gate close + behind him, turned and looked at him. For a moment she watched him coming; + then she turned away. But almost immediately she corrected this movement, + and stood still, facing him. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead as + he approached. Then he put on his hat again and held out his hand. His hat + being removed, you would have perceived that his forehead was very large + and smooth, and his hair abundant but rather colorless. His nose was too + large, and his mouth and eyes were too small; but for all this he was, as + I have said, a young man of striking appearance. The expression of his + little clean-colored blue eyes was irresistibly gentle and serious; he + looked, as the phrase is, as good as gold. The young girl, standing in the + garden path, glanced, as he came up, at his thread gloves. + </p> + <p> + “I hoped you were going to church,” he said. “I wanted to walk with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very much obliged to you,” Gertrude answered. “I am not going to + church.” + </p> + <p> + She had shaken hands with him; he held her hand a moment. “Have you any + special reason for not going?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Brand,” said the young girl. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask what it is?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him smiling; and in her smile, as I have intimated, there + was a certain dullness. But mingled with this dullness was something sweet + and suggestive. “Because the sky is so blue!” she said. + </p> + <p> + He looked at the sky, which was magnificent, and then said, smiling too, + “I have heard of young ladies staying at home for bad weather, but never + for good. Your sister, whom I met at the gate, tells me you are + depressed,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Depressed? I am never depressed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, surely, sometimes,” replied Mr. Brand, as if he thought this a + regrettable account of one’s self. + </p> + <p> + “I am never depressed,” Gertrude repeated. “But I am sometimes wicked. + When I am wicked I am in high spirits. I was wicked just now to my + sister.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do to her?” + </p> + <p> + “I said things that puzzled her—on purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you do that, Miss Gertrude?” asked the young man. + </p> + <p> + She began to smile again. “Because the sky is so blue!” + </p> + <p> + “You say things that puzzle <i>me</i>,” Mr. Brand declared. + </p> + <p> + “I always know when I do it,” proceeded Gertrude. “But people puzzle me + more, I think. And they don’t seem to know!” + </p> + <p> + “This is very interesting,” Mr. Brand observed, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You told me to tell you about my—my struggles,” the young girl went + on. + </p> + <p> + “Let us talk about them. I have so many things to say.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude turned away a moment; and then, turning back, “You had better go + to church,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” the young man urged, “that I have always one thing to say.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at him a moment. “Please don’t say it now!” + </p> + <p> + “We are all alone,” he continued, taking off his hat; “all alone in this + beautiful Sunday stillness.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked around her, at the breaking buds, the shining distance, + the blue sky to which she had referred as a pretext for her + irregularities. “That’s the reason,” she said, “why I don’t want you to + speak. Do me a favor; go to church.” + </p> + <p> + “May I speak when I come back?” asked Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “If you are still disposed,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know whether you are wicked,” he said, “but you are certainly + puzzling.” + </p> + <p> + She had turned away; she raised her hands to her ears. He looked at her a + moment, and then he slowly walked to church. + </p> + <p> + She wandered for a while about the garden, vaguely and without purpose. + The church-bell had stopped ringing; the stillness was complete. This + young lady relished highly, on occasions, the sense of being alone—the + absence of the whole family and the emptiness of the house. Today, + apparently, the servants had also gone to church; there was never a figure + at the open windows; behind the house there was no stout negress in a red + turban, lowering the bucket into the great shingle-hooded well. And the + front door of the big, unguarded home stood open, with the trustfulness of + the golden age; or what is more to the purpose, with that of New England’s + silvery prime. Gertrude slowly passed through it, and went from one of the + empty rooms to the other—large, clear-colored rooms, with white + wainscots, ornamented with thin-legged mahogany furniture, and, on the + walls, with old-fashioned engravings, chiefly of scriptural subjects, hung + very high. This agreeable sense of solitude, of having the house to + herself, of which I have spoken, always excited Gertrude’s imagination; + she could not have told you why, and neither can her humble historian. It + always seemed to her that she must do something particular—that she + must honor the occasion; and while she roamed about, wondering what she + could do, the occasion usually came to an end. Today she wondered more + than ever. At last she took down a book; there was no library in the + house, but there were books in all the rooms. None of them were forbidden + books, and Gertrude had not stopped at home for the sake of a chance to + climb to the inaccessible shelves. She possessed herself of a very obvious + volume—one of the series of the <i>Arabian Nights</i>—and she brought + it out into the portico and sat down with it in her lap. There, for a + quarter of an hour, she read the history of the loves of the Prince + Camaralzaman and the Princess Badoura. At last, looking up, she beheld, as + it seemed to her, the Prince Camaralzaman standing before her. A beautiful + young man was making her a very low bow—a magnificent bow, such as + she had never seen before. He appeared to have dropped from the clouds; he + was wonderfully handsome; he smiled—smiled as if he were smiling on + purpose. Extreme surprise, for a moment, kept Gertrude sitting still; then + she rose, without even keeping her finger in her book. The young man, with + his hat in his hand, still looked at her, smiling and smiling. It was very + strange. + </p> + <p> + “Will you kindly tell me,” said the mysterious visitor, at last, “whether + I have the honor of speaking to Miss Wentworth?” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Gertrude Wentworth,” murmured the young woman. + </p> + <p> + “Then—then—I have the honor—the pleasure—of being + your cousin.” + </p> + <p> + The young man had so much the character of an apparition that this + announcement seemed to complete his unreality. “What cousin? Who are you?” + said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + He stepped back a few paces and looked up at the house; then glanced round + him at the garden and the distant view. After this he burst out laughing. + “I see it must seem to you very strange,” he said. There was, after all, + something substantial in his laughter. Gertrude looked at him from head to + foot. Yes, he was remarkably handsome; but his smile was almost a grimace. + “It is very still,” he went on, coming nearer again. And as she only + looked at him, for reply, he added, “Are you all alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Everyone has gone to church,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid of that!” the young man exclaimed. “But I hope you are not + afraid of me.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to tell me who you are,” Gertrude answered. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid of you!” said the young man. “I had a different plan. I + expected the servant would take in my card, and that you would put your + heads together, before admitting me, and make out my identity.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude had been wondering with a quick intensity which brought its + result; and the result seemed an answer—a wondrous, delightful + answer—to her vague wish that something would befall her. “I know—I + know,” she said. “You come from Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “We came two days ago. You have heard of us, then—you believe in + us?” + </p> + <p> + “We have known, vaguely,” said Gertrude, “that we had relations in + France.” + </p> + <p> + “And have you ever wanted to see us?” asked the young man. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude was silent a moment. “I have wanted to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad, then, it is you I have found. We wanted to see you, so we + came.” + </p> + <p> + “On purpose?” asked Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + The young man looked round him, smiling still. “Well, yes; on purpose. + Does that sound as if we should bore you?” he added. “I don’t think we + shall—I really don’t think we shall. We are rather fond of + wandering, too; and we were glad of a pretext.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have just arrived?” + </p> + <p> + “In Boston, two days ago. At the inn I asked for Mr. Wentworth. He must be + your father. They found out for me where he lived; they seemed often to + have heard of him. I determined to come, without ceremony. So, this lovely + morning, they set my face in the right direction, and told me to walk + straight before me, out of town. I came on foot because I wanted to see + the country. I walked and walked, and here I am! It’s a good many miles.” + </p> + <p> + “It is seven miles and a half,” said Gertrude, softly. Now that this + handsome young man was proving himself a reality she found herself vaguely + trembling; she was deeply excited. She had never in her life spoken to a + foreigner, and she had often thought it would be delightful to do so. Here + was one who had suddenly been engendered by the Sabbath stillness for her + private use; and such a brilliant, polite, smiling one! She found time and + means to compose herself, however: to remind herself that she must + exercise a sort of official hospitality. “We are very—very glad to + see you,” she said. “Won’t you come into the house?” And she moved toward + the open door. + </p> + <p> + “You are not afraid of me, then?” asked the young man again, with his + light laugh. + </p> + <p> + She wondered a moment, and then, “We are not afraid—here,” she said. + </p> + <p> + <i>“Ah, comme vous devez avoir raison!”</i> cried the young man, looking all + round him, appreciatively. It was the first time that Gertrude had heard + so many words of French spoken. They gave her something of a sensation. + Her companion followed her, watching, with a certain excitement of his + own, this tall, interesting-looking girl, dressed in her clear, crisp + muslin. He paused in the hall, where there was a broad white staircase + with a white balustrade. “What a pleasant house!” he said. “It’s lighter + inside than it is out.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s pleasanter here,” said Gertrude, and she led the way into the + parlor,—a high, clean, rather empty-looking room. Here they stood + looking at each other,—the young man smiling more than ever; + Gertrude, very serious, trying to smile. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe you know my name,” he said. “I am called Felix Young. + Your father is my uncle. My mother was his half sister, and older than + he.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Gertrude, “and she turned Roman Catholic and married in + Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “I see you know,” said the young man. “She married and she died. Your + father’s family didn’t like her husband. They called him a foreigner; but + he was not. My poor father was born in Sicily, but his parents were + American.” + </p> + <p> + “In Sicily?” Gertrude murmured. + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” said Felix Young, “that they had spent their lives in + Europe. But they were very patriotic. And so are we.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are Sicilian,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Sicilian, no! Let’s see. I was born at a little place—a dear + little place—in France. My sister was born at Vienna.” + </p> + <p> + “So you are French,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid!” cried the young man. Gertrude’s eyes were fixed upon him + almost insistently. He began to laugh again. “I can easily be French, if + that will please you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a foreigner of some sort,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Of some sort—yes; I suppose so. But who can say of what sort? I + don’t think we have ever had occasion to settle the question. You know + there are people like that. About their country, their religion, their + profession, they can’t tell.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude stood there gazing; she had not asked him to sit down. She had + never heard of people like that; she wanted to hear. “Where do you live?” + she asked. + </p> + <p> + “They can’t tell that, either!” said Felix. “I am afraid you will think + they are little better than vagabonds. I have lived anywhere—everywhere. + I really think I have lived in every city in Europe.” Gertrude gave a + little long soft exhalation. It made the young man smile at her again; and + his smile made her blush a little. To take refuge from blushing she asked + him if, after his long walk, he was not hungry or thirsty. Her hand was in + her pocket; she was fumbling with the little key that her sister had given + her. “Ah, my dear young lady,” he said, clasping his hands a little, “if + you could give me, in charity, a glass of wine!” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude gave a smile and a little nod, and went quickly out of the room. + Presently she came back with a very large decanter in one hand and a plate + in the other, on which was placed a big, round cake with a frosted top. + Gertrude, in taking the cake from the closet, had had a moment of acute + consciousness that it composed the refection of which her sister had + thought that Mr. Brand would like to partake. Her kinsman from across the + seas was looking at the pale, high-hung engravings. When she came in he + turned and smiled at her, as if they had been old friends meeting after a + separation. “You wait upon me yourself?” he asked. “I am served like the + gods!” She had waited upon a great many people, but none of them had ever + told her that. The observation added a certain lightness to the step with + which she went to a little table where there were some curious red glasses—glasses + covered with little gold sprigs, which Charlotte used to dust every + morning with her own hands. Gertrude thought the glasses very handsome, + and it was a pleasure to her to know that the wine was good; it was her + father’s famous madeira. Felix Young thought it excellent; he wondered why + he had been told that there was no wine in America. She cut him an immense + triangle out of the cake, and again she thought of Mr. Brand. Felix sat + there, with his glass in one hand and his huge morsel of cake in the other—eating, + drinking, smiling, talking. “I am very hungry,” he said. “I am not at all + tired; I am never tired. But I am very hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “You must stay to dinner,” said Gertrude. “At two o’clock. They will all + have come back from church; you will see the others.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are the others?” asked the young man. “Describe them all.” + </p> + <p> + “You will see for yourself. It is you that must tell me; now, about your + sister.” + </p> + <p> + “My sister is the Baroness Münster,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + On hearing that his sister was a Baroness, Gertrude got up and walked + about slowly, in front of him. She was silent a moment. She was thinking + of it. “Why didn’t she come, too?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “She did come; she is in Boston, at the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “We will go and see her,” said Gertrude, looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “She begs you will not!” the young man replied. “She sends you her love; + she sent me to announce her. She will come and pay her respects to your + father.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude felt herself trembling again. A Baroness Münster, who sent a + brilliant young man to “announce” her; who was coming, as the Queen of + Sheba came to Solomon, to pay her “respects” to quiet Mr. Wentworth—such + a personage presented herself to Gertrude’s vision with a most effective + unexpectedness. For a moment she hardly knew what to say. “When will she + come?” she asked at last. + </p> + <p> + “As soon as you will allow her—tomorrow. She is very impatient,” + answered Felix, who wished to be agreeable. + </p> + <p> + “Tomorrow, yes,” said Gertrude. She wished to ask more about her; but she + hardly knew what could be predicated of a Baroness Münster. “Is she—is + she—married?” + </p> + <p> + Felix had finished his cake and wine; he got up, fixing upon the young + girl his bright, expressive eyes. “She is married to a German prince—Prince + Adolf, of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. He is not the reigning prince; he is + a younger brother.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude gazed at her informant; her lips were slightly parted. “Is she a—a + <i>Princess</i>?” she asked at last. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said the young man; “her position is rather a singular one. + It’s a morganatic marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Morganatic?” These were new names and new words to poor Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what they call a marriage, you know, contracted between a scion + of a ruling house and—and a common mortal. They made Eugenia a + Baroness, poor woman; but that was all they could do. Now they want to + dissolve the marriage. Prince Adolf, between ourselves, is a ninny; but + his brother, who is a clever man, has plans for him. Eugenia, naturally + enough, makes difficulties; not, however, that I think she cares + much—she’s a very clever woman; I’m sure you’ll like + her—but she wants to bother them. Just now everything is <i>en l’air</i>.” + </p> + <p> + The cheerful, off-hand tone in which her visitor related this darkly + romantic tale seemed to Gertrude very strange; but it seemed also to + convey a certain flattery to herself, a recognition of her wisdom and + dignity. She felt a dozen impressions stirring within her, and presently + the one that was uppermost found words. “They want to dissolve her + marriage?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “So it appears.” + </p> + <p> + “And against her will?” + </p> + <p> + “Against her right.” + </p> + <p> + “She must be very unhappy!” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + Her visitor looked at her, smiling; he raised his hand to the back of his + head and held it there a moment. “So she says,” he answered. “That’s her + story. She told me to tell it you.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me more,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “No, I will leave that to her; she does it better.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude gave her little excited sigh again. “Well, if she is unhappy,” + she said, “I am glad she has come to us.” + </p> + <p> + She had been so interested that she failed to notice the sound of a + footstep in the portico; and yet it was a footstep that she always + recognized. She heard it in the hall, and then she looked out of the + window. They were all coming back from church—her father, her sister + and brother, and their cousins, who always came to dinner on Sunday. Mr. + Brand had come in first; he was in advance of the others, because, + apparently, he was still disposed to say what she had not wished him to + say an hour before. He came into the parlor, looking for Gertrude. He had + two little books in his hand. On seeing Gertrude’s companion he slowly + stopped, looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “Is this a cousin?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + Then Gertrude saw that she must introduce him; but her ears, and, by + sympathy, her lips, were full of all that he had been telling her. “This + is the Prince,” she said, “the Prince of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein!” + </p> + <p> + Felix burst out laughing, and Mr. Brand stood staring, while the others, + who had passed into the house, appeared behind him in the open doorway. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + That evening at dinner Felix Young gave his sister, the Baroness Münster, + an account of his impressions. She saw that he had come back in the + highest possible spirits; but this fact, to her own mind, was not a reason + for rejoicing. She had but a limited confidence in her brother’s judgment; + his capacity for taking rose-colored views was such as to vulgarize one of + the prettiest of tints. Still, she supposed he could be trusted to give + her the mere facts; and she invited him with some eagerness to communicate + them. “I suppose, at least, they didn’t turn you out from the door;” she + said. “You have been away some ten hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Turn me from the door!” Felix exclaimed. “They took me to their hearts; + they killed the fatted calf.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you want to say: they are a collection of angels.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Felix. “They are a collection of angels—simply.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>C’est bien vague</i>,” remarked the Baroness. “What are they like?” + </p> + <p> + “Like nothing you ever saw.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I am much obliged; but that is hardly more definite. Seriously, + they were glad to see you?” + </p> + <p> + “Enchanted. It has been the proudest day of my life. Never, never have I + been so lionized! I assure you, I was cock of the walk. My dear sister,” + said the young man, “<i>nous n’avons qu’à nous tenir</i>; we shall be great + swells!” + </p> + <p> + Madame Münster looked at him, and her eye exhibited a slight responsive + spark. She touched her lips to a glass of wine, and then she said, + “Describe them. Give me a picture.” + </p> + <p> + Felix drained his own glass. “Well, it’s in the country, among the + meadows and woods; a wild sort of place, and yet not far from here. Only, + such a road, my dear! Imagine one of the Alpine glaciers reproduced in + mud. But you will not spend much time on it, for they want you to come and + stay, once for all.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the Baroness, “they want me to come and stay, once for all? + <i>Bon</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s intensely rural, tremendously natural; and all overhung with this + strange white light, this far-away blue sky. There’s a big wooden house—a + kind of three-story bungalow; it looks like a magnified Nuremberg toy. + There was a gentleman there that made a speech to me about it and called + it a ‘venerable mansion;’ but it looks as if it had been built last + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it handsome—is it elegant?” asked the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. “It’s very clean! No splendors, no + gilding, no troops of servants; rather straight-backed chairs. But you + might eat off the floors, and you can sit down on the stairs.” + </p> + <p> + “That must be a privilege. And the inhabitants are straight-backed too, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sister,” said Felix, “the inhabitants are charming.” + </p> + <p> + “In what style?” + </p> + <p> + “In a style of their own. How shall I describe it? It’s primitive; it’s + patriarchal; it’s the <i>ton</i> of the golden age.” + </p> + <p> + “And have they nothing golden but their <i>ton</i>? Are there no symptoms of + wealth?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say there was wealth without symptoms. A plain, homely way of + life: nothing for show, and very little for—what shall I call it?—for + the senses; but a great <i>aisance</i>, and a lot of money, out of sight, that + comes forward very quietly for subscriptions to institutions, for + repairing tenements, for paying doctor’s bills; perhaps even for + portioning daughters.” + </p> + <p> + “And the daughters?” Madame Münster demanded. “How many are there?” + </p> + <p> + “There are two, Charlotte and Gertrude.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they pretty?” + </p> + <p> + “One of them,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Which is that?” + </p> + <p> + The young man was silent, looking at his sister. “Charlotte,” he said at + last. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him in return. “I see. You are in love with Gertrude. They + must be Puritans to their finger-tips; anything but gay!” + </p> + <p> + “No, they are not gay,” Felix admitted. “They are sober; they are even + severe. They are of a pensive cast; they take things hard. I think there + is something the matter with them; they have some melancholy memory or + some depressing expectation. It’s not the epicurean temperament. My + uncle, Mr. Wentworth, is a tremendously high-toned old fellow; he looks as + if he were undergoing martyrdom, not by fire, but by freezing. But we + shall cheer them up; we shall do them good. They will take a good deal of + stirring up; but they are wonderfully kind and gentle. And they are + appreciative. They think one clever; they think one remarkable!” + </p> + <p> + “That is very fine, so far as it goes,” said the Baroness. “But are we to + be shut up to these three people, Mr. Wentworth and the two young women—what + did you say their names were—Deborah and Hephzibah?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; there is another little girl, a cousin of theirs, a very pretty + creature; a thorough little American. And then there is the son of the + house.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” said the Baroness. “We are coming to the gentlemen. What of the + son of the house?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid he gets tipsy.” + </p> + <p> + “He, then, has the epicurean temperament! How old is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a boy of twenty; a pretty young fellow, but I am afraid he has + vulgar tastes. And then there is Mr. Brand—a very tall young man, a + sort of lay-priest. They seem to think a good deal of him, but I don’t + exactly make him out.” + </p> + <p> + “And is there nothing,” asked the Baroness, “between these extremes—this + mysterious ecclesiastic and that intemperate youth?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, there is Mr. Acton. I think,” said the young man, with a nod at + his sister, “that you will like Mr. Acton.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember that I am very fastidious,” said the Baroness. “Has he very good + manners?” + </p> + <p> + “He will have them with you. He is a man of the world; he has been to + China.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Münster gave a little laugh. “A man of the Chinese world! He must + be very interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “I have an idea that he brought home a fortune,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “That is always interesting. Is he young, good-looking, clever?” + </p> + <p> + “He is less than forty; he has a baldish head; he says witty things. I + rather think,” added the young man, “that he will admire the Baroness + Münster.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very possible,” said this lady. Her brother never knew how she + would take things; but shortly afterwards she declared that he had made a + very pretty description and that on the morrow she would go and see for + herself. + </p> + <p> + They mounted, accordingly, into a great barouche—a vehicle as to + which the Baroness found nothing to criticise but the price that was asked + for it and the fact that the coachman wore a straw hat. (At Silberstadt + Madame Münster had had liveries of yellow and crimson.) They drove into + the country, and the Baroness, leaning far back and swaying her + lace-fringed parasol, looked to right and to left and surveyed the + way-side objects. After a while she pronounced them <i>affreux</i>. Her brother + remarked that it was apparently a country in which the foreground was + inferior to the <i>plans reculés</i>; and the Baroness rejoined that the + landscape seemed to be all foreground. Felix had fixed with his new + friends the hour at which he should bring his sister; it was four o’clock + in the afternoon. The large, clean-faced house wore, to his eyes, as the + barouche drove up to it, a very friendly aspect; the high, slender elms + made lengthening shadows in front of it. The Baroness descended; her + American kinsfolk were stationed in the portico. Felix waved his hat to + them, and a tall, lean gentleman, with a high forehead and a clean shaven + face, came forward toward the garden gate. Charlotte Wentworth walked at + his side. Gertrude came behind, more slowly. Both of these young ladies + wore rustling silk dresses. Felix ushered his sister into the gate. “Be + very gracious,” he said to her. But he saw the admonition was superfluous. + Eugenia was prepared to be gracious as only Eugenia could be. Felix knew + no keener pleasure than to be able to admire his sister unrestrictedly; + for if the opportunity was frequent, it was not inveterate. When she + desired to please she was to him, as to everyone else, the most charming + woman in the world. Then he forgot that she was ever anything else; that + she was sometimes hard and perverse; that he was occasionally afraid of + her. Now, as she took his arm to pass into the garden, he felt that she + desired, that she proposed, to please, and this situation made him very + happy. Eugenia would please. + </p> + <p> + The tall gentleman came to meet her, looking very rigid and grave. But it + was a rigidity that had no illiberal meaning. Mr. Wentworth’s manner was + pregnant, on the contrary, with a sense of grand responsibility, of the + solemnity of the occasion, of its being difficult to show sufficient + deference to a lady at once so distinguished and so unhappy. Felix had + observed on the day before his characteristic pallor; and now he perceived + that there was something almost cadaverous in his uncle’s high-featured + white face. But so clever were this young man’s quick sympathies and + perceptions that he already learned that in these semi-mortuary + manifestations there was no cause for alarm. His light imagination had + gained a glimpse of Mr. Wentworth’s spiritual mechanism, and taught him + that, the old man being infinitely conscientious, the special operation of + conscience within him announced itself by several of the indications of + physical faintness. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness took her uncle’s hand, and stood looking at him with her ugly + face and her beautiful smile. “Have I done right to come?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Very right, very right,” said Mr. Wentworth, solemnly. He had arranged in + his mind a little speech; but now it quite faded away. He felt almost + frightened. He had never been looked at in just that way—with just + that fixed, intense smile—by any woman; and it perplexed and weighed + upon him, now, that the woman who was smiling so and who had instantly + given him a vivid sense of her possessing other unprecedented attributes, + was his own niece, the child of his own father’s daughter. The idea that + his niece should be a German Baroness, married “morganatically” to a + Prince, had already given him much to think about. Was it right, was it + just, was it acceptable? He always slept badly, and the night before he + had lain awake much more even than usual, asking himself these questions. + The strange word “morganatic” was constantly in his ears; it reminded him + of a certain Mrs. Morgan whom he had once known and who had been a bold, + unpleasant woman. He had a feeling that it was his duty, so long as the + Baroness looked at him, smiling in that way, to meet her glance with his + own scrupulously adjusted, consciously frigid organs of vision; but on + this occasion he failed to perform his duty to the last. He looked away + toward his daughters. “We are very glad to see you,” he had said. “Allow + me to introduce my daughters—Miss Charlotte Wentworth, Miss Gertrude + Wentworth.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness thought she had never seen people less demonstrative. But + Charlotte kissed her and took her hand, looking at her sweetly and + solemnly. Gertrude seemed to her almost funereal, though Gertrude might + have found a source of gaiety in the fact that Felix, with his magnificent + smile, had been talking to her; he had greeted her as a very old friend. + When she kissed the Baroness she had tears in her eyes. Madame Münster + took each of these young women by the hand, and looked at them all over. + Charlotte thought her very strange-looking and singularly dressed; she + could not have said whether it was well or ill. She was glad, at any rate, + that they had put on their silk gowns—especially Gertrude. “My + cousins are very pretty,” said the Baroness, turning her eyes from one to + the other. “Your daughters are very handsome, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte blushed quickly; she had never yet heard her personal appearance + alluded to in a loud, expressive voice. Gertrude looked away—not at + Felix; she was extremely pleased. It was not the compliment that pleased + her; she did not believe it; she thought herself very plain. She could + hardly have told you the source of her satisfaction; it came from + something in the way the Baroness spoke, and it was not diminished—it + was rather deepened, oddly enough—by the young girl’s disbelief. Mr. + Wentworth was silent; and then he asked, formally, “Won’t you come into + the house?” + </p> + <p> + “These are not all; you have some other children,” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “I have a son,” Mr. Wentworth answered. + </p> + <p> + “And why doesn’t he come to meet me?” Eugenia cried. “I am afraid he is + not so charming as his sisters.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know; I will see about it,” the old man declared. + </p> + <p> + “He is rather afraid of ladies,” Charlotte said, softly. + </p> + <p> + “He is very handsome,” said Gertrude, as loud as she could. + </p> + <p> + “We will go in and find him. We will draw him out of his <i>cachette</i>.” And + the Baroness took Mr. Wentworth’s arm, who was not aware that he had + offered it to her, and who, as they walked toward the house, wondered + whether he ought to have offered it and whether it was proper for her to + take it if it had not been offered. “I want to know you well,” said the + Baroness, interrupting these meditations, “and I want you to know me.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems natural that we should know each other,” Mr. Wentworth rejoined. + “We are near relatives.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there comes a moment in life when one reverts, irresistibly, to one’s + natural ties—to one’s natural affections. You must have found that!” + said Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth had been told the day before by Felix that Eugenia was very + clever, very brilliant, and the information had held him in some suspense. + This was the cleverness, he supposed; the brilliancy was beginning. “Yes, + the natural affections are very strong,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + “In some people,” the Baroness declared. “Not in all.” Charlotte was + walking beside her; she took hold of her hand again, smiling always. “And + you, <i>cousine</i>, where did you get that enchanting complexion?” she went on; + “such lilies and roses?” The roses in poor Charlotte’s countenance began + speedily to predominate over the lilies, and she quickened her step and + reached the portico. “This is the country of complexions,” the Baroness + continued, addressing herself to Mr. Wentworth. “I am convinced they are + more delicate. There are very good ones in England—in Holland; but + they are very apt to be coarse. There is too much red.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you will find,” said Mr. Wentworth, “that this country is + superior in many respects to those you mention. I have been to England and + Holland.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have been to Europe?” cried the Baroness. “Why didn’t you come + and see me? But it’s better, after all, this way,” she said. They were + entering the house; she paused and looked round her. “I see you have + arranged your house—your beautiful house—in the—in the + Dutch taste!” + </p> + <p> + “The house is very old,” remarked Mr. Wentworth. “General Washington once + spent a week here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I have heard of Washington,” cried the Baroness. “My father used to + tell me of him.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth was silent a moment, and then, “I found he was very well + known in Europe,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Felix had lingered in the garden with Gertrude; he was standing before her + and smiling, as he had done the day before. What had happened the day + before seemed to her a kind of dream. He had been there and he had changed + everything; the others had seen him, they had talked with him; but that he + should come again, that he should be part of the future, part of her + small, familiar, much-meditating life—this needed, afresh, the + evidence of her senses. The evidence had come to her senses now; and her + senses seemed to rejoice in it. “What do you think of Eugenia?” Felix + asked. “Isn’t she charming?” + </p> + <p> + “She is very brilliant,” said Gertrude. “But I can’t tell yet. She seems + to me like a singer singing an air. You can’t tell till the song is done.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the song will never be done!” exclaimed the young man, laughing. + “Don’t you think her handsome?” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude had been disappointed in the beauty of the Baroness Münster; she + had expected her, for mysterious reasons, to resemble a very pretty + portrait of the Empress Josephine, of which there hung an engraving in one + of the parlors, and which the younger Miss Wentworth had always greatly + admired. But the Baroness was not at all like that—not at all. + Though different, however, she was very wonderful, and Gertrude felt + herself most suggestively corrected. It was strange, nevertheless, that + Felix should speak in that positive way about his sister’s beauty. “I + think I <i>shall</i> think her handsome,” Gertrude said. “It must be very + interesting to know her. I don’t feel as if I ever could.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you will know her well; you will become great friends,” Felix + declared, as if this were the easiest thing in the world. + </p> + <p> + “She is very graceful,” said Gertrude, looking after the Baroness, + suspended to her father’s arm. It was a pleasure to her to say that + anyone was graceful. + </p> + <p> + Felix had been looking about him. “And your little cousin, of yesterday,” + he said, “who was so wonderfully pretty—what has become of her?” + </p> + <p> + “She is in the parlor,” Gertrude answered. “Yes, she is very pretty.” She + felt as if it were her duty to take him straight into the house, to where + he might be near her cousin. But after hesitating a moment she lingered + still. “I didn’t believe you would come back,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Not come back!” cried Felix, laughing. “You didn’t know, then, the + impression made upon this susceptible heart of mine.” + </p> + <p> + She wondered whether he meant the impression her cousin Lizzie had made. + “Well,” she said, “I didn’t think we should ever see you again.” + </p> + <p> + “And pray what did you think would become of me?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I thought you would melt away.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a compliment to my solidity! I melt very often,” said Felix, “but + there is always something left of me.” + </p> + <p> + “I came and waited for you by the door, because the others did,” Gertrude + went on. “But if you had never appeared I should not have been surprised.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” declared Felix, looking at her, “that you would have been + disappointed.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him a little, and shook her head. “No—no!” + </p> + <p> + <i>“Ah, par exemple!”</i> cried the young man. “You deserve that I should never + leave you.” + </p> + <p> + Going into the parlor they found Mr. Wentworth performing introductions. A + young man was standing before the Baroness, blushing a good deal, laughing + a little, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other—a slim, + mild-faced young man, with neatly-arranged features, like those of Mr. + Wentworth. Two other gentlemen, behind him, had risen from their seats, + and a little apart, near one of the windows, stood a remarkably pretty + young girl. The young girl was knitting a stocking; but, while her fingers + quickly moved, she looked with wide, brilliant eyes at the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “And what is your son’s name?” said Eugenia, smiling at the young man. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Clifford Wentworth, ma’am,” he said in a tremulous voice. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t you come out to meet me, Mr. Clifford Wentworth?” the + Baroness demanded, with her beautiful smile. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t think you would want me,” said the young man, slowly sidling + about. + </p> + <p> + “One always wants a <i>beau cousin</i>,—if one has one! But if you are very + nice to me in future I won’t remember it against you.” And Madame Münster transferred her smile to the other persons present. It rested + first upon the candid countenance and long-skirted figure of Mr. Brand, + whose eyes were intently fixed upon Mr. Wentworth, as if to beg him not to + prolong an anomalous situation. Mr. Wentworth pronounced his name. Eugenia + gave him a very charming glance, and then looked at the other gentleman. + </p> + <p> + This latter personage was a man of rather less than the usual stature and + the usual weight, with a quick, observant, agreeable dark eye, a small + quantity of thin dark hair, and a small moustache. He had been standing + with his hands in his pockets; and when Eugenia looked at him he took them + out. But he did not, like Mr. Brand, look evasively and urgently at their + host. He met Eugenia’s eyes; he appeared to appreciate the privilege of + meeting them. Madame Münster instantly felt that he was, intrinsically, + the most important person present. She was not unconscious that this + impression was in some degree manifested in the little sympathetic nod + with which she acknowledged Mr. Wentworth’s announcement, “My cousin, Mr. + Acton!” + </p> + <p> + “Your cousin—not mine?” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “It only depends upon you,” Mr. Acton declared, laughing. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness looked at him a moment, and noticed that he had very white + teeth. “Let it depend upon your behavior,” she said. “I think I had better + wait. I have cousins enough. Unless I can also claim relationship,” she + added, “with that charming young lady,” and she pointed to the young girl + at the window. + </p> + <p> + “That’s my sister,” said Mr. Acton. And Gertrude Wentworth put her arm + round the young girl and led her forward. It was not, apparently, that she + needed much leading. She came toward the Baroness with a light, quick + step, and with perfect self-possession, rolling her stocking round its + needles. She had dark blue eyes and dark brown hair; she was wonderfully + pretty. + </p> + <p> + Eugenia kissed her, as she had kissed the other young women, and then held + her off a little, looking at her. “Now this is quite another <i>type</i>,” she + said; she pronounced the word in the French manner. “This is a different + outline, my uncle, a different character, from that of your own daughters. + This, Felix,” she went on, “is very much more what we have always thought + of as the American type.” + </p> + <p> + The young girl, during this exposition, was smiling askance at everyone + in turn, and at Felix out of turn. “I find only one type here!” cried + Felix, laughing. “The type adorable!” + </p> + <p> + This sally was received in perfect silence, but Felix, who learned all + things quickly, had already learned that the silences frequently observed + among his new acquaintances were not necessarily restrictive or resentful. + It was, as one might say, the silence of expectation, of modesty. They + were all standing round his sister, as if they were expecting her to + acquit herself of the exhibition of some peculiar faculty, some brilliant + talent. Their attitude seemed to imply that she was a kind of + conversational mountebank, attired, intellectually, in gauze and spangles. + This attitude gave a certain ironical force to Madame Münster’s next + words. “Now this is your circle,” she said to her uncle. “This is your + <i>salon</i>. These are your regular <i>habitués</i>, eh? I am so glad to see you + all together.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Mr. Wentworth, “they are always dropping in and out. You must + do the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” interposed Charlotte Wentworth, “they must do something more.” + And she turned her sweet, serious face, that seemed at once timid and + placid, upon their interesting visitor. “What is your name?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Eugenia-Camilla-Dolores,” said the Baroness, smiling. “But you needn’t + say all that.” + </p> + <p> + “I will say Eugenia, if you will let me. You must come and stay with us.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness laid her hand upon Charlotte’s arm very tenderly; but she + reserved herself. She was wondering whether it would be possible to “stay” + with these people. “It would be very charming—very charming,” she + said; and her eyes wandered over the company, over the room. She wished to + gain time before committing herself. Her glance fell upon young Mr. Brand, + who stood there, with his arms folded and his hand on his chin, looking at + her. “The gentleman, I suppose, is a sort of ecclesiastic,” she said to + Mr. Wentworth, lowering her voice a little. + </p> + <p> + “He is a minister,” answered Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “A Protestant?” asked Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “I am a Unitarian, madam,” replied Mr. Brand, impressively. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I see,” said Eugenia. “Something new.” She had never heard of this + form of worship. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Acton began to laugh, and Gertrude looked anxiously at Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “You have come very far,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “Very far—very far,” the Baroness replied, with a graceful shake of + her head—a shake that might have meant many different things. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a reason why you ought to settle down with us,” said Mr. + Wentworth, with that dryness of utterance which, as Eugenia was too + intelligent not to feel, took nothing from the delicacy of his meaning. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him, and for an instant, in his cold, still face, she seemed + to see a far-away likeness to the vaguely remembered image of her mother. + Eugenia was a woman of sudden emotions, and now, unexpectedly, she felt + one rising in her heart. She kept looking round the circle; she knew that + there was admiration in all the eyes that were fixed upon her. She smiled + at them all. + </p> + <p> + “I came to look—to try—to ask,” she said. “It seems to me I + have done well. I am very tired; I want to rest.” There were tears in her + eyes. The luminous interior, the gentle, tranquil people, the simple, + serious life—the sense of these things pressed upon her with an + overmastering force, and she felt herself yielding to one of the most + genuine emotions she had ever known. “I should like to stay here,” she + said. “Pray take me in.” + </p> + <p> + Though she was smiling, there were tears in her voice as well as in her + eyes. “My dear niece,” said Mr. Wentworth, softly. And Charlotte put out + her arms and drew the Baroness toward her; while Robert Acton turned away, + with his hands stealing into his pockets. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + A few days after the Baroness Münster had presented herself to her + American kinsfolk she came, with her brother, and took up her abode in + that small white house adjacent to Mr. Wentworth’s own dwelling of which + mention has already been made. It was on going with his daughters to + return her visit that Mr. Wentworth placed this comfortable cottage at her + service; the offer being the result of a domestic colloquy, diffused + through the ensuing twenty-four hours, in the course of which the two + foreign visitors were discussed and analyzed with a great deal of + earnestness and subtlety. The discussion went forward, as I say, in the + family circle; but that circle on the evening following Madame Münster’s + return to town, as on many other occasions, included Robert + Acton and his pretty sister. If you had been present, it would probably + not have seemed to you that the advent of these brilliant strangers was + treated as an exhilarating occurrence, a pleasure the more in this + tranquil household, a prospective source of entertainment. This was not + Mr. Wentworth’s way of treating any human occurrence. The sudden irruption + into the well-ordered consciousness of the Wentworths of an element not + allowed for in its scheme of usual obligations required a readjustment of + that sense of responsibility which constituted its principal furniture. To + consider an event, crudely and baldly, in the light of the pleasure it + might bring them was an intellectual exercise with which Felix Young’s + American cousins were almost wholly unacquainted, and which they scarcely + supposed to be largely pursued in any section of human society. The + arrival of Felix and his sister was a satisfaction, but it was a + singularly joyless and inelastic satisfaction. It was an extension of + duty, of the exercise of the more recondite virtues; but neither Mr. + Wentworth, nor Charlotte, nor Mr. Brand, who, among these excellent + people, was a great promoter of reflection and aspiration, frankly + adverted to it as an extension of enjoyment. This function was ultimately + assumed by Gertrude Wentworth, who was a peculiar girl, but the full + compass of whose peculiarities had not been exhibited before they very + ingeniously found their pretext in the presence of these possibly too + agreeable foreigners. Gertrude, however, had to struggle with a great + accumulation of obstructions, both of the subjective, as the + metaphysicians say, and of the objective, order; and indeed it is no small + part of the purpose of this little history to set forth her struggle. What + seemed paramount in this abrupt enlargement of Mr. Wentworth’s sympathies + and those of his daughters was an extension of the field of possible + mistakes; and the doctrine, as it may almost be called, of the oppressive + gravity of mistakes was one of the most cherished traditions of the + Wentworth family. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe she wants to come and stay in this house,” said Gertrude; + Madame Münster, from this time forward, receiving no other designation + than the personal pronoun. Charlotte and Gertrude acquired considerable + facility in addressing her, directly, as “Eugenia;” but in speaking of her + to each other they rarely called her anything but “she.” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t she think it good enough for her?” cried little Lizzie Acton, + who was always asking unpractical questions that required, in strictness, + no answer, and to which indeed she expected no other answer than such as + she herself invariably furnished in a small, innocently-satirical laugh. + </p> + <p> + “She certainly expressed a willingness to come,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “That was only politeness,” Gertrude rejoined. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she is very polite—very polite,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “She is too polite,” his son declared, in a softly growling tone which was + habitual to him, but which was an indication of nothing worse than a + vaguely humorous intention. “It is very embarrassing.” + </p> + <p> + “That is more than can be said of you, sir,” said Lizzie Acton, with her + little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t mean to encourage her,” Clifford went on. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I don’t care if you do!” cried Lizzie. + </p> + <p> + “She will not think of you, Clifford,” said Gertrude, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “I hope not!” Clifford exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “She will think of Robert,” Gertrude continued, in the same tone. + </p> + <p> + Robert Acton began to blush; but there was no occasion for it, for everyone + was looking at Gertrude—everyone, at least, save Lizzie, who, + with her pretty head on one side, contemplated her brother. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you attribute motives, Gertrude?” asked Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t attribute motives, father,” said Gertrude. “I only say she will + think of Robert; and she will!” + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude judges by herself!” Acton exclaimed, laughing. “Don’t you, + Gertrude? Of course the Baroness will think of me. She will think of me + from morning till night.” + </p> + <p> + “She will be very comfortable here,” said Charlotte, with something of a + housewife’s pride. “She can have the large northeast room. And the French + bedstead,” Charlotte added, with a constant sense of the lady’s + foreignness. + </p> + <p> + “She will not like it,” said Gertrude; “not even if you pin little tidies + all over the chairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not, dear?” asked Charlotte, perceiving a touch of irony here, but + not resenting it. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude had left her chair; she was walking about the room; her stiff + silk dress, which she had put on in honor of the Baroness, made a sound + upon the carpet. “I don’t know,” she replied. “She will want something + more—more private.” + </p> + <p> + “If she wants to be private she can stay in her room,” Lizzie Acton + remarked. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude paused in her walk, looking at her. “That would not be pleasant,” + she answered. “She wants privacy and pleasure together.” + </p> + <p> + Robert Acton began to laugh again. “My dear cousin, what a picture!” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte had fixed her serious eyes upon her sister; she wondered whence + she had suddenly derived these strange notions. Mr. Wentworth also + observed his younger daughter. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what her manner of life may have been,” he said; “but she + certainly never can have enjoyed a more refined and salubrious home.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude stood there looking at them all. “She is the wife of a Prince,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “We are all princes here,” said Mr. Wentworth; “and I don’t know of any + palace in this neighborhood that is to let.” + </p> + <p> + “Cousin William,” Robert Acton interposed, “do you want to do something + handsome? Make them a present, for three months, of the little house over + the way.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very generous with other people’s things!” cried his sister. + </p> + <p> + “Robert is very generous with his own things,” Mr. Wentworth observed + dispassionately, and looking, in cold meditation, at his kinsman. + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude,” Lizzie went on, “I had an idea you were so fond of your new + cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “Which new cousin?” asked Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean the Baroness!” the young girl rejoined, with her laugh. “I + thought you expected to see so much of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Of Felix? I hope to see a great deal of him,” said Gertrude, simply. + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you want to keep him out of the house?” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at Lizzie Acton, and then looked away. + </p> + <p> + “Should you want me to live in the house with you, Lizzie?” asked + Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you never will. I hate you!” Such was this young lady’s reply. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Gertrude, stopping before Mr. Wentworth and smiling, with a + smile the sweeter, as her smile always was, for its rarity; “do let them + live in the little house over the way. It will be lovely!” + </p> + <p> + Robert Acton had been watching her. “Gertrude is right,” he said. + “Gertrude is the cleverest girl in the world. If I might take the liberty, + I should strongly recommend their living there.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing there so pretty as the northeast room,” Charlotte urged. + </p> + <p> + “She will make it pretty. Leave her alone!” Acton exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude, at his compliment, had blushed and looked at him: it was as if + someone less familiar had complimented her. “I am sure she will make it + pretty. It will be very interesting. It will be a place to go to. It will + be a foreign house.” + </p> + <p> + “Are we very sure that we need a foreign house?” Mr. Wentworth inquired. + “Do you think it desirable to establish a foreign house—in this + quiet place?” + </p> + <p> + “You speak,” said Acton, laughing, “as if it were a question of the poor + Baroness opening a wine-shop or a gaming-table.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be too lovely!” Gertrude declared again, laying her hand on the + back of her father’s chair. + </p> + <p> + “That she should open a gaming-table?” Charlotte asked, with great + gravity. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at her a moment, and then, “Yes, Charlotte,” she said, + simply. + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude is growing pert,” Clifford Wentworth observed, with his humorous + young growl. “That comes of associating with foreigners.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth looked up at his daughter, who was standing beside him; he + drew her gently forward. “You must be careful,” he said. “You must keep + watch. Indeed, we must all be careful. This is a great change; we are to + be exposed to peculiar influences. I don’t say they are bad. I don’t judge + them in advance. But they may perhaps make it necessary that we should + exercise a great deal of wisdom and self-control. It will be a different + tone.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude was silent a moment, in deference to her father’s speech; then + she spoke in a manner that was not in the least an answer to it. “I want + to see how they will live. I am sure they will have different hours. She + will do all kinds of little things differently. When we go over there it + will be like going to Europe. She will have a boudoir. She will invite us + to dinner—very late. She will breakfast in her room.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte gazed at her sister again. Gertrude’s imagination seemed to her + to be fairly running riot. She had always known that Gertrude had a great + deal of imagination—she had been very proud of it. But at the same + time she had always felt that it was a dangerous and irresponsible + faculty; and now, to her sense, for the moment, it seemed to threaten to + make her sister a strange person who should come in suddenly, as from a + journey, talking of the peculiar and possibly unpleasant things she had + observed. Charlotte’s imagination took no journeys whatever; she kept it, + as it were, in her pocket, with the other furniture of this receptacle—a + thimble, a little box of peppermint, and a morsel of court-plaster. “I + don’t believe she would have any dinner—or any breakfast,” said Miss + Wentworth. “I don’t believe she knows how to do anything herself. I should + have to get her ever so many servants, and she wouldn’t like them.” + </p> + <p> + “She has a maid,” said Gertrude; “a French maid. She mentioned her.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if the maid has a little fluted cap and red slippers,” said + Lizzie Acton. “There was a French maid in that play that Robert took me to + see. She had pink stockings; she was very wicked.” + </p> + <p> + “She was a <i>soubrette</i>,” Gertrude announced, who had never seen a play in + her life. “They call that a soubrette. It will be a great chance to learn + French.” Charlotte gave a little soft, helpless groan. She had a vision of + a wicked, theatrical person, clad in pink stockings and red shoes, and + speaking, with confounding volubility, an incomprehensible tongue, + flitting through the sacred penetralia of that large, clean house. “That + is one reason in favor of their coming here,” Gertrude went on. “But we + can make Eugenia speak French to us, and Felix. I mean to begin—the + next time.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth had kept her standing near him, and he gave her his earnest, + thin, unresponsive glance again. “I want you to make me a promise, + Gertrude,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Not to get excited. Not to allow these—these occurrences to be an + occasion for excitement.” + </p> + <p> + She looked down at him a moment, and then she shook her head. “I don’t + think I can promise that, father. I am excited already.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth was silent a while; they all were silent, as if in + recognition of something audacious and portentous. + </p> + <p> + “I think they had better go to the other house,” said Charlotte, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I shall keep them in the other house,” Mr. Wentworth subjoined, more + pregnantly. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude turned away; then she looked across at Robert Acton. Her cousin + Robert was a great friend of hers; she often looked at him this way + instead of saying things. Her glance on this occasion, however, struck him + as a substitute for a larger volume of diffident utterance than usual, + inviting him to observe, among other things, the inefficiency of her + father’s design—if design it was—for diminishing, in the + interest of quiet nerves, their occasions of contact with their foreign + relatives. But Acton immediately complimented Mr. Wentworth upon his + liberality. “That’s a very nice thing to do,” he said, “giving them the + little house. You will have treated them handsomely, and, whatever + happens, you will be glad of it.” Mr. Wentworth was liberal, and he knew + he was liberal. It gave him pleasure to know it, to feel it, to see it + recorded; and this pleasure is the only palpable form of self-indulgence + with which the narrator of these incidents will be able to charge him. + </p> + <p> + “A three days’ visit at most, over there, is all I should have found + possible,” Madame Münster remarked to her brother, after they had taken + possession of the little white house. “It would have been too + <i>intime</i>—decidedly too <i>intime</i>. Breakfast, dinner, and + tea <i>en famille</i>—it would have been + the end of the world if I could have reached the third day.” And she made + the same observation to her maid Augustine, an intelligent person, who + enjoyed a liberal share of her confidence. Felix declared that he would + willingly spend his life in the bosom of the Wentworth family; that they + were the kindest, simplest, most amiable people in the world, and that he + had taken a prodigious fancy to them all. The Baroness quite agreed with + him that they were simple and kind; they were thoroughly nice people, and + she liked them extremely. The girls were perfect ladies; it was impossible + to be more of a lady than Charlotte Wentworth, in spite of her little + village air. “But as for thinking them the best company in the world,” + said the Baroness, “that is another thing; and as for wishing to live + <i>porte à porte</i> with them, I should as soon think of wishing myself back in + the convent again, to wear a bombazine apron and sleep in a dormitory.” + And yet the Baroness was in high good humor; she had been very much + pleased. With her lively perception and her refined imagination, she was + capable of enjoying anything that was characteristic, anything that was + good of its kind. The Wentworth household seemed to her very perfect in + its kind—wonderfully peaceful and unspotted; pervaded by a sort of + dove-colored freshness that had all the quietude and benevolence of what + she deemed to be Quakerism, and yet seemed to be founded upon a degree of + material abundance for which, in certain matters of detail, one might have + looked in vain at the frugal little court of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. + She perceived immediately that her American relatives thought and talked + very little about money; and this of itself made an impression upon + Eugenia’s imagination. She perceived at the same time that if Charlotte or + Gertrude should ask their father for a very considerable sum he would at + once place it in their hands; and this made a still greater impression. + The greatest impression of all, perhaps, was made by another rapid + induction. The Baroness had an immediate conviction that Robert Acton + would put his hand into his pocket every day in the week if that + rattle-pated little sister of his should bid him. The men in this country, + said the Baroness, are evidently very obliging. Her declaration that she + was looking for rest and retirement had been by no means wholly untrue; + nothing that the Baroness said was wholly untrue. It is but fair to add, + perhaps, that nothing that she said was wholly true. She wrote to a friend + in Germany that it was a return to nature; it was like drinking new milk, + and she was very fond of new milk. She said to herself, of course, that it + would be a little dull; but there can be no better proof of her good + spirits than the fact that she thought she should not mind its being a + little dull. It seemed to her, when from the piazza of her eleemosynary + cottage she looked out over the soundless fields, the stony pastures, the + clear-faced ponds, the rugged little orchards, that she had never been in + the midst of so peculiarly intense a stillness; it was almost a delicate + sensual pleasure. It was all very good, very innocent and safe, and out of + it something good must come. Augustine, indeed, who had an unbounded faith + in her mistress’s wisdom and far-sightedness, was a great deal perplexed + and depressed. She was always ready to take her cue when she understood + it; but she liked to understand it, and on this occasion comprehension + failed. What, indeed, was the Baroness doing <i>dans cette galère</i>? what fish + did she expect to land out of these very stagnant waters? The game was + evidently a deep one. Augustine could trust her; but the sense of walking + in the dark betrayed itself in the physiognomy of this spare, sober, + sallow, middle-aged person, who had nothing in common with Gertrude + Wentworth’s conception of a soubrette, by the most ironical scowl that had + ever rested upon the unpretending tokens of the peace and plenty of the + Wentworths. Fortunately, Augustine could quench skepticism in action. She + quite agreed with her mistress—or rather she quite out-stripped her + mistress—in thinking that the little white house was pitifully bare. + <i>“Il faudra,”</i> said Augustine, <i>“lui faire un peu de toilette.”</i> And she began + to hang up <i>portières</i> in the doorways; to place wax candles, procured after + some research, in unexpected situations; to dispose anomalous draperies + over the arms of sofas and the backs of chairs. The Baroness had brought + with her to the New World a copious provision of the element of costume; + and the two Miss Wentworths, when they came over to see her, were somewhat + bewildered by the obtrusive distribution of her wardrobe. There were India + shawls suspended, curtain-wise, in the parlor door, and curious fabrics, + corresponding to Gertrude’s metaphysical vision of an opera-cloak, tumbled + about in the sitting-places. There were pink silk blinds in the windows, + by which the room was strangely bedimmed; and along the chimney-piece was + disposed a remarkable band of velvet, covered with coarse, dirty-looking + lace. “I have been making myself a little comfortable,” said the Baroness, + much to the confusion of Charlotte, who had been on the point of proposing + to come and help her put her superfluous draperies away. But what + Charlotte mistook for an almost culpably delayed subsidence Gertrude very + presently perceived to be the most ingenious, the most interesting, the + most romantic intention. “What is life, indeed, without curtains?” she + secretly asked herself; and she appeared to herself to have been leading + hitherto an existence singularly garish and totally devoid of festoons. + </p> + <p> + Felix was not a young man who troubled himself greatly about anything—least + of all about the conditions of enjoyment. His faculty of enjoyment was so + large, so unconsciously eager, that it may be said of it that it had a + permanent advance upon embarrassment and sorrow. His sentient faculty was + intrinsically joyous, and novelty and change were in themselves a delight + to him. As they had come to him with a great deal of frequency, his life + had been more agreeable than appeared. Never was a nature more perfectly + fortunate. It was not a restless, apprehensive, ambitious spirit, running + a race with the tyranny of fate, but a temper so unsuspicious as to put + Adversity off her guard, dodging and evading her with the easy, natural + motion of a wind-shifted flower. Felix extracted entertainment from all + things, and all his faculties—his imagination, his intelligence, his + affections, his senses—had a hand in the game. It seemed to him that + Eugenia and he had been very well treated; there was something absolutely + touching in that combination of paternal liberality and social + considerateness which marked Mr. Wentworth’s deportment. It was most + uncommonly kind of him, for instance, to have given them a house. Felix + was positively amused at having a house of his own; for the little white + cottage among the apple trees—the chalet, as Madame Münster always + called it—was much more sensibly his own than any domiciliary + <i>quatrième</i>, looking upon a court, with the rent overdue. Felix had spent a + good deal of his life in looking into courts, with a perhaps slightly + tattered pair of elbows resting upon the ledge of a high-perched window, + and the thin smoke of a cigarette rising into an atmosphere in which + street-cries died away and the vibration of chimes from ancient belfries + became sensible. He had never known anything so infinitely rural as these + New England fields; and he took a great fancy to all their pastoral + roughnesses. He had never had a greater sense of luxurious security; and + at the risk of making him seem a rather sordid adventurer I must declare + that he found an irresistible charm in the fact that he might dine every + day at his uncle’s. The charm was irresistible, however, because his fancy + flung a rosy light over this homely privilege. He appreciated highly the + fare that was set before him. There was a kind of fresh-looking abundance + about it which made him think that people must have lived so in the + mythological era, when they spread their tables upon the grass, + replenished them from cornucopias, and had no particular need of kitchen + stoves. But the great thing that Felix enjoyed was having found a family—sitting + in the midst of gentle, generous people whom he might call by their first + names. He had never known anything more charming than the attention they + paid to what he said. It was like a large sheet of clean, fine-grained + drawing-paper, all ready to be washed over with effective splashes of + water-color. He had never had any cousins, and he had never before found + himself in contact so unrestricted with young unmarried ladies. He was + extremely fond of the society of ladies, and it was new to him that it + might be enjoyed in just this manner. At first he hardly knew what to make + of his state of mind. It seemed to him that he was in love, + indiscriminately, with three girls at once. He saw that Lizzie Acton was + more brilliantly pretty than Charlotte and Gertrude; but this was scarcely + a superiority. His pleasure came from something they had in common—a + part of which was, indeed, that physical delicacy which seemed to make it + proper that they should always dress in thin materials and clear colors. + But they were delicate in other ways, and it was most agreeable to him to + feel that these latter delicacies were appreciable by contact, as it were. + He had known, fortunately, many virtuous gentlewomen, but it now appeared + to him that in his relations with them (especially when they were + unmarried) he had been looking at pictures under glass. He perceived at + present what a nuisance the glass had been—how it perverted and + interfered, how it caught the reflection of other objects and kept you + walking from side to side. He had no need to ask himself whether Charlotte + and Gertrude, and Lizzie Acton, were in the right light; they were always + in the right light. He liked everything about them: he was, for instance, + not at all above liking the fact that they had very slender feet and high + insteps. He liked their pretty noses; he liked their surprised eyes and + their hesitating, not at all positive way of speaking; he liked so much + knowing that he was perfectly at liberty to be alone for hours, anywhere, + with either of them; that preference for one to the other, as a companion + of solitude, remained a minor affair. Charlotte Wentworth’s sweetly severe + features were as agreeable as Lizzie Acton’s wonderfully expressive blue + eyes; and Gertrude’s air of being always ready to walk about and listen + was as charming as anything else, especially as she walked very + gracefully. After a while Felix began to distinguish; but even then he + would often wish, suddenly, that they were not all so sad. Even Lizzie + Acton, in spite of her fine little chatter and laughter, appeared sad. + Even Clifford Wentworth, who had extreme youth in his favor, and kept a + buggy with enormous wheels and a little sorrel mare with the prettiest + legs in the world—even this fortunate lad was apt to have an + averted, uncomfortable glance, and to edge away from you at times, in the + manner of a person with a bad conscience. The only person in the circle + with no sense of oppression of any kind was, to Felix’s perception, Robert + Acton. + </p> + <p> + It might perhaps have been feared that after the completion of those + graceful domiciliary embellishments which have been mentioned Madame Münster + would have found herself confronted with alarming possibilities + of <i>ennui</i>. But as yet she had not taken the alarm. The Baroness was a + restless soul, and she projected her restlessness, as it may be said, into + any situation that lay before her. Up to a certain point her restlessness + might be counted upon to entertain her. She was always expecting something + to happen, and, until it was disappointed, expectancy itself was a + delicate pleasure. What the Baroness expected just now it would take some + ingenuity to set forth; it is enough that while she looked about her she + found something to occupy her imagination. She assured herself that she + was enchanted with her new relatives; she professed to herself that, like + her brother, she felt it a sacred satisfaction to have found a family. It + is certain that she enjoyed to the utmost the gentleness of her kinsfolk’s + deference. She had, first and last, received a great deal of admiration, + and her experience of well-turned compliments was very considerable; but + she knew that she had never been so real a power, never counted for so + much, as now when, for the first time, the standard of comparison of her + little circle was a prey to vagueness. The sense, indeed, that the good + people about her had, as regards her remarkable self, no standard of + comparison at all gave her a feeling of almost illimitable power. It was + true, as she said to herself, that if for this reason they would be able + to discover nothing against her, so they would perhaps neglect to perceive + some of her superior points; but she always wound up her reflections by + declaring that she would take care of that. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte and Gertrude were in some perplexity between their desire to + show all proper attention to Madame Münster and their fear of being + importunate. The little house in the orchard had hitherto been occupied + during the summer months by intimate friends of the family, or by poor + relations who found in Mr. Wentworth a landlord attentive to repairs and + oblivious of quarter-day. Under these circumstances the open door of the + small house and that of the large one, facing each other across their + homely gardens, levied no tax upon hourly visits. But the Misses Wentworth + received an impression that Eugenia was no friend to the primitive custom + of “dropping in;” she evidently had no idea of living without a + door-keeper. “One goes into your house as into an inn—except that + there are no servants rushing forward,” she said to Charlotte. And she + added that that was very charming. Gertrude explained to her sister that + she meant just the reverse; she didn’t like it at all. Charlotte inquired + why she should tell an untruth, and Gertrude answered that there was + probably some very good reason for it which they should discover when they + knew her better. “There can surely be no good reason for telling an + untruth,” said Charlotte. “I hope she does not think so.” + </p> + <p> + They had of course desired, from the first, to do everything in the way of + helping her to arrange herself. It had seemed to Charlotte that there + would be a great many things to talk about; but the Baroness was + apparently inclined to talk about nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Write her a note, asking her leave to come and see her. I think that is + what she will like,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I give her the trouble of answering me?” Charlotte asked. “She + will have to write a note and send it over.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think she will take any trouble,” said Gertrude, profoundly. + </p> + <p> + “What then will she do?” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I am curious to see,” said Gertrude, leaving her sister with + an impression that her curiosity was morbid. + </p> + <p> + They went to see the Baroness without preliminary correspondence; and in + the little salon which she had already created, with its becoming light + and its festoons, they found Robert Acton. + </p> + <p> + Eugenia was intensely gracious, but she accused them of neglecting her + cruelly. “You see Mr. Acton has had to take pity upon me,” she said. “My + brother goes off sketching, for hours; I can never depend upon him. So I + was to send Mr. Acton to beg you to come and give me the benefit of your + wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at her sister. She wanted to say, “<i>That</i> is what she would + have done.” Charlotte said that they hoped the Baroness would always come + and dine with them; it would give them so much pleasure; and, in that + case, she would spare herself the trouble of having a cook. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but I must have a cook!” cried the Baroness. “An old negress in a + yellow turban. I have set my heart upon that. I want to look out of my + window and see her sitting there on the grass, against the background of + those crooked, dusky little apple trees, pulling the husks off a lapful of + Indian corn. That will be local color, you know. There isn’t much of it + here—you don’t mind my saying that, do you?—so one must make + the most of what one can get. I shall be most happy to dine with you + whenever you will let me; but I want to be able to ask you sometimes. And + I want to be able to ask Mr. Acton,” added the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “You must come and ask me at home,” said Acton. “You must come and see me; + you must dine with me first. I want to show you my place; I want to + introduce you to my mother.” He called again upon Madame Münster, two + days later. He was constantly at the other house; he used to walk across + the fields from his own place, and he appeared to have fewer scruples than + his cousins with regard to dropping in. On this occasion he found that Mr. + Brand had come to pay his respects to the charming stranger; but after + Acton’s arrival the young theologian said nothing. He sat in his chair + with his two hands clasped, fixing upon his hostess a grave, fascinated + stare. The Baroness talked to Robert Acton, but, as she talked, she turned + and smiled at Mr. Brand, who never took his eyes off her. The two men + walked away together; they were going to Mr. Wentworth’s. Mr. Brand still + said nothing; but after they had passed into Mr. Wentworth’s garden he + stopped and looked back for some time at the little white house. Then, + looking at his companion, with his head bent a little to one side and his + eyes somewhat contracted, “Now I suppose that’s what is called + conversation,” he said; “real conversation.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s what I call a very clever woman,” said Acton, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “It is most interesting,” Mr. Brand continued. “I only wish she would + speak French; it would seem more in keeping. It must be quite the style + that we have heard about, that we have read about—the style of + conversation of Madame de Staël, of Madame Récamier.” + </p> + <p> + Acton also looked at Madame Münster’s residence among its hollyhocks and + apple trees. “What I should like to know,” he said, smiling, “is just what + has brought Madame Récamier to live in that place!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth, with his cane and his gloves in his hand, went every + afternoon to call upon his niece. A couple of hours later she came over to + the great house to tea. She had let the proposal that she should regularly + dine there fall to the ground; she was in the enjoyment of whatever + satisfaction was to be derived from the spectacle of an old negress in a + crimson turban shelling peas under the apple trees. Charlotte, who had + provided the ancient negress, thought it must be a strange household, + Eugenia having told her that Augustine managed everything, the ancient + negress included—Augustine who was naturally devoid of all + acquaintance with the expurgatory English tongue. By far the most immoral + sentiment which I shall have occasion to attribute to Charlotte Wentworth + was a certain emotion of disappointment at finding that, in spite of these + irregular conditions, the domestic arrangements at the small house were + apparently not—from Eugenia’s peculiar point of view—strikingly + offensive. The Baroness found it amusing to go to tea; she dressed as if + for dinner. The tea-table offered an anomalous and picturesque repast; and + on leaving it they all sat and talked in the large piazza, or wandered + about the garden in the starlight, with their ears full of those sounds of + strange insects which, though they are supposed to be, all over the world, + a part of the magic of summer nights, seemed to the Baroness to have + beneath these western skies an incomparable resonance. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth, though, as I say, he went punctiliously to call upon her, + was not able to feel that he was getting used to his niece. It taxed his + imagination to believe that she was really his half-sister’s child. His + sister was a figure of his early years; she had been only twenty when she + went abroad, never to return, making in foreign parts a willful and + undesirable marriage. His aunt, Mrs. Whiteside, who had taken her to + Europe for the benefit of the tour, gave, on her return, so lamentable an + account of Mr. Adolphus Young, to whom the headstrong girl had united her + destiny, that it operated as a chill upon family feeling—especially + in the case of the half-brothers. Catherine had done nothing subsequently + to propitiate her family; she had not even written to them in a way that + indicated a lucid appreciation of their suspended sympathy; so that it had + become a tradition in Boston circles that the highest charity, as regards + this young lady, was to think it well to forget her, and to abstain from + conjecture as to the extent to which her aberrations were reproduced in + her descendants. Over these young people—a vague report of their + existence had come to his ears—Mr. Wentworth had not, in the course + of years, allowed his imagination to hover. It had plenty of occupation + nearer home, and though he had many cares upon his conscience the idea + that he had been an unnatural uncle was, very properly, never among the + number. Now that his nephew and niece had come before him, he perceived + that they were the fruit of influences and circumstances very different + from those under which his own familiar progeny had reached a + vaguely-qualified maturity. He felt no provocation to say that these + influences had been exerted for evil; but he was sometimes afraid that he + should not be able to like his distinguished, delicate, lady-like niece. + He was paralyzed and bewildered by her foreignness. She spoke, somehow, a + different language. There was something strange in her words. He had a + feeling that another man, in his place, would accommodate himself to her + tone; would ask her questions and joke with her, reply to those + pleasantries of her own which sometimes seemed startling as addressed to + an uncle. But Mr. Wentworth could not do these things. He could not even + bring himself to attempt to measure her position in the world. She was the + wife of a foreign nobleman who desired to repudiate her. This had a + singular sound, but the old man felt himself destitute of the materials + for a judgment. It seemed to him that he ought to find them in his own + experience, as a man of the world and an almost public character; but they + were not there, and he was ashamed to confess to himself—much more + to reveal to Eugenia by interrogations possibly too innocent—the + unfurnished condition of this repository. + </p> + <p> + It appeared to him that he could get much nearer, as he would have said, + to his nephew; though he was not sure that Felix was altogether safe. He + was so bright and handsome and talkative that it was impossible not to + think well of him; and yet it seemed as if there were something almost + impudent, almost vicious—or as if there ought to be—in a young + man being at once so joyous and so positive. It was to be observed that + while Felix was not at all a serious young man there was somehow more of + him—he had more weight and volume and resonance—than a number + of young men who were distinctly serious. While Mr. Wentworth meditated + upon this anomaly his nephew was admiring him unrestrictedly. He thought + him a most delicate, generous, high-toned old gentleman, with a very + handsome head, of the ascetic type, which he promised himself the profit + of sketching. Felix was far from having made a secret of the fact that he + wielded the paint-brush, and it was not his own fault if it failed to be + generally understood that he was prepared to execute the most striking + likenesses on the most reasonable terms. “He is an artist—my cousin + is an artist,” said Gertrude; and she offered this information to everyone + who would receive it. She offered it to herself, as it were, by way of + admonition and reminder; she repeated to herself at odd moments, in lonely + places, that Felix was invested with this sacred character. Gertrude had + never seen an artist before; she had only read about such people. They + seemed to her a romantic and mysterious class, whose life was made up of + those agreeable accidents that never happened to other persons. And it + merely quickened her meditations on this point that Felix should declare, + as he repeatedly did, that he was really not an artist. “I have never gone + into the thing seriously,” he said. “I have never studied; I have had no + training. I do a little of everything, and nothing well. I am only an + amateur.” + </p> + <p> + It pleased Gertrude even more to think that he was an amateur than to + think that he was an artist; the former word, to her fancy, had an even + subtler connotation. She knew, however, that it was a word to use more + soberly. Mr. Wentworth used it freely; for though he had not been exactly + familiar with it, he found it convenient as a help toward classifying + Felix, who, as a young man extremely clever and active and apparently + respectable and yet not engaged in any recognized business, was an + importunate anomaly. Of course the Baroness and her brother—she was + always spoken of first—were a welcome topic of conversation between + Mr. Wentworth and his daughters and their occasional visitors. + </p> + <p> + “And the young man, your nephew, what is his profession?” asked an old + gentleman—Mr. Broderip, of Salem—who had been Mr. Wentworth’s + classmate at Harvard College in the year 1809, and who came into his + office in Devonshire Street. (Mr. Wentworth, in his later years, used to + go but three times a week to his office, where he had a large amount of + highly confidential trust-business to transact.) + </p> + <p> + “Well, he’s an amateur,” said Felix’s uncle, with folded hands, and with + a certain satisfaction in being able to say it. And Mr. Broderip had gone + back to Salem with a feeling that this was probably a “European” + expression for a broker or a grain exporter. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to do your head, sir,” said Felix to his uncle one evening, + before them all—Mr. Brand and Robert Acton being also present. “I + think I should make a very fine thing of it. It’s an interesting head; it’s + very mediaeval.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth looked grave; he felt awkwardly, as if all the company had + come in and found him standing before the looking-glass. “The Lord made + it,” he said. “I don’t think it is for man to make it over again.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly the Lord made it,” replied Felix, laughing, “and he made it + very well. But life has been touching up the work. It is a very + interesting type of head. It’s delightfully wasted and emaciated. The + complexion is wonderfully bleached.” And Felix looked round at the circle, + as if to call their attention to these interesting points. Mr. Wentworth + grew visibly paler. “I should like to do you as an old prelate, an old + cardinal, or the prior of an order.” + </p> + <p> + “A prelate, a cardinal?” murmured Mr. Wentworth. “Do you refer to the + Roman Catholic priesthood?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean an old ecclesiastic who should have led a very pure, abstinent + life. Now I take it that has been the case with you, sir; one sees it in + your face,” Felix proceeded. “You have been very—a very moderate. + Don’t you think one always sees that in a man’s face?” + </p> + <p> + “You see more in a man’s face than I should think of looking for,” said + Mr. Wentworth coldly. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness rattled her fan, and gave her brilliant laugh. “It is a risk + to look so close!” she exclaimed. “My uncle has some peccadilloes on his + conscience.” Mr. Wentworth looked at her, painfully at a loss; and in so + far as the signs of a pure and abstinent life were visible in his face + they were then probably peculiarly manifest. “You are a <i>beau vieillard</i>, + dear uncle,” said Madame Münster, smiling with her foreign eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I think you are paying me a compliment,” said the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Surely, I am not the first woman that ever did so!” cried the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “I think you are,” said Mr. Wentworth gravely. And turning to Felix he + added, in the same tone, “Please don’t take my likeness. My children have + my daguerreotype. That is quite satisfactory.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t promise,” said Felix, “not to work your head into something!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth looked at him and then at all the others; then he got up and + slowly walked away. + </p> + <p> + “Felix,” said Gertrude, in the silence that followed, “I wish you would + paint my portrait.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte wondered whether Gertrude was right in wishing this; and she + looked at Mr. Brand as the most legitimate way of ascertaining. Whatever + Gertrude did or said, Charlotte always looked at Mr. Brand. It was a + standing pretext for looking at Mr. Brand—always, as Charlotte + thought, in the interest of Gertrude’s welfare. It is true that she felt a + tremulous interest in Gertrude being right; for Charlotte, in her small, + still way, was an heroic sister. + </p> + <p> + “We should be glad to have your portrait, Miss Gertrude,” said Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “I should be delighted to paint so charming a model,” Felix declared. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you are so lovely, my dear?” asked Lizzie Acton, with her + little inoffensive pertness, biting off a knot in her knitting. + </p> + <p> + “It is not because I think I am beautiful,” said Gertrude, looking all + round. “I don’t think I am beautiful, at all.” She spoke with a sort of + conscious deliberateness; and it seemed very strange to Charlotte to hear + her discussing this question so publicly. “It is because I think it would + be amusing to sit and be painted. I have always thought that.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry you have not had better things to think about, my daughter,” + said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “You are very beautiful, cousin Gertrude,” Felix declared. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a compliment,” said Gertrude. “I put all the compliments I + receive into a little money-jug that has a slit in the side. I shake them + up and down, and they rattle. There are not many yet—only two or + three.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s not a compliment,” Felix rejoined. “See; I am careful not to + give it the form of a compliment. I didn’t think you were beautiful at + first. But you have come to seem so little by little.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care, now, your jug doesn’t burst!” exclaimed Lizzie. + </p> + <p> + “I think sitting for one’s portrait is only one of the various forms of + idleness,” said Mr. Wentworth. “Their name is legion.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” cried Felix, “you can’t be said to be idle when you are + making a man work so!” + </p> + <p> + “One might be painted while one is asleep,” suggested Mr. Brand, as a + contribution to the discussion. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, do paint me while I am asleep,” said Gertrude to Felix, smiling. And + she closed her eyes a little. It had by this time become a matter of + almost exciting anxiety to Charlotte what Gertrude would say or would do + next. + </p> + <p> + She began to sit for her portrait on the following day—in the open + air, on the north side of the piazza. “I wish you would tell me what you + think of us—how we seem to you,” she said to Felix, as he sat before + his easel. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to me the best people in the world,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “You say that,” Gertrude resumed, “because it saves you the trouble of + saying anything else.” + </p> + <p> + The young man glanced at her over the top of his canvas. “What else should + I say? It would certainly be a great deal of trouble to say anything + different.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Gertrude, “you have seen people before that you have liked, + have you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I have, thank Heaven!” + </p> + <p> + “And they have been very different from us,” Gertrude went on. + </p> + <p> + “That only proves,” said Felix, “that there are a thousand different ways + of being good company.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think us good company?” asked Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Company for a king!” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude was silent a moment; and then, “There must be a thousand + different ways of being dreary,” she said; “and sometimes I think we make + use of them all.” + </p> + <p> + Felix stood up quickly, holding up his hand. “If you could only keep that + look on your face for half an hour—while I catch it!” he said. “It + is uncommonly handsome.” + </p> + <p> + “To look handsome for half an hour—that is a great deal to ask of + me,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “It would be the portrait of a young woman who has taken some vow, some + pledge, that she repents of,” said Felix, “and who is thinking it over at + leisure.” + </p> + <p> + “I have taken no vow, no pledge,” said Gertrude, very gravely; “I have + nothing to repent of.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin, that was only a figure of speech. I am very sure that no + one in your excellent family has anything to repent of.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet we are always repenting!” Gertrude exclaimed. “That is what I + mean by our being dreary. You know it perfectly well; you only pretend + that you don’t.” + </p> + <p> + Felix gave a quick laugh. “The half hour is going on, and yet you are + handsomer than ever. One must be careful what one says, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “To me,” said Gertrude, “you can say anything.” + </p> + <p> + Felix looked at her, as an artist might, and painted for some time in + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you seem to me different from your father and sister—from most + of the people you have lived with,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “To say that one’s self,” Gertrude went on, “is like saying—by + implication, at least—that one is better. I am not better; I am much + worse. But they say themselves that I am different. It makes them + unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + “Since you accuse me of concealing my real impressions, I may admit that I + think the tendency—among you generally—is to be made unhappy + too easily.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would tell that to my father,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “It might make him more unhappy!” Felix exclaimed, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “It certainly would. I don’t believe you have seen people like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear cousin, how do you know what I have seen?” Felix demanded. + “How can I tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “You might tell me a great many things, if you only would. You have seen + people like yourself—people who are bright and gay and fond of + amusement. We are not fond of amusement.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Felix, “I confess that rather strikes me. You don’t seem to me + to get all the pleasure out of life that you might. You don’t seem to me + to enjoy..... Do you mind my saying this?” he asked, pausing. + </p> + <p> + “Please go on,” said the girl, earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to me very well placed for enjoying. You have money and liberty + and what is called in Europe a ‘position.’ But you take a painful view of + life, as one may say.” + </p> + <p> + “One ought to think it bright and charming and delightful, eh?” asked + Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “I should say so—if one can. It is true it all depends upon that,” + Felix added. + </p> + <p> + “You know there is a great deal of misery in the world,” said his model. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen a little of it,” the young man rejoined. “But it was all over + there—beyond the sea. I don’t see any here. This is a paradise.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude said nothing; she sat looking at the dahlias and the + currant-bushes in the garden, while Felix went on with his work. “To + ‘enjoy,’” she began at last, “to take life—not painfully, must one + do something wrong?” + </p> + <p> + Felix gave his long, light laugh again. “Seriously, I think not. And for + this reason, among others: you strike me as very capable of enjoying, if + the chance were given you, and yet at the same time as incapable of + wrong-doing.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure,” said Gertrude, “that you are very wrong in telling a person + that she is incapable of that. We are never nearer to evil than when we + believe that.” + </p> + <p> + “You are handsomer than ever,” observed Felix, irrelevantly. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude had got used to hearing him say this. There was not so much + excitement in it as at first. “What ought one to do?” she continued. “To + give parties, to go to the theatre, to read novels, to keep late hours?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it’s what one does or one doesn’t do that promotes + enjoyment,” her companion answered. “It is the general way of looking at + life.” + </p> + <p> + “They look at it as a discipline—that’s what they do here. I have + often been told that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s very good. But there is another way,” added Felix, smiling: + “to look at it as an opportunity.” + </p> + <p> + “An opportunity—yes,” said Gertrude. “One would get more pleasure + that way.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t attempt to say anything better for it than that it has been my + own way—and that is not saying much!” Felix had laid down his + palette and brushes; he was leaning back, with his arms folded, to judge + the effect of his work. “And you know,” he said, “I am a very petty + personage.” + </p> + <p> + “You have a great deal of talent,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “No—no,” the young man rejoined, in a tone of cheerful impartiality, + “I have not a great deal of talent. It is nothing at all remarkable. I + assure you I should know if it were. I shall always be obscure. The world + will never hear of me.” Gertrude looked at him with a strange feeling. She + was thinking of the great world which he knew and which she did not, and + how full of brilliant talents it must be, since it could afford to make + light of his abilities. “You needn’t in general attach much importance to + anything I tell you,” he pursued; “but you may believe me when I say this,—that + I am little better than a good-natured feather-head.” + </p> + <p> + “A feather-head?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I am a species of Bohemian.” + </p> + <p> + “A Bohemian?” Gertrude had never heard this term before, save as a + geographical denomination; and she quite failed to understand the + figurative meaning which her companion appeared to attach to it. But it + gave her pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Felix had pushed back his chair and risen to his feet; he slowly came + toward her, smiling. “I am a sort of adventurer,” he said, looking down at + her. + </p> + <p> + She got up, meeting his smile. “An adventurer?” she repeated. “I should + like to hear your adventures.” + </p> + <p> + For an instant she believed that he was going to take her hand; but he + dropped his own hands suddenly into the pockets of his painting-jacket. + “There is no reason why you shouldn’t,” he said. “I have been an + adventurer, but my adventures have been very innocent. They have all been + happy ones; I don’t think there are any I shouldn’t tell. They were very + pleasant and very pretty; I should like to go over them in memory. Sit + down again, and I will begin,” he added in a moment, with his naturally + persuasive smile. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude sat down again on that day, and she sat down on several other + days. Felix, while he plied his brush, told her a great many stories, and + she listened with charmed avidity. Her eyes rested upon his lips; she was + very serious; sometimes, from her air of wondering gravity, he thought she + was displeased. But Felix never believed for more than a single moment in + any displeasure of his own producing. This would have been fatuity if the + optimism it expressed had not been much more a hope than a prejudice. It + is beside the matter to say that he had a good conscience; for the best + conscience is a sort of self-reproach, and this young man’s brilliantly + healthy nature spent itself in objective good intentions which were + ignorant of any test save exactness in hitting their mark. He told + Gertrude how he had walked over France and Italy with a painter’s knapsack + on his back, paying his way often by knocking off a flattering portrait of + his host or hostess. He told her how he had played the violin in a little + band of musicians—not of high celebrity—who traveled through + foreign lands giving provincial concerts. He told her also how he had been + a momentary ornament of a troupe of strolling actors, engaged in the + arduous task of interpreting Shakespeare to French and German, Polish and + Hungarian audiences. + </p> + <p> + While this periodical recital was going on, Gertrude lived in a fantastic + world; she seemed to herself to be reading a romance that came out in + daily numbers. She had known nothing so delightful since the perusal of + <i>Nicholas Nickleby</i>. One afternoon she went to see her cousin, Mrs. Acton, + Robert’s mother, who was a great invalid, never leaving the house. She + came back alone, on foot, across the fields—this being a short way + which they often used. Felix had gone to Boston with her father, who + desired to take the young man to call upon some of his friends, old + gentlemen who remembered his mother—remembered her, but said nothing + about her—and several of whom, with the gentle ladies their wives, + had driven out from town to pay their respects at the little house among + the apple trees, in vehicles which reminded the Baroness, who received her + visitors with discriminating civility, of the large, light, rattling + barouche in which she herself had made her journey to this neighborhood. + The afternoon was waning; in the western sky the great picture of a New + England sunset, painted in crimson and silver, was suspended from the + zenith; and the stony pastures, as Gertrude traversed them, thinking + intently to herself, were covered with a light, clear glow. At the open + gate of one of the fields she saw from the distance a man’s figure; he + stood there as if he were waiting for her, and as she came nearer she + recognized Mr. Brand. She had a feeling as of not having seen him for some + time; she could not have said for how long, for it yet seemed to her that + he had been very lately at the house. + </p> + <p> + “May I walk back with you?” he asked. And when she had said that he might + if he wanted, he observed that he had seen her and recognized her half a + mile away. + </p> + <p> + “You must have very good eyes,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have very good eyes, Miss Gertrude,” said Mr. Brand. She perceived + that he meant something; but for a long time past Mr. Brand had constantly + meant something, and she had almost got used to it. She felt, however, + that what he meant had now a renewed power to disturb her, to perplex and + agitate her. He walked beside her in silence for a moment, and then he + added, “I have had no trouble in seeing that you are beginning to avoid + me. But perhaps,” he went on, “one needn’t have had very good eyes to see + that.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not avoided you,” said Gertrude, without looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “I think you have been unconscious that you were avoiding me,” Mr. Brand + replied. “You have not even known that I was there.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are here now, Mr. Brand!” said Gertrude, with a little laugh. + “I know that very well.” + </p> + <p> + He made no rejoinder. He simply walked beside her slowly, as they were + obliged to walk over the soft grass. Presently they came to another gate, + which was closed. Mr. Brand laid his hand upon it, but he made no movement + to open it; he stood and looked at his companion. “You are very much + interested—very much absorbed,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude glanced at him; she saw that he was pale and that he looked + excited. She had never seen Mr. Brand excited before, and she felt that + the spectacle, if fully carried out, would be impressive, almost painful. + “Absorbed in what?” she asked. Then she looked away at the illuminated + sky. She felt guilty and uncomfortable, and yet she was vexed with herself + for feeling so. But Mr. Brand, as he stood there looking at her with his + small, kind, persistent eyes, represented an immense body of + half-obliterated obligations, that were rising again into a certain + distinctness. + </p> + <p> + “You have new interests, new occupations,” he went on. “I don’t know that + I can say that you have new duties. We have always old ones, Gertrude,” he + added. + </p> + <p> + “Please open the gate, Mr. Brand,” she said; and she felt as if, in saying + so, she were cowardly and petulant. But he opened the gate, and allowed + her to pass; then he closed it behind himself. Before she had time to turn + away he put out his hand and held her an instant by the wrist. + </p> + <p> + “I want to say something to you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you want to say,” she answered. And she was on the point of + adding, “And I know just how you will say it;” but these words she kept + back. + </p> + <p> + “I love you, Gertrude,” he said. “I love you very much; I love you more + than ever.” + </p> + <p> + He said the words just as she had known he would; she had heard them + before. They had no charm for her; she had said to herself before that it + was very strange. It was supposed to be delightful for a woman to listen + to such words; but these seemed to her flat and mechanical. “I wish you + would forget that,” she declared. + </p> + <p> + “How can I—why should I?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have made you no promise—given you no pledge,” she said, looking + at him, with her voice trembling a little. + </p> + <p> + “You have let me feel that I have an influence over you. You have opened + your mind to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I never opened my mind to you, Mr. Brand!” Gertrude cried, with some + vehemence. + </p> + <p> + “Then you were not so frank as I thought—as we all thought.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see what anyone else had to do with it!” cried the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I mean your father and your sister. You know it makes them happy to think + you will listen to me.” + </p> + <p> + She gave a little laugh. “It doesn’t make them happy,” she said. “Nothing + makes them happy. No one is happy here.” + </p> + <p> + “I think your cousin is very happy—Mr. Young,” rejoined Mr. Brand, + in a soft, almost timid tone. + </p> + <p> + “So much the better for him!” And Gertrude gave her little laugh again. + </p> + <p> + The young man looked at her a moment. “You are very much changed,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to hear it,” Gertrude declared. + </p> + <p> + “I am not. I have known you a long time, and I have loved you as you + were.” + </p> + <p> + “I am much obliged to you,” said Gertrude. “I must be going home.” + </p> + <p> + He on his side, gave a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You certainly do avoid me—you see!” + </p> + <p> + “Avoid me, then,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her again; and then, very gently, “No I will not avoid you,” + he replied; “but I will leave you, for the present, to yourself. I think + you will remember—after a while—some of the things you have + forgotten. I think you will come back to me; I have great faith in that.” + </p> + <p> + This time his voice was very touching; there was a strong, reproachful + force in what he said, and Gertrude could answer nothing. He turned away + and stood there, leaning his elbows on the gate and looking at the + beautiful sunset. Gertrude left him and took her way home again; but when + she reached the middle of the next field she suddenly burst into tears. + Her tears seemed to her to have been a long time gathering, and for some + moments it was a kind of glee to shed them. But they presently passed + away. There was something a little hard about Gertrude; and she never wept + again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + Going of an afternoon to call upon his niece, Mr. Wentworth more than once + found Robert Acton sitting in her little drawing-room. This was in no + degree, to Mr. Wentworth, a perturbing fact, for he had no sense of + competing with his young kinsman for Eugenia’s good graces. Madame + Münster’s uncle had the highest opinion of Robert Acton, who, indeed, in + the family at large, was the object of a great deal of undemonstrative + appreciation. They were all proud of him, in so far as the charge of being + proud may be brought against people who were, habitually, distinctly + guiltless of the misdemeanor known as “taking credit.” They never boasted + of Robert Acton, nor indulged in vainglorious reference to him; they never + quoted the clever things he had said, nor mentioned the generous things he + had done. But a sort of frigidly-tender faith in his unlimited goodness + was a part of their personal sense of right; and there can, perhaps, be no + better proof of the high esteem in which he was held than the fact that no + explicit judgment was ever passed upon his actions. He was no more praised + than he was blamed; but he was tacitly felt to be an ornament to his + circle. He was the man of the world of the family. He had been to China + and brought home a collection of curiosities; he had made a fortune—or + rather he had quintupled a fortune already considerable; he was + distinguished by that combination of celibacy, “property,” and good humor + which appeals to even the most subdued imaginations; and it was taken for + granted that he would presently place these advantages at the disposal of + some well-regulated young woman of his own “set.” Mr. Wentworth was not a + man to admit to himself that—his paternal duties apart—he + liked any individual much better than all other individuals; but he + thought Robert Acton extremely judicious; and this was perhaps as near an + approach as he was capable of to the eagerness of preference, which his + temperament repudiated as it would have disengaged itself from something + slightly unchaste. Acton was, in fact, very judicious—and something + more beside; and indeed it must be claimed for Mr. Wentworth that in the + more illicit parts of his preference there hovered the vague adumbration + of a belief that his cousin’s final merit was a certain enviable capacity + for whistling, rather gallantly, at the sanctions of mere judgment—for + showing a larger courage, a finer quality of pluck, than common occasion + demanded. Mr. Wentworth would never have risked the intimation that Acton + was made, in the smallest degree, of the stuff of a hero; but this is + small blame to him, for Robert would certainly never have risked it + himself. Acton certainly exercised great discretion in all things—beginning + with his estimate of himself. He knew that he was by no means so much of a + man of the world as he was supposed to be in local circles; but it must be + added that he knew also that his natural shrewdness had a reach of which + he had never quite given local circles the measure. He was addicted to + taking the humorous view of things, and he had discovered that even in the + narrowest circles such a disposition may find frequent opportunities. Such + opportunities had formed for some time—that is, since his return + from China, a year and a half before—the most active element in this + gentleman’s life, which had just now a rather indolent air. He was + perfectly willing to get married. He was very fond of books, and he had a + handsome library; that is, his books were much more numerous than Mr. + Wentworth’s. He was also very fond of pictures; but it must be confessed, + in the fierce light of contemporary criticism, that his walls were adorned + with several rather abortive masterpieces. He had got his learning—and + there was more of it than commonly appeared—at Harvard College; and + he took a pleasure in old associations, which made it a part of his daily + contentment to live so near this institution that he often passed it in + driving to Boston. He was extremely interested in the Baroness Münster. + </p> + <p> + She was very frank with him; or at least she intended to be. “I am sure + you find it very strange that I should have settled down in this + out-of-the-way part of the world!” she said to him three or four weeks + after she had installed herself. “I am certain you are wondering about my + motives. They are very pure.” The Baroness by this time was an old + inhabitant; the best society in Boston had called upon her, and Clifford + Wentworth had taken her several times to drive in his buggy. + </p> + <p> + Robert Acton was seated near her, playing with a fan; there were always + several fans lying about her drawing-room, with long ribbons of different + colors attached to them, and Acton was always playing with one. “No, I + don’t find it at all strange,” he said slowly, smiling. “That a clever + woman should turn up in Boston, or its suburbs—that does not require + so much explanation. Boston is a very nice place.” + </p> + <p> + “If you wish to make me contradict you,” said the Baroness, “<i>vous vous y + prenez mal</i>. In certain moods there is nothing I am not capable of agreeing + to. Boston is a paradise, and we are in the suburbs of Paradise.” + </p> + <p> + “Just now I am not at all in the suburbs; I am in the place itself,” + rejoined Acton, who was lounging a little in his chair. He was, however, + not always lounging; and when he was he was not quite so relaxed as he + pretended. To a certain extent, he sought refuge from shyness in this + appearance of relaxation; and like many persons in the same circumstances + he somewhat exaggerated the appearance. Beyond this, the air of being much + at his ease was a cover for vigilant observation. He was more than + interested in this clever woman, who, whatever he might say, was clever + not at all after the Boston fashion; she plunged him into a kind of + excitement, held him in vague suspense. He was obliged to admit to himself + that he had never yet seen a woman just like this—not even in China. + He was ashamed, for inscrutable reasons, of the vivacity of his emotion, + and he carried it off, superficially, by taking, still superficially, the + humorous view of Madame Münster. It was not at all true that he thought it + very natural of her to have made this pious pilgrimage. It might have been + said of him in advance that he was too good a Bostonian to regard in the + light of an eccentricity the desire of even the remotest alien to visit + the New England metropolis. This was an impulse for which, surely, no + apology was needed; and Madame Münster was the fortunate possessor of + several New England cousins. In fact, however, Madame Münster struck him + as out of keeping with her little circle; she was at the best a very + agreeable, a gracefully mystifying anomaly. He knew very well that it + would not do to address these reflections too crudely to Mr. Wentworth; he + would never have remarked to the old gentleman that he wondered what the + Baroness was up to. And indeed he had no great desire to share his vague + mistrust with anyone. There was a personal pleasure in it; the greatest + pleasure he had known at least since he had come from China. He would keep + the Baroness, for better or worse, to himself; he had a feeling that he + deserved to enjoy a monopoly of her, for he was certainly the person who + had most adequately gauged her capacity for social intercourse. Before + long it became apparent to him that the Baroness was disposed to lay no + tax upon such a monopoly. + </p> + <p> + One day (he was sitting there again and playing with a fan) she asked him + to apologize, should the occasion present itself, to certain people in + Boston for her not having returned their calls. “There are half a dozen + places,” she said; “a formidable list. Charlotte Wentworth has written it + out for me, in a terrifically distinct hand. There is no ambiguity on the + subject; I know perfectly where I must go. Mr. Wentworth informs me that + the carriage is always at my disposal, and Charlotte offers to go with me, + in a pair of tight gloves and a very stiff petticoat. And yet for three + days I have been putting it off. They must think me horribly vicious.” + </p> + <p> + “You ask me to apologize,” said Acton, “but you don’t tell me what excuse + I can offer.” + </p> + <p> + “That is more,” the Baroness declared, “than I am held to. It would be + like my asking you to buy me a bouquet and giving you the money. I have no + reason except that—somehow—it’s too violent an effort. It is + not inspiring. Wouldn’t that serve as an excuse, in Boston? I am told + they are very sincere; they don’t tell fibs. And then Felix ought to go + with me, and he is never in readiness. I don’t see him. He is always + roaming about the fields and sketching old barns, or taking ten-mile + walks, or painting someone’s portrait, or rowing on the pond, or flirting + with Gertrude Wentworth.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think it would amuse you to go and see a few people,” said + Acton. “You are having a very quiet time of it here. It’s a dull life for + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the quiet,—the quiet!” the Baroness exclaimed. “That’s what I + like. It’s rest. That’s what I came here for. Amusement? I have had + amusement. And as for seeing people—I have already seen a great many + in my life. If it didn’t sound ungracious I should say that I wish very + humbly your people here would leave me alone!” + </p> + <p> + Acton looked at her a moment, and she looked at him. She was a woman who + took being looked at remarkably well. “So you have come here for rest?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “So I may say. I came for many of those reasons that are no reasons—don’t + you know?—and yet that are really the best: to come away, to change, + to break with everything. When once one comes away one must arrive + somewhere, and I asked myself why I shouldn’t arrive here.” + </p> + <p> + “You certainly had time on the way!” said Acton, laughing. + </p> + <p> + Madame Münster looked at him again; and then, smiling: “And I have + certainly had time, since I got here, to ask myself why I came. However, I + never ask myself idle questions. Here I am, and it seems to me you ought + only to thank me.” + </p> + <p> + “When you go away you will see the difficulties I shall put in your path.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to put difficulties in my path?” she asked, rearranging the + rosebud in her corsage. + </p> + <p> + “The greatest of all—that of having been so agreeable——” + </p> + <p> + “That I shall be unable to depart? Don’t be too sure. I have left some + very agreeable people over there.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Acton, “but it was to come here, where I am!” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know of your existence. Excuse me for saying anything so rude; + but, honestly speaking, I did not. No,” the Baroness pursued, “it was + precisely not to see you—such people as you—that I came.” + </p> + <p> + “Such people as me?” cried Acton. + </p> + <p> + “I had a sort of longing to come into those natural relations which I knew + I should find here. Over there I had only, as I may say, artificial + relations. Don’t you see the difference?” + </p> + <p> + “The difference tells against me,” said Acton. “I suppose I am an + artificial relation.” + </p> + <p> + “Conventional,” declared the Baroness; “very conventional.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there is one way in which the relation of a lady and a gentleman + may always become natural,” said Acton. + </p> + <p> + “You mean by their becoming lovers? That may be natural or not. And at any + rate,” rejoined Eugenia, <i>“nous n’en sommes pas là!”</i> + </p> + <p> + They were not, as yet; but a little later, when she began to go with him + to drive, it might almost have seemed that they were. He came for her + several times, alone, in his high “wagon,” drawn by a pair of charming + light-limbed horses. It was different, her having gone with Clifford + Wentworth, who was her cousin, and so much younger. It was not to be + imagined that she should have a flirtation with Clifford, who was a mere + shame-faced boy, and whom a large section of Boston society supposed to be + “engaged” to Lizzie Acton. Not, indeed, that it was to be conceived that + the Baroness was a possible party to any flirtation whatever; for she was + undoubtedly a married lady. It was generally known that her matrimonial + condition was of the “morganatic” order; but in its natural aversion to + suppose that this meant anything less than absolute wedlock, the + conscience of the community took refuge in the belief that it implied + something even more. + </p> + <p> + Acton wished her to think highly of American scenery, and he drove her to + great distances, picking out the prettiest roads and the largest points of + view. If we are good when we are contented, Eugenia’s virtues should now + certainly have been uppermost; for she found a charm in the rapid movement + through a wild country, and in a companion who from time to time made the + vehicle dip, with a motion like a swallow’s flight, over roads of + primitive construction, and who, as she felt, would do a great many things + that she might ask him. Sometimes, for a couple of hours together, there + were almost no houses; there were nothing but woods and rivers and lakes + and horizons adorned with bright-looking mountains. It seemed to the + Baroness very wild, as I have said, and lovely; but the impression added + something to that sense of the enlargement of opportunity which had been + born of her arrival in the New World. + </p> + <p> + One day—it was late in the afternoon—Acton pulled up his + horses on the crest of a hill which commanded a beautiful prospect. He let + them stand a long time to rest, while he sat there and talked with Madame + Münster. The prospect was beautiful in spite of there being nothing + human within sight. There was a wilderness of woods, and the gleam of a + distant river, and a glimpse of half the hill-tops in Massachusetts. The + road had a wide, grassy margin, on the further side of which there flowed + a deep, clear brook; there were wild flowers in the grass, and beside the + brook lay the trunk of a fallen tree. Acton waited a while; at last a + rustic wayfarer came trudging along the road. Acton asked him to hold the + horses—a service he consented to render, as a friendly turn to a + fellow-citizen. Then he invited the Baroness to descend, and the two + wandered away, across the grass, and sat down on the log beside the brook. + </p> + <p> + “I imagine it doesn’t remind you of Silberstadt,” said Acton. It was the + first time that he had mentioned Silberstadt to her, for particular + reasons. He knew she had a husband there, and this was disagreeable to + him; and, furthermore, it had been repeated to him that this husband + wished to put her away—a state of affairs to which even indirect + reference was to be deprecated. It was true, nevertheless, that the + Baroness herself had often alluded to Silberstadt; and Acton had often + wondered why her husband wished to get rid of her. It was a curious + position for a lady—this being known as a repudiated wife; and it is + worthy of observation that the Baroness carried it off with exceeding + grace and dignity. She had made it felt, from the first, that there were + two sides to the question, and that her own side, when she should choose + to present it, would be replete with touching interest. + </p> + <p> + “It does not remind me of the town, of course,” she said, “of the + sculptured gables and the Gothic churches, of the wonderful Schloss, with + its moat and its clustering towers. But it has a little look of some other + parts of the principality. One might fancy one’s self among those grand + old German forests, those legendary mountains; the sort of country one + sees from the windows at Schreckenstein.” + </p> + <p> + “What is Schreckenstein?” asked Acton. + </p> + <p> + “It is a great castle,—the summer residence of the Reigning Prince.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever lived there?” + </p> + <p> + “I have stayed there,” said the Baroness. Acton was silent; he looked a + while at the uncastled landscape before him. “It is the first time you + have ever asked me about Silberstadt,” she said. “I should think you would + want to know about my marriage; it must seem to you very strange.” + </p> + <p> + Acton looked at her a moment. “Now you wouldn’t like me to say that!” + </p> + <p> + “You Americans have such odd ways!” the Baroness declared. “You never ask + anything outright; there seem to be so many things you can’t talk about.” + </p> + <p> + “We Americans are very polite,” said Acton, whose national consciousness + had been complicated by a residence in foreign lands, and who yet disliked + to hear Americans abused. “We don’t like to tread upon people’s toes,” he + said. “But I should like very much to hear about your marriage. Now tell + me how it came about.” + </p> + <p> + “The Prince fell in love with me,” replied the Baroness simply. “He + pressed his suit very hard. At first he didn’t wish me to marry him; on + the contrary. But on that basis I refused to listen to him. So he offered + me marriage—in so far as he might. I was young, and I confess I was + rather flattered. But if it were to be done again now, I certainly should + not accept him.” + </p> + <p> + “How long ago was this?” asked Acton. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—several years,” said Eugenia. “You should never ask a woman for + dates.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I should think that when a woman was relating history “ Acton + answered. “And now he wants to break it off?” + </p> + <p> + “They want him to make a political marriage. It is his brother’s idea. His + brother is very clever.” + </p> + <p> + “They must be a precious pair!” cried Robert Acton. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness gave a little philosophic shrug. “<i>Que voulez-vous?</i> They are + princes. They think they are treating me very well. Silberstadt is a + perfectly despotic little state, and the Reigning Prince may annul the + marriage by a stroke of his pen. But he has promised me, nevertheless, not + to do so without my formal consent.” + </p> + <p> + “And this you have refused?” + </p> + <p> + “Hitherto. It is an indignity, and I have wished at least to make it + difficult for them. But I have a little document in my writing-desk which + I have only to sign and send back to the Prince.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it will be all over?” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness lifted her hand, and dropped it again. “Of course I shall + keep my title; at least, I shall be at liberty to keep it if I choose. And + I suppose I shall keep it. One must have a name. And I shall keep my + pension. It is very small—it is wretchedly small; but it is what I + live on.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have only to sign that paper?” Acton asked. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness looked at him a moment. “Do you urge it?” + </p> + <p> + He got up slowly, and stood with his hands in his pockets. “What do you + gain by not doing it?” + </p> + <p> + “I am supposed to gain this advantage—that if I delay, or temporize, + the Prince may come back to me, may make a stand against his brother. He + is very fond of me, and his brother has pushed him only little by little.” + </p> + <p> + “If he were to come back to you,” said Acton, “would you—would you + take him back?” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness met his eyes; she colored just a little. Then she rose. “I + should have the satisfaction of saying, ‘Now it is my turn. I break with + your Serene Highness!’” + </p> + <p> + They began to walk toward the carriage. “Well,” said Robert Acton, “it’s + a curious story! How did you make his acquaintance?” + </p> + <p> + “I was staying with an old lady—an old Countess—in Dresden. + She had been a friend of my father’s. My father was dead; I was very much + alone. My brother was wandering about the world in a theatrical troupe.” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother ought to have stayed with you,” Acton observed, “and kept + you from putting your trust in princes.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness was silent a moment, and then, “He did what he could,” she + said. “He sent me money. The old Countess encouraged the Prince; she was + even pressing. It seems to me,” Madame Münster added, gently, “that—under + the circumstances—I behaved very well.” + </p> + <p> + Acton glanced at her, and made the observation—he had made it before—that + a woman looks the prettier for having unfolded her wrongs or her + sufferings. “Well,” he reflected, audibly, “I should like to see you send + his Serene Highness—somewhere!” + </p> + <p> + Madame Münster stooped and plucked a daisy from the grass. “And not sign + my renunciation?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know—I don’t know,” said Acton. + </p> + <p> + “In one case I should have my revenge; in another case I should have my + liberty.” + </p> + <p> + Acton gave a little laugh as he helped her into the carriage. “At any + rate,” he said, “take good care of that paper.” + </p> + <p> + A couple of days afterward he asked her to come and see his house. The + visit had already been proposed, but it had been put off in consequence of + his mother’s illness. She was a constant invalid, and she had passed these + recent years, very patiently, in a great flowered arm-chair at her bedroom + window. Lately, for some days, she had been unable to see anyone; but now + she was better, and she sent the Baroness a very civil message. Acton had + wished their visitor to come to dinner; but Madame Münster preferred + to begin with a simple call. She had reflected that if she should go to + dinner Mr. Wentworth and his daughters would also be asked, and it had + seemed to her that the peculiar character of the occasion would be best + preserved in a <i>tête-à-tête</i> with her host. Why the occasion should have a + peculiar character she explained to no one. As far as anyone could see, + it was simply very pleasant. Acton came for her and drove her to his door, + an operation which was rapidly performed. His house the Baroness mentally + pronounced a very good one; more articulately, she declared that it was + enchanting. It was large and square and painted brown; it stood in a + well-kept shrubbery, and was approached, from the gate, by a short drive. + It was, moreover, a much more modern dwelling than Mr. Wentworth’s, and + was more redundantly upholstered and expensively ornamented. The Baroness + perceived that her entertainer had analyzed material comfort to a + sufficiently fine point. And then he possessed the most delightful + <i>chinoiseries</i>—trophies of his sojourn in the Celestial Empire: + pagodas of ebony and cabinets of ivory; sculptured monsters, grinning and + leering on chimney-pieces, in front of beautifully figured hand-screens; + porcelain dinner-sets, gleaming behind the glass doors of mahogany + buffets; large screens, in corners, covered with tense silk and + embroidered with mandarins and dragons. These things were scattered all + over the house, and they gave Eugenia a pretext for a complete domiciliary + visit. She liked it, she enjoyed it; she thought it a very nice place. It + had a mixture of the homely and the liberal, and though it was almost a + museum, the large, little-used rooms were as fresh and clean as a + well-kept dairy. Lizzie Acton told her that she dusted all the pagodas and + other curiosities every day with her own hands; and the Baroness answered + that she was evidently a household fairy. Lizzie had not at all the look + of a young lady who dusted things; she wore such pretty dresses and had + such delicate fingers that it was difficult to imagine her immersed in + sordid cares. She came to meet Madame Münster on her arrival, but she + said nothing, or almost nothing, and the Baroness again reflected—she + had had occasion to do so before—that American girls had no manners. + She disliked this little American girl, and she was quite prepared to + learn that she had failed to commend herself to Miss Acton. Lizzie struck + her as positive and explicit almost to pertness; and the idea of her + combining the apparent incongruities of a taste for housework and the + wearing of fresh, Parisian-looking dresses suggested the possession of a + dangerous energy. It was a source of irritation to the Baroness that in + this country it should seem to matter whether a little girl were a trifle + less or a trifle more of a nonentity; for Eugenia had hitherto been + conscious of no moral pressure as regards the appreciation of diminutive + virgins. It was perhaps an indication of Lizzie’s pertness that she very + soon retired and left the Baroness on her brother’s hands. Acton talked a + great deal about his <i>chinoiseries</i>; he knew a good deal about porcelain and + bric-à-brac. The Baroness, in her progress through the house, made, as it + were, a great many stations. She sat down everywhere, confessed to being a + little tired, and asked about the various objects with a curious mixture + of alertness and inattention. If there had been anyone to say it to she + would have declared that she was positively in love with her host; but she + could hardly make this declaration—even in the strictest confidence—to + Acton himself. It gave her, nevertheless, a pleasure that had some of the + charm of unwontedness to feel, with that admirable keenness with which she + was capable of feeling things, that he had a disposition without any + edges; that even his humorous irony always expanded toward the point. + One’s impression of his honesty was almost like carrying a bunch of + flowers; the perfume was most agreeable, but they were occasionally an + inconvenience. One could trust him, at any rate, round all the corners of + the world; and, withal, he was not absolutely simple, which would have + been excess; he was only relatively simple, which was quite enough for the + Baroness. + </p> + <p> + Lizzie reappeared to say that her mother would now be happy to receive + Madame Münster; and the Baroness followed her to Mrs. Acton’s apartment. + Eugenia reflected, as she went, that it was not the affectation of + impertinence that made her dislike this young lady, for on that ground she + could easily have beaten her. It was not an aspiration on the girl’s part + to rivalry, but a kind of laughing, childishly-mocking indifference to the + results of comparison. Mrs. Acton was an emaciated, sweet-faced woman of + five and fifty, sitting with pillows behind her, and looking out on a + clump of hemlocks. She was very modest, very timid, and very ill; she made + Eugenia feel grateful that she herself was not like that—neither so + ill, nor, possibly, so modest. On a chair, beside her, lay a volume of + Emerson’s Essays. It was a great occasion for poor Mrs. Acton, in her + helpless condition, to be confronted with a clever foreign lady, who had + more manner than any lady—any dozen ladies—that she had ever + seen. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard a great deal about you,” she said, softly, to the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “From your son, eh?” Eugenia asked. “He has talked to me immensely of you. + Oh, he talks of you as you would like,” the Baroness declared; “as such a + son <i>must</i> talk of such a mother!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Acton sat gazing; this was part of Madame Münster’s “manner.” But + Robert Acton was gazing too, in vivid consciousness that he had barely + mentioned his mother to their brilliant guest. He never talked of this + still maternal presence,—a presence refined to such delicacy that it + had almost resolved itself, with him, simply into the subjective emotion + of gratitude. And Acton rarely talked of his emotions. The Baroness turned + her smile toward him, and she instantly felt that she had been observed to + be fibbing. She had struck a false note. But who were these people to whom + such fibbing was not pleasing? If they were annoyed, the Baroness was + equally so; and after the exchange of a few civil inquiries and low-voiced + responses she took leave of Mrs. Acton. She begged Robert not to come home + with her; she would get into the carriage alone; she preferred that. This + was imperious, and she thought he looked disappointed. While she stood + before the door with him—the carriage was turning in the gravel-walk—this + thought restored her serenity. + </p> + <p> + When she had given him her hand in farewell she looked at him a moment. “I + have almost decided to dispatch that paper,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He knew that she alluded to the document that she had called her + renunciation; and he assisted her into the carriage without saying + anything. But just before the vehicle began to move he said, “Well, when + you have in fact dispatched it, I hope you will let me know!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Felix Young finished Gertrude’s portrait, and he afterwards transferred to + canvas the features of many members of that circle of which it may be said + that he had become for the time the pivot and the centre. I am afraid it + must be confessed that he was a decidedly flattering painter, and that he + imparted to his models a romantic grace which seemed easily and cheaply + acquired by the payment of a hundred dollars to a young man who made + “sitting” so entertaining. For Felix was paid for his pictures, making, as + he did, no secret of the fact that in guiding his steps to the Western + world affectionate curiosity had gone hand in hand with a desire to better + his condition. He took his uncle’s portrait quite as if Mr. Wentworth had + never averted himself from the experiment; and as he compassed his end + only by the exercise of gentle violence, it is but fair to add that he + allowed the old man to give him nothing but his time. He passed his arm + into Mr. Wentworth’s one summer morning—very few arms indeed had + ever passed into Mr. Wentworth’s—and led him across the garden and + along the road into the studio which he had extemporized in the little + house among the apple trees. The grave gentleman felt himself more and + more fascinated by his clever nephew, whose fresh, demonstrative youth + seemed a compendium of experiences so strangely numerous. It appeared to + him that Felix must know a great deal; he would like to learn what he + thought about some of those things as regards which his own conversation + had always been formal, but his knowledge vague. Felix had a confident, + gayly trenchant way of judging human actions which Mr. Wentworth grew + little by little to envy; it seemed like criticism made easy. Forming an + opinion—say on a person’s conduct—was, with Mr. Wentworth, a + good deal like fumbling in a lock with a key chosen at hazard. He seemed + to himself to go about the world with a big bunch of these ineffectual + instruments at his girdle. His nephew, on the other hand, with a single + turn of the wrist, opened any door as adroitly as a horse-thief. He felt + obliged to keep up the convention that an uncle is always wiser than a + nephew, even if he could keep it up no otherwise than by listening in + serious silence to Felix’s quick, light, constant discourse. But there + came a day when he lapsed from consistency and almost asked his nephew’s + advice. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever entertained the idea of settling in the United States?” he + asked one morning, while Felix brilliantly plied his brush. + </p> + <p> + “My dear uncle,” said Felix, “excuse me if your question makes me smile a + little. To begin with, I have never entertained an idea. Ideas often + entertain <i>me</i>; but I am afraid I have never seriously made a plan. I know + what you are going to say; or rather, I know what you think, for I don’t + think you will say it—that this is very frivolous and loose-minded + on my part. So it is; but I am made like that; I take things as they come, + and somehow there is always some new thing to follow the last. In the + second place, I should never propose to <i>settle</i>. I can’t settle, my dear + uncle; I’m not a settler. I know that is what strangers are supposed to + do here; they always settle. But I haven’t—to answer your question—entertained + that idea.” + </p> + <p> + “You intend to return to Europe and resume your irregular manner of life?” + Mr. Wentworth inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t say I intend. But it’s very likely I shall go back to Europe. + After all, I am a European. I feel that, you know. It will depend a good + deal upon my sister. She’s even more of a European than I; here, you + know, she’s a picture out of her setting. And as for ‘resuming,’ dear + uncle, I really have never given up my irregular manner of life. What, for + me, could be more irregular than this?” + </p> + <p> + “Than what?” asked Mr. Wentworth, with his pale gravity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, than everything! Living in the midst of you, this way; this + charming, quiet, serious family life; fraternizing with Charlotte and + Gertrude; calling upon twenty young ladies and going out to walk with + them; sitting with you in the evening on the piazza and listening to the + crickets, and going to bed at ten o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Your description is very animated,” said Mr. Wentworth; “but I see + nothing improper in what you describe.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I, dear uncle. It is extremely delightful; I shouldn’t like + it if it were improper. I assure you I don’t like improper things; though + I dare say you think I do,” Felix went on, painting away. + </p> + <p> + “I have never accused you of that.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray don’t,” said Felix, “because, you see, at bottom I am a terrible + Philistine.” + </p> + <p> + “A Philistine?” repeated Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “I mean, as one may say, a plain, God-fearing man.” Mr. Wentworth looked + at him reservedly, like a mystified sage, and Felix continued, “I trust I + shall enjoy a venerable and venerated old age. I mean to live long. I can + hardly call that a plan, perhaps; but it’s a keen desire—a rosy + vision. I shall be a lively, perhaps even a frivolous old man!” + </p> + <p> + “It is natural,” said his uncle, sententiously, “that one should desire to + prolong an agreeable life. We have perhaps a selfish indisposition to + bring our pleasure to a close. But I presume,” he added, “that you expect + to marry.” + </p> + <p> + “That too, dear uncle, is a hope, a desire, a vision,” said Felix. It + occurred to him for an instant that this was possibly a preface to the + offer of the hand of one of Mr. Wentworth’s admirable daughters. But in + the name of decent modesty and a proper sense of the hard realities of + this world, Felix banished the thought. His uncle was the incarnation of + benevolence, certainly; but from that to accepting—much more + postulating—the idea of a union between a young lady with a dowry + presumptively brilliant and a penniless artist with no prospect of fame, + there was a very long way. Felix had lately become conscious of a + luxurious preference for the society—if possible unshared with + others—of Gertrude Wentworth; but he had relegated this young lady, + for the moment, to the coldly brilliant category of unattainable + possessions. She was not the first woman for whom he had entertained an + unpractical admiration. He had been in love with duchesses and countesses, + and he had made, once or twice, a perilously near approach to cynicism in + declaring that the disinterestedness of women had been overrated. On the + whole, he had tempered audacity with modesty; and it is but fair to him + now to say explicitly that he would have been incapable of taking + advantage of his present large allowance of familiarity to make love to + the younger of his handsome cousins. Felix had grown up among traditions + in the light of which such a proceeding looked like a grievous breach of + hospitality. I have said that he was always happy, and it may be counted + among the present sources of his happiness that he had as regards this + matter of his relations with Gertrude a deliciously good conscience. His + own deportment seemed to him suffused with the beauty of virtue—a + form of beauty that he admired with the same vivacity with which he + admired all other forms. + </p> + <p> + “I think that if you marry,” said Mr. Wentworth presently, “it will + conduce to your happiness.” + </p> + <p> + <i>“Sicurissimo!”</i> Felix exclaimed; and then, arresting his brush, he looked + at his uncle with a smile. “There is something I feel tempted to say to + you. May I risk it?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth drew himself up a little. “I am very safe; I don’t repeat + things.” But he hoped Felix would not risk too much. + </p> + <p> + Felix was laughing at his answer. + </p> + <p> + “It’s odd to hear you telling me how to be happy. I don’t think you know + yourself, dear uncle. Now, does that sound brutal?” + </p> + <p> + The old man was silent a moment, and then, with a dry dignity that + suddenly touched his nephew: “We may sometimes point out a road we are + unable to follow.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, don’t tell me you have had any sorrows,” Felix rejoined. “I didn’t + suppose it, and I didn’t mean to allude to them. I simply meant that you + all don’t amuse yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Amuse ourselves? We are not children.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely not! You have reached the proper age. I was saying that the + other day to Gertrude,” Felix added. “I hope it was not indiscreet.” + </p> + <p> + “If it was,” said Mr. Wentworth, with a keener irony than Felix would have + thought him capable of, “it was but your way of amusing yourself. I am + afraid you have never had a trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I have!” Felix declared, with some spirit; “before I knew + better. But you don’t catch me at it again.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth maintained for a while a silence more expressive than a + deep-drawn sigh. “You have no children,” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t tell me,” Felix exclaimed, “that your charming young people are a + source of grief to you!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t speak of Charlotte.” And then, after a pause, Mr. Wentworth + continued, “I don’t speak of Gertrude. But I feel considerable anxiety + about Clifford. I will tell you another time.” + </p> + <p> + The next time he gave Felix a sitting his nephew reminded him that he had + taken him into his confidence. “How is Clifford today?” Felix asked. “He + has always seemed to me a young man of remarkable discretion. Indeed, he + is only too discreet; he seems on his guard against me—as if he + thought me rather light company. The other day he told his sister—Gertrude + repeated it to me—that I was always laughing at him. If I laugh it + is simply from the impulse to try and inspire him with confidence. That is + the only way I have.” + </p> + <p> + “Clifford’s situation is no laughing matter,” said Mr. Wentworth. “It is + very peculiar, as I suppose you have guessed.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you mean his love affair with his cousin?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth stared, blushing a little. “I mean his absence from college. + He has been suspended. We have decided not to speak of it unless we are + asked.” + </p> + <p> + “Suspended?” Felix repeated. + </p> + <p> + “He has been requested by the Harvard authorities to absent himself for + six months. Meanwhile he is studying with Mr. Brand. We think Mr. Brand + will help him; at least we hope so.” + </p> + <p> + “What befell him at college?” Felix asked. “He was too fond of pleasure? + Mr. Brand certainly will not teach him any of those secrets!” + </p> + <p> + “He was too fond of something of which he should not have been fond. I + suppose it is considered a pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + Felix gave his light laugh. “My dear uncle, is there any doubt about its + being a pleasure? <i>C’est de son âge</i>, as they say in France.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have said rather it was a vice of later life—of + disappointed old age.” + </p> + <p> + Felix glanced at his uncle, with his lifted eyebrows, and then, “Of what + are you speaking?” he demanded, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Of the situation in which Clifford was found.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, he was found—he was caught?” + </p> + <p> + “Necessarily, he was caught. He couldn’t walk; he staggered.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Felix, “he drinks! I rather suspected that, from something I + observed the first day I came here. I quite agree with you that it is a + low taste. It’s not a vice for a gentleman. He ought to give it up.” + </p> + <p> + “We hope for a good deal from Mr. Brand’s influence,” Mr. Wentworth went + on. “He has talked to him from the first. And he never touches anything + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “I will talk to him—I will talk to him!” Felix declared, gayly. + </p> + <p> + “What will you say to him?” asked his uncle, with some apprehension. + </p> + <p> + Felix for some moments answered nothing. “Do you mean to marry him to his + cousin?” he asked at last. + </p> + <p> + “Marry him?” echoed Mr. Wentworth. “I shouldn’t think his cousin would + want to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no understanding, then, with Mrs. Acton?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth stared, almost blankly. “I have never discussed such + subjects with her.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think it might be time,” said Felix. “Lizzie Acton is admirably + pretty, and if Clifford is dangerous....” + </p> + <p> + “They are not engaged,” said Mr. Wentworth. “I have no reason to suppose + they are engaged.” + </p> + <p> + <i>“Par exemple!”</i> cried Felix. “A clandestine engagement? Trust me, Clifford, + as I say, is a charming boy. He is incapable of that. Lizzie Acton, then, + would not be jealous of another woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly hope not,” said the old man, with a vague sense of jealousy + being an even lower vice than a love of liquor. + </p> + <p> + “The best thing for Clifford, then,” Felix propounded, “is to become + interested in some clever, charming woman.” And he paused in his painting, + and, with his elbows on his knees, looked with bright communicativeness at + his uncle. “You see, I believe greatly in the influence of women. Living + with women helps to make a man a gentleman. It is very true Clifford has + his sisters, who are so charming. But there should be a different + sentiment in play from the fraternal, you know. He has Lizzie Acton; but + she, perhaps, is rather immature.” + </p> + <p> + “I suspect Lizzie has talked to him, reasoned with him,” said Mr. + Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “On the impropriety of getting tipsy—on the beauty of temperance? + That is dreary work for a pretty young girl. No,” Felix continued; + “Clifford ought to frequent some agreeable woman, who, without ever + mentioning such unsavory subjects, would give him a sense of its being + very ridiculous to be fuddled. If he could fall in love with her a little, + so much the better. The thing would operate as a cure.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, what lady should you suggest?” asked Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “There is a clever woman under your hand. My sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Your sister—under my hand?” Mr. Wentworth repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Say a word to Clifford. Tell him to be bold. He is well disposed already; + he has invited her two or three times to drive. But I don’t think he comes + to see her. Give him a hint to come—to come often. He will sit there + of an afternoon, and they will talk. It will do him good.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth meditated. “You think she will exercise a helpful + influence?” + </p> + <p> + “She will exercise a civilizing—I may call it a sobering—influence. + A charming, clever, witty woman always does—especially if she is a + little of a coquette. My dear uncle, the society of such women has been + half my education. If Clifford is suspended, as you say, from college, let + Eugenia be his preceptress.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth continued thoughtful. “You think Eugenia is a coquette?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “What pretty woman is not?” Felix demanded in turn. But this, for Mr. + Wentworth, could at the best have been no answer, for he did not think his + niece pretty. “With Clifford,” the young man pursued, “Eugenia will simply + be enough of a coquette to be a little ironical. That’s what he needs. So + you recommend him to be nice with her, you know. The suggestion will come + best from you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I understand,” asked the old man, “that I am to suggest to my son to + make a—a profession of—of affection to Madame Münster?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes—a profession!” cried Felix sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + “But, as I understand it, Madame Münster is a married woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Felix, smiling, “of course she can’t marry him. But she will do + what she can.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth sat for some time with his eyes on the floor; at last he got + up. “I don’t think,” he said, “that I can undertake to recommend my son + any such course.” And without meeting Felix’s surprised glance he broke + off his sitting, which was not resumed for a fortnight. + </p> + <p> + Felix was very fond of the little lake which occupied so many of Mr. + Wentworth’s numerous acres, and of a remarkable pine grove which lay upon + the further side of it, planted upon a steep embankment and haunted by the + summer breeze. The murmur of the air in the far off tree-tops had a + strange distinctness; it was almost articulate. One afternoon the young + man came out of his painting-room and passed the open door of Eugenia’s + little salon. Within, in the cool dimness, he saw his sister, dressed in + white, buried in her arm-chair, and holding to her face an immense + bouquet. Opposite to her sat Clifford Wentworth, twirling his hat. He had + evidently just presented the bouquet to the Baroness, whose fine eyes, as + she glanced at him over the big roses and geraniums, wore a conversational + smile. Felix, standing on the threshold of the cottage, hesitated for a + moment as to whether he should retrace his steps and enter the parlor. + Then he went his way and passed into Mr. Wentworth’s garden. That + civilizing process to which he had suggested that Clifford should be + subjected appeared to have come on of itself. Felix was very sure, at + least, that Mr. Wentworth had not adopted his ingenious device for + stimulating the young man’s aesthetic consciousness. “Doubtless he + supposes,” he said to himself, after the conversation that has been + narrated, “that I desire, out of fraternal benevolence, to procure for + Eugenia the amusement of a flirtation—or, as he probably calls it, + an intrigue—with the too susceptible Clifford. It must be admitted—and + I have noticed it before—that nothing exceeds the license + occasionally taken by the imagination of very rigid people.” Felix, on his + own side, had of course said nothing to Clifford; but he had observed to + Eugenia that Mr. Wentworth was much mortified at his son’s low tastes. “We + ought to do something to help them, after all their kindness to us,” he + had added. “Encourage Clifford to come and see you, and inspire him with a + taste for conversation. That will supplant the other, which only comes + from his puerility, from his not taking his position in the world—that + of a rich young man of ancient stock—seriously enough. Make him a + little more serious. Even if he makes love to you it is no great matter.” + </p> + <p> + “I am to offer myself as a superior form of intoxication—a + substitute for a brandy bottle, eh?” asked the Baroness. “Truly, in this + country one comes to strange uses.” + </p> + <p> + But she had not positively declined to undertake Clifford’s higher + education, and Felix, who had not thought of the matter again, being + haunted with visions of more personal profit, now reflected that the work + of redemption had fairly begun. The idea in prospect had seemed of the + happiest, but in operation it made him a trifle uneasy. “What if Eugenia—what + if Eugenia”—he asked himself softly; the question dying away in his + sense of Eugenia’s undetermined capacity. But before Felix had time either + to accept or to reject its admonition, even in this vague form, he saw + Robert Acton turn out of Mr. Wentworth’s enclosure, by a distant gate, and + come toward the cottage in the orchard. Acton had evidently walked from + his own house along a shady by-way and was intending to pay a visit to + Madame Münster. Felix watched him a moment; then he turned away. Acton + could be left to play the part of Providence and interrupt—if + interruption were needed—Clifford’s entanglement with Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + Felix passed through the garden toward the house and toward a postern gate + which opened upon a path leading across the fields, beside a little wood, + to the lake. He stopped and looked up at the house; his eyes rested more + particularly upon a certain open window, on the shady side. Presently + Gertrude appeared there, looking out into the summer light. He took off + his hat to her and bade her good-day; he remarked that he was going to row + across the pond, and begged that she would do him the honor to accompany + him. She looked at him a moment; then, without saying anything, she turned + away. But she soon reappeared below in one of those quaint and charming + Leghorn hats, tied with white satin bows, that were worn at that period; + she also carried a green parasol. She went with him to the edge of the + lake, where a couple of boats were always moored; they got into one of + them, and Felix, with gentle strokes, propelled it to the opposite shore. + The day was the perfection of summer weather; the little lake was the + color of sunshine; the plash of the oars was the only sound, and they + found themselves listening to it. They disembarked, and, by a winding + path, ascended the pine-crested mound which overlooked the water, whose + white expanse glittered between the trees. The place was delightfully + cool, and had the added charm that—in the softly sounding pine + boughs—you seemed to hear the coolness as well as feel it. Felix and + Gertrude sat down on the rust-colored carpet of pine-needles and talked of + many things. Felix spoke at last, in the course of talk, of his going + away; it was the first time he had alluded to it. + </p> + <p> + “You are going away?” said Gertrude, looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “Some day—when the leaves begin to fall. You know I can’t stay + forever.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude transferred her eyes to the outer prospect, and then, after a + pause, she said, “I shall never see you again.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Felix. “We shall probably both survive my departure.” + </p> + <p> + But Gertrude only repeated, “I shall never see you again. I shall never + hear of you,” she went on. “I shall know nothing about you. I knew nothing + about you before, and it will be the same again.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew nothing about you then, unfortunately,” said Felix. “But now I + shall write to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t write to me. I shall not answer you,” Gertrude declared. + </p> + <p> + “I should of course burn your letters,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at him again. “Burn my letters? You sometimes say strange + things.” + </p> + <p> + “They are not strange in themselves,” the young man answered. “They are + only strange as said to you. You will come to Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “With whom shall I come?” She asked this question simply; she was very + much in earnest. Felix was interested in her earnestness; for some moments + he hesitated. “You can’t tell me that,” she pursued. “You can’t say that I + shall go with my father and my sister; you don’t believe that.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall keep your letters,” said Felix, presently, for all answer. + </p> + <p> + “I never write. I don’t know how to write.” Gertrude, for some time, said + nothing more; and her companion, as he looked at her, wished it had not + been “disloyal” to make love to the daughter of an old gentleman who had + offered one hospitality. The afternoon waned; the shadows stretched + themselves; and the light grew deeper in the western sky. Two persons + appeared on the opposite side of the lake, coming from the house and + crossing the meadow. “It is Charlotte and Mr. Brand,” said Gertrude. “They + are coming over here.” But Charlotte and Mr. Brand only came down to the + edge of the water, and stood there, looking across; they made no motion to + enter the boat that Felix had left at the mooring-place. Felix waved his + hat to them; it was too far to call. They made no visible response, and + they presently turned away and walked along the shore. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Brand is not demonstrative,” said Felix. “He is never demonstrative + to me. He sits silent, with his chin in his hand, looking at me. Sometimes + he looks away. Your father tells me he is so eloquent; and I should like + to hear him talk. He looks like such a noble young man. But with me he + will never talk. And yet I am so fond of listening to brilliant imagery!” + </p> + <p> + “He is very eloquent,” said Gertrude; “but he has no brilliant imagery. I + have heard him talk a great deal. I knew that when they saw us they would + not come over here.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, he is making <i>la cour</i>, as they say, to your sister? They desire to be + alone?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Gertrude, gravely, “they have no such reason as that for being + alone.” + </p> + <p> + “But why doesn’t he make <i>la cour</i> to Charlotte?” Felix inquired. “She is + so pretty, so gentle, so good.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude glanced at him, and then she looked at the distantly-seen couple + they were discussing. Mr. Brand and Charlotte were walking side by side. + They might have been a pair of lovers, and yet they might not. “They think + I should not be here,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “With me? I thought you didn’t have those ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t understand. There are a great many things you don’t + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand my stupidity. But why, then, do not Charlotte and Mr. Brand, + who, as an elder sister and a clergyman, are free to walk about together, + come over and make me wiser by breaking up the unlawful interview into + which I have lured you?” + </p> + <p> + “That is the last thing they would do,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + Felix stared at her a moment, with his lifted eyebrows. <i>“Je n’y comprends + rien!”</i> he exclaimed; then his eyes followed for a while the retreating + figures of this critical pair. “You may say what you please,” he declared; + “it is evident to me that your sister is not indifferent to her clever + companion. It is agreeable to her to be walking there with him. I can see + that from here.” And in the excitement of observation Felix rose to his + feet. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude rose also, but she made no attempt to emulate her companion’s + discovery; she looked rather in another direction. Felix’s words had + struck her; but a certain delicacy checked her. “She is certainly not + indifferent to Mr. Brand; she has the highest opinion of him.” + </p> + <p> + “One can see it—one can see it,” said Felix, in a tone of amused + contemplation, with his head on one side. Gertrude turned her back to the + opposite shore; it was disagreeable to her to look, but she hoped Felix + would say something more. “Ah, they have wandered away into the wood,” he + added. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude turned round again. “She is <i>not</i> in love with him,” she said; it + seemed her duty to say that. + </p> + <p> + “Then he is in love with her; or if he is not, he ought to be. She is such + a perfect little woman of her kind. She reminds me of a pair of + old-fashioned silver sugar-tongs; you know I am very fond of sugar. And + she is very nice with Mr. Brand; I have noticed that; very gentle and + gracious.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude reflected a moment. Then she took a great resolution. “She wants + him to marry me,” she said. “So of course she is nice.” + </p> + <p> + Felix’s eyebrows rose higher than ever. “To marry you! Ah, ah, this is + interesting. And you think one must be very nice with a man to induce him + to do that?” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude had turned a little pale, but she went on, “Mr. Brand wants it + himself.” + </p> + <p> + Felix folded his arms and stood looking at her. “I see—I see,” he + said quickly. “Why did you never tell me this before?” + </p> + <p> + “It is disagreeable to me to speak of it even now. I wished simply to + explain to you about Charlotte.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t wish to marry Mr. Brand, then?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Gertrude, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “And does your father wish it?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much.” + </p> + <p> + “And you don’t like him—you have refused him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t wish to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “Your father and sister think you ought to, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a long story,” said Gertrude. “They think there are good reasons. I + can’t explain it. They think I have obligations, and that I have + encouraged him.” + </p> + <p> + Felix smiled at her, as if she had been telling him an amusing story about + someone else. “I can’t tell you how this interests me,” he said. “Now you + don’t recognize these reasons—these obligations?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure; it is not easy.” And she picked up her parasol and turned + away, as if to descend the slope. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me this,” Felix went on, going with her: “are you likely to give in—to + let them persuade you?” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at him with the serious face that she had constantly worn, + in opposition to his almost eager smile. “I shall never marry Mr. Brand,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “I see!” Felix rejoined. And they slowly descended the hill together, + saying nothing till they reached the margin of the pond. “It is your own + affair,” he then resumed; “but do you know, I am not altogether glad? If + it were settled that you were to marry Mr. Brand I should take a certain + comfort in the arrangement. I should feel more free. I have no right to + make love to you myself, eh?” And he paused, lightly pressing his argument + upon her. + </p> + <p> + “None whatever,” replied Gertrude quickly—too quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Your father would never hear of it; I haven’t a penny. Mr. Brand, of + course, has property of his own, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe he has some property; but that has nothing to do with it.” + </p> + <p> + “With you, of course not; but with your father and sister it must have. + So, as I say, if this were settled, I should feel more at liberty.” + </p> + <p> + “More at liberty?” Gertrude repeated. “Please unfasten the boat.” + </p> + <p> + Felix untwisted the rope and stood holding it. “I should be able to say + things to you that I can’t give myself the pleasure of saying now,” he + went on. “I could tell you how much I admire you, without seeming to + pretend to that which I have no right to pretend to. I should make violent + love to you,” he added, laughing, “if I thought you were so placed as not + to be offended by it.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean if I were engaged to another man? That is strange reasoning!” + Gertrude exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “In that case you would not take me seriously.” + </p> + <p> + “I take everyone seriously,” said Gertrude. And without his help she + stepped lightly into the boat. + </p> + <p> + Felix took up the oars and sent it forward. “Ah, this is what you have + been thinking about? It seemed to me you had something on your mind. I + wish very much,” he added, “that you would tell me some of these so-called + reasons—these obligations.” + </p> + <p> + “They are not real reasons—good reasons,” said Gertrude, looking at + the pink and yellow gleams in the water. + </p> + <p> + “I can understand that! Because a handsome girl has had a spark of + coquetry, that is no reason.” + </p> + <p> + “If you mean me, it’s not that. I have not done that.” + </p> + <p> + “It is something that troubles you, at any rate,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Not so much as it used to,” Gertrude rejoined. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, smiling always. “That is not saying much, eh?” But she + only rested her eyes, very gravely, on the lighted water. She seemed to + him to be trying to hide the signs of the trouble of which she had just + told him. Felix felt, at all times, much the same impulse to dissipate + visible melancholy that a good housewife feels to brush away dust. There + was something he wished to brush away now; suddenly he stopped rowing and + poised his oars. “Why should Mr. Brand have addressed himself to you, and + not to your sister?” he asked. “I am sure she would listen to him.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude, in her family, was thought capable of a good deal of levity; but + her levity had never gone so far as this. It moved her greatly, however, + to hear Felix say that he was sure of something; so that, raising her eyes + toward him, she tried intently, for some moments, to conjure up this + wonderful image of a love-affair between her own sister and her own + suitor. We know that Gertrude had an imaginative mind; so that it is not + impossible that this effort should have been partially successful. But she + only murmured, “Ah, Felix! ah, Felix!” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t they marry? Try and make them marry!” cried Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Try and make them?” + </p> + <p> + “Turn the tables on them. Then they will leave you alone. I will help you + as far as I can.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude’s heart began to beat; she was greatly excited; she had never had + anything so interesting proposed to her before. Felix had begun to row + again, and he now sent the boat home with long strokes. “I believe she + <i>does</i> care for him!” said Gertrude, after they had disembarked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course she does, and we will marry them off. It will make them happy; + it will make everyone happy. We shall have a wedding and I will write an + epithalamium.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems as if it would make <i>me</i> happy,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “To get rid of Mr. Brand, eh? To recover your liberty?” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude walked on. “To see my sister married to so good a man.” + </p> + <p> + Felix gave his light laugh. “You always put things on those grounds; you + will never say anything for yourself. You are all so afraid, here, of + being selfish. I don’t think you know how,” he went on. “Let me show you! + It will make me happy for myself, and for just the reverse of what I told + you a while ago. After that, when I make love to you, you will have to + think I mean it.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never think you mean anything,” said Gertrude. “You are too + fantastic.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” cried Felix, “that’s a license to say everything! Gertrude, I adore + you!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + Charlotte and Mr. Brand had not returned when they reached the house; but + the Baroness had come to tea, and Robert Acton also, who now regularly + asked for a place at this generous repast or made his appearance later in + the evening. Clifford Wentworth, with his juvenile growl, remarked upon + it. + </p> + <p> + “You are always coming to tea nowadays, Robert,” he said. “I should think + you had drunk enough tea in China.” + </p> + <p> + “Since when is Mr. Acton more frequent?” asked the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Since you came,” said Clifford. “It seems as if you were a kind of + attraction.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I am a curiosity,” said the Baroness. “Give me time and I will + make you a salon.” + </p> + <p> + “It would fall to pieces after you go!” exclaimed Acton. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk about her going, in that familiar way,” Clifford said. “It + makes me feel gloomy.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth glanced at his son, and taking note of these words, wondered + if Felix had been teaching him, according to the programme he had sketched + out, to make love to the wife of a German prince. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte came in late with Mr. Brand; but Gertrude, to whom, at least, + Felix had taught something, looked in vain, in her face, for the traces of + a guilty passion. Mr. Brand sat down by Gertrude, and she presently asked + him why they had not crossed the pond to join Felix and herself. + </p> + <p> + “It is cruel of you to ask me that,” he answered, very softly. He had a + large morsel of cake before him; but he fingered it without eating it. “I + sometimes think you are growing cruel,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude said nothing; she was afraid to speak. There was a kind of rage + in her heart; she felt as if she could easily persuade herself that she + was persecuted. She said to herself that it was quite right that she + should not allow him to make her believe she was wrong. She thought of + what Felix had said to her; she wished indeed Mr. Brand would marry + Charlotte. She looked away from him and spoke no more. Mr. Brand ended by + eating his cake, while Felix sat opposite, describing to Mr. Wentworth the + students’ duels at Heidelberg. After tea they all dispersed themselves, as + usual, upon the piazza and in the garden; and Mr. Brand drew near to + Gertrude again. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t come to you this afternoon because you were not alone,” he + began; “because you were with a newer friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Felix? He is an old friend by this time.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand looked at the ground for some moments. “I thought I was prepared + to hear you speak in that way,” he resumed. “But I find it very painful.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see what else I can say,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand walked beside her for a while in silence; Gertrude wished he + would go away. “He is certainly very accomplished. But I think I ought to + advise you.” + </p> + <p> + “To advise me?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I know your nature.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you don’t,” said Gertrude, with a soft laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You make yourself out worse than you are—to please him,” Mr. Brand + said, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Worse—to please him? What do you mean?” asked Gertrude, stopping. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand stopped also, and with the same soft straight-forwardness, “He + doesn’t care for the things you care for—the great questions of + life.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude, with her eyes on his, shook her head. “I don’t care for the + great questions of life. They are much beyond me.” + </p> + <p> + “There was a time when you didn’t say that,” said Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” rejoined Gertrude, “I think you made me talk a great deal of + nonsense. And it depends,” she added, “upon what you call the great + questions of life. There are some things I care for.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they the things you talk about with your cousin?” + </p> + <p> + “You should not say things to me against my cousin, Mr. Brand,” said + Gertrude. “That is dishonorable.” + </p> + <p> + He listened to this respectfully; then he answered, with a little + vibration of the voice, “I should be very sorry to do anything + dishonorable. But I don’t see why it is dishonorable to say that your + cousin is frivolous.” + </p> + <p> + “Go and say it to himself!” + </p> + <p> + “I think he would admit it,” said Mr. Brand. “That is the tone he would + take. He would not be ashamed of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I am not ashamed of it!” Gertrude declared. “That is probably what I + like him for. I am frivolous myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You are trying, as I said just now, to lower yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I am trying for once to be natural!” cried Gertrude passionately. “I have + been pretending, all my life; I have been dishonest; it is you that have + made me so!” Mr. Brand stood gazing at her, and she went on, “Why + shouldn’t I be frivolous, if I want? One has a right to be frivolous, if it’s + one’s nature. No, I don’t care for the great questions. I care for + pleasure—for amusement. Perhaps I am fond of wicked things; it is + very possible!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand remained staring; he was even a little pale, as if he had been + frightened. “I don’t think you know what you are saying!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not. Perhaps I am talking nonsense. But it is only with you that + I talk nonsense. I never do so with my cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “I will speak to you again, when you are less excited,” said Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “I am always excited when you speak to me. I must tell you that—even + if it prevents you altogether, in future. Your speaking to me irritates + me. With my cousin it is very different. That seems quiet and natural.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, and then he looked away, with a kind of helpless + distress, at the dusky garden and the faint summer stars. After which, + suddenly turning back, “Gertrude, Gertrude!” he softly groaned. “Am I + really losing you?” + </p> + <p> + She was touched—she was pained; but it had already occurred to her + that she might do something better than say so. It would not have + alleviated her companion’s distress to perceive, just then, whence she had + sympathetically borrowed this ingenuity. “I am not sorry for you,” + Gertrude said; “for in paying so much attention to me you are following a + shadow—you are wasting something precious. There is something else + you might have that you don’t look at—something better than I am. + That is a reality!” And then, with intention, she looked at him and tried + to smile a little. He thought this smile of hers very strange; but she + turned away and left him. + </p> + <p> + She wandered about alone in the garden wondering what Mr. Brand would make + of her words, which it had been a singular pleasure for her to utter. + Shortly after, passing in front of the house, she saw at a distance two + persons standing near the garden gate. It was Mr. Brand going away and + bidding good-night to Charlotte, who had walked down with him from the + house. Gertrude saw that the parting was prolonged. Then she turned her + back upon it. She had not gone very far, however, when she heard her + sister slowly following her. She neither turned round nor waited for her; + she knew what Charlotte was going to say. Charlotte, who at last overtook + her, in fact presently began; she had passed her arm into Gertrude’s. + </p> + <p> + “Will you listen to me, dear, if I say something very particular?” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you are going to say,” said Gertrude. “Mr. Brand feels very + badly.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Gertrude, how can you treat him so?” Charlotte demanded. And as her + sister made no answer she added, “After all he has done for you!” + </p> + <p> + “What has he done for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder you can ask, Gertrude. He has helped you so. You told me so + yourself, a great many times. You told me that he helped you to struggle + with your—your peculiarities. You told me that he had taught you how + to govern your temper.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Gertrude said nothing. Then, “Was my temper very bad?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am not accusing you, Gertrude,” said Charlotte. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing, then?” her sister demanded, with a short laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I am pleading for Mr. Brand—reminding you of all you owe him.” + </p> + <p> + “I have given it all back,” said Gertrude, still with her little laugh. + “He can take back the virtue he imparted! I want to be wicked again.” + </p> + <p> + Her sister made her stop in the path, and fixed upon her, in the darkness, + a sweet, reproachful gaze. “If you talk this way I shall almost believe + it. Think of all we owe Mr. Brand. Think of how he has always expected + something of you. Think how much he has been to us. Think of his beautiful + influence upon Clifford.” + </p> + <p> + “He is very good,” said Gertrude, looking at her sister. “I know he is + very good. But he shouldn’t speak against Felix.” + </p> + <p> + “Felix is good,” Charlotte answered, softly but promptly. “Felix is very + wonderful. Only he is so different. Mr. Brand is much nearer to us. I + should never think of going to Felix with a trouble—with a question. + Mr. Brand is much more to us, Gertrude.” + </p> + <p> + “He is very—very good,” Gertrude repeated. “He is more to you; yes, + much more. Charlotte,” she added suddenly, “you are in love with him!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Gertrude!” cried poor Charlotte; and her sister saw her blushing in + the darkness. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude put her arm round her. “I wish he would marry you!” she went on. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte shook herself free. “You must not say such things!” she + exclaimed, beneath her breath. + </p> + <p> + “You like him more than you say, and he likes you more than he knows.” + </p> + <p> + “This is very cruel of you!” Charlotte Wentworth murmured. + </p> + <p> + But if it was cruel Gertrude continued pitiless. “Not if it’s true,” she + answered. “I wish he would marry you.” + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t say that.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean to tell him so!” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Gertrude, Gertrude!” her sister almost moaned. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if he speaks to me again about myself. I will say, ‘Why don’t you + marry Charlotte? She’s a thousand times better than I.’” + </p> + <p> + “You <i>are</i> wicked; you <i>are</i> changed!” cried her sister. + </p> + <p> + “If you don’t like it you can prevent it,” said Gertrude. “You can prevent + it by keeping him from speaking to me!” And with this she walked away, + very conscious of what she had done; measuring it and finding a certain + joy and a quickened sense of freedom in it. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth was rather wide of the mark in suspecting that Clifford had + begun to pay unscrupulous compliments to his brilliant cousin; for the + young man had really more scruples than he received credit for in his + family. He had a certain transparent shamefacedness which was in itself a + proof that he was not at his ease in dissipation. His collegiate + peccadilloes had aroused a domestic murmur as disagreeable to the young + man as the creaking of his boots would have been to a house-breaker. Only, + as the house-breaker would have simplified matters by removing his + <i>chaussures</i>, it had seemed to Clifford that the shortest cut to comfortable + relations with people—relations which should make him cease to think + that when they spoke to him they meant something improving—was to + renounce all ambition toward a nefarious development. And, in fact, + Clifford’s ambition took the most commendable form. He thought of himself + in the future as the well-known and much-liked Mr. Wentworth, of Boston, + who should, in the natural course of prosperity, have married his pretty + cousin, Lizzie Acton; should live in a wide-fronted house, in view of the + Common; and should drive, behind a light wagon, over the damp autumn + roads, a pair of beautifully matched sorrel horses. Clifford’s vision of + the coming years was very simple; its most definite features were this + element of familiar matrimony and the duplication of his resources for + trotting. He had not yet asked his cousin to marry him; but he meant to do + so as soon as he had taken his degree. Lizzie was serenely conscious of + his intention, and she had made up her mind that he would improve. Her + brother, who was very fond of this light, quick, competent little Lizzie, + saw on his side no reason to interpose. It seemed to him a graceful social + law that Clifford and his sister should become engaged; he himself was not + engaged, but everyone else, fortunately, was not such a fool as he. He + was fond of Clifford, as well, and had his own way—of which it must + be confessed he was a little ashamed—of looking at those aberrations + which had led to the young man’s compulsory retirement from the + neighboring seat of learning. Acton had seen the world, as he said to + himself; he had been to China and had knocked about among men. He had + learned the essential difference between a nice young fellow and a mean + young fellow, and was satisfied that there was no harm in Clifford. He + believed—although it must be added that he had not quite the courage + to declare it—in the doctrine of wild oats, and thought it a useful + preventive of superfluous fears. If Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte and Mr. + Brand would only apply it in Clifford’s case, they would be happier; and + Acton thought it a pity they should not be happier. They took the boy’s + misdemeanors too much to heart; they talked to him too solemnly; they + frightened and bewildered him. Of course there was the great standard of + morality, which forbade that a man should get tipsy, play at billiards for + money, or cultivate his sensual consciousness; but what fear was there + that poor Clifford was going to run a tilt at any great standard? It had, + however, never occurred to Acton to dedicate the Baroness Münster to the + redemption of a refractory collegian. The instrument, here, would have + seemed to him quite too complex for the operation. Felix, on the other + hand, had spoken in obedience to the belief that the more charming a woman + is the more numerous, literally, are her definite social uses. + </p> + <p> + Eugenia herself, as we know, had plenty of leisure to enumerate her uses. + As I have had the honor of intimating, she had come four thousand miles to + seek her fortune; and it is not to be supposed that after this great + effort she could neglect any apparent aid to advancement. It is my + misfortune that in attempting to describe in a short compass the + deportment of this remarkable woman I am obliged to express things rather + brutally. I feel this to be the case, for instance, when I say that she + had primarily detected such an aid to advancement in the person of Robert + Acton, but that she had afterwards remembered that a prudent archer has + always a second bowstring. Eugenia was a woman of finely-mingled motive, + and her intentions were never sensibly gross. She had a sort of aesthetic + ideal for Clifford which seemed to her a disinterested reason for taking + him in hand. It was very well for a fresh-colored young gentleman to be + ingenuous; but Clifford, really, was crude. With such a pretty face he + ought to have prettier manners. She would teach him that, with a beautiful + name, the expectation of a large property, and, as they said in Europe, a + social position, an only son should know how to carry himself. + </p> + <p> + Once Clifford had begun to come and see her by himself and for himself, he + came very often. He hardly knew why he should come; he saw her almost + every evening at his father’s house; he had nothing particular to say to + her. She was not a young girl, and fellows of his age called only upon + young girls. He exaggerated her age; she seemed to him an old woman; it + was happy that the Baroness, with all her intelligence, was incapable of + guessing this. But gradually it struck Clifford that visiting old women + might be, if not a natural, at least, as they say of some articles of + diet, an acquired taste. The Baroness was certainly a very amusing old + woman; she talked to him as no lady—and indeed no gentleman—had + ever talked to him before. + </p> + <p> + “You should go to Europe and make the tour,” she said to him one + afternoon. “Of course, on leaving college you will go.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to go,” Clifford declared. “I know some fellows who have + been to Europe. They say you can have better fun here.” + </p> + <p> + “That depends. It depends upon your idea of fun. Your friends probably + were not introduced.” + </p> + <p> + “Introduced?” Clifford demanded. + </p> + <p> + “They had no opportunity of going into society; they formed no <i>relations</i>.” + This was one of a certain number of words that the Baroness often + pronounced in the French manner. + </p> + <p> + “They went to a ball, in Paris; I know that,” said Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there are balls and balls; especially in Paris. No, you must go, you + know; it is not a thing from which you can dispense yourself. You need + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m very well,” said Clifford. “I’m not sick.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean for your health, my poor child. I mean for your manners.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t got any manners!” growled Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. You don’t mind my assenting to that, eh?” asked the Baroness + with a smile. “You must go to Europe and get a few. You can get them + better there. It is a pity you might not have come while I was living in—in + Germany. I would have introduced you; I had a charming little circle. You + would perhaps have been rather young; but the younger one begins, I think, + the better. Now, at any rate, you have no time to lose, and when I return + you must immediately come to me.” + </p> + <p> + All this, to Clifford’s apprehension, was a great mixture—his + beginning young, Eugenia’s return to Europe, his being introduced to her + charming little circle. What was he to begin, and what was her little + circle? His ideas about her marriage had a good deal of vagueness; but + they were in so far definite as that he felt it to be a matter not to be + freely mentioned. He sat and looked all round the room; he supposed she + was alluding in some way to her marriage. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t want to go to Germany,” he said; it seemed to him the most + convenient thing to say. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him a while, smiling with her lips, but not with her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You have scruples?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Scruples?” said Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “You young people, here, are very singular; one doesn’t know where to + expect you. When you are not extremely improper you are so terribly + proper. I dare say you think that, owing to my irregular marriage, I live + with loose people. You were never more mistaken. I have been all the more + particular.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Clifford, honestly distressed. “I never thought such a + thing as that.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you very sure? I am convinced that your father does, and your + sisters. They say to each other that here I am on my good behavior, but + that over there—married by the left hand—I associate with + light women.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” cried Clifford, energetically, “they don’t say such things as + that to each other!” + </p> + <p> + “If they think them they had better say them,” the Baroness rejoined. + “Then they can be contradicted. Please contradict that whenever you hear + it, and don’t be afraid of coming to see me on account of the company I + keep. I have the honor of knowing more distinguished men, my poor child, + than you are likely to see in a life-time. I see very few women; but those + are women of rank. So, my dear young Puritan, you needn’t be afraid. I am + not in the least one of those who think that the society of women who have + lost their place in the <i>vrai monde</i> is necessary to form a young man. I + have never taken that tone. I have kept my place myself, and I think we + are a much better school than the others. Trust me, Clifford, and I will + prove that to you,” the Baroness continued, while she made the agreeable + reflection that she could not, at least, be accused of perverting her + young kinsman. “So if you ever fall among thieves don’t go about saying I + sent you to them.” + </p> + <p> + Clifford thought it so comical that he should know—in spite of her + figurative language—what she meant, and that she should mean what he + knew, that he could hardly help laughing a little, although he tried hard. + “Oh, no! oh, no!” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Laugh out, laugh out, if I amuse you!” cried the Baroness. “I am here for + that!” And Clifford thought her a very amusing person indeed. “But + remember,” she said on this occasion, “that you are coming—next year—to + pay me a visit over there.” + </p> + <p> + About a week afterwards she said to him, point-blank, “Are you seriously + making love to your little cousin?” + </p> + <p> + “Seriously making love”—these words, on Madame Münster’s lips, had + to Clifford’s sense a portentous and embarrassing sound; he hesitated + about assenting, lest he should commit himself to more than he understood. + “Well, I shouldn’t say it if I was!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Why wouldn’t you say it?” the Baroness demanded. “Those things ought to + be known.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care whether it is known or not,” Clifford rejoined. “But I don’t + want people looking at me.” + </p> + <p> + “A young man of your importance ought to learn to bear observation—to + carry himself as if he were quite indifferent to it. I won’t say, exactly, + unconscious,” the Baroness explained. “No, he must seem to know he is + observed, and to think it natural he should be; but he must appear + perfectly used to it. Now you haven’t that, Clifford; you haven’t that + at all. You must have that, you know. Don’t tell me you are not a young + man of importance,” Eugenia added. “Don’t say anything so flat as that.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, you don’t catch me saying that!” cried Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you must come to Germany,” Madame Münster continued. “I will show + you how people can be talked about, and yet not seem to know it. You will + be talked about, of course, with me; it will be said you are my lover. I + will show you how little one may mind that—how little I shall mind + it.” + </p> + <p> + Clifford sat staring, blushing and laughing. “I shall mind it a good + deal!” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, not too much, you know; that would be uncivil. But I give you leave + to mind it a little; especially if you have a passion for Miss Acton. + <i>Voyons</i>; as regards that, you either have or you have not. It is very + simple to say it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why you want to know,” said Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to want me to know. If one is arranging a marriage, one tells + one’s friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m not arranging anything,” said Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t intend to marry your cousin?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I expect I shall do as I choose!” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness leaned her head upon the back of her chair and closed her + eyes, as if she were tired. Then opening them again, “Your cousin is very + charming!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “She is the prettiest girl in this place,” Clifford rejoined. + </p> + <p> + “‘In this place’ is saying little; she would be charming anywhere. I am + afraid you are entangled.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I’m not entangled.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you engaged? At your age that is the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + Clifford looked at the Baroness with some audacity. “Will you tell no + one?” + </p> + <p> + “If it’s as sacred as that—no.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—we are not!” said Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the great secret—that you are not, eh?” asked the Baroness, + with a quick laugh. “I am very glad to hear it. You are altogether too + young. A young man in your position must choose and compare; he must see + the world first. Depend upon it,” she added, “you should not settle that + matter before you have come abroad and paid me that visit. There are + several things I should like to call your attention to first.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am rather afraid of that visit,” said Clifford. “It seems to me + it will be rather like going to school again.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness looked at him a moment. + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” she said, “there is no agreeable man who has not, at some + moment, been to school to a clever woman—probably a little older + than himself. And you must be thankful when you get your instructions + gratis. With me you would get it gratis.” + </p> + <p> + The next day Clifford told Lizzie Acton that the Baroness thought her the + most charming girl she had ever seen. + </p> + <p> + Lizzie shook her head. “No, she doesn’t!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think everything she says,” asked Clifford, “is to be taken the + opposite way?” + </p> + <p> + “I think that is!” said Lizzie. + </p> + <p> + Clifford was going to remark that in this case the Baroness must desire + greatly to bring about a marriage between Mr. Clifford Wentworth and Miss + Elizabeth Acton; but he resolved, on the whole, to suppress this + observation. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + It seemed to Robert Acton, after Eugenia had come to his house, that + something had passed between them which made them a good deal more + intimate. It was hard to say exactly what, except her telling him that she + had taken her resolution with regard to the Prince Adolf; for Madame + Münster’s visit had made no difference in their relations. He came to see + her very often; but he had come to see her very often before. It was + agreeable to him to find himself in her little drawing-room; but this was + not a new discovery. There was a change, however, in this sense: that if + the Baroness had been a great deal in Acton’s thoughts before, she was now + never out of them. From the first she had been personally fascinating; but + the fascination now had become intellectual as well. He was constantly + pondering her words and motions; they were as interesting as the factors + in an algebraic problem. This is saying a good deal; for Acton was + extremely fond of mathematics. He asked himself whether it could be that + he was in love with her, and then hoped he was not; hoped it not so much + for his own sake as for that of the amatory passion itself. If this was + love, love had been overrated. Love was a poetic impulse, and his own + state of feeling with regard to the Baroness was largely characterized by + that eminently prosaic sentiment—curiosity. It was true, as Acton + with his quietly cogitative habit observed to himself, that curiosity, + pushed to a given point, might become a romantic passion; and he certainly + thought enough about this charming woman to make him restless and even a + little melancholy. It puzzled and vexed him at times to feel that he was + not more ardent. He was not in the least bent upon remaining a bachelor. + In his younger years he had been—or he had tried to be—of the + opinion that it would be a good deal “jollier” not to marry, and he had + flattered himself that his single condition was something of a citadel. It + was a citadel, at all events, of which he had long since leveled the + outworks. He had removed the guns from the ramparts; he had lowered the + draw-bridge across the moat. The draw-bridge had swayed lightly under + Madame Münster’s step; why should he not cause it to be raised again, so + that she might be kept prisoner? He had an idea that she would become—in + time at least, and on learning the conveniences of the place for making a + lady comfortable—a tolerably patient captive. But the draw-bridge + was never raised, and Acton’s brilliant visitor was as free to depart as + she had been to come. It was part of his curiosity to know why the deuce + so susceptible a man was <i>not</i> in love with so charming a woman. If her + various graces were, as I have said, the factors in an algebraic problem, + the answer to this question was the indispensable unknown quantity. The + pursuit of the unknown quantity was extremely absorbing; for the present + it taxed all Acton’s faculties. + </p> + <p> + Toward the middle of August he was obliged to leave home for some days; an + old friend, with whom he had been associated in China, had begged him to + come to Newport, where he lay extremely ill. His friend got better, and at + the end of a week Acton was released. I use the word “released” advisedly; + for in spite of his attachment to his Chinese comrade he had been but a + half-hearted visitor. He felt as if he had been called away from the + theatre during the progress of a remarkably interesting drama. The curtain + was up all this time, and he was losing the fourth act; that fourth act + which would have been so essential to a just appreciation of the fifth. In + other words, he was thinking about the Baroness, who, seen at this + distance, seemed a truly brilliant figure. He saw at Newport a great many + pretty women, who certainly were figures as brilliant as beautiful light + dresses could make them; but though they talked a great deal—and the + Baroness’s strong point was perhaps also her conversation—Madame + Münster appeared to lose nothing by the comparison. He wished she had come + to Newport too. Would it not be possible to make up, as they said, a party + for visiting the famous watering-place and invite Eugenia to join it? It + was true that the complete satisfaction would be to spend a fortnight at + Newport with Eugenia alone. It would be a great pleasure to see her, in + society, carry everything before her, as he was sure she would do. When + Acton caught himself thinking these thoughts he began to walk up and down, + with his hands in his pockets, frowning a little and looking at the floor. + What did it prove—for it certainly proved something—this + lively disposition to be “off” somewhere with Madame Münster, away from + all the rest of them? Such a vision, certainly, seemed a refined + implication of matrimony, after the Baroness should have formally got rid + of her informal husband. At any rate, Acton, with his characteristic + discretion, forbore to give expression to whatever else it might imply, + and the narrator of these incidents is not obliged to be more definite. + </p> + <p> + He returned home rapidly, and, arriving in the afternoon, lost as little + time as possible in joining the familiar circle at Mr. Wentworth’s. On + reaching the house, however, he found the piazzas empty. The doors and + windows were open, and their emptiness was made clear by the shafts of + lamp-light from the parlors. Entering the house, he found Mr. Wentworth + sitting alone in one of these apartments, engaged in the perusal of the + <i>North American Review</i>. After they had exchanged greetings and his cousin + had made discreet inquiry about his journey, Acton asked what had become + of Mr. Wentworth’s companions. + </p> + <p> + “They are scattered about, amusing themselves as usual,” said the old man. + “I saw Charlotte, a short time since, seated, with Mr. Brand, upon the + piazza. They were conversing with their customary animation. I suppose + they have joined her sister, who, for the hundredth time, was doing the + honors of the garden to her foreign cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you mean Felix,” said Acton. And on Mr. Wentworth’s assenting, + he said, “And the others?” + </p> + <p> + “Your sister has not come this evening. You must have seen her at home,” + said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I proposed to her to come. She declined.” + </p> + <p> + “Lizzie, I suppose, was expecting a visitor,” said the old man, with a + kind of solemn slyness. + </p> + <p> + “If she was expecting Clifford, he had not turned up.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth, at this intelligence, closed the <i>North American Review</i> + and remarked that he had understood Clifford to say that he was going to + see his cousin. Privately, he reflected that if Lizzie Acton had had no + news of his son, Clifford must have gone to Boston for the evening: an + unnatural course of a summer night, especially when accompanied with + disingenuous representations. + </p> + <p> + “You must remember that he has two cousins,” said Acton, laughing. And + then, coming to the point, “If Lizzie is not here,” he added, “neither + apparently is the Baroness.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth stared a moment, and remembered that queer proposition of + Felix’s. For a moment he did not know whether it was not to be wished that + Clifford, after all, might have gone to Boston. “The Baroness has not + honored us tonight,” he said. “She has not come over for three days.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she ill?” Acton asked. + </p> + <p> + “No; I have been to see her.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mr. Wentworth, “I infer she has tired of us.” + </p> + <p> + Acton pretended to sit down, but he was restless; he found it impossible + to talk with Mr. Wentworth. At the end of ten minutes he took up his hat + and said that he thought he would “go off.” It was very late; it was ten + o’clock. + </p> + <p> + His quiet-faced kinsman looked at him a moment. “Are you going home?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + Acton hesitated, and then answered that he had proposed to go over and + take a look at the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are honest, at least,” said Mr. Wentworth, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “So are you, if you come to that!” cried Acton, laughing. “Why shouldn’t + I be honest?” + </p> + <p> + The old man opened the <i>North American</i> again, and read a few lines. “If + we have ever had any virtue among us, we had better keep hold of it now,” + he said. He was not quoting. + </p> + <p> + “We have a Baroness among us,” said Acton. “That’s what we must keep hold + of!” He was too impatient to see Madame Münster again to wonder what Mr. + Wentworth was talking about. Nevertheless, after he had passed out of the + house and traversed the garden and the little piece of road that separated + him from Eugenia’s provisional residence, he stopped a moment outside. He + stood in her little garden; the long window of her parlor was open, and he + could see the white curtains, with the lamp-light shining through them, + swaying softly to and fro in the warm night wind. There was a sort of + excitement in the idea of seeing Madame Münster again; he became aware + that his heart was beating rather faster than usual. It was this that made + him stop, with a half-amused surprise. But in a moment he went along the + piazza, and, approaching the open window, tapped upon its lintel with his + stick. He could see the Baroness within; she was standing in the middle of + the room. She came to the window and pulled aside the curtain; then she + stood looking at him a moment. She was not smiling; she seemed serious. + </p> + <p> + <i>“Mais entrez donc!”</i> she said at last. Acton passed in across the + window-sill; he wondered, for an instant, what was the matter with her. + But the next moment she had begun to smile and had put out her hand. + “Better late than never,” she said. “It is very kind of you to come at + this hour.” + </p> + <p> + “I have just returned from my journey,” said Acton. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, very kind, very kind,” she repeated, looking about her where to sit. + </p> + <p> + “I went first to the other house,” Acton continued. “I expected to find + you there.” + </p> + <p> + She had sunk into her usual chair; but she got up again, and began to move + about the room. Acton had laid down his hat and stick; he was looking at + her, conscious that there was in fact a great charm in seeing her again. + “I don’t know whether I ought to tell you to sit down,” she said. “It is + too late to begin a visit.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s too early to end one,” Acton declared; “and we needn’t mind the + beginning.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him again, and, after a moment, dropped once more into her + low chair, while he took a place near her. “We are in the middle, then?” + she asked. “Was that where we were when you went away? No, I haven’t been + to the other house.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yesterday, nor the day before, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know how many days it is.” + </p> + <p> + “You are tired of it,” said Acton. + </p> + <p> + She leaned back in her chair; her arms were folded. “That is a terrible + accusation, but I have not the courage to defend myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not attacking you,” said Acton. “I expected something of this kind.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a proof of extreme intelligence. I hope you enjoyed your journey.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” Acton declared. “I would much rather have been here with + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you <i>are</i> attacking me,” said the Baroness. “You are contrasting my + inconstancy with your own fidelity.” + </p> + <p> + “I confess I never get tired of people I like.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you are not a poor wicked foreign woman, with irritable nerves and a + sophisticated mind!” + </p> + <p> + “Something has happened to you since I went away,” said Acton, changing + his place. + </p> + <p> + “Your going away—that is what has happened to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that you have missed me?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “If I had meant to say it, it would not be worth your making a note of. I + am very dishonest and my compliments are worthless.” + </p> + <p> + Acton was silent for some moments. “You have broken down,” he said at + last. + </p> + <p> + Madame Münster left her chair, and began to move about. + </p> + <p> + “Only for a moment. I shall pull myself together again.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better not take it too hard. If you are bored, you needn’t be + afraid to say so—to me at least.” + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn’t say such things as that,” the Baroness answered. “You + should encourage me.” + </p> + <p> + “I admire your patience; that is encouraging.” + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn’t even say that. When you talk of my patience you are + disloyal to your own people. Patience implies suffering; and what have I + had to suffer?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not hunger, not unkindness, certainly,” said Acton, laughing. + “Nevertheless, we all admire your patience.” + </p> + <p> + “You all detest me!” cried the Baroness, with a sudden vehemence, turning + her back toward him. + </p> + <p> + “You make it hard,” said Acton, getting up, “for a man to say something + tender to you.” This evening there was something particularly striking and + touching about her; an unwonted softness and a look of suppressed emotion. + He felt himself suddenly appreciating the fact that she had behaved very + well. She had come to this quiet corner of the world under the weight of a + cruel indignity, and she had been so gracefully, modestly thankful for the + rest she found there. She had joined that simple circle over the way; she + had mingled in its plain, provincial talk; she had shared its meagre and + savorless pleasures. She had set herself a task, and she had rigidly + performed it. She had conformed to the angular conditions of New England + life, and she had had the tact and pluck to carry it off as if she liked + them. Acton felt a more downright need than he had ever felt before to + tell her that he admired her and that she struck him as a very superior + woman. All along, hitherto, he had been on his guard with her; he had been + cautious, observant, suspicious. But now a certain light tumult in his + blood seemed to tell him that a finer degree of confidence in this + charming woman would be its own reward. “We don’t detest you,” he went on. + “I don’t know what you mean. At any rate, I speak for myself; I don’t know + anything about the others. Very likely, you detest them for the dull life + they make you lead. Really, it would give me a sort of pleasure to hear + you say so.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia had been looking at the door on the other side of the room; now + she slowly turned her eyes toward Robert Acton. “What can be the motive,” + she asked, “of a man like you—an honest man, a + <i>galant homme</i>—in saying so base a thing as that?” + </p> + <p> + “Does it sound very base?” asked Acton, candidly. “I suppose it does, and + I thank you for telling me so. Of course, I don’t mean it literally.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness stood looking at him. “How do you mean it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + This question was difficult to answer, and Acton, feeling the least bit + foolish, walked to the open window and looked out. He stood there, + thinking a moment, and then he turned back. “You know that document that + you were to send to Germany,” he said. “You called it your ‘renunciation.’ + Did you ever send it?” + </p> + <p> + Madame Münster’s eyes expanded; she looked very grave. “What a singular + answer to my question!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it isn’t an answer,” said Acton. “I have wished to ask you, many + times. I thought it probable you would tell me yourself. The question, on + my part, seems abrupt now; but it would be abrupt at any time.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness was silent a moment; and then, “I think I have told you too + much!” she said. + </p> + <p> + This declaration appeared to Acton to have a certain force; he had indeed + a sense of asking more of her than he offered her. He returned to the + window, and watched, for a moment, a little star that twinkled through the + lattice of the piazza. There were at any rate offers enough he could make; + perhaps he had hitherto not been sufficiently explicit in doing so. “I + wish you would ask something of me,” he presently said. “Is there nothing + I can do for you? If you can’t stand this dull life any more, let me amuse + you!” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness had sunk once more into a chair, and she had taken up a fan + which she held, with both hands, to her mouth. Over the top of the fan her + eyes were fixed on him. “You are very strange tonight,” she said, with a + little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I will do anything in the world,” he rejoined, standing in front of her. + “Shouldn’t you like to travel about and see something of the country? + Won’t you go to Niagara? You ought to see Niagara, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “With you, do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be delighted to take you.” + </p> + <p> + “You alone?” + </p> + <p> + Acton looked at her, smiling, and yet with a serious air. “Well, yes; we + might go alone,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “If you were not what you are,” she answered, “I should feel insulted.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean—what I am?” + </p> + <p> + “If you were one of the gentlemen I have been used to all my life. If you + were not a queer Bostonian.” + </p> + <p> + “If the gentlemen you have been used to have taught you to expect + insults,” said Acton, “I am glad I am what I am. You had much better come + to Niagara.” + </p> + <p> + “If you wish to ‘amuse’ me,” the Baroness declared, “you need go to no + further expense. You amuse me very effectually.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down opposite to her; she still held her fan up to her face, with + her eyes only showing above it. There was a moment’s silence, and then he + said, returning to his former question, “Have you sent that document to + Germany?” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a moment’s silence. The expressive eyes of Madame Münster + seemed, however, half to break it. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you—at Niagara!” she said. + </p> + <p> + She had hardly spoken when the door at the further end of the room opened—the + door upon which, some minutes previous, Eugenia had fixed her gaze. + Clifford Wentworth stood there, blushing and looking rather awkward. The + Baroness rose, quickly, and Acton, more slowly, did the same. Clifford + gave him no greeting; he was looking at Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you were here?” exclaimed Acton. + </p> + <p> + “He was in Felix’s studio,” said Madame Münster. “He wanted to see his + sketches.” + </p> + <p> + Clifford looked at Robert Acton, but said nothing; he only fanned himself + with his hat. “You chose a bad moment,” said Acton; “you hadn’t much + light.” + </p> + <p> + “I hadn’t any!” said Clifford, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Your candle went out?” Eugenia asked. “You should have come back here and + lighted it again.” + </p> + <p> + Clifford looked at her a moment. “So I have—come back. But I have + left the candle!” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia turned away. “You are very stupid, my poor boy. You had better go + home.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Clifford, “good-night!” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you a word to throw to a man when he has safely returned from a + dangerous journey?” Acton asked. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do?” said Clifford. “I thought—I thought you + were——” and he paused, looking at the Baroness again. + </p> + <p> + “You thought I was at Newport, eh? So I was—this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, clever child!” said Madame Münster, over her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Clifford stared at her—not at all like a clever child; and then, + with one of his little facetious growls, took his departure. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with him?” asked Acton, when he was gone. “He seemed + rather in a muddle.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia, who was near the window, glanced out, listening a moment. “The + matter—the matter”—she answered. “But you don’t say such + things here.” + </p> + <p> + “If you mean that he had been drinking a little, you can say that.” + </p> + <p> + “He doesn’t drink any more. I have cured him. And in return—he’s + in love with me.” + </p> + <p> + It was Acton’s turn to stare. He instantly thought of his sister; but he + said nothing about her. He began to laugh. “I don’t wonder at his passion! + But I wonder at his forsaking your society for that of your brother’s + paint-brushes.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia was silent a little. “He had not been in the studio. I invented + that at the moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Invented it? For what purpose?” + </p> + <p> + “He has an idea of being romantic. He has adopted the habit of coming to + see me at midnight—passing only through the orchard and through + Felix’s painting-room, which has a door opening that way. It seems to + amuse him,” added Eugenia, with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + Acton felt more surprise than he confessed to, for this was a new view of + Clifford, whose irregularities had hitherto been quite without the + romantic element. He tried to laugh again, but he felt rather too serious, + and after a moment’s hesitation his seriousness explained itself. “I hope + you don’t encourage him,” he said. “He must not be inconstant to poor + Lizzie.” + </p> + <p> + “To your sister?” + </p> + <p> + “You know they are decidedly intimate,” said Acton. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” cried Eugenia, smiling, “has she—has she——” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” Acton interrupted, “what she has. But I always supposed + that Clifford had a desire to make himself agreeable to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, <i>par exemple!</i>” the Baroness went on. “The little monster! The next + time he becomes sentimental I will him tell that he ought to be ashamed of + himself.” + </p> + <p> + Acton was silent a moment. “You had better say nothing about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I had told him as much already, on general grounds,” said the Baroness. + “But in this country, you know, the relations of young people are so + extraordinary that one is quite at sea. They are not engaged when you + would quite say they ought to be. Take Charlotte Wentworth, for instance, + and that young ecclesiastic. If I were her father I should insist upon his + marrying her; but it appears to be thought there is no urgency. On the + other hand, you suddenly learn that a boy of twenty and a little girl who + is still with her governess—your sister has no governess? Well, + then, who is never away from her mamma—a young couple, in short, + between whom you have noticed nothing beyond an exchange of the childish + pleasantries characteristic of their age, are on the point of setting up + as man and wife.” The Baroness spoke with a certain exaggerated volubility + which was in contrast with the languid grace that had characterized her + manner before Clifford made his appearance. It seemed to Acton that there + was a spark of irritation in her eye—a note of irony (as when she + spoke of Lizzie being never away from her mother) in her voice. If Madame + Münster was irritated, Robert Acton was vaguely mystified; she began to + move about the room again, and he looked at her without saying anything. + Presently she took out her watch, and, glancing at it, declared that it + was three o’clock in the morning and that he must go. + </p> + <p> + “I have not been here an hour,” he said, “and they are still sitting up at + the other house. You can see the lights. Your brother has not come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, at the other house,” cried Eugenia, “they are terrible people! I + don’t know what they may do over there. I am a quiet little humdrum woman; + I have rigid rules and I keep them. One of them is not to have visitors in + the small hours—especially clever men like you. So good-night!” + </p> + <p> + Decidedly, the Baroness was incisive; and though Acton bade her good-night + and departed, he was still a good deal mystified. + </p> + <p> + The next day Clifford Wentworth came to see Lizzie, and Acton, who was at + home and saw him pass through the garden, took note of the circumstance. + He had a natural desire to make it tally with Madame Münster’s account + of Clifford’s disaffection; but his ingenuity, finding itself unequal to + the task, resolved at last to ask help of the young man’s candor. He + waited till he saw him going away, and then he went out and overtook him + in the grounds. + </p> + <p> + “I wish very much you would answer me a question,” Acton said. “What were + you doing, last night, at Madame Münster’s?” + </p> + <p> + Clifford began to laugh and to blush, by no means like a young man with a + romantic secret. “What did she tell you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “That is exactly what I don’t want to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I want to tell you the same,” said Clifford; “and unless I know it + perhaps I can’t.” + </p> + <p> + They had stopped in a garden path; Acton looked hard at his rosy young + kinsman. “She said she couldn’t fancy what had got into you; you appeared + to have taken a violent dislike to her.” + </p> + <p> + Clifford stared, looking a little alarmed. “Oh, come,” he growled, “you + don’t mean that!” + </p> + <p> + “And that when—for common civility’s sake—you came + occasionally to the house you left her alone and spent your time in + Felix’s studio, under pretext of looking at his sketches.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come!” growled Clifford, again. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever know me to tell an untruth?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, lots of them!” said Clifford, seeing an opening, out of the + discussion, for his sarcastic powers. “Well,” he presently added, “I + thought you were my father.” + </p> + <p> + “You knew someone was there?” + </p> + <p> + “We heard you coming in.” + </p> + <p> + Acton meditated. “You had been with the Baroness, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I was in the parlor. We heard your step outside. I thought it was my + father.” + </p> + <p> + “And on that,” asked Acton, “you ran away?” + </p> + <p> + “She told me to go—to go out by the studio.” + </p> + <p> + Acton meditated more intensely; if there had been a chair at hand he would + have sat down. “Why should she wish you not to meet your father?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Clifford, “father doesn’t like to see me there.” + </p> + <p> + Acton looked askance at his companion and forbore to make any comment upon + this assertion. “Has he said so,” he asked, “to the Baroness?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope not,” said Clifford. “He hasn’t said so—in so many + words—to me. But I know it worries him; and I want to stop worrying + him. The Baroness knows it, and she wants me to stop, too.” + </p> + <p> + “To stop coming to see her?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know about that; but to stop worrying father. Eugenia knows + everything,” Clifford added, with an air of knowingness of his own. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Acton, interrogatively, “Eugenia knows everything?” + </p> + <p> + “She knew it was not father coming in.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you go?” + </p> + <p> + Clifford blushed and laughed afresh. “Well, I was afraid it was. And + besides, she told me to go, at any rate.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she think it was I?” Acton asked. + </p> + <p> + “She didn’t say so.” + </p> + <p> + Again Robert Acton reflected. “But you didn’t go,” he presently said; + “you came back.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t get out of the studio,” Clifford rejoined. “The door was + locked, and Felix has nailed some planks across the lower half of the + confounded windows to make the light come in from above. So they were no + use. I waited there a good while, and then, suddenly, I felt ashamed. I + didn’t want to be hiding away from my own father. I couldn’t stand it + any longer. I bolted out, and when I found it was you I was a little + flurried. But Eugenia carried it off, didn’t she?” Clifford added, in the + tone of a young humorist whose perception had not been permanently clouded + by the sense of his own discomfort. + </p> + <p> + “Beautifully!” said Acton. “Especially,” he continued, “when one remembers + that you were very imprudent and that she must have been a good deal + annoyed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Clifford, with the indifference of a young man who feels that + however he may have failed of felicity in behavior he is extremely just in + his impressions, “Eugenia doesn’t care for anything!” + </p> + <p> + Acton hesitated a moment. “Thank you for telling me this,” he said at + last. And then, laying his hand on Clifford’s shoulder, he added, “Tell me + one thing more: are you by chance a little in love with the Baroness?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir!” said Clifford, almost shaking off his hand. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + The first sunday that followed Robert Acton’s return from Newport + witnessed a change in the brilliant weather that had long prevailed. The + rain began to fall and the day was cold and dreary. Mr. Wentworth and his + daughters put on overshoes and went to church, and Felix Young, without + overshoes, went also, holding an umbrella over Gertrude. It is to be + feared that, in the whole observance, this was the privilege he most + highly valued. The Baroness remained at home; she was in neither a + cheerful nor a devotional mood. She had, however, never been, during her + residence in the United States, what is called a regular attendant at + divine service; and on this particular Sunday morning of which I began + with speaking she stood at the window of her little drawing-room, watching + the long arm of a rose tree that was attached to her piazza, but a portion + of which had disengaged itself, sway to and fro, shake and gesticulate, + against the dusky drizzle of the sky. Every now and then, in a gust of + wind, the rose tree scattered a shower of water-drops against the + window-pane; it appeared to have a kind of human movement—a + menacing, warning intention. The room was very cold; Madame Münster put on + a shawl and walked about. Then she determined to have some fire; and + summoning her ancient negress, the contrast of whose polished ebony and + whose crimson turban had been at first a source of satisfaction to her, + she made arrangements for the production of a crackling flame. This old + woman’s name was Azarina. The Baroness had begun by thinking that there + would be a savory wildness in her talk, and, for amusement, she had + encouraged her to chatter. But Azarina was dry and prim; her conversation + was anything but African; she reminded Eugenia of the tiresome old ladies + she met in society. She knew, however, how to make a fire; so that after + she had laid the logs, Eugenia, who was terribly bored, found a quarter of + an hour’s entertainment in sitting and watching them blaze and sputter. + She had thought it very likely Robert Acton would come and see her; she + had not met him since that infelicitous evening. But the morning waned + without his coming; several times she thought she heard his step on the + piazza; but it was only a window-shutter shaking in a rain-gust. The + Baroness, since the beginning of that episode in her career of which a + slight sketch has been attempted in these pages, had had many moments of + irritation. But today her irritation had a peculiar keenness; it appeared + to feed upon itself. It urged her to do something; but it suggested no + particularly profitable line of action. If she could have done something + at the moment, on the spot, she would have stepped upon a European steamer + and turned her back, with a kind of rapture, upon that profoundly + mortifying failure, her visit to her American relations. It is not exactly + apparent why she should have termed this enterprise a failure, inasmuch as + she had been treated with the highest distinction for which allowance had + been made in American institutions. Her irritation came, at bottom, from + the sense, which, always present, had suddenly grown acute, that the + social soil on this big, vague continent was somehow not adapted for + growing those plants whose fragrance she especially inclined to inhale and + by which she liked to see herself surrounded—a species of vegetation + for which she carried a collection of seedlings, as we may say, in her + pocket. She found her chief happiness in the sense of exerting a certain + power and making a certain impression; and now she felt the annoyance of a + rather wearied swimmer who, on nearing shore, to land, finds a smooth + straight wall of rock when he had counted upon a clean firm beach. Her + power, in the American air, seemed to have lost its prehensile attributes; + the smooth wall of rock was insurmountable. <i>“Surely je n’en suis pas là,”</i> + she said to herself, “that I let it make me uncomfortable that a Mr. + Robert Acton shouldn’t honor me with a visit!” Yet she was vexed that he + had not come; and she was vexed at her vexation. + </p> + <p> + Her brother, at least, came in, stamping in the hall and shaking the wet + from his coat. In a moment he entered the room, with a glow in his cheek + and half-a-dozen rain-drops glistening on his moustache. “Ah, you have a + fire,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <i>“Les beaux jours sont passés,”</i> replied the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Never, never! They have only begun,” Felix declared, planting himself + before the hearth. He turned his back to the fire, placed his hands behind + him, extended his legs and looked away through the window with an + expression of face which seemed to denote the perception of rose-color + even in the tints of a wet Sunday. + </p> + <p> + His sister, from her chair, looked up at him, watching him; and what she + saw in his face was not grateful to her present mood. She was puzzled by + many things, but her brother’s disposition was a frequent source of wonder + to her. I say frequent and not constant, for there were long periods + during which she gave her attention to other problems. Sometimes she had + said to herself that his happy temper, his eternal gaiety, was an + affectation, a <i>pose</i>; but she was vaguely conscious that during the present + summer he had been a highly successful comedian. They had never yet had an + explanation; she had not known the need of one. Felix was presumably + following the bent of his disinterested genius, and she felt that she had + no advice to give him that he would understand. With this, there was + always a certain element of comfort about Felix—the assurance that + he would not interfere. He was very delicate, this pure-minded Felix; in + effect, he was her brother, and Madame Münster felt that there was a great + propriety, every way, in that. It is true that Felix was delicate; he was + not fond of explanations with his sister; this was one of the very few + things in the world about which he was uncomfortable. But now he was not + thinking of anything uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “Dear brother,” said Eugenia at last, “do stop making <i>les yeux doux</i> at the + rain.” + </p> + <p> + “With pleasure. I will make them at you!” answered Felix. + </p> + <p> + “How much longer,” asked Eugenia, in a moment, “do you propose to remain + in this lovely spot?” + </p> + <p> + Felix stared. “Do you want to go away—already?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Already’ is delicious. I am not so happy as you.” + </p> + <p> + Felix dropped into a chair, looking at the fire. “The fact is I <i>am</i> happy,” + he said in his light, clear tone. + </p> + <p> + “And do you propose to spend your life in making love to Gertrude + Wentworth?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” said Felix, smiling sidewise at his sister. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness returned his glance, much more gravely; and then, “Do you + like her?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you?” Felix demanded. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness was silent a moment. “I will answer you in the words of the + gentleman who was asked if he liked music: <i>‘Je ne la crains pas!’’</i>” + </p> + <p> + “She admires you immensely,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care for that. Other women should not admire one.” + </p> + <p> + “They should dislike you?” + </p> + <p> + Again Madame Münster hesitated. “They should hate me! It’s a measure of + the time I have been losing here that they don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “No time is lost in which one has been happy!” said Felix, with a bright + sententiousness which may well have been a little irritating. + </p> + <p> + “And in which,” rejoined his sister, with a harsher laugh, “one has + secured the affections of a young lady with a fortune!” + </p> + <p> + Felix explained, very candidly and seriously. “I have secured Gertrude’s + affection, but I am by no means sure that I have secured her fortune. That + may come—or it may not.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well, it <i>may!</i> That’s the great point.” + </p> + <p> + “It depends upon her father. He doesn’t smile upon our union. You know he + wants her to marry Mr. Brand.” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing about it!” cried the Baroness. “Please to put on a log.” + Felix complied with her request and sat watching the quickening of the + flame. Presently his sister added, “And you propose to elope with + mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “By no means. I don’t wish to do anything that’s disagreeable to Mr. + Wentworth. He has been far too kind to us.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must choose between pleasing yourself and pleasing him.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to please everyone!” exclaimed Felix, joyously. “I have a good + conscience. I made up my mind at the outset that it was not my place to + make love to Gertrude.” + </p> + <p> + “So, to simplify matters, she made love to you!” + </p> + <p> + Felix looked at his sister with sudden gravity. “You say you are not + afraid of her,” he said. “But perhaps you ought to be—a little. + She’s a very clever person.” + </p> + <p> + “I begin to see it!” cried the Baroness. Her brother, making no rejoinder, + leaned back in his chair, and there was a long silence. At last, with an + altered accent, Madame Münster put another question. “You expect, at any + rate, to marry?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be greatly disappointed if we don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “A disappointment or two will do you good!” the Baroness declared. “And, + afterwards, do you mean to turn American?” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me I am a very good American already. But we shall go to + Europe. Gertrude wants extremely to see the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, like me, when I came here!” said the Baroness, with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “No, not like you,” Felix rejoined, looking at his sister with a certain + gentle seriousness. While he looked at her she rose from her chair, and he + also got up. “Gertrude is not at all like you,” he went on; “but in her + own way she is almost as clever.” He paused a moment; his soul was full of + an agreeable feeling and of a lively disposition to express it. His + sister, to his spiritual vision, was always like the lunar disk when only + a part of it is lighted. The shadow on this bright surface seemed to him + to expand and to contract; but whatever its proportions, he always + appreciated the moonlight. He looked at the Baroness, and then he kissed + her. “I am very much in love with Gertrude,” he said. Eugenia turned away + and walked about the room, and Felix continued. “She is very interesting, + and very different from what she seems. She has never had a chance. She is + very brilliant. We will go to Europe and amuse ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness had gone to the window, where she stood looking out. The day + was drearier than ever; the rain was doggedly falling. “Yes, to amuse + yourselves,” she said at last, “you had decidedly better go to Europe!” + Then she turned round, looking at her brother. A chair stood near her; she + leaned her hands upon the back of it. “Don’t you think it is very good of + me,” she asked, “to come all this way with you simply to see you properly + married—if properly it is?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it will be properly!” cried Felix, with light eagerness. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness gave a little laugh. “You are thinking only of yourself, and + you don’t answer my question. While you are amusing yourself—with + the brilliant Gertrude—what shall I be doing?” + </p> + <p> + <i>“Vous serez de la partie!”</i> cried Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you: I should spoil it.” The Baroness dropped her eyes for some + moments. “Do you propose, however, to leave me here?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + Felix smiled at her. “My dearest sister, where you are concerned I never + propose. I execute your commands.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” said Eugenia, slowly, “that you are the most heartless person + living. Don’t you see that I am in trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw that you were not cheerful, and I gave you some good news.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let me give you some news,” said the Baroness. “You probably will + not have discovered it for yourself. Robert Acton wants to marry me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I had not discovered that. But I quite understand it. Why does it + make you unhappy?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I can’t decide.” + </p> + <p> + “Accept him, accept him!” cried Felix, joyously. “He is the best fellow in + the world.” + </p> + <p> + “He is immensely in love with me,” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “And he has a large fortune. Permit me in turn to remind you of that.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am perfectly aware of it,” said Eugenia. “That’s a great item in + his favor. I am terribly candid.” And she left her place and came nearer + her brother, looking at him hard. He was turning over several things; she + was wondering in what manner he really understood her. + </p> + <p> + There were several ways of understanding her: there was what she said, and + there was what she meant, and there was something, between the two, that + was neither. It is probable that, in the last analysis, what she meant was + that Felix should spare her the necessity of stating the case more exactly + and should hold himself commissioned to assist her by all honorable means + to marry the best fellow in the world. But in all this it was never + discovered what Felix understood. + </p> + <p> + “Once you have your liberty, what are your objections?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t particularly like him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, try a little.” + </p> + <p> + “I am trying now,” said Eugenia. “I should succeed better if he didn’t + live here. I could never live here.” + </p> + <p> + “Make him go to Europe,” Felix suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there you speak of happiness based upon violent effort,” the Baroness + rejoined. “That is not what I am looking for. He would never live in + Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “He would live anywhere, with you!” said Felix, gallantly. + </p> + <p> + His sister looked at him still, with a ray of penetration in her charming + eyes; then she turned away again. “You see, at all events,” she presently + went on, “that if it had been said of me that I had come over here to seek + my fortune it would have to be added that I have found it!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t leave it lying!” urged Felix, with smiling solemnity. + </p> + <p> + “I am much obliged to you for your interest,” his sister declared, after a + moment. “But promise me one thing: <i>pas de zèle!</i> If Mr. Acton should ask + you to plead his cause, excuse yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall certainly have the excuse,” said Felix, “that I have a cause of + my own to plead.” + </p> + <p> + “If he should talk of me—favorably,” Eugenia continued, “warn him + against dangerous illusions. I detest importunities; I want to decide at + my leisure, with my eyes open.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be discreet,” said Felix, “except to you. To you I will say, + Accept him outright.” + </p> + <p> + She had advanced to the open doorway, and she stood looking at him. “I + will go and dress and think of it,” she said; and he heard her moving + slowly to her apartments. + </p> + <p> + Late in the afternoon the rain stopped, and just afterwards there was a + great flaming, flickering, trickling sunset. Felix sat in his + painting-room and did some work; but at last, as the light, which had not + been brilliant, began to fade, he laid down his brushes and came out to + the little piazza of the cottage. Here he walked up and down for some + time, looking at the splendid blaze of the western sky and saying, as he + had often said before, that this was certainly the country of sunsets. + There was something in these glorious deeps of fire that quickened his + imagination; he always found images and promises in the western sky. He + thought of a good many things—of roaming about the world with + Gertrude Wentworth; he seemed to see their possible adventures, in a + glowing frieze, between the cloud-bars; then of what Eugenia had just been + telling him. He wished very much that Madame Münster would make a + comfortable and honorable marriage. Presently, as the sunset expanded and + deepened, the fancy took him of making a note of so magnificent a piece of + coloring. He returned to his studio and fetched out a small panel, with + his palette and brushes, and, placing the panel against a window-sill, he + began to daub with great gusto. While he was so occupied he saw Mr. Brand, + in the distance, slowly come down from Mr. Wentworth’s house, nursing a + large folded umbrella. He walked with a joyless, meditative tread, and his + eyes were bent upon the ground. Felix poised his brush for a moment, + watching him; then, by a sudden impulse, as he drew nearer, advanced to + the garden-gate and signaled to him—the palette and bunch of brushes + contributing to this effect. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand stopped and started; then he appeared to decide to accept + Felix’s invitation. He came out of Mr. Wentworth’s gate and passed along + the road; after which he entered the little garden of the cottage. Felix + had gone back to his sunset; but he made his visitor welcome while he + rapidly brushed it in. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted so much to speak to you that I thought I would call you,” he + said, in the friendliest tone. “All the more that you have been to see me + so little. You have come to see my sister; I know that. But you haven’t + come to see me—the celebrated artist. Artists are very sensitive, + you know; they notice those things.” And Felix turned round, smiling, with + a brush in his mouth. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand stood there with a certain blank, candid majesty, pulling + together the large flaps of his umbrella. “Why should I come to see you?” + he asked. “I know nothing of Art.” + </p> + <p> + “It would sound very conceited, I suppose,” said Felix, “if I were to say + that it would be a good little chance for you to learn something. You + would ask me why you should learn; and I should have no answer to that. I + suppose a minister has no need for Art, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “He has need for good temper, sir,” said Mr. Brand, with decision. + </p> + <p> + Felix jumped up, with his palette on his thumb and a movement of the + liveliest deprecation. “That’s because I keep you standing there while I + splash my red paint! I beg a thousand pardons! You see what bad manners + Art gives a man; and how right you are to let it alone. I didn’t mean you + should stand, either. The piazza, as you see, is ornamented with rustic + chairs; though indeed I ought to warn you that they have nails in the + wrong places. I was just making a note of that sunset. I never saw such a + blaze of different reds. It looks as if the Celestial City were in flames, + eh? If that were really the case I suppose it would be the business of you + theologians to put out the fire. Fancy me—an ungodly artist—quietly + sitting down to paint it!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand had always credited Felix Young with a certain impudence, but it + appeared to him that on this occasion his impudence was so great as to + make a special explanation—or even an apology—necessary. And + the impression, it must be added, was sufficiently natural. Felix had at + all times a brilliant assurance of manner which was simply the vehicle of + his good spirits and his good will; but at present he had a special + design, and as he would have admitted that the design was audacious, so he + was conscious of having summoned all the arts of conversation to his aid. + But he was so far from desiring to offend his visitor that he was rapidly + asking himself what personal compliment he could pay the young clergyman + that would gratify him most. If he could think of it, he was prepared to + pay it down. “Have you been preaching one of your beautiful sermons + today?” he suddenly asked, laying down his palette. This was not what + Felix had been trying to think of, but it was a tolerable stop-gap. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand frowned—as much as a man can frown who has very fair, soft + eyebrows, and, beneath them, very gentle, tranquil eyes. “No, I have not + preached any sermon today. Did you bring me over here for the purpose of + making that inquiry?” + </p> + <p> + Felix saw that he was irritated, and he regretted it immensely; but he had + no fear of not being, in the end, agreeable to Mr. Brand. He looked at + him, smiling and laying his hand on his arm. “No, no, not for that—not + for that. I wanted to ask you something; I wanted to tell you something. I + am sure it will interest you very much. Only—as it is something + rather private—we had better come into my little studio. I have a + western window; we can still see the sunset. <i>Andiamo!</i>” And he gave a + little pat to his companion’s arm. + </p> + <p> + He led the way in; Mr. Brand stiffly and softly followed. The twilight had + thickened in the little studio; but the wall opposite the western window + was covered with a deep pink flush. There were a great many sketches and + half-finished canvasses suspended in this rosy glow, and the corners of + the room were vague and dusky. Felix begged Mr. Brand to sit down; then + glancing round him, “By Jove, how pretty it looks!” he cried. But Mr. + Brand would not sit down; he went and leaned against the window; he + wondered what Felix wanted of him. In the shadow, on the darker parts of + the wall, he saw the gleam of three or four pictures that looked fantastic + and surprising. They seemed to represent naked figures. Felix stood there, + with his head a little bent and his eyes fixed upon his visitor, smiling + intensely, pulling his moustache. Mr. Brand felt vaguely uneasy. “It is + very delicate—what I want to say,” Felix began. “But I have been + thinking of it for some time.” + </p> + <p> + “Please to say it as quickly as possible,” said Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “It’s because you are a clergyman, you know,” Felix went on. “I don’t + think I should venture to say it to a common man.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand was silent a moment. “If it is a question of yielding to a + weakness, of resenting an injury, I am afraid I am a very common man.” + </p> + <p> + “My dearest friend,” cried Felix, “this is not an injury; it’s a benefit—a + great service! You will like it extremely. Only it’s so delicate!” And, + in the dim light, he continued to smile intensely. “You know I take a + great interest in my cousins—in Charlotte and Gertrude Wentworth. + That’s very evident from my having traveled some five thousand miles to + see them.” Mr. Brand said nothing and Felix proceeded. “Coming into their + society as a perfect stranger I received of course a great many new + impressions, and my impressions had a great freshness, a great keenness. + Do you know what I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure that I do; but I should like you to continue.” + </p> + <p> + “I think my impressions have always a good deal of freshness,” said Mr. + Brand’s entertainer; “but on this occasion it was perhaps particularly + natural that—coming in, as I say, from outside—I should be + struck with things that passed unnoticed among yourselves. And then I had + my sister to help me; and she is simply the most observant woman in the + world.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not surprised,” said Mr. Brand, “that in our little circle two + intelligent persons should have found food for observation. I am sure + that, of late, I have found it myself!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but I shall surprise you yet!” cried Felix, laughing. “Both my sister + and I took a great fancy to my cousin Charlotte.” + </p> + <p> + “Your cousin Charlotte?” repeated Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “We fell in love with her from the first!” + </p> + <p> + “You fell in love with Charlotte?” Mr. Brand murmured. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Dame!</i>” exclaimed Felix, “she’s a very charming person; and Eugenia was + especially smitten.” Mr. Brand stood staring, and he pursued, “Affection, + you know, opens one’s eyes, and we noticed something. Charlotte is not + happy! Charlotte is in love.” And Felix, drawing nearer, laid his hand + again upon his companion’s arm. + </p> + <p> + There was something akin to an acknowledgment of fascination in the way + Mr. Brand looked at him; but the young clergyman retained as yet quite + enough self-possession to be able to say, with a good deal of solemnity, + “She is not in love with you.” + </p> + <p> + Felix gave a light laugh, and rejoined with the alacrity of a maritime + adventurer who feels a puff of wind in his sail. “Ah, no; if she were in + love with me I should know it! I am not so blind as you.” + </p> + <p> + “As I?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, you are stone blind. Poor Charlotte is dead in love with + <i>you!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand said nothing for a moment; he breathed a little heavily. “Is + that what you wanted to say to me?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have wanted to say it these three weeks. Because of late she has been + worse. I told you,” added Felix, “it was very delicate.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir”—Mr. Brand began; “well, sir——” + </p> + <p> + “I was sure you didn’t know it,” Felix continued. “But don’t you see—as + soon as I mention it—how everything is explained?” Mr. Brand + answered nothing; he looked for a chair and softly sat down. Felix could + see that he was blushing; he had looked straight at his host hitherto, but + now he looked away. The foremost effect of what he had heard had been a + sort of irritation of his modesty. “Of course,” said Felix, “I suggest + nothing; it would be very presumptuous in me to advise you. But I think + there is no doubt about the fact.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand looked hard at the floor for some moments; he was oppressed with + a mixture of sensations. Felix, standing there, was very sure that one of + them was profound surprise. The innocent young man had been completely + unsuspicious of poor Charlotte’s hidden flame. This gave Felix great hope; + he was sure that Mr. Brand would be flattered. Felix thought him very + transparent, and indeed he was so; he could neither simulate nor + dissimulate. “I scarcely know what to make of this,” he said at last, + without looking up; and Felix was struck with the fact that he offered no + protest or contradiction. Evidently Felix had kindled a train of memories—a + retrospective illumination. It was making, to Mr. Brand’s astonished eyes, + a very pretty blaze; his second emotion had been a gratification of + vanity. + </p> + <p> + “Thank me for telling you,” Felix rejoined. “It’s a good thing to know.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure of that,” said Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, don’t let her languish!” Felix murmured, lightly and softly. + </p> + <p> + “You <i>do</i> advise me, then?” And Mr. Brand looked up. + </p> + <p> + “I congratulate you!” said Felix, smiling. He had thought at first his + visitor was simply appealing; but he saw he was a little ironical. + </p> + <p> + “It is in your interest; you have interfered with me,” the young clergyman + went on. + </p> + <p> + Felix still stood and smiled. The little room had grown darker, and the + crimson glow had faded; but Mr. Brand could see the brilliant expression + of his face. “I won’t pretend not to know what you mean,” said Felix at + last. “But I have not really interfered with you. Of what you had to lose—with + another person—you have lost nothing. And think what you have + gained!” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me I am the proper judge, on each side,” Mr. Brand declared. + He got up, holding the brim of his hat against his mouth and staring at + Felix through the dusk. + </p> + <p> + “You have lost an illusion!” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “What do you call an illusion?” + </p> + <p> + “The belief that you really know—that you have ever really known—Gertrude + Wentworth. Depend upon that,” pursued Felix. “I don’t know her yet; but I + have no illusions; I don’t pretend to.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand kept gazing, over his hat. “She has always been a lucid, limpid + nature,” he said, solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “She has always been a dormant nature. She was waiting for a touchstone. + But now she is beginning to awaken.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t praise her to me!” said Mr. Brand, with a little quaver in his + voice. “If you have the advantage of me that is not generous.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, I am melting with generosity!” exclaimed Felix. “And I am + not praising my cousin. I am simply attempting a scientific definition of + her. She doesn’t care for abstractions. Now I think the contrary is what + you have always fancied—is the basis on which you have been + building. She is extremely preoccupied with the concrete. I care for the + concrete, too. But Gertrude is stronger than I; she whirls me along!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand looked for a moment into the crown of his hat. “It’s a most + interesting nature.” + </p> + <p> + “So it is,” said Felix. “But it pulls—it pulls—like a runaway + horse. Now I like the feeling of a runaway horse; and if I am thrown out + of the vehicle it is no great matter. But if <i>you</i> should be thrown, Mr. + Brand”—and Felix paused a moment—“another person also would + suffer from the accident.” + </p> + <p> + “What other person?” + </p> + <p> + “Charlotte Wentworth!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand looked at Felix for a moment sidewise, mistrustfully; then his + eyes slowly wandered over the ceiling. Felix was sure he was secretly + struck with the romance of the situation. “I think this is none of our + business,” the young minister murmured. + </p> + <p> + “None of mine, perhaps; but surely yours!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand lingered still, looking at the ceiling; there was evidently + something he wanted to say. “What do you mean by Miss Gertrude being + strong?” he asked abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Felix meditatively, “I mean that she has had a great deal of + self-possession. She was waiting—for years; even when she seemed, + perhaps, to be living in the present. She knew how to wait; she had a + purpose. That’s what I mean by her being strong.” + </p> + <p> + “But what do you mean by her purpose?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—the purpose to see the world!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand eyed his strange informant askance again; but he said nothing. + At last he turned away, as if to take leave. He seemed bewildered, + however; for instead of going to the door he moved toward the opposite + corner of the room. Felix stood and watched him for a moment—almost + groping about in the dusk; then he led him to the door, with a tender, + almost fraternal movement. “Is that all you have to say?” asked Mr. Brand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s all—but it will bear a good deal of thinking of.” + </p> + <p> + Felix went with him to the garden-gate, and watched him slowly walk away + into the thickening twilight with a relaxed rigidity that tried to rectify + itself. “He is offended, excited, bewildered, perplexed—and + enchanted!” Felix said to himself. “That’s a capital mixture.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + Since that visit paid by the Baroness Münster to Mrs. Acton, of which some + account was given at an earlier stage of this narrative, the intercourse + between these two ladies had been neither frequent nor intimate. It was + not that Mrs. Acton had failed to appreciate Madame Münster’s charms; + on the contrary, her perception of the graces of manner and conversation + of her brilliant visitor had been only too acute. Mrs. Acton was, as they + said in Boston, very “intense,” and her impressions were apt to be too + many for her. The state of her health required the restriction of emotion; + and this is why, receiving, as she sat in her eternal arm-chair, very few + visitors, even of the soberest local type, she had been obliged to limit + the number of her interviews with a lady whose costume and manner recalled + to her imagination—Mrs. Acton’s imagination was a marvel—all + that she had ever read of the most stirring historical periods. But she + had sent the Baroness a great many quaintly-worded messages and a great + many nosegays from her garden and baskets of beautiful fruit. Felix had + eaten the fruit, and the Baroness had arranged the flowers and returned + the baskets and the messages. On the day that followed that rainy Sunday + of which mention has been made, Eugenia determined to go and pay the + beneficent invalid a <i>“visite d’adieux”</i>; so it was that, to herself, she + qualified her enterprise. It may be noted that neither on the Sunday + evening nor on the Monday morning had she received that expected visit + from Robert Acton. To his own consciousness, evidently he was “keeping + away;” and as the Baroness, on her side, was keeping away from her + uncle’s, whither, for several days, Felix had been the unembarrassed + bearer of apologies and regrets for absence, chance had not taken the + cards from the hands of design. Mr. Wentworth and his daughters had + respected Eugenia’s seclusion; certain intervals of mysterious retirement + appeared to them, vaguely, a natural part of the graceful, rhythmic + movement of so remarkable a life. Gertrude especially held these periods + in honor; she wondered what Madame Münster did at such times, but she + would not have permitted herself to inquire too curiously. + </p> + <p> + The long rain had freshened the air, and twelve hours’ brilliant sunshine + had dried the roads; so that the Baroness, in the late afternoon, + proposing to walk to Mrs. Acton’s, exposed herself to no great discomfort. + As with her charming undulating step she moved along the clean, grassy + margin of the road, beneath the thickly-hanging boughs of the orchards, + through the quiet of the hour and place and the rich maturity of the + summer, she was even conscious of a sort of luxurious melancholy. The + Baroness had the amiable weakness of attaching herself to places—even + when she had begun with a little aversion; and now, with the prospect of + departure, she felt tenderly toward this well-wooded corner of the Western + world, where the sunsets were so beautiful and one’s ambitions were so + pure. Mrs. Acton was able to receive her; but on entering this lady’s + large, freshly-scented room the Baroness saw that she was looking very + ill. She was wonderfully white and transparent, and, in her flowered + arm-chair, she made no attempt to move. But she flushed a little—like + a young girl, the Baroness thought—and she rested her clear, smiling + eyes upon those of her visitor. Her voice was low and monotonous, like a + voice that had never expressed any human passions. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to bid you good-bye,” said Eugenia. “I shall soon be going + away.” + </p> + <p> + “When are you going away?” + </p> + <p> + “Very soon—any day.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry,” said Mrs. Acton. “I hoped you would stay—always.” + </p> + <p> + “Always?” Eugenia demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I mean a long time,” said Mrs. Acton, in her sweet, feeble tone. + “They tell me you are so comfortable—that you have got such a + beautiful little house.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia stared—that is, she smiled; she thought of her poor little + chalet and she wondered whether her hostess were jesting. “Yes, my house + is exquisite,” she said; “though not to be compared to yours.” + </p> + <p> + “And my son is so fond of going to see you,” Mrs. Acton added. “I am + afraid my son will miss you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, dear madam,” said Eugenia, with a little laugh, “I can’t stay in + America for your son!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you like America?” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness looked at the front of her dress. “If I liked it—that + would not be staying for your son!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Acton gazed at her with her grave, tender eyes, as if she had not + quite understood. The Baroness at last found something irritating in the + sweet, soft stare of her hostess; and if one were not bound to be merciful + to great invalids she would almost have taken the liberty of pronouncing + her, mentally, a fool. “I am afraid, then, I shall never see you again,” + said Mrs. Acton. “You know I am dying.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, dear madam,” murmured Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “I want to leave my children cheerful and happy. My daughter will probably + marry her cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “Two such interesting young people,” said the Baroness, vaguely. She was + not thinking of Clifford Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “I feel so tranquil about my end,” Mrs. Acton went on. “It is coming so + easily, so surely.” And she paused, with her mild gaze always on + Eugenia’s. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness hated to be reminded of death; but even in its imminence, so + far as Mrs. Acton was concerned, she preserved her good manners. “Ah, + madam, you are too charming an invalid,” she rejoined. + </p> + <p> + But the delicacy of this rejoinder was apparently lost upon her hostess, + who went on in her low, reasonable voice. “I want to leave my children + bright and comfortable. You seem to me all so happy here—just as you + are. So I wish you could stay. It would be so pleasant for Robert.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia wondered what she meant by its being pleasant for Robert; but she + felt that she would never know what such a woman as that meant. She got + up; she was afraid Mrs. Acton would tell her again that she was dying. + “Good-bye, dear madam,” she said. “I must remember that your strength is + precious.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Acton took her hand and held it a moment. “Well, you <i>have</i> been happy + here, haven’t you? And you like us all, don’t you? I wish you would + stay,” she added, “in your beautiful little house.” + </p> + <p> + She had told Eugenia that her waiting-woman would be in the hall, to show + her downstairs; but the large landing outside her door was empty, and + Eugenia stood there looking about. She felt irritated; the dying lady had + not <i>“la main heureuse.”</i> She passed slowly downstairs, still looking + about. The broad staircase made a great bend, and in the angle was a high + window, looking westward, with a deep bench, covered with a row of + flowering plants in curious old pots of blue china-ware. The yellow + afternoon light came in through the flowers and flickered a little on the + white wainscots. Eugenia paused a moment; the house was perfectly still, + save for the ticking, somewhere, of a great clock. The lower hall + stretched away at the foot of the stairs, half covered over with a large + Oriental rug. Eugenia lingered a little, noticing a great many things. + <i>“Comme c’est bien!”</i> she said to herself; such a large, solid, + irreproachable basis of existence the place seemed to her to indicate. And + then she reflected that Mrs. Acton was soon to withdraw from it. The + reflection accompanied her the rest of the way downstairs, where she + paused again, making more observations. The hall was extremely broad, and + on either side of the front door was a wide, deeply-set window, which + threw the shadows of everything back into the house. There were + high-backed chairs along the wall and big Eastern vases upon tables, and, + on either side, a large cabinet with a glass front and little curiosities + within, dimly gleaming. The doors were open—into the darkened + parlor, the library, the dining-room. All these rooms seemed empty. + Eugenia passed along, and stopped a moment on the threshold of each. + <i>“Comme c’est bien!”</i> she murmured again; she had thought of just such a + house as this when she decided to come to America. She opened the front + door for herself—her light tread had summoned none of the servants—and + on the threshold she gave a last look. Outside, she was still in the humor + for curious contemplation; so instead of going directly down the little + drive, to the gate, she wandered away towards the garden, which lay to the + right of the house. She had not gone many yards over the grass before she + paused quickly; she perceived a gentleman stretched upon the level + verdure, beneath a tree. He had not heard her coming, and he lay + motionless, flat on his back, with his hands clasped under his head, + staring up at the sky; so that the Baroness was able to reflect, at her + leisure, upon the question of his identity. It was that of a person who + had lately been much in her thoughts; but her first impulse, nevertheless, + was to turn away; the last thing she desired was to have the air of coming + in quest of Robert Acton. The gentleman on the grass, however, gave her no + time to decide; he could not long remain unconscious of so agreeable a + presence. He rolled back his eyes, stared, gave an exclamation, and then + jumped up. He stood an instant, looking at her. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse my ridiculous position,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I have just now no sense of the ridiculous. But, in case you have, don’t + imagine I came to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care,” rejoined Acton, “how you put it into my head! I was thinking + of you.” + </p> + <p> + “The occupation of extreme leisure!” said the Baroness. “To think of a + woman when you are in that position is no compliment.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t say I was thinking well!” Acton affirmed, smiling. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him, and then she turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Though I didn’t come to see you,” she said, “remember at least that I am + within your gates.” + </p> + <p> + “I am delighted—I am honored! Won’t you come into the house?” + </p> + <p> + “I have just come out of it. I have been calling upon your mother. I have + been bidding her farewell.” + </p> + <p> + “Farewell?” Acton demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I am going away,” said the Baroness. And she turned away again, as if to + illustrate her meaning. + </p> + <p> + “When are you going?” asked Acton, standing a moment in his place. But the + Baroness made no answer, and he followed her. + </p> + <p> + “I came this way to look at your garden,” she said, walking back to the + gate, over the grass. “But I must go.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me at least go with you.” He went with her, and they said nothing + till they reached the gate. It was open, and they looked down the road + which was darkened over with long bosky shadows. “Must you go straight + home?” Acton asked. + </p> + <p> + But she made no answer. She said, after a moment, “Why have you not been + to see me?” He said nothing, and then she went on, “Why don’t you answer + me?” + </p> + <p> + “I am trying to invent an answer,” Acton confessed. + </p> + <p> + “Have you none ready?” + </p> + <p> + “None that I can tell you,” he said. “But let me walk with you now.” + </p> + <p> + “You may do as you like.” + </p> + <p> + She moved slowly along the road, and Acton went with her. Presently he + said, “If I had done as I liked I would have come to see you several + times.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that invented?” asked Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “No, that is natural. I stayed away because——” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, here comes the reason, then!” + </p> + <p> + “Because I wanted to think about you.” + </p> + <p> + “Because you wanted to lie down!” said the Baroness. “I have seen you lie + down—almost—in my drawing-room.” + </p> + <p> + Acton stopped in the road, with a movement which seemed to beg her to + linger a little. She paused, and he looked at her awhile; he thought her + very charming. “You are jesting,” he said; “but if you are really going + away it is very serious.” + </p> + <p> + “If I stay,” and she gave a little laugh, “it is more serious still!” + </p> + <p> + “When shall you go?” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “And why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I stay?” + </p> + <p> + “Because we all admire you so.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not a reason. I am admired also in Europe.” And she began to walk + homeward again. + </p> + <p> + “What could I say to keep you?” asked Acton. He wanted to keep her, and it + was a fact that he had been thinking of her for a week. He was in love + with her now; he was conscious of that, or he thought he was; and the only + question with him was whether he could trust her. + </p> + <p> + “What you can say to keep me?” she repeated. “As I want very much to go it + is not in my interest to tell you. Besides, I can’t imagine.” + </p> + <p> + He went on with her in silence; he was much more affected by what she had + told him than appeared. Ever since that evening of his return from Newport + her image had had a terrible power to trouble him. What Clifford Wentworth + had told him—that had affected him, too, in an adverse sense; but it + had not liberated him from the discomfort of a charm of which his + intelligence was impatient. “She is not honest, she is not honest,” he + kept murmuring to himself. That is what he had been saying to the summer + sky, ten minutes before. Unfortunately, he was unable to say it finally, + definitively; and now that he was near her it seemed to matter wonderfully + little. “She is a woman who will lie,” he had said to himself. Now, as he + went along, he reminded himself of this observation; but it failed to + frighten him as it had done before. He almost wished he could make her lie + and then convict her of it, so that he might see how he should like that. + He kept thinking of this as he walked by her side, while she moved forward + with her light, graceful dignity. He had sat with her before; he had + driven with her; but he had never walked with her. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, how <i>comme il faut</i> she is!” he said, as he observed her sidewise. + When they reached the cottage in the orchard she passed into the gate + without asking him to follow; but she turned round, as he stood there, to + bid him good-night. + </p> + <p> + “I asked you a question the other night which you never answered,” he + said. “Have you sent off that document—liberating yourself?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated for a single moment—very naturally. Then, “Yes,” she + said, simply. + </p> + <p> + He turned away; he wondered whether that would do for his lie. But he saw + her again that evening, for the Baroness reappeared at her uncle’s. He had + little talk with her, however; two gentlemen had driven out from Boston, + in a buggy, to call upon Mr. Wentworth and his daughters, and Madame + Münster was an object of absorbing interest to both of the visitors. One + of them, indeed, said nothing to her; he only sat and watched with intense + gravity, and leaned forward solemnly, presenting his ear (a very large + one), as if he were deaf, whenever she dropped an observation. He had + evidently been impressed with the idea of her misfortunes and reverses: he + never smiled. His companion adopted a lighter, easier style; sat as near + as possible to Madame Münster; attempted to draw her out, and proposed + every few moments a new topic of conversation. Eugenia was less vividly + responsive than usual and had less to say than, from her brilliant + reputation, her interlocutor expected, upon the relative merits of + European and American institutions; but she was inaccessible to Robert + Acton, who roamed about the piazza with his hands in his pockets, + listening for the grating sound of the buggy from Boston, as it should be + brought round to the side-door. But he listened in vain, and at last he + lost patience. His sister came to him and begged him to take her home, and + he presently went off with her. Eugenia observed him leaving the house + with Lizzie; in her present mood the fact seemed a contribution to her + irritated conviction that he had several precious qualities. “Even that + <i>mal-élevée</i> little girl,” she reflected, “makes him do what she wishes.” + </p> + <p> + She had been sitting just within one of the long windows that opened upon + the piazza; but very soon after Acton had gone away she got up abruptly, + just when the talkative gentleman from Boston was asking her what she + thought of the “moral tone” of that city. On the piazza she encountered + Clifford Wentworth, coming round from the other side of the house. She + stopped him; she told him she wished to speak to him. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t you go home with your cousin?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Clifford stared. “Why, Robert has taken her,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly so. But you don’t usually leave that to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Clifford, “I want to see those fellows start off. They don’t + know how to drive.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not, then, that you have quarreled with your cousin?” + </p> + <p> + Clifford reflected a moment, and then with a simplicity which had, for the + Baroness, a singularly baffling quality, “Oh, no; we have made up!” he + said. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him for some moments; but Clifford had begun to be afraid of + the Baroness’s looks, and he endeavored, now, to shift himself out of + their range. “Why do you never come to see me any more?” she asked. “Have + I displeased you?” + </p> + <p> + “Displeased me? Well, I guess not!” said Clifford, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Why haven’t you come, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, because I am afraid of getting shut up in that back room.” + </p> + <p> + Eugenia kept looking at him. “I should think you would like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Like it!” cried Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “I should, if I were a young man calling upon a charming woman.” + </p> + <p> + “A charming woman isn’t much use to me when I am shut up in that back + room!” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I am not of much use to you anywhere!” said Madame Münster. + “And yet you know how I have offered to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” observed Clifford, by way of response, “there comes the buggy.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind the buggy. Do you know I am going away?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean now?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean in a few days. I leave this place.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going back to Europe?” + </p> + <p> + “To Europe, where you are to come and see me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I’ll come out there,” said Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “But before that,” Eugenia declared, “you must come and see me here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I shall keep clear of that back room!” rejoined her simple young + kinsman. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness was silent a moment. “Yes, you must come frankly—boldly. + That will be very much better. I see that now.” + </p> + <p> + “I see it!” said Clifford. And then, in an instant, “What’s the matter + with that buggy?” His practiced ear had apparently detected an unnatural + creak in the wheels of the light vehicle which had been brought to the + portico, and he hurried away to investigate so grave an anomaly. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness walked homeward, alone, in the starlight, asking herself a + question. Was she to have gained nothing—was she to have gained + nothing? + </p> + <p> + Gertrude Wentworth had held a silent place in the little circle gathered + about the two gentlemen from Boston. She was not interested in the + visitors; she was watching Madame Münster, as she constantly watched her. + She knew that Eugenia also was not interested—that she was bored; + and Gertrude was absorbed in study of the problem how, in spite of her + indifference and her absent attention, she managed to have such a charming + manner. That was the manner Gertrude would have liked to have; she + determined to cultivate it, and she wished that—to give her the + charm—she might in future very often be bored. While she was engaged + in these researches, Felix Young was looking for Charlotte, to whom he had + something to say. For some time, now, he had had something to say to + Charlotte, and this evening his sense of the propriety of holding some + special conversation with her had reached the motive-point—resolved + itself into acute and delightful desire. He wandered through the empty + rooms on the large ground-floor of the house, and found her at last in a + small apartment denominated, for reasons not immediately apparent, Mr. + Wentworth’s “office:” an extremely neat and well-dusted room, with an + array of law-books, in time-darkened sheep-skin, on one of the walls; a + large map of the United States on the other, flanked on either side by an + old steel engraving of one of Raphael’s Madonnas; and on the third several + glass cases containing specimens of butterflies and beetles. Charlotte was + sitting by a lamp, embroidering a slipper. Felix did not ask for whom the + slipper was destined; he saw it was very large. + </p> + <p> + He moved a chair toward her and sat down, smiling as usual, but, at first, + not speaking. She watched him, with her needle poised, and with a certain + shy, fluttered look which she always wore when he approached her. There + was something in Felix’s manner that quickened her modesty, her + self-consciousness; if absolute choice had been given her she would have + preferred never to find herself alone with him; and in fact, though she + thought him a most brilliant, distinguished, and well-meaning person, she + had exercised a much larger amount of tremulous tact than he had ever + suspected, to circumvent the accident of <i>tête-à-tête</i>. Poor Charlotte could + have given no account of the matter that would not have seemed unjust both + to herself and to her foreign kinsman; she could only have said—or + rather, she would never have said it—that she did not like so much + gentleman’s society at once. She was not reassured, accordingly, when he + began, emphasizing his words with a kind of admiring radiance, “My dear + cousin, I am enchanted at finding you alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very often alone,” Charlotte observed. Then she quickly added, “I + don’t mean I am lonely!” + </p> + <p> + “So clever a woman as you is never lonely,” said Felix. “You have company + in your beautiful work.” And he glanced at the big slipper. + </p> + <p> + “I like to work,” declared Charlotte, simply. + </p> + <p> + “So do I!” said her companion. “And I like to idle too. But it is not to + idle that I have come in search of you. I want to tell you something very + particular.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” murmured Charlotte; “of course, if you must——” + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin,” said Felix, “it’s nothing that a young lady may not + listen to. At least I suppose it isn’t. But <i>voyons</i>; you shall judge. I am + terribly in love.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Felix,” began Miss Wentworth, gravely. But her very gravity + appeared to check the development of her phrase. + </p> + <p> + “I am in love with your sister; but in love, Charlotte—in love!” the + young man pursued. Charlotte had laid her work in her lap; her hands were + tightly folded on top of it; she was staring at the carpet. “In short, I’m + in love, dear lady,” said Felix. “Now I want you to help me.” + </p> + <p> + “To help you?” asked Charlotte, with a tremor. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean with Gertrude; she and I have a perfect understanding; and + oh, how well she understands one! I mean with your father and with the + world in general, including Mr. Brand.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Mr. Brand!” said Charlotte, slowly, but with a simplicity which made + it evident to Felix that the young minister had not repeated to Miss + Wentworth the talk that had lately occurred between them. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, now, don’t say ‘poor’ Mr. Brand! I don’t pity Mr. Brand at all. But I + pity your father a little, and I don’t want to displease him. Therefore, + you see, I want you to plead for me. You don’t think me very shabby, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Shabby?” exclaimed Charlotte softly, for whom Felix represented the most + polished and iridescent qualities of mankind. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean in my appearance,” rejoined Felix, laughing; for Charlotte + was looking at his boots. “I mean in my conduct. You don’t think it’s an + abuse of hospitality?” + </p> + <p> + “To—to care for Gertrude?” asked Charlotte. + </p> + <p> + “To have really expressed one’s self. Because I <i>have</i> expressed myself, + Charlotte; I must tell you the whole truth—I have! Of course I want + to marry her—and here is the difficulty. I held off as long as I + could; but she is such a terribly fascinating person! She’s a strange + creature, Charlotte; I don’t believe you really know her.” Charlotte took + up her tapestry again, and again she laid it down. “I know your father has + had higher views,” Felix continued; “and I think you have shared them. You + have wanted to marry her to Mr. Brand.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Charlotte, very earnestly. “Mr. Brand has always admired + her. But we did not want anything of that kind.” + </p> + <p> + Felix stared. “Surely, marriage was what you proposed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but we didn’t wish to force her.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>A la bonne heure!</i> That’s very unsafe you know. With these arranged + marriages there is often the deuce to pay.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Felix,” said Charlotte, “we didn’t want to ‘arrange.’” + </p> + <p> + “I am delighted to hear that. Because in such cases—even when the + woman is a thoroughly good creature—she can’t help looking for a + compensation. A charming fellow comes along—and <i>voilà!</i>” Charlotte + sat mutely staring at the floor, and Felix presently added, “Do go on with + your slipper, I like to see you work.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte took up her variegated canvas, and began to draw vague blue + stitches in a big round rose. “If Gertrude is so—so strange,” she + said, “why do you want to marry her?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that’s it, dear Charlotte! I like strange women; I always have liked + them. Ask Eugenia! And Gertrude is wonderful; she says the most beautiful + things!” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte looked at him, almost for the first time, as if her meaning + required to be severely pointed. “You have a great influence over her.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and no!” said Felix. “I had at first, I think; but now it is + six of one and half-a-dozen of the other; it is reciprocal. She affects me + strongly—for she <i>is</i> so strong. I don’t believe you know her; it’s a + beautiful nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Felix; I have always thought Gertrude’s nature beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you think so now,” cried the young man, “wait and see! She’s a + folded flower. Let me pluck her from the parent tree and you will see her + expand. I’m sure you will enjoy it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you,” murmured Charlotte. “I <i>can’t</i>, Felix.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can understand this—that I beg you to say a good word for + me to your father. He regards me, I naturally believe, as a very light + fellow, a Bohemian, an irregular character. Tell him I am not all this; if + I ever was, I have forgotten it. I am fond of pleasure—yes; but of + innocent pleasure. Pain is all one; but in pleasure, you know, there are + tremendous distinctions. Say to him that Gertrude is a folded flower and + that I am a serious man!” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte got up from her chair slowly rolling up her work. “We know you + are very kind to everyone, Felix,” she said. “But we are extremely sorry + for Mr. Brand.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you are—you especially! Because,” added Felix hastily, + “you are a woman. But I don’t pity him. It ought to be enough for any man + that you take an interest in him.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not enough for Mr. Brand,” said Charlotte, simply. And she stood + there a moment, as if waiting conscientiously for anything more that Felix + might have to say. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Brand is not so keen about his marriage as he was,” he presently + said. “He is afraid of your sister. He begins to think she is wicked.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte looked at him now with beautiful, appealing eyes—eyes into + which he saw the tears rising. “Oh, Felix, Felix,” she cried, “what have + you done to her?” + </p> + <p> + “I think she was asleep; I have waked her up!” + </p> + <p> + But Charlotte, apparently, was really crying, she walked straight out of + the room. And Felix, standing there and meditating, had the apparent + brutality to take satisfaction in her tears. + </p> + <p> + Late that night Gertrude, silent and serious, came to him in the garden; + it was a kind of appointment. Gertrude seemed to like appointments. She + plucked a handful of heliotrope and stuck it into the front of her dress, + but she said nothing. They walked together along one of the paths, and + Felix looked at the great, square, hospitable house, massing itself + vaguely in the starlight, with all its windows darkened. + </p> + <p> + “I have a little of a bad conscience,” he said. “I oughtn’t to meet you + this way till I have got your father’s consent.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at him for some time. “I don’t understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “You very often say that,” he said. “Considering how little we understand + each other, it is a wonder how well we get on!” + </p> + <p> + “We have done nothing but meet since you came here—but meet alone. + The first time I ever saw you we were alone,” Gertrude went on. “What is + the difference now? Is it because it is at night?” + </p> + <p> + “The difference, Gertrude,” said Felix, stopping in the path, “the + difference is that I love you more—more than before!” And then they + stood there, talking, in the warm stillness and in front of the closed + dark house. “I have been talking to Charlotte—been trying to bespeak + her interest with your father. She has a kind of sublime perversity; was + ever a woman so bent upon cutting off her own head?” + </p> + <p> + “You are too careful,” said Gertrude; “you are too diplomatic.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” cried the young man, “I didn’t come here to make anyone + unhappy!” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked round her awhile in the odorous darkness. “I will do + anything you please,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “For instance?” asked Felix, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I will go away. I will do anything you please.” + </p> + <p> + Felix looked at her in solemn admiration. “Yes, we will go away,” he said. + “But we will make peace first.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked about her again, and then she broke out, passionately, + “Why do they try to make one feel guilty? Why do they make it so + difficult? Why can’t they understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I will make them understand!” said Felix. He drew her hand into his arm, + and they wandered about in the garden, talking, for an hour. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + Felix allowed Charlotte time to plead his cause; and then, on the third + day, he sought an interview with his uncle. It was in the morning; Mr. + Wentworth was in his office; and, on going in, Felix found that Charlotte + was at that moment in conference with her father. She had, in fact, been + constantly near him since her interview with Felix; she had made up her + mind that it was her duty to repeat very literally her cousin’s passionate + plea. She had accordingly followed Mr. Wentworth about like a shadow, in + order to find him at hand when she should have mustered sufficient + composure to speak. For poor Charlotte, in this matter, naturally lacked + composure; especially when she meditated upon some of Felix’s intimations. + It was not cheerful work, at the best, to keep giving small hammer-taps to + the coffin in which one had laid away, for burial, the poor little + unacknowledged offspring of one’s own misbehaving heart; and the + occupation was not rendered more agreeable by the fact that the ghost of + one’s stifled dream had been summoned from the shades by the strange, bold + words of a talkative young foreigner. What had Felix meant by saying that + Mr. Brand was not so keen? To herself her sister’s justly depressed suitor + had shown no sign of faltering. Charlotte trembled all over when she + allowed herself to believe for an instant now and then that, privately, + Mr. Brand might have faltered; and as it seemed to give more force to + Felix’s words to repeat them to her father, she was waiting until she + should have taught herself to be very calm. But she had now begun to tell + Mr. Wentworth that she was extremely anxious. She was proceeding to + develop this idea, to enumerate the objects of her anxiety, when Felix + came in. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth sat there, with his legs crossed, lifting his dry, pure + countenance from the Boston <i>Advertiser</i>. Felix entered smiling, as if he + had something particular to say, and his uncle looked at him as if he both + expected and deprecated this event. Felix vividly expressing himself had + come to be a formidable figure to his uncle, who had not yet arrived at + definite views as to a proper tone. For the first time in his life, as I + have said, Mr. Wentworth shirked a responsibility; he earnestly desired + that it might not be laid upon him to determine how his nephew’s lighter + propositions should be treated. He lived under an apprehension that Felix + might yet beguile him into assent to doubtful inductions, and his + conscience instructed him that the best form of vigilance was the + avoidance of discussion. He hoped that the pleasant episode of his + nephew’s visit would pass away without a further lapse of consistency. + </p> + <p> + Felix looked at Charlotte with an air of understanding, and then at Mr. + Wentworth, and then at Charlotte again. Mr. Wentworth bent his refined + eyebrows upon his nephew and stroked down the first page of the + <i>Advertiser</i>. “I ought to have brought a bouquet,” said Felix, laughing. + “In France they always do.” + </p> + <p> + “We are not in France,” observed Mr. Wentworth, gravely, while Charlotte + earnestly gazed at him. + </p> + <p> + “No, luckily, we are not in France, where I am afraid I should have a + harder time of it. My dear Charlotte, have you rendered me that delightful + service?” And Felix bent toward her as if someone had been presenting + him. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte looked at him with almost frightened eyes; and Mr. Wentworth + thought this might be the beginning of a discussion. “What is the bouquet + for?” he inquired, by way of turning it off. + </p> + <p> + Felix gazed at him, smiling. <i>“Pour la demande!”</i> And then, drawing up a + chair, he seated himself, hat in hand, with a kind of conscious solemnity. + </p> + <p> + Presently he turned to Charlotte again. “My good Charlotte, my admirable + Charlotte,” he murmured, “you have not played me false—you have not + sided against me?” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte got up, trembling extremely, though imperceptibly. “You must + speak to my father yourself,” she said. “I think you are clever enough.” + </p> + <p> + But Felix, rising too, begged her to remain. “I can speak better to an + audience!” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “I hope it is nothing disagreeable,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “It’s something delightful, for me!” And Felix, laying down his hat, + clasped his hands a little between his knees. “My dear uncle,” he said, “I + desire, very earnestly, to marry your daughter Gertrude.” Charlotte sank + slowly into her chair again, and Mr. Wentworth sat staring, with a light + in his face that might have been flashed back from an iceberg. He stared + and stared; he said nothing. Felix fell back, with his hands still + clasped. “Ah—you don’t like it. I was afraid!” He blushed deeply, + and Charlotte noticed it—remarking to herself that it was the first + time she had ever seen him blush. She began to blush herself and to + reflect that he might be much in love. + </p> + <p> + “This is very abrupt,” said Mr. Wentworth, at last. + </p> + <p> + “Have you never suspected it, dear uncle?” Felix inquired. “Well, that + proves how discreet I have been. Yes, I thought you wouldn’t like it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very serious, Felix,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “You think it’s an abuse of hospitality!” exclaimed Felix, smiling again. + </p> + <p> + “Of hospitality?—an abuse?” his uncle repeated very slowly. + </p> + <p> + “That is what Felix said to me,” said Charlotte, conscientiously. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you think so; don’t defend yourself!” Felix pursued. “It <i>is</i> an + abuse, obviously; the most I can claim is that it is perhaps a pardonable + one. I simply fell head over heels in love; one can hardly help that. + Though you are Gertrude’s progenitor I don’t believe you know how + attractive she is. Dear uncle, she contains the elements of a singularly—I + may say a strangely—charming woman!” + </p> + <p> + “She has always been to me an object of extreme concern,” said Mr. + Wentworth. “We have always desired her happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, here it is!” Felix declared. “I will make her happy. She believes + it, too. Now hadn’t you noticed that?” + </p> + <p> + “I had noticed that she was much changed,” Mr. Wentworth declared, in a + tone whose unexpressive, unimpassioned quality appeared to Felix to reveal + a profundity of opposition. “It may be that she is only becoming what you + call a charming woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude, at heart, is so earnest, so true,” said Charlotte, very softly, + fastening her eyes upon her father. + </p> + <p> + “I delight to hear you praise her!” cried Felix. + </p> + <p> + “She has a very peculiar temperament,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, even that is praise!” Felix rejoined. “I know I am not the man you + might have looked for. I have no position and no fortune; I can give + Gertrude no place in the world. A place in the world—that’s what + she ought to have; that would bring her out.” + </p> + <p> + “A place to do her duty!” remarked Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, how charmingly she does it—her duty!” Felix exclaimed, with a + radiant face. “What an exquisite conception she has of it! But she comes + honestly by that, dear uncle.” Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte both looked at + him as if they were watching a greyhound doubling. “Of course with me she + will hide her light under a bushel,” he continued; “I being the bushel! + Now I know you like me—you have certainly proved it. But you think I + am frivolous and penniless and shabby! Granted—granted—a + thousand times granted. I have been a loose fish—a fiddler, a + painter, an actor. But there is this to be said: In the first place, I + fancy you exaggerate; you lend me qualities I haven’t had. I have been a + Bohemian—yes; but in Bohemia I always passed for a gentleman. I wish + you could see some of my old <i>camarades</i>—they would tell you! It was + the liberty I liked, but not the opportunities! My sins were all + peccadilloes; I always respected my neighbor’s property—my + neighbor’s wife. Do you see, dear uncle?” Mr. Wentworth ought to have + seen; his cold blue eyes were intently fixed. “And then, <i>c’est fini!</i> It’s + all over. <i>Je me range</i>. I have settled down to a jog-trot. I find I can + earn my living—a very fair one—by going about the world and + painting bad portraits. It’s not a glorious profession, but it is a + perfectly respectable one. You won’t deny that, eh? Going about the world, + I say? I must not deny that, for that I am afraid I shall always do—in + quest of agreeable sitters. When I say agreeable, I mean susceptible of + delicate flattery and prompt of payment. Gertrude declares she is willing + to share my wanderings and help to pose my models. She even thinks it will + be charming; and that brings me to my third point. Gertrude likes me. + Encourage her a little and she will tell you so.” + </p> + <p> + Felix’s tongue obviously moved much faster than the imagination of his + auditors; his eloquence, like the rocking of a boat in a deep, smooth + lake, made long eddies of silence. And he seemed to be pleading and + chattering still, with his brightly eager smile, his uplifted eyebrows, + his expressive mouth, after he had ceased speaking, and while, with his + glance quickly turning from the father to the daughter, he sat waiting for + the effect of his appeal. “It is not your want of means,” said Mr. + Wentworth, after a period of severe reticence. + </p> + <p> + “Now it’s delightful of you to say that! Only don’t say it’s my want of + character. Because I have a character—I assure you I have; a small + one, a little slip of a thing, but still something tangible.” + </p> + <p> + “Ought you not to tell Felix that it is Mr. Brand, father?” Charlotte + asked, with infinite mildness. + </p> + <p> + “It is not only Mr. Brand,” Mr. Wentworth solemnly declared. And he looked + at his knee for a long time. “It is difficult to explain,” he said. He + wished, evidently, to be very just. “It rests on moral grounds, as Mr. + Brand says. It is the question whether it is the best thing for Gertrude.” + </p> + <p> + “What is better—what is better, dear uncle?” Felix rejoined + urgently, rising in his urgency and standing before Mr. Wentworth. His + uncle had been looking at his knee; but when Felix moved he transferred + his gaze to the handle of the door which faced him. “It is usually a + fairly good thing for a girl to marry the man she loves!” cried Felix. + </p> + <p> + While he spoke, Mr. Wentworth saw the handle of the door begin to turn; + the door opened and remained slightly ajar, until Felix had delivered + himself of the cheerful axiom just quoted. Then it opened altogether and + Gertrude stood there. She looked excited; there was a spark in her sweet, + dull eyes. She came in slowly, but with an air of resolution, and, closing + the door softly, looked round at the three persons present. Felix went to + her with tender gallantry, holding out his hand, and Charlotte made a + place for her on the sofa. But Gertrude put her hands behind her and made + no motion to sit down. + </p> + <p> + “We are talking of you!” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” she answered. “That’s why I came.” And she fastened her eyes + on her father, who returned her gaze very fixedly. In his own cold blue + eyes there was a kind of pleading, reasoning light. + </p> + <p> + “It is better you should be present,” said Mr. Wentworth. “We are + discussing your future.” + </p> + <p> + “Why discuss it?” asked Gertrude. “Leave it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “That is, to me!” cried Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I leave it, in the last resort, to a greater wisdom than ours,” said the + old man. + </p> + <p> + Felix rubbed his forehead gently. “But <i>en attendant</i> the last resort, your + father lacks confidence,” he said to Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you confidence in Felix?” Gertrude was frowning; there was + something about her that her father and Charlotte had never seen. + Charlotte got up and came to her, as if to put her arm round her; but + suddenly, she seemed afraid to touch her. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth, however, was not afraid. “I have had more confidence in + Felix than in you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you have never had confidence in me—never, never! I don’t know + why.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh sister, sister!” murmured Charlotte. + </p> + <p> + “You have always needed advice,” Mr. Wentworth declared. “You have had a + difficult temperament.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you call it difficult? It might have been easy, if you had allowed + it. You wouldn’t let me be natural. I don’t know what you wanted to make + of me. Mr. Brand was the worst.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte at last took hold of her sister. She laid her two hands upon + Gertrude’s arm. “He cares so much for you,” she almost whispered. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at her intently an instant; then kissed her. “No, he does + not,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I have never seen you so passionate,” observed Mr. Wentworth, with an air + of indignation mitigated by high principles. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry if I offend you,” said Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + “You offend me, but I don’t think you are sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, father, she is sorry,” said Charlotte. + </p> + <p> + “I would even go further, dear uncle,” Felix interposed. “I would question + whether she really offends you. How can she offend you?” + </p> + <p> + To this Mr. Wentworth made no immediate answer. Then, in a moment, “She + has not profited as we hoped.” + </p> + <p> + “Profited? <i>Ah voilà!</i>” Felix exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude was very pale; she stood looking down. “I have told Felix I would + go away with him,” she presently said. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have said some admirable things!” cried the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Go away, sister?” asked Charlotte. + </p> + <p> + “Away—away; to some strange country.” + </p> + <p> + “That is to frighten you,” said Felix, smiling at Charlotte. + </p> + <p> + “To—what do you call it?” asked Gertrude, turning an instant to + Felix. “To Bohemia.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you propose to dispense with preliminaries?” asked Mr. Wentworth, + getting up. + </p> + <p> + “Dear uncle, <i>vous plaisantez!</i>” cried Felix. “It seems to me that these are + preliminaries.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude turned to her father. “I <i>have</i> profited,” she said. “You wanted to + form my character. Well, my character is formed—for my age. I know + what I want; I have chosen. I am determined to marry this gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better consent, sir,” said Felix very gently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, you had better consent,” added a very different voice. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte gave a little jump, and the others turned to the direction from + which it had come. It was the voice of Mr. Brand, who had stepped through + the long window which stood open to the piazza. He stood patting his + forehead with his pocket-handkerchief; he was very much flushed; his face + wore a singular expression. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, you had better consent,” Mr. Brand repeated, coming forward. “I + know what Miss Gertrude means.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear friend!” murmured Felix, laying his hand caressingly on the young + minister’s arm. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand looked at him; then at Mr. Wentworth; lastly at Gertrude. He did + not look at Charlotte. But Charlotte’s earnest eyes were fastened to his + own countenance; they were asking an immense question of it. The answer to + this question could not come all at once; but some of the elements of it + were there. It was one of the elements of it that Mr. Brand was very red, + that he held his head very high, that he had a bright, excited eye and an + air of embarrassed boldness—the air of a man who has taken a + resolve, in the execution of which he apprehends the failure, not of his + moral, but of his personal, resources. Charlotte thought he looked very + grand; and it is incontestable that Mr. Brand felt very grand. This, in + fact, was the grandest moment of his life; and it was natural that such a + moment should contain opportunities of awkwardness for a large, stout, + modest young man. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, sir,” said Mr. Wentworth, with an angular wave of his hand. “It + is very proper that you should be present.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you are talking about,” Mr. Brand rejoined. “I heard what + your nephew said.” + </p> + <p> + “And he heard what you said!” exclaimed Felix, patting him again on the + arm. + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure that I understood,” said Mr. Wentworth, who had angularity + in his voice as well as in his gestures. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude had been looking hard at her former suitor. She had been puzzled, + like her sister; but her imagination moved more quickly than Charlotte’s. + “Mr. Brand asked you to let Felix take me away,” she said to her father. + </p> + <p> + The young minister gave her a strange look. “It is not because I don’t + want to see you any more,” he declared, in a tone intended as it were for + publicity. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t think you would want to see me any more,” Gertrude answered, + gently. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth stood staring. “Isn’t this rather a change, sir?” he + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” And Mr. Brand looked anywhere; only still not at Charlotte. + “Yes, sir,” he repeated. And he held his handkerchief a few moments to his + lips. + </p> + <p> + “Where are our moral grounds?” demanded Mr. Wentworth, who had always + thought Mr. Brand would be just the thing for a younger daughter with a + peculiar temperament. + </p> + <p> + “It is sometimes very moral to change, you know,” suggested Felix. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte had softly left her sister’s side. She had edged gently toward + her father, and now her hand found its way into his arm. Mr. Wentworth had + folded up the <i>Advertiser</i> into a surprisingly small compass, and, holding + the roll with one hand, he earnestly clasped it with the other. Mr. Brand + was looking at him; and yet, though Charlotte was so near, his eyes failed + to meet her own. Gertrude watched her sister. + </p> + <p> + “It is better not to speak of change,” said Mr. Brand. “In one sense there + is no change. There was something I desired—something I asked of + you; I desire something still—I ask it of you.” And he paused a + moment; Mr. Wentworth looked bewildered. “I should like, in my ministerial + capacity, to unite this young couple.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude, watching her sister, saw Charlotte flushing intensely, and Mr. + Wentworth felt her pressing upon his arm. “Heavenly Powers!” murmured Mr. + Wentworth. And it was the nearest approach to profanity he had ever made. + </p> + <p> + “That is very nice; that is very handsome!” Felix exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” said Mr. Wentworth; though it was plain that + everyone else did. + </p> + <p> + “That is very beautiful, Mr. Brand,” said Gertrude, emulating Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to marry you. It will give me great pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “As Gertrude says, it’s a beautiful idea,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + Felix was smiling, but Mr. Brand was not even trying to. He himself + treated his proposition very seriously. “I have thought of it, and I + should like to do it,” he affirmed. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring with expanded eyes. Her imagination, as + I have said, was not so rapid as her sister’s, but now it had taken + several little jumps. “Father,” she murmured, “consent!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand heard her; he looked away. Mr. Wentworth, evidently, had no + imagination at all. “I have always thought,” he began, slowly, “that + Gertrude’s character required a special line of development.” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” repeated Charlotte, <i>“consent.”</i> + </p> + <p> + Then, at last, Mr. Brand looked at her. Her father felt her leaning more + heavily upon his folded arm than she had ever done before; and this, with + a certain sweet faintness in her voice, made him wonder what was the + matter. He looked down at her and saw the encounter of her gaze with the + young theologian’s; but even this told him nothing, and he continued to be + bewildered. Nevertheless, “I consent,” he said at last, “since Mr. Brand + recommends it.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to perform the ceremony very soon,” observed Mr. Brand, + with a sort of solemn simplicity. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, that’s charming!” cried Felix, profanely. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth sank into his chair. “Doubtless, when you understand it,” he + said, with a certain judicial asperity. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude went to her sister and led her away, and Felix having passed his + arm into Mr. Brand’s and stepped out of the long window with him, the old + man was left sitting there in unillumined perplexity. + </p> + <p> + Felix did no work that day. In the afternoon, with Gertrude, he got into + one of the boats and floated about with idly-dipping oars. They talked a + good deal of Mr. Brand—though not exclusively. + </p> + <p> + “That was a fine stroke,” said Felix. “It was really heroic.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude sat musing, with her eyes upon the ripples. “That was what he + wanted to be; he wanted to do something fine.” + </p> + <p> + “He won’t be comfortable till he has married us,” said Felix. “So much the + better.” + </p> + <p> + “He wanted to be magnanimous; he wanted to have a fine moral pleasure. I + know him so well,” Gertrude went on. Felix looked at her; she spoke + slowly, gazing at the clear water. “He thought of it a great deal, night + and day. He thought it would be beautiful. At last he made up his mind + that it was his duty, his duty to do just that—nothing less than + that. He felt exalted; he felt sublime. That’s how he likes to feel. It + is better for him than if I had listened to him.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s better for me,” smiled Felix. “But do you know, as regards the + sacrifice, that I don’t believe he admired you when this decision was + taken quite so much as he had done a fortnight before?” + </p> + <p> + “He never admired me. He admires Charlotte; he pitied me. I know him so + well.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, he didn’t pity you so much.” + </p> + <p> + Gertrude looked at Felix a little, smiling. “You shouldn’t permit + yourself,” she said, “to diminish the splendor of his action. He admires + Charlotte,” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “That’s capital!” said Felix laughingly, and dipping his oars. I cannot + say exactly to which member of Gertrude’s phrase he alluded; but he dipped + his oars again, and they kept floating about. + </p> + <p> + Neither Felix nor his sister, on that day, was present at Mr. Wentworth’s + at the evening repast. The two occupants of the chalet dined together, and + the young man informed his companion that his marriage was now an assured + fact. Eugenia congratulated him, and replied that if he were as reasonable + a husband as he had been, on the whole, a brother, his wife would have + nothing to complain of. + </p> + <p> + Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. “I hope,” he said, “not to be + thrown back on my reason.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very true,” Eugenia rejoined, “that one’s reason is dismally flat. + It’s a bed with the mattress removed.” + </p> + <p> + But the brother and sister, later in the evening, crossed over to the + larger house, the Baroness desiring to compliment her prospective + sister-in-law. They found the usual circle upon the piazza, with the + exception of Clifford Wentworth and Lizzie Acton; and as everyone stood + up as usual to welcome the Baroness, Eugenia had an admiring audience for + her compliment to Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + Robert Acton stood on the edge of the piazza, leaning against one of the + white columns, so that he found himself next to Eugenia while she + acquitted herself of a neat little discourse of congratulation. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be so glad to know you better,” she said; “I have seen so much + less of you than I should have liked. Naturally; now I see the reason why! + You will love me a little, won’t you? I think I may say I gain on being + known.” And terminating these observations with the softest cadence of her + voice, the Baroness imprinted a sort of grand official kiss upon + Gertrude’s forehead. + </p> + <p> + Increased familiarity had not, to Gertrude’s imagination, diminished the + mysterious impressiveness of Eugenia’s personality, and she felt flattered + and transported by this little ceremony. Robert Acton also seemed to + admire it, as he admired so many of the gracious manifestations of Madame + Münster’s wit. + </p> + <p> + They had the privilege of making him restless, and on this occasion he + walked away, suddenly, with his hands in his pockets, and then came back + and leaned against his column. Eugenia was now complimenting her uncle + upon his daughter’s engagement, and Mr. Wentworth was listening with his + usual plain yet refined politeness. It is to be supposed that by this time + his perception of the mutual relations of the young people who surrounded + him had become more acute; but he still took the matter very seriously, + and he was not at all exhilarated. + </p> + <p> + “Felix will make her a good husband,” said Eugenia. “He will be a charming + companion; he has a great quality—indestructible gaiety.” + </p> + <p> + “You think that’s a great quality?” asked the old man. + </p> + <p> + Eugenia meditated, with her eyes upon his. “You think one gets tired of + it, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that I am prepared to say that,” said Mr. Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we will say, then, that it is tiresome for others but delightful + for one’s self. A woman’s husband, you know, is supposed to be her second + self; so that, for Felix and Gertrude, gaiety will be a common property.” + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude was always very gay,” said Mr. Wentworth. He was trying to + follow this argument. + </p> + <p> + Robert Acton took his hands out of his pockets and came a little nearer to + the Baroness. “You say you gain by being known,” he said. “One certainly + gains by knowing you.” + </p> + <p> + “What have <i>you</i> gained?” asked Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + “An immense amount of wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a questionable advantage for a man who was already so wise!” + </p> + <p> + Acton shook his head. “No, I was a great fool before I knew you!” + </p> + <p> + “And being a fool you made my acquaintance? You are very complimentary.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me keep it up,” said Acton, laughing. “I hope, for our pleasure, that + your brother’s marriage will detain you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I stop for my brother’s marriage when I would not stop for my + own?” asked the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t you stop in either case, now that, as you say, you have + dissolved that mechanical tie that bound you to Europe?” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness looked at him a moment. “As I say? You look as if you doubted + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Acton, returning her glance, “that is a remnant of my old + folly! We have other attractions,” he added. “We are to have another + marriage.” + </p> + <p> + But she seemed not to hear him; she was looking at him still. “My word was + never doubted before,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “We are to have another marriage,” Acton repeated, smiling. + </p> + <p> + Then she appeared to understand. “Another marriage?” And she looked at the + others. Felix was chattering to Gertrude; Charlotte, at a distance, was + watching them; and Mr. Brand, in quite another quarter, was turning his + back to them, and, with his hands under his coat-tails and his large head + on one side, was looking at the small, tender crescent of a young moon. + “It ought to be Mr. Brand and Charlotte,” said Eugenia, “but it doesn’t + look like it.” + </p> + <p> + “There,” Acton answered, “you must judge just now by contraries. There is + more than there looks to be. I expect that combination one of these days; + but that is not what I meant.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Baroness, “I never guess my own lovers; so I can’t guess + other people’s.” + </p> + <p> + Acton gave a loud laugh, and he was about to add a rejoinder when Mr. + Wentworth approached his niece. “You will be interested to hear,” the old + man said, with a momentary aspiration toward jocosity, “of another + matrimonial venture in our little circle.” + </p> + <p> + “I was just telling the Baroness,” Acton observed. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Acton was apparently about to announce his own engagement,” said + Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth’s jocosity increased. “It is not exactly that; but it is in + the family. Clifford, hearing this morning that Mr. Brand had expressed a + desire to tie the nuptial knot for his sister, took it into his head to + arrange that, while his hand was in, our good friend should perform a like + ceremony for himself and Lizzie Acton.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness threw back her head and smiled at her uncle; then turning, + with an intenser radiance, to Robert Acton, “I am certainly very stupid + not to have thought of that,” she said. Acton looked down at his boots, as + if he thought he had perhaps reached the limits of legitimate + experimentation, and for a moment Eugenia said nothing more. It had been, + in fact, a sharp knock, and she needed to recover herself. This was done, + however, promptly enough. “Where are the young people?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “They are spending the evening with my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Is not the thing very sudden?” + </p> + <p> + Acton looked up. “Extremely sudden. There had been a tacit understanding; + but within a day or two Clifford appears to have received some mysterious + impulse to precipitate the affair.” + </p> + <p> + “The impulse,” said the Baroness, “was the charms of your very pretty + sister.” + </p> + <p> + “But my sister’s charms were an old story; he had always known her.” Acton + had begun to experiment again. + </p> + <p> + Here, however, it was evident the Baroness would not help him. “Ah, one + can’t say! Clifford is very young; but he is a nice boy.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s a likeable sort of boy, and he will be a rich man.” This was + Acton’s last experiment. Madame Münster turned away. + </p> + <p> + She made but a short visit and Felix took her home. In her little + drawing-room she went almost straight to the mirror over the + chimney-piece, and, with a candle uplifted, stood looking into it. “I + shall not wait for your marriage,” she said to her brother. “Tomorrow my + maid shall pack up.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sister,” Felix exclaimed, “we are to be married immediately! Mr. + Brand is too uncomfortable.” + </p> + <p> + But Eugenia, turning and still holding her candle aloft, only looked about + the little sitting-room at her gimcracks and curtains and cushions. “My + maid shall pack up,” she repeated. “<i>Bonté divine</i>, what rubbish! I feel + like a strolling actress; these are my ‘properties.’” + </p> + <p> + “Is the play over, Eugenia?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + She gave him a sharp glance. “I have spoken my part.” + </p> + <p> + “With great applause!” said her brother. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, applause—applause!” she murmured. And she gathered up two or + three of her dispersed draperies. She glanced at the beautiful brocade, + and then, “I don’t see how I can have endured it!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Endure it a little longer. Come to my wedding.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; that’s your affair. My affairs are elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “To Germany—by the first ship.” + </p> + <p> + “You have decided not to marry Mr. Acton?” + </p> + <p> + “I have refused him,” said Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + Her brother looked at her in silence. “I am sorry,” he rejoined at last. + “But I was very discreet, as you asked me to be. I said nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Please continue, then, not to allude to the matter,” said Eugenia. + </p> + <p> + Felix inclined himself gravely. “You shall be obeyed. But your position in + Germany?” he pursued. + </p> + <p> + “Please to make no observations upon it.” + </p> + <p> + “I was only going to say that I supposed it was altered.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought you had signed——” + </p> + <p> + “I have not signed!” said the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + Felix urged her no further, and it was arranged that he should immediately + assist her to embark. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand was indeed, it appeared, very impatient to consummate his + sacrifice and deliver the nuptial benediction which would set it off so + handsomely; but Eugenia’s impatience to withdraw from a country in which + she had not found the fortune she had come to seek was even less to be + mistaken. It is true she had not made any very various exertion; but she + appeared to feel justified in generalizing—in deciding that the + conditions of action on this provincial continent were not favorable to + really superior women. The elder world was, after all, their natural + field. The unembarrassed directness with which she proceeded to apply + these intelligent conclusions appeared to the little circle of spectators + who have figured in our narrative but the supreme exhibition of a + character to which the experience of life had imparted an inimitable + pliancy. It had a distinct effect upon Robert Acton, who, for the two days + preceding her departure, was a very restless and irritated mortal. She + passed her last evening at her uncle’s, where she had never been more + charming; and in parting with Clifford Wentworth’s affianced bride she + drew from her own finger a curious old ring and presented it to her with + the prettiest speech and kiss. Gertrude, who as an affianced bride was + also indebted to her gracious bounty, admired this little incident + extremely, and Robert Acton almost wondered whether it did not give him + the right, as Lizzie’s brother and guardian, to offer in return a handsome + present to the Baroness. It would have made him extremely happy to be able + to offer a handsome present to the Baroness; but he abstained from this + expression of his sentiments, and they were in consequence, at the very + last, by so much the less comfortable. It was almost at the very last that + he saw her—late the night before she went to Boston to embark. + </p> + <p> + “For myself, I wish you might have stayed,” he said. “But not for your own + sake.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t make so many differences,” said the Baroness. “I am simply sorry + to be going.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a much deeper difference than mine,” Acton declared; “for you + mean you are simply glad!” + </p> + <p> + Felix parted with her on the deck of the ship. “We shall often meet over + there,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she answered. “Europe seems to me much larger than + America.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brand, of course, in the days that immediately followed, was not the + only impatient spirit; but it may be said that of all the young spirits + interested in the event none rose more eagerly to the level of the + occasion. Gertrude left her father’s house with Felix Young; they were + imperturbably happy and they went far away. Clifford and his young wife + sought their felicity in a narrower circle, and the latter’s influence + upon her husband was such as to justify, strikingly, that theory of the + elevating effect of easy intercourse with clever women which Felix had + propounded to Mr. Wentworth. Gertrude was for a good while a distant + figure, but she came back when Charlotte married Mr. Brand. She was + present at the wedding feast, where Felix’s gaiety confessed to no change. + Then she disappeared, and the echo of a gaiety of her own, mingled with + that of her husband, often came back to the home of her earlier years. Mr. + Wentworth at last found himself listening for it; and Robert Acton, after + his mother’s death, married a particularly nice young girl. + </p> + <p> + The End + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Europeans, by Henry James + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EUROPEANS *** + +***** This file should be named 179-h.htm or 179-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/179/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Europeans + +Author: Henry James + +Release Date: March 14, 2006 [EBook #179] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EUROPEANS *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + + + + + +THE EUROPEANS + +by Henry James + + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A narrow grave-yard in the heart of a bustling, indifferent city, seen +from the windows of a gloomy-looking inn, is at no time an object of +enlivening suggestion; and the spectacle is not at its best when the +mouldy tombstones and funereal umbrage have received the ineffectual +refreshment of a dull, moist snow-fall. If, while the air is thickened +by this frosty drizzle, the calendar should happen to indicate that the +blessed vernal season is already six weeks old, it will be admitted that +no depressing influence is absent from the scene. This fact was keenly +felt on a certain 12th of May, upwards of thirty years since, by a lady +who stood looking out of one of the windows of the best hotel in the +ancient city of Boston. She had stood there for half an hour--stood +there, that is, at intervals; for from time to time she turned back +into the room and measured its length with a restless step. In the +chimney-place was a red-hot fire which emitted a small blue flame; and +in front of the fire, at a table, sat a young man who was busily plying +a pencil. He had a number of sheets of paper cut into small +equal squares, and he was apparently covering them with pictorial +designs--strange-looking figures. He worked rapidly and attentively, +sometimes threw back his head and held out his drawing at arm's-length, +and kept up a soft, gay-sounding humming and whistling. The lady brushed +past him in her walk; her much-trimmed skirts were voluminous. She never +dropped her eyes upon his work; she only turned them, occasionally, as +she passed, to a mirror suspended above the toilet-table on the other +side of the room. Here she paused a moment, gave a pinch to her waist +with her two hands, or raised these members--they were very plump +and pretty--to the multifold braids of her hair, with a movement half +caressing, half corrective. An attentive observer might have fancied +that during these periods of desultory self-inspection her face forgot +its melancholy; but as soon as she neared the window again it began to +proclaim that she was a very ill-pleased woman. And indeed, in what +met her eyes there was little to be pleased with. The window-panes were +battered by the sleet; the head-stones in the grave-yard beneath seemed +to be holding themselves askance to keep it out of their faces. A tall +iron railing protected them from the street, and on the other side of +the railing an assemblage of Bostonians were trampling about in the +liquid snow. Many of them were looking up and down; they appeared to be +waiting for something. From time to time a strange vehicle drew near to +the place where they stood,--such a vehicle as the lady at the window, +in spite of a considerable acquaintance with human inventions, had +never seen before: a huge, low omnibus, painted in brilliant colors, +and decorated apparently with jangling bells, attached to a species of +groove in the pavement, through which it was dragged, with a great deal +of rumbling, bouncing and scratching, by a couple of remarkably small +horses. When it reached a certain point the people in front of the +grave-yard, of whom much the greater number were women, carrying +satchels and parcels, projected themselves upon it in a compact body--a +movement suggesting the scramble for places in a life-boat at sea--and +were engulfed in its large interior. Then the life-boat--or the +life-car, as the lady at the window of the hotel vaguely designated +it--went bumping and jingling away upon its invisible wheels, with the +helmsman (the man at the wheel) guiding its course incongruously from +the prow. This phenomenon was repeated every three minutes, and the +supply of eagerly-moving women in cloaks, bearing reticules and bundles, +renewed itself in the most liberal manner. On the other side of the +grave-yard was a row of small red brick houses, showing a series of +homely, domestic-looking backs; at the end opposite the hotel a tall +wooden church-spire, painted white, rose high into the vagueness of +the snow-flakes. The lady at the window looked at it for some time; for +reasons of her own she thought it the ugliest thing she had ever seen. +She hated it, she despised it; it threw her into a state of irritation +that was quite out of proportion to any sensible motive. She had never +known herself to care so much about church-spires. + +She was not pretty; but even when it expressed perplexed irritation her +face was most interesting and agreeable. Neither was she in her +first youth; yet, though slender, with a great deal of extremely +well-fashioned roundness of contour--a suggestion both of maturity and +flexibility--she carried her three and thirty years as a light-wristed +Hebe might have carried a brimming wine-cup. Her complexion was +fatigued, as the French say; her mouth was large, her lips too full, her +teeth uneven, her chin rather commonly modeled; she had a thick nose, +and when she smiled--she was constantly smiling--the lines beside it +rose too high, toward her eyes. But these eyes were charming: gray +in color, brilliant, quickly glancing, gently resting, full of +intelligence. Her forehead was very low--it was her only handsome +feature; and she had a great abundance of crisp dark hair, finely +frizzled, which was always braided in a manner that suggested some +Southern or Eastern, some remotely foreign, woman. She had a large +collection of ear-rings, and wore them in alternation; and they seemed +to give a point to her Oriental or exotic aspect. A compliment had once +been paid her, which, being repeated to her, gave her greater pleasure +than anything she had ever heard. "A pretty woman?" some one had said. +"Why, her features are very bad." "I don't know about her features," a +very discerning observer had answered; "but she carries her head like a +pretty woman." You may imagine whether, after this, she carried her head +less becomingly. + +She turned away from the window at last, pressing her hands to her eyes. +"It 's too horrible!" she exclaimed. "I shall go back--I shall go back!" +And she flung herself into a chair before the fire. + +"Wait a little, dear child," said the young man softly, sketching away +at his little scraps of paper. + +The lady put out her foot; it was very small, and there was an immense +rosette on her slipper. She fixed her eyes for a while on this ornament, +and then she looked at the glowing bed of anthracite coal in the grate. +"Did you ever see anything so hideous as that fire?" she demanded. +"Did you ever see anything so--so affreux as--as everything?" She spoke +English with perfect purity; but she brought out this French epithet +in a manner that indicated that she was accustomed to using French +epithets. + +"I think the fire is very pretty," said the young man, glancing at it +a moment. "Those little blue tongues, dancing on top of the crimson +embers, are extremely picturesque. They are like a fire in an +alchemist's laboratory." + +"You are too good-natured, my dear," his companion declared. + +The young man held out one of his drawings, with his head on one side. +His tongue was gently moving along his under-lip. "Good-natured--yes. +Too good-natured--no." + +"You are irritating," said the lady, looking at her slipper. + +He began to retouch his sketch. "I think you mean simply that you are +irritated." + +"Ah, for that, yes!" said his companion, with a little bitter laugh. "It +'s the darkest day of my life--and you know what that means." + +"Wait till to-morrow," rejoined the young man. + +"Yes, we have made a great mistake. If there is any doubt about it +to-day, there certainly will be none to-morrow. Ce sera clair, au +moins!" + +The young man was silent a few moments, driving his pencil. Then at +last, "There are no such things as mistakes," he affirmed. + +"Very true--for those who are not clever enough to perceive them. Not +to recognize one's mistakes--that would be happiness in life," the lady +went on, still looking at her pretty foot. + +"My dearest sister," said the young man, always intent upon his drawing, +"it 's the first time you have told me I am not clever." + +"Well, by your own theory I can't call it a mistake," answered his +sister, pertinently enough. + +The young man gave a clear, fresh laugh. "You, at least, are clever +enough, dearest sister," he said. + +"I was not so when I proposed this." + +"Was it you who proposed it?" asked her brother. + +She turned her head and gave him a little stare. "Do you desire the +credit of it?" + +"If you like, I will take the blame," he said, looking up with a smile. + +"Yes," she rejoined in a moment, "you make no difference in these +things. You have no sense of property." + +The young man gave his joyous laugh again. "If that means I have no +property, you are right!" + +"Don't joke about your poverty," said his sister. "That is quite as +vulgar as to boast about it." + +"My poverty! I have just finished a drawing that will bring me fifty +francs!" + +"Voyons," said the lady, putting out her hand. + +He added a touch or two, and then gave her his sketch. She looked at it, +but she went on with her idea of a moment before. "If a woman were to +ask you to marry her you would say, 'Certainly, my dear, with pleasure!' +And you would marry her and be ridiculously happy. Then at the end of +three months you would say to her, 'You know that blissful day when I +begged you to be mine!'" + +The young man had risen from the table, stretching his arms a little; he +walked to the window. "That is a description of a charming nature," he +said. + +"Oh, yes, you have a charming nature; I regard that as our capital. If +I had not been convinced of that I should never have taken the risk of +bringing you to this dreadful country." + +"This comical country, this delightful country!" exclaimed the young +man, and he broke into the most animated laughter. + +"Is it those women scrambling into the omnibus?" asked his companion. +"What do you suppose is the attraction?" + +"I suppose there is a very good-looking man inside," said the young man. + +"In each of them? They come along in hundreds, and the men in this +country don't seem at all handsome. As for the women--I have never seen +so many at once since I left the convent." + +"The women are very pretty," her brother declared, "and the whole affair +is very amusing. I must make a sketch of it." And he came back to the +table quickly, and picked up his utensils--a small sketching-board, +a sheet of paper, and three or four crayons. He took his place at the +window with these things, and stood there glancing out, plying his +pencil with an air of easy skill. While he worked he wore a +brilliant smile. Brilliant is indeed the word at this moment for his +strongly-lighted face. He was eight and twenty years old; he had a +short, slight, well-made figure. Though he bore a noticeable resemblance +to his sister, he was a better favored person: fair-haired, clear-faced, +witty-looking, with a delicate finish of feature and an expression at +once urbane and not at all serious, a warm blue eye, an eyebrow finely +drawn and excessively arched--an eyebrow which, if ladies wrote sonnets +to those of their lovers, might have been made the subject of such a +piece of verse--and a light moustache that flourished upwards as if +blown that way by the breath of a constant smile. There was something +in his physiognomy at once benevolent and picturesque. But, as I have +hinted, it was not at all serious. The young man's face was, in this +respect, singular; it was not at all serious, and yet it inspired the +liveliest confidence. + +"Be sure you put in plenty of snow," said his sister. "Bonte divine, +what a climate!" + +"I shall leave the sketch all white, and I shall put in the little +figures in black," the young man answered, laughing. "And I shall call +it--what is that line in Keats?--Mid-May's Eldest Child!" + +"I don't remember," said the lady, "that mamma ever told me it was like +this." + +"Mamma never told you anything disagreeable. And it 's not like +this--every day. You will see that to-morrow we shall have a splendid +day." + +"Qu'en savez-vous? To-morrow I shall go away." + +"Where shall you go?" + +"Anywhere away from here. Back to Silberstadt. I shall write to the +Reigning Prince." + +The young man turned a little and looked at her, with his crayon poised. +"My dear Eugenia," he murmured, "were you so happy at sea?" + +Eugenia got up; she still held in her hand the drawing her brother had +given her. It was a bold, expressive sketch of a group of miserable +people on the deck of a steamer, clinging together and clutching at each +other, while the vessel lurched downward, at a terrific angle, into +the hollow of a wave. It was extremely clever, and full of a sort of +tragi-comical power. Eugenia dropped her eyes upon it and made a sad +grimace. "How can you draw such odious scenes?" she asked. "I should +like to throw it into the fire!" And she tossed the paper away. Her +brother watched, quietly, to see where it went. It fluttered down to the +floor, where he let it lie. She came toward the window, pinching in +her waist. "Why don't you reproach me--abuse me?" she asked. "I think +I should feel better then. Why don't you tell me that you hate me for +bringing you here?" + +"Because you would not believe it. I adore you, dear sister! I am +delighted to be here, and I am charmed with the prospect." + +"I don't know what had taken possession of me. I had lost my head," +Eugenia went on. + +The young man, on his side, went on plying his pencil. "It is evidently +a most curious and interesting country. Here we are, and I mean to enjoy +it." + +His companion turned away with an impatient step, but presently came +back. "High spirits are doubtless an excellent thing," she said; "but +you give one too much of them, and I can't see that they have done you +any good." + +The young man stared, with lifted eyebrows, smiling; he tapped his +handsome nose with his pencil. "They have made me happy!" + +"That was the least they could do; they have made you nothing else. You +have gone through life thanking fortune for such very small favors that +she has never put herself to any trouble for you." + +"She must have put herself to a little, I think, to present me with so +admirable a sister." + +"Be serious, Felix. You forget that I am your elder." + +"With a sister, then, so elderly!" rejoined Felix, laughing. "I hoped we +had left seriousness in Europe." + +"I fancy you will find it here. Remember that you are nearly thirty +years old, and that you are nothing but an obscure Bohemian--a penniless +correspondent of an illustrated newspaper." + +"Obscure as much as you please, but not so much of a Bohemian as you +think. And not at all penniless! I have a hundred pounds in my pocket. +I have an engagement to make fifty sketches, and I mean to paint the +portraits of all our cousins, and of all their cousins, at a hundred +dollars a head." + +"You are not ambitious," said Eugenia. + +"You are, dear Baroness," the young man replied. + +The Baroness was silent a moment, looking out at the sleet-darkened +grave-yard and the bumping horse-cars. "Yes, I am ambitious," she said +at last. "And my ambition has brought me to this dreadful place!" She +glanced about her--the room had a certain vulgar nudity; the bed and the +window were curtainless--and she gave a little passionate sigh. "Poor +old ambition!" she exclaimed. Then she flung herself down upon a sofa +which stood near against the wall, and covered her face with her hands. + +Her brother went on with his drawing, rapidly and skillfully; after some +moments he sat down beside her and showed her his sketch. "Now, don't +you think that 's pretty good for an obscure Bohemian?" he asked. "I +have knocked off another fifty francs." + +Eugenia glanced at the little picture as he laid it on her lap. "Yes, +it is very clever," she said. And in a moment she added, "Do you suppose +our cousins do that?" + +"Do what?" + +"Get into those things, and look like that." + +Felix meditated awhile. "I really can't say. It will be interesting to +discover." + +"Oh, the rich people can't!" said the Baroness. + +"Are you very sure they are rich?" asked Felix, lightly. + +His sister slowly turned in her place, looking at him. "Heavenly +powers!" she murmured. "You have a way of bringing out things!" + +"It will certainly be much pleasanter if they are rich," Felix declared. + +"Do you suppose if I had not known they were rich I would ever have +come?" + +The young man met his sister's somewhat peremptory eye with his bright, +contented glance. "Yes, it certainly will be pleasanter," he repeated. + +"That is all I expect of them," said the Baroness. "I don't count upon +their being clever or friendly--at first--or elegant or interesting. But +I assure you I insist upon their being rich." + +Felix leaned his head upon the back of the sofa and looked awhile at the +oblong patch of sky to which the window served as frame. The snow was +ceasing; it seemed to him that the sky had begun to brighten. "I count +upon their being rich," he said at last, "and powerful, and clever, and +friendly, and elegant, and interesting, and generally delightful! Tu vas +voir." And he bent forward and kissed his sister. "Look there!" he went +on. "As a portent, even while I speak, the sky is turning the color of +gold; the day is going to be splendid." + +And indeed, within five minutes the weather had changed. The sun broke +out through the snow-clouds and jumped into the Baroness's room. "Bonte +divine," exclaimed this lady, "what a climate!" + +"We will go out and see the world," said Felix. + +And after a while they went out. The air had grown warm as well as +brilliant; the sunshine had dried the pavements. They walked about the +streets at hazard, looking at the people and the houses, the shops and +the vehicles, the blazing blue sky and the muddy crossings, the hurrying +men and the slow-strolling maidens, the fresh red bricks and the bright +green trees, the extraordinary mixture of smartness and shabbiness. +From one hour to another the day had grown vernal; even in the bustling +streets there was an odor of earth and blossom. Felix was immensely +entertained. He had called it a comical country, and he went about +laughing at everything he saw. You would have said that American +civilization expressed itself to his sense in a tissue of capital jokes. +The jokes were certainly excellent, and the young man's merriment was +joyous and genial. He possessed what is called the pictorial sense; +and this first glimpse of democratic manners stirred the same sort of +attention that he would have given to the movements of a lively +young person with a bright complexion. Such attention would have been +demonstrative and complimentary; and in the present case Felix might +have passed for an undispirited young exile revisiting the haunts of +his childhood. He kept looking at the violent blue of the sky, at the +scintillating air, at the scattered and multiplied patches of color. + +"Comme c'est bariole, eh?" he said to his sister in that foreign tongue +which they both appeared to feel a mysterious prompting occasionally to +use. + +"Yes, it is bariole indeed," the Baroness answered. "I don't like the +coloring; it hurts my eyes." + +"It shows how extremes meet," the young man rejoined. "Instead of coming +to the West we seem to have gone to the East. The way the sky touches +the house-tops is just like Cairo; and the red and blue sign-boards +patched over the face of everything remind one of Mahometan +decorations." + +"The young women are not Mahometan," said his companion. "They can't be +said to hide their faces. I never saw anything so bold." + +"Thank Heaven they don't hide their faces!" cried Felix. "Their faces +are uncommonly pretty." + +"Yes, their faces are often very pretty," said the Baroness, who was +a very clever woman. She was too clever a woman not to be capable of +a great deal of just and fine observation. She clung more closely than +usual to her brother's arm; she was not exhilarated, as he was; she said +very little, but she noted a great many things and made her reflections. +She was a little excited; she felt that she had indeed come to a strange +country, to make her fortune. Superficially, she was conscious of a good +deal of irritation and displeasure; the Baroness was a very delicate +and fastidious person. Of old, more than once, she had gone, for +entertainment's sake and in brilliant company, to a fair in a provincial +town. It seemed to her now that she was at an enormous fair--that the +entertainment and the disagreements were very much the same. She found +herself alternately smiling and shrinking; the show was very curious, +but it was probable, from moment to moment, that one would be jostled. +The Baroness had never seen so many people walking about before; she +had never been so mixed up with people she did not know. But little by +little she felt that this fair was a more serious undertaking. She went +with her brother into a large public garden, which seemed very pretty, +but where she was surprised at seeing no carriages. The afternoon was +drawing to a close; the coarse, vivid grass and the slender tree-boles +were gilded by the level sunbeams--gilded as with gold that was fresh +from the mine. It was the hour at which ladies should come out for an +airing and roll past a hedge of pedestrians, holding their parasols +askance. Here, however, Eugenia observed no indications of this custom, +the absence of which was more anomalous as there was a charming avenue +of remarkably graceful, arching elms in the most convenient contiguity +to a large, cheerful street, in which, evidently, among the more +prosperous members of the bourgeoisie, a great deal of pedestrianism +went forward. Our friends passed out into this well lighted promenade, +and Felix noticed a great many more pretty girls and called his sister's +attention to them. This latter measure, however, was superfluous; for +the Baroness had inspected, narrowly, these charming young ladies. + +"I feel an intimate conviction that our cousins are like that," said +Felix. + +The Baroness hoped so, but this is not what she said. "They are very +pretty," she said, "but they are mere little girls. Where are the +women--the women of thirty?" + +"Of thirty-three, do you mean?" her brother was going to ask; for he +understood often both what she said and what she did not say. But he +only exclaimed upon the beauty of the sunset, while the Baroness, who +had come to seek her fortune, reflected that it would certainly be well +for her if the persons against whom she might need to measure herself +should all be mere little girls. The sunset was superb; they stopped +to look at it; Felix declared that he had never seen such a gorgeous +mixture of colors. The Baroness also thought it splendid; and she was +perhaps the more easily pleased from the fact that while she stood there +she was conscious of much admiring observation on the part of various +nice-looking people who passed that way, and to whom a distinguished, +strikingly-dressed woman with a foreign air, exclaiming upon the +beauties of nature on a Boston street corner in the French tongue, +could not be an object of indifference. Eugenia's spirits rose. She +surrendered herself to a certain tranquil gayety. If she had come to +seek her fortune, it seemed to her that her fortune would be easy to +find. There was a promise of it in the gorgeous purity of the western +sky; there was an intimation in the mild, unimpertinent gaze of the +passers of a certain natural facility in things. + +"You will not go back to Silberstadt, eh?" asked Felix. + +"Not to-morrow," said the Baroness. + +"Nor write to the Reigning Prince?" + +"I shall write to him that they evidently know nothing about him over +here." + +"He will not believe you," said the young man. "I advise you to let him +alone." + +Felix himself continued to be in high good humor. Brought up among +ancient customs and in picturesque cities, he yet found plenty of local +color in the little Puritan metropolis. That evening, after dinner, he +told his sister that he should go forth early on the morrow to look up +their cousins. + +"You are very impatient," said Eugenia. + +"What can be more natural," he asked, "after seeing all those pretty +girls to-day? If one's cousins are of that pattern, the sooner one knows +them the better." + +"Perhaps they are not," said Eugenia. "We ought to have brought some +letters--to some other people." + +"The other people would not be our kinsfolk." + +"Possibly they would be none the worse for that," the Baroness replied. + +Her brother looked at her with his eyebrows lifted. "That was not what +you said when you first proposed to me that we should come out here and +fraternize with our relatives. You said that it was the prompting of +natural affection; and when I suggested some reasons against it you +declared that the voix du sang should go before everything." + +"You remember all that?" asked the Baroness. + +"Vividly! I was greatly moved by it." + +She was walking up and down the room, as she had done in the morning; +she stopped in her walk and looked at her brother. She apparently was +going to say something, but she checked herself and resumed her walk. +Then, in a few moments, she said something different, which had the +effect of an explanation of the suppression of her earlier thought. "You +will never be anything but a child, dear brother." + +"One would suppose that you, madam," answered Felix, laughing, "were a +thousand years old." + +"I am--sometimes," said the Baroness. + +"I will go, then, and announce to our cousins the arrival of a +personage so extraordinary. They will immediately come and pay you their +respects." + +Eugenia paced the length of the room again, and then she stopped before +her brother, laying her hand upon his arm. "They are not to come and see +me," she said. "You are not to allow that. That is not the way I shall +meet them first." And in answer to his interrogative glance she went on. +"You will go and examine, and report. You will come back and tell me +who they are and what they are; their number, gender, their respective +ages--all about them. Be sure you observe everything; be ready to +describe to me the locality, the accessories--how shall I say it?--the +mise en scene. Then, at my own time, at my own hour, under circumstances +of my own choosing, I will go to them. I will present myself--I will +appear before them!" said the Baroness, this time phrasing her idea with +a certain frankness. + +"And what message am I to take to them?" asked Felix, who had a lively +faith in the justness of his sister's arrangements. + +She looked at him a moment--at his expression of agreeable veracity; +and, with that justness that he admired, she replied, "Say what you +please. Tell my story in the way that seems to you most--natural." And +she bent her forehead for him to kiss. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER II + +The next day was splendid, as Felix had prophesied; if the winter had +suddenly leaped into spring, the spring had for the moment as quickly +leaped into summer. This was an observation made by a young girl who +came out of a large square house in the country, and strolled about in +the spacious garden which separated it from a muddy road. The flowering +shrubs and the neatly-disposed plants were basking in the abundant +light and warmth; the transparent shade of the great elms--they were +magnificent trees--seemed to thicken by the hour; and the intensely +habitual stillness offered a submissive medium to the sound of a distant +church-bell. The young girl listened to the church-bell; but she was not +dressed for church. She was bare-headed; she wore a white muslin waist, +with an embroidered border, and the skirt of her dress was of colored +muslin. She was a young lady of some two or three and twenty years +of age, and though a young person of her sex walking bare-headed in +a garden, of a Sunday morning in spring-time, can, in the nature of +things, never be a displeasing object, you would not have pronounced +this innocent Sabbath-breaker especially pretty. She was tall and pale, +thin and a little awkward; her hair was fair and perfectly straight; her +eyes were dark, and they had the singularity of seeming at once dull +and restless--differing herein, as you see, fatally from the ideal "fine +eyes," which we always imagine to be both brilliant and tranquil. The +doors and windows of the large square house were all wide open, to admit +the purifying sunshine, which lay in generous patches upon the floor +of a wide, high, covered piazza adjusted to two sides of the mansion--a +piazza on which several straw-bottomed rocking-chairs and half a dozen +of those small cylindrical stools in green and blue porcelain, which +suggest an affiliation between the residents and the Eastern trade, were +symmetrically disposed. It was an ancient house--ancient in the sense +of being eighty years old; it was built of wood, painted a clean, clear, +faded gray, and adorned along the front, at intervals, with flat wooden +pilasters, painted white. These pilasters appeared to support a kind of +classic pediment, which was decorated in the middle by a large triple +window in a boldly carved frame, and in each of its smaller angles by +a glazed circular aperture. A large white door, furnished with a +highly-polished brass knocker, presented itself to the rural-looking +road, with which it was connected by a spacious pathway, paved with worn +and cracked, but very clean, bricks. Behind it there were meadows and +orchards, a barn and a pond; and facing it, a short distance along the +road, on the opposite side, stood a smaller house, painted white, with +external shutters painted green, a little garden on one hand and an +orchard on the other. All this was shining in the morning air, through +which the simple details of the picture addressed themselves to the eye +as distinctly as the items of a "sum" in addition. + +A second young lady presently came out of the house, across the piazza, +descended into the garden and approached the young girl of whom I have +spoken. This second young lady was also thin and pale; but she was older +than the other; she was shorter; she had dark, smooth hair. Her eyes, +unlike the other's, were quick and bright; but they were not at all +restless. She wore a straw bonnet with white ribbons, and a long, red, +India scarf, which, on the front of her dress, reached to her feet. In +her hand she carried a little key. + +"Gertrude," she said, "are you very sure you had better not go to +church?" + +Gertrude looked at her a moment, plucked a small sprig from a +lilac-bush, smelled it and threw it away. "I am not very sure of +anything!" she answered. + +The other young lady looked straight past her, at the distant pond, +which lay shining between the long banks of fir-trees. Then she said in +a very soft voice, "This is the key of the dining-room closet. I think +you had better have it, if any one should want anything." + +"Who is there to want anything?" Gertrude demanded. "I shall be all +alone in the house." + +"Some one may come," said her companion. + +"Do you mean Mr. Brand?" + +"Yes, Gertrude. He may like a piece of cake." + +"I don't like men that are always eating cake!" Gertrude declared, +giving a pull at the lilac-bush. + +Her companion glanced at her, and then looked down on the ground. "I +think father expected you would come to church," she said. "What shall I +say to him?" + +"Say I have a bad headache." + +"Would that be true?" asked the elder lady, looking straight at the pond +again. + +"No, Charlotte," said the younger one simply. + +Charlotte transferred her quiet eyes to her companion's face. "I am +afraid you are feeling restless." + +"I am feeling as I always feel," Gertrude replied, in the same tone. + +Charlotte turned away; but she stood there a moment. Presently she +looked down at the front of her dress. "Does n't it seem to you, +somehow, as if my scarf were too long?" she asked. + +Gertrude walked half round her, looking at the scarf. "I don't think you +wear it right," she said. + +"How should I wear it, dear?" + +"I don't know; differently from that. You should draw it differently +over your shoulders, round your elbows; you should look differently +behind." + +"How should I look?" Charlotte inquired. + +"I don't think I can tell you," said Gertrude, plucking out the scarf +a little behind. "I could do it myself, but I don't think I can explain +it." + +Charlotte, by a movement of her elbows, corrected the laxity that had +come from her companion's touch. "Well, some day you must do it for me. +It does n't matter now. Indeed, I don't think it matters," she added, +"how one looks behind." + +"I should say it mattered more," said Gertrude. "Then you don't know who +may be observing you. You are not on your guard. You can't try to look +pretty." + +Charlotte received this declaration with extreme gravity. "I don't think +one should ever try to look pretty," she rejoined, earnestly. + +Her companion was silent. Then she said, "Well, perhaps it 's not of +much use." + +Charlotte looked at her a little, and then kissed her. "I hope you will +be better when we come back." + +"My dear sister, I am very well!" said Gertrude. + +Charlotte went down the large brick walk to the garden gate; her +companion strolled slowly toward the house. At the gate Charlotte met a +young man, who was coming in--a tall, fair young man, wearing a high hat +and a pair of thread gloves. He was handsome, but rather too stout. He +had a pleasant smile. "Oh, Mr. Brand!" exclaimed the young lady. + +"I came to see whether your sister was not going to church," said the +young man. + +"She says she is not going; but I am very glad you have come. I think if +you were to talk to her a little".... And Charlotte lowered her voice. +"It seems as if she were restless." + +Mr. Brand smiled down on the young lady from his great height. "I shall +be very glad to talk to her. For that I should be willing to absent +myself from almost any occasion of worship, however attractive." + +"Well, I suppose you know," said Charlotte, softly, as if positive +acceptance of this proposition might be dangerous. "But I am afraid I +shall be late." + +"I hope you will have a pleasant sermon," said the young man. + +"Oh, Mr. Gilman is always pleasant," Charlotte answered. And she went on +her way. + +Mr. Brand went into the garden, where Gertrude, hearing the gate close +behind him, turned and looked at him. For a moment she watched him +coming; then she turned away. But almost immediately she corrected this +movement, and stood still, facing him. He took off his hat and wiped his +forehead as he approached. Then he put on his hat again and held out his +hand. His hat being removed, you would have perceived that his forehead +was very large and smooth, and his hair abundant but rather colorless. +His nose was too large, and his mouth and eyes were too small; but for +all this he was, as I have said, a young man of striking appearance. The +expression of his little clean-colored blue eyes was irresistibly gentle +and serious; he looked, as the phrase is, as good as gold. The young +girl, standing in the garden path, glanced, as he came up, at his thread +gloves. + +"I hoped you were going to church," he said. "I wanted to walk with +you." + +"I am very much obliged to you," Gertrude answered. "I am not going to +church." + +She had shaken hands with him; he held her hand a moment. "Have you any +special reason for not going?" + +"Yes, Mr. Brand," said the young girl. + +"May I ask what it is?" + +She looked at him smiling; and in her smile, as I have intimated, there +was a certain dullness. But mingled with this dullness was something +sweet and suggestive. "Because the sky is so blue!" she said. + +He looked at the sky, which was magnificent, and then said, smiling too, +"I have heard of young ladies staying at home for bad weather, but +never for good. Your sister, whom I met at the gate, tells me you are +depressed," he added. + +"Depressed? I am never depressed." + +"Oh, surely, sometimes," replied Mr. Brand, as if he thought this a +regrettable account of one's self. + +"I am never depressed," Gertrude repeated. "But I am sometimes wicked. +When I am wicked I am in high spirits. I was wicked just now to my +sister." + +"What did you do to her?" + +"I said things that puzzled her--on purpose." + +"Why did you do that, Miss Gertrude?" asked the young man. + +She began to smile again. "Because the sky is so blue!" + +"You say things that puzzle me," Mr. Brand declared. + +"I always know when I do it," proceeded Gertrude. "But people puzzle me +more, I think. And they don't seem to know!" + +"This is very interesting," Mr. Brand observed, smiling. + +"You told me to tell you about my--my struggles," the young girl went +on. + +"Let us talk about them. I have so many things to say." + +Gertrude turned away a moment; and then, turning back, "You had better +go to church," she said. + +"You know," the young man urged, "that I have always one thing to say." + +Gertrude looked at him a moment. "Please don't say it now!" + +"We are all alone," he continued, taking off his hat; "all alone in this +beautiful Sunday stillness." + +Gertrude looked around her, at the breaking buds, the shining +distance, the blue sky to which she had referred as a pretext for her +irregularities. "That 's the reason," she said, "why I don't want you to +speak. Do me a favor; go to church." + +"May I speak when I come back?" asked Mr. Brand. + +"If you are still disposed," she answered. + +"I don't know whether you are wicked," he said, "but you are certainly +puzzling." + +She had turned away; she raised her hands to her ears. He looked at her +a moment, and then he slowly walked to church. + +She wandered for a while about the garden, vaguely and without purpose. +The church-bell had stopped ringing; the stillness was complete. This +young lady relished highly, on occasions, the sense of being alone--the +absence of the whole family and the emptiness of the house. To-day, +apparently, the servants had also gone to church; there was never a +figure at the open windows; behind the house there was no stout negress +in a red turban, lowering the bucket into the great shingle-hooded +well. And the front door of the big, unguarded home stood open, with +the trustfulness of the golden age; or what is more to the purpose, with +that of New England's silvery prime. Gertrude slowly passed through it, +and went from one of the empty rooms to the other--large, clear-colored +rooms, with white wainscots, ornamented with thin-legged mahogany +furniture, and, on the walls, with old-fashioned engravings, chiefly of +scriptural subjects, hung very high. This agreeable sense of solitude, +of having the house to herself, of which I have spoken, always excited +Gertrude's imagination; she could not have told you why, and neither can +her humble historian. It always seemed to her that she must do something +particular--that she must honor the occasion; and while she roamed +about, wondering what she could do, the occasion usually came to an end. +To-day she wondered more than ever. At last she took down a book; there +was no library in the house, but there were books in all the rooms. None +of them were forbidden books, and Gertrude had not stopped at home for +the sake of a chance to climb to the inaccessible shelves. She possessed +herself of a very obvious volume--one of the series of the Arabian +Nights--and she brought it out into the portico and sat down with it in +her lap. There, for a quarter of an hour, she read the history of the +loves of the Prince Camaralzaman and the Princess Badoura. At last, +looking up, she beheld, as it seemed to her, the Prince Camaralzaman +standing before her. A beautiful young man was making her a very low +bow--a magnificent bow, such as she had never seen before. He appeared +to have dropped from the clouds; he was wonderfully handsome; he +smiled--smiled as if he were smiling on purpose. Extreme surprise, for a +moment, kept Gertrude sitting still; then she rose, without even keeping +her finger in her book. The young man, with his hat in his hand, still +looked at her, smiling and smiling. It was very strange. + +"Will you kindly tell me," said the mysterious visitor, at last, +"whether I have the honor of speaking to Miss Went-worth?" + +"My name is Gertrude Wentworth," murmured the young woman. + +"Then--then--I have the honor--the pleasure--of being your cousin." + +The young man had so much the character of an apparition that this +announcement seemed to complete his unreality. "What cousin? Who are +you?" said Gertrude. + +He stepped back a few paces and looked up at the house; then glanced +round him at the garden and the distant view. After this he burst out +laughing. "I see it must seem to you very strange," he said. There was, +after all, something substantial in his laughter. Gertrude looked at him +from head to foot. Yes, he was remarkably handsome; but his smile was +almost a grimace. "It is very still," he went on, coming nearer again. +And as she only looked at him, for reply, he added, "Are you all alone?" + +"Every one has gone to church," said Gertrude. + +"I was afraid of that!" the young man exclaimed. "But I hope you are not +afraid of me." + +"You ought to tell me who you are," Gertrude answered. + +"I am afraid of you!" said the young man. "I had a different plan. I +expected the servant would take in my card, and that you would put your +heads together, before admitting me, and make out my identity." + +Gertrude had been wondering with a quick intensity which brought +its result; and the result seemed an answer--a wondrous, delightful +answer--to her vague wish that something would befall her. "I know--I +know," she said. "You come from Europe." + +"We came two days ago. You have heard of us, then--you believe in us?" + +"We have known, vaguely," said Gertrude, "that we had relations in +France." + +"And have you ever wanted to see us?" asked the young man. + +Gertrude was silent a moment. "I have wanted to see you." + +"I am glad, then, it is you I have found. We wanted to see you, so we +came." + +"On purpose?" asked Gertrude. + +The young man looked round him, smiling still. "Well, yes; on purpose. +Does that sound as if we should bore you?" he added. "I don't think we +shall--I really don't think we shall. We are rather fond of wandering, +too; and we were glad of a pretext." + +"And you have just arrived?" + +"In Boston, two days ago. At the inn I asked for Mr. Wentworth. He must +be your father. They found out for me where he lived; they seemed often +to have heard of him. I determined to come, without ceremony. So, this +lovely morning, they set my face in the right direction, and told me to +walk straight before me, out of town. I came on foot because I wanted to +see the country. I walked and walked, and here I am! It 's a good many +miles." + +"It is seven miles and a half," said Gertrude, softly. Now that this +handsome young man was proving himself a reality she found herself +vaguely trembling; she was deeply excited. She had never in her life +spoken to a foreigner, and she had often thought it would be delightful +to do so. Here was one who had suddenly been engendered by the Sabbath +stillness for her private use; and such a brilliant, polite, smiling +one! She found time and means to compose herself, however: to remind +herself that she must exercise a sort of official hospitality. "We are +very--very glad to see you," she said. "Won't you come into the house?" +And she moved toward the open door. + +"You are not afraid of me, then?" asked the young man again, with his +light laugh. + +She wondered a moment, and then, "We are not afraid--here," she said. + +"Ah, comme vous devez avoir raison!" cried the young man, looking all +round him, appreciatively. It was the first time that Gertrude had heard +so many words of French spoken. They gave her something of a sensation. +Her companion followed her, watching, with a certain excitement of his +own, this tall, interesting-looking girl, dressed in her clear, crisp +muslin. He paused in the hall, where there was a broad white staircase +with a white balustrade. "What a pleasant house!" he said. "It 's +lighter inside than it is out." + +"It 's pleasanter here," said Gertrude, and she led the way into the +parlor,--a high, clean, rather empty-looking room. Here they stood +looking at each other,--the young man smiling more than ever; Gertrude, +very serious, trying to smile. + +"I don't believe you know my name," he said. "I am called Felix Young. +Your father is my uncle. My mother was his half sister, and older than +he." + +"Yes," said Gertrude, "and she turned Roman Catholic and married in +Europe." + +"I see you know," said the young man. "She married and she died. Your +father's family did n't like her husband. They called him a foreigner; +but he was not. My poor father was born in Sicily, but his parents were +American." + +"In Sicily?" Gertrude murmured. + +"It is true," said Felix Young, "that they had spent their lives in +Europe. But they were very patriotic. And so are we." + +"And you are Sicilian," said Gertrude. + +"Sicilian, no! Let 's see. I was born at a little place--a dear little +place--in France. My sister was born at Vienna." + +"So you are French," said Gertrude. + +"Heaven forbid!" cried the young man. Gertrude's eyes were fixed upon +him almost insistently. He began to laugh again. "I can easily be +French, if that will please you." + +"You are a foreigner of some sort," said Gertrude. + +"Of some sort--yes; I suppose so. But who can say of what sort? I don't +think we have ever had occasion to settle the question. You know +there are people like that. About their country, their religion, their +profession, they can't tell." + +Gertrude stood there gazing; she had not asked him to sit down. She +had never heard of people like that; she wanted to hear. "Where do you +live?" she asked. + +"They can't tell that, either!" said Felix. "I am afraid you will +think they are little better than vagabonds. I have lived +anywhere--everywhere. I really think I have lived in every city in +Europe." Gertrude gave a little long soft exhalation. It made the young +man smile at her again; and his smile made her blush a little. To take +refuge from blushing she asked him if, after his long walk, he was not +hungry or thirsty. Her hand was in her pocket; she was fumbling with the +little key that her sister had given her. "Ah, my dear young lady," he +said, clasping his hands a little, "if you could give me, in charity, a +glass of wine!" + +Gertrude gave a smile and a little nod, and went quickly out of the +room. Presently she came back with a very large decanter in one hand +and a plate in the other, on which was placed a big, round cake with +a frosted top. Gertrude, in taking the cake from the closet, had had a +moment of acute consciousness that it composed the refection of which +her sister had thought that Mr. Brand would like to partake. Her kinsman +from across the seas was looking at the pale, high-hung engravings. When +she came in he turned and smiled at her, as if they had been old friends +meeting after a separation. "You wait upon me yourself?" he asked. "I am +served like the gods!" She had waited upon a great many people, but +none of them had ever told her that. The observation added a certain +lightness to the step with which she went to a little table where there +were some curious red glasses--glasses covered with little gold sprigs, +which Charlotte used to dust every morning with her own hands. Gertrude +thought the glasses very handsome, and it was a pleasure to her to know +that the wine was good; it was her father's famous madeira. Felix Young +thought it excellent; he wondered why he had been told that there was +no wine in America. She cut him an immense triangle out of the cake, and +again she thought of Mr. Brand. Felix sat there, with his glass in +one hand and his huge morsel of cake in the other--eating, drinking, +smiling, talking. "I am very hungry," he said. "I am not at all tired; I +am never tired. But I am very hungry." + +"You must stay to dinner," said Gertrude. "At two o'clock. They will all +have come back from church; you will see the others." + +"Who are the others?" asked the young man. "Describe them all." + +"You will see for yourself. It is you that must tell me; now, about your +sister." + +"My sister is the Baroness Munster," said Felix. + +On hearing that his sister was a Baroness, Gertrude got up and walked +about slowly, in front of him. She was silent a moment. She was thinking +of it. "Why did n't she come, too?" she asked. + +"She did come; she is in Boston, at the hotel." + +"We will go and see her," said Gertrude, looking at him. + +"She begs you will not!" the young man replied. "She sends you her love; +she sent me to announce her. She will come and pay her respects to your +father." + +Gertrude felt herself trembling again. A Baroness Munster, who sent a +brilliant young man to "announce" her; who was coming, as the Queen +of Sheba came to Solomon, to pay her "respects" to quiet Mr. +Wentworth--such a personage presented herself to Gertrude's vision with +a most effective unexpectedness. For a moment she hardly knew what to +say. "When will she come?" she asked at last. + +"As soon as you will allow her--to-morrow. She is very impatient," +answered Felix, who wished to be agreeable. + +"To-morrow, yes," said Gertrude. She wished to ask more about her; but +she hardly knew what could be predicated of a Baroness Munster. "Is +she--is she--married?" + +Felix had finished his cake and wine; he got up, fixing upon the +young girl his bright, expressive eyes. "She is married to a German +prince--Prince Adolf, of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. He is not the +reigning prince; he is a younger brother." + +Gertrude gazed at her informant; her lips were slightly parted. "Is she +a--a Princess?" she asked at last. + +"Oh, no," said the young man; "her position is rather a singular one. It +'s a morganatic marriage." + +"Morganatic?" These were new names and new words to poor Gertrude. + +"That 's what they call a marriage, you know, contracted between a +scion of a ruling house and--and a common mortal. They made Eugenia a +Baroness, poor woman; but that was all they could do. Now they want to +dissolve the marriage. Prince Adolf, between ourselves, is a ninny; but +his brother, who is a clever man, has plans for him. Eugenia, naturally +enough, makes difficulties; not, however, that I think she cares +much--she 's a very clever woman; I 'm sure you 'll like her--but she +wants to bother them. Just now everything is en l'air." + +The cheerful, off-hand tone in which her visitor related this darkly +romantic tale seemed to Gertrude very strange; but it seemed also to +convey a certain flattery to herself, a recognition of her wisdom and +dignity. She felt a dozen impressions stirring within her, and presently +the one that was uppermost found words. "They want to dissolve her +marriage?" she asked. + +"So it appears." + +"And against her will?" + +"Against her right." + +"She must be very unhappy!" said Gertrude. + +Her visitor looked at her, smiling; he raised his hand to the back of +his head and held it there a moment. "So she says," he answered. "That +'s her story. She told me to tell it you." + +"Tell me more," said Gertrude. + +"No, I will leave that to her; she does it better." + +Gertrude gave her little excited sigh again. "Well, if she is unhappy," +she said, "I am glad she has come to us." + +She had been so interested that she failed to notice the sound of a +footstep in the portico; and yet it was a footstep that she always +recognized. She heard it in the hall, and then she looked out of the +window. They were all coming back from church--her father, her sister +and brother, and their cousins, who always came to dinner on Sunday. +Mr. Brand had come in first; he was in advance of the others, because, +apparently, he was still disposed to say what she had not wished him to +say an hour before. He came into the parlor, looking for Gertrude. He +had two little books in his hand. On seeing Gertrude's companion he +slowly stopped, looking at him. + +"Is this a cousin?" asked Felix. + +Then Gertrude saw that she must introduce him; but her ears, and, by +sympathy, her lips, were full of all that he had been telling her. "This +is the Prince," she said, "the Prince of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein!" + +Felix burst out laughing, and Mr. Brand stood staring, while the others, +who had passed into the house, appeared behind him in the open door-way. + + + + + + +CHAPTER III + +That evening at dinner Felix Young gave his sister, the Baroness +Munster, an account of his impressions. She saw that he had come back in +the highest possible spirits; but this fact, to her own mind, was not a +reason for rejoicing. She had but a limited confidence in her brother's +judgment; his capacity for taking rose-colored views was such as to +vulgarize one of the prettiest of tints. Still, she supposed he could +be trusted to give her the mere facts; and she invited him with some +eagerness to communicate them. "I suppose, at least, they did n't turn +you out from the door;" she said. "You have been away some ten hours." + +"Turn me from the door!" Felix exclaimed. "They took me to their hearts; +they killed the fatted calf." + +"I know what you want to say: they are a collection of angels." + +"Exactly," said Felix. "They are a collection of angels--simply." + +"C'est bien vague," remarked the Baroness. "What are they like?" + +"Like nothing you ever saw." + +"I am sure I am much obliged; but that is hardly more definite. +Seriously, they were glad to see you?" + +"Enchanted. It has been the proudest day of my life. Never, never have I +been so lionized! I assure you, I was cock of the walk. My dear sister," +said the young man, "nous n'avons qu'a nous tenir; we shall be great +swells!" + +Madame Munster looked at him, and her eye exhibited a slight responsive +spark. She touched her lips to a glass of wine, and then she said, +"Describe them. Give me a picture." + +Felix drained his own glass. "Well, it 's in the country, among the +meadows and woods; a wild sort of place, and yet not far from here. +Only, such a road, my dear! Imagine one of the Alpine glaciers +reproduced in mud. But you will not spend much time on it, for they want +you to come and stay, once for all." + +"Ah," said the Baroness, "they want me to come and stay, once for all? +Bon." + +"It 's intensely rural, tremendously natural; and all overhung with +this strange white light, this far-away blue sky. There 's a big wooden +house--a kind of three-story bungalow; it looks like a magnified +Nuremberg toy. There was a gentleman there that made a speech to me +about it and called it a 'venerable mansion;' but it looks as if it had +been built last night." + +"Is it handsome--is it elegant?" asked the Baroness. + +Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. "It 's very clean! No splendors, +no gilding, no troops of servants; rather straight-backed chairs. But +you might eat off the floors, and you can sit down on the stairs." + +"That must be a privilege. And the inhabitants are straight-backed too, +of course." + +"My dear sister," said Felix, "the inhabitants are charming." + +"In what style?" + +"In a style of their own. How shall I describe it? It 's primitive; it +'s patriarchal; it 's the ton of the golden age." + +"And have they nothing golden but their ton? Are there no symptoms of +wealth?" + +"I should say there was wealth without symptoms. A plain, homely way of +life: nothing for show, and very little for--what shall I call it?--for +the senses: but a great faisance, and a lot of money, out of sight, +that comes forward very quietly for subscriptions to institutions, +for repairing tenements, for paying doctor's bills; perhaps even for +portioning daughters." + +"And the daughters?" Madame Munster demanded. "How many are there?" + +"There are two, Charlotte and Gertrude." + +"Are they pretty?" + +"One of them," said Felix. + +"Which is that?" + +The young man was silent, looking at his sister. "Charlotte," he said at +last. + +She looked at him in return. "I see. You are in love with Gertrude. They +must be Puritans to their finger-tips; anything but gay!" + +"No, they are not gay," Felix admitted. "They are sober; they are even +severe. They are of a pensive cast; they take things hard. I think there +is something the matter with them; they have some melancholy memory or +some depressing expectation. It 's not the epicurean temperament. My +uncle, Mr. Wentworth, is a tremendously high-toned old fellow; he looks +as if he were undergoing martyrdom, not by fire, but by freezing. But we +shall cheer them up; we shall do them good. They will take a good deal +of stirring up; but they are wonderfully kind and gentle. And they are +appreciative. They think one clever; they think one remarkable!" + +"That is very fine, so far as it goes," said the Baroness. "But are we +to be shut up to these three people, Mr. Wentworth and the two young +women--what did you say their names were--Deborah and Hephzibah?" + +"Oh, no; there is another little girl, a cousin of theirs, a very pretty +creature; a thorough little American. And then there is the son of the +house." + +"Good!" said the Baroness. "We are coming to the gentlemen. What of the +son of the house?" + +"I am afraid he gets tipsy." + +"He, then, has the epicurean temperament! How old is he?" + +"He is a boy of twenty; a pretty young fellow, but I am afraid he has +vulgar tastes. And then there is Mr. Brand--a very tall young man, a +sort of lay-priest. They seem to think a good deal of him, but I don't +exactly make him out." + +"And is there nothing," asked the Baroness, "between these +extremes--this mysterious ecclesiastic and that intemperate youth?" + +"Oh, yes, there is Mr. Acton. I think," said the young man, with a nod +at his sister, "that you will like Mr. Acton." + +"Remember that I am very fastidious," said the Baroness. "Has he very +good manners?" + +"He will have them with you. He is a man of the world; he has been to +China." + +Madame Munster gave a little laugh. "A man of the Chinese world! He must +be very interesting." + +"I have an idea that he brought home a fortune," said Felix. + +"That is always interesting. Is he young, good-looking, clever?" + +"He is less than forty; he has a baldish head; he says witty things. I +rather think," added the young man, "that he will admire the Baroness +Munster." + +"It is very possible," said this lady. Her brother never knew how she +would take things; but shortly afterwards she declared that he had made +a very pretty description and that on the morrow she would go and see +for herself. + +They mounted, accordingly, into a great barouche--a vehicle as to which +the Baroness found nothing to criticise but the price that was asked +for it and the fact that the coachman wore a straw hat. (At Silberstadt +Madame Munster had had liveries of yellow and crimson.) They drove +into the country, and the Baroness, leaning far back and swaying her +lace-fringed parasol, looked to right and to left and surveyed the +way-side objects. After a while she pronounced them "affreux." +Her brother remarked that it was apparently a country in which the +foreground was inferior to the plans recules: and the Baroness rejoined +that the landscape seemed to be all foreground. Felix had fixed with his +new friends the hour at which he should bring his sister; it was four +o'clock in the afternoon. The large, clean-faced house wore, to his +eyes, as the barouche drove up to it, a very friendly aspect; the high, +slender elms made lengthening shadows in front of it. The Baroness +descended; her American kinsfolk were stationed in the portico. Felix +waved his hat to them, and a tall, lean gentleman, with a high forehead +and a clean shaven face, came forward toward the garden gate. Charlotte +Wentworth walked at his side. Gertrude came behind, more slowly. Both of +these young ladies wore rustling silk dresses. Felix ushered his sister +into the gate. "Be very gracious," he said to her. But he saw the +admonition was superfluous. Eugenia was prepared to be gracious as +only Eugenia could be. Felix knew no keener pleasure than to be able to +admire his sister unrestrictedly; for if the opportunity was frequent, +it was not inveterate. When she desired to please she was to him, as +to every one else, the most charming woman in the world. Then he +forgot that she was ever anything else; that she was sometimes hard and +perverse; that he was occasionally afraid of her. Now, as she took +his arm to pass into the garden, he felt that she desired, that she +proposed, to please, and this situation made him very happy. Eugenia +would please. + +The tall gentleman came to meet her, looking very rigid and grave. But +it was a rigidity that had no illiberal meaning. Mr. Wentworth's manner +was pregnant, on the contrary, with a sense of grand responsibility, of +the solemnity of the occasion, of its being difficult to show sufficient +deference to a lady at once so distinguished and so unhappy. Felix +had observed on the day before his characteristic pallor; and now he +perceived that there was something almost cadaverous in his uncle's +high-featured white face. But so clever were this young man's quick +sympathies and perceptions that he already learned that in these +semi-mortuary manifestations there was no cause for alarm. His light +imagination had gained a glimpse of Mr. Wentworth's spiritual mechanism, +and taught him that, the old man being infinitely conscientious, the +special operation of conscience within him announced itself by several +of the indications of physical faintness. + +The Baroness took her uncle's hand, and stood looking at him with her +ugly face and her beautiful smile. "Have I done right to come?" she +asked. + +"Very right, very right," said Mr. Wentworth, solemnly. He had arranged +in his mind a little speech; but now it quite faded away. He felt almost +frightened. He had never been looked at in just that way--with just that +fixed, intense smile--by any woman; and it perplexed and weighed upon +him, now, that the woman who was smiling so and who had instantly given +him a vivid sense of her possessing other unprecedented attributes, was +his own niece, the child of his own father's daughter. The idea that his +niece should be a German Baroness, married "morganatically" to a Prince, +had already given him much to think about. Was it right, was it just, +was it acceptable? He always slept badly, and the night before he had +lain awake much more even than usual, asking himself these questions. +The strange word "morganatic" was constantly in his ears; it reminded +him of a certain Mrs. Morgan whom he had once known and who had been a +bold, unpleasant woman. He had a feeling that it was his duty, so long +as the Baroness looked at him, smiling in that way, to meet her glance +with his own scrupulously adjusted, consciously frigid organs of vision; +but on this occasion he failed to perform his duty to the last. He +looked away toward his daughters. "We are very glad to see you," he had +said. "Allow me to introduce my daughters--Miss Charlotte Wentworth, +Miss Gertrude Wentworth." + +The Baroness thought she had never seen people less demonstrative. +But Charlotte kissed her and took her hand, looking at her sweetly and +solemnly. Gertrude seemed to her almost funereal, though Gertrude +might have found a source of gayety in the fact that Felix, with his +magnificent smile, had been talking to her; he had greeted her as a +very old friend. When she kissed the Baroness she had tears in her eyes. +Madame Munster took each of these young women by the hand, and looked at +them all over. Charlotte thought her very strange-looking and singularly +dressed; she could not have said whether it was well or ill. She was +glad, at any rate, that they had put on their silk gowns--especially +Gertrude. "My cousins are very pretty," said the Baroness, turning her +eyes from one to the other. "Your daughters are very handsome, sir." + +Charlotte blushed quickly; she had never yet heard her personal +appearance alluded to in a loud, expressive voice. Gertrude looked +away--not at Felix; she was extremely pleased. It was not the compliment +that pleased her; she did not believe it; she thought herself very +plain. She could hardly have told you the source of her satisfaction; +it came from something in the way the Baroness spoke, and it was not +diminished--it was rather deepened, oddly enough--by the young girl's +disbelief. Mr. Wentworth was silent; and then he asked, formally, "Won't +you come into the house?" + +"These are not all; you have some other children," said the Baroness. + +"I have a son," Mr. Wentworth answered. + +"And why does n't he come to meet me?" Eugenia cried. "I am afraid he is +not so charming as his sisters." + +"I don't know; I will see about it," the old man declared. + +"He is rather afraid of ladies," Charlotte said, softly. + +"He is very handsome," said Gertrude, as loud as she could. + +"We will go in and find him. We will draw him out of his cachette." And +the Baroness took Mr. Wentworth's arm, who was not aware that he had +offered it to her, and who, as they walked toward the house, wondered +whether he ought to have offered it and whether it was proper for her to +take it if it had not been offered. "I want to know you well," said the +Baroness, interrupting these meditations, "and I want you to know me." + +"It seems natural that we should know each other," Mr. Wentworth +rejoined. "We are near relatives." + +"Ah, there comes a moment in life when one reverts, irresistibly, to +one's natural ties--to one's natural affections. You must have found +that!" said Eugenia. + +Mr. Wentworth had been told the day before by Felix that Eugenia was +very clever, very brilliant, and the information had held him in some +suspense. This was the cleverness, he supposed; the brilliancy was +beginning. "Yes, the natural affections are very strong," he murmured. + +"In some people," the Baroness declared. "Not in all." Charlotte was +walking beside her; she took hold of her hand again, smiling always. +"And you, cousine, where did you get that enchanting complexion?" +she went on; "such lilies and roses?" The roses in poor Charlotte's +countenance began speedily to predominate over the lilies, and she +quickened her step and reached the portico. "This is the country +of complexions," the Baroness continued, addressing herself to Mr. +Wentworth. "I am convinced they are more delicate. There are very good +ones in England--in Holland; but they are very apt to be coarse. There +is too much red." + +"I think you will find," said Mr. Wentworth, "that this country is +superior in many respects to those you mention. I have been to England +and Holland." + +"Ah, you have been to Europe?" cried the Baroness. "Why did n't you come +and see me? But it 's better, after all, this way," she said. They were +entering the house; she paused and looked round her. "I see you have +arranged your house--your beautiful house--in the--in the Dutch taste!" + +"The house is very old," remarked Mr. Wentworth. "General Washington +once spent a week here." + +"Oh, I have heard of Washington," cried the Baroness. "My father used to +tell me of him." + +Mr. Wentworth was silent a moment, and then, "I found he was very well +known in Europe," he said. + +Felix had lingered in the garden with Gertrude; he was standing before +her and smiling, as he had done the day before. What had happened the +day before seemed to her a kind of dream. He had been there and he had +changed everything; the others had seen him, they had talked with him; +but that he should come again, that he should be part of the future, +part of her small, familiar, much-meditating life--this needed, afresh, +the evidence of her senses. The evidence had come to her senses now; +and her senses seemed to rejoice in it. "What do you think of Eugenia?" +Felix asked. "Is n't she charming?" + +"She is very brilliant," said Gertrude. "But I can't tell yet. She seems +to me like a singer singing an air. You can't tell till the song is +done." + +"Ah, the song will never be done!" exclaimed the young man, laughing. +"Don't you think her handsome?" + +Gertrude had been disappointed in the beauty of the Baroness Munster; +she had expected her, for mysterious reasons, to resemble a very pretty +portrait of the Empress Josephine, of which there hung an engraving +in one of the parlors, and which the younger Miss Wentworth had always +greatly admired. But the Baroness was not at all like that--not at all. +Though different, however, she was very wonderful, and Gertrude felt +herself most suggestively corrected. It was strange, nevertheless, that +Felix should speak in that positive way about his sister's beauty. +"I think I shall think her handsome," Gertrude said. "It must be very +interesting to know her. I don't feel as if I ever could." + +"Ah, you will know her well; you will become great friends," Felix +declared, as if this were the easiest thing in the world. + +"She is very graceful," said Gertrude, looking after the Baroness, +suspended to her father's arm. It was a pleasure to her to say that any +one was graceful. + +Felix had been looking about him. "And your little cousin, of +yesterday," he said, "who was so wonderfully pretty--what has become of +her?" + +"She is in the parlor," Gertrude answered. "Yes, she is very pretty." +She felt as if it were her duty to take him straight into the house, +to where he might be near her cousin. But after hesitating a moment she +lingered still. "I did n't believe you would come back," she said. + +"Not come back!" cried Felix, laughing. "You did n't know, then, the +impression made upon this susceptible heart of mine." + +She wondered whether he meant the impression her cousin Lizzie had made. +"Well," she said, "I did n't think we should ever see you again." + +"And pray what did you think would become of me?" + +"I don't know. I thought you would melt away." + +"That 's a compliment to my solidity! I melt very often," said Felix, +"but there is always something left of me." + +"I came and waited for you by the door, because the others did," +Gertrude went on. "But if you had never appeared I should not have been +surprised." + +"I hope," declared Felix, looking at her, "that you would have been +disappointed." + +She looked at him a little, and shook her head. "No--no!" + +"Ah, par exemple!" cried the young man. "You deserve that I should never +leave you." + +Going into the parlor they found Mr. Wentworth performing introductions. +A young man was standing before the Baroness, blushing a good deal, +laughing a little, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other--a +slim, mild-faced young man, with neatly-arranged features, like those +of Mr. Wentworth. Two other gentlemen, behind him, had risen from their +seats, and a little apart, near one of the windows, stood a remarkably +pretty young girl. The young girl was knitting a stocking; but, while +her fingers quickly moved, she looked with wide, brilliant eyes at the +Baroness. + +"And what is your son's name?" said Eugenia, smiling at the young man. + +"My name is Clifford Wentworth, ma'am," he said in a tremulous voice. + +"Why did n't you come out to meet me, Mr. Clifford Wentworth?" the +Baroness demanded, with her beautiful smile. + +"I did n't think you would want me," said the young man, slowly sidling +about. + +"One always wants a beau cousin,--if one has one! But if you are very +nice to me in future I won't remember it against you." And Madame Munster +transferred her smile to the other persons present. It rested +first upon the candid countenance and long-skirted figure of Mr. Brand, +whose eyes were intently fixed upon Mr. Wentworth, as if to beg him not +to prolong an anomalous situation. Mr. Wentworth pronounced his name. +Eugenia gave him a very charming glance, and then looked at the other +gentleman. + +This latter personage was a man of rather less than the usual stature +and the usual weight, with a quick, observant, agreeable dark eye, a +small quantity of thin dark hair, and a small mustache. He had been +standing with his hands in his pockets; and when Eugenia looked at him +he took them out. But he did not, like Mr. Brand, look evasively and +urgently at their host. He met Eugenia's eyes; he appeared to appreciate +the privilege of meeting them. Madame Munster instantly felt that he +was, intrinsically, the most important person present. She was not +unconscious that this impression was in some degree manifested in the +little sympathetic nod with which she acknowledged Mr. Wentworth's +announcement, "My cousin, Mr. Acton!" + +"Your cousin--not mine?" said the Baroness. + +"It only depends upon you," Mr. Acton declared, laughing. + +The Baroness looked at him a moment, and noticed that he had very white +teeth. "Let it depend upon your behavior," she said. "I think I +had better wait. I have cousins enough. Unless I can also claim +relationship," she added, "with that charming young lady," and she +pointed to the young girl at the window. + +"That 's my sister," said Mr. Acton. And Gertrude Wentworth put her arm +round the young girl and led her forward. It was not, apparently, that +she needed much leading. She came toward the Baroness with a light, +quick step, and with perfect self-possession, rolling her stocking +round its needles. She had dark blue eyes and dark brown hair; she was +wonderfully pretty. + +Eugenia kissed her, as she had kissed the other young women, and then +held her off a little, looking at her. "Now this is quite another type," +she said; she pronounced the word in the French manner. "This is a +different outline, my uncle, a different character, from that of your +own daughters. This, Felix," she went on, "is very much more what we +have always thought of as the American type." + +The young girl, during this exposition, was smiling askance at every one +in turn, and at Felix out of turn. "I find only one type here!" cried +Felix, laughing. "The type adorable!" + +This sally was received in perfect silence, but Felix, who learned +all things quickly, had already learned that the silences frequently +observed among his new acquaintances were not necessarily restrictive +or resentful. It was, as one might say, the silence of expectation, +of modesty. They were all standing round his sister, as if they were +expecting her to acquit herself of the exhibition of some peculiar +faculty, some brilliant talent. Their attitude seemed to imply that she +was a kind of conversational mountebank, attired, intellectually, in +gauze and spangles. This attitude gave a certain ironical force to +Madame Munster's next words. "Now this is your circle," she said to her +uncle. "This is your salon. These are your regular habitues, eh? I +am so glad to see you all together." + +"Oh," said Mr. Wentworth, "they are always dropping in and out. You must +do the same." + +"Father," interposed Charlotte Wentworth, "they must do something more." +And she turned her sweet, serious face, that seemed at once timid and +placid, upon their interesting visitor. "What is your name?" she asked. + +"Eugenia-Camilla-Dolores," said the Baroness, smiling. "But you need n't +say all that." + +"I will say Eugenia, if you will let me. You must come and stay with +us." + +The Baroness laid her hand upon Charlotte's arm very tenderly; but she +reserved herself. She was wondering whether it would be possible to +"stay" with these people. "It would be very charming--very charming," +she said; and her eyes wandered over the company, over the room. She +wished to gain time before committing herself. Her glance fell upon +young Mr. Brand, who stood there, with his arms folded and his hand +on his chin, looking at her. "The gentleman, I suppose, is a sort of +ecclesiastic," she said to Mr. Wentworth, lowering her voice a little. + +"He is a minister," answered Mr. Wentworth. + +"A Protestant?" asked Eugenia. + +"I am a Unitarian, madam," replied Mr. Brand, impressively. + +"Ah, I see," said Eugenia. "Something new." She had never heard of this +form of worship. + +Mr. Acton began to laugh, and Gertrude looked anxiously at Mr. Brand. + +"You have come very far," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"Very far--very far," the Baroness replied, with a graceful shake of her +head--a shake that might have meant many different things. + +"That 's a reason why you ought to settle down with us," said Mr. +Wentworth, with that dryness of utterance which, as Eugenia was too +intelligent not to feel, took nothing from the delicacy of his meaning. + +She looked at him, and for an instant, in his cold, still face, she +seemed to see a far-away likeness to the vaguely remembered image of her +mother. Eugenia was a woman of sudden emotions, and now, unexpectedly, +she felt one rising in her heart. She kept looking round the circle; she +knew that there was admiration in all the eyes that were fixed upon her. +She smiled at them all. + +"I came to look--to try--to ask," she said. "It seems to me I have done +well. I am very tired; I want to rest." There were tears in her eyes. +The luminous interior, the gentle, tranquil people, the simple, serious +life--the sense of these things pressed upon her with an overmastering +force, and she felt herself yielding to one of the most genuine emotions +she had ever known. "I should like to stay here," she said. "Pray take +me in." + +Though she was smiling, there were tears in her voice as well as in her +eyes. "My dear niece," said Mr. Wentworth, softly. And Charlotte put +out her arms and drew the Baroness toward her; while Robert Acton turned +away, with his hands stealing into his pockets. + + + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A few days after the Baroness Munster had presented herself to her +American kinsfolk she came, with her brother, and took up her abode in +that small white house adjacent to Mr. Wentworth's own dwelling of which +mention has already been made. It was on going with his daughters to +return her visit that Mr. Wentworth placed this comfortable cottage at +her service; the offer being the result of a domestic colloquy, diffused +through the ensuing twenty-four hours, in the course of which the +two foreign visitors were discussed and analyzed with a great deal of +earnestness and subtlety. The discussion went forward, as I say, in +the family circle; but that circle on the evening following Madame Munster's +return to town, as on many other occasions, included Robert +Acton and his pretty sister. If you had been present, it would probably +not have seemed to you that the advent of these brilliant strangers +was treated as an exhilarating occurrence, a pleasure the more in this +tranquil household, a prospective source of entertainment. This was +not Mr. Wentworth's way of treating any human occurrence. The sudden +irruption into the well-ordered consciousness of the Wentworths of an +element not allowed for in its scheme of usual obligations required +a readjustment of that sense of responsibility which constituted its +principal furniture. To consider an event, crudely and baldly, in the +light of the pleasure it might bring them was an intellectual +exercise with which Felix Young's American cousins were almost wholly +unacquainted, and which they scarcely supposed to be largely pursued in +any section of human society. The arrival of Felix and his sister was +a satisfaction, but it was a singularly joyless and inelastic +satisfaction. It was an extension of duty, of the exercise of the more +recondite virtues; but neither Mr. Wentworth, nor Charlotte, nor Mr. +Brand, who, among these excellent people, was a great promoter of +reflection and aspiration, frankly adverted to it as an extension of +enjoyment. This function was ultimately assumed by Gertrude Wentworth, +who was a peculiar girl, but the full compass of whose peculiarities had +not been exhibited before they very ingeniously found their pretext +in the presence of these possibly too agreeable foreigners. Gertrude, +however, had to struggle with a great accumulation of obstructions, +both of the subjective, as the metaphysicians say, and of the objective, +order; and indeed it is no small part of the purpose of this little +history to set forth her struggle. What seemed paramount in this abrupt +enlargement of Mr. Wentworth's sympathies and those of his daughters was +an extension of the field of possible mistakes; and the doctrine, as it +may almost be called, of the oppressive gravity of mistakes was one of +the most cherished traditions of the Wentworth family. + +"I don't believe she wants to come and stay in this house," said +Gertrude; Madame Munster, from this time forward, receiving no other +designation than the personal pronoun. Charlotte and Gertrude acquired +considerable facility in addressing her, directly, as "Eugenia;" but in +speaking of her to each other they rarely called her anything but "she." + +"Does n't she think it good enough for her?" cried little Lizzie +Acton, who was always asking unpractical questions that required, in +strictness, no answer, and to which indeed she expected no other +answer than such as she herself invariably furnished in a small, +innocently-satirical laugh. + +"She certainly expressed a willingness to come," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"That was only politeness," Gertrude rejoined. + +"Yes, she is very polite--very polite," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"She is too polite," his son declared, in a softly growling tone which +was habitual to him, but which was an indication of nothing worse than a +vaguely humorous intention. "It is very embarrassing." + +"That is more than can be said of you, sir," said Lizzie Acton, with her +little laugh. + +"Well, I don't mean to encourage her," Clifford went on. + +"I 'm sure I don't care if you do!" cried Lizzie. + +"She will not think of you, Clifford," said Gertrude, gravely. + +"I hope not!" Clifford exclaimed. + +"She will think of Robert," Gertrude continued, in the same tone. + +Robert Acton began to blush; but there was no occasion for it, for every +one was looking at Gertrude--every one, at least, save Lizzie, who, with +her pretty head on one side, contemplated her brother. + +"Why do you attribute motives, Gertrude?" asked Mr. Wentworth. + +"I don't attribute motives, father," said Gertrude. "I only say she will +think of Robert; and she will!" + +"Gertrude judges by herself!" Acton exclaimed, laughing. "Don't you, +Gertrude? Of course the Baroness will think of me. She will think of me +from morning till night." + +"She will be very comfortable here," said Charlotte, with something of +a housewife's pride. "She can have the large northeast room. And the +French bedstead," Charlotte added, with a constant sense of the lady's +foreignness. + +"She will not like it," said Gertrude; "not even if you pin little +tidies all over the chairs." + +"Why not, dear?" asked Charlotte, perceiving a touch of irony here, but +not resenting it. + +Gertrude had left her chair; she was walking about the room; her stiff +silk dress, which she had put on in honor of the Baroness, made a sound +upon the carpet. "I don't know," she replied. "She will want something +more--more private." + +"If she wants to be private she can stay in her room," Lizzie Acton +remarked. + +Gertrude paused in her walk, looking at her. "That would not be +pleasant," she answered. "She wants privacy and pleasure together." + +Robert Acton began to laugh again. "My dear cousin, what a picture!" + +Charlotte had fixed her serious eyes upon her sister; she wondered +whence she had suddenly derived these strange notions. Mr. Wentworth +also observed his younger daughter. + +"I don't know what her manner of life may have been," he said; "but she +certainly never can have enjoyed a more refined and salubrious home." + +Gertrude stood there looking at them all. "She is the wife of a Prince," +she said. + +"We are all princes here," said Mr. Wentworth; "and I don't know of any +palace in this neighborhood that is to let." + +"Cousin William," Robert Acton interposed, "do you want to do something +handsome? Make them a present, for three months, of the little house +over the way." + +"You are very generous with other people's things!" cried his sister. + +"Robert is very generous with his own things," Mr. Wentworth observed +dispassionately, and looking, in cold meditation, at his kinsman. + +"Gertrude," Lizzie went on, "I had an idea you were so fond of your new +cousin." + +"Which new cousin?" asked Gertrude. + +"I don't mean the Baroness!" the young girl rejoined, with her laugh. "I +thought you expected to see so much of him." + +"Of Felix? I hope to see a great deal of him," said Gertrude, simply. + +"Then why do you want to keep him out of the house?" + +Gertrude looked at Lizzie Acton, and then looked away. + +"Should you want me to live in the house with you, Lizzie?" asked +Clifford. + +"I hope you never will. I hate you!" Such was this young lady's reply. + +"Father," said Gertrude, stopping before Mr. Wentworth and smiling, with +a smile the sweeter, as her smile always was, for its rarity; "do let +them live in the little house over the way. It will be lovely!" + +Robert Acton had been watching her. "Gertrude is right," he said. +"Gertrude is the cleverest girl in the world. If I might take the +liberty, I should strongly recommend their living there." + +"There is nothing there so pretty as the northeast room," Charlotte +urged. + +"She will make it pretty. Leave her alone!" Acton exclaimed. + +Gertrude, at his compliment, had blushed and looked at him: it was as if +some one less familiar had complimented her. "I am sure she will make +it pretty. It will be very interesting. It will be a place to go to. It +will be a foreign house." + +"Are we very sure that we need a foreign house?" Mr. Wentworth inquired. +"Do you think it desirable to establish a foreign house--in this quiet +place?" + +"You speak," said Acton, laughing, "as if it were a question of the poor +Baroness opening a wine-shop or a gaming-table." + +"It would be too lovely!" Gertrude declared again, laying her hand on +the back of her father's chair. + +"That she should open a gaming-table?" Charlotte asked, with great +gravity. + +Gertrude looked at her a moment, and then, "Yes, Charlotte," she said, +simply. + +"Gertrude is growing pert," Clifford Wentworth observed, with his +humorous young growl. "That comes of associating with foreigners." + +Mr. Wentworth looked up at his daughter, who was standing beside him; he +drew her gently forward. "You must be careful," he said. "You must keep +watch. Indeed, we must all be careful. This is a great change; we are +to be exposed to peculiar influences. I don't say they are bad. I don't +judge them in advance. But they may perhaps make it necessary that we +should exercise a great deal of wisdom and self-control. It will be a +different tone." + +Gertrude was silent a moment, in deference to her father's speech; then +she spoke in a manner that was not in the least an answer to it. "I want +to see how they will live. I am sure they will have different hours. She +will do all kinds of little things differently. When we go over there it +will be like going to Europe. She will have a boudoir. She will invite +us to dinner--very late. She will breakfast in her room." + +Charlotte gazed at her sister again. Gertrude's imagination seemed to +her to be fairly running riot. She had always known that Gertrude had +a great deal of imagination--she had been very proud of it. But at the +same time she had always felt that it was a dangerous and irresponsible +faculty; and now, to her sense, for the moment, it seemed to threaten to +make her sister a strange person who should come in suddenly, as from a +journey, talking of the peculiar and possibly unpleasant things she had +observed. Charlotte's imagination took no journeys whatever; she +kept it, as it were, in her pocket, with the other furniture of this +receptacle--a thimble, a little box of peppermint, and a morsel of +court-plaster. "I don't believe she would have any dinner--or any +breakfast," said Miss Wentworth. "I don't believe she knows how to do +anything herself. I should have to get her ever so many servants, and +she would n't like them." + +"She has a maid," said Gertrude; "a French maid. She mentioned her." + +"I wonder if the maid has a little fluted cap and red slippers," said +Lizzie Acton. "There was a French maid in that play that Robert took me +to see. She had pink stockings; she was very wicked." + +"She was a soubrette," Gertrude announced, who had never seen a play +in her life. "They call that a soubrette. It will be a great chance to +learn French." Charlotte gave a little soft, helpless groan. She had a +vision of a wicked, theatrical person, clad in pink stockings and red +shoes, and speaking, with confounding volubility, an incomprehensible +tongue, flitting through the sacred penetralia of that large, clean +house. "That is one reason in favor of their coming here," Gertrude went +on. "But we can make Eugenia speak French to us, and Felix. I mean to +begin--the next time." + +Mr. Wentworth had kept her standing near him, and he gave her his +earnest, thin, unresponsive glance again. "I want you to make me a +promise, Gertrude," he said. + +"What is it?" she asked, smiling. + +"Not to get excited. Not to allow these--these occurrences to be an +occasion for excitement." + +She looked down at him a moment, and then she shook her head. "I don't +think I can promise that, father. I am excited already." + +Mr. Wentworth was silent a while; they all were silent, as if in +recognition of something audacious and portentous. + +"I think they had better go to the other house," said Charlotte, +quietly. + +"I shall keep them in the other house," Mr. Wentworth subjoined, more +pregnantly. + +Gertrude turned away; then she looked across at Robert Acton. Her cousin +Robert was a great friend of hers; she often looked at him this way +instead of saying things. Her glance on this occasion, however, struck +him as a substitute for a larger volume of diffident utterance than +usual, inviting him to observe, among other things, the inefficiency of +her father's design--if design it was--for diminishing, in the +interest of quiet nerves, their occasions of contact with their foreign +relatives. But Acton immediately complimented Mr. Wentworth upon his +liberality. "That 's a very nice thing to do," he said, "giving them +the little house. You will have treated them handsomely, and, whatever +happens, you will be glad of it." Mr. Wentworth was liberal, and he knew +he was liberal. It gave him pleasure to know it, to feel it, to see it +recorded; and this pleasure is the only palpable form of self-indulgence +with which the narrator of these incidents will be able to charge him. + +"A three days' visit at most, over there, is all I should have found +possible," Madame Munster remarked to her brother, after they had +taken possession of the little white house. "It would have been too +intime--decidedly too intime. Breakfast, dinner, and tea en famille--it +would have been the end of the world if I could have reached the third +day." And she made the same observation to her maid Augustine, an +intelligent person, who enjoyed a liberal share of her confidence. Felix +declared that he would willingly spend his life in the bosom of the +Wentworth family; that they were the kindest, simplest, most amiable +people in the world, and that he had taken a prodigious fancy to them +all. The Baroness quite agreed with him that they were simple and kind; +they were thoroughly nice people, and she liked them extremely. The +girls were perfect ladies; it was impossible to be more of a lady than +Charlotte Wentworth, in spite of her little village air. "But as for +thinking them the best company in the world," said the Baroness, "that +is another thing; and as for wishing to live porte-a-porte with +them, I should as soon think of wishing myself back in the convent +again, to wear a bombazine apron and sleep in a dormitory." And yet the +Baroness was in high good humor; she had been very much pleased. With +her lively perception and her refined imagination, she was capable of +enjoying anything that was characteristic, anything that was good of +its kind. The Wentworth household seemed to her very perfect in +its kind--wonderfully peaceful and unspotted; pervaded by a sort of +dove-colored freshness that had all the quietude and benevolence of what +she deemed to be Quakerism, and yet seemed to be founded upon a degree +of material abundance for which, in certain matters of detail, one +might have looked in vain at the frugal little court of +Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. She perceived immediately that her American +relatives thought and talked very little about money; and this of itself +made an impression upon Eugenia's imagination. She perceived at the same +time that if Charlotte or Gertrude should ask their father for a very +considerable sum he would at once place it in their hands; and this made +a still greater impression. The greatest impression of all, perhaps, +was made by another rapid induction. The Baroness had an immediate +conviction that Robert Acton would put his hand into his pocket every +day in the week if that rattle-pated little sister of his should bid +him. The men in this country, said the Baroness, are evidently very +obliging. Her declaration that she was looking for rest and retirement +had been by no means wholly untrue; nothing that the Baroness said was +wholly untrue. It is but fair to add, perhaps, that nothing that she +said was wholly true. She wrote to a friend in Germany that it was a +return to nature; it was like drinking new milk, and she was very fond +of new milk. She said to herself, of course, that it would be a little +dull; but there can be no better proof of her good spirits than the fact +that she thought she should not mind its being a little dull. It seemed +to her, when from the piazza of her eleemosynary cottage she looked out +over the soundless fields, the stony pastures, the clear-faced ponds, +the rugged little orchards, that she had never been in the midst of +so peculiarly intense a stillness; it was almost a delicate sensual +pleasure. It was all very good, very innocent and safe, and out of it +something good must come. Augustine, indeed, who had an unbounded faith +in her mistress's wisdom and far-sightedness, was a great deal perplexed +and depressed. She was always ready to take her cue when she understood +it; but she liked to understand it, and on this occasion comprehension +failed. What, indeed, was the Baroness doing dans cette galere? what +fish did she expect to land out of these very stagnant waters? The game +was evidently a deep one. Augustine could trust her; but the sense of +walking in the dark betrayed itself in the physiognomy of this spare, +sober, sallow, middle-aged person, who had nothing in common with +Gertrude Wentworth's conception of a soubrette, by the most ironical +scowl that had ever rested upon the unpretending tokens of the peace and +plenty of the Wentworths. Fortunately, Augustine could quench skepticism +in action. She quite agreed with her mistress--or rather she quite +out-stripped her mistress--in thinking that the little white house +was pitifully bare. "Il faudra," said Augustine, "lui faire un peu de +toilette." And she began to hang up portieres in the doorways; to place +wax candles, procured after some research, in unexpected situations; +to dispose anomalous draperies over the arms of sofas and the backs of +chairs. The Baroness had brought with her to the New World a copious +provision of the element of costume; and the two Miss Wentworths, when +they came over to see her, were somewhat bewildered by the obtrusive +distribution of her wardrobe. There were India shawls suspended, +curtain-wise, in the parlor door, and curious fabrics, corresponding to +Gertrude's metaphysical vision of an opera-cloak, tumbled about in the +sitting-places. There were pink silk blinds in the windows, by which the +room was strangely bedimmed; and along the chimney-piece was disposed a +remarkable band of velvet, covered with coarse, dirty-looking lace. "I +have been making myself a little comfortable," said the Baroness, much +to the confusion of Charlotte, who had been on the point of proposing to +come and help her put her superfluous draperies away. But what Charlotte +mistook for an almost culpably delayed subsidence Gertrude very +presently perceived to be the most ingenious, the most interesting, the +most romantic intention. "What is life, indeed, without curtains?" she +secretly asked herself; and she appeared to herself to have been leading +hitherto an existence singularly garish and totally devoid of festoons. + +Felix was not a young man who troubled himself greatly about +anything--least of all about the conditions of enjoyment. His faculty of +enjoyment was so large, so unconsciously eager, that it may be said of +it that it had a permanent advance upon embarrassment and sorrow. His +sentient faculty was intrinsically joyous, and novelty and change were +in themselves a delight to him. As they had come to him with a great +deal of frequency, his life had been more agreeable than appeared. +Never was a nature more perfectly fortunate. It was not a restless, +apprehensive, ambitious spirit, running a race with the tyranny of fate, +but a temper so unsuspicious as to put Adversity off her guard, dodging +and evading her with the easy, natural motion of a wind-shifted +flower. Felix extracted entertainment from all things, and all his +faculties--his imagination, his intelligence, his affections, his +senses--had a hand in the game. It seemed to him that Eugenia and he had +been very well treated; there was something absolutely touching in that +combination of paternal liberality and social considerateness which +marked Mr. Wentworth's deportment. It was most uncommonly kind of him, +for instance, to have given them a house. Felix was positively amused +at having a house of his own; for the little white cottage among the +apple-trees--the chalet, as Madame Munster always called it--was much +more sensibly his own than any domiciliary quatrieme, looking upon a +court, with the rent overdue. Felix had spent a good deal of his life +in looking into courts, with a perhaps slightly tattered pair of elbows +resting upon the ledge of a high-perched window, and the thin smoke of a +cigarette rising into an atmosphere in which street-cries died away and +the vibration of chimes from ancient belfries became sensible. He had +never known anything so infinitely rural as these New England fields; +and he took a great fancy to all their pastoral roughnesses. He had +never had a greater sense of luxurious security; and at the risk of +making him seem a rather sordid adventurer I must declare that he found +an irresistible charm in the fact that he might dine every day at his +uncle's. The charm was irresistible, however, because his fancy flung +a rosy light over this homely privilege. He appreciated highly the fare +that was set before him. There was a kind of fresh-looking abundance +about it which made him think that people must have lived so in +the mythological era, when they spread their tables upon the grass, +replenished them from cornucopias, and had no particular need of kitchen +stoves. But the great thing that Felix enjoyed was having found a +family--sitting in the midst of gentle, generous people whom he might +call by their first names. He had never known anything more charming +than the attention they paid to what he said. It was like a large sheet +of clean, fine-grained drawing-paper, all ready to be washed over with +effective splashes of water-color. He had never had any cousins, and +he had never before found himself in contact so unrestricted with young +unmarried ladies. He was extremely fond of the society of ladies, and it +was new to him that it might be enjoyed in just this manner. At first he +hardly knew what to make of his state of mind. It seemed to him that +he was in love, indiscriminately, with three girls at once. He saw that +Lizzie Acton was more brilliantly pretty than Charlotte and Gertrude; +but this was scarcely a superiority. His pleasure came from something +they had in common--a part of which was, indeed, that physical delicacy +which seemed to make it proper that they should always dress in thin +materials and clear colors. But they were delicate in other ways, and +it was most agreeable to him to feel that these latter delicacies were +appreciable by contact, as it were. He had known, fortunately, many +virtuous gentlewomen, but it now appeared to him that in his relations +with them (especially when they were unmarried) he had been looking at +pictures under glass. He perceived at present what a nuisance the glass +had been--how it perverted and interfered, how it caught the reflection +of other objects and kept you walking from side to side. He had no need +to ask himself whether Charlotte and Gertrude, and Lizzie Acton, were +in the right light; they were always in the right light. He liked +everything about them: he was, for instance, not at all above liking the +fact that they had very slender feet and high insteps. He liked their +pretty noses; he liked their surprised eyes and their hesitating, not +at all positive way of speaking; he liked so much knowing that he was +perfectly at liberty to be alone for hours, anywhere, with either of +them; that preference for one to the other, as a companion of solitude, +remained a minor affair. Charlotte Wentworth's sweetly severe features +were as agreeable as Lizzie Acton's wonderfully expressive blue eyes; +and Gertrude's air of being always ready to walk about and listen was +as charming as anything else, especially as she walked very gracefully. +After a while Felix began to distinguish; but even then he would often +wish, suddenly, that they were not all so sad. Even Lizzie Acton, +in spite of her fine little chatter and laughter, appeared sad. Even +Clifford Wentworth, who had extreme youth in his favor, and kept a buggy +with enormous wheels and a little sorrel mare with the prettiest legs +in the world--even this fortunate lad was apt to have an averted, +uncomfortable glance, and to edge away from you at times, in the manner +of a person with a bad conscience. The only person in the circle with +no sense of oppression of any kind was, to Felix's perception, Robert +Acton. + +It might perhaps have been feared that after the completion of those +graceful domiciliary embellishments which have been mentioned Madame Munster +would have found herself confronted with alarming possibilities +of ennui. But as yet she had not taken the alarm. The Baroness was a +restless soul, and she projected her restlessness, as it may be said, +into any situation that lay before her. Up to a certain point her +restlessness might be counted upon to entertain her. She was always +expecting something to happen, and, until it was disappointed, +expectancy itself was a delicate pleasure. What the Baroness expected +just now it would take some ingenuity to set forth; it is enough +that while she looked about her she found something to occupy her +imagination. She assured herself that she was enchanted with her new +relatives; she professed to herself that, like her brother, she felt +it a sacred satisfaction to have found a family. It is certain that she +enjoyed to the utmost the gentleness of her kinsfolk's deference. +She had, first and last, received a great deal of admiration, and her +experience of well-turned compliments was very considerable; but she +knew that she had never been so real a power, never counted for so +much, as now when, for the first time, the standard of comparison of her +little circle was a prey to vagueness. The sense, indeed, that the good +people about her had, as regards her remarkable self, no standard of +comparison at all gave her a feeling of almost illimitable power. It was +true, as she said to herself, that if for this reason they would be +able to discover nothing against her, so they would perhaps neglect +to perceive some of her superior points; but she always wound up her +reflections by declaring that she would take care of that. + +Charlotte and Gertrude were in some perplexity between their desire +to show all proper attention to Madame Munster and their fear of being +importunate. The little house in the orchard had hitherto been occupied +during the summer months by intimate friends of the family, or by poor +relations who found in Mr. Wentworth a landlord attentive to repairs and +oblivious of quarter-day. Under these circumstances the open door of the +small house and that of the large one, facing each other across their +homely gardens, levied no tax upon hourly visits. But the Misses +Wentworth received an impression that Eugenia was no friend to the +primitive custom of "dropping in;" she evidently had no idea of living +without a door-keeper. "One goes into your house as into an inn--except +that there are no servants rushing forward," she said to Charlotte. And +she added that that was very charming. Gertrude explained to her sister +that she meant just the reverse; she did n't like it at all. Charlotte +inquired why she should tell an untruth, and Gertrude answered that +there was probably some very good reason for it which they should +discover when they knew her better. "There can surely be no good reason +for telling an untruth," said Charlotte. "I hope she does not think so." + +They had of course desired, from the first, to do everything in the way +of helping her to arrange herself. It had seemed to Charlotte that +there would be a great many things to talk about; but the Baroness was +apparently inclined to talk about nothing. + +"Write her a note, asking her leave to come and see her. I think that is +what she will like," said Gertrude. + +"Why should I give her the trouble of answering me?" Charlotte asked. +"She will have to write a note and send it over." + +"I don't think she will take any trouble," said Gertrude, profoundly. + +"What then will she do?" + +"That is what I am curious to see," said Gertrude, leaving her sister +with an impression that her curiosity was morbid. + +They went to see the Baroness without preliminary correspondence; and in +the little salon which she had already created, with its becoming light +and its festoons, they found Robert Acton. + +Eugenia was intensely gracious, but she accused them of neglecting her +cruelly. "You see Mr. Acton has had to take pity upon me," she said. "My +brother goes off sketching, for hours; I can never depend upon him. So I +was to send Mr. Acton to beg you to come and give me the benefit of your +wisdom." + +Gertrude looked at her sister. She wanted to say, "That is what she +would have done." Charlotte said that they hoped the Baroness would +always come and dine with them; it would give them so much pleasure; +and, in that case, she would spare herself the trouble of having a cook. + +"Ah, but I must have a cook!" cried the Baroness. "An old negress in a +yellow turban. I have set my heart upon that. I want to look out of my +window and see her sitting there on the grass, against the background of +those crooked, dusky little apple-trees, pulling the husks off a lapful +of Indian corn. That will be local color, you know. There is n't much +of it here--you don't mind my saying that, do you?--so one must make +the most of what one can get. I shall be most happy to dine with you +whenever you will let me; but I want to be able to ask you sometimes. +And I want to be able to ask Mr. Acton," added the Baroness. + +"You must come and ask me at home," said Acton. "You must come and see +me; you must dine with me first. I want to show you my place; I want to +introduce you to my mother." He called again upon Madame Munster, +two days later. He was constantly at the other house; he used to walk +across the fields from his own place, and he appeared to have fewer +scruples than his cousins with regard to dropping in. On this occasion +he found that Mr. Brand had come to pay his respects to the charming +stranger; but after Acton's arrival the young theologian said nothing. +He sat in his chair with his two hands clasped, fixing upon his hostess +a grave, fascinated stare. The Baroness talked to Robert Acton, but, as +she talked, she turned and smiled at Mr. Brand, who never took his +eyes off her. The two men walked away together; they were going to Mr. +Wentworth's. Mr. Brand still said nothing; but after they had passed +into Mr. Wentworth's garden he stopped and looked back for some time at +the little white house. Then, looking at his companion, with his head +bent a little to one side and his eyes somewhat contracted, "Now +I suppose that 's what is called conversation," he said; "real +conversation." + +"It 's what I call a very clever woman," said Acton, laughing. + +"It is most interesting," Mr. Brand continued. "I only wish she would +speak French; it would seem more in keeping. It must be quite the +style that we have heard about, that we have read about--the style of +conversation of Madame de Stael, of Madame Recamier." + +Acton also looked at Madame Munster's residence among its hollyhocks and +apple-trees. "What I should like to know," he said, smiling, "is just +what has brought Madame Recamier to live in that place!" + + + + + + +CHAPTER V + +Mr. Wentworth, with his cane and his gloves in his hand, went every +afternoon to call upon his niece. A couple of hours later she came over +to the great house to tea. She had let the proposal that she should +regularly dine there fall to the ground; she was in the enjoyment of +whatever satisfaction was to be derived from the spectacle of an +old negress in a crimson turban shelling peas under the apple-trees. +Charlotte, who had provided the ancient negress, thought it must be +a strange household, Eugenia having told her that Augustine managed +everything, the ancient negress included--Augustine who was naturally +devoid of all acquaintance with the expurgatory English tongue. By far +the most immoral sentiment which I shall have occasion to attribute to +Charlotte Wentworth was a certain emotion of disappointment at finding +that, in spite of these irregular conditions, the domestic arrangements +at the small house were apparently not--from Eugenia's peculiar point of +view--strikingly offensive. The Baroness found it amusing to go to tea; +she dressed as if for dinner. The tea-table offered an anomalous and +picturesque repast; and on leaving it they all sat and talked in the +large piazza, or wandered about the garden in the starlight, with their +ears full of those sounds of strange insects which, though they are +supposed to be, all over the world, a part of the magic of summer +nights, seemed to the Baroness to have beneath these western skies an +incomparable resonance. + +Mr. Wentworth, though, as I say, he went punctiliously to call upon her, +was not able to feel that he was getting used to his niece. It taxed his +imagination to believe that she was really his half-sister's child. His +sister was a figure of his early years; she had been only twenty when +she went abroad, never to return, making in foreign parts a willful and +undesirable marriage. His aunt, Mrs. Whiteside, who had taken her to +Europe for the benefit of the tour, gave, on her return, so lamentable +an account of Mr. Adolphus Young, to whom the headstrong girl had united +her destiny, that it operated as a chill upon family feeling--especially +in the case of the half-brothers. Catherine had done nothing +subsequently to propitiate her family; she had not even written to +them in a way that indicated a lucid appreciation of their suspended +sympathy; so that it had become a tradition in Boston circles that the +highest charity, as regards this young lady, was to think it well to +forget her, and to abstain from conjecture as to the extent to which +her aberrations were reproduced in her descendants. Over these young +people--a vague report of their existence had come to his ears--Mr. +Wentworth had not, in the course of years, allowed his imagination to +hover. It had plenty of occupation nearer home, and though he had many +cares upon his conscience the idea that he had been an unnatural uncle +was, very properly, never among the number. Now that his nephew and +niece had come before him, he perceived that they were the fruit of +influences and circumstances very different from those under which his +own familiar progeny had reached a vaguely-qualified maturity. He felt +no provocation to say that these influences had been exerted for evil; +but he was sometimes afraid that he should not be able to like +his distinguished, delicate, lady-like niece. He was paralyzed and +bewildered by her foreignness. She spoke, somehow, a different language. +There was something strange in her words. He had a feeling that another +man, in his place, would accommodate himself to her tone; would ask +her questions and joke with her, reply to those pleasantries of her +own which sometimes seemed startling as addressed to an uncle. But Mr. +Wentworth could not do these things. He could not even bring himself +to attempt to measure her position in the world. She was the wife of +a foreign nobleman who desired to repudiate her. This had a singular +sound, but the old man felt himself destitute of the materials for +a judgment. It seemed to him that he ought to find them in his own +experience, as a man of the world and an almost public character; but +they were not there, and he was ashamed to confess to himself--much +more to reveal to Eugenia by interrogations possibly too innocent--the +unfurnished condition of this repository. + +It appeared to him that he could get much nearer, as he would have said, +to his nephew; though he was not sure that Felix was altogether safe. He +was so bright and handsome and talkative that it was impossible not to +think well of him; and yet it seemed as if there were something almost +impudent, almost vicious--or as if there ought to be--in a young man +being at once so joyous and so positive. It was to be observed that +while Felix was not at all a serious young man there was somehow more of +him--he had more weight and volume and resonance--than a number of young +men who were distinctly serious. While Mr. Wentworth meditated upon this +anomaly his nephew was admiring him unrestrictedly. He thought him a +most delicate, generous, high-toned old gentleman, with a very handsome +head, of the ascetic type, which he promised himself the profit of +sketching. Felix was far from having made a secret of the fact that he +wielded the paint-brush, and it was not his own fault if it failed to be +generally understood that he was prepared to execute the most striking +likenesses on the most reasonable terms. "He is an artist--my cousin is +an artist," said Gertrude; and she offered this information to every one +who would receive it. She offered it to herself, as it were, by way +of admonition and reminder; she repeated to herself at odd moments, +in lonely places, that Felix was invested with this sacred character. +Gertrude had never seen an artist before; she had only read about such +people. They seemed to her a romantic and mysterious class, whose life +was made up of those agreeable accidents that never happened to other +persons. And it merely quickened her meditations on this point that +Felix should declare, as he repeatedly did, that he was really not an +artist. "I have never gone into the thing seriously," he said. "I have +never studied; I have had no training. I do a little of everything, and +nothing well. I am only an amateur." + +It pleased Gertrude even more to think that he was an amateur than to +think that he was an artist; the former word, to her fancy, had an even +subtler connotation. She knew, however, that it was a word to use +more soberly. Mr. Wentworth used it freely; for though he had not +been exactly familiar with it, he found it convenient as a help toward +classifying Felix, who, as a young man extremely clever and active and +apparently respectable and yet not engaged in any recognized business, +was an importunate anomaly. Of course the Baroness and her brother--she +was always spoken of first--were a welcome topic of conversation between +Mr. Wentworth and his daughters and their occasional visitors. + +"And the young man, your nephew, what is his profession?" asked an +old gentleman--Mr. Broderip, of Salem--who had been Mr. Wentworth's +classmate at Harvard College in the year 1809, and who came into his +office in Devonshire Street. (Mr. Wentworth, in his later years, used to +go but three times a week to his office, where he had a large amount of +highly confidential trust-business to transact.) + +"Well, he 's an amateur," said Felix's uncle, with folded hands, and +with a certain satisfaction in being able to say it. And Mr. Broderip +had gone back to Salem with a feeling that this was probably a +"European" expression for a broker or a grain exporter. + +"I should like to do your head, sir," said Felix to his uncle one +evening, before them all--Mr. Brand and Robert Acton being also present. +"I think I should make a very fine thing of it. It 's an interesting +head; it 's very mediaeval." + +Mr. Wentworth looked grave; he felt awkwardly, as if all the company had +come in and found him standing before the looking-glass. "The Lord made +it," he said. "I don't think it is for man to make it over again." + +"Certainly the Lord made it," replied Felix, laughing, "and he made +it very well. But life has been touching up the work. It is a very +interesting type of head. It 's delightfully wasted and emaciated. +The complexion is wonderfully bleached." And Felix looked round at the +circle, as if to call their attention to these interesting points. +Mr. Wentworth grew visibly paler. "I should like to do you as an old +prelate, an old cardinal, or the prior of an order." + +"A prelate, a cardinal?" murmured Mr. Wentworth. "Do you refer to the +Roman Catholic priesthood?" + +"I mean an old ecclesiastic who should have led a very pure, abstinent +life. Now I take it that has been the case with you, sir; one sees it in +your face," Felix proceeded. "You have been very--a very moderate. Don't +you think one always sees that in a man's face?" + +"You see more in a man's face than I should think of looking for," said +Mr. Wentworth coldly. + +The Baroness rattled her fan, and gave her brilliant laugh. "It is a +risk to look so close!" she exclaimed. "My uncle has some peccadilloes +on his conscience." Mr. Wentworth looked at her, painfully at a loss; +and in so far as the signs of a pure and abstinent life were visible in +his face they were then probably peculiarly manifest. "You are a beau +vieillard, dear uncle," said Madame Munster, smiling with her +foreign eyes. + +"I think you are paying me a compliment," said the old man. + +"Surely, I am not the first woman that ever did so!" cried the Baroness. + +"I think you are," said Mr. Wentworth gravely. And turning to Felix he +added, in the same tone, "Please don't take my likeness. My children +have my daguerreotype. That is quite satisfactory." + +"I won't promise," said Felix, "not to work your head into something!" + +Mr. Wentworth looked at him and then at all the others; then he got up +and slowly walked away. + +"Felix," said Gertrude, in the silence that followed, "I wish you would +paint my portrait." + +Charlotte wondered whether Gertrude was right in wishing this; and she +looked at Mr. Brand as the most legitimate way of ascertaining. Whatever +Gertrude did or said, Charlotte always looked at Mr. Brand. It was a +standing pretext for looking at Mr. Brand--always, as Charlotte thought, +in the interest of Gertrude's welfare. It is true that she felt a +tremulous interest in Gertrude being right; for Charlotte, in her small, +still way, was an heroic sister. + +"We should be glad to have your portrait, Miss Gertrude," said Mr. +Brand. + +"I should be delighted to paint so charming a model," Felix declared. + +"Do you think you are so lovely, my dear?" asked Lizzie Acton, with her +little inoffensive pertness, biting off a knot in her knitting. + +"It is not because I think I am beautiful," said Gertrude, looking all +round. "I don't think I am beautiful, at all." She spoke with a sort +of conscious deliberateness; and it seemed very strange to Charlotte to +hear her discussing this question so publicly. "It is because I think it +would be amusing to sit and be painted. I have always thought that." + +"I am sorry you have not had better things to think about, my daughter," +said Mr. Wentworth. + +"You are very beautiful, cousin Gertrude," Felix declared. + +"That 's a compliment," said Gertrude. "I put all the compliments I +receive into a little money-jug that has a slit in the side. I shake +them up and down, and they rattle. There are not many yet--only two or +three." + +"No, it 's not a compliment," Felix rejoined. "See; I am careful not to +give it the form of a compliment. I did n't think you were beautiful at +first. But you have come to seem so little by little." + +"Take care, now, your jug does n't burst!" exclaimed Lizzie. + +"I think sitting for one's portrait is only one of the various forms of +idleness," said Mr. Wentworth. "Their name is legion." + +"My dear sir," cried Felix, "you can't be said to be idle when you are +making a man work so!" + +"One might be painted while one is asleep," suggested Mr. Brand, as a +contribution to the discussion. + +"Ah, do paint me while I am asleep," said Gertrude to Felix, smiling. +And she closed her eyes a little. It had by this time become a matter of +almost exciting anxiety to Charlotte what Gertrude would say or would do +next. + +She began to sit for her portrait on the following day--in the open +air, on the north side of the piazza. "I wish you would tell me what you +think of us--how we seem to you," she said to Felix, as he sat before +his easel. + +"You seem to me the best people in the world," said Felix. + +"You say that," Gertrude resumed, "because it saves you the trouble of +saying anything else." + +The young man glanced at her over the top of his canvas. "What else +should I say? It would certainly be a great deal of trouble to say +anything different." + +"Well," said Gertrude, "you have seen people before that you have liked, +have you not?" + +"Indeed I have, thank Heaven!" + +"And they have been very different from us," Gertrude went on. + +"That only proves," said Felix, "that there are a thousand different +ways of being good company." + +"Do you think us good company?" asked Gertrude. + +"Company for a king!" + +Gertrude was silent a moment; and then, "There must be a thousand +different ways of being dreary," she said; "and sometimes I think we +make use of them all." + +Felix stood up quickly, holding up his hand. "If you could only keep +that look on your face for half an hour--while I catch it!" he said. "It +is uncommonly handsome." + +"To look handsome for half an hour--that is a great deal to ask of me," +she answered. + +"It would be the portrait of a young woman who has taken some vow, some +pledge, that she repents of," said Felix, "and who is thinking it over +at leisure." + +"I have taken no vow, no pledge," said Gertrude, very gravely; "I have +nothing to repent of." + +"My dear cousin, that was only a figure of speech. I am very sure that +no one in your excellent family has anything to repent of." + +"And yet we are always repenting!" Gertrude exclaimed. "That is what I +mean by our being dreary. You know it perfectly well; you only pretend +that you don't." + +Felix gave a quick laugh. "The half hour is going on, and yet you are +handsomer than ever. One must be careful what one says, you see." + +"To me," said Gertrude, "you can say anything." + +Felix looked at her, as an artist might, and painted for some time in +silence. + +"Yes, you seem to me different from your father and sister--from most of +the people you have lived with," he observed. + +"To say that one's self," Gertrude went on, "is like saying--by +implication, at least--that one is better. I am not better; I am much +worse. But they say themselves that I am different. It makes them +unhappy." + +"Since you accuse me of concealing my real impressions, I may admit that +I think the tendency--among you generally--is to be made unhappy too +easily." + +"I wish you would tell that to my father," said Gertrude. + +"It might make him more unhappy!" Felix exclaimed, laughing. + +"It certainly would. I don't believe you have seen people like that." + +"Ah, my dear cousin, how do you know what I have seen?" Felix demanded. +"How can I tell you?" + +"You might tell me a great many things, if you only would. You have +seen people like yourself--people who are bright and gay and fond of +amusement. We are not fond of amusement." + +"Yes," said Felix, "I confess that rather strikes me. You don't seem to +me to get all the pleasure out of life that you might. You don't seem to +me to enjoy..... Do you mind my saying this?" he asked, pausing. + +"Please go on," said the girl, earnestly. + +"You seem to me very well placed for enjoying. You have money and +liberty and what is called in Europe a 'position.' But you take a +painful view of life, as one may say." + +"One ought to think it bright and charming and delightful, eh?" asked +Gertrude. + +"I should say so--if one can. It is true it all depends upon that," +Felix added. + +"You know there is a great deal of misery in the world," said his model. + +"I have seen a little of it," the young man rejoined. "But it was all +over there--beyond the sea. I don't see any here. This is a paradise." + +Gertrude said nothing; she sat looking at the dahlias and the +currant-bushes in the garden, while Felix went on with his work. "To +'enjoy,'" she began at last, "to take life--not painfully, must one do +something wrong?" + +Felix gave his long, light laugh again. "Seriously, I think not. And for +this reason, among others: you strike me as very capable of enjoying, +if the chance were given you, and yet at the same time as incapable of +wrong-doing." + +"I am sure," said Gertrude, "that you are very wrong in telling a person +that she is incapable of that. We are never nearer to evil than when we +believe that." + +"You are handsomer than ever," observed Felix, irrelevantly. + +Gertrude had got used to hearing him say this. There was not so much +excitement in it as at first. "What ought one to do?" she continued. "To +give parties, to go to the theatre, to read novels, to keep late hours?" + +"I don't think it 's what one does or one does n't do that promotes +enjoyment," her companion answered. "It is the general way of looking at +life." + +"They look at it as a discipline--that 's what they do here. I have +often been told that." + +"Well, that 's very good. But there is another way," added Felix, +smiling: "to look at it as an opportunity." + +"An opportunity--yes," said Gertrude. "One would get more pleasure that +way." + +"I don't attempt to say anything better for it than that it has been my +own way--and that is not saying much!" Felix had laid down his palette +and brushes; he was leaning back, with his arms folded, to judge +the effect of his work. "And you know," he said, "I am a very petty +personage." + +"You have a great deal of talent," said Gertrude. + +"No--no," the young man rejoined, in a tone of cheerful impartiality, +"I have not a great deal of talent. It is nothing at all remarkable. +I assure you I should know if it were. I shall always be obscure. The +world will never hear of me." Gertrude looked at him with a strange +feeling. She was thinking of the great world which he knew and which she +did not, and how full of brilliant talents it must be, since it could +afford to make light of his abilities. "You need n't in general attach +much importance to anything I tell you," he pursued; "but you may +believe me when I say this,--that I am little better than a good-natured +feather-head." + +"A feather-head?" she repeated. + +"I am a species of Bohemian." + +"A Bohemian?" Gertrude had never heard this term before, save as a +geographical denomination; and she quite failed to understand the +figurative meaning which her companion appeared to attach to it. But it +gave her pleasure. + +Felix had pushed back his chair and risen to his feet; he slowly came +toward her, smiling. "I am a sort of adventurer," he said, looking down +at her. + +She got up, meeting his smile. "An adventurer?" she repeated. "I should +like to hear your adventures." + +For an instant she believed that he was going to take her hand; but he +dropped his own hands suddenly into the pockets of his painting-jacket. +"There is no reason why you should n't," he said. "I have been an +adventurer, but my adventures have been very innocent. They have all +been happy ones; I don't think there are any I should n't tell. They +were very pleasant and very pretty; I should like to go over them in +memory. Sit down again, and I will begin," he added in a moment, with +his naturally persuasive smile. + +Gertrude sat down again on that day, and she sat down on several other +days. Felix, while he plied his brush, told her a great many stories, +and she listened with charmed avidity. Her eyes rested upon his lips; +she was very serious; sometimes, from her air of wondering gravity, he +thought she was displeased. But Felix never believed for more than a +single moment in any displeasure of his own producing. This would have +been fatuity if the optimism it expressed had not been much more a hope +than a prejudice. It is beside the matter to say that he had a good +conscience; for the best conscience is a sort of self-reproach, and this +young man's brilliantly healthy nature spent itself in objective good +intentions which were ignorant of any test save exactness in hitting +their mark. He told Gertrude how he had walked over France and Italy +with a painter's knapsack on his back, paying his way often by knocking +off a flattering portrait of his host or hostess. He told her how he +had played the violin in a little band of musicians--not of high +celebrity--who traveled through foreign lands giving provincial +concerts. He told her also how he had been a momentary ornament of a +troupe of strolling actors, engaged in the arduous task of interpreting +Shakespeare to French and German, Polish and Hungarian audiences. + +While this periodical recital was going on, Gertrude lived in a +fantastic world; she seemed to herself to be reading a romance that +came out in daily numbers. She had known nothing so delightful since +the perusal of "Nicholas Nickleby." One afternoon she went to see her +cousin, Mrs. Acton, Robert's mother, who was a great invalid, never +leaving the house. She came back alone, on foot, across the fields--this +being a short way which they often used. Felix had gone to Boston with +her father, who desired to take the young man to call upon some of his +friends, old gentlemen who remembered his mother--remembered her, but +said nothing about her--and several of whom, with the gentle ladies +their wives, had driven out from town to pay their respects at the +little house among the apple-trees, in vehicles which reminded the +Baroness, who received her visitors with discriminating civility, of +the large, light, rattling barouche in which she herself had made her +journey to this neighborhood. The afternoon was waning; in the western +sky the great picture of a New England sunset, painted in crimson +and silver, was suspended from the zenith; and the stony pastures, as +Gertrude traversed them, thinking intently to herself, were covered with +a light, clear glow. At the open gate of one of the fields she saw from +the distance a man's figure; he stood there as if he were waiting for +her, and as she came nearer she recognized Mr. Brand. She had a feeling +as of not having seen him for some time; she could not have said for +how long, for it yet seemed to her that he had been very lately at the +house. + +"May I walk back with you?" he asked. And when she had said that he +might if he wanted, he observed that he had seen her and recognized her +half a mile away. + +"You must have very good eyes," said Gertrude. + +"Yes, I have very good eyes, Miss Gertrude," said Mr. Brand. She +perceived that he meant something; but for a long time past Mr. Brand +had constantly meant something, and she had almost got used to it. She +felt, however, that what he meant had now a renewed power to disturb +her, to perplex and agitate her. He walked beside her in silence for a +moment, and then he added, "I have had no trouble in seeing that you are +beginning to avoid me. But perhaps," he went on, "one need n't have had +very good eyes to see that." + +"I have not avoided you," said Gertrude, without looking at him. + +"I think you have been unconscious that you were avoiding me," Mr. Brand +replied. "You have not even known that I was there." + +"Well, you are here now, Mr. Brand!" said Gertrude, with a little laugh. +"I know that very well." + +He made no rejoinder. He simply walked beside her slowly, as they were +obliged to walk over the soft grass. Presently they came to another +gate, which was closed. Mr. Brand laid his hand upon it, but he made no +movement to open it; he stood and looked at his companion. "You are very +much interested--very much absorbed," he said. + +Gertrude glanced at him; she saw that he was pale and that he looked +excited. She had never seen Mr. Brand excited before, and she felt +that the spectacle, if fully carried out, would be impressive, almost +painful. "Absorbed in what?" she asked. Then she looked away at the +illuminated sky. She felt guilty and uncomfortable, and yet she was +vexed with herself for feeling so. But Mr. Brand, as he stood there +looking at her with his small, kind, persistent eyes, represented an +immense body of half-obliterated obligations, that were rising again +into a certain distinctness. + +"You have new interests, new occupations," he went on. "I don't know +that I can say that you have new duties. We have always old ones, +Gertrude," he added. + +"Please open the gate, Mr. Brand," she said; and she felt as if, in +saying so, she were cowardly and petulant. But he opened the gate, and +allowed her to pass; then he closed it behind himself. Before she had +time to turn away he put out his hand and held her an instant by the +wrist. + +"I want to say something to you," he said. + +"I know what you want to say," she answered. And she was on the point of +adding, "And I know just how you will say it;" but these words she kept +back. + +"I love you, Gertrude," he said. "I love you very much; I love you more +than ever." + +He said the words just as she had known he would; she had heard them +before. They had no charm for her; she had said to herself before that +it was very strange. It was supposed to be delightful for a woman to +listen to such words; but these seemed to her flat and mechanical. "I +wish you would forget that," she declared. + +"How can I--why should I?" he asked. + +"I have made you no promise--given you no pledge," she said, looking at +him, with her voice trembling a little. + +"You have let me feel that I have an influence over you. You have opened +your mind to me." + +"I never opened my mind to you, Mr. Brand!" Gertrude cried, with some +vehemence. + +"Then you were not so frank as I thought--as we all thought." + +"I don't see what any one else had to do with it!" cried the girl. + +"I mean your father and your sister. You know it makes them happy to +think you will listen to me." + +She gave a little laugh. "It does n't make them happy," she said. +"Nothing makes them happy. No one is happy here." + +"I think your cousin is very happy--Mr. Young," rejoined Mr. Brand, in a +soft, almost timid tone. + +"So much the better for him!" And Gertrude gave her little laugh again. + +The young man looked at her a moment. "You are very much changed," he +said. + +"I am glad to hear it," Gertrude declared. + +"I am not. I have known you a long time, and I have loved you as you +were." + +"I am much obliged to you," said Gertrude. "I must be going home." + +He on his side, gave a little laugh. + +"You certainly do avoid me--you see!" + +"Avoid me, then," said the girl. + +He looked at her again; and then, very gently, "No I will not avoid +you," he replied; "but I will leave you, for the present, to yourself. +I think you will remember--after a while--some of the things you have +forgotten. I think you will come back to me; I have great faith in +that." + +This time his voice was very touching; there was a strong, reproachful +force in what he said, and Gertrude could answer nothing. He turned +away and stood there, leaning his elbows on the gate and looking at the +beautiful sunset. Gertrude left him and took her way home again; but +when she reached the middle of the next field she suddenly burst into +tears. Her tears seemed to her to have been a long time gathering, and +for some moments it was a kind of glee to shed them. But they presently +passed away. There was something a little hard about Gertrude; and she +never wept again. + + + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Going of an afternoon to call upon his niece, Mr. Wentworth more than +once found Robert Acton sitting in her little drawing-room. This was in +no degree, to Mr. Wentworth, a perturbing fact, for he had no sense +of competing with his young kinsman for Eugenia's good graces. Madame +Munster's uncle had the highest opinion of Robert Acton, who, indeed, in +the family at large, was the object of a great deal of undemonstrative +appreciation. They were all proud of him, in so far as the charge +of being proud may be brought against people who were, habitually, +distinctly guiltless of the misdemeanor known as "taking credit." They +never boasted of Robert Acton, nor indulged in vainglorious reference to +him; they never quoted the clever things he had said, nor mentioned the +generous things he had done. But a sort of frigidly-tender faith in +his unlimited goodness was a part of their personal sense of right; and +there can, perhaps, be no better proof of the high esteem in which he +was held than the fact that no explicit judgment was ever passed upon +his actions. He was no more praised than he was blamed; but he was +tacitly felt to be an ornament to his circle. He was the man of the +world of the family. He had been to China and brought home a collection +of curiosities; he had made a fortune--or rather he had quintupled a +fortune already considerable; he was distinguished by that combination +of celibacy, "property," and good humor which appeals to even the +most subdued imaginations; and it was taken for granted that he would +presently place these advantages at the disposal of some well-regulated +young woman of his own "set." Mr. Wentworth was not a man to admit to +himself that--his paternal duties apart--he liked any individual much +better than all other individuals; but he thought Robert Acton extremely +judicious; and this was perhaps as near an approach as he was capable of +to the eagerness of preference, which his temperament repudiated as it +would have disengaged itself from something slightly unchaste. Acton +was, in fact, very judicious--and something more beside; and indeed it +must be claimed for Mr. Wentworth that in the more illicit parts of +his preference there hovered the vague adumbration of a belief that +his cousin's final merit was a certain enviable capacity for whistling, +rather gallantly, at the sanctions of mere judgment--for showing a +larger courage, a finer quality of pluck, than common occasion demanded. +Mr. Wentworth would never have risked the intimation that Acton was +made, in the smallest degree, of the stuff of a hero; but this is small +blame to him, for Robert would certainly never have risked it himself. +Acton certainly exercised great discretion in all things--beginning with +his estimate of himself. He knew that he was by no means so much of a +man of the world as he was supposed to be in local circles; but it must +be added that he knew also that his natural shrewdness had a reach +of which he had never quite given local circles the measure. He was +addicted to taking the humorous view of things, and he had discovered +that even in the narrowest circles such a disposition may find frequent +opportunities. Such opportunities had formed for some time--that is, +since his return from China, a year and a half before--the most active +element in this gentleman's life, which had just now a rather indolent +air. He was perfectly willing to get married. He was very fond of +books, and he had a handsome library; that is, his books were much more +numerous than Mr. Wentworth's. He was also very fond of pictures; but it +must be confessed, in the fierce light of contemporary criticism, that +his walls were adorned with several rather abortive masterpieces. He had +got his learning--and there was more of it than commonly appeared--at +Harvard College; and he took a pleasure in old associations, which made +it a part of his daily contentment to live so near this institution that +he often passed it in driving to Boston. He was extremely interested in +the Baroness Munster. + +She was very frank with him; or at least she intended to be. "I am +sure you find it very strange that I should have settled down in this +out-of-the-way part of the world!" she said to him three or four weeks +after she had installed herself. "I am certain you are wondering about +my motives. They are very pure." The Baroness by this time was an old +inhabitant; the best society in Boston had called upon her, and Clifford +Wentworth had taken her several times to drive in his buggy. + +Robert Acton was seated near her, playing with a fan; there were +always several fans lying about her drawing-room, with long ribbons of +different colors attached to them, and Acton was always playing with +one. "No, I don't find it at all strange," he said slowly, smiling. +"That a clever woman should turn up in Boston, or its suburbs--that does +not require so much explanation. Boston is a very nice place." + +"If you wish to make me contradict you," said the Baroness, "vous vous +y prenez mal. In certain moods there is nothing I am not capable +of agreeing to. Boston is a paradise, and we are in the suburbs of +Paradise." + +"Just now I am not at all in the suburbs; I am in the place itself," +rejoined Acton, who was lounging a little in his chair. He was, however, +not always lounging; and when he was he was not quite so relaxed as he +pretended. To a certain extent, he sought refuge from shyness in +this appearance of relaxation; and like many persons in the same +circumstances he somewhat exaggerated the appearance. Beyond this, the +air of being much at his ease was a cover for vigilant observation. He +was more than interested in this clever woman, who, whatever he might +say, was clever not at all after the Boston fashion; she plunged him +into a kind of excitement, held him in vague suspense. He was obliged to +admit to himself that he had never yet seen a woman just like this--not +even in China. He was ashamed, for inscrutable reasons, of the vivacity +of his emotion, and he carried it off, superficially, by taking, still +superficially, the humorous view of Madame Munster. It was not at all +true that he thought it very natural of her to have made this pious +pilgrimage. It might have been said of him in advance that he was too +good a Bostonian to regard in the light of an eccentricity the desire of +even the remotest alien to visit the New England metropolis. This was an +impulse for which, surely, no apology was needed; and Madame Munster +was the fortunate possessor of several New England cousins. In fact, +however, Madame Munster struck him as out of keeping with her little +circle; she was at the best a very agreeable, a gracefully mystifying +anomaly. He knew very well that it would not do to address these +reflections too crudely to Mr. Wentworth; he would never have remarked +to the old gentleman that he wondered what the Baroness was up to. And +indeed he had no great desire to share his vague mistrust with any one. +There was a personal pleasure in it; the greatest pleasure he had known +at least since he had come from China. He would keep the Baroness, for +better or worse, to himself; he had a feeling that he deserved to +enjoy a monopoly of her, for he was certainly the person who had most +adequately gauged her capacity for social intercourse. Before long it +became apparent to him that the Baroness was disposed to lay no tax upon +such a monopoly. + +One day (he was sitting there again and playing with a fan) she asked +him to apologize, should the occasion present itself, to certain people +in Boston for her not having returned their calls. "There are half a +dozen places," she said; "a formidable list. Charlotte Wentworth has +written it out for me, in a terrifically distinct hand. There is +no ambiguity on the subject; I know perfectly where I must go. Mr. +Wentworth informs me that the carriage is always at my disposal, and +Charlotte offers to go with me, in a pair of tight gloves and a very +stiff petticoat. And yet for three days I have been putting it off. They +must think me horribly vicious." + +"You ask me to apologize," said Acton, "but you don't tell me what +excuse I can offer." + +"That is more," the Baroness declared, "than I am held to. It would be +like my asking you to buy me a bouquet and giving you the money. I have +no reason except that--somehow--it 's too violent an effort. It is not +inspiring. Would n't that serve as an excuse, in Boston? I am told they +are very sincere; they don't tell fibs. And then Felix ought to go with +me, and he is never in readiness. I don't see him. He is always roaming +about the fields and sketching old barns, or taking ten-mile walks, or +painting some one's portrait, or rowing on the pond, or flirting with +Gertrude Wentworth." + +"I should think it would amuse you to go and see a few people," said +Acton. "You are having a very quiet time of it here. It 's a dull life +for you." + +"Ah, the quiet,--the quiet!" the Baroness exclaimed. "That 's what I +like. It 's rest. That 's what I came here for. Amusement? I have had +amusement. And as for seeing people--I have already seen a great many +in my life. If it did n't sound ungracious I should say that I wish very +humbly your people here would leave me alone!" + +Acton looked at her a moment, and she looked at him. She was a woman who +took being looked at remarkably well. "So you have come here for rest?" +he asked. + +"So I may say. I came for many of those reasons that are no +reasons--don't you know?--and yet that are really the best: to come +away, to change, to break with everything. When once one comes away one +must arrive somewhere, and I asked myself why I should n't arrive here." + +"You certainly had time on the way!" said Acton, laughing. + +Madame Munster looked at him again; and then, smiling: "And I have +certainly had time, since I got here, to ask myself why I came. However, +I never ask myself idle questions. Here I am, and it seems to me you +ought only to thank me." + +"When you go away you will see the difficulties I shall put in your +path." + +"You mean to put difficulties in my path?" she asked, rearranging the +rosebud in her corsage. + +"The greatest of all--that of having been so agreeable"-- + +"That I shall be unable to depart? Don't be too sure. I have left some +very agreeable people over there." + +"Ah," said Acton, "but it was to come here, where I am!" + +"I did n't know of your existence. Excuse me for saying anything so +rude; but, honestly speaking, I did not. No," the Baroness pursued, "it +was precisely not to see you--such people as you--that I came." + +"Such people as me?" cried Acton. + +"I had a sort of longing to come into those natural relations which I +knew I should find here. Over there I had only, as I may say, artificial +relations. Don't you see the difference?" + +"The difference tells against me," said Acton. "I suppose I am an +artificial relation." + +"Conventional," declared the Baroness; "very conventional." + +"Well, there is one way in which the relation of a lady and a gentleman +may always become natural," said Acton. + +"You mean by their becoming lovers? That may be natural or not. And at +any rate," rejoined Eugenia, "nous n'en sommes pas la!" + +They were not, as yet; but a little later, when she began to go with him +to drive, it might almost have seemed that they were. He came for her +several times, alone, in his high "wagon," drawn by a pair of charming +light-limbed horses. It was different, her having gone with Clifford +Wentworth, who was her cousin, and so much younger. It was not to be +imagined that she should have a flirtation with Clifford, who was a mere +shame-faced boy, and whom a large section of Boston society supposed to +be "engaged" to Lizzie Acton. Not, indeed, that it was to be conceived +that the Baroness was a possible party to any flirtation whatever; for +she was undoubtedly a married lady. It was generally known that her +matrimonial condition was of the "morganatic" order; but in its natural +aversion to suppose that this meant anything less than absolute wedlock, +the conscience of the community took refuge in the belief that it +implied something even more. + +Acton wished her to think highly of American scenery, and he drove her +to great distances, picking out the prettiest roads and the largest +points of view. If we are good when we are contented, Eugenia's virtues +should now certainly have been uppermost; for she found a charm in the +rapid movement through a wild country, and in a companion who from time +to time made the vehicle dip, with a motion like a swallow's flight, +over roads of primitive construction, and who, as she felt, would do +a great many things that she might ask him. Sometimes, for a couple +of hours together, there were almost no houses; there were nothing but +woods and rivers and lakes and horizons adorned with bright-looking +mountains. It seemed to the Baroness very wild, as I have said, +and lovely; but the impression added something to that sense of the +enlargement of opportunity which had been born of her arrival in the New +World. + +One day--it was late in the afternoon--Acton pulled up his horses on the +crest of a hill which commanded a beautiful prospect. He let them +stand a long time to rest, while he sat there and talked with Madame +Munster. The prospect was beautiful in spite of there being nothing +human within sight. There was a wilderness of woods, and the gleam of a +distant river, and a glimpse of half the hill-tops in Massachusetts. +The road had a wide, grassy margin, on the further side of which there +flowed a deep, clear brook; there were wild flowers in the grass, and +beside the brook lay the trunk of a fallen tree. Acton waited a while; +at last a rustic wayfarer came trudging along the road. Acton asked him +to hold the horses--a service he consented to render, as a friendly turn +to a fellow-citizen. Then he invited the Baroness to descend, and the +two wandered away, across the grass, and sat down on the log beside the +brook. + +"I imagine it does n't remind you of Silberstadt," said Acton. It was +the first time that he had mentioned Silberstadt to her, for particular +reasons. He knew she had a husband there, and this was disagreeable to +him; and, furthermore, it had been repeated to him that this husband +wished to put her away--a state of affairs to which even indirect +reference was to be deprecated. It was true, nevertheless, that the +Baroness herself had often alluded to Silberstadt; and Acton had often +wondered why her husband wished to get rid of her. It was a curious +position for a lady--this being known as a repudiated wife; and it is +worthy of observation that the Baroness carried it off with exceeding +grace and dignity. She had made it felt, from the first, that there were +two sides to the question, and that her own side, when she should choose +to present it, would be replete with touching interest. + +"It does not remind me of the town, of course," she said, "of the +sculptured gables and the Gothic churches, of the wonderful Schloss, +with its moat and its clustering towers. But it has a little look of +some other parts of the principality. One might fancy one's self among +those grand old German forests, those legendary mountains; the sort of +country one sees from the windows at Shreckenstein." + +"What is Shreckenstein?" asked Acton. + +"It is a great castle,--the summer residence of the Reigning Prince." + +"Have you ever lived there?" + +"I have stayed there," said the Baroness. Acton was silent; he looked a +while at the uncastled landscape before him. "It is the first time you +have ever asked me about Silberstadt," she said. "I should think you +would want to know about my marriage; it must seem to you very strange." + +Acton looked at her a moment. "Now you would n't like me to say that!" + +"You Americans have such odd ways!" the Baroness declared. "You never +ask anything outright; there seem to be so many things you can't talk +about." + +"We Americans are very polite," said Acton, whose national consciousness +had been complicated by a residence in foreign lands, and who yet +disliked to hear Americans abused. "We don't like to tread upon +people's toes," he said. "But I should like very much to hear about your +marriage. Now tell me how it came about." + +"The Prince fell in love with me," replied the Baroness simply. "He +pressed his suit very hard. At first he did n't wish me to marry him; +on the contrary. But on that basis I refused to listen to him. So he +offered me marriage--in so far as he might. I was young, and I confess +I was rather flattered. But if it were to be done again now, I certainly +should not accept him." + +"How long ago was this?" asked Acton. + +"Oh--several years," said Eugenia. "You should never ask a woman for +dates." + +"Why, I should think that when a woman was relating history".... Acton +answered. "And now he wants to break it off?" + +"They want him to make a political marriage. It is his brother's idea. +His brother is very clever." + +"They must be a precious pair!" cried Robert Acton. + +The Baroness gave a little philosophic shrug. "Que voulez-vous? They +are princes. They think they are treating me very well. Silberstadt is +a perfectly despotic little state, and the Reigning Prince may annul the +marriage by a stroke of his pen. But he has promised me, nevertheless, +not to do so without my formal consent." + +"And this you have refused?" + +"Hitherto. It is an indignity, and I have wished at least to make it +difficult for them. But I have a little document in my writing-desk +which I have only to sign and send back to the Prince." + +"Then it will be all over?" + +The Baroness lifted her hand, and dropped it again. "Of course I shall +keep my title; at least, I shall be at liberty to keep it if I choose. +And I suppose I shall keep it. One must have a name. And I shall keep my +pension. It is very small--it is wretchedly small; but it is what I live +on." + +"And you have only to sign that paper?" Acton asked. + +The Baroness looked at him a moment. "Do you urge it?" + +He got up slowly, and stood with his hands in his pockets. "What do you +gain by not doing it?" + +"I am supposed to gain this advantage--that if I delay, or temporize, +the Prince may come back to me, may make a stand against his brother. +He is very fond of me, and his brother has pushed him only little by +little." + +"If he were to come back to you," said Acton, "would you--would you take +him back?" + +The Baroness met his eyes; she colored just a little. Then she rose. "I +should have the satisfaction of saying, 'Now it is my turn. I break with +your serene highness!'" + +They began to walk toward the carriage. "Well," said Robert Acton, "it +'s a curious story! How did you make his acquaintance?" + +"I was staying with an old lady--an old Countess--in Dresden. She had +been a friend of my father's. My father was dead; I was very much alone. +My brother was wandering about the world in a theatrical troupe." + +"Your brother ought to have stayed with you," Acton observed, "and kept +you from putting your trust in princes." + +The Baroness was silent a moment, and then, "He did what he could," she +said. "He sent me money. The old Countess encouraged the Prince; she +was even pressing. It seems to me," Madame Munster added, gently, +"that--under the circumstances--I behaved very well." + +Acton glanced at her, and made the observation--he had made it +before--that a woman looks the prettier for having unfolded her wrongs +or her sufferings. "Well," he reflected, audibly, "I should like to see +you send his serene highness--somewhere!" + +Madame Munster stooped and plucked a daisy from the grass. "And not sign +my renunciation?" + +"Well, I don't know--I don't know," said Acton. + +"In one case I should have my revenge; in another case I should have my +liberty." + +Acton gave a little laugh as he helped her into the carriage. "At any +rate," he said, "take good care of that paper." + +A couple of days afterward he asked her to come and see his house. The +visit had already been proposed, but it had been put off in consequence +of his mother's illness. She was a constant invalid, and she had passed +these recent years, very patiently, in a great flowered arm-chair at her +bedroom window. Lately, for some days, she had been unable to see any +one; but now she was better, and she sent the Baroness a very civil +message. Acton had wished their visitor to come to dinner; but Madame Munster +preferred to begin with a simple call. She had reflected that +if she should go to dinner Mr. Wentworth and his daughters would also +be asked, and it had seemed to her that the peculiar character of the +occasion would be best preserved in a tete-a-tete with her host. Why the +occasion should have a peculiar character she explained to no one. As +far as any one could see, it was simply very pleasant. Acton came for +her and drove her to his door, an operation which was rapidly performed. +His house the Baroness mentally pronounced a very good one; more +articulately, she declared that it was enchanting. It was large and +square and painted brown; it stood in a well-kept shrubbery, and was +approached, from the gate, by a short drive. It was, moreover, a much +more modern dwelling than Mr. Wentworth's, and was more redundantly +upholstered and expensively ornamented. The Baroness perceived that her +entertainer had analyzed material comfort to a sufficiently fine point. +And then he possessed the most delightful chinoiseries--trophies of his +sojourn in the Celestial Empire: pagodas of ebony and cabinets of ivory; +sculptured monsters, grinning and leering on chimney-pieces, in front of +beautifully figured hand-screens; porcelain dinner-sets, gleaming behind +the glass doors of mahogany buffets; large screens, in corners, covered +with tense silk and embroidered with mandarins and dragons. These things +were scattered all over the house, and they gave Eugenia a pretext for a +complete domiciliary visit. She liked it, she enjoyed it; she thought it +a very nice place. It had a mixture of the homely and the liberal, and +though it was almost a museum, the large, little-used rooms were as +fresh and clean as a well-kept dairy. Lizzie Acton told her that she +dusted all the pagodas and other curiosities every day with her own +hands; and the Baroness answered that she was evidently a household +fairy. Lizzie had not at all the look of a young lady who dusted things; +she wore such pretty dresses and had such delicate fingers that it was +difficult to imagine her immersed in sordid cares. She came to meet +Madame Munster on her arrival, but she said nothing, or almost +nothing, and the Baroness again reflected--she had had occasion to do +so before--that American girls had no manners. She disliked this little +American girl, and she was quite prepared to learn that she had failed +to commend herself to Miss Acton. Lizzie struck her as positive and +explicit almost to pertness; and the idea of her combining the apparent +incongruities of a taste for housework and the wearing of fresh, +Parisian-looking dresses suggested the possession of a dangerous energy. +It was a source of irritation to the Baroness that in this country it +should seem to matter whether a little girl were a trifle less or a +trifle more of a nonentity; for Eugenia had hitherto been conscious of +no moral pressure as regards the appreciation of diminutive virgins. +It was perhaps an indication of Lizzie's pertness that she very soon +retired and left the Baroness on her brother's hands. Acton talked a +great deal about his chinoiseries; he knew a good deal about porcelain +and bric-a-brac. The Baroness, in her progress through the house, made, +as it were, a great many stations. She sat down everywhere, confessed to +being a little tired, and asked about the various objects with a curious +mixture of alertness and inattention. If there had been any one to say +it to she would have declared that she was positively in love with her +host; but she could hardly make this declaration--even in the strictest +confidence--to Acton himself. It gave her, nevertheless, a pleasure +that had some of the charm of unwontedness to feel, with that admirable +keenness with which she was capable of feeling things, that he had +a disposition without any edges; that even his humorous irony always +expanded toward the point. One's impression of his honesty was almost +like carrying a bunch of flowers; the perfume was most agreeable, but +they were occasionally an inconvenience. One could trust him, at any +rate, round all the corners of the world; and, withal, he was not +absolutely simple, which would have been excess; he was only relatively +simple, which was quite enough for the Baroness. + +Lizzie reappeared to say that her mother would now be happy to receive +Madame Munster; and the Baroness followed her to Mrs. Acton's apartment. +Eugenia reflected, as she went, that it was not the affectation of +impertinence that made her dislike this young lady, for on that ground +she could easily have beaten her. It was not an aspiration on the girl's +part to rivalry, but a kind of laughing, childishly-mocking indifference +to the results of comparison. Mrs. Acton was an emaciated, sweet-faced +woman of five and fifty, sitting with pillows behind her, and looking +out on a clump of hemlocks. She was very modest, very timid, and very +ill; she made Eugenia feel grateful that she herself was not like +that--neither so ill, nor, possibly, so modest. On a chair, beside her, +lay a volume of Emerson's Essays. It was a great occasion for poor Mrs. +Acton, in her helpless condition, to be confronted with a clever foreign +lady, who had more manner than any lady--any dozen ladies--that she had +ever seen. + +"I have heard a great deal about you," she said, softly, to the +Baroness. + +"From your son, eh?" Eugenia asked. "He has talked to me immensely of +you. Oh, he talks of you as you would like," the Baroness declared; "as +such a son must talk of such a mother!" + +Mrs. Acton sat gazing; this was part of Madame Munster's "manner." But +Robert Acton was gazing too, in vivid consciousness that he had barely +mentioned his mother to their brilliant guest. He never talked of this +still maternal presence,--a presence refined to such delicacy that it +had almost resolved itself, with him, simply into the subjective emotion +of gratitude. And Acton rarely talked of his emotions. The Baroness +turned her smile toward him, and she instantly felt that she had been +observed to be fibbing. She had struck a false note. But who were these +people to whom such fibbing was not pleasing? If they were annoyed, the +Baroness was equally so; and after the exchange of a few civil inquiries +and low-voiced responses she took leave of Mrs. Acton. She begged Robert +not to come home with her; she would get into the carriage alone; +she preferred that. This was imperious, and she thought he looked +disappointed. While she stood before the door with him--the carriage was +turning in the gravel-walk--this thought restored her serenity. + +When she had given him her hand in farewell she looked at him a moment. +"I have almost decided to dispatch that paper," she said. + +He knew that she alluded to the document that she had called her +renunciation; and he assisted her into the carriage without saying +anything. But just before the vehicle began to move he said, "Well, when +you have in fact dispatched it, I hope you will let me know!" + + + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Felix young finished Gertrude's portrait, and he afterwards transferred +to canvas the features of many members of that circle of which it may +be said that he had become for the time the pivot and the centre. I am +afraid it must be confessed that he was a decidedly flattering painter, +and that he imparted to his models a romantic grace which seemed easily +and cheaply acquired by the payment of a hundred dollars to a young man +who made "sitting" so entertaining. For Felix was paid for his pictures, +making, as he did, no secret of the fact that in guiding his steps to +the Western world affectionate curiosity had gone hand in hand with a +desire to better his condition. He took his uncle's portrait quite as if +Mr. Wentworth had never averted himself from the experiment; and as he +compassed his end only by the exercise of gentle violence, it is but +fair to add that he allowed the old man to give him nothing but his +time. He passed his arm into Mr. Wentworth's one summer morning--very +few arms indeed had ever passed into Mr. Wentworth's--and led him across +the garden and along the road into the studio which he had extemporized +in the little house among the apple-trees. The grave gentleman felt +himself more and more fascinated by his clever nephew, whose fresh, +demonstrative youth seemed a compendium of experiences so strangely +numerous. It appeared to him that Felix must know a great deal; he would +like to learn what he thought about some of those things as regards +which his own conversation had always been formal, but his knowledge +vague. Felix had a confident, gayly trenchant way of judging human +actions which Mr. Wentworth grew little by little to envy; it seemed +like criticism made easy. Forming an opinion--say on a person's +conduct--was, with Mr. Wentworth, a good deal like fumbling in a lock +with a key chosen at hazard. He seemed to himself to go about the world +with a big bunch of these ineffectual instruments at his girdle. His +nephew, on the other hand, with a single turn of the wrist, opened +any door as adroitly as a horse-thief. He felt obliged to keep up the +convention that an uncle is always wiser than a nephew, even if he could +keep it up no otherwise than by listening in serious silence to Felix's +quick, light, constant discourse. But there came a day when he lapsed +from consistency and almost asked his nephew's advice. + +"Have you ever entertained the idea of settling in the United States?" +he asked one morning, while Felix brilliantly plied his brush. + +"My dear uncle," said Felix, "excuse me if your question makes me smile +a little. To begin with, I have never entertained an idea. Ideas often +entertain me; but I am afraid I have never seriously made a plan. I know +what you are going to say; or rather, I know what you think, for I don't +think you will say it--that this is very frivolous and loose-minded on +my part. So it is; but I am made like that; I take things as they come, +and somehow there is always some new thing to follow the last. In the +second place, I should never propose to settle. I can't settle, my dear +uncle; I 'm not a settler. I know that is what strangers are supposed +to do here; they always settle. But I have n't--to answer your +question--entertained that idea." + +"You intend to return to Europe and resume your irregular manner of +life?" Mr. Wentworth inquired. + +"I can't say I intend. But it 's very likely I shall go back to Europe. +After all, I am a European. I feel that, you know. It will depend a good +deal upon my sister. She 's even more of a European than I; here, you +know, she 's a picture out of her setting. And as for 'resuming,' dear +uncle, I really have never given up my irregular manner of life. What, +for me, could be more irregular than this?" + +"Than what?" asked Mr. Wentworth, with his pale gravity. + +"Well, than everything! Living in the midst of you, this way; this +charming, quiet, serious family life; fraternizing with Charlotte and +Gertrude; calling upon twenty young ladies and going out to walk with +them; sitting with you in the evening on the piazza and listening to the +crickets, and going to bed at ten o'clock." + +"Your description is very animated," said Mr. Wentworth; "but I see +nothing improper in what you describe." + +"Neither do I, dear uncle. It is extremely delightful; I should n't +like it if it were improper. I assure you I don't like improper things; +though I dare say you think I do," Felix went on, painting away. + +"I have never accused you of that." + +"Pray don't," said Felix, "because, you see, at bottom I am a terrible +Philistine." + +"A Philistine?" repeated Mr. Wentworth. + +"I mean, as one may say, a plain, God-fearing man." Mr. Wentworth looked +at him reservedly, like a mystified sage, and Felix continued, "I trust +I shall enjoy a venerable and venerated old age. I mean to live long. +I can hardly call that a plan, perhaps; but it 's a keen desire--a rosy +vision. I shall be a lively, perhaps even a frivolous old man!" + +"It is natural," said his uncle, sententiously, "that one should desire +to prolong an agreeable life. We have perhaps a selfish indisposition +to bring our pleasure to a close. But I presume," he added, "that you +expect to marry." + +"That too, dear uncle, is a hope, a desire, a vision," said Felix. It +occurred to him for an instant that this was possibly a preface to the +offer of the hand of one of Mr. Wentworth's admirable daughters. But in +the name of decent modesty and a proper sense of the hard realities of +this world, Felix banished the thought. His uncle was the incarnation +of benevolence, certainly; but from that to accepting--much more +postulating--the idea of a union between a young lady with a dowry +presumptively brilliant and a penniless artist with no prospect of +fame, there was a very long way. Felix had lately become conscious of +a luxurious preference for the society--if possible unshared with +others--of Gertrude Wentworth; but he had relegated this young lady, +for the moment, to the coldly brilliant category of unattainable +possessions. She was not the first woman for whom he had entertained +an unpractical admiration. He had been in love with duchesses and +countesses, and he had made, once or twice, a perilously near approach +to cynicism in declaring that the disinterestedness of women had been +overrated. On the whole, he had tempered audacity with modesty; and +it is but fair to him now to say explicitly that he would have been +incapable of taking advantage of his present large allowance of +familiarity to make love to the younger of his handsome cousins. Felix +had grown up among traditions in the light of which such a proceeding +looked like a grievous breach of hospitality. I have said that he was +always happy, and it may be counted among the present sources of his +happiness that he had as regards this matter of his relations with +Gertrude a deliciously good conscience. His own deportment seemed to +him suffused with the beauty of virtue--a form of beauty that he admired +with the same vivacity with which he admired all other forms. + +"I think that if you marry," said Mr. Wentworth presently, "it will +conduce to your happiness." + +"Sicurissimo!" Felix exclaimed; and then, arresting his brush, he looked +at his uncle with a smile. "There is something I feel tempted to say to +you. May I risk it?" + +Mr. Wentworth drew himself up a little. "I am very safe; I don't repeat +things." But he hoped Felix would not risk too much. + +Felix was laughing at his answer. + +"It 's odd to hear you telling me how to be happy. I don't think you +know yourself, dear uncle. Now, does that sound brutal?" + +The old man was silent a moment, and then, with a dry dignity that +suddenly touched his nephew: "We may sometimes point out a road we are +unable to follow." + +"Ah, don't tell me you have had any sorrows," Felix rejoined. "I did n't +suppose it, and I did n't mean to allude to them. I simply meant that +you all don't amuse yourselves." + +"Amuse ourselves? We are not children." + +"Precisely not! You have reached the proper age. I was saying that the +other day to Gertrude," Felix added. "I hope it was not indiscreet." + +"If it was," said Mr. Wentworth, with a keener irony than Felix would +have thought him capable of, "it was but your way of amusing yourself. I +am afraid you have never had a trouble." + +"Oh, yes, I have!" Felix declared, with some spirit; "before I knew +better. But you don't catch me at it again." + +Mr. Wentworth maintained for a while a silence more expressive than a +deep-drawn sigh. "You have no children," he said at last. + +"Don't tell me," Felix exclaimed, "that your charming young people are a +source of grief to you!" + +"I don't speak of Charlotte." And then, after a pause, Mr. Wentworth +continued, "I don't speak of Gertrude. But I feel considerable anxiety +about Clifford. I will tell you another time." + +The next time he gave Felix a sitting his nephew reminded him that +he had taken him into his confidence. "How is Clifford to-day?" Felix +asked. "He has always seemed to me a young man of remarkable discretion. +Indeed, he is only too discreet; he seems on his guard against me--as +if he thought me rather light company. The other day he told his +sister--Gertrude repeated it to me--that I was always laughing at him. +If I laugh it is simply from the impulse to try and inspire him with +confidence. That is the only way I have." + +"Clifford's situation is no laughing matter," said Mr. Wentworth. "It is +very peculiar, as I suppose you have guessed." + +"Ah, you mean his love affair with his cousin?" + +Mr. Wentworth stared, blushing a little. "I mean his absence from +college. He has been suspended. We have decided not to speak of it +unless we are asked." + +"Suspended?" Felix repeated. + +"He has been requested by the Harvard authorities to absent himself for +six months. Meanwhile he is studying with Mr. Brand. We think Mr. Brand +will help him; at least we hope so." + +"What befell him at college?" Felix asked. "He was too fond of pleasure? +Mr. Brand certainly will not teach him any of those secrets!" + +"He was too fond of something of which he should not have been fond. I +suppose it is considered a pleasure." + +Felix gave his light laugh. "My dear uncle, is there any doubt about its +being a pleasure? C'est de son age, as they say in France." + +"I should have said rather it was a vice of later life--of disappointed +old age." + +Felix glanced at his uncle, with his lifted eyebrows, and then, "Of what +are you speaking?" he demanded, smiling. + +"Of the situation in which Clifford was found." + +"Ah, he was found--he was caught?" + +"Necessarily, he was caught. He could n't walk; he staggered." + +"Oh," said Felix, "he drinks! I rather suspected that, from something I +observed the first day I came here. I quite agree with you that it is a +low taste. It 's not a vice for a gentleman. He ought to give it up." + +"We hope for a good deal from Mr. Brand's influence," Mr. Wentworth went +on. "He has talked to him from the first. And he never touches anything +himself." + +"I will talk to him--I will talk to him!" Felix declared, gayly. + +"What will you say to him?" asked his uncle, with some apprehension. + +Felix for some moments answered nothing. "Do you mean to marry him to +his cousin?" he asked at last. + +"Marry him?" echoed Mr. Wentworth. "I should n't think his cousin would +want to marry him." + +"You have no understanding, then, with Mrs. Acton?" + +Mr. Wentworth stared, almost blankly. "I have never discussed such +subjects with her." + +"I should think it might be time," said Felix. "Lizzie Acton is +admirably pretty, and if Clifford is dangerous...." + +"They are not engaged," said Mr. Wentworth. "I have no reason to suppose +they are engaged." + +"Par exemple!" cried Felix. "A clandestine engagement? Trust me, +Clifford, as I say, is a charming boy. He is incapable of that. Lizzie +Acton, then, would not be jealous of another woman." + +"I certainly hope not," said the old man, with a vague sense of jealousy +being an even lower vice than a love of liquor. + +"The best thing for Clifford, then," Felix propounded, "is to become +interested in some clever, charming woman." And he paused in his +painting, and, with his elbows on his knees, looked with bright +communicativeness at his uncle. "You see, I believe greatly in the +influence of women. Living with women helps to make a man a gentleman. +It is very true Clifford has his sisters, who are so charming. But there +should be a different sentiment in play from the fraternal, you know. He +has Lizzie Acton; but she, perhaps, is rather immature." + +"I suspect Lizzie has talked to him, reasoned with him," said Mr. +Wentworth. + +"On the impropriety of getting tipsy--on the beauty of temperance? That +is dreary work for a pretty young girl. No," Felix continued; "Clifford +ought to frequent some agreeable woman, who, without ever mentioning +such unsavory subjects, would give him a sense of its being very +ridiculous to be fuddled. If he could fall in love with her a little, so +much the better. The thing would operate as a cure." + +"Well, now, what lady should you suggest?" asked Mr. Wentworth. + +"There is a clever woman under your hand. My sister." + +"Your sister--under my hand?" Mr. Wentworth repeated. + +"Say a word to Clifford. Tell him to be bold. He is well disposed +already; he has invited her two or three times to drive. But I don't +think he comes to see her. Give him a hint to come--to come often. He +will sit there of an afternoon, and they will talk. It will do him good." + +Mr. Wentworth meditated. "You think she will exercise a helpful +influence?" + +"She will exercise a civilizing--I may call it a sobering--influence. A +charming, clever, witty woman always does--especially if she is a little +of a coquette. My dear uncle, the society of such women has been half +my education. If Clifford is suspended, as you say, from college, let +Eugenia be his preceptress." + +Mr. Wentworth continued thoughtful. "You think Eugenia is a coquette?" +he asked. + +"What pretty woman is not?" Felix demanded in turn. But this, for Mr. +Wentworth, could at the best have been no answer, for he did not think +his niece pretty. "With Clifford," the young man pursued, "Eugenia will +simply be enough of a coquette to be a little ironical. That 's what +he needs. So you recommend him to be nice with her, you know. The +suggestion will come best from you." + +"Do I understand," asked the old man, "that I am to suggest to my son to +make a--a profession of--of affection to Madame Munster?" + +"Yes, yes--a profession!" cried Felix sympathetically. + +"But, as I understand it, Madame Munster is a married woman." + +"Ah," said Felix, smiling, "of course she can't marry him. But she will +do what she can." + +Mr. Wentworth sat for some time with his eyes on the floor; at last he +got up. "I don't think," he said, "that I can undertake to recommend my +son any such course." And without meeting Felix's surprised glance he +broke off his sitting, which was not resumed for a fortnight. + +Felix was very fond of the little lake which occupied so many of Mr. +Wentworth's numerous acres, and of a remarkable pine grove which lay +upon the further side of it, planted upon a steep embankment and haunted +by the summer breeze. The murmur of the air in the far off tree-tops +had a strange distinctness; it was almost articulate. One afternoon +the young man came out of his painting-room and passed the open door of +Eugenia's little salon. Within, in the cool dimness, he saw his sister, +dressed in white, buried in her arm-chair, and holding to her face an +immense bouquet. Opposite to her sat Clifford Wentworth, twirling his +hat. He had evidently just presented the bouquet to the Baroness, whose +fine eyes, as she glanced at him over the big roses and geraniums, wore +a conversational smile. Felix, standing on the threshold of the cottage, +hesitated for a moment as to whether he should retrace his steps and +enter the parlor. Then he went his way and passed into Mr. Wentworth's +garden. That civilizing process to which he had suggested that Clifford +should be subjected appeared to have come on of itself. Felix was very +sure, at least, that Mr. Wentworth had not adopted his ingenious device +for stimulating the young man's aesthetic consciousness. "Doubtless +he supposes," he said to himself, after the conversation that has been +narrated, "that I desire, out of fraternal benevolence, to procure for +Eugenia the amusement of a flirtation--or, as he probably calls it, an +intrigue--with the too susceptible Clifford. It must be admitted--and +I have noticed it before--that nothing exceeds the license occasionally +taken by the imagination of very rigid people." Felix, on his own side, +had of course said nothing to Clifford; but he had observed to Eugenia +that Mr. Wentworth was much mortified at his son's low tastes. "We ought +to do something to help them, after all their kindness to us," he had +added. "Encourage Clifford to come and see you, and inspire him with a +taste for conversation. That will supplant the other, which only comes +from his puerility, from his not taking his position in the world--that +of a rich young man of ancient stock--seriously enough. Make him +a little more serious. Even if he makes love to you it is no great +matter." + +"I am to offer myself as a superior form of intoxication--a substitute +for a brandy bottle, eh?" asked the Baroness. "Truly, in this country +one comes to strange uses." + +But she had not positively declined to undertake Clifford's higher +education, and Felix, who had not thought of the matter again, being +haunted with visions of more personal profit, now reflected that the +work of redemption had fairly begun. The idea in prospect had seemed +of the happiest, but in operation it made him a trifle uneasy. "What if +Eugenia--what if Eugenia"--he asked himself softly; the question dying +away in his sense of Eugenia's undetermined capacity. But before Felix +had time either to accept or to reject its admonition, even in this +vague form, he saw Robert Acton turn out of Mr. Wentworth's inclosure, +by a distant gate, and come toward the cottage in the orchard. Acton +had evidently walked from his own house along a shady by-way and was +intending to pay a visit to Madame Munster. Felix watched him a moment; +then he turned away. Acton could be left to play the part of Providence +and interrupt--if interruption were needed--Clifford's entanglement with +Eugenia. + +Felix passed through the garden toward the house and toward a postern +gate which opened upon a path leading across the fields, beside a little +wood, to the lake. He stopped and looked up at the house; his eyes +rested more particularly upon a certain open window, on the shady side. +Presently Gertrude appeared there, looking out into the summer light. He +took off his hat to her and bade her good-day; he remarked that he was +going to row across the pond, and begged that she would do him the +honor to accompany him. She looked at him a moment; then, without saying +anything, she turned away. But she soon reappeared below in one of those +quaint and charming Leghorn hats, tied with white satin bows, that were +worn at that period; she also carried a green parasol. She went with +him to the edge of the lake, where a couple of boats were always moored; +they got into one of them, and Felix, with gentle strokes, propelled it +to the opposite shore. The day was the perfection of summer weather; +the little lake was the color of sunshine; the plash of the oars was the +only sound, and they found themselves listening to it. They disembarked, +and, by a winding path, ascended the pine-crested mound which overlooked +the water, whose white expanse glittered between the trees. The place +was delightfully cool, and had the added charm that--in the softly +sounding pine boughs--you seemed to hear the coolness as well as +feel it. Felix and Gertrude sat down on the rust-colored carpet of +pine-needles and talked of many things. Felix spoke at last, in the +course of talk, of his going away; it was the first time he had alluded +to it. + +"You are going away?" said Gertrude, looking at him. + +"Some day--when the leaves begin to fall. You know I can't stay +forever." + +Gertrude transferred her eyes to the outer prospect, and then, after a +pause, she said, "I shall never see you again." + +"Why not?" asked Felix. "We shall probably both survive my departure." + +But Gertrude only repeated, "I shall never see you again. I shall never +hear of you," she went on. "I shall know nothing about you. I knew +nothing about you before, and it will be the same again." + +"I knew nothing about you then, unfortunately," said Felix. "But now I +shall write to you." + +"Don't write to me. I shall not answer you," Gertrude declared. + +"I should of course burn your letters," said Felix. + +Gertrude looked at him again. "Burn my letters? You sometimes say +strange things." + +"They are not strange in themselves," the young man answered. "They are +only strange as said to you. You will come to Europe." + +"With whom shall I come?" She asked this question simply; she was very +much in earnest. Felix was interested in her earnestness; for some +moments he hesitated. "You can't tell me that," she pursued. "You can't +say that I shall go with my father and my sister; you don't believe +that." + +"I shall keep your letters," said Felix, presently, for all answer. + +"I never write. I don't know how to write." Gertrude, for some time, +said nothing more; and her companion, as he looked at her, wished it had +not been "disloyal" to make love to the daughter of an old gentleman who +had offered one hospitality. The afternoon waned; the shadows stretched +themselves; and the light grew deeper in the western sky. Two persons +appeared on the opposite side of the lake, coming from the house and +crossing the meadow. "It is Charlotte and Mr. Brand," said Gertrude. +"They are coming over here." But Charlotte and Mr. Brand only came down +to the edge of the water, and stood there, looking across; they made no +motion to enter the boat that Felix had left at the mooring-place. Felix +waved his hat to them; it was too far to call. They made no visible +response, and they presently turned away and walked along the shore. + +"Mr. Brand is not demonstrative," said Felix. "He is never demonstrative +to me. He sits silent, with his chin in his hand, looking at me. +Sometimes he looks away. Your father tells me he is so eloquent; and I +should like to hear him talk. He looks like such a noble young man. +But with me he will never talk. And yet I am so fond of listening to +brilliant imagery!" + +"He is very eloquent," said Gertrude; "but he has no brilliant imagery. +I have heard him talk a great deal. I knew that when they saw us they +would not come over here." + +"Ah, he is making la cour, as they say, to your sister? They desire to +be alone?" + +"No," said Gertrude, gravely, "they have no such reason as that for +being alone." + +"But why does n't he make la cour to Charlotte?" Felix inquired. "She is +so pretty, so gentle, so good." + +Gertrude glanced at him, and then she looked at the distantly-seen +couple they were discussing. Mr. Brand and Charlotte were walking side +by side. They might have been a pair of lovers, and yet they might not. +"They think I should not be here," said Gertrude. + +"With me? I thought you did n't have those ideas." + +"You don't understand. There are a great many things you don't +understand." + +"I understand my stupidity. But why, then, do not Charlotte and Mr. +Brand, who, as an elder sister and a clergyman, are free to walk about +together, come over and make me wiser by breaking up the unlawful +interview into which I have lured you?" + +"That is the last thing they would do," said Gertrude. + +Felix stared at her a moment, with his lifted eyebrows. "Je n'y +comprends rien!" he exclaimed; then his eyes followed for a while the +retreating figures of this critical pair. "You may say what you please," +he declared; "it is evident to me that your sister is not indifferent +to her clever companion. It is agreeable to her to be walking there with +him. I can see that from here." And in the excitement of observation +Felix rose to his feet. + +Gertrude rose also, but she made no attempt to emulate her companion's +discovery; she looked rather in another direction. Felix's words had +struck her; but a certain delicacy checked her. "She is certainly not +indifferent to Mr. Brand; she has the highest opinion of him." + +"One can see it--one can see it," said Felix, in a tone of amused +contemplation, with his head on one side. Gertrude turned her back to +the opposite shore; it was disagreeable to her to look, but she hoped +Felix would say something more. "Ah, they have wandered away into the +wood," he added. + +Gertrude turned round again. "She is not in love with him," she said; it +seemed her duty to say that. + +"Then he is in love with her; or if he is not, he ought to be. She is +such a perfect little woman of her kind. She reminds me of a pair of +old-fashioned silver sugar-tongs; you know I am very fond of sugar. And +she is very nice with Mr. Brand; I have noticed that; very gentle and +gracious." + +Gertrude reflected a moment. Then she took a great resolution. "She +wants him to marry me," she said. "So of course she is nice." + +Felix's eyebrows rose higher than ever. "To marry you! Ah, ah, this is +interesting. And you think one must be very nice with a man to induce +him to do that?" + +Gertrude had turned a little pale, but she went on, "Mr. Brand wants it +himself." + +Felix folded his arms and stood looking at her. "I see--I see," he said +quickly. "Why did you never tell me this before?" + +"It is disagreeable to me to speak of it even now. I wished simply to +explain to you about Charlotte." + +"You don't wish to marry Mr. Brand, then?" + +"No," said Gertrude, gravely. + +"And does your father wish it?" + +"Very much." + +"And you don't like him--you have refused him?" + +"I don't wish to marry him." + +"Your father and sister think you ought to, eh?" + +"It is a long story," said Gertrude. "They think there are good reasons. +I can't explain it. They think I have obligations, and that I have +encouraged him." + +Felix smiled at her, as if she had been telling him an amusing story +about some one else. "I can't tell you how this interests me," he said. +"Now you don't recognize these reasons--these obligations?" + +"I am not sure; it is not easy." And she picked up her parasol and +turned away, as if to descend the slope. + +"Tell me this," Felix went on, going with her: "are you likely to give +in--to let them persuade you?" + +Gertrude looked at him with the serious face that she had constantly +worn, in opposition to his almost eager smile. "I shall never marry Mr. +Brand," she said. + +"I see!" Felix rejoined. And they slowly descended the hill together, +saying nothing till they reached the margin of the pond. "It is your own +affair," he then resumed; "but do you know, I am not altogether glad? If +it were settled that you were to marry Mr. Brand I should take a certain +comfort in the arrangement. I should feel more free. I have no right +to make love to you myself, eh?" And he paused, lightly pressing his +argument upon her. + +"None whatever," replied Gertrude quickly--too quickly. + +"Your father would never hear of it; I have n't a penny. Mr. Brand, of +course, has property of his own, eh?" + +"I believe he has some property; but that has nothing to do with it." + +"With you, of course not; but with your father and sister it must have. +So, as I say, if this were settled, I should feel more at liberty." + +"More at liberty?" Gertrude repeated. "Please unfasten the boat." + +Felix untwisted the rope and stood holding it. "I should be able to say +things to you that I can't give myself the pleasure of saying now," he +went on. "I could tell you how much I admire you, without seeming to +pretend to that which I have no right to pretend to. I should make +violent love to you," he added, laughing, "if I thought you were so +placed as not to be offended by it." + +"You mean if I were engaged to another man? That is strange reasoning!" +Gertrude exclaimed. + +"In that case you would not take me seriously." + +"I take every one seriously," said Gertrude. And without his help she +stepped lightly into the boat. + +Felix took up the oars and sent it forward. "Ah, this is what you have +been thinking about? It seemed to me you had something on your mind. +I wish very much," he added, "that you would tell me some of these +so-called reasons--these obligations." + +"They are not real reasons--good reasons," said Gertrude, looking at the +pink and yellow gleams in the water. + +"I can understand that! Because a handsome girl has had a spark of +coquetry, that is no reason." + +"If you mean me, it 's not that. I have not done that." + +"It is something that troubles you, at any rate," said Felix. + +"Not so much as it used to," Gertrude rejoined. + +He looked at her, smiling always. "That is not saying much, eh?" But she +only rested her eyes, very gravely, on the lighted water. She seemed to +him to be trying to hide the signs of the trouble of which she had just +told him. Felix felt, at all times, much the same impulse to dissipate +visible melancholy that a good housewife feels to brush away dust. There +was something he wished to brush away now; suddenly he stopped rowing +and poised his oars. "Why should Mr. Brand have addressed himself to +you, and not to your sister?" he asked. "I am sure she would listen to +him." + +Gertrude, in her family, was thought capable of a good deal of levity; +but her levity had never gone so far as this. It moved her greatly, +however, to hear Felix say that he was sure of something; so that, +raising her eyes toward him, she tried intently, for some moments, to +conjure up this wonderful image of a love-affair between her own sister +and her own suitor. We know that Gertrude had an imaginative mind; so +that it is not impossible that this effort should have been partially +successful. But she only murmured, "Ah, Felix! ah, Felix!" + +"Why should n't they marry? Try and make them marry!" cried Felix. + +"Try and make them?" + +"Turn the tables on them. Then they will leave you alone. I will help +you as far as I can." + +Gertrude's heart began to beat; she was greatly excited; she had never +had anything so interesting proposed to her before. Felix had begun to +row again, and he now sent the boat home with long strokes. "I believe +she does care for him!" said Gertrude, after they had disembarked. + +"Of course she does, and we will marry them off. It will make them +happy; it will make every one happy. We shall have a wedding and I will +write an epithalamium." + +"It seems as if it would make me happy," said Gertrude. + +"To get rid of Mr. Brand, eh? To recover your liberty?" + +Gertrude walked on. "To see my sister married to so good a man." + +Felix gave his light laugh. "You always put things on those grounds; you +will never say anything for yourself. You are all so afraid, here, of +being selfish. I don't think you know how," he went on. "Let me show +you! It will make me happy for myself, and for just the reverse of what +I told you a while ago. After that, when I make love to you, you will +have to think I mean it." + +"I shall never think you mean anything," said Gertrude. "You are too +fantastic." + +"Ah," cried Felix, "that 's a license to say everything! Gertrude, I +adore you!" + + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Charlotte and Mr. Brand had not returned when they reached the house; +but the Baroness had come to tea, and Robert Acton also, who now +regularly asked for a place at this generous repast or made his +appearance later in the evening. Clifford Wentworth, with his juvenile +growl, remarked upon it. + +"You are always coming to tea nowadays, Robert," he said. "I should +think you had drunk enough tea in China." + +"Since when is Mr. Acton more frequent?" asked the Baroness. + +"Since you came," said Clifford. "It seems as if you were a kind of +attraction." + +"I suppose I am a curiosity," said the Baroness. "Give me time and I +will make you a salon." + +"It would fall to pieces after you go!" exclaimed Acton. + +"Don't talk about her going, in that familiar way," Clifford said. "It +makes me feel gloomy." + +Mr. Wentworth glanced at his son, and taking note of these words, +wondered if Felix had been teaching him, according to the programme he +had sketched out, to make love to the wife of a German prince. + +Charlotte came in late with Mr. Brand; but Gertrude, to whom, at least, +Felix had taught something, looked in vain, in her face, for the traces +of a guilty passion. Mr. Brand sat down by Gertrude, and she presently +asked him why they had not crossed the pond to join Felix and herself. + +"It is cruel of you to ask me that," he answered, very softly. He had a +large morsel of cake before him; but he fingered it without eating it. +"I sometimes think you are growing cruel," he added. + +Gertrude said nothing; she was afraid to speak. There was a kind of rage +in her heart; she felt as if she could easily persuade herself that she +was persecuted. She said to herself that it was quite right that she +should not allow him to make her believe she was wrong. She thought +of what Felix had said to her; she wished indeed Mr. Brand would marry +Charlotte. She looked away from him and spoke no more. Mr. Brand +ended by eating his cake, while Felix sat opposite, describing to +Mr. Wentworth the students' duels at Heidelberg. After tea they all +dispersed themselves, as usual, upon the piazza and in the garden; and +Mr. Brand drew near to Gertrude again. + +"I did n't come to you this afternoon because you were not alone," he +began; "because you were with a newer friend." + +"Felix? He is an old friend by this time." + +Mr. Brand looked at the ground for some moments. "I thought I was +prepared to hear you speak in that way," he resumed. "But I find it very +painful." + +"I don't see what else I can say," said Gertrude. + +Mr. Brand walked beside her for a while in silence; Gertrude wished he +would go away. "He is certainly very accomplished. But I think I ought +to advise you." + +"To advise me?" + +"I think I know your nature." + +"I think you don't," said Gertrude, with a soft laugh. + +"You make yourself out worse than you are--to please him," Mr. Brand +said, gently. + +"Worse--to please him? What do you mean?" asked Gertrude, stopping. + +Mr. Brand stopped also, and with the same soft straight-forwardness, "He +does n't care for the things you care for--the great questions of life." + +Gertrude, with her eyes on his, shook her head. "I don't care for the +great questions of life. They are much beyond me." + +"There was a time when you did n't say that," said Mr. Brand. + +"Oh," rejoined Gertrude, "I think you made me talk a great deal of +nonsense. And it depends," she added, "upon what you call the great +questions of life. There are some things I care for." + +"Are they the things you talk about with your cousin?" + +"You should not say things to me against my cousin, Mr. Brand," said +Gertrude. "That is dishonorable." + +He listened to this respectfully; then he answered, with a little +vibration of the voice, "I should be very sorry to do anything +dishonorable. But I don't see why it is dishonorable to say that your +cousin is frivolous." + +"Go and say it to himself!" + +"I think he would admit it," said Mr. Brand. "That is the tone he would +take. He would not be ashamed of it." + +"Then I am not ashamed of it!" Gertrude declared. "That is probably what +I like him for. I am frivolous myself." + +"You are trying, as I said just now, to lower yourself." + +"I am trying for once to be natural!" cried Gertrude passionately. "I +have been pretending, all my life; I have been dishonest; it is you that +have made me so!" Mr. Brand stood gazing at her, and she went on, "Why +should n't I be frivolous, if I want? One has a right to be frivolous, +if it 's one's nature. No, I don't care for the great questions. I care +for pleasure--for amusement. Perhaps I am fond of wicked things; it is +very possible!" + +Mr. Brand remained staring; he was even a little pale, as if he had been +frightened. "I don't think you know what you are saying!" he exclaimed. + +"Perhaps not. Perhaps I am talking nonsense. But it is only with you +that I talk nonsense. I never do so with my cousin." + +"I will speak to you again, when you are less excited," said Mr. Brand. + +"I am always excited when you speak to me. I must tell you that--even if +it prevents you altogether, in future. Your speaking to me irritates me. +With my cousin it is very different. That seems quiet and natural." + +He looked at her, and then he looked away, with a kind of helpless +distress, at the dusky garden and the faint summer stars. After which, +suddenly turning back, "Gertrude, Gertrude!" he softly groaned. "Am I +really losing you?" + +She was touched--she was pained; but it had already occurred to her that +she might do something better than say so. It would not have alleviated +her companion's distress to perceive, just then, whence she had +sympathetically borrowed this ingenuity. "I am not sorry for you," +Gertrude said; "for in paying so much attention to me you are following +a shadow--you are wasting something precious. There is something else +you might have that you don't look at--something better than I am. That +is a reality!" And then, with intention, she looked at him and tried +to smile a little. He thought this smile of hers very strange; but she +turned away and left him. + +She wandered about alone in the garden wondering what Mr. Brand would +make of her words, which it had been a singular pleasure for her to +utter. Shortly after, passing in front of the house, she saw at a +distance two persons standing near the garden gate. It was Mr. Brand +going away and bidding good-night to Charlotte, who had walked down with +him from the house. Gertrude saw that the parting was prolonged. Then +she turned her back upon it. She had not gone very far, however, when +she heard her sister slowly following her. She neither turned round nor +waited for her; she knew what Charlotte was going to say. Charlotte, who +at last overtook her, in fact presently began; she had passed her arm +into Gertrude's. + +"Will you listen to me, dear, if I say something very particular?" + +"I know what you are going to say," said Gertrude. "Mr. Brand feels very +badly." + +"Oh, Gertrude, how can you treat him so?" Charlotte demanded. And as her +sister made no answer she added, "After all he has done for you!" + +"What has he done for me?" + +"I wonder you can ask, Gertrude. He has helped you so. You told me so +yourself, a great many times. You told me that he helped you to struggle +with your--your peculiarities. You told me that he had taught you how to +govern your temper." + +For a moment Gertrude said nothing. Then, "Was my temper very bad?" she +asked. + +"I am not accusing you, Gertrude," said Charlotte. + +"What are you doing, then?" her sister demanded, with a short laugh. + +"I am pleading for Mr. Brand--reminding you of all you owe him." + +"I have given it all back," said Gertrude, still with her little laugh. +"He can take back the virtue he imparted! I want to be wicked again." + +Her sister made her stop in the path, and fixed upon her, in the +darkness, a sweet, reproachful gaze. "If you talk this way I shall +almost believe it. Think of all we owe Mr. Brand. Think of how he has +always expected something of you. Think how much he has been to us. +Think of his beautiful influence upon Clifford." + +"He is very good," said Gertrude, looking at her sister. "I know he is +very good. But he should n't speak against Felix." + +"Felix is good," Charlotte answered, softly but promptly. "Felix is very +wonderful. Only he is so different. Mr. Brand is much nearer to us. I +should never think of going to Felix with a trouble--with a question. +Mr. Brand is much more to us, Gertrude." + +"He is very--very good," Gertrude repeated. "He is more to you; yes, +much more. Charlotte," she added suddenly, "you are in love with him!" + +"Oh, Gertrude!" cried poor Charlotte; and her sister saw her blushing in +the darkness. + +Gertrude put her arm round her. "I wish he would marry you!" she went +on. + +Charlotte shook herself free. "You must not say such things!" she +exclaimed, beneath her breath. + +"You like him more than you say, and he likes you more than he knows." + +"This is very cruel of you!" Charlotte Wentworth murmured. + +But if it was cruel Gertrude continued pitiless. "Not if it 's true," +she answered. "I wish he would marry you." + +"Please don't say that." + +"I mean to tell him so!" said Gertrude. + +"Oh, Gertrude, Gertrude!" her sister almost moaned. + +"Yes, if he speaks to me again about myself. I will say, 'Why don't you +marry Charlotte? She 's a thousand times better than I.'" + +"You are wicked; you are changed!" cried her sister. + +"If you don't like it you can prevent it," said Gertrude. "You can +prevent it by keeping him from speaking to me!" And with this she walked +away, very conscious of what she had done; measuring it and finding a +certain joy and a quickened sense of freedom in it. + +Mr. Wentworth was rather wide of the mark in suspecting that Clifford +had begun to pay unscrupulous compliments to his brilliant cousin; for +the young man had really more scruples than he received credit for in +his family. He had a certain transparent shamefacedness which was +in itself a proof that he was not at his ease in dissipation. His +collegiate peccadilloes had aroused a domestic murmur as disagreeable +to the young man as the creaking of his boots would have been to a +house-breaker. Only, as the house-breaker would have simplified matters +by removing his chaussures, it had seemed to Clifford that the shortest +cut to comfortable relations with people--relations which should make +him cease to think that when they spoke to him they meant something +improving--was to renounce all ambition toward a nefarious development. +And, in fact, Clifford's ambition took the most commendable form. He +thought of himself in the future as the well-known and much-liked Mr. +Wentworth, of Boston, who should, in the natural course of prosperity, +have married his pretty cousin, Lizzie Acton; should live in a +wide-fronted house, in view of the Common; and should drive, behind a +light wagon, over the damp autumn roads, a pair of beautifully matched +sorrel horses. Clifford's vision of the coming years was very simple; +its most definite features were this element of familiar matrimony and +the duplication of his resources for trotting. He had not yet asked his +cousin to marry him; but he meant to do so as soon as he had taken his +degree. Lizzie was serenely conscious of his intention, and she had made +up her mind that he would improve. Her brother, who was very fond of +this light, quick, competent little Lizzie, saw on his side no reason to +interpose. It seemed to him a graceful social law that Clifford and his +sister should become engaged; he himself was not engaged, but every one +else, fortunately, was not such a fool as he. He was fond of Clifford, +as well, and had his own way--of which it must be confessed he was a +little ashamed--of looking at those aberrations which had led to the +young man's compulsory retirement from the neighboring seat of learning. +Acton had seen the world, as he said to himself; he had been to China +and had knocked about among men. He had learned the essential difference +between a nice young fellow and a mean young fellow, and was satisfied +that there was no harm in Clifford. He believed--although it must be +added that he had not quite the courage to declare it--in the doctrine +of wild oats, and thought it a useful preventive of superfluous fears. +If Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte and Mr. Brand would only apply it in +Clifford's case, they would be happier; and Acton thought it a pity +they should not be happier. They took the boy's misdemeanors too much to +heart; they talked to him too solemnly; they frightened and bewildered +him. Of course there was the great standard of morality, which forbade +that a man should get tipsy, play at billiards for money, or cultivate +his sensual consciousness; but what fear was there that poor Clifford +was going to run a tilt at any great standard? It had, however, never +occurred to Acton to dedicate the Baroness Munster to the redemption of +a refractory collegian. The instrument, here, would have seemed to +him quite too complex for the operation. Felix, on the other hand, had +spoken in obedience to the belief that the more charming a woman is the +more numerous, literally, are her definite social uses. + +Eugenia herself, as we know, had plenty of leisure to enumerate her +uses. As I have had the honor of intimating, she had come four thousand +miles to seek her fortune; and it is not to be supposed that after this +great effort she could neglect any apparent aid to advancement. It is +my misfortune that in attempting to describe in a short compass the +deportment of this remarkable woman I am obliged to express things +rather brutally. I feel this to be the case, for instance, when I say +that she had primarily detected such an aid to advancement in the person +of Robert Acton, but that she had afterwards remembered that a +prudent archer has always a second bowstring. Eugenia was a woman of +finely-mingled motive, and her intentions were never sensibly gross. +She had a sort of aesthetic ideal for Clifford which seemed to her a +disinterested reason for taking him in hand. It was very well for a +fresh-colored young gentleman to be ingenuous; but Clifford, really, was +crude. With such a pretty face he ought to have prettier manners. She +would teach him that, with a beautiful name, the expectation of a large +property, and, as they said in Europe, a social position, an only son +should know how to carry himself. + +Once Clifford had begun to come and see her by himself and for himself, +he came very often. He hardly knew why he should come; he saw her almost +every evening at his father's house; he had nothing particular to say to +her. She was not a young girl, and fellows of his age called only upon +young girls. He exaggerated her age; she seemed to him an old woman; it +was happy that the Baroness, with all her intelligence, was incapable of +guessing this. But gradually it struck Clifford that visiting old women +might be, if not a natural, at least, as they say of some articles of +diet, an acquired taste. The Baroness was certainly a very amusing old +woman; she talked to him as no lady--and indeed no gentleman--had ever +talked to him before. + +"You should go to Europe and make the tour," she said to him one +afternoon. "Of course, on leaving college you will go." + +"I don't want to go," Clifford declared. "I know some fellows who have +been to Europe. They say you can have better fun here." + +"That depends. It depends upon your idea of fun. Your friends probably +were not introduced." + +"Introduced?" Clifford demanded. + +"They had no opportunity of going into society; they formed no +relations." This was one of a certain number of words that the Baroness +often pronounced in the French manner. + +"They went to a ball, in Paris; I know that," said Clifford. + +"Ah, there are balls and balls; especially in Paris. No, you must go, +you know; it is not a thing from which you can dispense yourself. You +need it." + +"Oh, I 'm very well," said Clifford. "I 'm not sick." + +"I don't mean for your health, my poor child. I mean for your manners." + +"I have n't got any manners!" growled Clifford. + +"Precisely. You don't mind my assenting to that, eh?" asked the Baroness +with a smile. "You must go to Europe and get a few. You can get them +better there. It is a pity you might not have come while I was living +in--in Germany. I would have introduced you; I had a charming little +circle. You would perhaps have been rather young; but the younger one +begins, I think, the better. Now, at any rate, you have no time to lose, +and when I return you must immediately come to me." + +All this, to Clifford's apprehension, was a great mixture--his beginning +young, Eugenia's return to Europe, his being introduced to her charming +little circle. What was he to begin, and what was her little circle? His +ideas about her marriage had a good deal of vagueness; but they were +in so far definite as that he felt it to be a matter not to be freely +mentioned. He sat and looked all round the room; he supposed she was +alluding in some way to her marriage. + +"Oh, I don't want to go to Germany," he said; it seemed to him the most +convenient thing to say. + +She looked at him a while, smiling with her lips, but not with her eyes. + +"You have scruples?" she asked. + +"Scruples?" said Clifford. + +"You young people, here, are very singular; one does n't know where +to expect you. When you are not extremely improper you are so terribly +proper. I dare say you think that, owing to my irregular marriage, I +live with loose people. You were never more mistaken. I have been all +the more particular." + +"Oh, no," said Clifford, honestly distressed. "I never thought such a +thing as that." + +"Are you very sure? I am convinced that your father does, and your +sisters. They say to each other that here I am on my good behavior, but +that over there--married by the left hand--I associate with light women." + +"Oh, no," cried Clifford, energetically, "they don't say such things as +that to each other!" + +"If they think them they had better say them," the Baroness rejoined. +"Then they can be contradicted. Please contradict that whenever you hear +it, and don't be afraid of coming to see me on account of the company I +keep. I have the honor of knowing more distinguished men, my poor child, +than you are likely to see in a life-time. I see very few women; but +those are women of rank. So, my dear young Puritan, you need n't be +afraid. I am not in the least one of those who think that the society of +women who have lost their place in the vrai monde is necessary to form +a young man. I have never taken that tone. I have kept my place myself, +and I think we are a much better school than the others. Trust me, +Clifford, and I will prove that to you," the Baroness continued, while +she made the agreeable reflection that she could not, at least, be +accused of perverting her young kinsman. "So if you ever fall among +thieves don't go about saying I sent you to them." + +Clifford thought it so comical that he should know--in spite of her +figurative language--what she meant, and that she should mean what he +knew, that he could hardly help laughing a little, although he tried +hard. "Oh, no! oh, no!" he murmured. + +"Laugh out, laugh out, if I amuse you!" cried the Baroness. "I am here +for that!" And Clifford thought her a very amusing person indeed. +"But remember," she said on this occasion, "that you are coming--next +year--to pay me a visit over there." + +About a week afterwards she said to him, point-blank, "Are you seriously +making love to your little cousin?" + +"Seriously making love"--these words, on Madame Munster's lips, had to +Clifford's sense a portentous and embarrassing sound; he hesitated about +assenting, lest he should commit himself to more than he understood. +"Well, I should n't say it if I was!" he exclaimed. + +"Why would n't you say it?" the Baroness demanded. "Those things ought +to be known." + +"I don't care whether it is known or not," Clifford rejoined. "But I +don't want people looking at me." + +"A young man of your importance ought to learn to bear observation--to +carry himself as if he were quite indifferent to it. I won't say, +exactly, unconscious," the Baroness explained. "No, he must seem to know +he is observed, and to think it natural he should be; but he must appear +perfectly used to it. Now you have n't that, Clifford; you have n't that +at all. You must have that, you know. Don't tell me you are not a young +man of importance," Eugenia added. "Don't say anything so flat as that." + +"Oh, no, you don't catch me saying that!" cried Clifford. + +"Yes, you must come to Germany," Madame Munster continued. "I will show +you how people can be talked about, and yet not seem to know it. You +will be talked about, of course, with me; it will be said you are my +lover. I will show you how little one may mind that--how little I shall +mind it." + +Clifford sat staring, blushing and laughing. "I shall mind it a good +deal!" he declared. + +"Ah, not too much, you know; that would be uncivil. But I give you leave +to mind it a little; especially if you have a passion for Miss Acton. +Voyons; as regards that, you either have or you have not. It is very +simple to say it." + +"I don't see why you want to know," said Clifford. + +"You ought to want me to know. If one is arranging a marriage, one tells +one's friends." + +"Oh, I 'm not arranging anything," said Clifford. + +"You don't intend to marry your cousin?" + +"Well, I expect I shall do as I choose!" + +The Baroness leaned her head upon the back of her chair and closed her +eyes, as if she were tired. Then opening them again, "Your cousin is +very charming!" she said. + +"She is the prettiest girl in this place," Clifford rejoined. + +"'In this place' is saying little; she would be charming anywhere. I am +afraid you are entangled." + +"Oh, no, I 'm not entangled." + +"Are you engaged? At your age that is the same thing." + +Clifford looked at the Baroness with some audacity. "Will you tell no +one?" + +"If it 's as sacred as that--no." + +"Well, then--we are not!" said Clifford. + +"That 's the great secret--that you are not, eh?" asked the Baroness, +with a quick laugh. "I am very glad to hear it. You are altogether too +young. A young man in your position must choose and compare; he must see +the world first. Depend upon it," she added, "you should not settle that +matter before you have come abroad and paid me that visit. There are +several things I should like to call your attention to first." + +"Well, I am rather afraid of that visit," said Clifford. "It seems to me +it will be rather like going to school again." + +The Baroness looked at him a moment. + +"My dear child," she said, "there is no agreeable man who has not, at +some moment, been to school to a clever woman--probably a little older +than himself. And you must be thankful when you get your instructions +gratis. With me you would get it gratis." + +The next day Clifford told Lizzie Acton that the Baroness thought her +the most charming girl she had ever seen. + +Lizzie shook her head. "No, she does n't!" she said. + +"Do you think everything she says," asked Clifford, "is to be taken the +opposite way?" + +"I think that is!" said Lizzie. + +Clifford was going to remark that in this case the Baroness must desire +greatly to bring about a marriage between Mr. Clifford Wentworth and +Miss Elizabeth Acton; but he resolved, on the whole, to suppress this +observation. + + + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +It seemed to Robert Acton, after Eugenia had come to his house, that +something had passed between them which made them a good deal more +intimate. It was hard to say exactly what, except her telling him that +she had taken her resolution with regard to the Prince Adolf; for Madame +Munster's visit had made no difference in their relations. He came to +see her very often; but he had come to see her very often before. It was +agreeable to him to find himself in her little drawing-room; but this +was not a new discovery. There was a change, however, in this sense: +that if the Baroness had been a great deal in Acton's thoughts before, +she was now never out of them. From the first she had been personally +fascinating; but the fascination now had become intellectual as well. He +was constantly pondering her words and motions; they were as interesting +as the factors in an algebraic problem. This is saying a good deal; for +Acton was extremely fond of mathematics. He asked himself whether it +could be that he was in love with her, and then hoped he was not; hoped +it not so much for his own sake as for that of the amatory passion +itself. If this was love, love had been overrated. Love was a poetic +impulse, and his own state of feeling with regard to the Baroness was +largely characterized by that eminently prosaic sentiment--curiosity. +It was true, as Acton with his quietly cogitative habit observed +to himself, that curiosity, pushed to a given point, might become a +romantic passion; and he certainly thought enough about this charming +woman to make him restless and even a little melancholy. It puzzled and +vexed him at times to feel that he was not more ardent. He was not in +the least bent upon remaining a bachelor. In his younger years he had +been--or he had tried to be--of the opinion that it would be a good deal +"jollier" not to marry, and he had flattered himself that his single +condition was something of a citadel. It was a citadel, at all events, +of which he had long since leveled the outworks. He had removed the guns +from the ramparts; he had lowered the draw-bridge across the moat. The +draw-bridge had swayed lightly under Madame Munster's step; why should +he not cause it to be raised again, so that she might be kept prisoner? +He had an idea that she would become--in time at least, and on learning +the conveniences of the place for making a lady comfortable--a tolerably +patient captive. But the draw-bridge was never raised, and Acton's +brilliant visitor was as free to depart as she had been to come. It was +part of his curiosity to know why the deuce so susceptible a man was not +in love with so charming a woman. If her various graces were, as I have +said, the factors in an algebraic problem, the answer to this question +was the indispensable unknown quantity. The pursuit of the unknown +quantity was extremely absorbing; for the present it taxed all Acton's +faculties. + +Toward the middle of August he was obliged to leave home for some days; +an old friend, with whom he had been associated in China, had begged him +to come to Newport, where he lay extremely ill. His friend got better, +and at the end of a week Acton was released. I use the word "released" +advisedly; for in spite of his attachment to his Chinese comrade he had +been but a half-hearted visitor. He felt as if he had been called away +from the theatre during the progress of a remarkably interesting drama. +The curtain was up all this time, and he was losing the fourth act; that +fourth act which would have been so essential to a just appreciation of +the fifth. In other words, he was thinking about the Baroness, who, seen +at this distance, seemed a truly brilliant figure. He saw at Newport +a great many pretty women, who certainly were figures as brilliant as +beautiful light dresses could make them; but though they talked a +great deal--and the Baroness's strong point was perhaps also her +conversation--Madame Munster appeared to lose nothing by the comparison. +He wished she had come to Newport too. Would it not be possible to make +up, as they said, a party for visiting the famous watering-place and +invite Eugenia to join it? It was true that the complete satisfaction +would be to spend a fortnight at Newport with Eugenia alone. It would be +a great pleasure to see her, in society, carry everything before her, +as he was sure she would do. When Acton caught himself thinking these +thoughts he began to walk up and down, with his hands in his pockets, +frowning a little and looking at the floor. What did it prove--for +it certainly proved something--this lively disposition to be "off" +somewhere with Madame Munster, away from all the rest of them? Such a +vision, certainly, seemed a refined implication of matrimony, after the +Baroness should have formally got rid of her informal husband. At +any rate, Acton, with his characteristic discretion, forbore to give +expression to whatever else it might imply, and the narrator of these +incidents is not obliged to be more definite. + +He returned home rapidly, and, arriving in the afternoon, lost as little +time as possible in joining the familiar circle at Mr. Wentworth's. On +reaching the house, however, he found the piazzas empty. The doors and +windows were open, and their emptiness was made clear by the shafts of +lamp-light from the parlors. Entering the house, he found Mr. Wentworth +sitting alone in one of these apartments, engaged in the perusal of +the "North American Review." After they had exchanged greetings and his +cousin had made discreet inquiry about his journey, Acton asked what had +become of Mr. Wentworth's companions. + +"They are scattered about, amusing themselves as usual," said the old +man. "I saw Charlotte, a short time since, seated, with Mr. Brand, +upon the piazza. They were conversing with their customary animation. +I suppose they have joined her sister, who, for the hundredth time, was +doing the honors of the garden to her foreign cousin." + +"I suppose you mean Felix," said Acton. And on Mr. Wentworth's +assenting, he said, "And the others?" + +"Your sister has not come this evening. You must have seen her at home," +said Mr. Wentworth. + +"Yes. I proposed to her to come. She declined." + +"Lizzie, I suppose, was expecting a visitor," said the old man, with a +kind of solemn slyness. + +"If she was expecting Clifford, he had not turned up." + +Mr. Wentworth, at this intelligence, closed the "North American Review" +and remarked that he had understood Clifford to say that he was going to +see his cousin. Privately, he reflected that if Lizzie Acton had had no +news of his son, Clifford must have gone to Boston for the evening: an +unnatural course of a summer night, especially when accompanied with +disingenuous representations. + +"You must remember that he has two cousins," said Acton, laughing. And +then, coming to the point, "If Lizzie is not here," he added, "neither +apparently is the Baroness." + +Mr. Wentworth stared a moment, and remembered that queer proposition of +Felix's. For a moment he did not know whether it was not to be wished +that Clifford, after all, might have gone to Boston. "The Baroness +has not honored us tonight," he said. "She has not come over for three +days." + +"Is she ill?" Acton asked. + +"No; I have been to see her." + +"What is the matter with her?" + +"Well," said Mr. Wentworth, "I infer she has tired of us." + +Acton pretended to sit down, but he was restless; he found it impossible +to talk with Mr. Wentworth. At the end of ten minutes he took up his hat +and said that he thought he would "go off." It was very late; it was ten +o'clock. + +His quiet-faced kinsman looked at him a moment. "Are you going home?" he +asked. + +Acton hesitated, and then answered that he had proposed to go over and +take a look at the Baroness. + +"Well, you are honest, at least," said Mr. Wentworth, sadly. + +"So are you, if you come to that!" cried Acton, laughing. "Why should +n't I be honest?" + +The old man opened the "North American" again, and read a few lines. +"If we have ever had any virtue among us, we had better keep hold of it +now," he said. He was not quoting. + +"We have a Baroness among us," said Acton. "That 's what we must keep +hold of!" He was too impatient to see Madame Munster again to wonder +what Mr. Wentworth was talking about. Nevertheless, after he had passed +out of the house and traversed the garden and the little piece of road +that separated him from Eugenia's provisional residence, he stopped a +moment outside. He stood in her little garden; the long window of +her parlor was open, and he could see the white curtains, with the +lamp-light shining through them, swaying softly to and fro in the warm +night wind. There was a sort of excitement in the idea of seeing Madame +Munster again; he became aware that his heart was beating rather faster +than usual. It was this that made him stop, with a half-amused surprise. +But in a moment he went along the piazza, and, approaching the open +window, tapped upon its lintel with his stick. He could see the Baroness +within; she was standing in the middle of the room. She came to the +window and pulled aside the curtain; then she stood looking at him a +moment. She was not smiling; she seemed serious. + +"Mais entrez donc!" she said at last. Acton passed in across the +window-sill; he wondered, for an instant, what was the matter with her. +But the next moment she had begun to smile and had put out her hand. +"Better late than never," she said. "It is very kind of you to come at +this hour." + +"I have just returned from my journey," said Acton. + +"Ah, very kind, very kind," she repeated, looking about her where to +sit. + +"I went first to the other house," Acton continued. "I expected to find +you there." + +She had sunk into her usual chair; but she got up again, and began +to move about the room. Acton had laid down his hat and stick; he was +looking at her, conscious that there was in fact a great charm in seeing +her again. "I don't know whether I ought to tell you to sit down," she +said. "It is too late to begin a visit." + +"It 's too early to end one," Acton declared; "and we need n't mind the +beginning." + +She looked at him again, and, after a moment, dropped once more into her +low chair, while he took a place near her. "We are in the middle, then?" +she asked. "Was that where we were when you went away? No, I have n't +been to the other house." + +"Not yesterday, nor the day before, eh?" + +"I don't know how many days it is." + +"You are tired of it," said Acton. + +She leaned back in her chair; her arms were folded. "That is a terrible +accusation, but I have not the courage to defend myself." + +"I am not attacking you," said Acton. "I expected something of this +kind." + +"It 's a proof of extreme intelligence. I hope you enjoyed your +journey." + +"Not at all," Acton declared. "I would much rather have been here with +you." + +"Now you are attacking me," said the Baroness. "You are contrasting my +inconstancy with your own fidelity." + +"I confess I never get tired of people I like." + +"Ah, you are not a poor wicked foreign woman, with irritable nerves and +a sophisticated mind!" + +"Something has happened to you since I went away," said Acton, changing +his place. + +"Your going away--that is what has happened to me." + +"Do you mean to say that you have missed me?" he asked. + +"If I had meant to say it, it would not be worth your making a note of. +I am very dishonest and my compliments are worthless." + +Acton was silent for some moments. "You have broken down," he said at +last. + +Madame Munster left her chair, and began to move about. + +"Only for a moment. I shall pull myself together again." + +"You had better not take it too hard. If you are bored, you need n't be +afraid to say so--to me at least." + +"You should n't say such things as that," the Baroness answered. "You +should encourage me." + +"I admire your patience; that is encouraging." + +"You should n't even say that. When you talk of my patience you are +disloyal to your own people. Patience implies suffering; and what have I +had to suffer?" + +"Oh, not hunger, not unkindness, certainly," said Acton, laughing. +"Nevertheless, we all admire your patience." + +"You all detest me!" cried the Baroness, with a sudden vehemence, +turning her back toward him. + +"You make it hard," said Acton, getting up, "for a man to say something +tender to you." This evening there was something particularly striking +and touching about her; an unwonted softness and a look of suppressed +emotion. He felt himself suddenly appreciating the fact that she had +behaved very well. She had come to this quiet corner of the world +under the weight of a cruel indignity, and she had been so gracefully, +modestly thankful for the rest she found there. She had joined that +simple circle over the way; she had mingled in its plain, provincial +talk; she had shared its meagre and savorless pleasures. She had set +herself a task, and she had rigidly performed it. She had conformed to +the angular conditions of New England life, and she had had the tact and +pluck to carry it off as if she liked them. Acton felt a more downright +need than he had ever felt before to tell her that he admired her and +that she struck him as a very superior woman. All along, hitherto, +he had been on his guard with her; he had been cautious, observant, +suspicious. But now a certain light tumult in his blood seemed to tell +him that a finer degree of confidence in this charming woman would be +its own reward. "We don't detest you," he went on. "I don't know what +you mean. At any rate, I speak for myself; I don't know anything about +the others. Very likely, you detest them for the dull life they make you +lead. Really, it would give me a sort of pleasure to hear you say so." + +Eugenia had been looking at the door on the other side of the room; +now she slowly turned her eyes toward Robert Acton. "What can be +the motive," she asked, "of a man like you--an honest man, a galant +homme--in saying so base a thing as that?" + +"Does it sound very base?" asked Acton, candidly. "I suppose it +does, and I thank you for telling me so. Of course, I don't mean it +literally." + +The Baroness stood looking at him. "How do you mean it?" she asked. + +This question was difficult to answer, and Acton, feeling the least +bit foolish, walked to the open window and looked out. He stood there, +thinking a moment, and then he turned back. "You know that document +that you were to send to Germany," he said. "You called it your +'renunciation.' Did you ever send it?" + +Madame Munster's eyes expanded; she looked very grave. "What a singular +answer to my question!" + +"Oh, it is n't an answer," said Acton. "I have wished to ask you, many +times. I thought it probable you would tell me yourself. The question, +on my part, seems abrupt now; but it would be abrupt at any time." + +The Baroness was silent a moment; and then, "I think I have told you too +much!" she said. + +This declaration appeared to Acton to have a certain force; he had +indeed a sense of asking more of her than he offered her. He returned +to the window, and watched, for a moment, a little star that twinkled +through the lattice of the piazza. There were at any rate offers enough +he could make; perhaps he had hitherto not been sufficiently explicit in +doing so. "I wish you would ask something of me," he presently said. "Is +there nothing I can do for you? If you can't stand this dull life any +more, let me amuse you!" + +The Baroness had sunk once more into a chair, and she had taken up a fan +which she held, with both hands, to her mouth. Over the top of the fan +her eyes were fixed on him. "You are very strange to-night," she said, +with a little laugh. + +"I will do anything in the world," he rejoined, standing in front of +her. "Should n't you like to travel about and see something of the +country? Won't you go to Niagara? You ought to see Niagara, you know." + +"With you, do you mean?" + +"I should be delighted to take you." + +"You alone?" + +Acton looked at her, smiling, and yet with a serious air. "Well, yes; we +might go alone," he said. + +"If you were not what you are," she answered, "I should feel insulted." + +"How do you mean--what I am?" + +"If you were one of the gentlemen I have been used to all my life. If +you were not a queer Bostonian." + +"If the gentlemen you have been used to have taught you to expect +insults," said Acton, "I am glad I am what I am. You had much better +come to Niagara." + +"If you wish to 'amuse' me," the Baroness declared, "you need go to no +further expense. You amuse me very effectually." + +He sat down opposite to her; she still held her fan up to her face, with +her eyes only showing above it. There was a moment's silence, and then +he said, returning to his former question, "Have you sent that document +to Germany?" + +Again there was a moment's silence. The expressive eyes of Madame Munster +seemed, however, half to break it. + +"I will tell you--at Niagara!" she said. + +She had hardly spoken when the door at the further end of the room +opened--the door upon which, some minutes previous, Eugenia had fixed +her gaze. Clifford Wentworth stood there, blushing and looking rather +awkward. The Baroness rose, quickly, and Acton, more slowly, did the +same. Clifford gave him no greeting; he was looking at Eugenia. + +"Ah, you were here?" exclaimed Acton. + +"He was in Felix's studio," said Madame Munster. "He wanted to see his +sketches." + +Clifford looked at Robert Acton, but said nothing; he only fanned +himself with his hat. "You chose a bad moment," said Acton; "you had n't +much light." + +"I had n't any!" said Clifford, laughing. + +"Your candle went out?" Eugenia asked. "You should have come back here +and lighted it again." + +Clifford looked at her a moment. "So I have--come back. But I have left +the candle!" + +Eugenia turned away. "You are very stupid, my poor boy. You had better +go home." + +"Well," said Clifford, "good night!" + +"Have n't you a word to throw to a man when he has safely returned from +a dangerous journey?" Acton asked. + +"How do you do?" said Clifford. "I thought--I thought you were"--and he +paused, looking at the Baroness again. + +"You thought I was at Newport, eh? So I was--this morning." + +"Good night, clever child!" said Madame Munster, over her shoulder. + +Clifford stared at her--not at all like a clever child; and then, with +one of his little facetious growls, took his departure. + +"What is the matter with him?" asked Acton, when he was gone. "He seemed +rather in a muddle." + +Eugenia, who was near the window, glanced out, listening a moment. "The +matter--the matter"--she answered. "But you don't say such things here." + +"If you mean that he had been drinking a little, you can say that." + +"He does n't drink any more. I have cured him. And in return--he 's in +love with me." + +It was Acton's turn to stare. He instantly thought of his sister; but +he said nothing about her. He began to laugh. "I don't wonder at his +passion! But I wonder at his forsaking your society for that of your +brother's paint-brushes." + +Eugenia was silent a little. "He had not been in the studio. I invented +that at the moment." + +"Invented it? For what purpose?" + +"He has an idea of being romantic. He has adopted the habit of coming to +see me at midnight--passing only through the orchard and through Felix's +painting-room, which has a door opening that way. It seems to amuse +him," added Eugenia, with a little laugh. + +Acton felt more surprise than he confessed to, for this was a new view +of Clifford, whose irregularities had hitherto been quite without +the romantic element. He tried to laugh again, but he felt rather too +serious, and after a moment's hesitation his seriousness explained +itself. "I hope you don't encourage him," he said. "He must not be +inconstant to poor Lizzie." + +"To your sister?" + +"You know they are decidedly intimate," said Acton. + +"Ah," cried Eugenia, smiling, "has she--has she"-- + +"I don't know," Acton interrupted, "what she has. But I always supposed +that Clifford had a desire to make himself agreeable to her." + +"Ah, par exemple!" the Baroness went on. "The little monster! The next +time he becomes sentimental I will him tell that he ought to be ashamed +of himself." + +Acton was silent a moment. "You had better say nothing about it." + +"I had told him as much already, on general grounds," said the Baroness. +"But in this country, you know, the relations of young people are so +extraordinary that one is quite at sea. They are not engaged when +you would quite say they ought to be. Take Charlotte Wentworth, for +instance, and that young ecclesiastic. If I were her father I should +insist upon his marrying her; but it appears to be thought there is no +urgency. On the other hand, you suddenly learn that a boy of twenty +and a little girl who is still with her governess--your sister has no +governess? Well, then, who is never away from her mamma--a young couple, +in short, between whom you have noticed nothing beyond an exchange of +the childish pleasantries characteristic of their age, are on the +point of setting up as man and wife." The Baroness spoke with a certain +exaggerated volubility which was in contrast with the languid grace that +had characterized her manner before Clifford made his appearance. It +seemed to Acton that there was a spark of irritation in her eye--a note +of irony (as when she spoke of Lizzie being never away from her mother) +in her voice. If Madame Munster was irritated, Robert Acton was vaguely +mystified; she began to move about the room again, and he looked at her +without saying anything. Presently she took out her watch, and, glancing +at it, declared that it was three o'clock in the morning and that he +must go. + +"I have not been here an hour," he said, "and they are still sitting up +at the other house. You can see the lights. Your brother has not come +in." + +"Oh, at the other house," cried Eugenia, "they are terrible people! +I don't know what they may do over there. I am a quiet little humdrum +woman; I have rigid rules and I keep them. One of them is not to have +visitors in the small hours--especially clever men like you. So good +night!" + +Decidedly, the Baroness was incisive; and though Acton bade her good +night and departed, he was still a good deal mystified. + +The next day Clifford Wentworth came to see Lizzie, and Acton, who +was at home and saw him pass through the garden, took note of the +circumstance. He had a natural desire to make it tally with Madame +Munster's account of Clifford's disaffection; but his ingenuity, +finding itself unequal to the task, resolved at last to ask help of the +young man's candor. He waited till he saw him going away, and then he +went out and overtook him in the grounds. + +"I wish very much you would answer me a question," Acton said. "What +were you doing, last night, at Madame Munster's?" + +Clifford began to laugh and to blush, by no means like a young man with +a romantic secret. "What did she tell you?" he asked. + +"That is exactly what I don't want to say." + +"Well, I want to tell you the same," said Clifford; "and unless I know +it perhaps I can't." + +They had stopped in a garden path; Acton looked hard at his rosy young +kinsman. "She said she could n't fancy what had got into you; you +appeared to have taken a violent dislike to her." + +Clifford stared, looking a little alarmed. "Oh, come," he growled, "you +don't mean that!" + +"And that when--for common civility's sake--you came occasionally to the +house you left her alone and spent your time in Felix's studio, under +pretext of looking at his sketches." + +"Oh, come!" growled Clifford, again. + +"Did you ever know me to tell an untruth?" + +"Yes, lots of them!" said Clifford, seeing an opening, out of the +discussion, for his sarcastic powers. "Well," he presently added, "I +thought you were my father." + +"You knew some one was there?" + +"We heard you coming in." + +Acton meditated. "You had been with the Baroness, then?" + +"I was in the parlor. We heard your step outside. I thought it was my +father." + +"And on that," asked Acton, "you ran away?" + +"She told me to go--to go out by the studio." + +Acton meditated more intensely; if there had been a chair at hand he +would have sat down. "Why should she wish you not to meet your father?" + +"Well," said Clifford, "father does n't like to see me there." + +Acton looked askance at his companion and forbore to make any comment +upon this assertion. "Has he said so," he asked, "to the Baroness?" + +"Well, I hope not," said Clifford. "He has n't said so--in so many +words--to me. But I know it worries him; and I want to stop worrying +him. The Baroness knows it, and she wants me to stop, too." + +"To stop coming to see her?" + +"I don't know about that; but to stop worrying father. Eugenia knows +everything," Clifford added, with an air of knowingness of his own. + +"Ah," said Acton, interrogatively, "Eugenia knows everything?" + +"She knew it was not father coming in." + +"Then why did you go?" + +Clifford blushed and laughed afresh. "Well, I was afraid it was. And +besides, she told me to go, at any rate." + +"Did she think it was I?" Acton asked. + +"She did n't say so." + +Again Robert Acton reflected. "But you did n't go," he presently said; +"you came back." + +"I could n't get out of the studio," Clifford rejoined. "The door was +locked, and Felix has nailed some planks across the lower half of the +confounded windows to make the light come in from above. So they were no +use. I waited there a good while, and then, suddenly, I felt ashamed. I +did n't want to be hiding away from my own father. I could n't stand +it any longer. I bolted out, and when I found it was you I was a little +flurried. But Eugenia carried it off, did n't she?" Clifford added, in +the tone of a young humorist whose perception had not been permanently +clouded by the sense of his own discomfort. + +"Beautifully!" said Acton. "Especially," he continued, "when one +remembers that you were very imprudent and that she must have been a +good deal annoyed." + +"Oh," cried Clifford, with the indifference of a young man who feels +that however he may have failed of felicity in behavior he is extremely +just in his impressions, "Eugenia does n't care for anything!" + +Acton hesitated a moment. "Thank you for telling me this," he said at +last. And then, laying his hand on Clifford's shoulder, he added, +"Tell me one thing more: are you by chance a little in love with the +Baroness?" + +"No, sir!" said Clifford, almost shaking off his hand. + + + + + + +CHAPTER X + +The first sunday that followed Robert Acton's return from Newport +witnessed a change in the brilliant weather that had long prevailed. The +rain began to fall and the day was cold and dreary. Mr. Wentworth and +his daughters put on overshoes and went to church, and Felix Young, +without overshoes, went also, holding an umbrella over Gertrude. It is +to be feared that, in the whole observance, this was the privilege he +most highly valued. The Baroness remained at home; she was in neither a +cheerful nor a devotional mood. She had, however, never been, during her +residence in the United States, what is called a regular attendant at +divine service; and on this particular Sunday morning of which I began +with speaking she stood at the window of her little drawing-room, +watching the long arm of a rose-tree that was attached to her piazza, +but a portion of which had disengaged itself, sway to and fro, shake and +gesticulate, against the dusky drizzle of the sky. Every now and then, +in a gust of wind, the rose-tree scattered a shower of water-drops +against the window-pane; it appeared to have a kind of human movement--a +menacing, warning intention. The room was very cold; Madame Munster put +on a shawl and walked about. Then she determined to have some fire; and +summoning her ancient negress, the contrast of whose polished ebony and +whose crimson turban had been at first a source of satisfaction to her, +she made arrangements for the production of a crackling flame. This old +woman's name was Azarina. The Baroness had begun by thinking that there +would be a savory wildness in her talk, and, for amusement, she +had encouraged her to chatter. But Azarina was dry and prim; her +conversation was anything but African; she reminded Eugenia of the +tiresome old ladies she met in society. She knew, however, how to make +a fire; so that after she had laid the logs, Eugenia, who was terribly +bored, found a quarter of an hour's entertainment in sitting and +watching them blaze and sputter. She had thought it very likely +Robert Acton would come and see her; she had not met him since that +infelicitous evening. But the morning waned without his coming; several +times she thought she heard his step on the piazza; but it was only a +window-shutter shaking in a rain-gust. The Baroness, since the beginning +of that episode in her career of which a slight sketch has been +attempted in these pages, had had many moments of irritation. But to-day +her irritation had a peculiar keenness; it appeared to feed upon +itself. It urged her to do something; but it suggested no particularly +profitable line of action. If she could have done something at the +moment, on the spot, she would have stepped upon a European steamer and +turned her back, with a kind of rapture, upon that profoundly mortifying +failure, her visit to her American relations. It is not exactly apparent +why she should have termed this enterprise a failure, inasmuch as she +had been treated with the highest distinction for which allowance had +been made in American institutions. Her irritation came, at bottom, from +the sense, which, always present, had suddenly grown acute, that the +social soil on this big, vague continent was somehow not adapted for +growing those plants whose fragrance she especially inclined to +inhale and by which she liked to see herself surrounded--a species of +vegetation for which she carried a collection of seedlings, as we +may say, in her pocket. She found her chief happiness in the sense of +exerting a certain power and making a certain impression; and now she +felt the annoyance of a rather wearied swimmer who, on nearing shore, +to land, finds a smooth straight wall of rock when he had counted upon +a clean firm beach. Her power, in the American air, seemed to have lost +its prehensile attributes; the smooth wall of rock was insurmountable. +"Surely je n'en suis pas la," she said to herself, "that I let it make +me uncomfortable that a Mr. Robert Acton should n't honor me with a +visit!" Yet she was vexed that he had not come; and she was vexed at her +vexation. + +Her brother, at least, came in, stamping in the hall and shaking the wet +from his coat. In a moment he entered the room, with a glow in his cheek +and half-a-dozen rain-drops glistening on his mustache. "Ah, you have a +fire," he said. + +"Les beaux jours sont passes," replied the Baroness. + +"Never, never! They have only begun," Felix declared, planting himself +before the hearth. He turned his back to the fire, placed his hands +behind him, extended his legs and looked away through the window with an +expression of face which seemed to denote the perception of rose-color +even in the tints of a wet Sunday. + +His sister, from her chair, looked up at him, watching him; and what she +saw in his face was not grateful to her present mood. She was puzzled +by many things, but her brother's disposition was a frequent source +of wonder to her. I say frequent and not constant, for there were long +periods during which she gave her attention to other problems. Sometimes +she had said to herself that his happy temper, his eternal gayety, was +an affectation, a pose; but she was vaguely conscious that during the +present summer he had been a highly successful comedian. They had never +yet had an explanation; she had not known the need of one. Felix was +presumably following the bent of his disinterested genius, and she felt +that she had no advice to give him that he would understand. With this, +there was always a certain element of comfort about Felix--the assurance +that he would not interfere. He was very delicate, this pure-minded +Felix; in effect, he was her brother, and Madame Munster felt that there +was a great propriety, every way, in that. It is true that Felix was +delicate; he was not fond of explanations with his sister; this was one +of the very few things in the world about which he was uncomfortable. +But now he was not thinking of anything uncomfortable. + +"Dear brother," said Eugenia at last, "do stop making les yeux doux at +the rain." + +"With pleasure. I will make them at you!" answered Felix. + +"How much longer," asked Eugenia, in a moment, "do you propose to remain +in this lovely spot?" + +Felix stared. "Do you want to go away--already?" + +"'Already' is delicious. I am not so happy as you." + +Felix dropped into a chair, looking at the fire. "The fact is I am +happy," he said in his light, clear tone. + +"And do you propose to spend your life in making love to Gertrude +Wentworth?" + +"Yes!" said Felix, smiling sidewise at his sister. + +The Baroness returned his glance, much more gravely; and then, "Do you +like her?" she asked. + +"Don't you?" Felix demanded. + +The Baroness was silent a moment. "I will answer you in the words of the +gentleman who was asked if he liked music: 'Je ne la crains pas!'" + +"She admires you immensely," said Felix. + +"I don't care for that. Other women should not admire one." + +"They should dislike you?" + +Again Madame Munster hesitated. "They should hate me! It 's a measure of +the time I have been losing here that they don't." + +"No time is lost in which one has been happy!" said Felix, with a bright +sententiousness which may well have been a little irritating. + +"And in which," rejoined his sister, with a harsher laugh, "one has +secured the affections of a young lady with a fortune!" + +Felix explained, very candidly and seriously. "I have secured Gertrude's +affection, but I am by no means sure that I have secured her fortune. +That may come--or it may not." + +"Ah, well, it may! That 's the great point." + +"It depends upon her father. He does n't smile upon our union. You know +he wants her to marry Mr. Brand." + +"I know nothing about it!" cried the Baroness. "Please to put on a log." +Felix complied with her request and sat watching the quickening of +the flame. Presently his sister added, "And you propose to elope with +mademoiselle?" + +"By no means. I don't wish to do anything that 's disagreeable to Mr. +Wentworth. He has been far too kind to us." + +"But you must choose between pleasing yourself and pleasing him." + +"I want to please every one!" exclaimed Felix, joyously. "I have a good +conscience. I made up my mind at the outset that it was not my place to +make love to Gertrude." + +"So, to simplify matters, she made love to you!" + +Felix looked at his sister with sudden gravity. "You say you are not +afraid of her," he said. "But perhaps you ought to be--a little. She 's +a very clever person." + +"I begin to see it!" cried the Baroness. Her brother, making no +rejoinder, leaned back in his chair, and there was a long silence. At +last, with an altered accent, Madame Munster put another question. "You +expect, at any rate, to marry?" + +"I shall be greatly disappointed if we don't." + +"A disappointment or two will do you good!" the Baroness declared. "And, +afterwards, do you mean to turn American?" + +"It seems to me I am a very good American already. But we shall go to +Europe. Gertrude wants extremely to see the world." + +"Ah, like me, when I came here!" said the Baroness, with a little laugh. + +"No, not like you," Felix rejoined, looking at his sister with a certain +gentle seriousness. While he looked at her she rose from her chair, and +he also got up. "Gertrude is not at all like you," he went on; "but in +her own way she is almost as clever." He paused a moment; his soul was +full of an agreeable feeling and of a lively disposition to express it. +His sister, to his spiritual vision, was always like the lunar disk when +only a part of it is lighted. The shadow on this bright surface seemed +to him to expand and to contract; but whatever its proportions, he +always appreciated the moonlight. He looked at the Baroness, and then +he kissed her. "I am very much in love with Gertrude," he said. Eugenia +turned away and walked about the room, and Felix continued. "She is very +interesting, and very different from what she seems. She has never had +a chance. She is very brilliant. We will go to Europe and amuse +ourselves." + +The Baroness had gone to the window, where she stood looking out. The +day was drearier than ever; the rain was doggedly falling. "Yes, to +amuse yourselves," she said at last, "you had decidedly better go to +Europe!" Then she turned round, looking at her brother. A chair stood +near her; she leaned her hands upon the back of it. "Don't you think it +is very good of me," she asked, "to come all this way with you simply to +see you properly married--if properly it is?" + +"Oh, it will be properly!" cried Felix, with light eagerness. + +The Baroness gave a little laugh. "You are thinking only of yourself, +and you don't answer my question. While you are amusing yourself--with +the brilliant Gertrude--what shall I be doing?" + +"Vous serez de la partie!" cried Felix. + +"Thank you: I should spoil it." The Baroness dropped her eyes for some +moments. "Do you propose, however, to leave me here?" she inquired. + +Felix smiled at her. "My dearest sister, where you are concerned I never +propose. I execute your commands." + +"I believe," said Eugenia, slowly, "that you are the most heartless +person living. Don't you see that I am in trouble?" + +"I saw that you were not cheerful, and I gave you some good news." + +"Well, let me give you some news," said the Baroness. "You probably will +not have discovered it for yourself. Robert Acton wants to marry me." + +"No, I had not discovered that. But I quite understand it. Why does it +make you unhappy?" + +"Because I can't decide." + +"Accept him, accept him!" cried Felix, joyously. "He is the best fellow +in the world." + +"He is immensely in love with me," said the Baroness. + +"And he has a large fortune. Permit me in turn to remind you of that." + +"Oh, I am perfectly aware of it," said Eugenia. "That 's a great item in +his favor. I am terribly candid." And she left her place and came nearer +her brother, looking at him hard. He was turning over several things; +she was wondering in what manner he really understood her. + +There were several ways of understanding her: there was what she said, +and there was what she meant, and there was something, between the two, +that was neither. It is probable that, in the last analysis, what she +meant was that Felix should spare her the necessity of stating the case +more exactly and should hold himself commissioned to assist her by all +honorable means to marry the best fellow in the world. But in all this +it was never discovered what Felix understood. + +"Once you have your liberty, what are your objections?" he asked. + +"Well, I don't particularly like him." + +"Oh, try a little." + +"I am trying now," said Eugenia. "I should succeed better if he did n't +live here. I could never live here." + +"Make him go to Europe," Felix suggested. + +"Ah, there you speak of happiness based upon violent effort," the +Baroness rejoined. "That is not what I am looking for. He would never +live in Europe." + +"He would live anywhere, with you!" said Felix, gallantly. + +His sister looked at him still, with a ray of penetration in her +charming eyes; then she turned away again. "You see, at all events," she +presently went on, "that if it had been said of me that I had come over +here to seek my fortune it would have to be added that I have found it!" + +"Don't leave it lying!" urged Felix, with smiling solemnity. + +"I am much obliged to you for your interest," his sister declared, after +a moment. "But promise me one thing: pas de zele! If Mr. Acton should +ask you to plead his cause, excuse yourself." + +"I shall certainly have the excuse," said Felix, "that I have a cause of +my own to plead." + +"If he should talk of me--favorably," Eugenia continued, "warn him +against dangerous illusions. I detest importunities; I want to decide at +my leisure, with my eyes open." + +"I shall be discreet," said Felix, "except to you. To you I will say, +Accept him outright." + +She had advanced to the open door-way, and she stood looking at him. "I +will go and dress and think of it," she said; and he heard her moving +slowly to her apartments. + +Late in the afternoon the rain stopped, and just afterwards there was +a great flaming, flickering, trickling sunset. Felix sat in his +painting-room and did some work; but at last, as the light, which had +not been brilliant, began to fade, he laid down his brushes and came out +to the little piazza of the cottage. Here he walked up and down for some +time, looking at the splendid blaze of the western sky and saying, as he +had often said before, that this was certainly the country of sunsets. +There was something in these glorious deeps of fire that quickened his +imagination; he always found images and promises in the western sky. He +thought of a good many things--of roaming about the world with Gertrude +Wentworth; he seemed to see their possible adventures, in a glowing +frieze, between the cloud-bars; then of what Eugenia had just been +telling him. He wished very much that Madame Munster would make a +comfortable and honorable marriage. Presently, as the sunset expanded +and deepened, the fancy took him of making a note of so magnificent a +piece of coloring. He returned to his studio and fetched out a small +panel, with his palette and brushes, and, placing the panel against a +window-sill, he began to daub with great gusto. While he was so occupied +he saw Mr. Brand, in the distance, slowly come down from Mr. Wentworth's +house, nursing a large folded umbrella. He walked with a joyless, +meditative tread, and his eyes were bent upon the ground. Felix poised +his brush for a moment, watching him; then, by a sudden impulse, as +he drew nearer, advanced to the garden-gate and signaled to him--the +palette and bunch of brushes contributing to this effect. + +Mr. Brand stopped and started; then he appeared to decide to accept +Felix's invitation. He came out of Mr. Wentworth's gate and passed along +the road; after which he entered the little garden of the cottage. Felix +had gone back to his sunset; but he made his visitor welcome while he +rapidly brushed it in. + +"I wanted so much to speak to you that I thought I would call you," he +said, in the friendliest tone. "All the more that you have been to see +me so little. You have come to see my sister; I know that. But you have +n't come to see me--the celebrated artist. Artists are very sensitive, +you know; they notice those things." And Felix turned round, smiling, +with a brush in his mouth. + +Mr. Brand stood there with a certain blank, candid majesty, pulling +together the large flaps of his umbrella. "Why should I come to see +you?" he asked. "I know nothing of Art." + +"It would sound very conceited, I suppose," said Felix, "if I were to +say that it would be a good little chance for you to learn something. +You would ask me why you should learn; and I should have no answer to +that. I suppose a minister has no need for Art, eh?" + +"He has need for good temper, sir," said Mr. Brand, with decision. + +Felix jumped up, with his palette on his thumb and a movement of the +liveliest deprecation. "That 's because I keep you standing there +while I splash my red paint! I beg a thousand pardons! You see what bad +manners Art gives a man; and how right you are to let it alone. I did +n't mean you should stand, either. The piazza, as you see, is ornamented +with rustic chairs; though indeed I ought to warn you that they have +nails in the wrong places. I was just making a note of that sunset. I +never saw such a blaze of different reds. It looks as if the Celestial +City were in flames, eh? If that were really the case I suppose it would +be the business of you theologians to put out the fire. Fancy me--an +ungodly artist--quietly sitting down to paint it!" + +Mr. Brand had always credited Felix Young with a certain impudence, but +it appeared to him that on this occasion his impudence was so great as +to make a special explanation--or even an apology--necessary. And the +impression, it must be added, was sufficiently natural. Felix had at all +times a brilliant assurance of manner which was simply the vehicle of +his good spirits and his good will; but at present he had a special +design, and as he would have admitted that the design was audacious, so +he was conscious of having summoned all the arts of conversation to his +aid. But he was so far from desiring to offend his visitor that he was +rapidly asking himself what personal compliment he could pay the young +clergyman that would gratify him most. If he could think of it, he was +prepared to pay it down. "Have you been preaching one of your beautiful +sermons to-day?" he suddenly asked, laying down his palette. This was +not what Felix had been trying to think of, but it was a tolerable +stop-gap. + +Mr. Brand frowned--as much as a man can frown who has very fair, soft +eyebrows, and, beneath them, very gentle, tranquil eyes. "No, I have not +preached any sermon to-day. Did you bring me over here for the purpose +of making that inquiry?" + +Felix saw that he was irritated, and he regretted it immensely; but he +had no fear of not being, in the end, agreeable to Mr. Brand. He +looked at him, smiling and laying his hand on his arm. "No, no, not for +that--not for that. I wanted to ask you something; I wanted to tell +you something. I am sure it will interest you very much. Only--as it is +something rather private--we had better come into my little studio. I +have a western window; we can still see the sunset. Andiamo!" And he +gave a little pat to his companion's arm. + +He led the way in; Mr. Brand stiffly and softly followed. The twilight +had thickened in the little studio; but the wall opposite the western +window was covered with a deep pink flush. There were a great many +sketches and half-finished canvasses suspended in this rosy glow, and +the corners of the room were vague and dusky. Felix begged Mr. Brand to +sit down; then glancing round him, "By Jove, how pretty it looks!" he +cried. But Mr. Brand would not sit down; he went and leaned against +the window; he wondered what Felix wanted of him. In the shadow, on the +darker parts of the wall, he saw the gleam of three or four pictures +that looked fantastic and surprising. They seemed to represent naked +figures. Felix stood there, with his head a little bent and his eyes +fixed upon his visitor, smiling intensely, pulling his mustache. Mr. +Brand felt vaguely uneasy. "It is very delicate--what I want to say," +Felix began. "But I have been thinking of it for some time." + +"Please to say it as quickly as possible," said Mr. Brand. + +"It 's because you are a clergyman, you know," Felix went on. "I don't +think I should venture to say it to a common man." + +Mr. Brand was silent a moment. "If it is a question of yielding to a +weakness, of resenting an injury, I am afraid I am a very common man." + +"My dearest friend," cried Felix, "this is not an injury; it 's a +benefit--a great service! You will like it extremely. Only it 's so +delicate!" And, in the dim light, he continued to smile intensely. "You +know I take a great interest in my cousins--in Charlotte and Gertrude +Wentworth. That 's very evident from my having traveled some five +thousand miles to see them." Mr. Brand said nothing and Felix proceeded. +"Coming into their society as a perfect stranger I received of course a +great many new impressions, and my impressions had a great freshness, a +great keenness. Do you know what I mean?" + +"I am not sure that I do; but I should like you to continue." + +"I think my impressions have always a good deal of freshness," said Mr. +Brand's entertainer; "but on this occasion it was perhaps particularly +natural that--coming in, as I say, from outside--I should be struck with +things that passed unnoticed among yourselves. And then I had my sister +to help me; and she is simply the most observant woman in the world." + +"I am not surprised," said Mr. Brand, "that in our little circle two +intelligent persons should have found food for observation. I am sure +that, of late, I have found it myself!" + +"Ah, but I shall surprise you yet!" cried Felix, laughing. "Both my +sister and I took a great fancy to my cousin Charlotte." + +"Your cousin Charlotte?" repeated Mr. Brand. + +"We fell in love with her from the first!" + +"You fell in love with Charlotte?" Mr. Brand murmured. + +"_Dame!_" exclaimed Felix, "she 's a very charming person; and Eugenia +was especially smitten." Mr. Brand stood staring, and he pursued, +"Affection, you know, opens one's eyes, and we noticed something. +Charlotte is not happy! Charlotte is in love." And Felix, drawing +nearer, laid his hand again upon his companion's arm. + +There was something akin to an acknowledgment of fascination in the way +Mr. Brand looked at him; but the young clergyman retained as yet quite +enough self-possession to be able to say, with a good deal of solemnity, +"She is not in love with you." + +Felix gave a light laugh, and rejoined with the alacrity of a maritime +adventurer who feels a puff of wind in his sail. "Ah, no; if she were in +love with me I should know it! I am not so blind as you." + +"As I?" + +"My dear sir, you are stone blind. Poor Charlotte is dead in love with +you!" + +Mr. Brand said nothing for a moment; he breathed a little heavily. "Is +that what you wanted to say to me?" he asked. + +"I have wanted to say it these three weeks. Because of late she has been +worse. I told you," added Felix, "it was very delicate." + +"Well, sir"--Mr. Brand began; "well, sir"-- + +"I was sure you did n't know it," Felix continued. "But don't you +see--as soon as I mention it--how everything is explained?" Mr. Brand +answered nothing; he looked for a chair and softly sat down. Felix could +see that he was blushing; he had looked straight at his host hitherto, +but now he looked away. The foremost effect of what he had heard had +been a sort of irritation of his modesty. "Of course," said Felix, "I +suggest nothing; it would be very presumptuous in me to advise you. But +I think there is no doubt about the fact." + +Mr. Brand looked hard at the floor for some moments; he was oppressed +with a mixture of sensations. Felix, standing there, was very sure +that one of them was profound surprise. The innocent young man had been +completely unsuspicious of poor Charlotte's hidden flame. This gave +Felix great hope; he was sure that Mr. Brand would be flattered. Felix +thought him very transparent, and indeed he was so; he could neither +simulate nor dissimulate. "I scarcely know what to make of this," he +said at last, without looking up; and Felix was struck with the fact +that he offered no protest or contradiction. Evidently Felix had kindled +a train of memories--a retrospective illumination. It was making, to +Mr. Brand's astonished eyes, a very pretty blaze; his second emotion had +been a gratification of vanity. + +"Thank me for telling you," Felix rejoined. "It 's a good thing to +know." + +"I am not sure of that," said Mr. Brand. + +"Ah, don't let her languish!" Felix murmured, lightly and softly. + +"You do advise me, then?" And Mr. Brand looked up. + +"I congratulate you!" said Felix, smiling. He had thought at first his +visitor was simply appealing; but he saw he was a little ironical. + +"It is in your interest; you have interfered with me," the young +clergyman went on. + +Felix still stood and smiled. The little room had grown darker, and the +crimson glow had faded; but Mr. Brand could see the brilliant expression +of his face. "I won't pretend not to know what you mean," said Felix +at last. "But I have not really interfered with you. Of what you had +to lose--with another person--you have lost nothing. And think what you +have gained!" + +"It seems to me I am the proper judge, on each side," Mr. Brand +declared. He got up, holding the brim of his hat against his mouth and +staring at Felix through the dusk. + +"You have lost an illusion!" said Felix. + +"What do you call an illusion?" + +"The belief that you really know--that you have ever really +known--Gertrude Wentworth. Depend upon that," pursued Felix. "I don't +know her yet; but I have no illusions; I don't pretend to." + +Mr. Brand kept gazing, over his hat. "She has always been a lucid, +limpid nature," he said, solemnly. + +"She has always been a dormant nature. She was waiting for a touchstone. +But now she is beginning to awaken." + +"Don't praise her to me!" said Mr. Brand, with a little quaver in his +voice. "If you have the advantage of me that is not generous." + +"My dear sir, I am melting with generosity!" exclaimed Felix. "And I am +not praising my cousin. I am simply attempting a scientific definition +of her. She doesn't care for abstractions. Now I think the contrary +is what you have always fancied--is the basis on which you have been +building. She is extremely preoccupied with the concrete. I care for the +concrete, too. But Gertrude is stronger than I; she whirls me along!" + +Mr. Brand looked for a moment into the crown of his hat. "It 's a most +interesting nature." + +"So it is," said Felix. "But it pulls--it pulls--like a runaway horse. +Now I like the feeling of a runaway horse; and if I am thrown out of +the vehicle it is no great matter. But if you should be thrown, Mr. +Brand"--and Felix paused a moment--"another person also would suffer +from the accident." + +"What other person?" + +"Charlotte Wentworth!" + +Mr. Brand looked at Felix for a moment sidewise, mistrustfully; then his +eyes slowly wandered over the ceiling. Felix was sure he was secretly +struck with the romance of the situation. "I think this is none of our +business," the young minister murmured. + +"None of mine, perhaps; but surely yours!" + +Mr. Brand lingered still, looking at the ceiling; there was evidently +something he wanted to say. "What do you mean by Miss Gertrude being +strong?" he asked abruptly. + +"Well," said Felix meditatively, "I mean that she has had a great deal +of self-possession. She was waiting--for years; even when she seemed, +perhaps, to be living in the present. She knew how to wait; she had a +purpose. That 's what I mean by her being strong." + +"But what do you mean by her purpose?" + +"Well--the purpose to see the world!" + +Mr. Brand eyed his strange informant askance again; but he said nothing. +At last he turned away, as if to take leave. He seemed bewildered, +however; for instead of going to the door he moved toward the opposite +corner of the room. Felix stood and watched him for a moment--almost +groping about in the dusk; then he led him to the door, with a tender, +almost fraternal movement. "Is that all you have to say?" asked Mr. +Brand. + +"Yes, it 's all--but it will bear a good deal of thinking of." + +Felix went with him to the garden-gate, and watched him slowly walk +away into the thickening twilight with a relaxed rigidity that tried +to rectify itself. "He is offended, excited, bewildered, perplexed--and +enchanted!" Felix said to himself. "That 's a capital mixture." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +Since that visit paid by the Baroness Munster to Mrs. Acton, of which +some account was given at an earlier stage of this narrative, the +intercourse between these two ladies had been neither frequent nor +intimate. It was not that Mrs. Acton had failed to appreciate Madame +Munster's charms; on the contrary, her perception of the graces +of manner and conversation of her brilliant visitor had been only too +acute. Mrs. Acton was, as they said in Boston, very "intense," and her +impressions were apt to be too many for her. The state of her health +required the restriction of emotion; and this is why, receiving, as she +sat in her eternal arm-chair, very few visitors, even of the soberest +local type, she had been obliged to limit the number of her interviews +with a lady whose costume and manner recalled to her imagination--Mrs. +Acton's imagination was a marvel--all that she had ever read of the most +stirring historical periods. But she had sent the Baroness a great many +quaintly-worded messages and a great many nosegays from her garden and +baskets of beautiful fruit. Felix had eaten the fruit, and the Baroness +had arranged the flowers and returned the baskets and the messages. On +the day that followed that rainy Sunday of which mention has been +made, Eugenia determined to go and pay the beneficent invalid a "visite +d'adieux;" so it was that, to herself, she qualified her enterprise. +It may be noted that neither on the Sunday evening nor on the Monday +morning had she received that expected visit from Robert Acton. To his +own consciousness, evidently he was "keeping away;" and as the Baroness, +on her side, was keeping away from her uncle's, whither, for several +days, Felix had been the unembarrassed bearer of apologies and regrets +for absence, chance had not taken the cards from the hands of design. +Mr. Wentworth and his daughters had respected Eugenia's seclusion; +certain intervals of mysterious retirement appeared to them, vaguely, a +natural part of the graceful, rhythmic movement of so remarkable a +life. Gertrude especially held these periods in honor; she wondered what +Madame Munster did at such times, but she would not have permitted +herself to inquire too curiously. + +The long rain had freshened the air, and twelve hours' brilliant +sunshine had dried the roads; so that the Baroness, in the late +afternoon, proposing to walk to Mrs. Acton's, exposed herself to no +great discomfort. As with her charming undulating step she moved along +the clean, grassy margin of the road, beneath the thickly-hanging boughs +of the orchards, through the quiet of the hour and place and the rich +maturity of the summer, she was even conscious of a sort of luxurious +melancholy. The Baroness had the amiable weakness of attaching herself +to places--even when she had begun with a little aversion; and now, with +the prospect of departure, she felt tenderly toward this well-wooded +corner of the Western world, where the sunsets were so beautiful and +one's ambitions were so pure. Mrs. Acton was able to receive her; but on +entering this lady's large, freshly-scented room the Baroness saw that +she was looking very ill. She was wonderfully white and transparent, +and, in her flowered arm-chair, she made no attempt to move. But she +flushed a little--like a young girl, the Baroness thought--and she +rested her clear, smiling eyes upon those of her visitor. Her voice +was low and monotonous, like a voice that had never expressed any human +passions. + +"I have come to bid you good-by," said Eugenia. "I shall soon be going +away." + +"When are you going away?" + +"Very soon--any day." + +"I am very sorry," said Mrs. Acton. "I hoped you would stay--always." + +"Always?" Eugenia demanded. + +"Well, I mean a long time," said Mrs. Acton, in her sweet, feeble tone. +"They tell me you are so comfortable--that you have got such a beautiful +little house." + +Eugenia stared--that is, she smiled; she thought of her poor little +chalet and she wondered whether her hostess were jesting. "Yes, my house +is exquisite," she said; "though not to be compared to yours." + +"And my son is so fond of going to see you," Mrs. Acton added. "I am +afraid my son will miss you." + +"Ah, dear madame," said Eugenia, with a little laugh, "I can't stay in +America for your son!" + +"Don't you like America?" + +The Baroness looked at the front of her dress. "If I liked it--that +would not be staying for your son!" + +Mrs. Acton gazed at her with her grave, tender eyes, as if she had not +quite understood. The Baroness at last found something irritating in +the sweet, soft stare of her hostess; and if one were not bound to be +merciful to great invalids she would almost have taken the liberty of +pronouncing her, mentally, a fool. "I am afraid, then, I shall never see +you again," said Mrs. Acton. "You know I am dying." + +"Ah, dear madame," murmured Eugenia. + +"I want to leave my children cheerful and happy. My daughter will +probably marry her cousin." + +"Two such interesting young people," said the Baroness, vaguely. She was +not thinking of Clifford Wentworth. + +"I feel so tranquil about my end," Mrs. Acton went on. "It is coming +so easily, so surely." And she paused, with her mild gaze always on +Eugenia's. + +The Baroness hated to be reminded of death; but even in its imminence, +so far as Mrs. Acton was concerned, she preserved her good manners. "Ah, +madame, you are too charming an invalid," she rejoined. + +But the delicacy of this rejoinder was apparently lost upon her hostess, +who went on in her low, reasonable voice. "I want to leave my children +bright and comfortable. You seem to me all so happy here--just as you +are. So I wish you could stay. It would be so pleasant for Robert." + +Eugenia wondered what she meant by its being pleasant for Robert; but +she felt that she would never know what such a woman as that meant. +She got up; she was afraid Mrs. Acton would tell her again that she +was dying. "Good-by, dear madame," she said. "I must remember that your +strength is precious." + +Mrs. Acton took her hand and held it a moment. "Well, you have been +happy here, have n't you? And you like us all, don't you? I wish you +would stay," she added, "in your beautiful little house." + +She had told Eugenia that her waiting-woman would be in the hall, to +show her down-stairs; but the large landing outside her door was empty, +and Eugenia stood there looking about. She felt irritated; the dying +lady had not "la main heureuse." She passed slowly down-stairs, still +looking about. The broad staircase made a great bend, and in the angle +was a high window, looking westward, with a deep bench, covered with +a row of flowering plants in curious old pots of blue china-ware. The +yellow afternoon light came in through the flowers and flickered a +little on the white wainscots. Eugenia paused a moment; the house was +perfectly still, save for the ticking, somewhere, of a great clock. The +lower hall stretched away at the foot of the stairs, half covered over +with a large Oriental rug. Eugenia lingered a little, noticing a great +many things. "Comme c'est bien!" she said to herself; such a large, +solid, irreproachable basis of existence the place seemed to her to +indicate. And then she reflected that Mrs. Acton was soon to withdraw +from it. The reflection accompanied her the rest of the way down-stairs, +where she paused again, making more observations. The hall was extremely +broad, and on either side of the front door was a wide, deeply-set +window, which threw the shadows of everything back into the house. +There were high-backed chairs along the wall and big Eastern vases upon +tables, and, on either side, a large cabinet with a glass front and +little curiosities within, dimly gleaming. The doors were open--into the +darkened parlor, the library, the dining-room. All these rooms seemed +empty. Eugenia passed along, and stopped a moment on the threshold of +each. "Comme c'est bien!" she murmured again; she had thought of just +such a house as this when she decided to come to America. She opened +the front door for herself--her light tread had summoned none of the +servants--and on the threshold she gave a last look. Outside, she +was still in the humor for curious contemplation; so instead of going +directly down the little drive, to the gate, she wandered away towards +the garden, which lay to the right of the house. She had not gone +many yards over the grass before she paused quickly; she perceived a +gentleman stretched upon the level verdure, beneath a tree. He had not +heard her coming, and he lay motionless, flat on his back, with his +hands clasped under his head, staring up at the sky; so that the +Baroness was able to reflect, at her leisure, upon the question of +his identity. It was that of a person who had lately been much in her +thoughts; but her first impulse, nevertheless, was to turn away; the +last thing she desired was to have the air of coming in quest of Robert +Acton. The gentleman on the grass, however, gave her no time to decide; +he could not long remain unconscious of so agreeable a presence. He +rolled back his eyes, stared, gave an exclamation, and then jumped up. +He stood an instant, looking at her. + +"Excuse my ridiculous position," he said. + +"I have just now no sense of the ridiculous. But, in case you have, +don't imagine I came to see you." + +"Take care," rejoined Acton, "how you put it into my head! I was +thinking of you." + +"The occupation of extreme leisure!" said the Baroness. "To think of a +woman when you are in that position is no compliment." + +"I did n't say I was thinking well!" Acton affirmed, smiling. + +She looked at him, and then she turned away. + +"Though I did n't come to see you," she said, "remember at least that I +am within your gates." + +"I am delighted--I am honored! Won't you come into the house?" + +"I have just come out of it. I have been calling upon your mother. I +have been bidding her farewell." + +"Farewell?" Acton demanded. + +"I am going away," said the Baroness. And she turned away again, as if +to illustrate her meaning. + +"When are you going?" asked Acton, standing a moment in his place. But +the Baroness made no answer, and he followed her. + +"I came this way to look at your garden," she said, walking back to the +gate, over the grass. "But I must go." + +"Let me at least go with you." He went with her, and they said nothing +till they reached the gate. It was open, and they looked down the road +which was darkened over with long bosky shadows. "Must you go straight +home?" Acton asked. + +But she made no answer. She said, after a moment, "Why have you not been +to see me?" He said nothing, and then she went on, "Why don't you answer +me?" + +"I am trying to invent an answer," Acton confessed. + +"Have you none ready?" + +"None that I can tell you," he said. "But let me walk with you now." + +"You may do as you like." + +She moved slowly along the road, and Acton went with her. Presently he +said, "If I had done as I liked I would have come to see you several +times." + +"Is that invented?" asked Eugenia. + +"No, that is natural. I stayed away because"-- + +"Ah, here comes the reason, then!" + +"Because I wanted to think about you." + +"Because you wanted to lie down!" said the Baroness. "I have seen you +lie down--almost--in my drawing-room." + +Acton stopped in the road, with a movement which seemed to beg her to +linger a little. She paused, and he looked at her awhile; he thought her +very charming. "You are jesting," he said; "but if you are really going +away it is very serious." + +"If I stay," and she gave a little laugh, "it is more serious still!" + +"When shall you go?" + +"As soon as possible." + +"And why?" + +"Why should I stay?" + +"Because we all admire you so." + +"That is not a reason. I am admired also in Europe." And she began to +walk homeward again. + +"What could I say to keep you?" asked Acton. He wanted to keep her, and +it was a fact that he had been thinking of her for a week. He was in +love with her now; he was conscious of that, or he thought he was; and +the only question with him was whether he could trust her. + +"What you can say to keep me?" she repeated. "As I want very much to go +it is not in my interest to tell you. Besides, I can't imagine." + +He went on with her in silence; he was much more affected by what she +had told him than appeared. Ever since that evening of his return from +Newport her image had had a terrible power to trouble him. What Clifford +Wentworth had told him--that had affected him, too, in an adverse sense; +but it had not liberated him from the discomfort of a charm of which his +intelligence was impatient. "She is not honest, she is not honest," he +kept murmuring to himself. That is what he had been saying to the summer +sky, ten minutes before. Unfortunately, he was unable to say it +finally, definitively; and now that he was near her it seemed to matter +wonderfully little. "She is a woman who will lie," he had said to +himself. Now, as he went along, he reminded himself of this observation; +but it failed to frighten him as it had done before. He almost wished he +could make her lie and then convict her of it, so that he might see how +he should like that. He kept thinking of this as he walked by her side, +while she moved forward with her light, graceful dignity. He had sat +with her before; he had driven with her; but he had never walked with +her. + +"By Jove, how comme il faut she is!" he said, as he observed her +sidewise. When they reached the cottage in the orchard she passed into +the gate without asking him to follow; but she turned round, as he stood +there, to bid him good-night. + +"I asked you a question the other night which you never answered," he +said. "Have you sent off that document--liberating yourself?" + +She hesitated for a single moment--very naturally. Then, "Yes," she +said, simply. + +He turned away; he wondered whether that would do for his lie. But he +saw her again that evening, for the Baroness reappeared at her uncle's. +He had little talk with her, however; two gentlemen had driven out from +Boston, in a buggy, to call upon Mr. Wentworth and his daughters, +and Madame Munster was an object of absorbing interest to both of the +visitors. One of them, indeed, said nothing to her; he only sat and +watched with intense gravity, and leaned forward solemnly, presenting +his ear (a very large one), as if he were deaf, whenever she dropped +an observation. He had evidently been impressed with the idea of her +misfortunes and reverses: he never smiled. His companion adopted a +lighter, easier style; sat as near as possible to Madame Munster; +attempted to draw her out, and proposed every few moments a new topic +of conversation. Eugenia was less vividly responsive than usual and +had less to say than, from her brilliant reputation, her interlocutor +expected, upon the relative merits of European and American +institutions; but she was inaccessible to Robert Acton, who roamed about +the piazza with his hands in his pockets, listening for the grating +sound of the buggy from Boston, as it should be brought round to the +side-door. But he listened in vain, and at last he lost patience. His +sister came to him and begged him to take her home, and he presently +went off with her. Eugenia observed him leaving the house with Lizzie; +in her present mood the fact seemed a contribution to her irritated +conviction that he had several precious qualities. "Even that mal-elevee +little girl," she reflected, "makes him do what she wishes." + +She had been sitting just within one of the long windows that opened +upon the piazza; but very soon after Acton had gone away she got up +abruptly, just when the talkative gentleman from Boston was asking her +what she thought of the "moral tone" of that city. On the piazza she +encountered Clifford Wentworth, coming round from the other side of the +house. She stopped him; she told him she wished to speak to him. + +"Why did n't you go home with your cousin?" she asked. + +Clifford stared. "Why, Robert has taken her," he said. + +"Exactly so. But you don't usually leave that to him." + +"Oh," said Clifford, "I want to see those fellows start off. They don't +know how to drive." + +"It is not, then, that you have quarreled with your cousin?" + +Clifford reflected a moment, and then with a simplicity which had, for +the Baroness, a singularly baffling quality, "Oh, no; we have made up!" +he said. + +She looked at him for some moments; but Clifford had begun to be afraid +of the Baroness's looks, and he endeavored, now, to shift himself out +of their range. "Why do you never come to see me any more?" she asked. +"Have I displeased you?" + +"Displeased me? Well, I guess not!" said Clifford, with a laugh. + +"Why have n't you come, then?" + +"Well, because I am afraid of getting shut up in that back room." + +Eugenia kept looking at him. "I should think you would like that." + +"Like it!" cried Clifford. + +"I should, if I were a young man calling upon a charming woman." + +"A charming woman is n't much use to me when I am shut up in that back +room!" + +"I am afraid I am not of much use to you anywhere!" said Madame Munster. +"And yet you know how I have offered to be." + +"Well," observed Clifford, by way of response, "there comes the buggy." + +"Never mind the buggy. Do you know I am going away?" + +"Do you mean now?" + +"I mean in a few days. I leave this place." + +"You are going back to Europe?" + +"To Europe, where you are to come and see me." + +"Oh, yes, I 'll come out there," said Clifford. + +"But before that," Eugenia declared, "you must come and see me here." + +"Well, I shall keep clear of that back room!" rejoined her simple young +kinsman. + +The Baroness was silent a moment. "Yes, you must come frankly--boldly. +That will be very much better. I see that now." + +"I see it!" said Clifford. And then, in an instant, "What 's the matter +with that buggy?" His practiced ear had apparently detected an unnatural +creak in the wheels of the light vehicle which had been brought to the +portico, and he hurried away to investigate so grave an anomaly. + +The Baroness walked homeward, alone, in the starlight, asking herself +a question. Was she to have gained nothing--was she to have gained +nothing? + +Gertrude Wentworth had held a silent place in the little circle gathered +about the two gentlemen from Boston. She was not interested in the +visitors; she was watching Madame Munster, as she constantly watched +her. She knew that Eugenia also was not interested--that she was bored; +and Gertrude was absorbed in study of the problem how, in spite of +her indifference and her absent attention, she managed to have such a +charming manner. That was the manner Gertrude would have liked to have; +she determined to cultivate it, and she wished that--to give her the +charm--she might in future very often be bored. While she was engaged in +these researches, Felix Young was looking for Charlotte, to whom he had +something to say. For some time, now, he had had something to say to +Charlotte, and this evening his sense of the propriety of holding some +special conversation with her had reached the motive-point--resolved +itself into acute and delightful desire. He wandered through the empty +rooms on the large ground-floor of the house, and found her at last in +a small apartment denominated, for reasons not immediately apparent, Mr. +Wentworth's "office:" an extremely neat and well-dusted room, with an +array of law-books, in time-darkened sheep-skin, on one of the walls; a +large map of the United States on the other, flanked on either side by +an old steel engraving of one of Raphael's Madonnas; and on the third +several glass cases containing specimens of butterflies and beetles. +Charlotte was sitting by a lamp, embroidering a slipper. Felix did not +ask for whom the slipper was destined; he saw it was very large. + +He moved a chair toward her and sat down, smiling as usual, but, at +first, not speaking. She watched him, with her needle poised, and with +a certain shy, fluttered look which she always wore when he approached +her. There was something in Felix's manner that quickened her modesty, +her self-consciousness; if absolute choice had been given her she would +have preferred never to find herself alone with him; and in fact, +though she thought him a most brilliant, distinguished, and well-meaning +person, she had exercised a much larger amount of tremulous tact than +he had ever suspected, to circumvent the accident of tete-a-tete. Poor +Charlotte could have given no account of the matter that would not have +seemed unjust both to herself and to her foreign kinsman; she could only +have said--or rather, she would never have said it--that she did +not like so much gentleman's society at once. She was not reassured, +accordingly, when he began, emphasizing his words with a kind of +admiring radiance, "My dear cousin, I am enchanted at finding you +alone." + +"I am very often alone," Charlotte observed. Then she quickly added, "I +don't mean I am lonely!" + +"So clever a woman as you is never lonely," said Felix. "You have +company in your beautiful work." And he glanced at the big slipper. + +"I like to work," declared Charlotte, simply. + +"So do I!" said her companion. "And I like to idle too. But it is not +to idle that I have come in search of you. I want to tell you something +very particular." + +"Well," murmured Charlotte; "of course, if you must"-- + +"My dear cousin," said Felix, "it 's nothing that a young lady may not +listen to. At least I suppose it is n't. But voyons; you shall judge. I +am terribly in love." + +"Well, Felix," began Miss Wentworth, gravely. But her very gravity +appeared to check the development of her phrase. + +"I am in love with your sister; but in love, Charlotte--in love!" the +young man pursued. Charlotte had laid her work in her lap; her hands +were tightly folded on top of it; she was staring at the carpet. "In +short, I 'm in love, dear lady," said Felix. "Now I want you to help +me." + +"To help you?" asked Charlotte, with a tremor. + +"I don't mean with Gertrude; she and I have a perfect understanding; and +oh, how well she understands one! I mean with your father and with the +world in general, including Mr. Brand." + +"Poor Mr. Brand!" said Charlotte, slowly, but with a simplicity which +made it evident to Felix that the young minister had not repeated to +Miss Wentworth the talk that had lately occurred between them. + +"Ah, now, don't say 'poor' Mr. Brand! I don't pity Mr. Brand at all. +But I pity your father a little, and I don't want to displease him. +Therefore, you see, I want you to plead for me. You don't think me very +shabby, eh?" + +"Shabby?" exclaimed Charlotte softly, for whom Felix represented the +most polished and iridescent qualities of mankind. + +"I don't mean in my appearance," rejoined Felix, laughing; for Charlotte +was looking at his boots. "I mean in my conduct. You don't think it 's +an abuse of hospitality?" + +"To--to care for Gertrude?" asked Charlotte. + +"To have really expressed one's self. Because I have expressed myself, +Charlotte; I must tell you the whole truth--I have! Of course I want to +marry her--and here is the difficulty. I held off as long as I could; +but she is such a terribly fascinating person! She 's a strange +creature, Charlotte; I don't believe you really know her." Charlotte +took up her tapestry again, and again she laid it down. "I know your +father has had higher views," Felix continued; "and I think you have +shared them. You have wanted to marry her to Mr. Brand." + +"Oh, no," said Charlotte, very earnestly. "Mr. Brand has always admired +her. But we did not want anything of that kind." + +Felix stared. "Surely, marriage was what you proposed." + +"Yes; but we did n't wish to force her." + +"A la bonne heure! That 's very unsafe you know. With these arranged +marriages there is often the deuce to pay." + +"Oh, Felix," said Charlotte, "we did n't want to 'arrange.'" + +"I am delighted to hear that. Because in such cases--even when the +woman is a thoroughly good creature--she can't help looking for a +compensation. A charming fellow comes along--and voila!" Charlotte sat +mutely staring at the floor, and Felix presently added, "Do go on with +your slipper, I like to see you work." + +Charlotte took up her variegated canvas, and began to draw vague blue +stitches in a big round rose. "If Gertrude is so--so strange," she said, +"why do you want to marry her?" + +"Ah, that 's it, dear Charlotte! I like strange women; I always have +liked them. Ask Eugenia! And Gertrude is wonderful; she says the most +beautiful things!" + +Charlotte looked at him, almost for the first time, as if her meaning +required to be severely pointed. "You have a great influence over her." + +"Yes--and no!" said Felix. "I had at first, I think; but now it is six +of one and half-a-dozen of the other; it is reciprocal. She affects me +strongly--for she is so strong. I don't believe you know her; it 's a +beautiful nature." + +"Oh, yes, Felix; I have always thought Gertrude's nature beautiful." + +"Well, if you think so now," cried the young man, "wait and see! She 's +a folded flower. Let me pluck her from the parent tree and you will see +her expand. I 'm sure you will enjoy it." + +"I don't understand you," murmured Charlotte. "I can't, Felix." + +"Well, you can understand this--that I beg you to say a good word for +me to your father. He regards me, I naturally believe, as a very light +fellow, a Bohemian, an irregular character. Tell him I am not all this; +if I ever was, I have forgotten it. I am fond of pleasure--yes; but of +innocent pleasure. Pain is all one; but in pleasure, you know, there are +tremendous distinctions. Say to him that Gertrude is a folded flower and +that I am a serious man!" + +Charlotte got up from her chair slowly rolling up her work. "We know +you are very kind to every one, Felix," she said. "But we are extremely +sorry for Mr. Brand." + +"Of course you are--you especially! Because," added Felix hastily, "you +are a woman. But I don't pity him. It ought to be enough for any man +that you take an interest in him." + +"It is not enough for Mr. Brand," said Charlotte, simply. And she stood +there a moment, as if waiting conscientiously for anything more that +Felix might have to say. + +"Mr. Brand is not so keen about his marriage as he was," he presently +said. "He is afraid of your sister. He begins to think she is wicked." + +Charlotte looked at him now with beautiful, appealing eyes--eyes into +which he saw the tears rising. "Oh, Felix, Felix," she cried, "what have +you done to her?" + +"I think she was asleep; I have waked her up!" + +But Charlotte, apparently, was really crying, she walked straight out +of the room. And Felix, standing there and meditating, had the apparent +brutality to take satisfaction in her tears. + +Late that night Gertrude, silent and serious, came to him in the garden; +it was a kind of appointment. Gertrude seemed to like appointments. +She plucked a handful of heliotrope and stuck it into the front of +her dress, but she said nothing. They walked together along one of the +paths, and Felix looked at the great, square, hospitable house, massing +itself vaguely in the starlight, with all its windows darkened. + +"I have a little of a bad conscience," he said. "I ought n't to meet you +this way till I have got your father's consent." + +Gertrude looked at him for some time. "I don't understand you." + +"You very often say that," he said. "Considering how little we +understand each other, it is a wonder how well we get on!" + +"We have done nothing but meet since you came here--but meet alone. The +first time I ever saw you we were alone," Gertrude went on. "What is the +difference now? Is it because it is at night?" + +"The difference, Gertrude," said Felix, stopping in the path, "the +difference is that I love you more--more than before!" And then they +stood there, talking, in the warm stillness and in front of the closed +dark house. "I have been talking to Charlotte--been trying to bespeak +her interest with your father. She has a kind of sublime perversity; was +ever a woman so bent upon cutting off her own head?" + +"You are too careful," said Gertrude; "you are too diplomatic." + +"Well," cried the young man, "I did n't come here to make any one +unhappy!" + +Gertrude looked round her awhile in the odorous darkness. "I will do +anything you please," she said. + +"For instance?" asked Felix, smiling. + +"I will go away. I will do anything you please." + +Felix looked at her in solemn admiration. "Yes, we will go away," he +said. "But we will make peace first." + +Gertrude looked about her again, and then she broke out, passionately, +"Why do they try to make one feel guilty? Why do they make it so +difficult? Why can't they understand?" + +"I will make them understand!" said Felix. He drew her hand into his +arm, and they wandered about in the garden, talking, for an hour. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Felix allowed Charlotte time to plead his cause; and then, on the third +day, he sought an interview with his uncle. It was in the morning; +Mr. Wentworth was in his office; and, on going in, Felix found that +Charlotte was at that moment in conference with her father. She had, in +fact, been constantly near him since her interview with Felix; she +had made up her mind that it was her duty to repeat very literally her +cousin's passionate plea. She had accordingly followed Mr. Wentworth +about like a shadow, in order to find him at hand when she should have +mustered sufficient composure to speak. For poor Charlotte, in this +matter, naturally lacked composure; especially when she meditated upon +some of Felix's intimations. It was not cheerful work, at the best, to +keep giving small hammer-taps to the coffin in which one had laid +away, for burial, the poor little unacknowledged offspring of one's own +misbehaving heart; and the occupation was not rendered more agreeable +by the fact that the ghost of one's stifled dream had been summoned from +the shades by the strange, bold words of a talkative young foreigner. +What had Felix meant by saying that Mr. Brand was not so keen? To +herself her sister's justly depressed suitor had shown no sign of +faltering. Charlotte trembled all over when she allowed herself to +believe for an instant now and then that, privately, Mr. Brand might +have faltered; and as it seemed to give more force to Felix's words to +repeat them to her father, she was waiting until she should have taught +herself to be very calm. But she had now begun to tell Mr. Wentworth +that she was extremely anxious. She was proceeding to develop this idea, +to enumerate the objects of her anxiety, when Felix came in. + +Mr. Wentworth sat there, with his legs crossed, lifting his dry, pure +countenance from the Boston "Advertiser." Felix entered smiling, as if +he had something particular to say, and his uncle looked at him as if +he both expected and deprecated this event. Felix vividly expressing +himself had come to be a formidable figure to his uncle, who had not yet +arrived at definite views as to a proper tone. For the first time in +his life, as I have said, Mr. Wentworth shirked a responsibility; he +earnestly desired that it might not be laid upon him to determine how +his nephew's lighter propositions should be treated. He lived under an +apprehension that Felix might yet beguile him into assent to doubtful +inductions, and his conscience instructed him that the best form of +vigilance was the avoidance of discussion. He hoped that the pleasant +episode of his nephew's visit would pass away without a further lapse of +consistency. + +Felix looked at Charlotte with an air of understanding, and then at Mr. +Wentworth, and then at Charlotte again. Mr. Wentworth bent his refined +eyebrows upon his nephew and stroked down the first page of the +"Advertiser." "I ought to have brought a bouquet," said Felix, laughing. +"In France they always do." + +"We are not in France," observed Mr. Wentworth, gravely, while Charlotte +earnestly gazed at him. + +"No, luckily, we are not in France, where I am afraid I should have +a harder time of it. My dear Charlotte, have you rendered me that +delightful service?" And Felix bent toward her as if some one had been +presenting him. + +Charlotte looked at him with almost frightened eyes; and Mr. Wentworth +thought this might be the beginning of a discussion. "What is the +bouquet for?" he inquired, by way of turning it off. + +Felix gazed at him, smiling. "Pour la demande!" And then, drawing up +a chair, he seated himself, hat in hand, with a kind of conscious +solemnity. + +Presently he turned to Charlotte again. "My good Charlotte, my admirable +Charlotte," he murmured, "you have not played me false--you have not +sided against me?" + +Charlotte got up, trembling extremely, though imperceptibly. "You must +speak to my father yourself," she said. "I think you are clever enough." + +But Felix, rising too, begged her to remain. "I can speak better to an +audience!" he declared. + +"I hope it is nothing disagreeable," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"It 's something delightful, for me!" And Felix, laying down his hat, +clasped his hands a little between his knees. "My dear uncle," he said, +"I desire, very earnestly, to marry your daughter Gertrude." Charlotte +sank slowly into her chair again, and Mr. Wentworth sat staring, with a +light in his face that might have been flashed back from an iceberg. +He stared and stared; he said nothing. Felix fell back, with his hands +still clasped. "Ah--you don't like it. I was afraid!" He blushed deeply, +and Charlotte noticed it--remarking to herself that it was the first +time she had ever seen him blush. She began to blush herself and to +reflect that he might be much in love. + +"This is very abrupt," said Mr. Wentworth, at last. + +"Have you never suspected it, dear uncle?" Felix inquired. "Well, that +proves how discreet I have been. Yes, I thought you would n't like it." + +"It is very serious, Felix," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"You think it 's an abuse of hospitality!" exclaimed Felix, smiling +again. + +"Of hospitality?--an abuse?" his uncle repeated very slowly. + +"That is what Felix said to me," said Charlotte, conscientiously. + +"Of course you think so; don't defend yourself!" Felix pursued. "It +is an abuse, obviously; the most I can claim is that it is perhaps a +pardonable one. I simply fell head over heels in love; one can hardly +help that. Though you are Gertrude's progenitor I don't believe you +know how attractive she is. Dear uncle, she contains the elements of a +singularly--I may say a strangely--charming woman!" + +"She has always been to me an object of extreme concern," said Mr. +Wentworth. "We have always desired her happiness." + +"Well, here it is!" Felix declared. "I will make her happy. She believes +it, too. Now had n't you noticed that?" + +"I had noticed that she was much changed," Mr. Wentworth declared, in +a tone whose unexpressive, unimpassioned quality appeared to Felix to +reveal a profundity of opposition. "It may be that she is only becoming +what you call a charming woman." + +"Gertrude, at heart, is so earnest, so true," said Charlotte, very +softly, fastening her eyes upon her father. + +"I delight to hear you praise her!" cried Felix. + +"She has a very peculiar temperament," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"Eh, even that is praise!" Felix rejoined. "I know I am not the man you +might have looked for. I have no position and no fortune; I can give +Gertrude no place in the world. A place in the world--that 's what she +ought to have; that would bring her out." + +"A place to do her duty!" remarked Mr. Wentworth. + +"Ah, how charmingly she does it--her duty!" Felix exclaimed, with a +radiant face. "What an exquisite conception she has of it! But she comes +honestly by that, dear uncle." Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte both looked +at him as if they were watching a greyhound doubling. "Of course with +me she will hide her light under a bushel," he continued; "I being the +bushel! Now I know you like me--you have certainly proved it. But you +think I am frivolous and penniless and shabby! Granted--granted--a +thousand times granted. I have been a loose fish--a fiddler, a painter, +an actor. But there is this to be said: In the first place, I fancy +you exaggerate; you lend me qualities I have n't had. I have been a +Bohemian--yes; but in Bohemia I always passed for a gentleman. I wish +you could see some of my old camarades--they would tell you! It was +the liberty I liked, but not the opportunities! My sins were all +peccadilloes; I always respected my neighbor's property--my neighbor's +wife. Do you see, dear uncle?" Mr. Wentworth ought to have seen; his +cold blue eyes were intently fixed. "And then, c'est fini! It 's all +over. Je me range. I have settled down to a jog-trot. I find I can earn +my living--a very fair one--by going about the world and painting +bad portraits. It 's not a glorious profession, but it is a perfectly +respectable one. You won't deny that, eh? Going about the world, I say? +I must not deny that, for that I am afraid I shall always do--in quest +of agreeable sitters. When I say agreeable, I mean susceptible of +delicate flattery and prompt of payment. Gertrude declares she is +willing to share my wanderings and help to pose my models. She even +thinks it will be charming; and that brings me to my third point. +Gertrude likes me. Encourage her a little and she will tell you so." + +Felix's tongue obviously moved much faster than the imagination of his +auditors; his eloquence, like the rocking of a boat in a deep, smooth +lake, made long eddies of silence. And he seemed to be pleading and +chattering still, with his brightly eager smile, his uplifted eyebrows, +his expressive mouth, after he had ceased speaking, and while, with his +glance quickly turning from the father to the daughter, he sat waiting +for the effect of his appeal. "It is not your want of means," said Mr. +Wentworth, after a period of severe reticence. + +"Now it 's delightful of you to say that! Only don't say it 's my want +of character. Because I have a character--I assure you I have; a small +one, a little slip of a thing, but still something tangible." + +"Ought you not to tell Felix that it is Mr. Brand, father?" Charlotte +asked, with infinite mildness. + +"It is not only Mr. Brand," Mr. Wentworth solemnly declared. And he +looked at his knee for a long time. "It is difficult to explain," he +said. He wished, evidently, to be very just. "It rests on moral grounds, +as Mr. Brand says. It is the question whether it is the best thing for +Gertrude." + +"What is better--what is better, dear uncle?" Felix rejoined urgently, +rising in his urgency and standing before Mr. Wentworth. His uncle had +been looking at his knee; but when Felix moved he transferred his gaze +to the handle of the door which faced him. "It is usually a fairly good +thing for a girl to marry the man she loves!" cried Felix. + +While he spoke, Mr. Wentworth saw the handle of the door begin to turn; +the door opened and remained slightly ajar, until Felix had delivered +himself of the cheerful axiom just quoted. Then it opened altogether +and Gertrude stood there. She looked excited; there was a spark in her +sweet, dull eyes. She came in slowly, but with an air of resolution, +and, closing the door softly, looked round at the three persons present. +Felix went to her with tender gallantry, holding out his hand, and +Charlotte made a place for her on the sofa. But Gertrude put her hands +behind her and made no motion to sit down. + +"We are talking of you!" said Felix. + +"I know it," she answered. "That 's why I came." And she fastened her +eyes on her father, who returned her gaze very fixedly. In his own cold +blue eyes there was a kind of pleading, reasoning light. + +"It is better you should be present," said Mr. Wentworth. "We are +discussing your future." + +"Why discuss it?" asked Gertrude. "Leave it to me." + +"That is, to me!" cried Felix. + +"I leave it, in the last resort, to a greater wisdom than ours," said +the old man. + +Felix rubbed his forehead gently. "But en attendant the last resort, +your father lacks confidence," he said to Gertrude. + +"Have n't you confidence in Felix?" Gertrude was frowning; there was +something about her that her father and Charlotte had never seen. +Charlotte got up and came to her, as if to put her arm round her; but +suddenly, she seemed afraid to touch her. + +Mr. Wentworth, however, was not afraid. "I have had more confidence in +Felix than in you," he said. + +"Yes, you have never had confidence in me--never, never! I don't know +why." + +"Oh sister, sister!" murmured Charlotte. + +"You have always needed advice," Mr. Wentworth declared. "You have had a +difficult temperament." + +"Why do you call it difficult? It might have been easy, if you had +allowed it. You would n't let me be natural. I don't know what you +wanted to make of me. Mr. Brand was the worst." + +Charlotte at last took hold of her sister. She laid her two hands upon +Gertrude's arm. "He cares so much for you," she almost whispered. + +Gertrude looked at her intently an instant; then kissed her. "No, he +does not," she said. + +"I have never seen you so passionate," observed Mr. Wentworth, with an +air of indignation mitigated by high principles. + +"I am sorry if I offend you," said Gertrude. + +"You offend me, but I don't think you are sorry." + +"Yes, father, she is sorry," said Charlotte. + +"I would even go further, dear uncle," Felix interposed. "I would +question whether she really offends you. How can she offend you?" + +To this Mr. Wentworth made no immediate answer. Then, in a moment, "She +has not profited as we hoped." + +"Profited? Ah voila!" Felix exclaimed. + +Gertrude was very pale; she stood looking down. "I have told Felix I +would go away with him," she presently said. + +"Ah, you have said some admirable things!" cried the young man. + +"Go away, sister?" asked Charlotte. + +"Away--away; to some strange country." + +"That is to frighten you," said Felix, smiling at Charlotte. + +"To--what do you call it?" asked Gertrude, turning an instant to Felix. +"To Bohemia." + +"Do you propose to dispense with preliminaries?" asked Mr. Wentworth, +getting up. + +"Dear uncle, vous plaisantez!" cried Felix. "It seems to me that these +are preliminaries." + +Gertrude turned to her father. "I have profited," she said. "You wanted +to form my character. Well, my character is formed--for my age. I know +what I want; I have chosen. I am determined to marry this gentleman." + +"You had better consent, sir," said Felix very gently. + +"Yes, sir, you had better consent," added a very different voice. + +Charlotte gave a little jump, and the others turned to the direction +from which it had come. It was the voice of Mr. Brand, who had stepped +through the long window which stood open to the piazza. He stood patting +his forehead with his pocket-handkerchief; he was very much flushed; his +face wore a singular expression. + +"Yes, sir, you had better consent," Mr. Brand repeated, coming forward. +"I know what Miss Gertrude means." + +"My dear friend!" murmured Felix, laying his hand caressingly on the +young minister's arm. + +Mr. Brand looked at him; then at Mr. Wentworth; lastly at Gertrude. He +did not look at Charlotte. But Charlotte's earnest eyes were fastened +to his own countenance; they were asking an immense question of it. +The answer to this question could not come all at once; but some of the +elements of it were there. It was one of the elements of it that Mr. +Brand was very red, that he held his head very high, that he had a +bright, excited eye and an air of embarrassed boldness--the air of a +man who has taken a resolve, in the execution of which he apprehends +the failure, not of his moral, but of his personal, resources. Charlotte +thought he looked very grand; and it is incontestable that Mr. Brand +felt very grand. This, in fact, was the grandest moment of his life; +and it was natural that such a moment should contain opportunities of +awkwardness for a large, stout, modest young man. + +"Come in, sir," said Mr. Wentworth, with an angular wave of his hand. +"It is very proper that you should be present." + +"I know what you are talking about," Mr. Brand rejoined. "I heard what +your nephew said." + +"And he heard what you said!" exclaimed Felix, patting him again on the +arm. + +"I am not sure that I understood," said Mr. Wentworth, who had +angularity in his voice as well as in his gestures. + +Gertrude had been looking hard at her former suitor. She had been +puzzled, like her sister; but her imagination moved more quickly than +Charlotte's. "Mr. Brand asked you to let Felix take me away," she said +to her father. + +The young minister gave her a strange look. "It is not because I don't +want to see you any more," he declared, in a tone intended as it were +for publicity. + +"I should n't think you would want to see me any more," Gertrude +answered, gently. + +Mr. Wentworth stood staring. "Is n't this rather a change, sir?" he +inquired. + +"Yes, sir." And Mr. Brand looked anywhere; only still not at Charlotte. +"Yes, sir," he repeated. And he held his handkerchief a few moments to +his lips. + +"Where are our moral grounds?" demanded Mr. Wentworth, who had always +thought Mr. Brand would be just the thing for a younger daughter with a +peculiar temperament. + +"It is sometimes very moral to change, you know," suggested Felix. + +Charlotte had softly left her sister's side. She had edged gently toward +her father, and now her hand found its way into his arm. Mr. Wentworth +had folded up the "Advertiser" into a surprisingly small compass, and, +holding the roll with one hand, he earnestly clasped it with the other. +Mr. Brand was looking at him; and yet, though Charlotte was so near, his +eyes failed to meet her own. Gertrude watched her sister. + +"It is better not to speak of change," said Mr. Brand. "In one sense +there is no change. There was something I desired--something I asked of +you; I desire something still--I ask it of you." And he paused a moment; +Mr. Wentworth looked bewildered. "I should like, in my ministerial +capacity, to unite this young couple." + +Gertrude, watching her sister, saw Charlotte flushing intensely, and Mr. +Wentworth felt her pressing upon his arm. "Heavenly Powers!" murmured +Mr. Wentworth. And it was the nearest approach to profanity he had ever +made. + +"That is very nice; that is very handsome!" Felix exclaimed. + +"I don't understand," said Mr. Wentworth; though it was plain that every +one else did. + +"That is very beautiful, Mr. Brand," said Gertrude, emulating Felix. + +"I should like to marry you. It will give me great pleasure." + +"As Gertrude says, it 's a beautiful idea," said Felix. + +Felix was smiling, but Mr. Brand was not even trying to. He himself +treated his proposition very seriously. "I have thought of it, and I +should like to do it," he affirmed. + +Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring with expanded eyes. Her imagination, +as I have said, was not so rapid as her sister's, but now it had taken +several little jumps. "Father," she murmured, "consent!" + +Mr. Brand heard her; he looked away. Mr. Wentworth, evidently, had no +imagination at all. "I have always thought," he began, slowly, "that +Gertrude's character required a special line of development." + +"Father," repeated Charlotte, "consent." + +Then, at last, Mr. Brand looked at her. Her father felt her leaning more +heavily upon his folded arm than she had ever done before; and this, +with a certain sweet faintness in her voice, made him wonder what was +the matter. He looked down at her and saw the encounter of her gaze with +the young theologian's; but even this told him nothing, and he continued +to be bewildered. Nevertheless, "I consent," he said at last, "since Mr. +Brand recommends it." + +"I should like to perform the ceremony very soon," observed Mr. Brand, +with a sort of solemn simplicity. + +"Come, come, that 's charming!" cried Felix, profanely. + +Mr. Wentworth sank into his chair. "Doubtless, when you understand it," +he said, with a certain judicial asperity. + +Gertrude went to her sister and led her away, and Felix having passed +his arm into Mr. Brand's and stepped out of the long window with him, +the old man was left sitting there in unillumined perplexity. + +Felix did no work that day. In the afternoon, with Gertrude, he got into +one of the boats and floated about with idly-dipping oars. They talked a +good deal of Mr. Brand--though not exclusively. + +"That was a fine stroke," said Felix. "It was really heroic." + +Gertrude sat musing, with her eyes upon the ripples. "That was what he +wanted to be; he wanted to do something fine." + +"He won't be comfortable till he has married us," said Felix. "So much +the better." + +"He wanted to be magnanimous; he wanted to have a fine moral pleasure. +I know him so well," Gertrude went on. Felix looked at her; she spoke +slowly, gazing at the clear water. "He thought of it a great deal, night +and day. He thought it would be beautiful. At last he made up his mind +that it was his duty, his duty to do just that--nothing less than that. +He felt exalted; he felt sublime. That 's how he likes to feel. It is +better for him than if I had listened to him." + +"It 's better for me," smiled Felix. "But do you know, as regards the +sacrifice, that I don't believe he admired you when this decision was +taken quite so much as he had done a fortnight before?" + +"He never admired me. He admires Charlotte; he pitied me. I know him so +well." + +"Well, then, he did n't pity you so much." + +Gertrude looked at Felix a little, smiling. "You should n't permit +yourself," she said, "to diminish the splendor of his action. He admires +Charlotte," she repeated. + +"That's capital!" said Felix laughingly, and dipping his oars. I cannot +say exactly to which member of Gertrude's phrase he alluded; but he +dipped his oars again, and they kept floating about. + +Neither Felix nor his sister, on that day, was present at Mr. +Wentworth's at the evening repast. The two occupants of the chalet dined +together, and the young man informed his companion that his marriage was +now an assured fact. Eugenia congratulated him, and replied that if he +were as reasonable a husband as he had been, on the whole, a brother, +his wife would have nothing to complain of. + +Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. "I hope," he said, "not to be +thrown back on my reason." + +"It is very true," Eugenia rejoined, "that one's reason is dismally +flat. It 's a bed with the mattress removed." + +But the brother and sister, later in the evening, crossed over to +the larger house, the Baroness desiring to compliment her prospective +sister-in-law. They found the usual circle upon the piazza, with the +exception of Clifford Wentworth and Lizzie Acton; and as every one stood +up as usual to welcome the Baroness, Eugenia had an admiring audience +for her compliment to Gertrude. + +Robert Acton stood on the edge of the piazza, leaning against one of +the white columns, so that he found himself next to Eugenia while she +acquitted herself of a neat little discourse of congratulation. + +"I shall be so glad to know you better," she said; "I have seen so much +less of you than I should have liked. Naturally; now I see the reason +why! You will love me a little, won't you? I think I may say I gain +on being known." And terminating these observations with the softest +cadence of her voice, the Baroness imprinted a sort of grand official +kiss upon Gertrude's forehead. + +Increased familiarity had not, to Gertrude's imagination, diminished +the mysterious impressiveness of Eugenia's personality, and she felt +flattered and transported by this little ceremony. Robert Acton +also seemed to admire it, as he admired so many of the gracious +manifestations of Madame Munster's wit. + +They had the privilege of making him restless, and on this occasion he +walked away, suddenly, with his hands in his pockets, and then came back +and leaned against his column. Eugenia was now complimenting her uncle +upon his daughter's engagement, and Mr. Wentworth was listening with his +usual plain yet refined politeness. It is to be supposed that by this +time his perception of the mutual relations of the young people who +surrounded him had become more acute; but he still took the matter very +seriously, and he was not at all exhilarated. + +"Felix will make her a good husband," said Eugenia. "He will be a +charming companion; he has a great quality--indestructible gayety." + +"You think that 's a great quality?" asked the old man. + +Eugenia meditated, with her eyes upon his. "You think one gets tired of +it, eh?" + +"I don't know that I am prepared to say that," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"Well, we will say, then, that it is tiresome for others but delightful +for one's self. A woman's husband, you know, is supposed to be her +second self; so that, for Felix and Gertrude, gayety will be a common +property." + +"Gertrude was always very gay," said Mr. Wentworth. He was trying to +follow this argument. + +Robert Acton took his hands out of his pockets and came a little nearer +to the Baroness. "You say you gain by being known," he said. "One +certainly gains by knowing you." + +"What have you gained?" asked Eugenia. + +"An immense amount of wisdom." + +"That 's a questionable advantage for a man who was already so wise!" + +Acton shook his head. "No, I was a great fool before I knew you!" + +"And being a fool you made my acquaintance? You are very complimentary." + +"Let me keep it up," said Acton, laughing. "I hope, for our pleasure, +that your brother's marriage will detain you." + +"Why should I stop for my brother's marriage when I would not stop for +my own?" asked the Baroness. + +"Why should n't you stop in either case, now that, as you say, you have +dissolved that mechanical tie that bound you to Europe?" + +The Baroness looked at him a moment. "As I say? You look as if you +doubted it." + +"Ah," said Acton, returning her glance, "that is a remnant of my old +folly! We have other attractions," he added. "We are to have another +marriage." + +But she seemed not to hear him; she was looking at him still. "My word +was never doubted before," she said. + +"We are to have another marriage," Acton repeated, smiling. + +Then she appeared to understand. "Another marriage?" And she looked at +the others. Felix was chattering to Gertrude; Charlotte, at a distance, +was watching them; and Mr. Brand, in quite another quarter, was turning +his back to them, and, with his hands under his coat-tails and his large +head on one side, was looking at the small, tender crescent of a young +moon. "It ought to be Mr. Brand and Charlotte," said Eugenia, "but it +does n't look like it." + +"There," Acton answered, "you must judge just now by contraries. There +is more than there looks to be. I expect that combination one of these +days; but that is not what I meant." + +"Well," said the Baroness, "I never guess my own lovers; so I can't +guess other people's." + +Acton gave a loud laugh, and he was about to add a rejoinder when Mr. +Wentworth approached his niece. "You will be interested to hear," the +old man said, with a momentary aspiration toward jocosity, "of another +matrimonial venture in our little circle." + +"I was just telling the Baroness," Acton observed. + +"Mr. Acton was apparently about to announce his own engagement," said +Eugenia. + +Mr. Wentworth's jocosity increased. "It is not exactly that; but it +is in the family. Clifford, hearing this morning that Mr. Brand had +expressed a desire to tie the nuptial knot for his sister, took it into +his head to arrange that, while his hand was in, our good friend should +perform a like ceremony for himself and Lizzie Acton." + +The Baroness threw back her head and smiled at her uncle; then turning, +with an intenser radiance, to Robert Acton, "I am certainly very stupid +not to have thought of that," she said. Acton looked down at his +boots, as if he thought he had perhaps reached the limits of legitimate +experimentation, and for a moment Eugenia said nothing more. It had +been, in fact, a sharp knock, and she needed to recover herself. This +was done, however, promptly enough. "Where are the young people?" she +asked. + +"They are spending the evening with my mother." + +"Is not the thing very sudden?" + +Acton looked up. "Extremely sudden. There had been a tacit +understanding; but within a day or two Clifford appears to have received +some mysterious impulse to precipitate the affair." + +"The impulse," said the Baroness, "was the charms of your very pretty +sister." + +"But my sister's charms were an old story; he had always known her." +Acton had begun to experiment again. + +Here, however, it was evident the Baroness would not help him. "Ah, one +can't say! Clifford is very young; but he is a nice boy." + +"He 's a likeable sort of boy, and he will be a rich man." This was +Acton's last experiment. Madame Munster turned away. + +She made but a short visit and Felix took her home. In her little +drawing-room she went almost straight to the mirror over the +chimney-piece, and, with a candle uplifted, stood looking into it. "I +shall not wait for your marriage," she said to her brother. "To-morrow +my maid shall pack up." + +"My dear sister," Felix exclaimed, "we are to be married immediately! +Mr. Brand is too uncomfortable." + +But Eugenia, turning and still holding her candle aloft, only looked +about the little sitting-room at her gimcracks and curtains and +cushions. "My maid shall pack up," she repeated. "Bonte divine, what +rubbish! I feel like a strolling actress; these are my 'properties.'" + +"Is the play over, Eugenia?" asked Felix. + +She gave him a sharp glance. "I have spoken my part." + +"With great applause!" said her brother. + +"Oh, applause--applause!" she murmured. And she gathered up two or three +of her dispersed draperies. She glanced at the beautiful brocade, and +then, "I don't see how I can have endured it!" she said. + +"Endure it a little longer. Come to my wedding." + +"Thank you; that 's your affair. My affairs are elsewhere." + +"Where are you going?" + +"To Germany--by the first ship." + +"You have decided not to marry Mr. Acton?" + +"I have refused him," said Eugenia. + +Her brother looked at her in silence. "I am sorry," he rejoined at last. +"But I was very discreet, as you asked me to be. I said nothing." + +"Please continue, then, not to allude to the matter," said Eugenia. + +Felix inclined himself gravely. "You shall be obeyed. But your position +in Germany?" he pursued. + +"Please to make no observations upon it." + +"I was only going to say that I supposed it was altered." + +"You are mistaken." + +"But I thought you had signed"-- + +"I have not signed!" said the Baroness. + +Felix urged her no further, and it was arranged that he should +immediately assist her to embark. + +Mr. Brand was indeed, it appeared, very impatient to consummate his +sacrifice and deliver the nuptial benediction which would set it off so +handsomely; but Eugenia's impatience to withdraw from a country in which +she had not found the fortune she had come to seek was even less to be +mistaken. It is true she had not made any very various exertion; but +she appeared to feel justified in generalizing--in deciding that the +conditions of action on this provincial continent were not favorable +to really superior women. The elder world was, after all, their natural +field. The unembarrassed directness with which she proceeded to +apply these intelligent conclusions appeared to the little circle of +spectators who have figured in our narrative but the supreme exhibition +of a character to which the experience of life had imparted an +inimitable pliancy. It had a distinct effect upon Robert Acton, who, for +the two days preceding her departure, was a very restless and irritated +mortal. She passed her last evening at her uncle's, where she had never +been more charming; and in parting with Clifford Wentworth's affianced +bride she drew from her own finger a curious old ring and presented it +to her with the prettiest speech and kiss. Gertrude, who as an affianced +bride was also indebted to her gracious bounty, admired this little +incident extremely, and Robert Acton almost wondered whether it did not +give him the right, as Lizzie's brother and guardian, to offer in return +a handsome present to the Baroness. It would have made him extremely +happy to be able to offer a handsome present to the Baroness; but he +abstained from this expression of his sentiments, and they were in +consequence, at the very last, by so much the less comfortable. It was +almost at the very last that he saw her--late the night before she went +to Boston to embark. + +"For myself, I wish you might have stayed," he said. "But not for your +own sake." + +"I don't make so many differences," said the Baroness. "I am simply +sorry to be going." + +"That 's a much deeper difference than mine," Acton declared; "for you +mean you are simply glad!" + +Felix parted with her on the deck of the ship. "We shall often meet over +there," he said. + +"I don't know," she answered. "Europe seems to me much larger than +America." + +Mr. Brand, of course, in the days that immediately followed, was not the +only impatient spirit; but it may be said that of all the young spirits +interested in the event none rose more eagerly to the level of the +occasion. Gertrude left her father's house with Felix Young; they were +imperturbably happy and they went far away. Clifford and his young wife +sought their felicity in a narrower circle, and the latter's influence +upon her husband was such as to justify, strikingly, that theory of the +elevating effect of easy intercourse with clever women which Felix had +propounded to Mr. Wentworth. Gertrude was for a good while a distant +figure, but she came back when Charlotte married Mr. Brand. She was +present at the wedding feast, where Felix's gayety confessed to no +change. Then she disappeared, and the echo of a gayety of her own, +mingled with that of her husband, often came back to the home of her +earlier years. Mr. Wentworth at last found himself listening for it; +and Robert Acton, after his mother's death, married a particularly nice +young girl. + +The End + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Europeans, by Henry James + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EUROPEANS *** + +***** This file should be named 179.txt or 179.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/179/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +THE EUROPEANS + +by + +HENRY JAMES + + + + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A narrow grave-yard in the heart of a bustling, indifferent city, +seen from the windows of a gloomy-looking inn, is at no +time an object of enlivening suggestion; and the spectacle +is not at its best when the mouldy tombstones and funereal +umbrage have received the ineffectual refreshment of a dull, +moist snow-fall. If, while the air is thickened by this +frosty drizzle, the calendar should happen to indicate that +the blessed vernal season is already six weeks old, it will be +admitted that no depressing influence is absent from the scene. +This fact was keenly felt on a certain 12th of May, upwards of +thirty years since, by a lady who stood looking out of one of +the windows of the best hotel in the ancient city of Boston. +She had stood there for half an hour--stood there, that is, +at intervals; for from time to time she turned back into +the room and measured its length with a restless step. +In the chimney-place was a red-hot fire which emitted +a small blue flame; and in front of the fire, at a table, +sat a young man who was busily plying a pencil. +He had a number of sheets of paper cut into small equal squares, +and he was apparently covering them with pictorial designs-- +strange-looking figures. He worked rapidly and attentively, +sometimes threw back his head and held out his drawing at +arm's-length, and kept up a soft, gay-sounding humming and whistling. +The lady brushed past him in her walk; her much-trimmed skirts +were voluminous. She never dropped her eyes upon his work; +she only turned them, occasionally, as she passed, to a mirror +suspended above the toilet-table on the other side of the room. +Here she paused a moment, gave a pinch to her waist with her +two hands, or raised these members--they were very plump and pretty-- +to the multifold braids of her hair, with a movement half caressing, +half corrective. An attentive observer might have fancied +that during these periods of desultory self-inspection her face +forgot its melancholy; but as soon as she neared the window again +it began to proclaim that she was a very ill-pleased woman. +And indeed, in what met her eyes there was little to be +pleased with. The window-panes were battered by the sleet; +the head-stones in the grave-yard beneath seemed to be +holding themselves askance to keep it out of their faces. +A tall iron railing protected them from the street, and on +the other side of the railing an assemblage of Bostonians were +trampling about in the liquid snow. Many of them were looking +up and down; they appeared to be waiting for something. +From time to time a strange vehicle drew near to the place +where they stood,--such a vehicle as the lady at the window, +in spite of a considerable acquaintance with human inventions, +had never seen before: a huge, low omnibus, painted in +brilliant colors, and decorated apparently with jangling bells, +attached to a species of groove in the pavement, +through which it was dragged, with a great deal of rumbling, +bouncing and scratching, by a couple of remarkably small horses. +When it reached a certain point the people in front of +the grave-yard, of whom much the greater number were women, +carrying satchels and parcels, projected themselves upon it +in a compact body--a movement suggesting the scramble for places +in a life-boat at sea--and were engulfed in its large interior. +Then the life-boat--or the life-car, as the lady at the window +of the hotel vaguely designated it--went bumping and jingling +away upon its invisible wheels, with the helmsman (the man +at the wheel) guiding its course incongruously from the prow. +This phenomenon was repeated every three minutes, and the +supply of eagerly-moving women in cloaks, bearing reticules +and bundles, renewed itself in the most liberal manner. +On the other side of the grave-yard was a row of small red +brick houses, showing a series of homely, domestic-looking backs; +at the end opposite the hotel a tall wooden church-spire, +painted white, rose high into the vagueness of the snow-flakes. +The lady at the window looked at it for some time; for reasons +of her own she thought it the ugliest thing she had ever seen. +She hated it, she despised it; it threw her into a state of +irritation that was quite out of proportion to any sensible motive. +She had never known herself to care so much about church-spires. + +She was not pretty; but even when it expressed perplexed +irritation her face was most interesting and agreeable. +Neither was she in her first youth; yet, though slender, +with a great deal of extremely well-fashioned roundness of contour-- +a suggestion both of maturity and flexibility--she carried +her three and thirty years as a light-wristed Hebe might have +carried a brimming wine-cup. Her complexion was fatigued, +as the French say; her mouth was large, her lips too full, +her teeth uneven, her chin rather commonly modeled; she had +a thick nose, and when she smiled--she was constantly smiling-- +the lines beside it rose too high, toward her eyes. +But these eyes were charming: gray in color, brilliant, +quickly glancing, gently resting, full of intelligence. +Her forehead was very low--it was her only handsome feature; +and she had a great abundance of crisp dark hair, finely frizzled, +which was always braided in a manner that suggested some +Southern or Eastern, some remotely foreign, woman. She had +a large collection of ear-rings, and wore them in alternation; +and they seemed to give a point to her Oriental or exotic aspect. +A compliment had once been paid her, which, being repeated to her, +gave her greater pleasure than anything she had ever heard. +"A pretty woman?" some one had said. "Why, her features +are very bad." "I don't know about her features," a very +discerning observer had answered; "but she carries her head +like a pretty woman." You may imagine whether, after this, +she carried her head less becomingly. + +She turned away from the window at last, pressing her hands to her eyes. +"It 's too horrible!" she exclaimed. "I shall go back--I shall go back!" +And she flung herself into a chair before the fire. + +"Wait a little, dear child," said the young man softly, +sketching away at his little scraps of paper. + +The lady put out her foot; it was very small, and there was an immense +rosette on her slipper. She fixed her eyes for a while on this ornament, +and then she looked at the glowing bed of anthracite coal in the grate. +"Did you ever see anything so hideous as that fire?" she demanded. +"Did you ever see anything so--so affreux as--as everything?" +She spoke English with perfect purity; but she brought out this +French epithet in a manner that indicated that she was accustomed +to using French epithets. + +"I think the fire is very pretty," said the young man, +glancing at it a moment. "Those little blue tongues, +dancing on top of the crimson embers, are extremely picturesque. +They are like a fire in an alchemist's laboratory." + +"You are too good-natured, my dear," his companion declared. + +The young man held out one of his drawings, with his head on one side. +His tongue was gently moving along his under-lip. "Good-natured--yes. +Too good-natured--no." + +"You are irritating," said the lady, looking at her slipper. + +He began to retouch his sketch. "I think you mean simply +that you are irritated." + +"Ah, for that, yes!" said his companion, with a little bitter laugh. +"It 's the darkest day of my life--and you know what that means." + +"Wait till to-morrow," rejoined the young man. + +"Yes, we have made a great mistake. If there is any doubt about it to-day, +there certainly will be none to-morrow. Ce sera clair, au moins!" + +The young man was silent a few moments, driving his pencil. +Then at last, "There are no such things as mistakes," he affirmed. + +"Very true--for those who are not clever enough to perceive them. +Not to recognize one's mistakes--that would be happiness in life," +the lady went on, still looking at her pretty foot. + +"My dearest sister," said the young man, always intent upon his drawing, +"it 's the first time you have told me I am not clever." + +"Well, by your own theory I can't call it a mistake," +answered his sister, pertinently enough. + +The young man gave a clear, fresh laugh. "You, at least, are clever enough, +dearest sister," he said. + +"I was not so when I proposed this." + +"Was it you who proposed it?" asked her brother. + +She turned her head and gave him a little stare. +"Do you desire the credit of it?" + +"If you like, I will take the blame," he said, looking up with a smile. + +"Yes," she rejoined in a moment, "you make no difference in these things. +You have no sense of property." + +The young man gave his joyous laugh again. "If that means I have no property, +you are right!" + +"Don't joke about your poverty," said his sister. +"That is quite as vulgar as to boast about it." + +"My poverty! I have just finished a drawing that will bring +me fifty francs!" + +"Voyons," said the lady, putting out her hand. + +He added a touch or two, and then gave her his sketch. +She looked at it, but she went on with her idea of a moment before. +"If a woman were to ask you to marry her you would say, +'Certainly, my dear, with pleasure!' And you would marry her +and be ridiculously happy. Then at the end of three months you +would say to her, 'You know that blissful day when I begged +you to be mine!' " + +The young man had risen from the table, stretching his arms a little; +he walked to the window. "That is a description of a charming nature," +he said. + +"Oh, yes, you have a charming nature; I regard that as our capital. +If I had not been convinced of that I should never have taken the risk +of bringing you to this dreadful country." + +"This comical country, this delightful country!" exclaimed the young man, +and he broke into the most animated laughter. + +"Is it those women scrambling into the omnibus?" asked his companion. +"What do you suppose is the attraction?" + +"I suppose there is a very good-looking man inside," +said the young man. + +"In each of them? They come along in hundreds, and the men +in this country don't seem at all handsome. As for the women-- +I have never seen so many at once since I left the convent." + +"The women are very pretty," her brother declared, "and the whole +affair is very amusing. I must make a sketch of it." +And he came back to the table quickly, and picked up his utensils-- +a small sketching-board, a sheet of paper, and three or four crayons. +He took his place at the window with these things, and stood +there glancing out, plying his pencil with an air of easy skill. +While he worked he wore a brilliant smile. Brilliant is indeed +the word at this moment for his strongly-lighted face. He was eight +and twenty years old; he had a short, slight, well-made figure. +Though he bore a noticeable resemblance to his sister, he was +a better favored person: fair-haired, clear-faced, witty-looking, +with a delicate finish of feature and an expression at once +urbane and not at all serious, a warm blue eye, an eyebrow finely +drawn and excessively arched--an eyebrow which, if ladies wrote +sonnets to those of their lovers, might have been made the subject +of such a piece of verse--and a light moustache that flourished +upwards as if blown that way by the breath of a constant smile. +There was something in his physiognomy at once benevolent +and picturesque. But, as I have hinted, it was not at all serious. +The young man's face was, in this respect, singular; it was not at +all serious, and yet it inspired the liveliest confidence. + +"Be sure you put in plenty of snow," said his sister. +"Bonte divine, what a climate!" + +"I shall leave the sketch all white, and I shall put in the little figures +in black," the young man answered, laughing. "And I shall call it-- +what is that line in Keats?--Mid-May's Eldest Child!" + +"I don't remember," said the lady, "that mamma ever told me +it was like this." + +"Mamma never told you anything disagreeable. And it 's not like this-- +every day. You will see that to-morrow we shall have a splendid day." + +"Qu'en savez-vous? To-morrow I shall go away." + +"Where shall you go?" + +"Anywhere away from here. Back to Silberstadt. +I shall write to the Reigning Prince." + +The young man turned a little and looked at her, with his crayon poised. +"My dear Eugenia," he murmured, "were you so happy at sea?" + +Eugenia got up; she still held in her hand the drawing her +brother had given her. It was a bold, expressive sketch +of a group of miserable people on the deck of a steamer, +clinging together and clutching at each other, while the vessel +lurched downward, at a terrific angle, into the hollow of a wave. +It was extremely clever, and full of a sort of tragi-comical power. +Eugenia dropped her eyes upon it and made a sad grimace. +"How can you draw such odious scenes?" she asked. "I should +like to throw it into the fire!" And she tossed the paper away. +Her brother watched, quietly, to see where it went. +It fluttered down to the floor, where he let it lie. +She came toward the window, pinching in her waist. +"Why don't you reproach me--abuse me?" she asked. +"I think I should feel better then. Why don't you tell me +that you hate me for bringing you here?" + +"Because you would not believe it. I adore you, dear sister! +I am delighted to be here, and I am charmed with the prospect." + +"I don't know what had taken possession of me. I had lost my head," +Eugenia went on. + +The young man, on his side, went on plying his pencil. +"It is evidently a most curious and interesting country. +Here we are, and I mean to enjoy it." + +His companion turned away with an impatient step, but presently came back. +"High spirits are doubtless an excellent thing," she said; "but you give +one too much of them, and I can't see that they have done you any good." + +The young man stared, with lifted eyebrows, smiling; he tapped his handsome +nose with his pencil. "They have made me happy!" + +"That was the least they could do; they have made you nothing else. +You have gone through life thanking fortune for such very small favors +that she has never put herself to any trouble for you." + +"She must have put herself to a little, I think, to present +me with so admirable a sister." + +"Be serious, Felix. You forget that I am your elder." + +"With a sister, then, so elderly!" rejoined Felix, laughing. +"I hoped we had left seriousness in Europe." + +"I fancy you will find it here. Remember that you are nearly +thirty years old, and that you are nothing but an obscure Bohemian-- +a penniless correspondent of an illustrated newspaper." + +"Obscure as much as you please, but not so much of a Bohemian as you think. +And not at all penniless! I have a hundred pounds in my pocket. +I have an engagement to make fifty sketches, and I mean to paint +the portraits of all our cousins, and of all their cousins, at a hundred +dollars a head." + +"You are not ambitious," said Eugenia. + +"You are, dear Baroness," the young man replied. + +The Baroness was silent a moment, looking out at the sleet-darkened grave-yard +and the bumping horse-cars. "Yes, I am ambitious," she said at last. "And my +ambition has brought me to this dreadful place!" She glanced about her-- +the room had a certain vulgur nudity; the bed and the window were curtainless-- +and she gave a little passionate sigh. "Poor old ambition!" she exclaimed. +Then she flung herself down upon a sofa which stood near against the wall, +and covered her face with her hands. + +Her brother went on with his drawing, rapidly and skillfully; +after some moments he sat down beside her and showed her his sketch. +"Now, don't you think that 's pretty good for an obscure Bohemian?" +he asked. "I have knocked off another fifty francs." + +Eugenia glanced at the little picture as he laid it on her lap. +"Yes, it is very clever," she said. And in a moment she added, +"Do you suppose our cousins do that?" + +"Do what?" + +"Get into those things, and look like that." + +Felix meditated awhile. "I really can't say. It will be +interesting to discover." + +"Oh, the rich people can't!" said the Baroness. + +"Are you very sure they are rich?" asked Felix, lightly. + +His sister slowly turned in her place, looking at him. "Heavenly powers!" +she murmured. "You have a way of bringing out things!" + +"It will certainly be much pleasanter if they are rich," Felix declared. + +"Do you suppose if I had not known they were rich I would ever have come?" + +The young man met his sister's somewhat peremptory eye with his bright, +contented glance. "Yes, it certainly will be pleasanter," he repeated. + +"That is all I expect of them," said the Baroness. "I don't count upon +their being clever or friendly--at first--or elegant or interesting. +But I assure you I insist upon their being rich." + +Felix leaned his head upon the back of the sofa and looked awhile +at the oblong patch of sky to which the window served as frame. +The snow was ceasing; it seemed to him that the sky had begun to brighten. +"I count upon their being rich," he said at last, "and powerful, and clever, +and friendly, and elegant, and interesting, and generally delightful! +Tu vas voir." And he bent forward and kissed his sister. "Look there!" +he went on. "As a portent, even while I speak, the sky is turning +the color of gold; the day is going to be splendid." + +And indeed, within five minutes the weather had changed. +The sun broke out through the snow-clouds and jumped into +the Baroness's room. "Bonte divine," exclaimed this lady, +"what a climate!" + +"We will go out and see the world," said Felix. + +And after a while they went out. The air had grown warm +as well as brilliant; the sunshine had dried the pavements. +They walked about the streets at hazard, looking at the people +and the houses, the shops and the vehicles, the blazing blue sky +and the muddy crossings, the hurrying men and the slow-strolling +maidens, the fresh red bricks and the bright green trees, +the extraordinary mixture of smartness and shabbiness. +From one hour to another the day had grown vernal; even in +the bustling streets there was an odor of earth and blossom. +Felix was immensely entertained. He had called it a comical +country, and he went about laughing at everything he saw. +You would have said that American civilization expressed itself +to his sense in a tissue of capital jokes. The jokes were +certainly excellent, and the young man's merriment was joyous +and genial. He possessed what is called the pictorial sense; +and this first glimpse of democratic manners stirred the same +sort of attention that he would have given to the movements +of a lively young person with a bright complexion. +Such attention would have been demonstrative and complimentary; +and in the present case Felix might have passed for an undispirited +young exile revisiting the haunts of his childhood. He kept +looking at the violent blue of the sky, at the scintillating air, +at the scattered and multiplied patches of color. + +"Comme c'est bariole, eh?" he said to his sister in that foreign +tongue which they both appeared to feel a mysterious prompting +occasionally to use. + +"Yes, it is bariole indeed," the Baroness answered. +"I don't like the coloring; it hurts my eyes." + +"It shows how extremes meet," the young man rejoined. +"Instead of coming to the West we seem to have gone to the East. +The way the sky touches the house-tops is just like Cairo; +and the red and blue sign-boards patched over the face +of everything remind one of Mahometan decorations." + +"The young women are not Mahometan," said his companion. +"They can't be said to hide their faces. I never saw +anything so bold." + +"Thank Heaven they don't hide their faces!" cried Felix. +"Their faces are uncommonly pretty." + +"Yes, their faces are often very pretty," said the Baroness, +who was a very clever woman. She was too clever a woman not +to be capable of a great deal of just and fine observation. +She clung more closely than usual to her brother's arm; +she was not exhilarated, as he was; she said very little, +but she noted a great many things and made her reflections. +She was a little excited; she felt that she had indeed come +to a strange country, to make her fortune. Superficially, she was +conscious of a good deal of irritation and displeasure; +the Baroness was a very delicate and fastidious person. +Of old, more than once, she had gone, for entertainment's sake +and in brilliant company, to a fair in a provincial town. +It seemed to her now that she was at an enormous fair-- +that the entertainment and the desagrements were very much the same. +She found herself alternately smiling and shrinking; +the show was very curious, but it was probable, from moment +to moment, that one would be jostled. The Baroness had never +seen so many people walking about before; she had never been +so mixed up with people she did not know. But little by little +she felt that this fair was a more serious undertaking. +She went with her brother into a large public garden, which seemed +very pretty, but where she was surprised at seeing no carriages. +The afternoon was drawing to a close; the coarse, vivid grass +and the slender tree-boles were gilded by the level sunbeams-- +gilded as with gold that was fresh from the mine. It was +the hour at which ladies should come out for an airing and roll +past a hedge of pedestrians, holding their parasols askance. +Here, however, Eugenia observed no indications of this custom, +the absence of which was more anomalous as there was a charming +avenue of remarkably graceful, arching elms in the most +convenient contiguity to a large, cheerful street, in which, +evidently, among the more prosperous members of the bourgeoisie, +a great deal of pedestrianism went forward. Our friends passed +out into this well lighted promenade, and Felix noticed a great +many more pretty girls and called his sister's attention to them. +This latter measure, however, was superfluous; for the Baroness +had inspected, narrowly, these charming young ladies. + +"I feel an intimate conviction that our cousins are like that," said Felix. + +The Baroness hoped so, but this is not what she said. +"They are very pretty," she said, "but they are mere little girls. +Where are the women--the women of thirty?" + +"Of thirty-three, do you mean?" her brother was going to ask; +for he understood often both what she said and what she did not say. +But he only exclaimed upon the beauty of the sunset, +while the Baroness, who had come to seek her fortune, reflected that +it would certainly be well for her if the persons against whom she +might need to measure herself should all be mere little girls. +The sunset was superb; they stopped to look at it; Felix declared +that he had never seen such a gorgeous mixture of colors. +The Baroness also thought it splendid; and she was perhaps +the more easily pleased from the fact that while she stood there +she was conscious of much admiring observation on the part +of various nice-looking people who passed that way, and to whom +a distinguished, strikingly-dressed woman with a foreign air, +exclaiming upon the beauties of nature on a Boston street corner +in the French tongue, could not be an object of indifference. +Eugenia's spirits rose. She surrendered herself to a certain +tranquil gayety. If she had come to seek her fortune, +it seemed to her that her fortune would be easy to find. +There was a promise of it in the gorgeous purity of the western sky; +there was an intimation in the mild, unimpertinent gaze +of the passers of a certain natural facility in things. + +"You will not go back to Silberstadt, eh?" asked Felix. + +"Not to-morrow," said the Baroness. + +"Nor write to the Reigning Prince?" + +"I shall write to him that they evidently know nothing about him over here." + +"He will not believe you," said the young man. "I advise you +to let him alone." + +Felix himself continued to be in high good humor. +Brought up among ancient customs and in picturesque cities, +he yet found plenty of local color in the little Puritan metropolis. +That evening, after dinner, he told his sister that he should +go forth early on the morrow to look up their cousins. + +"You are very impatient," said Eugenia. + +"What can be more natural," he asked, "after seeing all those +pretty girls to-day? If one's cousins are of that pattern, +the sooner one knows them the better." + +"Perhaps they are not," said Eugenia. "We ought to have brought some letters-- +to some other people." + +"The other people would not be our kinsfolk." + +"Possibly they would be none the worse for that," the Baroness replied. + +Her brother looked at her with his eyebrows lifted. +"That was not what you said when you first proposed to me +that we should come out here and fraternize with our relatives. +You said that it was the prompting of natural affection; +and when I suggested some reasons against it you declared +that the voix du sang should go before everything." + +"You remember all that?" asked the Baroness. + +"Vividly! I was greatly moved by it." + +She was walking up and down the room, as she had done in the morning; +she stopped in her walk and looked at her brother. She apparently was +going to say something, but she checked herself and resumed her walk. +Then, in a few moments, she said something different, which had +the effect of an explanation of the suppression of her earlier thought. +"You will never be anything but a child, dear brother." + +"One would suppose that you, madam," answered Felix, laughing, "were a +thousand years old." + +"I am--sometimes," said the Baroness. + +"I will go, then, and announce to our cousins the arrival +of a personage so extraordinary. They will immediately come +and pay you their respects." + +Eugenia paced the length of the room again, and then she +stopped before her brother, laying her hand upon his arm. +"They are not to come and see me," she said. "You are not +to allow that. That is not the way I shall meet them first." +And in answer to his interrogative glance she went on. +"You will go and examine, and report. You will come +back and tell me who they are and what they are; +their number, gender, their respective ages--all about them. +Be sure you observe everything; be ready to describe +to me the locality, the accessories--how shall I say it?-- +the mise en scene. Then, at my own time, at my own hour, +under circumstances of my own choosing, I will go to them. +I will present myself--I will appear before them!" said the Baroness, +this time phrasing her idea with a certain frankness. + +"And what message am I to take to them?" asked Felix, who had a lively +faith in the justness of his sister's arrangements. + +She looked at him a moment--at his expression of agreeable veracity; +and, with that justness that he admired, she replied, "Say what you please. +Tell my story in the way that seems to you most--natural." And she bent +her forehead for him to kiss. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER II + +The next day was splendid, as Felix had prophesied; if the winter had +suddenly leaped into spring, the spring had for the moment as quickly +leaped into summer. This was an observation made by a young girl +who came out of a large square house in the country, and strolled +about in the spacious garden which separated it from a muddy road. +The flowering shrubs and the neatly-disposed plants were basking in +the abundant light and warmth; the transparent shade of the great elms-- +they were magnificent trees--seemed to thicken by the hour; +and the intensely habitual stillness offered a submissive +medium to the sound of a distant church-bell. The young girl +listened to the church-bell; but she was not dressed for church. +She was bare-headed; she wore a white muslin waist, with an +embroidered border, and the skirt of her dress was of colored muslin. +She was a young lady of some two or three and twenty years of age, +and though a young person of her sex walking bare-headed in a garden, +of a Sunday morning in spring-time, can, in the nature of things, +never be a displeasing object, you would not have pronounced this +innocent Sabbath-breaker especially pretty. She was tall and pale, +thin and a little awkward; her hair was fair and perfectly straight; +her eyes were dark, and they had the singularity of seeming at once +dull and restless--differing herein, as you see, fatally from the ideal +"fine eyes," which we always imagine to be both brilliant and tranquil. +The doors and windows of the large square house were all wide open, +to admit the purifying sunshine, which lay in generous patches +upon the floor of a wide, high, covered piazza adjusted to two +sides of the mansion--a piazza on which several straw-bottomed +rocking-chairs and half a dozen of those small cylindrical stools +in green and blue porcelain, which suggest an affiliation between +the residents and the Eastern trade, were symmetrically disposed. +It was an ancient house--ancient in the sense of being eighty years old; +it was built of wood, painted a clean, clear, faded gray, and adorned +along the front, at intervals, with flat wooden pilasters, painted white. +These pilasters appeared to support a kind of classic pediment, which was +decorated in the middle by a large triple window in a boldly carved frame, +and in each of its smaller angles by a glazed circular aperture. +A large white door, furnished with a highly-polished brass knocker, +presented itself to the rural-looking road, with which it was +connected by a spacious pathway, paved with worn and cracked, +but very clean, bricks. Behind it there were meadows and orchards, +a barn and a pond; and facing it, a short distance along the road, +on the opposite side, stood a smaller house, painted white, +with external shutters painted green, a little garden on one hand +and an orchard on the other. All this was shining in the morning air, +through which the simple details of the picture addressed themselves +to the eye as distinctly as the items of a "sum" in addition. + +A second young lady presently came out of the house, across the piazza, +descended into the garden and approached the young girl of whom I +have spoken. This second young lady was also thin and pale; but she +was older than the other; she was shorter; she had dark, smooth hair. +Her eyes, unlike the other's, were quick and bright; but they were not at +all restless. She wore a straw bonnet with white ribbons, and a long, +red, India scarf, which, on the front of her dress, reached to her feet. +In her hand she carried a little key. + +"Gertrude," she said, "are you very sure you had better not go to church?" + +Gertrude looked at her a moment, plucked a small sprig +from a lilac-bush, smelled it and threw it away. +"I am not very sure of anything!" she answered. + +The other young lady looked straight past her, at the distant pond, +which lay shining between the long banks of fir-trees. Then she said +in a very soft voice, "This is the key of the dining-room closet. +I think you had better have it, if any one should want anything." + +"Who is there to want anything?" Gertrude demanded. +"I shall be all alone in the house." + +"Some one may come," said her companion. + +"Do you mean Mr. Brand?" + +"Yes, Gertrude. He may like a piece of cake." + +"I don't like men that are always eating cake!" Gertrude declared, +giving a pull at the lilac-bush. + +Her companion glanced at her, and then looked down on the ground. +"I think father expected you would come to church," she said. +"What shall I say to him?" + +"Say I have a bad headache." + +"Would that be true?" asked the elder lady, looking straight +at the pond again. + +"No, Charlotte," said the younger one simply. + +Charlotte transferred her quiet eyes to her companion's face. +"I am afraid you are feeling restless." + +"I am feeling as I always feel," Gertrude replied, in the same tone. + +Charlotte turned away; but she stood there a moment. +Presently she looked down at the front of her dress. +"Does n't it seem to you, somehow, as if my scarf were +too long?" she asked. + +Gertrude walked half round her, looking at the scarf. +"I don't think you wear it right," she said. + +"How should I wear it, dear?" + +"I don't know; differently from that. You should draw +it differently over your shoulders, round your elbows; +you should look differently behind." + +"How should I look?" Charlotte inquired. + +"I don't think I can tell you," said Gertrude, plucking out +the scarf a little behind. "I could do it myself, but I don't +think I can explain it." + +Charlotte, by a movement of her elbows, corrected the laxity that had come +from her companion's touch. "Well, some day you must do it for me. +It does n't matter now. Indeed, I don't think it matters," she added, +"how one looks behind." + +"I should say it mattered more," said Gertrude. "Then you don't +know who may be observing you. You are not on your guard. +You can't try to look pretty." + +Charlotte received this declaration with extreme gravity. +"I don't think one should ever try to look pretty," +she rejoined, earnestly. + +Her companion was silent. Then she said, "Well, perhaps it +'s not of much use." + +Charlotte looked at her a little, and then kissed her. +"I hope you will be better when we come back." + +"My dear sister, I am very well!" said Gertrude. + +Charlotte went down the large brick walk to the garden gate; +her companion strolled slowly toward the house. +At the gate Charlotte met a young man, who was coming in--a tall, +fair young man, wearing a high hat and a pair of thread gloves. +He was handsome, but rather too stout. He had a pleasant smile. +"Oh, Mr. Brand!" exclaimed the young lady. + +"I came to see whether your sister was not going to church," +said the young man. + +"She says she is not going; but I am very glad you have come. +I think if you were to talk to her a little".... And Charlotte +lowered her voice. "It seems as if she were restless." + +Mr. Brand smiled down on the young lady from his great height. +"I shall be very glad to talk to her. For that I should be willing +to absent myself from almost any occasion of worship, however attractive." + +"Well, I suppose you know," said Charlotte, softly, as if +positive acceptance of this proposition might be dangerous. +"But I am afraid I shall be late." + +"I hope you will have a pleasant sermon," said the young man. + +"Oh, Mr. Gilman is always pleasant," Charlotte answered. +And she went on her way. + +Mr. Brand went into the garden, where Gertrude, hearing the gate close +behind him, turned and looked at him. For a moment she watched him coming; +then she turned away. But almost immediately she corrected this movement, +and stood still, facing him. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead +as he approached. Then he put on his hat again and held out his hand. +His hat being removed, you would have perceived that his forehead was +very large and smooth, and his hair abundant but rather colorless. +His nose was too large, and his mouth and eyes were too small; but for +all this he was, as I have said, a young man of striking appearance. +The expression of his little clean-colored blue eyes was irresistibly +gentle and serious; he looked, as the phrase is, as good as gold. +The young girl, standing in the garden path, glanced, as he came up, +at his thread gloves. + +"I hoped you were going to church," he said. "I wanted to walk with you." + +"I am very much obliged to you," Gertrude answered. +"I am not going to church." + +She had shaken hands with him; he held her hand a moment. +"Have you any special reason for not going?" + +"Yes, Mr. Brand," said the young girl. + +"May I ask what it is?" + +She looked at him smiling; and in her smile, as I +have intimated, there was a certain dullness. But mingled +with this dullness was something sweet and suggestive. +"Because the sky is so blue!" she said. + +He looked at the sky, which was magnificent, and then said, +smiling too, "I have heard of young ladies staying at home +for bad weather, but never for good. Your sister,whom I met +at the gate, tells me you are depressed," he added. + +"Depressed? I am never depressed." + +"Oh, surely, sometimes," replied Mr. Brand, as if he thought this +a regrettable account of one's self. + +"I am never depressed," Gertrude repeated. "But I am sometimes wicked. +When I am wicked I am in high spirits. I was wicked just now to my sister." + +"What did you do to her?" + +"I said things that puzzled her--on purpose." + +"Why did you do that, Miss Gertrude?" asked the young man. + +She began to smile again. "Because the sky is so blue!" + +"You say things that puzzle me," Mr. Brand declared. + +"I always know when I do it," proceeded Gertrude. "But people puzzle me more, +I think. And they don't seem to know!" + +"This is very interesting," Mr. Brand observed, smiling. + +"You told me to tell you about my--my struggles," the young girl went on. + +"Let us talk about them. I have so many things to say." + +Gertrude turned away a moment; and then, turning back, +"You had better go to church," she said. + +"You know," the young man urged, "that I have always one thing to say." + +Gertrude looked at him a moment. "Please don't say it now!" + +"We are all alone," he continued, taking off his hat; +"all alone in this beautiful Sunday stillness." + +Gertrude looked around her, at the breaking buds, the shining distance, +the blue sky to which she had referred as a pretext for her irregularities. +"That 's the reason," she said, "why I don't want you to speak. +Do me a favor; go to church." + +"May I speak when I come back?" asked Mr. Brand. + +"If you are still disposed," she answered. + +"I don't know whether you are wicked," he said, "but you +are certainly puzzling." + +She had turned away; she raised her hands to her ears. +He looked at her a moment, and then he slowly walked to church. + +She wandered for a while about the garden, vaguely and without purpose. +The church-bell had stopped ringing; the stillness was complete. +This young lady relished highly, on occasions, the sense of being alone-- +the absence of the whole family and the emptiness of the house. +To-day, apparently, the servants had also gone to church; +there was never a figure at the open windows; behind the house +there was no stout negress in a red turban, lowering the bucket +into the great shingle-hooded well. And the front door of the big, +unguarded home stood open, with the trustfulness of the golden age; +or what is more to the purpose, with that of New England's silvery prime. +Gertrude slowly passed through it, and went from one of the empty +rooms to the other--large, clear-colored rooms, with white wainscots, +ornamented with thin-legged mahogany furniture, and, on the walls, +with old-fashioned engravings, chiefly of scriptural subjects, +hung very high. This agreeable sense of solitude, of having the house +to herself, of which I have spoken, always excited Gertrude's imagination; +she could not have told you why, and neither can her humble historian. +It always seemed to her that she must do something particular-- +that she must honor the occasion; and while she roamed about, +wondering what she could do, the occasion usually came to an end. +To-day she wondered more than ever. At last she took down a book; +there was no library in the house, but there were books in all the rooms. +None of them were forbidden books, and Gertrude had not stopped at +home for the sake of a chance to climb to the inaccessible shelves. +She possessed herself of a very obvious volume--one of the series +of the Arabian Nights--and she brought it out into the portico +and sat down with it in her lap. There, for a quarter of an hour, +she read the history of the loves of the Prince Camaralzaman +and the Princess Badoura. At last, looking up, she beheld, +as it seemed to her, the Prince Camaralzaman standing before her. +A beautiful young man was making her a very low bow--a magnificent bow, +such as she had never seen before. He appeared to have dropped +from the clouds; he was wonderfully handsome; he smiled-- +smiled as if he were smiling on purpose. Extreme surprise, +for a moment, kept Gertrude sitting still; then she rose, +without even keeping her finger in her book. The young man, +with his hat in his hand, still looked at her, smiling and smiling. +It was very strange. + +"Will you kindly tell me," said the mysterious visitor, at last, +"whether I have the honor of speaking to Miss Went-worth?" + +"My name is Gertrude Wentworth," murmured the young woman. + +"Then--then--I have the honor--the pleasure--of being your cousin." + +The young man had so much the character of an apparition that this +announcement seemed to complete his unreality. "What cousin? +Who are you?" said Gertrude. + +He stepped back a few paces and looked up at the house; +then glanced round him at the garden and the distant view. +After this he burst out laughing. "I see it must seem to you +very strange," he said. There was, after all, something substantial +in his laughter. Gertrude looked at him from head to foot. +Yes, he was remarkably handsome; but his smile was almost a grimace. +"It is very still," he went on, coming nearer again. +And as she only looked at him, for reply, he added, +"Are you all alone?" + +"Every one has gone to church," said Gertrude. + +"I was afraid of that!" the young man exclaimed. +"But I hope you are not afraid of me." + +"You ought to tell me who you are," Gertrude answered. + +"I am afraid of you!" said the young man. "I had a different plan. +I expected the servant would take in my card, and that you would put +your heads together, before admitting me, and make out my identity." + +Gertrude had been wondering with a quick intensity which brought its result; +and the result seemed an answer--a wondrous, delightful answer--to her +vague wish that something would befall her. "I know--I know," she said. +"You come from Europe." + +"We came two days ago. You have heard of us, then--you believe in us?" + +"We have known, vaguely," said Gertrude, "that we had relations in France." + +"And have you ever wanted to see us?" asked the young man. + +Gertrude was silent a moment. "I have wanted to see you." + +"I am glad, then, it is you I have found. We wanted to see you, +so we came." + +"On purpose?" asked Gertrude. + +The young man looked round him, smiling still. "Well, yes; +on purpose. Does that sound as if we should bore you?" he added. +"I don't think we shall--I really don't think we shall. +We are rather fond of wandering, too; and we were glad +of a pretext." + +"And you have just arrived?" + +"In Boston, two days ago. At the inn I asked for Mr. Wentworth. +He must be your father. They found out for me where he lived; +they seemed often to have heard of him. I determined to come, +without ceremony. So, this lovely morning, they set my face +in the right direction, and told me to walk straight before me, +out of town. I came on foot because I wanted to see the country. +I walked and walked, and here I am! It 's a good many miles." + +"It is seven miles and a half," said Gertrude, softly. +Now that this handsome young man was proving himself a reality +she found herself vaguely trembling; she was deeply excited. +She had never in her life spoken to a foreigner, and she +had often thought it would be delightful to do so. Here was +one who had suddenly been engendered by the Sabbath stillness +for her private use; and such a brilliant, polite, smiling one! +She found time and means to compose herself, however: to remind +herself that she must exercise a sort of official hospitality. +"We are very--very glad to see you," she said. "Won't you +come into the house?" And she moved toward the open door. + +"You are not afraid of me, then?" asked the young man again, +with his light laugh. + +She wondered a moment, and then, "We are not afraid--here," she said. + +"Ah, comme vous devez avoir raison!" cried the young man, +looking all round him, appreciatively. It was the first time +that Gertrude had heard so many words of French spoken. +They gave her something of a sensation. Her companion followed +her, watching, with a certain excitement of his own, this tall, +interesting-looking girl, dressed in her clear, crisp muslin. +He paused in the hall, where there was a broad white staircase +with a white balustrade. "What a pleasant house!" he said. +"It 's lighter inside than it is out." + +"It 's pleasanter here," said Gertrude, and she led the way +into the parlor,--a high, clean, rather empty-looking room. +Here they stood looking at each other,--the young man smiling +more than ever; Gertrude, very serious, trying to smile. + +"I don't believe you know my name," he said. "I am called Felix Young. +Your father is my uncle. My mother was his half sister, and older than he." + +"Yes," said Gertrude, "and she turned Roman Catholic and married in Europe." + +"I see you know," said the young man. "She married and she died. +Your father's family did n't like her husband. They called him +a foreigner; but he was not. My poor father was born in Sicily, +but his parents were American." + +"In Sicily?" Gertrude murmured. + +"It is true," said Felix Young, "that they had spent their lives in Europe. +But they were very patriotic. And so are we." + +"And you are Sicilian," said Gertrude. + +"Sicilian, no! Let 's see. I was born at a little place-- +a dear little place--in France. My sister was born at Vienna." + +"So you are French," said Gertrude. + +"Heaven forbid!" cried the young man. Gertrude's eyes were +fixed upon him almost insistently. He began to laugh again. +"I can easily be French, if that will please you." + +"You are a foreigner of some sort," said Gertrude. + +"Of some sort--yes; I suppose so. But who can say of what sort? +I don't think we have ever had occasion to settle the question. +You know there are people like that. About their country, +their religion, their profession, they can't tell." + +Gertrude stood there gazing; she had not asked him to sit down. +She had never heard of people like that; she wanted to hear. +"Where do you live?" she asked. + +"They can't tell that, either!" said Felix. "I am afraid +you will think they are little better than vagabonds. +I have lived anywhere--everywhere. I really think I have lived in +every city in Europe." Gertrude gave a little long soft exhalation. +It made the young man smile at her again; and his smile made +her blush a little. To take refuge from blushing she asked +him if, after his long walk, he was not hungry or thirsty. +Her hand was in her pocket; she was fumbling with the little +key that her sister had given her. "Ah, my dear young lady," +he said, clasping his hands a little, "if you could give me, +in charity, a glass of wine!" + +Gertrude gave a smile and a little nod, and went quickly out of the room. +Presently she came back with a very large decanter in one hand +and a plate in the other, on which was placed a big, round cake +with a frosted top. Gertrude, in taking the cake from the closet, +had had a moment of acute consciousness that it composed the refection +of which her sister had thought that Mr. Brand would like to partake. +Her kinsman from across the seas was looking at the pale, +high-hung engravings. When she came in he turned and smiled at her, +as if they had been old friends meeting after a separation. +"You wait upon me yourself?" he asked. "I am served like the gods!" +She had waited upon a great many people, but none of them had +ever told her that. The observation added a certain lightness +to the step with which she went to a little table where there were +some curious red glasses--glasses covered with little gold sprigs, +which Charlotte used to dust every morning with her own hands. +Gertrude thought the glasses very handsome, and it was a pleasure to her +to know that the wine was good; it was her father's famous madeira. +Felix Young thought it excellent; he wondered why he had been +told that there was no wine in America. She cut him an immense +triangle out of the cake, and again she thought of Mr. Brand. +Felix sat there, with his glass in one hand and his huge morsel +of cake in the other--eating, drinking, smiling, talking. "I am +very hungry," he said. "I am not at all tired; I am never tired. +But I am very hungry." + +"You must stay to dinner," said Gertrude. "At two o'clock. They +will all have come back from church; you will see the others." + +"Who are the others?" asked the young man. "Describe them all." + +"You will see for yourself. It is you that must tell me; +now, about your sister." + +"My sister is the Baroness Munster," said Felix. + +On hearing that his sister was a Baroness, Gertrude got up and +walked about slowly, in front of him. She was silent a moment. +She was thinking of it. "Why did n't she come, too?" she asked. + +"She did come; she is in Boston, at the hotel." + +"We will go and see her," said Gertrude, looking at him. + +"She begs you will not!" the young man replied. +"She sends you her love; she sent me to announce her. +She will come and pay her respects to your father." + +Gertrude felt herself trembling again. A Baroness Munster, +who sent a brilliant young man to "announce" her; who was coming, +as the Queen of Sheba came to Solomon, to pay her "respects" +to quiet Mr. Wentworth--such a personage presented herself +to Gertrude's vision with a most effective unexpectedness. +For a moment she hardly knew what to say. "When will she come?" +she asked at last. + +"As soon as you will allow her--to-morrow. She is very impatient," +answered Felix, who wished to be agreeable. + +"To-morrow, yes," said Gertrude. She wished to ask more about her; +but she hardly knew what could be predicated of a Baroness Munster. +"Is she--is she--married?" + +Felix had finished his cake and wine; he got up, fixing upon the young +girl his bright, expressive eyes. "She is married to a German prince-- +Prince Adolf, of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. He is not the reigning prince; +he is a younger brother." + +Gertrude gazed at her informant; her lips were slightly parted. +"Is she a--a Princess?" she asked at last. + +"Oh, no," said the young man; "her position is rather a singular one. +It 's a morganatic marriage." + +"Morganatic?" These were new names and new words to poor Gertrude. + +"That 's what they call a marriage, you know, contracted between +a scion of a ruling house and--and a common mortal. +They made Eugenia a Baroness, poor woman; but that was all +they could do. Now they want to dissolve the marriage. +Prince Adolf, between ourselves, is a ninny; but his brother, +who is a clever man, has plans for him. Eugenia, naturally enough, +makes difficulties; not, however, that I think she cares much-- +she 's a very clever woman; I 'm sure you 'll like her-- +but she wants to bother them. Just now everything is en l'air." + +The cheerful, off-hand tone in which her visitor related this +darkly romantic tale seemed to Gertrude very strange; but it +seemed also to convey a certain flattery to herself, a recognition +of her wisdom and dignity. She felt a dozen impressions stirring +within her, and presently the one that was uppermost found words. +"They want to dissolve her marriage?" she asked. + +"So it appears." + +"And against her will?" + +"Against her right." + +"She must be very unhappy!" said Gertrude. + +Her visitor looked at her, smiling; he raised his hand to the back +of his head and held it there a moment. "So she says," he answered. +"That 's her story. She told me to tell it you." + +"Tell me more," said Gertrude. + +"No, I will leave that to her; she does it better." + +Gertrude gave her little excited sigh again. "Well, if she is unhappy," +she said, "I am glad she has come to us." + +She had been so interested that she failed to notice the sound of a footstep +in the portico; and yet it was a footstep that she always recognized. +She heard it in the hall, and then she looked out of the window. +They were all coming back from church--her father, her sister and brother, +and their cousins, who always came to dinner on Sunday. Mr. Brand had come +in first; he was in advance of the others, because, apparently, he was +still disposed to say what she had not wished him to say an hour before. +He came into the parlor, looking for Gertrude. He had two little +books in his hand. On seeing Gertrude's companion he slowly stopped, +looking at him. + +"Is this a cousin?" asked Felix. + +Then Gertrude saw that she must introduce him; but her ears, and, +by sympathy, her lips, were full of all that he had been telling her. +"This is the Prince," she said, "the Prince of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein!" + +Felix burst out laughing, and Mr. Brand stood staring, while the others, +who had passed into the house, appeared behind him in the open door-way. + + + + + + +CHAPTER III + +That evening at dinner Felix Young gave his sister, +the Baroness Munster, an account of his impressions. +She saw that he had come back in the highest possible spirits; +but this fact, to her own mind, was not a reason for rejoicing. +She had but a limited confidence in her brother's judgment; +his capacity for taking rose-colored views was such as to +vulgarize one of the prettiest of tints. Still, she supposed +he could be trusted to give her the mere facts; and she invited +him with some eagerness to communicate them. "I suppose, +at least, they did n't turn you out from the door;" she said. +"You have been away some ten hours." + +"Turn me from the door!" Felix exclaimed. "They took me to their hearts; +they killed the fatted calf." + +"I know what you want to say: they are a collection of angels." + +"Exactly," said Felix. "They are a collection of angels--simply." + +"C'est bien vague," remarked the Baroness. "What are they like?" + +"Like nothing you ever saw." + +"I am sure I am much obliged; but that is hardly more definite. +Seriously, they were glad to see you?" + +"Enchanted. It has been the proudest day of my life. Never, never have +I been so lionized! I assure you, I was cock of the walk. +My dear sister," said the young man, "nous n'avons qu'a nous tenir; +we shall be great swells!" + +Madame Munster looked at him, and her eye exhibited a slight +responsive spark. She touched her lips to a glass of wine, +and then she said, "Describe them. Give me a picture." + +Felix drained his own glass. "Well, it 's in the country, +among the meadows and woods; a wild sort of place, +and yet not far from here. Only, such a road, my dear! +Imagine one of the Alpine glaciers reproduced in mud. +But you will not spend much time on it, for they want you +to come and stay, once for all." + +"Ah," said the Baroness, "they want me to come and stay, +once for all? Bon." + +"It 's intensely rural, tremendously natural; and all overhung with this +strange white light, this far-away blue sky. There 's a big wooden house-- +a kind of three-story bungalow; it looks like a magnified N; auuremberg toy. +There was a gentleman there that made a speech to me about it and called it +a 'venerable mansion;' but it looks as if it had been built last night." + +"Is it handsome--is it elegant?" asked the Baroness. + +Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. "It 's very clean! No splendors, +no gilding, no troops of servants; rather straight-backed chairs. +But you might eat off the floors, and you can sit down on the stairs." + +"That must be a privilege. And the inhabitants are straight-backed +too, of course." + +"My dear sister," said Felix, "the inhabitants are charming." + +"In what style?" + +"In a style of their own. How shall I describe it? It 's primitive; +it 's patriarchal; it 's the ton of the golden age." + +"And have they nothing golden but their ton? Are there no +symptoms of wealth?" + +"I should say there was wealth without symptoms. A plain, +homely way of life: nothing for show, and very little for-- +what shall I call it?--for the senses: but a great aisance, +and a lot of money, out of sight, that comes forward very quietly +for subscriptions to institutions, for repairing tenements, +for paying doctor's bills; perhaps even for portioning daughters." + +"And the daughters?" Madame Munster demanded. "How many are there?" + +"There are two, Charlotte and Gertrude." + +"Are they pretty?" + +"One of them," said Felix. + +"Which is that?" + +The young man was silent, looking at his sister. +"Charlotte," he said at last. + +She looked at him in return. "I see. You are in love with Gertrude. +They must be Puritans to their finger-tips; anything but gay!" + +"No, they are not gay," Felix admitted. "They are sober; +they are even severe. They are of a pensive cast; they take +things hard. I think there is something the matter with them; +they have some melancholy memory or some depressing expectation. +It 's not the epicurean temperament. My uncle, Mr. Wentworth, +is a tremendously high-toned old fellow; he looks as if +he were undergoing martyrdom, not by fire, but by freezing. +But we shall cheer them up; we shall do them good. +They will take a good deal of stirring up; but they are +wonderfully kind and gentle. And they are appreciative. +They think one clever; they think one remarkable!" + +"That is very fine, so far as it goes," said the Baroness. +"But are we to be shut up to these three people, Mr. Wentworth +and the two young women--what did you say their names were-- +Deborah and Hephzibah?" + +"Oh, no; there is another little girl, a cousin of theirs, +a very pretty creature; a thorough little American. +And then there is the son of the house." + +"Good!" said the Baroness. "We are coming to the gentlemen. +What of the son of the house?" + +"I am afraid he gets tipsy." + +"He, then, has the epicurean temperament! How old is he?" + +"He is a boy of twenty; a pretty young fellow, but I am afraid he has +vulgar tastes. And then there is Mr. Brand--a very tall young man, +a sort of lay-priest. They seem to think a good deal of him, +but I don't exactly make him out." + +"And is there nothing," asked the Baroness, "between these extremes-- +this mysterious ecclesiastic and that intemperate youth?" + +"Oh, yes, there is Mr. Acton. I think," said the young man, +with a nod at his sister, "that you will like Mr. Acton." + +"Remember that I am very fastidious," said the Baroness. +"Has he very good manners?" + +"He will have them with you. He is a man of the world; +he has been to China." + +Madame Munster gave a little laugh. "A man of the Chinese world! +He must be very interesting." + +"I have an idea that he brought home a fortune," said Felix. + +"That is always interesting. Is he young, good-looking, clever?" + +"He is less than forty; he has a baldish head; he says witty things. +I rather think," added the young man, "that he will admire +the Baroness Munster." + +"It is very possible," said this lady. Her brother never knew +how she would take things; but shortly afterwards she declared +that he had made a very pretty description and that on the morrow +she would go and see for herself. + +They mounted, accordingly, into a great barouche--a vehicle as to +which the Baroness found nothing to criticise but the price that +was asked for it and the fact that the coachman wore a straw hat. +(At Silberstadt Madame Munster had had liveries of yellow +and crimson.) They drove into the country, and the Baroness, +leaning far back and swaying her lace-fringed parasol, +looked to right and to left and surveyed the way-side objects. +After a while she pronounced them "affreux." Her brother +remarked that it was apparently a country in which the foreground +was inferior to the plans recules: and the Baroness +rejoined that the landscape seemed to be all foreground. +Felix had fixed with his new friends the hour at which he should +bring his sister; it was four o'clock in the afternoon. +The large, clean-faced house wore, to his eyes, +as the barouche drove up to it, a very friendly aspect; +the high, slender elms made lengthening shadows in front of it. +The Baroness descended; her American kinsfolk were stationed +in the portico. Felix waved his hat to them, and a tall, +lean gentleman, with a high forehead and a clean shaven face, +came forward toward the garden gate. Charlotte Wentworth +walked at his side. Gertrude came behind, more slowly. +Both of these young ladies wore rustling silk dresses. +Felix ushered his sister into the gate. "Be very gracious," +he said to her. But he saw the admonition was superfluous. +Eugenia was prepared to be gracious as only Eugenia could be. +Felix knew no keener pleasure than to be able to admire his +sister unrestrictedly; for if the opportunity was frequent, +it was not inveterate. When she desired to please she was to him, +as to every one else, the most charming woman in the world. +Then he forgot that she was ever anything else; that she was +sometimes hard and perverse; that he was occasionally afraid +of her. Now, as she took his arm to pass into the garden, +he felt that she desired, that she proposed, to please, +and this situation made him very happy. Eugenia would please. + +The tall gentleman came to meet her, looking very rigid and grave. +But it was a rigidity that had no illiberal meaning. +Mr. Wentworth's manner was pregnant, on the contrary, +with a sense of grand responsibility, of the solemnity +of the occasion, of its being difficult to show sufficient +deference to a lady at once so distinguished and so unhappy. +Felix had observed on the day before his characteristic pallor; +and now he perceived that there was something almost +cadaverous in his uncle's high-featured white face. +But so clever were this young man's quick sympathies +and perceptions that he already learned that in these +semi-mortuary manifestations there was no cause for alarm. +His light imagination had gained a glimpse of Mr. Wentworth's +spiritual mechanism, and taught him that, the old man being +infinitely conscientious, the special operation of conscience +within him announced itself by several of the indications +of physical faintness. + +The Baroness took her uncle's hand, and stood looking +at him with her ugly face and her beautiful smile. +"Have I done right to come?" she asked. + +"Very right, very right," said Mr. Wentworth, solemnly. He had +arranged in his mind a little speech; but now it quite faded away. +He felt almost frightened. He had never been looked at in just +that way--with just that fixed, intense smile--by any woman; +and it perplexed and weighed upon him, now, that the woman +who was smiling so and who had instantly given him a vivid +sense of her possessing other unprecedented attributes, +was his own niece, the child of his own father's daughter. +The idea that his niece should be a German Baroness, +married "morganatically" to a Prince, had already given him much +to think about. Was it right, was it just, was it acceptable? +He always slept badly, and the night before he had lain awake +much more even than usual, asking himself these questions. +The strange word "morganatic" was constantly in his ears; +it reminded him of a certain Mrs. Morgan whom he had +once known and who had been a bold, unpleasant woman. +He had a feeling that it was his duty, so long as the Baroness +looked at him, smiling in that way, to meet her glance with his +own scrupulously adjusted, consciously frigid organs of vision; +but on this occasion he failed to perform his duty to the last. +He looked away toward his daughters. "We are very glad to +see you," he had said. "Allow me to introduce my daughters-- +Miss Charlotte Wentworth, Miss Gertrude Wentworth." + +The Baroness thought she had never seen people less demonstrative. +But Charlotte kissed her and took her hand, looking at her +sweetly and solemnly. Gertrude seemed to her almost funereal, +though Gertrude might have found a source of gayety in the fact +that Felix, with his magnificent smile, had been talking to her; +he had greeted her as a very old friend. When she kissed +the Baroness she had tears in her eyes. Madame Munster took each +of these young women by the hand, and looked at them all over. +Charlotte thought her very strange-looking and singularly dressed; +she could not have said whether it was well or ill. +She was glad, at any rate, that they had put on their silk gowns-- +especially Gertrude. "My cousins are very pretty," +said the Baroness, turning her eyes from one to the other. +"Your daughters are very handsome, sir." + +Charlotte blushed quickly; she had never yet heard her +personal appearance alluded to in a loud, expressive voice. +Gertrude looked away--not at Felix; she was extremely pleased. +It was not the compliment that pleased her; she did not believe it; +she thought herself very plain. She could hardly have told +you the source of her satisfaction; it came from something +in the way the Baroness spoke, and it was not diminished-- +it was rather deepened, oddly enough--by the young girl's disbelief. +Mr. Wentworth was silent; and then he asked, formally, "Won't you +come into the house?" + +"These are not all; you have some other children," said the Baroness. + +"I have a son," Mr. Wentworth answered. + +"And why does n't he come to meet me?" Eugenia cried. +"I am afraid he is not so charming as his sisters." + +"I don't know; I will see about it," the old man declared. + +"He is rather afraid of ladies," Charlotte said, softly. + +"He is very handsome," said Gertrude, as loud as she could. + +"We will go in and find him. We will draw him out of his cachette." +And the Baroness took Mr. Wentworth's arm, who was not aware that +he had offered it to her, and who, as they walked toward the house, +wondered whether he ought to have offered it and whether it was proper +for her to take it if it had not been offered. "I want to know you well," +said the Baroness, interrupting these meditations, "and I want you +to know me." + +"It seems natural that we should know each other," Mr. Wentworth rejoined. +"We are near relatives." + +"Ah, there comes a moment in life when one reverts, irresistibly, +to one's natural ties--to one's natural affections. +You must have found that!" said Eugenia. + +Mr. Wentworth had been told the day before by Felix that Eugenia was very +clever, very brilliant, and the information had held him in some suspense. +This was the cleverness, he supposed; the brilliancy was beginning. +"Yes, the natural affections are very strong," he murmured. + +"In some people," the Baroness declared. "Not in all." +Charlotte was walking beside her; she took hold of her hand again, +smiling always. "And you, cousine, where did you get that +enchanting complexion?" she went on; "such lilies and roses?" +The roses in poor Charlotte's countenance began speedily +to predominate over the lilies, and she quickened her step +and reached the portico. "This is the country of complexions," +the Baroness continued, addressing herself to Mr. Wentworth. +"I am convinced they are more delicate. There are very good ones +in England--in Holland; but they are very apt to be coarse. +There is too much red." + +"I think you will find," said Mr. Wentworth, "that this +country is superior in many respects to those you mention. +I have been to England and Holland." + +"Ah, you have been to Europe?" cried the Baroness. "Why did n't you +come and see me? But it 's better, after all, this way," she said. +They were entering the house; she paused and looked round her. +"I see you have arranged your house--your beautiful house--in the-- +in the Dutch taste!" + +"The house is very old," remarked Mr. Wentworth. +"General Washington once spent a week here." + +"Oh, I have heard of Washington," cried the Baroness. +"My father used to tell me of him." + +Mr. Wentworth was silent a moment, and then, "I found he was very well known +in Europe," he said. + +Felix had lingered in the garden with Gertrude; he was standing +before her and smiling, as he had done the day before. +What had happened the day before seemed to her a kind of dream. +He had been there and he had changed everything; the others had +seen him, they had talked with him; but that he should come again, +that he should be part of the future, part of her small, familiar, +much-meditating life--this needed, afresh, the evidence of her senses. +The evidence had come to her senses now; and her senses seemed +to rejoice in it. "What do you think of Eugenia?" Felix asked. +"Is n't she charming?" + +"She is very brilliant," said Gertrude. "But I can't tell yet. +She seems to me like a singer singing an air. You can't tell till +the song is done." + +"Ah, the song will never be done!" exclaimed the young man, laughing. +"Don't you think her handsome?" + +Gertrude had been disappointed in the beauty of the +Baroness Munster; she had expected her, for mysterious reasons, +to resemble a very pretty portrait of the Empress Josephine, +of which there hung an engraving in one of the parlors, +and which the younger Miss Wentworth had always greatly admired. +But the Baroness was not at all like that--not at all. +Though different, however, she was very wonderful, and Gertrude +felt herself most suggestively corrected. It was strange, +nevertheless, that Felix should speak in that positive way +about his sister's beauty. "I think I shall think her handsome," +Gertrude said. "It must be very interesting to know her. +I don't feel as if I ever could." + +"Ah, you will know her well; you will become great friends," +Felix declared, as if this were the easiest thing in the world. + +"She is very graceful," said Gertrude, looking after the Baroness, +suspended to her father's arm. It was a pleasure to her to say +that any one was graceful. + +Felix had been looking about him. "And your little cousin, +of yesterday," he said, "who was so wonderfully pretty-- +what has become of her?" + +"She is in the parlor," Gertrude answered. "Yes, she is very pretty." +She felt as if it were her duty to take him straight into the house, +to where he might be near her cousin. But after hesitating a moment she +lingered still. "I did n't believe you would come back," she said. + +"Not come back!" cried Felix, laughing. "You did n't know, then, +the impression made upon this susceptible heart of mine." + +She wondered whether he meant the impression her cousin Lizzie had made. +"Well," she said, "I did n't think we should ever see you again. " + +"And pray what did you think would become of me?" + +"I don't know. I thought you would melt away." + +"That 's a compliment to my solidity! I melt very often," +said Felix, "but there is always something left of me." + +"I came and waited for you by the door, because the others did," +Gertrude went on. "But if you had never appeared I should not +have been surprised." + +"I hope," declared Felix, looking at her, "that you would +have been disappointed." + + She looked at him a little, and shook her head. "No--no!" + +"Ah, par exemple!" cried the young man. "You deserve that I +should never leave you." + +Going into the parlor they found Mr. Wentworth performing introductions. +A young man was standing before the Baroness, blushing a good deal, +laughing a little, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other-- +a slim, mild-faced young man, with neatly-arranged features, +like those of Mr. Wentworth. Two other gentlemen, behind him, +had risen from their seats, and a little apart, near one of the windows, +stood a remarkably pretty young girl. The young girl was knitting +a stocking; but, while her fingers quickly moved, she looked with wide, +brilliant eyes at the Baroness. + +"And what is your son's name?" said Eugenia, smiling at the young man. + +"My name is Clifford Wentworth, ma'am," he said in a tremulous voice. + +"Why did n't you come out to meet me, Mr. Clifford Wentworth?" +the Baroness demanded, with her beautiful smile. + +"I did n't think you would want me," said the young man, +slowly sidling about. + +"One always wants a beau cousin,--if one has one! But if you +are very nice to me in future I won't remember it against you." +And Madame M; auunster transferred her smile to the other persons present. +It rested first upon the candid countenance and long-skirted figure +of Mr. Brand, whose eyes were intently fixed upon Mr. Wentworth, +as if to beg him not to prolong an anomalous situation. Mr. Wentworth +pronounced his name. Eugenia gave him a very charming glance, +and then looked at the other gentleman. + +This latter personage was a man of rather less than the usual stature +and the usual weight, with a quick, observant, agreeable dark eye, +a small quantity of thin dark hair, and a small mustache. +He had been standing with his hands in his pockets; and when Eugenia +looked at him he took them out. But he did not, like Mr. Brand, +look evasively and urgently at their host. He met Eugenia's eyes; +he appeared to appreciate the privilege of meeting them. +Madame Munster instantly felt that he was, intrinsically, the most +important person present. She was not unconscious that this +impression was in some degree manifested in the little sympathetic +nod with which she acknowledged Mr. Wentworth's announcement, +"My cousin, Mr. Acton!" + +"Your cousin--not mine?" said the Baroness. + +"It only depends upon you," Mr. Acton declared, laughing. + +The Baroness looked at him a moment, and noticed that he had +very white teeth. "Let it depend upon your behavior," she said. +"I think I had better wait. I have cousins enough. Unless I can +also claim relationship," she added, "with that charming young lady," +and she pointed to the young girl at the window. + +"That 's my sister," said Mr. Acton. And Gertrude Wentworth +put her arm round the young girl and led her forward. +It was not, apparently, that she needed much leading. +She came toward the Baroness with a light, quick step, +and with perfect self-possession, rolling her stocking round +its needles. She had dark blue eyes and dark brown hair; +she was wonderfully pretty. + +Eugenia kissed her, as she had kissed the other young women, +and then held her off a little, looking at her. "Now this is quite +another type," she said; she pronounced the word in the French manner. +"This is a different outline, my uncle, a different character, +from that of your own daughters. This, Felix," she went on, +"is very much more what we have always thought of as the American type." + +The young girl, during this exposition, was smiling askance at every +one in turn, and at Felix out of turn. "I find only one type here!" +cried Felix, laughing. "The type adorable!" + +This sally was received in perfect silence, but Felix, who learned all +things quickly, had already learned that the silences frequently observed +among his new acquaintances were not necessarily restrictive or resentful. +It was, as one might say, the silence of expectation, of modesty. +They were all standing round his sister, as if they were expecting +her to acquit herself of the exhibition of some peculiar faculty, +some brilliant talent. Their attitude seemed to imply that she was a kind +of conversational mountebank, attired, intellectually, in gauze and spangles. +This attitude gave a certain ironical force to Madame Munster's next words. +"Now this is your circle," she said to her uncle. "This is your salon. +These are your regular habitu; aaes, eh? I am so glad to see +you all together." + +"Oh," said Mr. Wentworth, "they are always dropping in and out. +You must do the same." + +"Father," interposed Charlotte Wentworth, "they must do something more." +And she turned her sweet, serious face, that seemed at once timid and placid, +upon their interesting visitor. "What is your name?" she asked. + +"Eugenia-Camilla-Dolores," said the Baroness, smiling. +"But you need n't say all that." + +"I will say Eugenia, if you will let me. You must come and stay with us." + +The Baroness laid her hand upon Charlotte's arm very tenderly; +but she reserved herself. She was wondering whether +it would be possible to "stay" with these people. +"It would be very charming--very charming," she said; +and her eyes wandered over the company, over the room. +She wished to gain time before committing herself. +Her glance fell upon young Mr. Brand, who stood there, +with his arms folded and his hand on his chin, looking at her. +"The gentleman, I suppose, is a sort of ecclesiastic," +she said to Mr. Wentworth, lowering her voice a little. + +"He is a minister," answered Mr. Wentworth. + +"A Protestant?" asked Eugenia. + +"I am a Unitarian, madam," replied Mr. Brand, impressively. + +"Ah, I see," said Eugenia. "Something new." She had never heard +of this form of worship. + +Mr. Acton began to laugh, and Gertrude looked anxiously at Mr. Brand. + +"You have come very far," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"Very far--very far," the Baroness replied, with a graceful shake of her head-- +a shake that might have meant many different things. + +"That 's a reason why you ought to settle down with us," +said Mr. Wentworth, with that dryness of utterance which, +as Eugenia was too intelligent not to feel, took nothing +from the delicacy of his meaning. + +She looked at him, and for an instant, in his cold, still face, +she seemed to see a far-away likeness to the vaguely remembered +image of her mother. Eugenia was a woman of sudden emotions, +and now, unexpectedly, she felt one rising in her heart. +She kept looking round the circle; she knew that there +was admiration in all the eyes that were fixed upon her. +She smiled at them all. + +"I came to look--to try--to ask," she said. "It seems +to me I have done well. I am very tired; I want to rest." +There were tears in her eyes. The luminous interior, +the gentle, tranquil people, the simple, serious life--the sense +of these things pressed upon her with an overmastering force, +and she felt herself yielding to one of the most genuine emotions +she had ever known. "I should like to stay here," she said. +"Pray take me in." + +Though she was smiling, there were tears in her voice as well as in her eyes. +"My dear niece," said Mr. Wentworth, softly. And Charlotte put out her +arms and drew the Baroness toward her; while Robert Acton turned away, +with his hands stealing into his pockets. + + + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A few days after the Baroness Munster had presented herself +to her American kinsfolk she came, with her brother, and took up +her abode in that small white house adjacent to Mr. Wentworth's +own dwelling of which mention has already been made. +It was on going with his daughters to return her visit that +Mr. Wentworth placed this comfortable cottage at her service; +the offer being the result of a domestic colloquy, diffused through +the ensuing twenty-four hours, in the course of which the two +foreign visitors were discussed and analyzed with a great deal +of earnestness and subtlety. The discussion went forward, +as I say, in the family circle; but that circle on the evening +following Madame M; auunster's return to town, as on many +other occasions, included Robert Acton and his pretty sister. +If you had been present, it would probably not have seemed +to you that the advent of these brilliant strangers was treated +as an exhilarating occurrence, a pleasure the more in this +tranquil household, a prospective source of entertainment. +This was not Mr. Wentworth's way of treating any human occurrence. +The sudden irruption into the well-ordered consciousness +of the Wentworths of an element not allowed for in its scheme +of usual obligations required a readjustment of that sense +of responsibility which constituted its principal furniture. +To consider an event, crudely and baldly, in the light +of the pleasure it might bring them was an intellectual +exercise with which Felix Young's American cousins were +almost wholly unacquainted, and which they scarcely supposed +to be largely pursued in any section of human society. +The arrival of Felix and his sister was a satisfaction, +but it was a singularly joyless and inelastic satisfaction. +It was an extension of duty, of the exercise of the more +recondite virtues; but neither Mr. Wentworth, nor Charlotte, +nor Mr. Brand, who, among these excellent people, was a great +promoter of reflection and aspiration, frankly adverted to it +as an extension of enjoyment. This function was ultimately +assumed by Gertrude Wentworth, who was a peculiar girl, +but the full compass of whose peculiarities had not been +exhibited before they very ingeniously found their pretext +in the presence of these possibly too agreeable foreigners. +Gertrude, however, had to struggle with a great accumulation +of obstructions, both of the subjective, as the metaphysicians say, +and of the objective, order; and indeed it is no small part +of the purpose of this little history to set forth her struggle. +What seemed paramount in this abrupt enlargement of Mr. Wentworth's +sympathies and those of his daughters was an extension +of the field of possible mistakes; and the doctrine, as it +may almost be called, of the oppressive gravity of mistakes was +one of the most cherished traditions of the Wentworth family. + +"I don't believe she wants to come and stay in this house," +said Gertrude; Madame Munster, from this time forward, +receiving no other designation than the personal pronoun. +Charlotte and Gertrude acquired considerable facility in +addressing her, directly, as "Eugenia;" but in speaking of her +to each other they rarely called her anything but "she." + +"Does n't she think it good enough for her?" cried little Lizzie Acton, +who was always asking unpractical questions that required, in strictness, +no answer, and to which indeed she expected no other answer than such as she +herself invariably furnished in a small, innocently-satirical laugh. + +"She certainly expressed a willingness to come," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"That was only politeness," Gertrude rejoined. + +"Yes, she is very polite--very polite," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"She is too polite," his son declared, in a softly growling +tone which was habitual to him, but which was an indication +of nothing worse than a vaguely humorous intention. +"It is very embarrassing." + +"That is more than can be said of you, sir," said Lizzie Acton, +with her little laugh. + +"Well, I don't mean to encourage her," Clifford went on. + +"I 'm sure I don't care if you do!" cried Lizzie. + +"She will not think of you, Clifford," said Gertrude, gravely. + +"I hope not!" Clifford exclaimed. + +"She will think of Robert," Gertrude continued, in the same tone. + +Robert Acton began to blush; but there was no occasion for it, +for every one was looking at Gertrude--every one, at least, +save Lizzie, who, with her pretty head on one side, +contemplated her brother. + +"Why do you attribute motives, Gertrude?" asked Mr. Wentworth. + +"I don't attribute motives, father," said Gertrude. +"I only say she will think of Robert; and she will!" + +"Gertrude judges by herself!" Acton exclaimed, laughing. +"Don't you, Gertrude? Of course the Baroness will think of me. +She will think of me from morning till night." + +"She will be very comfortable here," said Charlotte, with something +of a housewife's pride. "She can have the large northeast room. +And the French bedstead," Charlotte added, with a constant sense +of the lady's foreignness. + +"She will not like it," said Gertrude; "not even if you pin little +tidies all over the chairs." + +"Why not, dear?" asked Charlotte, perceiving a touch of irony here, +but not resenting it. + +Gertrude had left her chair; she was walking about the room; +her stiff silk dress, which she had put on in honor of the Baroness, +made a sound upon the carpet. "I don't know," she replied. +"She will want something more--more private." + +"If she wants to be private she can stay in her room," +Lizzie Acton remarked. + +Gertrude paused in her walk, looking at her. "That would not be pleasant," +she answered. "She wants privacy and pleasure together." + +Robert Acton began to laugh again. "My dear cousin, what a picture!" + +Charlotte had fixed her serious eyes upon her sister; +she wondered whence she had suddenly derived these strange notions. +Mr. Wentworth also observed his younger daughter. + +"I don't know what her manner of life may have been," he said; +"but she certainly never can have enjoyed a more refined +and salubrious home." + +Gertrude stood there looking at them all. "She is the wife +of a Prince," she said. + +"We are all princes here," said Mr. Wentworth; "and I don't know +of any palace in this neighborhood that is to let." + +"Cousin William," Robert Acton interposed, "do you want to do +something handsome? Make them a present, for three months, +of the little house over the way." + +"You are very generous with other people's things!" cried his sister. + +"Robert is very generous with his own things," Mr. Wentworth +observed dispassionately, and looking, in cold meditation, +at his kinsman. + +"Gertrude," Lizzie went on, "I had an idea you were so fond +of your new cousin." + +"Which new cousin?" asked Gertrude. + +"I don't mean the Baroness!" the young girl rejoined, with her laugh. +"I thought you expected to see so much of him." + +"Of Felix? I hope to see a great deal of him," said Gertrude, simply. + +"Then why do you want to keep him out of the house?" + +Gertrude looked at Lizzie Acton, and then looked away. + +"Should you want me to live in the house with you, Lizzie?" asked Clifford. + +"I hope you never will. I hate you!" Such was this young lady's reply. + +"Father," said Gertrude, stopping before Mr. Wentworth and smiling, +with a smile the sweeter, as her smile always was, for its rarity; +"do let them live in the little house over the way. +It will be lovely!" + +Robert Acton had been watching her. "Gertrude is right," +he said. "Gertrude is the cleverest girl in the world. +If I might take the liberty, I should strongly recommend +their living there." + +"There is nothing there so pretty as the northeast room," Charlotte urged. + +"She will make it pretty. Leave her alone!" Acton exclaimed. + +Gertrude, at his compliment, had blushed and looked at him: +it was as if some one less familiar had complimented her. +"I am sure she will make it pretty. It will be very interesting. +It will be a place to go to. It will be a foreign house." + +"Are we very sure that we need a foreign house?" Mr. Wentworth inquired. +"Do you think it desirable to establish a foreign house--in this quiet place?" + +"You speak," said Acton, laughing, "as if it were a question +of the poor Baroness opening a wine-shop or a gaming-table." + +"It would be too lovely!" Gertrude declared again, laying her hand +on the back of her father's chair. + +"That she should open a gaming-table?" Charlotte asked, +with great gravity. + +Gertrude looked at her a moment, and then, "Yes, Charlotte," +she said, simply. + +"Gertrude is growing pert," Clifford Wentworth observed, with his humorous +young growl. "That comes of associating with foreigners." + +Mr. Wentworth looked up at his daughter, who was standing beside him; +he drew her gently forward. "You must be careful," he said. +"You must keep watch. Indeed, we must all be careful. +This is a great change; we are to be exposed to peculiar influences. +I don't say they are bad. I don't judge them in advance. +But they may perhaps make it necessary that we should exercise a great +deal of wisdom and self-control. It will be a different tone." + +Gertrude was silent a moment, in deference to her father's speech; +then she spoke in a manner that was not in the least an answer to it. +"I want to see how they will live. I am sure they will have +different hours. She will do all kinds of little things differently. +When we go over there it will be like going to Europe. +She will have a boudoir. She will invite us to dinner--very late. +She will breakfast in her room. " + +Charlotte gazed at her sister again. Gertrude's imagination seemed +to her to be fairly running riot. She had always known that Gertrude +had a great deal of imagination--she had been very proud of it. +But at the same time she had always felt that it was a dangerous +and irresponsible faculty; and now, to her sense, for the moment, +it seemed to threaten to make her sister a strange person +who should come in suddenly, as from a journey, talking of +the peculiar and possibly unpleasant things she had observed. +Charlotte's imagination took no journeys whatever; +she kept it, as it were, in her pocket, with the other furniture +of this receptacle--a thimble, a little box of peppermint, +and a morsel of court-plaster. "I don't believe she would +have any dinner--or any breakfast," said Miss Wentworth. +"I don't believe she knows how to do anything herself. +I should have to get her ever so many servants, and she would +n't like them." + +"She has a maid," said Gertrude; "a French maid. +She mentioned her." + +"I wonder if the maid has a little fluted cap and red slippers," +said Lizzie Acton. "There was a French maid in that play +that Robert took me to see. She had pink stockings; +she was very wicked." + +"She was a soubrette," Gertrude announced, who had never +seen a play in her life. "They call that a soubrette. +It will be a great chance to learn French." Charlotte gave +a little soft, helpless groan. She had a vision of a wicked, +theatrical person, clad in pink stockings and red shoes, and speaking, +with confounding volubility, an incomprehensible tongue, +flitting through the sacred penetralia of that large, clean house. +"That is one reason in favor of their coming here," Gertrude went on. +"But we can make Eugenia speak French to us, and Felix. +I mean to begin--the next time." + +Mr. Wentworth had kept her standing near him, and he gave +her his earnest, thin, unresponsive glance again. +"I want you to make me a promise, Gertrude," he said. + +"What is it?" she asked, smiling. + +"Not to get excited. Not to allow these--these occurrences +to be an occasion for excitement." + +She looked down at him a moment, and then she shook her head. +"I don't think I can promise that, father. I am excited already." + +Mr. Wentworth was silent a while; they all were silent, +as if in recognition of something audacious and portentous. + +"I think they had better go to the other house," said Charlotte, quietly. + +"I shall keep them in the other house," Mr. Wentworth subjoined, +more pregnantly. + +Gertrude turned away; then she looked across at Robert Acton. +Her cousin Robert was a great friend of hers; she often looked at him this way +instead of saying things. Her glance on this occasion, however, struck him +as a substitute for a larger volume of diffident utterance than usual, +inviting him to observe, among other things, the inefficiency of her +father's design--if design it was--for diminishing, in the interest +of quiet nerves, their occasions of contact with their foreign relatives. +But Acton immediately complimented Mr. Wentworth upon his liberality. +"That 's a very nice thing to do," he said, "giving them the little house. +You will have treated them handsomely, and, whatever happens, you will +be glad of it." Mr. Wentworth was liberal, and he knew he was liberal. +It gave him pleasure to know it, to feel it, to see it recorded; +and this pleasure is the only palpable form of self-indulgence with +which the narrator of these incidents will be able to charge him. + +"A three days' visit at most, over there, is all I should +have found possible," Madame Munster remarked to her brother, +after they had taken possession of the little white house. +"It would have been too intime--decidedly too intime. +Breakfast, dinner, and tea en famille--it would have been the end +of the world if I could have reached the third day." And she made +the same observation to her maid Augustine, an intelligent person, +who enjoyed a liberal share of her confidence. Felix declared that +he would willingly spend his life in the bosom of the Wentworth family; +that they were the kindest, simplest, most amiable people in +the world, and that he had taken a prodigious fancy to them all. +The Baroness quite agreed with him that they were simple and kind; +they were thoroughly nice people, and she liked them extremely. +The girls were perfect ladies; it was impossible to be more of a lady +than Charlotte Wentworth, in spite of her little village air. +"But as for thinking them the best company in the world," +said the Baroness, "that is another thing; and as for wishing to live +porte ; aga porte with them, I should as soon think of wishing myself +back in the convent again, to wear a bombazine apron and sleep +in a dormitory." And yet the Baroness was in high good humor; +she had been very much pleased. With her lively perception +and her refined imagination, she was capable of enjoying anything +that was characteristic, anything that was good of its kind. +The Wentworth household seemed to her very perfect in its kind-- +wonderfully peaceful and unspotted; pervaded by a sort of dove-colored +freshness that had all the quietude and benevolence of what she +deemed to be Quakerism, and yet seemed to be founded upon a degree +of material abundance for which, in certain matters of detail, +one might have looked in vain at the frugal little court of +Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. She perceived immediately that her +American relatives thought and talked very little about money; +and this of itself made an impression upon Eugenia's imagination. +She perceived at the same time that if Charlotte or Gertrude should ask +their father for a very considerable sum he would at once place it +in their hands; and this made a still greater impression. The greatest +impression of all, perhaps, was made by another rapid induction. +The Baroness had an immediate conviction that Robert Acton would put +his hand into his pocket every day in the week if that rattle-pated +little sister of his should bid him. The men in this country, +said the Baroness, are evidently very obliging. Her declaration that she +was looking for rest and retirement had been by no means wholly untrue; +nothing that the Baroness said was wholly untrue. It is but fair +to add, perhaps, that nothing that she said was wholly true. +She wrote to a friend in Germany that it was a return to nature; +it was like drinking new milk, and she was very fond of new milk. +She said to herself, of course, that it would be a little dull; +but there can be no better proof of her good spirits than the fact +that she thought she should not mind its being a little dull. +It seemed to her, when from the piazza of her eleemosynary cottage +she looked out over the soundless fields, the stony pastures, +the clear-faced ponds, the rugged little orchards, that she had +never been in the midst of so peculiarly intense a stillness; +it was almost a delicate sensual pleasure. It was all very good, +very innocent and safe, and out of it something good must come. +Augustine, indeed, who had an unbounded faith in her mistress's wisdom +and far-sightedness, was a great deal perplexed and depressed. +She was always ready to take her cue when she understood it; but she +liked to understand it, and on this occasion comprehension failed. +What, indeed, was the Baroness doing dans cette galere? what fish +did she expect to land out of these very stagnant waters? +The game was evidently a deep one. Augustine could trust her; +but the sense of walking in the dark betrayed itself in the +physiognomy of this spare, sober, sallow, middle-aged person, +who had nothing in common with Gertrude Wentworth's conception +of a soubrette, by the most ironical scowl that had ever rested upon +the unpretending tokens of the peace and plenty of the Wentworths. +Fortunately, Augustine could quench skepticism in action. +She quite agreed with her mistress--or rather she quite out-stripped +her mistress--in thinking that the little white house was pitifully bare. +"Il faudra," said Augustine, "lui faire un peu de toilette. +" And she began to hang up portieres in the doorways; to place +wax candles, procured after some research, in unexpected situations; +to dispose anomalous draperies over the arms of sofas and the backs +of chairs. The Baroness had brought with her to the New World +a copious provision of the element of costume; and the two +Miss Wentworths, when they came over to see her, were somewhat +bewildered by the obtrusive distribution of her wardrobe. +There were India shawls suspended, curtain-wise, in the parlor door, +and curious fabrics, corresponding to Gertrude's metaphysical +vision of an opera-cloak, tumbled about in the sitting-places. +There were pink silk blinds in the windows, by which the room +was strangely bedimmed; and along the chimney-piece was disposed +a remarkable band of velvet, covered with coarse, dirty-looking lace. +"I have been making myself a little comfortable," said the Baroness, +much to the confusion of Charlotte, who had been on the point of +proposing to come and help her put her superfluous draperies away. +But what Charlotte mistook for an almost culpably delayed subsidence +Gertrude very presently perceived to be the most ingenious, +the most interesting, the most romantic intention. +"What is life, indeed, without curtains?" she secretly asked herself; +and she appeared to herself to have been leading hitherto an existence +singularly garish and totally devoid of festoons. + +Felix was not a young man who troubled himself greatly about anything-- +least of all about the conditions of enjoyment. His faculty of +enjoyment was so large, so unconsciously eager, that it may be said +of it that it had a permanent advance upon embarrassment and sorrow. +His sentient faculty was intrinsically joyous, and novelty and change +were in themselves a delight to him. As they had come to him +with a great deal of frequency, his life had been more agreeable +than appeared. Never was a nature more perfectly fortunate. +It was not a restless, apprehensive, ambitious spirit, running a race +with the tyranny of fate, but a temper so unsuspicious as to put +Adversity off her guard, dodging and evading her with the easy, +natural motion of a wind-shifted flower. Felix extracted +entertainment from all things, and all his faculties--his imagination, +his intelligence, his affections, his senses--had a hand in the game. +It seemed to him that Eugenia and he had been very well treated; there was +something absolutely touching in that combination of paternal liberality +and social considerateness which marked Mr. Wentworth's deportment. +It was most uncommonly kind of him, for instance, to have given them +a house. Felix was positively amused at having a house of his own; +for the little white cottage among the apple-trees--the chalet, +as Madame Munster always called it--was much more sensibly his own than +any domiciliary quatrieme, looking upon a court, with the rent overdue. +Felix had spent a good deal of his life in looking into courts, +with a perhaps slightly tattered pair of elbows resting upon the ledge +of a high-perched window, and the thin smoke of a cigarette rising +into an atmosphere in which street-cries died away and the vibration +of chimes from ancient belfries became sensible. He had never +known anything so infinitely rural as these New England fields; +and he took a great fancy to all their pastoral roughnesses. +He had never had a greater sense of luxurious security; and at +the risk of making him seem a rather sordid adventurer I must declare +that he found an irresistible charm in the fact that he might dine +every day at his uncle's. The charm was irresistible, however, +because his fancy flung a rosy light over this homely privilege. +He appreciated highly the fare that was set before him. +There was a kind of fresh-looking abundance about it which made +him think that people must have lived so in the mythological era, +when they spread their tables upon the grass, replenished them +from cornucopias, and had no particular need of kitchen stoves. +But the great thing that Felix enjoyed was having found a family-- +sitting in the midst of gentle, generous people whom he might +call by their first names. He had never known anything +more charming than the attention they paid to what he said. +It was like a large sheet of clean, fine-grained drawing-paper, +all ready to be washed over with effective splashes of water-color. +He had never had any cousins, and he had never before found +himself in contact so unrestricted with young unmarried ladies. +He was extremely fond of the society of ladies, and it was +new to him that it might be enjoyed in just this manner. +At first he hardly knew what to make of his state of mind. +It seemed to him that he was in love, indiscriminately, with three +girls at once. He saw that Lizzie Acton was more brilliantly pretty +than Charlotte and Gertrude; but this was scarcely a superiority. +His pleasure came from something they had in common--a part of +which was, indeed, that physical delicacy which seemed to make it proper +that they should always dress in thin materials and clear colors. +But they were delicate in other ways, and it was most agreeable to him +to feel that these latter delicacies were appreciable by contact, +as it were. He had known, fortunately, many virtuous gentlewomen, +but it now appeared to him that in his relations with them (especially when +they were unmarried) he had been looking at pictures under glass. +He perceived at present what a nuisance the glass had been-- +how it perverted and interfered, how it caught the reflection of other +objects and kept you walking from side to side. He had no need +to ask himself whether Charlotte and Gertrude, and Lizzie Acton, +were in the right light; they were always in the right light. +He liked everything about them: he was, for instance, not at all above +liking the fact that they had very slender feet and high insteps. +He liked their pretty noses; he liked their surprised eyes +and their hesitating, not at all positive way of speaking; +he liked so much knowing that he was perfectly at liberty to be alone +for hours, anywhere, with either of them; that preference for one +to the other, as a companion of solitude, remained a minor affair. +Charlotte Wentworth's sweetly severe features were as agreeable +as Lizzie Acton's wonderfully expressive blue eyes; and Gertrude's +air of being always ready to walk about and listen was as charming +as anything else, especially as she walked very gracefully. +After a while Felix began to distinguish; but even then he would +often wish, suddenly, that they were not all so sad. Even Lizzie Acton, +in spite of her fine little chatter and laughter, appeared sad. +Even Clifford Wentworth, who had extreme youth in his favor, +and kept a buggy with enormous wheels and a little sorrel mare +with the prettiest legs in the world--even this fortunate lad +was apt to have an averted, uncomfortable glance, and to edge away +from you at times, in the manner of a person with a bad conscience. +The only person in the circle with no sense of oppression of any +kind was, to Felix's perception, Robert Acton. + +It might perhaps have been feared that after the completion +of those graceful domiciliary embellishments which have +been mentioned Madame M; auunster would have found herself +confronted with alarming possibilities of ennui. But as yet +she had not taken the alarm. The Baroness was a restless soul, +and she projected her restlessness, as it may be said, +into any situation that lay before her. Up to a certain point +her restlessness might be counted upon to entertain her. +She was always expecting something to happen, and, until it +was disappointed, expectancy itself was a delicate pleasure. +What the Baroness expected just now it would take some +ingenuity to set forth; it is enough that while she looked +about her she found something to occupy her imagination. +She assured herself that she was enchanted with her new relatives; +she professed to herself that, like her brother, she felt it a sacred +satisfaction to have found a family. It is certain that she +enjoyed to the utmost the gentleness of her kinsfolk's deference. +She had, first and last, received a great deal of admiration, +and her experience of well-turned compliments was very considerable; +but she knew that she had never been so real a power, never counted +for so much, as now when, for the first time, the standard +of comparison of her little circle was a prey to vagueness. +The sense, indeed, that the good people about her had, +as regards her remarkable self, no standard of comparison +at all gave her a feeling of almost illimitable power. +It was true, as she said to herself, that if for this reason +they would be able to discover nothing against her, so they +would perhaps neglect to perceive some of her superior points; +but she always wound up her reflections by declaring that she +would take care of that. + +Charlotte and Gertrude were in some perplexity between their desire +to show all proper attention to Madame Munster and their fear of +being importunate. The little house in the orchard had hitherto been +occupied during the summer months by intimate friends of the family, +or by poor relations who found in Mr. Wentworth a landlord attentive +to repairs and oblivious of quarter-day. Under these circumstances +the open door of the small house and that of the large one, facing each +other across their homely gardens, levied no tax upon hourly visits. +But the Misses Wentworth received an impression that Eugenia was no +friend to the primitive custom of "dropping in;" she evidently had +no idea of living without a door-keeper. "One goes into your house +as into an inn--except that there are no servants rushing forward," +she said to Charlotte. And she added that that was very charming. +Gertrude explained to her sister that she meant just the reverse; +she did n't like it at all. Charlotte inquired why she should tell +an untruth, and Gertrude answered that there was probably some very good +reason for it which they should discover when they knew her better. +"There can surely be no good reason for telling an untruth," said Charlotte. +"I hope she does not think so." + +They had of course desired, from the first, to do everything +in the way of helping her to arrange herself. It had seemed +to Charlotte that there would be a great many things to talk about; +but the Baroness was apparently inclined to talk about nothing. + +"Write her a note, asking her leave to come and see her. +I think that is what she will like," said Gertrude. + +"Why should I give her the trouble of answering me?" Charlotte asked. +"She will have to write a note and send it over." + +"I don't think she will take any trouble," said Gertrude, profoundly. + +"What then will she do?" + +"That is what I am curious to see," said Gertrude, leaving her sister +with an impression that her curiosity was morbid. + +They went to see the Baroness without preliminary correspondence; +and in the little salon which she had already created, with its +becoming light and its festoons, they found Robert Acton. + +Eugenia was intensely gracious, but she accused them of neglecting +her cruelly. "You see Mr. Acton has had to take pity upon me," she said. +"My brother goes off sketching, for + +hours; I can never depend upon him. So I was to send Mr. Acton to beg +you to come and give me the benefit of your wisdom." + +Gertrude looked at her sister. She wanted to say, "That is what she would +have done." Charlotte said that they hoped the Baroness would always come +and dine with them; it would give them so much pleasure; and, in that case, +she would spare herself the trouble of having a cook. + +"Ah, but I must have a cook!" cried the Baroness. "An old +negress in a yellow turban. I have set my heart upon that. +I want to look out of my window and see her sitting there +on the grass, against the background of those crooked, +dusky little apple-trees, pulling the husks off a lapful +of Indian corn. That will be local color, you know. +There is n't much of it here--you don't mind my saying that, +do you?--so one must make the most of what one can get. +I shall be most happy to dine with you whenever you +will let me; but I want to be able to ask you sometimes. +And I want to be able to ask Mr. Acton," added the Baroness. + +"You must come and ask me at home," said Acton. +"You must come and see me; you must dine with me first. +I want to show you my place; I want to introduce you to my mother." +He called again upon Madame M; auunster, two days later. +He was constantly at the other house; he used to walk across +the fields from his own place, and he appeared to have fewer +scruples than his cousins with regard to dropping in. +On this occasion he found that Mr. Brand had come to pay his +respects to the charming stranger; but after Acton's arrival +the young theologian said nothing. He sat in his chair +with his two hands clasped, fixing upon his hostess a grave, +fascinated stare. The Baroness talked to Robert Acton, but, +as she talked, she turned and smiled at Mr. Brand, who never +took his eyes off her. The two men walked away together; +they were going to Mr. Wentworth's. Mr. Brand still said nothing; +but after they had passed into Mr. Wentworth's garden he stopped +and looked back for some time at the little white house. +Then, looking at his companion, with his head bent a little to one +side and his eyes somewhat contracted, "Now I suppose that 's +what is called conversation," he said; "real conversation." + +"It 's what I call a very clever woman," said Acton, laughing. + +"It is most interesting," Mr. Brand continued. "I only wish +she would speak French; it would seem more in keeping. +It must be quite the style that we have heard about, that we +have read about--the style of conversation of Madame de Stael, +of Madame Recamier." + +Acton also looked at Madame Munster's residence among its +hollyhocks and apple-trees. "What I should like to know," +he said, smiling, "is just what has brought Madame Recamier +to live in that place!" + + + + + + +CHAPTER V + +Mr. Wentworth, with his cane and his gloves in his hand, +went every afternoon to call upon his niece. A couple of hours +later she came over to the great house to tea. She had let +the proposal that she should regularly dine there fall to the ground; +she was in the enjoyment of whatever satisfaction was to be +derived from the spectacle of an old negress in a crimson turban +shelling peas under the apple-trees. Charlotte, who had provided +the ancient negress, thought it must be a strange household, +Eugenia having told her that Augustine managed everything, +the ancient negress included--Augustine who was naturally devoid +of all acquaintance with the expurgatory English tongue. +By far the most immoral sentiment which I shall have occasion +to attribute to Charlotte Wentworth was a certain emotion of +disappointment at finding that, in spite of these irregular conditions, +the domestic arrangements at the small house were apparently not-- +from Eugenia's peculiar point of view--strikingly offensive. +The Baroness found it amusing to go to tea; she dressed as if for dinner. +The tea-table offered an anomalous and picturesque repast; +and on leaving it they all sat and talked in the large piazza, +or wandered about the garden in the starlight, with their ears full +of those sounds of strange insects which, though they are supposed +to be, all over the world, a part of the magic of summer nights, +seemed to the Baroness to have beneath these western skies +an incomparable resonance. + +Mr. Wentworth, though, as I say, he went punctiliously to call +upon her, was not able to feel that he was getting used to his niece. +It taxed his imagination to believe that she was really his +half-sister's child. His sister was a figure of his early years; +she had been only twenty when she went abroad, never to return, +making in foreign parts a willful and undesirable marriage. +His aunt, Mrs. Whiteside, who had taken her to Europe for the benefit +of the tour, gave, on her return, so lamentable an account +of Mr. Adolphus Young, to whom the headstrong girl had united +her destiny, that it operated as a chill upon family feeling-- +especially in the case of the half-brothers. Catherine +had done nothing subsequently to propitiate her family; +she had not even written to them in a way that indicated a lucid +appreciation of their suspended sympathy; so that it had become +a tradition in Boston circles that the highest charity, +as regards this young lady, was to think it well to forget her, +and to abstain from conjecture as to the extent to which +her aberrations were reproduced in her descendants. +Over these young people--a vague report of their existence had +come to his ears--Mr. Wentworth had not, in the course of years, +allowed his imagination to hover. It had plenty of occupation +nearer home, and though he had many cares upon his conscience +the idea that he had been an unnatural uncle was, very properly, +never among the number. Now that his nephew and niece had come +before him, he perceived that they were the fruit of influences +and circumstances very different from those under which his own +familiar progeny had reached a vaguely-qualified maturity. +He felt no provocation to say that these influences had been +exerted for evil; but he was sometimes afraid that he should not +be able to like his distinguished, delicate, lady-like niece. +He was paralyzed and bewildered by her foreignness. +She spoke, somehow, a different language. There was something +strange in her words. He had a feeling that another man, +in his place, would accommodate himself to her tone; would ask +her questions and joke with her, reply to those pleasantries of her +own which sometimes seemed startling as addressed to an uncle. +But Mr. Wentworth could not do these things. He could not even +bring himself to attempt to measure her position in the world. +She was the wife of a foreign nobleman who desired to +repudiate her. This had a singular sound, but the old man +felt himself destitute of the materials for a judgment. +It seemed to him that he ought to find them in his own experience, +as a man of the world and an almost public character; +but they were not there, and he was ashamed to confess to himself-- +much more to reveal to Eugenia by interrogations possibly +too innocent--the unfurnished condition of this repository. + +It appeared to him that he could get much nearer, as he would have said, +to his nephew; though he was not sure that Felix was altogether safe. +He was so bright and handsome and talkative that it was impossible +not to think well of him; and yet it seemed as if there were something +almost impudent, almost vicious--or as if there ought to be-- +in a young man being at once so joyous and so positive. It was to be +observed that while Felix was not at all a serious young man there +was somehow more of him--he had more weight and volume and resonance-- +than a number of young men who were distinctly serious. While Mr. Wentworth +meditated upon this anomaly his nephew was admiring him unrestrictedly. +He thought him a most delicate, generous, high-toned old gentleman, +with a very handsome head, of the ascetic type, which he promised himself +the profit of sketching. Felix was far from having made a secret +of the fact that he wielded the paint-brush, and it was not his own +fault if it failed to be generally understood that he was prepared +to execute the most striking likenesses on the most reasonable terms. +"He is an artist--my cousin is an artist," said Gertrude; +and she offered this information to every one who would receive it. +She offered it to herself, as it were, by way of admonition and reminder; +she repeated to herself at odd moments, in lonely places, +that Felix was invested with this sacred character. Gertrude had +never seen an artist before; she had only read about such people. +They seemed to her a romantic and mysterious class, whose life was made +up of those agreeable accidents that never happened to other persons. +And it merely quickened her meditations on this point that Felix +should declare, as he repeatedly did, that he was really not an artist. +"I have never gone into the thing seriously," he said. "I have never studied; +I have had no training. I do a little of everything, and nothing well. +I am only an amateur." + +It pleased Gertrude even more to think that he was an amateur +than to think that he was an artist; the former word, to her fancy, +had an even subtler connotation. She knew, however, that it +was a word to use more soberly. Mr. Wentworth used it freely; +for though he had not been exactly familiar with it, he found it +convenient as a help toward classifying Felix, who, as a young man +extremely clever and active and apparently respectable and yet not +engaged in any recognized business, was an importunate anomaly. +Of course the Baroness and her brother--she was always spoken of first-- +were a welcome topic of conversation between Mr. Wentworth and his +daughters and their occasional visitors. + +"And the young man, your nephew, what is his profession?" +asked an old gentleman--Mr. Broderip, of Salem--who had been +Mr. Wentworth's classmate at Harvard College in the year 1809, +and who came into his office in Devonshire Street. +(Mr. Wentworth, in his later years, used to go but three times +a week to his office, where he had a large amount of highly +confidential trust-business to transact.) + +"Well, he 's an amateur," said Felix's uncle, with folded hands, +and with a certain satisfaction in being able to say it. +And Mr. Broderip had gone back to Salem with a feeling +that this was probably a "European" expression for a broker +or a grain exporter. + +"I should like to do your head, sir," said Felix to his uncle one evening, +before them all--Mr. Brand and Robert Acton being also present. +"I think I should make a very fine thing of it. It 's an interesting head; +it 's very mediaeval." + +Mr. Wentworth looked grave; he felt awkwardly, as if all the company had come +in and found him standing before the looking-glass. "The Lord made it," +he said. "I don't think it is for man to make it over again." + +"Certainly the Lord made it," replied Felix, laughing, "and he +made it very well. But life has been touching up the work. +It is a very interesting type of head. It 's delightfully +wasted and emaciated. The complexion is wonderfully bleached." +And Felix looked round at the circle, as if to call their attention +to these interesting points. Mr. Wentworth grew visibly paler. +"I should like to do you as an old prelate, an old cardinal, +or the prior of an order." + +"A prelate, a cardinal?" murmured Mr. Wentworth. +"Do you refer to the Roman Catholic priesthood?" + +"I mean an old ecclesiastic who should have led a very pure, abstinent life. +Now I take it that has been the case with you, sir; one sees it in your face," +Felix proceeded. "You have been very--a very moderate. Don't you think +one always sees that in a man's face?" + +"You see more in a man's face than I should think of looking for," +said Mr. Wentworth coldly. + +The Baroness rattled her fan, and gave her brilliant laugh. +"It is a risk to look so close!" she exclaimed. +"My uncle has some peccadilloes on his conscience." +Mr. Wentworth looked at her, painfully at a loss; and in so +far as the signs of a pure and abstinent life were visible +in his face they were then probably peculiarly manifest. +"You are a beau vieillard, dear uncle," said Madame M; +auunster, smiling with her foreign eyes. + +"I think you are paying me a compliment," said the old man. + +"Surely, I am not the first woman that ever did so!" +cried the Baroness. + +"I think you are," said Mr. Wentworth gravely. And turning to Felix +he added, in the same tone, "Please don't take my likeness. +My children have my daguerreotype. That is quite satisfactory." + +"I won't promise," said Felix, "not to work your head into something!" + +Mr. Wentworth looked at him and then at all the others; +then he got up and slowly walked away. + +"Felix," said Gertrude, in the silence that followed, "I wish you +would paint my portrait." + +Charlotte wondered whether Gertrude was right in wishing this; +and she looked at Mr. Brand as the most legitimate way of ascertaining. +Whatever Gertrude did or said, Charlotte always looked at Mr. Brand. +It was a standing pretext for looking at Mr. Brand--always, +as Charlotte thought, in the interest of Gertrude's welfare. +It is true that she felt a tremulous interest in Gertrude being right; +for Charlotte, in her small, still way, was an heroic sister. + +"We should be glad to have your portrait, Miss Gertrude," +said Mr. Brand. + +"I should be delighted to paint so charming a model," Felix declared. + +"Do you think you are so lovely, my dear?" asked Lizzie Acton, +with her little inoffensive pertness, biting off a knot +in her knitting. + +"It is not because I think I am beautiful," said Gertrude, +looking all round. "I don't think I am beautiful, at all." +She spoke with a sort of conscious deliberateness; and it seemed very +strange to Charlotte to hear her discussing this question so publicly. +"It is because I think it would be amusing to sit and be painted. +I have always thought that." + +"I am sorry you have not had better things to think about, my daughter," +said Mr. Wentworth. + +"You are very beautiful, cousin Gertrude," Felix declared. + +"That 's a compliment," said Gertrude. "I put all the compliments +I receive into a little money-jug that has a slit in the side. +I shake them up and down, and they rattle. There are not many yet-- +only two or three." + +"No, it 's not a compliment," Felix rejoined. "See; I am careful not to give +it the form of a compliment. I did n't think you were beautiful at first. +But you have come to seem so little by little." + +"Take care, now, your jug does n't burst!" exclaimed Lizzie. + +"I think sitting for one's portrait is only one of the various forms +of idleness," said Mr. Wentworth. "Their name is legion." + +"My dear sir," cried Felix, "you can't be said to be idle when you +are making a man work so!" + +"One might be painted while one is asleep," suggested Mr. Brand, +as a contribution to the discussion. + +"Ah, do paint me while I am asleep," said Gertrude to Felix, smiling. +And she closed her eyes a little. It had by this time become a matter +of almost exciting anxiety to Charlotte what Gertrude would say or +would do next. + +She began to sit for her portrait on the following day-- +in the open air, on the north side of the piazza. "I wish +you would tell me what you think of us--how we seem to you," +she said to Felix, as he sat before his easel. + +"You seem to me the best people in the world," said Felix. + +"You say that," Gertrude resumed, "because it saves you the trouble +of saying anything else." + +The young man glanced at her over the top of his canvas. +"What else should I say? It would certainly be a great deal +of trouble to say anything different." + +"Well," said Gertrude, "you have seen people before that you have liked, +have you not?" + +"Indeed I have, thank Heaven!" + +"And they have been very different from us," Gertrude went on. + +"That only proves," said Felix, "that there are a thousand different +ways of being good company." + +"Do you think us good company?" asked Gertrude. + +"Company for a king!" + +Gertrude was silent a moment; and then, "There must be a thousand +different ways of being dreary," she said; "and sometimes I think +we make use of them all." + +Felix stood up quickly, holding up his hand. "If you could only keep +that look on your face for half an hour--while I catch it!" he said. +"It is uncommonly handsome." + +"To look handsome for half an hour--that is a great deal to ask +of me," she answered. + +"It would be the portrait of a young woman who has taken some vow, +some pledge, that she repents of," said Felix, "and who is thinking +it over at leisure." + +"I have taken no vow, no pledge," said Gertrude, very gravely; +"I have nothing to repent of." + +"My dear cousin, that was only a figure of speech. +I am very sure that no one in your excellent family has anything +to repent of." + +"And yet we are always repenting!" Gertrude exclaimed. +"That is what I mean by our being dreary. You know it perfectly well; +you only pretend that you don't." + +Felix gave a quick laugh. "The half hour is going on, +and yet you are handsomer than ever. One must be careful +what one says, you see." + +"To me," said Gertrude, "you can say anything." + +Felix looked at her, as an artist might, and painted for some +time in silence. + +"Yes, you seem to me different from your father and sister-- +from most of the people you have lived with," he observed. + +"To say that one's self," Gertrude went on, "is like saying-- +by implication, at least--that one is better. I am not better; +I am much worse. But they say themselves that I am different. +It makes them unhappy." + +"Since you accuse me of concealing my real impressions, +I may admit that I think the tendency--among you generally-- +is to be made unhappy too easily." + +"I wish you would tell that to my father," said Gertrude. + +"It might make him more unhappy!" Felix exclaimed, laughing. + +"It certainly would. I don't believe you have seen people like that." + +"Ah, my dear cousin, how do you know what I have seen?" Felix demanded. +"How can I tell you?" + +"You might tell me a great many things, if you only would. You have seen +people like yourself--people who are bright and gay and fond of amusement. +We are not fond of amusement." + +"Yes," said Felix, "I confess that rather strikes me. +You don't seem to me to get all the pleasure out of life +that you might. You +don't seem to me to enjoy..... Do you mind my saying this?" he +asked, pausing. + +"Please go on," said the girl, earnestly. + +"You seem to me very well placed for enjoying. You have money +and liberty and what is called in Europe a 'position.' +But you take a painful view of life, as one may say." + +"One ought to think it bright and charming and delightful, +eh?" asked Gertrude. + +"I should say so--if one can. It is true it all depends +upon that," Felix added. + +"You know there is a great deal of misery in the world," +said his model. + +"I have seen a little of it," the young man rejoined. +"But it was all over there--beyond the sea. I don't see any here. +This is a paradise." + +Gertrude said nothing; she sat looking at the dahlias and the +currant-bushes in the garden, while Felix went on with his work. +"To 'enjoy,' " she began at last, "to take life--not painfully, +must one do something wrong?" + +Felix gave his long, light laugh again. "Seriously, I think not. +And for this reason, among others: you strike me as very capable +of enjoying, if the chance were given you, and yet at the same time +as incapable of wrong-doing." + +"I am sure," said Gertrude, "that you are very wrong +in telling a person that she is incapable of that. +We are never nearer to evil than when we believe that." + +"You are handsomer than ever," observed Felix, irrelevantly. + +Gertrude had got used to hearing him say this. +There was not so much excitement in it as at first. +"What ought one to do?" she continued. "To give parties, +to go to the theatre, to read novels, to keep late hours?" + +"I don't think it 's what one does or one does n't +do that promotes enjoyment," her companion answered. +"It is the general way of looking at life." + +"They look at it as a discipline--that 's what they do here. +I have often been told that." + +"Well, that 's very good. But there is another way," added Felix, smiling: +"to look at it as an opportunity." + +"An opportunity--yes," said Gertrude. "One would get more pleasure that way." + +"I don't attempt to say anything better for it than that it +has been my own way--and that is not saying much!" +Felix had laid down his palette and brushes; he was leaning back, +with his arms folded, to judge the effect of his work. +"And you know," he said, "I am a very petty personage." + +"You have a great deal of talent," said Gertrude. + +"No--no," the young man rejoined, in a tone of cheerful impartiality, +"I have not a great deal of talent. It is nothing at all remarkable. +I assure you I should know if it were. I shall always be obscure. +The world will never hear of me." Gertrude looked at him with a +strange feeling. She was thinking of the great world which he knew +and which she did not, and how full of brilliant talents it +must be, since it could afford to make light of his abilities. +"You need n't in general attach much importance to anything I +tell you," he pursued; "but you may believe me when I say this,-- +that I am little better than a good-natured feather-head." + +"A feather-head?" she repeated. + +"I am a species of Bohemian." + +"A Bohemian?" Gertrude had never heard this term before, save as +a geographical denomination; and she quite failed to understand +the figurative meaning which her companion appeared to attach to it. +But it gave her pleasure. + +Felix had pushed back his chair and risen to his feet; +he slowly came toward her, smiling. "I am a sort of adventurer," +he said, looking down at her. + +She got up, meeting his smile. "An adventurer?" she repeated. +"I should like to hear your adventures." + +For an instant she believed that he was going to take her hand; +but he dropped his own hands suddenly into the pockets of his +painting-jacket. "There is no reason why you should n't," he said. +"I have been an adventurer, but my adventures have been very innocent. +They have all been happy ones; I don't think there are any I should n't tell. +They were very pleasant and very pretty; I should like to go over them +in memory. Sit down again, and I will begin," he added in a moment, +with his naturally persuasive smile. + +Gertrude sat down again on that day, and she sat down on +several other days. Felix, while he plied his brush, told her +a great many stories, and she listened with charmed avidity. +Her eyes rested upon his lips; she was very serious; sometimes, +from her air of wondering gravity, he thought she was displeased. +But Felix never believed for more than a single moment in any displeasure +of his own producing. This would have been fatuity if the optimism +it expressed had not been much more a hope than a prejudice. +It is beside the matter to say that he had a good conscience; +for the best conscience is a sort of self-reproach, and this young man's +brilliantly healthy nature spent itself in objective good intentions +which were ignorant of any test save exactness in hitting their mark. +He told Gertrude how he had walked over France and Italy with a painter's +knapsack on his back, paying his way often by knocking off a flattering +portrait of his host or hostess. He told her how he had played +the violin in a little band of musicians--not of high celebrity-- +who traveled through foreign lands giving provincial concerts. +He told her also how he had been a momentary ornament of a troupe +of strolling actors, engaged in the arduous task of interpreting +Shakespeare to French and German, Polish and Hungarian audiences. + +While this periodical recital was going on, Gertrude lived +in a fantastic world; she seemed to herself to be reading +a romance that came out in daily numbers. She had known nothing +so delightful since the perusal of "Nicholas Nickleby." +One afternoon she went to see her cousin, Mrs. Acton, +Robert's mother, who was a great invalid, never leaving the house. +She came back alone, on foot, across the fields--this being +a short way which they often used. Felix had gone to Boston +with her father, who desired to take the young man to call upon +some of his friends, old gentlemen who remembered his mother-- +remembered her, but said nothing about her--and several +of whom, with the gentle ladies their wives, had driven out +from town to pay their respects at the little house among +the apple-trees, in vehicles which reminded the Baroness, +who received her visitors with discriminating civility, +of the large, light, rattling barouche in which she herself had +made her journey to this neighborhood. The afternoon was waning; +in the western sky the great picture of a New England sunset, +painted in crimson and silver, was suspended from the zenith; +and the stony pastures, as Gertrude traversed them, thinking +intently to herself, were covered with a light, clear glow. +At the open gate of one of the fields she saw from the distance +a man's figure; he stood there as if he were waiting +for her, and as she came nearer she recognized Mr. Brand. +She had a feeling as of not having seen him for some time; +she could not have said for how long, for it yet seemed to her +that he had been very lately at the house. + +"May I walk back with you?" he asked. And when she had said +that he might if he wanted, he observed that he had seen her +and recognized her half a mile away. + +"You must have very good eyes," said Gertrude. + +"Yes, I have very good eyes, Miss Gertrude," said Mr. Brand. +She perceived that he meant something; but for a long time past +Mr. Brand had constantly meant something, and she had almost +got used to it. She felt, however, that what he meant had now +a renewed power to disturb her, to perplex and agitate her. +He walked beside her in silence for a moment, and then he added, +"I have had no trouble in seeing that you are beginning to avoid me. +But perhaps," he went on, "one need n't have had very good eyes +to see that." + +"I have not avoided you," said Gertrude, without looking at him. + +"I think you have been unconscious that you were avoiding me," +Mr. Brand replied. "You have not even known that I was there." + +"Well, you are here now, Mr. Brand!" said Gertrude, with a little laugh. +"I know that very well." + +He made no rejoinder. He simply walked beside her slowly, +as they were obliged to walk over the soft grass. +Presently they came to another gate, which was closed. +Mr. Brand laid his hand upon it, but he made no movement +to open it; he stood and looked at his companion. +"You are very much interested--very much absorbed," he said. + +Gertrude glanced at him; she saw that he was pale and that +he looked excited. She had never seen Mr. Brand excited before, +and she felt that the spectacle, if fully carried out, +would be impressive, almost painful. "Absorbed in what?" +she asked. Then she looked away at the illuminated sky. +She felt guilty and uncomfortable, and yet she was vexed +with herself for feeling so. But Mr. Brand, as he stood +there looking at her with his small, kind, persistent eyes, +represented an immense body of half-obliterated obligations, +that were rising again into a certain distinctness. + +"You have new interests, new occupations," he went on. +"I don't know that I can say that you have new duties. +We have always old ones, Gertrude," he added. + +"Please open the gate, Mr. Brand," she said; and she felt as if, +in saying so, she were cowardly and petulant. But he opened the gate, +and allowed her to pass; then he closed it behind himself. +Before she had time to turn away he put out his hand and held her +an instant by the wrist. + +"I want to say something to you," he said. + +"I know what you want to say," she answered. And she was on +the point of adding, "And I know just how you will say it;" +but these words she kept back. + +"I love you, Gertrude," he said. "I love you very much; +I love you more than ever." + +He said the words just as she had known he would; +she had heard them before. They had no charm for her; +she had said to herself before that it was very strange. +It was supposed to be delightful for a woman to listen +to such words; but these seemed to her flat and mechanical. +"I wish you would forget that," she declared. + +"How can I--why should I?" he asked. + +"I have made you no promise--given you no pledge," she said, +looking at him, with her voice trembling a little. + +"You have let me feel that I have an influence over you. +You have opened your mind to me." + +"I never opened my mind to you, Mr. Brand!" Gertrude cried, +with some vehemence. + +"Then you were not so frank as I thought--as we all thought." + +"I don't see what any one else had to do with it!" cried the girl. + +"I mean your father and your sister. You know it makes them +happy to think you will listen to me." + +She gave a little laugh. "It does n't make them happy," she said. +"Nothing makes them happy. No one is happy here." + +"I think your cousin is very happy--Mr. Young," rejoined Mr. Brand, +in a soft, almost timid tone. + +"So much the better for him!" And Gertrude gave her little laugh again. + +The young man looked at her a moment. "You are very much changed," he said. + +"I am glad to hear it," Gertrude declared. + +"I am not. I have known you a long time, and I have loved +you as you were." + +"I am much obliged to you," said Gertrude. "I must be going home. " + +He on his side, gave a little laugh. + +"You certainly do avoid me--you see!" + +"Avoid me, then," said the girl. + +He looked at her again; and then, very gently, "No I will not avoid you," +he replied; "but I will leave you, for the present, to yourself. I think +you will remember--after a while--some of the things you have forgotten. +I think you will come back to me; I have great faith in that." + +This time his voice was very touching; there was a strong, +reproachful force in what he said, and Gertrude could +answer nothing. He turned away and stood there, leaning his +elbows on the gate and looking at the beautiful sunset. +Gertrude left him and took her way home again; but when she reached +the middle of the next field she suddenly burst into tears. +Her tears seemed to her to have been a long time gathering, +and for some moments it was a kind of glee to shed them. +But they presently passed away. There was something a little +hard about Gertrude; and she never wept again. + + + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Going of an afternoon to call upon his niece, Mr. Wentworth more +than once found Robert Acton sitting in her little drawing-room. +This was in no degree, to Mr. Wentworth, a perturbing fact, +for he had no sense of competing with his young kinsman for +Eugenia's good graces. Madame Munster's uncle had the highest +opinion of Robert Acton, who, indeed, in the family at large, +was the object of a great deal of undemonstrative appreciation. +They were all proud of him, in so far as the charge of being +proud may be brought against people who were, habitually, +distinctly guiltless of the misdemeanor known as "taking credit." +They never boasted of Robert Acton, nor indulged in vainglorious +reference to him; they never quoted the clever things +he had said, nor mentioned the generous things he had done. +But a sort of frigidly-tender faith in his unlimited goodness +was a part of their personal sense of right; and there can, +perhaps, be no better proof of the high esteem in which he was +held than the fact that no explicit judgment was ever passed +upon his actions. He was no more praised than he was blamed; +but he was tacitly felt to be an ornament to his circle. +He was the man of the world of the family. He had been to China +and brought home a collection of curiosities; he had made a fortune-- +or rather he had quintupled a fortune already considerable; +he was distinguished by that combination of celibacy, +"property," and good humor which appeals to even the most +subdued imaginations; and it was taken for granted that he would +presently place these advantages at the disposal of some +well-regulated young woman of his own "set." Mr. Wentworth was +not a man to admit to himself that--his paternal duties apart-- +he liked any individual much better than all other individuals; +but he thought Robert Acton extremely judicious; and this was +perhaps as near an approach as he was capable of to the eagerness +of preference, which his temperament repudiated as it would +have disengaged itself from something slightly unchaste. +Acton was, in fact, very judicious--and something more beside; +and indeed it must be claimed for Mr. Wentworth that in the more +illicit parts of his preference there hovered the vague +adumbration of a belief that his cousin's final merit was +a certain enviable capacity for whistling, rather gallantly, +at the sanctions of mere judgment--for showing a larger courage, +a finer quality of pluck, than common occasion demanded. +Mr. Wentworth would never have risked the intimation that Acton +was made, in the smallest degree, of the stuff of a hero; +but this is small blame to him, for Robert would certainly +never have risked it himself. Acton certainly exercised great +discretion in all things--beginning with his estimate of himself. +He knew that he was by no means so much of a man of the world +as he was supposed to be in local circles; but it must be added +that he knew also that his natural shrewdness had a reach +of which he had never quite given local circles the measure. +He was addicted to taking the humorous view of things, +and he had discovered that even in the narrowest circles +such a disposition may find frequent opportunities. +Such opportunities had formed for some time--that is, since his +return from China, a year and a half before--the most active +element in this gentleman's life, which had just now a rather +indolent air. He was perfectly willing to get married. +He was very fond of books, and he had a handsome library; +that is, his books were much more numerous than Mr. Wentworth's. +He was also very fond of pictures; but it must be confessed, +in the fierce light of contemporary criticism, that his walls +were adorned with several rather abortive masterpieces. He had got +his learning--and there was more of it than commonly appeared-- +at Harvard College; and he took a pleasure in old associations, +which made it a part of his daily contentment to live so near +this institution that he often passed it in driving to Boston. +He was extremely interested in the Baroness Munster. + +She was very frank with him; or at least she intended to be. +"I am sure you find it very strange that I should have settled +down in this out-of-the-way part of the world!" she said +to him three or four weeks after she had installed herself. +"I am certain you are wondering about my motives. They are +very pure." The Baroness by this time was an old inhabitant; +the best society in Boston had called upon her, and Clifford +Wentworth had taken her several times to drive in his buggy. + +Robert Acton was seated near her, playing with a fan; there were always +several fans lying about her drawing-room, with long ribbons of different +colors attached to them, and Acton was always playing with one. +"No, I don't find it at all strange," he said slowly, smiling. +"That a clever woman should turn up in Boston, or its suburbs--that does +not require so much explanation. Boston is a very nice place." + +"If you wish to make me contradict you," said the Baroness, +"vous vous y prenez mal. In certain moods there is nothing +I am not capable of agreeing to. Boston is a paradise, +and we are in the suburbs of Paradise." + +"Just now I am not at all in the suburbs; I am in the place itself," +rejoined Acton, who was lounging a little in his chair. +He was, however, not always lounging; and when he was he was +not quite so relaxed as he pretended. To a certain extent, +he sought refuge from shyness in this appearance of relaxation; +and like many persons in the same circumstances he somewhat +exaggerated the appearance. Beyond this, the air of being +much at his ease was a cover for vigilant observation. +He was more than interested in this clever woman, who, whatever he +might say, was clever not at all after the Boston fashion; +she plunged him into a kind of excitement, held him in +vague suspense. He was obliged to admit to himself that he had +never yet seen a woman just like this--not even in China. +He was ashamed, for inscrutable reasons, of the vivacity of +his emotion, and he carried it off, superficially, by taking, +still superficially, the humorous view of Madame Munster. +It was not at all true that he thought it very natural +of her to have made this pious pilgrimage. It might have +been said of him in advance that he was too good a Bostonian +to regard in the light of an eccentricity the desire of even +the remotest alien to visit the New England metropolis. +This was an impulse for which, surely, no apology was needed; +and Madame Munster was the fortunate possessor of several New +England cousins. In fact, however, Madame Munster struck +him as out of keeping with her little circle; she was at +the best a very agreeable, a gracefully mystifying anomaly. +He knew very well that it would not do to address these reflections +too crudely to Mr. Wentworth; he would never have remarked to +the old gentleman that he wondered what the Baroness was up to. +And indeed he had no great desire to share his vague mistrust +with any one. There was a personal pleasure in it; the greatest +pleasure he had known at least since he had come from China. +He would keep the Baroness, for better or worse, to himself; +he had a feeling that he deserved to enjoy a monopoly of her, +for he was certainly the person who had most adequately gauged +her capacity for social intercourse. Before long it became +apparent to him that the Baroness was disposed to lay no tax +upon such a monopoly. + +One day (he was sitting there again and playing with a fan) +she asked him to apologize, should the occasion present itself, +to certain people in Boston for her not having returned their calls. +"There are half a dozen places," she said; "a formidable list. +Charlotte Wentworth has written it out for me, in a terrifically +distinct hand. There is no ambiguity on the subject; +I know perfectly where I must go. Mr. Wentworth informs me that +the carriage is always at my disposal, and Charlotte offers to go +with me, in a pair of tight gloves and a very stiff petticoat. +And yet for three days I have been putting it off. +They must think me horribly vicious." + +"You ask me to apologize," said Acton, "but you don't tell me +what excuse I can offer." + +"That is more," the Baroness declared, "than I am held to. It would +be like my asking you to buy me a bouquet and giving you the money. +I have no reason except that--somehow--it 's too violent an effort. +It is not inspiring. Would n't that serve as an excuse, in Boston? +I am told they are very sincere; they don't tell fibs. +And then Felix ought to go with me, and he is never in readiness. +I don't see him. He is always roaming about the fields and sketching +old barns, or taking ten-mile walks, or painting some one's portrait, +or rowing on the pond, or flirting with Gertrude Wentworth." + +"I should think it would amuse you to go and see a few people," +said Acton. "You are having a very quiet time of it here. +It 's a dull life for you." + +"Ah, the quiet,--the quiet!" the Baroness exclaimed. "That 's what I like. +It 's rest. That 's what I came here for. Amusement? I have had amusement. +And as for seeing people--I have already seen a great many in my life. +If it did n't sound ungracious I should say that I wish very humbly your +people here would leave me alone!" + +Acton looked at her a moment, and she looked at him. +She was a woman who took being looked at remarkably well. +"So you have come here for rest?" he asked. + +"So I may say. I came for many of those reasons that are +no reasons--don't you know?--and yet that are really the best: +to come away, to change, to break with everything. +When once one comes away one must arrive somewhere, and I +asked myself why I should n't arrive here." + +"You certainly had time on the way!" said Acton, laughing. + +Madame Munster looked at him again; and then, smiling: +"And I have certainly had time, since I got here, to ask myself +why I came. However, I never ask myself idle questions. +Here I am, and it seems to me you ought only to thank me." + +"When you go away you will see the difficulties I shall put in your path." + +"You mean to put difficulties in my path?" she asked, +rearranging the rosebud in her corsage. + +"The greatest of all--that of having been so agreeable"-- + +"That I shall be unable to depart? Don't be too sure. +I have left some very agreeable people over there." + +"Ah," said Acton, "but it was to come here, where I am!" + +"I did n't know of your existence. Excuse me for saying anything +so rude; but, honestly speaking, I did not. No," the Baroness pursued, +"it was precisely not to see you--such people as you--that I came." + +"Such people as me?" cried Acton. + +"I had a sort of longing to come into those natural relations which I knew I +should find here. Over there I had only, as I may say, artificial relations. +Don't you see the difference?" + +"The difference tells against me," said Acton. "I suppose I +am an artificial relation." + +"Conventional," declared the Baroness; "very conventional." + +"Well, there is one way in which the relation of a lady and a gentleman +may always become natural," said Acton. + +"You mean by their becoming lovers? That may be natural or not. +And at any rate," rejoined Eugenia, "nous n'en sommes pas la!" + +They were not, as yet; but a little later, when she began to go +with him to drive, it might almost have seemed that they were. +He came for her several times, alone, in his high "wagon," drawn +by a pair of charming light-limbed horses. It was different, +her having gone with Clifford Wentworth, who was her cousin, +and so much younger. It was not to be imagined that she should +have a flirtation with Clifford, who was a mere shame-faced boy, +and whom a large section of Boston society supposed to be "engaged" +to Lizzie Acton. Not, indeed, that it was to be conceived that +the Baroness was a possible party to any flirtation whatever; +for she was undoubtedly a married lady. It was generally known +that her matrimonial condition was of the "morganatic" order; +but in its natural aversion to suppose that this meant anything +less than absolute wedlock, the conscience of the community took +refuge in the belief that it implied something even more. + +Acton wished her to think highly of American scenery, and he drove +her to great distances, picking out the prettiest roads and +the largest points of view. If we are good when we are contented, +Eugenia's virtues should now certainly have been uppermost; +for she found a charm in the rapid movement through a wild country, +and in a companion who from time to time made the vehicle dip, +with a motion like a swallow's flight, over roads of primitive +construction, and who, as she felt, would do a great many things +that she might ask him. Sometimes, for a couple of hours together, +there were almost no houses; there were nothing but woods and rivers +and lakes and horizons adorned with bright-looking mountains. +It seemed to the Baroness very wild, as I have said, and lovely; +but the impression added something to that sense of the enlargement +of opportunity which had been born of her arrival in the New World. + +One day--it was late in the afternoon--Acton pulled up his horses +on the crest of a hill which commanded a beautiful prospect. +He let them stand a long time to rest, while he sat there +and talked with Madame M; auunster. The prospect was +beautiful in spite of there being nothing human within sight. +There was a wilderness of woods, and the gleam of a distant river, +and a glimpse of half the hill-tops in Massachusetts. +The road had a wide, grassy margin, on the further side of which +there flowed a deep, clear brook; there were wild flowers in +the grass, and beside the brook lay the trunk of a fallen tree. +Acton waited a while; at last a rustic wayfarer came trudging +along the road. Acton asked him to hold the horses-- +a service he consented to render, as a friendly turn to a +fellow-citizen. Then he invited the Baroness to descend, +and the two wandered away, across the grass, and sat down on +the log beside the brook. + +"I imagine it does n't remind you of Silberstadt," said Acton. +It was the first time that he had mentioned Silberstadt to her, +for particular reasons. He knew she had a husband there, +and this was disagreeable to him; and, furthermore, it had been +repeated to him that this husband wished to put her away--a state +of affairs to which even indirect reference was to be deprecated. +It was true, nevertheless, that the Baroness herself had often +alluded to Silberstadt; and Acton had often wondered why her husband +wished to get rid of her. It was a curious position for a lady-- +this being known as a repudiated wife; and it is worthy of observation +that the Baroness carried it off with exceeding grace and dignity. +She had made it felt, from the first, that there were two sides +to the question, and that her own side, when she should choose +to present it, would be replete with touching interest. + +"It does not remind me of the town, of course," she said, +"of the sculptured gables and the Gothic churches, of the +wonderful Schloss, with its moat and its clustering towers. +But it has a little look of some other parts of the principality. +One might fancy one's self among those grand old German forests, +those legendary mountains; the sort of country one sees from +the windows at Shreckenstein." + +"What is Shreckenstein?" asked Acton. + +"It is a great castle,--the summer residence of the Reigning Prince." + +"Have you ever lived there?" + +"I have stayed there," said the Baroness. Acton was silent; +he looked a while at the uncastled landscape before him. +"It is the first time you have ever asked me about Silberstadt," +she said. "I should think you would want to know about my marriage; +it must seem to you very strange." + +Acton looked at her a moment. "Now you would n't like me to say that!" + +"You Americans have such odd ways!" the Baroness declared. +"You never ask anything outright; there seem to be so many +things you can't talk about." + +"We Americans are very polite," said Acton, whose national +consciousness had been complicated by a residence in +foreign lands, and who yet disliked to hear Americans abused. +"We don't like to tread upon people's toes," he said. +"But I should like very much to hear about your marriage. +Now tell me how it came about." + +"The Prince fell in love with me," replied the Baroness simply. +"He pressed his suit very hard. At first he did n't wish me to marry him; +on the contrary. But on that basis I refused to listen to him. +So he offered me marriage--in so far as he might. I was young, +and I confess I was rather flattered. But if it were to be done +again now, I certainly should not accept him." + +"How long ago was this?" asked Acton. + +"Oh--several years," said Eugenia. "You should never ask +a woman for dates." + +"Why, I should think that when a woman was relating history".... +Acton answered. "And now he wants to break it off?" + +"They want him to make a political marriage. It is his brother's idea. +His brother is very clever." + +"They must be a precious pair!" cried Robert Acton. + +The Baroness gave a little philosophic shrug. "Que voulez-vous? +They are princes. They think they are treating me very well. +Silberstadt is a perfectly despotic little state, and the Reigning +Prince may annul the marriage by a stroke of his pen. +But he has promised me, nevertheless, not to do so without +my formal consent." + +"And this you have refused?" + +"Hitherto. It is an indignity, and I have wished at least to make it +difficult for them. But I have a little document in my writing-desk +which I have only to sign and send back to the Prince." + +"Then it will be all over?" + +The Baroness lifted her hand, and dropped it again. +"Of course I shall keep my title; at least, I shall be at +liberty to keep it if I choose. And I suppose I shall keep it. +One must have a name. And I shall keep my pension. +It is very small--it is wretchedly small; but it is what +I live on." + +"And you have only to sign that paper?" Acton asked. + +The Baroness looked at him a moment. "Do you urge it?" + +He got up slowly, and stood with his hands in his pockets. +"What do you gain by not doing it?" + +"I am supposed to gain this advantage--that if I delay, or temporize, +the Prince may come back to me, may make a stand against his brother. +He is very fond of me, and his brother has pushed him only little by little." + +"If he were to come back to you," said Acton, "would you-- +would you take him back?" + +The Baroness met his eyes; she colored just a little. Then she rose. +"I should have the satisfaction of saying, 'Now it is my turn. +I break with your serene highness!' " + +They began to walk toward the carriage. "Well," said Robert Acton, +"it 's a curious story! How did you make his acquaintance?" + +"I was staying with an old lady--an old Countess--in Dresden. +She had been a friend of my father's. My father was dead; +I was very much alone. My brother was wandering about the world +in a theatrical troupe." + +"Your brother ought to have stayed with you," Acton observed, +"and kept you from putting your trust in princes." + +The Baroness was silent a moment, and then, "He did what he could," +she said. "He sent me money. The old Countess encouraged +the Prince; she was even pressing. It seems to me," +Madame Munster added, gently, "that--under the circumstances-- +I behaved very well." + +Acton glanced at her, and made the observation--he had made it before-- +that a woman looks the prettier for having unfolded her wrongs or +her sufferings. "Well," he reflected, audibly, "I should like to see +you send his serene highness--somewhere!" + +Madame Munster stooped and plucked a daisy from the grass. +"And not sign my renunciation?" + +"Well, I don't know--I don't know," said Acton. + +"In one case I should have my revenge; in another case I +should have my liberty." + +Acton gave a little laugh as he helped her into the carriage. +"At any rate," he said, "take good care of that paper." + +A couple of days afterward he asked her to come and see his house. +The visit had already been proposed, but it had been put off in +consequence of his mother's illness. She was a constant invalid, +and she had passed these recent years, very patiently, in a great +flowered arm-chair at her bedroom window. Lately, for some days, +she had been unable to see any one; but now she was better, +and she sent the Baroness a very civil message. Acton had wished +their visitor to come to dinner; but Madame M; auunster preferred +to begin with a simple call. She had reflected that if she should +go to dinner Mr. Wentworth and his daughters would also be asked, +and it had seemed to her that the peculiar character of the occasion +would be best preserved in a tete-a-tete with her host. +Why the occasion should have a peculiar character she explained to no one. +As far as any one could see, it was simply very pleasant. +Acton came for her and drove her to his door, an operation which was +rapidly performed. His house the Baroness mentally pronounced a very +good one; more articulately, she declared that it was enchanting. +It was large and square and painted brown; it stood in a well-kept +shrubbery, and was approached, from the gate, by a short drive. +It was, moreover, a much more modern dwelling than Mr. Wentworth's, +and was more redundantly upholstered and expensively ornamented. +The Baroness perceived that her entertainer had analyzed material +comfort to a sufficiently fine point. And then he possessed the most +delightful chinoiseries--trophies of his sojourn in the Celestial Empire: +pagodas of ebony and cabinets of ivory; sculptured monsters, +grinning and leering on chimney-pieces, in front of beautifully +figured hand-screens; porcelain dinner-sets, gleaming behind +the glass doors of mahogany buffets; large screens, in corners, +covered with tense silk and embroidered with mandarins and dragons. +These things were scattered all over the house, and they +gave Eugenia a pretext for a complete domiciliary visit. +She liked it, she enjoyed it; she thought it a very nice place. +It had a mixture of the homely and the liberal, and though it +was almost a museum, the large, little-used rooms were as fresh +and clean as a well-kept dairy. Lizzie Acton told her that she dusted +all the pagodas and other curiosities every day with her own hands; +and the Baroness answered that she was evidently a household fairy. +Lizzie had not at all the look of a young lady who dusted things; +she wore such pretty dresses and had such delicate fingers +that it was difficult to imagine her immersed in sordid cares. +She came to meet Madame M; auunster on her arrival, but she +said nothing, or almost nothing, and the Baroness again reflected-- +she had had occasion to do so before--that American girls had no manners. +She disliked this little American girl, and she was quite prepared +to learn that she had failed to commend herself to Miss Acton. +Lizzie struck her as positive and explicit almost to pertness; +and the idea of her combining the apparent incongruities of a taste +for housework and the wearing of fresh, Parisian-looking dresses +suggested the possession of a dangerous energy. It was a source +of irritation to the Baroness that in this country it should seem +to matter whether a little girl were a trifle less or a trifle +more of a nonentity; for Eugenia had hitherto been conscious of no +moral pressure as regards the appreciation of diminutive virgins. +It was perhaps an indication of Lizzie's pertness that she +very soon retired and left the Baroness on her brother's hands. +Acton talked a great deal about his chinoiseries; he knew a good +deal about porcelain and bric-a-brac. The Baroness, in her progress +through the house, made, as it were, a great many stations. +She sat down everywhere, confessed to being a little tired, and asked about +the various objects with a curious mixture of alertness and inattention. +If there had been any one to say it to she would have declared that +she was positively in love with her host; but she could hardly make +this declaration--even in the strictest confidence--to Acton himself. +It gave her, nevertheless, a pleasure that had some of the charm of +unwontedness to feel, with that admirable keenness with which she was +capable of feeling things, that he had a disposition without any edges; +that even his humorous irony always expanded toward the point. +One's impression of his honesty was almost like carrying a bunch +of flowers; the perfume was most agreeable, but they were occasionally +an inconvenience. One could trust him, at any rate, round all +the corners of the world; and, withal, he was not absolutely simple, +which would have been excess; he was only relatively simple, +which was quite enough for the Baroness. + +Lizzie reappeared to say that her mother would now be happy to receive +Madame Munster; and the Baroness followed her to Mrs. Acton's apartment. +Eugenia reflected, as she went, that it was not the affectation +of impertinence that made her dislike this young lady, for on +that ground she could easily have beaten her. It was not an +aspiration on the girl's part to rivalry, but a kind of laughing, +childishly-mocking indifference to the results of comparison. +Mrs. Acton was an emaciated, sweet-faced woman of five and fifty, +sitting with pillows behind her, and looking out on a clump +of hemlocks. She was very modest, very timid, and very ill; +she made Eugenia feel grateful that she herself was not like that-- +neither so ill, nor, possibly, so modest. On a chair, beside her, +lay a volume of Emerson's Essays. It was a great occasion for poor +Mrs. Acton, in her helpless condition, to be confronted with a clever +foreign lady, who had more manner than any lady--any dozen ladies-- +that she had ever seen. + +"I have heard a great deal about you," she said, softly, to the Baroness. + +"From your son, eh?" Eugenia asked. "He has talked to me immensely +of you. Oh, he talks of you as you would like," the Baroness declared; +"as such a son must talk of such a mother!" + +Mrs. Acton sat gazing; this was part of Madame Munster's "manner." +But Robert Acton was gazing too, in vivid consciousness that +he had barely mentioned his mother to their brilliant guest. +He never talked of this still maternal presence,--a presence +refined to such delicacy that it had almost resolved itself, +with him, simply into the subjective emotion of gratitude. +And Acton rarely talked of his emotions. The Baroness turned +her smile toward him, and she instantly felt that she had +been observed to be fibbing. She had struck a false note. +But who were these people to whom such fibbing was not pleasing? +If they were annoyed, the Baroness was equally so; and after the +exchange of a few civil inquiries and low-voiced responses she took +leave of Mrs. Acton. She begged Robert not to come home with her; +she would get into the carriage alone; she preferred that. +This was imperious, and she thought he looked disappointed. +While she stood before the door with him--the carriage was +turning in the gravel-walk--this thought restored her serenity. + +When she had given him her hand in farewell she looked at him a moment. +"I have almost decided to dispatch that paper," she said. + +He knew that she alluded to the document that she had called her renunciation; +and he assisted her into the carriage without saying anything. +But just before the vehicle began to move he said, "Well, when you +have in fact dispatched it, I hope you will let me know!" + + + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Felix young finished Gertrude's portrait, and he afterwards transferred +to canvas the features of many members of that circle of which it +may be said that he had become for the time the pivot and the centre. +I am afraid it must be confessed that he was a decidedly +flattering painter, and that he imparted to his models a romantic +grace which seemed easily and cheaply acquired by the payment of a +hundred dollars to a young man who made "sitting" so entertaining. +For Felix was paid for his pictures, making, as he did, no secret +of the fact that in guiding his steps to the Western world affectionate +curiosity had gone hand in hand with a desire to better his condition. +He took his uncle's portrait quite as if Mr. Wentworth had never +averted himself from the experiment; and as he compassed his end +only by the exercise of gentle violence, it is but fair to add +that he allowed the old man to give him nothing but his time. +He passed his arm into Mr. Wentworth's one summer morning-- +very few arms indeed had ever passed into Mr. Wentworth's--and led +him across the garden and along the road into the studio which he had +extemporized in the little house among the apple-trees. The grave +gentleman felt himself more and more fascinated by his clever nephew, +whose fresh, demonstrative youth seemed a compendium of experiences +so strangely numerous. It appeared to him that Felix must know +a great deal; he would like to learn what he thought about some +of those things as regards which his own conversation had always +been formal, but his knowledge vague. Felix had a confident, +gayly trenchant way of judging human actions which Mr. Wentworth +grew little by little to envy; it seemed like criticism made easy. +Forming an opinion--say on a person's conduct--was, with Mr. Wentworth, +a good deal like fumbling in a lock with a key chosen at hazard. +He seemed to himself to go about the world with a big bunch +of these ineffectual instruments at his girdle. His nephew, +on the other hand, with a single turn of the wrist, opened any +door as adroitly as a horse-thief. He felt obliged to keep up +the convention that an uncle is always wiser than a nephew, +even if he could keep it up no otherwise than by listening +in serious silence to Felix's quick, light, constant discourse. +But there came a day when he lapsed from consistency and almost +asked his nephew's advice. + +"Have you ever entertained the idea of settling in the United States?" +he asked one morning, while Felix brilliantly plied his brush. + +"My dear uncle," said Felix, "excuse me if your question makes me +smile a little. To begin with, I have never entertained an idea. +Ideas often entertain me; but I am afraid I have never seriously +made a plan. I know what you are going to say; or rather, +I know what you think, for I don't think you will say it-- +that this is very frivolous and loose-minded on my part. +So it is; but I am made like that; I take things as they come, +and somehow there is always some new thing to follow the last. +In the second place, I should never propose to settle. +I can't settle, my dear uncle; I 'm not a settler. +I know that is what strangers are supposed to do here; +they always settle. But I have n't--to answer your question-- +entertained that idea." + +"You intend to return to Europe and resume your irregular manner of life?" +Mr. Wentworth inquired. + +"I can't say I intend. But it 's very likely I shall go back to Europe. +After all, I am a European. I feel that, you know. It will depend a good +deal upon my sister. She 's even more of a European than I; here, you know, +she 's a picture out of her setting. And as for 'resuming,' dear uncle, +I really have never given up my irregular manner of life. What, for me, +could be more irregular than this?" + +"Than what?" asked Mr. Wentworth, with his pale gravity. + +"Well, than everything! Living in the midst of you, this way; this charming, +quiet, serious family life; fraternizing with Charlotte and Gertrude; +calling upon twenty young ladies and going out to walk with them; +sitting with you in the evening on the piazza and listening to the crickets, +and going to bed at ten o'clock." + +"Your description is very animated," said Mr. Wentworth; +"but I see nothing improper in what you describe." + +"Neither do I, dear uncle. It is extremely delightful; +I should n't like it if it were improper. I assure you I +don't like improper things; though I dare say you think I do," +Felix went on, painting away. + +"I have never accused you of that." + +"Pray don't," said Felix, "because, you see, at bottom I am +a terrible Philistine." + +"A Philistine?" repeated Mr. Wentworth. + +"I mean, as one may say, a plain, God-fearing man." +Mr. Wentworth looked at him reservedly, like a mystified sage, +and Felix continued, "I trust I shall enjoy a venerable and +venerated old age. I mean to live long. I can hardly call +that a plan, perhaps; but it 's a keen desire--a rosy vision. +I shall be a lively, perhaps even a frivolous old man!" + +"It is natural," said his uncle, sententiously, "that one +should desire to prolong an agreeable life. We have perhaps +a selfish indisposition to bring our pleasure to a close. +But I presume," he added, "that you expect to marry." + +"That too, dear uncle, is a hope, a desire, a vision," said Felix. +It occurred to him for an instant that this was possibly a preface +to the offer of the hand of one of Mr. Wentworth's admirable daughters. +But in the name of decent modesty and a proper sense of +the hard realities of this world, Felix banished the thought. +His uncle was the incarnation of benevolence, certainly; but from +that to accepting--much more postulating--the idea of a union between +a young lady with a dowry presumptively brilliant and a penniless +artist with no prospect of fame, there was a very long way. +Felix had lately become conscious of a luxurious preference for +the society--if possible unshared with others--of Gertrude Wentworth; +but he had relegated this young lady, for the moment, to the coldly +brilliant category of unattainable possessions. She was not the first +woman for whom he had entertained an unpractical admiration. +He had been in love with duchesses and countesses, and he had made, +once or twice, a perilously near approach to cynicism in declaring +that the disinterestedness of women had been overrated. +On the whole, he had tempered audacity with modesty; and it +is but fair to him now to say explicitly that he would have been +incapable of taking advantage of his present large allowance of +familiarity to make love to the younger of his handsome cousins. +Felix had grown up among traditions in the light of which such +a proceeding looked like a grievous breach of hospitality. +I have said that he was always happy, and it may be counted among +the present sources of his happiness that he had as regards this +matter of his relations with Gertrude a deliciously good conscience. +His own deportment seemed to him suffused with the beauty of virtue-- +a form of beauty that he admired with the same vivacity with which +he admired all other forms. + +"I think that if you marry," said Mr. Wentworth presently, +"it will conduce to your happiness." + +"Sicurissimo!" Felix exclaimed; and then, arresting his brush, he looked at +his uncle with a smile. "There is something I feel tempted to say to you. +May I risk it?" + +Mr. Wentworth drew himself up a little. "I am very safe; +I don't repeat things." But he hoped Felix would not +risk too much. + +Felix was laughing at his answer. + +"It 's odd to hear you telling me how to be happy. I don't think +you know yourself, dear uncle. Now, does that sound brutal?" + +The old man was silent a moment, and then, with a dry dignity +that suddenly touched his nephew: "We may sometimes point +out a road we are unable to follow." + +"Ah, don't tell me you have had any sorrows," Felix rejoined. +"I did n't suppose it, and I did n't mean to allude to them. +I simply meant that you all don't amuse yourselves." + +"Amuse ourselves? We are not children." + +"Precisely not! You have reached the proper age. +I was saying that the other day to Gertrude," Felix added. +"I hope it was not indiscreet." + +"If it was," said Mr. Wentworth, with a keener irony than Felix would +have thought him capable of, "it was but your way of amusing yourself. +I am afraid you have never had a trouble." + +"Oh, yes, I have!" Felix declared, with some spirit; "before I knew better. +But you don't catch me at it again." + +Mr. Wentworth maintained for a while a silence more expressive +than a deep-drawn sigh. "You have no children," he said at last. + +"Don't tell me," Felix exclaimed, "that your charming young people +are a source of grief to you!" + +"I don't speak of Charlotte." And then, after a pause, +Mr. Wentworth continued, "I don't speak of Gertrude. +But I feel considerable anxiety about Clifford. +I will tell you another time." + +The next time he gave Felix a sitting his nephew reminded him that he had +taken him into his confidence. "How is Clifford to-day?" Felix asked. +"He has always seemed to me a young man of remarkable discretion. +Indeed, he is only too discreet; he seems on his guard against me-- +as if he thought me rather light company. The other day he told his sister-- +Gertrude repeated it to me--that I was always laughing at him. If I laugh +it is simply from the impulse to try and inspire him with confidence. +That is the only way I have." + +"Clifford's situation is no laughing matter," said Mr. Wentworth. +"It is very peculiar, as I suppose you have guessed." + +"Ah, you mean his love affair with his cousin?" + +Mr. Wentworth stared, blushing a little. "I mean his absence from college. +He has been suspended. We have decided not to speak of it unless +we are asked." + +"Suspended?" Felix repeated. + +"He has been requested by the Harvard authorities to absent +himself for six months. Meanwhile he is studying with Mr. Brand. +We think Mr. Brand will help him; at least we hope so." + +"What befell him at college?" Felix asked. "He was too fond of pleasure? +Mr. Brand certainly will not teach him any of those secrets!" + +"He was too fond of something of which he should not have been fond. +I suppose it is considered a pleasure." + +Felix gave his light laugh. "My dear uncle, is there any doubt about +its being a pleasure? C'est de son age, as they say in France." + +"I should have said rather it was a vice of later life-- +of disappointed old age." + +Felix glanced at his uncle, with his lifted eyebrows, and then, +"Of what are you speaking?" he demanded, smiling. + +"Of the situation in which Clifford was found." + +"Ah, he was found--he was caught?" + +"Necessarily, he was caught. He could n't walk; he staggered." + +"Oh," said Felix, "he drinks! I rather suspected that, +from something I observed the first day I came here. +I quite agree with you that it is a low taste. It 's not a vice +for a gentleman. He ought to give it up." + +"We hope for a good deal from Mr. Brand's influence," +Mr. Wentworth went on. "He has talked to him from the first. +And he never touches anything himself." + +"I will talk to him--I will talk to him!" Felix declared, gayly. + +"What will you say to him?" asked his uncle, with some apprehension. + +Felix for some moments answered nothing. "Do you mean to marry +him to his cousin?" he asked at last. + +"Marry him?" echoed Mr. Wentworth. "I should n't think his cousin +would want to marry him." + +"You have no understanding, then, with Mrs. Acton?" + +Mr. Wentworth stared, almost blankly. "I have never discussed +such subjects with her." + +"I should think it might be time," said Felix. "Lizzie Acton +is admirably pretty, and if Clifford is dangerous...." + +"They are not engaged," said Mr. Wentworth. "I have no reason +to suppose they are engaged." + +"Par exemple!" cried Felix. "A clandestine engagement? +Trust me, Clifford, as I say, is a charming boy. +He is incapable of that. Lizzie Acton, then, would not be +jealous of another woman." + +"I certainly hope not," said the old man, with a vague sense +of jealousy being an even lower vice than a love of liquor. + +"The best thing for Clifford, then," Felix propounded, +"is to become interested in some clever, charming woman." +And he paused in his painting, and, with his elbows on +his knees, looked with bright communicativeness at his uncle. +"You see, I believe greatly in the influence of women. +Living with women helps to make a man a gentleman. +It is very true Clifford has his sisters, who are so charming. +But there should be a different sentiment in play from +the fraternal, you know. He has Lizzie Acton; but she, perhaps, +is rather immature." + +"I suspect Lizzie has talked to him, reasoned with him," +said Mr. Wentworth. + +"On the impropriety of getting tipsy--on the beauty of temperance? +That is dreary work for a pretty young girl. No," Felix continued; +"Clifford ought to frequent some agreeable woman, who, +without ever mentioning such unsavory subjects, would give +him a sense of its being very ridiculous to be fuddled. +If he could fall in love with her a little, so much the better. +The thing would operate as a cure." + +"Well, now, what lady should you suggest?" asked Mr. Wentworth. + +"There is a clever woman under your hand. My sister." + +"Your sister--under my hand?" Mr. Wentworth repeated. + +"Say a word to Clifford. Tell him to be bold. He is well +disposed already; he has invited her two or three times to drive. +But I don't think he comes to see her. Give him a hint to come-- +to come often. He will sit there of an afternoon, and they will talk. +It will do him good. " + +Mr. Wentworth meditated. "You think she will exercise a helpful influence?" + +"She will exercise a civilizing--I may call it a sobering--influence. +A charming, clever, witty woman always does--especially if she is a little +of a coquette. My dear uncle, the society of such women has been half +my education. If Clifford is suspended, as you say, from college, +let Eugenia be his preceptress." + +Mr. Wentworth continued thoughtful. "You think Eugenia is +a coquette?" he asked. + +"What pretty woman is not?" Felix demanded in turn. +But this, for Mr. Wentworth, could at the best have been no answer, +for he did not think his niece pretty. "With Clifford," +the young man pursued, "Eugenia will simply be enough of a +coquette to be a little ironical. That 's what he needs. +So you recommend him to be nice with her, you know. +The suggestion will come best from you." + +"Do I understand," asked the old man, "that I am to suggest to my son +to make a--a profession of--of affection to Madame Munster?" + +"Yes, yes--a profession!" cried Felix sympathetically. + +"But, as I understand it, Madame Munster is a married woman." + +"Ah," said Felix, smiling, "of course she can't marry him. +But she will do what she can." + +Mr. Wentworth sat for some time with his eyes on the floor; +at last he got up. "I don't think," he said, "that I can +undertake to recommend my son any such course." And without +meeting Felix's surprised glance he broke off his sitting, +which was not resumed for a fortnight. + +Felix was very fond of the little lake which occupied so many +of Mr. Wentworth's numerous acres, and of a remarkable pine +grove which lay upon the further side of it, planted upon +a steep embankment and haunted by the summer breeze. +The murmur of the air in the far off tree-tops had +a strange distinctness; it was almost articulate. +One afternoon the young man came out of his painting-room +and passed the open door of Eugenia's little salon. +Within, in the cool dimness, he saw his sister, dressed in white, +buried in her arm-chair, and holding to her face an immense bouquet. +Opposite to her sat Clifford Wentworth, twirling his hat. +He had evidently just presented the bouquet to the Baroness, +whose fine eyes, as she glanced at him over the big roses +and geraniums, wore a conversational smile. Felix, standing on +the threshold of the cottage, hesitated for a moment as to +whether he should retrace his steps and enter the parlor. +Then he went his way and passed into Mr. Wentworth's garden. +That civilizing process to which he had suggested that Clifford +should be subjected appeared to have come on of itself. +Felix was very sure, at least, that Mr. Wentworth had not +adopted his ingenious device for stimulating the young man's +aesthetic consciousness. "Doubtless he supposes," he said +to himself, after the conversation that has been narrated, +"that I desire, out of fraternal benevolence, to procure +for Eugenia the amusement of a flirtation--or, as he probably +calls it, an intrigue--with the too susceptible Clifford. +It must be admitted--and I have noticed it before--that nothing +exceeds the license occasionally taken by the imagination +of very rigid people." Felix, on his own side, had of course +said nothing to Clifford; but he had observed to Eugenia +that Mr. Wentworth was much mortified at his son's low tastes. +"We ought to do something to help them, after all their +kindness to us," he had added. "Encourage Clifford to come +and see you, and inspire him with a taste for conversation. +That will supplant the other, which only comes from +his puerility, from his not taking his position in the world-- +that of a rich young man of ancient stock--seriously enough. +Make him a little more serious. Even if he makes love to you +it is no great matter." + +"I am to offer myself as a superior form of intoxication-- +a substitute for a brandy bottle, eh?" asked the Baroness. +"Truly, in this country one comes to strange uses." + +But she had not positively declined to undertake Clifford's +higher education, and Felix, who had not thought of the matter +again, being haunted with visions of more personal profit, +now reflected that the work of redemption had fairly begun. +The idea in prospect had seemed of the happiest, but in operation +it made him a trifle uneasy. "What if Eugenia--what if Eugenia"-- +he asked himself softly; the question dying away in his sense of +Eugenia's undetermined capacity. But before Felix had time either +to accept or to reject its admonition, even in this vague form, +he saw Robert Acton turn out of Mr. Wentworth's inclosure, +by a distant gate, and come toward the cottage in the orchard. +Acton had evidently walked from his own house along a shady +by-way and was intending to pay a visit to Madame Munster. +Felix watched him a moment; then he turned away. +Acton could be left to play the part of Providence and interrupt-- +if interruption were needed--Clifford's entanglement with Eugenia. + +Felix passed through the garden toward the house and +toward a postern gate which opened upon a path leading +across the fields, beside a little wood, to the lake. +He stopped and looked up at the house; his eyes rested more +particularly upon a certain open window, on the shady side. +Presently Gertrude appeared there, looking out into the summer light. +He took off his hat to her and bade her good-day; +he remarked that he was going to row across the pond, +and begged that she would do him the honor to accompany him. +She looked at him a moment; then, without saying anything, +she turned away. But she soon reappeared below in one of those +quaint and charming Leghorn hats, tied with white satin bows, +that were worn at that period; she also carried a green parasol. +She went with him to the edge of the lake, where a couple of +boats were always moored; they got into one of them, and Felix, +with gentle strokes, propelled it to the opposite shore. +The day was the perfection of summer weather; the little lake was +the color of sunshine; the plash of the oars was the only sound, +and they found themselves listening to it. They disembarked, and, +by a winding path, ascended the pine-crested mound which overlooked +the water, whose white expanse glittered between the trees. +The place was delightfully cool, and had the added charm that-- +in the softly sounding pine boughs--you seemed to hear +the coolness as well as feel it. Felix and Gertrude sat down on +the rust-colored carpet of pine-needles and talked of many things. +Felix spoke at last, in the course of talk, of his going away; +it was the first time he had alluded to it. + +"You are going away?" said Gertrude, looking at him. + +"Some day--when the leaves begin to fall. You know I can't stay forever." + +Gertrude transferred her eyes to the outer prospect, and then, +after a pause, she said, "I shall never see you again." + +"Why not?" asked Felix. "We shall probably both survive my departure." + +But Gertrude only repeated, "I shall never see you again. +I shall never hear of you," she went on. "I shall know nothing about you. +I knew nothing about you before, and it will be the same again." + +"I knew nothing about you then, unfortunately," said Felix. +"But now I shall write to you." + +"Don't write to me. I shall not answer you," Gertrude declared. + +"I should of course burn your letters," said Felix. + +Gertrude looked at him again. "Burn my letters? +You sometimes say strange things." + +"They are not strange in themselves," the young man answered. +"They are only strange as said to you. You will come to Europe." + +"With whom shall I come?" She asked this question simply; +she was very much in earnest. Felix was interested in her earnestness; +for some moments he hesitated. "You can't tell me that," she pursued. +"You can't say that I shall go with my father and my sister; +you don't believe that." + +"I shall keep your letters," said Felix, presently, for all answer. + +"I never write. I don't know how to write." Gertrude, for some time, +said nothing more; and her companion, as he looked at her, wished it +had not been "disloyal" to make love to the daughter of an old gentleman +who had offered one hospitality. The afternoon waned; the shadows +stretched themselves; and the light grew deeper in the western sky. +Two persons appeared on the opposite side of the lake, coming from the house +and crossing the meadow. "It is Charlotte and Mr. Brand," said Gertrude. +"They are coming over here." But Charlotte and Mr. Brand only came +down to the edge of the water, and stood there, looking across; +they made no motion to enter the boat that Felix had left at the +mooring-place. Felix waved his hat to them; it was too far to call. +They made no visible response, and they presently turned away and walked +along the shore. + +"Mr. Brand is not demonstrative," said Felix. "He is never demonstrative +to me. He sits silent, with his chin in his hand, looking at me. +Sometimes he looks away. Your father tells me he is so eloquent; +and I should like to hear him talk. He looks like such a noble young man. +But with me he will never talk. And yet I am so fond of listening +to brilliant imagery!" + +"He is very eloquent," said Gertrude; "but he has no brilliant imagery. +I have heard him talk a great deal. I knew that when they saw us they +would not come over here." + +"Ah, he is making la cour, as they say, to your sister? +They desire to be alone?" + +"No," said Gertrude, gravely, "they have no such reason +as that for being alone." + +"But why does n't he make la cour to Charlotte?" Felix inquired. +"She is so pretty, so gentle, so good." + +Gertrude glanced at him, and then she looked at the distantly-seen couple +they were discussing. Mr. Brand and Charlotte were walking side by side. +They might have been a pair of lovers, and yet they might not. +"They think I should not be here," said Gertrude. + +"With me? I thought you did n't have those ideas." + +"You don't understand. There are a great many things you don't understand." + +"I understand my stupidity. But why, then, do not Charlotte and Mr. Brand, +who, as an elder sister and a clergyman, are free to walk about together, +come over and make me wiser by breaking up the unlawful interview into which I +have lured you?" + +"That is the last thing they would do," said Gertrude. + +Felix stared at her a moment, with his lifted eyebrows. +"Je n'y comprends rien!" he exclaimed; then his eyes followed +for a while the retreating figures of this critical pair. +"You may say what you please," he declared; "it is evident to me +that your sister is not indifferent to her clever companion. +It is agreeable to her to be walking there with him. +I can see that from here." And in the excitement of observation +Felix rose to his feet. + +Gertrude rose also, but she made no attempt to emulate her +companion's discovery; she looked rather in another direction. +Felix's words had struck her; but a certain delicacy checked her. +"She is certainly not indifferent to Mr. Brand; she has the highest +opinion of him." + +"One can see it--one can see it," said Felix, in a tone +of amused contemplation, with his head on one side. +Gertrude turned her back to the opposite shore; it was disagreeable +to her to look, but she hoped Felix would say something more. +"Ah, they have wandered away into the wood," he added. + +Gertrude turned round again. "She is not in love with him," she said; +it seemed her duty to say that. + +"Then he is in love with her; or if he is not, he ought to be. +She is such a perfect little woman of her kind. She reminds +me of a pair of old-fashioned silver sugar-tongs; you know I +am very fond of sugar. And she is very nice with Mr. Brand; +I have noticed that; very gentle and gracious." + +Gertrude reflected a moment. Then she took a great resolution. +"She wants him to marry me," she said. "So of course she is nice." + +Felix's eyebrows rose higher than ever. "To marry you! +Ah, ah, this is interesting. And you think one must be very nice +with a man to induce him to do that?" + +Gertrude had turned a little pale, but she went on, "Mr. Brand +wants it himself." + +Felix folded his arms and stood looking at her. "I see--I see," +he said quickly. "Why did you never tell me this before?" + +"It is disagreeable to me to speak of it even now. +I wished simply to explain to you about Charlotte." + +"You don't wish to marry Mr. Brand, then?" + +"No," said Gertrude, gravely. + +"And does your father wish it?" + +"Very much." + +"And you don't like him--you have refused him?" + +"I don't wish to marry him." + +"Your father and sister think you ought to, eh?" + +"It is a long story," said Gertrude. "They think there are good reasons. +I can't explain it. They think I have obligations, and that I +have encouraged him." + +Felix smiled at her, as if she had been telling him an amusing story +about some one else. "I can't tell you how this interests me," he said. +"Now you don't recognize these reasons--these obligations?" + +"I am not sure; it is not easy." And she picked up her parasol +and turned away, as if to descend the slope. + +"Tell me this," Felix went on, going with her: "are you likely to give in-- +to let them persuade you?" + +Gertrude looked at him with the serious face that she had +constantly worn, in opposition to his almost eager smile. +"I shall never marry Mr. Brand," she said. + +"I see!" Felix rejoined. And they slowly descended the hill together, +saying nothing till they reached the margin of the pond. "It is your +own affair," he then resumed; "but do you know, I am not altogether glad? +If it were settled that you were to marry Mr. Brand I should take +a certain comfort in the arrangement. I should feel more free. +I have no right to make love to you myself, eh?" And he paused, +lightly pressing his argument upon her. + +"None whatever," replied Gertrude quickly--too quickly. + +"Your father would never hear of it; I have n't a penny. +Mr. Brand, of course, has property of his own, eh?" + +"I believe he has some property; but that has nothing to do with it." + +"With you, of course not; but with your father and sister it must have. +So, as I say, if this were settled, I should feel more at liberty. " + +"More at liberty?" Gertrude repeated. "Please unfasten the boat." + +Felix untwisted the rope and stood holding it. +"I should be able to say things to you that I can't +give myself the pleasure of saying now," he went on. +"I could tell you how much I admire you, without seeming +to pretend to that which I have no right to pretend to. +I should make violent love to you," he added, laughing, "if I +thought you were so placed as not to be offended by it." + +"You mean if I were engaged to another man? That is strange reasoning!" +Gertrude exclaimed. + +"In that case you would not take me seriously." + +"I take every one seriously," said Gertrude. And without his help she +stepped lightly into the boat. + +Felix took up the oars and sent it forward. "Ah, this is what you have +been thinking about? It seemed to me you had something on your mind. +I wish very much," he added, "that you would tell me some of these +so-called reasons--these obligations." + +"They are not real reasons--good reasons," said Gertrude, +looking at the pink and yellow gleams in the water. + +"I can understand that! Because a handsome girl has had a spark of coquetry, +that is no reason." + +"If you mean me, it 's not that. I have not done that." + +"It is something that troubles you, at any rate," said Felix. + +"Not so much as it used to," Gertrude rejoined. + +He looked at her, smiling always. "That is not saying much, eh?" +But she only rested her eyes, very gravely, on the lighted water. +She seemed to him to be trying to hide the signs of the trouble of +which she had just told him. Felix felt, at all times, much the same +impulse to dissipate visible melancholy that a good housewife feels +to brush away dust. There was something he wished to brush away now; +suddenly he stopped rowing and poised his oars. "Why should Mr. Brand +have addressed himself to you, and not to your sister?" he asked. +"I am sure she would listen to him." + +Gertrude, in her family, was thought capable of a good deal +of levity; but her levity had never gone so far as this. +It moved her greatly, however, to hear Felix say that he was +sure of something; so that, raising her eyes toward him, +she tried intently, for some moments, to conjure up this wonderful +image of a love-affair between her own sister and her own suitor. +We know that Gertrude had an imaginative mind; so that it is not +impossible that this effort should have been partially successful. +But she only murmured, "Ah, Felix! ah, Felix!" + +"Why should n't they marry? Try and make them marry!" cried Felix. + +"Try and make them?" + +"Turn the tables on them. Then they will leave you alone. +I will help you as far as I can." + +Gertrude's heart began to beat; she was greatly excited; +she had never had anything so interesting proposed to her before. +Felix had begun to row again, and he now sent the boat home +with long strokes. "I believe she does care for him!" +said Gertrude, after they had disembarked. + +"Of course she does, and we will marry them off. +It will make them happy; it will make every one happy. +We shall have a wedding and I will write an epithalamium." + +"It seems as if it would make me happy," said Gertrude. + +"To get rid of Mr. Brand, eh? To recover your liberty?" + +Gertrude walked on. "To see my sister married to so good a man." + +Felix gave his light laugh. "You always put things on +those grounds; you will never say anything for yourself. +You are all so afraid, here, of being selfish. +I don't think you know how," he went on. "Let me show you! +It will make me happy for myself, and for just the reverse +of what I told you a while ago. After that, when I make love +to you, you will have to think I mean it." + +"I shall never think you mean anything," said Gertrude. +"You are too fantastic." + +"Ah," cried Felix, "that 's a license to say everything! +Gertrude, I adore you!" + + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Charlotte and Mr. Brand had not returned when they reached +the house; but the Baroness had come to tea, and Robert +Acton also, who now regularly asked for a place at this +generous repast or made his appearance later in the evening. +Clifford Wentworth, with his juvenile growl, remarked upon it. + +"You are always coming to tea nowadays, Robert," he said. +"I should think you had drunk enough tea in China." + +"Since when is Mr. Acton more frequent?" asked the Baroness. + +"Since you came," said Clifford. "It seems as if you were +a kind of attraction." + +"I suppose I am a curiosity," said the Baroness. +"Give me time and I will make you a salon." + +"It would fall to pieces after you go!" exclaimed Acton. + +"Don't talk about her going, in that familiar way," Clifford said. +"It makes me feel gloomy." + +Mr. Wentworth glanced at his son, and taking note of these words, +wondered if Felix had been teaching him, according to the programme +he had sketched out, to make love to the wife of a German prince. + +Charlotte came in late with Mr. Brand; but Gertrude, to whom, +at least, Felix had taught something, looked in vain, in her face, +for the traces of a guilty passion. Mr. Brand sat down by Gertrude, +and she presently asked him why they had not crossed the pond +to join Felix and herself. + +"It is cruel of you to ask me that," he answered, very softly. +He had a large morsel of cake before him; but he fingered it without +eating it. "I sometimes think you are growing cruel," he added. + +Gertrude said nothing; she was afraid to speak. There was a kind +of rage in her heart; she felt as if she could easily persuade herself +that she was persecuted. She said to herself that it was quite right +that she should not allow him to make her believe she was wrong. +She thought of what Felix had said to her; she wished indeed Mr. Brand +would marry Charlotte. She looked away from him and spoke no more. +Mr. Brand ended by eating his cake, while Felix sat opposite, +describing to Mr. Wentworth the students' duels at Heidelberg. +After tea they all dispersed themselves, as usual, upon the piazza +and in the garden; and Mr. Brand drew near to Gertrude again. + +"I did n't come to you this afternoon because you were not alone," +he began; "because you were with a newer friend." + +"Felix? He is an old friend by this time." + +Mr. Brand looked at the ground for some moments. "I thought +I was prepared to hear you speak in that way," he resumed. +"But I find it very painful." + +"I don't see what else I can say," said Gertrude. + +Mr. Brand walked beside her for a while in silence; Gertrude wished +he would go away. "He is certainly very accomplished. +But I think I ought to advise you." + +"To advise me?" + +"I think I know your nature." + +"I think you don't," said Gertrude, with a soft laugh. + +"You make yourself out worse than you are--to please him," +Mr. Brand said, gently. + +"Worse--to please him? What do you mean?" asked Gertrude, stopping. + +Mr. Brand stopped also, and with the same soft straight-forwardness, "He does +n't care for the things you care for--the great questions of life." + +Gertrude, with her eyes on his, shook her head. "I don't care +for the great questions of life. They are much beyond me." + +"There was a time when you did n't say that," said Mr. Brand. + +"Oh," rejoined Gertrude, "I think you made me talk a great deal of nonsense. +And it depends," she added, "upon what you call the great questions of life. +There are some things I care for." + +"Are they the things you talk about with your cousin?" + +"You should not say things to me against my cousin, Mr. Brand," +said Gertrude. "That is dishonorable." + +He listened to this respectfully; then he answered, with a little vibration +of the voice, "I should be very sorry to do anything dishonorable. +But I don't see why it is dishonorable to say that your cousin is frivolous." + +"Go and say it to himself!" + +"I think he would admit it," said Mr. Brand. "That is the tone +he would take. He would not be ashamed of it." + +"Then I am not ashamed of it!" Gertrude declared. +"That is probably what I like him for. I am frivolous myself." + +"You are trying, as I said just now, to lower yourself." + +"I am trying for once to be natural!" cried Gertrude passionately. +"I have been pretending, all my life; I have been dishonest; +it is you that have made me so!" Mr. Brand stood gazing at her, +and she went on, "Why should n't I be frivolous, if I want? +One has a right to be frivolous, if it 's one's nature. No, I don't +care for the great questions. I care for pleasure--for amusement. +Perhaps I am fond of wicked things; it is very possible!" + +Mr. Brand remained staring; he was even a little pale, +as if he had been frightened. "I don't think you know what you +are saying!" he exclaimed. + +"Perhaps not. Perhaps I am talking nonsense. But it is only with you +that I talk nonsense. I never do so with my cousin." + +"I will speak to you again, when you are less excited," +said Mr. Brand. + +"I am always excited when you speak to me. I must tell you that-- +even if it prevents you altogether, in future. Your speaking +to me irritates me. With my cousin it is very different. +That seems quiet and natural." + +He looked at her, and then he looked away, with a kind of +helpless distress, at the dusky garden and the faint summer stars. +After which, suddenly turning back, "Gertrude, Gertrude!" +he softly groaned. "Am I really losing you?" + +She was touched--she was pained; but it had already occurred +to her that she might do something better than say so. +It would not have alleviated her companion's distress to perceive, +just then, whence she had sympathetically borrowed this ingenuity. +"I am not sorry for you," Gertrude said; "for in paying so much attention +to me you are following a shadow--you are wasting something precious. +There is something else you might have that you don't look at-- +something better than I am. That is a reality!" And then, +with intention, she looked at him and tried to smile a little. +He thought this smile of hers very strange; but she turned away +and left him. + +She wandered about alone in the garden wondering what Mr. Brand +would make of her words, which it had been a singular pleasure +for her to utter. Shortly after, passing in front of the house, +she saw at a distance two persons standing near the garden gate. +It was Mr. Brand going away and bidding good-night to Charlotte, +who had walked down with him from the house. Gertrude saw that +the parting was prolonged. Then she turned her back upon it. +She had not gone very far, however, when she heard her +sister slowly following her. She neither turned round nor +waited for her; she knew what Charlotte was going to say. +Charlotte, who at last overtook her, in fact presently began; +she had passed her arm into Gertrude's. + +"Will you listen to me, dear, if I say something very particular?" + +"I know what you are going to say," said Gertrude. +"Mr. Brand feels very badly." + +"Oh, Gertrude, how can you treat him so?" Charlotte demanded. +And as her sister made no answer she added, "After all he has +done for you!" + +"What has he done for me?" + +"I wonder you can ask, Gertrude. He has helped you so. +You told me so yourself, a great many times. You told me +that he helped you to struggle with your--your peculiarities. +You told me that he had taught you how to govern your temper." + +For a moment Gertrude said nothing. Then, "Was my temper +very bad?" she asked. + +"I am not accusing you, Gertrude," said Charlotte. + +"What are you doing, then?" her sister demanded, with a short laugh. + +"I am pleading for Mr. Brand--reminding you of all you owe him." + +"I have given it all back," said Gertrude, still with her little laugh. +"He can take back the virtue he imparted! I want to be wicked again." + +Her sister made her stop in the path, and fixed upon her, +in the darkness, a sweet, reproachful gaze. "If you talk this +way I shall almost believe it. Think of all we owe Mr. Brand. +Think of how he has always expected something of you. +Think how much he has been to us. Think of his beautiful +influence upon Clifford." + +"He is very good," said Gertrude, looking at her sister. +"I know he is very good. But he should n't speak against Felix." + +"Felix is good," Charlotte answered, softly but promptly. "Felix is +very wonderful. Only he is so different. Mr. Brand is much nearer to us. +I should never think of going to Felix with a trouble--with a question. +Mr. Brand is much more to us, Gertrude." + +"He is very--very good," Gertrude repeated. "He is more +to you; yes, much more. Charlotte," she added suddenly, +"you are in love with him!" + +"Oh, Gertrude!" cried poor Charlotte; and her sister saw her blushing +in the darkness. + +Gertrude put her arm round her. "I wish he would marry you!" +she went on. + +Charlotte shook herself free. "You must not say such things!" +she exclaimed, beneath her breath. + +"You like him more than you say, and he likes you more than he knows." + +"This is very cruel of you!" Charlotte Wentworth murmured. + +But if it was cruel Gertrude continued pitiless. "Not if it 's true," +she answered. "I wish he would marry you." + +"Please don't say that." + +"I mean to tell him so!" said Gertrude. + +"Oh, Gertrude, Gertrude!" her sister almost moaned. + +"Yes, if he speaks to me again about myself. I will say, +'Why don't you marry Charlotte? She 's a thousand times better +than I.' " + +"You are wicked; you are changed!" cried her sister. + +"If you don't like it you can prevent it," said Gertrude. +"You can prevent it by keeping him from speaking to me!" +And with this she walked away, very conscious of what she had done; +measuring it and finding a certain joy and a quickened sense +of freedom in it. + +Mr. Wentworth was rather wide of the mark in suspecting +that Clifford had begun to pay unscrupulous compliments +to his brilliant cousin; for the young man had really +more scruples than he received credit for in his family. +He had a certain transparent shamefacedness which was in +itself a proof that he was not at his ease in dissipation. +His collegiate peccadilloes had aroused a domestic murmur +as disagreeable to the young man as the creaking of his boots +would have been to a house-breaker. Only, as the house-breaker +would have simplified matters by removing his chaussures, +it had seemed to Clifford that the shortest cut to comfortable +relations with people--relations which should make him cease to +think that when they spoke to him they meant something improving-- +was to renounce all ambition toward a nefarious development. +And, in fact, Clifford's ambition took the most commendable form. +He thought of himself in the future as the well-known and much-liked +Mr. Wentworth, of Boston, who should, in the natural course +of prosperity, have married his pretty cousin, Lizzie Acton; +should live in a wide-fronted house, in view of the Common; +and should drive, behind a light wagon, over the damp +autumn roads, a pair of beautifully matched sorrel horses. +Clifford's vision of the coming years was very simple; +its most definite features were this element of familiar +matrimony and the duplication of his resources for trotting. +He had not yet asked his cousin to marry him; +but he meant to do so as soon as he had taken his degree. +Lizzie was serenely conscious of his intention, +and she had made up her mind that he would improve. +Her brother, who was very fond of this light, quick, competent +little Lizzie, saw on his side no reason to interpose. +It seemed to him a graceful social law that Clifford and his +sister should become engaged; he himself was not engaged, +but every one else, fortunately, was not such a fool as he. +He was fond of Clifford, as well, and had his own way-- +of which it must be confessed he was a little ashamed-- +of looking at those aberrations which had led to the young man's +compulsory retirement from the neighboring seat of learning. +Acton had seen the world, as he said to himself; he had been +to China and had knocked about among men. He had learned +the essential difference between a nice young fellow and a mean +young fellow, and was satisfied that there was no harm in Clifford. +He believed--although it must be added that he had not quite +the courage to declare it--in the doctrine of wild oats, +and thought it a useful preventive of superfluous fears. +If Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte and Mr. Brand would +only apply it in Clifford's case, they would be happier; +and Acton thought it a pity they should not be happier. +They took the boy's misdemeanors too much to heart; they talked +to him too solemnly; they frightened and bewildered him. +Of course there was the great standard of morality, which forbade +that a man should get tipsy, play at billiards for money, +or cultivate his sensual consciousness; but what fear was there +that poor Clifford was going to run a tilt at any great standard? +It had, however, never occurred to Acton to dedicate the Baroness +Munster to the redemption of a refractory collegian. +The instrument, here, would have seemed to him quite too complex +for the operation. Felix, on the other hand, had spoken +in obedience to the belief that the more charming a woman is +the more numerous, literally, are her definite social uses. + +Eugenia herself, as we know, had plenty of leisure to enumerate her uses. +As I have had the honor of intimating, she had come four thousand +miles to seek her fortune; and it is not to be supposed that after +this great effort she could neglect any apparent aid to advancement. +It is my misfortune that in attempting to describe in a short compass +the deportment of this remarkable woman I am obliged to express +things rather brutally. I feel this to be the case, for instance, +when I say that she had primarily detected such an aid to advancement +in the person of Robert Acton, but that she had afterwards +remembered that a prudent archer has always a second bowstring. +Eugenia was a woman of finely-mingled motive, and her intentions +were never sensibly gross. She had a sort of aesthetic ideal +for Clifford which seemed to her a disinterested reason for +taking him in hand. It was very well for a fresh-colored young +gentleman to be ingenuous; but Clifford, really, was crude. +With such a pretty face he ought to have prettier manners. +She would teach him that, with a beautiful name, the expectation +of a large property, and, as they said in Europe, a social position, +an only son should know how to carry himself. + +Once Clifford had begun to come and see her by himself and +for himself, he came very often. He hardly knew why he should come; +he saw her almost every evening at his father's house; +he had nothing particular to say to her. She was not a young girl, +and fellows of his age called only upon young girls. +He exaggerated her age; she seemed to him an old woman; +it was happy that the Baroness, with all her intelligence, +was incapable of guessing this. But gradually it struck Clifford +that visiting old women might be, if not a natural, at least, +as they say of some articles of diet, an acquired taste. +The Baroness was certainly a very amusing old woman; +she talked to him as no lady--and indeed no gentleman-- +had ever talked to him before. + +"You should go to Europe and make the tour," she said to him one afternoon. +"Of course, on leaving college you will go." + +"I don't want to go," Clifford declared. "I know some fellows who have been +to Europe. They say you can have better fun here." + +"That depends. It depends upon your idea of fun. +Your friends probably were not introduced." + +"Introduced?" Clifford demanded. + +"They had no opportunity of going into society; they formed no relations." +This was one of a certain number of words that the Baroness often pronounced +in the French manner. + +"They went to a ball, in Paris; I know that," said Clifford. + +"Ah, there are balls and balls; especially in Paris. No, you must go, +you know; it is not a thing from which you can dispense yourself. +You need it." + +"Oh, I 'm very well," said Clifford. "I 'm not sick." + +"I don't mean for your health, my poor child. I mean for your manners. " + +"I have n't got any manners!" growled Clifford. + +"Precisely. You don't mind my assenting to that, eh?" asked the Baroness +with a smile. "You must go to Europe and get a few. You can get them +better there. It is a pity you might not have come while I was living in-- +in Germany. I would have introduced you; I had a charming little circle. +You would perhaps have been rather young; but the younger one begins, +I think, the better. Now, at any rate, you have no time to lose, +and when I return you must immediately come to me." + +All this, to Clifford's apprehension, was a great mixture-- +his beginning young, Eugenia's return to Europe, +his being introduced to her charming little circle. +What was he to begin, and what was her little circle? +His ideas about her marriage had a good deal of vagueness; +but they were in so far definite as that he felt it to be a matter +not to be freely mentioned. He sat and looked all round the room; +he supposed she was alluding in some way to her marriage. + +"Oh, I don't want to go to Germany," he said; it seemed to him +the most convenient thing to say. + +She looked at him a while, smiling with her lips, but not with her eyes. + +"You have scruples?" she asked. + +"Scruples?" said Clifford. + +"You young people, here, are very singular; one does n't know +where to expect you. When you are not extremely improper +you are so terribly proper. I dare say you think that, +owing to my irregular marriage, I live with loose people. +You were never more mistaken. I have been all the more particular." + +"Oh, no," said Clifford, honestly distressed. "I never thought +such a thing as that." + +"Are you very sure? I am convinced that your father does, +and your sisters. They say to each other that here I am on my +good behavior, but that over there--married by the left hand-- +I associate with light women. " + +"Oh, no," cried Clifford, energetically, "they don't say such things +as that to each other!" + +"If they think them they had better say them," the Baroness rejoined. +"Then they can be contradicted. Please contradict that whenever you hear it, +and don't be afraid of coming to see me on account of the company I keep. +I have the honor of knowing more distinguished men, my poor child, +than you are likely to see in a life-time. I see very few women; but those +are women of rank. So, my dear young Puritan, you need n't be afraid. +I am not in the least one of those who think that the society of women who +have lost their place in the vrai monde is necessary to form a young man. +I have never taken that tone. I have kept my place myself, and I think we are +a much better school than the others. Trust me, Clifford, and I will prove +that to you," the Baroness continued, while she made the agreeable reflection +that she could not, at least, be accused of perverting her young kinsman. +"So if you ever fall among thieves don't go about saying I sent you to them." + +Clifford thought it so comical that he should know--in spite of her +figurative language--what she meant, and that she should mean what he knew, +that he could hardly help laughing a little, although he tried hard. +"Oh, no! oh, no!" he murmured. + +"Laugh out, laugh out, if I amuse you!" cried the Baroness. +"I am here for that!" And Clifford thought her a very amusing person indeed. +"But remember," she said on this occasion, "that you are coming--next year-- +to pay me a visit over there." + +About a week afterwards she said to him, point-blank, "Are you seriously +making love to your little cousin?" + +"Seriously making love"--these words, on Madame Munster's lips, +had to Clifford's sense a portentous and embarrassing sound; he hesitated +about assenting, lest he should commit himself to more than he understood. +"Well, I should n't say it if I was!" he exclaimed. + +"Why would n't you say it?" the Baroness demanded. +"Those things ought to be known." + +"I don't care whether it is known or not," Clifford rejoined. +"But I don't want people looking at me." + +"A young man of your importance ought to learn to bear observation-- +to carry himself as if he were quite indifferent to it. +I won't say, exactly, unconscious," the Baroness explained. +"No, he must seem to know he is observed, and to think it +natural he should be; but he must appear perfectly used to it. +Now you have n't that, Clifford; you have n't that at all. +You must have that, you know. Don't tell me you are not a +young man of importance," Eugenia added. "Don't say anything +so flat as that." + +"Oh, no, you don't catch me saying that!" cried Clifford. + +"Yes, you must come to Germany," Madame Munster continued. +"I will show you how people can be talked about, and yet not +seem to know it. You will be talked about, of course, with me; +it will be said you are my lover. I will show you how little +one may mind that--how little I shall mind it." + +Clifford sat staring, blushing and laughing. "I shall mind +it a good deal!" he declared. + +"Ah, not too much, you know; that would be uncivil. +But I give you leave to mind it a little; especially if you +have a passion for Miss Acton. Voyons; as regards that, +you either have or you have not. It is very simple to say it." + +"I don't see why you want to know," said Clifford. + +"You ought to want me to know. If one is arranging a marriage, +one tells one's friends." + +"Oh, I 'm not arranging anything," said Clifford. + +"You don't intend to marry your cousin?" + +"Well, I expect I shall do as I choose!" + +The Baroness leaned her head upon the back of her chair and closed +her eyes, as if she were tired. Then opening them again, +"Your cousin is very charming!" she said. + +"She is the prettiest girl in this place," Clifford rejoined. + +" 'In this place' is saying little; she would be charming anywhere. +I am afraid you are entangled." + +"Oh, no, I 'm not entangled." + +"Are you engaged? At your age that is the same thing." + +Clifford looked at the Baroness with some audacity. +"Will you tell no one?" + +"If it 's as sacred as that--no." + +"Well, then--we are not!" said Clifford. + +"That 's the great secret--that you are not, eh?" asked the Baroness, +with a quick laugh. "I am very glad to hear it. You are altogether +too young. A young man in your position must choose and compare; +he must see the world first. Depend upon it," she added, "you should not +settle that matter before you have come abroad and paid me that visit. +There are several things I should like to call your attention to first." + +"Well, I am rather afraid of that visit," said Clifford. +"It seems to me it will be rather like going to school again." + +The Baroness looked at him a moment. + +"My dear child," she said, "there is no agreeable man who has not, +at some moment, been to school to a clever woman--probably a little +older than himself. And you must be thankful when you get your +instructions gratis. With me you would get it gratis." + +The next day Clifford told Lizzie Acton that the Baroness thought +her the most charming girl she had ever seen. + +Lizzie shook her head. "No, she does n't!" she said. + +"Do you think everything she says," asked Clifford, "is to be taken +the opposite way?" + +"I think that is!" said Lizzie. + +Clifford was going to remark that in this case the Baroness must +desire greatly to bring about a marriage between Mr. Clifford +Wentworth and Miss Elizabeth Acton; but he resolved, on the whole, +to suppress this observation. + + + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +It seemed to Robert Acton, after Eugenia had come to his house, +that something had passed between them which made them +a good deal more intimate. It was hard to say exactly what, +except her telling him that she had taken her resolution +with regard to the Prince Adolf; for Madame Munster's visit +had made no difference in their relations. He came to see +her very often; but he had come to see her very often before. +It was agreeable to him to find himself in her little drawing-room; +but this was not a new discovery. There was a change, however, +in this sense: that if the Baroness had been a great deal +in Acton's thoughts before, she was now never out of them. +From the first she had been personally fascinating; +but the fascination now had become intellectual as well. +He was constantly pondering her words and motions; they were +as interesting as the factors in an algebraic problem. +This is saying a good deal; for Acton was extremely fond +of mathematics. He asked himself whether it could be +that he was in love with her, and then hoped he was not; +hoped it not so much for his own sake as for that of the amatory +passion itself. If this was love, love had been overrated. +Love was a poetic impulse, and his own state of feeling with regard +to the Baroness was largely characterized by that eminently +prosaic sentiment--curiosity. It was true, as Acton with his +quietly cogitative habit observed to himself, that curiosity, +pushed to a given point, might become a romantic passion; +and he certainly thought enough about this charming woman +to make him restless and even a little melancholy. It puzzled +and vexed him at times to feel that he was not more ardent. +He was not in the least bent upon remaining a bachelor. +In his younger years he had been--or he had tried to be-- +of the opinion that it would be a good deal "jollier" not to marry, +and he had flattered himself that his single condition was something +of a citadel. It was a citadel, at all events, of which he had +long since leveled the outworks. He had removed the guns from +the ramparts; he had lowered the draw-bridge across the moat. +The draw-bridge had swayed lightly under Madame Munster's step; +why should he not cause it to be raised again, so that she +might be kept prisoner? He had an idea that she would become-- +in time at least, and on learning the conveniences of the place +for making a lady comfortable--a tolerably patient captive. +But the draw-bridge was never raised, and Acton's brilliant +visitor was as free to depart as she had been to come. +It was part of his curiosity to know why the deuce so susceptible +a man was not in love with so charming a woman. If her various +graces were, as I have said, the factors in an algebraic problem, +the answer to this question was the indispensable unknown quantity. +The pursuit of the unknown quantity was extremely absorbing; +for the present it taxed all Acton's faculties. + +Toward the middle of August he was obliged to leave home for some days; +an old friend, with whom he had been associated in China, +had begged him to come to Newport, where he lay extremely ill. +His friend got better, and at the end of a week Acton was released. +I use the word "released" advisedly; for in spite of his attachment +to his Chinese comrade he had been but a half-hearted visitor. +He felt as if he had been called away from the theatre during +the progress of a remarkably interesting drama. The curtain was +up all this time, and he was losing the fourth act; that fourth +act which would have been so essential to a just appreciation +of the fifth. In other words, he was thinking about the Baroness, +who, seen at this distance, seemed a truly brilliant figure. +He saw at Newport a great many pretty women, who certainly were +figures as brilliant as beautiful light dresses could make them; +but though they talked a great deal--and the Baroness's strong point +was perhaps also her conversation--Madame Munster appeared to lose +nothing by the comparison. He wished she had come to Newport too. +Would it not be possible to make up, as they said, a party for +visiting the famous watering-place and invite Eugenia to join it? +It was true that the complete satisfaction would be to spend +a fortnight at Newport with Eugenia alone. It would be a great +pleasure to see her, in society, carry everything before her, +as he was sure she would do. When Acton caught himself thinking these +thoughts he began to walk up and down, with his hands in his pockets, +frowning a little and looking at the floor. What did it prove-- +for it certainly proved something--this lively disposition to be "off" +somewhere with Madame Munster, away from all the rest of them? +Such a vision, certainly, seemed a refined implication of matrimony, +after the Baroness should have formally got rid of her informal husband. +At any rate, Acton, with his characteristic discretion, forbore to +give expression to whatever else it might imply, and the narrator +of these incidents is not obliged to be more definite. + +He returned home rapidly, and, arriving in the afternoon, lost as little +time as possible in joining the familiar circle at Mr. Wentworth's. +On reaching the house, however, he found the piazzas empty. +The doors and windows were open, and their emptiness was made clear +by the shafts of lamp-light from the parlors. Entering the house, +he found Mr. Wentworth sitting alone in one of these apartments, +engaged in the perusal of the "North American Review." +After they had exchanged greetings and his cousin had made +discreet inquiry about his journey, Acton asked what had become +of Mr. Wentworth's companions. + +"They are scattered about, amusing themselves as usual," said the old man. +"I saw Charlotte, a short time since, seated, with Mr. Brand, +upon the piazza. They were conversing with their customary animation. +I suppose they have joined her sister, who, for the hundredth time, +was doing the honors of the garden to her foreign cousin." + +"I suppose you mean Felix," said Acton. And on Mr. Wentworth's assenting, +he said, "And the others?" + +"Your sister has not come this evening. You must have seen her at home," +said Mr. Wentworth. + +"Yes. I proposed to her to come. She declined." + +"Lizzie, I suppose, was expecting a visitor," said the old man, +with a kind of solemn slyness. + +"If she was expecting Clifford, he had not turned up." + +Mr. Wentworth, at this intelligence, closed the "North American Review" +and remarked that he had understood Clifford to say that he was going +to see his cousin. Privately, he reflected that if Lizzie Acton had had +no news of his son, Clifford must have gone to Boston for the evening: +an unnatural course of a summer night, especially when accompanied +with disingenuous representations. + +"You must remember that he has two cousins," said Acton, laughing. +And then, coming to the point, "If Lizzie is not here," he added, +"neither apparently is the Baroness." + +Mr. Wentworth stared a moment, and remembered that queer proposition +of Felix's. For a moment he did not know whether it was not to be +wished that Clifford, after all, might have gone to Boston. +"The Baroness has not honored us tonight," he said. +"She has not come over for three days." + +"Is she ill?" Acton asked. + +"No; I have been to see her." + +"What is the matter with her?" + +"Well," said Mr. Wentworth, "I infer she has tired of us." + +Acton pretended to sit down, but he was restless; he found it +impossible to talk with Mr. Wentworth. At the end of ten minutes +he took up his hat and said that he thought he would "go off." +It was very late; it was ten o'clock. + +His quiet-faced kinsman looked at him a moment. +"Are you going home?" he asked. + +Acton hesitated, and then answered that he had proposed to go over and take +a look at the Baroness. + +"Well, you are honest, at least," said Mr. Wentworth, sadly. + +"So are you, if you come to that!" cried Acton, laughing. +"Why should n't I be honest?" + +The old man opened the "North American" again, and read a few lines. +"If we have ever had any virtue among us, we had better keep hold of it now," +he said. He was not quoting. + +"We have a Baroness among us," said Acton. "That 's what we must keep +hold of!" He was too impatient to see Madame Munster again to wonder what +Mr. Wentworth was talking about. Nevertheless, after he had passed out of +the house and traversed the garden and the little piece of road that separated +him from Eugenia's provisional residence, he stopped a moment outside. +He stood in her little garden; the long window of her parlor was open, +and he could see the white curtains, with the lamp-light shining +through them, swaying softly to and fro in the warm night wind. +There was a sort of excitement in the idea of seeing Madame Munster again; +he became aware that his heart was beating rather faster than usual. +It was this that made him stop, with a half-amused surprise. +But in a moment he went along the piazza, and, approaching the open window, +tapped upon its lintel with his stick. He could see the Baroness within; +she was standing in the middle of the room. She came to the window +and pulled aside the curtain; then she stood looking at him a moment. +She was not smiling; she seemed serious. + +"Mais entrez donc!" she said at last. Acton passed in across the window-sill; +he wondered, for an instant, what was the matter with her. +But the next moment she had begun to smile and had put out her hand. +"Better late than never," she said. "It is very kind of you to come +at this hour." + +"I have just returned from my journey," said Acton. + +"Ah, very kind, very kind," she repeated, looking about her where to sit. + +"I went first to the other house," Acton continued. +"I expected to find you there." + +She had sunk into her usual chair; but she got up again, and began to move +about the room. Acton had laid down his hat and stick; he was looking at her, +conscious that there was in fact a great charm in seeing her again. +"I don't know whether I ought to tell you to sit down," she said. +"It is too late to begin a visit." + +"It 's too early to end one," Acton declared; "and we need +n't mind the beginning." + +She looked at him again, and, after a moment, dropped once +more into her low chair, while he took a place near her. +"We are in the middle, then?" she asked. "Was that where we were +when you went away? No, I have n't been to the other house." + +"Not yesterday, nor the day before, eh?" + +"I don't know how many days it is." + +"You are tired of it," said Acton. + +She leaned back in her chair; her arms were folded. +"That is a terrible accusation, but I have not the courage +to defend myself." + +"I am not attacking you," said Acton. "I expected something +of this kind." + +"It 's a proof of extreme intelligence. I hope you enjoyed your journey." + +"Not at all," Acton declared. "I would much rather have been +here with you." + +"Now you are attacking me," said the Baroness. "You are contrasting +my inconstancy with your own fidelity." + +"I confess I never get tired of people I like." + +"Ah, you are not a poor wicked foreign woman, with irritable +nerves and a sophisticated mind!" + +"Something has happened to you since I went away," said Acton, +changing his place. + +"Your going away--that is what has happened to me." + +"Do you mean to say that you have missed me?" he asked. + +"If I had meant to say it, it would not be worth your making a note of. +I am very dishonest and my compliments are worthless." + +Acton was silent for some moments. "You have broken down," +he said at last. + +Madame Munster left her chair, and began to move about. + +"Only for a moment. I shall pull myself together again." + +"You had better not take it too hard. If you are bored, +you need n't be afraid to say so--to me at least." + +"You should n't say such things as that," the Baroness answered. +"You should encourage me." + +"I admire your patience; that is encouraging." + +"You should n't even say that. When you talk of my patience you +are disloyal to your own people. Patience implies suffering; +and what have I had to suffer?" + +"Oh, not hunger, not unkindness, certainly," said Acton, laughing. +"Nevertheless, we all admire your patience." + +"You all detest me!" cried the Baroness, with a sudden vehemence, +turning her back toward him. + +"You make it hard," said Acton, getting up, "for a man to say something +tender to you." This evening there was something particularly striking and +touching about her; an unwonted softness and a look of suppressed emotion. +He felt himself suddenly appreciating the fact that she had behaved +very well. She had come to this quiet corner of the world under +the weight of a cruel indignity, and she had been so gracefully, +modestly thankful for the rest she found there. She had joined +that simple circle over the way; she had mingled in its plain, +provincial talk; she had shared its meagre and savorless pleasures. +She had set herself a task, and she had rigidly performed it. +She had conformed to the angular conditions of New England life, +and she had had the tact and pluck to carry it off as if she liked them. +Acton felt a more downright need than he had ever felt before to tell +her that he admired her and that she struck him as a very superior woman. +All along, hitherto, he had been on his guard with her; +he had been cautious, observant, suspicious. But now a certain +light tumult in his blood seemed to tell him that a finer degree +of confidence in this charming woman would be its own reward. +"We don't detest you," he went on. "I don't know what you mean. +At any rate, I speak for myself; I don't know anything about the others. +Very likely, you detest them for the dull life they make you lead. +Really, it would give me a sort of pleasure to hear you say so." + +Eugenia had been looking at the door on the other side of the room; +now she slowly turned her eyes toward Robert Acton. +"What can be the motive," she asked, "of a man like you-- +an honest man, a galant homme--in saying so base a thing as that?" + +"Does it sound very base?" asked Acton, candidly. +"I suppose it does, and I thank you for telling me so. +Of course, I don't mean it literally." + +The Baroness stood looking at him. "How do you mean it?" she asked. + +This question was difficult to answer, and Acton, feeling the +least bit foolish, walked to the open window and looked out. +He stood there, thinking a moment, and then he turned back. +"You know that document that you were to send to Germany," he said. +"You called it your 'renunciation.' Did you ever send it?" + +Madame Munster's eyes expanded; she looked very grave. +"What a singular answer to my question!" + +"Oh, it is n't an answer," said Acton. "I have wished to ask you, +many times. I thought it probable you would tell me yourself. +The question, on my part, seems abrupt now; but it would be abrupt +at any time." + +The Baroness was silent a moment; and then, "I think I have told +you too much!" she said. + +This declaration appeared to Acton to have a certain force; +he had indeed a sense of asking more of her than he offered her. +He returned to the window, and watched, for a moment, +a little star that twinkled through the lattice of the piazza. +There were at any rate offers enough he could make; +perhaps he had hitherto not been sufficiently explicit in doing so. +"I wish you would ask something of me," he presently said. +"Is there nothing I can do for you? If you can't stand this +dull life any more, let me amuse you!" + +The Baroness had sunk once more into a chair, and she had taken +up a fan which she held, with both hands, to her mouth. +Over the top of the fan her eyes were fixed on him. +"You are very strange to-night," she said, with a little laugh. + +"I will do anything in the world," he rejoined, standing in front of her. +"Should n't you like to travel about and see something of the country? +Won't you go to Niagara? You ought to see Niagara, you know." + +"With you, do you mean?" + +"I should be delighted to take you." + +"You alone?" + +Acton looked at her, smiling, and yet with a serious air. +"Well, yes; we might go alone," he said. + +"If you were not what you are," she answered, "I should feel insulted." + +"How do you mean--what I am?" + +"If you were one of the gentlemen I have been used to all my life. +If you were not a queer Bostonian." + +"If the gentlemen you have been used to have taught you +to expect insults," said Acton, "I am glad I am what I am. +You had much better come to Niagara." + +"If you wish to 'amuse' me," the Baroness declared, "you need go +to no further expense. You amuse me very effectually." + +He sat down opposite to her; she still held her fan up to her face, +with her eyes only showing above it. There was a moment's silence, +and then he said, returning to his former question, "Have you sent +that document to Germany?" + +Again there was a moment's silence. The expressive eyes of Madame M; +auunster seemed, however, half to break it. + +"I will tell you--at Niagara!" she said. + +She had hardly spoken when the door at the further end of the room opened-- +the door upon which, some minutes previous, Eugenia had fixed her gaze. +Clifford Wentworth stood there, blushing and looking rather awkward. +The Baroness rose, quickly, and Acton, more slowly, did the same. +Clifford gave him no greeting; he was looking at Eugenia. + +"Ah, you were here?" exclaimed Acton. + +"He was in Felix's studio," said Madame Munster. +"He wanted to see his sketches." + +Clifford looked at Robert Acton, but said nothing; he only fanned +himself with his hat. "You chose a bad moment," said Acton; +"you had n't much light." + +"I had n't any!" said Clifford, laughing. + +"Your candle went out?" Eugenia asked. "You should have come back +here and lighted it again." + +Clifford looked at her a moment. "So I have--come back. +But I have left the candle!" + +Eugenia turned away. "You are very stupid, my poor boy. +You had better go home." + +"Well," said Clifford, "good night!" + +"Have n't you a word to throw to a man when he has safely returned +from a dangerous journey?" Acton asked. + +"How do you do?" said Clifford. "I thought--I thought you were"-- +and he paused, looking at the Baroness again. + +"You thought I was at Newport, eh? So I was--this morning." + +"Good night, clever child!" said Madame Munster, over her shoulder. + +Clifford stared at her--not at all like a clever child; and then, +with one of his little facetious growls, took his departure. + +"What is the matter with him?" asked Acton, when he was gone. +"He seemed rather in a muddle." + +Eugenia, who was near the window, glanced out, listening a moment. +"The matter--the matter"--she answered. "But you don't say +such things here." + +"If you mean that he had been drinking a little, you can say that." + +"He does n't drink any more. I have cured him. And in return-- +he 's in love with me." + +It was Acton's turn to stare. He instantly thought of his sister; +but he said nothing about her. He began to laugh. +"I don't wonder at his passion! But I wonder at his forsaking +your society for that of your brother's paint-brushes." + +Eugenia was silent a little. "He had not been in the studio. +I invented that at the moment." + +"Invented it? For what purpose?" + +"He has an idea of being romantic. He has adopted the habit +of coming to see me at midnight--passing only through the orchard +and through Felix's painting-room, which has a door opening that way. +It seems to amuse him," added Eugenia, with a little laugh. + +Acton felt more surprise than he confessed to, for this was a new +view of Clifford, whose irregularities had hitherto been quite +without the romantic element. He tried to laugh again, but he felt +rather too serious, and after a moment's hesitation his seriousness +explained itself. "I hope you don't encourage him," he said. +"He must not be inconstant to poor Lizzie." + +"To your sister?" + +"You know they are decidedly intimate," said Acton. + +"Ah," cried Eugenia, smiling, "has she--has she"-- + +"I don't know," Acton interrupted, "what she has. +But I always supposed that Clifford had a desire to make +himself agreeable to her." + +"Ah, par exemple!" the Baroness went on. "The little monster! +The next time he becomes sentimental I will him tell that he ought +to be ashamed of himself." + +Acton was silent a moment. "You had better say nothing about it." + +"I had told him as much already, on general grounds," +said the Baroness. "But in this country, you know, the relations +of young people are so extraordinary that one is quite at sea. +They are not engaged when you would quite say they ought to be. +Take Charlotte Wentworth, for instance, and that young ecclesiastic. +If I were her father I should insist upon his marrying her; +but it appears to be thought there is no urgency. +On the other hand, you suddenly learn that a boy of twenty +and a little girl who is still with her governess--your sister +has no governess? Well, then, who is never away from her mamma-- +a young couple, in short, between whom you have noticed nothing +beyond an exchange of the childish pleasantries characteristic +of their age, are on the point of setting up as man and wife." +The Baroness spoke with a certain exaggerated volubility +which was in contrast with the languid grace that had +characterized her manner before Clifford made his appearance. +It seemed to Acton that there was a spark of irritation in her eye-- +a note of irony (as when she spoke of Lizzie being never away +from her mother) in her voice. If Madame Munster was irritated, +Robert Acton was vaguely mystified; she began to move about +the room again, and he looked at her without saying anything. +Presently she took out her watch, and, glancing at it, +declared that it was three o'clock in the morning and that +he must go. + +"I have not been here an hour," he said, "and they are still +sitting up at the other house. You can see the lights. +Your brother has not come in." + +"Oh, at the other house," cried Eugenia, "they are terrible people! +I don't know what they may do over there. I am a quiet +little humdrum woman; I have rigid rules and I keep them. +One of them is not to have visitors in the small hours-- +especially clever men like you. So good night!" + +Decidedly, the Baroness was incisive; and though Acton bade her good night +and departed, he was still a good deal mystified. + +The next day Clifford Wentworth came to see Lizzie, and Acton, who was at +home and saw him pass through the garden, took note of the circumstance. +He had a natural desire to make it tally with Madame M; auunster's account +of Clifford's disaffection; but his ingenuity, finding itself unequal +to the task, resolved at last to ask help of the young man's candor. +He waited till he saw him going away, and then he went out and overtook +him in the grounds. + +"I wish very much you would answer me a question," Acton said. +"What were you doing, last night, at Madame Munster's?" + +Clifford began to laugh and to blush, by no means like a young man +with a romantic secret. "What did she tell you?" he asked. + +"That is exactly what I don't want to say." + +"Well, I want to tell you the same," said Clifford; "and unless I +know it perhaps I can't." + +They had stopped in a garden path; Acton looked hard at his rosy +young kinsman. "She said she could n't fancy what had got into you; +you appeared to have taken a violent dislike to her." + +Clifford stared, looking a little alarmed. "Oh, come," +he growled, "you don't mean that!" + +"And that when--for common civility's sake--you came occasionally +to the house you left her alone and spent your time in Felix's studio, +under pretext of looking at his sketches." + +"Oh, come!" growled Clifford, again. + +"Did you ever know me to tell an untruth?" + +"Yes, lots of them!" said Clifford, seeing an opening, +out of the discussion, for his sarcastic powers. +"Well," he presently added, "I thought you were my father." + +"You knew some one was there?" + +"We heard you coming in." + +Acton meditated. "You had been with the Baroness, then?" + +"I was in the parlor. We heard your step outside. +I thought it was my father." + +"And on that," asked Acton, "you ran away?" + +"She told me to go--to go out by the studio." + +Acton meditated more intensely; if there had been a chair at hand he would +have sat down. "Why should she wish you not to meet your father?" + +"Well," said Clifford, "father does n't like to see me there." + +Acton looked askance at his companion and forbore to make +any comment upon this assertion. "Has he said so," he asked, +"to the Baroness?" + +"Well, I hope not," said Clifford. "He has n't said so--in so many words-- +to me. But I know it worries him; and I want to stop worrying him. +The Baroness knows it, and she wants me to stop, too." + +"To stop coming to see her?" + +"I don't know about that; but to stop worrying father. +Eugenia knows everything," Clifford added, with an air +of knowingness of his own. + +"Ah," said Acton, interrogatively, "Eugenia knows everything?" + +"She knew it was not father coming in." + +"Then why did you go?" + +Clifford blushed and laughed afresh. "Well, I was afraid it was. +And besides, she told me to go, at any rate." + +"Did she think it was I?" Acton asked. + +"She did n't say so." + +Again Robert Acton reflected. "But you did n't go," he presently said; +"you came back." + +"I could n't get out of the studio," Clifford rejoined. +"The door was locked, and Felix has nailed some planks across +the lower half of the confounded windows to make the light come +in from above. So they were no use. I waited there a good while, +and then, suddenly, I felt ashamed. I did n't want to be hiding +away from my own father. I could n't stand it any longer. +I bolted out, and when I found it was you I was a little flurried. +But Eugenia carried it off, did n't she?" Clifford added, +in the tone of a young humorist whose perception had not been +permanently clouded by the sense of his own discomfort. + +"Beautifully!" said Acton. "Especially," he continued, +"when one remembers that you were very imprudent and that she +must have been a good deal annoyed." + +"Oh," cried Clifford, with the indifference of a young man who feels +that however he may have failed of felicity in behavior he is extremely +just in his impressions, "Eugenia does n't care for anything!" + +Acton hesitated a moment. "Thank you for telling me this," he said at last. +And then, laying his hand on Clifford's shoulder, he added, "Tell me one +thing more: are you by chance a little in love with the Baroness?" + +"No, sir!" said Clifford, almost shaking off his hand. + + + + + + +CHAPTER X + +The first sunday that followed Robert Acton's return from Newport +witnessed a change in the brilliant weather that had long prevailed. +The rain began to fall and the day was cold and dreary. +Mr. Wentworth and his daughters put on overshoes and went to church, +and Felix Young, without overshoes, went also, holding an umbrella +over Gertrude. It is to be feared that, in the whole observance, +this was the privilege he most highly valued. The Baroness remained +at home; she was in neither a cheerful nor a devotional mood. +She had, however, never been, during her residence in the United +States, what is called a regular attendant at divine service; +and on this particular Sunday morning of which I began with speaking +she stood at the window of her little drawing-room, watching +the long arm of a rose-tree that was attached to her piazza, +but a portion of which had disengaged itself, sway to and fro, +shake and gesticulate, against the dusky drizzle of the sky. +Every now and then, in a gust of wind, the rose-tree scattered +a shower of water-drops against the window-pane; it appeared +to have a kind of human movement--a menacing, warning intention. +The room was very cold; Madame Munster put on a shawl and walked about. +Then she determined to have some fire; and summoning her ancient negress, +the contrast of whose polished ebony and whose crimson turban had been +at first a source of satisfaction to her, she made arrangements for +the production of a crackling flame. This old woman's name was Azarina. +The Baroness had begun by thinking that there would be a savory wildness +in her talk, and, for amusement, she had encouraged her to chatter. +But Azarina was dry and prim; her conversation was anything but African; +she reminded Eugenia of the tiresome old ladies she met in society. +She knew, however, how to make a fire; so that after she had laid +the logs, Eugenia, who was terribly bored, found a quarter of an hour's +entertainment in sitting and watching them blaze and sputter. +She had thought it very likely Robert Acton would come and see her; +she had not met him since that infelicitous evening. +But the morning waned without his coming; several times she thought +she heard his step on the piazza; but it was only a window-shutter +shaking in a rain-gust. The Baroness, since the beginning +of that episode in her career of which a slight sketch has been +attempted in these pages, had had many moments of irritation. +But to-day her irritation had a peculiar keenness; +it appeared to feed upon itself. It urged her to do something; +but it suggested no particularly profitable line of action. +If she could have done something at the moment, on the spot, +she would have stepped upon a European steamer and turned her back, +with a kind of rapture, upon that profoundly mortifying failure, +her visit to her American relations. It is not exactly +apparent why she should have termed this enterprise a failure, +inasmuch as she had been treated with the highest distinction +for which allowance had been made in American institutions. +Her irritation came, at bottom, from the sense, which, always present, +had suddenly grown acute, that the social soil on this big, +vague continent was somehow not adapted for growing those plants whose +fragrance she especially inclined to inhale and by which she liked +to see herself surrounded--a species of vegetation for which she +carried a collection of seedlings, as we may say, in her pocket. +She found her chief happiness in the sense of exerting a certain +power and making a certain impression; and now she felt the annoyance +of a rather wearied swimmer who, on nearing shore, to land, +finds a smooth straight wall of rock when he had counted upon a clean +firm beach. Her power, in the American air, seemed to have lost its +prehensile attributes; the smooth wall of rock was insurmountable. +"Surely je n'en suis pas la," she said to herself, "that I let +it make me uncomfortable that a Mr. Robert Acton should n't +honor me with a visit!" Yet she was vexed that he had not come; +and she was vexed at her vexation. + +Her brother, at least, came in, stamping in the hall and shaking +the wet from his coat. In a moment he entered the room, with a glow +in his cheek and half-a-dozen rain-drops glistening on his mustache. +"Ah, you have a fire," he said. + +"Les beaux jours sont passes," replied the Baroness. + +"Never, never! They have only begun," Felix declared, planting himself before +the hearth. He turned his back to the fire, placed his hands behind him, +extended his legs and looked away through the window with an expression +of face which seemed to denote the perception of rose-color even in the tints +of a wet Sunday. + +His sister, from her chair, looked up at him, watching him; +and what she saw in his face was not grateful to her present mood. +She was puzzled by many things, but her brother's disposition was a frequent +source of wonder to her. I say frequent and not constant, for there +were long periods during which she gave her attention to other problems. +Sometimes she had said to herself that his happy temper, his eternal gayety, +was an affectation, a pose; but she was vaguely conscious that during +the present summer he had been a highly successful comedian. +They had never yet had an explanation; she had not known the need of one. +Felix was presumably following the bent of his disinterested genius, +and she felt that she had no advice to give him that he would understand. +With this, there was always a certain element of comfort about Felix-- +the assurance that he would not interfere. He was very delicate, +this pure-minded Felix; in effect, he was her brother, and Madame Munster felt +that there was a great propriety, every way, in that. It is true that Felix +was delicate; he was not fond of explanations with his sister; this was +one of the very few things in the world about which he was uncomfortable. +But now he was not thinking of anything uncomfortable. + +"Dear brother," said Eugenia at last, "do stop making les yeux doux +at the rain." + +"With pleasure. I will make them at you!" answered Felix. + +"How much longer," asked Eugenia, in a moment, "do you propose to remain +in this lovely spot?" + +Felix stared. "Do you want to go away--already?" + +" 'Already' is delicious. I am not so happy as you." + +Felix dropped into a chair, looking at the fire. "The fact is I am happy," +he said in his light, clear tone. + +"And do you propose to spend your life in making love to Gertrude Wentworth?" + +"Yes!" said Felix, smiling sidewise at his sister. + +The Baroness returned his glance, much more gravely; and then, +"Do you like her?" she asked. + +"Don't you?" Felix demanded. + +The Baroness was silent a moment. "I will answer you in +the words of the gentleman who was asked if he liked music: +'Je ne la crains pas!'" + +"She admires you immensely," said Felix. + +"I don't care for that. Other women should not admire one." + +"They should dislike you?" + +Again Madame Munster hesitated. "They should hate me! +It 's a measure of the time I have been losing here that they don't." + +"No time is lost in which one has been happy!" said Felix, +with a bright sententiousness which may well have been +a little irritating. + +"And in which," rejoined his sister, with a harsher laugh, +"one has secured the affections of a young lady with a fortune!" + +Felix explained, very candidly and seriously. "I have secured Gertrude's +affection, but I am by no means sure that I have secured her fortune. +That may come--or it may not." + +"Ah, well, it may! That 's the great point." + +"It depends upon her father. He does n't smile upon our union. +You know he wants her to marry Mr. Brand." + +"I know nothing about it!" cried the Baroness. "Please to put on a log." +Felix complied with her request and sat watching the quickening of the flame. +Presently his sister added, "And you propose to elope with mademoiselle?" + +"By no means. I don't wish to do anything that 's disagreeable +to Mr. Wentworth. He has been far too kind to us." + +"But you must choose between pleasing yourself and pleasing him." + +"I want to please every one!" exclaimed Felix, joyously. +"I have a good conscience. I made up my mind at the outset +that it was not my place to make love to Gertrude." + +"So, to simplify matters, she made love to you!" + +Felix looked at his sister with sudden gravity. "You say you are not +afraid of her," he said. "But perhaps you ought to be--a little. +She 's a very clever person." + +"I begin to see it!" cried the Baroness. Her brother, making no +rejoinder, leaned back in his chair, and there was a long silence. +At last, with an altered accent, Madame Munster put another question. +"You expect, at any rate, to marry?" + +"I shall be greatly disappointed if we don't." + +"A disappointment or two will do you good!" the Baroness declared. +"And, afterwards, do you mean to turn American?" + +"It seems to me I am a very good American already. +But we shall go to Europe. Gertrude wants extremely to +see the world." + +"Ah, like me, when I came here!" said the Baroness, with a little laugh. + +"No, not like you," Felix rejoined, looking at his sister with a +certain gentle seriousness. While he looked at her she rose from +her chair, and he also got up. "Gertrude is not at all like you," +he went on; "but in her own way she is almost as clever." +He paused a moment; his soul was full of an agreeable +feeling and of a lively disposition to express it. +His sister, to his spiritual vision, was always like the lunar +disk when only a part of it is lighted. The shadow on this +bright surface seemed to him to expand and to contract; +but whatever its proportions, he always appreciated the moonlight. +He looked at the Baroness, and then he kissed her. +"I am very much in love with Gertrude," he said. +Eugenia turned away and walked about the room, and Felix continued. +"She is very interesting, and very different from what she seems. +She has never had a chance. She is very brilliant. +We will go to Europe and amuse ourselves." + +The Baroness had gone to the window, where she stood looking out. +The day was drearier than ever; the rain was doggedly falling. +"Yes, to amuse yourselves," she said at last, "you had decidedly +better go to Europe!" Then she turned round, looking at her brother. +A chair stood near her; she leaned her hands upon the back of it. +"Don't you think it is very good of me," she asked, "to come +all this way with you simply to see you properly married-- +if properly it is?" + +"Oh, it will be properly!" cried Felix, with light eagerness. + +The Baroness gave a little laugh. "You are thinking only of yourself, +and you don't answer my question. While you are amusing yourself-- +with the brilliant Gertrude--what shall I be doing?" + +"Vous serez de la partie!" cried Felix. + +"Thank you: I should spoil it." The Baroness dropped her +eyes for some moments. "Do you propose, however, to leave +me here?" she inquired. + +Felix smiled at her. "My dearest sister, where you are concerned +I never propose. I execute your commands." + +"I believe," said Eugenia, slowly, "that you are the most heartless +person living. Don't you see that I am in trouble?" + +"I saw that you were not cheerful, and I gave you some good news." + +"Well, let me give you some news," said the Baroness. +"You probably will not have discovered it for yourself. +Robert Acton wants to marry me." + +"No, I had not discovered that. But I quite understand it. +Why does it make you unhappy?" + +"Because I can't decide." + +"Accept him, accept him!" cried Felix, joyously. "He is the best +fellow in the world." + +"He is immensely in love with me," said the Baroness. + +"And he has a large fortune. Permit me in turn to remind you of that." + +"Oh, I am perfectly aware of it," said Eugenia. +"That 's a great item in his favor. I am terribly candid." +And she left her place and came nearer her brother, +looking at him hard. He was turning over several things; +she was wondering in what manner he really understood her. + +There were several ways of understanding her: +there was what she said, and there was what she meant, +and there was something, between the two, that was neither. +It is probable that, in the last analysis, what she meant was +that Felix should spare her the necessity of stating the case +more exactly and should hold himself commissioned to assist her +by all honorable means to marry the best fellow in the world. +But in all this it was never discovered what Felix understood. + +"Once you have your liberty, what are your objections?" he asked. + +"Well, I don't particularly like him." + +"Oh, try a little." + +"I am trying now," said Eugenia. "I should succeed better if he did +n't live here. I could never live here." + +"Make him go to Europe," Felix suggested. + +"Ah, there you speak of happiness based upon violent effort," +the Baroness rejoined. "That is not what I am looking for. +He would never live in Europe." + +"He would live anywhere, with you!" said Felix, gallantly. + +His sister looked at him still, with a ray of penetration +in her charming eyes; then she turned away again. "You see, +at all events," she presently went on, "that if it had been +said of me that I had come over here to seek my fortune it +would have to be added that I have found it!" + +"Don't leave it lying!" urged Felix, with smiling solemnity. + +"I am much obliged to you for your interest," his sister declared, +after a moment. "But promise me one thing: pas de zele! +If Mr. Acton should ask you to plead his cause, excuse yourself." + +"I shall certainly have the excuse," said Felix, "that I have a cause +of my own to plead." + +"If he should talk of me--favorably," Eugenia continued, +"warn him against dangerous illusions. I detest importunities; +I want to decide at my leisure, with my eyes open." + +"I shall be discreet," said Felix, "except to you. +To you I will say, Accept him outright." + +She had advanced to the open door-way, and she stood looking at him. +"I will go and dress and think of it," she said; and he heard her moving +slowly to her apartments. + +Late in the afternoon the rain stopped, and just afterwards +there was a great flaming, flickering, trickling sunset. +Felix sat in his painting-room and did some work; but at last, +as the light, which had not been brilliant, began to fade, he laid +down his brushes and came out to the little piazza of the cottage. +Here he walked up and down for some time, looking at the splendid +blaze of the western sky and saying, as he had often said before, +that this was certainly the country of sunsets. There was something +in these glorious deeps of fire that quickened his imagination; +he always found images and promises in the western sky. +He thought of a good many things--of roaming about the world with +Gertrude Wentworth; he seemed to see their possible adventures, +in a glowing frieze, between the cloud-bars; then of what Eugenia +had just been telling him. He wished very much that Madame M; +auunster would make a comfortable and honorable marriage. +Presently, as the sunset expanded and deepened, the fancy took +him of making a note of so magnificent a piece of coloring. +He returned to his studio and fetched out a small panel, +with his palette and brushes, and, placing the panel +against a window-sill, he began to daub with great gusto. +While he was so occupied he saw Mr. Brand, in the distance, +slowly come down from Mr. Wentworth's house, nursing a large +folded umbrella. He walked with a joyless, meditative tread, +and his eyes were bent upon the ground. Felix poised his +brush for a moment, watching him; then, by a sudden impulse, +as he drew nearer, advanced to the garden-gate and signaled to him-- +the palette and bunch of brushes contributing to this effect. + +Mr. Brand stopped and started; then he appeared to decide to accept +Felix's invitation. He came out of Mr. Wentworth's gate and passed along +the road; after which he entered the little garden of the cottage. +Felix had gone back to his sunset; but he made his visitor welcome +while he rapidly brushed it in. + +"I wanted so much to speak to you that I thought I would call you," +he said, in the friendliest tone. "All the more that you have been +to see me so little. You have come to see my sister; I know that. +But you have n't come to see me--the celebrated artist. +Artists are very sensitive, you know; they notice those things." +And Felix turned round, smiling, with a brush in his mouth. + +Mr. Brand stood there with a certain blank, candid majesty, pulling together +the large flaps of his umbrella. "Why should I come to see you?" he asked. +"I know nothing of Art." + +"It would sound very conceited, I suppose," said Felix, "if I were to say +that it would be a good little chance for you to learn something. +You would ask me why you should learn; and I should have no answer to that. +I suppose a minister has no need for Art, eh?" + +"He has need for good temper, sir," said Mr. Brand, with decision. + +Felix jumped up, with his palette on his thumb and a movement +of the liveliest deprecation. "That 's because I keep you standing +there while I splash my red paint! I beg a thousand pardons! +You see what bad manners Art gives a man; and how right you +are to let it alone. I did n't mean you should stand, either. +The piazza, as you see, is ornamented with rustic chairs; +though indeed I ought to warn you that they have nails in +the wrong places. I was just making a note of that sunset. +I never saw such a blaze of different reds. It looks +as if the Celestial City were in flames, eh? If that were +really the case I suppose it would be the business of you +theologians to put out the fire. Fancy me--an ungodly artist-- +quietly sitting down to paint it!" + +Mr. Brand had always credited Felix Young with a certain impudence, +but it appeared to him that on this occasion his impudence was so great +as to make a special explanation--or even an apology--necessary. +And the impression, it must be added, was sufficiently natural. +Felix had at all times a brilliant assurance of manner which was simply +the vehicle of his good spirits and his good will; but at present +he had a special design, and as he would have admitted that the design +was audacious, so he was conscious of having summoned all the arts +of conversation to his aid. But he was so far from desiring to offend +his visitor that he was rapidly asking himself what personal compliment +he could pay the young clergyman that would gratify him most. +If he could think of it, he was prepared to pay it down. +"Have you been preaching one of your beautiful sermons to-day?" +he suddenly asked, laying down his palette. This was not what Felix +had been trying to think of, but it was a tolerable stop-gap. + +Mr. Brand frowned--as much as a man can frown who has very fair, +soft eyebrows, and, beneath them, very gentle, tranquil eyes. +"No, I have not preached any sermon to-day. Did you bring me +over here for the purpose of making that inquiry?" + +Felix saw that he was irritated, and he regretted it immensely; +but he had no fear of not being, in the end, agreeable to Mr. Brand. +He looked at him, smiling and laying his hand on his arm. +"No, no, not for that--not for that. I wanted to ask you something; +I wanted to tell you something. I am sure it will interest +you very much. Only--as it is something rather private-- +we had better come into my little studio. I have a western window; +we can still see the sunset. Andiamo!" And he gave a little pat +to his companion's arm. + +He led the way in; Mr. Brand stiffly and softly followed. +The twilight had thickened in the little studio; but the wall +opposite the western window was covered with a deep pink flush. +There were a great many sketches and half-finished canvasses +suspended in this rosy glow, and the corners of the room +were vague and dusky. Felix begged Mr. Brand to sit down; +then glancing round him, "By Jove, how pretty it looks!" +he cried. But Mr. Brand would not sit down; he went and leaned +against the window; he wondered what Felix wanted of him. +In the shadow, on the darker parts of the wall, he saw +the gleam of three or four pictures that looked fantastic +and surprising. They seemed to represent naked figures. +Felix stood there, with his head a little bent and his eyes fixed +upon his visitor, smiling intensely, pulling his mustache. +Mr. Brand felt vaguely uneasy. "It is very delicate-- +what I want to say," Felix began. "But I have been thinking +of it for some time." + +"Please to say it as quickly as possible," said Mr. Brand. + +"It 's because you are a clergyman, you know," Felix went on. +"I don't think I should venture to say it to a common man." + +Mr. Brand was silent a moment. "If it is a question of yielding +to a weakness, of resenting an injury, I am afraid I am +a very common man." + +"My dearest friend," cried Felix, "this is not an injury; +it 's a benefit--a great service! You will like it extremely. +Only it 's so delicate!" And, in the dim light, he continued to +smile intensely. "You know I take a great interest in my cousins-- +in Charlotte and Gertrude Wentworth. That 's very evident +from my having traveled some five thousand miles to see them." +Mr. Brand said nothing and Felix proceeded. "Coming into their society +as a perfect stranger I received of course a great many new impressions, +and my impressions had a great freshness, a great keenness. +Do you know what I mean?" + +"I am not sure that I do; but I should like you to continue." + +"I think my impressions have always a good deal of freshness," +said Mr. Brand's entertainer; "but on this occasion it was perhaps +particularly natural that--coming in, as I say, from outside-- +I should be struck with things that passed unnoticed among yourselves. +And then I had my sister to help me; and she is simply the most +observant woman in the world." + +"I am not surprised," said Mr. Brand, "that in our little circle +two intelligent persons should have found food for observation. +I am sure that, of late, I have found it myself!" + +"Ah, but I shall surprise you yet!" cried Felix, laughing. +"Both my sister and I took a great fancy to my cousin Charlotte." + +"Your cousin Charlotte?" repeated Mr. Brand. + +"We fell in love with her from the first!" + +"You fell in love with Charlotte?" Mr. Brand murmured. + +"Dame!" exclaimed Felix, "she 's a very charming person; and Eugenia +was especially smitten." Mr. Brand stood staring, and he pursued, +"Affection, you know, opens one's eyes, and we noticed something. +Charlotte is not happy! Charlotte is in love." And Felix, +drawing nearer, laid his hand again upon his companion's arm. + +There was something akin to an acknowledgment of fascination in the way +Mr. Brand looked at him; but the young clergyman retained as yet quite +enough self-possession to be able to say, with a good deal of solemnity, +"She is not in love with you." + +Felix gave a light laugh, and rejoined with the alacrity +of a maritime adventurer who feels a puff of wind in his sail. +"Ah, no; if she were in love with me I should know it! +I am not so blind as you." + +"As I?" + +"My dear sir, you are stone blind. Poor Charlotte is dead +in love with you!" + +Mr. Brand said nothing for a moment; he breathed a little heavily. +"Is that what you wanted to say to me?" he asked. + +"I have wanted to say it these three weeks. Because of late she has +been worse. I told you," added Felix, "it was very delicate." + +"Well, sir"--Mr. Brand began; "well, sir"-- + +"I was sure you did n't know it," Felix continued. "But don't +you see--as soon as I mention it--how everything is explained?" +Mr. Brand answered nothing; he looked for a chair and softly sat down. +Felix could see that he was blushing; he had looked straight at +his host hitherto, but now he looked away. The foremost effect +of what he had heard had been a sort of irritation of his modesty. +"Of course," said Felix, "I suggest nothing; it would be very +presumptuous in me to advise you. But I think there is no doubt +about the fact." + +Mr. Brand looked hard at the floor for some moments; he was oppressed +with a mixture of sensations. Felix, standing there, was very sure +that one of them was profound surprise. The innocent young man +had been completely unsuspicious of poor Charlotte's hidden flame. +This gave Felix great hope; he was sure that Mr. Brand would be flattered. +Felix thought him very transparent, and indeed he was so; he could neither +simulate nor dissimulate. "I scarcely know what to make of this," +he said at last, without looking up; and Felix was struck with the fact +that he offered no protest or contradiction. Evidently Felix +had kindled a train of memories--a retrospective illumination. +It was making, to Mr. Brand's astonished eyes, a very pretty blaze; +his second emotion had been a gratification of vanity. + +"Thank me for telling you," Felix rejoined. "It 's a good thing to know." + +"I am not sure of that," said Mr. Brand. + +"Ah, don't let her languish!" Felix murmured, lightly and softly. + +"You do advise me, then?" And Mr. Brand looked up. + +"I congratulate you!" said Felix, smiling. He had thought at first his +visitor was simply appealing; but he saw he was a little ironical. + +"It is in your interest; you have interfered with me," +the young clergyman went on. + +Felix still stood and smiled. The little room had grown darker, +and the crimson glow had faded; but Mr. Brand could see the brilliant +expression of his face. "I won't pretend not to know what you mean," +said Felix at last. "But I have not really interfered with you. +Of what you had to lose--with another person--you have lost nothing. +And think what you have gained!" + +"It seems to me I am the proper judge, on each side," Mr. Brand declared. +He got up, holding the brim of his hat against his mouth and staring at Felix +through the dusk. + +"You have lost an illusion!" said Felix. + +"What do you call an illusion?" + +"The belief that you really know--that you have ever really known-- +Gertrude Wentworth. Depend upon that," pursued Felix. +"I don't know her yet; but I have no illusions; I don't pretend to." + +Mr. Brand kept gazing, over his hat. "She has always been a lucid, +limpid nature," he said, solemnly. + +"She has always been a dormant nature. She was waiting for a touchstone. +But now she is beginning to awaken." + +"Don't praise her to me!" said Mr. Brand, with a little quaver in his voice. +"If you have the advantage of me that is not generous." + +"My dear sir, I am melting with generosity!" exclaimed Felix. +"And I am not praising my cousin. I am simply attempting a +scientific definition of her. She doesn't care for abstractions. +Now I think the contrary is what you have always fancied-- +is the basis on which you have been building. She is extremely +preoccupied with the concrete. I care for the concrete, too. +But Gertrude is stronger than I; she whirls me along!" + +Mr. Brand looked for a moment into the crown of his hat. +"It 's a most interesting nature." + +"So it is," said Felix. "But it pulls--it pulls--like a +runaway horse. Now I like the feeling of a runaway horse; +and if I am thrown out of the vehicle it is no great matter. +But if you should be thrown, Mr. Brand"--and Felix paused +a moment--"another person also would suffer from the accident." + +"What other person?" + +"Charlotte Wentworth!" + +Mr. Brand looked at Felix for a moment sidewise, mistrustfully; +then his eyes slowly wandered over the ceiling. Felix was sure +he was secretly struck with the romance of the situation. +"I think this is none of our business," the young minister murmured. + +"None of mine, perhaps; but surely yours!" + +Mr. Brand lingered still, looking at the ceiling; there was evidently +something he wanted to say. "What do you mean by Miss Gertrude being strong?" +he asked abruptly. + +"Well," said Felix meditatively, "I mean that she has had +a great deal of self-possession. She was waiting--for years; +even when she seemed, perhaps, to be living in the present. +She knew how to wait; she had a purpose. That 's what I mean +by her being strong." + +"But what do you mean by her purpose?" + +"Well--the purpose to see the world!" + +Mr. Brand eyed his strange informant askance again; +but he said nothing. At last he turned away, as if to take leave. +He seemed bewildered, however; for instead of going to +the door he moved toward the opposite corner of the room. +Felix stood and watched him for a moment--almost groping +about in the dusk; then he led him to the door, with a tender, +almost fraternal movement. "Is that all you have to say?" +asked Mr. Brand. + +"Yes, it 's all--but it will bear a good deal of thinking of." + +Felix went with him to the garden-gate, and watched him slowly walk away into +the thickening twilight with a relaxed rigidity that tried to rectify itself. +"He is offended, excited, bewildered, perplexed--and enchanted!" +Felix said to himself. "That 's a capital mixture." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +Since that visit paid by the Baroness Munster to Mrs. Acton, +of which some account was given at an earlier stage of +this narrative, the intercourse between these two ladies had +been neither frequent nor intimate. It was not that Mrs. Acton +had failed to appreciate Madame M; auunster's charms; +on the contrary, her perception of the graces of manner and +conversation of her brilliant visitor had been only too acute. +Mrs. Acton was, as they said in Boston, very "intense," +and her impressions were apt to be too many for her. +The state of her health required the restriction of emotion; +and this is why, receiving, as she sat in her eternal +arm-chair, very few visitors, even of the soberest local type, +she had been obliged to limit the number of her interviews +with a lady whose costume and manner recalled to her imagination-- +Mrs. Acton's imagination was a marvel--all that she had ever +read of the most stirring historical periods. But she had sent +the Baroness a great many quaintly-worded messages and a great +many nosegays from her garden and baskets of beautiful fruit. +Felix had eaten the fruit, and the Baroness had arranged +the flowers and returned the baskets and the messages. +On the day that followed that rainy Sunday of which +mention has been made, Eugenia determined to go and pay +the beneficent invalid a "visite d'adieux;" so it was that, +to herself, she qualified her enterprise. It may be noted +that neither on the Sunday evening nor on the Monday morning +had she received that expected visit from Robert Acton. +To his own consciousness, evidently he was "keeping away;" +and as the Baroness, on her side, was keeping away from +her uncle's, whither, for several days, Felix had been +the unembarrassed bearer of apologies and regrets for absence, +chance had not taken the cards from the hands of design. +Mr. Wentworth and his daughters had respected Eugenia's seclusion; +certain intervals of mysterious retirement appeared to them, +vaguely, a natural part of the graceful, rhythmic movement of so +remarkable a life. Gertrude especially held these periods in honor; +she wondered what Madame M; auunster did at such times, but she +would not have permitted herself to inquire too curiously. + +The long rain had freshened the air, and twelve hours' brilliant sunshine +had dried the roads; so that the Baroness, in the late afternoon, +proposing to walk to Mrs. Acton's, exposed herself to no great discomfort. +As with her charming undulating step she moved along the clean, +grassy margin of the road, beneath the thickly-hanging boughs of the orchards, +through the quiet of the hour and place and the rich maturity of the summer, +she was even conscious of a sort of luxurious melancholy. The Baroness +had the amiable weakness of attaching herself to places--even when she +had begun with a little aversion; and now, with the prospect of departure, +she felt tenderly toward this well-wooded corner of the Western world, +where the sunsets were so beautiful and one's ambitions were so pure. +Mrs. Acton was able to receive her; but on entering this lady's large, +freshly-scented room the Baroness saw that she was looking very ill. +She was wonderfully white and transparent, and, in her flowered +arm-chair, she made no attempt to move. But she flushed a little-- +like a young girl, the Baroness thought--and she rested her clear, +smiling eyes upon those of her visitor. Her voice was low and monotonous, +like a voice that had never expressed any human passions. + +"I have come to bid you good-by," said Eugenia. +"I shall soon be going away." + +"When are you going away?" + +"Very soon--any day." + +"I am very sorry," said Mrs. Acton. "I hoped you would stay--always." + +"Always?" Eugenia demanded. + +"Well, I mean a long time," said Mrs. Acton, in her sweet, feeble tone. +"They tell me you are so comfortable--that you have got such a +beautiful little house." + +Eugenia stared--that is, she smiled; she thought of her poor +little chalet and she wondered whether her hostess were jesting. +"Yes, my house is exquisite," she said; "though not to be compared +to yours. " + +"And my son is so fond of going to see you," Mrs. Acton added. +"I am afraid my son will miss you." + +"Ah, dear madame," said Eugenia, with a little laugh, "I can't stay +in America for your son!" + +"Don't you like America?" + +The Baroness looked at the front of her dress. "If I liked it-- +that would not be staying for your son!" + +Mrs. Acton gazed at her with her grave, tender eyes, as if she +had not quite understood. The Baroness at last found something +irritating in the sweet, soft stare of her hostess; and if one +were not bound to be merciful to great invalids she would almost +have taken the liberty of pronouncing her, mentally, a fool. +"I am afraid, then, I shall never see you again," said Mrs. Acton. +"You know I am dying." + +"Ah, dear madame," murmured Eugenia. + +"I want to leave my children cheerful and happy. +My daughter will probably marry her cousin." + +"Two such interesting young people," said the Baroness, vaguely. +She was not thinking of Clifford Wentworth. + +"I feel so tranquil about my end," Mrs. Acton went on. +"It is coming so easily, so surely." And she paused, +with her mild gaze always on Eugenia's. + +The Baroness hated to be reminded of death; but even in its imminence, +so far as Mrs. Acton was concerned, she preserved her good manners. +"Ah, madame, you are too charming an invalid," she rejoined. + +But the delicacy of this rejoinder was apparently lost upon +her hostess, who went on in her low, reasonable voice. +"I want to leave my children bright and comfortable. +You seem to me all so happy here--just as you are. +So I wish you could stay. It would be so pleasant for Robert." + +Eugenia wondered what she meant by its being pleasant for Robert; +but she felt that she would never know what such a woman as that meant. +She got up; she was afraid Mrs. Acton would tell her again +that she was dying. "Good-by, dear madame," she said. +"I must remember that your strength is precious." + +Mrs. Acton took her hand and held it a moment. "Well, you have +been happy here, have n't you? And you like us all, don't you? +I wish you would stay," she added, "in your beautiful little house." + +She had told Eugenia that her waiting-woman would be in the hall, +to show her down-stairs; but the large landing outside +her door was empty, and Eugenia stood there looking about. +She felt irritated; the dying lady had not "la main heureuse." +She passed slowly down-stairs, still looking about. The broad staircase +made a great bend, and in the angle was a high window, looking westward, +with a deep bench, covered with a row of flowering plants in curious +old pots of blue china-ware. The yellow afternoon light came in +through the flowers and flickered a little on the white wainscots. +Eugenia paused a moment; the house was perfectly still, save for +the ticking, somewhere, of a great clock. The lower hall stretched away +at the foot of the stairs, half covered over with a large Oriental rug. +Eugenia lingered a little, noticing a great many things. +"Comme c'est bien!" she said to herself; such a large, solid, +irreproachable basis of existence the place seemed to her to indicate. +And then she reflected that Mrs. Acton was soon to withdraw from it. +The reflection accompanied her the rest of the way down-stairs, +where she paused again, making more observations. The hall was +extremely broad, and on either side of the front door was a wide, +deeply-set window, which threw the shadows of everything back +into the house. There were high-backed chairs along the wall +and big Eastern vases upon tables, and, on either side, +a large cabinet with a glass front and little curiosities within, +dimly gleaming. The doors were open--into the darkened parlor, +the library, the dining-room. All these rooms seemed empty. +Eugenia passed along, and stopped a moment on the threshold of each. +"Comme c'est bien!" she murmured again; she had thought of just +such a house as this when she decided to come to America. +She opened the front door for herself--her light tread had summoned +none of the servants--and on the threshold she gave a last look. +Outside, she was still in the humor for curious contemplation; +so instead of going directly down the little drive, to the gate, +she wandered away towards the garden, which lay to the right of the house. +She had not gone many yards over the grass before she paused quickly; +she perceived a gentleman stretched upon the level verdure, +beneath a tree. He had not heard her coming, and he lay motionless, +flat on his back, with his hands clasped under his head, +staring up at the sky; so that the Baroness was able to reflect, +at her leisure, upon the question of his identity. +It was that of a person who had lately been much in her thoughts; +but her first impulse, nevertheless, was to turn away; the last thing +she desired was to have the air of coming in quest of Robert Acton. +The gentleman on the grass, however, gave her no time to decide; +he could not long remain unconscious of so agreeable a presence. +He rolled back his eyes, stared, gave an exclamation, and then jumped up. +He stood an instant, looking at her. + +"Excuse my ridiculous position," he said. + +"I have just now no sense of the ridiculous. But, in case you have, +don't imagine I came to see you." + +"Take care," rejoined Acton, "how you put it into my head! +I was thinking of you." + +"The occupation of extreme leisure!" said the Baroness. +"To think of a woman when you are in that position is no compliment." + +"I did n't say I was thinking well!" Acton affirmed, smiling. + +She looked at him, and then she turned away. + +"Though I did n't come to see you," she said, "remember at least +that I am within your gates." + +"I am delighted--I am honored! Won't you come into the house?" + +"I have just come out of it. I have been calling upon your mother. +I have been bidding her farewell." + +"Farewell?" Acton demanded. + +"I am going away," said the Baroness. And she turned away again, +as if to illustrate her meaning. + +"When are you going?" asked Acton, standing a moment in his place. +But the Baroness made no answer, and he followed her. + +"I came this way to look at your garden," she said, walking back to the gate, +over the grass. "But I must go." + +"Let me at least go with you." He went with her, and they said +nothing till they reached the gate. It was open, and they looked +down the road which was darkened over with long bosky shadows. +"Must you go straight home?" Acton asked. + +But she made no answer. She said, after a moment, "Why have you +not been to see me?" He said nothing, and then she went on, +"Why don't you answer me?" + +"I am trying to invent an answer," Acton confessed. + +"Have you none ready?" + +"None that I can tell you," he said. "But let me walk with you now." + +"You may do as you like." + +She moved slowly along the road, and Acton went with her. +Presently he said, "If I had done as I liked I would have come +to see you several times." + +"Is that invented?" asked Eugenia. + +"No, that is natural. I stayed away because"-- + +"Ah, here comes the reason, then!" + +"Because I wanted to think about you." + +"Because you wanted to lie down!" said the Baroness. +"I have seen you lie down--almost--in my drawing-room." + +Acton stopped in the road, with a movement which seemed to beg +her to linger a little. She paused, and he looked at her awhile; +he thought her very charming. "You are jesting," he said; +"but if you are really going away it is very serious." + +"If I stay," and she gave a little laugh, "it is more serious still!" + +"When shall you go?" + +"As soon as possible." + +"And why?" + +"Why should I stay?" + +"Because we all admire you so." + +"That is not a reason. I am admired also in Europe." +And she began to walk homeward again. + +"What could I say to keep you?" asked Acton. He wanted to keep her, +and it was a fact that he had been thinking of her for a week. +He was in love with her now; he was conscious of that, or he thought he was; +and the only question with him was whether he could trust her. + +"What you can say to keep me?" she repeated. "As I want +very much to go it is not in my interest to tell you. +Besides, I can't imagine." + +He went on with her in silence; he was much more affected by what she +had told him than appeared. Ever since that evening of his return +from Newport her image had had a terrible power to trouble him. +What Clifford Wentworth had told him--that had affected him, +too, in an adverse sense; but it had not liberated him from +the discomfort of a charm of which his intelligence was impatient. +"She is not honest, she is not honest," he kept murmuring to himself. +That is what he had been saying to the summer sky, ten minutes before. +Unfortunately, he was unable to say it finally, definitively; and now +that he was near her it seemed to matter wonderfully little. +"She is a woman who will lie," he had said to himself. +Now, as he went along, he reminded himself of this observation; +but it failed to frighten him as it had done before. +He almost wished he could make her lie and then convict her of it, +so that he might see how he should like that. He kept thinking of this +as he walked by her side, while she moved forward with her light, +graceful dignity. He had sat with her before; he had driven with her; +but he had never walked with her. + +"By Jove, how comme il faut she is!" he said, as he observed her sidewise. +When they reached the cottage in the orchard she passed into the gate +without asking him to follow; but she turned round, as he stood there, +to bid him good-night. + +"I asked you a question the other night which you never answered," he said. +"Have you sent off that document--liberating yourself?" + +She hesitated for a single moment--very naturally. +Then, "Yes," she said, simply. + +He turned away; he wondered whether that would do for his lie. +But he saw her again that evening, for the Baroness reappeared +at her uncle's. He had little talk with her, however; +two gentlemen had driven out from Boston, in a buggy, to call +upon Mr. Wentworth and his daughters, and Madame Munster +was an object of absorbing interest to both of the visitors. +One of them, indeed, said nothing to her; he only sat and +watched with intense gravity, and leaned forward solemnly, +presenting his ear (a very large one), as if he were deaf, +whenever she dropped an observation. He had evidently been +impressed with the idea of her misfortunes and reverses: +he never smiled. His companion adopted a lighter, easier style; +sat as near as possible to Madame Munster; attempted to draw her out, +and proposed every few moments a new topic of conversation. +Eugenia was less vividly responsive than usual and had less to +say than, from her brilliant reputation, her interlocutor expected, +upon the relative merits of European and American institutions; +but she was inaccessible to Robert Acton, who roamed about +the piazza with his hands in his pockets, listening for +the grating sound of the buggy from Boston, as it should be +brought round to the side-door. But he listened in vain, +and at last he lost patience. His sister came to him and begged +him to take her home, and he presently went off with her. +Eugenia observed him leaving the house with Lizzie; +in her present mood the fact seemed a contribution to her +irritated conviction that he had several precious qualities. +"Even that mal-elevee little girl," she reflected, "makes him +do what she wishes." + +She had been sitting just within one of the long windows that opened upon +the piazza; but very soon after Acton had gone away she got up abruptly, +just when the talkative gentleman from Boston was asking her what she +thought of the "moral tone" of that city. On the piazza she encountered +Clifford Wentworth, coming round from the other side of the house. +She stopped him; she told him she wished to speak to him. + +"Why did n't you go home with your cousin?" she asked. + +Clifford stared. "Why, Robert has taken her," he said. + +"Exactly so. But you don't usually leave that to him." + +"Oh," said Clifford, "I want to see those fellows start off. +They don't know how to drive." + +"It is not, then, that you have quarreled with your cousin?" + +Clifford reflected a moment, and then with a simplicity which had, +for the Baroness, a singularly baffling quality, "Oh, no; +we have made up!" he said. + +She looked at him for some moments; but Clifford had begun to be afraid +of the Baroness's looks, and he endeavored, now, to shift himself out +of their range. "Why do you never come to see me any more?" she asked. +"Have I displeased you?" + +"Displeased me? Well, I guess not!" said Clifford, with a laugh. + +"Why have n't you come, then?" + +"Well, because I am afraid of getting shut up in that back room." + +Eugenia kept looking at him. "I should think you would like that." + +"Like it!" cried Clifford. + +"I should, if I were a young man calling upon a charming woman." + +"A charming woman is n't much use to me when I am shut up +in that back room!" + +"I am afraid I am not of much use to you anywhere!" said Madame M; auunster. +"And yet you know how I have offered to be." + +"Well," observed Clifford, by way of response, "there comes the buggy." + +"Never mind the buggy. Do you know I am going away?" + +"Do you mean now?" + +"I mean in a few days. I leave this place." + +"You are going back to Europe?" + +"To Europe, where you are to come and see me." + +"Oh, yes, I 'll come out there," said Clifford. + +"But before that," Eugenia declared, "you must come and see me here." + +"Well, I shall keep clear of that back room!" rejoined her +simple young kinsman. + +The Baroness was silent a moment. "Yes, you must come frankly--boldly. +That will be very much better. I see that now." + +"I see it!" said Clifford. And then, in an instant, "What 's the matter with +that buggy?" His practiced ear had apparently detected an unnatural creak +in the wheels of the light vehicle which had been brought to the portico, +and he hurried away to investigate so grave an anomaly. + +The Baroness walked homeward, alone, in the starlight, +asking herself a question. Was she to have gained nothing-- +was she to have gained nothing? + +Gertrude Wentworth had held a silent place in the little circle +gathered about the two gentlemen from Boston. She was not +interested in the visitors; she was watching Madame Munster, +as she constantly watched her. She knew that Eugenia also was +not interested--that she was bored; and Gertrude was absorbed +in study of the problem how, in spite of her indifference and her +absent attention, she managed to have such a charming manner. +That was the manner Gertrude would have liked to have; +she determined to cultivate it, and she wished that-- +to give her the charm--she might in future very often be bored. +While she was engaged in these researches, Felix Young was +looking for Charlotte, to whom he had something to say. +For some time, now, he had had something to say to Charlotte, +and this evening his sense of the propriety of holding some +special conversation with her had reached the motive-point-- +resolved itself into acute and delightful desire. He wandered +through the empty rooms on the large ground-floor of the house, +and found her at last in a small apartment denominated, +for reasons not immediately apparent, Mr. Wentworth's "office:" +an extremely neat and well-dusted room, with an array of law-books, +in time-darkened sheep-skin, on one of the walls; a large map +of the United States on the other, flanked on either side by an old +steel engraving of one of Raphael's Madonnas; and on the third +several glass cases containing specimens of butterflies and beetles. +Charlotte was sitting by a lamp, embroidering a slipper. +Felix did not ask for whom the slipper was destined; +he saw it was very large. + +He moved a chair toward her and sat down, smiling as usual, but, at first, +not speaking. She watched him, with her needle poised, and with a +certain shy, fluttered look which she always wore when he approached her. +There was something in Felix's manner that quickened her modesty, +her self-consciousness; if absolute choice had been given her she would +have preferred never to find herself alone with him; and in fact, +though she thought him a most brilliant, distinguished, and well-meaning +person, she had exercised a much larger amount of tremulous tact +than he had ever suspected, to circumvent the accident of tete-a-tete. +Poor Charlotte could have given no account of the matter that would +not have seemed unjust both to herself and to her foreign kinsman; +she could only have said--or rather, she would never have said it-- +that she did not like so much gentleman's society at once. +She was not reassured, accordingly, when he began, emphasizing his words +with a kind of admiring radiance, "My dear cousin, I am enchanted at +finding you alone." + +"I am very often alone," Charlotte observed. Then she quickly added, +"I don't mean I am lonely!" + +"So clever a woman as you is never lonely," said Felix. +"You have company in your beautiful work." And he glanced +at the big slipper. + +"I like to work," declared Charlotte, simply. + +"So do I!" said her companion. "And I like to idle too. +But it is not to idle that I have come in search of you. +I want to tell you something very particular." + +"Well," murmured Charlotte; "of course, if you must"-- + +"My dear cousin," said Felix, "it 's nothing that a young lady may not +listen to. At least I suppose it is n't. But voyons; you shall judge. +I am terribly in love." + +"Well, Felix," began Miss Wentworth, gravely. But her very gravity appeared +to check the development of her phrase. + +"I am in love with your sister; but in love, Charlotte--in love!" +the young man pursued. Charlotte had laid her work in her lap; +her hands were tightly folded on top of it; she was staring at +the carpet. "In short, I 'm in love, dear lady," said Felix. +"Now I want you to help me." + +"To help you?" asked Charlotte, with a tremor. + +"I don't mean with Gertrude; she and I have a perfect understanding; +and oh, how well she understands one! I mean with your father +and with the world in general, including Mr. Brand." + +"Poor Mr. Brand!" said Charlotte, slowly, but with a simplicity which made it +evident to Felix that the young minister had not repeated to Miss Wentworth +the talk that had lately occurred between them. + +"Ah, now, don't say 'poor' Mr. Brand! I don't pity Mr. Brand at all. +But I pity your father a little, and I don't want to displease him. +Therefore, you see, I want you to plead for me. You don't think me +very shabby, eh?" + +"Shabby?" exclaimed Charlotte softly, for whom Felix represented +the most polished and iridescent qualities of mankind. + +"I don't mean in my appearance," rejoined Felix, laughing; +for Charlotte was looking at his boots. "I mean in my conduct. +You don't think it 's an abuse of hospitality?" + +"To--to care for Gertrude?" asked Charlotte. + +"To have really expressed one's self. Because I have expressed +myself, Charlotte; I must tell you the whole truth--I have! +Of course I want to marry her--and here is the difficulty. I held off +as long as I could; but she is such a terribly fascinating person! +She 's a strange creature, Charlotte; I don't believe you really know her." +Charlotte took up her tapestry again, and again she laid it down. +"I know your father has had higher views," Felix continued; "and I think +you have shared them. You have wanted to marry her to Mr. Brand." + +"Oh, no," said Charlotte, very earnestly. "Mr. Brand has always admired her. +But we did not want anything of that kind." + +Felix stared. "Surely, marriage was what you proposed." + +"Yes; but we did n't wish to force her." + +"A la bonne heure! That 's very unsafe you know. +With these arranged marriages there is often the deuce to pay." + +"Oh, Felix," said Charlotte, "we did n't want to 'arrange.' " + +"I am delighted to hear that. Because in such cases--even when the woman +is a thoroughly good creature--she can't help looking for a compensation. +A charming fellow comes along--and voila!" Charlotte sat mutely staring +at the floor, and Felix presently added, "Do go on with your slipper, +I like to see you work." + +Charlotte took up her variegated canvas, and began to draw +vague blue stitches in a big round rose. "If Gertrude is so-- +so strange," she said, "why do you want to marry her?" + +"Ah, that 's it, dear Charlotte! I like strange women; +I always have liked them. Ask Eugenia! And Gertrude is wonderful; +she says the most beautiful things!" + +Charlotte looked at him, almost for the first time, +as if her meaning required to be severely pointed. +"You have a great influence over her. " + +"Yes--and no!" said Felix. "I had at first, I think; +but now it is six of one and half-a-dozen of the other; +it is reciprocal. She affects me strongly--for she is so strong. +I don't believe you know her; it 's a beautiful nature." + +"Oh, yes, Felix; I have always thought Gertrude's nature beautiful." + +"Well, if you think so now," cried the young man, "wait and see! +She 's a folded flower. Let me pluck her from the parent tree +and you will see her expand. I 'm sure you will enjoy it." + +"I don't understand you," murmured Charlotte. "I can't, Felix." + +"Well, you can understand this--that I beg you to say a good word +for me to your father. He regards me, I naturally believe, +as a very light fellow, a Bohemian, an irregular character. +Tell him I am not all this; if I ever was, I have forgotten it. +I am fond of pleasure--yes; but of innocent pleasure. Pain is all one; +but in pleasure, you know, there are tremendous distinctions. +Say to him that Gertrude is a folded flower and that I am +a serious man!" + +Charlotte got up from her chair slowly rolling up her work. +"We know you are very kind to every one, Felix," she said. +"But we are extremely sorry for Mr. Brand." + +"Of course you are--you especially! Because," added Felix hastily, +"you are a woman. But I don't pity him. It ought to be enough +for any man that you take an interest in him." + +"It is not enough for Mr. Brand," said Charlotte, simply. +And she stood there a moment, as if waiting conscientiously +for anything more that Felix might have to say. + +"Mr. Brand is not so keen about his marriage as he was," he presently said. +"He is afraid of your sister. He begins to think she is wicked." + +Charlotte looked at him now with beautiful, appealing eyes-- +eyes into which he saw the tears rising. "Oh, Felix, Felix," +she cried, "what have you done to her?" + +"I think she was asleep; I have waked her up!" + +But Charlotte, apparently, was really crying, she walked straight +out of the room. And Felix, standing there and meditating, +had the apparent brutality to take satisfaction in her tears. + +Late that night Gertrude, silent and serious, came to him in the garden; +it was a kind of appointment. Gertrude seemed to like appointments. +She plucked a handful of heliotrope and stuck it into the front of her dress, +but she said nothing. They walked together along one of the paths, +and Felix looked at the great, square, hospitable house, massing itself +vaguely in the starlight, with all its windows darkened. + +"I have a little of a bad conscience," he said. "I ought n't to meet +you this way till I have got your father's consent." + +Gertrude looked at him for some time. "I don't understand you." + +"You very often say that," he said. "Considering how little we understand +each other, it is a wonder how well we get on!" + +"We have done nothing but meet since you came here--but meet alone. +The first time I ever saw you we were alone," Gertrude went on. +"What is the difference now? Is it because it is at night?" + +"The difference, Gertrude," said Felix, stopping in the path, +"the difference is that I love you more--more than before!" +And then they stood there, talking, in the warm stillness and in +front of the closed dark house. "I have been talking to Charlotte-- +been trying to bespeak her interest with your father. +She has a kind of sublime perversity; was ever a woman so bent +upon cutting off her own head?" + +"You are too careful," said Gertrude; "you are too diplomatic." + +"Well," cried the young man, "I did n't come here to make any one unhappy!" + +Gertrude looked round her awhile in the odorous darkness. +"I will do anything you please," she said. + +"For instance?" asked Felix, smiling. + +"I will go away. I will do anything you please." + +Felix looked at her in solemn admiration. "Yes, we will go away," he said. +"But we will make peace first." + +Gertrude looked about her again, and then she broke out, passionately, "Why do +they try to make one feel guilty? Why do they make it so difficult? +Why can't they understand?" + +"I will make them understand!" said Felix. He drew her hand into his arm, +and they wandered about in the garden, talking, for an hour. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Felix allowed Charlotte time to plead his cause; and then, on the +third day, he sought an interview with his uncle. It was in the morning; +Mr. Wentworth was in his office; and, on going in, Felix found +that Charlotte was at that moment in conference with her father. +She had, in fact, been constantly near him since her interview +with Felix; she had made up her mind that it was her duty to repeat +very literally her cousin's passionate plea. She had accordingly +followed Mr. Wentworth about like a shadow, in order to find him +at hand when she should have mustered sufficient composure to speak. +For poor Charlotte, in this matter, naturally lacked composure; +especially when she meditated upon some of Felix's intimations. +It was not cheerful work, at the best, to keep giving small +hammer-taps to the coffin in which one had laid away, for burial, +the poor little unacknowledged offspring of one's own misbehaving heart; +and the occupation was not rendered more agreeable by the fact that +the ghost of one's stifled dream had been summoned from the shades +by the strange, bold words of a talkative young foreigner. +What had Felix meant by saying that Mr. Brand was not so keen? +To herself her sister's justly depressed suitor had shown no sign +of faltering. Charlotte trembled all over when she allowed herself +to believe for an instant now and then that, privately, Mr. Brand +might have faltered; and as it seemed to give more force to Felix's +words to repeat them to her father, she was waiting until she +should have taught herself to be very calm. But she had now +begun to tell Mr. Wentworth that she was extremely anxious. +She was proceeding to develop this idea, to enumerate the objects +of her anxiety, when Felix came in. + +Mr. Wentworth sat there, with his legs crossed, lifting his dry, +pure countenance from the Boston "Advertiser." Felix entered smiling, +as if he had something particular to say, and his uncle looked at him +as if he both expected and deprecated this event. Felix vividly +expressing himself had come to be a formidable figure to his uncle, +who had not yet arrived at definite views as to a proper tone. +For the first time in his life, as I have said, Mr. Wentworth shirked +a responsibility; he earnestly desired that it might not be laid upon him +to determine how his nephew's lighter propositions should be treated. +He lived under an apprehension that Felix might yet beguile him +into assent to doubtful inductions, and his conscience instructed him +that the best form of vigilance was the avoidance of discussion. +He hoped that the pleasant episode of his nephew's visit would pass +away without a further lapse of consistency. + +Felix looked at Charlotte with an air of understanding, +and then at Mr. Wentworth, and then at Charlotte again. +Mr. Wentworth bent his refined eyebrows upon his nephew +and stroked down the first page of the "Advertiser." +"I ought to have brought a bouquet," said Felix, laughing. +"In France they always do." + +"We are not in France," observed Mr. Wentworth, gravely, while Charlotte +earnestly gazed at him. + +"No, luckily, we are not in France, where I am afraid I +should have a harder time of it. My dear Charlotte, have you +rendered me that delightful service?" And Felix bent toward +her as if some one had been presenting him. + +Charlotte looked at him with almost frightened eyes; and Mr. Wentworth thought +this might be the beginning of a discussion. "What is the bouquet for?" +he inquired, by way of turning it off. + +Felix gazed at him, smiling. "Pour la demande!" +And then, drawing up a chair, he seated himself, hat in hand, +with a kind of conscious solemnity. + +Presently he turned to Charlotte again. "My good Charlotte, +my admirable Charlotte," he murmured, "you have not played me false-- +you have not sided against me?" + +Charlotte got up, trembling extremely, though imperceptibly. +"You must speak to my father yourself," she said. +"I think you are clever enough." + +But Felix, rising too, begged her to remain. "I can speak better +to an audience!" he declared. + +"I hope it is nothing disagreeable," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"It 's something delightful, for me!" And Felix, laying down his hat, +clasped his hands a little between his knees. "My dear uncle," +he said, "I desire, very earnestly, to marry your daughter Gertrude." +Charlotte sank slowly into her chair again, and Mr. Wentworth +sat staring, with a light in his face that might have been flashed +back from an iceberg. He stared and stared; he said nothing. +Felix fell back, with his hands still clasped. "Ah--you don't like it. +I was afraid!" He blushed deeply, and Charlotte noticed it-- +remarking to herself that it was the first time she had ever seen +him blush. She began to blush herself and to reflect that he might +be much in love. + +"This is very abrupt," said Mr. Wentworth, at last. + +"Have you never suspected it, dear uncle?" Felix inquired. +"Well, that proves how discreet I have been. Yes, I thought +you would n't like it." + +"It is very serious, Felix," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"You think it 's an abuse of hospitality!" exclaimed Felix, smiling again. + +"Of hospitality?--an abuse?" his uncle repeated very slowly. + +"That is what Felix said to me," said Charlotte, conscientiously. + +"Of course you think so; don't defend yourself!" Felix pursued. +"It is an abuse, obviously; the most I can claim is that it +is perhaps a pardonable one. I simply fell head over heels +in love; one can hardly help that. Though you are Gertrude's +progenitor I don't believe you know how attractive she is. +Dear uncle, she contains the elements of a singularly-- +I may say a strangely--charming woman!" + +"She has always been to me an object of extreme concern," said Mr. Wentworth. +"We have always desired her happiness." + +"Well, here it is!" Felix declared. "I will make her happy. +She believes it, too. Now had n't you noticed that?" + +"I had noticed that she was much changed," Mr. Wentworth declared, +in a tone whose unexpressive, unimpassioned quality appeared +to Felix to reveal a profundity of opposition. "It may be that she +is only becoming what you call a charming woman." + +"Gertrude, at heart, is so earnest, so true," said Charlotte, +very softly, fastening her eyes upon her father. + +"I delight to hear you praise her!" cried Felix. + +"She has a very peculiar temperament," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"Eh, even that is praise!" Felix rejoined. "I know I am +not the man you might have looked for. I have no position +and no fortune; I can give Gertrude no place in the world. +A place in the world--that 's what she ought to have; +that would bring her out." + +"A place to do her duty!" remarked Mr. Wentworth. + +"Ah, how charmingly she does it--her duty!" Felix exclaimed, +with a radiant face. "What an exquisite conception she +has of it! But she comes honestly by that, dear uncle." +Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte both looked at him as if they were +watching a greyhound doubling. "Of course with me she will hide +her light under a bushel," he continued; "I being the bushel! +Now I know you like me--you have certainly proved it. +But you think I am frivolous and penniless and shabby! +Granted--granted--a thousand times granted. +I have been a loose fish--a fiddler, a painter, an actor. +But there is this to be said: In the first place, I fancy +you exaggerate; you lend me qualities I have n't had. +I have been a Bohemian--yes; but in Bohemia I always passed +for a gentleman. I wish you could see some of my old camarades-- +they would tell you! It was the liberty I liked, +but not the opportunities! My sins were all peccadilloes; +I always respected my neighbor's property--my neighbor's wife. +Do you see, dear uncle?" Mr. Wentworth ought to have seen; +his cold blue eyes were intently fixed. "And then, c'est fini! +It 's all over. Je me range. I have settled down to a +jog-trot. I find I can earn my living--a very fair one-- +by going about the world and painting bad portraits. It 's not +a glorious profession, but it is a perfectly respectable one. +You won't deny that, eh? Going about the world, I say? +I must not deny that, for that I am afraid I shall always do-- +in quest of agreeable sitters. When I say agreeable, +I mean susceptible of delicate flattery and prompt of payment. +Gertrude declares she is willing to share my wanderings and help +to pose my models. She even thinks it will be charming; +and that brings me to my third point. Gertrude likes me. +Encourage her a little and she will tell you so." + +Felix's tongue obviously moved much faster than the imagination +of his auditors; his eloquence, like the rocking of a boat +in a deep, smooth lake, made long eddies of silence. +And he seemed to be pleading and chattering still, with his +brightly eager smile, his uplifted eyebrows, his expressive mouth, +after he had ceased speaking, and while, with his glance +quickly turning from the father to the daughter, he sat waiting +for the effect of his appeal. "It is not your want of means," +said Mr. Wentworth, after a period of severe reticence. + +"Now it 's delightful of you to say that! Only don't say +it 's my want of character. Because I have a character-- +I assure you I have; a small one, a little slip of a thing, +but still something tangible." + +"Ought you not to tell Felix that it is Mr. Brand, father?" +Charlotte asked, with infinite mildness. + +"It is not only Mr. Brand," Mr. Wentworth solemnly declared. +And he looked at his knee for a long time. "It is difficult +to explain," he said. He wished, evidently, to be very just. +"It rests on moral grounds, as Mr. Brand says. +It is the question whether it is the best thing for Gertrude." + +"What is better--what is better, dear uncle?" Felix rejoined urgently, +rising in his urgency and standing before Mr. Wentworth. +His uncle had been looking at his knee; but when Felix moved +he transferred his gaze to the handle of the door which faced him. +"It is usually a fairly good thing for a girl to marry the man +she loves!" cried Felix. + +While he spoke, Mr. Wentworth saw the handle of the door begin +to turn; the door opened and remained slightly ajar, until Felix +had delivered himself of the cheerful axiom just quoted. +Then it opened altogether and Gertrude stood there. +She looked excited; there was a spark in her sweet, dull eyes. +She came in slowly, but with an air of resolution, and, closing +the door softly, looked round at the three persons present. +Felix went to her with tender gallantry, holding out +his hand, and Charlotte made a place for her on the sofa. +But Gertrude put her hands behind her and made no motion +to sit down. + +"We are talking of you!" said Felix. + +"I know it," she answered. "That 's why I came." And she fastened +her eyes on her father, who returned her gaze very fixedly. +In his own cold blue eyes there was a kind of pleading, reasoning light. + +"It is better you should be present," said Mr. Wentworth. +"We are discussing your future." + +"Why discuss it?" asked Gertrude. "Leave it to me." + +"That is, to me!" cried Felix. + +"I leave it, in the last resort, to a greater wisdom than ours," +said the old man. + +Felix rubbed his forehead gently. "But en attendant the last resort, +your father lacks confidence," he said to Gertrude. + +"Have n't you confidence in Felix?" Gertrude was frowning; there was +something about her that her father and Charlotte had never seen. +Charlotte got up and came to her, as if to put her arm round her; +but suddenly, she seemed afraid to touch her. + +Mr. Wentworth, however, was not afraid. "I have had more confidence +in Felix than in you," he said. + +"Yes, you have never had confidence in me--never, never! +I don't know why." + +"Oh sister, sister!" murmured Charlotte. + +"You have always needed advice," Mr. Wentworth declared. +"You have had a difficult temperament." + +"Why do you call it difficult? It might have been easy, +if you had allowed it. You would n't let me be natural. +I don't know what you wanted to make of me. Mr. Brand +was the worst." + +Charlotte at last took hold of her sister. She laid her +two hands upon Gertrude's arm. "He cares so much for you," +she almost whispered. + +Gertrude looked at her intently an instant; then kissed her. +"No, he does not," she said. + +"I have never seen you so passionate," observed Mr. Wentworth, +with an air of indignation mitigated by high principles. + +"I am sorry if I offend you," said Gertrude. + +"You offend me, but I don't think you are sorry." + +"Yes, father, she is sorry," said Charlotte. + +"I would even go further, dear uncle," Felix interposed. +"I would question whether she really offends you. +How can she offend you?" + +To this Mr. Wentworth made no immediate answer. Then, in a moment, +"She has not profited as we hoped." + +"Profited? Ah voila!" Felix exclaimed. + +Gertrude was very pale; she stood looking down. "I have told Felix I would +go away with him," she presently said. + +"Ah, you have said some admirable things!" cried the young man. + +"Go away, sister?" asked Charlotte. + +"Away--away; to some strange country." + +"That is to frighten you," said Felix, smiling at Charlotte. + +"To--what do you call it?" asked Gertrude, turning an instant +to Felix. "To Bohemia." + +"Do you propose to dispense with preliminaries?" +asked Mr. Wentworth, getting up. + +"Dear uncle, vous plaisantez!" cried Felix. "It seems to me +that these are preliminaries." + +Gertrude turned to her father. "I have profited," she said. +"You wanted to form my character. Well, my character +is formed--for my age. I know what I want; I have chosen. +I am determined to marry this gentleman." + +"You had better consent, sir," said Felix very gently. + +"Yes, sir, you had better consent," added a very different voice. + +Charlotte gave a little jump, and the others turned to the direction +from which it had come. It was the voice of Mr. Brand, who had +stepped through the long window which stood open to the piazza. +He stood patting his forehead with his pocket-handkerchief; +he was very much flushed; his face wore a singular expression. + +"Yes, sir, you had better consent," Mr. Brand repeated, coming forward. +"I know what Miss Gertrude means." + +"My dear friend!" murmured Felix, laying his hand caressingly +on the young minister's arm. + +Mr. Brand looked at him; then at Mr. Wentworth; lastly at Gertrude. +He did not look at Charlotte. But Charlotte's earnest eyes were fastened +to his own countenance; they were asking an immense question of it. +The answer to this question could not come all at once; but some of the +elements of it were there. It was one of the elements of it that Mr. Brand +was very red, that he held his head very high, that he had a bright, +excited eye and an air of embarrassed boldness--the air of a man who has +taken a resolve, in the execution of which he apprehends the failure, +not of his moral, but of his personal, resources. Charlotte thought +he looked very grand; and it is incontestable that Mr. Brand felt +very grand. This, in fact, was the grandest moment of his life; +and it was natural that such a moment should contain opportunities +of awkwardness for a large, stout, modest young man. + +"Come in, sir," said Mr. Wentworth, with an angular wave of his hand. +"It is very proper that you should be present." + +"I know what you are talking about," Mr. Brand rejoined. +"I heard what your nephew said." + +"And he heard what you said!" exclaimed Felix, patting him again +on the arm. + +"I am not sure that I understood," said Mr. Wentworth, +who had angularity in his voice as well as in his gestures. + +Gertrude had been looking hard at her former suitor. +She had been puzzled, like her sister; but her imagination +moved more quickly than Charlotte's. "Mr. Brand asked you +to let Felix take me away," she said to her father. + +The young minister gave her a strange look. "It is not because I +don't want to see you any more," he declared, in a tone intended +as it were for publicity. + +"I should n't think you would want to see me any more," +Gertrude answered, gently. + +Mr. Wentworth stood staring. "Is n't this rather a change, sir?" he inquired. + +"Yes, sir." And Mr. Brand looked anywhere; only still not at Charlotte. +"Yes, sir," he repeated. And he held his handkerchief a few moments +to his lips. + +"Where are our moral grounds?" demanded Mr. Wentworth, +who had always thought Mr. Brand would be just the thing +for a younger daughter with a peculiar temperament. + +"It is sometimes very moral to change, you know," suggested Felix. + +Charlotte had softly left her sister's side. She had edged gently +toward her father, and now her hand found its way into his arm. +Mr. Wentworth had folded up the "Advertiser" into a surprisingly +small compass, and, holding the roll with one hand, he earnestly +clasped it with the other. Mr. Brand was looking at him; and yet, +though Charlotte was so near, his eyes failed to meet her own. +Gertrude watched her sister. + +"It is better not to speak of change," said Mr. Brand. +"In one sense there is no change. There was something I desired-- +something I asked of you; I desire something still--I ask it of you." +And he paused a moment; Mr. Wentworth looked bewildered. +"I should like, in my ministerial capacity, to unite +this young couple." + +Gertrude, watching her sister, saw Charlotte flushing intensely, +and Mr. Wentworth felt her pressing upon his arm. "Heavenly Powers!" +murmured Mr. Wentworth. And it was the nearest approach to profanity +he had ever made. + +"That is very nice; that is very handsome!" Felix exclaimed. + +"I don't understand," said Mr. Wentworth; though it was plain +that every one else did. + +"That is very beautiful, Mr. Brand," said Gertrude, emulating Felix. + +"I should like to marry you. It will give me great pleasure." + +"As Gertrude says, it 's a beautiful idea," said Felix. + +Felix was smiling, but Mr. Brand was not even trying to. +He himself treated his proposition very seriously. +"I have thought of it, and I should like to do it," he affirmed. + +Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring with expanded eyes. +Her imagination, as I have said, was not so rapid as her +sister's, but now it had taken several little jumps. +"Father," she murmured, "consent!" + +Mr. Brand heard her; he looked away. Mr. Wentworth, evidently, +had no imagination at all. "I have always thought," +he began, slowly, "that Gertrude's character required a special +line of development." + +"Father," repeated Charlotte, "consent." + +Then, at last, Mr. Brand looked at her. Her father felt +her leaning more heavily upon his folded arm than she had +ever done before; and this, with a certain sweet faintness +in her voice, made him wonder what was the matter. +He looked down at her and saw the encounter of her gaze +with the young theologian's; but even this told him nothing, +and he continued to be bewildered. Nevertheless, "I consent," +he said at last, "since Mr. Brand recommends it." + +"I should like to perform the ceremony very soon," observed Mr. Brand, +with a sort of solemn simplicity. + +"Come, come, that 's charming!" cried Felix, profanely. + +Mr. Wentworth sank into his chair. "Doubtless, when you understand it," +he said, with a certain judicial asperity. + +Gertrude went to her sister and led her away, and Felix having passed +his arm into Mr. Brand's and stepped out of the long window with him, +the old man was left sitting there in unillumined perplexity. + +Felix did no work that day. In the afternoon, with Gertrude, +he got into one of the boats and floated about with idly-dipping oars. +They talked a good deal of Mr. Brand--though not exclusively. + +"That was a fine stroke," said Felix. "It was really heroic." + +Gertrude sat musing, with her eyes upon the ripples. +"That was what he wanted to be; he wanted to do something fine." + +"He won't be comfortable till he has married us," said Felix. +"So much the better." + +"He wanted to be magnanimous; he wanted to have a fine moral pleasure. +I know him so well," Gertrude went on. Felix looked at her; she spoke slowly, +gazing at the clear water. "He thought of it a great deal, night and day. +He thought it would be beautiful. At last he made up his mind that it +was his duty, his duty to do just that--nothing less than that. +He felt exalted; he felt sublime. That 's how he likes to feel. +It is better for him than if I had listened to him." + +"It 's better for me," smiled Felix. "But do you know, +as regards the sacrifice, that I don't believe he admired you +when this decision was taken quite so much as he had done +a fortnight before?" + +"He never admired me. He admires Charlotte; he pitied me. +I know him so well." + +"Well, then, he did n't pity you so much." + +Gertrude looked at Felix a little, smiling. "You should n't +permit yourself," she said, "to diminish the splendor of his action. +He admires Charlotte," she repeated. + +"That's capital!" said Felix laughingly, and dipping his oars. +I cannot say exactly to which member of Gertrude's phrase he alluded; +but he dipped his oars again, and they kept floating about. + +Neither Felix nor his sister, on that day, was present at +Mr. Wentworth's at the evening repast. The two occupants +of the chalet dined together, and the young man informed +his companion that his marriage was now an assured fact. +Eugenia congratulated him, and replied that if he were as +reasonable a husband as he had been, on the whole, a brother, +his wife would have nothing to complain of. + +Felix looked at her a moment, smiling. "I hope," he said, +"not to be thrown back on my reason." + +"It is very true," Eugenia rejoined, "that one's reason is dismally flat. +It 's a bed with the mattress removed." + +But the brother and sister, later in the evening, crossed over to +the larger house, the Baroness desiring to compliment her prospective +sister-in-law. They found the usual circle upon the piazza, +with the exception of Clifford Wentworth and Lizzie Acton; +and as every one stood up as usual to welcome the Baroness, +Eugenia had an admiring audience for her compliment to Gertrude. + +Robert Acton stood on the edge of the piazza, leaning against one of +the white columns, so that he found himself next to Eugenia while she +acquitted herself of a neat little discourse of congratulation. + +"I shall be so glad to know you better," she said; +"I have seen so much less of you than I should have liked. +Naturally; now I see the reason why! You will love me a little, +won't you? I think I may say I gain on being known." +And terminating these observations with the softest cadence +of her voice, the Baroness imprinted a sort of grand official +kiss upon Gertrude's forehead. + +Increased familiarity had not, to Gertrude's imagination, +diminished the mysterious impressiveness of Eugenia's personality, +and she felt flattered and transported by this little ceremony. +Robert Acton also seemed to admire it, as he admired so many +of the gracious manifestations of Madame Munster's wit. + +They had the privilege of making him restless, and on this occasion +he walked away, suddenly, with his hands in his pockets, and then came +back and leaned against his column. Eugenia was now complimenting +her uncle upon his daughter's engagement, and Mr. Wentworth +was listening with his usual plain yet refined politeness. +It is to be supposed that by this time his perception of the mutual +relations of the young people who surrounded him had become more acute; +but he still took the matter very seriously, and he was not +at all exhilarated. + +"Felix will make her a good husband," said Eugenia. +"He will be a charming companion; he has a great quality-- +indestructible gayety." + +"You think that 's a great quality?" asked the old man. + +Eugenia meditated, with her eyes upon his. "You think one gets tired +of it, eh?" + +"I don't know that I am prepared to say that," said Mr. Wentworth. + +"Well, we will say, then, that it is tiresome for others but delightful for +one's self. A woman's husband, you know, is supposed to be her second self; +so that, for Felix and Gertrude, gayety will be a common property." + +"Gertrude was always very gay," said Mr. Wentworth. +He was trying to follow this argument. + +Robert Acton took his hands out of his pockets and came a little +nearer to the Baroness. "You say you gain by being known," he said. +"One certainly gains by knowing you." + +"What have you gained?" asked Eugenia. + +"An immense amount of wisdom." + +"That 's a questionable advantage for a man who was already so wise!" + +Acton shook his head. "No, I was a great fool before I knew you!" + +"And being a fool you made my acquaintance? You are very complimentary." + +"Let me keep it up," said Acton, laughing. "I hope, for our pleasure, +that your brother's marriage will detain you." + +"Why should I stop for my brother's marriage when I would not stop +for my own?" asked the Baroness. + +"Why should n't you stop in either case, now that, as you say, +you have dissolved that mechanical tie that bound you to Europe?" + +The Baroness looked at him a moment. "As I say? +You look as if you doubted it." + +"Ah," said Acton, returning her glance, "that is a remnant of my old folly! +We have other attractions," he added. "We are to have another marriage." + +But she seemed not to hear him; she was looking at him still. +"My word was never doubted before," she said. + +"We are to have another marriage," Acton repeated, smiling. + +Then she appeared to understand. "Another marriage?" +And she looked at the others. Felix was chattering to Gertrude; +Charlotte, at a distance, was watching them; and Mr. Brand, +in quite another quarter, was turning his back to them, and, +with his hands under his coat-tails and his large head on one side, +was looking at the small, tender crescent of a young moon. +"It ought to be Mr. Brand and Charlotte," said Eugenia, +"but it does n't look like it." + +"There," Acton answered, "you must judge just now by contraries. +There is more than there looks to be. I expect that combination +one of these days; but that is not what I meant." + +"Well," said the Baroness, "I never guess my own lovers; +so I can't guess other people's." + +Acton gave a loud laugh, and he was about to add a rejoinder when +Mr. Wentworth approached his niece. "You will be interested to hear," +the old man said, with a momentary aspiration toward jocosity, +"of another matrimonial venture in our little circle." + +"I was just telling the Baroness," Acton observed. + +"Mr. Acton was apparently about to announce his own engagement," said Eugenia. + +Mr. Wentworth's jocosity increased. "It is not exactly that; +but it is in the family. Clifford, hearing this morning +that Mr. Brand had expressed a desire to tie the nuptial +knot for his sister, took it into his head to arrange that, +while his hand was in, our good friend should perform a like +ceremony for himself and Lizzie Acton." + +The Baroness threw back her head and smiled at her uncle; +then turning, with an intenser radiance, to Robert Acton, "I am +certainly very stupid not to have thought of that," she said. +Acton looked down at his boots, as if he thought he had +perhaps reached the limits of legitimate experimentation, +and for a moment Eugenia said nothing more. It had been, +in fact, a sharp knock, and she needed to recover herself. +This was done, however, promptly enough. "Where are the +young people?" she asked. + +"They are spending the evening with my mother." + +"Is not the thing very sudden?" + +Acton looked up. "Extremely sudden. There had been a tacit understanding; +but within a day or two Clifford appears to have received some mysterious +impulse to precipitate the affair." + +"The impulse," said the Baroness, "was the charms of your very pretty sister." + +"But my sister's charms were an old story; he had always known her." +Acton had begun to experiment again. + +Here, however, it was evident the Baroness would not help him. +"Ah, one can't say! Clifford is very young; but he is a nice boy." + +"He 's a likeable sort of boy, and he will be a rich man." +This was Acton's last experiment. Madame Munster turned away. + +She made but a short visit and Felix took her home. In her little +drawing-room she went almost straight to the mirror over the +chimney-piece, and, with a candle uplifted, stood looking into it. +"I shall not wait for your marriage," she said to her brother. +"To-morrow my maid shall pack up." + +"My dear sister," Felix exclaimed, "we are to be married immediately! +Mr. Brand is too uncomfortable." + +But Eugenia, turning and still holding her candle aloft, only looked +about the little sitting-room at her gimcracks and curtains and cushions. +"My maid shall pack up," she repeated. "Bonte divine, what rubbish! +I feel like a strolling actress; these are my 'properties.' " + +"Is the play over, Eugenia?" asked Felix. + +She gave him a sharp glance. "I have spoken my part." + +"With great applause!" said her brother. + +"Oh, applause--applause!" she murmured. And she gathered up two or three of +her dispersed draperies. She glanced at the beautiful brocade, and then, +"I don't see how I can have endured it!" she said. + +"Endure it a little longer. Come to my wedding." + +"Thank you; that 's your affair. My affairs are elsewhere." + +"Where are you going?" + +"To Germany--by the first ship." + +"You have decided not to marry Mr. Acton?" + +"I have refused him," said Eugenia. + +Her brother looked at her in silence. "I am sorry," he rejoined at last. +"But I was very discreet, as you asked me to be. I said nothing. " + +"Please continue, then, not to allude to the matter," said Eugenia. + +Felix inclined himself gravely. "You shall be obeyed. +But your position in Germany?" he pursued. + +"Please to make no observations upon it." + +"I was only going to say that I supposed it was altered." + +"You are mistaken." + +"But I thought you had signed"-- + +"I have not signed!" said the Baroness. + +Felix urged her no further, and it was arranged that he should immediately +assist her to embark. + +Mr. Brand was indeed, it appeared, very impatient to consummate his sacrifice +and deliver the nuptial benediction which would set it off so handsomely; +but Eugenia's impatience to withdraw from a country in which she had not +found the fortune she had come to seek was even less to be mistaken. +It is true she had not made any very various exertion; but she appeared +to feel justified in generalizing--in deciding that the conditions +of action on this provincial continent were not favorable to really +superior women. The elder world was, after all, their natural field. +The unembarrassed directness with which she proceeded to apply these +intelligent conclusions appeared to the little circle of spectators who +have figured in our narrative but the supreme exhibition of a character +to which the experience of life had imparted an inimitable pliancy. +It had a distinct effect upon Robert Acton, who, for the two days +preceding her departure, was a very restless and irritated mortal. +She passed her last evening at her uncle's, where she had never been +more charming; and in parting with Clifford Wentworth's affianced bride +she drew from her own finger a curious old ring and presented it to her +with the prettiest speech and kiss. Gertrude, who as an affianced +bride was also indebted to her gracious bounty, admired this little +incident extremely, and Robert Acton almost wondered whether it did +not give him the right, as Lizzie's brother and guardian, to offer +in return a handsome present to the Baroness. It would have made him +extremely happy to be able to offer a handsome present to the Baroness; +but he abstained from this expression of his sentiments, and they were +in consequence, at the very last, by so much the less comfortable. +It was almost at the very last that he saw her--late the night before she +went to Boston to embark. + +"For myself, I wish you might have stayed," he said. +"But not for your own sake." + +"I don't make so many differences," said the Baroness. +"I am simply sorry to be going." + +"That 's a much deeper difference than mine," Acton declared; +"for you mean you are simply glad!" + +Felix parted with her on the deck of the ship. "We shall often +meet over there," he said. + +"I don't know," she answered. "Europe seems to me much larger than America." + +Mr. Brand, of course, in the days that immediately followed, +was not the only impatient spirit; but it may be said that of all +the young spirits interested in the event none rose more eagerly +to the level of the occasion. Gertrude left her father's house with +Felix Young; they were imperturbably happy and they went far away. +Clifford and his young wife sought their felicity in a narrower circle, +and the latter's influence upon her husband was such as to justify, +strikingly, that theory of the elevating effect of easy intercourse +with clever women which Felix had propounded to Mr. Wentworth. +Gertrude was for a good while a distant figure, but she came +back when Charlotte married Mr. Brand. She was present at +the wedding feast, where Felix's gayety confessed to no change. +Then she disappeared, and the echo of a gayety of her own, mingled with +that of her husband, often came back to the home of her earlier years. +Mr. Wentworth at last found himself listening for it; and Robert Acton, +after his mother's death, married a particularly nice young girl. + +The End + + +End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of The Europeans by Henry James + + diff --git a/old/theeu10.zip b/old/theeu10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..09e4f07 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/theeu10.zip |